Tag: #lovemakesafamily

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Just a Pupil in The School of Love…..

Love lift us up where we belong

It’s a gorgeous Sunday. I feel beautiful. Clear and peaceful and calm. Whole. Myself.

I no longer feel I’m outside of my body watching my life, or that I don’t deserve things coming my way today, or any other. Now I say this, but there are moments. The pain is not gone, my trauma is not gone.

I’ve just found a lot more peace in living, created a lot more.

I do however want to write more. I went to Kripalu and that was such an experience and I want to capture it. I made new and dear writer friends. I read bravely, shaking and crying even, but without hesitation and without shame.

I showed up!

I wrote pieces I didn’t know I had in me, many fragments of my life.

Sea glass.

I found myself in others there and vice versa.

I found out I’m a poet, a lyricist, that there’s a rhythm to my writing, and that I’m all in. I knew that. But I don’t mind finding out over and over.

I’m all in. With my whole heart.

This day feels beautiful. It doesn’t just look it. I’m no longer invisible or trying to make myself that way. So much unworthiness is being shedded.

I feel loved. I feel seen.

And I feel felt.

My home is full of loving people and music and food and joy. When I observe from the outside this is what I see and hear. People feel welcome and loved here.

I have new piano lessons that are so much better than the other. And I was able to realize that I didn’t lose any of what I learned (we never do). Once it’s in there it’s in there.

I got paperwork Friday to move forward with changing my name. Yes, I am being adopted at 42 years old, and no I don’t mind the administrative nightmare that ensues. I had been avoiding because of that.

I had a hospital trip last week, and a nurse said my last name and it felt weird. I don’t think I’ve ever felt I belonged to a last name. Sadly even those I share with my children, and is also the name of my business. It would be so easy to go back to that one. And also has the bonus of sharing it with my kids.

I need to belong to myself, and I also want to belong to a family that has known young me, that has shaped me, and that showed up.

I’ve spent long and hard thinking about this and even though I had acceptance and love from a family I kept it at arm’s length because of fear. They will write that on my grave perhaps. I was too afraid to lose it and that they were just being nice and every other fear you can imagine. Judging myself left and right. Analytical to a fault.

I’m done with that. It is with an open heart only, and still some better senses about me, that I choose to embark on the rest of my life.

How did you do it?! Not lose your heart….. it wasn’t easy.

So I am going to be Christina Nicole Jenkins soon.

When I think of love and being loved it’s them that I think of when it comes to family. Them that have known and loved me all the years of my life unconditionally and without expectation or becoming upset with me for the choices I’ve made.

When I think of how I love. How I include my daughter’s boyfriend as he’s one of the family, and holidays, it is them I have modeled the most after. How I have loved friends as my own, my desire to make anyone in my area feel like family. That’s me. That’s my own. It always was.

My first love Michael Jenkins and I… we are still in love. Not the romantic be together kind, but the kind who experienced first love together. I always did wish to marry him, so the last name will do. 😉 I feel warm and safe and seen and felt all these years later with him, and the family who loved me naturally. With him or not. They love me for me.

They just lost a daughter recently. My heart hurts for them. I’m sorry.

So I’m just realizing more recently a lot more about love. What it is. Who I am in its arms. How it’s shaped my life. Whether it was the having of it or the lacking of it. Whether it was lightning bolt love that jolts you awake to so many things, slow love that is learned, love of a friend, love of self, passion, vocation, nature.

What is love is my writing prompt from Melissa. And even if I do know a lot more about what it’s not, I am an eager student.

I used to just go blank when Melissa would ask me anything about me.

So on this Mother’s Day I have a mother and I am a mother, and there’s no internal conflict or pit of pain and despair to be found.

My life is “good enough”, not longing for anything else. Always that burning longing…. a purgatory my childhood years left me to resolve and I’ve turned pain into art.

The art of life itself.

And I love living.

So I’m sitting here pondering the consistent stable things I’ve created this past two years.

I am consistent and committed to my healing. Which includes routines I crave and love. They include exercise, nature, connection, writing, touch, learning, reading, and play. In no particular order because writing would be first, though play in last does track.

And little by little the hyper vigilant guard let’s down my walls and I swim in a sea of love without drowning or jumping out. I’m finding ways to navigate the waters. Ways into and out of myself that are constructive rather than destructive.

It’s not perfect. I’m still doing a lot of grieving. My heart is still heavy in ways that are felt in daily life, especially on holidays, and milestones. There are aches of what was, and what never was. Phantom limbs that tingle. Vivid moments.

I still do grief rituals. Deep moments of allowing. No blocking.

Those are part of life now, and I don’t worry that they will bitter the sweet. They are the product of a life well lived of pursuing that which sets my heart on fire and there’s no shame in that.

I have nothing to be ashamed of or regret, only to peacefully sort my way through gently, ever so gentle with my heart.

Tread softly on me. I have a lot of scars.

I deal with a lot of pain physically and emotionally daily. That’s normal for me. My normal. When I get too down about it life gets harder. When I have some story like I’m meant to be this suffering thing. That’s ridiculous.

I just take things one day at a time and get better at coping with those difficulties and at being at home inside my body and with my wide open heart.

This is where I am 💜

It’s the first Mother’s Day I’ve truly let go and forgiven myself for not being able to stay where I was being harmed. Not wondering if I would attend a funeral for someone who died for me a long time ago. For someone who didn’t consider my well being.

How can a mother ever be that way with a child. I’m not perfect, not near to it, but I’d never give up becoming a mother.

I never give up, and I am loyal when safely connected and seen and felt.

I would have stayed loving her if it wasn’t burning me alive.

She never became a mother.

And thankfully I did and am.

It’s hard to not regret how long it’s taken me to get here. To give without resentment and that edge I always had. It creeps up like bile crawling up my throat. I now know where to put it, and life is much easier.

I want to give now. I’m not as exhausted all the time now.

I want to be a mother and someday a grandmother who my loved ones feel felt by. That I am able to pay attention to them without getting overstimulated, freezing, isolating, fawning, covered in panic.

Separated off in my mind in some terrible intrusion.

So I do the work, walk the line, show up.

I’m emotional often now. Like a raw exposed nerve. Like a burn victim. No longer reacting at every touch. I can lean in to connection and learn.

It’s humbling and rewarding and I am present and accountable.

All my love…

Mom

Ps: oh and the entire reason I began writing was to write about my schedule adjustment, and how that feels, but this feels complete. So next post…. My writing has a mind of it’s own and takes me on the ride.

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Everyone deserves someone who has their back no matter what

Because to take away a man’s freedom of choice, even his freedom to make the wrong choice, is to manipulate him as though he were a puppet and not a person.
Madeline L’Engle

It’s so interesting I’m reading East of Eden right now. Nothing is an accident ever.

Years of generational trauma are coming to a head in my little family. We are all facing our stuff.

I had a dream ……

I think of the beginning of Mama Mia, how many times I watched that movie thinking I just liked Abba. Ha. It took years to click that a movie about a girl who has three father’s that show up all wanting her, was obviously going to tickle my fantasy.

I remember my own father (during a short reconnecting I initiated, it was not a warm reception) mocked me for liking such a corny production. Oh the irony there. He was a smart man from the little I knew him, but severely lacking in emotional intelligence and empathy. Or maybe that’s just because he never continued his connection with me. I most likely will never know. It matters less in this present time. Not as much of a gaping wound.

Mama Mia is an intelligent play with a brilliant cast. You’ll never make me think differently.

I also dreamed of being a good mother, a dream that often felt out of reach. People would try to encourage me, and I would make sure they knew they just didn’t know what lurked inside of me well enough.

But as it turns out if you’re courageous and you don’t give up, you can absolutely attain what you desire.

As a generational curse breaker it was never going to be easy. I couldn’t have imagined it would be this hard, or this worth it.

I stand with the misunderstood and the misunderstanding in their pain, and now I also stand with myself.

My children are strong and beautiful and all heart, at times to their detriment, but that’s normal.

They are kind to others.

My children are kind to others, not perfect. They are kind.

They too are learning to turn their pain into power.

We have been in family therapy for going on three years now. We have all wanted to give up I’d imagine. We have been through therapist’s, and harmed by them at times. Others have helped.

We show up.

It’s often a slow hard slog through painful sludge. At times it’s excruciatingly like being burned alive.

Most of the time I’ve doubted it’s the right thing, as it’s not the popular way. Just let them be kids leave them alone, and do it in a more acceptable way. Make things look better don’t introspect it’s dangerous. I feel the opposite, it’s dangerous to people when you don’t/can’t/ won’t.

Most of my life I’ve doubted the good in me. I’ve spent it separated from myself. That is excruciating. It is torture.

Then I became tortured.

I didn’t want to breathe anymore I was so lost. All of the truths I thought I knew shattered and an even worse view of myself to climb out of.

I stayed the course.

I still have plenty of healing to do. We still have plenty of healing to do. But the heaviness is lifting, and in this new freedom we all attempt to connect naturally as best we can, with no force involved.

No having to constantly control my own emotions or attempting to control anyone else’s so I can have an illusion of safety.

Just a free fall into the clouds. This blissful peace that warms my sore bones.

I feel at times like I’ve been hypnotized or am in an alternate universe. That’s how far away good has felt for me. If something is good it feels like it’s in a dream, foggy ethereal, surreal.

And certainly not mine…..

I remember driving to my office in Fairfield and just asking over and over if this was really my life. I actually was aware how dissociative I was, but I stayed right near me until it was safe enough to embody my body.

As it turns out that can be the most painful “surgery” you may ever endure. Once inside you feel everything via the body.

You feel everything

I feel everything

I am love

You’re love

Misunderstandings won’t keep us apart.

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Unfolding the Memoir Piece by Piece

I was never going to be able to write unless I got safe.

Felt safe

I was never safe with you and you made that about me not staying, when the truth is I had stayed past any logical point that any human would endure.

Any human that wasn’t wired with love being harmful, inconsistent and dangerous.

My ideas of love and my wiring are all crossed. I’m so angry about this. This is so painful.

They probably look like cords behind an entertainment stand, or underneath a computer desk did in the 80’s. Or still do for me because I tend to be old fashioned about things.

With my mom I was always responsible for her pain and not abandoning her. But the relationship was a one way street. Love was expected from me. Unconditional affection, acceptance, supply. But I was given nothing of the sort in return.

(To this day she pops up curious about my life, and ashamed because of how other people see her not having a relationship with her daughter. She and her boyfriend try and find pictures to print and display, from the internet. I do my best to shield all of us from that. To live far enough away.)

I was given terror.

Then when normal things would happen. Teenage moods being unpredictable I reacted like a feral animal, and not the steadfast parent I wanted to see myself as. Another life sentence inside my head of shame. I crawl out a little at a time now.

I am programmed for pain, when it comes to love. So now when I am loved it feels odd, suffocating sometimes, scary. I feel responsible to return it right away and scattered about how I should do that. What’s the formula.

I was rendered only able to think, never safe to feel.

So when I do feel now in real time, the moments become sealed forever to be replayed for survival. A reel of pictures in my own mind to survive off of when inevitably the same exile over and over will occur.

It’s hard to say these things, because if you say something it’s more true right?! Maybe if you just don’t acknowledge it, it will go away. Freeze and hide.

Once you say how you feel it could be a life sentence. Someone could take it out of context and once again misunderstand you so egregiously. I’ve served several of these after a desperate bought of honesty begging to be loved. And I never thought it could happen later in life after I’d worked so hard.

What I mean about a life sentence is having been so alone when it comes to relationship, you develop only an inner dialogue about what you’re doing right or wrong, and usually it’s wrong and why. And that’s your primary companion.

This companion serves the purpose of trying to make sure if you have even a shot at love, that you aren’t abandoned. So it critiques and controls your every move via your thoughts.

I was alone with all the things she said, running through my head, she was me. I was alone with how bad I was because I was the one who exploded right. The other is calm cool and collected. Yes Taylor, the problem was me.

I often pair love and food together. If I have felt love when I have eaten a meal, I have a photographic memory of that time. Every single detail and the taste I can recall. I crave that food. I try and recreate it, but it’s never the same.

I can only imagine this as a product of the scarcity of both I once had in my life.

I can finally speak about it without my inner roommate telling me I’m whiny, going to be judged, being a victim, manipulating, it wasn’t that bad Christina. You’re so dramatic. And the like…..

When I talk about my past my breath quickens to short gasps, my chest tightens, it feels like I’m choking. The fear is as if snakes were crawling all over my body. My ears get red and hot and I feel like I’m burning alive. Sometimes just for fun, this happens unprovoked when I’m just trying to live my life.

I felt this way the last time my mother touched me, which ironically was over my grandfather’s deathbed. Talk about confusing.

The words released were always an act of treason, my truth always caused me trouble. No where to turn but inward.

Like my love with my grandfather wasn’t complicated already. A harsh authoritarian constantly telling me I’d be a slut like my mother if I preferred the company of boys, at the ripe age somewhere between 10 and 12. Constantly commenting on my body, those long legs Chris you have to fill them up. Always comments on my body.

I was a Tom boy. I preferred the company of boys and their clothes and that was wrong and bad for so many reasons in that household. So was talking too much, and being enthusiastic, and taking up too much space.

I wore strange clothing because grandmother always tried to find things on sale. One year my wardrobe consisted of those Mc hammer workout pants popular with muscly work out men in California. They were cheap so I got every pair of a different design. Neon black and yellow lightning patterns, t shirts with kittens on them and Fanny packs.

I never stood a chance.

I was a walking target of weird. Including the bargain haircuts my aunt gave me while she was in beauty school. Nails were her gift. Not hair. My haircuts looked like a Lego man hair cap.

I’m terribly lucky I got braces. One of the only things that turned around how I felt about myself later was having nice teeth.

And paying for things for my moms bastard child came under hot scrutiny and loud verbal opinions by my aunt, and others. The welfare bitches welp is taking my inheritance again.

Every time I got a gift or something uniquely for me, it caused a terrible fight between my mom and my aunt. Every time I received I was punished. See anything familiar here.

Not a thought about how the child felt in the scenario. I heard all of it.

I tried again and again to shrink to fit, but my humanity ending up bursting forth in the form of behavioral outbursts and undesirable traits at school. Begging to be loved and seen as something good or at all, at all the inappropriate times.

My desk was always next to the teacher. I picked physical fights with boys. I was always rescuing the hurt and drawn to staying so close to them. I’ll never leave you. I know it’s unsafe at home. For me too it is, but yours is probably worse and definitely more legitimate.

You have a family. One of those unicorn things.

So anytime I was welcomed into a family circle, inside, the experience is always powerfully compelling and at the same time repelling. Terror and confusion, mixed with beginning to feel loved and seen.

Spoiler alert: it’s only a matter of time until you see how bad I am. This will always be in there, the pain of it, even if the cognition can be expelled via emdr.

Dance with the humans you belong. In childhood dancing was a sign of sexual wrongdoing. You did not do it it was dirty in every sense of the word.

Which makes sense the strong attachment I felt to my childhood best friend whose family while also Seventh Day Adventist, was a “little more progressive” and I learned so many things I loved.

She had older brothers with cool cars, and bad habits and it was so exciting, like being at the zoo seeing how other families functioned. Those real ones with moms and dads and siblings where things were not so incredibly fucked up (but still were).

I borrowed dirty dancing and faked sick from school the next day. I paused all the sexy parts and felt dirty and shameful and alive. To this day I could probably quote the whole movie by heart, and also never need to watch it again because I see it in my mind.

You could have thought it would be Footloose, but no it was dirty dancing. I probably related a lot more to Jennifer gray, her mousiness and child like demeanor, good girl persona.

Good bad good bad. Pick a side like the movies and it will play out like a movie. There is no real life. Only the one in my head.

I wanted to be good and do good, but I also craved to be cool so I would be…. You guessed it loveable.

So I could be loved.

Who knew that later in life the pairing of the offering of a family that wasn’t real, or theirs to offer, and …. I lost my thought. So painful when this happens, this is what happens when you write in communal space, and have teens lol, sigh.

I only ever could dance with alcohol and the sting of the comments by people when I looked awkward doing it, nearly too much to bear.

So that day when I danced sober with a family and a young child I loved, was magical for me.

I was only there because of something else that felt magical for me.

When something feels magical and then turns to immense suffering because I couldn’t even trust my own mind….

Not being able to trust your own mind is a special kind of hell.

My own mind is so often all there was. I was so alone with my own mind sometimes I thought I would never emerge a person.

It was the beginning of the end.

A soul death.

I am here in recovery trying to balance closing up the wounds and moving forward with my life in a way that for the first time can feel whole.

It is a gargantuan undertaking.

Recovery can be brutal and is also beautiful. Brutiful Glennon would call it. Make no mistake it’s a full time job and anyone who has to spend most of their life recovering from their childhood should be compensated appropriately so they can live out the rest of their days in peace.

If ever I am in a position to do so I would use funds to make this a thing.

I thank God, the windows, and the walls for the enthusiasm I was blessed with, that has me never giving up. Because it has hurt enough to make anyone want to.

I have more peace than enthusiasm these days and sometimes that is painful, it’s temping to feel less alive in it.

One should not have to come to great harm to feel alive or to feel love.

💜

I’ve outdone myself this Sunday. It ripped wide open. Just the beginning….

There are whole schools of thought around whether this type of introspection is helpful or not. Let alone sharing it. Allowing myself permission to exist as I am with all my parts and all my thoughts is cathartic. This is my vehicle.

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When Healing Turns a Corner, and it Gets Really Good….

*I used talk to text a lot, so this is probably an editing nightmare, and since I realize how life short is these days who has time to edit. We will do that when the finished product exists.

We are on the right side of rock bottom….

On lap three. A post started to formulate and if I continue to explain; during that time I’ll lose my actual thought. It’s that easy, to lose it, for me.

I’m walking to the rhythm. Feeling my ass strengthen, and the back of my legs. In this moment I could be a prize athlete, but only in my imagination and current empowerment.

Then though I’d look in the mirror and see the slightly overly well insulated forty two year old who in so many ways is just meeting herself for the first time.

I feel very different on the inside than I could be judged for on the outside. Hmm what a thought. And that how I actually feel about having stripped away all these layers of self and other expectations, is free.

Free

There’s a certain corner you turn with recovery when it just starts getting good, and I mean capital G ood. It’s not like there isn’t still all the other things. Memories, pain, pleasure all of it, all the time.

Time and trust are essential to this 💜

With the right (a good) formula life can get good (great). Feel good. Far from perfect, but just good. Yeah you get the idea.

Good is perfect

Euphoria was so last season, except still my favorite perfume for my chemistry. It’s mine, and so am I.

And I am the world’s.

And you were my Achilles heal and my kryptonite.

I hold the memories and the story. They intertwine like our fingers.

Push me, pull me, taste me. I dare you to erase me. It will never be real, just coping.

Cope this

Exercise makes me fiesty and a few other things. Fiesta. Foreva: silly playful.

I’m listening to A Million Dreams. It never gets old. I’m thinking about the restlessness inside of me, and how I don’t tell stories about what it means anymore. About how now I understand it as pain. I understand the irritable moods so much differently.

Yesterday I drove to Fairfield to get a B12 injection. I do this usually on Fridays once a month. Sometimes I have to have them as often as weekly, but right now we are in a maintenance phase.

I went to Barnes & Noble, to get a hard cover leather bound journal that is my favorite. Spoiler alert: Ended up with a Hamsa one, called to me, Italian leather mmm the smell.

I’d hate my sensory stuff so much, if I didn’t have so many other reasons to love it.

I might actually be ready to just write my story in it, not worrying about not having the ability to edit….

just write Christina

I will also look at the sale journals, as there are often many gems in there, I have been tasked to get the book, Come as you are, by my therapist.

Sex didn’t really have anything to do with it, she told me that the woman who wrote it, describes the cycle of trauma, in a way that, even through all of her training, that has not been matched, so I am going to read a sex, trauma book, to gather more helpful information about the rest of the trauma.

The content I’ve been with lately is so good ! What I’m reading and studying I mean.

It’s been along time since I’ve done any in office therapy, just because of how my schedule works. But I happen to be going on Tuesday, and I asked my therapist if we would do any EMDR.

We discussed that if I am going to do you will work around the negative cognition that I am unlovable.

So I’m sitting here thinking about this now. The rough around the edges of it all and I’m thinking about how, that’s not my identity, that is my pain.

The pain that lives inside me at all times.

I thought about conceptualizing it as the pain I carry, but that seems like way too much responsibility for things I had no part in. It just lives in there and I’m trying to make it a hospitable roommate. .. bend it to my iron will.

That’s an interesting way to conceptualize pain, right? I thought so.

I’m not responsible for so many things I carried and was willing to carry.

I am toggling back-and-forth between a million dreams and talk to write.

I am thinking about how curiosity killed the cat, and sometimes we see things that burn with a white hot inferno of pain.

In the need to sort out truth from all of the lies, your own experience.

And I think about how the most important things, true intimacy are the things that are not seen. They are not the flashy gatherings, the professional photographs, the websites, the events, because often times beneath those things are very different tale is told.

I think about how I am no longer duped, by outward images, and I have a much greater wisdom around that. That is safety.

I have been watching the show Away.

I always did love Hillary Swank. Thinking about how I have a passion and a family, and where does it all fit.?!

What I like most about the show so far, is the couple’s support for one another’s passion, the type of way that one knows who the other person is, no matter what, and how important that is. I love that kind of love, the kind driven by a deep understanding and loyalty for the other.

I have dreamt about that kind of love. I thought I had tasted it, and that turned out to be a rotten lie, the most egregious of which I told myself and allowed myself to believe. I was all in, and despite it hurting people I loved, I chose.

Now I allow myself to feel everything.

I have not cut off a single part of me to survive. Because the cycle must be complete. I must discharge the demons from my mind. There is no ruthless creature here. Only a beautiful human interested in helping and healing.

It isn’t something that can be sold. It isn’t something that can be manufactured, it is naturally forged through time, and staying.

Stay. Ironically I was wearing a t- shirt that said that during my last therapy session.

The word stay came up in my therapy session today, and what happens after you stay, the goal, the good. Not some benchmark for how many years you have under your belt together, or a flashy show, the real and indisposed of it all.

Stay not as a taunt or a gaslight, but the real kind. The kind where it can get good inside of the trust and warmth.

I am learning that is the formula of writing. I never needed to sacrifice to have what I wanted, only to allow and let go of what hurts.

That’s it 😉 like it’s easy?! Lol

Anyway, I’m going to walk into Barnes & Noble for now, and then I’m going to take myself on a lunch date where I spend time with my best friends, the book I am reading, and the begging to be inked upon journal.

And that was Friday and now it’s Saturday. Finishing this and a walk at the same time. Motion sick is a real thing. Maybe less walking and writing?! Maybe not.

Maybe I’ll fall in love with today.

Watched About Time yesterday and realized how much in it I am about. Learning why it’s my favorite. Every song. Especially into my arms. Oh the dreams I’ve had to that song. And the movie Life Itself. Connection. Emotional safety. Love. These are the things I’m about.

There’s no perfect in here, only good. And now that that’s softer life can really begin. Open heart and mind, kick ass boundaries. Self support and love. I deserve them all.

Dreams become reality. And I can hold space for all of it, my pain too, and the uncertainty.

I watched Stutz last night. So so good!

I have so much more to say but it will have to wait. ….

Stay Tuned

Oh ps I’m mostly keeping my no buying books 2023 goal. I had a gift card and occasionally find a way to cheat the system a little, but it’s been greatly reduced and that’s the point right. To lay down roots with the ones I already have, pay them the attention they deserve.

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Making Amends with Myself, the Primary Source….

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.

Stay tuned

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Beauty is a curse, I’ve long known this

I’ve got approximately two and a half hours left of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo and I’ve been savoring it. I’ll feel incomplete for a short while in its absence. I’ve been all or nothing so long, it’s nice to read it bit bit and then process and listen to music. I have a nice groove going on.

I walked to Natural Kitchen and got a bowl today. I think the tuna from there makes me a little allergic, probably some preservative they use. A major goal in the new year is to begin working with a nutritionist and allergist and really attend to my health.

Another goal is to spend very little and see if I can pay off my student loans. I’m coming up with a strategy with my financial advisor. I want to leave my children with a good financial situation and also make sure in case anything happens to me with my Crohns that I have wiggle room. So they and we are safe and don’t have additional stress.

*don’t worry I’m not leaving anytime soon, I just think that far ahead. It’s a part of me.

When did I suddenly become such an adult ?! Who knows!?

I was able to do quite a bit for those I love this year for Christmas and it’s all done. I’m usually panicking the night before. It’s pinch me unreal the things I’m able to do.

I’ve been that way most of my life though, pinching myself at things I just never could even have seen for myself. How rich my experiences have been. No corner of my life unturned and I shall continue living this way.

I wore my only human sweats today and grey under armor sweater with beanie and just felt cool ha. Feels silly to say but I did. I felt cool despite having my winter weight on, some breaking out on my face. I just don’t torture myself anymore and that feels very nice.

To not nitpick myself apart about perfection. Now if I could just continue to do that with writing.

Go easy on me baby….. appropriate.

Henri is asleep at my feet. The cat dog that she is. The little prince is cleaning up after his ugly Christmas / cookie extravaganza last night. Thankful those are few and far between, and also grateful to be able to be that house and have such a good group of kids.

I feel like Diane Lane in the end of Under the Tuscan Sun, something I want to read by the way. I’ve only seen the movie. She had felt so low at one point, like she was never going to have what she wanted and then realizes she did even though it’s completely different than she thought.

Yep my face is definitely flushing from this food. I get much less anxious about these things anymore. I go with I’ll be fine, and if I’m not I’ll know and be able to get the care I need. Not going to eat this bowl again. But I will for sure walk to places to get my food and even shopping. I love walking when I can instead of driving.

Maybe next I’ll bike everywhere and keep costs down. Anything can be an adventure. I could be happy the rest of my life walking back and forth to the library and eating a picnic lunch out in the sun with a book.

The simple things…

I just want to make sure my loved ones are safe and cared for and myself and we have experiences. That’s what I’m focused on lately, and that I make choices that are congruent with that. Yes a therapist word for sure. Shocking 😉

Writing a book lately feels like more of a when, than an if. That feels so nice. I could cry just to say it, but most important that I feel it. A sense of security and that it’s solid. If my circumstances change I still am solid. That’s taking root.

It’s my birthday tomorrow. It feels different this year somehow. I’m acknowledging it and not saying it doesn’t matter and I don’t need anything. It feels calm and safe.

In fact I need to see a show, A Strange Loop on Broadway and the tree and have a nice dinner in the city with my loved ones. I’m not anxious. Well maybe a little. About not finding a bathroom or anything that can happen, but the excitement outweighs. Mmmm.

I have more than I need. I can begin thinking about what I can do to give to my community and to my field and all of it.

I have so much more to write maybe today will be a twofer or tomorrow morning I’ll take some time for me to contemplate the brink of my forty second trip around the Sun.

I was going to talk about Evelyn’s sixth husband because that’s where I am. And how I feel for people so beautiful they get trapped in the upkeep of it all, it’s one thing to enjoy taking care of yourself, pressure however is quite another.

Ok so I wrote this a couple of days ago and didn’t post. It’s more an update than passion ridden prose. A theme I suppose. I have therapy now on Christmas Eve eve. Then walking and family time. I anticipate a lot of writing as I am present and coming to the end of Evelyn’s story.

And still well at the beginning of mine 💜

Ps and in true Christina fashion I didn’t talk about the title subject much at all. Stay tuned it will come along somewhere…. Soon. I think. Maybe

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Deep Understanding Sought on Rainy Day Walks

“In Your Wildest Dreams”

I’m learning ….. that

I always need to have an exit strategy which includes an exit narrative and I’m working out the difference between that and a balanced look at things. It’s not easy work.

It’s dark out and gloomy, but I don’t feel that way. My storms are calm. For now.

“But I’d follow you to the great unknown. Off to a world we’d call our own.” I want to watch this movie. It’s been awhile. That and the movie UP are on my mind. This blog is my attempt to not lose myself in the fray.

I am lost, I am found. I’m a walking contradiction that’s hard to be around.

No.

So many changes around me and the seasons are the least of it. “So I’d risk it all just to be with you.” Yeah did that. Not anymore. I wouldn’t risk the stability of my kids and I for anything again. I have to work daily at self forgiveness. It becomes a way of life, not some singular moment.

Forgiveness and compassion for self. It starts there, and I learned very little of it. I have to start from scratch.

Yes.

Left right left right. One foot in front of another. The most simple part of my day. Me with me. Walking.

Gentle walking. Tears falling. Tension releasing. Surrender walking. White flag walking. Calm talking. Rhythmic rocking. No tik tokking. Lol. Have to play a little. A little lighter.

The rain begins to fall. I don’t know it all.

When I don’t I’m not safe. You try it the way I’ve had it and see how you do.

Coming to grips blow by blow continuously seeking flow.

Here comes the rain. Don’t know how hard it will be. Will I drown?!

One mile is pretty good for a migraine day. One migraine for a holiday month is pretty good. My stats are going pretty well. Maybe I’ll make it two, you never know.

But I do.

It’s only rainy not raining, not pouring. The difference is important. Nuance is important. Understanding is important. Black and white is dangerous.

Just breathe Christina. Breathe. The only thing you need to do is be yourself, who you truly are, and be honest about that, and what you want and need.

Why is that so fucking hard.

You know why.

You’re seeing my chat with my higher self in real time. It’s ok to have an exit strategy, but decide what the criteria is for using it or not. You get to decide. You don’t have to decide: you get to. It’s a privilege, not your sole responsibility. It never was.

What I Have. Kelsea Ballerini. Cuz I got a roof over my head, I’m doing alright right where I’m at with what I have.

The simple things like making a stir fry on a rainy day. Simplify. When all your mind does is complicate, simple is bliss.

One more loop. One more mile. One more tear slips down my face. One more epiphany. One more day of life at least. It’s not a burden it’s a gift. You’re not bad Christina. Not emotionally uncaring or shut down or cold. Unclench.

It’ll be ok. How do you want me to believe that when it never was. Let alone want me to say that to you. I don’t know how. Help me.

Have you ever actually been unsafe?!

You don’t have to be to feel that way I’m learning. The mind can play cruel tricks, but it can also heal.

A beautiful mind and a wounded heart are a difficult combination.

Gifted but only in the right places. Threatening in others.

I’m not bad. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t yours either.

Misunderstandings are a prison. Don’t let your mind be.

Plant a garden. You plant so many flowers. All of my plants die. Argue argue argue.

Minds a mess. A mind at rest.

Lay with me….

B12 injection in Fairfield. So many memories there. My first office. It took so long to feel real. Like that was my life and not a fantasy.

Surreal every day. Until the truth finally sets in. It takes so long for that to happen.

It takes all the consistency there never was, and follow through on the build.

Don’t abandon this project, she’s going to be great. She always was.

The world may, you may, but I never will. I’m right here.

These days I’m working on my relationship with myself. It requires a lot of healing and many optimal conditions for that.

My heart requires it.

So if you want a place at this table inquire within if you can be congruent without.

Meet me here if you dare.

More art. Less war. Open heart on firm ground.

Kiss me

But only if you know me, see me, understand me….

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Cotton Candy Sunrises Paint this Wounded Warrior’s Mind

That ice crust on the outside though, the moment your teeth break through. The feeling when you have the whole thing still, and the one when there’s only a bite left. Moments.

“I want to live and not just survive…. That’s why I can’t love you in the dark….Adele this morning.“

It’s finally a cold morning. I woke up needing to walk…. So here I am. The tree that was dazzling fire the other day, is already coal and ash. It changes as quickly as my consciousness does.

I was recently conceptualized as a porcupine. The irony. Rough around the edges huh. Shocking. The guards don’t relent, and they don’t dispatch either. Maybe if I’m still, meditation, contemplation, they will get bored and stray.

Doubtful. They are loyal to a fault.

Porcupines aren’t bad. They have soft underbelly’s. But reaching that space, that’s another matter entirely.

The cold air prickles my skin this morning, quills or not. The sun’s rising is creating a cotton candy pastel glow. It’s a Lisa Frank Trapper Keeper out here this morning. I am truly old 😉

As she approaches (the Sun) it’s an Orange Creamsicle now. A childhood memory fragment. On field days and other occasions my odd Seventh Day Adventist k-12 school always offered either that or a fudgesicle. How would you spell that anyway.?!

Anyway I was never a fudge girl or chocolate. But every once in awhile I’d change it up, because I knew the power of variety and learning. I wanted to try. To this day give me a plain French vanilla ice cream from a classic parlor any day. Bliss. It’s hard to come by actually.

It’s rare I remember that playground, the one I had so many nightmares about. Waking and dreaming one’s. Just a gaggle of little ones playing silly pretend games.

In recent years some of those little girls have come forward and shared their secrets and their truths with me. They felt I was safe and a protector. That’s because we knew each other. Could smell the fear on her.

I remember how much I knew and wanted to protect as a kindergartner. And now I know that shouldn’t have been. Now I can be angry and reclaim.

Now I can see the friends with children with two loving parents living their lives around their children and know where each quill originated.

I might as well be from another planet observing. What would that be like?! I consistent world of that. So much less running, and yelling. Having my truth choked out of me. With silent manipulation. With cold hard death stares. With every adult temper tantrum.

The gun in her mouth, the passed out all the time, powder and mirrors. I was a little girl.

I wasn’t.

I was an informant, a spy, a comforter, a therapist, a massage therapist, a toy, a buddy, a friend.

I was terrified and frozen and forced out of my heart and up into my head before I ever knew a thing about me. To try and preserve anything that could be, without even knowing I was doing that.

Viktor Frankl mindset before I knew what or who he and that was.

I had a good attitude about life and I loved people, as fucked up as they were. I loved living.

I have always loved waking up, even when the content of the day sometimes made me wish to sleep forever.

The gift I have is every day is a blank canvas and always has the possibility of being a masterpiece.

For so long I was chasing the ability to consistently create one, in whichever area of my life.

Now I’m walking with the world and listening and looking. No more chasing, and no more running either.

My work deepens, my clients heal before my eyes. And now I do too. So I can keep going with it. We cannot ask people to travel further than we have. Rollo May.

Did you know you can see a person heal.?! It’s observable. Their nervous system calms. Their eyes meet yours. They hunch down less, with each empowering choice they are able to make because they understand and feel supported.

Seeing themselves through new eyes and new understanding.

It IS Magic. And I am privileged.

So what if the solid ground of my identity was forged the way it was, it has created a beautiful life and career. One that just keeps getting better.

I get to watch people come home to their true selves, as I do the same.

Creating positive ripples in a hundred families. Changes that ease the suffering and create possibilities. The starfish and made a difference to that one.

We find our way together. The walking wounded and the gifts that produces. One of the greatest misunderstandings about pain.

When I opened this this morning while walking I had no idea what it would become, but here we are.

Letting go and letting things take on a life of their own. Being in a space with myself that I can allow that.

Magic

Ps mom moment: twin b is having wisdom tooth surgery in Washington where she’s staying with her aunt, to adventure. I won’t be taking care of her for the first time in our lives for a medical procedure and that hurts my heart. I feel it. That’s the beautiful part. She’s well cared for, so that’s good. And she will be home for Christmas. But this is a first that I couldn’t have anticipated the sharpness of. “I just want to protect you the way the skin protects your blood.”

Never wish not to feel something. Trust me on this one. It’s torture.

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It’s Time to Lay Down the Sword….

In clearing your name you have ruined our lives.

A lesson of late, there are many, is that brute force and iron will are not the best way.

I won’t say they don’t work, they have served me well in certain ways, and we will honor the necessity that forged them in me.

I’m wanting something softer and wiser these days. The written word. Reading the words. Humility. Learning.

The pen really is mightier than the sword. I’d take everything I felt I could get and figure out the rest later. A main strategy.

Gather. Hunt. Grind. Grit. Sweat. Choke back the tears. She turns her head away in that office, so you won’t see her cry. Willing the tears not to come. They never helped her before.

Yes I remember. I remember every single moment, and I don’t will myself to forget. I don’t work that way anymore.

Would you even recognize me? Or does the completion of a soul contract change everything? I don’t know.

“Be careful with that one love, he will do whatever he needs to do to survive. You built me palaces out of paragraphs.”

Scraps for my memoir written in the bath this am as I read Stephen King On Writing, which I’ll finally finish after five years of trying. It’s time she whispers. It’s time she roars.

“I used to just carry a book around, with very little hope that I’d ever fully read it. Let alone write one of my own.

I lived on crumbs you see.

And I gave everything I had to everyone else every day, in the hopes of someday giving and receiving love the way it always seems other people do.

I gave to anyone else with very little discernment.

My trauma reduced me to focusing only on what was in front of my face if at all.

I could barely keep a train of thought, hell a car of thought.

I barely had any ability to focus at all.

Scraps.

Starved

Becoming”

Let it burn. Anything that isn’t yours naturally. Anything that betrays your personal values in the process. Things will be offered. They will cross your path.

Twin B has wisdom tooth surgery in a few days, far away, never someone else’s baby, but won’t be her caretaker right now. Letting go of our babies is hard. I think of her getting to learn more than I could teach at that time, and experiencing herself in a positive light, something I wasn’t offering at that time. These things bring me joy and peace. The former not the latter of course.

I can’t go down rabbit holes anymore. It doesn’t work. I just good my head up and keep going. Get up and try again.

So anyway back to my story. Did I say I had one? I already can’t remember. That thought is ten years ago within two seconds. Time is irrelevant when we are doing soul work. A minute can last hours and hours can be over in a second.

My fortieth birthday. I was going through what some call a dark night of the soul. Hell. Purgatory. When we are face to face with our shadow Lisa Romano might say, probably has said many times.

I was in scarcity in so many areas. I ordered my own birthday cake. I did this as an act of self love at that time. I was learning how to not wait and hope for the things I wanted to arrive. So I was thinking I was self loving. But really I had zero faith that anyone would show up. It’s not surprising given my choices at that time.

I made my bed.

But my mistakes could not have been so bad I wouldn’t be thought of on my birthday. I have all those memories. Not all bad. Not even.

Anyway my twin B asked me or more commented that “you bought yourself your own cake.” It hadn’t even occurred to me this was a “bad” thing Or however she meant it. Maybe an unusual thing. Those things usually don’t occur to me I’ve lived a backwards sort of life. Hey Heyoka.

What do I make of this now? With the lessons I’m laying down. Was I really self loving or did I not trust anyone would show up for me?

Spoiler alert: It’s usually both, not either or.

Maybe I was trying to model for myself, because I’ve often felt that alone, whether I was or wasn’t.

The clear lesson now however is trust, and a firm balance of it to self and others.

Let go Christina ….. let go.

Taylor Swift Sober comes on….. the tears fall. When I was drowning, that’s when I could finally breathe.

Getting clean from all the painful ideas I’ve held about myself. The what ifs that should have happened because of what happened to me. But I discounted my effort. It’s invisible and therefore so will be that of others.

I poked my own eyes out and cut off my own legs in search for a savior. When all I needed in the first place were my senses and my emotions.

Luckily (divinely) we are permitted multiple do overs and re-takes. The universe is a generous teacher. And don’t we all deserve one of those.

I hope to continue to be one…..

As long as I live.

And a safe place to land.

These tall orders require radical boundaries if this is to be maintained.

It’s a good thing I am energized by both.

All my love,

C

Ps I started a new journal today. It was time. The last was to not waste my piano book and had some ju ju. This is a fresh page. We get one each day. Hell a fresh book. New eyes. New legs to walk around with.

A relevant example from mr Kings book. They bought their son a saxophone because he showed interest. Very soon the King couple discussed if their young charge should continue. They said no. Why!$ because Stephen said he only practiced during the set times. It never took flight or set fire…..

If it does you’ll know. You’ll want to do that thing and move heaven and earth.

May I vow to myself I’ll accept nothing else for the rest of my life.

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Coming Home to Myself…..

“Inside my skin there is this space, it twists and turns, it bleeds and aches. Inside my whole heart there’s an empty room, it’s waiting for lightning it’s waiting for you. And I am wanting….and I am needing you here. Inside the absence of fear. My bones call to you from their separate skin, I make myself translucent to let you in…. “ Jewel My favorite set of lyrics from way back and all time, and believe me there are many.

These days I’m most often looking at the nature of my relationship with myself. I am sifting through my history more objectively than I ever have. It’s a good feeling. I know that it means I’ve moved forward in health with my mind.

I’m seeing myself with such compassion and so realistically these days. My light and my dark, and their origins. Blame or spirals or deep dark thinking seem far away. There is a lightness of being.

I am present with and for myself and the simple things become special. Like a haircut and seeing a movie on a Sunday. And moments with my loved ones. There is gentle where savage pain was.

I felt inspired this morning to write some truths I’m thinking about myself.

I spent years living with a myriad of health symptoms that signaled to me I was dying or would at any moment. This made my world very small. I became afraid to do things out in the world. The truth is I was having intrusive thoughts anywhere and everywhere and using all my energy to act as if I wasn’t. To try and stop the thoughts they made me have about myself.

Lately I’ve been noticing my coping so much more clearly. I’m able to know what I’m doing and why I’m doing it and speak my truth. Those words, just words, hold so much power. They rock me to my core. That is a safety I’ve earned and provided and no one can remove it.

I in fact do a schmorgasbord of coping mechanisms daily at the slightest hint of something that could become “unsafe” and it’s tremendously affected by the moods, tones, and behaviors of those around me.

So unsurprisingly parenting teenagers was a special kind of hell for all parties involved for me. I was being triggered constantly and fully reacting from that place. After the trigger comes the shame spiral, and after the shame spiral being a puddle on the ground that must resuscitate herself. After the whole process usually a week of symptoms. Flare, migraine, stomach pain, crippling exhaustion.

I must forgive myself for what I did not yet know…..

All the while showing up for myself and my work. Knowing I must give more than I take there, or I’d lose the one source of positive feedback about myself. Yes as a counselor I was also co dependent and I knew if I didn’t get that under control I wouldn’t be able to have a good relationship with myself or a healthy one at work either.

I reflect on the “one source of positive feedback about myself” and my heart aches with the lonely and scarcity of that statement. Things were out of balance. They were always going to be while I was separated from myself for safety.

I was my very own authoritarian parent abuser.

I could make the marionette dance, but not feel things. There are limits to that power. I sought a more gentle source. How when feeling feels immediately threatening to anything solid, and all you began with was a single plank a thousand feet in the air over a pit of poisonous snakes.

I spent a good forty years pacing anxiously back and forth across that plank until I finally sat still and accepted my circumstances and started being curious about what I could do to make things better. Not only was nothing else working, but I kept repeating cycles that affected more than just myself, so more evidence I was bad.

I was really trapped inside myself.

The only signal of distress was for my body to become sick, because it’s the only model I’ve ever had for getting to a point where I could allow myself to receive. If you know you must be sick to receive you will be sick I can tell you that.

These epiphanies have just clicked for me lately: with the help of many therapies. Julie, Melissa, love from my people, and most of all a connection to myself, rather than being disconnected from her. Always vigilant for her to mess everything up, and become horrible at any second.

So right now I’m grieving a deepest layer. The way I have regarded my tender beautiful self. My mouth gets dry and the tears come.

So lately I’m walking a lot and being with my mind. My poor frazzled scattered brain and how quickly it darts to all the horrible scenarios. I’m just providing lots of comfort and safety like I would have to those foster children, if I didn’t need it more for me at the time, and not even know it.

I needed to love me, not always look to be able to love me by loving someone else. And I have only grace and compassion now for the fact love was so foreign to me. It’s different when you learn it through concept and not experientially. It’s different.

I am still learning. I will always be devoted to learning and to being loving and gentle and steadfast. I crave consistency and I insist on building it. There’s nothing else I will accept at this stage in my life.

Of that I am sure.

In other news I saw Bros yesterday and I was so delighted to see gay men allowed to be seen in a major motion picture. I was also sad at how much we forget how much pain minorities have to endure, and how much is insidious and viewed as if it’s all ok now.

I loved seeing Ptown on the screen and all the gay culture references and it did make my heart swell with pride. Just two people each being who they were in all their stereotypes, boring, too much, all of it, showing their true colors to one another and finding love.

Trying for love to build it. You don’t find it, you must create it. Love is crafted.

Yes, I will always be a sappy idealist when it comes to love. No, I’ll never let it allow harm to come to myself again.

The light and dark of a life well lived. (put it in my tombstone folks, but not too soon ok, I have shit to say first)

Please

I have lived and I’m not even close to done yet. Let’s go as my teens would say. Lol.