I know what I bring to the table. So, trust me when I say: I am not afraid to eat alone. Sitting at a well set table positioned precariously atop decades of eggshells (unresolved issues) is something I do not choose. Submitting myself to that energy renders me physically and mentally unwell. Gathering for meals or “special occasions” should not feel awful. Right? (more…)
In my family of origin (FOO) it is necessary to label and dismiss anyone who recalls or processes things differently, as a #historicalrevisionist , particularly if the recollection is less favorable…
Birthday sentiments to my female sibling who believes that being grossed out by sex is the same as being a lady. And who speaks of being phobed about by lesbians(a-hem) and worries constantly that she looks like one. I found the perfect card for you. Also, Thank you for getting born. If not for you, and wanting you to love ?me so badly, I would never have married someone just like you??And I would not have my two sons. (more…)
One of the things I have paid most dearly for in my FOO and marriage was speaking my truth/ saying NO. I became accustomed to screaming, begging, swearing, hysterical threatening...anything to…
While our Memorial Day weekend was lovely in the simplest of ways, I, not so silently, mourn the reality of my “family” situation. They– are more situational than family. ( hahaha) But seriously, special days are now, a new kind of hard. My ex-husband and I worked beautiful healing miracles after our lengthy and litigious divorce, to move our family cross country, together. My motivation for this post: Invitation to bbq at my best friend’s home caused me sadness, sad that asking my ex to join is no longer appropriate. (more…)
While it is true that I have tapped into the magic of self love, this by no means is an expression of being perfect or finished or in love with myself. It means I recognize my worthiness of 
connection, wholeness, peace, and kindness of people who value me. I no longer doubt and dislike myself enough to subject myself to the painful brand of love-and I have for now stopped begging for it to be different, with my family of origin. Without self-love, I was willing to come around, to dine with people who name call and behave in ways which are diminishing to me- creating unnecessary hardship and loss of innocence for my children. I realize how I came to marry my children’s father, emotionally and morally vacant, concerned primarily with appearances. Not knowing what being loved and nurtured felt like, I chose more of what I knew. As I have recovered; learned what it means to offer, receive, and welcome wholesome love and nurturing, I no longer tolerate or take blame for others whose behaviors and words I experience as foul.
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What a novel concept! Learning to be mindful of the choices I have- sometimes the menu of options sucks, but as an adult with recovery, I do have choices. For…
Because I experienced trauma around food, I have spent the second half of my life learning to develop a healthy relationship with it. Still, I find it challenging to eat right foods at right…
For 4 brutal decades, I was distraught over the confusing swings of mood(with me indicated as THE cause) by my mother, sister, and later my husband/now ex-husband. At times there would be eye contact, engaging conversation, and something resembling connection– then long periods of averted eyes and zero acknowledgment when addressed, or a surprising character assassination in response to something from months or even years earlier. Then, compliments, gifts, or initiatives to engage, close on the heels of emotional vacancy or barely contained rage- impossible to discern which. It is too much.
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My recent exchange with my mother awakened in me the exact “nature” of my lifelong experience, as her dependent and child. If I said I was cold, rather than a sweater, snuggle, or blanket, I was offered a reading of the thermostat as proof that I could not feel that way (if I were normal, worthy, and honest). When I reported hunger or need a restroom, similarly, I was reminded of having recently eaten or relieved myself, OR that I was just too fucken much. Support was available only when she shared the sentiment. When my experience differed, I was reported to be equal parts incorrect and troublesome. I literally learned to doubt myself at a cellular level. I was wrong about things, over which technically, I would be the ultimate authority: hunger, exhaustion, fear, sadness, cold, a full bladder. Right? (more…)
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