God please help me set aside everything I think I know about myself, love, connection, and especially You: for an open mind and a new experience with myself, love, connection, and especially You.

Blessings and Privilege

If you were blessed in any of the following ways, in your upbringing and formative experience, you were privileged.

Felt loved, seen, heard, safe, welcomed, protected, valued, worthy of good things

Had a person in your life whom you could count on for unconditional kindness

Had confidence in any one thing about yourself

Had a person who intentionally supported safety, wellness, connection, and peace for you

Believed that you were capable of creating change and achieving good things

Enjoyed a nourishing connection to a family member, community, group, god, team, hobby, passion, strength or talent – faith in anything good- a loving higher power

Had an adult in your life who was deeply interested in who and how you were, intentionally seeking to know you and– who believed and communicated to you: “You have what it takes”

Had an affirming adult to comfort you in times of distress

Could count on wholesome guidance and direction from someone in charge of caring for you

I was privileged (my life made easier by things I did not earn or create for myself) in the following ways:

A house in a safe area, clothing, food, orthodontia, education, access to intellectual enrichment, an able body- which was also tall and thin (though it was often the source of mockery and abuse), an ability to learn in traditional ways, not being black (I do believe in white privilege, only I was also not considered white, growing up)

I firmly believe I would trade any of those to have been loved deeply and fiercely and undeniably by any person whom I relied on to teach me about myself and love and belonging- to have been safe and free to want, feel, and dream for myself.

The right people will see you. The right people will hear you. The right people will feel you. The right people will do right by you. Surround yourself with the right people.

A New Low

For the past months, intractable insomnia has drastically diminished my ability to function. Circling the drain is the best I can do. My therapist encouraged me to address chronic back pain, which is compounding the sleep issue and overall unmanageability. I have avoided this for financial reasons.

This is absolutley a new low. I can live in sustained financial and emotional duress on little to no sleep.  However, with incapacitating back pain made worse when seated or lying down— I.  Lost.  My shit.  I AM NOT OK with 24/7 being awake and in pain. 

I cracked- phoning Favorite-I wept: “I am going to say some shit to you that you are in no way equipped to handle.  I need a fkn break from my body and mind.  THIS cannot continue.  I want to go to the ER and beg to just be put under.  But I am afraid— terrified of waiting too long in an uncomfortable chair, surrounded by overstimulating overhead lighting while surrounded by people using speaker phones, before being strapped into a shitty cot in a taxing position, only to leave with a huge bill and with no answers or relief.”  She listened like a champ, offering to bring me dinner or have me over. I visited and we(she) determined that me going to sleep that night, with whatever drugs it takes, was essential. Then, she raided her parents no longer used medications- for my pain mangement plan for the following day. This brought much needed laughter and hope.  I have not used any of her parents painkillers-out of fear for the side effects.

That night 1.5mg of my expired clonazepam delivered 6.5 consecutive hours of sleep.  Unconsciousness was brilliant and my back pain was eased from having rested.  Ah- The gift of a new day rather than just a continuation of all the days which came before. With a recovered-ish mind and body, I enjoyed the endorphins of fervently and successfully facing down tasks which called for some level of executive function, unsure of when I might again benefit from the energy and clarity from a night of rest.

With my neurology, brain chemistry,and metabolism, I am made ill, almost immediately, by substances/medications used to sedate, calm or numb, or reduce pain– For me, vertigo and vomiting are 99% guaranteed.

Add to this my younger son’s 16th birthday last week- and a lack of resources to take him out to eat or do a special thing.  No gift, no celebration, no photo. Horrifying evidence of my judgeable worhtlessness and joylessness. It is beyond painful and still true, that I can not provide more OR be different. And I fail entirely at masking the pain of this. AND – my younger sons’ birthday also marks a landmark betrayal and trauma (compliments of his father and my sister) from which I have not recovered and am also expected to “get over”.

So in true C-PTSD fashion–first the hardship, and then the ass kicking secondary feelings of shame over an existence which substantiates (by my family of origin’s code) that good people are happy, comfortable and rewarded.  AND THE non-good and unworthy will face unhidable struggle and despair.

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

Several Things

Several things occurred last week to escalate my despair.  And the thing which hurt the most, was the secondary feeling.  You see, any time, I am in pain, or struggle or suffering, I recall how my family or origin would view this as not only what I deserve, but as what I cause and earn, or simply manufacture.  

Any observable overwhelm: pain, discomfort, need, sensitivity, or limit of mine which inconvenienced them/called for some level of heightened consideration- went into the pot of:  She is a pain in the ass, ungrateful (as evidenced by her inability and unwillingness to just be happy and comfortable and to go with the flow), manipulative, difficult, impossible.  WE shall reduce her to a more manageable size.  She is unmanageable.

The family system and culture- by labelling me pain in the ass, could collectively and comfortably diminish, disregard, and banish me…once it was established that I did have it coming, right?  Will she ever learn that those needs, limits, struggles, pains are hers to manage and bringing them out into the open, shall only increase her suffering (by her own hand—it is her choice).

The system demands a certain posture and kissing of the ring, which I cannot manage or feign, and this was regarded as a breach of the highest level.

I am attempting to practice radical acceptance and self care today. The Closer I am to Fine says it perfectly.

You better watch out, better not cry, better not pout

What if?

What if I had grown up with even one single person who saw me, heard me, was kind and compassionate and DECIDED that I was worth understanding, worthy of peace and comfort and sheltering?  What if, just one adult in my life had chosen to concern themselves with exactly why I felt so overwhelmed and pained literally all the time?  Instead, this sensitivity and lack of resilience was labelled and “treated” as:   a bad attitude, negative, ungrateful, angry, difficult, manipulative, overly sensitive, pain in the ass. 

My neurology is such that I feel overwhelmed by most all sensory input.  Things which dont even register for some hit me in high definiton at a cellualr level. In response to this: I now live a life of near solitude in my home; my bedroom specifically, which is not unlike a sensory deprivation chamber, dim lighting, mellow color scheme, 68 degrees, silent, orderly, and if any scent at all, lavender.  Loud noises, overhead lighting, big or repetitive movements are not allowed in my bedroom.  At last, I have a protected and safe space. 

I am not unaware that my sensitivity is na lot for others.  My HIGH sensitivity is not a choice or a crime or proof of wrongness. In addition to neurodivergent wiring: difficulty sensory processing and constant state of overwhelm (My nervous system feels under siege in the presence of most others— speaker phones, cologne, clicking pens, bright lights, or any visual, auditory, or olfactory chaos.)  This state of constant overwhelm calls for more rest than most typically require, yet I rarely sleep or rest, and this leaves me especially vulnerable to emotional impact.  

I imagine lil Magda – constantly overwhelmed by the food smells and consistencies, loud voices and music and incorrect temperatures (my body does not regulate temperature-I rarely sweat, no matter how hot-and am prone to heatstroke and then also feel chilled when humidity is present- if it is warm) Does this make sense or feel relatable to most others? No.  Is it convenient and fun for anyone? Absolutely no. Does it make me bad?  Also No.   

Add to that gaslighting and shunning which flowed in response to these unhidable discomforts of mine.  The ongoing message:  If you are unhappy or uncomfortable, that is on you, do not burden us with it.  You have either caused, imagined, or brought on any claimed pain.  Oh, and fuck you.  Smile godammit.  Your failure to arrange your face and attitude to one of pleasure is proof of lack of gratitude and assholery.  Fix that or fuck off and pay the price.  

You say you’re cold—instead of a blanket or jacket, we will offer a thermostat reading.  You say you are hungry, instead of a simple low sensory impact snack, you a get cold dismissal with an offering only of the time of your last feeding as evidence of your lying about hunger and an attempt to manipulate or seek attention.  You need a bathroom, nope, you just went. You are sad or afraid (overwhelmed and don’t understand why because you are small and lack the language and understanding of yourself).  Look around, everyone is happy.  What is wrong with you?  Why must you ruin everything?  When will you learn?  You. ARE. The. Problem.  Get different. 

Family of origin people and the person I once married would insist I was not abused. Would that also mean that their behaviors and treatment of me were not in fact not abusive? Hmmmm

Emotionally abusive acts and acts of emotional neglect and abandonment are in fact abuse.

Bob Goff Love Does

More More More – PLEASE

Month after month of:

Serenity + Flow- easy and magical flow- we were convinced this has not been done before, that we invented this way of being together- as we have neither witnessed nor experienced a connection like ours. Fluid Connection- How is it possible for only the most beautiful energy to flow through and around us, completely unrestricted and unbound? None of those familiar feelings of judgment, resentment, irritation, anxiety

Effortless conversation expanding in all directions

Easy and bellyaching laughter- unbeatable eye contact and smiles, inside jokes and language

The only thing dramatic about us – the intensity of the love – our utter disbelief- Ours – a blessed connection, precious but not fragile

Shared experiences as each of our love languages

Expansion

Mutual desire and yearning for each other’s presence, ideas, voice, touch, scent, taste- at each of the sensory levels- we delight in each other

Kindness, genuine and overarching interest in each other

Easy pivots and adjusting – Tenderness – Erotica (a thing we discovered together)

Beautiful kisses, hugs, touches and all forms of physical expression

Thoughtful surprises:

Books, Random Treats, Flowers, Candy, Snacks, Favorite beverages, Candles, Soaps, Spices, Blankets, massages that were wanted (and never creepy and one sided)

Household projects, improvements, repairs, songs, memes, tumblrs, recipes, animals, waterfalls, shows to watch

Motorcycle rides – Sunrises and sunsets – Meal after beautiful meal

Shared visions of and desires for a future of more of what we were already doing

Best friends and more

More more more -Please

All this with a man whom I did not pick. At a time when I was actively seeking only scheduled weekly dates. My picker is broken. And then…I surrendered to a man and a connection, I could not have chosen or even envisioned for myself. I surrendered to him. Showing up all the hours in all of the ways -day after beautiful day. Days, weeks, months flying by with a man whom I actively and with repeated efforts tried to NOT choose.

Recovery introduced me to surrender (acceptance- leaning in) rather than force (instead of my will- thy will be done).

I remain lost and confused about my ability to choose. Because my choosing has consistently rested on beliefs and feelings and perceptions rooted in my brokenness (all the lies and myths, I was raised on, the things I was taught about my own worthiness and lovability and capacity for loving and sustainable connection) and resulted in attachments which flow from that very dark place.

I CHOSE the man I married because the dynamic was familiar(like of the family)- disconnected, volatile, fragile, scary- affirming of all the worst things I believed about myself.

I chose my next LTR because, he was kind and honest…but still missing a type of connection I was dying for. I thought that connection was the price to pay for someone who would not actively harm, betray or take from me. Therapy allowed me to understand, I was allowed to want more and capable of more and worthy of more, that I was not an ungrateful monster for desiring more

Wax Play?

I have been struggling to share about the untraditional nature of my relationship, which is by far the only profoundly satisfying one I have known – a magical combination of both calm and wildly exciting. Who knew that this was a thing?

Because of my love for candles, O gifted me three nice candles in the most whoelsome peaceful scents. And with regard for my unique wiring and thus an appreciation for high impact tactile experiences, he super surprised me with what were advertised as low temperature candles designed specifically for wax play (not a thing which I had previously known and am more than happy to explore with him).

Anyway, we established a color code (green, yellow, red) to indicate comfort levels and limits. He began dripping wax on my back from the black candle, which I think was supposed to be the lowest temperature, of the three. The very first drop felt not unlike second-degree burn and was an immediate CODE RED+, which we found hysterical.

O continued adjusting the candle to find a range/distance which was hot, but not dangerously so. But, with each drip still CODE RED(ish), he was like  “It seems I would have to actually stand on the bed to get the candle far enough from your body to avoid burning you.”

So, we tried the other two candles- both the blue and the red were each just as immediately skin searing as the black one.

O visited the vendor’s website for reviews and tips or things we could do differently-  And literally almost all reviews for this product line were in all caps: DO NOT BUY!!!! – some even including photos of blistering and scalding as a result of wax play with these candles.

I suppose we will need a different kind.

On a less fun note, I must express my gratitude for my program of recovery which helps me deal with the boys’ father who has given our older son(with a license for less than a year and has totalled a car) permission to travel alone (in a sixteen year old vehicle) to Kentucky(7+hours) to race and to camp. That neither of us could get to him quickly in the event of car trouble or physical injury, begs all of my old fearful and reactive behaviors to kick in. I feel desperate to tell his father about himself.

Sharing here allows me to resist. I am proud to have expressed my concern with grace- no judgment (or demand) to him. I suspect if he changes his decision, he will claim it is to accomodate me which is farcical to anyone who knows us. It would be because it has been made clear that the responsiblity of any resulting problems will undeniably rest squarely on his shoulders. It will probably be fine. I however, am disinterseted in making decisions which could prove otherwise. I look forward to the relief of some solid wax play. I would like the wax so hot that it, if one degree hotter, would damage my skin. Asap. #sensoryfreak

Rehash- ReCap

There’s so much to unpack from the last few months. I was sick for an unusually long 17 days with something that wasn’t the flu or COVID. There was a whirlwind romance that I’m not quite ready to delve into yet. My older son had a bike accident that required surgery and will keep him in a cast for 3-5 months, which is a painful reminder that his father and I will never be able to work as a team again, even in parenting, due to actions taken by him and my sister. I long for the luxury of forgetting and moving on. While staying with his father, my son complained of pain, but his father outright refused to seek medical care, citing costs—even after spending several hundred dollars on our younger son’s homecoming and taking him to urgent care for a COVID test out of frustration over multiple positive home tests. This messaging to our sons is incredibly devastating.

I can’t forget the childcare and child support that the boys’ father unjustly withheld for years before finally agreeing to a 50/50 split. He denied essential medical and childcare needs, placing a heavy financial burden on me as the primary custodian of two young children who were often sick. I was fortunate to find per diem work with a friend, allowing me to miss shifts without fear of losing my job, and I’m grateful for the generous financial support from my mother, which helped us keep our home—purchased with my own money, not a penny of his. I was resourceful and relentless, walking dogs, helping the elderly, and collecting recyclables and junk to sell.

The two sisters the boys’ father relies on have each greatly benefited from divorcing wealthy men. He can count on these sisters for financial support and manipulation, while a third sister remains estranged from him because he cannot manipulate her. These relationships serve as his models for navigating life—seeking to exploit others’ resources while rejecting and diminishing those who are not compliant or actively providing for him.

Not only did he seek to benefit from my resources, but he also aimed to drain me. When he realized he couldn’t take the house from me, he committed to making me lose it. He started by regularly withholding his less than $1,000 a month in support and then demanded his name be removed from the loan, despite having insisted it be included when purchasing the home, which was funded entirely by the sale of my condo, while I was not in a position to refinance.

The costs of my son’s surgery and ongoing care are overwhelming for me. Even more difficult is the reminder of my sister, who ensured the permanent divide between my boys’ parents. How can one forgive, forget, and heal when the harm is ongoing?

Add to that a recent hit and run incident in which I chased down and confronted the driver.  That experience felt strikingly similar to dealing with my sister and my boys’ father, leaving me flattened for days. The car accident was minor and could have been resolved quickly if the woman who hit me had taken responsibility without me having to push her.

As a highly sensitive person who at best, sleeps from 10:30 PM to 2:17 AM, I struggle with resilience, compounded by the work of active trauma recovery. Most days, I barely have the mental energy and clarity for the essentials, leaving no bandwidth for a fulfilling life with creativity, goals, planning, or relaxation. After decades of this, I am beat.

Narcissist's Prayer

Hit and Run and CPTSD

One Monday morning in January, after the boys finally returned to school, I headed to the gym under blue skies and sunny mid-50s, with almost no traffic. Suddenly, a BMW SUV sideswiped me at the roundabout and kept going. I was in disbelief. Living in a state of sleep deprivation and constant overstimulation, and having been regularly gaslit in my family and marriage, my first thought was that I had imagined it. Did that really just happen?

I followed the BMW into a medical center parking lot and blocked her in. When the woman exited her car and tried to ignore me, I called out, “Excuse me.” She responded, clearly inconvenienced, “Can I help you?” I said, “Yes, you hit my car at the roundabout.” She replied, “I did not hit you and I have an appointment to get to,” and continued walking. OMG, it felt all too familiar. OMG.  So familiar. 

Unrecovered me wants to go ape shit.  Scream.  Tell her about herself.  She is cool dismissive, nice car.  So important, poised, and clearly believes in her rightness.    

I walk to the front of her car, pointing I say, “see that…that matches the marks on my car where you hit me.”  She flippantly hands me a tattered paper and says, write down your number and I will call you.”  Oh, Ok.  Lacking confidence that this woman who hit me and ran and then LIED about what she did is going handle this.  I call Favorite to ask IF I should call police.

I’m now crying because that’s how my neurology processes stress and intense feelings, even the positive ones. In true narcissistic fashion, the BMW driver looks at me disdainfully and asks, “Why are you crying?” as if my emotional response is evidence of my instability. She’s not asking out of concern, nor is she deserving of an explanation. Still, I tell her that chasing her down after hitting my car is upsetting. She then heads to her appointment and I call the police.

Now my Monday energy (and hope) is spent.  I weep in my car for the half hour it takes for an officer to arrive, not because I am sad.  She returns after her appt.  The same woman who insisted she did not hit me,  now tells the police I hit her.  In detail.  C-PTSD insists that she might be right, what do I know, I am crazy, remember things wrong, cannot be counted on to truly know what happens.  The officer surveys our cars before driving the area in which SHE HIT ME and returns to write her a ticket for failure to yield…and not for hit and run.  

The crazy part is that she showed no concern—not for a second. She wasn’t afraid of a ticket; she remained composed, self-righteous, and unapologetic. A hit-and-run is a criminal offense, yet because I was crying—clearly a problematic person—perhaps that would be the only focus.


I was flattened for days, processing the energy and emotions from the experience. In the time between her leaving for her appointment and receiving the ticket, I panicked: I feared I would get the ticket, be financially responsible, get into trouble, and that I was somehow crazy and also imagined it. Living with CPTSD means I react to current situations with the same intensity as past traumas, when I felt unsafe and powerless. Although I am now safe and have tools to cope, my nervous system doesn’t always recognize that.

How I sleep knowing I do not cuase other people's behavior. Homer Simpson

Categorically and Inherently Wrong

The concept of being categorically and inherently wrong is new to me. I see how labeling an individual or group this way can lead others to feel justified in acting unwholesomely against them. Under this label, a person becomes unacceptable—disposable, their humanity dismissed and deemed unworthy of consideration.

Something which is inherently wrong is wrong in its very nature. Categorical means absolute, without any exceptions. Inherently wrong and categorically wrong are very close. To designate a person or animal or thing in either of these ways would make it more palatable to disegard, marginalize, diminish, neglect, extinguish, erase.

I’m learning to let go of the belief that I need to atone for who I am and my inherent flaws. This realization has permanently separated me from those who relied on my compliance. While the pain from my family of origin and my marriage may never fully fade, the absence of shame brings new energy and hope. However, to create something greater requires more energy—like getting more than three hours of sleep, which is challenging for me.

I now appreciate waking each day with the dignity of being myself, free from the shame that stems from those who sought to dismantle me with the messsaging of: “Stop feeling that way,” “Correct that(or else),” or “You are unwelcome/unwanted.” I worry for my sons, as their father and my family invite them to distance themselves from me, and join the Royal WE. This toxic legacy is distressing.

When one of my sons behaves as if he matters more than others, I used to overreact and tell him he was like them. Now, I simply acknowledge, “That’s some legacy shit.” It’s not perfect, but it’s better. He often tries to position himself as inherently right, but I question how we can function as a healthy family with that mindset. My commitment to disrupting these harmful cycles is strong.

These cycles tolerate victimization and diminish individuals, fostering the belief that some matter more than others.

I’ve come to realize that the root of abuse is simple: abusers abuse. People behave the way they do because they choose to. Mature individuals don’t justify harmful actions. I do not believe that anyone is categorically wrong or right. We all have the capacity to improve and atone for our actions, but not for who we are.

Believing in absolute rightness and wrongness is a dangerous mindset. It allows some to evade accountability while others are made to feel guilty for the damage inflicted upon them. I see this dynamic affecting each of my sons differently.

Bob Goff Love Does

Bad Economy

Having been raised in an system in which love (access to connection and protection) could be earned, lost, and withheld, I did not fare well. It is my belief that wholesome love can be neither earned nor lost. I think I would desecribe my formative experience as one of emotional poverty. I recently learned the phrase emotional inheritance which drives me even harder to break the cycle (the cycles of believing that some people matter more than others) and to intentionally leave a more healed and healing legacy.

Although CPTSD still triggers intense reactions to perceived threats, which brings me significant shame and harm, I am grateful for the support and wisdom I have in recovery. This guidance helps me learn healthy, loving, and grounded ways to engage in relationships, especially in motherhood, community, and friendship. While I can’t guarantee that my boys will embrace recovery principles, I can ensure they are exposed to them.

I’ve been reflecting on how much easier it is for people to label one member of a group as crazy, delusional, or oversensitive—terms often used to describe victims of gaslighting and narcissistic abuse—than to acknowledge that another member has actually behaved in harmful or abusive ways, especially if the abuser is discreet and hasn’t directly targeted them.

So, yeh, Hustle culture and gaslighting. Oh, and cycle breaking. These are on my mind, again and still.

Also –yay to 2024 and a new and expansive relationship! I cherish each dating experience. Every encounter teaches me something valuable about myself, regardless of how brief or lengthy our time together may be.