Tag: #whenitsscarykeepgoing

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Disconnectedly Yours….

Fun activity. Put on August’s Rhapsody from the movie August Rush. It’s eight minutes of various instrumental. Then write. I find myself writing to the rhythm and I get all different types of handwriting.

What do you think that means ?!

I’m very emotional today. I saw five clients back to back this morning and each session just filled me with humble gratitude for the human spirit. For the ability of people to keep going amidst terribly difficult circumstances.

The human spirit amazes me.

I have a blog post that’s been brewing all day, but I just haven’t had the words. Can you have words while you are also actively in reverence and awe!? Maybe the two don’t co-exist. Anyway I just keep opening up. More of the feeling parts of me that have been on ice coming to life. And with each one another blast of gratitude.

So today I am thinking of what you can boil almost anything down to. What do we all want? What is beneath all of the hurt feelings, the anger, the sadness, the numbing, the sarcasm, the protective mechanisms.

We all want to feel like we are attractive, safe, important, special, worthy. We want to belong and to be included. To feel necessary. And not knowing how to feel those things except externally keeps us oh so low and away from our true gifts. If you fear any of those things are not naturally meant for you or have a story or belief system that says otherwise, you will find proof everywhere of the opposite.

There are many ways we judge ourselves. It’s so hard to be a human being. There are many pressures, so many ways we can suffer, but the thing I keep seeing is how much of it we unwittingly cause ourselves. In an attempt to validate our experience as real and important, suffering seems to be the most logical. It’s the only thing that gives emergence perhaps to feel allowed to get our needs out.

I wonder how it could be made more natural? To talk vulnerably. If it’s possible as a human being to bypass that process. To accept ourselves, our anxieties, our flaws, quirks. To envelope the tenderness of our hearts.

We were never meant to be as hard as the world demands of us.

We are not meant for this. This much disconnect. This much overwhelm. This much busy. This much fear. Technology was supposed to be an advancement. I don’t think so. Some maybe. But this experience that’s happening, we are not meant for this.

The demands of the financial climate we are in. True human connected presence is declining and therefore so is joy, peace, kindness, warmth.

Nothing about America feels great right now. There’s more violence than there ever was when I was young. More intolerance of what we don’t understand. And at the personal level more people torturing those they love in the name of being worried about them. Without really knowing the real enemy. We are getting too much information from unreliable sources, and too little genuine education.

Kids are being tortured in terms of pressure about their futures. And social media has made an even larger romanticization of what is attractive. If you think advertising was bad, for a few minutes during a tv commercial. Imagine what endless scrolling will do.

I watch what it does to me. It’s a depressive behavior. I see the difference when I get up with only my notepad or take a walk, compared to being on my phone the first hour. Looking at other people’s lives and ideas and the sense there isn’t anything new to be done. It’s ironic because we do it to feel connected, but it does the opposite. It’s as numbing as any substance.

Anyway this kind of began to trail all over (as usual) and I have a hot date to get ready for…. so stay tuned….

My heart is raw, but it’s also ready. I am ready to find and be and speak some changes. I am ready to be brave, again, and again. Because that’s what living a full life requires.

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To Humira or not to Humira

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My body and outside persona was carefully crafted armor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is healing and this is my journey.

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

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Musings from my 20k Client Day

It’s 9 pm and my client day just ended. I needed to pick up my daughter right after and on the way I found myself sifting through moments from my day.

What I experienced was a sense of reverence for what people share with me. For how brave they are. For the work itself.

I was thinking about that fine balance line between feeling self-important, essential to them, and being responsible for an outcome etc…. and what I landed on is that;

I don’t feel responsible for my clients, I feel responsible to them.

I feel so grateful for what this works gives to me, and such a respect for it and them, that I want to be constantly raising the bar on self-love, support, acceptance, and my own accountability.

This work makes me want to be a better person. Their strength and courage fuels me. I know what it takes to come to that first appointment. The sweating, the indecisiveness, the anxiety, and the cold hard fear. It’s the same as if we were looking in the mirror under fluorescent lighting.

I never see the way I do Client work as me being the gas station and them being the car. The way I do work I don’t burn out because it’s a beautiful reciprocity. Where I have true respect to my core for the experiences of each and every individual.

Listen I am by no means perfect. My mind can wander. Some people’s demons rattle the cages of mine easier than others. I make plenty of mistakes. I am a human. But I’m always interested passionately in their experience as a human being, down to the most mundane interaction they are describing. Because there are always clues to be had about their worldview or value systems.

I can do something with anything. And being given a challenge to push through my discomforts and self-defeating barriers, makes me feel alive!

Client work makes me feel alive.

It is important. To be allowed to process our thoughts and feelings in an arena that provides acceptance and safety is important.

I get energized by holding this special place in the world.

It is an honor.

I wish I could get out more complete ideas, or do an update like I have been wanting to. But this honor also leaves me spent at the end of the day. In the best of ways my brain is scrambled eggs. I think of my youth and that silly commercial this is your brain on drugs. Except in this case it’s this is your brain on Clients.

Except I could never keep a story that I am drained by it. I don’t need that to feel validated about how much I give or how important I am. It’s ok for me to be energized by my work, without the story.

When I’m exhausted these days it’s such a satisfied exhausted. After a days long hard work.

Which speaking of I did have a thought I want to look further into…. I wonder how many calories I burn being a therapist. So much emotional energy my heart is often high during sessions, but I’m animated and engaged. Tonight when I ate, I ate as if I had worked out for hours. I wonder how much using our mental energy burns in terms of calories etc. I wonder what other therapists out there are the same.

I often joke that some of my therapy days are so deep it’s as if I ran a 20k.

I’m curious exhausted. I’m happy exhausted. I’m fulfilled exhausted. I can feel great and tired and that’s such a cool thing to wrap my brain around. The only template I had about exhaustion before was to make a problem or make myself wrong.

I’ve thought things such as what if Client work is killing me physically. When in actuality my not loving and accepting myself fully is the root of all of my ailments. Never someone’s energy being harmful to mine. That’s such a dangerous belief system, and it makes the problem outside of us rather than inside.

Anyway my last shreds of bandwidth are rapidly deteriorating. Perhaps I’ll be able to follow up tomorrow morning.

Warmly, Universally, Cosmically,

your companion on this journey we call living…

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Anything is possible

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anything IS possible….

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We all float down here….

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

Another freeze and another thaw.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It always has been and always will be…

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

repeat….

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A human wedding

I think what is preventing my regular writing currently is being in awe. Yes that word hits the nail I believe. Often, just to make really sure, I’ll look up a definition to see if it fully captures what I’m trying to convey. So let’s do that.

Awe: A feeling of reverential respect filled with fear or wonder.

Yep, nailed it.

Not only have I found, but I am also creating my forever family. In so many ways it’s off the beaten path that I can’t even register or recognize how special, and often my mind tries to tell me it’s inferior to something else, and it will all come crashing to a halt. Like a huge “just kidding” moment. Back to what you know was always your lot.

And when I stand outside and look at how hard it is for me to feel this good and great life is real, I now have compassion for myself. It really was that bad. I didn’t make it up. I really do have C-PTSD, it isn’t me being dramatic. I shake with fear at times, and yet I keep going.

Now I badly want to figure out how to put into words how I achieved these transformations. So others can know this level of healing is possible. So others can know the way they express emotions and the timing of them isn’t something wrong with them, it came out of deep surviving. Living in emotional wastelands barren and devoid of their most essential needs.

And not having a narrative or understanding about this makes it all that more confusing.

Last night we witnessed my wife’s brother’s wedding. It was exquisite. I’m almost human during those events now. I still feel eerily somewhere else inside and hoping no one will notice. The place I go is to wondering if I belong among the people who belong. And my beautiful wife sees me and never calls me out, she just invites me back to earth with her warmth and smile. I am able to ground and my thoughts don’t need to go to the foreign nature and the sadness that I’ll never have a father daughter dance, or a mother daughter anything.

I do sit at events like this and wonder what it might have been like if I had parents, even a parent. If I didn’t grow up in an emotional war zone. Someone who loves you so much they are moved to tears watching you take this momentous step in your life. So many of my tears are still frozen. I wait carefully to decide how to feel, which is something prior to this point I faulted myself for. Awareness can also be a sword.

I think of a time I felt so much that I cried like that. When I got hugged by my hero, Elizabeth Gilbert. When she read a few words I wrote. I dream of her reading my story and seeing me, and yet she already has.

Another time I cried that way is when I married my wife. When she cries I cry, and I never could do that very well before. I felt it, but it all stayed choked up inside. What I realize now is I have to be safe enough to feel anything. And no one should ever have to be emotionally harmed to that degree. Ever.

But since life can be rough and hurt people can hurt people the second best thing is that we can heal. This is where my passion lies. I will sit with you while you uncover your truths, while you hurt, and while you heal. It heals me too.

The fact I am strong and capable on the outside and can be so put together and yet I carry an immense lack of safety every single day that I was wired with. I can do all the work in the world and yet my mind will still travel to terrible scenarios so I can keep myself safe.

Safety isn’t a logical process it’s actually an emotional one. It can seem like you would be safe, but inside can tell you you aren’t. And that battle is exhausting. To try and live like the humans do.

Where do I belong at a human wedding and at all the other special human events. Will I be able to dance with my children at their weddings with a feeling of belonging and safety? Or will I be somewhere else in my head. In my own painful past.

I fight for presence and I am thawing and I am healing. So I can feel every ounce of life in real time. And most of all so my kids can feel how I love them. At the deepest part of my wounding I could never feel the presence of a parent. There it is. And so my deepest darkest fear (that’s actually a very real one) is that they won’t feel mine. And I know how often they don’t. I am almost always some place else.

But what I have found now and what I want them to know is that I’m finding my way back to them. I’m doing the undoable. Breaking my very wiring. I am forgiving myself for what I can’t control and what came before me. And that breaks my heart open enough to learn connection. But it’s raw and shaking and takes all the energy I have each time. Then I must rest.

I burn myself up and out and then rest in this battle for presence. It isn’t logical it is emotional. And if you’ve been in a war zone as long as I have you would understand. And if you read my book someday you’ll understand too.

I just have to get safe enough, and I have to prioritize my family connections with the humans and that takes all of my energy and then some, because I wasn’t wired this way.

I’m just standing here most of the time in awe this is my life. And this awe is still and quiet. It doesn’t spill over with all the emotion that churns inside, because I still need to make sure I’m safe before an emotion comes naturally to the surface. And it should never have needed to be this way. A child should be loved and protected and ENJOYED!

And I intend to enjoy mine and the safety I create for other children, bringing my own healing full circle. So stay tuned as we get registered to foster care, Courtney goes to school, and we breathe some life into our many dreams, and as I play with the humans.

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When everything feels like the enemy…

I’m feeling completely out of whack. To the point of almost constant severe discomfort. I should (oh no the s word) probably stop trying so hard at getting back to my writing and putting so much pressure and just take walks until I am grounded again.

Since we have moved I haven’t written or been able to read hardly at all. The two things I want to be doing most. I feel completely adrift physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I know everyone says on the outside: “oh boy a lot of change at once”, but I didn’t bargain for how actually difficult this would all be.

I could probably benefit from surrendering that now is not the time to write or read and busy myself with organizing and unpacking.

Where did my adventurous up for anything self who loved changed go? I am finding now I do not love change. I did find an article this morning that is helpful. Validating.

Why it’s difficult for a highly sensitive person to move

I can’t get comfortable. Not only is it uncomfortable in my body right now due to weight gain etc, but now I’m uncomfortable in my new home. That I was supposed to be so excited about. There’s that damn word again! Grrrrr!

On top of your garden variety aesthetics and just typical HSP stuff, there are a lot of unexpected overwhelming issues occurring with the home. Mice! Smells 🙁 the bulldog has health problems and is so loud and that needs attention. I think it’s worse because it’s so hot in this house it’s causing more yeast for him.

Which issue to fix first! And no sanctuary anywhere. This house has no central so windows are open a lot, screens aren’t all in correctly so I’m eaten alive day and night by bugs. I’ll be in my bed with a mosquito snacking on me and that’s not relaxing at all. It raises my irritability to an insane level. And then I can’t sleep.

This move has been a nightmare and I need to be allowed to fucking say that without someone telling me to just be positive and grateful and look on the bright side. It’s been a god damned nightmare. From the movers, to breaking and losing our stuff, parts of my furniture still not having the shelves in them. To my wife’s father dying during our closing. Oh yes just that. Yes I’m angry he died then, yes I am. You can call me whatever you want for it. If you got up close and asked you would see the unseen. Or you can judge on face value.

I want to crawl out of my skin.

Yes I’m taking a deep breath, it’s all actually I really can do right now. Just breathe and hope this gets better sometime soon. So I can write something that “gives attention to the reader, not something that begs for it.” Oh let’s add some self shaming to the mix because that’s fun.

This house feels like the enemy right now. Everything feels like the enemy when you’re this tangled up. It is not a fun place to be in. So when you see me not writing, see me not myself…..

This is where I am.

I want to come back to me. And yet there’s nothing to go back to. It’s a new me… it’s a new everything…. it’s overwhelming.

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It’s not just the boxes

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

My wife being brave….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hope you know….

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Healing, and Validating My Dark Passenger

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Imagine…..

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

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

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

750 mg gummies and oil.

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

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

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

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

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I’ve never been in love with a house before…

I’ve never been in love with a house before, in fact I never in my life imagined to be buying a home of this magnitude.

I’m used to being so focused on love. Obtaining it. Cultivating it. Claiming it. Keeping it. Explaining it to others. Analyzing it. And this is making me realize how that pretty much took up my whole reserves of energy (what was left after all that was already needed).

So here I am repeatedly combing through every photo of our new home wondering if it will feel as good as it seems…. if the reality of it will be as good as the idea.

My new writing studio 😉

This leap feels gigantic for some reason and I can only imagine that means I am attached to my feelings this time around. So I won’t need to worry about them catching up to me six months in and suddenly changes needing to be made are thrust upon me without warning.

I feel my feelings in the moment they are happening now.

This actually makes for less writing I think. My writing was (is) so attached to my healing that now that I’ve come so far, there is some fear I will lose the writer self too. Or that this writer self is not as dynamic as my whole self, and only had this intense dark stream of consciousness inside it and nothing else. A one trick pony.

I suspect this is not the case. That soon I will have the courage and mental bandwidth to do anything I’d like. And that possibility is as daunting as the feeling of not having it. Survival is a task set before you, and it is a demanding mistress.

In my clinical world my wisdom grows. Seeds planted have become a beautiful garden that I bask in daily. I no longer worry I won’t pull the weeds, and tend to this garden or that suddenly it will be infested and decimated. Pity this is only a metaphor, my actual gardening skills are abysmal, unlike my late grandmother who could whisper to the roses and they would bloom.

In our new yard there are twin trees. Which I found to be quite prophetic. I am not sure what kind they are yet, but they bloom and have gorgeous giant pink blossoms, whose petals shower the yard with beauty and contrast. I have twin girls, I’m in love with 1/2 a set of twin girls, and we lost identical twins in December. It make me wonder if we will have twin girls this next time and it will become a major family legacy.

So soon, we will be moving and living in the town of Milford. Everything changes. My firstborn son graduated high school a few days ago, and he will be off on his own at WPI. A terribly exciting prospect. I have not lived without my boy child since I was 19 years old. I don’t know life without him. I don’t know myself without him anymore. I’m so delighted the world will get to experience him, and he it, but my mother heart skips a beat with fright for this unknown, and knows already it will feel as if several of her major organs are missing from her.

Please keep him safe and fulfilled!

The best way to describe these days of my life are that I am living with a grateful presence. That I am growing myself as a tender gardener, not a punishing one. And that all my most sacred dreams are coming true so loudly, that I can not argue to keep any of my limitations any longer. Life does not let me, and I am so blessed.