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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.

The Part Where You Fucked Up

The tribal tension in our country right now is a perfect parallel to the dynamic of my family of origin- overflowing of remarkable efforts toward rightness and to victory, rather than goodness/kindness. Right in this context, referring to triumph and domination. As if winning and dominating are evidence of truth and goodness. In my journey of recovery guided by daily commitment to spiritual striving, I seek only to practice living and doing with a glad and pure heart. I can be fairly good at that AND do not deny the angry part of my heart that wants to punish, shame, and illuminate the non-goodness which I perceive as being forced upon my sons. I own the reality of that anger and contempt. I hold myself accountable, spiritually– not just to speaking with factual accuracy but for intentionally examining motives for myself, my children and others. This blog is not just to assert my own goodness and virtue in stark contrast to someone else’s badness but to chronicle my journey towards living a more wholesome life– not more wholesome than them- but more wholesome than what I have experienced, witnessed, and done in the past. I am a work in progress. I am staying close only to those, who, through action, model and teach loving kindness; not to be confused with favoritism or flattery. Kindness is not selective. Kindness just is…anything less—Refer to the meme. It is never to late to amend. With two young sons to shape and guide, I feel continually assaulted by the horsehsit models of love and goodness coming from the other side. Goodness is rooted in humility. And what I observe and resent, is arrogance and betrayal, dressed up in parties, smiles, well set tables, awkward flattery and favoritism, inappropriate hugs, and the denial. Behaving as if this is what “family” and “love” do. Family does not equal love–kindness does. By my definition, love and family are honest, they own the harm they do, have hard discussions and share the work of healing and mending. My boys gathered with my ex and his girlfriend, around a table with my sister and mother who have fouled me with lies to me and about me, insults, hardships which they righteously impose–while acting as if all is well –requiring children to dissociate from their mother and themselves is wrong and harmful. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually, they are harming children. My ex loves this arrangement, because he feels chosen, special, and preferred(flattery and favoritism totally work for him–the main currency). Like even after all the bullshit he brought down on our little family, my sick family’s enveloping of him is proof of my badness. Their collective sickness is unbearable to me. My wise friend Anna is like, why do you care if they spend time together, it makes perfect sense—yay—the assholes chose each other, of course they did, and do so at your expense. But it is at the expense of my children. The disregard for them is beyond reproach. Their performance as family, having the numbers– to them is a win and proof of rightness. This may confuse small children. I will object for all of my days. Hopefully, with less laser focused dedication, at some point. What this text meme reminds me of, is the fake humility which for so long defied articulation. In my family and marriage, they will go over the top, apologizing for traffic, burnt meat, forgetting to shut the door or running out of wine. But NEVER acknowledging or admitting to an error in judgment- words spoken or actions taken in haste or anger. NEVER. They literally have never in my experience acknowledged their contributions to tension or havoc resulting from their CHOICES. Either justified or oblivious. #wtf I have always been the apologizer. The sorry one. In both my family and marriage. Sorry that I experienced bad feelings or behavior and sorry I for causing bad behavior and feelings in others. What bullshit…participating in the sickness like that. I am sorry for other people’s harsh feelings and behaviors, but not cuz I am fucking responsible. Just because they are unfortunate and you cannot help but feel something like sorry, if you have a conscience or a soul. If we learn and grow primarily from mistakes, what does that mean for people who do not recognize themselves as people who make mistakes? Traffic, meat burning, and leaving the tooth paste lid off or toilet seat up are not bad choices—no apologies are necessary or helpful here. How about— I am sorry I said that. I am sorry I said or did that ??? Ranting time of month. Sorrrrrrrrrry. But I simply cannot say or hear it enough: Kindness is not conditional or preferential or exclusive. Masking non kindness in gatherings, gifts, or compliments intended to elevate one while diminishing another is both sick and sickening.

The Smiling Poop Emoji

A pile of poop with a smile, is still poop. Sunday’s sermon began with the smiling poop emoji on both of the teleprompter screens. The visual presentations were prefaced with, “If I could find a way to best describe this past year, it would be this (the emoji). I lost my father suddenly to cancer and miss him terribly, our son is struggling with anxiety and depression and my sister in law has moved in with us, heartbroken and confused by a troubled marriage. And day after day, I paste on a smile and assure anyone who asks, that all is well, that my family and I are doing wonderfully.” Shane went on- “I realize that I can no longer pretend the mess is not there AND at the same time, work to grow and heal from it. And I can not do this alone. I have stuff in my life that is not going well, which is causing me despair–in whom do I trust to share?” For him, it was God, and also a friend. The sharing is the first step to coming out of denial. For a moment, the poop emoji left the screens and was replaced by these words: “Acknowledge the mess. Do your best. Let God do the rest.” I love this!♥ Shane continues: “I know that I am at my best when I rely on god to help me with the mess. Working and growing through the messes is the way to our best lives.” When effort is directed at putting a smiley on the poop, we teach others that it is not safe to share with us, because we are not fit to acknowledge or deal with poop without judgment. Having the courage and faith to heal, is not only the way to our best lives, it is the way to genuine connection—being able to share the poop, handle the poop, cry and collectively pray over the poop is what people who are intimately connected and spiritually growing, get to do, TOGETHER. I shared my understanding of the sermon with my sons, explaining to them, that in my experience with my family, we were not able to ever connect in this way, the handling of the poopier parts of life. My unyielding need to do so, was an offense to their merciless need to NOT. I cannot put a smile on the poop and pretend it is not there, not stinky and not troublesome. I just cannot. This is the key to functioning in both their father’s family and my own. Everyone wears smiles and moves on as if… They consider this moving on, as evidence of strength and positivity. Anything other–gets labelled as negative, weak, and ungrateful- shaming any soul, unfortunate enough to openly struggle or suffer. They have a clever way of discussing people with unmasked feelings, they do it as though they are expressing pity, which is not as wholesome it is intended to appear. What they are doing, commonly referred to, as priming the pump, initiating a campaign to create doubt and discomfort with those afflicted in this way. The service left me feeling deeply the goodness and love of the people in my life and also reminding me of the stark contrast to those to whom I am related. My sister’s nagging and tenacious pursuit for connection TO my ex-husband and OUR children still affects us deeply as two divorced people who are meant to co-parent and work for the best of our children. The versions of love and strength(poop with a smile) they model for my children is literally soul-sickening. The forced betrayal and hugging is awful. I tell my boys it is ok to say NO and they insist it is not, because that will anger their father. Ugh. I dont care if you’re family or friend, old or young, if my kid does not want to hug or kiss you, then that is that’s that. I won’t be encouraging or bribing them. Their body, their choice. This led us right into more intensity and heavy sighing by my boys, as I forced them to endure my mini-rant about the difference between peacemaking and peace-keeping. I do intend to raise peacemakers who will be driven by wholesome values like courage and kindness, more than the opinions of others. Another reason I felt called to think of female sibling. I try hard not to: We have all seen and used and laughed about this poop emoji. #allofus In our home, we shake our heads at a recurring performance by my sister regarding the swirly poop, recognized by those aging from 2-99, for what IT is. My sister who wears only angelic white loves to report how she is mortified to have mistaken IT a Hershey Kiss and was sending it to people. I relayed this to my friend Trish, who exclaimed “Oh Okay, you are almost fucken 60, backdooring your sister, and still so pure and innocent you don’t think poopy thoughts when you see a poo emoji…and you are so terribly embarrassed by THIS– that you share that story at every opportunity”. My sons have reported now, twice in 6 months, being subjected to the “Ohmygaw y’all- I am so embarrassed because I had mistaken that poop emoji as a Hershey Kiss”-story. Yesterday, my older son text me from the school bus that he had to go poo and we just laughed at the foolishness. He is wise to that shit.

Grandma’s Favorite—awww so sweet, y’all

This post is taken directly from how.i.rebuilt.myself. The “me too ” which I feel when I read her posts is priceless-helping survivors heal, one post at a time. Fake chivalry of the covert man. He’s the neighbourhood favourite – will jump start your car, run an errand for your sick wife while you’re on a business trip and hold doors open for old ladies. He’ll leap to his feet if a woman is moving a chair or a multipack of soft drinks at a bake sale or barbecue. As you’re getting to know him, you’ll see all this and think he’s a treasure. So will your family and friends. But later, behind closed doors, you’re the one carrying the burdens to the point it’s affecting your health (and finances), while yearning for the attention and affection which is now a distant memory. Every now and then he’ll put on a show but something is ‘wrong’ (cooks you a ‘nice’ meal but leaves you with extensive clearing up while he watches TV, spends Saturday fixing something that doesn’t need fixing when you said you wanted time together) but how can you complain? If you mention you feel lonely and overburdened he’ll shut down – you’ve hurt his feelings, you terrible person! – and the guilt will consume you. Or he’ll offer wonderful words that aren’t followed by any changes – or gaslight you about your mental state under the guise of caring/concern. Play along and you might never know what you’re dealing with, though your insomnia and panic attacks are a clue – but try to leave or stop giving him free benefits and you’ll soon find out that grandma’s favourite is a very different type of beast. [Note covert women/femmes also have the pattern of using gender paragon behaviour – so sweet and warm and giving! – to hide their true selves. It’s one reason I’m passionate about gender freedom. Perfect, paper-doll embodiments of this or that gender don’t exist and to my mind are usually hiding something (abuse victims sometimes appear in this form too if conditioned into a role out of fear) whereas virtues of kindness, honesty and courage are genderless and go beyond window display.

Thank Good Gods

The words below are cherry picked straight from Jen Hatmaker’s post on IG today. They speak directly to my heart and make clear for me the difference between those I am genetically linked to and those with whom I am spiritually linked. I see, that with the models of love and loyalty which I was provided, why I could be so edgy, vicious, righteous, and menacing. I am beyond remorseful and will spend all of my days amending the things I can. I WAS a beast, learning what I lived and living what I learned. I cannot help but shake my head in horror and disbelief at what continues. Thank all of the good gods for unlearning. It is never too late. I am breaking the cycle. Click anywhere on the quote below to read Jen’s entire post. Anything other than a radically inclusive faith that honors the dignity of every person makes no sense to me. I cannot find any other road through my faith than one that condemns abuse, neglect, exclusion, and dominance. Nothing else makes sense. This post prompted by my ex and his new girlfriend hosting my mother and female sibling for dinner. Wrong for so many reasons. And for my boys getting reprimanded one more time for resisting hugs from women who do this to their mother. They have no choice about showing up for this…but really, telling young boys that forced and unwanted touching is not only ok but required. No means NO. My boys reported feeling disturbed by the usual all white suit(so angelic and pure), the house warming gift to their dad from her and her over the top fawning, apparently worse when her husband is not present. Ugh. Please stop. So awkward– forcing yourself on small boys and grown ones. Nobody likes it. At all. It is yucky. And Good News: It is never too late to stop. Ever.

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

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I'm not angry. I'm overwhelmed.

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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.