shout-out-to-everybody-who-is-exactly-who-they-say-

I AM

I am…

According to MBTI, an ISFJ

Enneagram Almost equally #8 and #4- considering doing the paid test @ https://ianmorgancron.com (UPDATE: I gave in to the paid the test and appear to be more of an 8- Details below)

On the cusp of Libra and Scorpio–I think I am Scorpio though

The younger of two children, the youngest of the six cousins I knew

A teacher by trade—Would be forever student by choice

Blessed by two stunning sons–my greatest teachers and inspirations

A lover of animals, kindness, loyalty, depth, connection, space, truth, books, tattoos, yard work, inside jokes, belly laughs, good cries, humility, open communication, transparency, directness, boundaries (mine and yours)

Obsessed with getting my hair cut and colored—It may be my hobby

Mostly Pescatarian–I do still occasionally eat chicken or turkey- and do not feel great about it.

Divorced (THIS I feel very great about- Finished with loveless, soul killing relationships)

In a program of Spiritual Recovery

Well travelled

Half Egyptian

Officially orphaned

Estranged from my family

A loyal friend

A generous partner

A good neighbor

A great employee and support person

A fierce teller of truth and asker of difficult questions

Tall and Thinnish

Assertive—often perceived as aggressive—working on this

Courageous and Faithful

Awakening Spiritually

Empathetic and Compassionate- I care greatly about others, particularly those in need

An HSP

Someone who struggles with sensory integration and feels overwhelmed by nearly all sensory input

At times socially awkward and totally ok with it

Missing my bestie during Covid Social Distancing

Considering a writing class. It would be a dream to be gifted in the ways of satirical writing or any writing at all…perhaps one day, a topic other than struggle and healing

Grateful that my work and my ability to provide for my family, has not been diminished by the frightful pandemic which is devastating millions

I am who I say I am. My words, actions, beliefs, and values are aligned–no matter who can hear or see. I am becoming integrated after decades of dis-integration

UPDATE: So, I splurged on the $60.00 test which designates me an Enneagram 8.  Though, most everything about THE 8 revolves around intense fear and avoidance of vulnerability—. I am pretty deep into vulnerability.  Shamelessly unafraid. So, the direction and feedback provided with the paid test seems useless to me. I don’t care which number I am, I really just wanted more angles and direction for growth and healing.

You are worthy of good things. No matter what you have been told.

Wrong But Not Bad

If the people to whom we looked, for love and protection, imposed traumatic shame for failed similarness and submission, that was a breach (by them) of their power.  They were wrong.  Period.  Maybe not bad, but wrong.

If wrestling with pain was treated as weakness or disobedience by the people we counted on to raise and teach us, we learned that openly expressing feelings, was bad, broken, troublesome, shameful.  We learned fear and may ourselves have become bullying and mean-spirited, also. AND maybe we found a way to manage the pain, through obsessive or addictive behaviors…or maybe we just disintegrated.

Recovery gives me permission to re-examine and to share honestly about my early teachings and beliefs- which were childish, at best and narcissistic and bullying at worst.

Being forsaken by my mother and her family was as painful as it was defining.  They were my first important people, showing me exactly how much I mattered and deserved to feel seen, loved, wanted, connected, and safe.  I am not wrong for feeling hurt.  I did not deserve that.   

I reflect regularly on one of the more significant violations/punishments, because of its lasting effects for my children.  Two emotionally similar people colluded to hurt/teach me, in a very particular way, and by proxy, are doing excruciating harm to my children.  

The persecution did not occur because I earned or caused it –but because hurt people hurt people. I am not so mighty that I may provoke otherwise benevolent people into  dehumanizing, abusing, marginalizing.  

Mistreatment does not begin with the target but with the perpetrator. AND that betrayal, in no way convinces me that it happened– because of me: because I am unworthy, inferior, too much or too sensitive…. I am rightly hurt by emotional violence and I reject the messaging that I am responsible for the behaviors of others.  If only…

Because I had been indoctrinated in this way, I too was harmful and naturally dismissed my own bad behaviors as merely the clear and direct results/consequences of what someone else did or did not say or do. That is THE sick training. Unwellness. Brokenness. Once I knew better, I did better. In scapegoating families, it is frequently believed that “You are either like with us or against us.” and “You/he/she got what you/he/she deserved.” This is how abuse gets normalized. Being abusive and diminishing is not normal, healthy, or sane.

By sharing my experiences, I connect with others also recovering from systems and environments which demanded denial and contraction, as terms for engagement.  I firmly embrace and send the message that— this experience does not make a person terminally flawed, unique, and alone.  It is more common than abusers would like for us to believe.

I will comfortably list 10,000 ways in which I have failed, disappointed, hurt, changed, and repaired. My need and willingness to do so, are one distinction and divider between my family of origin and myself. I have difficult and strong feelings and I make mistakes. I am human AF and breaking the sick cycle, one day at a time.

the most free person in the world is the one who has nothing to hide

I Am Free

It was communicated collectively and consistently to me, that who I was (am) is THE problem.  In my 40s, I found a program of recovery to help me begin to heal from that.  People claiming to love me (my parents, older sister, husband) suggested that I needed to be cured, of being who I am.  Individually, they each treated me as if they believed the following of themselves: “I am only an asshole because you suck. Once you fix that we will all be fine.” I came to believe this also. This hurts. I needed to heal from that shitty messaging…the lies about my worth. I had no idea that I could ever be loved and belong and be uniquely WHO I AM.

Yesterday, I listed choices which I am now, as an adult, able to make because of my program of recovery.  I get to learn and practice principles and behaviors which define and speak to WHO I AM by how I live(…not what I was like 10,20,30 years ago–I waste no time trying to change or deny the past. No point.)

Today I am listing things about myself which I did not actively choose, but now accept.  Parts of myself of which I am neither proud nor ashamed-  which no longer cause self doubt, loathing, and fear of separation:

I did NOT choose to:

  • learn to hate myself at a cellular level
  • have a mother who did not understand me
  • have a father from another country with skin, language, culture, religion, and foods that felt scary for me
  • be touched in ways that hurt me while lacking the skills to effectively articulate the nature of my pain
  • to be disliked, separate, and cast out by my family from an early age
  • to have a sister 6.5 years older than me who was an expert at making me feel crummy and then telling me to lighten up
  • to be tall and thin(skinny) and brown skinned with a weird nose and seemingly bizarre names
  • to be different and unacceptable–an outsider in my home–and community
  • to be highly sensitive to all sensory stimulus
  • to be boundariless and insatiable
  • to be emotionally intense
  • to be clumsy
  • to be socially awkward
  • to feel all things deeply
  • to inconvenience others with my needs, questions, concerns, feelings
  • to have unhealthy relationships with people food, sex, money, alcohol, truth
  • to care so deeply for all the people and animals, particularly the ones needing the most–that I would become desperately sad, in ways that others couldn’t understand or accept
  • to have a short attention span 
  • to be terrified of myself and all others
  • a need to understand, communicate, and resolve pain and conflict directly 
  • depression
  • anger
  • a need to dominate, diminish, and exclude (I learned these at home from the people who loved me the very most)  Once I knew better(age 40—better late than never.  Some people go to their graves this way), I began to do better.  

Every one of these things shaped me and guided me but do not define me.  Only my choices define me. I understand now- that– Before we know/possess self love, we are toxic people—incapable of compassion for our selves or others- unable to participate in wholesome love and connection.  Being broken like that, makes it unsafe to be human, to be fully yourself, to make mistakes, to struggle, to fail, to share hard and ugly truths.  

While I am not crazy about myself, I do have self love. It is a practice and a belief, not a feeeeeeling. On the days in which I have practiced self love and self care, I am kinder, more patient, flexible, generous, humble. My greatest form of self love: boundaries: for myself and around myself. I know how and why to say yes and no— without fear of disapproval or reprisal. I will not be bullied in or out of doing or saying a thing. Boom. That is some radical shit, right there. Zero effs how others judge. Z.E.R.O. Judgers judge, it is what they do.

Almost anything is possible when you have a safe place to bloom

Who I Am

Having believed that  “I. Am. THE. Problem”– the designated cause for other people’s shame, pain, hostile silence, cruel words, and overall mental health could only be relieved through recovery and repair. That is NOT who I am–not ever who I was. But accepting that as truth, sure shaped me in some unfortunate ways. Scapegoating—That is how sick systems circumvent issues of the group and individual members.

What might it have been like to face the world with confidence of my worth and belonging, with just a little dignity, and hope? My mother thought herself exceptionally generous each time she reminded me of how she loved me, in spite of me. I suspect she loved me exactly as she had been loved. Unfortunately, I was not equipped for that brand of love. I failed absolutely at being a gracious recipient and participant.

Because difficult feelings are inadmissible, people in my family of origin prefer to offload discomfort rather than openly deal with it– leaving the culture ripe for secretive, gossipy, resentful, passive aggressive, petty– underhanded expressions of difficult things– because honestly admitting to/confronting emotional pain and struggle, we have been notified, is negative and shameful.

I had accepted, for decades, that what I needed– was a cure, when actually I required and deserved healing. And, that was forbidden. BECAUSE — If I needed to heal, that meant that I had been hurt. Labelling a person asshole difficult and trouble-making, is easier — because judgment requires nothing of us. Compassion, curiosity, and empathy, however, require humility, courage, faith, and patience. Blame and judgment are definitely preferred by many.

Who I am: a survivor, a newcomer to Faith and God, an HSP learning to live in an overstimulating world, a friend, a helper, a partner, a woman in recovery, a learning mom, a divorced person, a direct and transparent communicator, a woman of my word, a loyal employee and teammate, a considerate neighbor, a spiritually striving and developing soul, a work in progress. These are ways I choose to live and to love. I learned HOW, in my program of recovery.

Actual Photo of me

Hickeys and Large Pores

So, an Instagram Ad for a pore vacuum appeared in my feed…eeew gross, right?–What kind of dirty loser needs to vacuum their pores…only the most unfortunate individual, obvi. IG algorithm must have determined that I am the type of person who would use this— Ok, anyhow, I ordered the device and promptly got to working on my face, moments after its arrival. And apparently, if you linger too long in one spot, with the pore vacuum, capillaries will burst and telling hickey marks will be left.

My pre-recovery thinking would have me believing “serves me right” and “best to not tell anyone”– because only a gross person would have or need a pore vacuum and only the truest of fukkups would use it in such a way that hickies and bruises mark their face—-affirming it ALL. Recovery teaches me to feel shame– only for saying or doing knowingly harmful things. Recovery also gives me the gift of amends, when possible. For this though, no shame, no amends. Just a good laugh, a lighter hand, and a lower power mode on the pore vacuum.

I am happy to openly joke about my large dirt-filled pores, all the things I could store in them, and about my first attempt with the June Julien Black Head Remover Instrument–only 27$ on Amazon.com. (What a deal–You know you want one). I cannot recommend, at this time. My unvacuumed pores remain clogged and my facial hickies are slightly darker than the ones in my photo. Maybe I will post an IG story later. Like– an unboxing video/cautionary tale.

Yeah, I'm not going to do that.

Yeh- No

One of the most amazing aspects of life with Sweet Greg is our partnership as equals, our collaboration, working as a team, though often I attempt to be his boss, he will not allow me to strong arm him. I treasure his badass healthy boundaries; saying NO to me with grace and love–even when forced to say so, repeatedly.

Sweet Greg does not become mean or passive aggressive. I marvel and fawn each time. After four years it still holds its magic and seems possibly a little perverse how I adore him when he is saying no to me. It makes me feel safe. He says things like: No, Please don’t. I would rather not. I don’t like that. Please stop. He does not say yes or maybe when he means no. And he does not ignore or stonewall, hoping I will take a hint—because A) I won’t. And B) that is dishonest and shitty. When he uses sarcasm, it is funny for everyone – not diminishing. Sweet Greg is direct and loving, unfailingly so.

Together we work, sharing ideas and projects—not just meals, bills, unwanted sex, and responsibilities(as in my marriage). For me, working together is the hottest foreplay of all. Laughing, damage control, and trouble shooting from different angles—nothing makes me feel as close. Greg and I have totally different processes–and it is not a problem–except when his is wrong. Hahahaha.

My ex requested something of me this weekend. I needed to say no because it was not in the best interest of our sons. I wanted to explain why and typed out a few sentences before realizing, he is not interested in my thoughts, only my compliance and I felt a little assholey just saying: “No, not at this time”.

He is buying (not adopting or rescuing) a puppy knowing that the puppy (a baby dog) will be left alone 5 days a week for 10 hours/day. This to me, is as unsurprising as it is disturbing. Puppies, from what I understand should be alone for no more than 1 hour at a time for each month of their age.

Our sons suggested to him, to get two, so they don’t get lonely. He told them NO– he will not get two because then they will rely on each other and not just him. WTF? His most recent request to me: That our older son stay there at his house, all of the week days(by himself) so the puppy won’t be alone… So– split up our sons during the week – leaving each of our boys isolated. BUT–Since the Covid quarantine, our sons have begun to work and play together—as equals. I would like for this to continue, if only when they are here, since this is not a shared value.

If the boys’ father(or my sister) ever shows signs of treating me as equal or worthy of kindness, I would be happy to work together, to help– because I am home all of the days and the boys would love a dog over there too. The unrecovered part of me must resist the temptation to offer— thinking: cuz then maybe he would be nice-ish for a while, but f**k that- I now know better than to hustle for the possibility of kindness.

Who I am is always changing, not because I am being fake, but because I am always open to growth and transformation. Young Pueblo

How I Used To Be

For much of my life I treasured, even sought, the opportunity to align with one person (squee –closeness, right?)  against another for any reason at all– instant, cheap, and easy bond.  I had consistently witnessed how “Your enemy’s enemy is your friend”.  

I found it to be intoxicatingly powerful to collude, mock, gossip, undermine…and far better to be on the giving end of that business, than the receiving end.  Recovery relieves me from agreeing to be on either end of that. I have learned to say no, say nothing, walk away.  

In my family of origin there were four targets (sensitive and prone to observable struggle). I was the easiest by far. The youngest and most reactive and clearly void of a safe person/place on which to count. The other three were grateful, not to me— but for me. As I was the only thing standing between them and the cross-hairs. You’re welcome.

I now refuse relationships in which punishing others is an option, with the exception of my parental responsibility. We rely on natural consequences for the sake of moral development.  Dishonesty and Unkindness have naturally unfavorable repercussions, in our home.  The rule and standard is clear and consistent. And the consequences are predictable losses of privilege, never loss of connection, belonging, or love. 

My boys and I are examining and crushing the myth THAT: People may deserve or freely impose hardship, fear, shame– based on personal moods and desires. That shit stops here.

Rather than being guided by our broken models or even worse, our selfish wills and ever changing moods- we follow the static principles offered in any of the 12 Step Programs. We count on the 12 Steps to protect each of us from ourselves and the 12 Traditions to protect our groups from our selves.

We learn to work only on ourselves—not on others, though the desire is mighty.

You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught

You’ve got to be taught, to hate and fear
You’ve got to be taught from year to year
It’s got to be drummed in your dear little ear
You’ve got to be carefully taught
You’ve got to be taught, to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made
And people whose skin is a different shade
You’ve got to be carefully taught You’ve got to be taught before it’s too late
Before you are six or seven or eight
To hate all the people your relatives hate
You’ve got to be carefully taught
You’ve got to be carefully taught

Click to hear James Taylor sing this song from the movie South Pacific.

Who were your teachers?

the person who triggers you is teaching you. The Holistic Psychologist

Serves You Right

In my family of origin,  people seemed to get ranked by intellect and like mindedness (or different mindedness).  There were decent people(worthy of kindness and respect) — highly credentialed and like minded. And then everyone else: “morons and sons of bitches”—that is how people were frequently categorized.  Morons were people of non-superior intellect as well as anyone foolish enough to inconvenience us by being themselves rather than who we needed for them to be.  Sons of bitches were those who did and believed all of the wrong things.  Persecution of morons and sons of bitches was considered appropriate behavior. The consequence for being stupid or frustrating was imposed hardship and shame.  This is how to handle ’em, to teach them their lesson. We are, after all, only giving them what they deserve. Serves ’em right.

My mother was exceptionally bright and liberal but showed intolerance for those whose thoughts, preferences, and beliefs strayed too far from her own. …like a weird illusion of open mindedness.  She was definitely an outside the box thinker, but closed to and quickly agitated by those whose thinking opposed hers.  I see now, that outside the box and liberal does not necessarily equal open minded.

Ah, the recurring message: “You are either with me or against me.” Similar is acceptable and different/difficult is shameful and punishable.  The thing is, I was not similar to anyone, in or outside of our house.  It was painful to be always wondering:   Where do I belong?  To whom do I belong? Who am I like?

My mother was unable to relate to me. At all. Because I was a challenge for her, she needed for me to be wrong. If only I would have just chosen to be different, easy, similar. She needed for people (particularly my sister, her brother, and mother) to side with her – affirm that her struggle with me was proof of my willful defectiveness. Her family was happy to do this for her. That was their loyalty. This is the love on which I was raised. I am unlearning as quickly as I can. Glimpsing in myself traces of this brand of living and loving, remind me of all of the work I still get to do. Differentiating myself in these ways is the work of a lifetime. I believe, if she had the courage, my female sibling would have said directly to me “Fuck you for going off script. Who do you think you are? You will pay.”

In my spiritual striving, I continue to seek living in such a way that I and those around me are free to expand— never called to contract. Expansion is the most wholesome badassery— calling on strength, gentleness, courage, humility. All of which are relatively new to me.

Ted Bundy, So Sexy and Well put together, though. The world is full of well dressed monsters with friendly smiles.

Under The Influence

Most of us (if only a little) are impressed by fine clothes, cars, homes, overall attractiveness, and status.  -Totally normal to unconsciously attach meaning to what we see and to feel influenced by a desire for nice things.

When a person holds a position of trust or authority and/or appears well put together, we feel influenced, readily accepting their gossip information as truth and an adequate basis for judgment.  For example, there is an inherent assumption of credibility by children– for family, clergy, police, professors, doctors, teachers….Right? But wisdom suggests that as we mature, we become conscious of more valid criteria for trust. To rely primarily on outward presentation/image invites deception and manipulation.

If our beliefs about a person are based solely on what they show us or on hear-say, chances are good, that our assessments are inadequate and we lack the ability to effectively judge character.  We will be naive, shallow, and also weak in character.  We will come to rely on those, desperate to control who eagerly inform us as to who is good, bad, right, wrong, who and what we can and cannot like or love.

Because the first people to “love” me were not reliable sources of kindness, honesty, loyalty, or safety-  as an adult, I had to learn to identify people of trust and also to become a person of trust– I needed to be taught.   Status, clever wit, good looks, and possession of cool shit can no longer influence or distract me from what matters.

Recovery taught me to notice behavior patterns; to be mindful of those who act consistently with kindness and benevolence—or a lack of. We are what we do, not what we or others say.   Before recovery, I was stuck in vicious cycles and entanglements.  I played my part in these by doing what I knew. As a result of recovery, re-parenting myself, and removing myself, my life and relationships are now more virtuous than vicious. This became possible, I believe, purely as a result of my program teachings – where we learn to practice and prefer trust.