In this post, I am piggybacking off of my last entry where someone left a comment that has left me thinking.
I was writing from a place of pain, sharing my deepest heartache of having to let go and walk away from my family. I went back into the fire recently and was burned badly again. It truly feels to me to be an act of self preservation and love to cut ties and let go. I have been suffering for a few years now, becoming too wrapped up in a situation that was truly outside of my control. It has left me exhausted, depressed, and sick.
In response to what I wrote, GROG (grogalot.wordpress.com) left the comment: “But we must learn to live in the present and realize that change is possible. It has a lot to do with taking responsibility”. The sentiment shared here stayed with me today and continued to resurface. Something in the words demanded my attention. I rolled the word “responsibility” around in my mouth, tasting its rich, yet raw flavor. This bite that I willingly chewed and lingered over all day had sustenance.
Earlier today, I let go of the reigns at various points again, engaging in a conversation that I knew would create emotional instability for me. Why have I continued in the same habitual way when I can clearly see that nothing changes when I do so? Realizing the pattern is one accomplishment, believing that one can change or be completely free of the pattern is another. So many times in the past I felt it was an impossible feat to change. I desperately longed to be “free”, I just didn’t see that the door of my “cage’ was open. I wrote nearly a month ago that I had noticed with excitement and anticipation that the door was ajar and freedom was on the horizon. I had hoped to be flying soon! What happened? Did I become afraid and forget that my wings would indeed carry me?
We must “realize that change is possible” and that it “has a lot to do with taking responsibility” (GROG). And therein lies the “meat” of the meal. The belief that you can indeed, fly, and then actually be doing so. Responsibility implies taking ownership.
Responsibility is also about taking control of one’s responses. I feel this is where I have continued to get stuck. There are brutal and ugly realities outside of my control that I have let dominate my thoughts and energies. Yes, there are heavy and serious situations that any normal person would worry about, still yet, my response has been all too consuming and my life, as a result, has spun out of control. The worry and concern in my heart was, and still is, very justified. I feel someone in my family eventually is going to die from the disease of addiction. And yet, I refused to build parameters around what I could realistically contribute. I had abandoned myself in the process and when the ship continued to sink, I blamed others for not being there for me. Sadly, they all sick. I need to be there for myself. I need to take “responsibility” for myself, in all ways.
I’m thankful for these words. They are so needed and they are “on point”. In the center of it all is my lack of self care and concern. I do feel I am healing and I long to taste complete freedom where I am immersed in the present, enjoying life. When tragedy comes, as it will from time to time, I must take care with my responses to things. In the end, that is where change truly occurs: in one’s ability to take responsibility over their life in all ways.
All of this struck a chord inside me today. If I am honest with myself, I have not been taking ownership of my life. I have been caught up in my cage that was created by the trauma I endured. I’ve been swinging alone, being drenched in the rain, and singing a soliloquy. I’ve been truly sad. The holiday season triggered me and I went right back into the cage and locked the door, nearly throwing away the key. However, GROG is right, I must believe I can change… “The door is ajar, remember”! And then I must take flight and do what is necessary to keep flying, even soaring, at times, eyes open and embracing the moment.
The year is now 2019. There IS no other time like the present to fly! And even to soar! I am going to take myself there because I can. And, it is only I that can do so. This year is THE year. And, I am so very grateful to be here in this space and ready. In the past, I would have gotten defensive and perhaps would have taken things in the wrong way. I have grown and I want to go further. I’m going to carry this advice with me along the way so that I can remind myself when I get lost or afraid.
Be present. Believe change is possible. Take ownership of every area of your life. AND TAKE FLIGHT!
Happy New Year Everyone! 2019
I have more than enough reasons to give up and resign myself to a life bound by fear, disappointments, and regrets. And yet, in the struggle, I am learning resiliency. I’ve peeled off nearly every layer of “skin” and have been left exposed and vulnerable. Interestingly enough, my heart beats on and my spirit longs for wholeness. In some ways, I feel closer to freedom and the endless discovery that results from it. I’m learning that so much of my suffering has resulted from a sense of separation from myself. This developed from years of drowning out my voice with the endless chatter of others and the belief that their perceptions of me held more weight than mine. I was drawn to anything that distracted me from the stillness and the truth truly needed to heal. And thus my life over the last decade grew nearly intolerable and as a result I lost a great deal. Some of the loss was necessary, while some was a direct result of suffering so long with a mental illness. It seems recently, that everything has culminated into a rather serious struggle that has demanded my full attention and energy.
Besides the recent move to Los Angeles which has been overwhelming and alienating, I’ve been battling dysphagia (difficulty swallowing) and have lost a little over 60 pounds in roughly four short months. I wasn’t really that worried until my fear restricted my diet further over the last month and the last ten pounds fell off so quickly, leaving me intimately aware of what true hunger feels like. It hurts. The fear of swallowing originated from a real place as I recently have been diagnosed with an esophageal motility disorder. I’m doing my best to be patient with a slow healthcare system and am waiting to receive treatment for both for the motility issues and now the fear surrounding my swallowing.
Besides, the physical struggle, I’ve been grieving so much loss over the years and a significant loss very recently. I lost a childhood best friend, Beth, to suicide on October 13th. I’ve known her over thirty years and her struggle of mental health was similar to mine. We had exchanged messages through messenger the night before she passed and although she shared that her medications were screwing with her, she never gave any indication that she was suicidal. In fact, the very last message I received from her she talked about researching treatment options. Her death came as a shock to everyone close to her. I am still processing it all. I literally just returned from a cross-country trip this past Sunday where I attended her “Celebration of Life” ceremony. It’s been disorienting to say the least.
The passing of my friend drummed up a lot of memories of others in my life of whom I have “lost” along the way for various reasons. Over time, I’ve been “shedding” certain people in my life that were weighing me down. I have had to cut ties with my sister and her kids because the addiction issues became too difficult for me to navigate. I wasn’t getting my needs met and I found that I was often raging and/or depressed. It was unhealthy for me and I did what was necessary to heal, which was to “let go”. I also went “No Contact” with my ex-fiance because of his lack of commitment and other confusing behavior patterns which always made me feel insecure in our relationship. This has left me somewhat isolated and alone, and yet, perhaps it has been needed not only for me to heal, but also to reconnect with myself so that I develop a stronger sense of self.
I actually thought that my mental illness couldn’t get much worse as the grief of losing people, jobs, independence, family, etc. seemed rather brutal. Then along comes a phobia of swallowing and it has pretty much paralyzed me for the moment. I can’t eat out and I’ve become very restricted in what I eat and drink. There are the moments where I have tried my best to get something down with no luck and I end up staring at my plate, tears inevitably rolling down my cheeks. I’ve always been able to hide somewhat behind an anxiety attack, even to where others may not even be aware that it is occurring. This is different. I can’t go and “fake it” at a restaurant as everyone would wonder or ask why I am not eating. It’s serious and potentially life-threatening. And I have recently reached the threshold where I really shouldn’t lose anymore weight. Not to mention the constant hunger pain and exhaustion I experience from not getting enough calories. I’ve been lucky to get 1000-1200 in on most days.
And so, all of the above should be enough to “give up”. But, I won’t. I am tired and scared, but I’m also hopeful. I have appointments coming up to address my concerns with both my therapist and psychiatrist. And I will soon see a motility specialist for my esophagus. I will fight and keep trying because that is who I am deep down inside. And I am determined to find the good in this struggle. For instance, had I not become fearful, I would have never pursued the esophageal testing and I probably would have not known about the issues of motility. This time of struggle could save my life or, at minimum, provide me with the tools to eat in a way that will not permanently harm my esophagus. My overwhelming fear of swallowing is an opportunity for me to address the fear and anxiety in my life that has had a hold on me my entire life. Because this is a fear that cannot be ignored, it gives me the time to discover why I am so fearful and the space to learn better coping skills.
Life is not without struggle. My task going forward will be to find ways to accept the struggle and neither cling to it or avoid it. I would like to understand what it is trying to teach me. The loss in my life has been significant, and yet, I am slowly regaining pieces of myself back. I am also continually sculpting and molding my true essence and am defining what it means to be me. I have shaved off what is not mine by letting go of the people and endeavors that have often kept me trapped in self-doubt and fear. As part of the human race, we all struggle from time to time. What seems alienating is often what unifies us in the end. I hope one day I will be free from suffering and my words can be a source of comfort to someone. I would be amiss in my process of healing to not shed light on the path along the way.
“It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light”. – Aristotle
It feels as if this beautiful, old home has been closed up forever. The windows have been nailed shut, barely allowing sunlight to pierce through, shattering fractals of light on the sheets that were haphazardly thrown, in haste, on the furniture years ago. It has been easy for me to become wrapped up in the problems of today, burying the past with my sadness and grief. By buttoning things up tightly, I had become more rigid, allowing this stuffy and dark place within me to expand until it nearly engulfed me completely. Perhaps, I felt that by uncovering joy, I would somehow be “giving in” and surrendering to the hurt that “erased me” in the first place.
Wasn’t it here, in this old home, where I twirled effortlessly as a small child, giggling, as I dizzily dropped to the wooden floors? Stepping into this space, I can nearly smell the apple pies my Grandmother cooked each Thanksgiving when she visited. The faint smell of leaves burning outside comes to mind as does the feeling of donning a new, fuzzy sweater to wear outside in the cool, crisp Autumn air. There is no other time of year that pulls me back to the place of my childhood than the beginning of Fall. As I begin to embrace myself wholly, memories flood my being, filling me with a sense of home.
Healing the trauma in my life, in large part, has been a process of stripping the sheets from the furniture and taking the boards off of the windows to let the light flood in. Trauma will keep you trapped in one room, even crammed into the corner of it. I could tell you every tiny detail of the room I was caged in for so long, because I spent hours ruminating in that suffocating space. I was the master there, until I became a slave to the emotions that evolved as a result of being caged for so long. It was only in the desperation to free myself from the despair and stagnation, that I began chipping away at the cell, exposing light amid the crumbling structures I had so hastily built in an effort to protect myself.
For years, like many others, I did my best to avoid feeling pain by continuously distracting myself, often engaging with people or pursuits that were unhealthy, even damaging. I was creating chaos, or at minimum accepting it in my life, because I felt if I surrendered and sat still with the pain, it might just swallow me whole. There were times I believed if I gave the pain in my life the space it needed to breathe, I might end up endlessly sobbing. My pain felt, to me, like the water behind a dam, and I feared that the act of acknowledging it would mean an irreversible break, causing immense flooding. Perhaps, I would not recover. Thus, the untouched pain in my life continued to expand until it became intolerable.
I found myself in an insufferable space, locked up by my memories, pain, and fear for years. Only one room of my old home was accessible to me, and I remained there, justifying the paralysis and stagnation as years passed by. Even though there was definitely validity to the trauma I experienced, I admit now that I had developed a very narrow focus that ultimately was harming me the most. I was unwilling to “let go” of a space that paradoxically felt both “safe” and “deadly” at the same time. At one point in my life, this confining space kept me safe and my fears more manageable, while years later, it has served to suffocate me, stunting my growth as well. I took this shell of safety with me to work and also into relationships, which limited my ability to truly relate to others. It took years of suffering to learn that the light in my life was every bit as relevant as the darkness. Although there is still so much in life that troubles me, I’m now able to let in the light while “letting go” of the reigns that I’ve been holding so tightly. This flexibility is necessary to provide me with the balance needed not only grow, but also to experience more joy in my life.
As I heal, I find myself uncovering joy in a variety of areas in my life. Even with those individuals that I can no longer have in my life, I acknowledge the love and light we shared between one another. I feel grateful for our memories and feel tasked to not discount the love, joy, or light associated with them, even if certain of the memories are extremely painful. I want to recall the joy experienced in these now fractured relationships, not just the darkness. There have been too many memories that I devalued and brushed aside on the basis that they were heavy with pain. I no longer want to erase any part of my life, no matter how painful, because I have discovered that I have learned from each experience, even those where I have felt shame, embarrassment, or desperation. Time has taught me to appreciate the many layers of my life of which are complex, rich, and even fragrant. I feel compelled to rip the sheets off the furniture and strip the boards from the windows, breaking the seal to allow in the crisp, Autumn air. In doing so, the memories continue to flood in, filling me with the depth and beauty of the wondrous life I have lived that I have often ignored and buried. I now am finding myself ,more often than not, embracing the memories that are met with longing and a deep sense of appreciation.
Standing in this space, I feel one of life’s greatest accomplishment is the act of self love and forgiveness. We are bound to ourselves, unable to escape, and thus must learn to truly love and accept ourselves.
Opening the windows wider, there is so much to see and to feel. It is painful and beautiful, and yet, not one fraction of this life should be discounted. It all counts, even if you have lost people that you have loved along the way. I let so many pieces of myself “leave” when others went away, often valuing their existence over my own. At times, I felt the pain would consume me, and yet I am still here, not only opening the windows, but leaning out a bit more into the cold and damp air, breathing in the scent of wet leaves as if to say: “Give me more of this life”.
There are certain fractured relationships in my life that exist primarily because some people who I love, are not only caged in a room, but backed into a closet. I do not know what is in their mind or in their heart as I can only see the chaos surrounding them. There has been drug use, dishonesty, and withholding information. These people I had to walk away from because I no longer could “relate” to them. They seemed to have walked away from themselves and I honestly do not know who they are anymore. However, I have decided to honor their place in my life anyhow. Just because they are no longer with me does not mean they did not bring my light at some point along my journey. I’m hopeful one day they will heal, but because I love myself, I see the value in having strong boundaries until they are ready to connect in healthier ways..
I am, however, opening up and allowing the love and light back in to fill the spaces that sat in darkness for so long. I won’t define my worth any longer by someone who left me. Instead, I will honor the light that was once there and the memory of it. I am doing so in order to cultivate more compassion for myself. Often, I blamed myself for other leaving when perhaps it was their time to go. I clung to those who left, placing my worth and esteem with them. When they walked away, I felt myself leaving and there were years I left myself over and over again. I felt lost and abandoned. I was left alone in that small, suffocating room and these were the darkest days of my life.
I must have wanted to truly heal, because I began saying it out loud and often. I knew I had endured a lot of loss in my lifetime: never knowing my real father, never having children, a divorce due to my spouse “coming out”, a failed engagement from an abusive relationship, a loss of an entire family due to substance use (my sister and her kids), loss of employment, loss of my health (became disabled as of last year), and current loss of independence (living with someone). I am even struggling right now with a loss of fifty pounds due to difficulty swallowing both food and liquids. All of these losses were devastating and truly stripped me of so much and yet, I still desire self love and the possibility of healing. I look back at my life and I can see times of clarity where it is obvious that healing is an endeavor that I am destined to embrace.
I’ve learned throughout the process that cultivating compassion and allowing light in from both the past and present is instrumental to healing. This also involves a fair amount of self forgiveness. I became aware over time that the ineffective coping mechanisms that were caging me were not my identity, but were employed in effort to protect me from pain. Because pain is a process to “go through” and not to avoid, my attempt to escape it became messy. This, at times, caused confusion and self loathing because I identified with my coping mechanisms and felt “bound to them”. Now that I am a step or two away from that mindset, I can forgive myself for the suffering I endured.
As I let go of so much of which I was holding so tightly to me, there is room to remember the light and joy in my life. I also find myself being flooded with memories that were made with loved ones who still remain distant. I had pushed these memories away and had buried them in order to protect me from pain. But in my healing, I am able to embrace the memories as part of my experience of which I gained valuable experience. These memories, even if painful, at times, are now weaved into my very fiber and I wholly embrace them as they helped shape who I am today. I no longer look back at “my mess” and feel ashamed, instead I honor the hard work and pain I processed in order to become more whole.
I am just me, imperfect and full of flaws. I realize the more I cultivate compassion in my life, the more joy unfolds. I’m letting go of all the labels I have worn, placed by friends, family, co-workers, etc. and recreating myself with self compassion and love. This endeavor was always an option, I just chose to avoid the pain in my life that I had to acknowledge in order to arrive here. I’m glad I kept pushing. I still have so much more work ahead of me, but cultivating self compassion by allowing joy in my life may just be the “second wind” needed to travel onward!!
It’s my birthday. I haven’t been writing a lot lately because I have been going through a difficult time. Soon after making the move to California, I developed an interesting phobia, phagophobia, which is the fear of swallowing. I am still in the process of going through certain tests to “rule out” any physical reasons for my difficulty swallowing and I’ve been waiting weeks for my last test to be approved by my insurance company and then scheduled.
Meanwhile, I have lost a lot of weight as I struggle each day to meet my basic caloric needs in order to maintain. I’ve lost 47 pounds in roughly two and a half months to be exact. This sucks. It sucks because if someone had told me prior to this that I would develop a fear around eating, I would have laughed in their face, more than likely saying “I wish”. I have always struggled with being overweight and I love food. But, here I sit today on my birthday doing my best to force pancakes down as well as another ensure supplement as to not lose any more weight.
The reason I wanted to write about this today, on my birthday, is to honor not only my struggle with my mental health, but also to honor anyone else out there who is struggling as well. The reality is many of us suffer alone as others either are uncertain how to support us or they lack the understanding and sometimes the sensitivity to be helpful. In fact, many people, by being impatient and demanding, cause more damage and end up impeding the healing process.
I am 47 today. I look back at the years I’ve been on this earth and I acknowledge that I have always struggled. I was diagnosed ADHD in 1978 during a time when the diagnosis was uncommon. Following that diagnosis in my teen years were the diagnoses: OCD, Bipolar 1, GAD, Panic Disorder, Schizoaffective (at one point), BPD (at another point), PMDD, and replacing BPD later was the diagnosis C-PTSD (this occurred in the past 5 years or so). I would say out of the above, my greatest struggle is with fear and anxiety as it is pervasive. My OCD is primarily somatic and I go through periods where I ruminate about one thing for awhile, for instance my breathing or heartbeat, etc. and will eventually “wear it out” until some other fear takes it place. Most of my fears have some grounding in reality and that is why they seem so powerful, but the amount of attention and focus given to the fear is what makes it irrational. I will often have ways of managing those fears by compulsions that I feel make me safer on some level. Those close to me are often confused by my thoughts and behavior, and admittedly, I am as well. I personally cannot “think” my way out of the web I have trapped myself so tightly within and it is beyond frustrating. Oh my GOD! How I have tried! From praying to meditation… to exercise to therapy… I am 47 years old today and still suffering. Ugh! I often wonder if I will ever be completely free. I will not give up trying.
When I think of my current suffering, where I have lost nearly fifty pounds, I remind myself again to respect my illness. Often, people dismiss mental illness by saying, “it’s all in your head”. The medical field downplays mental health by nearly expressing relief when it is nothing “physical”. But, I know better. Sometimes, I actually long for a physical diagnosis. Not anything serious, of course not, but something I can manage with a pill or have corrected by a surgery. I know how dangerous my own mind can be and am often more afraid of it than some structural entity that can be fixed with a surgery or an illness that is relatively easy to manage. I expect my last test for the swallowing to be within normal range and although that brings a certain amount of relief, it also brings a certain amount of dread, as I know that it will be me fighting alone to feel comfortable eating again. I hope this one “wears out’ more quickly than the others. I really do not have too much more weight that I can lose.
And so for my birthday, I wanted to honor your struggle. If it is physical in nature, I honor it as well. For some of us, we are fighting a silent war. We might not be able to fully grasp why we are stuck right now. We might be paralyzed in fear or anger, unable to move forward and those around us are becoming impatient. It appears easy to those on the outside to just “get over it already”, but for whatever reason we simply can’t. Sometimes we are able to give ourselves the same rational reasons that others provide, and yet, we are still unable to move. It’s okay. Cry it out. Yet, accept the struggle. Make peace with it.
I have been struggling for nearly three months with the ability to comfortably swallow. I haven’t had my favorite foods and there have been times I have been really hungry. So much so, I hurt. I have literally sat alone in my room crying while I stare at a plate full of uneaten food. Still, I was unable to push through and make myself it. I would use all the reasons loved ones had given me and many more that they did not come up with and still, my fear was greater. And so I am choosing, on my birthday, to honor the struggle. To make friends with it. To talk to it. To see what it has to say.
Mostly, it tells me that I am sad. That I wish I were closer to my family. That I wish I were more successful and able to work. That I wish my past relationship had worked out as I had dreamed and that we were happily married. Or that I had children and a family of my own. It tells me that my fear and inability to swallow is just a metaphor of my grief that is screaming: “No More! I cannot ‘swallow’ anymore!”
And, perhaps it is telling me to change. Often, we become paralyzed, I believe, so that we can change course. I’ve not been laughing enough, nor have I been connecting with the people that I love or participating in the leisure I most enjoy enough. Fear and paralysis has taken hold during the grieving process and perhaps this final “wake-up call” is telling me that it is time to not only perceive differently, but to act differently. I admit, I was “stuck” and have been “stuck” trying to swallow the “bitter pill” that life had offered me. In ways, my grief more than likely caused a psychogenic dysphagia: a fear of swallowing.
I will continue to go forward, swallowing as much as I can, and pacing myself as I continually learn to better cope. For my birthday weekend, I will be camping at a nice beach here on the California Coast. I plan to try a little harder to listen to the rhythm of the ocean, reminding me that as each wave rises, crests, and falls it breaks and collapses back into the ocean, surrendering and releasing….. letting go. In this way, I won’t get so hung up on a single wave or “thought” and give it so much power. I look forward to the sun and sand as well as playing in the waves for awhile. Although, I probably won’t partake in any BBQs, I will do my best to relax and honor where I am at right now at this point in my lifetime. I am 47. For all the fear that I have lived in, I have made it this far and it is something to celebrate. I want to relax and just be happy that I am here, in the moment for now, taking in the sights, smells, and sounds of the ocean.
Some labels have such influence and power over us that they often dictate and predict our behavior from places deeply embedded within us. Labels that are donned upon us in our formative years are not easily shed. It takes not only a lot of work to free oneself from them, but it also takes the awareness of just how deeply rooted they have become and how pervasive they are in our thoughts and perceptions. Our thoughts have the ability to change us or to paralyze us with certain behavioral patterns which can further entrap us if we remain in one space for too long.
In scanning my inner spiritual landscape, I noticed that despite the work I had done to heal myself, I had underestimated the potential that words hold. I was taking for granted the power of language, both the spoken word and the inner dialogue running inside my head. I was aware of the critical incidents of my life that caged me in fear and anxiety, but I often times neglected the words surrounding these events that more than likely had an even greater impact in my life. The words had faded partly because the details over time had become less clear leaving only their imprints of how I felt about myself and the world in general . What took hold was how the language surrounding the event made me feel about myself. I carried shame, fear, and self-loathing from various events of my childhood and these feelings played out for years without me truly knowing why.
Perhaps I am just too “overly sensitive”, but as a child I ingested these words, wearing them tightly like a corset, even if they at times were squeezing the life from me. The words surrounding certain events held significance in my life and so I would lace up carefully, always trying to find the meaning behind the tightly tied corset that was denying me my freedom. I honestly was unaware that the words I donned without hesitation were slowly suffocating me. I just kept going, often completely oblivious of how small, in ways, my world had become.
Throughout my life, I have always felt that on some level I was inherently bad and at some point others will “find this out” about me. I was always waiting for “the shoe to drop” whereby I would be abandoned again because others had discovered my secret of being defective in some way. I used to casually joke in my adults years that I had a habit of disclosing too much too quickly as if to reveal my messy life, quickly pushing away people that I felt might leave anyway in time. I was aware of this behavioral pattern and at times even committed to changing it, but it is still something I struggle with to this day. It’s hard for me to let people truly in because I feel my life is too chaotic and it can be too overwhelming. I keep my circle extremely small because the stress and anxiety of navigating relationships is hard for me. Not to mention, I have been burned badly a few times by giving too much and getting little to nothing in return. As I heal from my past, I am developing better boundaries and am eager to rebuild my life around healthy people and hobbies that will help me maintain my peace and integrity.
I had a striking revelation the other day as I was struggling again with severe anxiety and depression. I have desperately wanted to be completely free from the chronic pain caused by being tensed up and hyper-vigilant. I was asking myself in desperation” “What more can I do”? What then came to the surface was this overwhelming fear and sadness that had caged me long ago at the tender age of four when my sister and I were molested by our next door neighbor. It was the fear that I was “bad” because I had messed up by telling which seemed so abominable at the time that it might of jeopardized the safety of my mother. Much of my molestation has been blocked out. What I do know is that while taking a bath with my older sister, I blurted out the unfathomable: “Wally (our next door neighbor) saw my butt today”. Of course, my sister recalls it differently and I guess I used a few swear words as well. We were in the bathtub and my Mom “dropped the soap”. In any case, this lead to my sister quickly shutting me down in fear, saying: “Be quiet, you will get Mom in trouble”. Our neighbor had threatened to harm our mother, who was a single mother at the time and she was also our only safety. This is ultimately, I believe, where my fear and mistrust began. We also had our home broken into around that time where a man entered, fixed a sandwich, and got into bed with my mother. I remember being awakened by a blood curling scream where my mother was shaking, but had called the police. This further reinforced that the world was not safe.
I had underestimated the power of the words surrounding the event which communicated to me that I was “bad” because I had placed our safety in jeopardy. I realize as an adult that the expressions of shock, horror, and rage were not directed towards me, but I couldn’t tell that to my four year old self who doesn’t have the reasoning of an adult. I was only able to see the body language and words from my mother and sister. I believe I must of felt a huge degree of fear and shame for telling and it was after this event that I began to wet the bed. I was often unintentionally made to feel inferior because of wetting the bed. I felt powerless to stop just as I assume I felt powerless when being molested. My innocence was shattered and I was no longer a happy go lucky child of four who played with dolls and fisher price toys, I was now a child who felt they had committed a crime. As an adult, I understand what happened, but as a child I assumed responsibility for what I couldn’t even understand or articulate. I carried the weight of this event in the way I felt about myself and the world. No one is to trusted, perhaps even myself.
That incident was followed in time by my Grandmother’s often simple, but often harsh ways of discipling us. Often, we stayed with our grandmother while my Mom worked. She had many foster kids and did a good job of keeping them in line and was loved, but she didn’t take the time when anyone got into trouble to explain the reason for the punishment. It was simply that I was “bad” child and therefore deserved a paddling or to sit in the corner for 15 minutes or so. I remember getting my mouth washed out with soap because I “took the Lord’s name in vain” when I really only said “Gah…”. Her discipline was stern and you were either “good” or “bad”. Years later when my mother remarried, my step-father not only was stern, but unpredictable and often times I did not even know why I got into trouble into much later. I spent my life trying to live in perfection to avoid punishment and I began to develop a lot of fears and phobias. Deep down, I just felt flawed. Not every child would feel as I do, but I absorbed a lot of the unresolved conflict of my caretakers and adults around me.
I was diagnosed with ADHD at the age of 6, before the disorder was really known about, and would get into trouble often. Because of my poor impulse control, I got into trouble at school often and this reinforced to me that I was flawed in some way, a bad child. Back then there were no resource classes, I was often a target of teachers and they would embarrass me in front of my classmates, telling me “I had ants in my pants”. My cheeks would grow red in embarrassment as the room full of kids looked on. There were a lot of reasons, looking back, why I would develop the perception that I was a “bad” child and this lead to me being overly sensitive and anxious about myself. I still feel awkward to this day in social situations wondering when they will find out that I am flawed. I push people away or self isolate because I feel uncomfortable around others.
Having these revelations regarding my molestation and childhood has allowed me to reframe my feelings and to grieve for the time lost to the individual who stole my innocence at such a young age and colored my world in fear and anxiety as a result. It allows me the distance to separate myself from his actions. Many times, especially as children, we take on the unresolved pain of adults who harm us. It’s nearly impossible to escape pain, yet we can stop suffering when we accept the reality of “what is”, grieve, and reframe as needed. It is hard work and I often times feel like a sculptor chiseling away to reveal truth and integrity in the structure of my life.
I hope my writing is helpful on some level. I’m learning every day and I want to stay awake. I long to leave this branch I am perched on and spread my wings in flight, effortlessly. I want to embrace my struggle and my willingness to search deeply inside for answers. I feel in doing so I will be able to shed the negative self-talk that has reigned for much of my life and replace it with open awareness that is non-judgmental and free of past imprints. It’s possible I have been protecting myself a bit too much and holding on too tightly to the armor that I wore to keep me safe. I realize the tightness of it means it’s time to loosen it’s hold on me and let go more. It served it’s purpose for a time, but those threats are truly no longer there. And so, I will just keep chiseling away until I feel more comfortable in this new reality.
***Below is a poem I wrote probably more than a decade ago. If I had to guess, it was written around 2003 or 4. It’s untitled as most of mine are. I am posting it here because I find it interesting how it conveys the feeling of being stuck, but moving forward in courage and hope despite that reality. Hope you enjoy!
Watching one’s feet
As life circles by
A tiny little universe
A place where you can hide
If I ever left the comfort
A few seconds in my life
I would detract my head in like a turtle
My shell would suffice
Let me go back
I shiver with fear
The rain is upon me now
I have to shift gears
My eyes are opening
The sun, cutting sharply through the trees
The forest is growing
I physically am unable to leave
Toothpicks are prying my weary eyes open
Sunlight makes me squint
Everything has an outline
It’s shiny, the condition, mint
So, my legs drag on
Even in apathy or fear
I will keep the hope and courage
In the body that I wear.
There has been too much time wasted on disapproval, self-loathing, and saying “no”. The following is a letter to myself. A letter to remind me of my freedom and my immense potential. Perhaps, I’ve been waiting to hear these words my entire life. I didn’t know that I needed to hear them from myself the most.
Dear Loved One,
I’ve watched you grow over the years despite being in immense pain and wanting to give up. If you recall, I was there with you each time you softened: risking vulnerability, stepping out into a land that was unknown, becoming more and more aware of the archaic coat of armor that no longer served you. I was there at the inception of your journey to heal, listening to you silently cry, expressing your disillusionment at life and those who you felt abandoned you. In that storm of grief and loss, you set your intention on healing and began even saying it “out loud”, sharing your desire for something you ultimately did not understand yet. You had become so uncomfortable, anxious, and depressed due to the patterns of behavior in your life that you had become trapped, much like having a 200 pound steel ball attached to your ankle of which you were tasked to pull around each day. You were severely anxious and your body ached from the constant pain of the weight you felt was yours to bear. And still yet, you dreamed of being free, not knowing how, nor even fully believing it was possible. But, you dared to dream. Dreaming takes courage.
Light and love are now flooding in to your awareness, into that once dark room of windows that had been sealed shut, where you hid for so long. Sometimes, it still scares you, as if you are in a dream and that too much sunlight, streaming in, will wake you. The warmth you are basking in is your reservoir of love, it has always been there, you just had not discovered it yet. What you refer to as “stillness”, is yours, and the more time you spend there, the more your sense of self will expand and grow.
In this journey of uncertainty and anticipation, I want you to know deeply that: YOU ARE LOVED. You willed yourself here and you worked very hard for years to see the truth. As doors continue to open, and a more peaceful life emerges, I want you to remember the following…
I give you permission to….
There is so much I want you to explore since you are becoming still enough to see the space around you. It’s just the beginning and I am excited for you! As you begin to employ healthier patterns of behavior, you will find ample space and room in your life for other people and adventures that will fill you in healthy ways.
I give you permission to continue growing in love and acceptance of your authentic self. To sit in the sunlight, unafraid, as long as you like. You are loved. It is you who is cultivating the space around you that is fostering your safety and growth. Because, you are truly capable and strong.
You summoned me and I was here, waiting with anticipation, for the call. I am your presence of self love and will only continue to expand with your consciousness of me.
The following is a poem I wanted to share that I wrote nearly 25 years ago when I was struggling in college. When I was writing this entry, the following poem came to mind and I feel it is very fitting. The journey always seems to come back to self love and awareness. I hope you enjoy!
Harmony and Melody
I have become whole in your presence.
I am no longer afraid to stand still, naked in the mirror.
Eyeing my bruises,
But seeing beauty in desperate times.
Realizing that I am deeply spiritual.
It was you who reminded me of that.
I found the child in me.
I found the adult.
I opened my mouth not only to sing the melody.
But, to attempt to sing the harmony as well.
And, it came.
And, it was beautiful.
Because, it came from me.
And it came from love, from hope.
It came with the joy of a child.
With the strength and wisdom of an adult.
You witnessed this,
And watched and waited, gently pushing.
As I became aware of my own identity.
You were careful with me.
You taught me to feel.
When I was afraid, you taught me to move.
Anger moved me.
And from this, I learned to give.
I have had my share of relationships that were lonely, unfulfilling, and, at times, excruciatingly painful. Instead of facing the pain and moving on, I suffered through years of being tormented by self-doubt and self-loathing. My identity and self-worth was too reliant on the opinions of those I clung to, refusing to “let go”. Over time, the offenses, both big and small, began to stack up becoming obvious, overwhelming, and messy. The spaces in my head and heart were impacted with words, memories, and regrets of which there seemed to be no impasse. I was suffocating, drowning in a lack of love for myself. One could say, that it was in the darkest of times, where I lashed out demanding to be loved, that the seeds of self-love were planted. I knew I deserved more, still yet, I went right back to the places and people who were incapable of giving me what I longed for and needed.
I believe that for many of us, for reasons often not easily articulated and summed up, self-love is an elusive concept. Perhaps trauma in the formative years left us with a larger than normal gaping hole, a deficit of sorts. Sometimes we didn’t get a full cup of self esteem whereby parents, classmates, and friends gave steadily, filling us with a vast reservoir. It can seem instead like a barren wasteland where the sole voice shouting is your own and it reverberates into the valley. And this may be why, when we see a traveler who notices our breath, we give more weight and importance to their presence in our lives. Even if, they are only there to serve the greater purpose of a mirror. I believe that for some of us, in this lifetime, our task is to find ourselves and embrace the light within us. I spent many years searching, making the mistake that someone walking by would mirror back to me what I longed for: love, security, and worthiness.
Because, I made the costly error that someone else would “see me” into existence and worth, I stayed on in desolation and depravity. I was grieving what I had missed and longed for that wasn’t granted in my formative years. I spend years demanding more from others, but not demanding enough from myself. I spent years focused on what others felt about me instead of relying on my own sense of self worth and mastery. Trauma followed me because I chose to stay immersed in it, searching for answers, often bewildered at the lack of love from others.
It took so long to leave my lover and certain members of my family because I had to be resolved that I had not missed in some way the love I was searching for. It was as if I had a very developed and lengthy “tally” sheet where I had to “check off’ every lost attempt at connection. I went to great lengths to count and examine all my efforts, my failings, my mistakes, and misgivings. I scrutinized myself, always coming back to try in another way. It was easier for me to see my mistakes as the reason for why you did not love me or stay. Fighting often was the last resort to stay engaged and have your attention, like the child throwing a tantrum. I waited, often years, fighting to receive the bare minimum in order to relate to the ones I loved. I kept track of the times I came back and the times I miserably “failed” when I exploded in rage because messages and phone calls were often not returned. It took years of countless rejection and “conditional” love to completely fill the “tally sheet’ to where I said “enough”. I didn’t want to believe that I was not loved. I refused to face that reality. It sucked and it seemed impossible to accept.
I’m still unhappy and even broken, at times, that the love and commitment I felt towards my sister and her kids and to my ex-fiance, where not adequately reciprocated. I fought for them tirelessly for years and as the tally sheet of abandonment grew, I began to take a harder look at myself. My ineffective coping of gambling and eating, had become too destructive and damaging. Anxiety and depression reigned, and my system of tallying collapsed. I took a long look mentally at the tally sheet and what I had feared had come to fruition: They didn’t care. It was probably more like, they were incapable of caring. Still yet, the evidence was overwhelming that I had been wailing and arguing into the wind. In fact, my love was like sand in the wind, always shifting, having no place to land. I spent a few years being scattered by the wind, feeling devoid of meaning and hope. Those were the darkest days of my life. The years of being left were undeniable. I had to face the reality that there was no concrete evidence that I mattered. I was left alone, often stonewalled for months. I loathed myself further for being the weak one, always pleading for love.
Things have slowly shifted. I found the stillness that I longed for where I simply exist, cocooned in a peaceful silence. I stopped searching desperately for approval and love, and instead accepted the loss of time and relationships and I began looking forward. I still slip, at times, and am carried by the wind, but I quickly return to a new space within me where my reality is embraced. Now, I see myself as stronger. I’m no longer continually distracting myself from the pain. I look around me and I see both pain and love. I see others desperately trying to disappear into the drugs, alcohol, sex, food, and gambling. I see those choosing to suffer instead of embracing pain and sitting through it. I’m in no hurry to heal and have been purposely single for over two years. I see learning self compassion and love as my greatest endeavor and accomplishment. I’m continually getting closer to letting go of the fears that have haunted me my entire life. I am committed to myself and my journey.
I’m uncertain in the end how truly unique my journey is. I smile knowingly at the scores of individuals in my life, from: family, boyfriends, and even therapists, who often were exasperated with me. I recall one person telling me my life “looked like a train wreck”. I’m sure many healthcare professionals felt “She is never going to get past this”. I had therapists get angry and roll their eyes saying “You’ll never leave him” or “You are a mess with men”. My life was a mess and I chuckle at how desperate I used to be. My self esteem was so low, that I’d throw myself desperately at my ex so I wouldn’t have to spent the night alone. I was angry, sad, and lost. What actually helped me was acknowledging that those hurting me were also angry, sad, and lost. Some choose to keep running, I chose to stop. I am immensely proud of myself for that choice. It is not an easy one and it does not require perfection. I choose to share my life and my mess, to prove with time and acceptance, healing does happen, even in the messiest of lives. No one thought I would ever change and here I am in the midst of metamorphosis. It is a long process and I am not even sure if it truly ever ends.
Life has a way of cocooning us in darkness. But, we can discover light if we work hard enough. And like most things, the light wouldn’t be so precious if it were easy to come by.
I encourage anyone who is lost, like the shifting sands, to find the stillness, embrace the pain and learn from it. Thanks for reading!
I haven’t written for a long while. I recently moved from Washington to California, an endeavor that was fraught with angst, anxiety, and trepidation. It was a difficult move, one that resulted in a few trips to the ER, an upper endoscopy procedure, and a loss of thirty pounds over several weeks. Although my esophagus was somewhat inflamed, I was relieved to learn that it wasn’t anything serious. I have been struggling with swallowing and there were a few weeks that I was subsisting primarily on a liquid diet. Things are slowly resolving, but I feel the drive down, being cooped up with my dog, and an exacerbation of my GERD, caused a temporary condition where I felt as if something was sticking in my throat. The anxiety of living in a large city, Los Angeles, and the dryer climate here, added to the problem all of which just takes time to acclimate and adjust. Meanwhile, besides taking Zyrtec, Flonase, and Prilosec, a does of patience is in order.
I’m taking this pause, pregnant and full, to share a slice of the reality of my current bewildering existence. I want to remember this time because I feel it holds immense relevance for me. The scenery here is as diverse and complicated as the population around me that appears to always be moving and alive, each individual having their own tempo, history, and space.
I can recall strolling down Venice Beach during the first week of my arrival here, feeling completely satiated. I was taken back by the display of diversity: the young and old, the rich and poor, the refined and the rough. In the span of a few blocks, humanity from every corner of the earth appeared to be represented. There were artists peddling their often unique and fanciful creations while the homeless camped out on the lawn. Hopeful musicians played music that spilled onto the streets while tourists and locals sat in open-air seating, eating food of which the scent permeated the air. The colors, scents, and vibration of life on this street made me full. Of course, there was always the pause to contemplate the juxtaposition of wealth and poverty, but at least here, in this space and in this moment, it was peaceful. And, even, at times, joyful, as what seemed to be “hippies”, were dancing freely on the lawn to the live music playing on the streets. I spent several minutes on the shoreline watching the surfers as the sun began to set. I left that evening, happy.
The first few weeks in Los Angeles was exhausting. My roommate and I were staying at a Homewood Suites that was South of the center of LA were we wanted to move. We spent a week, in harrowing traffic, on foreign streets, searching for a place to live. Every driver really should spend a few days on the streets of LA to understand the true definition of: Defensive Driving. It was grueling work and nothing was truly a “perfect fit”. It was expensive and we were doing our best to find a place as quickly as possible. During this time, I developed the swallowing issue as well as horrific allergies and GERD. Of course, I was experiencing significant anxiety as well. And when we got through with a full day of apartment hunting, we had a dog waiting to be walked. A few times, we had the energy to take her to a “dog beach” or to a Beach Boardwalk nearby. She loved the beach, but ran from the incoming waves of the ocean.
We finally decided on an apartment that was very centrally located. It was a one bedroom for $2400 a month!! Ouch!! It was clean, had a pool, and allowed pups. The biggest perk is that we are within walking distance to many museums, a grocery store, a pharmacy, the Original Farmer’s Market and The Grove! The Grove is a premier outdoor shopping area where sitings of the stars are common. I’m not too interested in “the stars”, but this area is actually very nice, pet-friendly, and beautifully maintained. It has a little trolly that runs through the middle and fountains that dance to music. Oh, and the music that is played is often jazz and it is perfectly suited for the experience.
Adjusting to a new city takes time. I walk to the grocery store nearly every other day to pick up an ingredient or two that I need. I am still not accustomed to the homeless having to live on the streets. Many times, I have seen them lying on the streets, sometimes with their dog, while mice or roaches traverse nearby. It is very hard to watch. There are those homeless that are obviously struggling with mental health issues, sometimes screaming unintelligible expletives into the air, shouting at unknown entities. I find this unacceptable, but am at a loss of what to do. I keep walking, Gracie will pull in curiosity, while my eyes catch site of the many Mercedes, Volvos, or BMWs parked on the same block. It is a difficult disparity to see all in the space of one city block.
I often don’t drive too much as my roommate, who is currently finishing up in Washington, does all the driving. But, I have been out a few times to take Gracie to the park and to go to a medical appointment. I’ve driven through neighborhoods in Beverly Hills, and was somewhat awestruck by the Beverly Hills “civic center”. WOW. It’s a very impressive center. Again, the have and have nots demonstrated. And the wealth displayed in some of the homes of that area is mind boggling. I don’t feel I would ever be comfortable having that much money. Although, it is nice to see some of the homes, architecturally speaking.
Well, there is a lot to this city of which I may one day call home. I probably will not live here forever, but what I learn here will most certainly stay with me forever. I feel a bit trapped, at times, due to living in a city of such high density. It is entertainment rich, diverse, and full of opportunity. The diversity makes me feel spoiled, like I can taste a bit from other countries by frequenting certain local bakeries and eateries. Here I have access to all different types of people and cultures and that not only excites me, but perplexes me. I have a lot to learn.
I sometimes feel when I’m standing on the busy sidewalks of LA, hearing the horns blast me back to “reality”, that I somehow fell asleep awhile back in the slow town of Bellingham, WA. Los Angeles has gently shaken me awake. The perpetual days of sunshine, the buzz of life on the city streets, the display of immense diversity has awakened me. And this time, I want to stay awake. I have no idea what this city holds in store for me, and maybe that is the best part of this journey.
I remember telling myself before I left for the move: “Wipe away any assumptions you have of living in this large metropolis, and open your sense as wide a humanly possible”. Take it all in and stand unafraid. In some ways, I feel I willed this space here as I was stagnating in Washington state, I was very unhappy. The transition inside of me is now paralleling an actual transition in my life. And this is what was meant to be.
Thanks for reading… we’ll see what Los Angeles has in store for me!! For today: Another day of sunshine and palm trees!