i only feel hard to love when im trying to feel understood by the wrong people

Hard To Love

I feel constantly curious as to what my sister could have communicated to THE family to make them ALL (but three) literally ghost me. I was not close with any of them but to hear from nobody when my mother died is more than non-closeness.  It is maddening to have not a sliver of a clue – what they got sold.  What I know for certain is that my female sibling is desperate to save face and gather support for what she was doing and would absolutely say or do anything to appear right and a victim, even while her actions observable to many, demonstrated otherwise.  But seriously, with no contact at all with any of them for years, what could I have been reported to have done to EARN this? Since looking good or innocent or blameless is not part of my situation, I would totally blab unfortunate details about myself right here, if I had even the teeniest idea. I guess Iwill never know. Maybe one day, I will stop hating that so much. Must be unspeakably bad.

What I do feel grateful about is that with no member of the family acknowledging me at the time of my mother’s passing, I do now breathe more easily knowing that nobody shall burden me with information of sickness or death of those to whom I remain genetically linked.  We are not each other’s concerns.   They are all actively in support of this kind of family dynamic or complicit. I do suffer from it though. If the plan was intended to make me feel abandoned and shitty. It absolutely works. Still. Every single day.

This outcome was a lifetime coming though.  I think it is clear that my misdeeds and damaging words(mostly until the age of 40 when I discovered recovery from, a name for, and solutions to– the family disease of perceptions and relationships) were rooted in my feeling impossibly bad, unwanted, and unworthy- basically because I was repeatedly told so. And– Believing that happiness is proof of worthiness, was particularly damaging to a depressed and traumatized child–then adult. From my earliest days, I was unacceptable and undeserving of protection, connection and peace– but for periodic lapses when I either felt momentarily ok or managed to appear so.  

Moving cross country relieved some of that.  Abstaining from contact with my family and ending a fucked up marriage which mimicked that family experience, were steps in the right direction. I have used up my adult life attempting to understand and create space and be different from those who diminsh me– and also have never managed to progress toward discerning what I might actually want or enjoy.  Stopping the bleed has not equalled healedness and peace. It was necessary and affirming right action which seemed promising….until the unholiest of unions: my sister and my ex.  I wake to the grief of that each day…and of course review and study it nightly before sleeping and dreaming of exactly this.   I am grateful for the high observability of calculated cruelty and damage of those carefully executed arrangements. Things done and said which negatively affect my children to this day.  While justifications may abound, there is no excuse and no forgetting or denying the fallout from THAT.

Today is the 1-Year anniversary of the death of our beloved Goldie.  I cried more for that snake and the loss it was to my son than I ever did over the passing of my mother and especially hers. It is also the anniversary of the horseshit birthday party hosted by my sister (for my son turning 8) to include my ex, his sister, and my young sons– AND not me.  

Clearly it is also my son’s birthday which is stressful because I feel more pain than joy which is no measure of my love for him or his lovability and worthiness.   I feel too low to effectively participate in celebratory things, ever.  And my secondary feelings over this are equally intense, feeling sinful about being a depressed and traumatized person, frightened over the ongoing and lasting affects on my sons.

Below are random thoughts I wrote down in the last few weeks that need to be expressed so that I may move beyond the study of them.

If you have dismissed and judged my distress, you have added to it, and no doubt have feelings only bout how wrong and burdensome and at fault I am. You are not my people. I reject you right back. But of course, I wish it were all different.

I have existed in constant fear of the world and the people in it(starting first with those who had the most access to me) and of what they would do to me and allow for me and demand of me. People in my home needed for me to be like them and punished me for failing. My longing for sameness(of people who sickend me, literally) made me want to die. If only I had been a better pretender, abuse getter and master of collective rejection and banishment or simply adopted a mental likeness to them, in the ways in which they needed–so they could be good to me.

My family, nuclear and extended, perpetuated my despair(while judging it) with collective efforts to force unfit solutions(demand I be and feel different) rather than helping me(the youngest of the family) learn to actually deal with it.

Also—Just because you said it doesn’t make it true.  By not saying a thing, you have also not made it less true.

Just because you remember it, does not mean it happened as you think it did.  Not remembering a thing happening does not mean it did not happen.

Love(the kind which I now understand, beleieve in, and practice) says I value you more than I judge you.  I would rather connect than be right or in charge and I will do nothing to harm you. These ways were not of interest to the family in which I was born. My efforts to look at and bridge gaps and to hear each other got me exactly what I have today.

Thank gawd I am no longer alone with these thoughts and experiences. I gave up seeking permission from those whom I needed most to hear me, to see me, to show me love and connection to allow me to be who and how I am.

Today feels challenging. Poor Sweet Greg will be here shortly with his gentle strength, patience, support, and unwavering loyalty. I don’t yet know what to do with it-even after nearly 6 years, it feels awkward and uncomfortable.

Thoughtful Cruelty

I obssess reflect regularly on how my reactions to trauma: insecurity, shame, and depression were treated harshly, by the people on whom I counted most. I was openly and collectively labeled/dismissed as negative and difficult –which apparently makes it acceptable to diminish and to show a person all the ways in which they do not count.   That trauma lasted through decades. And I openly acknowledge that I unknowingly took my unhealed trauma out into the world and intintially tried to flip the script—in ways intended to position me to be on the giving end of the discounting, dominating, dismissing and diminishing. I am not proud of that.  I am now 52 years old and thankfully I now know and do better. There is no excuse for being abusive.

In my family of origin (and later in my pathetic and similar marriage) I was either being invalidated, scolded or handled like a poopy diaper.  The observable manifestations of my discomfort seemed to be regarded as villainous, betrayal, weakness, and punishable.  Oh, also as INADMISSABLE and a moral failing.

Recovery continues to reveal for me that I do not have to feel happy or pleased in order to have love and good things in my life.  See, my life is blessed in so many ways including now, only kind and loving people.  I recognize and honor the blessings with acts of gratitude.  In recovery, we learn that gratitude cannot be extracted in the form of having to pretend to feel or be different from how we actually do. That is something entirely different from gratitude. Not sure what even to call it. Emotional Blackmail. Conditional something. Whatever, that bullshit is toxic and traumatic.

There have been long periods of my life, so dark and in which I was too broken to appreciate anything, much less enjoy it.  Today, I appreciate so many things but enjoy very few.  That is recovery and depression. 

Depression is real and difficult and even traumatic when failure to mask or deny it puts you in the crosshairs of your caregivers and genetic links.

I am unapologetically imperfect, emotionally complex, and actively healing.  My habitual examination is no longer me trying to be heard, beleived, right, good, or better.  THIS is me just fucken trying.  Period. 

I recently made the mistake of re-watching the George Floyd video and felt crushing sadness for living in a world where Derek Fkn Chauvin could look directly into the camera while (publicly even) murdering a man. He felt certain he would be supported and protected because he was being protected and supported by his fellow officers and those who continue to argue for his right and duty to do exactly as he did. Even if Floyd had just murdered a person, this is not legally or morally acceptable. It is also triggering AF because this was my sister with me. Obviously to a lesser degree, since I am not dead, physically. She felt vested to do exactly as she did and does.

I find myself wondering if the cruelty is out of thoughtlessness and unknowing or if indeed it is as thoughtfully administered as it seems. Also, not meaning for a thing to unfold as it did, does not lessen the impact and reality of it having happened. I continue to challenge things which I was taught and learned and remember about family, connection, power, and worthiness.

If standing up for yourself burns a bridge, fuck that bridge Jilan Catherine Ghoneim Whitney

Artificial Indifference

Artificial Indifference—Finally, a word to name the thing which was sought, feigned, and revered, in my family and then an equally fucked up marriage. I observe with sadness, my younger son working to develop this vibe. We call it “Bro Bro” or “Chad” when ever he assumes the “whatever” tone of voice, blank face, and energy– in times when a situation is deeply affecting him or someone else. He refuses/resists acknowledgement or respect for any sort of struggle or discomfort, his or anybody’s.

What the fuck? Poor guy. His father’s bullshit unwillingness to share the most basic logistical information with me regarding our sons, keeps my little guy feeling in the middle. My son is hostage to this highly conflicted postion of needing to share the information his father withholds. He works hard to appear calm, unaffected, and unbiased. He fully knows the price for doing otherwise and seems naturally wired to pull it off. My other son gets completely torn up over this call to disassociate.

What my sister and my boys’ father and our genetically linked peoples, knowingly perpetuate through THIS— is soul killing to children. It is traumatic. Why the constant required hustle to appear indifferent to the natural discomfort from the hurtful things which others think, say, do?

My sons return home today from an 11 day visit with an aunt who openly diminishes me in front of them(because I had the audacity to say no to her, calmly and with finality)…..all in support of their dad(her brother whom she accepts conditionally and whose love she can easily buy). I have an idea: What about being in support of young and developing boys, nephews you would probably insist you would do anything for???? My sons fly home a day later than I was told they would and with no flight or return information offered. Lesson learned. I will not agree to another trip in which they are required to abandon me or themselves completely, in order to enjoy the benefits of inclusion and protection.

I am angry. Recovery does not require that I not feel anger, only that I not allow the feeeeeeling to control me, my words, my actions. I am recovered enough to not comment directly to the boys’ father about these damaging choices and patterns. I accept that THIS is truly the best he can do. I don’t accept it, like feel good about it—so much as I accept the fact of its reality.

I am proud as hell that I can feel this disturbed, rightly so, and still say nothing to compromise my sense of self and wellness. People benefitted from and relied for too long on the distraction of my reactive behaviors.

Motherfukker not only breaks our boys’ hearts and decent parenting codes– but also the law. He is legally required to provide this information. Until he can do that, this will be the last to which I will consent. THIS is not a retaliation by me, just preservation and parenting. I really did marry my snakey sister. I genuinely appreciate actual reptilian snakes doing their snake like things. But the sneaky, crafty, underhanded, hiding in the shadows and slithering tactics. I just cannot.

Recently, I heard someone use the term “my ex”. I realized that I would literally never refer to the emotional, moral, and spiritual clone of my sibling, whom I married, as “MY ex”. He is not MY anything. He is my reminder and my final lesson, I suppose. I refer to him exclusively as the father of my children. And because he probably finds it a more favorable look to have a failed marriage, for which he may blame me, than just plain single AF, I feel certain he proudly employs the term “my ex” in regards to me. Also, I have now met, not one but TWO women who have gone on dates with him and reported that he wasted their first (and only) dates talking about me. Ew. I do beleive that with his steady commitment to his promise to never change, that our boys would be better with one of us gone. This makes me pretty sad. Too much has been asked of them and snatched from them. With a depressed (yes,still) mother who is openly and frequently experiencing pain and a father who insists that you speak a pain/probem into existence by mentioning it or making any attempt to resolve it. Foooock. In denying traumas of the past, the traumas are perpetuated.

On a side-ish and spiteful note, I constantly remind myself of the following in an effort to curb my expectations:

-how the only real “love” relationship the boys’ father had before me(as indicated by him) was with his best friend Roger’s wife, and he blamed her for using him and destroying that friendship. He actually felt victimized by the fallout of the choice to do what he did with her. Apparently Roger has now (30 years later) happily remarried and recovered and generously forgiven him. My boys’ father felt it equally suitable to align with my sister at our children’s expense and to maintain that situationship for exactly as long as she was willing. And… he reached out to his sister’s(the sister he used and discarded repeatedly) ex husband, whom he barely knew when they were married (very hostile and traumatic divorce, so they each probably enjoyed the shared agitation over her reaction to not loving the bullshit) to bond and befriend. And his other sister took up with her ex husband’s best friend as soon as her divorce was final. So, this is what I am trying to work with, along with my own wounds and demons.

This is ridiculous….like I am gossiping and shit talking to myself. My behavior is not always so good. Still. Maybe I will do better tomorrow.

Trying to hurt me by bringing up my past is like trying to rob my old house. I nolonger live there. That aint my stuff.

Today v. Yesterday

If I choose to confront something currenlty taking place, which I percieve as worthy of addressing– and a person attempts to shut me down or divert attention to something from the past, intended to silence me, I now understand that: There is literally no where to go, no reasonable conversation to be expected with someone who feels entitled to use, dominate, or diminish another person— and who’s only tools for managing discord are denial and passive aggression. Facing conflicts directly and being able to work toward resolution rather than victory and domination, is wholesome and badass. Refusal to acknowledge or discuss conflicts is just bad and assy. Winning and losing are for races, games, and wars, and not sustainable and safe relationships.

What a relief to have been freed from the shame of the unfortunate ways in which I handled pain and conflict, prior to the teachings of recovery. Regretful, of course. But ashamed–nope– Not even a little. I would however feel deeply ashamed if I were still doing and saying the things–and then also defending them or blaming someone else for my choice of words and actions.

Once we become a certain age, it is our responsibility to unlearn behaviors that hinder our growth as genuinely good humans

Fuck yoooooooooooooooo

My older son loves loves loves mountain bike riding (introduced to him and supported consistently by Sweet Greg for more than 5 years). He has gained almost 6 inches in height since the purchase of his current MT bike and has been researching new bikes and his earning possibilities for months, as the next bike will not only be larger but more specialized and costly…. and all bikes are difficult to come by due to the backlog created by Covid.  Both boys eagerly worked to tune up and clean THEIR bikes last week in preparation for sale.

Sunday morning,  within 10 minutes of posting the bikes for sale, 8 offers at top blue book value for our bikes, in good but not excellent condition, came in.  Before responding to offers–I texted the boys and their father.  Their father unsurprisingly, did not respond to me and was reported by my sons(via phone) to have become highly agitated with them…while saying nothing to me.

My older son called, in tears, begging me not to tell (what he was sharing) as he knows his father will, rather than correcting and amending his own menacing behavior, will school our children for reporting to their mother, snitching. Father is not wishing for privacy but attempting to impose a gag order, regarding things said and done in his home. 

There was a flood of frantic calls (more than 14 between the two) from my boys to me, reporting their dad escalating and demanding THAT they tell me to NOT SELL THE BIKEs. My younger son elected to wait to sell his bike to avoid dad-wrath and my older son decided with trepidation to still sell the bike but was shitting his pants over predictable blow back.

After more texts by only me, regarding conversations with the boys, their dad at last texted to express “his concern” about our older boy not having a bike and missing out.  Older Son group texted that he was ok with that and I shared that Sweet Greg had generously offered his bike in the interim.  Problem solved, right?   Nooooope. He was reported by both to be furious at the option to ride Greg’s bike. Because anything other than compliance is regarded as war. So my older son feels abandoned and like a pariah, while my younger son cried to me that he is allways put in the middle.

The boys father, ((I envision red face, maniacal laughter and spit flying from his mouth (because that is the vibe, though he is fantastic at holding composure)) then taunted our older son, the lover of mountain biking,  laughing his ragey passive aggressive laugh “Oh well,  I guess we now have someone to watch the dog while WE go mountain biking”, to our younger son… — to punish, to send the reminder of what happens when you displease a Master.  I am beyond sad for our children and the legacy of unwellness and trauma. But why—he will have a bike…oh right, the price to pay for being your own person.

Unrecovered me would like to say exactly this to boys’ father: 

Your behavior is mean and spiteful, immature and bad.  Dividing people is for monsters.  Triangulation and taunting is for hurt, broken, weak ass- losers.  The tension and stress you impose on our boys when you are displeased and your retaliations are super fucked up.  Grow up.  Get some help.  Go to a 12 Step meeting. Break the cycle of broken families like mine and just like yours also.  Just fkn stop.   Be a man!  A healthy grown ass man who can self reflect, change, grow, apologize, repair.  Do the goddam work.  There is a reason nobody in your family stays married and that you cannot sustain an ongoing close relationship with literally anyone.   The reason is you.  Change yourself.  You want to raise two depressed, lost, disconnected, addicted children, well then carry right on but I will resist you every step of the way.  I will die on this mountain.  Gladly.  I will not stop sharing, writing, trying for something better.  Fuck you!  (like I said—very unrecovered-  the recovery is that I do not share this message or any with him, that is not necessary.) And here is an idea: Instead of trying to hide shameful behavior, consider apologizing(to your sons) and changing it. Demanding that children deny, pretend, cover up difficult experiences it is very sick. Control yourself not them.

Recovering me- posts here instead- for anyone who might relate, benefit or care.  I will keep reminding my sons that certain types will resort to viciousness and cruelty when they feel confronted, challenged or defied.  That is an inappropriate response and deserves a lot of space. I just keep saying to them: You do not cause, imagine or deserve that. Other people’s behavior is on them. Mine on me. His on him. Yours on you. I used to do all of the things I reference here. Recovery changes people when they are willing. Highly Recommend.

Clearly

Me:  Pulls into second of two gas tanks at Costco.  Gets out of car and walks to pump as car at first tank pulls away.  Lady Woman behind me in her shiny Black Lexus sticks head out of window and asks/tells “please pull forward”.  With my car already off and reaching for the pump,  I say:  “Sorry. No.”

Lexus Driver grumbles, pulls forward to Tank#1, exits luxury vehicle, looks me in the eye and says “You are a real bitch, you know that?”

Me:  “OK”– My son lost his mind that I said “ok”. He thinks I should have told her to relax. hahahaha

OMGeeee.  Seriosuly.  Pre-recovery me wanted to tell her about herself, or at the very least defend why it made more sense for her to just pull TF in, like a normal human. Unrecovered me would have felt I should have, that she was more important/worthy than me, more white than me, more thin, less sweaty, better dressed, coiffed(but lame) hair, spotless and expensive vehicle.  

Me, gassing up my Pollen covered Subaru, in Cargo pants and tank, tattoos, sweat, whatever –wondering if I was wrong for not obliging (MY CAR WAS OFF AND I WAS AT THE PUMP THO). I may be difficult at times, but this was not that. On sight, she might appear the finer human.  Right?  Old me might have beleived so…and wanted to please or impress her. She was out of line, imposing by asking and N.A.S.T.Y. for feeling entitled to speak to me that way. Clearly, she felt wronged. I had to check in with Favorite to get her take. She said she might have pretended to not hear, and if that did not work– gotten back in the car and moved up, while feeling resentful and self-loathing.

This woman’s nastiness made ME doubt MYSELF.  It is triggering AF to be bullied… by this type….and in her mind I bet she thinks I bullied her by saying no.  Dude, pull your car around.  It is not a big deal.  Bullying someone for not doing what as you wish, is a big deal.  I feel sorry for those dealing with her regularly — guessing that she is highly vocal in her HOA, church, kids’ school or whatever. 

While I did nothing wrong, I am unnerved by this–the familiar irony of hostile aggression along side upright appearance.  Why must I still feel responsible for someone else’s abusive and inappropriate behavior? I did not make her be, say, or do anything. That is who she is. Unrecovered me wants to excuse her and blame myself. And also tell her to go fk herself.

I am a work in progress.

PTSD and Insanity

My recognition of my own trauma helps me to see how my reactions served well as proof of insanity and lack of credibility–for those who needed me to be seen as such, and even those who did not. A non-emoting unreactive person could literally do anything to me and then deny–saying I was crazy and or lying. I forfeitted my credibility with each of my reflexive meltdowns to things nobody observed first hand, and frequently my responses were to things which had already happened and not clearly relevant to the present moment. I found immense comfort in hearing this labelled as “Boxing With Ghosts”. I can experience intense emotional responses to a particular smell, sound, sight, or touch- anything reminiscent of something I previously experienced as unresolved trauma. In recovery I learned that there are two parts to trauma. The traumatic event itself and then the way in which it is handled(or not handled). And that nobody gets to decide how deeply and for how long a person feels affected by a thing. In a safe relationship a person would ask “What happened?” instead of “What is wrong with you?”

I am grateful to recognize my triggers and to now have the freedom, offered only by adulthood and recovery, to choose distance from abusers and shamers who weaponize sensitivity. To now be able to say “No and I don’t like that and that won’t work for me.” Abuse, denial, shaming—were all traumatizing and alienating for me and would persist to this day if I remained in relationships which relied on my insane reactions, offering up proof by comparison, of another’s sanity, resilience, and uprightness. I was neither upright nor resilient, ever, within those dynamics. I was spinning or curled up fetal style. AND It was needed(and resented) for me to be exactly like that.

When I learned to speak truth, calling out what could be seen and easily observed, without volume or profanity, it was treated an act of war. And then things from my life, only from long ago, could be used to discredit my personhood, sanity, and honor.

I am crazy in some very good and lovable ways, and also in some ways which are more difficult —but still not punishable-unless you tend to be a punisher. I became deranged from not understanding how to effectively deny or deal with impossible pain- and from having not a single witness or ally, from my earliest days. MY Pain was strictly designated in one of the follwing ways: imagined, made up, or deserved—There was no comfort, safety, peace inside the system. That did actually fuck me up and make me an insane person. I will take crazy any day over sneaky, mean, pretending, entitled. Nothing in the way I live my life suggests that I am any of those ways, with any body. Though I had learned and practiced all that nasty shit for years before recovery. We learn what we live. I own it all.

Today, I am considering how I am too much for some people. Too direct, too intense, too sensitive, too hungry, too picky, too demanding, too controlling, too awkard and into my space and quiet time. This, none of this is a problem, unless you need for me to be different. I accept these things about myself and choose relationships only with those with whom I am safe to be- how I am. Should a person pretend or change to forge unsafe relationships? Recovery tells me no. I am going with that. Should I be punished for that—Abusers will unanimously, but perhaps not openly, agree yes.

You know what is insane? Remaining in optional relationships with people who need to diminish you for any reason at all. I still have some difficult to extinguish ways of being diminishing in response to things that bother me. I am working on that, no longer justifying it.

Me Tooooo

Me tooooo. Not necessarily like hashtag me too but “me also” and maybe sometimes #metoo. Since I no longer attend live face to face 12 step meetings, THIS is my meeting. What I get most from live meetings is listening to others detail feelings or encounters which for me, previously and painfully defied articulation. It is a pivotal moment, when you realize you are not terminally unique and alone with the pain and confusion that permeates every realtionship involving someone who has been affected by addiction, abuse, neglect or mental unwellness. Before recovery, as my family would have it, I thought it was just me. But, turns out it is not. It may have been me, but it was never just me…that shit began before I was even born. Scapegoating and having a black sheep relieves a group from having to acknowledge or address the sickenss of the family. It would have been preferable to not have to choose between genetic family and wellness. As the black sheep, I saw no other healthy option.

I continue reading of others who are aware and courageous enough to openly offer their Me Toos. From them, I am learning to and practicing sharing in ways intended to create connection, affirmation, of lived and shared similar experiences. I write ONLY for those needing and willing to connect in this sacred place called vulnerability. Some people insist that speaking of an awful thing is the same as speaking the thing inot existence, giving the THING power. But naming IT and speaking IT out loud, actually gives us power over THE THING.

I avoid anyone whose vibe is suggestive of “EW, not me, those things do not happen to people like me/us(the royal we)”. The EW, not me- people, are the ones who tend to kiss up and to kick down, with their condescension and desperate need to feel superior and above discomfort, awkwardness, disconnection, and struggle. If pain, awkwardness and struggle are limited to weak losers, then… just be the cause of pain and struggle in order to secure your sense that you are rightly above IT. There are people like that. Thankfully, we need not stay married or closely bound to them.

Risk Taking Mistake Making

Since my ears react adversely to even the highest grade metals, on contact…like immediately, I had altogether stopped wearing earrings, for years– but suddenly I felt the need for earrings.  And, in the manner in which I do all things which I feel compelled to do, I went all in, fast and hard. After all– Fools Rush In.  I ordered several surgical grade titanium studs.  Once all holes were filled and void of itchy, red, inflammation, I wanted more holes for more earrings.  If two look nice, how great will 17 be?  If warm water is good for face washing, then super boiling hot must be even better.  This is genuinely my natural inclination. Extreme.  Flawed and sometimes disastrous.

The two earrings in my left ear look good, but the two in my right—not so much.  The first hole is too high and the second too low, forming an awkward horizontal line, rather than a diagonal sloping line matching the slope of my ear.  Ok then, so one earring in only the first hole of my right ear and two in the left.

UNTIL….Both Favorite and Sweet Greg informed me that two earrings are a lil 80s.  I promptly frittered hours googling local venues and prices for piercing.  After many bad reviews about crooked piercings, I knew I must do it myself (order supplies and wrangle Favorite or SG do it for me).  Both adamantly said NO.  Because they were afraid of doing it wrong.   Not afraid of hurting me and clearly not afraid of disappointing me (choosing to deny me their steady hands, good eyes, and spatial abilities).  I was like “but literally whoooo cares?  If you mess it up, we laugh and remove the earring.”  They cared. Each remained unswayable.

So, after reading reviews and watching videos about single use peircing guns, I ordered myself a set of self piercing supplies. 4 earrings and 4 pierecers for nine dollars.  Schweeeng!  I pierced my own third hole; easily and perfectly all by myself.  I literally never do a thing perfectly. Ever. I am more uncomfortable with not trying than I am of my own mistakes or imperfection.  For me, it would have been a hilarious experience for either of them to pierce me, especially if it went south.  Like I wanted it on video. So fun and funny. But Nope. I was on my own.

My neighbor’s middle school daughter then wanted me to pierce her.  Without hesitation, I did.  I pierced two well placed holes in her left ear.  She literally squealed the greatest squeal when she looked in the mirror at her new piercings (by me).  With still one more piercer in my possession, I decided I should pierce a 4th hole in my left ear.  Afterall, it was already sore from the third, so why not?  Right?

Pro-Tip:  If piercing an ear DO NOT pull and stretch the ear while piercing.  Because when you let go, the piercing will not be where you intended to place it.  I guess similar to how you can’t pull your eye lid while applying eyeliner because the line ends up in the wrong place.

Because the area higher on my ear is narrow, I pulled my ear away from my head for better access.  Deep sigh. And when I released it, the 4th earring was awkwardly perched on the rim of my ear.  As I removed it with mild disappointment, the darkest reddest blood seeped steadily down my ear and neck. Fuck.  I could not wait to report this. If I were less weird about pictures of myself, I would have loved to have captured and shared this as a silly and cautionary tale. I will probably try again.

I do like trying – and making mistakes pains me mostly when it affects someone else negatively.  I wonder if having felt completely out of control over how shameful and BAD I believed myself to be, at a cellular level, is what makes it possible for me to be this way.  It is not that I do not care, it is that I am more inspired by the process than the outcomes. I do enjoy when I get things right, obvi, but I definitely laugh and learn more in times of “fucking things up”. I would literally not leave my bed or house if I felt I needed to appear perfect, right, free from struggle, and in charge of outcomes and opionins of others.

In my recent performance evaluation, my manager kindly shared how much she appreciates my ability to own and correct my mistakes and that while I am quick to share about them, she would like to see me just as quick and comfortable in sharing my successes.

That will be awkward and I will try to do that.

Wrong Beliefs- A Mother’s Day Post

Nothing broke me down more than my own believing of wrong beliefs, issued to me by those I counted on to teach and raise me up.  The collectively held, shared, and freely communicated disdain within my family, was crushing.  

“Magda is wrong, bad, broken, crazy, incapable and unworthy of kindness, consideration, care, belonging, acceptance, protection, connection……”  Her high sensitivity to everything makes it impossible to love or even listen to her.  If she would just eradicate or hide that, maybe, just maybe, she can one day participate in the family and the world in a way that matters.

Obviously, this is my composite translation of my experience and not a direct quote, but I would be willing to bet big money that these sentiments are still openly and repeatedly expressed – used to mandate how I am to be treated/handled/denied–by those wishing to remain in-group.

“Little one– You may at any time, trade your voice, truths, and needs– for a place at our table though.  Abandon your feelings, desires and intuitions so that we can be together….like a family.  If you would just go ahead and do that, now, like a good girl”

These root beliefs – I do not wish to keep.  I utterly reject them and those relying on them to prop up their illusions of identity and rightness. (What my program teaches: A person’s inability to be kind, honest, loving, and loyal, is proof only of their defect, the things they have not yet learned. For the decades before recovery/ reparenting myself, I lacked knowledge and skill in things not modelled for me.)

Feeling and developing like THAT with people called family, did leave me broken, insane, desperate(Desperation did make me behave in ways that were cruel and dishonest), defect-ive AF.

I am so grateful for recovery which allows me to now live different experiences of family and love. I crumble at the idea of possibly having parented my sweet boys through the devastating and untrue convictions. It stops here. I am unlearning and letting go of some toxic shame. Amen. Fk that hustle and those lies.

I was deeply triggered by my reflections on mother’s day, as a failed daughter/human, along with the passing of another of my niece’s birthdays. While I am aware of how sad and angry I felt at times over the weekend, I am clear now that my awareness alone, will not relieve me of the pain. The work continues, but only for those unable to forget or pretend.