A blog post a day for 30 days - Day 28 - So much fear

My therapist asked yesterday, "If the fear wasn't there; what decisions would I make?" Obviously this can be taken a lot of ways and from many angles. If there wasn't fear would I remain in this state? If I wasn't scared what would I say that I hold back? What choices have I made that were fear based? What actions have I not taken because I was scared?

I would also challenge this as many decisions which could be based in fear (of survival) are also about being logical. I'd love to sell everything I own and live on a Caribbean beach, but I'm much too cognizant of being in charge of my own existence and thinking about how daily choices decide your future. There are so many daily choices, such as avoiding conflict rather than saying how you feel, that are fear based but not healthy in the end. As with all things there is a balance.

Taking it out of the life or death realm; what scary decisions am I avoiding? Avoiding conflict is a big one for me. Though I appear to be this bitch that will say anything to anyone, if I care about the person and their opinion of me, then I will allow myself to be hurt by them, refuse to have hard conversations and keep a happy smile at all times. Always nervous about "being in trouble" even though I don't have any history of getting in trouble. If you've read this blog for even a short amount of time, you'll see I say the same things over and over. I'm bored with it too. 

I think I need to look at my core fears and see how they guide my decisions:
Fear of always being alone.
Fear of my son not thriving and surviving.
Fear of health conditions where I'd need help.
Fear of anyone being mad at me.
Fear of speaking out when I'm hurt, as I fear I will get hurt worse to say it.
Fear of failure.
Fear of success.
Fear of my flaws being highlighted, mocked and ridiculed.
Fear of not being believed.
Fear of reactions to my speaking about my past, my truth and my beliefs.
Fear of the unknown. Isn't this really the biggest one? Those crazy ass scenarios we dream up in the middle of the night, and later internalize believing they can actually happen.

So much fear. Yet even in the terror and anxiety, I can say with my head held high that I absolutely do something that scares me every day. I push myself, I try things I will likely fail at, I take deep breaths and plow forward. I'm reprogramming my brain through daily efforts, no matter how small.

I am good enough, I'm owning my power and I will survive.

A blog post a day for 30 days - Day 27 - This is how it is now

I'm exhausted beyond words right now. Sleep is bad. I've been in a watchful and hyper state for some time now and my body is giving out. Not helping the pain levels either. The things I would typically do to help are no longer helping. 

This is how it is now.

"This is how it is now." is my personal favorite mantra. It's all about being in the present moment. It's not crying about the past and it doesn't say the future can't be wonderful. But right now, whatever it is, this is how it is now. I'm not happy with this current stage though I know it's a painful moment I need to go through. I force deep breaths but it's an effort. Reading a book, watching a movie, or even taking my daily yoga sucks my energy out, and I many times lose all focus.

This is how it is now.

Life is full of shitty times. No one is exempt from it. I'm working hard to own my side of the street and the choices I made to get me to this moment. I'm also struggling hard to give myself the grace not to own what isn't mine. This will end and one day be a distant memory. But still....today is hard.

This is how it is now.

It's raining right now. Typically rain depresses me but this is a soft even rain that feels soothing. It reminds me of starting again, cleansed, refreshed and calm. I may take my cat out on my balcony, drink some wine and allow myself to drift away...

This is how it is now.

A blog post a day for 30 days - Day 26 - Using the words to empower me

I've had thoughts for awhile about writing a post about shitty things that have been said to me over my lifetime and what those words did to me. I was speaking to a friend a few years ago and giving some examples of things that were said, and she said, "I've never in my life had anyone speak that awfully to me!" I have a lot of theories as to why people think they can say some heinous shit to me, and I may explore that later, but today I'm wanting to look at how I can take those words meant to burn me and use it as fuel for my fire.

Pretty sure I said this in a previous post but it deserves repeating as it says a lot about me; my mother once said, "You remember every bad word every said to you." She's right. I also remember every stupid thing I've ever said. Both the horrible things said to me, and the idiotic shit that's come out of my mouth, ramble incessantly through my brain. To the best of my ability I've apologized to anyone I felt I wronged in any way. Yet even for the very few that did ultimately apologize to me, their words weren't enough. Once the damage was done, once it was said, I allowed it to break me. I'm specifically using the word "allow" as I see how instead of letting it roll off me, I held tight, internalized and let it start to erode what little self worth I had.

Today is a new day and the clock is ticking on what little years I have left. Yes, I know I sound morbid about death and dying but this fuels me to keep going. I first have to look at what was said to me and ask if it's true; as even if it's true in another's perception doesn't mean it's actually a true statement. I know I used to not question it as if their words held power and were absolute facts. I also have to ask, even if this bullshit is true, does it matter? Is this person someone who cares about me and is trying to help me, or is their intent pain and harm? 

I think through the terrible things said to me and the answers are all different. For many, they were just shooting off their mouth without thought. For some, they were projecting their own low self esteem onto me. Others with full intention said exactly what they thought would cause me to suffer the most...fuck them.

Yet the days of me getting small, crying and wallowing in self hatred are gone. I'm examining everything right now: my actions, the actions of others, choices, dreams, fears and hopes. I walk daily through the fires of fear towards my happiness. I own that I'm not perfect yet am still wonderful, worthy and more than fucking enough. I heard your words and they have empowered me. I will rise and be more than you ever imagined. And you know what; for all the shit talkers out there that tried to demean, belittle and humiliate me...I actually hope you do the hard work that I'm doing to feel better about yourselves and stop hurting others. I wish you peace.

A blog post a day for 30 days - Day 25 - Being Alone

I didn't want to write about this subject. I found myself going over my thoughts on various ideas and yet thinking about how I was alone kept coming back. So yeah....I'm all alone. Sure I have friends and family, and a great kitty to keep me company, but I'm alone. It's funny how those in happy relationships are usually the first to give advice on being alone...while they aren't alone in the slightest. There are also cliche stories here in that "once you are used to being alone then the perfect person will come". Really? Because no one dies alone? It's a formula and once you complete the steps then you get all the love you always wanted? Yes, feel my annoyance and eye rolling at these statements, because they are a fairy tale.

I do like a lot about being alone. I love being able to decorate my place in any way I want with zero consideration to anyone's opinions. It took me nearly three years to get to a place where all my decisions as to how I use my space are entirely about me. I love having my own money and not having dependence on anyone. I love that my schedule is my own to do anything I want at will. I don't actually want anyone living with me right now.

Yet being alone, especially right now with little to no social interaction, is hard. Sure I do video calls, have web calls for work, text, Facebook, etc... but it's not the same as being face to face with another human. 

It's also difficult when I see others who have gone through divorce as I have and, what appears to be effortlessly, found their damn soul mate (side note: I don't believe in soul mates). I find I put a ton of shame and blame on myself asking "What the fuck did I do wrong that I can't find this?!" Well I know exactly what I did wrong. I can detail out every single bad decision, choice and action. Yet how do I find the healthy, empowering, loving relationship that I want? No fucking clue. Perhaps I should believe in fairy tales.

Here's the really hard questions to face...What if I'm simply alone forever? What if this fantasy person I have in my head doesn't exist? What if I need to face that I will always be alone? This is real shit and it could happen. None of us get guarantees. I used to say the happy love-filled life was for some people...And then there's the rest of us (this was also going to be my autobiography title).

I've also been told the reason I don't get this is actually because I don't believe it's possible. (I'm looking at you Positive Affirmations, The Secret, Manifestations...people!) It's interesting that this was the same thing told to me in the church when I expressed doubt....my fault for lacking faith. 

So the possibility of never having that romantic love I so desperately want; a love where I'm believed in, cheered on, and fully accepted may never happen. I can still hold my head high and say I loved big, I did the best I could and I gave my all. No matter how much the other person tried to hurt me, I can say I didn't retaliate back. My side of the street is clean. While still holding out a little hope and also facing with acceptance that the fantasy may never come true.

I have this picture on my refrigerator. I put it there after moving into my own place and going through a divorce. It reminds me to still honor my efforts, to feel it all, to enjoy the wonderful moments while knowing I can still be hurt again. I'll be OK no matter what.

A blog post a day for 30 days - Day 24 - My Character

I read a quote this morning that got me thinking; "Be more concerned with your character than your reputation, because your character is what you really are, while your reputation is merely what others think you are." ~ John Wooden. 

I thought about many times where people tried to slander my name and how important I felt it was for me to defend myself. I'm a first born so I'm terribly concerned with fairness, justice and truth. The thought that someone could flat out lie about me, or even speak about who I am from their made up story of who they think I am, enraged me to no end. People seem to take great joy in cutting others down or watching someone crumble. It's why The National Enquirer sold so much (do they still exist?), it's why people love reality shows, gossip shows and reading about a celebrity falling apart. Does this make us feel better about ourselves for a moment? Superior? Of course it does.

So I have to first examine and question if I've talked shit about people when it wasn't actually the truth. Sure I have. Now I would never boldly lie (I believe too much in karma that this frightens me) but I've definitely taken a small amount of information and put my own ideas and perceptions to fill in the story gaps. Did I feel better than that person? Yeah, for a hot second. Have I regretted it? Absolutely. 

I first had to make a hard effort in letting go of other's perception of me when I got divorced. Assumptions were made, lies were told and I know many have an incorrect story about who I am and what I did. That's OK. I had to let go of the life I had in order to walk towards the life I wanted, and I didn't ask for a single opinion or thought on my decision. I did it alone and let people have any perception they wanted.

So where is the line between having a good reputation, as this does matter in life, and letting people have any perception they want without having to defend or explain yourself? If this person holds a valuable place in my life they would desire to know the truth of me. But do we ever fully know the truth of anyone? We hide things, they don't reveal everything, and we both cloud it all with our own perceptions which may be false or dead on. There is a balance here as if there are wrong assumptions hanging over you at your job then it may be worth setting the record straight. Yet if some fool chooses to believe an inane lie made up about you is this even worth the energy?

In the end the only person I actually have to answer to is myself. I know the core of my character is honest, loyal, caring and beautiful. I know exactly who I am and have nothing to prove. If you speak poorly of me then it actually says much more about your character. Enjoy your karma as I shall enjoy mine.

A blog post a day for 30 days - Day 23 - Owning my power

I've never felt powerful. Born female into a patriarchal family where my father felt women "had their place" and were clearly less than (insert obligatory bible verse), I was always screaming to be seen, to be heard, to count. Being powerful, or at least feeling I had my own power, wasn't even a consideration. Power has always felt like something held over me, against me and without any control from me. I feel like "power" is the latest buzz word being thrown all over: Own your power, you are powerful, be in your power, use your power. I'm re-framing what power is and what it means for my own life. 

I had to own my power this week in a way that I'd avoided but ultimately was left no other choice. I had to walk through the fears and make demands on how I expected to be treated. I had to put my feelings first. I had to forever sever a tie that had been binding me.

So while not reinventing the wheel, here are my feelings on owning my power at this moment:

Owning my power means doing what is best for me no matter what others think, feel or want.
Owning my power means not shrinking to make people happy.
Owning my power means using my voice, standing tall and not backing down.
Owning my power means not explaining myself for your approval.
Owning my power means setting boundaries.
Owning my power means allowing myself mistakes while not crumbling from them.
Owning my power means giving myself space to start again...no matter how many times it takes.

I am very powerful and will no longer hide it.

A blog post a day for 30 days - Day 22 - Calculated Words

While I won't let my blog turn into a place where I rant and process the damage from my last relationship, I had a moment of realization and resolve yesterday that I wanted to write about. I was looking through the last texts and emails I received from him, and saw how calculated and intentional his words were. The sentences were deliberately constructed to bring me the most pain. He knew a lot about me, in the end he'd started saying "I know you better than you know yourself." to which I'd reply, "Hardly", yet him saying that didn't feel like connection, and it bothered me yet I couldn't figure out why. Looking at how my openness and vulnerability were later used to make me suffer, the "I know you..." statement really felt like "I know how to hurt you".

He started one email with "Since you weren't good enough....". He was referring to a blog post I wrote which had to do with him and was deeply painful to me. He knows my history of trauma, depression and PTSD, and made sure to construct sentences that would cut the deepest. Though it definitely hurt to have someone who once claimed to love you try to emotionally destroy you, he didn't succeed the way he wanted to. He was rambling with graphic details as to how his new woman was so much better than me and referred to her as "motivated". The word stopped me cold not because I'm unmotivated but because I'm highly motivated. If anything I had been slacking on my goals being with him. Though still painful I saw his words as completely ridiculous and his maliciousness being a reflection on who he is as a person and not me. 

Now the best (though not appropriate) way to motivate me is to tell me I can't, tell me you don't think I can do it, tell me I lack the drive. So though he won't be reading this (I begged him to read my blog, as it's important to me, and he wouldn't.), I have some calculated words to share.

I will succeed.
It will be my version of success.
It will make me happy and proud.
It will be for me.
I will not be brought down by words that intend to break me.
I am powerful and so much more than you see.
I will transform.

A blog post a day for 30 days - Day 21 - Exposed

I've written about exposure before as it's a highly sensitive subject for me. I've had many instances where I let my guard down, believed I was with someone safe to be vulnerable, and later had it used against me...though typically I became a fascinating story for gossip (or the prayer chain if you're in church).

I hate people knowing my shit. I'll tell you what appears to be a lot to get you off the trail of what's really going on. Not lies, but instead I speak out about things that don't really matter to me that much, while hiding what matters most to me.

Yet on my last post I didn't shimmy over things while omitting my deepest wounds and fears. I said the words that hurt me most. I spoke out my truth while freaking as to how it would be seen and perceived. I laid it out raw and am today still barely breathing as I know it can't be taken back. But I own it and did it.

So if holding back makes me feel safe then why would I purposefully write a blog where I'm emotionally naked, exposed and up for ridicule? The easy answer is I can't hold it in anymore. I might make you uncomfortable (I'm sure uncomfortable!), or uneasy, or just being glad you aren't me. Everything in my soul (spirit, true self, etc...) is screaming that good or bad I need to own the whole of my life, and own it loudly!

I do it for the ones who are like me the most. I know I'm a lot to handle, I can overtake a room, and my energy is spacious and even suffocating, and that there are others who feel the same about themselves and need me. Walking through the fires of shame, and yelling to the broken like me that they aren't alone, is my destiny. It might not make me money, famous or anything at all. But I know if I were on my death bed at this moment I would be most proud of the times I didn't shrink, and talked about the pain, and gave those who can't speak a place to feel seen.

Back in my Christianity days I was told by two people, occasions many years apart, that they had a word from God for me and that I was going to be a speaker. At the time I thought that meant Christian speaker at some lame ass event (looking at you Women of Faith) and I hated the idea. Though I don't believe in any of that, those supposed prophecies of me still roam around my head in my daydreams. Perhaps speaker meant something else entirely and that it comes down to me personally speaking out and speaking up. 

As is the title of my blog: Raw Bleach - I'm not toning it down!

A blog post a day for 30 days - Day 20 - Your opinion isn't needed anymore

“When I was sober I wasn’t attracted to you and was looking on dating sites a lot. You don’t look good straight on, eyes too close together…your hair looks like Bozo the clown…Now I get why your ex-husband found better too.”

This was one of many demeaning texts I received from a man I spent a year with in a toxic and damaging relationship. I did nothing to provoke such a response, in fact I broke up with him in the most caring and respectful way I knew how, wishing him nothing but goodness.  But he felt the rejection and lashed back in a way he thought would destroy me. My stomach convulsed as I read the words, I felt dizzy and the tears welled up as I struggled to hold it together. He was speaking to my biggest fears, as if to say, “You know all that work you’ve been trying to do for decades to love and accept yourself? Well don’t even bother because we all see as you less than.” He sent other horrific emails but these texts were the worst. I reminded myself of a note I took in therapy “this is part of the abuse”.

I was in an abusive relationship. I can say the words now. I swore after seeing what my mother allowed and went through that there was no way it could happen to me. It happened to me. Digging deep to look at why I kept going back, what I thought I would get, and what I thought I personally was missing to need to allow this. A lot of it was me being an empathetic and caring person. I saw the good in him, shoved down the red flags, and tried to help. I hyper focused on what I loved about us and ignored the rest. Though it doesn’t seem like it, my eyes were open. I said many times to him and others that this wasn’t sustainable. Yet through drama, breakups and completely insane behavior, I kept going back for one more moment. It’s said, “Never love a man so much that you ignore the truth about him.” Yet I did…repeatedly. I also genuinely loved him. He was over the top in the beginning with compliments and praise (love bombing) and quickly figured out where my insecurities were and how to use them. I fell.

So today I rise. Do I love and accept myself? Oh fuck no. Can I let his words roll off my back? No, they have been on constant repeat since I read them. Yet I woke up today and did the work. I wrote hard thoughts, I meditated, I spoke to a friend for support and I will go on a long walk later and attempt to release some of this shit while blasting some 80’s metal. And I may not be going about my path the way you think I should but I’m walking in a way that helps me make it through a day.

Are you ready for this? He emailed last night apologizing. It appeared sincere but I can’t trust it. And there is no need to reply as there is nothing left to be said. I will rise without his apology, without a last conversation, and without the opinions of others. I will own my power, in my incredibly flawed and bad choices self, I will come out better. I will transform. (yes, I just stole of ton of Katy Perry lyrics…)

As painful as this is, I feel like it’s also a pivotal moment. How much of my entire existence has been built around what the world thinks I should do, look like and be? Sharing his words and this experience feel terrifying to me. Yet the people I admire most tell the hardest of truths. Someone else has been berated, demeaned and shamed with words they don’t want anyone to know so they need to know it wasn’t just them. Interesting that I took an online class the same day his vicious texts came through; a workshop that spoke about ‘teaching a way of being that allows us to compassionately and curiously release the trauma and integrate the emotions that live within our bodies’. I choose right now to do whatever I want, when I want and how I want. I choose to own my body without your thoughts on it. Your opinion isn’t needed anymore.

A blog post a day for 30 days - Day 19 - Surviving what you think you can't survive

I woke up today angry, annoyed, agitated with nowhere to place it. Our current surreal existence is taking it's toll. When I'm in this state of mind I find memories long forgotten coming up. Sometimes this makes me even angrier, possibly at what happened, but eventually directed back at myself for any perceived error I made. I've gotten better over the years when a memory or terrible flashback smacks me out of nowhere but that doesn't mean there isn't residual feelings.

I've survived some horrifying shit. Worst on the planet? No. Really fucking bad so much so that people gasp in horror when I tell them? Yes, and there is shame when they react in the most caring human way because it makes it real. When I tell the story I feel it in my body; all the pain, terror and agony. I have to tell myself, sometimes out loud, that it's over and I am OK. Sometimes I put an "I am safe" post it on my computer for the visual reminder.

I had something happen recently that knocked me back into PTSD, hyper vigilant, trauma mode.  I can logically observe from a distance and see why I'm feeling what I'm feeling but that doesn't stop the body's response. I'm struggling to breathe, muscles are tense and in spasms, and I'm in a watchful mode of "What will happen next?". I've done everything I know to do: meditation, writing, yoga, breathing exercises, anti anxiety medication....but I'm still deep in. 

I find when shit goes down hard I turn it all on myself, I look for my errors, and then my own shaming and berating begins. Mistakes were made.  A lot of them. And I hear the old voices of "You deserve this." coming back. 

In these moments it feels like you can't survive.

Yet I will survive. I've survived so much worse. I will be better. I will own my part. I will share my experience with someone else who is drowning in the shame of regret. I'm bigger and better than this moment and have nothing to prove to anyone.

Not that you're reading this, I still want you to know, "Fuck you. You didn't destroy me. You have no power over me."

A blog post a day for 30 days - Day 18 - You can leave

I was talking to a friend about an event he was attending where I considered it but ultimately chose not to go as I felt it would be triggering and possibly anger me. He said, "Well I figure if I don't like it I'll just leave." I stood there staring at him like he'd just grown a tail before my eyes. "Leave? You paid for it. You told friends you'd go with them. Just leave?" "Yeah....leave." I couldn't wrap my head around it. It had never dawned on me that I could leave. My little miss rebel yell self is actually a rule follower. Don't want to disappoint anyone. Walking away from something I paid for? It fully blew my mind.

How often do I stay and not even acknowledge I want to leave? I attended an all day online yoga event a few weeks ago and was fully committed to doing the whole thing. After about 4 classes I was wiped out, sun was shining and it was a beautiful Saturday. I started the next class and wasn't into it. I was fully checked out. I kept going yet my mind was yelling "You can go!". So I decided I'd run to the store but come back for the end. While doing this I got a flat tire. "Did you know you were driving on a flat?" "Yeah, sort of....". Got stuck at the tire place for over an hour (and why the hell are all of you buying new sets of tires on the first gorgeous Saturday in May?!). So by the time I got back the yoga event was over and I had to sit with what this meant. I had shown online so maybe someone called me out, I could have been asked a question, attendance might have been taken and I was absent. I would never know and couldn't change a thing. (deep breath)

I am taking a workshop tomorrow called "Permission Granted", and admittedly I didn't fully know what I was signing up for. I'm reading a book by the person leading this workshop, price was right, and I'm more than a little impulsive about jumping into things. Received an email last night saying there was some pre-work before the workshop with some questions to ask yourself. 1.) Bring a picture of how your body wants to be seen by you. (Uh...what?) 2.) Who is the person of my body? (I still don't get it.) 3.) What does the person of my body have to say to me? (I don't even understand what you're saying!) Do I even need to say that I'm triggered as fuck?!

I can leave. I can logout without explanation. I don't have to do anything I don't want to do. I can decline speaking or sharing. Leave. 

To even type those words my stomach goes into a knot. I see how little choice I've had all my life, or rather how little I've allowed. I wasn't taught that I could say "No". I'm truly learning the basics of autonomy and boundaries at this late stage in life. In the past three years I've released 3 significant friends in my life, a husband of 22 years, and a long relationship that had become toxic for me. All were incredibly painful experiences. Saying "Yes" to myself meant hurt to others and it still weighs on me though I'm not going back. The thought of intentionally hurting anyone pains me to my core. Yet I couldn't keep them happy and still do what was right for me. So I left.

What do I feel I can't leave behind? Feelings of self hatred which I think fuel my survival. Anger at the past. Shame over my regrets or ways I feel I'm lacking compared to others. Refusing to hope. Staying small.

Yet I am leaving. I leave every time I share something I'd rather hide from everyone. I leave when I say the truth. I leave when I walk through the fires of my perceived inadequacy and live out loud. It may be slowly but I'm leaving.

A blog post a day for 30 days - Day 17 - A New Lens

This post will be a bit disjointed, and I'm not fully sure where it's going, but it's been weighing on me to write it. This first part is a portion of an essay I wrote for a writing class 14 years and I was never happy with the ending.  I had forced myself to tie up messy feelings, and a flipped out situation, into a nice neat Christian bow. Looking at this through a new lens of time, healing and strength.

My mother is thirty six. Wait. No, she's fifty seven. Knowing your mother's age shouldn't be a hard question yet for me my mother is always thirty six. Thirty six with ruby red lips. Being brought up in Texas it was an unwritten law that you don't leave the house without your lipstick. Actually considering Texas is just might be an actual law. She has jet black hair, olive skin and an ethnic worldly look. I look just like her only just a shade darker than albino. Same person, different filters.

Our second house in Minneapolis was a bitter blue grey. Nothing cheery or inviting. Whether it was the position of the house to the other homes around it, the trees or just mere coincidence, the sun never shone on it. The color of an unforgiving November day. We'd moved from Butternut street.  Who couldn't like the sound of Butternut? It had a ring of Grandma's perfume and gooey dessert all rolled into one. Our new house was on Columbus avenue. Columbus; a new world, forging uncharted terrain, the unknown, danger. When you entered there was a little porch with a screen door I kept locked. My brother and I were alone so often that the dead bolt didn't seem enough to keep the bad guys out.  Keep him out. My mother shrieked at me many times to stop locking the screen door because he was mad he wasn't able to get in.

This day was different. I sensed her nervousness. Telling me that he insisted on access to our house at any time was nothing something she wanted to tell me.
"It's not his house."
"Kimberly, just do it!!"
"No."
She glared at me shaking. I could hear the words going through her head near audibly. "You're going to ruin everything! Why can't you just shut up? Why can't you just do what I say?!" I stared back defiantly yet behind my scowl I tried to will her to hear what I was truly feeling. "I'm your daughter! Pick me! Love me! How can you do this to me? How can you choose him over me? How could you let this happen?"
She had nothing to bargain with to gain my compliance. Take away allowance? There was no money. What can you possibly do to threaten me? What could you take away? There will be no prom, no SAT test, no college, no boyfriend, no car and no dreams. Life was now generic cream of chicken soup with noodles every night. Don't think about Butternut street with new clothes, concerts and hope. All the wailings of your soul can't bring it back. I realized my insolence could very well mean our lives and I didn't care. The pot was at full boil and trying to blow down the foam was useless. There was no way to take it off the heat.

Just months earlier I'd decided to commit suicide. Planned the date, wrote some good bye notes and even packed a few boxes of specific things I wanted to go to certain people. I was going to overdose on pills. Definitely wanted to die but I also wanted it pain free. The date came and went and due to my immaturity with it's forgetfulness, or all the weed I was smoking, I forgot to do it. "I am worthless! What kind of loser forgets the day they are supposed to off themselves?! What a fucking idiot!" After forgetting the date I was too infuriated at myself to get an alternate date on the calendar.

If the grey haired old biddies at the women's prayer meeting could hear this they would pounce on it with vicious glee; yet all done in the name of concern and Christ. If they liked you then your situation was one of God teaching you something. If they felt there was some sin in your life, that they of course deemed as wrong, then the problem was a punishment. "God won't give you more than you can handle." I could hear this well worn cliche being uttered at any event no matter the calamity. White suburban pastor's wife has affair with a black prisoner; a murderer no less. This was right up there with Jimmy Swaggert and the prostitute. She intended to save the prisoner only to be come imprisoned. 

It was an emotional rape. A spirit splintering tilt a whirl...

I went to that house a few years ago, though I knew it would be a triggering hell, because I wanted to see if it was how I saw it in my head. Sun was shining and the house looked lovely and light. I looked up at the upper window of my old room remembering the isolation and agony. I knew it was the same house yet the dangerous energy was gone. I asked myself if I could leave it behind, and decided I could a just a little but not everything. It was a pivotal age in my life and a time I can't seem to get away from. I find even at the age of 50 people still ask questions about high school, college and younger years. Why the fuck do we still have to talk about this!?! I suppose for the same reason I still talk about my child's birth, the marathon I ran, or trips I've taken, because they were happy moments. I was even advised once to come up with a lie for it all. Something I can say in social situations to get people off my back. But lying isn't me...though it would give me an out.

Sometimes I think my pain and past are the driving force that keeps me tenacious and moving. It's also what can make me feel invisible. So I write. I write about it because I need to let it out. I write because someone else needs to hear it.  Maya Angelou said,  "There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." Maya was always right.

A blog post a day for 30 days - Day 16 - Digging out of a rut

I find that I keep playing with the same themes over and over...my choices, my voice, what I want, fear, immobility and the past.  Frankly I'm boring myself. So what's on the other side of all this? Supposedly the exact life I want if the past hadn't happened. Lilly Tomlin is quoted as saying, "Forgiveness is giving up all hope of having had a better past." I'm bored with forgiveness too. Though I'm getting better at it.

I've felt in a rut and it's one of my own making. Or perhaps it's a cycle of working hard, healing a little, and then needing to regress back before you are ready for the next step. I want the next step. Sometimes I feel like I have one foot hovering in mid air yet can't set it down. Like you're pulling back the arrow on the bow, and instead of releasing it you keep holding, your arm tires, you no longer want it because it now feels painful when the pain would be gone if you let the arrow fly. 

Though ruts hold you back they are comfortable and that's why we stay. You know how the rut feels, what to expect and there is perceived protection in it. You can still see those living outside of the rut, having a loud existence, seemingly carefree. I often look to the sky, especially when the moon is big and bright, and tell myself "You are a ghost driving a meat covered skeleton made from stardust riding a rock floating through space...Fear nothing!" (not my quote but can't find who made it up) 

Sounds easy and free until you consider that while floating on this rock you also need to survive on this rock. You can get hurt on this rock. You will feel suffering on this rock. And you'll also die on this rock. A lot of risk on that rock.

I believe SARK is credited with the idea of micro movements. You pick a task that will take from 5 seconds to 5 minutes and tell yourself that's all you need to do. You do this enough you'll start to see progress, and just maybe, you'll go past 5 minutes. There is a writing tip to put a post it on your computer and tell yourself you only need to write enough words to fill that post it. Small efforts that when done enough lead out of the rut. But still there's that first step...

So I gave myself this writing challenge. Yesterday I flat out blew it off knowing full well I'd regret it today. This is much more than a micro movement, I feel the pressure I gave myself, but it's also an active response to the immobility of fear. My demons are screaming that this post isn't creative enough and certainly not my best work. True. Yet my foot is closer to a step forward than it is deep in the rut.

A blog post a day for 30 days - Day 15 - Staying Whole

This past 2-3 years has been a huge effort in being true to myself and what I want; becoming a whole person and not fragments of who others want me to be. I'm finding the more I hold my ground, not back down and say my truth, the more loss I have in life. Loss of relationships, friendships and some people I assumed would never leave me. It's difficult but it also feels that I have no choice. One of my favorite writings by Anais Nin says, "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." 

It's been painful to hold back for so long. Every time I held my tongue I felt a stabbing inside. When I'd make a choice to please everyone else, that wasn't what I truly wanted, I died a little. I think when you feel you are dying there comes a point that your soul, or whatever it is that makes you you, either gives out or rises up for a big gulp of air to keep going. And if the decision is to keep going, you can't go back to the ways that brought you suffering.

Yet am I fully living out loud? Hardly. Each time I hold true to myself I feel the risk of what might get lost. When I allow myself to believe I'm good enough, and deserve more than I've gotten, I have to allow for the possibility that something I love, or clung to, may have to be given up. It's micro movements, trying and failing, and sometimes staying silent and shoving it all down a little more.

I think a lot about how many years I have left to live and what I'll do with them. Time weighs heavily on me. By my estimate I have roughly 25 years left. I remember turning 25 and how quickly that year came. Of the top 10 regrets of the dying: I wish I lived for myself more, I wish I didn't hold back my feelings, I wish I was happier, I wish I cared less of what others think, I wish I didn't take life for granted and I wish I lived in the now. 6 of the 10 are covered in this post. I don't want to die regretful.

In finding my voice, I fear it will be too loud, and by too loud, I mean unwanted. My energy takes up a lot of space in a room even when I'm holding back. If I went full out, 100%, zero fucks given...would I be happy with what remained? Or would I regret it?

A blog post a day for 30 days - Day 14 - Will my past follow me?

Not that I've done anything too horrendous but I do at times get concerned of my past coming back to haunt me. I think about relationships, friendships and such that I've had to walk away from and those people, in their hurt and anger, using what they know about me as retaliation. No real aspirations to fame and fortune (well actually I'm up for a little fortune...) yet what if I did achieve one of these? We've all seen how as a society we truly get off in digging up dirt on people and destroying them. I'm as guilty as anyone of reading what's said, looking at the pictures and smirking that the person is flawed.  Human. Like myself really.

I can't find the exact quote but I remember Joan Rivers saying something like no one can get to her because she'll be the first to lay out all her flaws. It's a form of self preservation. I see I do that. I'm the first to make a self deprecating joke because I'd rather hear my own words than the sting of yours. I don't take kidding around well unless I feel certain the person actually cares about me and isn't trying to intentionally hurt me. And I get hurt easily. Joking in my family felt mean. It didn't feel so much like we're all being funny with each other as ways to purposefully humiliate. I would say on the flip side that I'm careful about joking and am watchful to make sure the other person is laughing with me.

Yet is the fear really public humiliation? I've lived a long and colorful life so there are definitely stories I don't want told, pictures and videos I don't want seen, and I'm sure countless other things I've long forgotten. I think at the core is shame, for mistakes, but hurt that someone I once cared about is joyfully torturing me. 

These thoughts hang over me when I write. Though I'm trying to be raw, real and honest, I hold back. Once it's out there you can't take it back. Yet when you ask someone at the end of their life what they regret it's always what they didn't do and didn't say...it's never making mistakes but a life not fully lived. So why does your judgment matter to me? You weren't there. You aren't on my journey. And maybe someone needs to see a flawed person stand strong in who they are and the choices they've made whether right or wrong. Maybe, just maybe, that would make it all worth it.

A blog post a day for 30 days - Day 13 - Immobility

I'm behind on my posts, way behind, 2 days behind. The obvious answer when I first realized this was to off course whip out a post. Yet immobility takes over. A mistake was made, everyone saw it, you are now being judged, harshly, and there is no way to recover because the time is now gone. Mark Twain said, You wouldn't worry so much about what people think of you, if you knew how seldom they do,”. True. Only had 17 views of my last post so this isn't exactly going viral! Maybe I should throw a conspiracy theory in here so ya'll will read it. Though truly, if I get really honest, it's my own opinion and not others that stops me cold.

It's really fear taking over, and on the Fight, Flight or Freeze spectrum I'm a freezer. Say something mean to a friend and I'll rip you apart. Now say it to me and watch me go full on deer in the headlights. It's taken me years to process some things people have said to me because at that moment I couldn't take it in. 

Not the only area I freeze. When I'm asked what I want I go immobile because now we're getting into hope. To state what I might want means I'm hoping for it. I made a decision, when life was at it's worst as a teenager, to stop hoping. At the time I believed in a God, and felt since this deity had taken away the rest of my hope that it was purposeful, so I needed to keep silent and pretend I didn't want or expect anything. Again, as is so often, this is a trauma response.

A friend recently talked to me about doing a 21 Day Hope meditation. I said I'm pissed off just thinking about it. But upon further discussion she pointed out that I do have hope otherwise I wouldn't have persevered where others have crumbled, I wouldn't have my tenacity, I would have stopped trying all together. I wanted to silence her, because the God I don't believe in might hear and come hurt me. Hope, faith, belief...all words that have too much pain and emotion for me. I need a new word.

I said at the end of 2018 that I was going to Have Hope for a Year. I had hope maybe half a year. Not quite. 2019 was a year of huge highs and bottoming out lows. 2020 is feeling like a throwaway year. Where's the hope?

Instead of hope I would like to focus on purpose. A meaning to life. A reason for my life. Strangely...that actually gives me some hope...

A blog post a day for 30 days - Day 12 - Shame from mistakes

I hate mistakes, not that any of us love them, but even the smallest of mistakes really get to me. Being human I certainly make mistakes all the time but they typically elicit a fear response in me. Fear of what? Being in trouble? Shamed? Humiliated? Yes, it's all there in various ways. I hold myself highly accountable and freely admit to mistakes and try to fix them. On the flip side I get overly angry at anyone who doesn't own their mistakes. Perhaps some of my anger at them is really a reflection of my anger and disappointment with myself when I make one. 

Mistakes are part of life. I get that. And though there is some part of me that believes everyone remembers my every mistake like I do, from most of them I do eventually move on. Yet there are the repeated mistakes. The ones you get into a vicious cycle on and can't seem to pull out of. Others are watching, even asking "Why are you doing this again!?" and you don't have a good answer. It's said until you learn the lesson that cycles will repeat. My therapist will often ask, "What age does this feel like?" and I see it's never my current age, but a time when I was much younger. Many times I do see the pattern but feel under a spell of sorts and can't break free.

I was speaking a friend this morning and we spoke about being "stuck in your story". I do feel patterns of repeated mistakes, or rather not doing the best for ourselves, are part of this. It's said with repressed memories that the mind will let you remember when it feels safe and you are ready (which is perhaps never if you don't do the work). I've found a lot of old anger and shit coming up for me recently with situations happening to me now. And though I feel the answers are there it's as if something is preventing me from fully getting to the root of it all. Immobility, freezing, stunned silence but punchy as fuck. Is being in isolation during a pandemic, when emotions are prickly and intense, really the time to go this deep? Or is it the perfect time?

So why be ashamed? We're all struggling through the muck of life, trying to figure it out, attempting to manage our healing, and there is no shame in that. Yet when we're doing the work we trip up, we stagnate and we make the same repeated messes sometimes. And others witness this and it feels so shameful. I hide my mistakes, I bet you do too, out of this shame so as not to be called out on our perceived failures. This is so isolating and lonely but it feels safer than the full truth out loud.

What would happen if we felt we were safe to fuck it all up and not be judged? What would happen if allowed others the space to fail badly as they figure it out? Owning my part; if I want you to give me a soft place to land when I'm coming out of a failure free fall...I have to do the same for you as well.

A blog post a day for 30 days - Day 11 - Who am I doing this for?

I saw a meme, or post, or something recently where it talked about how women are hanging around in pajamas, hair undone, nails hacked, not showering and it asked the question "Who were really doing all that for?" So initially I was fired up, Fuck the Patriarchy, I look how I want! And then I thought about it...Who do I do these things for?

Now to understand my feelings you have to understand where I came from; the south. Texas specifically. And Texas women do it up! One of my earliest and fondest memories is being around 2 or 3 and sitting at my great grandmother's dressing table, with her on one side and my grandmother on the other, while they put perfume on me, powder, lotion and told me what it was to be a southern lady. I don't have any memory of what they said but I loved the stuff!

When I was in elementary school we had a little bathroom off the kitchen where my mother kept her makeup and knee highs (nylons that only go up to your knees). I would go in there for hours, put on her knee highs, thigh highs for me, and play with everything. The knee highs felt so soft and pretty. The perfumes, lotions and powders smelled so good. I was in there only for my own enjoyment.

My favorite grandmother make up story is when I was 13. We were in Minnesota by now and she'd come up to live by us as she needed assistance. One Saturday in the summer we were going to take her on errands and to the library. We walk in her place and she gasps when she sees me. I don't have a clue what's going on. She looks at me, at my mother, back at me then turns to my mother and says, "What kind of daughter are you raising!?!?" I look down at my shorts, t-shirt and hair in a pony tail. Dumbfounded. My mother got annoyed with my grandmother easily and barked back "What?!" "13 years old and leaving the house without her lipstick!!!!" "Well throw her a lipstick to put on and lets go!" Oh no...we don't just throw on lipstick. "Well what's her colors? What's her ensemble?" My shorts and t-shirt ensemble. So we had to sit down while she mixed colors, lined my lips, put on lipstick and a highlighter. She went on to add that this was the bare minimum to be out in public. It was so funny to me as my friends were begging to merely wear a lip gloss and I was expected to have a full face! So yes, being that my mother's side of the family was southern I was allowed to play with any and all makeup to my heart's content...and I loved it.

So I thought about our current predicament and how many women are enjoying not having to mess with all the aesthetics. And initially I was looking pretty haggard too. But as I've adjusted to my new normal I realize I do want these things back...for me. I love having different colored nails daily. I wear ridiculous colors at times, and do them myself so I can change it out quickly. Not to attract men, not to appease society, not to even live up to other women...for me. I was hating seeing 2 inch roots and my hair not looking how I like it. So I dyed it pink and purple...something I've always wanted to do...for me. I just got out of a bath and saw my perfume on my dressing table (inherited from my great grandmother - I could give a shit about material possessions but I love this with everything in me), and realized I hadn't put on perfume in forever. I love perfume, I buy scents I like, so I sprayed some on, smelled and had a moment of happiness...for me.

For anyone out there now saying they'll never put on makeup again, nail polish is off, and clothes are for comfort...good for you! I'm happy for you! I applaud you! I love that you are making a choice you want! But I'll admit...I can't wait to have a place to wear some stilettos, every possible make up option on my face, hair spot on and getting my strut on...for me.