There is something so movie about sitting at a coffee shop and writing. I don’t know what I ever did before noise cancelling head phones. For if it were not for them I wouldn’t be accomplishing a thing right now. I’m sitting at the Barnes and Nobles in Milford on my second me date this weekend, as recommended by Melissa (my therapist). The first one was at Cafe Atlantique. I must admit it was a bit cozier, but by the time I got around to me today, it was closed.
Being a Barista and working in a book store are two jobs I would have loved and never got around to, though I had many others.
I spent family time today. Did some documentation. Walked two miles. Wow I guess it’s been not only a productive Sunday, but an enjoyable one. There is a tiny group of people here, and one of the girls has a chihuahua (I never know how to spell that word, it’s one of those words for me) in a little coat vest thing nonetheless. Stooooop it! I can’t with the cute. I didn’t realize before today how many people bring their various pets into this store.
I am calm and centered. Which can sometimes be mistaken for restless. Sometimes I am restless, just not now.
I am loving reading Demon Copperhead.
I’m trying to find my voice, amongst all of the ones that I have been before, as well as in the midst of all of the ones I appreciate. It is no easy task. I feel so many people cheering me on. I can just feel them. As if the entire universe is conspiring to help me accomplish this task. The critic is nearly banished. Can that even be real? Is anything real?
This little blinking cursor beckoning me to continue, forward, and ever more forward. That’s real.
Take a Picture by Filter is on. This awesome rock music from my younger days is for sure real.
The life where I have a house that feels like a home and is filled with people in it who love one another and are really amazing humans to live with. That’s real! We are getting a hot tub tomorrow. That’s exciting, and also real. I hope it helps the aching joints and muscles.
Which reminds me part of why I got on here in the first place was to update my document with my to do list for tomorrow and emailing my GI doctor is on it. I was recently put on a higher dose of my medication due to it not quite hitting the mark. But to that I say good day and no way. I felt like shit. So basically it’s every two weeks, or we are gonna have to try something else. Nope.
What I really want is to not be on this medication. Which is why I am meeting with a nutritionist this week to get things in a direction of being able to do this at least as much naturally as I can. I’m tired of being on this stuff. I am ready to eat better and live better and invest in myself in ways I have not had the peace or finances in my life to do before. Oh Is This Love by Whitesnake is on, be still my heart. I literally love this station.
Being myself. It’s time. Finding my unique voice out of the sea of others. I have everything I need to do so at this point.
I was reading Jay Shetty this morning and his Eight Rules of Love. I really like it so far and he was talking about the difference between alone and solitude. The latter being something you find joy in because it helps you connect with yourself essentially. That has been my mission for the better part of eight years now. A little hard to do with my life, family life.
So a lot of what I’m doing lately is working at finding that balance. Trial and error and usually more error than trial š
Anyway my bladder only has enough time left for me to pack up and get home and then I’ll see about posting this. It’s the first post I’ve written from this laptop. I could get used to this. Now I just need to see if I can add my photos, tags, and things the way I usually do it. I normally use my phone to write. Somehow it’s just less pressure or something, and I know how to use my app.
I would describe me right now full and blank. I just keep drawing blanks, especially when I try to access my feelings. I am present and with them, but putting them down, sometimes that feels like too much work? vulnerable? too much what?
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 wasnāt wired with love being harmful, inconsistent and dangerous.
My ideas of love and my wiring are all crossed. Iām 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 80ās. 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. Whatās 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.
Itās hard to say these things, because if you say something itās more true right?! Maybe if you just donāt 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. Iāve 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 Iād 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 youāre doing right or wrong, and usually itās wrong and why. And thatās your primary companion.
This companion serves the purpose of trying to make sure if you have even a shot at love, that you arenāt 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 itās 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 Iām whiny, going to be judged, being a victim, manipulating, it wasnāt that bad Christina. Youāre so dramatic. And the likeā¦..
When I talk about my past my breath quickens to short gasps, my chest tightens, it feels like Iām choking. The fear is as if snakes were crawling all over my body. My ears get red and hot and I feel like Iām burning alive. Sometimes just for fun, this happens unprovoked when Iām just trying to live my life.
I felt this way the last time my mother touched me, which ironically was over my grandfatherās 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 wasnāt complicated already. A harsh authoritarian constantly telling me Iād 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.
Iām 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. Iāll never leave you. I know itās 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: itās 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 ālittle more progressiveā 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 beā¦. You guessed it loveable.
So I could be loved.
Who knew that later in life the pairing of the offering of a family that wasnāt real, or theirs to offer, and ā¦. 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 couldnāt even trust my own mindā¦.
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 itās 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, itās temping to feel less alive in it.
One should not have to come to great harm to feel alive or to feel love.
š
Iāve outdone myself this Sunday. It ripped wide open. Just the beginningā¦.
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.
*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 bottomā¦.
On lap three. A post started to formulate and if I continue to explain; during that time Iāll lose my actual thought. Itās that easy, to lose it, for me.
Iām 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 Iād 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
Thereās a certain corner you turn with recovery when it just starts getting good, and I mean capital G ood. Itās not like there isnāt still all the other things. Memories, pain, pleasure all of it, all the time.
Time and trust are essential to this š
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. Itās mine, and so am I.
And I am the worldās.
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.
Iām listening to A Million Dreams. It never gets old. Iām thinking about the restlessness inside of me, and how I donāt 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.
Iād hate my sensory stuff so much, if I didnāt 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 editā¦.
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 didnāt 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 Iāve been with lately is so good ! What Iām reading and studying I mean.
Itās been along time since Iāve 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 Iām sitting here thinking about this now. The rough around the edges of it all and Iām thinking about how, thatās 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 Iām trying to make it a hospitable roommate. .. bend it to my iron will.
Thatās an interesting way to conceptualize pain, right? I thought so.
Iām 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 coupleās support for one anotherās 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 isnāt something that can be sold. It isnāt 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.
Thatās it š like itās easy?! Lol
Anyway, Iām going to walk into Barnes & Noble for now, and then Iām 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 itās Saturday. Finishing this and a walk at the same time. Motion sick is a real thing. Maybe less walking and writing?! Maybe not.
Maybe Iāll fall in love with today.
Watched About Time yesterday and realized how much in it I am about. Learning why itās my favorite. Every song. Especially into my arms. Oh the dreams Iāve had to that song. And the movie Life Itself. Connection. Emotional safety. Love. These are the things Iām about.
Thereās no perfect in here, only good. And now that thatās 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. ā¦.
Stay Tuned
Oh ps Iām 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 itās been greatly reduced and thatās the point right. To lay down roots with the ones I already have, pay them the attention they deserve.
All the selves and stories I used to be, gathering the fragments, becoming wholeā¦..
I miss my writing like I miss a lover. Iām 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 donāt get down. Will they come back around? You never know and thatās 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, thatās 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 itās at.
Itās time. I canāt resist much longer. Layers of self doubt and fear have sloughed away. Itās time. Donāt hold back.
Writing is like oxygen. Iām breathing. Itās 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 thereās a lot I donāt.
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 itā¦.
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.
Itās not black and white Christina.
The sky looks like purple snow this morning. Smelling and tasting the colors.
Itās a four client day, thatās a mini day for me. Hell itās a vacation. But then thereās 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 someoneās 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 worldās.
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 onā¦.. 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 Iām locked away from myself in an episode itās 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.
Itās 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 itās 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 thatās 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.
Cāest 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 Iāll 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 Youād Know Anywhereā¦.
Lisa Loeb Wishing Heart and Jan Arden Insensitive are taking me back todayā¦.
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 itās sinus pressure.
I opted for severe sinus med and it definitely lightened the suffering though itās there behind the pill. I donāt want to take an antibiotic if I donāt have to. It wipes out any good gut bacteria I manage to have and causes whole other issues. So thereās that.
Iām 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. Itās not as doom and gloom as it sounds, well it is and isnāt.
It isnāt 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. Iām doing this in all areas and in past and present relationships.
Itās a softening.
Will I be thawing forever?
The answer in so many ways is a resounding yes. Whatās 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 thatās the name for a deep spiritual being that can hardly believe thatās 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.
Iām not behaving as if Iām living in a fantasy. My feet are firmly planted and Iām addressing myself and my needs and learning to communicate. I am learning. Itās not easy for me. Yep itās not the other person, itās 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 thatās 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 Iām going to freak out! No Iām not. My adult self will take myself to the walk in later and get on some antibiotics and trust the rest. Iāve 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 itās time to also take the migraine pill. I think itās both š
Itās so painful these realizations of the way Iāve seen things so backwards and tangled with my kids and how misunderstood Iāve felt, and not being able to clear those up. I canāt believe how Iāve 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 didnāt feel in control. And shocker Iām 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 Iāve 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.
Itās 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.
Iām 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. Iām juggling so many plates in the air all the time and working at being entirely different when overwhelmed.
The tool Iām employing most often is empathy and having been so far removed from my own for myself for so long Iām wondering how the new fresh oxygen will integrate: was I without it for too long? Is the damage too great?
Iām 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 Iām still an anemone. At the slightest sign of danger I close up tightly and itās 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.
Iāve misunderstood myself so catastrophically for so long, that finding understanding now is almost unbearable. Itās 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 Iāve never been like this before. My eyes are wet again.
The breaking and building.
My bones are powderā¦.
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 meā¦.
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 badā¦..
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 myselfā¦.
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 wasnāt doing that for myself. Iām 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.
Iāve got approximately two and a half hours left of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo and Iāve been savoring it. Iāll feel incomplete for a short while in its absence. Iāve been all or nothing so long, itās 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. Iām 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 donāt have additional stress.
*donāt worry Iām not leaving anytime soon, I just think that far ahead. Itās 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 itās all done. Iām usually panicking the night before. Itās pinch me unreal the things Iām able to do.
Iāve 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 donāt 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 babyā¦.. 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. Iāve 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 itās 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 Iāll be fine, and if Iām not Iāll 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 Iāll 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 thingsā¦
I just want to make sure my loved ones are safe and cared for and myself and we have experiences. Thatās what Iām focused on lately, and that I make choices that are congruent with that. Yes a therapist word for sure. Shocking š
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 itās solid. If my circumstances change I still am solid. Thatās taking root.
Itās my birthday tomorrow. It feels different this year somehow. Iām acknowledging it and not saying it doesnāt matter and I donāt 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. Iām 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 Iāll take some time for me to contemplate the brink of my forty second trip around the Sun.
I was going to talk about Evelynās sixth husband because thatās where I am. And how I feel for people so beautiful they get trapped in the upkeep of it all, itās one thing to enjoy taking care of yourself, pressure however is quite another.
Ok so I wrote this a couple of days ago and didnāt post. Itās 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 Evelynās story.
And still well at the beginning of mine š
Ps and in true Christina fashion I didnāt talk about the title subject much at all. Stay tuned it will come along somewhereā¦. Soon. I think. Maybe
I always need to have an exit strategy which includes an exit narrative and Iām working out the difference between that and a balanced look at things. Itās not easy work.
Itās dark out and gloomy, but I donāt feel that way. My storms are calm. For now.
āBut Iād follow you to the great unknown. Off to a world weād call our own.ā I want to watch this movie. Itās 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. Iām a walking contradiction thatās hard to be around.
No.
So many changes around me and the seasons are the least of it. āSo Iād risk it all just to be with you.ā Yeah did that. Not anymore. I wouldnāt 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 donāt know it all.
When I donāt Iām not safe. You try it the way Iāve had it and see how you do.
Coming to grips blow by blow continuously seeking flow.
Here comes the rain. Donāt 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 Iāll make it two, you never know.
But I do.
Itās 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.
Youāre seeing my chat with my higher self in real time. Itās ok to have an exit strategy, but decide what the criteria is for using it or not. You get to decide. You donāt have to decide: you get to. Itās a privilege, not your sole responsibility. It never was.
What I Have. Kelsea Ballerini. Cuz I got a roof over my head, Iām doing alright right where Iām 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. Itās not a burden itās a gift. Youāre not bad Christina. Not emotionally uncaring or shut down or cold. Unclench.
Itāll be ok. How do you want me to believe that when it never was. Let alone want me to say that to you. I donāt know how. Help me.
Have you ever actually been unsafe?!
You donāt have to be to feel that way Iām 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.
Iām not bad. It wasnāt my fault. It wasnāt yours either.
Misunderstandings are a prison. Donāt 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 meā¦.
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.
Donāt abandon this project, sheās going to be great. She always was.
The world may, you may, but I never will. Iām right here.
These days Iām 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 meā¦.
Listening to My Life by NF, it pairs nicely with having watched GoodWill Hunting this morning.
Iām 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.
Iām tired in ways Iād 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 Iām healing.
And yesterday before the holiday I was triggered and raw. Whatās different this year is how I behaved with me. This year I was understanding and kind to her. I didnāt 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.
Iām 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 āitās not your fault.ā Good will Hunting moment. Donāt hold meā¦..
My guarded heart. Donāt hold me my body screamed. Not worthy, not deserving, of holidays of love, or any good thing. ļæ¼
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.
Iām ready to let go of the pain; it wasnāt the friend I thought it was. The safe and secure ground of my story, no longer has the same ring to it.
I canāt 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.
Donāt get me wrong Iām still thawing. This is an everyday kind of job, an inside one, but now Iām so grateful for it. Itās made me someone with passion and heart. Itās 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. Itās ok. Itās 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 āI amā projectā¦. 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 amā¦.
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 āendingsā Naive Idealist Sensual Someone who prefers small intimate venues where I can hear over clubs and loud. Someone who loves Sundayās 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 donāt 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.ā¦
It, much like me, is a work in progress ā¦..
Onward
Ps. I got a massage last night and woke up feeling human today. I wasnāt in pain. I get them every two weeks for now, and itās changed my whole life. I take care of myself the rest of my life, in all of the ways I wasnāt. As protective as the parents I deserved, and Iām not mad about it š xoxo
Iām having a rainy morning walk. I love it. I feel alive.
Found The Little Princeās Rose this morning
I had a scary episode last night. Iāve 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 āthe googleā 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. Iām so grateful for no longer going down rabbit holes, but I also want to find the line of not ignoring something serious either. Sigh.
Whatās indisputable is how trauma has ravaged my body. Iām angry. Iām angry!
Anger can be restorative. It restores our boundaries. Itās not to be dismissed as merely a negative emotion. A good lesson from The Language of Emotions and this past couple of years.
So Iām thinking about that girl that was plagued with terror and health symptoms. About how I understand now thatās what my body thought it had to do to get any needs met. Until it didnāt 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 didnāt 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 thatās all that really matters in the end. Itās hard to tell the truth when you lie to yourself, always give too much of yourself to someone elseā¦..
Yes Teddy! Thatās all that really matters in the endā¦.
I feel alive and awake. Something that used to be a rare moment that often led me to dark places when I didnāt understand the full picture.
Now I take the time to do that. You take and make time, you donāt 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 itās 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 itās wet and cold, which isnāt bothering me, but I donāt need to increase my odds of getting sick. They are already high.
I need breakfast. I donāt want to interrupt this flow. Story of my life, except now I donāt drown in fear it wonāt 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.
Iām 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. Iāve walked it many years.
Love never goes anywhereā¦. It always exists as do all the moments. Thatās what Iāve learned. You keep them, download them. It can be bitter sweet you arenāt able to make more, but we are all responsible for our choices.
Iām listening to the Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo and I am captured. My full attention. And letās be honest we all know how rare that is. Iām 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 donāt 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 itās 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. Thatās how that type of crazy feels. Itās 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 ā¦.
I wonāt settle for anything lessā¦. Melissa Etheridge sings. Thatās the energy I was writing the last few minutes in, her song Fearless Love.
