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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.

Aha!

I am now recognizing how, after moving here, if we would have continued as a blended, healing, fixed family with my FOO, my ex, my kids and myself, that would have kept me in some sort of center position, like I would have been at the hub, not in the driver’s seat, but the common link. I see how unsettling this would be to my sister, who works hard to reside IN the center. And it is undeniable that for my sister and my ex, the desire to punish me runs deep. For each of their decades of attempts to control me leave them feeling less powerful and important than their egos can bear.

Happy Birthday ?

Thank Good Gawd Almighty for the most marvelous friend —who loves family, God, selfies, presents, fun, joy, travel, celebrating, and even me— to the end of the earth and back, she loves me. Crying as I type that, because it is so damn special, the friendship that we enjoy. Truly BFFs! Yesterday was my 50th. For my special day, I planned to run a time consuming and far away errand (the result of a 80 mile round trip drive to get a birthday gift for my ex, from our boys) and then go to lunch with my best girl in the world. Awake at 5 am, I remained pinned under my weighted blanket, listening to Option B on Audible until 11am, knowing I was missing my window of opportunity to make the errand or lunch happen. I was runnin’ down the clock. I texted the Bestie (friends of more than 40 years, I will call her “Favorite”) informing her that I was too sad to do any of the things. Favorite rallied, invited me to meet her at work and drove the 40 miles to the errand. She was present, loving, fun, and comforting, not probing or trying to fix or cheer, just WITH me, like a fucken boss of a friend. She declared, before my arrival, that it was ok that I feel however I did as long as we were together– and went to lunch. I even panicked at her plan to take me anywhere I like for lunch, because I could think of nothing I wanted. We figured it out, though! The whole day together and birthday dinner too. Possibly, my best birthday yet. Favorite and her parents, my sons, dinner of my choice, with cake and gifts and even a photo–with my boys. If I can do exactly and only this, every year for all of my birthdays, I would be blessed. God, it was so sweet and wholesome– each of us just being exactly who and how we are. LOVE. I recognize that it is normal and healthy to want to celebrate, and I wished that I did. In general, I require space and solitude, more so in times of heightened struggle. My experience with depression is that I stop liking and wanting even the people and things which, when I am feeling healthier, I like and want. I cannot make that be different, not even for my boys whom I would do anything for. It is possible that I could exercise & get outside more, and make healthier food choices–those things would not hurt. But, apathy is at the wheel more of the time than I care to admit. The anguish over certain things/people seems to be in endless supply, and the grief and shame over the anguish are oppressive. Recovery has taught me to now offer generous space to anyone finding it necessary to make a person look or feel bad for feeling bad. Having the calendar create expectations that all people should feel/act/perform happy is a freaking nightmare. When I reflect on all special occasions, I can recall only, my overwhelming panic and shame of not feeling(and therefore behaving) the way in which I was supposed to. I can feel the stinging disdain and remarks directed at me for being so selfish, just heaps of shame. Oh jubilant ones, I am so sorry that I cannot be happy for and with you as a result of my brain chemistry and family experience, which have left me with sometimes crippling anxiety and depression. (The best– is that they would debate this.) My anxiety, surprisingly is not lessened by the consequences imposed for being this particular brand of selfish menace. Oh, and why won’t I just lighten up and stop being so defensive, they wonder? Because when you are depressed, you may actually just be a bad person, making a selfish choice to be miserable, at the expense of all the joyful good people, who will rightfully school, shun, and gossip about you for that sort of bullshit. And best of all, they will insist you return for the next “celebration” and punish you when you do not, or even when you do. Good Times. Shaking my head. So glad THE day has passed…and so grateful for Sweet Greg and Favorite just loving me through it. Here is what I know to be my truth. I can now(since recovery)be counted on, to: tell the truth, do as I say I will, apologize when I blow it, help you and be there for you in hard times. You can count on empathy, encouragement, and inappropriate jokes. But please, DO not count on me to be happy because you need for me to be. That is unfair and insane. Brilliant quote from C.S. Lewis ➡️ “Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery’s shadow or reflection: the fact that you don’t merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief.”

Why Lie

Alone in the car with my younger son, today, I pretended to take credit for saying something fantastic, a quote which actually came directly from him. He was like: “Mawm, I said that, not you.” In all seriousness,straight-faced, I replied; “Nah-aaaaah, I am totally the one who said it.” He was rightly disturbed- I admitted to playing and went on to share about about gas-lighting–how it can make a person feel crazy when someone repeatedly insists that things are different from how they know them to be. I explained how gas-lighting is a real thing that some people do- and that it is a form of abuse. He recalled how his bully did that to him in 4th grade(which he then began doing relentlessly to his brother(we have nearly fully recovered over the course of a year)) I explained how it is especially troublesome when a person who is older or in a position of authority, whom is believed to be trustworthy, does this to a person who must depend on them. The person being gaslit will begin to doubt everything, lose trust first in themselves, and then in others. And that is an impossibly scary way to be in the world. Depression and anxiety often result and can sometimes be healed. I stopped with that. We have a deal, my sons and I– If they ever catch me in a lie, of any sort, I will pay them $500 each, on the spot. I do not have $500!! We have clarified what makes a lie a lie, is when person intentionally conveys a message which they know to be untrue or inaccurate. Anytime they doubt me, which is rare, I just say “Why would I lie? I have no reason to lie. To anyone. I am not afraid or trying to get anything.” Plus, I now have faith and courage. Yay,me, finally.

Some Letters

Angry letters I would write and send if not for recovery. I have anger, but it is not the boss of me. I let it teach me and then I get to practice taming it. Dear Dad, I experience little conscious memory of you, only of the raging in our house and you bringing home gifts of perfume or Brach’s Sour Ball Candies from your canteen at work. And that I resented you for making me different from others, in ways that couldn’t be masked-my name, my brown-ness, our weird food, my nose, our lack of traditional celebrations and trendy clothing. I recall with haunting clarity, the smell of your greasy pillow and that you rode a 10 speed and slaughtered Cornish hens in our home, ate lamb, rabbit, tongue, veal and calve’s kidney and liver—knowing it all broke my heart. Oh, and you enjoyed the beach. Aside from that, just fighting. Lots of fighting–but you were different from mom and sister. You always felt despair over screaming and being unreasonable or hurtful. You would often apologize. We are alike that way, the screaming and the apologizing. I am better about screaming and have learned what to and not to apologize for. Sometimes months go by and I have not thought of you at all, because whatever there was between us that made us tear at each other, is too painful to recall. Dear Mom, Your contempt for me, from as far back as I can remember was terrifying. I wished I could have felt some sense of safety, nurturing, or confidence in your care. Between you, your punitive and judgmental mother, and my sister, there was little chance of me, ever getting to know or love myself. What did you expect to become of me? Did you think you could shame and banish me out of being someone so terribly inconvenient and with needs to which you could not relate? If so, you deserve an award for your efforts. Too bad, it did not work out well for anyone, except Jilan. She scored much positive attention and traction, from just not being ME. Dear Female Sibling, The way you have touched and spoken to me is vile. Except for when you were being other Jilan, offering gifts and compliments, but even that was icky. Often you would ask what was wrong–but it was not in a compassionate way, it was in a scared probing way to see if I knew and understood what had been said or done. The thought of you touching my children makes me physically ill. The collective will of you and your mother, violates me as a daughter, sister, and mother of my children. The way you subtly smear and systematically alienate/pick off women (who dare to displease you–remember, you have bragged about this to me) in your life and work is repulsive. The arrangement you have with Randy makes my young sons feel conflict, angst, caught in the middle of things which they could have been spared. Shame on you. Yes you. For all of the stuff. You gossip and judge and shame others as if it is your calling. If it is, bravo. You are killing it, at those things. There is no zipcode, white suit, title, last name, or club that can fully conceal the truth of what you do and have done. Even having beautiful children is not proof of some level of goodness in you which nullifies the damage by your hand. Your Sisters in law,your cousins, Alison at your work, your aunt…. just to name a few. Patterns do not lie. Dear EX-H, When we first met, I loved the part of you that was confused and pained by the things done to you by your sisters that paralleled my own experience. I thought together we would make something better. Do you recall how your father cautioned you about the affect your sisters would have on us? Do you recall how you were always having to choose between your sisters and me…except for the two years in which we were close with Kendall and therefore banished by the other two? Do you recall how your sisters ignored us and baby Will at Christmas entirely and when you called them out, they said, “what he is only a baby, like he will even remember” It was sad and really unsurprising when after years of promising to want something better for our family you said to me “I will never change. There is nothing wrong the the way my family or I do things.” I can see that when I was crying about the dynamic with my sister and mother, you related more to them than to me. No truer words were ever spoken than when you said you would never change. May be the only promise to have never been broken—never changing. Sad. What I find most challenging are the moods that parallel my sister’s. The days or weeks of non-malevolence followed by underhanded and disruptive antics for no reason at all. These times are marked by zero eye contact or acknowledgment when I have spoken, as you did in marriage. And, because you are my children’s father, I will never fully detail or address the specifics of your choices which put your ego and will ahead of our magnificent children. There are some very relevant things that you should know, as co-parent. I am unable to share, because you consistently offer reminders, that you are not safe, unwilling to prioritize OUR family over yourself. You and I are raising beautiful boys and we both know full well that addiction is a real and present danger, for them. I do not understand how you knowingly, continually place them in situations that require them to disassociate or pretend. Oh wait, actually, I do understand–and it makes perfect sense. If I thought they would make a difference, I might write letters which instead, say for the zillionth time how willing I am to work

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

We'll figure it out together is a love language- Steve Maraboli Phototext

Rupture and Repair

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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.