When hunger has ravaged you, you’ll consume glass, whisper thanks, and await the next hunger’s call with trembling heart.

Starved

When hunger has ravaged you,

you’ll consume glass,

whisper thanks,

and await the next hunger’s call with trembling heart.

YOur work is not to change who you are. You are not too much.

Love & Self-Worth: The Legacy of Our Caregivers

I’ve come to realize that the way we experience love—and how we later give and receive it—is often rooted in the care we were shown as children. Our caregivers, the ones who were tasked with nurturing and protecting us, taught us how to care for ourselves, others, and our emotions. And I believe that this foundation not only shapes how we see ourselves but also impacts the kind of relationships we form as adults.

My sister and I are a good example of how different upbringings, even within the same family, can lead to very different paths. She learned how to care for herself. She was taught to prioritize her needs, to expect and give respect, and to step into the world with a beleif that she deserved to be there and to have what she needed. It makes sense that, as an adult, she was drawn to a partner who is caring, protective, and values her feelings and well-being.

I, on the other hand, did not learn how to care for myself. I was not shown how to prioritize my own needs or to express my feelings in a safe and healthy way. I grew up believing that I was too much, that my emotions were burdensome, and that my needs were something to be minimized or hidden. It’s no surprise, then, that when I ventured into the world and entered into a relationship, I found myself with someone who was dismissive of my emotions. Someone who was annoyed by my needs, who preferred that I keep them to myself, and who showed no real consideration for my feelings.

It’s not a coincidence that my sister found a partner who cherishes her, while I ended up with someone who couldn’t care less. The way we were cared for as children—how love was shown to us—shaped our adult relationships. Love, in all its forms, was modeled to us, and we internalized that blueprint.

It’s taken time to understand how I was shaped by my past experiences. But what I’ve realized is that we can change the way we love ourselves. We can unlearn the beliefs that were instilled in us. It’s never too late to rewrite our story of love, to find ways to care for ourselves the way we should have been cared for, and to seek relationships that reflect that same care.

I believe that everyone deserves to be loved in a way that’s nurturing, respectful, and considerate. And as we continue to grow, we have the power to give that love to ourselves and the people we choose to invite into our lives.

Purpose, Belonging, Direction

I read a quote today which has me weeping. I’m weeping all the time anyway just about over every single song and everything reminding me of all the love I have missed, all the love that was not recieved or welcome, all the love I failed to feel or effectively communicate, all the love I wished I knew. The love for my sons which has beeen fierce, loyal, protective and still not enough to keep them close to me. While loving me may not be easy, it will also be a wildly unpopular choice for them to make in the midst of their “family”.

The quote says this:  I must lose myself in action lest I wither in despair. I am painfully (always the pain) aware of my hunger for a meaningful pursuit and direction and in pursuit and direction, I may find a sense of belonging and connection and purpose to help me sew together the hours each day between the things which must be done. In those times between the things I’m required to do. I feel lost and distraught and I lie down … run down the clock of my life because I don’t know what else to do. This is a difficult way to exist -it’s humiliating and demoralizing to feel lost untethered all of the time.  Still, as I have my entire life. I have wasted my life trying to become or at least appear different, to be not me, so that maybe just maybe I could be worthy of connection and belonging. It was a requirement I could not meet. It destroyed me, like literally decimated my ability to self actualize.

In these last five months of more than a hundred medical visits and medication’s – being physically and mentally disabled – feeling both adrenalized and paralyzed simultaneously- around the clock.  I have wanted to be dead. It’s all I’ve wanted – to get gone. Because I don’t have a purpose – I don’t have a plan. I don’t have a direction and I certainly don’t have anything or anyone to which I feel I belong. I did used to belong to a gym and my job and now, not even those. And for some months, I felt I belonged to and with him.

Hearing these songs today felt crushing – The Goodness of God by CeCe Winans and LeAnn Rimes – How do I and Leann Rimes- I Need You and then another song called Fighting For Me, by Riley Clemons.

Each of these songs –  about durable, and undeniable love; to count on and fall into, lean into, crash into – I’ve not had that – not from my mother or my father or sister, any member of my family,  certainly not from the man I married. And I feel like I experience this love now -but it is a lie. I have a relationship and I like to call it complicated but actually it’s not complicated. He once claimed to desire a future with me and now he does not.  

He is my everything. He has loved me more and better than anybody has ever loved me. He listens, he hears, he comforts, he celebrates, he cheers me. He holds and shelters me. And I can’t imagine living without this. But at the same time, I’ve lived my whole life without it. I need him in ways which are unreasonable- or are they? He’s a best friend, he is family, he is my lover. He is my everything, but it is no longer mutual and I continue to hold on tight and he continues to let me. 

I am working with therapistS and trying to resolve/reconcile my reality – the pain and the grief of this, and all of the trauma which launched me into this exact space that I am in.  I am working hard to heal my body, my mind, my spirit.

How could I have possibly learned the things about myself- like what I like or what I’m good at or what would satisfy, nurture and fuel me? I must dig out that information – excavate it from beneath decades of trauma, betrayal, abandonment, the grief of never having been well loved, and taking that quite personally.  And the lie of believing I was unworthy and incapable. And now, I have this one person whom I love desperately (of course) and rely on – as my everything and I can’t fault him for not wanting me or this forever.  I also do not want me or this forever.  Who would? I have a lot to recover from. Why must Earth life be so difficult? THIS, according to my therapeutic team is tied to my negative core beliefs. I see how that could be.

What a cycle. When people in my life collectively decided I’m “bad,” interpreting my struggles as evidence of my wrongness, they see inflicting more hardship as a natural consequence—reflective only of their own ego-driven need to punish, rather than insecurity or retaliation. This fkn cycle, where I am scapegoated – trapped in a constant state of hurt and disempowerment. Feling affirmed in that each difficult and painful thing is proof only of my badness.

Just Shut Up

The messages from my family of origin were unmistakable: “We will not show empathy or understanding for your perspective. In response to what we perceive as distortions, we will only offer defense, attack, blame, and relentless conflict.”

All I ever wanted to hear was: “Even if I can’t fix your grief or stress, I will bear it with you. Please, tell me more.”

Instead, I encountered harsh objections to my requests for shared language/understanding, shattering any hope for healing or a path forward.

Curiosity—rooted in courage, humility, and vulnerability—allows us to engage respectfully with perspectives that differ from our own. Curiosity is a choice to explore the unknown. We cannot be both right and curious at the same time. It is painful that so many prioritize appearing (feeling) infallible and in charge at all costs. A shame that this can be mistaken for strength. A need to appear strong feels symptomatic of fragility.

The strength which impresses me is rooted in humility, curiosity, courage.

I’m not angry. I’m overwhelmed.

It’s painful to recall being scolded in shaming ways during overwhelming moments: “Why are you so angry? Why are you so defensive? Why are you yelling?” I percieved but could not name the dissonance, the lack of understanding and interest in what I was going through and how I was reacting. Being diminished instead of receiving support, made me feel threatened/ angry and led to anxiety about my discomfort and the consequences. My inability to alter my instinctive reactions intensified my sense of hopelessness. The persistent dread of not being able to hide my sensitivity only added pressure to the demand to “lighten up” and “calm down”, as everyone insisted I should. My consistent experience within my family and marriage would unfold in this way: Feel overstimulated, be judged and shunned, become fearful, distressed, then angry(and ultimately be crucified for large reactions to unmanageable stress)

My unique wiring (hypersensitivity/hyperarousal) and past trauma leave me vulnerable and fragile in ways that others may not grasp. I often experience shame and anxiety over my unremitting discomfort- or as it was frequently referenced “my thin skin”, which is not an inaccurate descriptor, but also was not said with love.

The stress of otherwise uneventful happenings can overpower my nervous system- like things which others don’t notice, can be crippling to me. Having come from a family whom regularly minimized and belittled me, feeling disregarded, violated, and on edge—became my default state. As a now sensory smart and trauma informed adult, I do not expect others to accommodate my heightened sensitivity- my best option has been to isolate myself – to shield my nervous system from the stressors of life on earth (with others).

Below are examples of how I am easily toppled by technically un-threatening sensory stimuli, which go un-noticed by most(or can be ignored):

The sound of my dog licking, a light on in the hall which shines into my room, a repetitive sound, a wrinkle in my (made) bed that I can see from my desk when I am working. A tag in my shirt.  A strong smell.  Feeling too warm.  A piece of food caught between my teeth.  Each of these can send me immediately into dysregulation—fight or flight energy. My nervous system demands that I do anything to make it stop- to end the sensation.

None of these stimuli are harmful; they overtake me rather than harm or even annoy me. Sensory overload, paired with emotionally charged interactions, crushes me and calls for days of self-care, in solitude, to process, release the energy, and regain basic functionality.

I am now learning to manage in a world which is simply too much for me. Always has been. I am discovering ways to nurture, soothe, and safeguard myself.

Some may find this enlightening, even interesting:
Sensory defensiveness is a condition where someone has an extreme reaction to certain sensations, such as touch, sound, smell, or taste. People with sensory defensiveness may avoid or minimize exposure to these sensations, and may experience anxiety, behavioral changes, or emotional distress. Having to rely on or keep close proximity to those who will judge and punish has proven damaging 100% of the time.

Accuracy of Language

I am gradually acquiring better language as I work to heal from things which (for lack of a more precise word) I previously identified as abuse. While abusive things were said and done by my family of origin and the man I married, the term abuse could be regarded as subjective– Deniable, debatable. However, trauma is not. Trauma (as I am utilizing it) refers only to how I have been impacted by a thing – how it left me compromised and struggling to function and recover.

A person inclined to challenge or debate another person’s emotional experience, is quite likely both an inflictor and a judger of trauma. Disputing the pain of another, is called gaslighting, which actually is a form of abuse.

Traumatic injury occurred. Repeatedly. I am working to let go of feeling a need to prove this. When I label the things abuse, it leaves me in pursuit of evidence: One- that I am justified in my pain and therefore worthy of comfort and connection. Two- that they contributed. Actively, passively, repeatedly.

We'll figure it out together is a love language- Steve Maraboli Phototext

Rupture and Repair

The culmination of sleep deprivation, chronic pain, C- PTSD , sensory overload (when in the presence of most others) can fuck heavily with my resilience and discernment. Sometimes Often my need to unhook entirely from sources of dysregualtion calls for extreme measures, as evidenced by my recent (painful, drastic, and necessary) decision to block communication from said love bomber(SLB). The blocking was not due to a lack or even a loss of love. There was energy between us which was stuck. I had no vision of a specific outcome for the blocking, only a desire to disrupt whatever tf was happening. Fatigue can make me short sighted.

Where our alignment had felt perfect and our connection a fluid and steady source of energy and healing, it had morphed into unmanageable (for me) strain. My attempts to adress and course correct were consistently met with warm and sincere assurances – and then – the strained energy would persist. So, in true pathetic nagger fashion, I would paw at him for more affirmation – and so the cycle would go. Essentially–All words needed to stop.

No Contact was like a circuit breaker. While it was extreme, it resulted in a new point of departure. His outreach in the form of a handwritten card opened a door to healing. Our brief separation was brutal, seemed eternal, and yielded a much needed pivot.

After much genrous sharing and listening by SLB, I was able to apologize for the blocking and to share and realize the following: “Me feeling injured by a thing you did or did not say or do, is not necessarily evidence of wrong doing by you.” The endless mercy and grace between us is mind blowing. Our shared commitment to repair, grow, and find a path forward – without demanding that it look or be a specific way has gifted us another season. SLB is literally the only person I have known, to be inclined or experienced in this way– choosing and even treasuring the collective work of repair after rupture.

The more effort by me to take him off the hook (for the entirety of my pain), the more he seeks to identify any energy or action by him which contributed to the rupture, or as he likes to call it, me ghosting him. He is not attempting to own my pain or to erase it, only to participate in our mutual healing.

Adendum: The list of shallow attributes I documented (after feeling that he lovebombed me) as reasons that he was wrong for me ANYWAY(!), were weak attempts (born out of my humiliation and heartbreak) to paint as a man who I do not desire. I used incomplete and inaccurate language which was also ineffective. It was childish sour grapes bullshit.

Breakdown or Breakthrough

Today, in rush hour traffic, I trekked uptown for a medical appointment.  As an anxious and easily overwhelmed person, with a poor sense of direction, I avoid driving busy and unfamiliar areas.  To say that this day was a challenge, would be an understatement.  

I arrived at the medical center, later than I anticipated. With hospital and parking renovations, accessing the designated parking structure was onerous.   I had to ask for help.  TWICE.  I did cry from stress of being late and lost-ish and then- the overwhelming goodness of each person with whom I interacted was equally overwhelming,

Finally – checking in, 2 hours after having left home, panicked from being 15 minutes behind schedule, I was informed that I was a day early.  I nodded understanding and my tears could not be stopped.  The team seemed to effortlessly and gladly accommodated me, a day ahead of schedule.

When the nurse injected the radioactive dye, she was so gentle I barely felt it.  I kidded that it was like a massage and to please do again.  With 2-3 hours between the injection and the scans, I asked if there was a part of the hospital which offered cozy seating and was led to a vacant room, with a recliner!  After settling in with my computer, I was offered a drink, snacks, a warm blanket and dimming of the lights. I am deeply grateful and humbled by the care I recieved.

Lying flat on my back is excruciatingly painful, and what the scan called for.  I knew I would not lie perfectly still for 20 minutes at a time, unable to resist the urge to shift after about 24 seconds.  Shame, Fear. Anxiety…immediate and boundless.  Because – after all that had been done for me – couldn’t I JUST, for once, do a good job?  My trauma insists that “If I were grateful, good, worthwhile, of any value at all, and less selfish, I would suck it the fuck up and lie still, without burdening others with my pain.”  Blessed again– a calm and dedicated technician gladly adjusted the table and arranged pillows until we found a position which worked.

Horrifying, I know.  To be so uncomfortable and needing—and not even decent or capable enough to hide that.  

My emotions overwhelm me.  All the time. I am only now learning to self soothe and regulate.  Good feelings can overpower me as much as pain. I don’t love feeling all things, all of the time.  It is debilitating. I would do (nearly) anything for a dimmer switch, or at least the ability to arrange my face as if.

The trauma around my sensitivity is incapacitating. I cry (easily and frequently) and then feel so fucking ashamed of myself. Secondary feelings are the real ass-kickers.  

What a blessed day, though. In my state of (what some would call unreasonable) despair, confusion, discomfort, I also felt safe and worthy of comfort & gentleness- as only the benevolent can bestow.  The generous and caring treatment I recieved was a reflection only of good-natured people. Unsure if I was breaking down or breaking through, I sobbed all the way home, considering this: If the grace and mercy of others is reflective of their character – and not my worthiness, then, same must also be true of harshness, dishonesty, and cruelty.  

Note to self: The opposite of sensitivity is not strength, but insenstitvity.

Chronic paind and depression. The struggle is real. #lethargic

National Son’s Day

Ugh, another day to grieve.  Not grief that I have sons, but who they get to see me as.  I wish they could have known the person I was before I married their dad. Clearly, I was badly broken then, as evidenced by my entry into a marriage in which there had not been a lasting moment of safe and genuine connection between us. I am not ungrateful for the gift and opportunity (for unlearning and cycle breaking) – the lessons which could come only from the faimiliar pain of our tragic dynamic.

When I first met their dad, I was thriving in many ways—working full-time as a tenured, master teacher, playing beach volleyball several times a week, working part-time at Starbucks for fun, and actively participating in a book club. I was enjoying homeownership with my dog in Southern California – after having transplanted myself from the East Coast and extended international travels. 

My Boys’ Mom August 2016 – 2024: hopelessly lethargic, fearful, easily triggered isolator – barely managing physical and emotional pain – Avoids most interactions for fear of becoming overstimulated and reacting badly. Aside from someday possibly recognizing me as a dedicated and hardworking employee, a highly compassionate person with integrity, and fiercely loyal to them, I can identify little else about myself which I feel good about or which might feel useful to them.

Maybe someday they’ll recognize:

  • Their father chooses closeness to women who serve a purpose for him or impress him, women who can help him move forward.
  • That he wouldn’t have chosen me as I am now, perhaps suggests that I had once been of value.

When we met, I was a fit, fun, adventurous, well-paid, well-traveled, well-read homeowner. And in barely a year, despair overtook me, and I couldn’t consistently lose myself in reading for pleasure or volleyball. My energy was drained, and no longer able to pour myself into the magic of teaching, I took a leave of absence and opted for less important(soulful) work. All focus and energy were directed at efforts to make our marriage less horrifying—less equivalent to my family of origin dynamic.

I love my sons deeply and admit that I haven’t been able to love (the verb- not the feeling), engage, and support them as generously and effectively as a healthier, thriving person would. I will continue to work on emotional, phyiscal, and financial healing and wellness, one day at a time.

Nothing makes me sadder than being unable to create or even a pariticipate in fun and meaningful experiences with my precious boys. I have really missed out, as have they.

Healing and Living

What my healing looks like:

I get dysregulated and lose my shit – saying reactive and escalating things—and behaving badly.   And then: I apologize and acknowledge that the immense reaction is my mess and that I am working to heal and recover in this way. I am always attempting to do better self-care so that I dont so easily unravel. Sleep deprivation makes this nearly impossible for me. An overactive nervous system which remains unrested and overstimulated is literally the definitnion of unmanageable.

Healing is not limited to bad behavior and dysregulated nervous system as only a thing of my past.  I may never reach that level, without nightly rest for mental and physical recovery.

Today though, after the first night of rest, in nearly 2 months, I have thoroughly enjoyed engaging executive function. I was highly effective and efficient at my job.  I planned, cleaned, organized, grocery shopped, exercised, addressed things as healthy functioning people do, like those who rise from bed each morning, after having been unconscious for some amount of time.  

Agency, purpose, clarity, and free will.  Amazing. Truly. A vastly different existence from my standard of being hostage to overwhelm, fatigue, overstimulation, and basic demands of daily life, while also doing the work to heal from grief and C-PTSD (not excuses at all-but definitely contributors to my compromised existence)  I feel nearly manic, attempting to get it all done- TODAY.  Who knows when rest may happen again- allowing me the freedom to think clearly and make choices and decisions and plans, rather than my standard laps around the drain?

How I would love if healing were more of an event than a process. And also, might be extra nice if it could be linear….and collectively sought and valued.