I’m having a mad love affair with the song evermore this morning. I want to touch the keys of my piano and tune my ear to the sounds. The ones that make people feel. Rhythm that can’t be ignored. A siren call. Satellite call.
So many empty hours before me wanting, needing.
No desperation,
only stillness.
I’m learning a course in miracles, lesson 8 this am is about how the egoic mind clings to the past and creates it to replay over into your present unless you become aware of this.
The only true thought is that the past is no longer present: makes room for new creation.
New lessons,
rather than loops of old ones,
chasing your tail.
I’m getting used to these orthotics. Right now arch support feels like arch assault. But I think ultimately the whole posture is positively impacted by the right nurturing. Isn’t that about right for a metaphor for life.
I saw killer of the flower moon yesterday. The new Scorsese film. Really eye opening. So much to unpack there about manipulation, privilege, and a whole variety of things.
I enjoy seeing movies in the theater. What I’m really finding important about this now is not multi tasking. Just being present and absorbed into someone’s creation. So many pieces went into it.
How good it feels to be with the present moment. And there are many ways that’s hard also. The losses creep up and haunt.
While what might have been no longer consumes me, it’s sometimes a bitter pill.
This is where faith is really important. And letting go of control.
Allowing
That’s my current mission.
Tonight is family time at the Figg cooking school.
A friend is visiting. I’ve known him since way back, he visits every year, and every year it’s a motivator to plan things together. Kinda sounds like family right ?! That elusive promised thing, that was so missing for so long.
But look at me I make one wherever I go. I create family easily, and that requires an open heart. Before it was at times a desperate act without enough thought to not also create harm. I’m sorry.
No
I’m really sorry.
Sorry doesn’t cover it. For irresponsible actions on my part that caused pain. And I’m also aware if we are going to risk anything in this lifetime hurt will happen. I will not use that as a justification, but I will use the understanding to allow healing.
That’s where I am right now.
I walk, I think, I read, I love, I understand…..
Funny Miley Cyrus is now singing I miss me more. May I everyone find that really important aspect of love.
In balance with one’s own desires and destiny if you will. If you won’t that’s ok too. My beliefs are solid and also open to modification as I understand more.
Two miles, that’s good for now. I have admin to enjoy doing, and some chores.
I love being in my office. It’s my own home within my home. Sacredness is in there. People come there to heal, to feel their hurts, and I do too. Beautiful love and life.
Tomorrow I write. I can’t wait. I’m waiting breathlessly for that ability to be fully me, to fully express everything anything I want.
Writing is safe.
It’s my constant loved one.
Consistency is so nice these days, but also not rigid or caged within it. Consistent forward movement come what may.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ll end up returning to my grocery store roots, due to the simplicity of it all. Or bookstore shelves and handing bags of dreams across the counter and smiling. The smell of coffee…. Casi Cielo season.
Another trip around the Sun.
A simple beautiful story. Nothing extraordinary. Everything extraordinary. Glorious contradictions. The story of a human life.
A simple life. A person I can be proud of, while also being real and human.
All of it.
One mile no matter what. No matter how cold, how hot, how wet, how tired.
Sometimes a human is a vessel that can hold tremendous amounts of suffering. They can hold more than it appears. We are all just walking around filled with ashes of our burned and dead things, and trying to still smile and function for our why’s.
The only bad thing you’ve ever done was to see the good in me. That’s a sad lyric.
Covid in the rear view and also not, step on those lantern bugs, lions and tigers and masks and then there’s my past. A beast and demon I can never seem to get past.
So I sit and feed the monster all my parts. It stands over me smiling eating my heart.
Now that’s dark.
And there’s light too, and there’s always room.
All I need to do is write and walk.
It’s my life and my story and it’s big and beautiful and light and dark.
Unbroken
Remember that movie where his strength of mind carried his body through horrors.
Some humans have so much pain to hold.
Sometimes it’s too much to take.
All you can do is rest….
See I separated there. You can see the crack, feel the tear.
All the selves and stories I used to be, gathering the fragments, becoming whole…..
I miss my writing like I miss a lover. I’m always writing inside my mind, and these days I like what I see so much more. A great beginning, and another and another.
The other day I felt heavy and this is where I wanted to come. When I feel light this is where I want to come. This is home.
There are so many thoughts I don’t get down. Will they come back around? You never know and that’s the hardest part.
Knowing might be arguably harder.
How to ask a survivor to be open and contend with the unknown, when it takes so much energy.
This morning I saw a Sylvia Plath quote I liked and went down a Christina research hole. So now I know her whole life, and yet nothing at all. What struck me the most are the similarities in so many ways. Minus the suicide attempts thankfully.
Time to read the Bell Jar and actually finished this time. I was 80 percent there. What even is that?! How can you not finish?! Maybe unfinished is better?
Who knows if I had had her life at that time in the world. I think of the censorship and lack of support at that time. And how at any time this is the thing that often makes all the difference, being able to tell our stories.
Gunn street is closed today. The bright fuchsia car is in sight. I go down Peck anyway, that’s the mile loop.
Speaking of telling stories The Healing Power of Storytelling, Annie Brewster. I forget which podcast I heard her on. Will this help with another layer? Lately the sense is that while I enjoy consuming this material, being with these writers, outside is not where it’s at.
It’s time. I can’t resist much longer. Layers of self doubt and fear have sloughed away. It’s time. Don’t hold back.
Writing is like oxygen. I’m breathing. It’s warm and the sky is beautiful this morning.
Working on birthday plans for twin a and b. Nineteen years old. These benchmarks make me incredibly emotional, and reflective. I remember the girl who shared and shared with no off switch and very little consideration for how that person responded. I understand much more now. Time does that. And also there’s a lot I don’t.
What I found in Sylvia Plath this morning was a commonality to which we feel things. And look what that lent for her. But outcome is not the measure of a life. She felt more in her short life than many in a long one do.
And had the courage to capture it….
She was blessed. Blessed with depression and an abusive relationship some might say?! But she felt the heartbeat of the world and wrote it. Who did she serve ultimately? The muse ? Depression ? Societal expectations?! All of the above is usually the most sure answer.
It’s not black and white Christina.
The sky looks like purple snow this morning. Smelling and tasting the colors.
It’s a four client day, that’s a mini day for me. Hell it’s a vacation. But then there’s also room for restlessness.
I had a day the other day where I understood ocd more than I ever have. The need for control. The need for routine as a means for comfort. Routine is also the death of creativity and emotion, but so soothing. What a rub.
I felt close
I felt far
I was just thinking of how intimate it is someone’s rituals. How they get dressed, which order, in what way. And those last moments they are yours, indisposed. The last article goes on and then they are the world’s.
A different kind of intimacy. A smile a gesture: but so much unknown underneath those clothes.
If I could live in that in between always: the half dressed messy middle.
And just like that I put Shakira on….. I always loved this song. Her voice pierces me skin and resides underneath. Those are my favorites, the ones who can do that.
Spanish lyrics and piano, be still my heart.
Every mole, every curve, hairline at the neck, the pattern that is only hers. Hovering lips and breath at particular spots: what they look like. The world stops. The world turns. The skin of those places it burns.
Music touches my body and my soul. As I walk the earth.
These days I find myself grieving my life. The years I was dissociated from my self, essentially the entire first half. And the painful awakening.
And now I can find a miracle in laying in the grass and staring at the sky. Everything is emotional. And when I’m locked away from myself in an episode it’s excruciating, because I know what I know now.
So I crawl back to her and kiss her better, admire her strength, adore her smile.
The trees are magic. Stop and look at just one. The ability to see all the fine details, where each branch naturally lies.
Noticing is love. I notice everything.
Faith and peace and mercy and ground. My memories are always with me. I savor so many daily.
So many new to make. This in between exquisite connection as the default and all the old ways of disconnection. They sit and stare across the playground at each other, wondering are we friend or foe. Who do we align with?!
Disconnected her is as worthy and valued as connected her. We no longer cut off parts of ourselves for survival.
It’s safe. Now someone just please tell me nervous system that please. Re wiring is another matter entirely.
A new style of writing has emerged for me and it’s nearly terrifying. I recognize now this far down that I had no idea any of this would come out. In fact I had so many other intentions over the past few weeks.
I know how to let go now. Of control. And really that’s been my journey a very long time. To be able to cry when I felt that way. To have an orgasm.
I would describe it like having this emotional delay. Usually I have to be alone to access them, but there have been moments and times they happen organically and freely. Those are magic.
Maybe someday this is the body I will inhabit forever, fully connected. Will I still write, will I still be me? If that happens? Is it possible? So many unknowns.
C’est la vie
All my love,
C
Ps. hallelujah just came on and the sun began to shine, just now.
I joined Nicole lepera inner circle so I’ll be watching her and Jenna this evening and then a massage. Thank god. Please melt these stresses of everyday life and breathe energy back into my soul.
How Do You Block the Sound of a Voice You’d Know Anywhere….
Lisa Loeb Wishing Heart and Jan Arden Insensitive are taking me back today….
I have a bad sinus cold. I woke up this morning with my head pounding, sensitive to light and sound and essentially everything. I debated strongly what course of action to take, ie migraine pill because it feels like that, but I know it’s sinus pressure.
I opted for severe sinus med and it definitely lightened the suffering though it’s there behind the pill. I don’t want to take an antibiotic if I don’t have to. It wipes out any good gut bacteria I manage to have and causes whole other issues. So there’s that.
I’m seriously reflective right now. Very within. Integrating the changes from these past years. The holidays brought forth lots of grief. All of the lost dreams. It’s not as doom and gloom as it sounds, well it is and isn’t.
It isn’t because I am faithful these days to a belief that all of these are threads in a tapestry of my life and all are sacred, even the more coarse fibers.
I am understanding my self better, which helps me to understand others better. I’m doing this in all areas and in past and present relationships.
It’s a softening.
Will I be thawing forever?
The answer in so many ways is a resounding yes. What’s different is the resentment. I no long resent this as much, that is becoming a holding it sacred as part of my path. Who even am I?! Oh hey heyoka. If that’s the name for a deep spiritual being that can hardly believe that’s a real thing and not some grandiose fantasy. It sounds ridiculous and self aggrandizing. We only believe what we can see and touch, because anything else never showed up.
I’m not behaving as if I’m living in a fantasy. My feet are firmly planted and I’m addressing myself and my needs and learning to communicate. I am learning. It’s not easy for me. Yep it’s not the other person, it’s me, just as much. Humble pie. I own my things, and own them specifically and follow through with change however and I was always capable of that. That was always possible under the right conditions and I am not responsible for the right conditions. I made my hard decisions.
I can trust that because when push comes to shove afraid or not I act with integrity. Scared or not. That is trustworthy. So when am I going to start valuing myself in that way?! Love HER Christina, choose her. She deserves and is worthy of your love. Stop fearing her, she has always meant well and tried hard and course corrected when it has been necessary without relying on manipulation.
I never relied on manipulation. When I recognized that’s what I was doing I owned it and changed and had empathy for those hurt.
Empathy without boundaries is self destruction. Yes it is. Never again. Boundaries are king and everything will be as it should because those are water tight. Crystal clear boundaries she said, a therapist from another life. Able to protect even when that was a difficult balance. Crystal clear boundaries Christina.
I remember every single thing that is important to know. Not protected by a narrative, but cloaked in taking the time I need to make the decisions that are best for me and learning how to be more than a coping strategy.
Meeting myself. Falling in love, or at least like. Sometimes love can be very overwhelming.
I am observing myself in absolute shut downs and freezes and then watching what brings me back and what shuts me down further.
I have slowed down enough that I am able to be seen, only because I am seeing myself, not only in that terrible polarity of good or bad, right or wrong. But in all of the richness and complexity I deserve. Did you hear that?! Wow.
I did. And my eyes are wet.
They thaw over and over as my heart does as well.
My head is exploding I’m going to freak out! No I’m not. My adult self will take myself to the walk in later and get on some antibiotics and trust the rest. I’ve had this pain for three days. I rearranged my day to only have a 12, and 1 and moved the rest. So I can just crawl in bed and relax. I think it’s time to also take the migraine pill. I think it’s both 🙁
It’s so painful these realizations of the way I’ve seen things so backwards and tangled with my kids and how misunderstood I’ve felt, and not being able to clear those up. I can’t believe how I’ve lived like this all this time. So separate from myself and those I love and just as a harsh executioner. Reactive, ready to jump on any sign of dissension.
I was reacting to my children all the time, when I didn’t feel in control. And shocker I’m not in control of anything, but myself now. Jesus it was about time. In the immortal words of Elizabeth Gilbert. You never really had control anyway, all you had was anxiety. Yes Liz. Thank you for being a beacon when I am lost.
How I have needed to be in control for safety. I am the things I’ve accused of and I see so much more softly now. Of myself and others and the glaciers just thaw and thaw.
What will emerge ? As I no longer reside in a story or rely on the same coping mechanisms.
It’s absolutely terrifying being in a transformation. Dying over and over. Things are so clear at least and that is a relief. and there is also so much to sit with. To make friends with.
I’m fighting to trust myself. That is my biggest area of work right now. My perception, my own ability to feel my feelings in real time, rather than a year later. That the things I say and do will not hurt me let alone another. I’m juggling so many plates in the air all the time and working at being entirely different when overwhelmed.
The tool I’m employing most often is empathy and having been so far removed from my own for myself for so long I’m wondering how the new fresh oxygen will integrate: was I without it for too long? Is the damage too great?
I’m only just beginning to peel back the layers. To not use usual coping strategies and patterns. To know what is and what is not that.
My heart is opening and softening, but I’m still an anemone. At the slightest sign of danger I close up tightly and it’s frustrating feeling so emotionally handicapped. Stunted, frozen, cold.
I am going through those things, but I am not those things. This is quite possibly one of the biggest changes inside to date.
I’ve misunderstood myself so catastrophically for so long, that finding understanding now is almost unbearable. It’s unbearably different than what I am used to.
To stop misunderstanding others, my children. My SELF.
The one safe space I understand well contained into an hour long appointment with my acute and honed ability focused and objectivity at my disposal I cling tightly to my gift to keep me steady, and it does.
Then I adjust my narrative not to pathologize that somehow, and then I do that in every other area of my life.
I am naked right now.
And I’ve never been like this before. My eyes are wet again.
The breaking and building.
My bones are powder….
At least I am not a powder keg anymore.
My heart is an ocean
One of those lovely ones that are clear blue and contain no sharks. A safe ocean.
It used to be safe for others, but not for me….
That is different now. I am different now. I am soft and scared and sacred and new and old at the same time.
My head hurts so bad…..
I just want to snuggle into my covers and cry and listen to the last two hours of Evelyn Hugo. But first a bath, a rally and showtime for two hours.
My sessions deepen as I do, and as my understanding of myself does, and my forgiveness of myself….
Onward
Ps one moment of truly being seen to the core, I have found, can thaw the thickest ice. The person opens right back up and becomes present in that safety. The person so often lately doing that, is me.
I am told I am that for so many others, but I wasn’t doing that for myself. I’m so surprised when someone sees me and so used to living without it.
You gave me oxygen then removed it, over and over until I begged for an end. In the end I made it myself.
That was just the beginning, as often is with transformations. Now the integration and not knowing whether the organ will be accepted or rejected.
Listening to My Life by NF, it pairs nicely with having watched GoodWill Hunting this morning.
I’m walking. My own turkey trot if you will.
There are things I do now to try and make my life easier. None of this will make up for how hard my life was for so much of it.
I’m tired in ways I’d never want you to understand, but I do want understanding.
These days I try and allow this rather than judging myself for it, condemning me. Criticizing and controlling me. Demeaning me. Beating me.
I spent over half of my life living this way. And attracting neglect and abuse in one form or another. Because those things like to breed and to continue. Like an invasive hearty species of weeds, they clenched my heart to death.
I reacted to life and I attached well to nothing.
And every day I’m healing.
And yesterday before the holiday I was triggered and raw. What’s different this year is how I behaved with me. This year I was understanding and kind to her. I didn’t minimize her emotions.
I used the episode to be able to see clearly how far she and I have come this year. My little girl and me. And to see how I could have never done this work and had any profound connection beyond an idea, a fantasy, and the beginning stages.
I’m so thankful for my therapist this year, and I know there are people out there thankful for me in the same vein. And to my energy healer who I had my “it’s not your fault.” Good will Hunting moment. Don’t hold me…..
My guarded heart. Don’t hold me my body screamed. Not worthy, not deserving, of holidays of love, or any good thing. 
I used to bare down and hold tight, white knuckles to my fighting position, seeing red. Now the tears flow so much more easily. The fear and terror and panic vanishes more quickly.
What used to take me days to recover from, what used to explode my whole world each time, now settles down in my mind in a matter of hours.
I intend to enjoy my healing for the rest of my life, rather than resent the fact I need to.
I’m ready to let go of the pain; it wasn’t the friend I thought it was. The safe and secure ground of my story, no longer has the same ring to it.
I can’t unring that bell.
I love you
I love me
What used to feel like stone, now feels like feather. The labored breaths, hot with pain, now come effortlessly. Nothing is blocking them.
Don’t get me wrong I’m still thawing. This is an everyday kind of job, an inside one, but now I’m so grateful for it. It’s made me someone with passion and heart. It’s given me a career that is a blessing and incredibly meaningful.
Hold on, Chord Overstreet.
Unclench my jaw. Untie my shoulder blades. Unlock my hips. Unbridle my love muscle.
Please let me feel things the way it seems like others do, in real time. Not only in private and silence where I feel safe.
Undry these eyes they were always meant to cry. It’s ok. It’s not your fault. You can be held.
Recovery
Recover with me. I thought we could do this together, but I had to do it for myself first.
You call me up again just to break me like a promise.
The “I am” project…. I remember when my therapist gave me this assignment and I could only list like 4 things that described what I do. My roles. I am my roles. I am disconnected. I am starved. Is what I could have said then if I had the words.
Now someday I am going to wrap together I was and I am with a beautiful bow. The pages are going to smell like heaven.
Like her
So for now I submit to you my growing I am list. For any who may be or have been lost in similar ways and are working on their own.
All my love,
C
I am….
A mother Counselor Writer Deep thinker Creative Kind Generous Spontaneous Curious Impulsive Impatient Passionate A piano player Affectionate Warm Playful Intense Loyal Conscientious A people person A leader An advocate Self-aware Strong A music lover A reader A researcher Full of triggers Less ashamed than I used to be Growing A spring and fall person And extroverted introvert Sensitive Movie lover Coffee and coffee shop bookstore lover Frugal Poet Naturalist Feminist Grateful A little things person A believer in magic and happy “endings” Naive Idealist Sensual Someone who prefers small intimate venues where I can hear over clubs and loud. Someone who loves Sunday’s A mermaid Someone who loves French vanilla ice cream and lavender linen spray A person who likes to be cozy A conversationalist / enjoys working on the art of communication A recovering hypochondriac A person who suffers from complex ptsd Wanting to belong A person who believes a life well lived can be defined by loving well and being loved in return Haunted Recovering Battling all or nothing Transforming Dynamic Unbridled Tempestuous seeking serene Woman Child Human Someone who starved for and enjoys touch, it grounds me Lost when it comes to family connection. Admiring it in others and feeling deeply inadequate when I don’t know my family history or seem so different than everyone else. The song Vienna by Billy Joel Someone who has an incredible amount of questions about her family that deep down wishes they could be answered, but cuts off from even the questions themselves because it hurts too much to wonder, to be outside, to be disconnected Someone who numbs the pain by staying passionately engaged in living and learning Someone who makes a lot more mistakes because of that. Hyper vigilant Disorganized Prone to rabbit holes of self loathing for things that were never my fault Struggling with chronic dis ease of body and mind, and trying to calm those storms Someone who can have an amazing memory if present and has developed the skill of erasing them just as easily.◦
It, much like me, is a work in progress …..
Onward
Ps. I got a massage last night and woke up feeling human today. I wasn’t in pain. I get them every two weeks for now, and it’s changed my whole life. I take care of myself the rest of my life, in all of the ways I wasn’t. As protective as the parents I deserved, and I’m not mad about it 😉 xoxo
I’m having a rainy morning walk. I love it. I feel alive.
Found The Little Prince’s Rose this morning
I had a scary episode last night. I’ve had very little focus on any health anxiety and very few symptoms. But last night in a therapy session I was talking about my mom, and my trauma. My heart started to feel like it was stopping and flipping over, but for much longer than just one beat.
So I looked at my heart rate, it was 114 bpm. I took a few deep breaths and it immediately went to 70. My usual is a fib or palpitations but this was different. I consulted “the google” I like to call it this because it makes me feel my actual age and not my chronological one, which is around 90 years or so.
The Google says it was an SVT, maybe of course as neither of us have a PhD. I’m so grateful for no longer going down rabbit holes, but I also want to find the line of not ignoring something serious either. Sigh.
What’s indisputable is how trauma has ravaged my body. I’m angry. I’m angry!
Anger can be restorative. It restores our boundaries. It’s not to be dismissed as merely a negative emotion. A good lesson from The Language of Emotions and this past couple of years.
So I’m thinking about that girl that was plagued with terror and health symptoms. About how I understand now that’s what my body thought it had to do to get any needs met. Until it didn’t make any sense and I became discredited in my health anxiety, and had to figure out how to internalize less and ground more. Find new ways to meet my need, that didn’t require me to be sick.
This morning I was talking about how once upon a time I loved a little girl with my whole heart. That happening so naturally changed something in me. It was the beginning of some important lessons in love.
Children really are our greatest teachers.
Listening to my guy Teddy, sing about find something you can hold on to, find someone who will be there for you, because that’s all that really matters in the end. It’s hard to tell the truth when you lie to yourself, always give too much of yourself to someone else…..
Yes Teddy! That’s all that really matters in the end….
I feel alive and awake. Something that used to be a rare moment that often led me to dark places when I didn’t understand the full picture.
Now I take the time to do that. You take and make time, you don’t find it.
In my head my memoir is taking shape, as I read more, I hear more hints and glimmers of what my story will look like on the page. And why it’s important that I tell it. Made a difference to that one.
And mostly for my children because my story is also their story. A Life Itself reference.
Should I do another lap? I want to it feels so good, but it’s wet and cold, which isn’t bothering me, but I don’t need to increase my odds of getting sick. They are already high.
I need breakfast. I don’t want to interrupt this flow. Story of my life, except now I don’t drown in fear it won’t all be there when I need it.
My shattered and scattered mind. I see it more and more clearly every day. S. King would have suggested one less more there. Oh I also need to finish his book too.
I’m standing on my porch remembering. Remembering the pain all the times I tried to yell to be seen. All the days I sat here and cried and felt deeply. All the friends who were here to soothe. All the visits with my stand in father bringing groceries and unconditional consistency. I doubt he will ever know the depths of what he has meant to my story.
The difference between life and soul death is a fine line. I’ve walked it many years.
Love never goes anywhere…. It always exists as do all the moments. That’s what I’ve learned. You keep them, download them. It can be bitter sweet you aren’t able to make more, but we are all responsible for our choices.
I’m listening to the Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo and I am captured. My full attention. And let’s be honest we all know how rare that is. I’m laughing heartily on my front porch. We are friends now.
I remember an old post about can you fall in love with a house. And the answer is yes, but that girl at that time knew very little about real love. Only an idea of love. Trapped in a coping mechanism that required creating fantasies and then attempting to occupy them.
Over and over I rode that haunted roller coaster.
Now I just sit here and observe, and I DECIDE what I absorb and what I don’t let it.
I was looking in an old journal of mine, I had written those letters large DECIDE. I learned about the power of our choices and Senja Foster taught my to have crystal clear boundaries and only participate as a whole person, with another person who had done that work themselves.
I show up and I always will, and I promise myself to never believe those rotten stories about her again. It makes me sad and sick to think of my relationship with me, it was the most abusive.
I made amends to myself when I walk and it’s changing me.
And I am fucking grateful! For every single moment, even the hard and bad ones, because I can walk back through them in my mind, and because I can now see where my boundaries are.
I was borderless. My phone tried to change that to borderline how funny. That’s how that type of crazy feels. It’s not a good feeling.
I choose peace now, and I live in it, and no one can take that, and I made it out of nothing.
Fierce and loving ….
I won’t settle for anything less…. Melissa Etheridge sings. That’s the energy I was writing the last few minutes in, her song Fearless Love.
I wanted to say membrane for artistic quality, however it’s way to thin and tame a word for our subject matter.
Word salad, bread crumbs, generalities, banalities, poppy cock, and balderdash. That’s what the defense mechanism speaks. It wreaks of bullshit. Activated, deactivated. My friend calls it morphin time. Spoiler alert he’s a pink ranger fan.
The very fact he can speak about it as if it’s a choice shows the healing work that’s been done. The thing that brings hope and life to life.
I’m walk/run writing which means I’ll probably end up motion sick and nauseated. That’s old hat for me anyway. Are you kidding?! Stringing together beautiful words that never really say anything at all.
The water is low, very low. It smells that way. Peeeee ew. Blech. Death will eventually turn to life though…. And so it goes.
I hate lying and manipulation with a fiery passion these days. I somehow never seem to have less of it in my life. It seeps through. I can do all the work in the world and it still wafts through the air. I pick up on it like a bloodhound, get called crazy for my troubles, and become spun like a top.
Then it’s my reaction to the abuse that becomes criticized. How I save myself. Acts of violence even after all weapons have been put down.
A full surrender…..
Untangling myself from the mess of misperception. The very place I seek help from only becomes another source of misunderstanding. This I’m told is frequently peoples experiences in counseling.
Some counseling misunderstandings cost dearly. Those are the people meant to protect. We trust them more.
Thank God, the windows, the walls, whatever, that I finally learned that lesson. Those legs are still wobbly but they stand firm, shakes and all.
Listening to a counselor try to reason out why it’s difficult to apologize, rather than get a layer deeper to understanding. Don’t try and fix it, that’s ego, try and understand it and find the art to show the inhabitants of that magical safe space, the one space they are committed to listening, that’s safe enough.
Wouldn’t it just be easier to apologize?! What must it be like in a family without being able to do that?! Gee, you think?! Maybe first check what kind of family the person came from 101. Then add their experiences. These are not excuses they are understanding.
To help someone understand themselves by being understanding and compassionate. That borders on the miraculous.
Understanding is salve and balm. Cooling and soothing to the burning hot infected wounds. The disease has metastasized by now. I fall to my knees.
A human walking talking defense mechanism, who struggles inside her own life, and clears up misunderstandings for others, because of the knowledge she’s gathered. This process was not trivial.
A light warrior with a constant stream of dark thoughts about herself. That’s how I’ve kept my humility, it’s kept me. Trapped. Prisoner of war. I’m working on a different kind now. A kind with a wise guide rather than a harsh task master.
The war rages on.
A tear slowly drops down a child’s cheek. They know better. They know war can be replaced with love. But some people will always love war, more than peace. And some have a constant battle within. It’s those that know the value on peace. And there are those that never will.
One priest who couldn’t control himself all those years ago would ensure my abuse continued throughout the span of my life. One depraved religious crazy has had such an impact on my life. That’s what happens when you damage a child. You fucker. There’s a special place in hell for you.
I would never protect the adult over the child’s pain, it’s something I need to stay mindful of in my office because it’s easier to do than you think. We don’t want to be uncomfortable, don’t want to believe in monsters.
Counselors are constantly faced with the truth they are alive and well living right among us. The rest of the population would prefer to cover it’s eyes, and to create routine and distraction. Live your best life. Not everyone has that privilege.
I may serve the literary muse, but even a romantic heart knows, that’s the biggest ruse.
How can you damage a child? How can you break their trust and spirit before they even begin. The nausea turns to sickness. I can’t watch this shit because I’ve lived enough. Their spirit won’t be free again until death. When they can dream again.
Even I know some things break beyond repair and I’m in the healing business. And I’m not God or whomever. I’m just a person with a lot of knowledge that didn’t consent. It feels that way when I feel angry. But according to Julie I did exactly that, and those lost children did too?!
I don’t know.
I don’t care how much meaning can be made from suffering, breaking the spirit and trust in a child, watching the playful go out of them. It tastes metallic. I clench my jaw until my teeth press into my gums with the pain it being locked down inside somewhere and continuously misunderstood.
Because one human couldn’t control his cravings. Because he believed he was living as God intended. Incorrect belief systems in the hands of the wrong people keep the war waging. And hedging your bets is the biggest sin of all. Manipulating both sides. Agememnon.
I need an Achilles. With maybe a few less hair tosses lol. His destiny was his justification to fight mens wars, so perhaps not. He had to be arrogant. Does anyone have to be? One foot on earth, one with his mother. See, even Achilles has mommy issues.
When you’re locked down in a trauma mechanism it sure feels that way. Education, time, commitment, and determination help.
Can you break threads of destiny (would you want to) or are we all just deluded puppets after all.
I’ll leave it to the great philosophers, for I am just a good enough mother down on her knees praying to be forgiven for what she didn’t know, and still doesn’t.
One more circle around the block, then my coffee, my reward. My journal, my oxygen. Then clients. Then a soft safe space to rest before it all begins again.
I cry for how long I’ve judged my process and my decisions and choices. I cry for how hard I’ve been on myself when I’ve been surviving my whole life. Just because no one could see it. Judged for the ways I chose to save myself. Because I’m a mother, these choices meant I was selfish. The worst part is I allowed myself to believe those criticisms and as a result pulled away from my children.
I pulled away because I didn’t want to infect them with my particular disease. Survival is a great burden, and it’s hardly understood, except by those who have had to. I didn’t want them to understand, and then to feel close I needed them to. And that too became and unrealistic demand. I judged myself so harshly, and held on tight to that.
Holding on and letting go. Figuring out what to hold on to and what to let go of. The stakes feeling so high. I’ve softened all of that. Mistakes are the portals of discovery. In fact some of my most recent joy had so many in the beginning and that is what has made it feel perfect. The imperfect.
Because it’s real. You know? 😉
This morning on my sacred Sunday I am reflecting and wafting through my life. I’m listening to Exile by Taylor Swift and Bon Iver. I am just overwhelmed by the abundance I’ve created in my life by the self-work I’ve done. I’ve done the impossible, changed my wiring in so many ways. People don’t do this, but I am. And I’m fucking proud.
I’m so emotional lately…. That is when I can stop holding my breath. I still do that. I hold on and wait for the bottom to drop out, but I know when I’m doing that, and when I’m not, and it makes such a difference and when I’m feeling safe, when I can reflect, the tears immediately come. The gratitude. The joy.
I made it out alive and I kept my self on ice, ready for exploration once safe. Now I’m here, and so often I’m overwhelmed that it feels like I won’t get the experience in some way. Even when I’m right here in it.
This is a journey not a destination. This journey is so beautiful it brings me to my knees with emotion. The good, the bad, and everything in between.
I ran so fast and so hard. I ran on empty so long, that it’s hard to know how to operate on a full tank, and not just keep watching the gauge. No matter how many times I check, it’s full, won’t stop me from trying. Some things are hard wired.
I’m operating this new soft self. My mind tries to drag me to every worst case scenario and exhaust me into that familiar irritability, but I’ve hedged my bets with all the support I’ve allowed myself permission to seek, and to accept it.
My authentic self is finally taking the lead…. Slow and steady wins the race. I am steady. I am a rock. I am reliable and trustworthy. I am consistent and nurturing and so loving. I can see myself and it’s overwhelming.
I spent most of my life overwhelmed by fear, and now I get the privilege of being overwhelmed by love.
I just took a deep breath. Whenever I’m overwhelmed now, that’s what I do. The restless settles into security and then the fruits of my labors shine and sparkle all around. I blink my eyes and try to bring them in and out of focus. Yes Christina this is real.
It isn’t any longer all or nothing. My life is piloted by self trust, not story telling. And I will not shame myself for what developed out of survival, for I have always lived the philosophy of Maya Angelou. Once you know better do better. And I always have.
And now after 41 years on this planet I’m in my body. Through hell and back so many times. Fighting myself, fighting every battle that crossed my path, permanently in fight and flight mode. The story protected the mechanism and as long as that was the case the pattern repeated.
Now I am broken free. Out of jail and purgatory. It’s like having to learn everything from the beginning again, so vulnerable and raw.
I’m so exhausted, prone, in a good way. Laying spent across the earth finally without all the thoughts of illness and death.
Everything is a first right now in so many ways. Out of the dark night. Reborn. Now when I don’t want something to be over rather than dissociation, I open wider and connect more. It’s never over, the moments, they become absorbed into my being.
Becoming solid, whole, and present.
I am present, alive, for the first time in this way. Overwhelmed by possibility….. life is beautiful. I know I always believed in that, but I never felt it, not like this.
Recovery is a long road, and it can be beautiful. It doesn’t have to be dark. Turn on the light. Allow the universe to have your back and shine its gifts on your pain. Everything is connected….
I can’t sleep. My schedule has flipped. Night owl and sleeping in later. I guess that’s the difference between sadness and happiness. I don’t know what this is.
Watching Maid furiously….. having a fire in the fireplace. Smelling like fire. Those are my comforts right now. This show is my life in so many ways….. Andie McDowell as her mother is downright chilling. So close to my own, the eccentricities…. Except mine wasn’t often fun crazy. She was just crazy crazy.
But what really gets me is how she feels not good enough for something good…. At least up to the point I’ve watched. That’s what really gets me.
I’m in love with this show. That’s not something that happens very often. In fact the last time was Six Feet Under and Dexter.
I’m in pain. It feels like it will never be different. What is changing each day is me. I’m changing rapidly. My heart and my mind. The core stays the same. My thinking, my speed of living / thinking. It’s all different.
I’m getting moments these days with my kids, that I wouldn’t have had otherwise. Glimmers. Brilliant, dazzling, moments, where I can literally watch the meaning of my existence and able to see what I’m doing in a new way.
My therapist helps me see the ways I am parenting now that I wasn’t before and how hard I’ve worked for that. That is what keeps me going. I’m literally programmed for scarcity. I said that to her this morning. She said to me last week all the details of my success etc and it’s like I’m hearing about someone else’s life. I don’t feel successful. I feel scared most of the time, that something bad will happen at any moment.
At least I no longer fear that bad thing is me. There’s that.
In the absence of everything I’ve always centered my life around, love, I am learning To appreciate every tiny thing. Every time I pet the dog, a sip of coffee, someone being nice. These days when someone touches me, even just a pat on the back or just a small thing I nearly burst into tears.
I’m scarcely breathing most days, but somehow life is becoming more beautiful. It’s a new kind of love, mostly gratitude based. I watch this show where this woman is struggling, and I’ve known struggle, and I have all of these choices. And I almost don’t want them, it’s so foreign.
Like I don’t know what to do with this.
In this show I believe I’m on episode 9, and her mother has an episode and it chills me to the bone. The way she reacts almost catatonic. I remember feeling like that. And I was a little girl, and then I wasn’t, and the things happening were more disturbing and I just expected myself to get on with my life ? What was I thinking ? What were they thinking ?
The crackle and smell of the fire. I just hold on tight, curl up for my mostly lucid dreaming these days, stories all night, mostly benign, but sometimes intense. The sun will wake me up, and my coffee will bring me somewhat back to life.
Everything is different now.
I’m listening to Conversations in the Dark. 🙁 I’ve heard it thousands of times. It’s absolutely bizarre to not be able to change these things. To be in surrender and somehow ok with that, while not even the least bit ok at all.
I love my newest tattoo, my prince. He’s my favorite piece so far. My saniderm came half way off again. So I smell A and D ointment and the fresh afterglow of Dial Soap. I smell wood and ash and myself, my perfume…..
I ordered an Ironman Avengers Lego set on a flash deal for cyber Monday and I’m excited for that to come and to put it together. I just feel the need to do simple things. To play. Things I was never able to do.
What if I get lost in this dark wood ?
We will get our tree this weekend. Nothing fancy, just from a lot. At least I’ll enjoy and be coherent for putting it up. Last year I was completely numb and could barely function.
I’m functional currently, however the anesthetic has worn off and there’s no pain medication. I’m just learning to live this way.
I’ve decided to become adopted at the ripe old age of 41. I’ve wanted rings, and names and other peoples family and a place to belong and none are ever mine and I never felt worthy. I don’t feel that way anymore. The unconditional love I experienced the most was from The Jenkins. My first loves parents.
So as things roll out for me in the near future I have asked permission to have their name. Lots to do to make that happen, and perhaps a Christmas visit is in order, though I don’t know if I can get myself to move right now. I’m very hibernating, sticking to routines that are comforting and not expecting anything of myself right now.
Christina Jenkins. I think we should normalize adoption at any age. 💜 That’s a silver lining right now.
It’s injection day. I’ve been sleeping on the couch. My bedroom is a tomb right now. I can’t get the energy to get up there and the silence in there is deafening.
Eventually I’ll get up and breathe some life into it…. Make some changes etc. I’m just not there yet. Hibernation Nation. My feelings often lie and tell me it will never feel better. I know that isn’t true. I just need to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
And to keep finding the beauty in the simple things……
