Tag: #whenitsscarykeepgoing

Posted on

Singing the blues about ex partners that refuse to move on.

I’m extremely moody today. This is your warning. And even as I write this I am telling myself “shouldn’t this be in a journal Christina and not a blog”, nobody wants to see some unfinished drivel centered around your emotions. Of course the meanest possible way I could take the light and love bestowed upon me by other light writers. I’ve always been good at continuing where “they” left off.

The skies aren’t all dark today. In fact externally yesterdays storm and rain broke the humidity streak. It’s clear blue skies and thin and gentle warm air. The perfect weather for a back yard bbq wedding. My wife’s twin sister is getting married. And despite all the confusion around setting it up. How casual to be? Etc. I truly think a good time will be had by all.

We had our second negative pregnancy test this am. Yes we did what is always advised against and tested a few days early. Because we still don’t know. This is a learning process for us. We are no experts, and definitely not immune to human excitement, curiosity, and premature anything. Because logic no matter how necessary does not always win out over emotion. At best a good balance can be hoped for. But nothing can prepare you for something like this. The day we are supposed to test is the 9th, so we wait until then for either a big twist (a positive), or a confirmation of what is already expected. Knowing full well we have no control. Update: she got her period today, of all days. We will be onto round 2 of IUI.

I don’t know about anyone else, but when strong emotions are present and anything feels very big, it always seems to invite some unwanted things with it. Is this accidental? Intentional? Meant to keep things in perspective? I don’t know.

There was a convening of my angry ex club yesterday. My ex-husband, and more importantly the father of my children is the president. This one included my son, which made it feel extra uncomfortable. I try and stay enlightened and mature about the whole thing. To ask myself if something does come up for me: why it is there and what is it telling me I need to work on. I try to use a lens of compassion. And when all else fails…

I walk. The best antidote for that nervous energy. The stuff where you feel your insides are twisting and nauseated. Where you feel the emotions taking hold, and that you may blow your top at any moment. And usually at the wrong people and at the wrong time. The fallout from this has been enough for me to sit on feelings, when everything in me wants to explode. Instead I walk and I talk to a trusted friend who has known me for years. Headphones and sneakers, beating my frustrations into the pavement.

I write. The second step in my process of unearthing negative emotions and seeking catharsis. Needing that deeper understanding of self always. Needing not to land on an unfavorable conclusion, even under these circumstances.

Something about three people who have known me intimately, (and yet still processed me through their lens and world view), all hanging out together makes my skin crawl. Three victims all united by their abuse playing together with glee.

And all the “shoulds in life. I should be so enlightened and focused on my own happiness that it shouldn’t even bother me. Why should it feel like such an invasion? My mind fights back against worrying what scorned exes think of me and why. Is it because I never needed to think them bad people of our ending. That for me it was a bad fit for one reason or another. So why must they claim character flaw of me? And even a more important question, “why do I care despite knowing the full truth of this behavior.”

The first reason, incorrect sexuality despite the many tries at anything possible to change that. The second, a person whose triggers lie in mine and vice versa, the very circumstances were triggering. A family life with the kids and I was not their intended path, despite how we could comfort one another’s hurt parts in a moment. The chemical was seductive, but how it played out in relationship was in very unhealthy interactions. The third, the least healthy of them all. A rebound played out far too quickly. My attempt at my pattern again, and this time knowing better, being honest right away, but being naive to how honest they were with themselves. A totally different game.

Outside the wake of all of this my healthy self, and therefore relationship emerged. A partner who was gentle and kind, but also strong and solid as a person. A soft confidence. An earnest communication without manipulation. A whole new world. Emotionally attuned and stable. It felt impossible at first. I looked for every possible way I could be wrong again, but finally no red flags were found.

We are all healing in this home. Healing from love and loss. And K and A are red hot raw spots for me. So naturally I would want for them to convene with an ex husband that both of them talked poorly about while in relationship with me. If you’re thinking muddy waters. You would be correct? What could possibly be in it for all of them? Except for desperately seeking the comfort of fellow wounded.

My ex husband never seems to move forward with his own life. For the life of me after years of me seeking therapy and being honest with him about my struggles about being gay, in so many ways he is still at square one. And square one consists of him still attempting to insert himself into aspects of my life he has no business being in. And him valuing his opinion of me (which often includes judgment and criticism for anything and everything), over seeing what is important for him to show and teach our children.

And yet I still sing his praises to all who listen because his standard for being a good parent is “that he pays his child support”, and that “he shows up for his kids.” Well I have news for you guys there is more to being a good person than this. It runs much deeper. You can hand a bag of goodies to a homeless person when you swing by, and make food for all the soccer families, and smile at the pride of your seemingly unselfish acts, but when you insinuate that the mother of your children is somehow in some way not up to snuff to your children, are you then still a good person?

By what standard ? What are the standards here ? Well they always depend on the situation and whom you are asking now don’t they?

I am still working my way to taking myself off the battlefield and not showing up to every party I am invited to. Especially when the invite is to a pity party. No matter how seductive, I won’t go. There is no glory in it.

But processing the feelings out loud so if even one person feels seen by my sharing feels a worthy endeavor for me. A post like this is for both the author and the reader.

Isn’t that ok at the end of the day?

Posted on

Choose love ❤️

A short but important piece I wrote on self-love this morning.

When I looked in the mirror this morning, actually when my phone turned on me unexpectedly, like a cruel mistress and I saw myself:

First I saw all the imperfections, the sun spots, the lines, the puffiness, the pale, and my tired looking eyes. How much weight I have gained in my face.

The very next thing I did is think about how loved I am by my family, my friends, and my clients as well. Then I thought you can’t be mean to that person who is loved so well.

I think how much my people love me, and that I must keep how I feel about myself in that equation. If I don’t I would isolate, be irritable, and mean when and in ways I don’t want to be, I would push others away if I felt unworthy.

That’s how it works folks. And then they would miss me, worry about me, and I would unintentionally take more than I give. Loving ourselves isn’t selfish, in fact it’s the most unselfish act we can give, because it isn’t easy. It is in fact often the hardest thing.

This is something that needs to be taught in our homes and our schools. I just read a psychology today article about how we don’t see ourselves “accurately” anyway. Our perceptions are shaped by so many social factors. So when given the choice: why not always choose love. It certainly feels better than any other choice, and that’s the point.

💜

Posted on

Out on a limb

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💜

Posted on

Emotional parenting versus logical, part 1.

We need both, a tall order to be sure. It seems like I’m better at logical (the lessons), and everyone else the emotional.

*my blog posts are very long. I am aware, and working now at knowing the ideal is shortened into easily eatable portions. Part of what I do is show my whole process of talking through the feelings. So if you hang in for the whole ride, rather than dismissing for too overwhelming; you might find some special gifts within. My writing comes out raw. I am working on the process of making it more concise and readable. This one has a lot of personal emotion that isn’t resolved yet, so will likely read that way.

I Hope it makes some parents feel less alone.

I am in the parenting trenches again. No surprise there. Three children 16 yr old boy, and 14 year old twin girls provides this gauntlet for me. I finally learned being hard on myself doesn’t help. So here I am talking through my feelings about this, because that does. Whether it’s hearing myself, being willing to look inside, or someone else validating and jumping in with the ability to ask more questions to open more up: it is certainly better than holding myself hostage with intermittent beatings. That’s what I used to do, because I thought it was the only way. Actually I didn’t think, it was only instinct, the not thinking was the problem. This is how counseling can help. With a skilled professional things can often be seen and understood, that no one could have pointed out before. When it’s done well, it feels like magic taking place.

A favorite quote from The Myth of Sysiphus, “we get into the habit of living before the habit of thinking.” When I first saw these words they hit me like a lightning bolt of truth, and thankfully they stuck.

In our lives we go along with what are most often good intentions, but also a lot of misunderstanding of ourselves and others, assumptions, and a huge ol’ reservoir of pain. Only a courageous few turn their attention inward and are brave enough to weather the storms of self-doubt and shame. These are the people who enter my office.

As no surprise parenting is a big subject of work I do as a counselor. This includes parenting myself along the way, often becoming a parent figure that was needed to the client, etc. So for me to sit down and write my parenting shortcomings, fears, struggles, and hopefully victories too, is part of this beautiful work.

A hot topic today is kids behavior with regard to parents being very scared of providing consequences. We are very scared right now, and hold onto what we can to feel safe, even if that is an illusion. Control does not necessarily provide safety. Yet we try so hard at it, often unconsciously and often not with great results.

To further complicate matters often many people (including myself) are navigating the choppy waters of blending a family, and often lots of pain exists from the divorce that can accidentally be coming into play. A lot of that happens in my particular situation.

A fantastic strength in my family is my wife always educating herself when she feels lost, or more appropriately as an impassioned response to seeing me feel lost. We don’t scratch and bite at one another, she doesn’t point out what a poor job I’m doing. As I’ve stated I was good enough at that in the past.

So last night she found and we both read two articles I found very helpful and I want to post them here.

Why Children aren’t Behaving and What You Can Do About it

Navigating the Complex Emotional Terrain of Teenage Girls (also has helpful info for boys as well)

To not be repetitive I’ll let you read those for the expert advice and I’ll just go into my experience below:

With three children it seems like there is almost always a storm, and you get an occasional respite in between. During this time however you know you must scramble quickly to prepare for the next. That is the objective, not to play and refresh with them, because of course you must care for them. Lately I am thinking the play and refresh is equally as important. So perish at sea because you didn’t practically prepare, but die happy and smiling? Is this the only way.

All or nothing is still a struggle for me. As a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP) being overwhelmed is such a big part of my life, and all or nothing is the unpasteurized symptom. I have to work really hard at getting calm and feeling capable so I can choose one thing and tackle it, and then the next and then the next.

So I have the semi-typical situation where my children’s father (my ex husband) comes in every other weekend and sometimes mid week and spends time with the kids. I get paid the correct child support, and he is a good father to them in so many ways. My situation is more the exception than the rule. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have our struggles. One of the main ones being: being on the same page, especially as the kids get older, about rules, and staying consistent. Particularly if one parent is prone to having it be more important to disagree with the other parents rules, and then the kids pick up on that energy and run with it.

It makes everything the one parent is trying to instill that much harder. Example: 14 year old daughter who has been struggling with controlling her emotions becomes grounded. Now I don’t know how grounding changes with age for you other parents out there, but in our home it used to be for a period of time. I learned it was important this time be realistic. As they are older and so much more is going on, sports, social events, school functions, balancing so much, it gets harder to keep grounding in place. I own my own business and see other families for counseling as well. I am often run down.

What I have learned though is accountability is a key component in anyone’s character. When I was let out of it as a child I became not the best person to others. Also all the pain I had endured helped me give myself a free pass on important ways of behaving and treating people. Enthusiasm for life should not trump attention to how we treat people along the way.

My 14 year old when she gets lost in her emotions (age normative) will mow over anyone else in the name of her intensity. It’s a behavior I recognize as important to address now, while it can be, before it becomes a category 5.

With my discipline I have gotten to the point where the new guidelines are that punishment ends when you show that you fully understand your part in things, and are not blaming others for getting grounded. My daughter is still saying that I did this to her, or I’m ruining her life, versus her realizing her behavior dictates the consequence. This seems one of the hardest lessons.

Because their Father sees them less I think it’s much harder for him to want to spend that limited time going up against them. I can sympathize with him, it must be hard. But the bigger picture of what they also need to learn is important too. And what makes it harder for me also becomes harder for them in the end. When I get support and don’t have to do it (the hard parts of parenting) on my own, I then also have a lot more room to be fun and enjoy my relationship with them.

As a child I could get around any consequence, because I wasn’t really parented, and it did me no favors later in life. I was difficult to say the least and my relationships struggled. I couldn’t empathize very well, because I could just get my way. I didn’t have to sit in my feelings, or be asked to change. So this is a hot button of importance to me as a parent.

So the situation is that my daughter comes to me last night and says: “Mom I’ll be gone these days with my friends in New York. Dad is taking us. Anyone notice the first issue here? She’s telling me, not asking me. I haven’t heard a word about this from their Dad, he didn’t check in with me about those dates or if she had earned that privilege by first really working at how she is speaking to her family, and how she behaves when she is comfortable.

So of course I lost it with stress. It’s exhausting to go up against just teenagers, let alone to have all the ground work I am laying be destroyed in a mere few moments.

Everyone wants to be the fun parent, and see that delight on the kids faces when they are happy. Who doesn’t?! But someone also has to do the work. If one person is working, and the other is playing, it’s grossly unfair. And often this isn’t so much a product of bad parenting as it is of circumstance. Certain circumstances require even more effort if you want kids to learn to hold themselves accountable for their actions. While at a young age they can’t be expected to be able to accomplish this task yet, the groundwork still needs to be laid. In my opinion anyway. It is their job to find their own voice in fighting back, but it is the parents job to provide good boundaries. It truly is how they know they are loved, versus because a parent doesn’t. Which is how a consequence is seen emotionally.

For the purpose of length let’s make this a 2 part blog post. Stay tuned for some more information and the follow up.

I will end with a piece of my personal work that I want to be vulnerable about as a parent. Individual focused attention on each child. Even as I type those words I tremble with fear at how to rearrange my life, and what life throws at you to accommodate this. This is the medicine my children are requesting from me in so many words. And I have only myself to hold accountable to meet that need. If I blame anyone else, or the divorce, or my work schedule, etc etc, then I cannot grow.

I must grow…

Posted on

Mary Lambert a Champion of Women.

Do yourself a favor before reading this:

Body Love Mary Lambert

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love,

Christina 💪🏼💜

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Posted on

Into the Abyss of My Story

“And Then She Danced”

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

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

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

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

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

My salvation, is that so many others have.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Then She Danced….

Posted on

Day One of My Eighth Life

Day one…. again

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

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

It’s still true.

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

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

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

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

My body regularly reminds me I’m a survivor.

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

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

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

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

Posted on

They need us to rise…

Ask people what they need and how we can love them better!

I am having an inspired morning and want to share a couple of things. A realization I had just this morning is that we need to learn how to love one another beyond loving in just the ways we know how. What I knew about love for a long time left me not behaving very well. I didn’t create space or have room to let love grow. I had deep and crushing insecurities and at the drop of a hat (or more appropriately the pull of a trigger), they would explode like shrapnel tearing apart my relationships and then my life. I would have to rebuild again, and I did this under the weight of crushing shame. I had friends even stop hanging out with me, because I had a new partner, they didn’t like that change. Did they think I did? Did they think that my relationships didn’t work because I didn’t desperately want them to? We need to stop shaming others people. We need to learn how, and when, and why we do this so we can stop.

I had to learn my way out of this space and way of existing, and the cost of that learning has not been cheap. I’ve lived bathed in anxiety. I have a chronic illness now, whether you say it’s genetics or extreme stress most of my life has been exhausting. Lots caused by my thinking as much as my circumstances. This is why we need to be educated on these matters, and the time and encouragement to fully explore our own thoughts and minds without being called selfish, or crazy, or somehow wrong! Without being told how to live and love based on one perspective.

Parents tell their children how to live all the time, and don’t realize they are showing them by modeling, not with their words. We are sometimes accidentally angry with our children for not being who we want them to be, even when they may be being courageous. We can accidentally crush their tiny spirits with all of our fear of failure as parents, and we need to be aware of this.

It isn’t just natural knowing how to live we need to be taught, and these days we are taught by the extreme opposite of thinking about who we are and what we want of life and how we want to be loved, and if we are loving others well. These days our teachers are YouTube videos and scrolling Instagram, and my kids are left alone on those platforms as well, while I’m busy. Now I’ve given out some great recommendations to clients and friends about fantastic YouTube videos, it isn’t all bad. But when kids are just left to learn from whatever they come across with little guidance or presence because it has been replaced, then we are heading to a scary place.

Do you know that our children are scared to death right now? They are in my office all the time. All they hear about is that the sea is rising, and that you can be shot while in class, and that they won’t have any financial future. Where is the hope? We have to teach them how they can rise to any occasion, because it’s what humanity is famous for. Someone will rise and they will lead, and it can’t all be bad. Our children are stressed, and anxious, and depressed, and lonely. They need us to rise. THEY NEED US TO RISE.

This means we are the teachers of compassion, empathy, understanding, and hope. The teachers of how small changes can make a difference, rather than doing nothing because of overwhelm. This has been one of my biggest battles. As an HSP I feel so much I become crushed under the weight, leading to my main focus being how to comfort myself. I’ve had to learn my way out of this cycle. We need to make the change from bogged down hopeLESS to hopeFULL.

Our children watch every action we make and every word we say. So spend some time thinking what they are seeing you do, because ultimately that is the cycle they will repeat until they resolve their personal tasks. We can make that an easier or a more difficult process for them. The number one thing they want is to see you interested in who they are as a person, not who you wish they would be. We must see our children, and our lovers, and our friends and neighbors, and the stranger on the corner through generous eyes.

We must do this whether or not it is deserved in a moment. We must do this because of who we are, and not because of any inauthentic reason. Because a person who is believed in and encouraged is a thousand times more likely to be successful at becoming who they are.

This does not mean we allow ourselves to be treated badly by subjecting ourselves to poor treatment. That isn’t what I’m suggesting. Always exercise and be aware of your personal boundaries, that is loving of self. When you’re confident in your boundaries it becomes easier to love with your whole self and heart, that healing variety of love, because you’ll trust in your ability to know where your energy is productive and where it isn’t.

Our children need us people… WE MUST RISE. We must educate and love harder and with more of a depth to our understanding. So kids have permission to understand themselves and to grow. So kids have permission to expand, and we aren’t unintentionally asking them to shrink to fit our expectations.

Even good intentions must be examined, because many things we do are not conscious.

 

❤️❤️❤️

Posted on

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

http://www.writeintolight.com

Brilliant light and love to all….

Christina

Posted on

“Not enough” is a filthy liar …

I’ve been lost in the trenches lately. The high of finally finding a healthy love has waned into the realities of blending a family, and helping teens navigate the murky waters of adolescence. And that is ok, it’s part of the process. Wouldn’t we like to stay in the good feelings forever? Why must we also wait and feel through the hard times? For perspective of course. To wake us up to all that becomes invisible in the rush.

I’ve been riddled with ADHD lately. I am really suffering with it. As I vibrate with an almost visceral certainty that my story will be written and shared with others, the closer I get, the further I feel. What an illusion! The Universe is a great trickster, and I’m taking the joke overly seriously all the time.

I seek something to fix this pain all the time. Chocolate, food, happy hours, snuggles…. some healthier than others. My frenzied mind that constantly is telling me I’m running out of time. Always miles ahead in awareness. I can’t even hide from existential truths long enough to allow more joy. One of my greatest tasks right now.

This morning I’m thinking back to a time when I worked 40 hours, had internship and full time school. When I didn’t breathe, and I somehow managed, and now I have way more time… and yet it seems always not enough. I’m thinking this not enough bs is a filthy filthy liar. Why are we like this? Is it an innate drive meant to help us survive ? Then why is it killing us in droves? It’s killing spirits and dividing families, and it’s simply not true. We are enough, we have enough. We are usually more than we realize, and have more than we realize.

I have relationships with Clients that are valuable and I have one fully present hour a week, and even later move to every 2 or 3 weeks as they fly out of the nest more often. These are meaningful relationships and they are just one piece of the puzzle. So why do I always see mine with my children as I can never connect or do enough? It’s deeply painful. Maybe that’s also why they feel it’s not enough? I’m afraid sometimes that my kids get even less than that one present hour weekly even. Often my love is shown to them in acts of service in between things. We can’t always see a transition as it’s happening, and after are left reeling to figure out how to adjust. That’s what I am going through right now.

I stumbled across a show the other night on Netflix. It’s called Atypical. One of the best things that ever happened. First, it’s depicts so wonderfully some of the challenges children and parents with autism experience. I love that! But the part I really identify with is how as the teens grow and face growing up, the parents are also facing who they are, and what their roles are now? They are up against feeling less needed, and being pushed away. I identify so much. My last tiny one who has begged and begged for time with me is now bristly and defiant. The breaking of my heart is audible. Mostly because I realize how many times she asked for just a moment of my presence, and I didn’t know the value. I had free front row seats to Hamilton for one of the best experiences in life, and I was lost in my head worrying about providing, and my health, and figuring out how to run a business. If I had just lifted up my head out of that fog a little more. What if I screwed up? And see even now I’m doing this thing…. because weren’t there still moments of beauty in between? But my hurried mind is always trying to skip ahead, it can’t settle down enough to just be in a moment. I know I am not alone in this.

It can never just be that I am meant to be this way. It always has to be what’s wrong with me, and how can I do better. One of those questions helps, and the other hurts. I work so hard to ask my mind to just take it one moment at a time, but it wants to bite off ten. It’s painful really. We have to work with what we have though, and find outlets, and places and people who understand our brand of crazy. And we have to work harder to see enough versus not enough. It’s our only choice.

So many hard working beautiful people suffer at the hands of perception and misunderstanding, and our own innate nature as human beings. One of my greatest missions is to be a part of alleviating this. One of the best ways to do this realistically and fairly with life’s demands is simply to realize: your story as is has tremendous value!!

Hopefully in an upcoming post I’ll be talking about how wounded people, wound people, and that there is hope for this. Listening and seeing when we hurt someone, being willing to look at our own part is the key to change. It’s messy work, but on the other side it’s so worthwhile.

My life’s work has been on healing fractured attachments. I had to begin with my own, understanding my own behavior and actions, and fight to make changes. On the other side … this space where I am healing I can see where I have been, and it makes me able to help understand when others have found themselves there. A wounded healer, and an earned secure. This work is not for the faint of heart, and it’s also not impossible. Are you ready for your life to feel better ?

💜