#ptsd – Page 4 – The Emotional Alchemist

June 21, 2018June 21, 2018

Sunsets and Rainbows

*last night driving home the sunset brought me to tears. I’ve been crying a lot lately. All of my emotions right at the surface… and then a giant beautiful rainbow. I didn’t even see any rain, it was just there for me.

Lately I am overwhelmed by emotions. Good ones. What even is this that is happening? After spending most of your life feeling strong on the outside, but inside; frantic, desperate, disconnected, panicked, wrong, bad, behind, abandoned, not enough, not chosen, and the list goes on.

Here I sit today feeling blessed, honored, humbled, more love than is ever possible, calm, being able to regulate, seeing Love everywhere and in everything. I feel stable like the roots of a great oak, and gentle like the rustling of it’s leaves. Many storms have passed through me, but still I stand. And to realize I stand as more, not less. The storms didn’t take, they gave.

For me to put down roots I had to break through concrete.

My Oak is in the midst of Times Square; having always felt out of place, but suddenly people are seeing it like it’s the most refreshing thing they have ever seen. It provides oxygen, shade, a different perspective, a place to rest against that is sturdy and vibrant with life.

It’s like an out of body experience, except for the first time I’m inside mine.

I am two feet in.

This morning I read an email from my dear friend Chip that I have mentioned. And I was thinking about how much I wonder about my Father, and hurt at the not knowing. I had an “Under The Tuscan Sun” moment, where I realized that here is this found father, right here. He writes me everyday basically, always checks in on us, and is supportive and kind.

Anywhere something was missing in my life, I had only to look through open mind and heart to see that it could be filled.

I realize in this moment I’ve missed a thousand rainbows and sunsets, just staring blankly into the world because of old pain and the stories it created.

Now in each moment I’m writing a gorgeous novel. And if these thoughts are never organized into a book someone else can read; you have only to look at my life to read it.

My book is one filled with love, and I never would have known I could say that before.

June 19, 2018

Out on a limb

My whole life I feel like I have been out on a limb. In so many aspects. Somewhere along the way I learned to take the risks. During more of the unsure times in my life these risks could definitely have been categorized as the unhealthy kind. So I internalized, as I do so well, more bad information about myself.

In this second half of my life my “risk taking” is the exact thing that has yielded some of the biggest pay out. I still look at those people who cross all their t’s and dot all their i’s with great admiration. And a serious dose of black and white thinking: they are right, I am wrong.

Here in the state of Connecticut I have found that risk taking could be as simple as speaking to someone in line at Starbucks. They don’t do that sort of thing here. Stay in your lane baby girl. Mind your business. More people starving for connecting here, than I have found anywhere else. Perhaps that’s why me, the queen of connecting, ended up here.

I met one of my dearest friends in life, a man closer to the end of his life than the beginning. A good man who likes the Hallmark channel so he can get a dose of real emotion when he needs. A man who loves his son and grandson, and a wife who doesn’t deserve it so much (from him, everyone deserves love).

I tell our story sometimes to clients and they are always baffled. You did what? Yes we borrowed sugar and an egg to make cookies. We asked a neighbor to borrow something. Naive as usual, I had never received the memo that people in Connecticut absolutely under no circumstances do this sort of thing. Psycho. Go to the store like everyone else does. Nevertheless this yielded a friendship that would become a surrogate father, and person who tells me I am their normal.

I tell him if I’m his normal he is in serious trouble. We loved him on birthdays when no one else showed him how special he is, and he loved me with all of my insecurities. He listened to a thousand anxious emails, worried I would never be loved the way I was hoping to, worried I was bad. Only one of those worries very occasionally threatens to crop up. I consider myself very blessed.

You see thoughts about going out on a limb come to my mind, and they won’t be dismissed in the name of anything. They keep tugging at the strings of my heart until I am forced to unleash them on an unsuspecting world. This wasn’t so well received when I was younger. I scared the hell out of people. I was called too intense more than you can imagine. Which of course triggered my family stuff. Too much, somehow not good that you’re around. I made myself smaller. My self became depressed, shrank.

I tried to just do day in day out with no magic. It never worked for me. When I ignore that urge to reach out when I feel that vibration, later the regret drives me mad. I know I missed out on the hidden secret the universe had wrapped in many papers and then in box after box, like those Russian nesting dolls. And the determination it takes to be brave enough to keep opening after not only finding empty ones, but also being ridiculed for trying.

I needed to belong somewhere, anywhere. That need trumped coming into my own. So it has taken me a long time to be here now. And when it comes to trusting myself I am still a baby deer wobbling on it’s new legs. Self-doubt had been my constant companion, ptsd has hard wired it into my system. But I always knew I belonged out on a limb.

Out on a limb you’re alone, nervous you will fall at any moment, and precarious. You face rejection, being discredited, and boat loads of shame. Why would anyone do that? Especially in Connecticut. If there ever was a state you do not do that, it is here. I often muse to myself that instead of being the “Nutmeg state”, we should be the repression state. I guess “Repressers” doesn’t ring as light and fun as “Nutmeggers, but I would venture it rings true to many.

Now before you’re tempted to think I’m generalizing in a terrible way, I’m not finished yet. Underneath a thin layer of steel, people here are warm and gooey just like all of us human beings. I would argue they may even be more passionate here. Whether it’s being fueled by the unbeatable fall seasons here, or the determination to make our own sunshine after a long cold winter, there is as much heart as anywhere.

The heart is in tact. And I have found people are just wanting those brave people to make that first move to connect in a real way. Sure some aren’t ready for it, that is their cross, and it is heavy. Another best friend heart (bless her), one who has known me at my worst and still seen through.

She once gave me a Globe from the show Wicked. She taped “keep defying gravity” in a small note she taped to the bottom. If the house ever caught fire this is the one thing I would grab. After the live animals of course. :p Her heart was crushed from birth perhaps, a thick skin became very necessary for her, and I broke through for a real friendship. My self-doubt made it feel invisible sometimes, afraid I wasn’t good enough, and so I kept myself away, as people who feel that way tend to do. I hope she always knows she is my person.

At that time I was an uncultured swine (ok that’s mean, a broke, single mother) and could certainly have never seen that show. I was as lost as a human can become and my behaviors sucked, and yet she still believed in some part of me. These people are two of many of my supreme gifts the Universe has given me. These people are how I help so many now. I had to be lifted up, to lift others. They are my angels and the light that shines through my eyes.

To be allowed to have the love I knew was behind a particular soul, more big risks, more limbs. I’m pretty sure she thought I was nuts in the beginning, but something bade her to keep going with it. And now we are standing on the precipice of a great dream, neither of us knew we had before.

This woman never wrongs me for the risks I take. Every time I go to talk to her I project she will tell me no way and that I’m not thinking and all sorts of other things. But she trusts me and our love to such a pure degree I HAVE to trust it also. It is unwavering. Her love and trust for me is UNWAVERING. And like the grinch who had been so hurt and rejected he had reached the point where he was bristly and mean on the outside, the parts of me that still threaten to become that way, just stop. I think my heart has expanded larger than my body, and all the light is just constantly radiating outwards.

I am a lighthouse for others, and I am beginning to believe that is true, and to love parts of myself that I shut down (to keep safe) long ago. Her love is my constant kerosene, and it’s a reflection finally of all the love I splashed at the world. A world who wasn’t ready for it, a girl who wasn’t ready to give it to herself.

Here I sit today, on the end of this limb, calmly having a picnic, dancing on the tip. For me this is the only way to live. Love is everywhere, inside of everything… Connecticut is no exception and neither are you….

💜

June 10, 2018June 10, 2018

Mary Lambert a Champion of Women.

Do yourself a favor before reading this:

Body Love Mary Lambert

Also this is blog post #50!!!!!!

We watched this beautiful soul at Daryl’s House in Pawling New York. I am tearing up just thinking about it. I’ve never been like this before. Openly emotional and all heart outside my chest beating for all to see. Her first few words made the tears come immediately, something I never thought was possible for me.

Which helps me also acknowledge how hard my life has been and allow that. Allow it without worrying that I feel I’m special, or in comparison with someone else, or betraying another. I am realizing journeying out of PTSD is a lifelong pursuit, it cycles over and over, until enough security is built to let safety and peace take over.

And now that I am standing here (a little), I am feeling all my feelings I minimized before. My whole body shakes with them at times. I am feeling them with a new story. The work is exhausting. I am ragged lately. I dress comfortably and often don’t even wear make-up. At face value many things could be said, but since I go deeper, and I’m loved deeper, it doesn’t matter anymore.

Trying to live to be seen and loved has lost all its power, and in this new place I am finding all of mine.

I found something in Mary Lambert last night. I said to my wife that “she must have suffered a lot/suffer a lot”, and that “she does music the way I do therapy.” I could feel every word of her music wrapping my heart and soul in support and love. I could feel her giving to others with passionate truth.

The tears just kept running down my face. I didn’t wipe them away, or smile awkwardly in shame. They are mine and they are important. I want to live Bold like her. I do on the outside, but my insides still scan my self for wrong and bad things. Hyper-vigilant to my core.

Watching Mary Lambert move her body proudly, unbridled, and with great joy; makes me know I have to love mine as fiercely.

I’ve spent most of my life desperately insecure about how others would see me, squirming with it. Trying to sell myself, and so often feeling rejected and less than. Uncomfortable in my clothes, and my very skin. Always looking to others for answers.

Mary helps this great hurt. Her voice goes straight to my soul. She is a healer also. And again I catch myself wishing I could be enjoyed like that. She gives comfort and often times I remove it in favor of growth. People watch her and enjoy themselves. People come to sit with me and ache and bleed.

I give permission to feel feelings also, but there’s no sweet background music. Maybe there should be 😉 I’ll have to think about that.

I still don’t have all the words for my feelings right now. What I can tell you is I am a person who has dedicated her life to healing, and I am only now realizing the full extent of my wounds, and the time and medicine it takes. I am hoping to do some important work for others with this.

Love,

Christina 💪🏼💜

Ps wanted to share my Facebook post that came out in the raw last night.

Music gives us permission to fully feel our feelings. Tonight the music of Mary Lambert opened up my heart and emptied it, and filled it, again and again. It was a spiritual experience. This past year I feel like I’m walking around with no skin on. Everything is raw. It’s beautifully painful.

This past year I’ve come back from the dead. My body was present and I could give, but my emotions were so far away from my reach. As a result I’ve feared myself, questioned my character, and been drenched in immense doubt for most of my life.

I ran hard and fast from myself. I had huge feelings I didn’t know what to do with. I held them on top of me. I couldn’t breathe. I haven’t breathed a true sigh of relief most of my life. So now when I do it could blow down a building. I’m a tidal wave force of emotions. The choice of the powers always to decide for good or evil. I was always good. I had the hardest time believing that story. My feelings are valid.

I refuse to ever let myself believe again like I am not worthy of every one of them, and Allowed to express them. I used to write songs, but then I forgot. I forgot my joy and my beauty. I packed them away in many a suitcase. I padlocked them, wrapped them in chains, and let them sink to the bottom of the Ocean. The current took them to extreme temperature depths ,and they froze there.

I just tried to find the template for living after that. I looked around, and then said, “I guess I’ll try that.” And that and that and that. A great enthusiasm on the outside, and endless pit of doubt on the in.

Now I have the permission to create. I gave it to myself. And this brave brave woman tonight, has given me more than I can express in this moment. Simply by fiercely loving herself, so I could see how beautiful that looks on someone, and know I could be beautiful too.

June 7, 2018

Into the Abyss of My Story

“And Then She Danced”

“You’re the mom and I’m the baby”, she always said. No truth could ever illuminate my early life more. That first time she held me and looked into my eyes, she also said “you had a wisdom in your eyes I knew you already were beyond me.” Sometimes I wish she didn’t take that so literally.

That day was the first and last day I was a baby. Now at thirty seven I might as well be eighty eight. I’ve often felt like an alien in this life. The self-doubt was the worst part, when you are your own parent how do you know if you’re going the right way and doing the right things.

I had an innate curiosity and enthusiasm that rocked me tightly through the storms. I was conscientious to a fault. I remember watching movies and always wanting “to be the good guy.” My insides would tighten when someone was harmed or in danger. I wanted to jump through the screen and protect them, the fatal flaw was that I always believed that I could. And that I never included myself in that equation.

How could I, I was born to be strong. That’s what they all needed from me.

I sought my Father for safety, nose pressed to the glass a hundred times he didn’t show. My heart broke again and again. Bonded and left wondering. He smelled like Polo cologne, the green bottle. He smoked a pipe, was strong and smart, and had big dogs I adored. He was the safer bet I thought. Except he didn’t bet on me.

My salvation, is that so many others have.

My human angels that just reached out and saw my heart. They loved my enthusiasm and my smile. To them I wasn’t too much. To them I was someone to be enjoyed. They brought me into their families and I watched and learned all I could.

My grandparents meant well and they tried. Good church going folk doing the right thing raising their daughter’s out of wedlock baby. Whispers through the church they were the saints, I was the sinner, and my mom was never mentioned except with pity, as those with mental illness often are. Rigidly religious, shame was the ruler of this roost.

Everyone had sympathy for my birth and praise for the grandparents who saved me. Similarly later in life everyone pitied my husband, a good man, when I left him after the realization I was gay. Inside I struggled for years, wanted to end my life, and entered therapy. Outside I had an affair, and my character diminished. I was always dark and twisted, something to be feared. Why then did others see so much light in me? The ultimate confusion.

I became everything I hated and wanted to fight against. I had already been that for quite some time, but strong always speaks louder, in these situations. So naturally now that I had the whole big answer: being gay. I pressed fiercely forward towards love. I fell in love fast and hard. Dripping with desperation.

I needed a parent not a lover, but I didn’t know at the time.

When Love was the vehicle that finally illuminated all my broken parts, I could begin the healing process. The critics were immense. There were more than those that cheered me on. Self-doubt again was my constant companion.

Another trip into hell, and another trip… it would take me hundreds before I emerged.

As a result I have this gift. People feel seen and safe in my presence. When I expected myself to be everything that saved just one, all my own triggers were brought forth. Through the process of honing my healing powers in graduate school, and with the teachers that sprung forth my heart was thawing out. Boundaries were a constant lesson, and the better I got at them, the more healing occurred. I could help people without pouring my entire being into them.

I could find a real and genuine empathy for others I was closely involved with, and not just the strangers on the street. My heart was thawing. The tears could finally fall freely. I had learned to refer to myself as a good mother without flinching and immediate disbelief. I began to learn how to play. I found healthy love, and a meaning filled career. I wake up each day looking forward to it now.

The title of my memoir that has rolled over and over in my head emerged:

And Then She Danced….

June 5, 2018June 6, 2018

Day One of My Eighth Life

Day one…. again

We have 17 follicles. Tears are gently falling into the Raisin Bran I am eating out of a mug. It’s so surreal. This moment. This is life number 8. In this life I am loved with every bit of what I didn’t have in the previous ones.

In this life I am a good mother not just practically, but emotionally. A strong partner and a financial provider. I blink twice and pinch myself once.

It’s still true.

My teenagers could feel angry or resentful about this. Nervous they will lose the number one spot in my heart. Nervous they never had it. Because I went back and got my own child, now I’ve scooped them up too. So they are so excited for a baby sibling.

I am 37 years old and going to be a new mother again.

On this other side of things how much of an oak will I be? I’m figuring out at this stage of knowing myself my limits begin to get real when someone I love suffers. In the words of the great Maya Angelou, “You have to have courage to love somebody. Because you risk everything. Everything.”

Courage is something I’ve never been in short supply of, but I’ve also never had so much to lose. I’m in that strange in between where I’m fully embracing it, but also can’t help “the rug will be pulled out mentality.” It’s fainter now, but the body remembers even after the mind has healed.

My body regularly reminds me I’m a survivor.

The only thing I may have never doubted is my strength. Now I must wonder about that? I didn’t know I could love a family so much that if a member of them suffers and I have to watch; shards of glass throughout my whole body. Don’t move it will hurt.

Being strong before was my only choice. Now that I’m thawed out what will happen when we face a trial? I’m scared. You get scared when you’re soft. When you’ve aligned all your fragments, you can get scared. They never told me this would happen. This is a beautiful scared. The other was a terrible scared.

We are having a baby. Today is day one of my 8th life within 1. I am a good mother. I will be a good mother.

This much love might just be the scariest thing I have ever faced….

April 1, 2018June 6, 2018

PTSD, Stephen King, aspiring writer, and FEAR(S) running wild….

I think I’m getting sick. Ugh. My head is all fuzzy and fluffy and I just feel a genuine sense of being ill at ease in my body. There is a lot of pressure in my head and my ears keep popping. Yesterday between Clients I battled a migraine all day that finally won by the time my time was my own. I couldn’t get comfortable and hardly slept. Remnants of the migraine have threatened to come back today. I am not sure which is more responsible for my nervousness about something feeling “off” in my body; my Crohn’s Disease or my PTSD. Often my thoughts tend to find themselves preoccupied with thoughts of death. The better my life gets, the more at peace I am, the more these little monsters gnaw. My theory is that the writer in me as Anne Lamott says;

“The climax is that major event, usually toward the end, that brings all the tunes you have been playing so far into one major chord, after which at least one of your people is profoundly changed. If someone isn’t changed, then what is the point of your story? For the climax, there must be a killing, a murder, or it can be a killing of the spirit, or of something terrible inside one’s soul, or it can be a killing of a deadness within, after which the person becomes alive again. The healing may be about union, reclamation, the rescue of a fragile prize. But whatever happens, we need to feel that it was inevitable, that even though we may be amazed, it feels absolutely right, that of course things would come to this, of course they would shake down this way.”

is always trying to come up with a dramatic and unexpected ending. I mean isn’t there another way to do this without my immenent demise. Come on brain get on my side already.

Perhaps it is the inevitable part I mean. Why am I always trying to write a tragedy or the emotion I want the reader to feel is what coincides with the heroin’s end just as life get’s easier for her, just as she can have peace. It is as if peace was that unreachable, as if it was never hers no matter how hard she worked. She struggled her whole life to reach her dreams and bask in them for just a brief second before her end. Why is this the ending I keep seeing for myself? Why does anxiety rule so much of my land? It is exhausting. If I am the creator then why does the story feel like it’s trying to take a life of it’s own. I have a hunch that it is my existential roots rearing their pragmatic heads. I know, have always known that there are no guarantees and that “life can change on a dime”. This last line being in my head I can quote to having begun to listen to 11-22-63 by Stephen King. I am about 36 minutes in.

It’s an interesting tale of how I came about to be reading Stephen King in the first place. Let’s see my first knowing of him at all was when I worked in video stores (circa 1996) and would see movie covers for Carrie, Pet Cemetery, and KujoActually to this day I have never read or seen those movies. I think I read the Tommy Knockers during my young traveling days when I moved from Medford Oregon, to Moses Lake Washington (where I would give birth to my first born). I never even saw the original IT movie, while most of everyone I knew had. Several years ago to the movie Stuck in Love was recommended to me (I am trying to remember my whom, it was Ash I think ironically enough, that is a whole other story). Anyway in the movie one of the characters gives his girlfriend the book, and they share an intimate exchange where he says that she will cry in the end. Cry I thought? I thought this was a horror novel. It was enough to pique my curiosity. However due to my appetite for life and my many varied interests I still have not finished that on audiobook or paperback, yet I have finished The Dead Zone, Bag of Bones, am about 1/2 way through Lisey’s Story… and I have seen the new version of IT. Later someone I am a big fan of, brought Stephen King’s Memoir On Writing to my attention. It has one of those jacket’s that is soft and buttery to the touch. Of course now it is all worn from carrying it everywhere. I blew through the first half all about him specifically, but I couldn’t bring myself to finish it. This unfinished book is because it was so dear to me and so good I couldn’t bear to have that feeling of loss when it was over. So it remains unfinished. I don’t know if there really is a mystical meaning to this madness of reading a little of this and a little of that, and the timing of when things cross my path, or if I just need to get my ADHD in check a little better. As I am writing a thought just crossed my mind, mine is a lot of acronyms for anybody to live with; ADHD, PTSD, HSP (highly sensitive person), IBD (inflammatory bowel disease)…. hmmm. Being sick scares me extra because of taking Humira and having a compromised immune system. I am waiting as usual for the story to take a turn that somehow feels due (again why I don’t know) where I end up having a real and true scare with a hospital visit and an infection I can’t seem to fight, like they warn in the fine print of the brochure. Why do I feel like a ticking time bomb? Why does it feel like I am due for a bad bout of things, and all the stories about these possibilities are regularly run pieces in my mind?

Some information about PTSD and feeling dread that the future may be shortened.

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4166378/

Sig is driving me crazy. He’s in tasmanian devil mode and it feels personal, as if my attempt at writing while already not feeling well is being utterly sabotaged. As I roll my neck and close my strained eyes, taking in a deep breath and attempting to block it out. Just as I do he ramps up and barks as loud as possible and smashes into my laptop. One of my least favorite parts of not feeling well is the irritability that goes so against my natural enthusiasm for life. I can’t stand feeling on edge to the point I grit my teeth hard just to maintain control. All of my muscles tighten. My already high priced small window of attention sits like a train that has been de-railed. Frustration sets in. Heartburn blazing through my esophagus threatening to burn right through. Sometimes I feel like I might go up in flames. No one is home right now which amps up this anxious feeling. If someone was home then they could at least find me if my now 2 day long stint of a head filled with pressure turns out to be more serious. What is the acronym for hypochondriac ? Add it to the list.

Well this took an unexpected turn. Tomorrow is a badly needed day off, though as of late taking care of the dogs is actually as bad as two toddlers, and the kids actually help with this a lot. I think it’s time for a vacation. Sounds like it eh?

Something always seems to prevent me from the well intentioned writing that I just keep getting closer to. I refuse to give up on this dream, no matter how difficult finding the space to nurture it may be. This past couple of days though it’s been physical aspects that stand in my way. In those moments I feel robbed unfairly of something that is supposed to rightfully be mine. Something I’ve worked incredibly hard for.

These are some of the scattered, painful, frenzied up close things. When I step back for perspective, what I see is someone who only spoke wistfully of writing (as if she dreamed of being someone else) now about to complete her 40th blog post. I see someone who couldn’t sit still long enough to read one book, having finished about 5 already this year and well on her way to several more. I see someone who while running a thriving private practice and learning about business ownership is still making daily steps to nurture her dream. This is how I battle the not feeling well. I keep my focus on my dreams. I dream of my first novel in print, what it will look and feel like. I dream of having a Stella with Elizabeth Gilbert and that she will endorse my book. I dream of being able to afford a life that is even more my own so that I have time to go to a cabin by a lake and be with my thoughts and allow them space. If you could literally see the dogs going nuts right now and how hard I am working to get the rest of this out, it would be comical really, or sad. For now I am going to curl up with Eat, Pray, Love the movie and try and rest my weary body. Try to beg for it to heal and let me have an energy filled day tomorrow so I can pursue my artist’s date and walk, and so I can find magic among the mundane.

I wanted to write a post about the debate I am having with myself over whether or not to take Martha Beck’s Write into Light course. I think I am running out of steam (patience), and will have to save that one for tomorrow hopefully. For now here is some information on the course.

http://www.writeintolight.com

Brilliant light and love to all….

Christina

December 25, 2017June 6, 2018

This is for the ones who have a hard time during the holidays…

Or who are having a hard time this year. This is for you.

This is for those that the thought of family doesn’t leave them so warm and fuzzy. For those who try to put their smile on so no one is brought down on their holiday. I am here with you. You are not alone.

I thought I had it beat this year. Having an amazing and healthy love. Having a career I am constantly in love with. Having wonderful intelligent children who are loving, kind, and get good grades. I have a home, and heat, and Lord knows more food than I need 😉 But I can’t shake this. So I am going to write about it so perhaps even one person will feel less alone in this. Another human sitting in their kitchen by themselves this morning feeling sad may come across my words and find a warm embrace.

This is what the Holiday feels like for me when I am alone with my thoughts, and don’t keep myself distracted. My Dad died a few days ago at this time last year. We were not close since I was little, which actually makes it a lot worse. Because I don’t know how I am allowed to feel or not. Complicated grief is no picnic. This means that I haven’t even really thought about it, not on the anniversary day did I even, because if we weren’t close in life why would it matter in death? But for some reason it does. That there is hardly anything of “me”, where I came from left. My grandparents who raised me have both passed away, and I wasn’t close with them either, those are complicated relationships as well, but they did “raise” me. My mother is out there who knows where. I don’t know whether she is healthy or well, happy and safe on this holiday or in a really bad way. Most likely the latter. I wouldn’t be able to ascertain that anyway since you can never tell what is real or what isn’t with her anyway. Which is why we are not in touch, but I still can’t help but wonder today. I wonder where she is and how she is doing, and this is what the Holidays mean for me.

My 1/2 brother who I grew up in the same house with. He appears from a distance to be struggling with addiction. We have never been able to be close, because I was more of a mother to him always than a friend or a sister. I held him down when he threw a fit to help out my grandparents. At that time I laughed about it, because I was a child and didn’t know any better, it just seemed weird and troubling, but I was physically strong and I wanted to please my grandparents. He would spit on people and bang his head on things, and I woudl come to the rescue and basically restrain him. That doesn’t make for much of a relationship when you are older. He lost his grandparents (parents who raised him), and I was over here on another Coast protecting myself from that life that was poisonous to my soul. I left it all behind, and it’s probably been the healthiest thing for me. But sometimes I look through the “window” at that life and wonder if I could have helped. Why I can help other people now but I couldn’t help then/them. He will most likely kill himself one way or another, and I won’t know how to feel then either. Probably guilty, but in a far removed sense. If I removed myself because it was healthy, why does it feel like such a weight on my shoulders?

I received a package from my Aunt the other day. She is the only one I even have somewhat of a relationship with. Several years back I went out to California and helped them with my dying grandfather. I went to say goodbye. That is the last time I saw her. I spent most of the visit trying to prove myself, that I wasn’t bad. Because that is the last impression she had of Lisa’s daughter. She tried to help her parents with a difficult teenager and I was seen only ever for my behavior and poor choices, and never for what I was feeling. So I have committed my life to sitting with people in their feelings and staying, not turning away from them, or judging them on a supposed to or should scale. In the package was this picture of this boy who I don’t even know or remember, the note says hope this isn’t a sad memory. Am I supposed to know this boy. Do you know what it feels like to receive a package from a sort of family member with a picture of someone you are supposed to know? It made me uncomfortable, and then I feel bad for feeling uncomfortable because at least this family member is trying. And I feel bad because I don’t reciprocate because something feels strange and foreign and obligatory about it, the receiving. I can’t seem to feel a connection there, and to try and make one feels like I am trying to earn a love or something. Which is what I spent a good portion of my life doing, and I refuse to do it anymore. I reached a place where I realized that those who will see me, will SEE ME, not because I do anything to make them see. If love isn’t free then I don’t want it. So I worked to earn the love and respect of my self, to align my childhood self in the warmth I can now provide her that she couldn’t have before. So we aren’t separate anymore, and experiencing great conflict from it. We are together now. I have pieced myself into a whole person, and I love supporting others in their work to do the same. This is why I am a counselor.

I can’t just estrange myself from these thoughts and feelings. And Christmas gives them the perfect opportunity to surface. Christmas is about family right?! And I love that sentiment and I also hate it. I have a complicated relationship with family. I love the one I created, and I am terrified of the one I came from, and that I could be anything like that ever, and yet I am supposed to have some kind of attachment towards them aren’t I? It wasn’t all bad was it? But maybe it was? You see its just pure confusion. And Christmas, it creates the space to think about these things. Perhaps in this case distraction is best. Which is why my bestfriend invited me to her family’s home this morning. So I am trying to get all of the sad off of me before I go so I don’t infect their family with this. And the truth is I don’t know if I can go without being depressed while I am there. I am afraid it will backfire on me. I am going to be surrounded by warmth and love, and I know I am loved and seen as special there, but I am still a stranger to so many of the extended family. I stranger among family and friends. But then I think that no one would be a stranger in my home. I would never feel that way about them. But not everyone is like me. It’s confusing all these feelings, so I write my way through them.

When my defenses are secure… the ones life has helped me to have to protect myself, then I think things like “why are the Holidays any harder for anyone”. I mean there are Christmas cookies and lights and trees, and everything feels magical. And then this morning I was hit with a dose of a reality that will only deepen my connection to others who are feeling this way. I can only help more from all of my hurt, and this is why I am good at what I do. Because I allow myself to experience the full spectrum of human emotion, even when it is hard. Especially when it is hard, that is when it is the most valuable. So I am here today to tell you to feel all of your feelings. They are not wrong. You won’t infect anyone else. Ask for the help and the love that you need. There are people who will love you with open arms. They may not be the people you were originally provided, and that is OK. You’re not wrong or bad or defective or any less worth loving. And even if you don’t ask for it, can’t find how to do that, allow yourself to receive the love you deserve, it is out there. In fact in my opinion the Universe conspires to protect and love extra those that need it. I have always been given those gifts. I have many people who love me, across the United States. People who would love to have me present at their holiday and who would enjoy me. So I hang onto those feelings and moments, and they warm me.

So while I began the day crying in my kitchen and feeling torn and ripped apart. Writing through these feelings and putting them out somewhere where they don’t have to be alone or unacknowledged is my medicine. After I write it feels like a huge storm has passed, and on the other side the sunshine is always there to warm me, and maybe even a rainbow with a pot of gold at the end of it. Please be a pot of gold 😉

Love to all those warriors who are working through their shit this holiday season. You are my people. You are not alone and I am not either.

An article to help….

December 17, 2017June 6, 2018

A “Me Too” moment from last night I wish I never had….

It’s Sunday and what I would really like to do right now is gush about the dinner/birthday present I received this year and what it means to me. I’d like to talk about the show I saw last night (Lez Zeppelin who were actually phenomenal). But unfortunately what stands out the most is what happened when we left. My person grabbed my hand to lead me out through through the crowd, she was leading, I was behind. As I went by this man he put his hand on my shoulder which seemed a little odd, but it was crowded and we were squeezing through the crowd, so I might have chalked it up to him balancing himself. He was still facing the concert (forward) and I had walked just past him. He slid his hand all the way down my back to my ass and proceeded to pat it several times. His hand feverishly flat palmed and trying to make it’s way to as much of my body it could possibly touch. Time actually stood still and I had to ask myself if I believed it was even happening. Did my imagination run awry? The behavior so out of place I couldn’t make my consciousness grasp on to what was happening. I am so naive sometimes. I think I’d like to stay that way, but situations like this make it noticeable. This was one long slithery grope and it made the hairs on my neck prickle that a complete stranger would use this opportunity to touch me, and that he most likely had been watching my Partner and I canoodling the entire show and thought somehow he had the permission to do that? Did he think we desired that attention because our love was a novelty to him?

What makes it even worse is the thousand scenarios I ran through in my mind about how I wish I had handled it. The entire ride home I fantasized that I had immediately turned like Lara Croft or Alice (Resident Evil) and punched him square in the face. Or perhaps a throat punch with all the flare of Melissa McCarthy. The other fantasy was grabbing his hand and bending his fingers back, telling him never to touch a woman without her permission. I did not consent to this. And yet I am not made that way. Physical violence makes me extremely uncomfortable. If we are being honest I don’t want to hurt anything or anyone, I think it would break my heart to do so. I was never a fighter. I wanted to be tough in the ways someone might be, I think I have that in me. But I never actually want to go through with hurting someone or something, even if the moment did call for it. When I told my person what had happend she was disgusted and had wanted to do the same thing. Someone afterall should not think they have permission to just turn my body into their plaything. Even writing this now is making me furious again.

It happened so fast and unexpectedly and the shame I experience at myself for not saying anything. I just wanted to leave quickly. I told myself maybe I was exaggerating (I’m not). I second guessed. I didn’t want to cause a stir. I didn’t want to create a drama for everyone else. I felt like no one would take me seriously if I did say or do something, and it would somehow backfire on me. This is the land of money, this guy probably would have tried to sue me for slander or something. It was so covert and quick and it sickens me to think of him enjoying that moment, as my skin crawls with the invisible snakes of violation still this morning.

This man took something from me, from us last night. He took our ability to just reminisce on the drive home about our much needed date night. He took a little piece of me believing in my security and safety in a public place. He broke off a piece of my sacred belief that people are generally good. And it hurts this morning. It hurts to my core. Can I just forget this behavior? Should I? Is that fair to my daughters or any other woman out there something like this could happen to? I feel guilty I didn’t do something. But what does one do in a situation like that. Tell the security guard and then what? It was crowded I barely saw the guy. Except somewhere in my mind I can see him vividly and know exactly what he looks like. His long sleeved grey shirt and pot belly protruding forward, the glazed look in his eyes. It should be ok because he was drunk right? This is a situation you hear about and read about, but not something that has happened to me. Frankly it was entirely unexpected. I am not in my 20’s grinding at a club. I was out seeing a show with my partner.

I didn’t ask for that contact subconciously. Would this person have done that if I was there with a man? The questions are endless and there is no good way to end this post. It will end the way my night did last night… in a concoction of confusion, anger, and sadness. If I let it ruin my Sunday with my family, my day of refresh and relax then he wins. I won’t let that happen. There will be another post reflecting on the amazing parts of my day yesterday and on the beautiful moments we will have a family today. But I will not suffer with what happened in silence. I will share my story.

December 4, 2017June 6, 2018

Don’t turn away….PTSD hurts, and finding what heals….

I had a difficult night last night. My son is having a hard time as a highly sensitive person in an overstimulating world. As a family system when this is hard on one, because we love each other so much, it’s hard on all. And the most readily accessible emotion is anger. It’s the most seductive, the most comforting. We had expectations about the way our day would go. After all we were cutting down our first Christmas tree together as this whole family. I myself have never cut down a tree for Christmas before. This event went differently than planned in every sense of the word. I always say “you can plan a pretty picnic but you can’t predict the weather”…. that isn’t original in fact I am pretty sure a Ludacris song lyric gets the original credit, but I’ve made it an important lesson in counseling over the years 😉 I also got a terrible stomach just at the moment we were cutting with no bathroom in sight and had been fighting a migraine all day. The stress and guilt and frustration at thinking I wouldn’t make it, to the outhouse blech, threw the migraine into full force. The anger thoughts are so tempting…. the why me’s, the I deserve’s….. the it’s not fairs of it all. I needed comfort and warmth, but instead was forced to be strong for my family. I wanted to show up. I always want to show up.

Strong seems to yield hard on self and others for me. So when my teenage son wouldn’t participate in photos I was anything but patient. He having just come off of being distressed the night before because his sisters were fighting over ice cream. The true result of the ice cream was hurt feelings. One feeling the other didn’t believe the best about her and being shamed etc. Hurt all around. He absorbed and internalized and it stayed with him that next day. And heaven forbid my dreams of a peaceful day be interrupted in such a manner. I wasn’t as patient as I would have liked.

All I can think here is that we need to help each other with this hurt. Shaming does not work. Blaming does not work. Anger does not work. Disconnecting does not work. Warm, open, gentle, understanding, kindness, effort, dialogue, patience…. these things work. If we don’t first give it to ourselves we cannot show others how to do the same. The model where we put ourselves to the side in an effort to give all to someone else doesn’t work either, because our unmet needs turn into anger and frustration that must find a way out somewhere.

If I did not feel so guilty for leaving during an important moment, due to something I couldn’t control, perhaps I would have been more patient. If I said to myself it’s ok Christina they all understand, maybe I could have been more understanding for my son. And then later would have been less likely to have an adult temper tantrum when I was afraid, and instead of showing up in warmth …. I froze in terror. I let my teenage son feel like he was responsible for ruining our day, with some words I allowed myself to say out loud.

The truth, my truth is that when it comes to observing intense suffering especially with my children (unthinkable) I freeze in terror. I have felt not nurturing because of this. I have felt like some important part is missing in me. I have had such a difficult time understanding why I can show up so well as a Counselor, but this aspect of motherhood always held places of deep fear for me. This is what PTSD does, it grips and holds and freezes.

As a Counselor I care deeply for my Clients, however the relationship has boundaries and I am an onlooker to their lives. I can stay and be present, and offer support and I mean it genuinely. In my relationship with my children it’s an entirely different ballgame. But I do sit and try and sort through these things. I believe that PTSD changes your wiring. And that you need to learn to work around your unique self. The self that matches your WHOLE story, not the parts that are more palatable. That you need to embrace and work with the parts that have been hurt, versus rejecting them. And that is the most difficult thing because who wants the injured parts? We want to rid ourselves. When you choose a puppy you choose the lively one that is energetic and happy, you don’t choose the sad one in the corner who looks as if it may be ill. But probably most of the time you give that puppy what it needs and it will likely perk right up and thrive like the rest. But if needs go unmet it will continue to suffer.

I had an interesting morning. I decided after a very draining experience last night in my family to rally and continue forward. I wrote an email and I called the school counselor, and I got up and helped my son wake up and I cared for him in the best ways I know how. I helped him get to school and drove him. He usually takes the bus. I pulled up and saw a woman sitting on a bench outside the school breaking down into tears. I looked once and thought you know what I don’t want to butt in, what if I make her more uncomfortable. What if it isn’t my place? So I went to leave…. something stopped me and I thought I can’t let that woman sit on that bench crying and not do a thing, when I know I can do something. Also the part of me that connected to my own pain thought, oh thank goodness I’m not alone, let me try and connect. I needed her as much as she needed me.

I approached gently and asked if I could sit with her. She stated she had just been fired from her job, and that her son who has behavior troubles was about to be arrested, he wouldn’t get out of her car so she was sitting on that bench. We realized that our children know one another in a significant way and I embraced her and sat with her. The school managed to help and her son went to school and she later told me her boss listened and let her keep her job. There’s still a lot that she needs, but this morning neither of us had to face the things on our plate alone.

If you see someone or something that has a need and you get that inclination to reach out…. turn toward it. Don’t turn away. You never know who you may be affecting, but you can guarantee that you will be impacted as well. It takes a village and we all need to be connected to each other.

If you have found love…. spread it as much as you can 💜💜💜

Tag: #ptsd