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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.

Six Things

Frankly, little mattered to me before motherhood. Life has has never, NOT felt incredibly difficult and unnatural for me. Having sensory issues is difficult. Even the smell and feel of foods I enjoy, can nauseate me. An avocado smear on a plate or worse, on my hand, gags me…and I really like avocados, provided I do not have to touch them outside of my mouth. I am not wired and regulated like a typical person. I can enjoy the taste of a food and be unnerved by the sight, smell, and feel of it. AND how I feel about a food is changing constantly, depending on how much rest, space, and exercise I get. I cannot bear the sensation of most anything on my hands. The feel and smell of the kitchen sponge or a wet dish towel stress me. I do not mean I dislike them because washing dishes is not fun, but my adrenaline surges when I handle things with my hands that feel bad to me or that have a smell that I dislike. The sensations stay with me even after the experience is over. I experience all things at a cellular level. Music with saxophone or a classical vibe make my heart race and adrenaline pump, fight or flight in full swing and don’t even get me started on opera. Repetitive or erratic sounds are also deeply troubling to me and I do not possess that dimmer switch in my brain, which would regulate how affected I am—-unable to tune anything out. I am sooooo overly tuned in, and being in the world with people and all of the stimulus can be too much. And I require time which is free from all stimulus to recover. Sleeping with a 17 pound weighted blanket in addition to my covers is immense comfort and relief, even when it is hot. The pressure and weight regulate and calm me. My bed is my favorite most safest place. I am sensory defensive. It is not a choice. I will leave the matter of my emotional intensity for another day, but let’s just say that is a whole other balla wax and it is a tough combination…but guess what….none of this makes me an asshole or a defect. I struggle to remain calm near given sources of sensory and emotional intensity. So, now I avoid them. Learning to parent a child with sensory integration issues, diagnosed at 18 months, along with my program of recovery taught me not only the value of, but the wisdom for how to seek serenity and to teach my son to do so without apology or shame. Less sensitive and more controlling people might call all of this pickiness or-just being a pain in the ass. To them, we offer space. We wear soft clothes with no tags, enjoy sitting beneath weighted blankets with no overhead lighting, minimal sounds, and smells. Limiting ourselves to small groups of trusted others is also a choice we practice making. We have two sweet rescue dogs, each of whom teach us daily about unconditional love, loyalty, and patience. It is a little hostagey at times and it is not completely clear who the hostages are in our home, us or the dogs,when I say us, I mostly mean me. One of the things that brings me joy, a sense of belonging and infinite connection is- inside jokes and situational nicknames that are wholesome and infinitely funny, like they will not ever get old. This insideyness did not exist for me with my family of origin or in my failed marriage, I was never inside. What I see now, is that if I am not free to cry and find comfort with you, I will never relax or relate enough to laugh deeply with you. Laughter is the balm! Good wholesome, silly and often sophisticated jokes tend to evolve, usually in moments in which somebody is expressing an objection. In chosen relationships, we all get to object and say no without it being a secret or a fight. I believe— this is what is referred to as genuine intimacy. Boundaries and laughter…YES!! I stopped drinking when I met my husband, because I wanted to love him. I wanted us to love each other, but it was hopeless and loveless, and when I drink I am more likely to speak truths that are otherwise too hard to say. I hated the way I felt with him, but it was familiar, the same feeling/love I experienced in my family. It was not the right kind of love for me. Maybe it wasn’t loveless, just not a love I wanted to keep trying to master or survive. I just returned from a work trip in which I fucked up and said something insensitive. I offended someone, innocent, but not harmless. I owned it and apologized but still feel sick from it and hope to not lose another night of sleep to it. I am still learning about how to be in the world. I am a work in progress.

When Bad Things Happen to Good People

I have been finding healing and comfort in re-reading and listening to When Bad Things Happen to Good People( a book I first borrowed from my mother, after my father’s passing ) on Audible by Rabbi Harold Kushner. Because the concepts of God, love, and forgiveness had been distorted, I am now getting to do what seems to be a lifetime’s worth of rigorous unlearning. I am an unchurched person, raised in a volatile home, in which religious people were mocked and judged, in which I was regularly shamed and humiliated in response to not knowing how to properly express my pain- by those whom I counted on for comfort and nurturing. Having been vested as the “sorry one”, each of those concepts became twisted, for me. Love was diminishing,conditional, and scary. God was for the ignorant. To forgive meant to pretend as if IT never happened or was a thing which only I sought, from those who expressed near constant disturbance by the actual being of me. If I were sorry or grateful enough, wouldn’t I just transform into someone entirely different? If I were good enough, God and my mother would favor me, but since I was not, pain and suffering were my due. When I claim to have been “vested as the sorry one”, my only sliver of hope was- to apologize and be deeply sorry for having and expressing difficult feelings as well as for causing all difficult feelings and behaviors of others. If done correctly, I might, for brief moments, be forgiven for being a total fuck-up at a cellular level. I would literally apologize for anything just to be exonerated for sucking so badly. I did not know how to stop sucking but I sure knew how to be sorry. Meanwhile, the only apologies I ever received began with the words “I am sorry that you feel______” or just “I am sorry that you______”. What recovery teaches me is that to be genuinely repentant is to own and amend behaviors that are harmful. See, I was apologizing for wrong things, for wrong reasons– all of the time. If part of an amends needs to be an apology, it should begin with the words “I am sorry that I____ and I will do better or I will not do that again. What can I do to make things better?” That is how compromised connections may be restored. But when there is no connection… As the scapegoat and black sheep, I later learned to practice bullshit crafty apologies to gain advantage in certain situations, intended to subtly diminish another person while taking myself off the hook…Someone had to be wrong and sorry while someone else got to be right and victorious. All relations were strained and volatile in this zero-sum game. I do not want a winner and a loser in my relationships. If I win, I don’t feel good about you and if I lose I don’t feel good about you and there is no WE or US, just me vs. you. That dynamic literally makes me ill. I am out. I decline. I choose connection with those who share the value. You need to win??? Ok, I forfeit. Bye. You want to pose as gracious/martyr and allow me to have my way…fuck that also….same situation. No, thank you. Not playing. You want to have a vulnerable conversation where we look at our own contributions, listen and ask what is needed? I am in 100%. In my healing journey, I have learned that all pain will be felt, the pain, we refuse to feel, we knowingly or unknowingly offload that onto our children, families, service providers. Pain demands to be felt. Anyway, Rabbi Kushner illuminates examples of how not all good people are rewarded and not all bad people are punished, or maybe that there are not bad people at all, just bad things. AND Not all rewarded people have been blessed and favored by God while broken and needy people are suffering God’s choice for them. God is not doling our punishments and rewards based on merit or need. What kind of God would that be? Glennon said it well last week, when she said “some of us are born on third base believing we hit a triple, while others stand outside the ballpark starving”. We are all children of God and we belong to each other. These are beliefs I find to be promising, wholesome, comforting. There are no such things as “other people’s children”. How could we possibly want so many good things for ourselves and our children and not want them for everyone? What makes people think that everyone is getting what they deserve? I think it is those people, very much who should thank their lucky stars that they have not gotten what they deserve. Very bad shit happens. People do and say bad things. Natural disasters happen. Those are not works of God. Miracles also happen–also not God’s work. People don’t get cancer because it is part of God’s plan, just as some do not heal or die from the cancer because God has elected that they do so. Proof of God is in the people who show up for us and with us to show solidarity, compassion, empathy, joy– the constant and intentnional message: You are not alone, punished, invisible. Our pains are real and undeserved. We are together and wanting the best possible outcome for each other. The gods of my first forty; were fear, rage, shame,guilt. I was full with those, counted on and driven by those, believing only in those things: in abundance and perpetuity. For some reason, I appear to be the only one in my family of origin for whom this culture did not work. I thought that was because I was an asshole troublemaker. Right? And later, I sure did behave in assholey troubling ways….just doin what I knew, being sorry, punitive, ashamed, angry—the differentiator was that it all made

Check Your Self- Sometimes You Are the Toxic Person

I love knowing that if I am willing to see where I have failed, hurt, or harmed, I get to learn from and transcend that. I knew I had to file for divorce as my husband and I were arguing and he said to me, actually declared: “There is nothing wrong with me or the way I do things, I will never change.” Certain that these were the truest most honest words he had ever spoken to me, I shuddered; wow–if I had to stay the same forever, I would kill myself, right now. Like plants, we are either growing or dying…but maybe for some, growing has more to do with size and power. I am here to learn, grow and change. What else could be the point? I attributed that to me being effed up and him-not at all. His emotional vacancy/composure had always confused me for emotional stoicism and maturity. Either way, our marriage was officially no longer a promising or safe space for either of us. Me desperate for change and him committing to NEVER. If it is ever safe and prudent, I would love to share with him all of the ways I now see how I was unfair or unreasonable, even unkind. But I was arrogant and broken mostly believing I too, needed to be right. More than anything, I needed to be connected and have at least one shared truth between us, besides that “I was the problem and if I found the right tactics, level of horniness, reverence for him and his sisters, therapy, that we would be ok.” With two little guys watching and learning about life and love from us, I could not abide. Devastated, I filed for divorce the following day. I could list countless unfair and damaging things he has said and done to me. But it will get me no-where. As I was raised, if you shared those things enough times with enough people, you could get people on your side and be right. Oh yay. and then…. In recovery, I learned to look at myself, my patterns, my beliefs, my reactions. I learned to take responsibility for those things and to no longer assume or accept responsibility for the behaviors of others. Recovery definitely results in sick relationships dying natural deaths. When you check yourself and keep your side of the street clean and own your shit, there is nothing to fight about. And when there is nothing to try to be right about, in these relationships, it goes silent. And that is hard AF. Because unhealthy engagement, for so long, posed as connection. But it was really entanglement and no longer would be counted for anything but a source of hopeless pain. I have learned to surrender that entanglement, one day at a time, applying the tools and principles of my program. Recovery connects me with others on a spiritual path, but also divides me from those too uncomfortable with with the constant and rigorous emotional honestly that is an essential term of engagement. Emotional honesty: doing wholesome things for wholesome reasons with wholesome attitudes(or maybe even a knowingly unwholesome attitude before you are feeling it but doing it anyway since we can no longer let our feelings lead us). Emotional honesty is transparency of purpose, full disclosure. Not everybody is ready for that. I became ready, only after I watched my marriage to a man, who was nearly identical morally and emotionally to my mother and sister, crumble. The end became clear as I no longer was willing to fight,pretend, or soldier through sex. Without those dynamics, there was nothing but resentment and division of labor between us. This is not how my boys would learn about love, partnership, and marriage. During our marriage, my husband’s sister’s were in and out of our lives. This was difficult for him. Because he submitted to them and I would beg him to stand up for himself or our family and then they would fall out after he expressed a boundary or discontent OR we would fight because he expected me to submit to them. He has one sister they all pretend does not exist (when they are not discussing all the ways she got herself on the outside of their group). With 3 aunts taking turns being in and out of their lives, there seemed no good reason to mention to our sons that they had another one here in NC. Wanting to preserve their innocence and keep them from the reality of conditional love, was doable before divorce and our move East. Now our sons have 2 conditionally loving aunts on dad’s side and one on mine. And the one with the soul, whom we were close to while their father and been banished by the two others, is an unmentionable. It is heartbreaking. I hope our sons will know her again one day. She and their dad were very close, growing up, but ultimately, she had less to give him in later years and so aligning with sisters who had more $$ to offer is what he chose. He could never seem to have his two sisters and me close at the same time. AND Never the other sister and the two sisters at the same time. Triangulation is part of his tradition and programming. I worry how our sons may unknowingly adopt triangulation as a way of managing. I believe their father is the more evolved of them all. But change is hard and he feels punished and inferior when he is not being overtly praised and rewarded by those vested with the powers to reward and punish. I sense, he is at times, for moments, changing for our sons, probably not intentionally, but still. He needs to be perceived as right, perfect, and in charge or favored. That opposes every spiritual teaching and all that I value in my core. I believe in equals and connection, maybe not possible in the world

Mental Health–We all have mental health.

It is exhausting to observe people pretending as if we all come into this world with the same chances. We do not. Our wiring, brain chemistry, genetics, upbringing, community, talents, strengths, lack of identifiable talent or strength, connection, disconnection. How can so many people insist that all people should be able to bootstrap their way out of depression? Boot strap your way out of cancer, ok? To suggest this, is offensive, ignorant, harsh, and perpetuates the shame and stigma. It is more natural for people to judge and to shame/blame than it is to have compassion and to ask “but what is needed, what can I do?” If you blame and shame, there is nothing left to do–you are off the hook. If a woman as educated, talented, happily married, and successful as Kate Spade can not find peace, comfort, hope or reason to hold on for another day, it is worth considering what might be like for those without any of those trappings– shackled and maybe even defined only by mental health issues that are too shameful to mention and too costly to address. I believe Kate Spade’s suicide is fueling the much needed dialog around mental health awareness, as much as her talents impacted the world of fashion and style. It is my hunch that millions of women seeking refuge in the illusion of perfection that the impeccable Kate Spade style and brand offer, these are women who may be likely to judge themselves as harshly as they do others. But, maybe now will come a willingness to consider looking through a new lens; of intentional interest and compassion at those who struggle. Today at my older son’s elementary school graduation, I began weeping at the onset of the ceremony, melting as the Special Ed Students received their certifications. The gravity of my compassion and (I admit) gratitude for the fact that our children are functional, felt crushing. God bless those teachers, parents, and children. Life is difficult AF—even when you are Sensational Kate Fucken Spade. I cried at how my innocent lil guy is and how hard he tries at all that he does, so lovable and and, funny, and hardworking. I cried as he stared directly into his dad’s eyes as he was singing the tribute song. It was one intensely beautiful moment after another. I wept and am now spent and I cannot help but wonder how the fuck I made it out of a family who would judge and sneer at my persisting emotional intensity. Asking me and each other if maybe there may be “something” I can take for THIS. I feel it all, all of the time. Being judged, banished, and gossiped about for feeling the wrong things at the wrong times for the wrong reasons really fucked me up. THEY they claim I am a historical revisionist refusing to remember the good. But maybe it wasn’t that fucken good for me. Maybe my experience and wiring are different and not wrong. I could not experience and enjoy anything because I was terrified about when I might have my next wrong feeling. For that, I was directed to lighten up, quit being such a sourpuss and frequently asked “Why must you ruin all things?”. Clearly, I do not relate to any part of Kate Spade’s existence– except for this one very big thing, the daily battle to feel ok and to show up even when I do not. Sometimes life is too painful and difficult and feels utterly hopeless. I pray, that as I enter into my 50s, I do not experience the added bonus of hormone intensified anxiety and depression. I will say this unapologetically, anytime to anyone: “If there is a pill, therapy, or program that helps to strengthen and support my thrive, count me in. If there is a person, place or thing that threatens that, count me out.” I love you Kate spade. I am sorry for your pain and your struggle and grateful that you have fanned the fires of this conversation. More people will be willing to look and listen differently now. NOW–as we acknowledge the loss of another mighty warrior to mental health issues. Be free. You dont have to suffer anymore. You are still helping people and making the world a better place. The world is better because you were here.

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.

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Self Love

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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.