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
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.
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.
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.
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 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
The messages from my family of origin were unmistakable: “We will not show empathy or understanding for your perspective. In response to what we perceive as distortions, we will only offer defense, attack, blame, and relentless conflict.” All I ever
It’s painful to recall being scolded in shaming ways during overwhelming moments: “Why are you so angry? Why are you so defensive? Why are you yelling?” I percieved but could not name the dissonance, the lack of understanding and interest
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
