My openness is not fragility

Most people don't know how to handle a damaged person.  They tiptoe with their words, they give horrific advice that was never requested or worst of all they pretend it didn't happen.  We all get broken a bit but some of us more brutally than others.  It can be uncomfortable being around someone who has been shattered.  Some take everything personally while others go numb.  We form our survival tactics and hold onto them dearly for fear of being wounded again.

In the name of self-awareness, recovery and processing; I'm very open about what has happened to me.  I have no trouble telling in graphic detail what has occurred but I'm guarded as the average person can't handle hearing it.  I've learned not everyone is safe.  Hearing, "Well okay then...", with a look of horror and careful eye roll, is much more painful than the person simply shutting the fuck up.  Sometimes I think people don't want to hear it as it forces them to face their own agony.  I also think there is a level of selfishness in wondering if I'll now lean on them, share more or need their help.  

Yet my openness is not fragility.  I've created a strong core group of people around me who love me as I am and cheer me on daily saying, "You are a bad ass bitch!".  This has been more healing than all the therapy, crying, writing and support groups of my life.  I am a bad ass bitch and if you don't serve my life, accept me flaws and all, then you also aren't going to be allowed to experience how amazing I am.  I stayed small for many years but now I'm burning this mother fucker down and rising stronger than ever. 

So if you're doing the hard work and facing your demons, then please walk this road beside me.  If my pain is too much for you then you won't be able to handle the best of me either.  I'm resilient as fuck and riding this roller coaster screaming with hands up.  You should join me....if you dare.

Releasing what no longer serves me

In yoga we look to find the balance between effort and ease.  While practicing yoga, and mindfulness, I've come to realize my focus in most things is all about effort. Instead of fully appreciating the moment my mind is racing ahead to survive and avoid pain.  Yet living this way causes more pain.  In my yoga lineage there is a saying, "How you do one thing is how you do everything."  I'm seeing this is true for me.  I power through life with little regard for what my own self-care, protection and comfort. 

I will curl up in a ball on the couch when I'm cold instead of doing the obvious thing and grabbing a blanket.  I'll get a migraine because my ponytail is too tight instead of letting my hair down.  I walk alone in the dark.  I freeze my hands though my gloves are in my pockets.  I'll force my muscles and endure what I don't have to endure rather than taking the time to warm them up.  Faster, harder, stronger and sure don't show weakness. 

I do this with people too.  I'll allow rude things to be said to me to avoid the conflict of confrontation.  I'll let toxic people drain me instead of setting boundaries.  I put everyone else first because I don't know how to say what I need.   I suck it up, stuff it down and try to hide the agony.  I knew I could take the discomfort and it felt easier than facing another's displeasure with me.

Yet in the past year I've been working on releasing what no longer serves me.  Getting rid of items that trigger bad memories.  Walking away from friendships, relationships and family members that make me feel small and worthless.  Noticing when something doesn't feel right and making the adjustments so it's OK for me.  The hardest is taking out old ideas about myself; who I am, who I'm not and what the truth really is.  

Putting myself first is new to me.  I've hurt people, though unintentionally, by doing what is best for me.  At this stage in my life I don't want to force it anymore.  I don't want unnecessary pain so I can remain on another's good side. It's my turn. I want every moment to count, to be what's best for me and to bring joy.  If it doesn't serve, no matter the cost or length of time it's been in my life, it needs to go.  

“There is a story of a woman running away from tigers. She runs and runs and the tigers are getting closer and closer. When she comes to the edge of a cliff, she sees some vines there, so she climbs down and holds on to the vines. Looking down, she sees that there are tigers below her as well. She then notices that a mouse is gnawing away at the vine to which she is clinging. She also sees a beautiful little bunch of strawberries close to her, growing out of a clump of grass. She looks up and she looks down. She looks at the mouse. Then she just takes a strawberry, puts it in her mouth, and enjoys it thoroughly. Tigers above, tigers below. This is actually the predicament that we are always in, in terms of our birth and death. Each moment is just what it is. It might be the only moment of our life; it might be the only strawberry we’ll ever eat. We could get depressed about it, or we could finally appreciate it and delight in the preciousness of every single moment of our life.”
― Pema Chödrön, The Wisdom of No Escape: How to Love Yourself and Your World

The Playback

When you are a perfectionist a moment is never actually over.  Once the time has come and gone the playback begins.  All conversations are recalled over and over and over.  You think back to what you said and worry about every possible mistake.  You think about the words said back to you; inflection, nuance, and what wasn't said are analyzed on repeat.  Texts, emails, laughing too loud, too much, too little, your every move plays back on the movie screen in your head as you watch in horror at all your perceived flaws and mistakes.  

You would think this extreme level of self-critique would paralyze me but it usually doesn't.  I will still jump on stage with glee and look for the attention I adore. I laugh, have fun and will be the life of the party.  I walk the earth with an "I do what I want" attitude.  It's not until I'm alone and still that it all replays and I curl up in a ball cringing.  

Even a positive interaction can begin the playback cycle.  There is this need to relive it and see what you did right.  But after the joy of the moment the playback turns negative.  You start looking for flaws, mistakes and may even perceive what was good as now bad.

This is all a PTSD response for control and survival.  I've thought back many times to when this began for me and I think it was something that progressed over time.  I have a deep neural pathway that tells me I need to play it all back in order to be safe and live.  I meditate, do yoga, breath work, essential oils and any other trick I can think of but it doesn't stop the thoughts from coming.  Distraction helps but when I'm alone and still the reply in my head becomes deafening.

In the midst of a playback moment last week I made an interesting observation.  Without going into details there was a person who left my life after a bizarre incident.  The entire moment left me dumbfounded so as part of the playback I shared the story with friends looking for input. I found that the women tended to ask what I had done, didn't do or said.  I heard, "Well clearly you did something!" repeatedly.  The men either laughed or said I'd done nothing wrong and don't even think about it anymore.  Though I was thankful this person was out of my life the playback continues.  I try to make the illogical logical. 

It's exhausting beyond words to function with your mind on hyperdrive.  It's immensely painful to wake up at 3am with a headache because the thoughts turn to dreams that terrify you.  I feel shame when I'm told I need to stop knowing damn well I can't.  

The Anniversary

Tomorrow marks the 27th anniversary of the day I was raped.  Friday the 13th.  It was a beautiful fall night with leaves changing and a chill in the air.  People in my area love fall for pumpkins and bonfires and its beauty.  But most years when I smell that crisp aroma and feel that same vibe I'm brought back to that moment.  My sexual assault therapist told me back then that I would know I was healed when I could talk about it like the weather.  I didn't listen clearly, as often happens with me, and I heard talk as feel.  I can talk about it the same way I'd tell you it's partly cloudy with a chance of storms but the feelings remain.  These feeling have changed over the years, as I can speak it without crying, but it still haunts me. 

This wasn't the first rape by this person.  This was my boyfriend and he'd taken my virginity by raping me months before.  I was brought up in Evangelical Christianity and your virginity, especially for girls, was the end all be all to who you were.  Jesus might forgive you but no man wants something already used!  I didn't fully buy into this but the sentiment hung on.  I did have a romanticized notion of what your first time should look like; you would love the person, it would be magical and a memory to cherish.  My experience was repeatedly saying no and he penetrated me anyway.  When it was done I ran to the bathroom sobbing while he laughed and said, "Ha ha!  You're not a virgin now!"  I don't recall how I left the bathroom, or what happened after, but I stayed with him.  It took me many years to even call that moment rape.  I went into shock and decided I had to make this work out so what happened would be OK. 

He was verbally abusive and told me daily, "You are the ugliest fattest woman on the planet and you're lucky to have me because no one would want you."  My father made sure I knew he didn't think I was all that good looking and he hated my curviness, so my abuser was able to play on my deep insecurities.  I was terrified of him but didn't tell anyone.  When he was at work one night (took my car) I got a wrong number and started a conversation with this man.  We spoke about random things, no flirting or innuendo, but then I got scared of what would happen if I were caught.  I suddenly freaked out and said, "I have to go and don't call back or something bad will happen to me!"  He called back the next night.  We spoke again and he said, "I don't know you but I'll help you.  You are clearly in a horrible situation.  I'll get you out."  I didn't accept the help, as I feared I really was the biggest troll on the planet and surely he'd leave once he saw me, but it woke me up.  I left saying, "Maybe I am all those things.  Maybe I'll always be alone.  Still better than being with you!"  Those words probably sealed my future fate but I love that I said them.

On September 13th he begged me to drive with him to have coffee and talk.  I didn't want to but his continual pestering got to me so I relented.  We had coffee, and he was pleading for me to come back, and when I refused the verbal abuse started again.  I asked to be taken back to my car.  He started driving the other direction and I knew this was bad.  I prayed my heart out for a red light so I could jump out but every light was green.  He brought me to his place where I tried to make a run for it and he caught me.  After raping me he said he hoped I got pregnant.  He let me run at this point.  I was staying at my mother's and told her what happened.  She made me go to the police. Reports, hospital for a rape kit, and he was arrested.  The prosecutor said he couldn't file charges because there was only proof of sex and not rape, so he was released. 

Many years ago, when email was the way to communicate, I sent one of those silly lists where you say your favorite things and get to know each other and friends then send it back with their answers.  The last number said to say something nice about whomever sent the email to you.  My friend said, "She's the biggest survivor I know."  Huge compliment, right?  It haunts me.  My thought then, and still today, is "I didn't want to be a survivor.  I only wanted a fucking break." 

We've all heard of people who have experienced horrors beyond belief say, "I'm thankful it happened because it made me who I am today."  You know what?  Fuck who I am today!  Am I a wonderful, kind, loving, funny, fantastic person?  Yes, I am.  I absolutely am.  But the pain of who I am today, the daily burden, the efforts I have to take to be this person...no, I'm not grateful. Yet though I wish my journey had been different I won't let it all not matter.   

"I am beautiful no matter what they say..." No matter what he said.

These instances broke me hard in ways I'm not ready to talk about.  Yet I did survive.  My life is good.  I actually thrived bigger and better than I ever imagined I could.  I'm deeply flawed but resilient as fuck.  I share this to remind myself I wasn't at fault.  I share this to release it because I'm so tired of carrying it.  I share this because someone else needs to hear it.  

I don't know how to ask for what I need

I don't know how to ask for what I need.  Even using all the "I feel..." therapy words, not being mean, simply saying truth, well this is like learning a foreign language to me.  Now I could give many stories of my attempts at asking where the needs weren't met due to the other person's inability, not caring or ambivalence; but I'm at an age where not learning this basic life skill has gone on much too long. 

I've read I have an anxious attachment style and these types rarely get their needs met.  I've also read that what someone says has everything to do with them and not with you.  Here is where I get hung up.  I take everything much too personally.  I internalize what's not actually mine.  This is about believing that just because someone is unable or unwilling to give you what you need it's not a statement about you.  I can say the words to others, even preach them loud and long, but not when it comes to myself.  I was once told that this feeling that I'm so very different from everyone else is actually my ego talking.  I still think that person needs to fuck off.

I had a friend who would repeatedly talk about not eating, weight loss and diets while knowing I have an eating disorder.  I had asked that we speak about other subjects (this was the best I could do at the time).  She didn't stop.  She'd preface her babbling with "I know you have an eating disorder but this is about me...".  It bothered me, triggered me, upset me....but I never stopped her.  I never said, "I need you to never speak to me about this again.  Ever.  Please and thank you." 

Taking small steps.  Told a coworker I needed something through email and not face to face (because I'm visual and not auditory).  She got mad and told people that I won't discuss something and it's an issue.  But I didn't internalize this. 

Though I pride myself on my honesty, I'm seeing there is dishonesty when I don't ask for what I need.  My smile is a lie when I'm crying inside.  A friend is posting a daily self care thing to do and yesterday's was "set an alarm on your phone with a personal inspirational message".  I didn't do it initially as I became overwhelmed with all I felt I needed in inspiration and self care.  But it showed back up on my news feed today and I immediately thought "I am safe to tell the truth" (WOW!  I wasn't looking at the time and the alarm message just went off now!).  As with so many things in my life I'm walking through the fire to get to the other side.

I can't stop the crying

I can't stop the crying lately.  This may sound like some hormonal issue but it should be mentioned that I am not a crier kind of person.  My life experience made me believe that no one cared about your tears so don't bother shedding them.  When too much would happen and the tears would fall I was told I was too much, too sensitive and it's too bad so suck it up.  I have a lifetime of doing everything possible to not cry.  Tears symbolized weakness to me, and I couldn't be weak as I was on my own.  I learned to push it down, hard, and not let anyone know what was going on.

The first year after my divorce I was numb.  I smiled and did all the things but was largely performing in a zombie state. Yet I'm healthy now or lets say on the road to it. With this new found state of mental health and peace the tears won't stop falling.  Sometimes I'm not even sure why I'm crying.  I'm not crying over spilled milk but it's close.  So close. 

I'm sure there are many tears I never cried that are coming out now, but I think what's really happening is I'm awake and aware.  Woke AF, kids!  :-)  I've found a yoga studio which has been my refuge and I've finally made my practice about tuning into my body's sensations and not how it looks.  With awareness comes feeling and I'm feeling all over the place.  Though interesting is that I cry harder when someone is kind to me than when I'm sad, frustrated or hurt. 

I still see tears as weakness.  I hate when someone sees me cry.  I hope this stage ends soon...

I'm scared to allow myself happiness

I'm scared to allow myself happiness.  This isn't to say I'm never happy.  I do have many happy moments.  Feeling happy while being hyper-vigilant that something bad is about to happen, something I need to prepare for in order to survive, something I need to see coming and can't have a veil of happiness clouding the view.

It doesn't take knowing me too long, or a psychiatry degree, to see this is a trauma response.  From my perception, when I let my guard down one time too many, shit hit the fan hard and I was broken.  I have a deeply embedded neural pathway in my brain that tells me to keep my guard up and happiness isn't allowed.  Yes, we can over time change our brains, and I do work on it daily, but it's slow, painful and daunting.  To work on this daily is as Brene Brown would say "in the arena getting your ass kicked...". 

I should clarify what I mean by happiness.  I allow myself to be happy in what I consider safe moments: dancing at a band, laughing at a joke, seeing a pink sunrise.  Yet when I speak on allowing happiness I'm referring to a content and safe happy feeling.  Nothing in particular is happening, you look out into space and can safely say of your life and existence, "yes, I'm happy".  My stomach clenched typing that.

Back in my evangelical Christian days it was said, "God doesn't care about your happiness, he cares about your holiness."  First thought: I'm fucked.  You were supposed to find happiness in Jesus and all he did for you, since you are a sinful piece of shit.  I was never happy.  The bible quotes Jesus as saying "my burden is light" and I would internally scowl and think "No, it's not light, it's heavy as fuck!"  As I've deconstructed my faith and indoctrination, allowing happiness becomes what I want but still elusive.

I was speaking to my son recently about what's happening in my life and he asked, "Are you happy?"  I smiled both internally and externally and said, "Yes.  Very happy."  It was the most calm I'd had in a long time.  Later, and a wee bit drunk, fear started to overtake me, and I wiped tears as he played an emotional piece for me on the piano.

Yet it happened again after a powerful energetic experience (I may write on this later....still processing at the moment) where I realized I was happy and content.  It didn't scare me so much this time as something had shifted in me.  Now my anxiety, fears, depression, PTSD, pain and general freakiness aren't gone, but it now feels to the side of me, instead of being the dark umbrella over my life. 

I'm still scared but in this moment alone, cool breeze blowing in, Himalayan salt lamp glowing, full of peaches and a teensy bit high...I'll allowing a little grin of happiness.