A Few Truths

    What I've learned from my current life situation--not to spend as much, fewer material items.  I would rather use my money for adventures than more stuff to clutter my home area.  Home should be home and not only welcoming for self but also for others to visit.  People/time with friends matter more than having a place to store a bunch of stuff.

    When I got sick January 6th, 2021, my world as I knew it flipped upside down.  Add a pandemic onto being so ill that I was often surprised to wake up in the morning and you will find my recipe for emotional well-being disaster.  Previously, I had a Reiki studio in my home--I got rid of that with the pandemic since the last thing I wanted during a pandemic was people coming into my home.  I also got rid of my "living room" in lieu of a space better suited to what I needed at the time and I essentially turned our living room into a giant closet.  No couch, no chairs--just clothes racks.  My home went from a space that invited others in to a space that purposely kept people out.  I am still living in the "cluttered", unfriendly space.

    Being ill and living through a pandemic, the only "adventures" that I had from January 2021 through October 2023 were going to doctor appointments and medical testing.  As a result, those were also my only times to dress up and to allow my creative side to emerge.  I happened to find a shoe company that made "fun", comfortable, patterned shoes that matched the skirts that I made and began collecting them.  As a result, I soon needed a space for these shoes, my skirts, and corsets which I also collected.  I decided that due to our home's lack of closet space and wanting a fun way to "show off" my collections, I turned my living room into a space resembling a boutique so that dressing up for doctor appointments and medical testing became part of the fun and its own adventure.  A side note, I still worked throughout the pandemic and my illness, but all work was completed from home--no trips to see clients, no office visits--everything I did happened online and by phone--no need for ever leaving pajamas. 

    Another pattern that had developed during my physical illness was engaging in frequent retail therapy as a mental boost.  Since costuming for appointments and testing was important, much of my finances went in that direction as well.  Now that I have quit working and am healing, I find that I have less need for the boutique energy and desire spaces in my home for greeting friends but I feel stuck since I have no closet spaces that I can redirect my shoes, skirts, and corsets into.  I've also stopped my medical testing and reduced my doctor appointments from four a week down to once a month.  Long story short, my home space needs have changed but I'm stuck where I am with items.

    I've found myself feeling overwhelmed with what my space has become but alternatively also don't want to let go of the shoes, skirts, corsets, and accessories that I have collected.  It has led to a lot of negative internal banner for allowing my space to be overrun as it is now.  What I seem to forget is that this space saved me during some very low, hard times and did what it was meant to do when I needed it most.  I need to give myself grace and not badger myself for doing my best during a very hard period of my life. And I also need to take the new lessons learned from it that material items shouldn't be the outlet now--now is the time to use these collections for true adventures--be they steampunk, cons, or other fun events.  The house will come together with time and it will be okay.  Until then I need to relax, stop beating myself up, and be kinder to my former self--she was doing her best during a scary period of life and she managed to emerge through it on the other side.  In the long run, it will be fine. 

More Endings

    I recently quit my job.  I quit one week before my eighteenth anniversary with the agency.  In all of my years there they never acknowledged any of my milestones, so even though I tried to hit that eighteen year milestone for myself, that was as close as I could get while maintaining my sanity.  After twenty-five years as a therapist, I think I am taking a break from the field, if not leaving it all together.

    I have no idea what life holds next.  I am blessed with the opportunity to take a break and I know that I have to do this to heal.  The past four years held so much work trauma that I barely escaped with my life.  I am hoping that I may start blogging more during this break as writing helps me figure out my path and I have lost so much over the past four years.  Between work, being ill, the pandemic, and just the world in general, I have been a mess.  I've lost my coping skills, my hobbies, and my passions.  I'm not even sure who I am at this point.  I'm in a very transitional place and I need some help figuring out which direction to take next.  Hopefully writing more can help me figure everything out.  Stay tuned!

Reasons for the Breaking

I recently had it explained to me that my dad feels that when my mom was murdered in January 1993 is when I "changed" and that I have been "broken" ever since then.  Or maybe he defined that as when I went "crazy", when I became "no good", when I became "defective".  Essentially, since then, he feels that I am a different person and not in a good way.  I can't argue this.  Losing my mom at 19 did change me.  Living with her and her murderer at various times July 1991-November 1992 changed me.  The combined trauma of living with them and having her murdered was extremely damaging to my heart and soul.  Becoming motherless and losing the one human on the planet that understood me and loved me was very damaging.  I don't think this is abnormal or makes me flawed, though.  I think it makes me human.  I think most people would end up with some scars, some changes, some sign that they had such significant life events occur.  To my dad, I apparently should have bounced back and been fine.  That I didn't return to my former self apparently makes me a bad person.

I think there is more to look at during this time frame though.  I also lived with my father during this period of time, having moved in with him shortly after I turned 18.  My two younger brothers and I moved in with him the summer of 1991.  People thought I was his girlfriend and that my brothers were my children because they had no idea that our dad even had kids--that was unfathomable--he had never been seen with children, talked about children, or had any signs of having children in his life.  His parenting style was also very different than our mom's and it was admittedly a hard adjustment.  We went from having our mom daily and seeing our dad one afternoon every month to three months (holidays) to not seeing our mom at all and living with a man we barely knew.  He worked a lot and seemed to always be angry and disapproving during his moments at home.  I was expected to be the mother, the maid, the caregiver, and whatever other roles were needed due to his work schedule.  It was a very hard adjustment for all four of us.  I managed six years living this way but eventually I broke and had to leave.

My dad and I were oil and water.  I was sensitive and easily hurt.  His parenting style with me would best be defined as "break the spirit".  He didn't understand me and let me know regularly that I was a "freak" and wasn't born a freak, so why was I one now?  No matter what I did or how I did it, there was no approval but regularly met scorn.  This was true before we moved in with him, too, but definitely became more problematic upon more exposure to each other.  With my middle brother, he could seemingly do no wrong and when he did, as the oldest that was also my fault for "setting the bad example".  I was basically the rotten apple spoiling the bunch.  My youngest brother fell somewhere between the two of us and wasn't as terrible as I was in my father's eyes, either.  Years after I moved out and my father remarried, my youngest brother left a soda can on the coffee table and that was still my fault--he was actually forbidden to interact with me over the soda can incident because I "programmed him to leave the can on the coffee table to destroy our stepmother".  Even at 20+ miles away, I was still the problem.  I couldn't win no matter what I did.

I don't think it was just my mom's death that changed me and our relationship.  I wonder if he ever considers these things when he looks at what "broke me" and what "happened to me". A person can't have their parent constantly putting them down, criticizing them, telling them that they are no good and always emerge with no scars and be fine.  I think it's probably the minority of folks that end up being okay through that sort of treatment, not the majority.  I think for most of us it does damage.  So I guess when he says that it was my mom's death that ruined me, I wonder how much these other factors influence whom and what I became?  Not that he would consider these issues, but they do weigh on my mind since this is when he considers me becoming damaged, flawed, and worthless.  I'm sure others with similar family dynamics understand this, as well.  To say it was only my mother's death that hurt me and made me this way is flawed to a degree.  Those six years of being mentally beat down should probably be considered, too.  Just my thoughts--they aren't for me to dwell on, just getting it off my chest.

745 Days. 2 years and 15 days. 24.5 months. 106 weeks and 3 days...

I've debated since January 6, 2021 whether to share any of this here or not.  I've debated starting a new, even more anonymous blog elsewhere and still may.  January 6 marked the beginning of a new journey, a new loss, it belongs here, too.  My first major loss occurred thirty years ago on January 10, 1993 when I lost my mom.  Despite what my father says, I am not broken from it--I experienced complicated grief related to the trauma of having my best friend and mother murdered, which is what many people would have experienced.  No, despite what he may say, I am not broken.  I experienced grief.  My second major loss occurred on April 22, 2010 when I was forced to remove my father from my life and the resulting loss of my paternal family, which was all I had left for family.  I was forced to separate from my family and the grief that followed is described frequently in this blog, already.  I don't need to describe it further.  My third loss over the past two years has been the loss of my health.

I’m not yet ready to tell the beginning of the story, but that may come. Right now, I'm sharing where I am now, two years into the journey.  I've spent the past two years fighting to be heard, being gaslit by the medical community, and fighting my own body.  I've been told that my problem is just anxiety, just menopause, just being female, just in my head, fibromyalgia, and a slew of other incorrect suggestions from medical professionals unwilling to really look at me, hear me, or see me.  It's been unbelievably traumatic and frightening every step of the journey.  I have no mother.  I have no family.  All I had left was me.  My body.  This has been the third hard loss of my life.

Currently I'm having odd regression in numerous areas (loss of my gross motor skills, legs heavy, arms not lifting, loss of fine motor skills, etc.), and while I am super nervous about it, if my liver masses aren’t cancerous (the MRI for those happened 01/20/23—only 16.5 months after the masses were first identified on 09/08/21 and after the ultrasound on 09/07/22 that showed increase in mass sizes), and if I can get over my fears of its side effects, HUMIRA injections may be happening soon for some of the other pain issues—which remain immense, at this time.  Unfortunately, when they did the MRI of my liver, it showed a bit more than expected--including lesions and a hymangeoma on my spleen.  This means more MRIs and CAT scans to follow before determining if I can do HUMIRA or not.

I guess one lesion on the liver is fairly normal for women who have taken birth control during their lifetime--two, not so much.  My blood markers were elevated as well, so they also aren't ruling out cancer yet--which also means no HUMIRA yet.  I am so mad.  All of the abdominal pain and issues I have been having and they only looked at my liver lesions.  I am beyond angry... Our local healthcare monopoly is the absolute worst.  Now I wait for MORE MRIs and CAT scans--more missed work, more vacation time lost--all because I am 49, female, and it's easier to blame anxiety and being overly dramatic than admitting there may actually be something wrong.  In the meantime, I'm so over all of this.

I think the hardest part is when I start feeling the slightest bit better, mentally or physically, I get my hopes up and think I am getting better only to crash back down.  That false hope followed by crushing defeat, over and over and over is taxing.  I am so uncomfortable physically (and have been)--sitting through my work sessions is the devil, laying down hurts, sitting to sew is hard--there is nothing I can do.  Sleep is a brief escape, but even that doesn't last long before my body wakes me back up.  Mentally, it is taking a toll.  This body has felt like a prison for two years now.  It's too much.  I'm over it. I'm not suicidal, but I wish I had an escape from this.  I haven't had a symptom free day yet--I can't even read or watch a movie to take my mind off of it. There is simply zero relief.  The medical community and doctors are either minimal help or have made things worse through the journey.  It's been a nightmare. So much of the past two years has been being gaslit by the medical community or being outright ignored. 

The day of my MRI marked 745 days since this "adventure" began--24.5 months.  It marked 499 days (16.5 months) after the masses were first identified on 09/08/21 and 135 days after the ultrasound on 09/07/22 that showed increase in mass sizes (4.5 months).  It's really hard not to give up.  I am at wit's end. I was at wit's end two years ago. I never imagined this would be my life. I hate it.  The doctors, the medical testing, the thousands of dollars, and the time from my life lost--and for what?  At what point will they start listening and help me?  I'm guess I'm upset because the MRI was supposed to be for my entire abdomen and to identify pain sources. I waited over four months for this MRI and that was "fast" for them, it's been 16.5 months since they identified the masses on my liver.  How long will it be for this next round of tests?  I'm not getting better, I am in extreme physical pain, and they are just so slow and ridiculously incompetent here.  It's maddening.  And I needed to vent.

I'm still unsure how much of this will actually be shared here.  I do believe mental and physical health are connected.  I do believe in holistic healing.  But I'm still not sure this is where I want to do this.  We shall see, I guess...

Windmills and Musings

"Last night, as I sat beside a fire, staring at a busted windmill, my first thought was..."It's fucked".

My second thought was, if a windmill were to represent my life, this would be the one. How tragic it must have been to lose its once free spinning spirt... just to sit idly by now, busted, broke and motionless, destined to one day fall completely apart.

Finally, It occurred to me... while it won't be easy, both could probably still be saved..."

~Photo credit and quote by a high school friend~

As I have shared in past posts, here the broken things find homes and new purpose.  My property, like most that have had humans inhabitants for a century and more, bears the scars of humans dumping and burying their garbage and "broken things" over many decades.  Mostly it's stuff like old rusted and disintegrating chicken wire, old carpet, and similar junk that I have spent the past 16 years carefully removing and properly disposing of.  I'm convinced that there are several complete vehicles buried in the surrounding woods, maybe a few bodies, and just a lot of complete garbage.  As I am digging it out though, I turn a lot of it into odd yard art because it all has a story to tell. And I love discovering those stories and histories--new items often lack soul and character--I like the pieces that have survived and bear scars.  Somehow over these 16 years at my home, as friends have been tossing out broken things, they find their way here, as well. Waterlogged bowling balls, angels with missing wings, broken arrows, ruined dolls, cracked statues--things destined for landfills have found new purpose here and give my yard an interesting flair.  I like these things the best because of their character, their uniqueness, their stories--they have so much more to say than something fresh from Walmart or Lowes.  Here, that busted windmill would be one of my favorites and a star of the show.   

My favorite people will always be the ones that have fought hard to survive and that are still fighting.  When I look at the people in my life, many of my favorites have the darkest pasts, the deepest scars, the hardest challenges faced.  The stories they share and have given me glimpses into are sometimes so immense that I wonder how they have survived, how they are still here, how they keep going, and then I thank god that they do.  They are my own inspiration to keep moving forward--to keep going no matter how overwhelming the darkness feels--when I see them I am reminded of how amazing human endurance truly is.  I have also lost many that just couldn't fight anymore and I carry the deep scars that they have left me with.  Their story is now part of my story and I wish beyond wishes that I could have them back instead--I know it isn't easy and that sometimes the weight is too heavy--but the pain of losing them never leaves, either.   And I have so many loved ones struggling right now that I am beyond worried about.  It's hard when our thoughts spiral in these challenging directions--that darkness would swallow us whole given half the chance.  I agree--it's beyond challenging to move from being that free spinning spirt to being busted, broken, and motionless.  In windmill terms, I think I may have about one blade left at the moment, but it's still catching the wind and moving when it can.  I just keep trying to clear out the vines that would tangle it and try to be mindful of fixing those cracks as I discover them...  I needed this message today and am beyond thankful that my friend allowed me to share what he wrote and his picture.  So many in my world need this message right now--perhaps you were one of them--if so, I hope that you, too, will find a new sense of purpose and reasons to keep moving forward.

Mending

“As for mending, I think it's good to take the time to fix something rather than throw it away. It's an antidote to wastefulness and to the need for immediate gratification. You get to see a whole process through, beginning to end, nothing abstract about it. You'll always notice the fabric scar, of course, but there's an art to mending. If you're careful, the repair can actually add to the beauty of the thing because it is a testimony to its worth.”  ~Elizabeth Berg - "The Art of Mending"~

I haven't read this book, but I love the quote.  I love this concept, in general--whether it is mending clothing, household items, vehicles, or even relationships--if it has worth, value, and there is still love there, is it not worth trying to save it? Through no fault our own, we live in a throwaway society. We have been groomed to this place where we toss aside what would have once been fixed and repaired generations ago. Sadly, most items aren't made to last and can't even be fixed, these days--which adds to the challenge. Additionally for many, what we purchase and how often we purchase it is how success is defined--the newest phones, bigger TVs, name brands, clothing labels, new vehicles, bigger homes--we always want more, bigger, and better.  Sometimes to repair something, clothing especially, somehow it is met with meaning one has less and is thus avoided in favor of the new.  This makes me a bit sad--learning to mend can lead to great creativity and problem-solving skills, in addition to the obvious--less waste and the extended life of items already owned. 

I grew up with very little. My clothing, being all hand-me-downs, was frequently stained, torn, ill-fitting and even in elementary school I was expected to hem my own clothing and do my own alterations--all by hand. Much of what we had in our home (and the homes themselves), my mom had to transform from broken to usable. It was our reality and while I hated it then, I am now grateful for the lessons and skills that I learned during those years. It's broken, torn, stained, has a flaw? No problem! These are challenges I am always up for and I enjoy problem-solving how to fix them.  Sometimes they come out great, other times not so much--but most often I am able to find a way to make it work and for it to still be beautiful.

Sometimes the brokenness IS the appeal--throughout my yard you will find angels with broken wings, statues full of cracks, dolls that were discarded, broken arrows, waterlogged bowling balls, forgotten and unloved toys, items that were once buried on the property due to no longer having value--they have all been transformed into art. They all have purpose, meaning, and a story here.  They also make my yard interesting and fun--I enjoy these items and their uniqueness--I wouldn't change any of these things.  They don't need mended because their damage is what gives them character and life.

As for mending relationships, this seems to be as much of a lost art these days as mending clothing.  Be it romantic, with a difficult family member, or a friendship--this can be tricky. Relationships have changed significantly over the past decades--we aren't as forgiving or tolerant of differences as we once were, we walk away sometimes with little reason, and in many ways, relationships with others are often viewed as replaceable, as well. Much like anything else in life, it depends upon the quality of the relationship as to whether it can even be repaired or if the attempts to repair it will be unsuccessful because there aren't enough strong fibers left to work with or there wasn't a strong foundation to build upon in the first place. Sometimes they can't be mended and sometimes maybe they shouldn't be mended. Sometimes the healthiest choice is to allow the relationship to dissolve, for the wellbeing of one and sometimes for the wellbeing of both parties. Other times, mending the weak points strengthens the original bonds and makes the relationship stronger.

Perhaps communication, forgiveness, and love are the best materials for mending relationships. However, I think sometimes relationships can essentially "dry-rot", as well--if they have been neglected too long, a small tear can rip the entire fabric of the relationship and sometimes the damage is irreparable. It depends, too, upon both parties--is one person expecting the other to overlook the damage done or to pretend it doesn't exist? Is the person that made the tear willing to try to repair it or do they expect the other person to do all of the work? Mending a torn relationship takes work from both parties and if one person ignores the tear, that tear will likely continue to rip until there is nothing left to work with--no matter how much love there once was or how much the other person tries to fix it. Or worse yet, when the tear is one that both sides blame the other for and they choose to rip the hole wider, instead of working together to repair it--often there is no coming back from that, either.

I know it is said that relationships are like plants, that they require regular watering to flourish--even that cactus that needs so little may eventually wither after too long without water. Attempts at mending after too much damage has been done is similar to overwatering a nearly dead plant--it's often too late. 

Sometimes no amount of love or mending can fix things. Perhaps sometimes, the trickiest part is figuring out when to let go and when to keep mending...

Wisdom from Nadia Bolz-Weber

I adore Nadia Bolz-Weber and almost always appreciate her outlook and wisdom regarding life, the world, and the realities of the human heart.  I love her blunt, yet still somehow gentle, approach to living in the world and trying to maintain sanity during insane times.  This is an older one, but a friend sent it to me today and as always, it came exactly when I needed it.

I know that the past years have seen me slipping further and further away from being the friend and the support that people are used to, need, expect, and want me to be.  I have missed birthdays, messages, important posts, important life events, and have been absent when people needed me most.  The truth is that being sick this past year has taken more out of me than I had to give.  I try to make it through my work sessions, but even that wipes me out. I don't do phone calls, I don't do texts, I am lucky to get through half of my private messages and then I am done again.  I'm spread thin, I am keenly aware of that, and I apologize to each of you.  My stack of unsent Christmas cards is still sitting to my right, along with the letters friends have sent that I read, loved, but still have not yet responded to.  Birthday gifts that are still unsent from January 2021 through the unsent Christmas gifts of 2021 are still waiting for me to get them wrapped, packaged, and mailed out.  There are now large boxes everywhere that have friends' names written on them--the boxes get fuller and fuller as I collect more gifts that I wish to send, yet somehow I can't get that far.  

I'm not trying to make excuses, garner sympathy, or any such--each one of us is struggling hard and has been for far too long. I know that. I'm also not pledging to do better in 2022--while I wish that were the case, it isn't fair if I make such a pledge because I cannot yet live up to the expectations of others--I know that.  If anything, I will likely be retreating even further from the world as I try to heal myself. I applaud each of you that is still functioning like a well-oiled machine and that is managing to maintain the same level of energy that you had a decade ago--you need to be bottling that stuff and sharing it! For those of you that are struggling to pick yourself up and move forward--I see you.  We are living through a timeline that none of us are enjoying and it is exceedingly challenging no matter which side of this great divide you are on. It's ugly out there from every direction that I can see. 

At any rate, this was my first time seeing/reading this one.  It was exactly what I needed, today--I suspect a few others could benefit from this one, as well--so I am sharing it here.  I had a very similar conversation with one of my clients yesterday and realized how much, as I was saying it, that I needed to hear it, too. We are all fighting unseen battles in addition to living through a timeline that none of us want, like, or is enjoying.  Take time to refill your own buckets and go lightly when you discover others are trying to get through their own days with empty buckets. We are all struggling--be kind--not only to others, but to yourself, too.  Few of us are equipped for the amounts of stress we are carrying. 

"I just do not think our psyches were developed to hold, feel and respond to everything coming at them right now; every tragedy, injustice, sorrow and natural disaster happening to every human across the entire planet, in real time every minute of every day.  It’s not an issue of values, it’s an issue of MATH.*"  SO. MUCH. YES.

If you can't take in anymore, there's a reason an essay on circuit breakers, empty buckets, and the shame-show of social media

Today's Thoughts on Grief and Loss

A dear friend and I were talking about grief today and she asked me the following: "I was thinking, do most people live with these intense feelings and just adjust to them better? Or do some of us have a genetic predisposition to feel things very intensely? It seems like some people just cope better without trying so hard. I don't know. Tired of being tired today. But I do know we'll be ok and keep moving forward. It will all be worth it one day! Trying to find the nuggets of joy in amongst all the struggle is a challenge, but those nuggets are there!"

This was my response: "I think most people try to run from their feelings.  They throw themselves into their work or other activities--some embrace alcohol or drugs--anything to silence their thoughts and to prevent 'alone time' with their brains and their feelings.  Some people compartmentalize their losses and 'lock them away'.  That all leads to its own very real challenges down the line, though.  Repressed grief (and trauma) often emerges in other ways, eating disorders, depression, anxiety, irritability and anger, there are all sorts of heartbreaking ways that it can destroy a person from the inside out. 

Unfortunately, as Americans, we are expected to always put on a happy face and to not talk about things that make others 'uncomfortable'.  Loss, trauma, grief, rape, domestic violence--so many things we are expected to stay silent about for the comfort of others--which is really messed up when you think about it. AND it's super unhealthy.  We are expected to suffer in silence which is really the worst thing that you can do.  People are expected to 'move on', 'get over it', or to simply stay silent to avoid making others uncomfortable--which leads to a huge chain of problems--also, as humans we learn by watching others.  If all other humans hide their grief and traumas, that's what we try to do, too.  It's all so unhealthy.

As a trauma and grief therapist for over 20 years now, I can tell you that I have seen some very heartbreaking things over buried grief and trauma.  It leads to divorce, estranged family members, and other ugliness.  The healthiest thing you can do is to talk honestly about it. Be open about it. And encourage others to be open about their own grief.  It's very healing and healthy to be open about grief and trauma. These things DO need talked about and shared. Consider yourself a pioneer in the journey to healthy loss handling--you will do better than others in this simply because of your openness and honesty.  I see it as a gift when we share these things with others and invite them to be real in their own feelings, as well. The mistake we make is saying that we are doing good and painting on a smile when we are breaking inside.  Sure, others can walk away thinking 'wow, they healed quickly--how nice' but it doesn't help anybody.  

This is also why some folks will run and hide from us after a significant loss or trauma, as well.  When we are in touch with our feelings, sometimes it forces others into feeling their own buried losses.  It is easier for some folks to just stay away from us or to get angry when we are open.  And for folks that have never experienced a deep loss or had trauma--they are super confused by those of us that are open about our feelings--it's so foreign to be 'open'--they will sometimes express anger or stay away because they don't understand and it's uncomfortable.

Hopefully all of that makes sense.  Most people do NOT adjust better--they simply hide their feelings or lock them away.  I can tell you that with many of my therapy folks, I have sessions with them two or three times a week and they would gladly take daily therapy sessions if I offered them.  They spend each of those sessions crying and struggling so that they can put on their 'happy faces' and 'stay strong' for the other people in their lives--whether it is their spouses, their kids (including adult children), friends, coworkers, etc.  I always encourage them to be more open, to allow their grief to be part of who they are, they hurt themselves so much more by putting on these facades and then breaking down in private or with me, as their therapist.

Honestly?  I do it, too.  I cry in the shower where others can't hear. I have learned to sob silently and without outward display--I can cry and cry and cry without the people around me even realizing it.  The guy I was with when my mom was murdered once asked me if I used my mom as an excuse to cry because yes, I cried nonstop and really struggled.  In 2010, which would have been my mom's 60th birthday (she died at age 42), I struggled greatly.  During this time, my dad tried to have me involuntarily committed to a lifelong state hospital as I was seeking a PFA (Protection From Abuse) from an abusive partner.  Part of his justification in having me committed?  Because I 'cry over my dead mom' (this was one of the things that he wrote in the 302 report and the "therapists" there that he reached out to that were part of his attempt to have me committed apparently ALSO felt crying over my dead mom was worthy of lifelong hospitalization--how about that???).  When our mom was murdered, he forbid us kids from talking about our mom--even right after it happened. He woke my brothers up in the middle of the night--they were 9 and 13--told them that her second husband murdered her and then left them alone with their thoughts in the middle of the night, they still had to go to school the next morning.  That was our reality. We weren't allowed to cry or talk about it.  We were taught that tears and grieving were wrong. And this is the message that most of us get throughout our lifetime--feelings are BAD. Grief is bad. Anger is bad. Tears are bad. And then we wonder why America has anger issues and can't get along...

People often don't understand grief until it happens to them and then they feel alone with their feelings because their grief looks so different than everyone else's.  It's pretty sad and heartbreaking that we are so apt to run from our feelings and to hide them.  I guess that's why I do try to talk about those things more openly.  And I am so glad and proud to see you openly sharing your grief journey.  If we all chose that path, we could all heal.  Grief is a natural part of life--none of us can hide from it forever. But learning how to share that and be open about it is the best gift you can give others.  I would not be surprised if people begin coming to you for help through their own grief challenges--I am guessing that is already happening--or if you actually end up as a grief counselor down the road--for your church or otherwise.   Helping others also helps bring meaning and purpose to our own losses and traumas and as we heal others, we heal, too. 

That's so awesome that your daughter came to you! This, too, is one of the gifts that we receive when we are open about our grief--we have more communication with those that have passed.  When we close down all of those parts of ourselves, we also close off the ability to get those messages and that's very sad, too.  Grief is hard, my friend.  The deeper the love, the deeper the grief and it will always be a part of us.  You are on the healthiest path of healing and I am so grateful for that. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise or tell you that you need to 'move on' or any other garbage. There is no 'moving on'--you can only 'move through' grief.  We each handle it in our own way, but I can say that your way is the one that will allow you to feel the best that you are able and that you are moving through your grief in a good way. Don't worry if your path appears different.  Grief looks different for all of us."

And just a general posting/response that also happened, today: "It's definitely been a hard year on so many levels and these past months have been just insane with grief, loss, and struggling. From losing my childhood best friend unexpectedly in October (she was 48) and losing two more very young friends unexpectedly to COVID-19 one was 37, the other was 44, all within four weeks; one of my dearest aunts two weeks after them; the two year anniversary of losing my grandma on 12/14/19 + the three year anniversary of losing one of my dearest friends on 12/20/18 + losing my sweet ferret, Sumo, in-between on 12/18/21; the hard losses that so many of my friends and loved ones are going through right now (losing their parents, children, pets, their homes, divorce, all of the things); trying to cope with my health issues over this past year; the holidays and the normal sad that comes with them--some of you know and understand my absolute hatred of November and my desire to just skip over it on every single level--even if it does include stuffing and pumpkin pie; being a grief and trauma therapist and all of the loss/ grief/ trauma that is happening to my clients and all around us--I'm honestly struggling.

Heck, I'm nowhere near over my losses from this past May. And I am apparently still struggling with the losses from 2016. When I had my doctor appointments at the Cleveland Clinic last week, they asked about the trauma from 2016 and I just burst into tears and couldn't even talk about it--I didn't see that coming and was mortified that I broke into tears like that. I would have expected that more when asked about 2010. The weight of this year and the past months is heavy, indeed. I feel like all I have done this year is cry and these past three months have definitely added some extra blows that I wasn't prepared for and am still struggling with on so many levels.

I don't mean to wallow, I just feel lost in this grief and with it comes so much anger, confusion, and yes, tears. Not to mention, with the loss of my health, I lost so many of my normal coping skills--writing is one of the few that I still have left. As a result, the ugly sometimes comes out as word vomit. Apparently today is one of those days. I apologize for that. This may also be why I haven't been online as much, too. Whatever 2021 has been, I will not be sad to see it go."  

Measuring in "Mom Years"

A dear friend shared this today and it sent me down some weird road of thoughts.  I decided to share them here.  SIDE NOTE: This friend also lost her mother when her mom was 42; my friend was 24 and pregnant with her first/only child at the time and struggled greatly.  We actually met each other exactly one week after her mom died and it may have been the first real healing that I had with my own loss, even though we met seventeen years after I lost my own mom.  We sort of navigated being "motherless daughters" together and she is absolutely one of my closest and dearest friends, to this day.  At any rate, this is what she posted: "I think when someone you love dies, at an early age, you learn how short life is and how precious your time is. I always think I'm terms of how many years till I'm 42...  I don't have much time to waste on temporary people/ situations. Like I realize I could live to be old, but also I could not... anyways I'm officially on one of those self-discovery journeys people have."

I can relate.  My maternal grandmother died at 41 (I was ten months old), my mom died at 42 (I was 19).  The running joke (not joke) was that if I made it to 44, I would officially break the cycle (I am now almost 48). 42 was super hard--not because I was aging, but because it really hit home how young my mom was when her life was cut short.  She was just a babe, really--so young. 43 was even harder--I had officially outlived my mom.  To be honest, I never even expected to make it to 40--let alone 48.  But 42 and 43 were so very, very hard just because of the realization of how young she really was when she died.

After reading "Motherless Daughters" by Hope Edelman, it all made sense... Why my mom sort of went "wild" in 1991.  She had just hit 41--the age her own mother died at.  She gave her kids to our dad, she sold everything she owned, and she took off to CA with a 24 year old man that would kill her a year and a half later--it was all so out of character for her and it broke all of our hearts.  "Motherless Daughters went into depth with this phenomenon--I guess it is exceedingly common to sort of "break" the closer we get to the age of their death. It is a documented struggle for most women and for many men when they reach the age that their father passed, as well.  I had no idea.  And neither did my mom--she was just doing what felt right at the time.

Being aware of this phenomenon can help break the pattern.  I was keenly aware as I hit 41 that I may make bad choices, odd choices, or have a "mid-life crisis" of sorts--so I was able to monitor my own activities and keep myself in check.  The truth is it all messes with your head so hard, from so many different directions.  Grief is complicated as it is--add in this junk and you can legit lose your mind.  I don't share these things to suggest that her experience will be the same--I share them because I have stood in similar shoes--it's hard as hell.  And absolutely, it gives you a unique perspective on life--maybe even a better perspective, because you do understand how short and how fleeting it all is.  

I am sharing because my friend is not alone and there are many of us out there.  That was how I measured years, as well--since my mom died, everything in my life has been measured in "mom years".  When I hit 33--I was keenly aware that my mom had three kids at that age and also had a stroke. Even now, when I watch older shows like The Patty Duke show or Bewitched, I automatically do the math and think about how old my mom would have been when each episode aired and what she may have been doing at that age.  When I scroll through movie choices and see the year each one was released--I automatically ask, was my mom still alive? Did she have a chance to see this movie? If it is after her death, I am keenly aware of the movies and shows she would have enjoyed and feel sorrow that she did not have a chance to enjoy them.  I think this is part of grief--I don't know if other folks do it to the extent that I do, but the reality is there isn't a day that goes by without some reminder of what we have lost.  I think the reality is that it never stops hurting--we just learn how to function better as time passes...

Eleven Years Later...

There have been so many good posts, sayings, and such floating around in my Facebook newsfeed lately. I'm going to share a few that especially resonated with me:

When I was going through the PFA process and had hoped for my family's support--primarily my dad's support--I was turned away.  I finally told my dad on April 10, 2010 that until he can actually, TRULY, see me, hear me, and know me for who I am, he can't be in my life (*spoiler--getting to know who I am was apparently too much to ask).  That conversation was also before he did and said some very horrible things that ensured he would never be in my life again--tomorrow is the 11 year anniversary of that trauma and leaving my paternal family behind (there is no maternal family--so in truth, I lost all of my family with that event).  My paternal family didn't truly know me in my youth or as a teen--yet I was so often the scapegoat for the entire family (not just my brothers, but my cousins, too) and they STILL, to this day, believe I am the person that they decided I was 30+ years ago.  The wretched thing? I was never that person then, either.  It's seemingly always been what best fits their narrative of who they want me to be and what works to make them look better as people. A couple of examples--when I lived with my father, the middle brother would frequently do things like staying out all night--I would get grounded, not him.  The reason? I was the oldest and set the bad example.  He would stay out all night, no consequences--but I would get grounded for a week because of what he did--not once, not twice--regularly.  In 2001, a family member left her husband for another man.  Somehow the family turned it into me getting her into drugs and that was why she left her husband--not that she and her husband had marital problems--my family managed to even make things like that MY fault. The funny thing? She didn't do drugs then and neither did I, but somehow it was all still my fault.  This has been my reality for 47 years, so obviously--they should all have less issues with me removed, right? At least that seems logical to me... If I am the problem, and I am removed from the equation, they should all have lovely pleasant lives now.  Even though I have removed myself these past eleven years--it still gets back to me the nasty things said and apparently I am still to blame.  Why would anyone want to go back into that type of relationship?

April 22, 2010 was when I discovered that the family's negative perception of me was all much deeper, much worse than I could have ever guessed--honestly, the pain of knowing what they deeply believed about me was all was too much.  Even with 36 years of pain and hurt from them prior to that day--that was the grand finale of what I could handle.  2010 is when it all finally reached a head and I put my foot down and said "no more"--but that's also when my own healing started... Eleven years now, I have been without a "family".  But I am so much better off without the emotional damages keeping them in my life brought.  It's extremely damaging to have a family and parent that make you out to be a villain and the root of all family evils--that has been my role since birth and to this day, I have no idea why.  But I am grateful that I was finally able to walk away.  Obviously, deep scars still remain and probably always will, but my life is much more peaceful now and their absence from my life feels more natural and less painful these days--that's a blessing, too. I missed them terribly in the beginning; I begged them to see things from my perspective--apparently, that wasn't an option and I did finally give up trying.  My entire life had been spent trying to gain their approval, their love, their understanding--simply for them to see me, hear me, and to know me for who I am--not the narrative that they had created.  It's amazing how difficult (and sometimes impossible) it can be to change those family dynamics--especially when you are the only one that seems to want the dynamics to change.

The truth is, there are so many people that will hurt us deeply throughout our life--partners, friends, coworkers, even random strangers--but nothing compares to the pain that our family can cripple us with.  We see other folks with loving, supportive families and we wonder why we can't have that, too.  The unconditional support and love of a family is what we hear about all of our lives--but not all of us have been shown that support and love. As children especially, we internalize it and think that it is because we aren't lovable. So we try harder, we adopt hobbies that they enjoy thinking maybe they will spend time with us, we go out of our way to be the best human we can be, because at some point they may love us, accept us, or even be proud of us.  Many of us become overachievers because just one more accomplishment may be what makes that love and support finally happen--but the flip side is that we can't be happy with any of our own accomplishments when we are doing them for someone else and they don't even care.  It all feels hollow--we are left feeling empty--there becomes a void within us that we struggle to fill with anything (food, sex, material possessions, anything to either help us feel momentarily "full" or to blank out the emptiness and make it hurt less).  This cycle can go on forever and for some folks it goes on until their dying breath.  At what point is it acceptable for us to have had enough?  At what point does the rest of the world understand when we finally say "enough" and walk away? At what point does the world understand that we cannot continue to function with that level of pain?

It's funny, when I was with the PFA-partner, those relationship patterns and dynamics were still playing out on another level.  I gave him everything and tried so hard to make him happy--for him to love me and be happy with me.  He took and took, giving out abuse in return--in my eyes, if I just tried harder it would get better--he would quit hurting me and would love me as much as I loved him.  But it wasn't until he destroyed every shred of my self-esteem, my love for him, and my sanity that I walked away--and just like that, as I was leaving--he suddenly decided I had worth, he suddenly saw me as "his soulmate", he wanted me in his life more than anything--but it was too late.  So very too late.  Too much damage had been done and I had nothing left to give him.  Sadly, I only had value in his eyes after I became unattainable.  But it is funny, how similar those overall dynamics were to the dynamics within my family.  I was enemy number one while I was present and in the relationship with the PFA-ex--after leaving, something was missed about me--I think it was having me as a whipping post; having something/someone to hurt was what he missed most.  The love-blasting only lasted with him as long as he thought there was a chance that I would move back in with him and he would have his "cash cow" back--when he realized that the love-blasting wasn't working, I wasn't coming back, it got even uglier and that's when the PFA process was forced to begin.  

With my family, there was no "love-blasting" after I left--they took it as confirmation that I was all the bad things that they had believed all along with me.  "See? See how horrible she is? Look at what she is doing to her own family!"  It was actually my youngest brother that started with me not existing within the family.  For the next year, my youngest brother withheld my nephews from me, but he did invite my PFA-ex to family events instead. If I was present, my youngest brother actually pretended that I wasn't there--if I spoke, he ignored me--if I looked at him, he looked elsewhere--as far as he was concerned, I did not exist.  He also said and did some pretty terrible things during that time that cut me to the bone.  As for my father, he refused to talk to me about what had happened--he refused to hear how any of it felt for me--he chose to tell me instead that he was the hero of the story and it's too bad I couldn't see that, too.  What choice did they leave me? A person can only try for so long.  It's pretty simple: 

My father says that I am bitter, vindictive, and other lovely things--those are the reasons that he seems to believe that I stay away.  They still don't see how the years of hurts, harsh words, and false accusations were too much. They can't see how the events and the way that they treated me through 2010 and 2011 were the "enough" that I needed to finally walk away from the pain.  Again, they can't see me, hear me, or know me for who I am.  My absence is the only sane option that I can see at this point--it's a matter of self-preservation.  There is no accountability on their end--just me being "too sensitive", "bullshit" being the answer when I have tried to explain how and why I was hurt, or other reasons why my feelings were invalid or wrong.  Throughout my life, attempts to explain my feelings or show them who I am have been met with such resistance that it's really surprising that I even tried for the 36 years that I did.  People don't get to hurt you and then also tell you that you aren't allowed to be hurt by what they did--what reality does that come from?  When they hurt you and then try to tell you that you shouldn't be hurt, it adds another layer of pain--after so long, the layers become too deep and the only choice is to walk away from them and the pain they repeatedly cause you.  I understand that we all need to be the hero in the story, but when we destroy other people to become that hero, we can't be upset when they leave us without looking back.

But this is all another reason that I am so grateful for the others like me out there, the ones that share their story, too--the ones that share the quotes in this post.  Knowing that I am not alone and that there are others out there that "get it" and don't treat me poorly for walking away from my family are a huge blessing.  It gets so exhausting when well-meaning people say "But they are your family, they love you, you have to forgive them, you have to spend time with them..." Those folks haven't walked in my shoes, they have no idea what any of this has felt like from my perspective, they just don't know.  They weren't around for the tears, the heartbreak, they don't hear or see me, either.  To me, the friends that understand and support me in what I had to do are invaluable.  I may not have been able to find the love and support I needed in my birth family, but I have found it in other folks like myself.  And I walk so many of my clients and friends through similar challenges--I have always tried to use my own hurts to help others--it's the only way to turn darkness into light.  I hope they are able to eventually find inner-peace and love, too.  And these days, my accomplishments are for me--nobody else and I no longer keep people that hurt me, no matter who they are. Until then, I have a new goal, myself:

My family doesn't define who or what I am.  Only I can do that.  They can say they know me, they can think they know me--but they don't. They never have.  It isn't that I did not invite them into my life--I did over and over and over--it was all that I ever wanted for so much of my lifetime. It is that they chose not to be here.  These days I am okay with that.  It still sucks on many levels, but overall--I see where I am better off now.  It's not unlike when I finally gained freedom from the PFA-ex and there was nothing in this world that would make me want to go back to that pain and abuse--it is better here where their attempts to hurt me are less like swords and knives, but are more like pin pricks and papercuts...

My youngest brother and I do speak now, but it is still rare.  I think we have mostly moved beyond the events from 2010-2011, but I am not sure that we can ever return to where we were before that.  He was my best friend and I looked at him more like my own child than a brother and his children were my world--now? We still have some good conversations; I think he sees those events more clearly now--he has even apologized on some levels for his parts in it, but he also still struggles with feeling stuck in the middle of the family rift.  These days he lives 1000 miles away, so chances to repair the relationship are much more difficult, as well. I have never even met his 4 1/2 year old daughter; I haven't seen my nephews since January 2014--we have all grown, changed, and are separated on most levels.

As for my dad, he has four kids and four grandchildren, these days.  I live twenty miles away, but it could be on the other side of the planet, at this point.  He did send me a Christmas card in 2020 that was nicer--no lectures, no nastiness--just a simple "Merry Christmas"--I do see that as progress on his part.  He has a son with three grandchildren 1000 miles away; another son 600+ miles away; plus another daughter 350 miles away, but he didn't even acknowledge her when she lived 10 miles away from him--so their nonexistent relationship now is no surprise. He still sees two of us as an extension of himself, but he does seem to be proud of them now; as for the other two of us, one doesn't exist in his eyes at all and I gave up trying eleven years ago.  Again, what were the other options? He stated so many times while we were growing up that if we were fish he would flush us down the toilet, so I guess it is no surprise that we are all so far away physically, emotionally, and in most manners.  While I accept that he may have tried his best to be a father--he reminded us repeatedly that he would have preferred to not try at all.  Maybe sometimes those types of wishes do get answered...  

Of Trees, Statues, and 70th Birthdays

Friday (March 6th) would have been my mom's 70th birthday--that's just a weird concept when she never even made it to 43.  I have outlived my mother by several years now (I will be 47 in July), which is also strange to contemplate.  I did mostly okay with her birthday this year, some struggles yesterday and today--but overall, it was one of her "easier" birthdays.  It's been 27 years--several lifetimes since I had a mom.  This year her birthday was noted, but I was mostly okay.

Honestly, I am surprised that I did so well with her birthday this year--it was a big one.  Her 50th and 60th saw me as an absolute mess.  Plus on March 3rd, I got notice that true to form, my letter did NOT matter--her murderer will still get another hearing soon.  They did not give me a date for the hearing, but more letters will be needed from friends and family to help keep him behind bars.  I knew this was coming, so I was mostly able to handle this news with acceptance.  I anticipate the hearing will be around Mother's Day as this is when his hearings typically seem to fall.

I'm sharing another piece of my week.  Thursday night, March 5th, I made the mistake of finally looking to see to what extent my neighbor had killed the trees surrounding my home.  I struggled greatly as the loggers occupied the woods behind and around my house January 20-23, but it took me until Thursday to be able to go fully see what they had done.  In addition to discovering that the deer had definitely killed my smoke bush (I doubt that it will be able to come back from their destruction) and my cottonwood tree, I discovered that the loggers also destroyed the statues and stump at the heart of my pet cemetery.  I am, quite honestly, appalled.

The St Francis statue was given to me by a dear friend that became a mother-figure to me.  She died unexpectedly December 20, 2018--I was the last person to see her alive.  I miss her beyond belief and still struggle greatly with losing her.  The angel was also given to me by another dear friend--again, not replaceable.  The cemetery marker is actually my mom's--I could not afford a headstone, so for many years, that was the only marker for her grave.  I was finally able to obtain a headstone around a decade after her death, due to a wonderful stone carver that permitted me to make payments and thanks to a handful of loved ones that also chipped in to help make that happen.  I added her original marker here so that I would have a place to be close to her at home.

I'm not going to lie--despite making it through her 70th birthday, despite my response to the hearing notice--I am super raw.  Or perhaps because of those things, I am raw--I'm not sure.  As a result, I began crying as soon as I saw the damage done to my pet cemetery and my smoke bush (the smoke bush is also the grave site/marker for one of my very special ferrets--so that was a hard blow, too).  But walking along the woodline and seeing the trees the loggers took out, the destruction they caused, they mess they thought nothing of leaving behind, I am heartbroken.  It's hard to love humans (and deer) when one is surrounded by the damage that they cause.  I know to some they are just trees and just statues, but honestly, I am crushed--there's no two ways about it. 

My pet cemetery is obviously a sacred space to me. And those that know me well know that trees are not just "a part of outside" to me.  To me they are living beings, they are friends, I talk to them, I greet them, I apologize to them when humans cause them harm or disfigure them.  My mom told me when I was little that she suspected I may have been a druid in a past life due to my unusual bond with trees, plants, and other vegetation. I have always loved trees--they bring me peace--they are part of my healing.  Granted, they were my neighbor's trees--I have no say in his actions--but I still hate it. I struggle with sharing these deep parts of my soul, but writing is my therapy.  I am working on healing the best ways that I know how.  Quite frankly, losing these trees and statues just compounded my grief and sense of loss over the past week.  I don't really expect others to understand, I just needed to release the sorrow somewhere safe...

27 Years... Another Letter

Tomorrow is the 27th anniversary of my mom being murdered. I was so proud of myself--I thought this year I would make it through mostly okay. And then I stopped by the post office today on my way home from work...  

First, I pulled out a notice from Guidepost that my gift subscription expired. My Grandma got a gift subscription to Guidepost every year, faithfully, for each of her grandchildren (and probably for everyone on her Christmas list). It didn't matter if we read them or not--it didn't matter what our spiritual inclinations might be--she held onto hope. More than anything, she wanted everyone in her life to "find Jesus" and follow the path of Christianity. I remember how hard she prayed for Grandpa to eventually find that path and how much that meant to her. It meant the same to her for all of her loved ones to be saved as she had. It was a hard reminder that she is gone. It hasn't even been a month yet since she died.

I am sure Guidepost will send these notices for the remainder of my life in hopes that I will send them money. This weekend, I shall be writing to them and asking them to please stop--I do not need regular reminders that my Grandmother is no longer here and that's what this sort of mail becomes. A trigger. A reminder that your loved one is gone and that everything is different now. Notices from Guidepost will just be random hurts that I wish to avoid.

The only other piece of mail addressed to me? CALIFORNIA DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTIONS AND REHABILITATION Board of Parole Hearings... I hate to say it, but I prayed it would be a notice that he is deceased.  I always have them opened before I even make it back to my vehicle--I am just grateful I picked up the mail after work today, instead of before.  Instant hysterical sobs and a complete break-down in the post office parking lot.  I screamed repeatedly on my drive home, trying to navigate through the school dismissal and rush hour traffic while sobbing uncontrollably.  Maybe it would have been safer to stay in the post office parking lot, but I was too embarrassed--ugly crying at home is bad enough.  In public, during daylight hours?  No thanks.   I had a hard enough time driving home--going to work and functioning after opening that piece of mail would have been more than a bit problematic. The days in this week already weigh heavily on me and challenge my functioning. I do not need threats of him being released added to the fun, yet here we are. Again.

Mother's Day 2018 (May 13, 2018). The 26th anniversary of her death--January 10, 2019. And now again, January 10, 2020--the 27th anniversary of her death. I sit and write letters to keep her murderer in jail. Each year, the hardest days--those are the ones they choose to do this. Does he choose these dates? Is it someone in their office? Every year... That's when we are forced to write our letters to keep him behind bars--Mother's Day?  The anniversary of her death?  Seriously--that is so messed up. I just want it to stop... When will our rights finally supersede her murderer's rights?

Healing From Trauma

Earlier this week, I read an article that I didn't love, but it did have some very key points that have stuck with me over the past days.  Read it at your leisure, take from it what you will, I am sharing the parts that stuck with me and why.  Trauma Is Not Your Fault, But Healing Is Your Responsibility

"Healing is our responsibility because if it isn’t, an unfair circumstance becomes an unlived life."  I have struggled greatly with processing the events that occurred nearly a decade ago.  People that I could not view a life without, and that I loved deeply, intentionally hurt me and were intentionally cruel to me.  I have spent almost ten years examining the events that transpired, the way that I was treated, and I admit that I still don't understand the events on all levels.  I perhaps never will.  I have worked greatly on healing and repairing myself, but there will always be deep scars from those events and I do not believe that many of those relationships will ever return to the free, unconditional love that once existed.  I have not only seen their ugly sides, but I have had that ugliness pointed directly at me.  With great harm done comes great consequences.  I don't want to be bitter, I don't want to hold grudges, but knowing what my loved ones did to me at a time when I needed them most and begged for their help, only to have them become my attackers as well?  How can I ever trust them with my most vulnerable parts again?  I see it as foolhardy to embrace them freely now.

I did spend that first year, as I was trying to heal, almost completely alone.  If the people I loved most in life could destroy me like that, who could I trust?  I did stop living because the wounds were so deep that I was no longer able to function as a "normal human" in society.  I had to relearn how to walk through life as others did without crying, without fear, without terror.  Not only from the things my loved ones and family had done to me, but from the things that I lived through as my ex terrorized me.  I was truly a shell of a human after those events.  Perhaps one of the hardest parts of returning to a normal life was learning to quit watching over my shoulder and literally checking the rear view mirror more than I watched the road while attempting to venture beyond my property, but instead returning to a state that most people take for granted in their daily life--that they are safe and can move about freely through their life without constant threats of physical harm from other humans.  

An unlived life.  Living in constant fear and extreme terror is exhausting.  Ten years later, I feel semi-safe since my ex is currently in jail.  I have mostly been able to resume my life as a result.  But I cannot deny that I fear the day that he is released into society again.  He has been in jail since August 2016 and I have definitely used these years as a time of healing and gathering strength.  My only hope is that this strength remains when he is free in the world again.  But yes, agreed.  If I do not heal, I remain fearful of the outside world--which hurts me even more.  I need to keep trying to reach the place that most folks walk through life--with faith that the world will not hurt them.  Isolating due to excessive fear is a hard place to live.  Not feeling safe anywhere--be it in my own yard, inside my home, or in my vehicle is what was taken from me in 2010.  I still fight those fears and still fight to rejoin a normal life.  Healing has been an enormous challenge that isn't easily explained to others.

"Healing is our responsibility because unprocessed pain gets transferred to everyone around us, and we are not going to allow what someone else did to us to become what we do to those we love." Leaking.  I wrote about leaking in other blog posts: On Stopping Leaks.  This is still an area that I struggle with--honestly, I think most humans do.  I especially leak related to the 2010 trauma when around my extended family members.  I feel like they all still believe my father and his hero narrative.  The truth is, many of them hurt me deeply, too, through it.  I still leak hard.  Even ten years later, I still desire them to see it as I did, to know what actually happened through my eyes.  And yes, for them to see their parts in it all and to apologize.  The truth?  They don't care.  They have their own hero narratives to support and admitting that they were part of the problem isn't an option.  So I continue to leak, dredge up the past, which echoes in their heads as "stuck",  "here we go again", and these are the only pieces they see of me.  Only allowing them to see these stuck parts is more likely to reinforce my father's narrative that I am "broken" and filled with animosity verses who I really am. 

Healing and accepting that it is part of the past allows me to be more comfortable around those that I may wish to resume a relationship with again and allows me to relax instead of trying to make them see my side, which is something they are not capable of no matter what I say or do.  I realize that this point is in regards to "everyone around us", this was just an added part of where processing this part of the article led.  If I am to repair any of these relationships, I need to heal and accept what was done to me.  I cannot fix it.  I cannot change it.  It is already woven into my story's tapestry.  But I can chose what gets woven into future chapters.  I can continue to work on my own healing and fixing those leaks.  If they haven't seen my side yet over the past ten years, of what benefit could the leaks be over the next ten?  Acceptance is my best bet in healing this part of the past.

"The thing is that when someone else does something wrong and it affects us, we often sit around waiting for them to take the pain away, as though they could come along and undo what has been done."  As I wrote about in my last blog post, Another Chapter Closes, I spent ten years waiting for my father to recognize his error and not only apologize to me, but for him to admit to the world that he hurt me when he should not have.  Ten years.  I believed that him apologizing and admitting his error would somehow heal me.  That somehow it would fix my now broken parts.  Somehow, it would undo the damage done.  I recognize now that had he apologized, I would have accepted him back into my life and that it would have opened doors for him to cause me even more pain.  Yet for so long, I felt like the only thing that could take away my pain and hurt spots from 2010 was for all of the key players to apologize, admit their error, and for them to attempt to make amends.  The reality?  This is still leaving the key to my happiness in THEIR pockets.  It is still giving them ultimate control over my life, my happiness, my freedom.  Isn't that part of how this entire debacle came about?  Had I not reached out to my father and my family for help--had I stayed away from them in the first place--so many of those events would have never transpired.  Of course, that is looking with hindsight and I had no way of knowing that my family would turn against me as they did.  In fact, the lesson I am suggesting here is to not trust a single human and to try to solve everything on my own--I have learned that this way doesn't work, either.  Lord knows I have tried that route many times.  It doesn't work.  Alone isn't a healthy option.  It's an option, for sure, but perhaps not the best one.

My brother hasn't fully apologized for his part in the 2010 events, but he has made some attempts toward explaining his actions.  It doesn't undo his words or his actions.  It doesn't undo that out of everyone in it, he perhaps hurt me the most.  He was my best friend through so many years.  He is my brother.  He was one of the few people that had walked with me through my life and that I thought knew me.  He is a part of our mom and I can't imagine that, had she still been alive, she would have permitted any of that to reach the levels it did.  My brother's was, honestly, the deepest betrayal of them.  He has stated to me that he erred by listening to what his wife and our dad were telling him.  Yet he still states that they all believed they were helping and that they were all looking out for my best interest.  I must remind myself that my brother wasn't here to actually see what our father did, he wasn't present when our father came here or when I had my PFA hearing.  He has swallowed what our father has told him because it is easier to believe that his sister lies than to believe that his father does.  My brother also still tries to see the good in his ex-wife because she is the mother of his children and is half of their creation.  And he still has his own hero narrative to listen to, as well. 

While some healing has occurred because my brother has at least made efforts to make amends, it still does not erase it.  But it does allow him back into my life and for a relationship to still exist.  We are still determining what that relationship will look like, even ten years later.  He has spent most of the past decade 975 miles away.  Neither of us enjoy talking on the phone, so our communication is very minimal.  I have a new sister-in-law that I do not know, a three year old niece that I have never met, and my nephews (that were my world) are growing up without me.  But I cannot change these things.  I have no desire to move there, nor do I think that is in my best interest, and he has no desire to be back here.  So in addition to past wounds, healing those wounds and taking on a "new normal" has really not happened.  We each walk through our lives without the other.  Prior to 2010, I never saw this as a possibility, but here we are.  This broke me deeply in the beginning, but since then, acceptance has occurred and my own life has moved forward, as well.

As for my father, an apology would still be nice.  But as has so often been the case with our relationship, I have accepted that the pieces I have always needed from him in my life simply aren't within the realm of reality.  What he fails to see is that it wasn't simply the events from 2010 that have led to our current situation--it was also the 36 years of hurts prior to that.  His actions in 2010 simply were the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.  Had our relationship had a stable foundation prior to 2010, we probably could have still found a "new normal", as well.  While a sincere apology at one point would have helped in moving forward, I now see that keeping those doors closed are in my best interest.  I am okay with this.  I have been healing without him.  I think at some point in my life removing him would have been necessary, whether it was as extreme as the 2010 events ended up being or had it been smaller events and hurts, this was probably inevitable.  Some people are simply toxic to us, no matter who they are in our lives.  He is toxic in many lives but fails to see that.  There are reasons that of his four children only one lives close to him and there are valid reasons that one refuses to have a relationship with him on any level.  His hero narrative will never permit him to see this, but that is part of his life journey--not mine.  

Yes, healing from trauma is in our best interest.  But only we can define what that healing looks like.  Perhaps our healing appears as animosity to others or it appears to them that we are hateful, vile, bitter humans because our healing means moving forward without them.  But as our journey was when they were still included in our lives, it is also our responsibility to learn when their words and actions are their reality, not ours.  For me, healing is learning that the words and actions of toxicity that once coated me and were used as the paint for my own life canvas aren't words and actions that I need to bring forward with me.  For me, healing is moving forward with those pieces now tucked in a box--one that is no longer leaking and spilling toxins throughout my life.  I must occasionally open the box and reevaluate how those pieces fit into my life currently because those pieces will always be here--I cannot throw them away or pretend they do not exist--not if I wish to remain in control of my healing.  But in my healing, I can determine how close to my heart that box of pieces remains.  I can choose to keep them in a place that permits me to remember the lessons but that I am still able to heal and move forward with light and love in my own journey.  

It no longer matters what any of those individuals believes about my journey or how they describe my journey to paint themselves as heroes to themselves and those around them.  My goal in healing over the next decade is to let it go.  I know the story.  Many others know the true story, as well.  No amount of hope, leaking, or explaining will change any of it.  I have tunneled through this piece of my past.  I have removed these obstacles bit-by-bit.  This next part of healing is about acceptance, closure, and reinventing myself in the healthiest ways possible.  I will allow them their hero narratives, but will still remain mindful of those 2010 lessons that they shared with me, but in a healthier manner.  For that is their piece of the journey and for them to discover--or not, if they choose.  In my healing, I shall determine what levels they are permitted in my current life--or not, if I choose.  And I shall not allow their current attempts to crush me with guilt and continued toxicity to permeate my well-being.  Instead, I shall recognize those attempts as confirmation of what I already knew--that my healing must continue without some of them.  I also accept this as part of my healing and moving forward in light and love.  I am and will continue healing.