Performative Vulnerability

I was seen recently in a way I didn't want.  At a friend's house I went into one of my stories of my life and he said, "I've heard this one.  You tell it the same way every time.  It's performative vulnerability.  I know...I do it too."  FUCK!  At first I felt embarrassed and hurt, but when I dug further I realized it was actually shame (Thanks, Brene Brown!).  He was dead on accurate; as I'd said in a previous post about vulnerability, I will tell you what seems to be an overshare but it's actually calculated so you don't know what I truly feel.  

What I hated more than feeling called out (though he did it in love....sure wasn't trying to hurt me) was that I saw my father in these performances.  My father loved to tell a dramatic story, same inflection, same pauses, though sometimes enhanced through the years.  I hated these stories.  I could imitate them word for word and would eye roll each time I heard it being retold.  He would say, "Stop me if you've heard this one!" and I would immediately reply, "Stop."  When his Alzheimer's progressed, the stories seemed to be all he'd remember, so once he began a story you couldn't stop him.  I would say, "Yes, I know this one well." and he'd keep on going, sometimes even starting over.  I see my future and I'm not amused.  

What would I be without my performances? (tears are welling up typing this)  My stories make me less ordinary.  My dramatic playbacks of my life are what make some horrible things now laughable.  What I heard when he said this to me was "You are way too fucking much.  No one wants to listen to you."  I fully acknowledge that his intentions and my skewed perception of it are worlds apart.  I don't believe that's what he was saying yet the feelings remain.

Because I am too much for most people.  I'm funny.  I'm entertaining.  I'm a riot to hang out with.  But damn....could you just tone it down a few thousand notches.  And I can't do it.  I leave most every interaction I have (parties, gatherings, work events, etc...) replaying all the ways I got too loud, said too much and went too far.  I've tried.  I've tried so hard and believe it or not what you see is actually very toned down from what's going on inside.  I'm not sure this world could handle me being fully myself. Not sure I could handle it.  

Yet blunt, boisterous, loud and in your face isn't being vulnerable.  I don't trust vulnerability and I sure don't trust your ability to handle it if I exposed myself.  Even this blog, Raw Bleach, the whole point is "not toning it down", but I do.  I'm scared.  I have received numerous private messages of people telling me they've read my pieces and were moved and encouraged me not to stop.  And in those moments I do take a tiny step forward, maybe reveal a little thing, and see that I'm not abandoned.  Admitting all this is vulnerable for me.  I'm truly giving all I can right now.

Raw Bleach

Hope for 1 Year

I was inspired today by a friend's Facebook post where she asked us to ask ourselves, "What if...?"  I've never really asked myself "What if...?" in a positive way.  All my questions have been "What if it falls apart?" "What if I fail?" "What if I die?" To consider anything else meant to hope and hope wasn't allowed for me.  Hoping meant disappointment.  Hoping was for everyone else.  

Yet today after completing a scary one year project, where I did a selfie a day on Instagram, and didn't implode, I decided to push myself a step further.  I'm going to live for 1 entire year with hope.  When I'm scared I'm going to ask myself how it can go well.  When it falls apart I'm going to look for something better around the corner.  

Please understand this isn't some cute be positive, say some affirmations and skip down the lane thing.  For me to allow myself any hope, much less for a year, is about the equivalent of saying I'm going to spontaneously grow a horn on my head.  Every cell in my body is revolting against this.  My anxiety is leaving me breathless, as it feels this will set me up for awful things to happen.  My protector self is screaming "No!  You're going to get hurt!  I may not be able to save you!"

I'm not good at a lot but I can do scary things.  I'm resilient as fuck and my tenacity has got me to the other side when no one thought I'd make it.  Although I'm already hating this before it begins I'm doing it anyway.

Now if you've known me a long time and are jumping around smugly thinking you've told me this all along, let me please say keep your fucking mouth shut.  I don't need an I told you so.  Really....just don't.  Please don't.  

Here we go....

Scarcity Fears and the New Year

This isn't a New Year's resolutions post.  Well maybe it is but I don't want to call it that.  This is my processing of my life, and you get to witness it through my writing.  I've thought about many of these ideas and moments for so long that I don't remember if I blogged about them or not.  So there may be repeats from previous posts, but fuck it, I do what I want with my blog.

I don't recall a time in my life where I ever felt I was taken care of and that my future needs would be met.  Even in moments such as where I'm at right now; bills paid, food in the fridge, clothed, warm and safe, the future voice of "But what if something bad happens?" looms in the distance.  Though it's nowhere near as bad as it used to be, I still frequently have to go through the hierarchy of needs with myself and get reminded that I'm OK for this moment.  

Up until my parents divorced when I was 15, my needs were met.  My father was a pastor, and didn't make much, but he'd hustle on the side selling cars and houses, so I never went without the basics.  He was also insanely frugal, and in his own scarcity fears, projected onto the rest of us.  At a young age I can remember him ranting about money, talking doom and gloom as if we'd be on the street any moment.  As a young teen I did everything I could to give the appearance that we were decently middle class, though in reality I'm sure we were on the low end.  

When my parents divorced I lived with my mother and youngest brother in South Minneapolis.  My mother did have a job but it wasn't much.  We lived on cream of chicken soup and noodles for  years.  To this day I can't stand a cream sauce.  You could take me to the finest restaurant in town but if cream sauce was served I'll only taste being poor.  Now whether my mother was too prideful to go to a food shelf or just didn't know, there wasn't much food around.  No new school clothes, no extra curricular activities and for a few years no Christmas presents.  The thrifty days of when my parents were together now looked like pure extravagance.  Instead of looking at this as a moment in time, my brain went into survival mode and is struggling to break away from this way of thinking.  

I'm sure many will say it's a great life skill that I can now hustle like a mother fucker.  I am empowered by this as I do know and believe I will survive.  The flip side is living in a near continual state of anxiety that the other shoe will drop and that I should be on alert at all times.  Once I bought 10 t-shirts that were on sale instead of the pretty but more expensive sweater I adored.  My thought was that if there was a war that I'd need those t-shirts in case I had to do manual labor.  Our country was not in a threat of war at that time yet I was somehow convinced I was about to be Rosie the Riveter.  

For all my scarcity fears you'd think I'd have loads saved and be a coupon clipping maniac.  I'm not.  I do spend rather freely but do not always make wise decisions.  Although I'm known for my love of shoes, I actually am more of a clothes hoarder.  Every year I give away bags full of what's not being worn only to fill my closet again.  I feel guilt about giving away things I never wore, and the carelessness of spending that way, and I feel guilt about buying more.  I'll leave food in the fridge that is about to go bad until I can replace it with something else because the sight of an almost empty fridge scares me.  I have to stop myself when leftovers from meetings are put in the break room and ask if I'm hungry or just fearful of not having enough, before I dash to gobble up some cold piece of crap from hours before.  

One of my life goals since my father's death has been to not be like him, and one specific way is his fear of not having enough money, and spending like a miser.  But as much as I'd love to max out some credit cards and fly around the world, I need to balance that with facts and reason.  It's all such a balancing act.  Life your best life!  Treat yo self!  You don't have enough in your 401K and will live in a ditch when you're 90!  I want the coming year to be different.  I want to face these fears with a healthy balance of living a big life and making good choices.  

I really don't have a great way to tie this up.  I'm looking out at my porch at my bike which has sat in the same spot for a year and a half.  I should have brought it in last winter, but instead stared at it with the snow coming down, shaming myself that it's rusting.  I remain immobile.  I'm thinking about the shirt I bought online this morning and how I sorted the price low to high and was price focused and not want/need focused. I'm looking at the pink Christmas cards I bought on clearance and smiling with delight.  

Accepting Compliments

I've been trying to write this post for weeks.  Maybe longer.  I stare at the screen nightly, the words going through my head, but nothing coming out.  So please understand this is hard for me to share.  Hard to express.  And the greater fear, the fear with all my posts, is my words will be used against me.  I worry what I say won't be conveyed in the right way and opinions and perceptions of me will be formed that I don't like.  I'm going to call some people out from my past.  As one of my favorite authors Anne Lamott said, "You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”  And hey....fuck you if you don't understand.

I struggle to accept compliments.  I know many if not most people can relate to this in some way but it runs much deeper.  Because it's not that I can't accept any compliment; it's only certain ones.  If you tell me I'm funny, I will look you dead in the eye and say, "I know!  I'm a riot!!" and I feel it and mean it.  If you tell me I bake a kick ass pumpkin muffin I will say, "I've worked hard at these and really perfected my recipe.  Thank you."  Yet tell me I'm smart, tell me I do a great job or tell me you think I'm beautiful and I'll crumble before you.  

No deep psychological analysis needed to know how I got here.  I didn't get compliments growing up.  Or if I did my parents took credit for it.  I was never Daddy's pretty princess.  My father was a hard core Baptist minister who felt to be anything but blunt was a lie.  So I knew when he never told me I was pretty that he felt I wasn't.  And all other looks, comments and flat out statements proved I was right.  I wasn't skinny, I wasn't cute, I didn't stand out.  This became the basis for my self esteem.

My ex husband never complimented me.  At absolute best he would say, "you look nice".  This includes my wedding day.  In many marriage counseling sessions I said, "It hurts me deeply that you don't think I'm beautiful.  I'm your fucking wife."  The reply was, "Well I never told anyone else I dated that they were beautiful."  In my head this meant he absolutely didn't feel I was because even when I'm pleading that I need this he wouldn't do it.  He told me before we divorced that I had gotten better looking with age.  It's true but it stung deeply.

My best friend tells me constantly that I'm beautiful.  She knows I cringe and cry when she says it and she continues.  She knows that the only way for me to heal is for me to keep hearing it until I believe it.  When I met her years ago she offhandedly said something about me being pretty.  She doesn't know this but I went to the bathroom and cried.  It was the first time I'd ever have a friend call me pretty.  Now my friends had said I looked nice, an outfit looks attractive  on me, I looked good but the words pretty and beautiful were elusive to me.  

I get anxious when I'm complimented at work.  I do work hard and of course want to hear it's appreciated.  Yet now at the holidays I'm being told very nice things, with gifts, and my anxiety is through the roof.  I know I absolutely deserve this but fear overtakes me.  I'm not even sure what the fear is about but I'm wiping tears and scared as I type thinking about it.  

Being single now, and holding up decently well for my age, I get a lot of compliments.  I'm always a little stunned, embarrassed and mostly nervous and wary.  I worry I'm being manipulated.  I fear they see this is my weakness and they are going to use me.  I don't believe them.  

They say you can't love unless you love yourself.  Well that's bullshit.  I love wonderfully.  But no...I don't love myself.  I don't know that I ever will.  Though I do feel with time I can breathe easier when a kind word is said to me.  I think the core fear is that if I believe it then someone will laugh and say I'm wrong.  I can't take that level of devastation.

She just wants to be beautiful
She goes unnoticed, she knows no limits
She craves attention, she praises an image
She prays to be sculpted by the sculptor
Oh, she don't see the light that's shining
Deeper than the eyes can find it
Maybe we have made her blind
So she tries to cover up her pain and cut her woes away
'Cause cover girls don't cry after their face is made

But there's a hope that's waiting for you in the dark
You should know you're beautiful just the way you are
And you don't have to change a thing, the world could change its heart
No scars to your beautiful, we're stars and we're beautiful
Oh-oh, oh-oh
And you don't have to change a thing, yhe world could change its heart
No scars to your beautiful, we're stars and we're beautiful

She has dreams to be an envy, so she's starving
You know, covergirls eat nothing
She says beauty is pain and there's beauty in everything
What's a little bit of hunger?
I could go a little while longer, she fades away
She don't see her perfect, she don't understand she's worth it
Or that beauty goes deeper than the surface
Oh, oh
So to all the girls that's hurting
Let me be your mirror, help you see a little bit clearer
The light that shines within

There's a hope that's waiting for you in the dark
You should know you're beautiful just the way you are
And you don't have to change a thing, the world could change its heart
No scars to your beautiful, we're stars and we're beautiful

Oh-oh, oh-oh
And you don't have to change a thing, the world could change its heart
No scars to your beautiful, we're stars and we're beautiful

No better you than the you that you are (no better you than the you that you are)
No better life than the life we're living (no better life than the life we're living)
No better time for your shine, you're a star (no better time for your shine, you're a star)
Oh, you're beautiful, oh, you're beautiful

And there's a hope that's waiting for you in the dark
You should know you're beautiful just the way you are
And you don't have to change a thing, the world could change its heart
No scars to your beautiful, we're stars and we're beautiful
Oh-oh, oh-oh
And you don't have to change a thing, the world could change its heart
No scars to your beautiful, we're stars and we're beautiful

Scars to Your Beautiful lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group

I'm always in pain

*This post is about revealing what you might not know, but please do not take it as an opportunity to spout off ideas or solutions for me.  I know my condition well. There is absolutely nothing you are offering that I haven't tried.  While I know when suggestions are offered they are given with care and love, but at this point for me they are dismissive to the work I've put in.  Thank you.*

I'm always in pain.  Every day, all day, I'm in continual pain.  I will share with those closest to me when it hits an excruciating level but otherwise no one knows.  I want a big life, I don't want to lie down, I don't want to surrender to this, so I plow through each day doing exactly what I want to do.  Though I'm told my condition is not progressive or degenerative, I do worry the day may come when my tenacity can't override physical limitations.  

I get envious when I hear people say they feel great, talk about how phenomenal a massage was or speak to an amazing level of relaxation.  These are all things I likely will never experience again.  I'm super healthy, and typically have more energy and drive than people half my age, but I hurt.  I hurt so much.  Sometimes it gets overwhelming and I curl in a ball and cry.  Yet I won't let you know.  I will smile, make jokes, dance around the room singing and never let on to the agony I'm experiencing.

I do have a combination of things that brings me brief moments of relief.  So brief.  But neither of these things are possible to do or use for most of my waking hours.  I have roughly an hour and a half each night where the pain isn't gone but it's semi-manageable. I've dealt with this nearly 30 years so I'm grateful that have even these short amounts of time to take full breaths.  But 30 fucking years is a long time to be in agony.  

In yoga theory, and other schools of thought, believe trauma is held in the body.  While I look at this and all things with a skeptic's eye, it makes sense.  I've experienced many forms of severe trauma.  Though I have a diagnosis for my condition the bottom line statement from the doctor (after a full body MRI) was "we don't see anything, we can't help you".  When he told me this I was limping from the pain.  So the body holding trauma, and specifically to my situation makes sense.  There is a book from Dr. Bessel Van der Kolk called, "The Body Keeps the Score" where he is showing with real data that this is true.  I bought the book 5 years ago and haven't read a page.  Releasing stored trauma can't be easy.  I'm scared.

While I'm trying hard not to make this a whining feel sorry for me post, I'll admit I'm using this moment to talk about my reality.  And yeah, I do feel sorry for myself sometimes, while of course knowing I have it great compared to others (have to show gratitude otherwise something worse will happen, right?).  I'll survive.  I always make it.  But what I wouldn't give for a pain free body for a day...

I Hate Christmas

I hate Christmas.  Not simply stressed by the consumption, exhausted from the running around, worry about family issues; I full on hate it.  I know all the Christmas lovers are gasping in horror right now, and I can assure you I wasn't always this way.  It took many years of pain, disappointment and sadness for me to get to this point.

One of my earliest Christmas memories was when I was around 9 years old and wanted a tape recorder.  My mother told me it was too expensive and I assured her it was all I wanted and I'd be happy with only that.  I would sit in front of the Christmas tree staring at the lights wishing and praying for my tape recorder.  Though being brought up hard core Evangelical, I felt guilty for praying for anything for myself (starving kids in Africa and all), so half the time was spent apologizing for wanting this.  One night while I was enjoying the lights in the dark I heard my parents fighting.  What I got from it was that my mother spent $5 more on me than my father said she should. I internalized this as I wasn't worth $5 more.  It felt specific to me.  I cried and didn't let anyone know.  On Christmas morning I did find a tape recorder under the tree.  I looked at my father's face and saw he wasn't pleased.  Again, I saw displeasure as I didn't deserve this.



We were poor many years, but especially after my parents divorced.  My mother could barely make the bills and there wasn't extra money for clothes, school activities or presents.  I looked longingly at other happy families sharing gifts and felt the scarcity of my own situation.  I felt intense shame at our Christmas but did everything I could to hide the reality of it from everyone. 

When my father remarried my step mother's traditions became our new ones.  She liked to view herself as a Martha Stewart and insisted on perfection at all holidays.  We were reprimanded over not sitting in the right spot, talking too loudly (laughing) or not paying enough attention to her.  My entire time there was a walking talking anxiety attack.

Once my son was born I thought Christmas would be different.  My plan was to put all focus on him and make everything wonderful.  Yet my past was still present, and the stress very real, so even though I checked every box I was in misery every year.  I did everything a "good mother" should do for their child yet he knew something was off with me.  

My brother came out as gay to my father on Christmas and I had my worst eating binge of my life as I took on fear and stress from it.  I tried to focus on Baby Jesus and that only hurt more as I never felt he loved me anyway.  I gave to the poor.  I volunteered.  I tried to do more for everyone.  I disassociated.  I called December 26th my favorite day of the year because it was all finally over.

This year has a new level of pain now that I'm divorced.  We spend Christmas Eve morning with my mother and siblings and that night I spend with my son.  Christmas Day I'm all alone.  I can't go somewhere to distract myself because nothing is open...everyone is with their families.  Sure I've had offers to come to others for the day but seeing a smiling happy family only spirals me farther downward.  I've tried to come up with a plan (and please don't give me ideas...just don't) but it all hurts.  I will have to face a day of pain by myself and that's just the hard reality.

In 2015 I had been crying at my therapist's and she was trying to make me find something to look forward to.  I whimpered there was nothing then remembered we had a new Star Wars coming out around Christmas!  This excited me as I was all in for having Star Wars Christmas.  I bought Star Wars towels, ornaments and anything else I could get my hands on.  Thankfully a new Star Wars has come out every year and that's become my focus.

While I'm glad so many of you have wonderful memories and love Christmas the most, just know that for some of us this is a day of incredible suffering.

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.