Tag: #cptsd

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Days Start Strong, Night Brings the Nothing

“There are many kinds of joy, but they all lead to one: the joy to be loved. Every story is a never ending story.”

It’s going to be a two fer today. Who could have guessed. This is the downswing. The loneliness settles in right around now. I’ve surrounded my day in all the ways I wanted it. I’ve indulged, relaxed, and spent my day with the writers I love.

I finished Wild Game, and am now onto Amy Tan’s, Where the Past Begins. She of course is talking about the writer’s process, and the longing sets in.

She dedicated her book to her editor because he took her many frenzied emails and listened to them. It’s me! It’s me! I’ve tried every way around this. I know I can open an email and write to myself, to a friend, to my therapist, but nothing is the same as when it’s fueled by the passion of the excitement of becoming known to one another. It brings me to life. A huge part of who I am. I feel lifeless and listless without it.

She writes, “my emails were not carefully composed. They were dashed off with free-form spontaneity, a mix of rambling thoughts off the top of my head, anecdotes of the day, and updates on my dog and perfect husband. In contrast, Dan’s emails were thoughtful and more focused on my concerns, although they also included notes about Moroccan cuisine. He sometimes responded to my off hand remarks with too much care, thinking I had expressed serious wringing of my soul.” This last line be still my heart. Me too. I feel seen.

Later she goes on to say what had enabled her to write those thousands of emails was spontaneity. I underlined and starred this. If I applied that to writing a book, I would be able to finish quickly. Spontaneity is the answer. This thing I continuously fault myself for as impulsivity. My wires are always crossed towards seeing me in some horrible light. When what comes into view most often is how right I have been and am. Just because something hurts does not make it wrong. Not in the ego sense of right. In the spiritual sense. I am on my path damnit. I am enough, and I will figure out this balance while also being compassionate and loving to myself.

Longing will be the theme of this evening and post I believe. I can do all the self work I want, but it’s not moving this period of time in my life. Amy writes about how her writing in an email is different, and the hairs on my arms stood up. I’ve never heard anyone describe the differences in modalities in a way that made me realize how much I miss writing letters to a lover.

That is my thing. My truest self comes out to play in those correspondences, and I was in love with that consistently exploring myself with another person, and hitting the ball back and forth, as much as anything else. I’m thinking how wanting to be known is a theme of recent.

And entirely different self emerges when I open my laptop (which I haven’t written on in months). I just felt a stabbing pain at the realization I don’t even write my blog posts on there, because touching that keyboard is as much touching the skin of my lover. That is the place I would go. I would open up the screen, describe some of the surrounding details and fire away.

Did I have a lover to facilitate my writing, or my writing facilitated the love? Either way I wanted that consistent space, but I never wanted to stop writing, or working at love. Recently someone suggested to me “does it have to be so hard though, or that they didn’t think it need be so hard all the time.” And I’ve been sitting with that and thinking about it a lot. I think of how I differentiate good hard and bad hard, and good tired and bad tired.

Is consistent engagement in a variety of ways using creativity and feeling alive hard? Does it have to be? For me it’s hard not to be those things. And for some I suppose it feels like work. When work is fulfilling it ceases to be work, for me at least.

I am lonely ….. deeply lonely. Longing to be known and engaged with in a way where someone shows up, is consistent, reliable, interested in building, engaged, and all in. And that isn’t something available to me right now and so it’s stretching my limitations to go day in and day out without. I’m constantly threatened with falling into bad habits or pits of despair. And knowing that if I can’t maintain on my own.

You know what that’s crap! What if I can’t because I don’t want to, because we aren’t made to be alone like this. I don’t buy it. At least I’m not. But there is no default either.

I read a post by Brene Brown today about how she’s ready to go down the writing spiral and how her process is all or nothing and she gets lost. And in another book I read just today as well, about a supportive family tip toeing around the writer knowing that’s who they are and what they need, and I think what must it be like to have that kind of support.

I can’t write with love and I can’t write without it. Although I think not being able to write with it was prior to the crucible that has been this past year and a half. I was desperately disconnected in so many ways. I could have never written anything without the connection to me.

But now I want that playground for my psyche that is the art of e-mail and all the other forms of connecting, that is that secure grounding of that one main place you go when you want to be your full real self. And here come the tears.

Melissa would say just be with that feeling. It won’t swallow me, end me, and truly I finally know that. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck completely.

I want to be held and touched and considered and from someone who can show up as a whole person to want to be consistently engaged with me creating a life together. The loneliness is like jagged teeth biting into my flesh. There is very little relief. I get moments and glimmers, and I know I’m on path.

I’m frustrated with feeling impatient, or too intense or this or that…. Those are judgments. Just because certain things did not turn out the way I thought doesn’t mean any of that is true. But that’s my constant battle. Which means I still have work to do on my relationship with myself. I will always have work to do and I’d still like to be held, touched, worked for and with, by someone enthusiastic about me, that is able to stay two feet in and fully engaged.

It’s not too much to ask and it is ok that it hurts right now. That the loneliness stings…. I think the biggest area where I hurt myself is still being used to turning something that is not something into something. Straw into gold. I need to be still and do me until I invite a fully present and enthusiastic individual into my orbit.

The lens of scarcity colors everything different than abundance does. Moving slower helps to see what’s really there. I see why I just tried to use my will and determination before because sitting in the disappointment is sometimes unbearable. It’s especially unbearable when I go to that old place of alone in childhood; where there was no reprieve and no relief. At least if I told myself life was what I made it, and boy did I live by that, it gave me something to focus on that kept me alive and sane.

Burning right now. Burning good, versus burning bad. There’s a light at the end of this tunnel. I can’t feel it yet, but I can see it, and that’s something.

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Wild Game…

“You can see when you’re wrong, but you can’t always see when you’re right.” Billy Joel -Always remember me this way….-

Somewhere I always knew that the answers lie in books, cumulative knowledge that lies dormant until the appropriate combination of lived experience and wisdom collides into epiphany. Im sure it’s part of the reason I want so badly to write one…. Many.

More apt the answers lie within ourselves, but books are the mirrors, particularly in the absence of a loving and safe parent relationship, that help us become known to ourselves.

I cannot for the life of me remember who recommended me to read Wild Game by Adrienne Brodeur. I think I know, and I know that has no correlation with what the person means because they are no less than soul tribe as this book connected life changing dots for me at this time in my life. How did they know ? It stands to reason the people that venture to love us in one way or another, can often see us better than we see ourselves. This is certainly the case with me, as we all know by now I’m often invisible to myself.

I’m awaiting my Sunday treat of a visit from Chip. He brings groceries, the things a parent might do. I can only hope to fashion myself as half the person he is with consistency and thoughtfulness. These are things I now have the space and knowledge to cultivate within myself. I can truly feel and see the joy in tending to my children. I never wanted it to be a thankless duty, a burden, or to take more from them than I gave. To use them for my own benefit unwittingly from the life that was dealt to me.

I have been determined about that, as much as anything else. Though to me it has only seemed about my love life. I couldn’t see the rest of me, only my mistakes. There isn’t a fate worse than that. Purgatory.

I am finally realizing who I really am is not the worst possible assumption, even in the face of many eyes that could see me that way: there will always be those that truly appreciate my full real self. I am rambling now as Oslo and my daughter’s boyfriend are visiting and I cannot miss these moments. It’s no longer a raging battle and desperate attempt to get my words down before they escape. I mean it still is, but my priorities are no longer backward, making my children feel as if they are irritating to my existence, rather than the thing that has always breathed meaning and life into it.

If I had only ever just been less overwhelmed with survival, with life, with myself…. But if I had I wouldn’t be me, and have my cast of characters and a rich landscape to create from. Life has to be lived forward, but can only be understood backwards. No truer words. Kierkegaard

It’s not where you get lost that matters as much as where you land. Character (not a forced kind, but the kind that emerges from the genuine caring for another’s well being before the self) is everything, it will always emerge outside of the mistakes. It stands tall, when momentary clips of life fail to capture the big picture.

I always wanted to be closer to my kids. I just didn’t know how. I believe an onlooker could scream common sense or just easy, but for me this was not. Desperately terrified at any second I could morph into something that I came from, and as a result of that fear, a self fulfilling prophecy. Moody. Short fused, vibrating with anxiety.

When I read this book I see how much worse I could have done, and it answers a lot of questions for me. I could have used my children as my confidante, and because I didn’t know how to not do this, as it’s how I was raised, I stayed always an arms length away. It is my sincere hope that through therapy and this reconnecting with myself, this now can heal. Because it was never the truth of my affection for them, or my true desires and motivations.

I always put love first from what felt like a place of necessity, despite others judgments including a therapist recently who suggested some shoulds and that I could have hired a nanny. Interesting perspective and I’m wondering with what resources, emotionally or financially. The truth is we can harm others with our world views and belief systems, while never having lived a moment in their shoes. I hope to always be mindful of this, when it’s so easy to forget and just blurt out words.

I am not perfect, sometimes I say things carelessly, in sessions even. I can always tell by the immediate reaction in my client. To the best of my ability I attempt repair then and there, if I am unable at that time. I make sure not to repeat the mistake, because I’m able to pick up on how it made them feel. I can feel the immediate shift, as they tense up under the weight of sometimes their own judgments, preceded by my well meaning launch of passionate preaching.

Something I love most about my clients is I believe the majority of them know my heart, character, and intentions, and feel my repairs. I believe that’s why my clinical relationships are so deep, meaningful, and continue to evolve. When they are not or do not parting is not a trauma it’s done with care, concern, and an appropriate amount of honesty. So we both are allowed to grow in the absence.

Anyway this book. I could feel the stab straight through my heart as the main character waited loyally for a bond, recognition, etc from her mother that never came. On her wedding day it was not about her in the least. Her entire life it was about her mother. My heart aches for all the hopes that were born and died in vain, and the toll that took on the host.

This book helps me sew up a long time gaping wound of abandoning my mother. Always wondering if I had it wrong, am wrong. This books help me see what would have been had I tried to belong somewhere that truly never saw me.

And the benefit is two fold because it gives me even more motivation to be genuinely about the lives of my children, interested and invested. While striking that delicate balance of still having my own life. Something worthy to strive for. And nothing about this can be all or nothing. It’s truly one foot in front of the others with my priorities straight and it’s working. It’s no longer the mythical they, or any other myth.

Reality is that we are healing and reuniting and it’s not grand gestures or manipulation of facts, painting a reality over their lived experience. It’s sincere change.

This book has helped me see what would have been. Even as I read it I longed for the being wanted and normalcy of her marriage to Jack, that stability and to be adored, the honeymoon and all that shared experience and closeness. And yet her mother’s affair and lack of presence gave her no arena to create a relationship with herself. The result depression, disconnection, and her suffering.

It was at this very moment I’m realizing all I dreamed I didn’t have is not the stuff that matters most, and that I truly am more than capable and aware of those things, which will lead to a life that is fulfilling in ways I haven’t begun to imagine yet.

I wonder what it will look like for my kids that their mother is catching and correcting, the very second she could, and also sitting with the burn of all the years I was consumed and distracted with my own pain. The guilt could swallow me sometimes, but when I understand that too is selfish, and pick my head up and carry forward with my corrections, is better than trying to go back to understanding or halting my ability to exist in peace, because if I am to create space for them to learn who they are, I must find acceptance and eventually joy for my whole story.

It is necessary.

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Unstoppable Forces and Immoveable Objects

I believe I had promised at one point that I would be talking more about my trauma in coming posts. And since my follow through has improved dramatically as a result of the grounding that occurs from my trauma work, here it is. Here I am.

I am connecting so many dots recently with regard to my early childhood experiences and who I am today, and how that has impacted particularly the events of the last couple of years of my life.

A recent trauma in getting a large area of my arm tattooed has given way to some more realizations. So here’s the process around me getting this tattoo. I have always been drawn and attracted to sleeves on others, but unable to picture one on me. I use all sorts of reasoning to deny myself the very expression that unlocks my healing and therefore my creativity.

So recently I’m freeing my spirit enough to go after these things, but when I get to the overwhelming parts I often freeze or fly. All or nothing to a fault. So on the brink of this sleeve I was anxious and restless for days. So many what if’s. What if I hate my own arm after, what if it doesn’t come out exactly as I want, what if what if, what if I get in a lot of pain and can’t finish it. What if there’s a complication because of my autoimmune disease. What a silly notion because I’ve been living with so many different kinds of pain my whole life. I am not a stranger to it, nor faint of heart.

In any case I was emotional the day of, and absolutely terrified. I went anyway and found it to be relaxing, enjoyable, and that I had a ton of support, children and loved ones stopped by and cheered me on. I am seen and loved, and my kids were excited for me. They were not judgmental or unkind to me, the way I am with myself. I hadn’t realized how much. No one but me said anything unkind to me!

I’ve made all these strides in the way I live, but the way I think is often still trapped in old ways. I am working on moving those energies now.

So I end up also putting a whole other piece I did not even expect that evening. 3 plus hours of tattooing and an ink well that had quite an intense amount of shading and color in a sensitive area. It’s beautiful I love it….

So I wake up the next day and am examining my new arm, working on falling in love, ignoring the imperfections, and seeing the whole and the experience for what it is…. I had clients all day and dinner with my favorite man. It was Thursday after all…. And during dinner my arm begins to ache…. I wondered if perhaps I had held it funny but this was something that just came on.

Electric currents of pain begin to flow up and down my arm in waves. It begins to intensify. Aching, jolting…. I go home try to take something and I’ve been so exhausted from all the excitement I think I’ll sleep it off. The pain worsens and I can’t get comfortable and I’m beginning to get nauseous and shaky from it. This pain was no less than a foot surgery in 2009 where they cut through bone. And the thoughts that went through my mind. What could possibly cause this kind of pain besides something very serious.

I knew I was taking a higher risk as someone with an autoimmune disease, and why would I increase my chances of anything being harder in our lives. But then I dismiss all that and think it’s anxiety and I’m dedicated to confronting my fears as a way of living. So I think I’m being a bad ass and so excited and proud only to be struck with this.

And this is one of my major areas of work. It is so unthinkable for me that I could be safe, deserving, and have things I want without retribution. There was always a punishment after I got a need met. Never safe and secure. So energetically the minute I get something I want or need, right after something bad happens, and I can’t break out of this cycle and thinking until I can break through this pattern. The rug is always pulled out, something always comes crashing down. The belief perpetuates the action, until I break through. And damnit you know that I will.

What happens when an unstoppable force meets with an immovable object? Transformation that’s what. I never knew how to answer that question and now I do. My lived experience taught me, and now of course I want to watch Imagine Me and You….

All the horrible thoughts arrive. As my energy healer said not only were you in pain but then also you were suffering. My thoughts were causing me a great deal of suffering and they were trauma responses. This swift change from exciting to terror set off all my trauma triggers.

No matter where I go or what I do I will always be something wrong or bad or doing something wrong or bad. It’s so deeply ingrained in there. So on top of being in pain, horrible thoughts raking through my insides with white hot pain.

Then on top of everything taken care of by someone I have hurt. Christina you hurt also. You were in the equation and how wonderful each of you could find forgiveness for the other that you could each allow this moment.

I am relentless on myself. Relentless. I do not allow me to have all the normal things a human being does. I am always at fault and always responsible.

My relationship with myself needs to change. It’s still so harsh and judgmental, and I am still so lost to the generosity and compassion I so easily offer others.

The next morning to my surprise I was alive and it felt much better. I will say if I didn’t have leftover pain medication from my ablation I would have needed to go to the emergency room. and now hopefully I can just laugh at my tenacity and enthusiasm that often takes for granted my own needs. I am working towards getting better at recognizing and honoring them.

Needless to say we will go for shorter sessions even though I’m quite capable of the long ones in the moment, it’s the after effects sometimes you must watch out for. 😉 what is living if not for learning.

I expected to talk more about my trauma either I’m avoiding the specifics…. Wait a minute. I just did. I plan on getting down/out some of the reasons I’m so far removed from my own reality, trusting my own lived experience.

It will all make sense when you hear more about my childhood, and it’s interesting how having a therapist who keeps all your story, can help you see the blind spots. She sees me better than I see myself, and through the process I can become known to me.

For now I’m enjoying my new creativity and attempts at self expression. It’s taken a lifetime to get back to the self that was taken from me at such a young age. The pursuit of this was always necessary and through judgments all it has made me look is selfish. Selfish for something necessary. Always out of order the chronology of me is an interesting thing…..

There are so many places I could be judged as selfish, but the worst of all is it I betray my own knowing by what other people think. I’m not selfish. I am generous and compassionate and considerate and loving. But I was never going to have any stable ground under my feet or operate dependably, consistently…. To be able to maintain…. Without a relationship with myself in tow. It was not possible and I did not know that.

Forgiveness…..

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Tattoos and Transformations

All I know so far….. “you throw your head back and spit in the wind…. Let the walls crack because it lets the light in. “Perhaps this image will go on my upper arm in portraiture. Hmm

Good morning. So as it turns out I’m way more of a bad ass than I thought and at this point a lot of the habitual anxiety that I carried with me throughout my life is free to go. Thank you, but your services are no longer needed.

I’m working on a tattoo sleeve and in many ways not even sure how I got here. To be getting one. I’m a naturalist and I love the look of natural skin and I can be judgmental of myself while loving them on other people. What even is that?! Fear? Yes fear. That absolute asshole that separates us from a bold expressive existence that is our own. I have lived riddled with it, and it has obstructed so much of my joy.

These days what I am trying my hardest to do is honor and acknowledge what happened to me in a way that encompasses a wide range of compassion for my needs and desires. I was talking to a friend yesterday morning, my dear Mary and Pippin, outside in her beautiful oasis of a backyard, and talking about the difference between needy and needing. Lately I’ve been using this re-frame in my office. If someone says oh they are so needy, or oh I am so needy, my immediate question is: what are they/you needing? And it immediately changes the energy.

It’s literally astounding to the person asked that it could be seen any other way.

I am astounded by my life right now, and many days I’m not sure whether that’s a positive or not. It is not at all where I imagined I would be, and some of that borders on the miraculous and some if I am not careful threatens me with an impenetrable sadness.

I am deeply lonely right now, and also so far from alone. I’ve never understood things more or been closer and connected to ny loved ones. I am literally surrounded, and I can feel it and be present in it. It and I, are not invisible. That is priceless. I sleep well, for the most part, although this week has been riddled with anxiety and restlessness. I was so so anxious about this tattoo.

And I’m so grateful for that because it has shown me I am thinking less impulsively. Did you hear that? Not only thinking but behaving less impulsive. It felt impulsive or a mid life crisis. What a judgment there right ?! Who am I to have art on my body that is sacred to me if it means I could be judged or worse judge myself.

I looked at an arm that was not my own this morning and keep getting anxious I’ll reject it or won’t like it like that. It’s new and permanent, and it’s making me think of Attachment. I am continuing to read the book Attached by Amir Levine and Rachel Heller. I have been reading, absorbing, life rafting with that book for months. I believe I can finally mark it read soon. And not be so far behind in my reading goal in Good Reads.

The truth is I am slowly ever so slowly reading and writing more now. It has snuck up on me, this ability to attend and be still in a moderate way. Learning my way out of all or nothing, fight or flight, into real relationship.

The days that led up to my tattoo I was anxious for three nights, waking up all the time, strange dreams, and I’m remembering my dreams lately. The morning of (yesterday) I was nauseated with it. It’s insane to feel things this much, but I am beginning to embrace it.

In 2016 I got my et lux intenebris lucet (the light shines out of the darkness), Viktor Frankl quote on my inner left arm. I was so anxious I thought I would drop dead, pass out, get an infection. My intrusive thoughts were insane. My threat level was at a constant defcon 5! I didn’t realize even then why that was. So now in 2021 to have sat for 3 plus hours and got more done than I imagined. A half sleeve well underway. And I enjoyed it. Relaxed. Learned more about the guys at the shop. We shared trauma stories and I love them. Connecting. People stopped in and cared for me, my children got excited for me. I am literally surrounded by love and affection.

I noticed that I still want to ask other people, do you like this or it and go with what they say. It is still my tendency to be anxious and want approval, but now I pause and land on how do I feel and do I like this and I find my knowing. That is priceless.

Navigating anxiety, rather than it controlling me. I am driving and anxiety can be in the toddler seat, buckled in, where it belongs. I never even knew it spent most of my life driving me. I breathe a sigh of relief and the tears roll down. I am unashamed of the things that I’ve dealt with, and that make me me.

I am unashamed of my softer forty year old body, that’s sometimes hard to love. The changes in my skin, somehow slacker, and more lines than their used to be. I can’t even get lost in that because my eyes dance and are alive and not darting nervously, wanting to crawl out of my skin. You can’t unknow once you have decided to love yourself with the same ferocity and unconditional nature you would bestow upon someone else.

I am going to have fun with the images I put on my tattoo sleeve, the represent my life, my pain, my joy, my story. Sitting and having them emblazoned on me, is time and attention I deserve to bestow on myself. It is not an act of rebellion, it is an act of love, and I don’t need anyone to understand it.

But only to gravitate toward those who are gracious with their time and attention and desire to hear my story and appreciate it. and to let the rest burn. Not rejected, always redirected. Always path….

It’s Thursday and I love Thursdays because I get to have the best dinner company. I love it because I’ve never had anything this consistent in my life and it teaches me about love and life. It has stabilized me over the events of the past year and a half, and for that I am forever grateful. Does the man with the sad eyes and gigantic heart know that I don’t need to be walked down the aisle or spend every Christmas with him to understand that “because I knew you I am changed for the better, for good.”

The characters in my story are brilliant and I am loved, and I love them immensely and forever.

It is as legitimate as anything else in life. It doesn’t need to fit a traditional box and neither do I. I don’t need to be outside that box either to be validated.

Just walking that line of bravery between belonging and creating…. I love learning to walk that line. And the very act of living and creating an epic story with every moment of my life…..

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The Unknown

The unknown is not outside…. For that is scary enough…. If the unknown is inside it is the impossible. Existence of the unknown is excruciating….

One healthy decision in front of another. I was tired and depleted last night and I wanted some usual less than healthy comforts. Instead I commanded my body to take me on a walk. It starts out creaking and groaning. Protesting why after a long day of work we must do more, it feels like having to do more. However once a rhythm sets in, the walk gives more than it takes. Isn’t that always the answer? Making choices that give more to us than they take. If it takes our self-esteem, confidence, and worthiness. Is it worth it?

The walk felt amazing and I got so many good pictures of things I appreciate about my life living in Milford. Downtown Milford is beautiful. Lavender sky painted backdrops over harbors of boats. The smells of many local restaurants making me glad I didn’t have my credit card on me. I wanted to disappear into one and indulge. I always want to indulge. The walk gave more than it took, and after the craving passes, I feel alive and attractive. Buzzing with vitality.

So last night a line in my book Wild Game stopped me in my tracks… I’m a little over half way in the book and Adrienne (the memoirist, has a new friend, and is now in college. Her new friend says to her that her mom is lonely. And Adrienne scoffs and says she has dinner parties every night, and has been juggling two men for years. That her mother is not lonely. And the friend says “you’re wrong, loneliness is not about how many people you have around, it’s about whether or not you feel connected. Whether or not you’re able to be yourself.” Adrienne: “I was at a loss for words.”

“The lonely feeling comes from not feeling known.”

This is the thing we all want, to be known. To show our true selves, our soft underbellies.

Feeling lonely and unknown can lead to a series of not so good things. Depression, anxiety, loneliness, and actions that cannot be undone. Only healed and moved forward from.

The promise of being known in a way that seems unique in all the world can lead to breeches of sanity that are almost unimaginable. A promise without a follow through is potentially one of the cruelest things to live through. Karma is real. It’s not in fact a bitch, contrary to popular slogan. It’s the thing that it used correctly, that keeps us on path to integrity.

The biggest route to change is fully feeling, an embodiment of experience to the point that discipline outweighs desire, and compassion and understanding lead, rather than impulsivity and greed.

I am learning you can’t simply know the lessons cognitively. To become real, it must be the journey that brings them to life inside of you….

It is painful to have realized how disconnected from myself and others I was. How my desperate mind was buzzing from threat to attachment, threat to attachment. how unsafe I felt in my own body and home, because in my mind it was still a haunted house.

I cannot speak enough about how presence is a gift and a privilege and how many people are not able to be in it, for a variety of reasons. I think of how it must have felt for my children to see my eyes so blank. Wild with terror….beyond any loneliness. Shattered, scattered, and lost. In ways that no one understood or put together. The logical conclusion was selfishness. When one doesn’t have any presence with themselves they cannot access executive function and the higher ordered thinking, regardless if they have empathy or not.

They were never blank like my mothers, my eyes were never those of the uncaring, the permanently disconnected….

I was however lost inside myself….

And now I’m coming home….

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Wired for Love… Walking Between Worlds…

The quieter it gets, it’s always still there….there’s just more room to love and be loving because peace of mind is a choice. No matter how you feel and what exists and what doesn’t, peace of mind I have found is always a choice.

The two main things that stuck out from my last therapy session have unleashed a revolution in me. I’m noticing so many patterns. Such as how after a few days without therapy my mind starts to return to over-thinking, second guessing, painful ruminating on things not in the present. As soon as I get back into that safe space and process things out I return to grounding.

I am catching my triggers before they hit the ground now.

Knowing this helps me to tell myself anxiety and trauma is lying to me and operating as a mechanism not as a mindful choice and to be still and ground and make everything ok again by doing so. It works. If you do the work, the work will work for you. It fucking works.

I could be afraid of being dependent on therapy. There are worse things to be dependent on. If self-growth, grounding, and awareness is a way of life for me, which it is with or without therapy, then is that the worst thing? No! There are far worse things. I’ve lived (autocorrect changed lived to loved and I almost left it) them, over and over.

I think there will come a time when I’ll move on to the next phase of my therapy and growth from relating in general, and rather than make that time happen, I will trust in the timing and the work I am doing. That is after all the most important thing, and it’s also something I’ve lived 40 years of my life without.

So the two takeaways from therapy. In a personal journey to forgive myself for so many things right now and to see myself in ways I’ve always deserved, in my full spectrum of humanity, I have worried about impulsivity. I mean I literally tried to take anything available and make it into forever. I did this every single time. And while all of those situations were worthy of such a pursuit…. What I have learned is something truly can already exist available, without doing all of that work. Holy shit that’s a revelation that I can know cognitively, but embodiment will take much longer. That has to become real.

So my therapist asked me to consider the difference between impulsivity and irresponsibility, because I’ve been using them interchangeably. She said I’m not irresponsible and of course my pain wants to resist. My harsh relationship with myself says yes I am, because if I didn’t have that out of balance I felt I would not hold myself accountable. Except I hadn’t updated my software to my new self, the one I’ve been becoming for years.

Because trauma makes us invisible to ourselves. Often times trauma survivors can see others and the world with a staggering clarity, but during all their pain they left themselves to survive. I left myself to survive, and I never came back. Until my brink of 40 awakening. Wherever you go, there you are.

Here I am. I am here to stay!

I believed for years, mired in my health symptoms that I would be snuffed out early, and this past year I’ve had some habits that haven’t felt that. My energy healer and I identified those old coping comforts as self betrayal and that really helps me make one healthier decision in front of the other. One step at a time becomes a way of thinking and life, rather than a cheesy rhetoric.

Because no one wants to be uncool. But cool is such a different thing than can be seen on the outside. Cool is a heart that refuses to surrender in the fight of pursuing a life that feels it’s direct making: path. That’s fucking cool. Watch me work and peel back all these layers of gunk that built up at one time to protect me.

How could I see myself so poorly.? Easily Christina. You were not seen. But once you see yourself for all the beauty there is no turning back. I’ll never abandon me again. And that’s a scary concept, but not a disconnected one. So scattered, my mind so shattered, I thought I wouldn’t find my way out of the dark wood, and now I’m basking in the light.

It still smarts. There are new scars. The tissue is pink, they burn in the sun and in the sand, and the tears slide down my cheeks, but I feel and I am alive and connected with me. I’ll never lose this, you can’t take this from me.

So I was thinking how shitty it’s been to refer to myself as impulsive. You wouldn’t tell a Veteran they are being impulsive when they jump under a car because a muffler backfired down the street, you would feel compassion for them. The design of my life and my own ability to shoulder my own burdens never wanting anyone else to be uncomfortable by my story, has led to shame and misunderstanding after misunderstanding.

And I scrambled to explain myself, to beg to be seen. Something felt off, not connecting. Could I really be selfish in the way I was being accused, and I mean look at all the evidence.

I had to fucking recover and reclaim me, my right to exist. And if you’ve never had to do that then all I ask if that you listen no matter how many times I need to talk about it, because if it makes you uncomfortable imagine what it’s done to my insides. My fucking insides, screaming, tight. My intestines tightening, roiling, and I’d keep all that away from anyone else and the fact I couldn’t breathe, to make sure not to upset anyone. Because when I saw their upset even if it was compassion for me, it was so distressing.

So I internalized it all. And now I need to get it fucking out. Out of me. I need to talk about it, without being afraid of hurting someone else. And I need to be able to say aloud when I don’t feel well, like everyone else does. Instead of silently praying it will just get better and pass and if I make less of a big deal about it, maybe I won’t get so anxious.

I’ve tried every trick in the box to manage this burgeoning insanity (trauma) so it would never make anyone else uncomfortable so I wouldn’t have to drown in shame. I tried it until it consumed my body. My body began attacking itself, and I was forced to wake up and journey. However that was so scary and so painful that I just kept trying to find a safe space to belong and cling so my kids were kept safe while I felt so shattered.

And then that too became a fault and a problem and a bad thing about me, then I was co-dependent and this and that and finally my out of congruence landed me as the ultimate monster…. And I’ve had to walk my way through the ruins of that, finding the compassion for the battle itself, rather than me being a ruthless bomber of Pearl Harbor magnitude.

I’ve had to stop that.

So now here we are. Walking, crying, talking, learning, laughing, leaning, breathing, connecting, aloneing, singing, playing, and so many other things.

The second thing from therapy is again this concept of not accommodating, and being on egg shells, because I’ve been in such scarcity the only thing I knew how to do was chameleon. I can’t say what I want need or feel because it always seems to be a burden. And the suggestion that anyone you can’t be yourself with, your whole self (well that’s a lot, see that’s what immediately think). That’s not your person and those are not your people.

So not making myself smaller to belong or be comforted. Being my full size.

And then….. now….. my story and then books and teachings…. They will emerge.

It is in this year of my life that I’m able to see every mechanism to cope. Every irritability with my kids was all the pain I’ve been in, and now it’s time to release it so I can enjoy them and living…. Life itself, with my whole heart.

I want to educate parents about trauma and how they can misunderstand because of it. How we can mistranslate one another. And help them connect the dots to finding a relationship with their children that feels like the one they want, with realistic expectations, which are so hard if we have never known what those are.

Small shifts…. RE-wiring.

Wired for love.

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Music and Lyrics….

Never noticed the sticker on that container before whoops lol…. Life’s little imperfections

I’m trying to explore my own writer’s process. As inspired by the talented and handsome Casey Hurt. His brave lately and posting about his process is inspiring me. Also didn’t hurt that he sent me some writers goodies in the mail today. A journal that has the most buttery paper. To go along with my new blackwing pencils. Swoon. And the illustrated version of Strunk’s The Elements of Style, which I didn’t know was even a thing.

We were talking on the phone the other night and he was calling me on my excuses of being frozen and locked down and feeling a fraud, and it’s pulling me out of my repressed existence, and also having me explore the origins of that.

So today I pulled up Glennon’s new podcast about addiction, had my coffee, the book Attached. My new notebook and pencil and I started my very own jam session. Kind of how he does but with books, and companions who have put their work in the world, the place I want to go. And I just started vibing and finding my rhythm. Resonation…. Like a tuning fork seeking a home. There was a rhythm and a beat, and they were my mind and heart. Bliss and flow.

I would listen to a few minutes of Glennon, pause reflect and jot down some notes. Then text a friend and jot some notes from that. Listen to a song and take notes from that. All in my new notebook of course.

Receiving, Recognition. Reciprocity. Kindred connections….. life itself….

So here is some of my writing time from today…

I dissociated from myself. At a young age I split off from all of the things that I would one day come to know as integral parts of who I am. It was at that time that I began to give everything I was to everyone else. And to be invisible to myself. A relationship with myself and my art as well was non-existent and it’s taken miles of recovery, that in many ways is just beginning.

I became my own parent, but not the kind I ever wanted to be. Since I didn’t know how to be a parent at that time, I became one with a harsh authoritarian tone who tried to seek out anything and everything I was doing wrong, so I wouldn’t become those things.

And I sort of used that approach for everything, and it has been harmful to me my whole life.

People so often say things that imply everything isn’t about trauma. I so often have what I say redirected and I wonder sometimes if that’s their own discomfort.

Because for me it’s me still trying to find my real story. Trying to acknowledge years of the unacknowledged. Lately that’s been happening a lot. I think they just want me to feel better or see myself better. Normalizing can be helpful and it can also be harmful.

“Everyone goes through something”, with all due respect on that I think we need to respect the differences of people’s experiences as much as our shared humanity. The things I have been through are not often the same, and to to be heard, honored, have space held and listened to. Tell me more rather than shut it down I’m too uncomfortable.

People need to tell their stories as many times as they need.

I was also gifted a pasta maker, which was very thoughtful. I just had a profound moment of joy at being thought of in all of those ways. It feels like a long time since anyone has sent me things that reflected that I am seen. And that’s happening more lately as I choose myself.

Something about this blog post felt incomplete so I was going to finish it, but then days went by and I’m already in a totally different space with me. The alien pod in the corner dripping with goo from the emergence 😉

Get ready for today’s,,,,, walking between worlds, inside and out….. I will be writing it now.

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All I Ever Dreamed of Hearing

Walk me home in the dead of night …..

It’s a lot more difficult to unpack what happened to me then, and a lot easier to unpack what happened to me now.

This morning I am reading What Happened to You, by Dr. Bruce Perry and Oprah Winfrey, and never have I felt more seen or able to see myself.

Something in the book jogged my memory to think of how I got here. And it caused me to think of love languages and words of affirmation. Things I rarely received in childhood. When I did, you got the feeling it was the thing they thought one should say, but when it came to anything hard or emotional it was the opposite.

I have identified my love language as physical touch and acts of service I would guess based on what I do lol, or quality time for sure. And then I thought really my love language is a response to the profound lack of love that was consistent or safe. So I was in need of all of those so much how did I even know which one.

All of the love languages please ! An abundance of love….moving from scarcity towards abundance has been one of my greatest adventures.

This latest bought of change in my life has been brought to you by SCARCITY, the need for words of affirmation or words at all. For the last year and a half what began as someone offering me a family, a family that was not theirs to offer, and then repeating constantly how intelligent I was and how in love with my mind. And I wonder why something could have that big of a hold when all other evidence pointed to the offerings being empty.

This situation brought me to my knees and places inside and outside myself I never knew existed. I have never connected the dots before the way this book is helping me do.

I had once again put all the responsibility on me, without understanding the underlying vulnerabilities or dynamics at play. Without understanding a lot of things. Things about grief, trauma, attachment, scarcity, and scarcity, self abandonment, and so much more.

Knowledge IS Power. There is nothing lacking in my knowing. What has always been lacking inside me is a sense of safety and comfort that some of us get and some of us don’t. a regulation that is a privilege of the safe, the children who were wanted and loved and kept safe by being loved in healthy ways.

Lately I’ve been acknowledging what came before my conscious awareness years, my infancy and what that probably looked like. We love you Chris my grandparents would try and say to me, and to their ability they did. But it was never with enthusiasm or joy. A child is never meant to be a burden, but in this already taxes system full of religious beliefs it was. I was.

I will never be something that is tolerated rather than someone who is enjoyed simply for existing. Not for doing, for existing. The rest of my life I get to live with these realizations and the profound sense of peace that I’ve set my compass towards since the inception of this blog.

Since I began I tried to find it in other people, in things, in work, in so many places…. And throughout that process what has opened up are new places in myself where that now exists…..

I tried to find my concentration and focus. Will and motivation and desire and passion, those were never the problem. My nervous system however has been subconsciously hijacking my ability to craft a self for me entire life.

I am pondering the cruelty of this brain washing of the last year. The excuse that it’s real because the person feels this way, but without anything tangible or follow through. The pain and devastation that was caused. Not taking responsibility for anything except my choices and actions. I’m not responsible for and gaining clarity and connection with those who are responsive and reciprocal in relation with me.

Healing. My only responsibility is to heal myself with the help of qualified professionals and steadfast found family of friends.

I’m thinking of how my imagination must have saved me, and learning to hold it with high regard and honor. I’m thinking of how so many of my dreams were someone showing up for me and realizing how that builds with slow consistency rather than grandiose promises with opposite actions.

The greatest of all realizations is that I can’t hang on to any miserable thoughts on this because the process itself led me home…. Led me whole.

Stay Tuned…. What’s next is going to be really beautiful ….

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Blackwing 602’s and PTSD

Blackwing 602’s…. A new discovery and wanting to do some song writing…..

I’m quite sure one of the keys to a balanced existence is to be able to think and feel at the same time. I’m also quite sure repeated trauma particularly in infancy and beyond creates a brain that disconnects that wiring to protect you.

I over thought everything and I under thought everything. I literally had all my wires crossed. And in addition to this: It’s a lot of responsibility being a writer, our lives and often our emotions are not even our own.

I found out in therapy yesterday I probably don’t have ADHD. Crazy because if you saw me you’d think for sure I do. The same therapist has said for sure I do, but that was before I shared with her details about how medication affects me. She said that if Xanax works well, and I got a terrible headache and irritability on ADHD meds that means I don’t have it.

I said, but then how to explain never sitting still and talking in class, and being annoying to others etc. I was trying to be seen. I was lonely. The result of that was more negative feedback which I deeply internalized because there was no one else. If I talked to my grandparents it would be well what are you doing, they always made me feel ashamed.

I’m just reflecting on my appointment yesterday. Where I validated that trauma before the age of two and after has made such a dramatic impact on my life. It has changed my brain and I’m literally RE-wiring myself right now. I’m watching the changes and slowing my speed and taking everything one step at a time.

I’m having trouble focusing, and being still enough to have the deep relationship with myself to prioritize and recover my creativity. I don’t even know what it looks like, but also I do. Deep somewhere I do. Trusting that and investing in it is scary. Not trusting and investing in it is scary. Everything is so fucking scary. Thinking of EG in big magic.

Anyway I was telling my therapist that I think maybe I want to try medication, but I’m not sure because I hate how almost all of it affects me. I was telling her how I love playing piano and love my lessons. But when it comes to practicing I just look at it and freeze. I get lost in the day and everything else, everyone else, and continuously abandon me.

Although that’s a harsh narrative because so many choices I’m making are moving away from self abandon. I can’t even see me sometimes. I’m invisible to myself, while I see everyone else so well and clearly, and that just doesn’t work. I have to continue to fight for visibility and a relationship with me.

The only thing I knew how to guide my attention was deep conversation with others, which became deep connection, but I never knew what to do, or how to choose what space they occupied in my life or how to organize them I suppose.

My boundary less existence prior to the dark night.

Now I am organizing and having boundaries and giving myself whatever time and space I need to decide what’s right for my kids and I. And I hardly know what to do with this new self. Some of these concepts are so foreign and the sense of peace that is coming. Peace for me is almost a trigger. In my childhood if you settled into anything peaceful and abrupt stop would come and not in a pleasant way.

I will likely live with the feeling the other shoe is going to drop forever. Or at the very least it will be a reflex that attempts to kick in, and hopefully the solid foundation of peace I have built will override.

When I began this blog this was the battle I was having. I talked about ADHD and PTSD a lot. I had a lot more questions, and a lot less answers, and yet there are still so many questions.

I look around and almost can’t believe how I could have lived in that much pain for so long. So scattered, so much panic, so lost, so locked up, so locked down, in agony. Relieving it only by using my gift and feeling some sense of confidence from that. But no other solid footing. I thought that was all I needed, until I realized there was more healing that needed to happen.

I believe in therapy in a whole new way now. And now I will finally be able to be a human in my own life and not rely on connecting because of my sight. To wait and see what another person sees about me besides that and offers in terms of reciprocity and availability.

Providing resources from what I know but not feeling a desperate need to fix or change or that something isn’t ok. I am just being and I hardly know what to do with this new self, but here we are.

Lots of beautiful new things on the horizon. Stay tuned for my new attempts at creating…. Whatever that may be. I don’t know yet. That used to have an ominous devastating tone… now it’s I don’t know yet and a big smile spreads across my face.

It gets good when you do.

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It’s in the Details

So here I am 11:22 at night. Not like me at all. And I’m thinking about the little things. The intimate things that we know about someone that no one else does, or maybe most people notice. And how many I have as part of me now.

A partner who cuts their nails over the toilet, convenient right ? Or sharing that one brushes their teeth in the shower. A hair part that’s unique in all the world. The quirks, mannerisms, things we have picked up along the way.

I think of how I appreciate Stephen Kings writing so much because of his attention to seemingly mundane details. I love his descriptors. I still remember 11/23/63, he describes old fashioned homemade root beer and I felt like I was inside the book and tasting it. That day I went out and bought fancy root beer and very fancy French vanilla ice cream and made floats. Partly to be in the book and partly childhood nostalgia which the book opened up the portal into. I can still hear his describing and taste the root beer.

The little sayings you can always depend on and you find yourself saying unconsciously. What, “you what”. Hi. I’ll never hear hi the same. Hi means something now. It means I just left and I still want to make sure I’m connected to you. And it also means I can’t say anything else. It means below the bare minimum. It means pain and a sick feeling in your stomach, after so many times it meant euphoria. Hi will never be the same.

Oh gee look at the time….. and it was terrible (about the food) after it had been consumed with great joy and voracious delight. Weight back…… and so many more.

I saw 7 clients today, after a very long day in other ways. Monday and Wednesday I have lots of time to myself the first half of the day and usually I indulge. I treat me very well these days but I’m still tired by the time I begin my day of six back to backs at two pm, I should be grateful and rested right. I’m beginning to think rest isn’t about your schedule and more about connectivity and consistency. Sigh.

I had a hot dog that I microwaved, a few chips, and an old school Hood ice cream sandwich for dinner. Yep. Chicken with my head cut off. After clients and a quick porch visit with a neighbor I still had clinical notes and billing. I did it gratefully.

These rituals and routines have taken shape to attending to the details. My porch mate mentioned that my energy is much less scattered lately. Essentially. She used a different word and I can’t think of it now.

When I started this I was going to describe details of me. There are so many that I solidly know now, rather than trying automatically to choose or dispatch them based on what’s pleasing for others.

I cleaned my new tattoo tonight..:: it was peaceful and relaxing. I love how it looks all shiny and protected. Relaxing. Spreading a gentle aquaphor film on an inflamed area.

My eyes are getting heavy I’m drifting, perhaps I’ll finish tomorrow:)