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Purpose, Belonging, Direction

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 welcome, all the love I failed to feel or effectively communicate, all the love I wished I knew. The love for my sons which has beeen fierce, loyal, protective and still not enough to keep them close to me. While loving me may not be easy, it will also be a wildly unpopular choice for them to make in the midst of their “family”. The quote says this: I must lose myself in action lest I wither in despair. I am painfully (always the pain) aware of my hunger for a meaningful pursuit and direction and in that pursuit and direction, I may find a sense of belonging and connection and purpose to help me sew together the hours each day between the things which must be done. In those times between the things I’m required to do. I feel lost and distraught and I lie down … run down the clock of my life because I don’t know what else to do. This is a difficult way to exist -it’s humiliating and demoralizing to feel lost untethered all of the time. Still, as I have my entire life. I have wasted my life trying to become or at least appear different, to be not me, so that maybe just maybe I could be worthy of connection and belonging. It was a requirement I could not meet. It destroyed me, like literally decimated my ability to self actualize. In these last five months of more than a hundred medical visits and medication’s – being physically and mentally disabled – feeling both adrenalized and paralyzed simultaneously- around the clock. I have wanted to be dead. It’s all I’ve wanted – to get gone. Because I don’t have a purpose – I don’t have a plan. I don’t have a direction and I certainly don’t have anything or anyone to which I feel I belong. I did used to belong to a gym and my job and now, not even those. And for some months, I felt I belonged to and with him. Hearing these songs today felt crushing – The Goodness of God by CeCe Winans and LeAnn Rimes – How do I and Leann Rimes- I Need You and then another song called Fighting For Me, by Riley Clemons. Each of these songs – about durable, and undeniable love; to count on and fall into, lean into, crash into – I’ve not had that – not from my mother or my father or sister, any member of my family, certainly not from the man I married. And I feel like I experience this love now -but it is a lie. I have a relationship and I like to call it complicated but actually it’s not complicated. He once claimed to desire a future with me and now he does not. He is my everything. He has loved me more and better than anybody has ever loved me. He listens, he hears, he comforts, he celebrates, he cheers me. He holds and shelters me. And I can’t imagine living without this. But at the same time, I’ve lived my whole life without it. I need him in ways which are unreasonable- or are they? He’s a best friend, he is family, he is my lover. He is my everything, but it is no longer mutual and I continue to hold on tight and he continues to let me. I am working with therapistS and trying to resolve/reconcile my reality – the pain and the grief of this, and all of the trauma which launched me into this exact space that I am in. I am working hard to heal my body, my mind, my spirit. How could I have possibly learned the things about myself- like what I like or what I’m good at or what would satisfy, nurture and fuel me? I must dig out that information – excavate it from beneath decades of trauma, betrayal, abandonment, the grief of never having been well loved, and taking that quite personally. And the lie of believing I was unworthy and incapable. And now, I have this one person whom I love desperately (of course) and rely on – as my everything and I can’t fault him for not wanting me or this forever. I also do not want me or this forever. Who would? I have a lot to recover from. Why must Earth life be so difficult? THIS, according to my therapeutic team is tied to my negative core beliefs. I see how that could be. What a cycle. When people in my life collectively decided I’m “bad,” interpreting my struggles as evidence of my wrongness, they see inflicting more hardship as a natural consequence—reflective only of their own ego-driven need to punish, rather than insecurity or retaliation. This fkn cycle, where I am scapegoated – trapped in a constant state of hurt and disempowerment. Feling affirmed in that each difficult and painful thing is proof only of my badness.

Just Shut Up

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 wanted to hear was: “Even if I can’t fix your grief or stress, I will bear it with you. Please, tell me more.” Instead, I encountered harsh objections to my requests for shared language/understanding, shattering any hope for healing or a path forward. Curiosity—rooted in courage, humility, and vulnerability—allows us to engage respectfully with perspectives that differ from our own. Curiosity is a choice to explore the unknown. We cannot be both right and curious at the same time. It is painful that so many prioritize appearing (feeling) infallible and in charge at all costs. A shame that this can be mistaken for strength. A need to appear strong feels symptomatic of fragility. The strength which impresses me is rooted in humility, curiosity, courage.

I’m not angry. I’m overwhelmed.

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 in what I was going through and how I was reacting. Being diminished instead of receiving support, made me feel threatened/ angry and led to anxiety about my discomfort and the consequences. My inability to alter my instinctive reactions intensified my sense of hopelessness. The persistent dread of not being able to hide my sensitivity only added pressure to the demand to “lighten up” and “calm down”, as everyone insisted I should. My consistent experience within my family and marriage would unfold in this way: Feel overstimulated, be judged and shunned, become fearful, distressed, then angry(and ultimately be crucified for large reactions to unmanageable stress) My unique wiring (hypersensitivity/hyperarousal) and past trauma leave me vulnerable and fragile in ways that others may not grasp. I often experience shame and anxiety over my unremitting discomfort- or as it was frequently referenced “my thin skin”, which is not an inaccurate descriptor, but also was not said with love. The stress of otherwise uneventful happenings can overpower my nervous system- like things which others don’t notice, can be crippling to me. Having come from a family whom regularly minimized and belittled me, feeling disregarded, violated, and on edge—became my default state. As a now sensory smart and trauma informed adult, I do not expect others to accommodate my heightened sensitivity- my best option has been to isolate myself – to shield my nervous system from the stressors of life on earth (with others). Below are examples of how I am easily toppled by technically un-threatening sensory stimuli, which go un-noticed by most(or can be ignored): The sound of my dog licking, a light on in the hall which shines into my room, a repetitive sound, a wrinkle in my (made) bed that I can see from my desk when I am working. A tag in my shirt. A strong smell. Feeling too warm. A piece of food caught between my teeth. Each of these can send me immediately into dysregulation—fight or flight energy. My nervous system demands that I do anything to make it stop- to end the sensation. None of these stimuli are harmful; they overtake me rather than harm or even annoy me. Sensory overload, paired with emotionally charged interactions, crushes me and calls for days of self-care, in solitude, to process, release the energy, and regain basic functionality. I am now learning to manage in a world which is simply too much for me. Always has been. I am discovering ways to nurture, soothe, and safeguard myself. Some may find this enlightening, even interesting: Sensory defensiveness is a condition where someone has an extreme reaction to certain sensations, such as touch, sound, smell, or taste. People with sensory defensiveness may avoid or minimize exposure to these sensations, and may experience anxiety, behavioral changes, or emotional distress. Having to rely on or keep close proximity to those who will judge and punish has proven damaging 100% of the time.

Boundaries and Being Non-Dead

With Greg, boundaries are a non issue, we have compatible operating systems and shared values- prioritizing each other’s peace, comfort and pleasure. Goes without saying, but Sweet Greg is much better at seeing to my needs than I am to his. It is not for lack of awareness on my part, but grief, depression, and recovery take the bulk of my energy. Nothing about recovery life is natural for me. It requires, of me, constant contrary action, and that has been tiring. Unlearning takes time and energy. A large part of my program focuses on conscious contact with God (Before recovery, each of those words would make my nose and upper lip curl) God speaks to me through others. And during my era of wound-licking, I have needed much solitude and to some extent this left me partially blocked from God. Now, attending church with regularity, a monthly neighborhood girls’ game night, author/speaker events and spending more time with Favorite, is elevating the quality of life–more good people = more God and goodness. It was not enough to distance myself from given sources of unnecessary pain, those vacancies must intentionally be filled with people, activities, and places that add purpose and Good Orderly Direction to my life. Transitioning from survival to recovery feels slower than a snail’s pace. I did stop the bleed, cleaned out the infection-these are miracles. AND– there is apparently much more to living, then tending to old wounds. My spirit before program was figuratively in a diaper and on a feeding tube. I was non-dead, but now, I am alive-ish. As one who is promptly flattened by sensory and emotional stimulus overload, I am, at last, learning to practice appropriate self care–intentionally creating time and space for recharging as well as limiting/avoiding proximity to given sources of overwhelm. I shut down completely, as a result of over exposure. As a mother, faithful hostage to our dogs, partner, employee, and head of household, there is limited time to effectively retreat. Prioritizing good care for the person whom my people and animals count on-ME, is sanity and responsibility—gifts of recovery. For some, resilience is innate, and coping comes with less effort and need. I was not blessed in this way. Those who love me, respect my limits as uniquely my own and non-negotiable. How cool is that? No pretending nor debating how I feel with my people! I love you! Recovery taught me the hows, whats, and whys of healthy boundaries…boundaries are like spiritual skins(that differentiate us from others-where I stop and you begin–this is essential info). Boundaries are the rules which I uphold for myself, acknowledging my needs, limits, and responsibilities-all with the assumption that people, places and things will continue to be and do as they will. If a person, place, or thing is damaging to me, my boundary offers us each space and permission to be exactly as we are. You do that over there and I will be me, over here, nobody is forced to change or pretend. In recovery, we call this practicing acceptance(accepting the facts of reality–an action not a feeling). Boundaries allow us all to live lives which are more flow than force. Boundaries are self-care and self love. My boundaries are strictly about and for me. Good personal boundary (as taught in recovery): Since your event is well past our dinner and bedtimes, we will have to take a raincheck. Bad boundary: You cannot host things so late and expect us to come. Good personal boundary: If you are going to say or do things that make us feel bad, we will step back until it feels safe. Bad boundary: You cannot speak to or treat us that way. Good personal boundary: I will provide foods for my children, according to their preferences and needs. Bad Boundary: You must provide food items, quantities, and serve at times which consider my children and our family. Good boundaries not only make it clear/easy to know when it is a yes or a no— but are large part of mental wellness and maturity. They have come to me late in life. Let’s be well and grow up together. Clear boundaries are wholesome and badass–and they are too much for some. Boundaries kick ass! They support love, life, connection. Let’s live, love, connect. Together, one day at a time.

How I Tricked Him Into Loving Me

A little more than 3 years ago, Greg and I began getting to know each other. A hectic time for me, newly relocated from the West Coast, adjusting to constant proximity to my FOO(family of origin) and my ex-husband, working full time, mid-home-buying and moving from our rental of only 3 months, caring for my mother and navigating the very dynamics I fled 25 years earlier. Getting my young sons, needy dogs, and myself acclimated to our new lives, along with the constant drain of single handedly carrying the family elephant in the room, left me mentally wiped and edgy AF. Between our first meeting and our second, I notified Sweet Greg two times, declaring myself unfit for getting to know and care for another person. Distraught by the turmoil of frequent proximity to my FOO and my ex husband, both of whom I had elected divorce/space, I felt there was nothing left to offer but my despair. I wanted to know Greg AND was agitated by phone-talking. The phone gets hot and greasy and it is necessary to hold the device just so and to stand in the exact right spot to hear and be heard. Also, with a phone, sustained talking and listening are called for. Cuz, that is how phone-talking is. I wanted to be together and just BE, not necessarily be talking. My routine existence required too much participation(taking turns speaking) more than engagement. It was oppressive..impossible to just effing BE. Speaking my truth was not welcome and being untalkative was labelled as sullen or angry. The script makes me ill. Within the confines of the script, there is no peace, only an unconvincing performance of togetherness–no possibility of just being. No sustainable positive connection….far too much proximity and pretending-both of which were disheartening. On New Year’s Day 2016, after weeks of no communication, I audaciously texted Greg asking if he was kid-free. He promptly responded that he was. Then I asked if he was available for a hike. He promptly responded that he was. Then, I asked if he was willing to drive to me. He promptly responded that he was. Then…I asked if he would bring earbuds or headphones for a silent hike with me, no talking, no eye contact, and def no touching. Just hiking– together: “Sure”, he said. So we trekked the greenway with earbuds and sunglasses. I was so over talking and listening and trying to be heard and trying to understand and I wanted to just be, not be alone, but also not tangled up in politeness or complexity. My requests to Greg, to this day make US laugh, because, to most, they seem unreasonable, outrageous–not only to openly feel this way, but to actually articulate it, out loud, with words!! But guess what, if you start out settling and pretending in a relationship, you get to keep on doin that in order to sustain it. I was transparent and direct AF and Greg knew from the start, what he was “dealing with”. He was able to make informed decisions, for himself, about getting to know and be with me. Anyway, we hiked, shared the occasional quick smile, sat on a bench, I think our knees may have touched. Because he was so perfectly present, open and not forcing or denying anything, I felt unready to part ways when it grew dark– but I also still needed his consent for continued NO TALKING, neither shallow nor deep. Months of the family dynamic had provided, in large supply, an unfortunate combination of overwhelming shallowness and depth(f0r me). So, I offered: “Hey, want to come over and assemble my grill with me, and promise to speak only of the grill and as necessary?” He was happy to do so. Whu? We worked closely and well as partners in the task. Fun, focused and so very respectful, present, engaged and I could not help but feel some kind of love for and from him. His clean scent and vibe were intoxicating. And I deliberately touched him a few times, which he allowed but did not pursue. At the end of our visit, we made a plan to grill steaks on Tuesday at my home. He offered to bring steaks and I said “ok, please be sure that mine is at least the size of MY hand.” I do enjoy my steak– and my large hands are bigger than his normal hands. Together, we prepared and enjoyed dinner. And, Greg not only showed up with the correct size steaks but also a pair of tongs (meat grabbers-which made me laugh with delight) for meal prep. His shared aversion to direct contact with raw meat fortified my appreciation for him. With his normal sized hands & THE meat grabbers– and without prompting, he exercised surgical precision in removal of the fucked-up icky parts. He gets IT. He gets me. He does not fully understand or relate(who could?) and yet he loves and accepts me. Without church or a spiritual program, this MAN is able to know, do, be, and love in ways that are not of this world. At the end of our dinner date, I realized I might want a hug and or kiss, I panicked. Because, here is how I roll– I am all in or not at all, when it comes to relationships, friends or romance. I am intense, never causal. I do not “grab” coffee or lunch with people whom I am not deeply interested. I prefer to be alone. I also do not hold hands, hug, or kiss people, with whom I do not experience mutual closeness, except in the circumstances of my marriage and birth family(or back in the day when alcohol allowed me to more readily partake in things I did not want or like). If there is not mutual and natural connection, I do not choose to spend time or energy on or with you, in a “relationship”. You either energize me or you drain me. Small

Healing After and During Betrayal

Expressed anger, no matter how true, right, or fairly it is communicated, in my family of origin, causes a person to be rendered crazy, mean, or unstable–THE information is strictly inadmissible, while the recipient of a message containing hard feelings, may uphold the posture of being unaffected, garners sympathy for being victimized and praise for appearing ladylike, gentlemanly, innocent. People who speak openly of angry feelings are shamed, exiled, dismissed. The programming is intended to convey that jokey, superficial, pleasantries is how it is supposed to be in good families. Everybody, be good. Always on, mostly jovial, completely at ease. Anything less is shameful and reflective only of a broken individual who has lost control of themselves. Those who strive to look unfailingly polite gain immense traction by comparison to one who mentions conflict or emotional discomfort. It is possible I have finally tired of or am in near acceptance of the futility of trynuh find ways to correctly or effectively communicate about or to those boasting emotional strength and correctness. They thrive by comparison to the impolite lunatics speaking with the reckless audacity to discuss concern or angst, directly and with transparency. By expressing displeasure underhandedly, passively, indirectly, in the form of gossip, or not at all, but mostly the other ways, is how it is to be done. All with a smile, of course, and sometimes under the guise of concern or fake pity. These are the silent kill shots for which their has been no accountability. Today, I am committing in writing, here, to changing tack-surrendering the need to find and try all of the ways to be “heard”, less misunderstood, valuable, worthy of consideration. This is a waste of my life. Letting go of that feels scary though, it makes letting go of family permanent. I still, sometimes, cling to the myth that entanglement equals authentic connection. It is a type of connection, but not one that serves peace or mental health. Halloween triggered, in me, the memory of being here, 11 years ago, nearly 3 months pregnant, with my 10 month old son. I visited so that we could attend family counseling. It was a nightmare. I was nearly broken in two, from the hopelessness of the exchanges. I miscarried on that Halloween Day. And with the debacle of our session and a miscarriage, I opted for a peaceful night with my friend rather than a Halloween Parade with my sister and her family. This was regarded as spiteful, as if I was not attending just to punish THEM. I was trying to keep it together. A few months later I received this letter which I ceremoniously burned last year. The irony of her rules is not lost on me, at all. The grief keeps coming. But, I hereby pledge that for one week, I will write on other matters in my current life. There is more to me than THIS…There must be.

Communicating Truth

I prioritize the closeness and connection of my chosen relationships, holding zero regard for an illusion or status of having said “relationship”. Life is both too long and too short to pretend. I have many swirling thoughts in need of sifting, from the last weeks of church and today’s meeting. For now I have time and energy only to share a reading from my program of recovery, which is front and foremost on my mind. A brief study of some intangibles: Our attitudes are usually conveyed to other people by what we say and do — and how. If the attitudes really reflect what we feel. Gentle actions and soft, courteous words may only counterfeit our true feelings. We may even think we have overcome resentments, self-righteousness and self-pity, but if they are still there inside us, they will in some mysterious way emanate from us and deny what we try to convey by our play-acting. “How can he tell?” asks a confused wife. “I never raise my voice, never argue, try to do what he expects, and yet he’s always challenging me!” Today’s Reminder Merely to change my behavior, and what I say and do, does not prove a change of inward attitude. I am deceiving myself if I imagine I can completely disguise my real feelings. They will somehow come through, and prolong the hostility in my family. I must root out entirely the troublesome emotions I’ve been trying to hide. The white knuckled, tight jaw, grin and bear it vibe— I cannot live in that way that or near that energy. It feels toxic to me, debilitating. If our truths divide us, that means we are not to be together, NOT that we are enemies but that we are unable to support each other in living as our best, fullest, truest selves. It makes no sense for me to place energy in pretending to be or feel a certain way, so that I may remain in “relationship” with a person or group. My experience is that people deeply committed to appearances and rightness and who boast willingness/commitment to enduring their own pretending for the “sake of the relationship”, become deeply enraged at the audacity of authenticity. In them, there appears to be a constitutional desire, to punish the truth speakers(those called to be transparent about their own unique and personal truths), and this shared anger can serve as a basis for connection. In the world of therapy, this is referred to as trauma bonding and triangulation. While behaving in ways that are unkind and harmful, both my sister and ex would assert that their alliance and antics are harmless and that they are free from anger– that subjecting my children to the unwholesome gatherings is nothing more than trying to create a sense of family and connection(while attempting to alienate their mother). They are free from bad feelings– I am the only one broken enough to have or express pain or anger. I will never not feel angry about what this does to our children–the incongruous messages, the deception and the forced closeness with people they observe being harmful- while insisting on displays physical affection, forced proximity and and feigned connection. So YUCKy.

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.

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Words to LIVE By

Who you spend your time with will have a great impact on what kind of life you live. Spend time with the right people.
— Joel Osteen (@JoelOsteen) November 19, 2016

Purpose, Belonging, Direction

Just Shut Up

I'm not angry. I'm overwhelmed.

Accuracy of Language

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Faith

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About Wholesome Badass

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. For too long, I felt I was terminally unique(flawed) in this way. This is not true. Feeling deeply, willingness to share, and healing are hard work–Wholesome and 100% Badass. This is the record of my work, my journey.

I laugh as deeply as I cry. I love hard and without apology for my intensity. It is who I am, not my favorite trait or biggest asset, but a part worthy of love, just the same. I am learning to choose only those who choose me. This is my journey into self-love, learning to be ok when others disapprove or respond with righteous unkindness.