I’m having a mad love affair with the song evermore this morning. I want to touch the keys of my piano and tune my ear to the sounds. The ones that make people feel. Rhythm that can’t be ignored. A siren call. Satellite call.
So many empty hours before me wanting, needing.
No desperation,
only stillness.
I’m learning a course in miracles, lesson 8 this am is about how the egoic mind clings to the past and creates it to replay over into your present unless you become aware of this.
The only true thought is that the past is no longer present: makes room for new creation.
New lessons,
rather than loops of old ones,
chasing your tail.
I’m getting used to these orthotics. Right now arch support feels like arch assault. But I think ultimately the whole posture is positively impacted by the right nurturing. Isn’t that about right for a metaphor for life.
I saw killer of the flower moon yesterday. The new Scorsese film. Really eye opening. So much to unpack there about manipulation, privilege, and a whole variety of things.
I enjoy seeing movies in the theater. What I’m really finding important about this now is not multi tasking. Just being present and absorbed into someone’s creation. So many pieces went into it.
How good it feels to be with the present moment. And there are many ways that’s hard also. The losses creep up and haunt.
While what might have been no longer consumes me, it’s sometimes a bitter pill.
This is where faith is really important. And letting go of control.
Allowing
That’s my current mission.
Tonight is family time at the Figg cooking school.
A friend is visiting. I’ve known him since way back, he visits every year, and every year it’s a motivator to plan things together. Kinda sounds like family right ?! That elusive promised thing, that was so missing for so long.
But look at me I make one wherever I go. I create family easily, and that requires an open heart. Before it was at times a desperate act without enough thought to not also create harm. I’m sorry.
No
I’m really sorry.
Sorry doesn’t cover it. For irresponsible actions on my part that caused pain. And I’m also aware if we are going to risk anything in this lifetime hurt will happen. I will not use that as a justification, but I will use the understanding to allow healing.
That’s where I am right now.
I walk, I think, I read, I love, I understand…..
Funny Miley Cyrus is now singing I miss me more. May I everyone find that really important aspect of love.
In balance with one’s own desires and destiny if you will. If you won’t that’s ok too. My beliefs are solid and also open to modification as I understand more.
Two miles, that’s good for now. I have admin to enjoy doing, and some chores.
I love being in my office. It’s my own home within my home. Sacredness is in there. People come there to heal, to feel their hurts, and I do too. Beautiful love and life.
Tomorrow I write. I can’t wait. I’m waiting breathlessly for that ability to be fully me, to fully express everything anything I want.
Writing is safe.
It’s my constant loved one.
Consistency is so nice these days, but also not rigid or caged within it. Consistent forward movement come what may.
So I’m on a health kick, actually let’s call it a revolution because it’s a lifestyle change, it’s whole. Rarely in my lifetime have I lost weight in a healthy way. I’m just realizing that now. I’ve lost weight in being devastated or starving myself so I could feel more attractive to someone else but never for me.
I’m realizing how much effort I must put in to trust. To repair my relationship with my own trust. That’s what sobriety is about for me. Repairing my trust in myself. Which a) I don’t think I’ve had much in a consistent way, and b) there were some significant breaks in it that when misunderstood I used my own information against myself. Fell on my own sword.
So now I wield the thing a lot more mindfully.
I wouldn’t say carefully because I have that much self awareness. There’s an edge and a fierceness and a pace of me that I’d like to think is part of my authentic self and there for a reason rather than a set of symptoms. Sorting through my rubble and piecing together a self I want to leave as a legacy has been my life’s work, and I’m less ashamed of that and more proud these days.
A former partner’s spouse has reached out to me. They are moving far away for two years, they asked if we would come have dinner before they leave. I find myself thinking about it this morning. That some of my relationships yielded lifelong bonds where love still exists and is allowed. Nothing wrong about it. Those with healthy boundaries and senses of self are able to do that without there being anything dangerous present.
Clean. Clear. And I can receive that love. And not worry where I belong or drown in a pool or self made shame. We have moved on, we are all adults, and what’s beautiful is what we meant in one another’s lives.
What’s beautiful is the way her wife honors her connection with my children and is open.
I think about some of my pain at a past situation where my reaction appeared not supportive of family first and I almost gaslight myself in hindsight but then I don’t. These days I have my back vehemently. The difference is my feelings on the matter would have been considered as part of the equation.
My greatest work these days is being mindful beyond my trauma reflexes and responses, of how those things affect those I love. I am the worst with affect and effect. Why is that one so hard for me?!
Anyway this morning I’m marveling at how big my family is. Family defined as those that want to be near your energy simply because they appreciate what it brings to their life. That’s the ticket folks. Or it’s my ticket anyway to the show I want to be at.
I am a writer who is writing. I am a mom who is momming. I show the fuck up and I intend to be loud and proud about that without believing it to be grandiosity or demanding or something it’s not. Something I’m not.
Fear will not drive my car, bus, airstream, tank, nervous system, choices, anything. It’ll be buckled into the toddler seat.
We watched instant family last night and I recognize why I get so emotional at that movie now. I relate so much except I never got those parents who didn’t give up on me, and you know what?! I became one anyway, somehow, and I’ve traveled through my own hell to be on the path I am on now.
I’m proud every day of myself. I’ll shout it and fly my flag. So many types of pride for me, in everything I am and everything I will become.
Theories and dreams were always foreshadowing and I recognize that now.
So today I’m two weeks sober. Quitting all addictions that don’t serve me one step at a time. So there’s more room, for learning, for reading, for loving. More room to discover my gifts and to share them. How I want to be living my life.
Anyway I have a client walking down into my office very shortly….
So I’ll write more soon…
But for now you can find me getting consistent about movement, being joyfully in my body and reading and writing….
I’m at the New York Athletic Club, in the city that never sleeps. It doesn’t but believe me I do, or there is hell to pay. I’m old now 😉 I was old from the start, even when I was new.
I found out recently I was premature. 5 lbs 2 oz. I believe. I wonder what I was exposed to inside of her. From what I knew outside the odds aren’t in my favor.
I have these new connections with family that feel very grounding and positive and this morning I’m in awe and contemplation.
Is this what most of the other people I know have always had, just naturally. This feeling that they won’t just fly out into space at any moment.
A dear friend once said to me to keep defying gravity. Gravity I think. The invisible force that tethers one to earth. I was untethered and often unbridled and my defense system would shout that I wouldn’t change a thing. But now that I know what I know. You can’t unknow and all of that. I can’t even say that.
What is this feeling?
A feeling of solidness, inhabiting my body. Being at a dinner party with famous Broadway actors and actresses and not feeling less something, less anything.
Famous didn’t matter. It was an intimate gathering, natural. All people passionate about their arts. Some happy and fulfilled, some not as much. There were also wounds at that table. We all have them, some are just more apparent than others.
Yesterday we went to Westsider Rare and Used bookstore. I want to ravage every single one in this city. To touch every spine, cover, and page. To know which one I like best. To feel the knowledge pressing in around me, to hear all the voices of all of those brave writers that made it to the point where they were bound, gathered, and artfully decorated.
I’m ready for a cover and a title and a brand. Brand new. Look at you Christina. You can be and do anything. So what will it be? The crushing weight of possibility. No more crushing weight, only an unbearable lightness of being, he just died recently by the way.
One of the great loves of my life, very early on, came upon me reading Milan Kundera, the book of the very name of above, in a break room in a Trader Joe’s. I had a wedding ring on. I had more naïve enthusiasm than most would know what to do with at that time
All balls and no brain. Which is exactly what I needed to propel me out of a life I was not meant for.
I’ve been shot out of a cannon many times since so to speak. Jet propulsion. My swift expulsion from everything comforting. Including my self concept. Which is more than jarring, it’s actually quite alarming: disarming.
Apparently I’m a wrapper. Who knew. How much is channeled by my early days of resonance with Eminem’s music. Curtain Call. Relatable. It’s not debatable. My mind likes to rhyme.
One of my book store picks this time at random is Junot Diaz This is How You Lose Her. The cover looks interesting, actually not really so much. His name was in a compilation of writers on writing and this made me curious who he is as a writer.
I watched Ammonite the other day. I am haunted by it lately. Still sorting out what that is about. Can’t stop rhyming. Everything in divine timing….
A walk in the park and a stationary store before heading home on the train today. Muji…. I’m told the pages are creamy, buttery, gold.
I just sent out for my passport yesterday. And got two sheets of stamps. I love them. I got Toni Morrison ones and Love ones with puppy’s and hearts.
Here at the NYAC there’s an old fashioned looking letter drop. Between that and the stamps I want to write letters. The art of the letter is long lost.
I write letters that will never go to their recipients, ones only I will ever see. So many of the connections in my life are like that. Extinguished and never without good reason.
I spent so much time second guessing myself. Only to end up here where validation is around every corner and I am safely held.
I just put three new clients on the books yesterday morning. These are a little out of my comfort zone, something I haven’t done in awhile. Hopefully the freshness will be good for all involved.
Fresh eyes, no lies.
The truth will set you free. It always does. There are times I haven’t wanted to be free. I wanted to be held.
You can’t always get what you want, but sometimes you get what you need.
Ok for now back to writing and exploring this iron jungle melting pot, before it gets too hot.
Lost in the rush but I pray you don’t hurt too much …..
How many years was I going to spend in an irritable disconnected state even after I’d done so much work to choose differently. Stuck in that state. It’s like the new software never uploaded, and I was the last to know.
I needed a reflection that wasn’t distorted, to be able to understand my true self differently.
I’m always trapped inside my fucking head on and on and on….
Last night I had to tell the Little Prince he needs to find his own place by 30 days time. Excruciating. Everyone says it’s the right thing. My heart says of course it’s not.
No man left behind. And I never have, not really. I can see now that if I was met even halfway with effort it would have gotten figured out. I’ve only ever left people who weren’t able to show up for themselves, and I never stopped loving them.
One of the most egregious of my self misunderstandings. That I wasn’t loving or lovable.
Devastating. It has harmed so many years of my life.
Saving myself was never anything to do with love.
We all need our stories until we are ready to confront them.
As in many dysfunctional family systems no man is left behind. Blood is thicker than water. I have to separate this from the cord cutting I’ve done with toxic situations and place it in the healthy boundaries category. That’s not easy.
What’s the difference anyway? There is one, and I can almost feel it now. Can you feel it?!
I’m listening to Lewis Capaldi today, he was a frequent during one of the darkest times of my life. His voice goes straight to my bones, like Pink, lady Gaga, Adele, and so many others. Straight to my core. Comfort.
Emotional identification and then manipulation of self and other ensues. You must be able to separate and look at things objectively too. A step outside, some rationality included. Who knew? No one taught me that.
So I learned to teach myself. No victim stories, only tales of survival becoming thriving.
A vibrant life!
I can step back now and the obfuscation dwindles. What a difference. You wouldn’t even recognize it. You couldn’t unless you’ve learned it. Less splitting, integration. Integrity.
Even the dust of emotional manipulation, the residue makes me ill on contact. It’s a way of life untangling my own. That’s what I was trying to do.
I thought that’s what you wanted too.
I was wrong.
I’ve been wrong so many times, but I no longer sweat that the same.
Mistakes are the portals to discovery.
I’m finally taking all the scraps and quilting. Threads to the tapestry.
At least I had the courage to make them, or the naïve dissociation, I guess probably both.
So before you go…. Was there something…..it kills me how your mind can make you feel so worthless. I was the storm to weather.
It has subsided to pure presence. So many less triggers. I can breathe now. It’s a different life again, and there’s no fault in it.
*I used talk to text a lot, so this is probably an editing nightmare, and since I realize how life short is these days who has time to edit. We will do that when the finished product exists.
We are on the right side of rock bottom….
On lap three. A post started to formulate and if I continue to explain; during that time I’ll lose my actual thought. It’s that easy, to lose it, for me.
I’m walking to the rhythm. Feeling my ass strengthen, and the back of my legs. In this moment I could be a prize athlete, but only in my imagination and current empowerment.
Then though I’d look in the mirror and see the slightly overly well insulated forty two year old who in so many ways is just meeting herself for the first time.
I feel very different on the inside than I could be judged for on the outside. Hmm what a thought. And that how I actually feel about having stripped away all these layers of self and other expectations, is free.
Free
There’s a certain corner you turn with recovery when it just starts getting good, and I mean capital G ood. It’s not like there isn’t still all the other things. Memories, pain, pleasure all of it, all the time.
Time and trust are essential to this 💜
With the right (a good) formula life can get good (great). Feel good. Far from perfect, but just good. Yeah you get the idea.
Good is perfect
Euphoria was so last season, except still my favorite perfume for my chemistry. It’s mine, and so am I.
And I am the world’s.
And you were my Achilles heal and my kryptonite.
I hold the memories and the story. They intertwine like our fingers.
Push me, pull me, taste me. I dare you to erase me. It will never be real, just coping.
Cope this
Exercise makes me fiesty and a few other things. Fiesta. Foreva: silly playful.
I’m listening to A Million Dreams. It never gets old. I’m thinking about the restlessness inside of me, and how I don’t tell stories about what it means anymore. About how now I understand it as pain. I understand the irritable moods so much differently.
Yesterday I drove to Fairfield to get a B12 injection. I do this usually on Fridays once a month. Sometimes I have to have them as often as weekly, but right now we are in a maintenance phase.
I went to Barnes & Noble, to get a hard cover leather bound journal that is my favorite. Spoiler alert: Ended up with a Hamsa one, called to me, Italian leather mmm the smell.
I’d hate my sensory stuff so much, if I didn’t have so many other reasons to love it.
I might actually be ready to just write my story in it, not worrying about not having the ability to edit….
just write Christina
I will also look at the sale journals, as there are often many gems in there, I have been tasked to get the book, Come as you are, by my therapist.
Sex didn’t really have anything to do with it, she told me that the woman who wrote it, describes the cycle of trauma, in a way that, even through all of her training, that has not been matched, so I am going to read a sex, trauma book, to gather more helpful information about the rest of the trauma.
The content I’ve been with lately is so good ! What I’m reading and studying I mean.
It’s been along time since I’ve done any in office therapy, just because of how my schedule works. But I happen to be going on Tuesday, and I asked my therapist if we would do any EMDR.
We discussed that if I am going to do you will work around the negative cognition that I am unlovable.
So I’m sitting here thinking about this now. The rough around the edges of it all and I’m thinking about how, that’s not my identity, that is my pain.
The pain that lives inside me at all times.
I thought about conceptualizing it as the pain I carry, but that seems like way too much responsibility for things I had no part in. It just lives in there and I’m trying to make it a hospitable roommate. .. bend it to my iron will.
That’s an interesting way to conceptualize pain, right? I thought so.
I’m not responsible for so many things I carried and was willing to carry.
I am toggling back-and-forth between a million dreams and talk to write.
I am thinking about how curiosity killed the cat, and sometimes we see things that burn with a white hot inferno of pain.
In the need to sort out truth from all of the lies, your own experience.
And I think about how the most important things, true intimacy are the things that are not seen. They are not the flashy gatherings, the professional photographs, the websites, the events, because often times beneath those things are very different tale is told.
I think about how I am no longer duped, by outward images, and I have a much greater wisdom around that. That is safety.
I have been watching the show Away.
I always did love Hillary Swank. Thinking about how I have a passion and a family, and where does it all fit.?!
What I like most about the show so far, is the couple’s support for one another’s passion, the type of way that one knows who the other person is, no matter what, and how important that is. I love that kind of love, the kind driven by a deep understanding and loyalty for the other.
I have dreamt about that kind of love. I thought I had tasted it, and that turned out to be a rotten lie, the most egregious of which I told myself and allowed myself to believe. I was all in, and despite it hurting people I loved, I chose.
Now I allow myself to feel everything.
I have not cut off a single part of me to survive. Because the cycle must be complete. I must discharge the demons from my mind. There is no ruthless creature here. Only a beautiful human interested in helping and healing.
It isn’t something that can be sold. It isn’t something that can be manufactured, it is naturally forged through time, and staying.
Stay. Ironically I was wearing a t- shirt that said that during my last therapy session.
The word stay came up in my therapy session today, and what happens after you stay, the goal, the good. Not some benchmark for how many years you have under your belt together, or a flashy show, the real and indisposed of it all.
Stay not as a taunt or a gaslight, but the real kind. The kind where it can get good inside of the trust and warmth.
I am learning that is the formula of writing. I never needed to sacrifice to have what I wanted, only to allow and let go of what hurts.
That’s it 😉 like it’s easy?! Lol
Anyway, I’m going to walk into Barnes & Noble for now, and then I’m going to take myself on a lunch date where I spend time with my best friends, the book I am reading, and the begging to be inked upon journal.
And that was Friday and now it’s Saturday. Finishing this and a walk at the same time. Motion sick is a real thing. Maybe less walking and writing?! Maybe not.
Maybe I’ll fall in love with today.
Watched About Time yesterday and realized how much in it I am about. Learning why it’s my favorite. Every song. Especially into my arms. Oh the dreams I’ve had to that song. And the movie Life Itself. Connection. Emotional safety. Love. These are the things I’m about.
There’s no perfect in here, only good. And now that that’s softer life can really begin. Open heart and mind, kick ass boundaries. Self support and love. I deserve them all.
Dreams become reality. And I can hold space for all of it, my pain too, and the uncertainty.
I watched Stutz last night. So so good!
I have so much more to say but it will have to wait. ….
Stay Tuned
Oh ps I’m mostly keeping my no buying books 2023 goal. I had a gift card and occasionally find a way to cheat the system a little, but it’s been greatly reduced and that’s the point right. To lay down roots with the ones I already have, pay them the attention they deserve.
I think I’ve seen this film before and I didn’t like the ending….
Happy Sunday from sunny Florida. Tiny lizards are cute, palmetto bugs are nope. Humidity is death, the bath still brings life.
Hot. Cold. Sweaty. Calm. Breathe, just breathe.
Be still.
My whole life I ran. I ran and I didn’t know I was running. I thought I was just living with gusto and a strong will. Where’s there’s a will there’s away would have been my motto. Until I hit a period where will was not all that mattered, a period that brought me to my knees. Kesha Praying.
Will could only take me far, and take me far it did. I’ve been marveling lately at all the life experiences I have, they have grown me. I wouldn’t change it, and that’s new because my ruminating signaled that I lived in a swamp of regret. I’ve visited don’t get me wrong, but it’s not a place I could ever live.
I’ve been so hard on myself for every single thing I didn’t ask for, and judged me for how I coped or didn’t, all the while not even realizing how much coping I was doing, because I didn’t call it that. That signals there’s an issue right ?!
Yesterday we watched Pieces of Her, not the series that was very good by the way, the movie with Shia Labeouf (had to look up how in the hell to spell that). Spoiler alert ahead.
The movie starts with an intimate birth scene, very well done I might add. Raw. Beautiful. I was nauseated during it, for her, but of course I was. The movie took me on a ride of emotions. I was experiencing it. Few movies do that. Recently the Starling also did. The fact these move me the most is no surprise to those close to me.
Anyway this movie! Things I noticed in the beginning. Sean, her partner, stayed calm, was a rock for her, strong. Inside of me twinged with the wanting of that, back then. I didn’t know I didn’t have it, and frankly I know my memory is so fucked up. But the idea of a man who knows himself, is strong in that, for better or for worse, already through recovery at that time. So he had that experience and owned it, and worked at it.
They hold their baby for the first time…. It’s gorgeous. Shortly after the baby turns blue and well I can’t even say it.
The rest of the movie shows the various ways they cope and don’t. How they take it out on each other. How one shuts the other out, and the choices they both make. Suddenly all of the things that happened aren’t such a mystery.
The family dynamics were so interesting, but at least they each said their truth. How they really felt. What is that even like? Not a family who you could cut the tension with a knife, all covered in pretty outward smiles with gnashing teeth.
I’ve been clenching my teeth at night. This is a new phenomenon for me. Of all the ailments. Sigh. Clenching so hard. Despite being more healed than I’ve ever been, and sleeping very well.
Last night there was a little girl in my dream, it was vivid. We had a pleasant interaction, it was warm, and one of her mother’s was accepting, not forgotten, but forgiven. Life moves on and I felt peaceful by it, not tortured. A whisper that everything is as it should be. I felt warm.
In my own life there are fires. One of my girls will be leaving for the other coast and the other family. There was no middle ground to meet on, so it’s not the best of circumstances and that’s creating an unbearable pain.
A difficult labor is quickly forgotten once the child is in your arms and you’re more than occupied with the many new tasks at hand. A fractured relationship of this magnitude that can’t get any oxygen and is turning blue is a different kind of hell.
One at the moment I can’t find my way out of, or see a way to just distract myself. It’s excruciating. And two months ago I didn’t know it would be this way. I didn’t dupe anyone. This is real and it’s mine and I get to be allowed to feel how I do without dismissing or distracting, and while still loving and supporting myself.
This is new. A new relationship with myself, where I don’t pressure myself, and stand up quickly saying, I’m ok. Where I don’t force myself, or get lost in unhealthy coping mechanisms. This is new.
I’m not ok. I’m scared, and locked down, and in this. And it’s going to take a little adjusting, and healing.
Who knew being a mother was so important to me. Everyone else. The problem is I didn’t regard myself in that way. I couldn’t see myself as anything more than her daughter. There was no myself, No herself. A Martha Beck reference from Diana Herself.
Here I am and I’m fiercely showing up, and I’m not ashamed. It’s a new look for me, and it’s going to take awhile for the training wheels to come off, and to rub the cobwebs out of my eyes to get a clear view in the mirror.
It was always going to happen..
My grief and my story are real, and what I’m realizing is that healing from the beginning let alone now is a way of life. For me it is, and that has to be ok. Not heavy or unfun, just real. It will ebb and flow. This creative heart recovery there will be periods I’m under, and periods I’m out, periods I’m dancing and playing, and one’s where I’m stuck to the floor.
Because this is what life is like when you feel it all, and take it all in, and learn to keep some of it out. This is a whole story of becoming whole, from the pieces of her.
This movie rocked me. It made me remember my birth stories and what was going on at that time, and how did you feel when you held your babies the first time….
Probably not just romantic, probably I was scared shitless too. And I get to be that! Because that is what’s real, and I felt that way having no idea what I’d actually have to face to be a good enough mother.
I had no idea the lengths I’d need to go to to not be triggered, to not use my children to comfort my emotions or take them out on. To keep them safe, even from me, when I didn’t know how unhealed I was, but I did at some level.
Intuition trauma blocked.
What’s a gal to do besides study and heal and study and heal and heal and heal and heal. It takes a village and daily practice and lots of support. It is happening though and for that I’m the most grateful.
That I am able to feel things as I am. I could just be numb. And there’s nothing worse. My dear friend is struggling with this just now, and I’ve learned, am learning, to judge less, and love more.
I remember it all too well and Taylor Swift’s Clean were on repeat this morning.
Despite the repeated migraines, nausea, joint pain, and other afflictions, I had to get out and walk this morning. To move some energy. My thoughts were dark and intrusive. I’ve been clenching my jaw and tossing and turning.
There’s a combination of distressing things happening currently, and all around that is regular every day life. Life that I love. The distress threatens to swallow, but it can’t with this spirit. It’ll never break my spirit. Et Lux Intenebris Lucet.
An ex lover and partner’s mother is actively dying. In one year’s time cancer has ravaged her. I had no idea how something like this would feel. The memories it would walk me through. I’ve never been so close to death before. I never realized how entirely I love, and that no longer being connected to the people never removes it. It just exists there.
It helps me to experience myself as loving and I need that right now with everything else I’m going through. The threat of parental alienation is real. I was programmed to always believe it was me, that’s bad, wrong, causing things. And while I’m by no means perfect my perception of myself has been the biggest battle in my life.
It’s plugged right in. People have plugged right in to my trauma and taken over where the previous left off, and the worst part is it felt like home. Love that wasn’t love at all, but a mask for insecurity, a bizarre attempt at control, a lot of things. But not love.
The impending loss of this woman who was a mother to me, one of very few, surrogate mothers. Who cried as I wore a wedding dress. Who loved my children and I…. sits like a stone in my stomach. I am heavy, foggy, and struggling with focus.
I burst into tears to her and her husband when I asked permission to marry their daughter and I meant it. I meant it. I didn’t mean to be the way I was, to not have room for anyone else’s feelings to exist. To be consumed inside my mind. To not stay. Those I didn’t mean. There was a lot I didn’t understand much less meant.
She is happily married now to a person who is well suited and she’s happy. She still loves my children and her partner holds that connection sacred. So they visited a few weeks back. I was nervous and they handed me their little one. Welcoming. Another baby I wasn’t able to have with a woman.
They are about to have their second, any day, while any day the glue and the matriarch will take her last breath. Vibrant, laughing, alive, kind, loving, Karen. It is unthinkable. I cannot even think it because what comes with this will be all manner of intrusive thoughts of myself or my loved ones going like this.
I stare numbly at the wall.
It’s almost show time. The time I show up for my client’s and give all I’ve got until I run out. My energy, focus, love, wisdom. What meaning would my life have without this exchange. It is not a question, it’s a statement. It’s everything. The sharing of knowledge that could make a moment of passing even a tiny bit lighter. I hope..
I hope for the family who is saying goodbye that the new lives beginning, at times provide temporary anesthesia for the pain.
Mother daughter relationships are complex. I’m struggling immensely in my own right now. This morning my mind is busy sending it’s energy to my former lover and friend because I know what that connection means to her, and what losses she’s already endured.
In some ways this is one of my first. The first up close death of one of my surrogate mother’s, and a loss to people I love deeply.
When love is true it still exists whether near or far. There is so much of that in my heart right now. Love and loss, the full spectrum.
I am learning it’s just still all right there. Ulay Ulay….
I am grateful for my deep connections and all of the love that’s helped me get connected to myself, every thread is honored.
Twin A begins college today…. Twin B prepares to move out West, a one way ticket for now with so many possibilities, my family is changing. It is a beautiful agony. One that I don’t know if I could have ever prepared for.
There will be a funeral soon. Life is just an endless cycle of birth and death I suppose after all, and this clinician is most concerned with the meaning between the lines and what’s beneath the surface. It’s not a bad way to live. It’s not too shabby.
Remembering and forgetting moments all while simultaneously creating new ones, because never give up is something that I live by. For me there is no other way.
Will you hear my heart tearing when the plane takes off, and the last breath is taken? You never know the last time you’ll see someone, hug them, appreciate their laugh. That’s a lot to be with, that reality.
What I do know today however is that real love never dies. It only transforms and is transforming. What a comforting sentiment amidst all of this existential suffering…..
All of these lines across my face…tell you the story of who I am, so many stories of where I’ve been and how I got to where I am. But these stories don’t mean anything when you’ve got no one to tell them to. It’s true I was made for you.
Being loved is overwhelming….
This is my realization this morning.
This is why I have chosen partners that were not capable of healthy love in one way or another, and I wasn’t either.
Would I always have unbalanced love outside, and frozen love inside ?
I’m just beginning to be able to see the light at the end of that tunnel.
And it’s scary to be 41 years old, I almost said 42, I always round up. I guess so I’m already prepared. So much of my life is geared around being prepared, for anything. It’s scary to be 41 years old and feel like an infant at times, that vulnerable, because everything is new. I’ve never been this self before.
“I’m not the explosion guy”, that’s my father.” I think of Silver Lining Playbook. The pain that’s involved in families where a member had an unidentified mental illness or personality disorder. The shame and pain that passes through the generations. No treatment. No relief.
No relief. Let those words land.
Just shouldering those burdens trying to look and be normal. Swallowing it down. I get so angry with the injustice of that. The silenced pleas for help in the form of various “negative” behaviors in children and they just internalize and absorb it into themselves and become sick. Which looks like defiant, odd, impulsive, and a whole range of other things.
Then exiled from others because they don’t fit.
Understanding is the salve that heals. I apply it generously in my office. Often while having so many unknowns on my shoulders. Feeling like a small mistake could cost an entire life. Anxiety often weaves that tale. Sometimes the stakes feel so high, and then I have to readjust to “I can only do my best.” That’s been a game changer.
I don’t have peoples lives in my hands, I have their possibility of healing in them. The choices I make can impact their healing, but my role is not enough to stop the results of a lifetime of suffering if the train is already blurring down the tracks. I can’t stop a bullet, but I can apply a vest.
When you grow up feeling responsible for everything, and utterly by yourself it becomes difficult later in life to know what’s yours and what isn’t. A major task of therapy.
A major task of mine…..
I had a 20 k client day yesterday. Sometimes it goes so deep and so heavy, that one day feels like a week. I’m in a daze and don’t even know what day it is.
I do know I bring my whole heart and I lay my energy on the front line daily; and though I may never have a hero’s celebration. Let’s be honest I would probably squirm with discomfort. I need to learn to celebrate myself and what I do, and pause. I can’t always just keep going, but tell my mind that.
There’s a community that lost a teenager to suicide a couple of weeks back, and it haunts me. The pain of those affected haunts me. The intrusive thoughts when I see a sign in one of mine haunts me. The pain of those parents haunt me, and I’m not even first degree attached. But I am a human and I can’t even fathom that pain, or maybe I can.
The threat was always there in my own life. A not so gentle reminder of my trauma. My trauma. The thing I don’t talk about because to access it extinguishes my breathing almost immediately. I shudder and shake with it in the therapy office. I don’t want it spoken. What if I made it up.? I wish I made it up.
And it’s just easier to press forward and pretend it’s something that can be left behind. It can’t. It infects the next generation and the next until it’s spoken, understood, and loses it’s power.
I think my true self inside wanted a simple life. And resents the enormity of this role. I think my therapist would laugh at this. That’s just my whining about the acceptance of the things I didn’t choose. My energy healer disagrees, she believes our souls contract before they entire the body fully knowing what their destiny will be.
Did I sign on that dotted line? Was it inked in blood?
I have stories locked down inside me. Guarded by dragons. Dragons I shouldn’t have had to face then, let alone now. To access my memories. It doesn’t seem fair to go through what I have to do to do that.
I spent a life trying to create something I didn’t have to forget and if I want to heal I need to remember enough to also get that little girl out alive.
Confusion. Exhaustion.
Nobody wants that. They want fun and to believe in happy endings. But what about happy beginnings. I’ve realized lately those really do and did exist in those other people. The ones who don’t shudder when a voice raises.
Those happy people you’ll never be understood by, is how it felt. Separation, desperately seeking belonging.
Desperate.
Now that I’m no longer desperate how do I do life? It’s all new, and new is overwhelming even when it’s good.
Good morning! It’s sacred Sunday and now that I’m old and retired, only two days out, somehow the release of some of the pressure I had felt, is opening up the space to do things out of joy, rather than pressure. Perhaps I’ll have time for grammar and to tackle the previous one large run on sentence above.
While watching Dexter yesterday I was looking up recipes, marry me chicken, chicken Kiev casserole, and contemplating the waffle maker with Ube (purple yam) pancake mix Tyler brought from the latest Trader Joe’s sensation. My goodness that takes me back. The buying of items that were new and exciting all the years I worked there. I was never an amazing cook. Too rushed for that most likely. But there was always variety and abundance.
The exercise is to notice more of what you’ve done right and less of what you’ve screwed up. It’s fairly straight forward, but very difficult for those committed to their own suffering.
While personally I’m trying to navigate my relationship with food into a healthier one. Less all or nothing. Portion control. I’m fairly certain it’s my emotions that guide most of my eating, and I’d like to introduce some logic into the equation.
I’m enjoying my bath and my coffee and going to toggle through a few different books until I settle into a zone. Writing and restless and I still have a finicky dance, but it’s being sorted. My tattoo is itchy, oh so itchy. A reminder of the different stages of the healing process. A metaphor if I delved. I delve less these days. I want normal to a degree. I am basking in normal and mundane.
I can have all the fantasy I want with my writing without having to explode my life each time I have a craving. Wow that’s an old version of me. So hard on myself. She is only there in nostalgia not in practice. There was so much more going on to my beginnings and endings of my relationships and I’m working on navigating the shame at the ways I saved myself. Especially as I didn’t even know what I was doing.
I have come to find most people are just stumbling about. The majority of them. I’m not some big bad wolf. They are also just trying to sort themselves, to ground, to overcome their cravings and short comings.
Don’t other yourself, you’re most likely, more like everyone else, than some anomaly. I take comfort in that rather than offense. Human, all too human.
Anyway it’s a glorious Sunday: there will be home cooked food smell, dogs, teens in and out, my stand in father popping by with groceries, cards maybe, some straightening of the house. Sundays are so full if possibilities. A little admin and notes hopefully. A whole lotta love.
It’s a full life….
The nagging of my mind to find threat and eradicate it or succumb to it in some fashion is no longer present. It has been replaced with bliss and joy and possibilities. Don’t get me wrong some bouts of irritable feelings remain, little waves, reminders of confusion and pain.
But any desire for those things is quickly reminded of the big picture. It’s more automatic than it isn’t, which is wholly opposite of how things used to be. It used to be automatic to be drawn to self sabotage and harm. That is the sad truth.
I have been determined to make way for clarity to create and damnit I will! I have no doubts in my determination. Not nearly so many as my concentration, but that can be worked at. And working at it I am.
I watched a Les Carter video the other day entitled, are Narcissists just mean Co Dependents. Within the video he talked about how both categories have low peace. This is ultimately my compelling why for recovery. I need peace like I need oxygen. You don’t find it, you must be it to have it. That’s the secret.
Want peace? Be peaceful. Sit and do nothing and see what happens. Stop distracting yourself with anything. Be still.
Anyway I referenced a line from the video in my sessions Friday and Saturday because it fit so well. He was describing both as “having a chronic undertow of agitation and irritability and to be driven by insecurity.” Oh my that line, driven by insecurity, most of my life Mr. Carter, most of my life. He describes displacing this pain on others, a transfer I was unwilling to continue.
The work is arduous and I’d try for a long time, not quite reach the root and then give up into comfort and try to concoct a story about it that this was right and real and everything. These conclusive stories ever the protection for my terror ridden mind, only made things worse in the long run. They seduced me with relief in the moment. Never again. Never say never, but I believe in the maintenance of my work.
Anyway on this gorgeous pile of hours that spread out endlessly with no plan I will leave you with this from the video. “I’m sorry you never learned to draw upon your own inner confidence, something went dreadfully wrong in your past.” Oh my heart, and then also, “they think discarding people makes them independent, but they are actually just avoidant.“
I can so easily recognize distancing behaviors in my self and others now, as well as the painful cycles that come with attachment wounds.
I use my life experiences to sharpen my gift. It no longer feels like a curse. I have a much more well trained mind than I used to, and it makes life so much better. This mind has realistic expectations for my self and others, and knows how to find what it needs rather than causing such a stir, out of frustration or boredom. This mind is realistic and grounded rather than a funhouse full of mirrors distorting images.
Rather than rage against what I didn’t or don’t have and feel sorry for myself. Stuck firmly in the Karpman Drama Triangle, right along with my teens I am individuating, in small pieces, and healing in leaps and bounds.
An abundance of recovery…..
Ps I got Wordle on try three this time. Woo! I’m getting the hang of taking my time with things, rather than rushing with very little mindfulness. Of course a lot of it is also luck, but I think that’s true of life as well. More than I ever was able to admit to myself before. That would have felt very unsafe for me.
It’s late for me to be writing a blog post. Only one or two times have I ever attempted this feat. As if we are talking about extreme sports or something. Kind of.
I put on K.D Lang’s Constant Craving, it mimics how I feel right now. But what?! Could be so many things. Presence? Warmth? Food? It goes along with the title of my Memoir: Starved.
Am I doomed to be restless forever? Even as so many things are so good in my life?
I’ve been working hard. Harder than I ever imagined. I’ve become more me than I ever thought possible. A self, a real self. I’ve been working to make amends with my children, and building trust in myself has everything to do with it. As outside changes take place can I maintain those stabilities? Yes.
I watched The Tender Bar the other day and also have Hillbilly Elegy on the radar. I purchased both memoirs and have been researching the authors. Better at purchasing books than reading them. Another addiction? Maybe…..
I’m reading Beyond Codependency, and a line today struck me. “Deprivation runs deep, it creates blank spots in us.” That line alone could release grief, torrents. I read the passage during several sessions today. My people. The walking wounded. The brave.
I guess that’s why I feel starved no matter what I do.
Listening to Exile by Taylor Swift and Bon Iver, on repeat. The piano. Haunted. JR Moehringer writes about the ache of hearing his father’s voice while never having a relationship with him, and how being at the bar was at least something: his uncle Charlie teaching him the man sciences.
The ache …..
No story or obsession can protect me any longer. I live as a real human now. Sometimes I wish I could go back. No, I wasn’t better off. My mind spun. I was in a frenzy. My mind burned. Now it’s so quiet that sometimes the silence is deafening. It’s so still.
Peace is still so foreign and yet I’m better. Better to and for others, better with myself. Softer somehow. Grief has softened me. Every where. :p I struggle with my relationship with my body. Without my all or nothing and my addictions I can’t command myself into whatever is needed, because there is no longer a compelling why.
The last being the anxiety of being good enough. I know I am. So have I lost my edge, or Just my ability to torture myself into performance. I could go numb before and just obey. I know you know what I mean. I gave that up. The dark gift (passenger). The ability to swiftly disconnect. I traded my safety, for a real human life.
I guess I know why the Buddha is round ha. He’s so happy though. I too am happy. I scarcely know if I’m allowed, but my toe is in the water.
My mind is so still, if you saw the difference you would cite demon possession. Perhaps I had a lobotomy in my sleep. So now where is my story in here? Who am I without my coping mechanisms, without the guards. Most of the time I’m too guarded to even trust emdr I have found. But I grieve ….oh do I grieve.
I grieve that chaotic frantic woman ….. she was my constant. I don’t know what to do, as this new self. I’m quiet sometimes because it’s hard to trust new, even when it’s better.
And I love…. As hard as I ever have….. and I get up after getting knocked down….
My whole heart on the line. This is a gift the way that I live. With every fiber of my being. People crave this existence and a touch that makes all the difficult worthwhile. And I have it all, and I give it all.
Every day I live a year long. I’m so fulfilled at the end of each day, even when I’m restless. I fall asleep hard and fast and sleep deeply. Movie reels playing all night long, safely far enough from consciousness, but they are there. My dreams. Body slack. Not waiting for a pin to drop.
Mostly I am humbled daily by the work. Asking for forgiveness, learning, gently having my own back. Self supportive. What even is this….?!
Honing in on what to learn next. Realizing that while I lost a dream there are so many I didn’t realize I was already in. I’ll have grandkids, and I’ll be there every step of the way consistently engaged because I can and want to. Simple. Like how Charlie loved JR.
Sometimes the simplicity of love is startling. What is even more unsettling is how natural for me it is to complicate everything.
The kids and I are going on vacation soon…. West Palm bound. We sat around the table tonight playing skip Bo and talking about the different things we want during that trip. There was no tension or fighting. After all this time, we get to relax together. And the relaxation doesn’t have too high of a cost like it would have before. Stress somewhere else.
If you asked me if I would have been able to afford this vacation by myself or any of the other things we have I would have laughed. The life I live now is one that I saw as out of reach not that long ago. Impossible.
Even better I am rich in the knowing that my children have emotional safety. It was touch and go there for a minute, but I was never a lost soul. I’m too much of an advocate for that.
Sometimes arriving begins with breaking the silence without a plan in mind. This is a jumble of many potential blog posts I never chose to write. It’s tempting to feel it’s less good in its jumble but maybe the habit is the most important part. Just putting words to the page. Say anything…..
One post that’s rattling in my brain is “time will tell….” I think I’ll make that my next. I’ve said plenty here.
