I admit, I haven’t been as present as I would like to be. I’ve been pulled emotionally into familiar spaces, lamenting the loss of loved ones: those who are no longer living and those who are too distant to allow connection. At times, I’m swept up in grief which leads to isolation due to my angry and embittered tongue. The noise of life, its complexities, and heartaches entrap me. Still yet, there is life, light, and peace expanding around me. I often feel guilty for this newly discovered joy that continues to blossom despite the chaos that enfolds personally in my life and on the global stage. Life is messy, hard, and heartbreaking at times. Christmas is soft, beautiful, and peaceful. The contrast has captured my spirit, leaving me longing for acceptance of “what is” while increasing opportunities for joy and peace.
The holidays have a way of leaving you longing for more, desiring the magic and intensity of when you first experienced them. As a child, you were mesmerized by the sights and sounds of the seasons and protected from much of the harshness outside the season. I can remember sitting in the dark with only the Christmas tree lights, listening to Doris Day singing Toyland and other captivating tunes. The lights twinkled and I was completely absorbed in the present moment. Christmas parties meant delicious goodies from lemon bars caked in powdered sugar to cheese balls covered in nuts with fancy crackers. My senses were often overloaded as I gazed upon the decorations of the Season, my favorite being brass angel chimes with candles. It was all magical to me at the time. The presents, the lights, the music, and the cheer made for an exhilarating, exciting time. I was never once disappointed at Christmas. As an adult, I realize now that the world was spinning the same then as it does now, but my parents had protected me from ever seeing their exhaustion or worry. It is a blessing I am eternally grateful for having received.
I continue to embrace the season with excitement, but often get pulled into the struggle of life. I’d like to let go this season and embrace the child who was captivated and full.
I miss my Grandmother and her huge heart during the Christmas season. She was a foster parent and she ensured all the children in her care had gifts to open up Christmas morning. I will never know how she did it as I never asked her. But, she’d make 12 dozen or more sugar cookies and decorate them all! All the presents were wrapped and under the tree when Christmas morning came. Often there were so many gifts that they’d spill out filling the whole room and were stacked up behind the tree, taller than her. It was a magical sight to see! She usually had 15 children or more in her care and she made sure each child, big or small, got presents from Santa. I can remember most of the kids, including myself, getting roller skates! She lived in Florida and had an outdoor patio where we would skate all day outside when it wasn’t storming or raining. These memories are so long ago that they are faint, but still near and dear to my heart. She always loved Christmas, and since she has been gone we all try to make her sugar cookies, but they never turn out just like her cookies did. I’ll be making a batch soon, hoping to get close to her magical sugar cookies!
My mother continued the tradition of big Christmases with lots of gifts and treats. Our family grew up in the Lutheran church and Christmas Eve always meant going to the midnight candlelight service. The end of the service was beautiful as we each held a lit candle singing silent night among other carols. We would head home and I would often jump into bed with my older sister and try to sleep a wink. LOL. I was always the early riser, sometimes getting up by 4 or 5 eager to see what Santa brought! Looking back I really don’t see how my Mom and Dad didn’t want to kill me for waking them when they probably had just fell asleep! I’d run out to the Christmas tree and scout out any unwrapped gifts. I’d go back and let my sister know what was left out, unwrapped. One special year, I remember being delighted to get a shiny, new Schwinn bike. A stuffed snoopy was sitting nearby and my sisters stereo also was left out, unwrapped. I was my big sister’s informant and she often rolled over, still sleepy, encouraging me to stay in bed. I’m forever grateful for my parents for letting me be a kid, excited and eager, often unable to wait to tear into the presents.
Writing this has left me in a treasured space. I don’t have children and am currently estranged from my sister and her adult children. It’s hard, but it is “what is” for now. I have been struggling to accept where things have landed and writing about these beautiful, treasured memories fills me with joy and peace. I will always be eternally grateful for parents who not only allowed me to “be a kid”, but actively ensured each Christmas was joyful and happy. They should feel full for the memories they created every year without fail. They were such special times and I felt very loved and cared for during the season. I was oblivious to any care or concern they might have had and they both worked, my Mom often working nights, even at Christmas, as she is a nurse. I know they were often exhausted and I was a burst of excitement and anticipation. They never acted annoyed or tired. It is a true gift in the end.
Writing this has renewed my spirit and inspired me. Often we forget and lose our way. I’m going to let go as much as I am able. I’m going to make some of my Grandma’s sugar cookies, go see the lights of the season, and listen to Doris Day’s, Toyland. It really doesn’t get any better that this! I’m feeling the spirit now! Merry Christmas everyone! I hope you find the peace and joy inside of you!
There is something forming in my conscious that sounds familiar, but has felt foreign to me until recently. It’s a seed that is growing in size, full and impenetrable. It’s resting on the collective conscious of “what is” and longing for the wisdom and strength of what has left us. My spirit gravitates toward a space that is shared between what I have absorbed and what I have chased. This new landscape is difficult to articulate, I only know it is defined by my very own view of the world, and, I trust it.
I’ve spend many years in anguish. I didn’t feel I was enough. I was never smart enough, kind enough, talented enough, good enough, organized enough, wealthy enough, etc. There was never enough of me to feel “enough”. Every endeavor was designed to be a means to an end. It was as if every activity I engaged in had to have a value assigned to it. If I relaxed completely, letting go of counting the “inventory” of successes and failures”, I’d feel anxiety and shame for letting down my guard and not fulfilling my duty. I’ve always been driven, a perfectionist, determined to excel at the activities in which I invested time and energy. One can see quickly where this is headed. Over time, I grew deeply disappointed, depressed, and anxious.
I wanted more for my life. I expected more from people. I even expected more from the world. I was downright devastated when I awakened from the dream where I had expected those around me to be kind, honest, and authentic. I did have a few people in my life who were healthy individuals. However, I had spent most of my time in conflict with those in my life who were unable or unwilling to change. I allowed these people to suck up my time, energy, emotions, and thoughts. It was my mistake. I’m still unraveling and unpacking the last few years where the trauma of my past became intertwined with the trauma of certain loved ones. Was I indeed trying to save myself by holding on too tightly to their trauma? Again, this elusive seed that is growing within me tells me that it’s all about to change. I’m often giddy and joyful, nearly feeling free. It’s a foreign feeling as I sit in the space of so many colliding and conflicting emotions, but having the ability to process without impulsively acting. This is new for me, and I’m sure I will backslide a bit, but I like this feeling a lot. I’m going to work to maintain this.
I had a session a week ago where I was talking to my therapist about the distance I have purposely created between me and a loved one to “keep me safe” currently. This person is a relative and so it might be difficult to completely remain disengaged permanently. It is someone who has hurt me quite a bit and her lifestyle continues to concern me. My pattern has often been to confront when I am concerned. This has not benefited me as the person I am confronting does not want to change. My therapist, was pushing me a bit, stating that I could be engaged on some level if “I accepted her where she was at right now”. I quickly shared reasons why I could not do so. They were good reasons. It’s very hard engaging with this person and our relationship is quite fractured. Still yet, this “push” from my therapist of acceptance bloomed inside of me. I cannot quite articulate how so, I can only say that it was another window into a different way of existing outside the “cage” I have been inside of for years.
And so, all of this has been filling me with curiosity and even joy. It’s as if I took the pliers and gently took off one of the steel bars of my cage.
Tonight, I sat making Christmas ornaments for my loved ones. It was an imperfect process and I realized some things were a tad off. In the past, that would have bothered me a great deal. I let it go this time. I said to myself, “I don’t have to be perfect”. I noticed the tension rising: “I should redo it, it’s not perfect”. It dawned on me how most people probably would’t even notice what I saw as “imperfect”. When did my world become so calculated and precise? That isn’t the world! I instinctively knew it was not! I know the trauma in my past created a pattern of perfectionism. I smiled at myself at the thought of finally being free of this pattern. It dawned on me rather quickly that because I had placed such high expectations on myself, I extended the same to loved ones. And often if people were unable to meet them, it was a reflection that I was “not enough”. Somehow, their inability to meet my expectations was my failure. I believe this is why I have fought so hard, at times, with these individuals. Truthfully, I should have “accepted them where they were at” and retained my dignity by not fighting or pleading for their involvement in my life. It was this realization, that I’ve had before, that has now cultivated a greater awareness. It’s as if another layer has nearly been revealed and I’m eagerly awaiting for the next chapter of my life to begin!
I believe it’s a “way of living” that I have missed out on due to trauma and my continual entrapment within it. I know it starts with me and knowing that I am “enough”. I am inherently worthy, we all are. Operating from that optic alone frees me from a lot of desperate behaviors where I was relying on others to affirm my self worth. Whoops! Not a great idea as people are often totally oblivious to your struggle and have their own full plates. And then, there is the awareness that I no longer need to listen to the voices of others either defining me or telling me who I am or not. I am accepting all of me, the imperfections, the mistakes, the mess, and the comeback. I can see all the complexity and I embrace it. I don’t have to explain it to others. I am at a point now where despite all the messes, I’m pretty proud and impressed at the way I’ve cleaned them all up! I am learning to live more in the moment and I enjoy using all my senses as I lose myself in the experience of life.
The complexity of life, the sadness and the joy, are held simultaneously in one space in my heart. I am more level as a result and joy is finding me in many places. I’m sure I will be able to express the growing light inside much better in time. I’m glad it’s been uncovered and it is glowing brightly. It was there all along, but had been dimmed by many years where I was searching. Just thought I would try and share tonight as I continue on my journey of healing from the pain and confusion of trauma. Love and light!
It’s Thanksgiving. It’s raining heavily outside. Blue Christmas light strands adorn the parameter of my apartment front door. I’ve carefully placed four blinking snowflakes outside on the front lawn, behind them is my front window encircled by more blue lights. My Christmas tree stands behind the window sparkling with white lights. It’s cheerful and it warms me inside. It’s enough, for right now. Enough.
I’m sitting in the dark with both Christmas trees lit, listening to Christmas music, alone. My friend is taking a nap. We’re in the middle of preparing our Thanksgiving feast and we have a bit of time to rest while the turkey cooks. My dog is here with me in the living room, napping quietly on her small bed. She looks peaceful.
Earlier, we walked the dog in the rain. I felt nostalgic as I took my time walking through the dense evergreen forest. It’s Thanksgiving in the Great Northwest. The pavement was wet with broken leaves. Something settled within me. Acknowledging that I’ve been running most of my life, something felt a bit different as I scanned the forest floor that surrounded me. “Maybe, I’ll finally reach peace in this lifetime yet”. I knew for this to happen, I needed to accept the ambiguity and embrace the uncertainty of it all.
This Thanksgiving I am unemployed, living with my ex-spouse who happens to be my best friend. My family relations have been strained and I rarely have contact with any of my family members except my mother. I’ve been very angry and hurt, but the heaviness is beginning to dissipate as I continue to cultivate compassion not only for myself, but for others. I’m grateful to be learning a lot. It’s enough, for now. Enough.
I truly have enough, even though I have very little. I’ve been too sick to work and I currently have my mother and ex-spouse helping me. They both know my story completely. They know how hard I tried for many years to work and how it ended up destabilizing me and lowering my immune system. I’d give anything to have the ability to work. But, I am being blessed with the opportunity to get the help I need and to learn the skills required to recover from the symptoms of PTSD that caged me. I have an excellent therapist and I’m growing and learning. I detest being this vulnerable, but I have helped many people when I worked and now it’s time for me to accept the help that I need. The help I am receiving is enough, for now. Enough.
I have a very small support system, but it is mighty. It’s easy to compare yourself to others and feel inadequate, saying “I should have more friends, like so & so”… But, for now, I have a small circle and it is enough. Enough.
I’m retraining myself to acknowledge my blessings and to repeatedly say, I have enough. Often, I feel separate from the materialistic machine that consumes most people’s endeavors. I’m longing to develop a life that perpetually acknowledges that I do actually have enough. I don’t need to become preoccupied with the foolish obsession of always desiring more.
The only thing I truly desire more of is love. I find that I’m often misplacing my desire for love with other more concrete things that do not provide the same benefit.
Tonight, I’m going to sit down with my best friend and my dog, as we feast on a meal that would serve 10-12 people! It’s enough! It’s going to be a beautiful experience of flavor and aroma. We’ll be having Mojitos with our main meal and then hot-buttered rum cider with our pumpkin pie. Even though I am relatively poor at the moment due to my disability (others are paying my housing and bills), I will feel like a queen when I sit down to this incredible feast. There will be Christmas lights & music for ambience and I’m hoping to savor every morsel. Because, at this moment, it is enough. It’s probably always been enough, sadly, I didn’t always see that it was.
There is so much struggle and suffering in the world. I don’t want to deny anyone of that. Life is full of pain and uncertainty. I want to relax within it, no longer avoiding or fighting the reality that exists. I’ve been grieving quite a few losses in my lifetime. And now, I’m ready to move my consciousness into another realm where I am truly awake and aware, absorbing the best of each moment, embracing the joy and the mystery of life. I’ll take my pain and wear it around me like a coat that has weathered a few storms, and it will keep me warm and dry. I don’t feel it’s best to deny grief or pain, it’s an individual process. Still yet, I’m excited and ready to let go and lose myself in the authenticity of each experience.
I’m grateful today. I’m breathing life into my longing for love and recognizing how I truly do have enough in my life.
I’m grateful for the seeds I am planting and the connections I am making with others here on WordPress, Twitter, and on Facebook. I’m putting one foot in front of the other and I’m getting the treatment I need to heal. I don’t know what’s next, but I’m optimistic about it. I thank you all for taking the time to read about my journey. I’ve been given some excellent advice & support here and that means a lot. All of this continually restores my faith and belief that people are truly caring and want to help. I sincerely hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving (for those of you in America)! I’ve got to get back to preparing the feast!! Happy Thanksgiving!
Long ago, a bold, little bird was stuffed into a small, steel cage. There she sat, on her wooden swing, occasionally belting out a sweet, soulful song. She was careful not to sing too loudly.
Behind the steel bars, she felt safe. The steel structure became a way of life for the little bird. Inside the cramped cage, she was often lonely, but the distance surrounding her kept her boundless energy and enthusiasm somewhat confined and at a tolerable level to those who were easily annoyed by the sometimes boisterous bird.
Time passed and the little bird grew weary. The cage was becoming a hindrance and was getting in the way of connecting with the other birds. The little bird had to chirp loudly to get the attention of the others and often she felt invisible and unloved. What once made her feel safe was now making her feel distant and sad. The little bird often was angry and tense without truly knowing why. She stopped singing and swinging and sat in her small, steel cage brooding over what to do. This went on for quite some time.
Then the rain began. It was slow and steady rain at first and the little bird was able to avoid getting too wet. But, this was temporary as it one day really began to pour, raining “cats and dogs”. The wind picked up and the rain was blown sideways, completely soaking the little bird. And the poor little bird had no idea what to do. So, she sat in the soaking rain, shivering, waiting for someone to come save her. People often came, looking on, perhaps giving her some morsels to eat, but they were just as confused as she was and had their own storms to weather. So the little bird continued to sit in the rain, softly singing a ballad and perpetually wondering what she could do.
The storms raged on night and day. The little bird thought she might die and even longed to on certain days. She felt lost. She was isolated and had become embittered and even somewhat mean, at times. The cage that she fled to for protection was now endangering her life and song. She had stopped singing entirely and it took everything she could muster just to get through the day and survive.
Still yet, the little bird continued to question. She never stopped trying to understand why she was so alone and what to do about it. Was this really her destination? Why? She was persistent and was determined to find an answer.
After years of being isolated and alone, she was studying herself one day and noticed the steel bars surrounding her. She had seen them before, right? Perhaps so, but since she felt she needed them maybe she overlooked them. She started to take a very hard look at the steel bars surrounding her and spent time acknowledging the role they have played in her life. She began to realize that the bars had become “part of her”. She quickly implored: “Are these steel bars not separate from me?”. Instinctively, she knew the bars had held her back. But, she was frightened at the prospect of leaving them. Initially, she did not even know it was a possibility to leave! She was scared and excited all at once at the discovery that the steel bars were separate from her and perhaps she could leave the small, steel cage! Time passed and these thoughts churned in her mind night and day as she tried to make sense of it all. What does it all mean?
And then one day, it happened. The little bird was swinging in her cage. She had started to belt out a few songs. The sunlight was illuminating the cage. She was studying her cage and her eyes landed on the door. It was ajar! Funny, the little bird thought: “I never noticed that! How did I not notice that the door has been slightly open the entire time”? The little bird was curious and cautious all at once. Joy flooded her little being. She knew that she was nearly ready. She wasn’t sure what it would be like outside the cage, but she knew that, in time, she needed to abandon the cage to truly recover. There was a way out of the misery that had entrapped her for so long! Her time had come to be free, to soar effortlessly, free from the cage that had chained her.
Sometimes the answer that we long for means letting go of something we did not know we could release. We have to be extremely persistent like the little bird to find the answer. Years can pass and we can nearly give up. But, don’t! Be relentless in your pursuit to find the peace you deserve. It is yours to have. Keep going.
Dear American Public,
As an individual who has suffered for over two decades with Bipolar 1, I share with you the same outrage and heartache you more than likely experience when learning about another incidence of gun violence in our country. I cannot imagine the deep despair and sadness that comes with losing a loved one in such a senseless tragedy. Gun violence strips away our sense of security and is another issue that divides our country.
As we struggle to understand the root causes of gun violence, many Americans are pointing fingers at people like “me”, the mentally ill. Given that most of the mentally ill are not violent and are more likely to be victims of crime, I grow weary of the stigma that grows with each passing incident. It looks like, to me, the mentally ill have become “the scapegoat” of the gun violence debate. It’s convenient to state that the mentally ill are the problem, after all, the stigma alone perpetuates fear and misunderstanding and encourages the public to doubt the credibility and stability of the mentally ill. The mentally ill are a largely misunderstood population and often those who suffer do so silently.
Ironically, the same individuals scapegoating the mentally ill as “dangerous and violent”, are the same who wish to cut funding to programs like SSDI (disability insurance), vocational rehabilitation and other programs that benefit the mentally ill. Discrimination in the workplace is common for those who struggle and as a result employment is often difficult to maintain. The government over the years has done little to decrease discriminatory practices in the workplace and the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC) is often very slow to act, its power is limited. If the public is fearful that the “mentally ill” are violent, the government actually does very little to intervene and instead often places individuals who are struggling in very desperate situations. The point being that the mentally ill are literally pushed to their breaking point with a government that is so slow to act when providing assistance. This puts the survival of many who struggle in constant jeopardy. This is evidence again that the mentally ill do not resort to violence despite the lack of assistance and treatment available and that many are victims of violence and discrimination. There is absolutely no safety net for the persistent and severe mentally ill in our country. And yet, even with the constant struggle of living with a mental illness, most hold themselves or are held by others through difficult and trying times.
On a personal note, last year I lost my job as a Social Worker with the State of WA, DSHS. I was fired after a medical leave at the first meeting established to put accommodations in place. I was told at this meeting that I was disqualified due to my disability of Bipolar 1 and was granted no accommodations. As a result of losing my job (and other jobs related to my illness), I relapsed and have not been able to work this past year. I attempted to get on to Vocational Rehabilitation Services and was waitlisted indefinitely. I applied for SSDI and am still involved in the appeals process which has already taken nearly a year and I have received no benefits as of yet. I was told it could take another year and a half to get a hearing. If I did not have a friend to live with who was willing and able to help me, I would have lost everything by now. I would be homeless. I only have a small Aging, Blind, and Disabled monthly cash benefit of $197 and food stamps that keep me afloat currently.
I am writing this to share with you the bleak reality of many mentally ill people. My survival and livelihood was attacked by the discriminatory practices of the State of WA, DSHS, and I was denied access to employment as a result. The lack of assistance by government programs that were developed to help people in my situation have initially been denied or waitlisted. This has placed extreme stress on me when I am already struggling with a severe and persistent mental illness. If I didn’t have the same upbringing or education as I thankfully did, perhaps I might have turned “violent” due to the strain this all has caused me. The point being that the mentally ill often are put in very stressful situations that are often caused by the stigma surrounding mental illness, and yet, we usually do not “break”. I know, in time, even with my illness, I will be back on my own two feet, contributing to society and hopefully being a benefit to others. I have always enjoyed helping others, NOT harming them.
I believe mental illness can play a role in those committing crimes that are violence, but there are other factors that create the psychological makeup of someone who would commit an atrocious act on that level. It is not stemming from mental illness alone. Often the individuals who are planning violent attacks are not going to seek treatment. Therefore, tighter regulations where access to guns is difficult to obtain might be our only hope to prevent some of these incidents of gun violence.
In the end, bringing light to the issues surrounding the mentally ill is not a bad thing. I agree that we need a better system where individuals struggling have easy access to quality treatment that is affordable. There also needs to be short term disability to prevent homelessness and immediate access to vocational rehabilitation programs that provide training to ensure employment is successful. We currently have a disability insurance program that can often take up to 2-3 years to begin receiving benefits. Putting the mentally ill under that level of stress where some are forced to the streets can cause anyone depression and despair. It is unacceptable treatment towards a population that suffers to no fault of their own. Could it cause certain people to be pushed over the edge? I don’t know. I only know that as a person with a mental illness I have, at times, been pushed to the edge, but have never once physically attacked anyone.
The mentally ill have become the scapegoat for the issue of gun violence. If you are going to scapegoat the mentally ill, at least address the issues that might push them over the edge in the first place. I personally see gun violence as an issue of easy access to guns that is continually fueled by a society that has become more and more detached and less connected. I also feel that the economic disparity in our country and the increase in hate speech in social media is also a problem. Gun violence is a complicated issue and should be tackled as such. There is no easy and simple fix. It will take time, effort, and commitment to decrease gun violence in our country.
I truly hope we can work together to begin making progress in the area of gun reform. It doesn’t have to be this way. We can change, we just have to believe we can.
A concerned citizen (who happens to live with a mental illness),
I’m in a bit of a hole at the moment. I am again fighting change and dragging my feet, clinging to what needs to be released in my life to finally be free. I’m caught up in the confusing web of chaos and lies that has captured my time and attention for years. Lies that were told to me by others and lies I told myself in order to maintain the status quo and thus promote a false sense of security. I keep returning to this vacuous space where I once stood unaware that I was alone. I still occasionally employ the same old scripts that are in need of retiring. There have been times that I’m so overcome with grief that I’m desperate to return to the steel bars that caged me. I enter briefly into those dark and confining spaces only to realize that the chatter has silenced and I’ve actually been alone all along. It was all a mirage, a swinging mirror that was clanking against the steel cage, a distraction that resulted in hours of endless, mindless preoccupation. The cage was now empty and I was in full awareness of the solitude that shrouded my little song.
My first realization as I stood, alone, was the deafening silence surrounding me. It’s been my voice all along, chirping desperately into the empty spaces, echoing and bouncing off the stone walls, that has kept me tirelessly hooked and responding. In this new silence where I have all at once stopped singing, I hear nothing. I’m enveloped in soft and silent spaces that communicate vast solitude and begs for my somber, but awakened soul, to fill the empty spaces and soothe the rough edges that were created from fighting and flying solo for so long. It’s time drop the armor so that I can spread my wings of self discovery and visit the places that I have cut myself off from in my desperate attempts to get love from those in my life unwilling to give it.
I’ve stopped fighting and have began grieving the losses that I had truly never gained. Those longed for connections and I were never even in the same room together. It was the chatter of my own voice I had been wrestling with while the objects of my longing were only able to see my rage and hurt. My desire to connect and rebuild was foreign to them as they remained in their cage on their post, constructing their own soliloquy. The more I fought to connect with these individuals, the more alienated I became, until one day I woke up to the tune of silence. Determined to love myself, I discovered that I had finally freed myself from those who had no real desire to commune with me. This painful discovery was the beginning of my freedom from my cage, and was my first steps toward self-love.
I recently have been in the dance of wanting to connect again and have had those old urges to reach out. I realize that this is part of the grieving process and as much as I would like to speed through and be flying free, there is only so much I can do to hasten this difficult process. Sometimes, it means getting sucked in to old patterns of thoughts and behaviors and even potentially fighting once again for a connection that does not exist. Often, if I am truthful to myself, this connection never really existed.
I’ve been involved with people from family members to partners that were often too unhealthy to truly connect. I wanted the connection so desperately that I often brutally demanded it. Growing up with others who were often distant emotionally, has left me stunted and uncertain as to how to get my needs met in the relationship. I was never allowed to express anger openly growing up as a child and certain family members were unable to connect in intimate and safe ways. I’ve always longed for what I instinctively knew existed, but I became horribly ineffective at obtaining it from others in my life. I stayed in sick relationships for too long, ruthlessly insisting that we connect and grow together. These ineffective tactics only served to alienate me and make me feel depressed and, at times, even suicidal. I felt unlovable and unworthy because the few people that I desperately wanted to receive love from, displayed over and over in actions and words, that they were not concerned with my welfare, one time even expressing to me: “I don’t even think about you”.
For years, I was determined to get my needs met from the few people in my life that haphazardly remained, often involving themselves when and only if they needed something from me. I knew I was being used, at times, but I accepted their excuses and even made excuses for their inability to connect with me so that I too could receive love. I was desperate to get the occasional crumbs and willingly remained engaged with these individuals in my life. I moved across the country for two people in my life and I was there for these individuals at times when their lives crashed and burned. At their lowest time, I was the one standing beside them, encouraging and supporting them. For one of these individuals, this meant helping her even bathe and cooking food for her and allowing her to stay at my home after she nearly died in the hospital to an illness related to her substance abuse. However, once she was back on her own two feet, she again began to distance herself, argue with me, and leave my home going back to her addiction. Over and over again, I was left by these two individuals who seemed to only need me or want to connect during times when they needed my help. I rarely said no, but over the last few years the chatter in my cage increased and I began to act in ugly and mean ways to desperately demand and insist they get the help needed to heal and thus, be able to connect with me and others. Obviously, this did not bode well and I ended up swinging in my little cage, alone, in the deafening silence.
The most difficult part of my journey was realizing that the connection never really truly existed in the first place. I was desiring an authentic and genuine connection. One that involved truth and honesty and reciprocation. Sadly, I learned over time that these two people I was hung up on in my life where not well enough to truly connect and they both broke my heart. I don’t feel that either of them are even connected to themselves and both often gain their love and adoration from a safe distance from those who care for them, but are not truly connected to them. There is a difference between loving someone from a distance and truly connecting to them. I learned that the walls they had built were too high and the communication received from me only served to overwhelm and confuse them. I had to let go of both of them. I still love them, but remaining in a distant relationship where I was often used and abandoned only served to make me bitter and angry. Several times I have recently fallen, crashed, and burned, and neither one of these people even took the time to contact me and provide support, not even a brief phone call.
Both of these people in my life whom I loved dearly, were lessons to me. I learned a lot from loving two people that for whatever reason were unable to love me back. Here are a few lessons I’ve learned from this difficult journey:
And, so my little songbird is singing a different tune these days. It’s a tune of self discovery and self love. I believe we are here to learn and to love. Sometimes, I get discouraged because I am getting somewhat older and I wish I had learned these things earlier. I feel behind, like I must catch up. And then I feel perhaps it has all unraveled this away for a reason. No matter when you begin to sing a different tune it truly makes no difference. Belt it out and embrace it! This is your song to create and continually sing throughout your life. I hope it is full, with a joyful melody, layered with beautiful harmonies!