There are times in our life where we need that so badly that we accept it in the form of someone who doesn’t keep us safe.
Then what?
Only to be shown what’s possible but then put them back up even thicker.
Needs are an interesting thing.
I’d venture many if not most broken relationships are the result of not being able to communicate our needs and be responsive enough in the demands of the culture and society we live in.
I used to think America was the greatest.
Because I was told that right. Now I’m leaning much more towards it emphasizes all the wrong things.
What fundamentals are we built on? Stepping on the backs of others to achieve our own status while not considering others. A beautiful Instagram feed?!
When mostly behind the pictures are struggling lost souls.
There is no pleasure allowed, only the pursuit of the American dream.
I’m finding at this point in my life other cultures have it so much more figured out. That life is also about family and connection and pleasure and the TIME to have those things.
Time!
How is one to have time if they have not achieved society’s idea of the American Dream.
But what are my dreams ?! Where are my dreams?
Completing the stress response cycle ? Perhaps. Hint Emily Nagowski probably spelled wrong.
I dream of not having my trauma and coping mechanisms dictate my life.
I know I’m far from isolated in that dream. Many people share it and are seeking exactly that in my office.
Spoiler: I don’t have it figured out either, but I desire that.
There’s desire! Hi my old friend how have you been?
I need to understand you better.
You’ve caused such grief in my life, but also had my back and opened so many doors.
You raging compass.
You really fuck me up sometimes …..
But you also led me to my true self and north.
Why’s it gotta be so complicated. You get it Avril, and Taylor, and Pink…..
Music you get me. I’m writing this to the tune of the piano guys radio.
Music pulls down my walls and gives me back to myself.
It’s why I want to play it, listen to it, more fully experience it and myself. Don’t forget yourself champ. But how ?!
And the song ended.
Now maybe there will be a different rhythm to my writing.
I’m sweaty and lost and sad on a Monday morning. And I’m also hopeful and excited about the possibilities of the day. These are my defaults as much as anything else. Thank god.
Music stimulates my brain in the right way to bring the walls down. It’s steady. I am in control. If I don’t like a song I change it. But I rarely do actually. I like to take in everything music has to teach me because it’s safe.
Writing is too I am learning and I’m finally letting go and doing it.
Having no idea the outcome.
The guy in 22 is trying to navigate his grass. He stands over it puzzled begging it to look as nice as the other lawns. But he’s just beginning. Someday it will because of his patient attendance and devotion.
So it’s one day at a time for now with music, walking, reading and writing.
Finding balance between thinking and feeling. Head and heart.
They are navigating too…..creating their connection.
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.
All the selves and stories I used to be, gathering the fragments, becoming whole…..
I miss my writing like I miss a lover. I’m always writing inside my mind, and these days I like what I see so much more. A great beginning, and another and another.
The other day I felt heavy and this is where I wanted to come. When I feel light this is where I want to come. This is home.
There are so many thoughts I don’t get down. Will they come back around? You never know and that’s the hardest part.
Knowing might be arguably harder.
How to ask a survivor to be open and contend with the unknown, when it takes so much energy.
This morning I saw a Sylvia Plath quote I liked and went down a Christina research hole. So now I know her whole life, and yet nothing at all. What struck me the most are the similarities in so many ways. Minus the suicide attempts thankfully.
Time to read the Bell Jar and actually finished this time. I was 80 percent there. What even is that?! How can you not finish?! Maybe unfinished is better?
Who knows if I had had her life at that time in the world. I think of the censorship and lack of support at that time. And how at any time this is the thing that often makes all the difference, being able to tell our stories.
Gunn street is closed today. The bright fuchsia car is in sight. I go down Peck anyway, that’s the mile loop.
Speaking of telling stories The Healing Power of Storytelling, Annie Brewster. I forget which podcast I heard her on. Will this help with another layer? Lately the sense is that while I enjoy consuming this material, being with these writers, outside is not where it’s at.
It’s time. I can’t resist much longer. Layers of self doubt and fear have sloughed away. It’s time. Don’t hold back.
Writing is like oxygen. I’m breathing. It’s warm and the sky is beautiful this morning.
Working on birthday plans for twin a and b. Nineteen years old. These benchmarks make me incredibly emotional, and reflective. I remember the girl who shared and shared with no off switch and very little consideration for how that person responded. I understand much more now. Time does that. And also there’s a lot I don’t.
What I found in Sylvia Plath this morning was a commonality to which we feel things. And look what that lent for her. But outcome is not the measure of a life. She felt more in her short life than many in a long one do.
And had the courage to capture it….
She was blessed. Blessed with depression and an abusive relationship some might say?! But she felt the heartbeat of the world and wrote it. Who did she serve ultimately? The muse ? Depression ? Societal expectations?! All of the above is usually the most sure answer.
It’s not black and white Christina.
The sky looks like purple snow this morning. Smelling and tasting the colors.
It’s a four client day, that’s a mini day for me. Hell it’s a vacation. But then there’s also room for restlessness.
I had a day the other day where I understood ocd more than I ever have. The need for control. The need for routine as a means for comfort. Routine is also the death of creativity and emotion, but so soothing. What a rub.
I felt close
I felt far
I was just thinking of how intimate it is someone’s rituals. How they get dressed, which order, in what way. And those last moments they are yours, indisposed. The last article goes on and then they are the world’s.
A different kind of intimacy. A smile a gesture: but so much unknown underneath those clothes.
If I could live in that in between always: the half dressed messy middle.
And just like that I put Shakira on….. I always loved this song. Her voice pierces me skin and resides underneath. Those are my favorites, the ones who can do that.
Spanish lyrics and piano, be still my heart.
Every mole, every curve, hairline at the neck, the pattern that is only hers. Hovering lips and breath at particular spots: what they look like. The world stops. The world turns. The skin of those places it burns.
Music touches my body and my soul. As I walk the earth.
These days I find myself grieving my life. The years I was dissociated from my self, essentially the entire first half. And the painful awakening.
And now I can find a miracle in laying in the grass and staring at the sky. Everything is emotional. And when I’m locked away from myself in an episode it’s excruciating, because I know what I know now.
So I crawl back to her and kiss her better, admire her strength, adore her smile.
The trees are magic. Stop and look at just one. The ability to see all the fine details, where each branch naturally lies.
Noticing is love. I notice everything.
Faith and peace and mercy and ground. My memories are always with me. I savor so many daily.
So many new to make. This in between exquisite connection as the default and all the old ways of disconnection. They sit and stare across the playground at each other, wondering are we friend or foe. Who do we align with?!
Disconnected her is as worthy and valued as connected her. We no longer cut off parts of ourselves for survival.
It’s safe. Now someone just please tell me nervous system that please. Re wiring is another matter entirely.
A new style of writing has emerged for me and it’s nearly terrifying. I recognize now this far down that I had no idea any of this would come out. In fact I had so many other intentions over the past few weeks.
I know how to let go now. Of control. And really that’s been my journey a very long time. To be able to cry when I felt that way. To have an orgasm.
I would describe it like having this emotional delay. Usually I have to be alone to access them, but there have been moments and times they happen organically and freely. Those are magic.
Maybe someday this is the body I will inhabit forever, fully connected. Will I still write, will I still be me? If that happens? Is it possible? So many unknowns.
C’est la vie
All my love,
C
Ps. hallelujah just came on and the sun began to shine, just now.
I joined Nicole lepera inner circle so I’ll be watching her and Jenna this evening and then a massage. Thank god. Please melt these stresses of everyday life and breathe energy back into my soul.
That ice crust on the outside though, the moment your teeth break through. The feeling when you have the whole thing still, and the one when there’s only a bite left. Moments.
“I want to live and not just survive…. That’s why I can’t love you in the dark….Adele this morning.“
It’s finally a cold morning. I woke up needing to walk…. So here I am. The tree that was dazzling fire the other day, is already coal and ash. It changes as quickly as my consciousness does.
I was recently conceptualized as a porcupine. The irony. Rough around the edges huh. Shocking. The guards don’t relent, and they don’t dispatch either. Maybe if I’m still, meditation, contemplation, they will get bored and stray.
Doubtful. They are loyal to a fault.
Porcupines aren’t bad. They have soft underbelly’s. But reaching that space, that’s another matter entirely.
The cold air prickles my skin this morning, quills or not. The sun’s rising is creating a cotton candy pastel glow. It’s a Lisa Frank Trapper Keeper out here this morning. I am truly old 😉
As she approaches (the Sun) it’s an Orange Creamsicle now. A childhood memory fragment. On field days and other occasions my odd Seventh Day Adventist k-12 school always offered either that or a fudgesicle. How would you spell that anyway.?!
Anyway I was never a fudge girl or chocolate. But every once in awhile I’d change it up, because I knew the power of variety and learning. I wanted to try. To this day give me a plain French vanilla ice cream from a classic parlor any day. Bliss. It’s hard to come by actually.
It’s rare I remember that playground, the one I had so many nightmares about. Waking and dreaming one’s. Just a gaggle of little ones playing silly pretend games.
In recent years some of those little girls have come forward and shared their secrets and their truths with me. They felt I was safe and a protector. That’s because we knew each other. Could smell the fear on her.
I remember how much I knew and wanted to protect as a kindergartner. And now I know that shouldn’t have been. Now I can be angry and reclaim.
Now I can see the friends with children with two loving parents living their lives around their children and know where each quill originated.
I might as well be from another planet observing. What would that be like?! I consistent world of that. So much less running, and yelling. Having my truth choked out of me. With silent manipulation. With cold hard death stares. With every adult temper tantrum.
The gun in her mouth, the passed out all the time, powder and mirrors. I was a little girl.
I wasn’t.
I was an informant, a spy, a comforter, a therapist, a massage therapist, a toy, a buddy, a friend.
I was terrified and frozen and forced out of my heart and up into my head before I ever knew a thing about me. To try and preserve anything that could be, without even knowing I was doing that.
Viktor Frankl mindset before I knew what or who he and that was.
I had a good attitude about life and I loved people, as fucked up as they were. I loved living.
I have always loved waking up, even when the content of the day sometimes made me wish to sleep forever.
The gift I have is every day is a blank canvas and always has the possibility of being a masterpiece.
For so long I was chasing the ability to consistently create one, in whichever area of my life.
Now I’m walking with the world and listening and looking. No more chasing, and no more running either.
My work deepens, my clients heal before my eyes. And now I do too. So I can keep going with it. We cannot ask people to travel further than we have. Rollo May.
Did you know you can see a person heal.?! It’s observable. Their nervous system calms. Their eyes meet yours. They hunch down less, with each empowering choice they are able to make because they understand and feel supported.
Seeing themselves through new eyes and new understanding.
It IS Magic. And I am privileged.
So what if the solid ground of my identity was forged the way it was, it has created a beautiful life and career. One that just keeps getting better.
I get to watch people come home to their true selves, as I do the same.
Creating positive ripples in a hundred families. Changes that ease the suffering and create possibilities. The starfish and made a difference to that one.
We find our way together. The walking wounded and the gifts that produces. One of the greatest misunderstandings about pain.
When I opened this this morning while walking I had no idea what it would become, but here we are.
Letting go and letting things take on a life of their own. Being in a space with myself that I can allow that.
Magic
Ps mom moment: twin b is having wisdom tooth surgery in Washington where she’s staying with her aunt, to adventure. I won’t be taking care of her for the first time in our lives for a medical procedure and that hurts my heart. I feel it. That’s the beautiful part. She’s well cared for, so that’s good. And she will be home for Christmas. But this is a first that I couldn’t have anticipated the sharpness of. “I just want to protect you the way the skin protects your blood.”
Never wish not to feel something. Trust me on this one. It’s torture.
This morning as I’m in my bath, finishing Melody Beatty beyond co-dependency, and waiting for a cord of wood to be delivered, for sensational winter fires of course, I have inadvertently wafted into a past self.
I am choosing to share her. I sound so different. So Oregon lol. This is a letter to my surrogate mother, about my avoidance of talking to her when I was afraid, so very afraid.
My heart squeezes for the girl writing this. She and I are after all old friends.
I’m thinking about so much lately. So much is on my mind. About who I am and what I want and need and how I want to be living my one precious life.
It has been way too long. I apologize for the lack of communication. I haven’t really talked to anyone and there is a reason. I don’t like to lie or be fake and I was very embarrassed that I was getting a divorce. I guess when I get anywhere near looking dysfunctional I feel like I am going to be viewed like my mother. That little issue has never left my side so it makes what is happening in my life now even more difficult to deal with. I was never happily married to “him”, and I can look back and see that I was just afraid with the type of men mom dated that they were not many good ones out there. I kept getting bored of all the guys I dated and figured it was because there was something “wrong” with me. So after I had broken up with “him” I was afraid to lose such a “good guy” (and he is a great guy) that I just had this very narrow scope of the possibilities in life. Anyway so I just got right back together with him and jumped headfirst into a life. I jumped headfirst into a life having no idea who I was or what I wanted and it never even occurring to me to look because I was so preoccupied with proving that I wasn’t like my mother and I guess had one track vision when it came to that. I was so determined with that goal that I failed to formulate my own thinking on things, explore the world and my feelings in it, and develop many other areas of myself as a person. So what began to happen scared “the living daylights out of me” (as my grandma would say). I have felt so far away from the few people I have always felt close to (like yourself and my aunt and grandpa) because I have been afraid who I actually am you would not accept or feel that I am dysfunctional like mom. I am gay. I have always been gay just had no idea. With how I was raised and not even knowing anyone gay really the thought never would have occurred to me. Nothing ever clicked with men for me and I thought it was just because I was afraid of them in general because of the ones I was subjected to with mom. I made all sorts of excuses in my head. I can look back even to my friendship with, a childhood friend, and see that her and I always had a stronger connection and I was always much more interested in our interactions than I was with any boyfriend. I can easily look back and see so many things, but saw none of them then. I have been really afraid to tell you because of how you talked about “another gay person” and just other comments. I don’t think I will ever tell grandpa. I think that he would not ever understand and probably worry I will end up in hell or something. I don’t feel like I hardly have any family (besides you) in this world and didn’t want to lose the people I view as my family.
I woke up one day so depressed I had no idea and then upset with myself for having such a wonderful family and feeling so trapped and unhappy inside. I have gone through quite the process to “come out” and deal with guilt and shame and all of that, years really. I am a whole new person since actually thinking for myself and breaking out of living just to not be like mom and being afraid of myself. I am always; always afraid I am going to be like her. It really has consumed most of my self my whole life and now I am finally living differently. I came out to his family which was one of the hardest things because they are right here and I had to face the disappointment and hurt of people who care very much about me and vice versa. They actually have come around quite well though. The kids don’t know yet. I feel they are too young to be burdening them with adult complications and I have been so busy with school and everything to even think about seriously dating someone (like bringing anyone around them). I think they had enough to deal with learning to understand their father, and I moving apart and us moving in general it was a big change for them. I moved out in October. I live with a roommate and actually have quite the sweet situation (for now). I pay 650.00 a month for EVERYTHING (which is unheard of in CT). This woman works most of the time and we barely cross paths. The only downside is that the girls and I share a bedroom and that is obviously tough, but other than that it is keeping me able to go to school. Also the school is not as nice at all as the one The Little Prince, is going to now in Milford so I am trying to find a way to afford a place there before school starts up again this next year. That is my goal anyway. I have applied for some income based housing and things but the waiting lists are outrageous. I go to school full time. I almost have my liberal arts from gateway and will transfer to Southern Ct University as a junior. 2 years til a bachelor’s. I was going to do ultrasound and was all set and everything. I have done all the anatomy’s labs and all. In the end though, that program was chosen under the conditions when he and I were cohabitating and kind of rotating in and out of the house. Now that we are out on our own much more responsibility obviously falls my way and there is no way I could do that intense of a program and keep up with working enough to support myself and have plenty to give at the end of the day to the kids. So I am transferring to Southern and doing psychology and then a master’s degree so I can be a therapist (it is what I really want). Now, however it has just gotten a lot more complicated. He got orders to go to Cleveland Ohio
, and he leaves in July. He has never been away from the kids and I am so worried. I grew up without a dad and it is VERY important to me to keep them together, but at the same time I can’t just pick up everything I have built and move every time he does either. If I left it would take the independence I have built here away, and the work I have done at school (this program is special it won’t transfer the same way anywhere else). Not to mention I have quite the support net here, many friends, and people that are here for me. Now all of these aside I would still do what I had to do to keep the kids near him, but at the same time it is just not even practical considering we are not even together. He kept saying he was going to get out of the Coast Guard which is only in about a year, so I figured for the year we could manage. But now he sounds like he is going to stay in which changes the way the whole kid’s lives are, and mine obviously. What a mess huh?
So that is what is going on in my life. That is a whole lot right there so I will leave it at that for now. On a side note since figuring this out I kind of wonder if one of my aunts might be gay. I say this because she always seemed to have such problems and even dislike for sex with men (at least things she shared with me as a young child) and then she always seemed so unhappy. I just wonder if she was and with grandma and grandpa and how she was raised never knew, or was always too afraid. I meet SO many people that are too afraid to come out. I am kind of an inspiration in my crowd. And also I don’t know how many gay people you have been around (you did after all live in California
, haha) but I am actually more feminine than I was when I was younger. I am not overweight, do not have short spiked hair, and under no circumstances wear flannel 😉 I thought you might get a kick out of that I don’t know. I had all of these stereotypes because I didn’t know. If you asked me about a lesbian when I was younger I would have told you gross.
Anyway I am actually going to try to e-mail you this. Let me know you received it okay and I have a birthday card with pictures I am putting in the mail right now!!
I love you guys and obviously we have much more to catch up on but I guess before we got any further in communicating this is something I had to do. I have tons to tell you about the kids. They are adorable! I want to try to make it out to Oregon
with them for Christmas. We will have to see how things are going though!
Christina
I cringe a little of course at my ignorance of what a gay woman is. I love my flannel and my short hair. I just didn’t know anyone would love me like that, let alone myself. I had an idea what was attractive and I’m pretty sure it was Julia Roberts in any movie and Sandra Bullock. And I was a far cry from them.
Oh sweet young scared girl….. I love you so much you darling brave thing.
I also looked through some old emails between his sister and myself. I didn’t realize we were so close. I tried to make myself wrong for not realizing until, I recognized why I had cut off from that connection. Respect of his space and boundaries and maybe it wasn’t the right thing.
But it’s about time I trust myself because I’ve been moving myself forward in necessary ways for a long time, often at the cost of attachments that make my heart sing. Connections that could be and aren’t, and it’s cost me as much, been as much pain for me as anyone else.
I have taken that for granted often. My feelings and emotions as if I have none, and that has been far from true.
Introducing me to me as I walk back through my history to prepare for writing my story. I’ve been writing my story, on the back of receipt tape at Trader Joe’s, in voice memos, in letters to others, in journals.
Wrote this a week ago and just getting around to posting it….
When I’m gone I hope you play Bette Midler’s The Rose at my gathering…..
It’s always a new day one of some sort. Something to quit, to begin…..
All you gotta do is walk….. Griff
After three long years I was finally ready to give City of Girls the attention it deserves, the attention I deserve. I was not disappointed. How do you do it Liz and can I be like you when I grow up?!
When will that be…..
And all you gotta do is walk….. my song of 2022…
What Liz Gilbert manages to do with her writing is grant permission for you to be who you are, and have the issues that you do.
People are who they are and all of it is beautiful. Choice is beautiful. Stories of monsters and demons are for fairy tales and Netflix.
I used to ascribe to the idea I could bend anything to my will, until life bent me, and I finally got the lesson.
Surrender. A full surrender.
My little prince turned 21 yesterday. He’s all heart. He’s exactly as he should be and yet in all the wisdom I lacked, I showed him everything he isn’t, because of what I learned during my survival. How to push hard and harder.
I am unlearning THAT.
My son’s friends flew his rose out here to surprise him for his birthday and we all banded together to pull it off. He was happy on his birthday. Satisfied and knowing he is loved. There will be many other kinds of moments throughout his life, but these are ones we will always treasure.
He can receive in the moment. All really is NOT lost. Thank you Leslie Charles.
I see boats and sunrise and water. I smell water and salt and Sunday.
I will be gathering today with those who loved Karen Sahler in Greenwood Lake New York. So many memories. I always said I hated funerals, all those emotions in one place. All that discomfort congealed into a suffering pudding inside my sweaty flats.
Today I understand. I am looking forward to it. To being given the space to feel my feelings with others feeling theirs. To have and to hold. To remember.
Grace and Mercy.
Now I can understand the conflict inside of me worrying it means something about me that I won’t attend my own mother’s funeral. Thank you Liz. Thank you life and thank you death.
And most of all thank you love, which is the force that makes it all worth it in the end.
I’m not some cold dead thing inside who wouldn’t go. I found this love I didn’t know existed. It’s just there. You can’t make it or unmake it. Don’t misunderstand me, it does take work and discipline to maintain a self that is capable, especially when it wasn’t natural for me.
Could that finally be ok??! Could I finally stop analyzing myself for flaws?! I think it’s time.
I’m not angry with her like I used to be. She wasn’t made to be a mother and became one anyway. Liked the idea of the attention it provided her, but never got any further. And I don’t really know the ins and outs of what happened to her, or if it’s a wiring thing. And you know what? Somehow it matters so much less to know
Because it doesn’t mean anything about me. People could have said that a million times, but I had to live my lessons. Just like you.
And love exists in its purest form as so many things. Love is there in the person that smiles at me on my walk. Love is petting my dogs. Love is walking, running. In heat and cold.
And all the love I’ve ever shared is valuable and valued and has accumulated to make my steps in this world a little lighter.
Love is a friend who remembers a version of you, you forgot. Sometimes love is persistence and sometimes it’s letting go.
For me…. Now…. Love is no longer the confusing manipulative thing it began as. And I thank whomever for that. The windows and the walls and the ceilings and the floors.
And today on this beautiful Sunday love is a mother who has died too soon. A woman who made those around her feel her love. A woman who gave my kids and I family events that I never had before. The only mother who will have seen me in a wedding dress probably, lol.
The gift of love is that I still have all of these moments inside of me. I didn’t know. It’s natural for me to keep myself out in the cold when I don’t have to be.
All of these lines across my face… tell me the story of who I am… so many stories….
I did EMDR last night. The first session I made all the way to an installation apparently. I didn’t know that. That all my talking and planning what I’ll say, and having things to say, could have sometimes been avoidance. I’m getting closer to acceptance within the grief process.
My intellectualizing, while quite functional and productive even, also an elaborate form of denial. Denial and avoidance are being confronted abundantly lately.
Within the many grief processes. It’s like once I began why not just keep piling them on. How did I get here? Well I didn’t get myself here alone. I know that.
Last night I focused on permitting myself to fully estrange myself from “my family”, those people I grew up around. How is it possible to spend time agonizing over what will happen when I get that call someone has died. The reality is to go there, to that place, even the thought of it gives me rapid and horrific physical symptoms.
This is my reality.
How would I feel if they didn’t call me? Abandoned all over again? Not belonging. Without any mindfulness of if I want to belong there, and why or why not.
Radical acceptance …. Any acceptance, perhaps radical sets the bar really high.
Another reality is that so much in life I have used a copy paste technique to make big decisions in my one precious life. Never having learned trusting myself or anyone else, why not just default to a faulty system. It felt sound at the time. This works over here, let’s try it in my life. I don’t know what I feel anyway. Why not. Plus look how great it looks.
I’m paralyzed, where are my feelings, I no longer feel things I know I should.
I’m on an NF and Brandy Carlisle kick right now. I want to read her memoir and Matthew McConaughey Greenlights I started on Audible last night. His voice is something other worldly soothing. In a fantasy he could have been my father. Just like Elizabeth Gilbert could have been my mother.
My reality is so much better than fantasy…. And yet the dissociative patterns of old run deep.
I just keep challenging stories, that are just that. The kind my mind creates. I would rather keep it busy reading others subjective truths about their lives as they recall it. Than ricocheting between certainty and doubt in my own mind as a means to keep myself sharp and honed for any impending disaster.
The ever present dread. The illusion of safety it creates. That soothing bastard.
The reality is my want to be in attendance of a funeral for a connection I never had would be one again to prove some worthiness to some unknown diety. I see others do this or that with their grief and wish to emulate rather than trust what I need.
What I need……
(Selfish) you’re selfish. It’s all about you)
Last night in emdr I scratched the surface on the truth of what I need. It was introduced. Progress. Because normally that wouldn’t have even been in the program. It would have been what I need to do. And the why is always to be accepted or belong. (This is why my parent focus is what the kids need to do, rather than on an emotional connection, that breaks my heart. I’m inside of here (her) trying to get out. I’m right here in the upside down.
The proverbial carrot always being dangled over my face. (belonging)
I don’t have to live that way anymore. I accept and belong to myself, and if you know how hard won those words are to be uttered authentically, then you know.
In Emdr I made parallels between families and not feeling understood or wanted. Mine and my ex husband’s. The two starter families. I combatted the story that I abandoned them, and was able to realistically list the ways I was the abandoned. Not in a victim sense. In the way that one must do to confront reality as it happened and not how we wished it to happen.
I wish when I got that call it would be different. That it’s not something that would make me sick. That’s not the reality. The reality is people will judge and hold their own reality when I cut myself off.
Other people stay. Look their family’s are together. Look they go and attend the funeral. But at what cost to them?! If it’s a scrabble toward worthiness, that battle is already lost.
(May I only stay where I am nurtured and valued consistently. May I nurture and value consistently those I love and have responsibility for and to.
These are my vows
May I recognize and have my eyes open to a relationship being abandoned and not nurtured or engaged in so I may never have to be so cold to myself again.
May I notice if I have grown cold or abandoned. And have the courage I need to breath life back in, if the cause is worthy. )
Maybe it doesn’t have to cost for them, but it does for me. I must permit myself my own truth, rather than dissociate from it for anesthetic value.
Trust and Permission
The only way to feel a sense of wholeness and worthiness, especially if the roots weren’t naturally provided, is to be understanding and accepting of yourself. So others can do the same. Or that’s what I’m finding anyway.
Want to be understood? Take the time to be understanding to yourself, of yourself, for yourself. She, they, her, him, must be included.
Must belong
I was never loyal to myself. I was loyal to even an idea of a healthy family. I kept trying to see what ingredients would create one and kept trying. Like a mad scientist, only to be misunderstood further.
Mirages
Until my vulnerabilities got used so thoroughly against me I became forced to learn how to have a relationship with myself.
I was staring the abuse and neglect in the face until I dis identified and realized it was not my self. The self was preserved on ice.
Heart throbs, heart melts…. Heart beat easily 120 bpm on so many days. I didn’t even know my own post traumatic stress. I didn’t know that’s what it was. It was my fault like everything else.
It was tricky at first…. A clumsy dance. This relationship with me….
This is how scattered and shattered my brain is. It blanks and grasps at a memory or a thought, even as a trap door lies right beneath my feet. Or a panther lies in wait guarding the memory. Can’t get the good without the bad Christina. Evil laughter.
“And you call me up again just to break me like a promise So casually cruel in the name of being honest I’m a crumpled up piece of paper lying here ‘Cause I remember it all, all, all”
Let’s just see what comes. It’s time….I always think. And then I get busy and don’t let the wings of inspiration take me to that special place. Home.
Speaking of home…. I bought one. Mine. A redo of sorts. There will be a house warming, why not, really because it’s already a warm home. This time death or any other death will not cloud my accomplishment or my joy.
I often just marvel and awe at the fact I am able to own a home like this just in my name. I can’t tell you how much work it has taken to get a healthy relationship with money, or anything really. I could just cry thinking about it.
I am finishing books, the most recent of which is Momma and The Meaning of Life by Yalom of course. And I’ll post some excerpts from it that I love! Prior to that was the Honey Bus, I related to that one so much, and found parts of myself that may have never been recovered without it. I’m also working on Hillbilly Elegy, The Tender Bar, and East of Eden.
East of Eden I could take a lifetime to read as one page is so delicious I’m description, metaphor, and insight…. That it’s too good not to savor slowly. It’s the kind of book that you drink in every word, and pray it lasts, because you never want it to be over.
I am blissfully present most of the time these days. My brain no longer on fire. Sure the spirals occasionally threaten, the over thinking my brain is so naturally programmed for, but it’s not natural for me any longer. Peace has taken over.
I lived as a walking talking trauma response for almost 40 years before I became aware of how severe my own was. It’s like working with clients was always walking me towards that truth gently at a pace I could tolerate. Funny as I would often see myself as not gentle with others, because my style is very direct and protective and I’m sometimes too full with knowledge. Who knew there could be such a thing.
Sometimes it isn’t knowledge that does the most healing, those words are hard for me to say without choking on the resistance. I have learned the heart had the most healing power, once you can figure out how to get the guards to stand down.
We are all in this together, my defense mechanisms and me. I thank them for their service daily and also let them enjoy their retirement to a degree. They will likely always carry and always watch carefully, but peace is their main objective.
I have learned peace is just another way to protect oneself. Peace of mind is a powerful ally.
Being so disconnected with myself and keeping away from my children while focusing on providing has taken its toll and given me a fair amount of regrets. Fear is a great thief. So much pain is caused with it being the guiding force. I wade through it daily in my work, and as I process my life and the meaning of it.
My mind is an interesting force some days it can remember everything and some days it can’t even catch a thought. I used to become so disturbed by these inconsistencies and now I attempt to embrace them and it with compassion.
The truth of the matter is I live daily with a lot of psychological pain. It’s a fact. I asked Melissa (my therapist) the other day how sick am I? She worries it was self deprecation I’m sure, and I assure her I need it for understanding and validation of my pain. We explore for curiosity at first because she can’t answer without context. We can’t answer without context, could be disastrous.
Later she concedes that I am very traumatized. It’s a fact at this point. It’s a fact that I lived without the knowledge or language for my entire life. Just stumbling through it in excruciating disconnection from myself, and being able to access stable logic to balance me…. Keep me floating steady.
I use my trauma daily in my practice, to inform my care that I give, and to help others like me connect dots to understanding themselves. And while I’m working the pain eases. It returns white hot in almost all other times, but while I’m using my pain to help it all but disappears. This is the point in Man’s Search for Meaning. The light that shines out of the darkness. To be a light in someone’s dark, lights my way as well. You cannot share light without also being in its glow.
This is how I survive my painful mind, that looks for threat everywhere. That causes so many triggers and flashbacks that I must manage daily. I must manage myself and not turn that into a negative view about myself. That’s a lot of managing. Never mind the raising of children, the keeping of a home, and owning a successful practice.
I have so many triggers. It’s so easy to distort reality and it’s taken a lifetime to admit that which feels like defeat or failure, when it is actually a very real disability.
It is brain damage. All of those times I was teased or insulted for not being able to concentrate, or why I can’t remember how to get somewhere even after twenty times of driving there. The worst of which is that my kids feel like I don’t care when my mind drifts when they wanted so much to talk to me about their day. My mind was thinking about our next meal, money, how I was going to feel any acceptance or belonging, but for them I was just absent during all those times.
It never was a lack of caring. That misunderstanding cuts so deep. The misunderstanding of myself as bad, wrong, deeply flawed has been my dark passenger all of my life.
This is the first time I’ve ever lived without it as much as humanly possible. There will always be a tendency, but I’ve gained control of my own mind using awareness. and tons of trauma work.
Melissa decodes me to myself each session when my mind attempts to twist things into a narrative that makes sense, a battle. She helps my mind make a peace treaty before the troops are even on the field. Their uniforms are getting dusty, they are getting out of shape and playing cards, but they will always be waiting if I need them. Security.
If I don’t get a dose, my mind starts to become cluttered with intrusive thoughts and I start to fall back into triggers. After two years I moved to one time weekly and sometimes I’m barely breathing with the rally of the troops just before Friday mornings. I have held on so tightly until I can understand myself and others in a better light.
I breathe with relief after a session…. Even the heaviest of sighs are with so much lightness Of being. It burns off, the anxiety eventually burns off with enough exposure. It’s walking through the fire that’s tricky.
Anyway I promised some Yalom, we are almost there. Some details before…. Twin B also has Crohns disease and is on Humira. Not the thing I wanted to pass to my kids. It’s heartbreaking. 🙁 it’s interesting watching her navigating this and everyone just says she’s lucky to have me, and that’s still hard to accept as true, though I’m much further on that journey.
My girls are days away from high school graduation. They are strong, kind, insightful, warm, and I could not be more proud, and my son as well. He’s sensitive in the best way, though that also sometimes turns against him. I hope I’ll be able to help with that, just by showing up. I am finally able to enjoy my children without being terrified of fucking them up, since I already have of course.
But finally I can see more good, than the bad. More good in me and from me, and not hold myself in contempt for the ways I learned to survive. For how my mind became programmed. It truly wasn’t my fault, and I truly have always taken responsibility for my own healing. It’s just been a very long road.
I am tired. I am so far beyond tired. Yesterday I walked almost 7 miles working on being healthy and today I woke up sore in all my joints, and aching. Every attempt I make seems to end in punishment, but I don’t choose to keep that narrative. I take deep breaths, pauses, ask for what I need, and keep showing up.
I stretch. I cry when I need. I say how I feel. I am learning and teaching and living. I appreciate life as a gift, even amidst pain. The pain comes and goes and there are moments in life so sweet that all can be forgotten and I’m blessed with so many of those.
I didn’t realize how shaped I am by the theories that resonate. Yalom is in so many ways my guiding force. “Dr. Whitehorn genuinely wanted to be taught. He was a collector and had in this manner accumulated an astounding treasure trove of factual curios over the years. You and your patients both win he would say, if you let them teach you enough about their lives and interests. Learn about their lives; you will not only be edified but you will ultimately learn all you need to know about their Illness.”
“By allowing the patient to teach him Dr. Whitehorn related to the person, rather than the pathology, of that patient. His strategy invariable enhanced both the patient’s self regard and his or her willingness to be self revealing.
Yalom is honest with patients in a way that at times makes me cringe with imagining. We are not supposed to say something that will hurt them, and god forbid it’s not socially appropriate. One of the vignettes is about a client of his who hears his honest thoughts about her accidentally on a recorded tape he gave her. She never reveals this to him, but finds ways to make it as if she’s found out other people have said this and asks him if he feels she’s this or that.
He is never dishonest with her, and so even with that level of a breach the work becomes successful because her anger at his words motivated her to truly look at herself. The truth itself is what motivated her, when nothing else had budged.
An honest look is worth its weight in gold as far as transformation, and it’s one of the hardest things to do.
All this time later I can finally hold space for the ways my trauma has hurt my children and me. I can operate from a softer space, and from this place worlds open up to me.
I can feel in real time, not only think about how I should feel. That is something that I’m still only getting glimmers of, but it’s a beginning and it will grow.
I have a patience I never had before, mostly with myself, and It has given me a new world to explore within myself and how I see others.
I guess I had (have a lot to say) no surprise there. Where do I start, where do I stop, what goes where? Finally that’s not so overwhelming that I don’t move. For now I’ll just speak, the work will organize itself once I trust it enough.
I can barely hold my arms up to write this post. On my phone of course, because it’s what I’m used to and I tend to use paths I’m used to for such things. I restarted with a new trainer. My new trainer is lovely, but adjusting to change is hard. Understatement. She and my new self are very supportive so that is what makes the difference.
I’m at my waterfront home. I no longer rely on this excursion for the oxygen in my lungs. I branch out now, but when I visit it’s like coming home. I’ve been making a home inside myself. The walls are no longer bare and the decor is taking shape. I’m becoming visible to myself, from more than being seen by someone else. I could cry. I do cry often.
A song by Trevor Hall came on this morning. Via the Josh Radin radio on Spotify. You can’t rush your healing it’s called and holy moly. Why didn’t anyone tell me that? Christina people have tried to tell you that for years. Not in those exact words. But I couldn’t be told much, that automatically was a slight. My people loved me anyway, and they stay. It was usually me who didn’t stay. I didn’t know how. Now I am staying the course and that discipline will eventually give way to the loyalty that is my core.
Love hard, but don’t take any shit is my motto as of late, and say what you mean and mean what you say. Getting clear on wants and needs and not being all over the place with my communication and choices. That is my recovery and my god it’s one thread at a time. It cannot be rushed. I keep getting slapped in the face by my limitations and my behavior as created by my life.
The truth is I’ve spent my life avoiding myself by trying to fix others: it could be said that I almost didn’t have a choice in the matter until I did. Awareness is everything. It used to be vicious and now moving towards more gentle.
The truth is I always needed to fix myself and to do this I needed support. I tried to force support, manipulate myself and others to get it, tried to emulate….. but I kept ending up back at the beginning with me. So the only option left is to humbly begin building a space inside myself, I can be satisfied with.
At this point in my life this requires a lot of forgiveness and humility.
The ability to recognize everything I projected out is pain that comes from within and my task should I be willing to accept it is to work only on me. Finally alone without becoming panicky and dysregulated. Finally able to meet myself. I need to meet myself where I’m at and stop shouting at anyone else to do anything to help me feel better.
The truth is you don’t get into an abusive relationship typically unless you have also been abusive. They go hand in hand. I’ve been so unkind at certain points in my relationship history. I can trace and know why, but that doesn’t change the impact it had on that person. I know there are people who will always feel the sting of me, more than the love.
All or nothing. Completely selflessly focused on other, crashing and burning into a fiery inferno because this is not sustainable. Being an island is not sustainable. Round and round and round on the ride becoming sick. Now I’m just walking and breathing. Crawling before I walk, walking before I run…..
The long game. It’s a marathon when what I’m used to is living life in sprints. So painful to come to terms with me. Face to face with her until I don’t look away in shame.
I can only forgive myself and do better. I can use what I have learned to be more kind, more gentle, and more loving to everyone and every thing. That is what the pain in my life is doing. It’s changing me. Some things are so difficult to change, but the pains opens my heart to how others feel in my presence. And I look up to 11:11. Moving in the right direction.
I’m going to move there slowly with my wants and needs on board and take responsibility for how I feel and create a stable space to operate from. Come what may I am going to do this.
This morning I am grateful to watch Dexter w my son, to see clients, to drive my daughter to a job she loves that is healthy, and to have peace in my heart. There’s also so much pain, but I won’t let it cloud my ability to have joy for how far I’ve come and how hard I work at being a better person.
I am committed. That is a relief and feels stable and good. You can’t unknow and you can never go back, and in this case that is a relief. It’s been so overwhelming to become so aware of so many damaging things seemingly all at once. It’s less overwhelming if I slow down and just breathe and handle my priorities one at a time and with the appropriate order.
Slow down Christina …. Slow down and just breathe. You don’t have to do anything. I think of how Billy Joel’s song Vienna resonated so deeply almost 10 years ago now when I began this journey into the world of counseling.
Just slow down, be intentional, kind, responsible, dependable and don’t forget you’re lovable and deserve the things you want and need. You always did, and it’s ok now. You’re ok.
