What next?

"I made no resolutions for the New Year. The habit of making plans, of criticizing, sanctioning and molding my life, is too much of a daily event for me." ~ Anais Nin

I used to love New Year's resolutions. Making lists, mapping out my year, getting excited about how everything would be so different if I just went heads down and didn't screw up. It never worked of course. Sure there were some moments of personal achievement, short bursts of time where it looked hopeful, but somewhere in that year it all crashes down. 

Instead of a resolution I can check off a list (I do love lists), I'm looking at how I can move differently this next year. I woke up to a Future Me letter from 2019 and there weren't any surprises on what I said or the subsequent outcomes. Lessons were learned, my heart was broken, I rose up and I'm still here. Yet how I moved in my interactions and reactions was basically the same; mostly coming from my trauma. 

I have both a therapist appointment today as well as one with my life coach. Because why not take the last day of 2020 to slam it hard and feel everything?! I have different though similar items for both of them I want to talk about; and it comes down to how I react and move through life. I made the statement to my life coach in our last session that "I'm out of time" when it came to a troubling area in my life. My homework was to list out all the things I feel I'm out of time for. Well fuck.

I don't want you to see my list. I don't want her to hear my list. But in the name of moving differently, walking through fear and not giving a fuck; here it is ~

1.) I'm out of time for a life partner. Yes, people meet later in life but I don't see it as a possibility for me. She offered stories of couples that met at the end of their lives and were thrilled. I said, "That just makes me sadder."

2.) Fame (my stomach convulsed typing the word). And what do I even mean by this? There is a part of me that has believed for years that some day I'd be a public speaker of some sort. I think part of this comes from a so called prophet at a previous church of mine nearly 30 years ago saying God told him I'd be a famous Christian speaker. Well the Christian part is no more but would this make me happy anyway? Could I handle public scrutiny? Feels too late anyway.

3.) A body I love. I hate that I just said that. I don't want any young women to read it. But admittedly my eating disorder, though I'm decently living in recovery, comes out hard at New Year's and screams at every part of me where I see imperfection. Do a cleanse, stop drinking, eat vegan, more weights, more cardio...the voices can be overwhelming.

That's only 3 things and I expected this to be a lot longer. But shit, those are huge things. Sure I know about journaling, positive affirmations, meditation and all the other things to at least handle one of these. Yet I'm tired. I'm so tired. I'm glancing at my side table right now with a good 5 journals of various sorts that I've been "doing the work" in for ages. My bookshelf has over 15 self help books and this is just at a glance from across the room. I work hard. 

In a serendipitous moment last night I saw a post that said, "The Queen's Gambit has been viewed by 62 million people. The producer, Allan Scott, is on BBC News talking about how it took 30 years, with 9 rewrites, and ... PLEASE PERSEVERE WITH THAT THING YOU'RE MAKING." I doubt I have 30 years left but perhaps it's not as late for me as it seems.

Tonight I'm going to a friend's house for a new year's eve bonfire (socially distanced, outside, masks) and we're invited to bring the 2020 things we want to burn. Burning is my jam. I have a special burn bowl on my porch as I'm frequently burning something I want out of my life. I decided the perfect item to start my 2020 burn would be my Vision Board. I had big travel plans for 2020 which didn't happen and I got misty staring at the board showing where I couldn't go. Yet if I let go of the travel, as we all did, I see I actually did achieve what I wanted in many ways. 

So maybe there's still time...

Distance

I've seen a theme emerging in my life and have finally learned to pay attention when this happens. Now whether this is some divine plan, or simply the wisdom I've gained on my own throughout the years, doesn't really matter to me. So I lean hard into self observation to see what's going on under the surface. I'm seeing distance in all its forms coming up for me so I'm asking the intense questions to gain insight and my own guidance.

They say you gain perspective with distance. Getting away from a situation, time and space all allow us to view things differently. Instead of asking what I did wrong, as I'm actually hyper aware of this, I'm looking at what my core intentions were that resulted in my behavior and choices. There have been pivotal relationships for me that disintegrated as I acted in love. But I see the love was only for them and never for me. I put my needs in the distance only to still have it fall apart. Yet with my current distance I also see that I needed these things to happen. Don't think I'm feeling chill and zen about this; I'm pissed off. Angry at the trauma bonding that brought me here. Pouting that my life is way more than half over and I'm still learning the lessons that I feel should have been understood decades ago. In the distance there is hope and maybe even healing, but for today I need to sit with the pain and the truth.

I'm feeling physical distance with someone new in my life. This is a situation I've never experienced so I'm seeing my mind flip flopping around to figure out what to do, how to behave and most importantly how not to be hurt. Self sabotage is poking around and threatening to blow shit up. From a distance I know my intentions are to avoid abandonment. Lets just see how much I can push and be reckless so my self fulfilling prophecy will happen sooner rather than later. Actually if I can hold my impulsive responses back a bit I may find the distance can bring about something new and amazing that I couldn't have imagined.

Struggling with the distance of our current world state in this pandemic. Being a high extrovert that now lives and works alone is grueling for me. I spend entirely too much time on social media to attempt to fill my need for connection. Yet we have to find literal distance right now to save ourselves.

I'm learning that sometimes distance is needed. I've realized my perspective isn't always correct. I'm forcing myself to allow my feelings to matter. Distance will not kill me.

Proud Hater

Lost a friend, potentially someone special, as I spoke about my hatred of Trump and his followers. He zoned in hard on my use of the word "hate" and walked out of my life because of it. I looked up the definition of the word "hate", as perhaps I was using it too far out of context. Hate: "to feel intense or passionate dislike". Oh that's all it is? Well I then I hate so very much! The subtext here was of course that I was too much, my feelings were too much, my opinions were too much, and I should tone it down. I don't want to.

I'll summarize what went down. I'd been seeing this guy barely a week and a half. And being who I am I shared a lot (mental note: stop doing that). But my oversharing is really only a way to not share the deeper parts. It makes people feel they know me when they really don't. We started talking politics. I'm vocal so he knows my feelings well on our current situation in America. He even said, "I know you'll speak up. I like that spark about you." Well a week prior we'd met at a bar and he'd said, "A lot of my friends are here and they are Trump supports so please don't do anything." This ticked me off and I said, "I won't start anything but if I hear bullshit I sure as fuck am not smiling sweetly." We went onto other subjects but it later hit me that I didn't think he'd told his friends to shut the fuck up around me because of my beliefs. Telling. So as were talking I went on a bit of a rant about Trump supporters. I said, as I'd told him previously, that I don't believe his friends are "good people" to support such a man. I don't recall what else I said but apparently I threw out the word hate. He slams his beer on the table, stands up and says "I'm out!". I laughed thinking this was a joke. He then goes into a tirade about his wonderful Republican friends (I don't actually care about political parties. 100% of my focus is elimination of Trump.). I sat there stunned. He left and texting began.

In the name of self observation and awareness I'd like to take some vile texts he sent, acknowledge what was said of me, and see what's true:

"You want to hate and call everyone racist, that's your choice." I don't call everyone racist...only the racists! And if you support Trump you are either racist or don't care that he is.

"The fact that you hate tells me all I need to know about you and yes I do know you." I can count on one hand the people I'd say truly know me. It sure as hell isn't some asshole I've known less than 2 weeks. I own my hatred. I've drawn a hard line in the sand on this. Ripping on me for the things I hate does not sway me in the least. There are things to hate in this world.

"You are so two faced. I hate trumpers, they are all racist, THEY CAN ALL DIE." I have zero recollection of saying they can all die. That makes me laugh. But I was a few wines in so if that conversation was recorded, and I said that, I sure won't deny it. I'm an animated person. I make huge statements. And in my loud over the top way of speaking do I say things that are much more extreme than what I really believe? Yeah, all the time. I usually think it's funny but many times no one gets the joke.

"You have to differentiate between political views and who a person is." Nope. I sure don't. Your political views, and the ones you ignore, tell me who you are. 

"You talk to any Buddhist that follows the tenets and they will tell you that you are fucked up." Am I Buddhist? I'm sure he's taking that from my being a yogi. No Buddhist would ever tell another person they are fucked up. I'll own that a lot of me is fucked up and part of my journey is working on this daily. I have pondered this a bit as I like to say the over arching statement of my path is "lokah: samasthah: sukhino bhavanthu" ~ May all beings everywhere be happy and free and my the thoughts, words and actions of my own life contribute to that happiness and freedom for all." OK, so how does Trump fit in here? I would say that speaking out to the atrocities he committed, if he ever does his own self reflection, would lead him towards happiness and freedom. I feel the same for his followers. 

"You are blinded by your trauma. Good luck with hate. Totally know you and your injured heart." My trauma (most of which he knows none of) does guide my actions for sure. When I see others being traumatized, it does cause me to speak and act. Do I hate what I see happening? Yes. I'll proudly be called a hater for this. The injured heart comment felt like it was supposed to be a cut (not that all of this wasn't put downs). Yes, my heart has been horribly injured and I'm using that hurt to help those still in pain to the other side. You don't know me at all.

"Fake your life and your strength. Pretend to be something you are not." I might be faking some strength in the whole 'fake it till you make it' vibe. Not pretending in the slightest. I'm loudly, sometimes forcefully, transparent about my beliefs and what drives me. And if you knew me at all this would be evident.

I don't feel I'm exposing anyone's secrets here as I haven't given a single detail to say who said these things to me. As one of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott, says, "You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”

So I will justifiably keep on hating the horrors I see happening. I will keep on hating our current administration. I will hate those that claim to be "good" yet turn a blind eye to what is presented before them. 

I'm a hater and proud of it.

Jumping through hoops

Now that my anti-anxiety medication is being taken away I'm looking at other possibilities to manage my panic attacks. I do yoga daily, meditate, journal, take walks and still struggle to breathe at times. I have at least 30 years of being on and off of antidepressants, antianxiety meds and various other ways they made me a case study. I jump through their hoops, they take it away, smile sweetly and they give it back. I'm so sick of it but I'm at their mercy.

The current consideration is a Ganglion Block which is an injection of local anesthetic to block the sympathetic nerves (fight or flight) on either side of the voice box in the neck. It's said to help both pain and PTSD. But damn...

My therapist tells me I've been in allostatic overload for some time. "The definition of allostatic overload refers to the chronic, cumulative effect of stressful situations in daily life experienced by the individual as taxing or exceeding their coping skills." I don't like the sound of this as it feels weak and I am not weak. But I can't deny the weight of the past 6 months on me. I slept for over 7 hours during the day this week end and still went to bed at my normal time. I'm clearly exhausted on multiple levels. She said when you've experienced complex trauma that your body can go into a state of hypervigilance. I feel like I've been in this state forever.

Beyond the anxiety and panic attacks is the debilitating depression I rarely speak of. I don't talk about it because I refuse to go back on all the drugs they tried on me. So I will my way through it. I'm skilled at not asking for help, not telling anyone and putting on a bigger smile when I'm crumbling. People rarely know how to just listen and I can't endure hearing "ideas" on what I should do. Now don't go and try and put me on a suicidal psyche hold, but the full truth is I've stayed alive for my son. Had he not been born well lets say all bets would be off. And horror of all horrors...he struggles with depression. It's truly my worst nightmare.

So I'll once again do what they are asking of me without any real hope for being helped. Sucking up this life for my son. Not asking for sympathy but it's much more grueling than I let on. Maybe I'll never be truly happy. It's possible some things are too big to get over. Focusing on what worked today, doing what I know brings a miniscule amount of relief, and not looking too far ahead as it can be too much to handle.

That wasn't love

As often happens, a picture or meme is what gives me the inspiration for the subjects I write about. This one came up today, "Listen to me, love doesn't leave you traumatized. What was happening to you wasn't love." Today also happens to be the 6 month mark of when I left the man I loved. And I'm still hurting. The most painful part is realizing he never actually loved me.

Two weeks into knowing him he said, "I love you". He was drunk, I was drunk, and my stupid little romantic heart that so desperately wants to be loved believed him. High on endorphins I fell hard for the feeling of that moment. At the time he was saying everything I wanted to hear. He figured out my insecurities immediately, as I'm not one to hide much anyway, and toyed with them while I tried desperately to get back to that moment. He only used the word love to manipulate because he knows an empath loves to hear that

This isn't about detailing all that went wrong, or even passing blame, it's about my acceptance of the fact that he didn't love me. It's about figuring out why I ignored all the red flags. It's understanding why I kept going back. It took me less than 6 weeks to believe what he said. But it's because he said what I wanted to hear. In barely a month and a half I clung to every lie. 

When I was 16 a girl said she was a tarot card reader and offered to do a reading for me. She said to think of a question. She did some card stuff and said, "Whatever your question is the answer is No." My question was will I ever be loved." Her words stuck. This isn't to say I've never been loved. People have loved me but not the ultimate combo of love and acceptance. Accepting who I really am has never been there. Yet I imagined and hoped he accepted me.

There is really nothing to figure out with my questions as I know the answers. I ignored all warnings and kept going back because it felt as close to love as I'd ever gotten. I wanted to believe it was real. Yet I found out he didn't love me at all when I left as he tried to destroy me. He failed but the good memories linger and call to me. I have to recall the horrific things he said about me to suffocate the fantasies. 

I have so many people around me, people that love me, but I'm alone. To hold out hope for some fantasy person that is truthful and accepts me fully is really too much to ask of anyone. We love to hold onto clichés of some "soul mate" or perfect person if you don't stop believing.  There are red flags with the man I'm seeing but I'm acting like I don't care as I know he's not the one anyway. Scary. All I really can do right now is not let it happen again.

Putting Myself First

I'm writing the words "putting myself first", cute little meme to go with this idea, but I truly don't have a clue how to do this. I'm great at helping other people. Seeing where others have a need and meeting it is easy for me and it makes me happy. Yet saying my feelings matter, standing up for myself and even doing right for me feels elusive.

Woke up this morning with debilitating sadness. Now I know what's happening as my period is a day late (no, not pregnant) and this means my hormones are off the rails from my PMDD (Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder). I can logically tell myself that feelings aren't facts and I need to ride this out. Yet it's painful beyond all words. On top of the existential depression and hormonal roller coaster, my body pain levels are debilitating. I need to prioritize myself at this moment.

Though I preach "self care" to friends all the time, I have to admit I don't know what that would look like for me. How would I put myself first in ways I don't already do? Since I live alone, and my child is grown, things like manicures, massage and baths are part of my daily existence. And though mostly recovered from my eating disorder, giving myself food treats isn't the best of ideas. The one thing I don't allow is rest. The thought of losing a day to rest makes me anxious. I need to be productive. Now productivity can look like having fun for me, but not sleep or laying around or even watching TV. And I'm tired. So tired.

A lot of putting myself first is about permission. I'm sure some of this is likely a trauma response to so many years of flat out being told my feelings didn't matter and I had to suck it up. Looking for balance, to leave the past behind and to give myself the space to matter that I do for everyone else. 

The sorrow and misery will soon pass. There will be a break from the pain. I will still survive if I stop my incessant need to be "on". 

Maybe not for the whole day, but for this moment I can be first.

Being Heard

Leaving the doctor's office from a blood draw, I walked home thinking about how many times I'd jumped through these hoops all because I wasn't heard. The backstory here is that my current doctor is wondering if my panic attacks are due to low magnesium or a thyroid issue. To even consider this dismisses over 30 years of clinical notes detailing my long history with an anxiety disorder. Diagnosed Complex PTSD and PMDD yet roughly every 5 years I get a doctor that wants to challenge this and have me start testing for a variety of random things. They shut me down and won't listen to me. Yet I know I need to smile sweetly and allow them their testing otherwise they take away what little relief I have. 

I used to get livid and rage against them when I felt unheard but I've learned it only make matters worse. My refusal to go back on antidepressants, or whatever new medication is being pushed, seems to cut at their egos as I repeatedly reject the options they want to try. I've tried every medication out there, with the exceptions of a few new ones, and I won't be their case study ever again. The withdrawals from some of these are debilitating. Once I experienced brain zaps for nearly a week, went to my doctor sobbing and begging for help, and she truly told me there was nothing at all that could be done with a fucking smirk on her face. I'm done. 

Now admittedly her reasoning for wanting me off my anti-anxiety medication is a good one. What I'm on has a side effect of early dementia, and my father and both of my aunts were diagnosed with Alzheimer's. So while I understand her concern, also keep in mind I only get 15 pills a month and they are low dose. It's not like I get to skip along the lane popping these like Tic Tacs. I don't feel heard.

It's well known that women historically are dismissed by doctors. We aren't heard especially when it comes to pain and mental health. I've fully given up on the medical community when it comes to my pain condition and treating myself. It's no longer worth my time and energy to fight with people that are supposed to be on my side. It's demeaning to have to beg for help only to be silenced. 

Though they shut down my requests I'm also vocal about how I fill in the gaps to their treatment. I boldly told my rheumatologist that since they say there is nothing more to do for me that I'll be self-treating my seronegative spondyloarthropathy with marijuana and yoga, as that's the only consistent things that give me relief. "Have you tried Abilify?", "No, and fuck your Abilify." Hard not to get punchy when you've endured decades of this treatment.

Not being heard by the medical professionals is exhausting but I know my anger runs much deeper as there is a lifetime of not being heard. I was silenced by my parents. At one point told our lives were at stake because of my big mouth. I was told I was out of line when I spoke up in church. A failed marriage after years of begging to be heard. When you feel you don't have a voice it can feel like being physically beaten daily.

I've recently found my voice. I'm learning how to stand up for myself without tears and hysteria. I'm speaking up for not only myself but for those still silenced. I will be heard.

Being an Inspiration

Saw a powerful picture where the words tore through me. Every single one of these things were said to me at one time. And each time I was told something so void of compassion, with expectations for me, it opened every would I tried to heal. These statements puts the onus on the victim to not only heal but come out better, stronger and that it was for some special reason such as helping others. On top of that are the timeframes of what is expected for you to be "over it". I was once told in church that if you weren't happy and forgiving after a year that you were sinning. 

So it was confirming and helpful to see this picture and be told that how I've handled things, which truly was the best I could, was just fine and I can continue on my healing journey which may take a lifetime. A friend speaking kindly of me once said, "She's the biggest survivor I know." It was a compliment but upon hearing it I burst into tears of rage. I thought, "I didn't want to be a survivor. I didn't want to be stronger. I wanted one fucking break! I would give up all the strength and wisdom to have had a simple and easy past." But I didn't get that and here I am decades later desperately trying to get over what no one should ever experience.

Now be it from my upbringing, or who I am as a person, I do feel huge obligation to "be an inspiration" to others. By inspiring I mean sharing my stories of what happened so others can see that they aren't alone and you can still thrive in life. I know I'm a courageous person, and I know I have a voice where others would fear to speak, so I feel I owe them that. Yet all this outspoken bravery comes at a cost. I've allowed people to know my shit. I've given an opening to hurt me as I've spoken about my insecurities. 

I'll need to be vague but there is a big disclosure I feel I should speak about and it hangs over my head. I feel obligation because I've rarely seen it spoken of. In fact most people won't even fully understand what I'm saying so it's going to require graphic details for full comprehension. Other than my doctor, and some therapists, I've only revealed this to a handful of people. And most still don't get the complexity, how devastating it was and how the shame penetrates me. For me to divulge this would mean no one looking at me the same again. It wasn't my fault, it was out of my control, but I feel humiliation at the thought of anyone else knowing. And once it's out there it's out for life. There is no taking it back.

I need to ponder this more and take into hard consideration what my next steps are. I need to consider what it will cost me. 

Learning to grieve

When I was upset about a relationship that went bad my therapist asked me, "Do you know how to grieve this loss?". I said, "No. I'm not sure I've properly grieved any loss in my life.". My mother's typical statement to being sad at a loss was "That's tough!", said in the most biting of tones. I'm sure this was her own way of dealing with the traumatic losses of her childhood and life, but it sure didn't teach proper self care. So to fully grieve any loss never occurred to me. I stuffed it down, sucked it up and plowed forward. No sadness allowed. 

I became skilled at not feeling a thing. This also meant becoming angry and annoyed at people who acting completely human grieved their own losses. I'd be comforting but inside thinking "This isn't so bad. Shut up about it. You are a baby and have no idea how good you have it.". I'd also hear of them being comforted by their parents as they grieved. A nice dinner out after the boyfriend broke up with them, a shopping trip when they didn't make the cheerleading squad, hugging them and crying on their shoulder. I couldn't conceive of any of this. I learned early on my tears didn't make a difference.

So now being a grown up and forging a new path of healthy boundaries, self care and actions, I'm learning to grieve. I've been encouraged to cry for the little girl who was told to shut up. I've been attempting to acknowledge how painful my marriage was. I'm grieving the loss of things that will never happen at this point in my life. I'm giving myself permission to be sad about parts of me that will never change and learning to accept what is.

Grieving is a scary process for me as there is so much fear that once I allow the feelings to come that they'll never stop pouring out of me. Feelings have always felt like weakness to me so it triggers my survival instincts to lock them down as protection. Yet will all the anxiety, panic, dread and trepidation there is a small voice inside me saying, "You are safe now. It's time."

I am safe now. It's time.

I want you to want me

From an article on releasing attachment, "I discovered that my pain and deep wound comes from a childhood of abuse and never being loved. I gave myself and my love away to anyone who would give me any sort of attention. My longing to be loved so badly was destroying me in so many ways."

It's hard to say if my desperate need for attention and acceptance comes from the shadow side of my personality or my trauma. I suspect it's a cute little combination of both. I'm a high extrovert, love to be in the limelight, but then my back story issues tend me push me over the edge of what is appropriate. I used to tell myself to stop being "me", and that didn't work, so now I'm looking for my place in this world while living out loud. 

I've never been in the 'in' crowd in school, work or any other grouping. Allowed to hang on the periphery but never one of the inner circle people. The people I hang out with have always been an eclectic mix and getting them all together at once never worked. We moved a ton, and don't have relatives in the area, so I've always been envious of those with their special groups and support systems. 

Yet even taking into account my highly opinionated big mouth, my loudness, my eccentricities, my desire to be unique...I want you to want me. I know I'm not for everyone yet get hurt to find out someone doesn't like me. When I find out someone dislikes me I start a mental investigation to figure out what I did wrong. And really I did nothing wrong. I was myself and not everyone likes who I am. It's life. Move on. Upon thinking about this I see it triggers those core needs that weren't met. My father didn't like me and told me so on many occasions. Interesting that when I said the same back to him, "I love you Dad, but I don't like you." that it was held against me to his grave. He had core issues too. 

Where it gets sticky tricky is my insatiable desire for male acceptance. All the daddy issues jokes can be said here. When I was newly divorced, and getting an overwhelming amount of attention, I allowed a lot of bullshit just to keep that need met. Though I learned from each experience, I can still see where I fall hard for flattery. I see I am not asking myself the real question of "Do I even like this person? How do I feel?". My brain goes into 'I'm going to make you like me' mode and all red flags are ignored. I'm learning, and better, but mistakes continue to be made.

I also see in this hunger to have men want me, a feeling of power. I was out dancing recently with someone I'm seeing, and his friend who can't stand me was there. This friend has loudly vocalized to him, "Dude! You know she's a die hard liberal! Why?!". Apparently there was a motion to say "look at her" as a reason for allowing this screaming feminist into the ranks. The friend agreed that I was hot enough for him to understand this. After a few wines I was enjoying mouthing to him from the dance floor, "I know you hate me" while smiling and flipping him off. This wasn't being respected. This wasn't true acceptance. Yet I was drunk with a feeling of having complete control.

So as I become more vocal in my views, as I step into my power, as I fully own who I am, I'm faced with having to accept that I won't be accepted. I feel my need for approval is what often stands in the way of me living the life I want to live. 

As Dita Von Teese said, "You can be the ripest, juiciest peach in the world, and there's still going to be somebody who hates peaches."

Having Enough

Woke up with a game plan of going through every item of clothing I own and getting rid of anything, no matter cost, sentimentality or desire, that I do not feel great wearing. This is a huge emotional task for me on many levels. I've cleared out my wardrobe many times, as I know clothes hoarding is an issue for me. Clothing holds powerful feelings for me; body image, scarcity and future outcomes. It's already 2 hours past when I planned to start the purging of my closets and I'm already immobilized.

I give my clothes to those in need as it's not only helping another person, but knowing this assists in taking my tight grip off something that is not serving my life. When I'm struggling with letting an item go I ask myself, "What if there is a woman right now who desperately needs this? You haven't worn it in 3 years yet this could be what helps her immensely! Can you give it up now?" I release immediately. Where I start to struggle is when scarcity mentality overtakes me. I imagine hypothetical situations where this one blouse is what I needed to survive and now it's gone. One time I was shopping and choosing between a beautiful sweater I wanted that was a bit out of the price range I'd like, or a ton of t-shirts that were on clearance. I bought the t-shirts because my trauma mind was concerned there might be a war and I'd need those for working in a factory. Feel free to laugh, as this is nuts, but also a great example of how my mind can shape shift a logical decision to the illogical.

Years ago I bought a dress in LA that I loved. The year was roughly 1991 and it was white with a cute peplum and obnoxiously wild silver buttons. I loved it! It was my favorite article of clothing yet I was scared to wear it. I worried since I'm clumsy that I'd spill and ruin it. I wanted to save it for a special occasion. Years went by and I'd admire it in my closet and never touch it. Finally one day while doing a closet cleaning I took it out and saw it had yellowed with age and was dated looking. I could have worn it once, looked amazing and had the time of my life feeling great in it, and instead I let it die in my closet while wearing worn out shitty clothes. I swore I'd never do that again as I'd learned a valuable life lesson. But as happens so often in life, the lesson was short lived and I see I'm once again holding onto things for some special moment that never happens, instead of enjoying them now.

When I was first married we were going to dinner, I walked out of the bedroom and my (ex) husband said, "What are you wearing?! We aren't poor! You have a closet full of clothes that is triple what most people have, and then you dress like you're homeless half the time!". He wasn't wrong. 

Getting started was hard so I texted a few friends for support, lit a "self love" candle and got to work. While clearing things out I found it interesting that the things I truly loved I put on nice hangers and the stuff I hated on crappy ones. Yet was still holding on so tightly. I said repeatedly to myself, "You have enough. More than enough. Maybe even too much. You're safe. You will be OK." 

My back is aching but 4 garbage bags later it's done. I have no illusions that I won't have to do this again. Clothing makes me feel safe so I buy to calm myself many times. It's primal on many levels. I also acknowledge the old sadness that comes up thinking about when I had holes in my clothes (not to be cool) and no way to get more. I remember stealing 2 bras from J.C. Penney's at 16 years old because I desperately needed them and I knew my mother didn't have the money. I can still feel the pain of not getting new school clothes my senior year, and walking into a new school feeling less than everyone. 

I also breathe deeply and acknowledge how much I have now and that those days are done. I made it through this moment.

I'm finally OK with that

I've felt an intense shift happen in me in the past two weeks. I wanted to say a breakthrough but to me that word implies something instant and this has been excruciatingly slow, with decades of work. I've had moments that used to hurt me that didn't anymore. I've observed my feelings at times that would typically trigger me and found I was grounded and clear. I feel changed.

It reminds me of when I trained for a marathon. Not being a runner I was starting at ground zero, or lower, as there is nothing about my physique that is geared for running. My pacing was awful, I didn't know what I was doing, I made mistakes every single time. Though I persevered what ultimately got me to that finish line was the words and actions of those around me. There were amazing runners, ones that had completed Boston marathon multiple times, who I felt ashamed to even talk about my attempts at running, who lifted me up, supported me and encouraged me. My friend who was an experienced runner but also her first marathon, who took me under her wing and became my training partner even though I was slower and held her back. I wasn't able to sink in self defeat as so many were rooting for me.

My writing can make me feel like I've been gutted in front of a crowd. Many times I'll post and truly run out my door to walk in the woods in order to silence the voices in my head screaming that I've made a terrible mistake to share so much. Yet so often I'll come back and hesitantly check my post to see others liked or loved it. There have been words of encouragement and understanding that dropped me to my knees in tears. Tears I'd refused to shed that I can no longer control. It was that repetition of walking through the fires of my fear and coming out to find I wasn't only not burned but was comforted and believed in.

I'm feeling a strength that is new and different and healthy. It's not my survival control where I plow my way through life getting torn apart in the process. It's a knowing that I had the power all along. I'll never look back and say I'm glad it all happened (stop telling people that), but I can say I'm using the pain and trauma for good.

Thank you to those that have continued to uplift and encourage me as you watch me process my existence. I can't count the times I've gone back to read comments, saved some, and used your words to get me through the dark hours of the night. We need each other. We need to tell our stories (though certainly you don't have to do it on stage as I'm doing). I'm grateful and hope I can repay you all in some way.

What I've Lost

This picture came up on my Facebook news feed asking, "If someone gave you a box of everything you have ever lost, what is the first thing you will look for?". It stopped me cold. First thought was my innocence. And I say this while not fully being sure when that was taken. But is that what I would want first? Perhaps hope. I realize how negative this sounds but I don't have a lot of hope.

Hope feels like one of the many promises made to me throughout my life that never materialized. When I'd hope, pray, beg and everything only got worse and completely out of my control, I learned it was much less painful to simply not hope at all. I'll hold onto hope for you but shun it for myself.

I've thought back to when my final moment of hope was, and as with most things in life it was a progression and not a single instance. I lost some when my church shunned my mother and I after she left my father, and then told horrifying lies about us. I lost some when we had to move out of our house in a matter of hours when I was 16 as my mother's drug dealer boyfriend was threatening to kill us. I lost some after pleading to a God I once believed in to save my marriage, and 22 years later nothing had changed. I lost some when my father disowned me and no one in my family cared. Hope never helped me.

Instead of hope I have belief in myself, my resilience and my willpower. I've said many times before about myself, "What I lack in talent, which is a lot, I make up for in tenacity." I know I can hustle with the best of them. I can survive without much sleep, I can power through agonizing pain and I have sucked up more shitty moments than most can even conceive of. This becomes a life of survival and it's exhausting. 

It's interesting that though I don't have hope, I have a huge focus towards giving others hope. I share the worst of my life with the belief that someone will be healed, be saved and find their way out by knowing they aren't the only one. Maybe what I've lost can be returned through a hope outside of myself.

When the moment arrives

Struggling to breathe. 

Have you ever had a time in your life where you feel the tension building, something is coming, you don't know what it is good or bad, but you know this is the moment you've been preparing for? 

Just broke down sobbing.

My mother texted me and asked if I would write about my impressions, experiences and observations of my grandmother's and aunt's mental illness. With only hazy recollections these were two of my abusers. I feel strongly there were many more, as I frequently have flashbacks and body sensations that are troubling and telling. I frequently allude to revealing my full experiences, and what this did to my life, but the terror of the aftermath stops me. Yet I know to the depths of me this needs to happen. It feels like the moment as arrived.

Of all the days to be asked...this is the anniversary of when I was raped. I so hate the universe's timing as it's so perfect and awful. It's a beautiful warm sunny day. I was cleaning and my home smells lovely and looks nice. I was about to take a walk in the sunshine and breathe deeply. I'd planned on yoga later. And now I'm alone suffocating. I feel nauseated. I'm typing through my tears.

Though interestingly I don't want to stuff this down. I don't have any desire to drink, eat, get high or distract this away. Taking big girl breaths and reminding myself I've survived what many couldn't and I'm needed to help those trying to find their way out. I'm standing on the edge of the cliff where I need to jump even if it means I crash and burn.

My mother knows a lot but doesn't know what it did to me. And as a mother this will hurt her. My brothers don't know. My cousins don't have a clue and this was their mother. This may shatter a lot of people. 

I don't hate them either. I know what each of their horrifying histories were and I know they acted out of trauma and mental illness. It's so hard as for so long I felt they were the only family members that liked and accepted me. And perhaps that feeling of being accepted led to me also being an ideal victim. 

I'm not the only one. So many of us have been terribly abused. Yet my 51 year old self just cry screamed, "Why me!?!?  Why did it have to be me?!?". I suppose all of us have screamed that to the darkness.

The moment has arrived and I'm taking it.

Too much apologizing

One of my diagnosis is anxiety disorder in relation to PTSD. I've lived with this for over 40 years so I can no longer recall what it feels like to be without it. Considering how young my trauma history began, perhaps it's all I've ever known. The struggles of anxiety actually come out in what can appear to be productive and good qualities. I'm efficient, on time, organized and seem to have my shit together on all levels. Yet most days I struggle to breathe all while making jokes, smiling and looking like I don't have a care in the world.

Out of fear of rejection I apologize a lot. I apologize for what wasn't my fault. I say I'm sorry before considering if there is anything to be sorry about. I've sort of always known this but never looked hard at where it comes from and challenged it. Lately I've been questioning myself as to why I'm apologizing and even not saying sorry though it increases my anxiety and I have to deal with the feelings that arise.

I saw this from a new light recently where an incident happened (actually no incident at all and that's the core point) and I not only apologized for doing nothing wrong but felt fear, anxiety and shame afterwards. This will be a little vague, as there is too much backstory that I'd rather not share, but hopefully it still shows how my anxiety manifests in situations. I was out having a great time with a friend when someone I no longer want in my life showed up out of nowhere. Anxiety levels go to high but in an act of courage I stayed and was not going to have this person's presence effect my good time. My friend was understanding, comforting and fully knew I didn't have blame here. As a side note, my friend is also friends with this person, they spoke, all good. I came away filled with worry. Was my friend's night ruined because she could sense that I was freaking out? Did I talk too much about my concerns and leave her in an uncomfortable position? Nothing I could have done differently yet my mind scrambles to regain a sense of control. I apologized, she said there was nothing to apologize for, and days later it hasn't left my mind.

When an anxiety trigger happens it not only screws up the present moment but there is the added challenge of letting it go. We hang on tightly to every perceived error, hold it over our own heads and punish ourselves by critiquing our every move with a ridiculous hope that if we can scrutinize ourselves enough that it won't happen again. It really becomes a mental circle of destruction.

So if I've hurt you, said something awful or did you wrong I am sorry. If I haven't apologized for this please tell me so I can make it right. I'm sure there will be many necessary and valid apologies in my future as I'm a human who fucks things up all the time. I read that "Trauma can compel you to apologize for things that aren't your fault." I'm working towards not apologizing for what isn't mine. 

Writing about what hurts

Hemmingway said, "Write long and hard about what hurts." While writing about my suffering I see where fear invades and I barely scratch the surface. The writers I admire the most speak about things that have shocked me, touched me and showed their humanity in the most vulnerable of ways. 

Yet in this day and age what you say is forever. There is no turning back. And people love to destroy you more than they cheer you on. What will it do to me if I say it? So how much do I risk? I want to risk it all. I want to dive into the fire and see what comes out on the other side once the smoke clears. But truly...I know some shit won't go down well. I know some things will not be taken in the context I present it. I worry if I'm published that it could potentially damage my company's reputation and possibly result in firing me. 

I can't walk away though. At the core of my being for as long as I can remember, back to childhood, I've felt I need to write brutal blunt truth. I can't find the exact quote but I remember comedienne Joan Rivers talking about ripping on herself before others did so they couldn't hurt her. I feel that. I do that. So the question comes can I take the ridicule, scrutiny, judgment and trolling. 

I worry about potential romantic relationships. I don't know that there is a man that could ever fully accept me, much less my past, or even worse me sharing all my shit. But I suppose they are not for me. Maybe no one is for me. I need to own my truth and let the weak fall away.

My mother even said to me years ago, "You need to write about what happened." I said, "It won't make you look good." She said, "I know. Write it." I was pondering different topics to explore, even confess, and my thoughts invariably went to not only the opinions of others but how revealing of myself might affect my son. I called him and asked if he read my blog, he said, "not really", so I said I was concerned about writing about things that might upset him. He said, "Write about anything you want." 

I stand at a crossroads. I've pushed this off, shoved it down, self medicated and ignored. But the time is now. This is it. It's time to leap into the fire, to burn and feel all the pain, and see who emerges.

Dark Night of the Soul

I've already written about my pain condition and revealed how I hide the excruciating level it hits from most everyone. In that post I spoke about the book "The Body Keeps the Score" by Bessel Van der Kolk, MD. I've had that book at least 4 years but I expect it's much longer. Each time I attempt a few pages the fear overtakes me and I put it down and read something else. It feels as if many answers lie in that book yet I'm terrified to face what I'll find. 

My body has raged against me in huge ways throughout my life. One was soul shattering and maybe one day I'll speak about it. Every day with my body feels like a fight.  Between the nonstop pain, the eating disorder and other ways it betrayed me, I don't trust my body to be there for me. I also fear what it will do next. I fear it the way someone who has been abused is terrified for the next violent moment to come.

My coach has asked me twice now to read the first chapter and I can't do it. The core fear is that I'll have a breakdown I can't recover from. I'm petrified that a repressed memory will come up, I won't be able to handle the graphic details of it, I breakdown and my life gets ruined. I'm gripping so tightly.

Yet time feels like it's flying by and that I need to go deep within to face what terrifies me the most. This feels like it calls for a faith that everything will be OK in the end. I can't hold that belief any longer because of how many times it let me down. I can't live with Pollyanna thinking because that sets me up for a fall. You can only be sick and tired for so long before something gives out. I'm giving out.

It's cold and dreary out today. These are the times my pain is excruciating and everything is a struggle. Tears are in my eyes that refuse to fall down my cheeks. The terror of what I might find as I open the Pandora's box that is my past makes me gasp for air. This winter seems like it will be a long one and I'm feeling I'll have to fully face my dark night of the soul finally.

I wonder if the fear isn't truly about what I might uncover but that when I find it I'll no longer be able to be me.

I'm a fighter

I'm a fighter but I think a better word is challenger. Though I will easily admit when wrong, and listen to facts, data and logic, when I know I'm right I don't back down. It's where my intensity can make me appear combative and aggressive. Such a contradiction in that I hate conflict, yet I also start it. 

I grew up constantly debating my father. Nearly all our battles came down to biblical interpretation, his against mine, and I don't recall a single time we came to a compromise or agreement. I had to fight to be heard as a female. I fought when I saw injustice. I battled to feel I mattered.

Awhile back my work had us take personality type tests to help our colleagues understand us and our work style. A group of my peers got together to do comparisons to each other and get rid of any misconceptions. My test came out highest for Influence with Dominance a close second. Now there were others with similar results but after comparing with all I noticed a big difference on mine: there was an asterisk and a note that said, "She will continually challenge you." Prior to the meeting I'd told myself I was going to agree even if I didn't agree just to not always be the one that isn't in line with everyone else. This was really just emotional exhaustion. Well after our comparisons there was a discussion about something, and I don't remember what it was, but everyone was smiling and nodding in agreement yet I saw a big flaw. I sipped some water, played with my hair, looked at email all while unable to focus. Eventually it overtook me and I spoke out. Someone even joked in fun that I would be the one to find this as it even said on my profile I challenge everything.

To stay silent truly hurts the core of my being. Yet there is loneliness in being looked at as an instigator and someone not to mess with under most circumstances. I'm struggling hard with where I give my energy in today's hostile political climate. I feel responsibility to speak where others can't or won't. It frequently leaves me viewed as the bitch who won't back down and not as a person disagreeing when she sees wrongdoing.

The funny part is that no one understands how much I hold back. I tell myself through out the day to walk away, don't go there and to let it go. Getting better at the self care aspect as I'm learning when I'm only giving myself hurt and anxiety and the discussion will never go anywhere.

The world needs fighters. My voice is needed. It's finding the healthy interaction balance where I make a difference but don't injure myself in the process.

A New Focus

When I write a blog post, though it's about me and for me, I'm also highly aware that someone else needs to hear it as well. I say hard things, and talk about my greatest pain, because I know the healing of someone else understanding what you went through. And though it's not easy and I feel like I've been skinned alive most times, I also feel something in all of this is my "calling". I was driving recently and had some subjects come up to write about and the more logical side of my head screamed, "You can't say that! Yes, it's true but to reveal that much could potentially ruin your life!" 

But what if it saves it?

I woke up at the first of this month with new resolve and drive. Looking back I see how my focus has really been off since my divorce. But I'm still standing, 3 years in, and better than ever. I had a lot that could have broken me, perhaps did for hot second, but I'm closer than ever to the other side. I've seen what took me down, what I allowed and where I let way too many other opinions dictate what I will accept. My new focus, maybe for the first time, is entirely selfish: what I want, what I'm saying, where I'm going and who is allowed to be with me for the journey.

First and biggest goal: hard boundaries. The time of compromise is done and if you don't like where I draw the line then go elsewhere. I'm no longer explaining myself. If you don't get it, if you don't get me then please remove yourself from my vibe.

“This life is mine alone. So I have stopped asking people for directions to places they’ve never been.”

― Glennon Doyle, Untamed

Writing goals: publication by my next birthday. In addition to that I'm pushing myself to go further, write about what no one will say, and getting to a deep level of vulnerability.

Personal goal: self acceptance. I feel like these words are too vague and broad and don't get to the core of it. I want to be at a place where not only do the perceptions of others mean nothing, but the trauma of the past doesn't continue to cut me.

Family goal: I haven't spoken of it but I'm currently estranged from one of my family members. This will be a difficult repair as this is the result of me setting an incredibly firm but needed boundary. Though I have nothing to apologize for here, some words could be said to fully have my side of the street clean.

Home goal: This has been a continual work in progress as it took me a good year to make any design decisions as I was so used to having my ideas shot down. I would say to myself, out loud, "You own this place. It's only you. You are the sole decision maker. It's whatever you want." Working towards fully leaning into this and making my place exactly what I want it to be.

Thank you for joining me on my journey.

I struggle with Christians

I struggle with Christians. Full truth is I despise most Christians. Yes, I said it. Now before you get your pretty feathers too ruffled let me explain myself. There are some amazing Christians out there truly doing the Lord's work such as John Pavlovitz, Matthew Paul Turner and Jamie Wright. These people fight for the marginalized, love others and actually follow the example of Jesus. I respect these people, admire their faith and seek to be like them in their actions and words.

Then there's the rest of you. I've watched you my entire life as I grew up in the church. You preached love and shunned your neighbor. You spoke of acceptance and used the church prayer line to get off on gossip. You are currently watching people die and following one of the most evil men ever lived. Or possibly worse, you are ambivalent about what's happening politically as you don't think it affects your privileged white ass. You scream "All lives matter" and base your entire vote on being "Pro-Life" yet shrug your shoulders at the children currently being held in cages when their parents were only seeking asylum and a better life. You cherry pick the verses that pretty much only relate to shit being great for you (taking Jeremiah 29:11 out of context, anyone?), give when convenient and live in a self obsessed little bubble of your God blessing the shit out of you.

I've been vocal in the past few years (though it's actually been much longer) that I no longer profess to be a Christian and am devoutly Agnostic. Is there a God? I don't know and neither do you. Go ahead and believe it but you don't have proof, nor do I have proof there isn't. I'll simply say this deity's silence was deafening to me. In self observation it's been interesting to me that I'm actually more giving, care more about others and fight harder for those that need a voice than I did while being a Christian. Because in Christianity you can just skate by and actually be completely selfish. All you have to do is say a prayer (or say you will and never do it), throw out a "God bless" now and then, maybe post a cute meme or two on Facebook, all while doing whatever the fuck you want. Big ass Jesus pic in your living room while the Beatitudes are something you live randomly when it's convenient for you. I see atheists, satanists and hedonists caring more about their fellow man than you.

Do you feel I'm judging you too harshly? We're all humans, right? Well yes I do judge you by the standards of what you claim to believe. I watch your actions and see if they line up with what you profess to have faith in. If you committed your life to Christ, because your belief is he saved you from your sins, and you said you were going to take up your cross and follow him....then why in fuck don't the rest of us see it?!? I saw this hypocrisy from childhood, spoke out on it, and was beaten down for saying it. I even prayed continually "Your people suck! I hate them! I don't know how I can be around them!". 

Again, I didn't say all Christians but I fully stand by most of you being this way. So get pissed at me. Try to slam me. Say I'm bitter (I am and don't care), and have fallen away (The day I walked away was the scariest and most freeing moment of my life.). But really....am I wrong?

This angry (livid actually) self is not what I wish to be. I look to Buddhist teachings of non-attachment and non-reactivity which do sound lovely and much calmer than my current existence. Yet who I am at the core of my being is someone who speaks out when she sees wrong. It leaves me at a crossroads many times but I can no longer stay silent. I wish you peace yet your actions, or lack of, astonish me.

I'll end this with the words I live by:
"Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu ~ May all beings everywhere be happy and free, and may the thoughts, words and actions of my own life contribute in some way to that happiness and freedom for all."

Unapologetic

I was recently asked what guilty pleasures I have. I replied that I refuse to feel guilty for anything much less what makes me happy. This got me thinking about what we so often hear about "giving zero fucks" and not caring. The truth is I do care, really so much that I get angry at myself. I actually give a lot of fucks. I appease others, apologize when I wasn't even wrong and stay small in ways that ultimately hurt me.

So what would it mean to live a fully unapologetic life? 

Now when I say unapologetic this doesn't mean never having to apologize for doing wrong. I'm quick to admit when my actions cause harm and say I'm sorry. This is about not apologizing for who I am, what I believe, what I love, the choices I make and how I live my life. I'm doing this in baby steps, small acts of bravery and each time I say "no" without explanation. 

At the heart of this is self acceptance. I see where I apologize for something about me, even internally, it's over something I don't like about myself and it serves as a way for others to take me down. We're told to "love yourself" with no path to guide us there. I'm still dismantling decades of Christian dogma saying that I was born a sinner, broken and unacceptable by their God. I have a lifetime of criticism for being too loud, too obnoxious and way too much. I remember as a teenager cutting myself down as a way to get compliments. Sure there was some affirmation but what it ultimately did was seal in my heart that I didn't feel I'd ever be enough. 

So when the comments come, or the rejection, it still hurts me. But I'm finally in a place of bouncing back faster and stronger. Because do I want to be like everyone else? No! I spent decades trying to live within a construct that was suffocating me. Every day, little by little, I'm walking towards my personal freedom. Fully unapologetic. 

Speaking up for myself

When you meet me I come off as loud-mouthed, extroverted, opinionated and a bit of a bad ass. This is definitely the persona I mostly like but all is not as it may appear. I am all these things and speak out for others without a second thought, but when it comes to myself I'm much more of a coward. I cringed as I typed the word "coward", as I didn't see that coming yet it's true. I fear speaking out for myself as I'm scared of what may be said back to me. I am scared of criticism. I don't like conflict that's about me. Attempting to speak up for myself can paralyze me.

So speaking up, speaking out and demanding respect has been a current goal. 

So how did I wind up here? 

As a child I spoke up for myself all the time. I was the oldest with two younger brothers and would rage at any injustice to me. And there were many. Growing up Evangelical Christian meant a set of expectations were on me being female that my brothers didn't have to abide by. And frankly everything about me was what I wasn't supposed to be. (I feel like I've told this story before but it's relevant to the post.) Once my father and I were in a heated battle with my brothers looking on. We were going head to head batting bible verses back and forth as we both tried to prove ourselves right. I was spanked for not knowing verses, and expected to know extremely long passages at a young age, so even with my father's doctorate in ministry, he still wasn't a match for me. At one point it hit me that I'd never be heard. I sat back, laughing, and said, "You know what, Dad? You love that I'm this way. Only you wanted this in your sons but not your daughter." He said, "Yep!" I said, "It sucks to be you then!" 

While I back down in friendships, even when hurt, the worst of it is when it involves male attention. Yes, all the Daddy issues. I see myself get repeatedly disrespected in various ways and I stay silent. If I speak up then I'm a bitch, right? They might say something that hurts my feelings if I call them out. So why do I care? Why do I still want their acceptance? (yeah, I said it, and I hate it) 

I feel like at the core of this is a fear of loss. If I tell a friend their actions weren't kind then they might not be my friend. If I tell a date that his behavior isn't respectful and I don't appreciate it, then he'll go away. Be glad they're gone, right?! Yet I feel tears welling up at the thought of losing more. I look at my life and see loss after loss. 

I find myself in this continual push pull of trying to fit in, trying to be what's expected of me, trying to like what others like, and be into the things we're told should make us happy. Yet I'm not like that. I find so often people talk about how they are "weird" and I think of how they are actually so normal and boring. I can sit in a corporate meeting and be appropriate, and I'm not weird in the wild creative artist way, but I'm just eccentric enough to feel on the outside. 

Yet I am speaking up through a trembling voice (thankfully not seen through text) and with my head held high. And I've met amazing new people who are supporting me and uplifting me and letting me feel it's OK to be me. Possibly, just maybe, my calling and life isn't to have a tribe by my side but to show how to do it alone (with a few cheerleaders on the sidelines).

I wish someone would have told me

I wish someone would have told me it's not my fault.

I wish someone would have told me I'm not a sinner.

I wish someone would have told me mistakes are OK.

I wish someone would have told me not to believe everyone.

I wish someone would have told me it will end.

I wish someone would have told me their opinions don't matter.

I wish someone would have told me I'm enough as I am.

I wish someone would have told me I could have said No.

I wish someone would have told me I'm not to blame for saying nothing.

I wish someone would have told me I can own my truth.

I wish someone would have told me you can't save anyone.

I wish someone would have told me some people are evil.

I wish someone would have told me fairy tales aren't real.

I wish someone would have told me you make your own happiness.

I wish someone had told me you don't have to forgive.

I wish someone had told me you will never find some answers to some questions.

I wish someone had told me I would survive.

I wish someone had told me to observe.

I wish someone had told me I could withstand the pain.

I wish someone had told me I'm allowed.

I wish someone had told me I don't have to shrink.

I wish someone had told me to turn it all the way up.

I wish someone had told me we're all lost in our stories.

I wish someone had told me I have all the power.

So I told myself...

Pretty

"How's my pretty girl this morning?" were the words I woke up to one day from the man I was dating. I melted. I cried. I struggled to breathe. The word "pretty" has always been elusive and hurtful for me. I wasn't told I was pretty growing up. My father made sure I was well aware of where my level of beauty stood in his eyes, lacking, and it cut me to the core. Sure I'd get the occasional "cute" but "pretty" felt out of my grasp and impossible. While that text sent me into an orbit of elation and happiness he never said it again. After I'd gushed about how happy it made me, it felt as if I'd instead been teased with what I'd so desperately wanted and crushed.

Sure beauty is fleeting and in no way to measure of how wonderful of a human you are, but when you've never been the pretty one there is a special sting that can take you from self worth to humiliation in a blink. Once I was at a friend's house and there were about 4 other girls there, we were in our teens and her father started commenting to each girl about how she could be a model, and then he got to me and stopped talking. Now I certainly knew I wasn't model material but tears will still well up for me when I recall my little 14 year old self locking my jaw and holding back the sobs. Not pretty.

Interestingly enough I've aged decently well (genetics and great face cream) and my ex-husband (we were married at this time) once said that I'd gotten much better looking with age. Sort of a compliment with a side of shit thrown in the face. Single now and dating I find I get the "sexy" compliment all day long. Who doesn't want to be told they are sexy? Sure I do, but yet when I hear it I mostly don't hear "pretty". 

Katie Makkai did a spoken word piece years ago that I've listened to at least twice a year. It has been viewed 3,714,425 times showing I'm not the only one needing to hear it. She ends with what I aspire to be, what I want to want, and hating that this one fucking word can ruin a grown ass woman such as myself.  She says, "The word pretty is unworthy of everything you will be and no child of mine will be contained in five letters. You will be pretty intelligent, pretty creative, pretty amazing. But you will never be merely pretty".

Fuck pretty. Do I still want to be pretty? Yeah...