Tag: #memoir

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Childlike Enthusiasm

Despite my conflict about this medication how I am feeling on the regular is this crazy optimism for life. I wake up every single morning literally bounding with energy for what could happen throughout the day. What special thing? What human connection. What could happen today?

I have woken up (thawed out) to a childlike enthusiasm for living. And I’ll never go back to sleep from that. Now I just want to give from a place of abundance and fulfillment to anyone and everyone who feels as if they don’t belong in some way, are too much, are not enough, not worthy. I want to warm them up and thaw them out.

I realized yesterday it isn’t because I don’t have symptoms and lots of various health things anymore, it’s because I’m so well cared for.

Yesterday we watched my daughters soccer game. They beat their town rival for the first time in the history of JV soccer, both of them played wonderfully. It was cold out, and once the cold gets into me it’s very difficult to get out. My lips get purple, my hands and feet and nose are freezing and no amount of bundling typically helps. I used to become so afraid of this. It’s very unpleasant and it can’t be good right. My joints ache after. I’ve tried all sorts of things and had all sorts of testing.

Do you know what heals me the most?

Love.

Once I got into bed with my person she lovingly warms my hands and her touch brings me right back to life. I believe 100 percent if you allow yourself to receive from source (for me love and the earth) that you can heal. When I’m cold like that I also ache and all my muscles tighten up, and it can cause a migraine etc. Normally I go to such a fear space in my body and I’m in my head, and can’t get out.

She brings me right back to earth and safety.

My secret is you have to reach a place where you reduce down to the truly important things. Not getting caught up in whether your house looks nice, your body, various appearances. Whether you’re good enough (you’re good enough), make enough money, have enough time. There will never be “enough” of those things, but think of how much can be wasted with a skewed perspective.

As my fear melts away, there is just more and more beauty to bask in.

If you had seen my life you would absolutely wonder how. I truly believe like a stray that has found its forever home I live in constant gratitude for the tiniest things and it’s a constant ecstasy.

I never imagined you could have a relationship where you truly fall more in love every day. I dreamed of this, but then romanticized and become crushingly disappointed by continually picking the wrong fit because I couldn’t move slow enough to pay attention to the details.

Prior to this I chose partners who were no where near ready nor did they want to be responsible to a family unit. They fell in love the same way I did, with the idea of something and someone. Not truly knowing what they wanted out of their one precious life. It created love to be the battlefield from whence I came, and that pushed me toward illness, depression, fear, and longing even further.

When I met my wife I had already seen that she loved in partnership the way my value system works which is that love is prioritized above all things. The love itself is what continues to expand the dreams. Not resentment or playing out with each other the legacy of our family systems.

This love is bliss.

It’s interesting to watch others reactions to my shouting from the rooftops. Responses are often critical and judgmental such as “if you have to share it all the time on Facebook then…. and maybe you should be more private about it.” Or with skepticism or with behaving as if it’s corny to love this hard and talk about it. If this is your response you probably want to check in on your own unmet needs.

Well meaning advice from those who see their world quite differently. Also it means those people don’t understand me at all. How I work. That I delight in having permission to share my truths as often and as loudly as I like. That I was shushed often as a child and told that little girls are supposed to play quietly in the corner with their paper dolls, and that children are meant to be seen and not heard.

If they aren’t for you move along. I used to accept shame and judgment so easily. It used to make me crumble. I wanted so badly to belong and fit in, I did anything, sold my soul, again to people who weren’t ready to create a big life with me.

Keep your dreams at the forefront and your enthusiasm for living. I wonder how much I was born like this, and how much is my chosen perspective. I wake up wide awake at 6 am every morning with thousands of thoughts. I used to wake up with those being terror filled, and the day being a gauntlet of symptoms to survive and my own dark thinking of how badly everything could go. My mind can do dark things. I’ve lived in dark places.

The saving grace is my determination towards the light. I am fiercely protective of this life I am creating. I know that loss does not discriminate, and that I am not immune. And that I will feel the effects intensely. Which will only make the beautiful things that much more special.

I continue to keep warming my inner child and bringing her into myself and feeling whole.

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To Humira or not to Humira

So I’m trying to make a very big decision. Whether to come off of Humira or not. I’ve gone back and forth and back and forth for months, and here’s why. If you come off of a biologic it may never work for you again, and can throw you into a terrible flare. The burning question is however, did I even need it in the first place.

I’ve been taking Humira since around 2013. I was diagnosed with Crohns based on a scan suspecting appendicitis and a follow up colonoscopy. I still remember to this day my GI went back and forth with her diagnosis. The tissue sample came back acute not chronic, but she made the conclusion based on the films that I have Crohns.

I so willingly wanted an answer for my problems at that time. A variety of odd sensations in my body and a large level of discomfort and fatigue constantly. Heart palpitations, heavy periods, chest pains. I’ve had more heart tests than you can imagine. However, I was severely anxious and stressed, in the wrong relationship, and working way more than any human being should. I also wasn’t aware at this time or connected to the whole picture of my life. My traumas.

Now that I’m learning a much more holistic way to view pain in the body, especially through the lens of trauma I’m unconvinced that I should be on this sometimes deadly medication.

So one of the real questions is, did I forget ?! Did I forget how sick I was etc? I never had bleeding, or fistulas or major symptoms though mine was nearly all extra intestinal manifestations and completely anxiety which I didn’t want to be true or admit at that time. I wasn’t ready. I needed it to be “something real”, and now I know anxiety and trauma in the body are very real. It’s just when you seek medical help for anything they often only look through one lens.

So now that so many things in my life are more secure I have way less symptoms and when I do I take measures to heal my body naturally. I know I need to address how I eat for my body, and not just lean on Humira so I can eat what doesn’t serve me anyway.

I’ve been reading about many other approaches to medicine and my friend is also an acupuncturist and going to school for Chinese medicine, herbs and all that. And recently I came across this concept of “earthing”. www.earthing.com which came about from people looking at inflammation in the body and how it’s the primary source of this decades physical malady.

And then my skeptic and science brain, actually probably my Western medical natural background, says what if that’s all a bunch of crap. Which leads me to the big problem here.

Not knowing what to believe. I’m really challenged to fear I’m crazy by believing holistic versus the Dr in the shiny white coat who got her degree from Harvard. But then again is she truly just in it for the money? Have I been a victim of this drug? Or will I be?

I used to frequently wonder as a child how if there are so many religions which majorly different beliefs that you pick the right one. Since my perspective has become somewhat richer and more varied since then I know you can choose what you believe in. And I know as an existentialist I believe in the power that provides to each individual regardless of what belief they use.

But when it comes to East versus West in medicine, and philosophy versus skepticism, and faith versus facts; I’m a little lost. Do I get to just choose ? What if I choose wrong?

I’ve read and studied. I like this guy particularly https://drpompa.com/cellular-health/a-healthy-mindset-overcoming-crohns-and-colitis/ Dane Johnson. My amazing wife has bought the elemental shakes for me. And just like him my lifestyle is so busy that I eat worse and don’t stick to any of these things. He was on death’s doorstep and about to have his colon removed and then went to a naturopath.

Now I went to a naturopath once and she did the blood type diet, and the plan included lots of veggies that would have torn apart my gut. I was so lost. And no one in any of this took account the the trauma I have experienced in my life. The years it endured for, how I escaped from it, and the way all of that has significantly impacted the direction of my life in so many ways.

No one is looking at the whole picture here. But now I am. I’m just having trouble knowing what I have faith in. I do know that I have faith that you can heal your body with your mind, but for most in the throes of it this is so invalidating. Though it doesn’t have to be.

Enter, You Can Heal Your Life. www.healyourlife.com the brilliant work of Louise Hay, which I have had on my shelf from many a counseling conference and didn’t pay much mind (because it seemed to invalidate my disease) until recently. Recently I attended a workshop on energetic body types. https://blueheronhealing.blogspot.com/p/blog-page.html?m=1

And one of her sources was Louise Hay as well as Earthing.

Now back to this idea of not knowing what to believe. Of course I don’t. I had a mother and an aunt and a set of grandparents that all bounced me around like a ping pong ball using me in tactical warfare, information finding, and often for their own devices. And being overly mature for my age, willing and energetic I delighted in any form of attention.

I developed a strong outer shell geared to receive praise, with an inner self that was a molten center of wholly unmet needs. I subconsciously froze that part away for safe keeping.

My body and outside persona was carefully crafted armor.

So it makes sense now when I’m frantically uncertain and can’t figure out what to do, especially when these stakes are so high.

I know I never want to stick that pen of poison into my abdomen again. I feel it with every part of my soul. But my constitution is built up of so much obedience from one of the only systems that I ever grew up around truly paying kind and attentive notice to me. The Western medical system.

I had severe asthma growing up, and was often in and out of the hospital. Louise Hay says this corresponds to not wanting to be alive, fear of being here, which absolutely makes sense given my mothers pregnancy with an older man and out of wedlock. And the chaos I was born into.

So later in my life when feeling utterly alone and crippled with (what I didn’t know was anxiety) I would seek so much medical attention. I have so many pictures of my ex partner in ER waiting rooms. And each test and visit eventually only led me to less validation and even to be considered a drug seeker when I’m terribly anxious to even take a Tylenol.

I now realize I was subconsciously doing that to feel special, important, loved, safe, etc. and that I still did not. Not being a mother, or a graduate, or any of the accomplishments I had attempted to busy my mind had resulted in this. That unmet need core of me still radiated out into my whole body.

What else could make an energetic curious outgoing child later turn into an adult who couldn’t raise her hand in class without her heart thumping so wildly against her chest she thought she might die. Also notice when it gets very vulnerable I’ll slip into language that suggests someone else and not me? That’s a thing too.

I’m piecing it all together as I’m gently healing all of my parts back together rather than being rough with them and demanding we have it together. I have to invite and ask and nurture myself.

This is healing and this is my journey.

I imagine myself on a vision quest and meditating and the answer coming, and then my logical brain scoffs at that. My spiritual brain and my logical brain are at war.

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Anything is possible

I was introduced to Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs when I was a student. This would be the very first time it occurred to me as to why I felt so undeveloped in certain areas. That there could be a reason for this that was not a short-coming or fault.

For the last several years I often say that theory and practice are very different things. But what I never realized as I was preaching this to others, is that I was really telling myself that I have become someone else than I ever thought myself to be.

As I counselor I often tell people they need to update their software, just like on the I-phone. As soon as they become aware of their “bugs” and have engaged in the process of correcting those (therapy). Ever so slight shifts happen, that often go unrecognized by the self. People from the outside will often be the first to make them aware, by commenting about these shifts, but even then… it’s hard to imagine themselves as different than the story they have formulated with the “help” of media, society, comparison, etc.

Self-doubt fueled narratives abound, especially in women as their tender nurturings are often seen as far less valuable than they truly are.

A nurturing mother is often times the difference between a fulfilling life and one of incredible struggle.

Much to my great surprise I found myself to be one. How am I here right now? I spent the first half of my life in a chaotic blather of creating before I knew what I was doing, doubting myself all the way along, and so so susceptible to the opinions of others.

I spent years self-flagellating, and I’m not even Catholic. At the time the only thing I knew how to do was beat myself into making sure I would not be the things I came from. Little did I know that behavior would be the very thing that could have turned me into that.

So here I sit…. a totally different self than I ever hoped to be. Not only did I turn out different, but I turned out better than my wildest dreams. And now I am just trying to update my software to stand in this grace and this power that I deserve and have labored incredibly hard for.

I can know I’m touching on something sacred because the tears come. Glorious tears from a spigot that was dry and dusty for so many years. My emotional self housed carefully on ice, deep deep within the innermost caverns of my soul.

I am blessed enough to have been able to preserve my child safely until I could parent her better. I’ve figured out how to do this, even under the demands of parenthood, partnership, and career.

I used to think I could only have one. Judge myself for wanting to much. More flagellation. I mean I was so good at it.

And here I stand in the realization that one feeds into the other, and that anything is possible with faith and friends. I have built my new sturdy foundation on the grace and mercy of friends who saw me for more than I was behaving like at the time. They didn’t feel the need to “call me out” or condemn me. They saw something else, so I could see it too.

Even friends who I have parted ways with under pretenses of terrible stories, have contributed such gifts to my life.

Lately I’ve been wondering if my dreams are too big. And still trying to pathologize myself as chaotic, rushed, crazy; etc.

I’m terrified of the possibility I could be safe as a foster parent. I’m guilty I think as well, that I will appear a better parent in the eyes of my children this time around. There it is. You see how when you write openly you unearth the deepest truths. This is what I do. There it is. I’m afraid to be a good parent now, because of how long I struggled and how much they endured with me.

Is it a justification to say that they are better people for having had to be part of that struggle? It feels it. But I can’t do that to myself. It doesn’t honor all of my parts and all of my story.

Family: I can only do better now with what I’m willing to create and how arduously I’ve been willing to work. I am my best self when I am of service to others. I become creative in ways I never imagined when I am in the trenches of someone else’s suffering. I am humbled daily. I want to serve the wounded souls that I feel most at home with. I want to be humbled by that experience and have it test my limits and feel terrified enough that I know I’m alive and trying at something.

I want to be broken open over and over until I am my soft child like self. So I can be gentle and warm. I want to be that calm in their storm, the calm I always starved for.

I don’t want to limit myself with fears. I want to expand myself with courage.

Anything IS possible….

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We all float down here….

I’m feeling the need to write, as in it’s a must. But I’m back in that mode where I’m getting tripped up by what to write about and how to organize it instead of just doing it. So here I am just doing it.

Another freeze and another thaw.

Here we are a year later on the brink of fall gearing up to “put our hearts out to be shot at” (for those whole don’t know that’s a JRR Tolkien reference). We are going to transfer an embryo as soon as all our ducks are in a row, or even in the vicinity of a row. Realistic expectations are important.

So many things in my world have shifted on the inside and the outside. For a little while there I thought I (it, they, etc) was lost. I felt so anxious and disrupted, but I realized that was an emotional flashback. Feelings from another time, another self.

The universe whispering gently, “it’s only change Christina, just change, you’re always safe and loved, you’re on the right path, your path.” You’re not on the edge of a cliff, as a dear therapist said to me recently. And she was right. Solid ground. Stability. The unthinkable. Unicorns and magic.

Our firstborn just turned 18 years old. He is at college out in the world navigating his own ship, and doing all while having a safe harbor. Our girls are thriving despite all the pain of leaving all they knew behind as well. Finally my feelings are not so consuming that I have enough to see them simultaneously. They are not falling through the cracks as they so often were in danger of.

I’m seeing and choosing being a mother over every other kind of existence and emotion, and I love it. How dare this not just be natural and a guarantee right ? When everyone gets so excited about a new life. But I have learned it’s not. Like any kind of love you have to work at that shit. To be less selfish, to see deeper with an understanding heart. To see beneath. To break open, no matter how terrifying.

We watched the movie IT the other night. The only way I will watch a horror movie anymore is if there’s a beautiful underneath, and with Stephen King there always is. And I caught myself wondering if I could be that brave. One of the major themes is these kids promised when they were young to go back to the thing they fear the most and protect others. And in the movie you see their struggle. One of the members even takes his own life prior because he knows himself well enough to know he doesn’t have that in him, and all of them must be there. That’s how scary.

When I imagine if I could face the scary monster I always think no way I would choose to stay safe. As I cringe in fear and am shaking. And yet this is ridiculous because I have been facing my own monsters and others my whole life without backing down. And I am finally appreciating myself for this.

Owning and feeling when people notice my brave. I believe it now and it’s enhancing who I am as a parent and how much love I can offer the world. My smaller world, and the larger world. I have love to give and damnit I intend to bring it. I’ve spent so much of it so afraid I wasn’t truly loved.

And here I am…. truly loved. And even better …. a truly loving person who doesn’t ever have to doubt that again. I refuse to ever doubt that again. That’s a promise to myself. She deserves it.

That’s the surprising part. When you are always ahead of yourself and your feelings catch up later sometimes (always) it can be hard to trust yourself. But trust is exactly what I am finding. I would venture to say faith even. Faith I am where I want to be, need to be, am supposed to be. I feel connected, as much as someone whose journey has included what mine has can.

More connected than I ever thought I could be. I live on earth now with the other humans. Not nearly as much in my head, where at one time it was so dark and scary that I understood Stephen King on a more intimate level than most. How his mind could travel to such horrific scenarios and yet beneath is such a deep understanding of humanity and a man who wanted to bring to light, in his own way, the struggles we all endure. The bullying, the tragedies, the terrible. How he must have suffered throughout to have such an understanding. I wonder if he would trade it? I doubt it….

The beautiful moments between the scary stuff. Our connections, our humanity.

So we are embarking on an adventure that includes being the parent I never had, and the one I always knew I could be. And in my process I’ve found the love of my life to do this with, and my tribe is forming. The like minded who wants to support and be supported. To contribute to this cause and they have found belief in it as well.

We are becoming registered to do foster care, and have a baby of our own. And whatever presents itself first as it’s meant to be we will welcome with open arms. Babies, career shifts, adventures, hand in hand… up we go….

It always seems so scary not knowing what’s going to happen next, but I have a feeling this next chapter is going to include more trust that whatever it is, even with the scary parts, it’s going to be novel worthy.

It always has been and always will be…

ready set go…. write…. create…. love….

repeat….

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It’s not just the boxes

“The music is all around us, all you have to do is listen.”

My wife being brave….

If I don’t write this blog post I think I might spontaneously combust. I just have to start somewhere. Being out of the habit all the old doubts have had time to creep in. The self-consciousness clinging to me as close as the tiny beads of sweat that have been my constant companion since moving here. We have no central air in the new house. Now I know why they call it “central” air. :p

We live in a new home, in a new beautiful town. My wife’s father is dead. We didn’t even know he was going to be dead. It was thrust upon us, as death often is. It was unannounced and a swift blow upside our happiness.

The very real threat of a victim story unfolding and a woe is us why so much grief in one year trying to barrel roll me to the bottom of the bayou and choke out any remaining life. Yes it’s been this intense.

From movers that didn’t arrive til 7 pm (scheduled at 3), and moving until 4 am the next day right before our closing, while her father was in the ICU. We found out there wasn’t any hope the same day we signed our papers for our new home.

Everything was out of place. Our hearts and souls were like the many packed boxes. Jumbled and scattered. Unfound. Riddled with broken items we have held dear, the natural losses any move yields. Now we are standing bewildered at where to begin unpacking all of this. It’s not just the boxes.

Unimaginable timing. My wife and her two siblings standing wide eyed with horror bracing themselves for an unknown journey of probate and estate settling, while packing their grief away for the time being.

And my wife said to me the other day, “and life just keeps going”, as in that’s it. It’s just over. He was here for so much of their years on this earth, meant so many things, and he is no longer. What do you do in the wake?

I feel like we are in the upside down. I didn’t actually even watch Stranger Things much, but the reference somehow feels right to me. Everything dark and unknown, and not being able to get back to what once was. A delineated before and an after.

Grief is the great divider. We are together, but right now we are also separate. I cannot be where she is in her feelings. The closest I can come is what she is able to put into words. I guess that is why writing is so sacred. But I still cannot know what it is like to be her right now. And when she is consumed I have to wait. A triggering position for me. She is oh so patient with my many scars.

I think as humans we are tricked into expecting a happily ever after once we have done so much work, as I have, to find your person. And we have immense happiness together. Is that why we are being offered up so many challenges? Four failed pregnancies, one ending in surgery and utter sadness, and the loss of a parent, and a move in the period of about one year.

No baby, a funeral, and a whopping amount of change all at once. I feel as if the tectonic plates of my life are shifting, constant earthquakes, and the aftershocks are still coming. When will my earth feel secure again? And if anything all this has done is made me know that anything can and will happen anytime. You are not guaranteed any kind of happy. So if you have it even for a minute absorb that shit! Pay attention to it. Be grounded. Be grateful.

The tears just started to pour. I can’t explain what it feels like for me to write, or maybe I can and will right here and now. Your first sip of water after being stranded without for days. That first touch of warmth after being cold with no relief. It’s an inhale and an exhale. It’s holding on and letting go. It’s a communion with my higher self. It’s joy and ecstasy. It is raw. It’s August’s symphony. If you haven’t seen August Rush, see it now.

It is the most profound relief to put my heart on the page. It is everything.

Amidst everything going on around me there is a lot going on inside of me. I am approaching my 39th year. The last year of my 30’s. My body is changing, my mind is changing. How can someone simultaneously become more confident than they have ever been as they are also acutely aware of the descent of their metabolism and a great many other bodily related factors. Just how?

I will not even touch on my son leaving for college in two weeks. It’s too heavy to even add. The stack of cards will crumble. That is another post. How can one heart possibly hold all this feeling ?

August Rush. A fairytale. I downloaded the song of course so I can listen to a beautiful composition with so much heart as I am doing just that. This movie. A lost perfect boy with amazing talent, who plays music to find a set of parents who both want him as much as he wants them. A fairytale indeed. Good for you August…. no genuinely good for you.

Watching a set of siblings grieve their father, my wife grieve him. I couldn’t help but have a huge missing portion of my life highlighted. The best case scenario is that I say at least I was able in a strange way to have that experience. I’ve been grieving the absence of my parents my whole life. And it’s made me who I am in so many ways, the good and the bad.

I watch from the outside an alien. I watch the humans with my nose pressed to the tank. Human in moments, robot in others. Carefully choosing which emotion suits me the best because naturally feeling them was abandoned long ago. It sounds so sad when I say it. Don’t saaaaaay it. But it’s so beautiful too.

What a paradox that the more a person suffers the more kind and open hearted and brave they become. Why do these qualities require such suffering?

So here my wife and I are, on this journey. Somehow together, which is my greatest privilege. And living with our whole hearts. Which people can actually see and they respond to it. Two people building their confidence in a world that would keep them small if it could.

My wife has been taking singing lessons and watching her battle through her self-consciousness to that glorious moment that makes it all worthwhile. That smile when she hits the “C”, that high after her lesson when she is in profound joy. And I am doing the same thing with my clothing and with my counseling. We are being brave, blazing trails, and enjoying one another in this life.

Even amidst all the sorrow I just described. What I am finding is that life is both beautiful and devastating, all the time. Your best hope is to fashion a self that can manage the hurdles. To be humbled by the losses, and to carry the people we love, even if only in memory all the days of our lives.

I am stitched together by moments….and to my beautiful wife and to my children… you are my greatest. I’ll climb through hell and back a thousand times just for one more with you. I’ll fight all my demons to show up for you, and live my life with great heart.

I hope you know….

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Healing, and Validating My Dark Passenger

Being a Clinician helps me validate my own trauma on a daily basis. It gives me a space where I can acknowledge it, along with carefully detecting others and helping them become self-supportive versus being their own authoritarian parent.

Every single time someone reveals themselves to me I get permission to reveal me to myself, and I grow.

I’ve come so far on my path that it’s time to peel back another layer of denial. My trauma still lives in my body and wreaks havoc on my ability to enjoy…..everything.

My body is the last part to address. I’ve been working on my mind basically my whole life. And I never seem to be able to find a Clinician who will see beneath my high functioning exterior and be able to help me hit that sweet spot between acknowledging and not being terrified as I do.

I need to fall in love with my body. I have never loved it much. It was drilled into me in a thousand ways I shouldn’t.

First, as a woman, as my mother’s daughter I was already capable at any moment of being the promiscuous temptress she was (at the ripe age of 10 or so), so it was drilled into me sex was bad, being around boys was bad, and even movement in my own body, bad. No dancing. No joy. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.00.

Second, I liked the boys section of clothing always. They had the cooler stuff. I never liked lace and bows and never liked to do my hair. Even when my own daughters came along, that wasn’t something I ever did. I didn’t know how really. And also had no desire to learn. I’ve never been girly. Call it hormones, tomboy, the urge to be more male like as a means to protect myself and anyone else. I was always shamed for that.

As adolescence and puberty came along I desperately tried to fit the bill and be like the other girls because I so wanted to be picked and chosen, probably by them, but I wouldn’t know that until much later. I was convinced by society and the standard that Prince Eric was the prize and Ariel was who I needed to look like. And if you have ever met me once I know what I need to do to adapt and be picked, I am an unstoppable force.

But none of it ever felt very natural and I couldn’t put my finger on why.

Sex never came very naturally either. Was this the thing I was supposed to enjoy so much? I made it work. I always make things work, but never under a confident hand that pressed for their own needs. Not until much later anyway. I could only choose those just as lost and confused as I was, but to me anyone looked like a well in the middle of the desert. Anyone who paid me 1/2 a second of attention… could have my whole heart.

I would have our wedding dreamt up. My imagination the sustaining force of my inside world. Naive and childlike this imagination; I have to give her credit, she has taken me on a Wild wild ride, and it did lead to my destiny. So to speak anyway.

And now that I’ve cracked the code on love, my sexuality, am becoming the best parent that was ever possible given my history, am a successful and sincere Clinician who loves her work. Now that so many of my dreams have come true it is time to work on a strong, proud, fluid, gentle, relaxed, healthy body.

Now how does one do this without getting overwhelmed by all the possibilities? I can do yoga, Pilates, exercise groups (terror for me), I want to find someone who can tell me more about how my brain compares to those who haven’t had my experiences. More validation. I never validated the C-PTSD. Helping others gets me just close enough to mine to look, but we haven’t quite tipped over the edge of owning this history yet.

Why if I am doing so well? Is a measure of denial not productive and healthy? I’m not sure. Strip away these layers and terror could lie beneath. I could crumble under the realizations. But Christina, “you have never crumbled before, cut that out.”

I don’t exercise primarily because every little extra fast beat of my heart makes me feel like I might drop dead any moment. The true reality of me if you want to know the truth is I am the imagineer of terrible scenarios. I do it everywhere, all of the time.

If I’m walking to he big E and we pass a bridge. And a woman with a baby walks over it. I imagine her or someone else, throwing it over. If I’m on a train to go do something fun, I begin to have scenarios of a gun man getting up, or of the train exploding, crashing. I’m sitting right there with my family about to enjoy a nice day. And so then the physical symptoms begin, the tingling and numbness, the chest discomfort, bad stomach time, will I find a bathroom in time. This was so much worse at a certain point. I’ve mostly conquered the physical, by not entertaining the thoughts, but they still are there.

This is just a tiny picture of what could go through my mind. We went to Hamilton this past year, one of the best days of my life. We were in orchestra and my children (teens) on top of the mezzanine, smiling down for a photo. And terrible images of them jumping, or when I’ve been up there, what would happen if I jumped.

I have no desire to kill myself, in fact quite the opposite I have a terrible fear of not completing my missions here in time,

Why is this such a part of me (I know why). Why even with all of my work can’t it be laid to rest. My body is as tight as anything you have ever imagined. Stiff as a board, not light as a feather. Every muscle is ready all of the time for battle, at any moment.

I would like to catch my body up with my mind. Would like it to feel as healthy, strong, capable, fit,.. as I’ve created my mind to be able to be. But I keep telling a story of tired. This is when I want to coast I say…and then the anger and resentment rises and there is no room for that in my life because it makes me irritable with my family when I don’t want to be.

So denial keeps everything where it needs to be so I can function just enough. Peel back denial and you are completely in the unknown. And imagine if I can picture such terrible scenarios in the known what I can do with the unknown.

Imagine…..

So recently I’ve finally been convinced to try CBD oil. Enough clients are finding success from it I really wanted to try. I have a complicated relationship with marijuana, and yes yes I know no thc in this, but if you have seen the things I have at the hands of your own mother and even the smell is a trigger. I hate the stuff. I know tons of people find relief, but also it’s a dark mistress as well. There is a dark side, it robs motivation and self efficacy and convinces you it is the only thing needed. It masks and hides as well.

Taking any new medication induces such hypochondria in me I begin having physical symptoms and can’t tell whether it’s anxiety or the medication being taken. A really fun time. I already don’t feel well in a variety of ways each day, from my Crohn’s Disease. So I am determined to get my self healthier.

So I tried oil from https://www.cbdmd.com

750 mg gummies and oil.

The result thus far after 3 tries at a gummy in the evening. I felt anxious about taking said thing and felt weird eye pressure and head pressure, though this has been bugging me awhile, so probably not that.

I realized that while I don’t feel anything in my head. I can’t tell what it’s doing. My body feels relaxed in a way it never has. My level of red alert constantly is a little more relaxed. I have never slept so good. And this morning I cried with the possible realization that my body could be this stressed for this much of my life. That this could be real and not a concoction of my mind to validate my experiences.

So my new mission is to lose weight, not leave my body last to absorb the brunt of everything, and to find natural mediums to heal myself. To be willing to devote that time and energy, and not just say I’m too busy or it comes last.

So I will be writing about this as I go. Each days attempt at body love and trauma work, and everything else in my world.

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Love and Moving: Thoughts from Provincetown MA.

I’m just sitting here in our cute little apartment style Air BNB lodging in Provincetown MA, and thinking about what it means to enjoy someone.

Last week I tried to write a post about what was going on. Essentially how I’ve felt frozen with writing or reading as we are in the administration phase of transitioning out of our home and into a new one. I’ve been obsessively consumed and focused on this task. It has shown me I really am this way about everything, not just love 😉

I’ll re-look at our new home online on Zillow over and over, and wonder a thousand things. As a highly sensitive person I know now that this is natural that this will be very intense for me. This home on Berkshire rd was a beginning and an end. The end of a certain level of poverty and not having my own. And the beginning of an adventure into myself.

To make it work as I went through loss we moved my dear friends Jen and Dain into the mix, and then they brought Joey into the world while living there. They became family. They have since moved onto their own home but their spirit and our times shared linger.

However so do the ghosts of exes past and I also had to get my ex name cleared of owning this home. And Courtney and I want to begin fresh! Once again in this lifetime I get to take threshold photos, though I very much doubt either of us will be carrying the other. We now live in the realm of nearing 40. Aches and pains and bad backs and a few extra inches to love and snuggle.

What will it feel like that first night sleeping there? What will it be like the move? I still see things through eyes of youthful naïveté and sometimes expect it to be more fun in my mind, and then when I get there realize moving actually is very stressful. Though I should like to think that’s a matter of perspective. But sometimes it’s probably a matter of emotion and change and in the spirit of The Velveteen Rabbit I’ve become more real as of late.

Real meaning I am connected to my emotions and feelings as I go now, versus being naturally and unintentionally capable of compartmentalizing to a frightening degree. I feel my feelings and boy are they huge. I am beginning to be able to love that about me, versus shaming it.

So here I am with my wife this time on the brink of another grand adventure. On this trip I’m finally able to have some space with my feelings to see what all is going on in here… and what I am finding is becoming emotional every few minutes with a deep and intense gratitude. She is such a happy person. The antidote to my serious heavy sides.

I teared up several times driving here yesterday when she shares with me so unabashedly her affection for me. She tells me she never knew she could love someone so much. How I look, how I smell, my sense of humor. The woman delights in me and I’ve never been the subject of such deep adoration.

This kind of love is like a magic potion. It is changing me daily, and now I’m trying to learn it and be that way with my kids. I wonder sometimes if this is not the natural order of things and if I’m expecting too much from myself. But due to being a young mother who was married into the wrong one per her sexuality and actually a few other things that that blinded her to, I am oft to behave in such a way that my kids could feel a burden. This breaks my heart.

So can I at this late stage of the game when they are 17, 15, and 15 show them how I delight in each of them? Rather than being a task oriented General that commands her ship well, but has lost some of the essence of what is truly important to a child. Or rather never had that perhaps. But has now learned it through watching others and this delicious love.

There is nothing to escape anymore in this life I have made and I try to make my body and my mind catch up to that realization, but they are slower to adjust, and that takes its toll sometimes.

Anyway I just wanted to share about this love. That we just enjoy each other immensely whether we are completing tasks together or on a getaway. We work seamlessly and are always gentle with the other’s heart. Gentle is not something anyone would have ever described me as I don’t think prior to this.

I don’t know that my kids would describe me as gentle either. I am striving towards that in this half of my life, and to be a fully engaged parent interested always in what they have going on. And I am, but how to show them more, when mostly I live in my head.

In the morning when the lake of my mind is still I can see all the way to the bottom of the depths of my affection for them, but as the day goes on and the water is alive with busy, they hear did you do this, did you do that?! I’m hoping to invite them to the still lake of my morning mind to see how much I would do for them, and how they have changed all of my life for the better. How much time I spend thinking about them and their happiness and dreams.

My children and this love have saved me from a life of persistent suffering of the mind and spirit. It still lingers often, but attending to them pulls me back out into presence and now I am still building that secure foundation.

Thank you dear witnesses for seeing my journey, you heal me as well, by bestowing your most precious resource …. time.

Tick tock tick tock….. what do you want with your one precious go round in this lifetime? It goes faster, much faster, than you realize.

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The Elusive Consistency of a Creative

This is the grief puzzle …. It’s finished now, though the grieving isn’t….. A perfect metaphor for process.

I’m trying to figure out so many things currently. My gears are turning and I’m deeply inside my head, figuring out how to get outside of it, when I should do that, when I shouldn’t. Ew should and shouldn’t. I preach against such words in my practice. I could re-frame right now. I “should” 😉 But I have to be human too.

I took my 15 year old daughter to her eye surgery 5 week follow up this morning. Everything is good there. I can cross that off my list of things to worry about. Good eye position, she’s healing well. I am grateful.

The things on my mind the most are consistency and self-discipline. I’m having trouble untangling because Starbucks and distractions.

I need to DECIDE on my mindset, the one I want to keep most consistent, so I do not get thrown about by every emotion I have because they are plenty. If you’re thinking easier said than done, you’re damn right.

How do we take someone who has thrived on chaos and survived not by careful planning and structure, but by the ability to bob and weave and to be constantly moving, and tell them to slow down and organize? Life is calmer and more peaceful for me these days, but my nervous system and psyche are not as ready to accept that. I still have a lot of threat response reactions, many of them physical.

All of my current goals involve self-discipline. I am a person who can talk herself into and out of anything using whatever story I decide to tell, and often I realize the stories I tell myself are not congruent with my mission. This is going to require some work.

These episodes of flushing are really getting annoying. I’ve about had it. If the solution to this is rooted in my weight and my health, then we are going to go hard at figuring this out.

How do I choose what thing to give my most attention and consistency too when there are so many?

This is my biggest issue right now. I’ve been trying to push work aside and show up for my kids, and being in my home and doing the things to make it run as smoothly as possible. This is the least easy to do because the reward has to be found by introspection and is only by looking down the road. It would be easier to get rewards I can see more easily, like the screen light up on the Vivint Board. All the screaming and yelling of my success. Rather than being yelled at at home, which is a lot of what happens when you have teens. I hope somewhere they really see that I am trying. And not that I am putting myself aside and all that martyr crap. But that when they talk I listen, and I try to actually put forth the effort.

The problem is all the areas I have to choose between. Limit your choices and discomfort could potentially go down, but there has to be another way. I don’t want to my choices limited.

Ultimately I need to feel good about myself, and not much I am doing lately is helping with that, because I keep doing different actions than the goals I have in mind. And I believe stories such as I am tired etc, but I’m more tired when I am not working towards my dreams. I am more tired when I eat like shit, that thing I said I was going to let myself have as a reward. There is something wrong with the system.

Talk less, smile more…. work on my focus more while smiling, rather than gritting my teeth. I want to feel joy in my days, and as a matter of fact I do so much. A lot of options I am successful at and people wanting what I have to offer is a good problem to have.

I have good problems now in my life, the problems I used to have I would classify as bad ones. This is like the difference of having to dig out of a 20 foot hole, versus having to avoid a pot hole here and there. And the biggest types of pot holes I need to avoid are ones that suck me into a story that takes me to an old emotional place that is outdated to all of the effort I have done.

I need to prioritize feeling good in my body, it needs movement and appropriate nutrition and this feels like it could be a full time job in and of itself. Why does everything feel so daunting? Could it be because my period is going to start at any moment? Yes, but it’s also more likely that my self-discipline is low.

Now the question is why is it so low? I am going to do some research about this, as well as dig into some of my stuff. I think a clue is how long I went without. Without enough of so many things. Not enough love, not enough stability in a variety of ways. Not enough of myself accessible to myself or anyone else. Now that I am thawing I allow myself to indulge, and then that quickly becomes habit. Hard work is no longer necessary to my survival, now that it is more of a choice, I allow myself to be tired.

But what if that’s more a story that I tell and then believe, rather than something that actually ends up making me feel better. Give yourself this reward of this thing that builds up to something that ends up making you be constantly in conflict with yourself.

There is no worse place to than in conflict with yourself, and I am so often there. I am just here trying to figure this out. One solid choice in the direction I want to go after another should really be where I focus, but my brain is like a disobedient puppy, and training gets tired after awhile.

I also think there is something to be said about intelligence and attempting to wire ourselves for automation so processes can become easier. My mind defaults to indulgence now, rather than to my goals and discipline.

I am retirement age in spirit years and this is causing my soul a lot of confusion.

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It’s elementary my dear Watson…

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Recently Courtney introduced me to the BBC series of Sherlock Holmes with Benedict Cumberbach et. al. It isn’t very often that I will watch a show and it will captivate my attention more than wanting to be full throttle ahead in the pursuit of my dreams. But I could tell right away that there was something more to watching this show. It was another way for her to show me she sees me. It’s literally my life.

Sherlock goes through the world being primarily misunderstood by most people and putting most of them off as well. Until not very much by accident at all really he and Watson are introduced and they seem to fit together. Sherlock begins to become ever slightly more human, and Watson provides him nearly endless mercy. And in exchange Watson is most certainly never at risk of being bored.

Do you know what this means? That long before there was ever a me, there were people who think like I do. It means I am not alone. So as a gift I bought Courtney (me) the entire set of original Sherlock Holmes books and I am reading through them, and noticing things I never would have before. Things such as in the book the way they meet is because each asks a same random acquaintance about a roommate situation. This time when I hear this I think destiny. I think a miracle a plan. More and more as I go about my life I think we are exactly where we need to be, and even the tiniest event may actually have been orchestrated way before us. I’m not sure what you call it, and my inner skeptic who is a much more comfortable personal has had a hay day being in charge most of my life. But when I look at how things are for me now, it just isn’t possible any of this is accidental.

I was given Courtney because I needed her, and she needs me, and we are each exactly necessary to the other’s well being and dare I say growth, in ways that we won’t even know until probably much later. I can see myself changing, so much of the dissatisfaction parts of me are melting into a deep surrender.

I mean don’t get me wrong, I still get into these mood fits of restless: wander/wonder/creative/disaster/glory/magnificent/confusion/supercalafra-just kidding. And I get into them frequently, but now I am starting to see a rhyme to my reason. If I am not stimulated by some new experience constantly I go nearly crazy. For Sherlock if he wasn’t solving a case that was challenging his brains (stimulating him), he was a nightmare to behold. I am a similar character.

If someone can write this and make it take shape, then there is no reason with this brain that I can’t write anything that I so desire. Believing in myself, (you had the power all along Dorothy), has been the battle… and that is becoming less and less of a problem.

I get so caught up in the details of it all, in how I spend my time, rather than lost in the experiecing of whatever it is I am trying to embark upon. Thankfully it doesn’t take murder or solving a case to get my juices flowing. My child like wonder and naivete that never before had the kind of space they do now, make even delivering a pizza via Uber Eats, an adventure for me. Who will order food? What will it be? Where will it be from? How much will it cost? How much will they tip me? Something about when that little app lights up and sends me on a mission I am filled with wonder.

Who can be filled with wonder about delivering a pizza?

And yet somehow I can. Because someone ordered, and there was some reason they ordered it, and perhaps we will get to talking and something magical will take place. Can you think of anything better than realizing your mind makes magic out of the mundane, if you will just sit still long enough to realize that.

If I could just stop trying to find fault in myself long enough to realize how wildly creative I have been all along. I am WILDLY creative. I have spun straw into gold with my life. I have made amazing connections, and they are all the product of risks I have taken that the average person just never would. I am much more likely on a daily basis to find the wrong in all the things that I do, but aren’t we all fighting that battle, until we realize we don’t have to anymore.

Something is going to unravel out of this madness. I just know it.

You know what’s funny? I actually began this post from a place of self-deprecation, and as the words came out they aren’t even habituated to that behavior anymore and I found something totally different as the story. You see there I go again… MAGIC.

I want to tell you about the silliest argument my wife and I had this evening. Because it’s so Sherlock and Watson of us. My wife tells me today that she purchased a second unlimited car wash package for our other car. My mind immediate thinks, “why”? So I say as much with very little sensitivity or thought. “Well I just don’t understand why anyone would care about such a thing.” I mean isn’t it futile really the washing of a car? Kind of like cleaning up leaves in a yard. I’ve never really done it and nothing has ever happened to me. I haven’t suffered in some intense way as a result. In fact I can see no difference in my quality of life whatsoever due to the fact I’ve rarely had a clean yard or much of a clean vehicle. And yet I have been taught to teach my children these things are important. So I have. But I guess I haven’t really modeled it much. This for a different blog post I should think.

So then poor Courtney begins to see things from the angle I am painting them and thinking she has been had by marketing and advertising, and feels less than smart. And then I feel badly for looking at things in this way, and nervous that I am not upholding something important simply for the fact if it is important to her then it will be important to me. My logical mind just blurted out my thoughts on the matter. And then I grappled to understand how in the world when we rarely argue at all, that we are feeling each misunderstood by the other over two packages of unlimited car washes. LMAO. It all feels so hysterical now. My thoughts were over the course of my 38 years of existence rarely has it occurred to me that the car needs washing. Perhaps 10 times in total, perhaps not even that many. And she was just being her Watson-y self and being considerate, practical, and studious in ways that make sense to her from her own story and upbringing. A conclusion is that neither of us should feel badly for our way of thinking, and the most important part of all is that we are never rude to one another, or condescending, or unkind. I think if either of us comes close to this, it is me because of my analytical, pragmatic, and intensely driven to the core of meaning in all things mind.

When you look for depth in everything, many things seem superficial in ways that seem to not make sense or are hard to be understood by others. She understands this in me and let’s me be myself, and because of that I always want to let her be herself. ALWAYS. Because of my wiring I think it may take something extra spectacular to teach me how to be gentle enough to make sure I create space for this. Sigh.

The point is that IF it is important to her, it doesn’t matter whether I deem it important or not, this is the way I CHOOSE to show up for love. It doesn’t matter if I see it as futile, illogical, meaningless, and by pointing out all the ways I did I only ended up making her feel like shit. Which both of us know logically neither of us can make the other feel anything without our consent, it’s why we work so well, we know this. But we still are not immune to the emotional ups and downs of human existence. Such a silly thing to become so sensitive over.

Is the conclusion that there are two types of people: those who care about washing their car, and those who feel nature will do it for them? Or perhaps there are infinite types of people: such as a type that will never own a car because of a value system or geographical location, or different priorities, and yet another subset that will own several hundred cars as a collector, or to showcase their status? As I could go on and on, much to the reader’s distress we shall call this case solved.

We are on a journey that so many others are on currently, that is to each be ok with ourselves in the light of so much comparison, and so many seemingly good reasons to find fault within ourselves. I am so grateful for this health relationship, where we can have a silly disagreement and my labrador of a mind can try to analyze every crevice of it, until a much needed distraction comes along. My son wanted to talk to us about some of his feelings, as soon as we became engaged as parents, we forgot the silly old discussion anyway, and it ended with Courtney saying, “Honey we parented together”, like we don’t do that all the time. But her enthusiasm about the whole damn thing is what is most healing. She’s enthusiastic about all of us, with all our imperfections, now she will just have to include herself in that generosity and the sky will be the limit 😉

With Heart,

Christina

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Dear John ….. a birth and death… full circle at the Grand Canyon.

Wow so because I am going to post this letter I went back and revisited it. First of all this letter was written February 22nd 2016. It feels like lifetimes ago this happened. We reconnected on June 12, 2010, had a relationship via e-mail, never saw one another in person, until around January of 2014, and around that time I was at the height of discomfort with my disease and seeking understanding and lashing out at the things I couldn’t make sense of. It was around this time he cited that I was exhibiting frightening mental states on a public platform, and reminding him of my mother. And that was it for us. I didn’t have it in me anymore to be abandoned again. I chose not to abandon myself and my needs in the name of reducing anyone else’s discomfort.

I lost a relationship that I had always dreamt of with a father, I called off a wedding to a person who was the safest place I had, her and her family. I risked harming my children, and miles and miles of criticism from others. I was more alone than I have ever been in my life.

One of the things I didn’t realize until re-reading this today is that it was something in the book Big Magic, by Elizabeth Gilbert that helped me write my way to my own closure. This morning as I am reading some of the things that felt so amazing to hear from him, and then some of the things I wrote, and some as we fought, it tears the wound right open.

John Rexford Wilson (my father) died on December 28th at 11 am. He died from tuberculosis at 70 years old. He did not believe in the healthcare system. My brother stated they would be scattering his ashes at the Grand Canyon, and that he would keep me updated. He didn’t. I was not included. Once again the illegitimate. But in the end I chose to let go of him or my ideas about him, and any relationship we did form, because it was the healthiest thing for me.

My mind is trying to tell me now as I read the few nice things he said to me (the things I would try and gather the crumbs of to make something whole that didn’t exist), that maybe if I wasn’t so difficult I could have maintained a relationship with him until he died. We could have left on good terms. Time and time again I see people as this their biggest fear when it comes to not abandoning themselves. But what if we have a negative interaction and then the person dies. Well that is exactly what happened here. But only if you focus on the time we were in contact. What about when we weren’t? Wasn’t that his responsibility? Wasn’t he the parent? He just spoke so pragmatically about it all, about how men are and in those days. Like no big deal. Like it wasn’t a big deal to me. He didn’t allow any space for my feelings, and this is why I’ve dedicated my life to trying to allow space for people’s feelings, and to have enough room by doing my own work to be able to do this. It has taken lifetimes of healing.

It is so interesting that all of this comes up for me at the Grand Canyon. I never even thought of this. It all just came together right now. And about how I just met Elizabeth Gilbert and thanked her and why I cried so hard when I did.

Here I am at the Grand Canyon, where my father’s ashes are possibly spread, and feeling all of these things, that I didn’t know where they were coming from.

Here it is, full circle.

Dear John,

 

I was reading the end of Elizabeth Gilbert’s book “Big Magic” this evening. The section on Trust. Where she speaks of the difference between martyrdom and the trickster and how to find “lightness” in the pursuit of your passion versus a commitment to “being the tortured artist”. I for very many years had been committed to my suffering. It is the only way I knew how to be until I didn’t. I have contemplated greatly over the subject of “too much introspection” and your words on the matter, and your feelings. I have gleaned a lot from that in terms of finding balance in my own life. I wanted to thank you for that. I even use it with my clients in private practice. It is true you can overthink. However I happen to appreciate the way that I think things through and it has served me in my pursuits. 

 Today I completed the first day (my orientation) at Wheeler clinic. I was recently hired as a senior clinician, heading a team of people in efforts to ease the transition of foster children who have struggled exceptionally into their new homes with their families. This is my first “big girl” job with a real salary and benefits and all of that good stuff. At 35 this is my first time knowing what it feels like to not struggle financially and to feel secure. In addition to this over the past couple of years I have done some amazing self work in leaving old wounds behind and finding a “lightness of being”, one that I never even imagined could exist. I feel as if I will finally write the way that I have always known is in me, I just have never trusted myself enough. Trust has not come easily for me. One of the most glorious parts of getting to talk to you was recognizing the writer in me that I believe came from you. I believe I have lots of parts genetically that came from you, and I am grateful for them. 

 In addition to the new position I have my own private practice that is thriving and for being a clinician fresh out of school I have a lot of people referring to me, and the consistent feedback is that I am helping people move further in their journey toward growth than they previously have been able to do. It is rewarding and I never would have gotten to this space without the entire process of self-doubt, fear, and a  degree of introspection (not to be confused with rumination). Without that whole journey I would not be at the space I am in now. I was thinking about this tonight, and my heart got heavy. It got heavy because you’re missing out on all of it. This is not even the most important part of the greatness that I have created in my life. My children. I have 3 intelligent and phenomenal human beings that I helped create and they are beyond wonderful. Everyone feels their children are wonderful, as well they should, but these kids are so special. They bring so much to the world with their kind hearts and very bright minds, and that is just barely scratching the surface on them, and again you’re missing out on it. Then I thought to myself this is probably mostly a projection and not a reality because its all subjective to each person’s own human experience and I doubt that you feel or realize that you are missing out. Not because you don’t have the capacity, you most certainly do, but more because of your commitment to the choice you have made and as you told me at the time you were not interested in rehashing any of the past but only to move forward. I desperately thought I could be willing to take any amount of being allowed to know you no matter what the cost to me. But the process by which all of my feelings existed is natural, wondering about a great many things that I never understood is natural. It is not only natural but also warranted without it causing shame to me or that my process is invalid. 

 Of course I hurt. Of course I wondered why we were not in touch, or how you didn’t wonder about me and how I was doing. Of course I wondered if it was that necessary to never have contact with my mother again, to pay the ultimate price of not also being able to know me. Especially since those things never needed to be connected, they could always have been independent of one another, thought maybe that at one point felt impossible, or maybe that never mattered anyway and it really is more of just a choice of yours. Of course I wonder all of these things without it being shameful or wrong. 

 I could sit and tell you all the wonderful realizations I have had and sell you this idea of everything you are missing out on, but ultimately that process is about me and nothing to do with you and how you feel. The fact remains that I would try to be impressive to you in some ridiculous effort to feel loved. It’s what I’ve done with everyone I have ever come across to try and earn their affection with my merits and my effort. An exhausting pursuit to be sure, and also that has nothing to do with real love. Real love allows space for all of the parts of someone to come fully into their being in whatever process is needed. That is the kind of love I needed to find to become comfortable in my own skin. I had to stop searching for it from a million different resources that looked like a well in the middle of a desert, only to be dry at the bottom when I lowered the bucket. Ive been doing that process my whole life when all the while just over the next hill was an entire ocean. I am sailing right now and smiling and my heart is still heavy that you’ll never be on this boat with me. For whatever reason that is. I won’t tell myself its because I was too sensitive or I was out of line by expressing pain in any way shape and form. I won’t deny myself those feelings they are mine, and they are valid. But what I do take back is any amount of making you wrong or hanging onto any anger. I release myself from that prison. I don’t need to understand. I wanted to see or know or be a part of your process or feelings or anything with you. A romantic notion to be sure that is again more about me and my heart and the way that I work, than it is about anything I have missed out on. I am not missing anything and I do not need anything. I want to share my thoughts and my mind because it is the truth of my feelings and for no other reason than that. 

 As with most things in my life I moved very quickly through being terrified having Crohn’s Disease would turn me into my mother, or that it would ruin the rest of my life. At the time it felt like a death sentence, at the time I felt afraid and alone. I see that person now and only have compassion for her, a compassion that it appeared at the time you were not able to find. I would like to say i would just move forward and embrace your pragmatic probably well-meaning advice and renounce taking what happened so personally, but again that would deny myself the natural process I was having, and it would allow me to accept a relationship that was also unhealthy, one that was based on the convenience of you experiencing an aspect of me without knowing much about the real story, like reading only a chapter in a book and making a decision about it’s value. In real love we don’t get to weed out the undesirable aspects or parts of the story and keep the ones only that we want. If you need to chalk me up to emotionally unstable by association of your experience with my mother, if that is the process which you need who am I to stop you. 

 Amidst the wreckage of all of the old versions of me and many dysfunctional relationships has emerged a person who is powerfully influential to the world. A person who refuses not to feel every inch of everything even when it burns. I am a writer and I choose to only be grateful for getting some of that from you, but the credit for getting to the place where it can begin to come to life is all mine, and at least I get to know that. I get to know that. I will always wonder about a great many things with regard to you, but everything that truly matters is within me and I am ecstatic for this existence that I would not have without you. I can thank you for that regardless of what feelings may come and go. 

 

Thank you,

 

Christina