Finding Myself

I began this post thinking about "coming back to myself" or "being myself again" but I found those titles were false as I don't know if I've ever really fully owned and embraced who I truly am at the core of my being. It's a daily process to ask, "Is this authentic to me? Or am I trying to accommodate or placate someone?".  To be wholly and entirely myself has felt to be too much for most people to handle. Or at least that's how I felt. Most people say upon meeting me that I've scared them, or at the least I come across as tough, when the truth is I care far too much about opinions to really let it all out.

It's a bit funny as when I think back on many moments where I was told to tone it down, that I was too much or that I be less of something...loud, opinionated, wild or emphatic...I was actually still much tamer than was in me. The number of times I've been sarcastically told, "Well gee...tell us how your really feel!",  it was everything in me not to retort, "I was just getting started, mother fucker!". I also find it interesting that those who wanted me to calm down the most were men. Because who wants an obnoxious, rowdy, intense woman, right? 

My birthday is coming soon, I'm a Leo, and I was asked to write a piece on what it means to be a Leo. I read a few of the pieces already submitted and one spoke about how being a Leo is associated with being loud and over the top. That resonated. Yet other qualities associated with being Leo are not giving a shit what others think and being entitled. Not me. Without getting into an astrology discussion (moon sign, anyone?) I know a large part of where I shrink comes from my upbringing as a female in an evangelical household. My personality was what my father wanted in a son but not a daughter. I fought it, I've fought it everywhere, yet found myself repeatedly defeated.

But what if I leaned in to all I am... What would that look like? How might my feelings about myself, and how I walk in this world, be different? 

There is a song, "She used to be mine" by Sara Bareilles that speaks to the complexities of finding yourself again:

She's imperfect, but she tries
She is good, but she lies
She is hard on herself
She is broken and won't ask for help
She is messy, but she's kind
She is lonely most of the time
She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie
She is gone, but she used to be mine

Maybe I was never lost but instead was shut down. It was the best I could do at that moment. But this moment is fresh, my next breath is different from the last, and I can change it up in any way I want. Or change nothing and be what I truly am.

Walking Away

Driving in my car this afternoon, enjoying that new car smell, jamming to my car ride playlist, while staring too much in the rear view mirror in fear I'd be hit again, I randomly thought how I'd like to show my father my car. My father is dead. And I wouldn't actually want to see him if he were alive. Cars were about the only thing I would be applauded on (yeah, something I have nothing to do with except pick it and pay for it) and that wouldn't cause a fight. The story of my father and I is for another time but I'll simply say I walked away at the end. I stayed silent in times I would have lost my mind with all I wanted to say, and I stepped back.

My view of myself is the polar opposite of someone who would walk away from anyone. I would typically say that I stay out of obligation and fear, I don't set boundaries and am walked on more than myself walking away. Yet looking back I've walked away from many people and situations that were hurting me. Perhaps I'm stronger than what I believe I am.

Had an old friend email me a month ago reaching out to reestablish our connection and friendship. She said how she'd been thinking about me and what a good friend I was to her. I read the email with my stomach in knots as I felt blindsided and an obligation to respond. I walked away from her because she wasn't a good friend to me. Each time we met there would be a question about my job, which she didn't hide that she looked down on, or rips on my husband. The critique of my husband especially hurt as I didn't disagree with anything she was saying, but wasn't asking for advice or commentary. I've avoided responding and am unsure if I should stay silent or tell her the blunt truth. For now I've simply walked away.

I lost two significant friendships in the last year. In each it would be up for debate as to who walked away first, but I stayed away so I'll own that part. I would have called these two people some of my best friends, one I referred to as a sister, but through extenuating circumstances it was revealed that they were really only on my side when I was in obedience to their wishes and there was a massive amount of imbalance. I tend to allow myself to be stepped on over speaking up for myself. It's painful but I can walk away.

I recently walked away from a relationship that was causing me sadness, hurt and also a ton of happiness. You can't love someone out of dysfunction. Not even yourself. The aftermath had me reeling but I'm starting to make peace with my choices. I now send this person vibes of love when I hear of how they are slandering me. It broke my heart but I can walk away.

Walked away from a 22 year marriage. Walked away from a close relative who crossed a serious boundary and that has resulted in me not having a Christmas with my family for 2 years. Walked away from situations that were no longer serving me. It can shred me but I can walk away.

Though in all this I wasn't walking away from a significant issue and that was me. I was as much of the problem as they were. I am taking a deep look at why I've allowed others to obliterate my boundaries. I'm facing the shadow side of me that enjoys intense drama. I'm learning to be my own advocate, supporter and fan without the acknowledgement of anyone else. I'm walking away from the me I no longer want to be.

Doing scary things

I recently got back from an adventurous road trip across the country. If you know me well then you know I actually hate long car rides. When I was a child we went on two week treks around America for family vacations. I would get headaches from the sun blazing in the windows with the air conditioning on high. Many hours were spent staring out the window and wanting the trip to be over. But this was about being there for a friend and helping her on her journey so I did it despite my feelings about endless car rides.

The only thing I hate more than being a passenger on one of these excursions is being the driver. I simply hate driving. Add to it that I'm in a car I'm not used to, driving in areas I've never been and my general nervousness that "something bad will happen". We were driving over 2000 miles so I certainly couldn't expect her to do all the driving but I was admittedly scared.

When the terrain was relatively flat and I could see well into the distance I was mostly OK. Turn on some disco or 80's metal and I was able to maintain some sense of calm. As we drove the areas became more hilly, mountainous and curvy. I became especially fearful when the rocks, hills or mountains on either side of us were extremely large and looming. Or if there was little guardrail and one wrong move could send you tumbling to your death. I found myself imagining what I'd think or feel if the car went soaring over the edge. Would impact be instant or excruciating? Would I be calm or hysterical? Would I believe in a God again or would I shrug my shoulders at my fate?

To maintain control of both the wheel and my mind, I had to tell myself facts, sometimes in my head and others out loud. "Hold your line" (my ex-husband loved NASCAR), "Gravity is real...just because you can't see what's over that hill doesn't mean the car will fly into outer space", "there is no difference than driving on the highway at home...it's still just a car on the road", "just because what's beside you is huge doesn't change you driving straight ahead like all the other cars". 

I reminded myself of my most terrifying car ride when I drove from San Francisco to Los Angeles. I was 19, no money, no credit cards, no cellphone, no GPS and a shitty little car whose only features were a gas gauge and a speedometer. I was scared out of my mind but I'd bought a one way ticket from Los Angeles, where some friends were living, back to Minnesota and this was the only way to get me there. I truly looked and saw the sun rising in the east, figured out where south was and started driving. When I'm especially afraid I hyper focus on one thing and on this trip I decided my fear was the car overheating. There were kind souls at gas stations that checked the radiator situation for me and assured me I was OK. After a brief turn off in Compton, where I was told "Get the fuck out of here, little girl!", I made it. 

With all my fears and phobias you'd think I'd never leave the house. Yet my desire for a big life, new experiences and phenomenal moments pushes me to keep going even when I feel panicked and terrified. I remind myself of these moments when I'm about to do something scary. Last night I wrote two blog posts that I didn't actually intend to write. What started as simply explaining my name change turned into talking about the abuse I rarely speak of. I typically write very stream of consciousness and not draft form, so about halfway through it hit me what I was revealing and I stopped cold. I knew I'd write it one day, and there is much more to say, but was I emotionally prepared to say it? 

As is my way, I decided that I wasn't prepared at all, and walked through the fires of fear anyway. I own all of my life and am doing exactly what I want.

It happened

I don't have firm memories of what happened to me. Not having a full on play by play makes me question my own memory. I worry about revealing family secrets and if these revelations might hurt others. But this is my story, my truth and I have a right to let it out.

**Trigger Warning - this may be troubling to some and it may get more graphic than you'd like to read.**

My first tip off that something was wrong was when I was about 15 and asked to try on a dress at my grandmother's house. I went to her bedroom and was undressing when she came in and I freaked out trying to cover up and started crying. I didn't understand my response and was embarrassed. My grandmother told my mother I was a prude and it was never spoken of again. The next time was in the months after I was raped I started having nightmares about my grandmother and aunt. I told my mother and she lost all color but didn't say anything. Very shortly after I was at lunch with my mother and flatly asked, "What happened to me that no one is talking about?" She nearly screamed, "What did my mother do to you!?!?". I said, "I didn't say grandmother...". We looked into repressed memories but I couldn't afford the therapy so it was stuffed down further.

Everything came back up again when my aunt died of unknown causes at 51. My mother and I flew down to Texas to look through her things as my uncle was remarrying and my mother was the last of that family line. My aunt had been in and out of mental institutions since she was 7, and being an artist, did a lot of therapy paintings and other art mediums. We went to a storage locker to look through her art and came across the therapy work and it was amazing and terrifying. Some paintings were just a blur of colors while others showed a scene. I got progressively sicker to my stomach looking at them. Though none showed abuse, many were what I'd call the moment before being abused. Two immobilized me the most. One was a little blonde girl, naked from the waist up, looking back horrified at a hand reaching for her. The other showed a naked little girl sitting cross legged on the floor with an adult sitting on a bed nearby. I told my mother, "Those are me." She wouldn't believe it and said, "No. These were about her. Not you." I wouldn't let up and said, "She was brunette as a child...not blonde...I was blonde! And the other painting it's me on the floor, the leg is grandmother's and that's her cigarette!". We stopped talking because it was too much to take in. A day later we were looking at photography my aunt had done and I came across a self portrait of her topless. In my head I heard myself talking like a little girl saying, "She's bad.". I stood up in a huge panic attack and screamed at my mother, "I want out of this fucking house and state right now!!!". We didn't speak of it again until we waited for our flight back. My mother said, "No filter. Don't overthink it. What do you think happened?" I said, "Something happened in the bathtub." My mother said, "Fuck!". My mother doesn't speak like that. She said, "My mother used to wash us too far..." I felt my vagina tense at hearing this and said, "I know she did that to me."

I've had years of therapy but no other real memories come up. One therapist said, "Something happened. Now whether you saw something or an act was done to you doesn't matter. Your mind doesn't know the difference." I'm finally at peace with my mind revealing it if and when I'm ever ready. I no longer feel I have to prove the memory or work to get the others to come. I know there is a lot more and perhaps it's a gift to never know.

But it happened...

My new name

If you're a Facebook friend of mine you may have noticed my name change a few years ago. Though it appears that I took off my last name and replaced with my middle name there is more to the story. To sort of preserve my anonymity here I won't be saying the names I have gone under and only what brought me to them.

Lets start with me hating everything about my birth name: first, middle, last...all plain and boring. Nothing unique, sassy or fun. Run of the mill. In junior high I played with changing the spelling of my name. Taking "ly" and making it "leigh" or other obnoxious ways of being anything but what my parents named me. I even had a bar name: Sasha. I loved Sasha; she was pretty, fun, quirky and special. And she sure didn't have a name that would blend into the woodwork.

Roughly nine years ago I created a Facebook alias page to fuck with my old cult church without them knowing it was me. (Wrote a blog about them for years as well.) My name was what would have been my son's middle name, had he been a girl, and my grandmother's maiden name. It was a name that flowed, was cute and sounded oh so southern. I loved it. My ex husband said how I expressed myself on that page was "the real you unfiltered" and he was right. I would speak bluntly, rudely and without a care as I was careful as to who knew the page was mine. Unfortunately Facebook figured out it was a fake and took it down but not before I reclaimed the name for myself.

When I got divorced three years ago I noticed on the forms that you could choose a new name...any name you wanted! Though I really wanted a new first name I knew that it would never stick. I struggle enough with people shortening my name as it is much less calling me something completely different. I'd seen my mother try to change her first name legally years ago and everyone still calls her by her birth name. I didn't want my father's name and I didn't want to keep my ex-husband's and it hit me that my Facebook alias name was what I loved and wanted. 

My mother is on her fourth husband and changed her name every fucking time she married, even going back to her maiden name at one point. This was, and is, discombobulating for me. I frequently find myself having to think twice before saying her name as so many are in my head. I didn't want my son to experience any of that so I went to him first when considering my name change. I said, "I want to change my name but if it would bother you to have a different last name than me then I won't change it." He said, "Well what would it be?" I told him I would keep my first name and my Facebook alias name would be my middle and last names. He was one I allowed on my alias page and he said, "It's perfect!". I needed no other opinions so I proceeded with the name change.

I love my new name. Well still not thrilled with my first name but when you put it together with my new middle and last names it works. This may sound sweet and even a little adventurous but there's more to the name story. My grandmother, who I loved and adored, was also one of my abusers. (taking a deep breath after typing that sentence) I was the only granddaughter and the first grandchild born so I felt special with her. When Clinique would have a special gift set for spending a certain amount of money, she always made she I received one. Some of my fondest memories are of her and my great grandmother putting lotion and powder on my at their dressing table and telling me what it was to be a southern lady. She was the only grandparent that paid any attention to me or seemed to care that I existed at all. Yet there was the abuse.

I'll speak about the abuse in my next post and simply say that to take her name is to reclaim it for myself. To take her name is to say what happened didn't define me...I define me. I took her name as my own as the one still living.

Owning every experience, every memory and piece of my life.

Not saying everything

The entire point of my blog, Raw Bleach, was to write openly, freely and "not tone it down", and for the most part I do this. But I don't say everything. I hold back so much for fear of condemnation, judgment and also because my story isn't my own and I'm aware of revealing other's secrets. It's always a balancing act with each post and a challenge to push past the fears of what others will think or say.

While this has been my space to release and process, I came to a huge realization this morning that I need to go a lot deeper. I'm exploring writing my story from my experiences of the past 3 years. Speaking specifically to this time frame as it was 3 years ago I got divorced and truly a lifetime of wonderful, horrible, happy and excruciating has been packed into this time. This thought to go deeper also came as it hit me that I've been avoiding feelings, stuffing down situations that hurt and working so hard at "moving on" while not having dealt with all I need to move on and away from. Writing is how my mind makes sense of all that may never make sense. I can talk myself silly with friends and in therapy, yet writing is where my brain "gets it".

I'm in a space now where I feel I can survive whatever comes up. Feeling a new strength of being alone, standing in my power and ready to face life. Because how much can anyone really hurt me at this point? Will they laugh at my suffering? Some trolls certainly will but I know someone needs to hear it and see that you can still live. Lie about me? It really can't be any worse than lies that have been told about me my whole life. Ridicule me, cut me down, criticize me? Enjoy your karma, as I'll be quite all right.

Though I share my path, and so greatly appreciate the support I've received, I'm also walking it alone. I've always felt I needed someone to walk with me, to care for me and to protect me. Yet here I am doing it all and I'm at peace. 

So I'm going to write about everything that has happened. Perhaps it's only for me and will never be shared. All that matters is that I let it out and be free of it all. There is nothing to fear here. As one of my favorite quotes says, "You're a ghost driving a meat-coated skeleton made from stardust, riding a rock, hurtling through space. Fear nothing."

Allowing Happiness

I've written before on my fears of allowing happiness as joy can quickly turn to terror that the Universe (or some deity) didn't want me happy and was going to take it away. I've behaved as if my holding back on delight somehow controls bad things from happening. Yet this is life and horrible things will happen that are out of anyone's control.

A bad thing did happen: rear ended, bad accident, car totaled and I'm injured (I'll be OK eventually). Accidents happen every day. It was coincidence, chance and simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Though most people have had one I'd somehow skated by without ever having experienced an accident. So this is foreign territory for me and that gets scary as I feel I lack control to handle things. Thankfully my insurance company has been great, got more for my car than expected and I've found good people to help me care for my injuries. 

My ex-husband always dealt with all things concerning cars from buying to maintenance, so again this is more new territory for me. For a few of my cars I told him what I wanted and refused to even test drive it, as this is how much I hate car salespeople. I'm quite literally the world's worst negotiator so I was dreading that portion of buying a car.

I do allow myself the occasional splurge on shoes or purses but I tend to hang onto my money more than treating myself. I live a life of hyper vigilance of having a backup plan and always being sure I will survive. I've been called ridiculously responsible and they're not wrong. I'd been looking at cars for awhile as mine was looking a bit rough. Nothing was popping for me (except a hot pink Ferrari calling my name) but now I was in a position to have to make a choice. The fears came back...what if I make the wrong choice? What if I screw this up? What if.....(insert random unknown event)? 

One of my favorite quotes, "What do you do if you're afraid to do something? You do it afraid." So all alone, taking deep breaths, I walked into the dealer afraid and faced the fear. I'd originally planned on buying something used as this was me thinking this is how to survive. But I went against my usual not allowing myself to dream or hope or want, and test drove a new car. The color is gorgeous, it felt wonderful, with a zillion features I'll likely admire and never use. I bought it. 

I'll be picking up my new car today. Telling myself it's OK to be excited. It's OK to feel this happiness. And what if I did make a mistake in some way? So what. My life will go on, I'll survive and even thrive. 

It's a beautiful day, the sun is shining and my life is good.

I'm sorry and I forgive you

I'm sorry for the times I stayed silent and didn't use my words to tell my full truth.

I forgive you for making me feel I couldn't speak.

I'm sorry that I ignored all the warning signs.

I forgive you for allowing my boundaries to be stomped on.

I'm sorry for when I got small and didn't stand in my power.

I forgive you for using my insecurities as a means to hurt me.

I'm sorry for the pain I caused you.

I forgive you for the lies.

I'm sorry I selfishly wanted one more moment.

I forgive you for not believing in me.

I'm sorry I asked too much.

I forgive you for not giving enough.

I'm sorry.

I forgive you.

A note to you.

A note to myself.

Not defending yourself

I have a endless stories of false accusations in my lifetime. Being a pastor's daughter it goes with the territory that people will talk shit about you. You're sort of a celebrity in this compact little community so others don't always want the best for you. The first time it happened to me I was around 11 and a woman had complained to my father that I wasn't in church. Well I wasn't there because I was sick. He came home, marches up to my room demanding a reason as to why I wasn't in church. After I pointed out I was obviously sick he seemed perplexed and said, "But she was angry!"  So began my defensive of myself in all situations.

I know people talk shit about me. I know people enjoy gossip. I know I'm most definitely guilty of both. Now in my youth I would be losing my mind to prove that I'm innocent of whatever was said. But at my current age, though I get upset for a hot second, I don't really care. I'm mostly at a place of saying "make up whatever you want....add something...I don't care". I say mostly because I care somewhat to be writing about it.

Being a firstborn I love justice and truth. I especially have a huge disdain for others thinking something wrong about me. In a perfect world I could defend myself to everyone. Yet to be living a full life, out there, unfiltered, free....you'll need to let people lie, stay unaffected and rise.

I love proving myself. I love winning an argument. I love being right. Yet to live a peaceful life, unattached, unafraid....you need to not defend yourself at times. 

It eats at me when I think another could believe a lie. All the more if it's an especially heinous lie. A lie that could ruin my reputation. A lie that would make people want to not be my friend. A lie that hurts.

Though what can be said about me that is any worse than what was said previously? Isn't silence a bigger statement? Will this moment matter at the end of my life?

Burning my wedding dress

Today would have been my 25 year wedding anniversary. A mixed emotions kind of day. I'm not sorry I got divorced as we both agree it was the right thing to do. Yet there are also hard realities to face. In all likelihood I'll never marry again and will certainly never have a 25 year wedding anniversary.  As Dr. Drew likes to say, "You don't get that.". There are many things I'll never have that hurt deeply but this one has an extra sting to it. 

We praise those in long marriages as somehow being tougher than the rest of us and not giving up. Well I didn't give up. I gave everything until I had nothing left to give. I wasn't a perfect wife (no one is) but fuck I tried. It wasn't enough. 

When I was reminded that my wedding dress was still in the trunk of my car I knew I needed a good way to get rid of it as it didn't hold good memories. So my wedding anniversary seemed to be ideal. I asked in a neighborhood group where would be a good place to burn something. The comments about "whose body are you burning" and "hiding the evidence" brought welcome smiles. Someone suggested a park reserve area by a lake that I'd taken walks by and that felt right. There is a small island you can get to by a bridge where there is a fire pit (shaped as a canoe), walking trails and benches. 

There were people walking around but it was peaceful and calm. I was listening to a 'work up a good cry' playlist and "Don't fall in love with a dreamer" was on and the tears started welling up. I put my wedding dress, veil, marriage license and a wedding picture into the fire pit. Initially it would burn then die down but eventually the flames and smoke got thicker as everything was destroyed. I put on "Our song" and walked around the fire pit watching the flames. I decided to sit down on a bench as the fire overtook everything. As I sat there a couple came up and looked curiously into the fire trying to figure out what was there.  The lady said, "Oh! Is that a veil?" then they both started laughing. I wiped my tears under my sunglasses. Some little girls scampered by to look and smiled at me. I faked a smile and wished them gone. By the end part of the veil was still there. I considered lighting it again but left it as I was done and people can look and think anything they want.

Though cathartic it was also a bit anticlimactic. Being a previous Evangelical I love a good ritual or ceremony. It reminded me of going to church camp and being asked to pick up a stick, think of your worst sin (bonus points if it makes you cry) and then when you're ready to give it up to God you throw your stick in the fire. I thought maybe I'd feel some regret seeing it burn but I didn't. The tears shed were for what will never be. I cried for what will never exist.

As I left I came upon a family with 6 kids having their pictures taken as they stood side by side holding hands all grinning ear to ear. Had a tinge of jealousy but it went away as I thought about the good in my life. I'm alone but I do have people that love me. Being alone I can do anything I want. All decisions and choices are mine alone. I try new things all the time and am not afraid of failure. I speak up for what is right even if it means standing alone. I know who I am.

I'm creating the exact life I want.

Violated

My friend's ex-husband during their divorce spied on her with a private detective, was able to log into her Facebook and view everything, and violated her privacy in any way he could. Her and I are in a private group on Facebook where there are only 4 of us. We started this group many years ago to converse as talking via Messenger was too cumbersome. We've all shared some of the most private aspects of our lives. It was a safe place to be fully open and free.

So this ex-husband was not only spying on her but the rest of us as well. And this asshole had the audacity to ask about me, by name, and ask specifically about the most private thing I had shared. She told me and I lost my mind. I began screaming that I would kill him. Totally violated and nothing I can do about it. It's not her fault, not my fault, it's this dick's fault and I have no recourse to do anything. She was stunned and did say, "That's very personal to her.". Well he fucking knows that and he doesn't care! I told her this was a "virtual rape".

The thing I didn't want anyone to know, much less a stranger, is known. I'm incensed. Though interestingly enough, ultimately sharing this has been the goal of my blog, head held high and speaking for those who can't say it. It's something rarely spoken of that brings me so much shame and humiliation. I did nothing wrong yet I know most people wouldn't understand. They'd gasp in horror or be confused and not fully grasp what happened. I've feared that the ones I did tell would use it as gossip, something to laugh about and mock, or something to later hold over me to hurt me. 

I suppose that's most of what's bothering me here is that I wasn't in control and he violated my privacy. But you can't control all of life no matter how hard you try. And I've sure tried! I want to control this aspect of my life though. It's my story to tell and not another's to scrutinize or judge. Only mine.

I won't be talking about this today as I fully own that I'm not in a good head space to handle stupid comments and reactions. But the day is coming where I will boldly face even the worst parts of my journey and stand in my own power.

Making space for the pain

I think most of us do everything we can to avoid pain. I certainly do. Whether physical or emotional I don't want to hurt. It's ridiculous to think we can live a life on this planet without pain and suffering yet with all my avoidance techniques, I suppose a little part of me thinks I can out run it. So what would it look like to allow the pain to always be present but still have a happy existence?

For physical pain I mostly have come to a level of acceptance that it will always be there and have taken proactive steps to manage it. I have a condition called seronegative spondyloarthopathy - the easiest explanation being that I have symptoms of an autoimmune disease but it's not showing up in the blood work - falls under the fybromyalgia umbrella. My pain level on a daily basis rarely falls below an 8 on a scale of 1-10. And my way of dealing with it (as I do most things in life) is to plow through and still do what I want...I just smile through the pain and have accepted it will likely always be there. I get roughly a 2-3 hour window per day where I have relief through a combo of yoga and weed. (If you don't know this I'm a huge proponent of legalization of marijuana, and though I have multiple conditions that would qualify me for medical marijuana, I'm refusing that for many reasons. 
) I make space for the pain and refuse to let it take me under.

I can suck it up for physical pain as I've had decades of managing it. But emotional pain and hurt are an entirely different story. How we perceive our stories also greatly contributes to what this does to us: do we rise above, crumble or go numb? Sadly I waver between crumble and go numb. 

So how do you make space for the pain that won't go away and still maintain sanity? A friend commented one my posts and said these words which gave a calmer and open response to suffering, "I’ll meditate a little and cautiously greet whatever emotional visitor approaches". Greet, observe, pay attention, see what comes up, stop avoiding. 

This feels doable. 

Honoring my Truth

I've found I've used the words "my truth" a lot in the past few years. Contemplating what is my truth, what are my core beliefs, and what do I need to honor above all else. What is my truth has changed over time. My needs, wants, dreams and what I see as wrong and right have changed. Honoring my truth has meant divorce, ending friendships, walking away from love, speaking out alone in a crowd, being the bad guy, starting fights, staying silent and accepting that much of my journey may be alone.

Honoring my truth, basically staying true to what I believe, can be a delicate balance for me. I find I walk a line between silently keeping the peace and screaming to be heard. I frequently question whether adding my voice will help someone to understand my point of view, or if it's just escalating the moment to where no one is heard and everyone is mad. I'm figuring out where my boundaries lie and how to proceed when they've been walked over. I want to be at a place where I'm firm in what I will and won't accept, as opposed to flailing through a difficult moment and processing it all much later. 

With all this honoring of truth comes another question in how I express it. After a lifetime of being told to be quiet (especially in the church), stuffing things down so there wouldn't be a fight, and flat out trying not to think about it, many times my voice comes out much louder and more aggressive than the situation calls for. I'm trying, owning my part but very much still learning.

I also struggle with intense judgement. When I see a person behaving the polar opposite to what they claim to believe then I struggle to hold back my mouth. This happens most with people who claim to be Christian yet none of what Jesus spoke of is evident in their lives. This is why I wrote a blog post for 9 years about my old cult church; I call out inconsistencies hard. It's a huge statement that as an agnostic I am more true to the teachings of Jesus than those who claim their God is blessing the fuck out of them. Basically calling them out on what they claim is their truth.

But am I helping here? Am I heard? I can bible verse someone from here to sundown but will they care in the end? I often need to reel it back in and get back to my core, my truth and my boundaries. Incredibly challenging for a loud mouth such as myself, and also painful for the empathetic part of me. It's also interesting that my father was someone who would tell anyone his views without a care to how they felt or were affected. I hated that about him....and yet I do it too. 

Yet I feel shame and anger at myself for so many of the times I stayed silent. I was recently asked to keep my views about Trump to myself because a Trumper was going to be there. I compromised in saying I wouldn't start anything but I wasn't backing down if confronted. Did I abandon myself there? Or was this a "pick your battles" moment? More to process.

Processing our lives, if you're living an examined life, is ongoing and never actually done. I can only say for today, for this time in my journey, I'm fighting daily to honor my truth.

The anniversary that won't happen

It's 6 days until what would have been my 25 year wedding anniversary. No more tears that the marriage is over but there are residual effects that linger on. This date is looming over me in many painful ways. I find there is more shaming to those that end long marriages, as the expectation is that if you've done it this long then why quit? I hate the word quit when it comes to a marriage. I gave my all and there was nothing left to do for either of us. I'm no longer justifying my decision or allowing opinions on my life choices. Yet this date feels mocking and cruel. 

I've been thinking of my wedding day and feeling somber. I hated my wedding. Yes, I know most brides feeling like a princess (side note: could we please get rid of this fucking word?!) and consider it the best day of their life. I felt like I did most everything myself, or even when helped the weight of it was on me. We didn't have much money so it was ticky tacky all the way. A friend did our small amount of flowers, kind friends made some fruit bowls for us, I bought lunch meat on sale and froze it...I called it the picnic wedding. Won an aisle runner at a wedding fair. Reception was at a bar we took over.  My father and step mother were late for pictures and my youngest brother called him saying, "Don't do this to her!!!" Nothing felt special. It was a downpour (no, Alanis, it wasn't ironic at all). 

What I hated the most about that day was my wedding dress. Again, we didn't have money, didn't have help and I was terrified of going into debt. I brought my mother and bridesmaids to a wedding store to help me pick out a dress. The bridesmaids were more concerned with their dresses and my mother seemed distracted. I wouldn't allow myself to even look at the many beautiful gowns and marched straight to a clearance rack. I found a $99 dress, decided it fit "good enough", paid and walked out. On the day of the wedding I looked at myself and wasn't impressed. The photographer staged a picture where my fiance kept his eyes closed and he captured the moment he saw me. His expression didn't look like "here's my beautiful bride" but more "I'd better pretend". Never told me I was beautiful so that solidified my feelings. 

I hate going to weddings. I fully own that all I see is all the things I'll never have. I seethe in bitter envy while trying to smile sweetly. I say frequently that I'll never marry again but admittedly a lot of that is really avoidance of pain and disappointment. 

I recently remembered that my wedding dress has been in the trunk of my car for 3 years. I had plans to do something...burn it, drown it, rip it to shreds, but I've done nothing. I put it on one last time to see how I felt about it now. The style looks like something a woman would wear on her 3rd marriage at the court house...certainly not a fairy tale. I'm trying to console myself that I made the best choices I could with what little I had both financially and emotionally. But I still hate it.

6 days....

Nothing to hold onto

"It's not so much that we're afraid of change or so in love with the old ways, but it's that place in between that we fear. It's like being between trapezes. It's Linus when his blanket is in the dryer. There's nothing to hold on to." ~ Marilyn Fer

Difficult therapy session today where I cried nearly the entire time. You may assume all sessions are like this for me but typically I never cry. I don't cry in front of other people. I feel like crying makes me appear weak (I know this isn't the truth - feelings aren't facts). If I've cried in front of you then know there was nothing left in me to hold it in a moment longer. I cried yesterday too. It feels like I'm breaking.

My therapist explained that I was grieving a lot of loss. The loss of a relationship to someone I loved, the loss of my stepmother and her abandonment of me, the loss of community as I'm living alone in a pandemic and the loss of my core yoga studio which was my sanctuary for 3 years. She asked me if I knew how to grieve and I said probably not. To grieve would mean to let myself feel the pain, to acknowledge how it affected me, to fully experience it all. 

I have a lifetime of avoidance of pain. Allowing yourself to lean into your suffering certainly wasn't encouraged for me. Though I will say after some terribly traumatic events, where I didn't shed a tear, my mother said, "If you keep holding the tears back one day you'll start crying and won't be able to stop." I'm crying now. I feel like this is happening.

Life frequently feels like there is nothing to hold onto. I'm skilled at locking my jaw, digging deep and holding my own. I've prided myself on not needing anyone. Yet at those moments where I feel I'm in an emotional free fall it can be overwhelming. Back in my church days I would have been praying my precious heart out. Unfortunately that deity's silence was much worse than my personal agony. 

So I've been encouraged to schedule grieving time. Suggestions were made to write, paint (I suck at it but I like to do it), meditate or whatever is calling to me. Basically not distract and feel it. This sounds like being cut a fresh slice of hell but I'll do it.

Doing it with nothing to hold onto.

Living Out Loud

To be "Living Out Loud" has been a buzzword phrase for some time yet I still love it. It's something I clam to be doing, and with this blog I am to a certain degree, but I'm pondering what's missing. Where am I still getting small? What am I hiding? Am why am I hiding? It could be argued that while living your best life there is still wisdom in not letting everyone in on everything. I've had enough experience in revealing something personal to someone that is unsafe for me to know to pull back a little.

I suppose I have this unrealistic idea that to live out loud means pretty much walking around with a "fuck you" attitude, saying everything I think and balls to the wall at all times. There has to be a more balanced way of life where I can live my truth but not be a rebel without a cause. I want purpose. I want healthy boundaries. I want delight. I want to live like I'm dying (fully embracing each moment) but without reckless stupidity.

Where am I still getting small? I avoid confrontation even when it is needed and necessary. I still think in terms of "getting in trouble" without ever having been in trouble...not at all grounded in reality. Disagreement makes me nervous. I take things very personally. At times I'm scared to try for fear of being laughed at, of failure, or being told I'm not good enough. I care way too much about the opinions of others.

What am I hiding?  And why am I hiding? Although I've had some wonderful comments about my bravery and courage in writing this blog; I'm hiding a lot. I'm hiding so much more than you realize. Much of this is self protection and a lot more is that my truth, and those stories, involve others who I don't want to anger or hurt or disclose what they may prefer hidden. There is also immense shame in revealing what I've kept hidden. I have to step back and ask if I'm ashamed for my actions, my faults, my insecurities, or even things I had no control over. Yet with each post I always make sure I say one thing I'd prefer others don't know. This is my attempt at a tip toe into out loud living.

RuPaul says, "It's your life's work to shine." And maybe shining is enough.