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.
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.
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.
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.
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’ MomAugust 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.
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.
The irreparable damage of having actively engaged my children in schemes of parental alienation and betrayal of their mother, is not a thing, we as a family, have recovered from. My decimation continues to affect everyday life, in unhopeful ways.
The things which were done were the acts of an enemy—Harmful, non-innocent, and non-benevolent. And the effects and reminders are toxic and lingering. As it was intended, it was a total knock out.
Getting away with a thing, makes it no less evil or fucked up. A (claimed) intention does not mitigate the impact.
I am examining the difference between truth (factual correctness) and honesty. The manipulation of factual accuracy within carefully curated statements to be deliberately incomplete and misleading. Deceptive. Destabilizing. The opposite of how intentionally honest people communicate. I am noticing how those who need to appear right, happy, and easy breezy are prone to this manner of presenting.
I am doing my best to record things which I have experienced, exactly as I remember them. I believe that my healing has value, more so when shared.
Note:
The ongoing rupture with no vision for repair is difficult to live with. I am learning (but not yet accepting) in therapy that in order to heal, I must let go of the fantasy of a shared healing and reparitive experience.
I needed something from the world (which in formative years- meant my mother whom I counted on to soothe and support me) which I did not know how to ask for. I needed shelter from the barage of sensory overload and tools and skills for regulation – a safe person and place to turn to for rest and recovery, from a world which overwhelmed me at every level.
My open expression of unmet need and failure to hide discomfort opened the door to being othered, dismissed, banished, erased, and demeaned. Because I lacked the experience and language to comprehend and process this or handle it effectively myself, I persisted in a variety of ways to be understood, to seek consolation.
The things I could count on (but not grasp/articulate or benefit from) were belittlement & dismissal and/or toxic positivity: offerings of overly simplified solutions to issues/needs more complex than anyone was willing to consider. I was encouraged to lighten up and to JUST choose a positive attitude. “Hey, here is a book on how to win friends and influence people.”
I can think of no thing which made me sicker/ more depressed in my life than the widely shared belief that I am wrong, different, bad at a cellular level. Patently unlovable. A sub optimal human.
Being disempowered, and cast out was devastating and drove in me, some powerfully unlikable reactions and behaviors. Living in a state of sustained sleep deprivation, with an overactive nervous system, surrounded by and needing to rely on formidably insensitive people, did not work out for me.
It is insisted that I was not abused (just an impossible asshole and treated accordingly). But is there evidence of an absence of abuse?
Today, my therapist asked why my sister or the boys’ father might want to undermine me and damage my credibility. The simple answer is that I refused to submit to them.
A narcissist seeks to “punish” anyone who openly questions them by directly expressing clear limits and needs. They may pretend to be genuinely curious about helping or understanding, but their true intention is to diminish, silence, and erase their target.
Standard Smear Tactics:
Smear campaigns often happen as a form of retaliation for speaking out about or questioning offense to unjustness or unwholesomeness.
I understand that a smear campaign arises from entitlement, a need to be right, control the narrative, and protect one’s status and image. Someone with strong narcissistic traits meticulously curates their public persona to present only as successful and accomplished. Their methods of implementation vary.
Lies and Distortions: Spread rumors, exaggerations, and lies about the target.
Use Personal Attacks to Avoid Substance: Attack the target’s character instead of discussing or working to address and resolve clearly identifed and communicated issues at hand.
Gaslighting: Twist words and create confusion.
Shift blame: The narcissist will shift the blame onto the target to avoid accountability for their own unfortunate behaviors.
Stonewalling: Silent Treatment. Refusal to engage or acknowledge requests to have open dialog about the issue.
Note: I did absolutely present as an insane person.
Unhinged from a highly sensitive and dysregulated nervous system, and without anyone to shelter or teach me self-soothing techniques, I experienced literal nervous breakdowns from sensory and emotional overload. In typical gaslighting scenarios, my sensitivity and inability to manage it were exploited to justify brutality and judgment against me, presented as evidence of my supposed wrongness. “Clearly, she is crazy.” I lived in a constant state of destabilization and panic. But if I am deemed “crazy,” does that make cruelty acceptable?
Today marks the date of my mother’s birth and the continuing birthday – holiday season.
I have been reflecting on my mother’s financially heroic rescue of me (even while she and I were in our own state of brokenness) – When the boys’ father could not force me into foreclosure via withholding support, he demanded his name removed from the mortgage. My mother co-signed a refinance.
He had insisted we sell my condo to purchase OUR home with his name on it (with zero dollars of his own to offer) while also requiring a wedding and a ring which cost more than I was comfortable with and which he had no money to contribute. But the only actual issue was my failure to lighten up and go with the flow. You know, be grateful. After a lifetime of being devalued, to be used was the most I dare hope for.
My entanglement with him never not hurt or felt scary, ever. It was familiar “home”. It was the love I was raised on.
My mother’s ongoing aid during our divorce disturbed his efforts to defeat of me (his need to win and put me in my place) while also pulling from her estate (my sister’s due).
My sibling and the boys’ father had a vested interest in dividing me again from my mother, fueled by the mutual inability to effectively gain dominion, respect, fear, or dependence from me.
True, I am the common variable in those failed relations. I get that. Like a moth to a flame, I sought the precise dynamic I was groomed for.
Imagining my female progenitor and sibling high-fiving over my well-earned ongoing anguish is devastating. See, they along with father of my sons, demonstrated a shared drive to be in charge of my suffering- either the cause or the solution.
While they must remain emphatic that I was “not abused”; choosing words and behaviors which are righteously diminishing and knowingly damaging, is in fact abuse. Covert abuse is a means to control, demean, or harm another person without direct confrontation or physical violence. Covert abusers use strategies such as gaslighting, silent treatment, triangulation, evasion, blame shifting, word twisting and partial incomplete truths – triggering feelings of fear, confusion, doubt, shame thereby targeting a victim’s sense self-esteem, autonomy, connection, security, and well-being.
As always, I qualify- The poor treatment and handling of me – I contmplate and share about this in order that I may process and heal as I do the work to retrieve my spirit. Sharing is in no way an attempt to excuse or justify harmful choices. There is not a malevolent choice by me, which I would stand by or defend- or deny. Unpopular choice, yes. Upsetting, yes. Ruinous/black-hearted, no. ***Disclosing the particulars of my experience, is not an act of blackheartedness.
As for more more more, apparently that is exactly what a love bomber wants you to want and count on. I hate to use that word, because it makes me sound vicitmy and even more lame than I already do.
First, I would like to share that the woman he dated before me, was recently hospitalized after a suicide attempt – claiming the despair of his love bombing and discard were the final straw. I assumed she was crazy and too fragile and unsuitable. He would clearly not ever do that.
Things which are making me feeeel mad at the moment:
For starters, I did not find his profile attractive or compelling, not his picture, not his words. He picked and pursued me. Relentlessly. I literally said NO thank you right out of the gate.
He handled my rejection beautifully with charm, humor, grace, and humility though. So, I was inclined to continue chatting — and then – meet.
He was shorter than I liked and requested in my profile, and he lied (by two inches) about his height which I came to laugh about and forgive and accept because when a person showers you with constant expressions of love in all of the ways, what does height even matter, or religion, or politics? The most thoughtful gifts and generous emotional offerings and direct and repeated expression of a promised future together made me feel a way I had not felt before. What I failed to recognize is that this was a man who will say and do whatever is needed to get the results he desires. I saw this in his interactions with others and thought him so clever and in charge. Not realizing that is WHO HE IS.
His fundamentalist faith, his politics, his hairiness, his necklace, his stupid gun, his very strong southern accent, his sometimes-unfortunate grammar, some of his clothing, his inability/refusal to deliver physically what I begged for over and over.
No no no. right?
He was not what I was seeking and also not who he said he was, but – I was blinded. He literally cast a spell on me. What I did not recognize was that he was doing exactly what he wanted to do, and it had little to do with me, in fact it opposed all that I openly stated I wanted and needed at this time.
My vision for US was to visit once a week and see where it went, no sleep overs, no trips, active disinterest in marriage or cohabitation. (I said all of that in my profile) I don’t thrive with so much proximity, even to my most favorite people. I am not wired for that.
I accept how much solitude and space I need to recover from daily life on earth. What he heard: Challenge accepted: I will get her to agree to what she clearly has decided and plainly stated what she does not want. This man is an influencer, a rain maker, a leader, a hustler. He shared on our first date, that he is the good kind of narcissist. I have found nothing on the internet or in therapy to substantiate that such a thing exists.
From our first meeting, he blew me up 24/7 with messages of love and ideas for our future together, meals, trips, a home….Literally around the clock, even in the hours of the night when most people were sleeping.
He would occasionally say I am so glad you picked me and I would laugh and reply: I did not pick you, I surrendered to you. I would not have picked him and assumed it was because my picker is broken, and I only know how to pick the most unsuitable and lacking partners.
He gifted me and fed me and improved literally any and everything around my home and yard (without suggestion or request by me). Everything he touched turned to gold (including me, I thought) I treasured our physical expression because it seemed to flow from our amazing soul connection. So, while not offering the physical release and relief I craved, it was beautiful and surely my lack of release and relief was due only to my defectiveness.
I hate the reality and still it is true. He made me feel loved and special and safe and seen for all of the hours, days, weeks, months. I experienced security and trust and then an actual chemical dependence on him. THEN- Without a fight or a conflict, like a switch that was flipped, he retreated.
So first the heartache over the loss of what he made me want and believed we had, then – the shame of knowing this could serve yet as more proof to my family of my unworthiness as evidenced by the results in my life. The secondary feelings are twice as impactful as the pain from the actual wound. This is called secondary trauma. There is the initial trauma, then there is the trauma of how a person is handled and supported and viewed. It has been deeply ingrained in me to believe when a person acts in ways which are unwholesome or hurtful, that I have caused or imagined or earned that.
I absolutely am traumatized by this. Trauma— when an experience or event is too big for a person to process and move past. What is traumatic for one person is often not for another. My trauma response is often characterized by being both adrenalized and paralyzed at the same time. The adrenaline cortisol dump wreaks havoc on my mind and body. No sleep makes it virtually impossible to recover and stabilize.
I did not try on a ring but this song!!!
You told me I was the one you couldn’t live without And the way that you said it, I believed it like a vow (like a vow) Maybe I got carried away, and baby, that’s fair But you can’t call me crazy ’cause you carried me there The way that you said it, I believed it like a vow Don’t mean nothing now
We flew to the sun but that high didn’t last It didn’t work out, I ain’t even mad about that I’m sure I’ll get over you being gone I just feel stupid
The intention for Wholesome Badass is to share my journey, my UN-learnings- openly, inviting community with Trusted Others who also are intensely feeling beings.
I look back on the girls and women I’ve known, and the difference is clear. Those with parents who were intentional and loving —who made them feel welcome, safe, supported, and protected, like they were beautiful and had what it
I had never been in a relationship with someone who both spoiled and protected me—who would fight for me, stand by my side, no matter what. Not my parents. Not my marriage. I have been “loved,” but never by someone
There are moments in parenting that bring me a deep sense of grief, moments when I know I’m falling short. I think about my boys, the love I have for them, and the ways I wish I could be more
I didn’t expect to hear from my ex-husband on Valentine’s Day, especially after years of no contact. When his call came through, I assumed it was urgent—something about our sons. Given our history, I expected it to be disturbing, so
I am seeking healing in the form of a way to channel all of this old information and energy out of me, so that it doesn’t continue backfiring, making me sicker, sadder, and more afraid. What I long for is
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
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
