I lost my voice

“We waste so much energy trying to cover up who we are when beneath every attitude is the want to be loved, and beneath every anger is a wound to be healed and beneath every sadness is the fear that there will not be enough time."

I recently lost my voice. Not my audible voice but the voice that tells the truth of who I am, what I feel, and what has happened to me. Someone I deeply loved, who I thought loved me, read my blog and said that I try to portray myself as a victim, I lean into it, but I'm not a victim at all. Years of writing where I was vulnerable, honest, and transparent were taken away with those few words. I lost the desire to write. I lost my voice.

I contemplated what was said to see if there was any truth. Though I have been victimized, I saw my writing as a way to work through it and show a life of someone that had overcome unfathomable things. Were there aspects of my experience where I still felt and behaved as a victim? Probably. Am I also crazy resilient and have created a life for myself that no one expected possible? Absolutely.

I live life out loud. I swore I'd never be silenced as I had in the past. A lifetime of being told I'm too loud, too opinionated, and too much, and I had decided that to be my authentic self, you could take it or leave it but I'm not changing. And then I got small. 

I would start to write and nothing came out. In my previous posts they came quickly, very stream of consciousness, with few edits. I just said it. Yet now judgement loomed large over me. My writing which I'd been proud of now felt embarrassing. I'd laid myself out there only to be told it was something I should have hidden, stuffed down, and certainly not shared publicly. 

This past year has been one of the hardest of my life for loss. I lost my baby kitty who loved me unconditionally and though scared of most everyone else, lived for me. It was a quick and tragic death that I still sob about daily while smiling when I see you in person. I lost my job that I loved. I'd never loved a job but I did love this one. I stupidly wanted to stay until retirement. But as so often happens in life, it was taken away. I lost the person I considered to be the love of my life. Month after month of having something that meant so much to me to be suddenly gone. 

I'm sad. I'm destroyed. Am I being a victim now? 

This post has been in draft form for months. I go to publish and I'm immobilized. Then I saw this quote from Alan Watts "Stop aspiring and start writing. If you’re writing, you’re a writer. Write like you’re a goddamn death row inmate and the governor is out of the country and there’s no chance for a pardon. Write like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckles, on your last breath, and you’ve got just one last thing to say, like you’re a bird flying over us and you can see everything, and please, for God’s sake, tell us something that will save us from ourselves. Take a deep breath and tell us your deepest, darkest secret, so we can wipe our brow and know that we’re not alone.”

My voice is back.

Redemption

My favorite movie of all time is An Officer and a Gentleman. I love the characters, I love the plot, I love how painful and beautiful it is. Though what I love most is the redemption of each person. In the final scene they are all repaired, restored and atoned. Each person was so terribly broken from their life circumstances, and their own actions, yet in the end they were redeemed.

How often do we allow those in our lives redemption? When do we give ourselves the grace of being redeemed? Where do we meet in the middle with our humanity and brokenness?

In my Evangelical Christian days, I loved the stories of someone who should have been beyond redemption, but their God saved them and turned a horror story into something amazing. Jesus telling the criminal on the cross next to him in his last moments of life "Truly I tell you today you will be with me in paradise.". I recall hearing about a mother who went to death row to forgive her son's killer and how we should all ascribe to that level of forgiveness. Redemption for someone nobody wanted redeemed. 

Yet it's such a fine line for each of us as to where our boundaries start and stop, where we forgive, and another might not. We speak from our own experience and feel whatever the outcome of our similar situation might be will also be that for you. We judge, condemn and assume, while believing our experience is the sole source of truth.

I definitely do this in our current political climate. I'm enraged with no room for an experience other than my own or that of what I've witnessed. I feel the same about religion and refuse to make space to hear anything otherwise. Not a good look but it's the truth of this moment for me.

On the flip side I hate being told what I should or shouldn't forgive. I read years ago "You don't have to forgive" and it was one of the most powerful statements of my life. One of my favorite author's, Anne Lamott, says, "Forgiveness is giving up all hope of having had a better past." So where do we draw the line? And do we allow others the autonomy to draw their boundaries outside of our own?

I don't believe in absolutes. I believe change is always possible. In yoga we say, "everything can change with your next breath". I've seen the worst humans turn their entire being around into amazing people, and I've seen heroes and saints plummet. We make the best choices for ourselves, sometimes redeeming the unredeemable, with the hope we might one day be extended the same grace. 

"We're all just walking each other home." ~ Ram Dass

Why I Share What I Do

Glennon Doyle wrote in her book Love Warrior, "I'm purging in the dark to a screen, so I never have to see anyone's confused or embarrassed reaction." 

I was recently given some negative feedback on my blog that I'm putting everything out there in a way that this person wouldn't do. Though told "it's not a cut", it so clearly was a cut. I accept this. I share intense things, I dump my trauma out for all to see, I expose myself in ways that make people uncomfortable. 

Words on the internet are forever so once it's out there I can't take it back. Along with the words are the trolls, haters and those who only want to gleefully cut others down. Yet my soul (if I even believe in such a thing) can't turn back now.

So why put myself through this? I openly share my deepest pain, regret and sorrow because I believe our stories heal each other and ourselves. I know when I see myself in another I am changed. I know we all want to know we are seen and that we aren't alone. I know when I share my agony that it lessens the pain. When a light is shone into the darkest places, and we stay breathing, our resilience is strengthened. 

Though I lean more than a little towards nihilism; I do want my life to count. I want my distressing moments to show another a way out. I want all my own self-work to mean something. I wasn't gifted with a ton in terms of talent but I'm loud, brave and I can say what someone needs to hear.

I will continue writing and sharing the things that most people wouldn't want others to know. I will share my feelings, and expect they might change through time, as I live and breathe through this moment. I won't get small to make you comfortable.

TELL YOUR FUCKING TRUTH

I have seen miracles happen, when people just tell the truth.

 Not the ‘nice’ truth. Not the truth that seeks to please or comfort. But the wild truth. The feral truth. 

The inconvenient truth. The tantric truth. The ‘fucking’ truth. 

The truth you’re afraid to tell. The horrible truth about yourself that you hide in order to ‘protect’ others. To avoid being ‘too much’. 

To avoid being shamed and rejected. To avoid being seen. The truth of your deepest feelings: The rage you have been concealing, controlling, pasting over. The terrors you do not want to speak. The sexual urges you’ve been trying to numb. The primal longings you cannot bear to articulate. 

Finally, the defenses break down, and this ‘unsafe’ material emerges from deep within the unconscious. You can’t hold it back anymore. The image of the ‘good boy’ or ‘nice girl’ evaporates. The ‘perfect one’, the ‘one who has it all figured out’, the 'evolved one', these images burn. 

You tremble, you sweat, you come close to vomiting, you think you might die doing it, but finally you tell the fucking truth, the truth you are deeply ashamed of. 

Not the abstract truth. Not the ‘spiritual’ truth. Not a carefully-worded truth designed to prevent offence. Not a neatly-packaged truth. But a messy, fiery, sloppy human truth. 

A bloody, passionate, provocative, sensual, untamed and unvarnished mortal truth. A shaky, sticky, sweaty, vulnerable truth. 

The truth of how you feel. The truth that lets another person see you in the raw. The truth that makes one gasp. The truth that makes your heart pound. 

This is the truth that will set you free. 

I have seen chronic depressions and life-long anxieties lift overnight. I have seen deeply embedded traumas evaporate. I have seen fibromyalgia, life-long migraines, chronic fatigue, unbearable back pain, bodily tension, stomach disorders, vanish, never to return. 

Of course, the ‘side-effects’ of truth aren’t always this dramatic. And we don’t step into our truth with a result in mind. But think of the massive amounts of energy it must take to repress our animal wildness, numb our feral nature, suppress our rage, tears and terror, uphold a false image, and pretend to be ‘okay’. 

Think of all the tension we hold in the body, and the damage it does to our immune systems, when we live in fear of 'coming out'. 

Take the risk of telling your truth. The truth you are afraid to tell. The truth you fear will make the world run. Find a safe person – a friend, a therapist, a counselor, yourself – and let them in. Let them hold you as you break down. Let them love on you as you weep, rage, quake with fear, and generally make a mess. 

Tell your fucking truth to someone – it might just save your life, heal you from deep within, and connect you to humanity in ways you never imagined.

~ Jeff Foster ~

 

 

 

Not Funny

While doing a Google search for something I likely don't need I came across a list for women. Whether in magazines, web articles, or Facebook memes, women are continually being given lists of what they should and shouldn't do. And at the core of these lists, it's typically to do what men want. Men don't get these type of lists. Maybe a random "What women like men to wear on dates" but men aren't bombarded with this constant critique of their every move the way women are. 

This latest list was called "17 Traits You Think Men Find Attractive, But They Actually Don't." Now I was expecting the usual stuff about too much makeup, or not being on time, but this one had a throwback to more misogynistic times and said "Being Too Funny ~ Guys want to be the funny ones. If a woman is a born comedic, a man might feel threatened. Having a funny female friend is fine, but a girlfriend should be the one laughing at his jokes."

I wish this were the first time I heard this. And those misogynistic times I spoke of are not a thing of the past; it's real and present every single day for women. 

Things I've had said to me by men since becoming a comic:

"I'm really funny...I should do that!" {While never asking anything about my comedy."

"Are you funny?" (If I say that's a stupid thing to ask to someone who just told you they are a comic, I'm told I don't have a sense of humor.)

"Women aren't funny." (Again, if I don't laugh then I can't take a joke.)

"You aren't funny." (Said by men who have never seen me perform....you guessed it...this was another joke that I was supposed to laugh at.)

"I'm funnier than you!"

"Do you have to sleep with people to get gigs?" (No more than your mom used to.)

(From a guy I was starting to date) "I know it's a show, but after seeing your performance, I'm not the guy for you." (Correct sir, you're not)

Women are socialized to laugh at men's jokes whether funny or not. We smile and nod even when it's atrocious. We know for our safety we should be polite and not upset them in any way. I've stopped laughing at what isn't funny and they notice it. A lot!

It's not funny. None of this is funny. But I'm all good.

Letting them go

My former spouse texted me pictures yesterday of the barn outside the house we'd shared that had collapsed. I initially hated that barn. I didn't want to live in the far suburbs, didn't want to be so remote, hated everything there, but I'd given in as I always did just to keep the peace. A barn next door to me meant I wasn't in the city, wasn't living the life I wanted, and felt like isolation. Hated it so much. But a few years in I woke up to a spectacular sunrise which showcased that old barn. The barn became something peaceful to me. I enjoyed having coffee and looking out at it, with the raggedy old windmill next to it, and being able to take a few deep breaths which were rare for me. 

I started to think of who of my friends I should text to talk about the barn collapse as it felt significant for me. I scrolled through all my texts and found there wasn't a single person I knew that had seen that barn. There was no one because most of the friends from the first part of my life, my life then, have left me. It's been over 5 years since I left that home, over 5 years since I divorced, and of these people only 1 reached out early on to talk to me, and the silence ever since has been deafening. 

I don't actually know why they are no longer my friends. These are people I've known for over 40 years. I spend every Christmas at their homes along with bringing my husband and son. I knew their entire extended family. I felt I was one of them. The one that called me in the beginning of my exit I'm seeing was just looking for information, gossip, and didn't really care about me. I was there for her babies being born, I was at her wedding, I was there when she became a meth addict, and I was there when she found recovery. I thought it was more than friendship. I've guessed that they didn't like my divorce, but really suspect it's because of my loud and proud statements about no longer believing in a God, no longer a Christian, and being highly vocal about the abuse that happens in churches. 

Ending a friendship is like a divorce; you think it will last forever, you feel disbelief at how this person now treats you, you grieve. It also makes me look back and ask some hard questions as to whether they have ever supported me as a person and lifted me up. They didn't. I've truly been grieving this for years now. I noticed they never liked any of my Facebook posts yet were liking those of my family. Felt like a statement. It's true I could have reached out also but admittedly I was standing back to watch actions. I saw my friend remarry, I saw grandchildren being born, I saw their vacation pics, and I liked everything both as genuine care but also to say I see you; do you see me? 

I've spoken before about releasing what no longer serves me. I'm usually speaking about negative thoughts and bad habits, but releasing a friend is different. They truly don't serve me anymore. Between religion, politics, and life, we are no longer compatible people. I would likely be pretty rude about my feelings on a lot of things, and I wouldn't serve them either. The friendship has collapsed without chance of building it back up.

I'm living a big life. My choices are my own, I look daily towards happiness, and I do whatever I want. They will not in any way benefit my future, nor I theirs. I wish them well and am letting them go. 

5 Years

It was 5 years ago today that I walked out on my life. I dove into the unknown without a safety net as the unhappiness was overtaking me. My first night alone I had to sleep on the couch since I didn't have a bed. I laid there with a thin blanket that didn't cover my feet and waited for the sun to rise again. I spent each night on my porch drinking a mock sangria I made from cheap wine and frozen raspberries, ate tortilla chips, and passing out in a lawn chair. I left everything behind as I didn't want my child to experience the pain of having a parent take half of everything. Fully starting over.

I'd love to tell you a sweet tale of how I spent a year working on me, learned to love myself, and found out who I really am. Then one beautiful morning I was taking my walk when this amazing handsome man ran by. His head turned as we went by each other and he smiled. Eventually we spoke and this turned into a whirlwind romance where he proposed to me in Aruba and married in a quaint church on a hill in Italy, surrounded by flowers and a sunset painted by the Gods. I am now so happy that everything happened the way it did and I wouldn't change a thing.

That would be quite a sweet tale.

My story is about mistakes, hard lessons, and heartbreak. Creating a great life but desperately longing for so much more. Of loneliness that blackened the already dark night. Shame that threatened to engulf me. But also moments of strength where I rose above when others thought I'd go under. Hitting a higher level, burning brighter, and finding my voice. I'm making it and have thrived beyond my own hopes.

I like to do intentions of releasing what no longer serves me during a New Moon. As it came up last week I felt a clear focus to burn everything up. Post it notes with positive words for me, writings of my hopes, letting go of people who don't need to be on my path with me. Interestingly enough things fell away on their own. Or was it me? It doesn't actually matter.

Of the things I can control I have created a spectacular life. I'm making it. Alone. Next month I will fly to my bucket list place, Greece, as I do exactly what I want. I had hopes of it looking differently, but as is my favorite mantra "this is how it is now". My cat and I live a life of peace and answer to no one.

And maybe, just maybe, this is perfect.

Cutting My Hair

Getting a haircut is considered to be basic life maintenance for most of us but it's actually daunting for me. I call it my "Sampson Complex". When I was growing up, and most specifically in my teenage years, I wasn't one of the pretty ones but I had great hair. I spend a lot of money creating new looks for my hair, keeping it up, as it still feels like that's all I've got in comparison to other women. I'm gagging at that statement, as I want to be supportive of other women and not in competition at all. Obviously this all comes from a place of deep insecurity that without my hair I'd be lost in the crowd and unseen. 

I used to have long hair and I loved it. Yet over the years, and with a massive amount of processing (damaging it to get the look I want), it's been getting shorter. I've tried growth treatments, potions and such and I can't manage to get the length back. While doing it yesterday I made peace, sort of, that I'm going to have to get more length cut off to regain the health and integrity of it. I spoke to my hairdresser, who I trust implicitly, and said, "I can't look like a dumpy old woman. I can't have it go curly and look like some freaked out caterpillar!" She of course assured me she'd never let this happen, yet I'm so scared I'm wiping tears at this moment.

I don't have a face for short hair. Long hair is how I can hide. Short hair is for the cute little ones who are called adorable and darling. Having great hair made me feel like so many flaws are hidden, though they really aren't. I was on a date recently with a guy I really liked and he made some reference to my body. It was mostly complimentary but I don't accept compliments well so I pointed out a few areas that in my mind needed work. He felt the best reply was to tell me I should call Sonobello (a local body contouring place). I crumbled internally but smiled and nodded at him so he wouldn't know. Roughly 16 years since my eating disorder diagnosis, about 80% recovered on a good day, but these kind of off handed statements can still take me out.

This all goes down tomorrow and I find I'm vacillating between terror of how old and bad I'll need to look as I get my hair healthy, and feeling like fuck everyone. Hormonal PMDD isn't helping matters. This is my weak link. I am strong, powerful, confident and ready to kick your ass, yet this can knock the wind out of me. 

Perhaps this is a necessary moment in my self growth. Taking away my perceived safety net to show who I really am. I fear it's not enough. I'm terrified my self worth won't survive this. 

Thankfully one of my best friends is a wig master so I do have a backup plan.