My therapist recommended I join a group that would be put on at the clinic for women with intimacy issues. I was annoyed, fought her a bit, but eventually said I'd give it a try. She said it would be good for me since I avoid being vulnerable. I was incredulous and left shaking my head. I called my best friend and said, "Can you believe this bullshit!?! How do I avoid intimacy and vulnerability?! I overshare everything!!" She said, in her factual and nonchalant way, "We all know you overshare to hide what you really don't want to say. And we still love you." I went immobile, heart beating out of my chest and jaw tightened. Finally able to speak, "How can everyone know this!?" There was a near audible smile "Your wall doesn't hide what you think it does. We still love you."
Was she right? I couldn't deny that her words had me in a panic. Yes, I hid a lot but in my defense it was after a lifetime of people not being able to handle what I shared. There are parts of my past too intense for many. One too many times I let someone know a small snippet of an experience I had and I would be shut down. Or worse yet the look on their face let me know my story was too much, and this must mean I'm too much. Letting others in on the dark horrific parts became too much of a risk.
So I created a persona as someone who was loud, funny and would tell graphic details of things most people would keep quiet about. Yet the things I told, even intensely personal, meant nothing to me. I rather enjoyed watching their wide-eyed gasps. Though the simplest of questions could send me into a spiral. Where did you grow up? What high school did you go to? What is your favorite holiday? Innocuous, easy, getting to know you questions that I dread. I don't want to have to explain. I don't want to talk about it. Yet I'm a terribly shitty liar with facial expressions that always tell the truth.
I find myself at this new place in life where I'm exhausted from all the hiding. Yet my protector self (therapy talk) does everything possible to avoid being hurt again. I'm walking a tightrope between living out loud and perceived safety. Do you think I trust you? I probably don't. And that's a reflection of my trauma and not you.
Yet I choose today to trust. I choose today to believe that sharing our stories heals us and others. I choose today to share my truth and fuck you if you can't handle it.
Raw Bleach
I opened my mailbox to find a paper saying I was officially divorced during the solar eclipse on August 21, 2017. 23 years together, 22 married and all that was left was a piece of paper saying "Not anymore!!". I made the right decision. I knew that. Yet I was overwhelmed with fear and uncertainty. Took a deep breath, bit my lip and went on, as survival means not showing weakness. Went to the Lady Gaga concert, got wasted and puked on my friend's shoes (as one does).
I literally blew up my life in 2017. I had no plans to do this. I simply wasn't happy and began to take active steps towards joy. Told my husband in March that I was done. Moved out in late June. Bought a condo in July. Divorced in August. New job in September. I spent every night on my balcony drinking wine and looking down at three bunnies that played in the grass. I was immobile and only had energy for minimal action to keep my head up.
My ex was hurting and posting on pictures on Facebook with his new girlfriend. People started to notice and the inquiries came in asking what's going on. I felt defensive. I felt I was being asked to justify my actions. What exactly do I have to explain to you? I have 23 years of reasons why I stayed and as many for why I left. Do you know the energy it takes to have to tell this fucking story again and again!? I had my childhood best friend call me and I told her what I was able to get out while in tears. I haven't heard from her since. Now I did have support and people that held my hand every step of the way. Yet even with an outpouring of love I felt completely isolated and alone.
Now the people asking meant no harm and I do know that in my heart. Yet any questions about my life or choices get me into fight mode. I'm a child of divorce. I like to say my parents co-wrote the book "How to be completely selfish and fuck up your child during a divorce." My father, a pastor, wanted to make sure it was known that he didn't want this divorce and it was my mother's fault. He pretty much went door to door saying this with no consideration as to how this would devastate his children. My mother went on to marry 3 more times after that. So many questions. I found that instead of asking them the questions, people came to me. I wasn't brought up with healthy boundaries so I never considered not answering or not answering truthfully. It felt like a continual emotional assault where I was left beaten up and abandoned. So even well meaning questions get to me to this day.
I'll jump ahead and say that my ex-husband has since thanked me for having the courage to end our marriage. I never meant him harm and said repeatedly, "Go be happy." If he needed something I would still be there for him.
I get compliments frequently on my strength and survival. I smile and say "thank you" while under my breath whispering "I had no choice."
I've been blogging for years on various subjects, and had been considering a new blog where I talk about both mine and friends stories from online dating. I had visions of self help posts for men (such as how to take a selfie that doesn't involve a mirror and your mouth half open like a large mouth bass about to catch a fly), and I still may do those, but after months of writer's block I came to realize this blog isn't about the dating as much as my own catharsis. This is about what I thought would happen that never did. This about who I thought I was and who I'm becoming. This is about me living out loud, unashamed and laying it down so I don't have to carry the shame anymore. This is about me.
The name for this blog came months ago while at the hair salon. While processing my hair my stylist put a toner on it and I said, "I've had toner done for years yet I don't exactly know what it does. Tell me what a toner does for my hair." She replied, "It tones down that Raw Bleach look." I laughed, gasped and squealed "That's it! That's the perfect name for my blog! Raw Bleach: I'm not toning it down!" We've since laughed about this frequently, and when speaking about being empowered women add on #rawbleach.
Yet I've been stuck. June 30th was 1 year since I left the home of my 22 year marriage. July 15th was what would have been my 23 year wedding anniversary. There is a lot of fear of judgment, shaming and what might be done to me if I share my truth. I'm walking through the fires of immobility as I believe that even if this is painful there is light on the other side.
Though my posts will be public, while sort of anonymous, if I've shared this with you it's because I believe I can trust you can hold space for my words and not hurt me.
Welcome to Raw Bleach.
