Reflections on mental health, emotional suffering, and the ways chronic stress, deprivation, trauma, and abusive family systems have disrupted my ability to function, heal, and thrive.
My recent exchange with my mother awakened in me the exact “nature” of my lifelong experience, as her dependent and child. If I said I was cold, rather than a sweater, snuggle, or blanket, I was offered a reading of the thermostat as proof that I could not feel that way (if I were normal, worthy, and honest). When I reported hunger or need a restroom, similarly, I was reminded of having recently eaten or relieved myself, OR that I was just too fucken much. Support was available only when she shared the sentiment. When my experience differed, I was reported to be equal parts incorrect and troublesome. I literally learned to doubt myself at a cellular level. I was wrong about things, over which technically, I would be the ultimate authority: hunger, exhaustion, fear, sadness, cold, a full bladder. Right? (more…)
After nearly a year of NO Contact-My mother and I have a seat in her living room. Me: So, lets just get this behind us. What exactly are you confused about, regarding…
I am grateful for another brilliant hour of basketball spent with Keyaun and Zekaya. They are angels...wholesome badass mofos. My boys get so much good energy from being with them…
I read, re-read, and listen to all words written or spoken by Anne Lamott. Nearly two years ago, when I first moved here, I read about a project she did with a friend, Project Miracle. I believe it was from Bird by Bird. For Project Miracle, you commit with a Trusted and Willing Other, each day, before anything else, to email a list of things for which you feel grateful, even the shitty things. That turned about to be as challenging as it was fun, the shitty things for which to be grateful. The deal is- you each exchange lists but….no feedback allowed. This project may be the only ritualized part of my life to which I have fully committed, since our dislocation relocation. As I look back over my sent emails, I see how the act of ritualistically acknowledging and sharing my first thoughts has helped me to practice acceptance for unpleasant facts. The no feedback or responses policy allows me to express things like: I am grateful that my mother is not more unkind to me than she is. Because I don’t want a cheerleader suggestion to see it differently. That is my space for acknowledging painful truth, on my way to acceptance. Anyway, below are some items from recent emails: (more…)
