Month: May 2019

I haven’t been writing lately, and I have figured out why. The closer I come to what one might consider a “normal” life, the more shame I feel when I put big feelings out into the world. Somehow even a kind comment of how brave I am seems to indicate that this just isn’t how things are done. This is of course the deepest most intense version.

The regular one is that I have been busy and present for myself and my family amidst the many changes we are currently in the eye of the storm of.

This right here is the trigger: for most of my life any large decision was made primarily emotionally and with little regard to the outcome, Ie very disconnected from my own emotions. Just close your eyes and jump and hope you’ll be ok is the kind of courage I’ve had to muster to even take basic steps into the world.

Anything had to be better than the beginning.

So that model is what is making me afraid even now in my present. In a present where I am careful, wise, more gentle than I’ve ever found thus far, and not making impulsive decisions. But that fear of that chaotic self, a potentially destructive one, all the bad things I could possibly be is still nipping at my heals and it makes me feel slimy and broken when I know I’m not.

That realization put to paper brings the tears. Why should someone who has worked so hard for their healing still be mired in such shame? It seems so fucking unfair that it doesn’t just go away with the vast improvements and hard work. Why can’t I enjoy the hard work? My psyche threatens to keep me terrified my whole life. It’s a daily battle. Even as things are working out amazing for me my mind tells me as soon as I get all of this doing so much better I’ll get diagnosed with cancer, be that healthy person that drops dead from the heart attack.

I see on a daily basis how life can change on a dime and what’s worse is….

The bad guy is always coming for me.

And saying this out loud feels like it could threaten my credibility as a person, even as it has been the thing that has driven me to get to the place where I have any credibility as a person. What is credibility anyway if not people’s often false assumptions about another based on their position in the world. Look at anything from another angle and you’ll see another side. We are all multi-dimensional selves.

So much pressure to be a wholly integrated, well balanced human being. What the fuck is that anyway? If you find one send them to me so I can analyze and replicate. Are the ones who claim to be the really scary ones?

A traumatized mind is never at peace, and trauma is always with us, inside our cells. We never consented to that. Innocent children never consented to the things they were subjected to and as adults they are responsible for their actions and choices, when some of the time they never stood a chance.

This post looks dark, yesterday it would have been light. Trauma is a rollercoaster ride that you’re forever strapped into.

When you realize how deep the roots are how can you not resent the fact you had to go through that. When all the praise of how strong you are just doesn’t ease the wound anymore. You never wanted to be strong anyway, you didn’t ask for that.

Every single day what I live with is looking strong, capable, compassionate on the outside, with a terrified little girl inside. I am the first of those things and I am the latter. I am both. And I want to stand here unashamed of that.

So why does it feel so gross.?

What the mind suppresses, the body expresses.

I know that trauma we aren’t aware of can harm our loved ones and especially my clients. Don’t worry I’m always aware, a gift and a curse. If I say these things out loud someone else can come along in their fear and say I have frightening mental states. You’re absolutely right I do, and that’s why I am the best at being comforting for others who find themselves there. And we can heal together as long as good boundaries are in place. I have those now. I fashioned a secure self for me, and I can function that way, but the really unfair part is the fear of …

if it will ever feel consistently secure for me.

In this way like in my childhood I can be good for everyone else, while my inner self who that person really is constantly wriggles in discomfort. I’ve peeled back so many layers of this and each time I hope to see the beautiful original gleaming hard wood floor that just needs some TLC, and each time it’s another moldy pissed on layer of old carpet.

Hahaha of course I’m using home metaphors.

Did you know that stress extremely aggravates underlying trauma? It’s like a beast that can lay quite, and now the dragons are awake laying ruin to everything. That’s what living with trauma is like. The constant awareness you’ll need to tame the dragon again, peel back the carpet again, disappointment, rage. And then seeking ways to find relief that are healthy all the while having 0 to no energy to do so.

And then an aware person knows how little room they have for another’s feelings when theirs are so constantly overwhelming and more guilt and shame, and fight your way back out again.

It is no wonder that I am tired. Soul tired. But I also can’t seem ever to lose my enthusiasm and for that I am so grateful. If I fall down I’ll get right back out there and try again. Pure grit always.

The grit itself is exhausting. The unfair reality that no matter how hard I come I still jump at the slightest disturbance in my world, and that still makes me feel broken. That I find myself without my permission or even knowing with my knuckles burning white on the steering wheel. My body hangs on as if it were dangling over a cliff every single day.

No matter how many times I hear myself tell other people they can heal. What a fraud. Except I’m not a fraud. I am the real deal trauma survivor who let it open her heart rather than close it.

Openly wounded and letting others see myself bleed. What if they don’t trust me as a result ? Well then at least I will have honored my journey and my story. Shame keeps us quiet so I refuse to do that. When we are loud sometimes we make mistakes. I make a lot of mistakes, thank goodness because being perfect is another level of work that life didn’t leave me the energy for.

My writing will come from my pain, my shame shuts down those parts of me. I get close and then busy myself with something prettier. I can work hard and make my life look pretty on the outside. I am more than capable. What is outside beauty if inside is rotting?? So I must do it all. I get tired and that used to make me angry, now I sit in it and try and grow.

To be comforting I must learn to be comforted. To be comforted people must know what hurts and that they deserve that comfort. To be comfortable one must feel safe. A trauma survivor never feels safe. Never. No matter how the circumstances have changed. Their brain finds a way to signal danger even in the most benign circumstances, and the news reinforces this. Now you can be at school or in a place of worship or the movie theater and be shot. Trauma has a hey day with that!

The worst part is people with cancer or a devastating visible illness get support and love and attention. Trauma survivors have had to create such intense selves to survive that people run from them, they don’t get comfort they get shame. Loads and loads of it. They are dramatic, difficult to be with, prickly, and yes we are all those things, therefore reinforcing that we can’t be loved and save. See how I wanted to separate myself? They and then had to write WE.

To the people who comfort me with their words and belief in me, simple acts of kindness, know that you have changed a life. One small gesture can change a life. A good aspect of trauma is the survivor learns to turn a crumb into a banquet. I’ve been subsisting on crumbs for so long everything I’ve put on my banquet table feels as if it could be poisoned. If trauma lets loose the chains on me I’ll wrap myself back in them, because now it’s how I know to exist.

PTSD lives in the person forever. They can heal a lot and become functioning but their lives will always be effected by it. And there’s only disability or support or relief if it can be recognized and legitimized, yet most trauma survivors have needed to believe they are fine to even take a breath.

It is those with invisible illness that truly suffer the most. So I make myself visible and hope it helps someone else. But visibility is vulnerability and how often are our vulnerabilities used against us? And shame is an eager bed fellow always at the ready to become activated.

I battle every single day. It isn’t dramatic it’s true. But to the average on looker I appear to have it together and be successful even.

Someday I hope to feel the things I’ve created for myself, that I belong to them and with them, and that my creation is a safe home.

What is a safe home anyway?

I try to answer my own questions. A safe home is the one we are about to buy and saying goodbye to the first one. This time is real and raw, and a trauma survivor wishes it could be like it seems for the normal people. The ones who don’t have constant automatic thoughts of how things could fall apart.