At the ripe old age of 34 I am reliving trauma from my childhood in ways that I didn't think were possible. It's Spring of 2019 and sexual abuse is not longer taboo. It's being talked about and addressed in very public forums. I find myself disengaging in most conversations because even though, not only do I have a seat at the table of this conversation and should be one of the loudest voices, I am scared. I find myself muting my voice and quite literally saying nothing at all. It's as if I'm keeping a secret all over again. Except this time the secret is not only the abuse, but how it's rooted itself so deep that my closest friends and family seem to forget or dismiss it.
Maybe that's on me. I DO always seem to wear a banner of strength and armor of indestructibility every time I'm in a room. The weakness I experienced as a human needed to be destroyed somehow. I couldn't allow myself to continue to be weak, so I made myself an armor. It took quite a while to get it strong enough to be seen, but eventually it seemed to be all that people could see. I've actually lost friends over the past two years because I'm the "strong one" and seemed to have it together, so the need to support me was gone. I was left unsupported and had to figure out how to be strong on my own...again.
So now, here I am in an era where everyone's opinions are blasted across social media, publicly viewable and suddenly that old school tradition of not talking about politics and shying away from topics that may hurt someone you love, those don't exist anymore. Many times I have to stop scrolling or delete social media apps so that I don't unexpectedly come across the differing and harmful opinions of someone I trust.
Here is where it gets juicy. Here is where it gets real. I know anyone who reads my blog (which by the way; who are you guys? Does anyone read this anymore?) mostly appreciates the honesty that I write with and this is where it's starting:
My friends and family have vastly different opinions on whether or not we can/should still listen to the music of someone who is undeniably a sexual predator. My question for them is; "If my father had power and influence; would you still listen to his music?" The reality of this is that these men ARE someone's abuser. They HAVE stolen a LIFE from these men and women. My abuse started when I was NINE (the age of my daughter now...and that's a whole can of worms there). I am STILL finding new ways of staying healed. New depths to my healing. Because it doesn't stop. Whenever I learn about the abuses, I will and always will side and connect with the "victim" in the situation. And in doing that, NOT listening and supporting the predator is how I (again) silently support them. When someone I trust says that they "don't get it" or "don't care" I internalize that. To me that means that they "don't get" or "don't care" about how I'M being effecting.
I know this because someone from my immediate family told me that they "don't get" why I would live with my dad "if" he "did all that stuff" because they "can't come to understand why the fuck you'd do that." (And yes...that is a direct quote, I went back and took it directly from the text message). This person later went on to justify that they were simply "asking a question." Even in doing this, their harmful opinion was what mattered to them. Not how it effected me.
I know this because a family member from my dad's side asked me to stop publicly speaking about my abuse because it could be damaging to the family and family members. And I respected that for years. I silenced myself for years.
I know this because I have friends who share stories of someone else's sexual abuse and don't think twice about it being a sensitive topic for me. I know this because to everyone else, it seems like it's just another story to talk about, but for me, it's life. This is what I live every day.
I watch my oldest daughter turn nine and (my husband doesn't even know this) I cried in the shower the day of her birthday. Because suddenly she wasn't protected by the veil of childhood, at least not in my eyes. Because I remember what it was like to be nine. I remember what happened. I remember feeling afraid and powerless and like I had no where to go. So I would stare at the wall while my father forced himself against me and called it "hugging." I remember the first time I was violated and I tried to tell my mom that my stomach hurt so that she would come to my room and I could tell her that some monster had done something bad to me, and she sent in my dad. I remember my first sexual experience being at the hands of my biological father. And I remember that I didn't feel like a child anymore. And I was triggered to remember all of this every day because my daughter is now nine. And I have another daughter and she will turn nine one day.
And this is my life. And this is just a blip of some of the emotions and abuse roads that I have to navigate. Ones that I didn't think would exist. Because as children we are taught that when someone hurts you, you forgive and you move on. The move on part is a bit tricky and not one that people talk about. But that's where I am. Continually forgiving, continually moving on.
And if you're reading this and you feel certain parts are about you, maybe they are and maybe I was too scared to say anything because I've been taught that my role in all of this is to be silent. This was my way of staying silent, not to offend anyone DIRECTLY and PUBLICLY, but to anonymously address it so that maybe now you'll be more informed. No one knows about your offenses but me and maybe now you. I apologize if this hurts you, I apologize if I should have stayed silent a little bit longer, but I don't just want to take up space at the table anymore.
I'm speaking out. Please hear me.
Saturday, March 23, 2019
Wednesday, June 20, 2018
I'm Back...and Changed.
Life has happened.
Over a year has passed since my last blog and honestly, it was a bit intentional. My life has always been an open book (pun intended) and I wanted to make sure that my next moment in the spotlight of transparency was full...well, just full. Last summer I felt something was missing, especially after the miscarriage. Fast forward to this summer, I've found that my creative vibes were simply waiting on the completion of my family. That finish line came with our new daughter, Mila.
When I found out I was pregnant I didn't really believe it. I actually was in a form of denial all the way up until I was about 36 weeks pregnant and saw her (for the fourth time) in a sonogram. I didn't even have any of the baby stuff prepared. I failed to "nest" the way most moms do.
I know.
"How were you in denial when you were so damn big?!" Easy. My mental power has always been stronger than most. Even though my body was showing all the signs of pregnancy (and honestly was turning on me rendering me incapable of walking into work or up stairs), mentally I was so afraid that something horrible would happen that I wouldn't allow myself to really accept that I was having another child. Not until she, much like the other two, was ripped from my guts. As soon as I heard her cry, there they were. The tears of realization, pain, grit and relief. I hadn't cried when my first two were born. It wasn't because I didn't immediately love them, but life has given me multiple hard knock lessons and the one that I instantly learned when I heard Mila cry was that the struggles are ALWAYS worth the reward.
Pretty cliche right?
I loathe cliches, yet here we are. As a walking anomaly I usually try to steer clear of those lines you typically hear in all the self help books and Instagram hashtags, but in this case, I'll ride with it. Because I had a miscarriage. I've had multiple. My babies have died and that's more than a struggle. It's damage. Immediately that healed up little girl inside me began picking at her wounds and re-opening scars that had closed and I found myself taking a closer look at what "God had done to me." I got angry. I grew bitter. I was in the dark. Again. And now I wasn't alone in it. I had dragged my lover into the darkness with me, except he didn't even know or see it.
That's how pregnancy denial existed.
And now, less than two months after she has arrived, my final child, my baby, Mila Imani-Lynn, has given me the courage to step into the spotlight again. I feel super human. It's a strange feeling to release so much pain from losing a child, but still hold onto the child at the same time. I'll never replace the parts of my soul that are connected to those babies. I can almost see them in Mila. And because of this I feel invincible.
So hold onto your reading glasses and hot tea, because this summer, you're going to get some juicy reading material from yours truly.
Over a year has passed since my last blog and honestly, it was a bit intentional. My life has always been an open book (pun intended) and I wanted to make sure that my next moment in the spotlight of transparency was full...well, just full. Last summer I felt something was missing, especially after the miscarriage. Fast forward to this summer, I've found that my creative vibes were simply waiting on the completion of my family. That finish line came with our new daughter, Mila.
When I found out I was pregnant I didn't really believe it. I actually was in a form of denial all the way up until I was about 36 weeks pregnant and saw her (for the fourth time) in a sonogram. I didn't even have any of the baby stuff prepared. I failed to "nest" the way most moms do.
I know.
"How were you in denial when you were so damn big?!" Easy. My mental power has always been stronger than most. Even though my body was showing all the signs of pregnancy (and honestly was turning on me rendering me incapable of walking into work or up stairs), mentally I was so afraid that something horrible would happen that I wouldn't allow myself to really accept that I was having another child. Not until she, much like the other two, was ripped from my guts. As soon as I heard her cry, there they were. The tears of realization, pain, grit and relief. I hadn't cried when my first two were born. It wasn't because I didn't immediately love them, but life has given me multiple hard knock lessons and the one that I instantly learned when I heard Mila cry was that the struggles are ALWAYS worth the reward.
Pretty cliche right?
I loathe cliches, yet here we are. As a walking anomaly I usually try to steer clear of those lines you typically hear in all the self help books and Instagram hashtags, but in this case, I'll ride with it. Because I had a miscarriage. I've had multiple. My babies have died and that's more than a struggle. It's damage. Immediately that healed up little girl inside me began picking at her wounds and re-opening scars that had closed and I found myself taking a closer look at what "God had done to me." I got angry. I grew bitter. I was in the dark. Again. And now I wasn't alone in it. I had dragged my lover into the darkness with me, except he didn't even know or see it.
That's how pregnancy denial existed.
And now, less than two months after she has arrived, my final child, my baby, Mila Imani-Lynn, has given me the courage to step into the spotlight again. I feel super human. It's a strange feeling to release so much pain from losing a child, but still hold onto the child at the same time. I'll never replace the parts of my soul that are connected to those babies. I can almost see them in Mila. And because of this I feel invincible.
So hold onto your reading glasses and hot tea, because this summer, you're going to get some juicy reading material from yours truly.
Tuesday, April 25, 2017
Forgiveness without the Apology
I started my wide journey to forgiveness a long time ago. I say journey because forgiveness, to me, isn't a one time stamp on a relationship that lasts forever. It's ongoing. You have to exercise forgiveness, stretch it out in the morning before your coffee. Shake it awake in your bones. Make it flex to your soul. Forgiveness is an invisible blanket that becomes your super human cape before you face the roughest moments of your life.
When I learned how my forgiveness shape shifts, I learned the power I could have. I stopped making an apology the prerequisite to my forgiveness. Anticipating and waiting on apologies made my forgiveness conditional and out of my control. And if the forgiveness was mine, shouldn't it have been in my control? What I never expected was an apology.
Last week one came. Out of the blue, in an honest moment of openness and tight window of vulnerability...I received an apology. One from a door I had closed. I wasn't shaken to my core, I didn't cry out of relief. I simply accepted it. It seemed flawless, almost in the way that you allow a stranger to hold the door open for you when your hands are full.
I didn't allow it to let me open the door again, but finally, I could lock it. I didn't have to tend to the monsters behind the door anymore. The pain wouldn't sneak up on me, because now, it could be locked away. I didn't realize that would be an option for me. I was so accustomed to tending to my pain, applying bandages to the wounds and letting them air out with a good cry. Suddenly, the wounds were gone and I felt...light. Like I had an extra pair of wings. Funny how God works.
You never really know how you'll move in life, if it'll be skips over stones or if you'll finally be able to fly. It wasn't the apology that gave me wings, but the active forgiveness that I had been practicing. By the time the apology came, I was already trained to fly.
The apology made the air under my wings more powerful, but without it, I would still be free.
I would still fly.
I will always fly.
When I learned how my forgiveness shape shifts, I learned the power I could have. I stopped making an apology the prerequisite to my forgiveness. Anticipating and waiting on apologies made my forgiveness conditional and out of my control. And if the forgiveness was mine, shouldn't it have been in my control? What I never expected was an apology.
Last week one came. Out of the blue, in an honest moment of openness and tight window of vulnerability...I received an apology. One from a door I had closed. I wasn't shaken to my core, I didn't cry out of relief. I simply accepted it. It seemed flawless, almost in the way that you allow a stranger to hold the door open for you when your hands are full.
I didn't allow it to let me open the door again, but finally, I could lock it. I didn't have to tend to the monsters behind the door anymore. The pain wouldn't sneak up on me, because now, it could be locked away. I didn't realize that would be an option for me. I was so accustomed to tending to my pain, applying bandages to the wounds and letting them air out with a good cry. Suddenly, the wounds were gone and I felt...light. Like I had an extra pair of wings. Funny how God works.
You never really know how you'll move in life, if it'll be skips over stones or if you'll finally be able to fly. It wasn't the apology that gave me wings, but the active forgiveness that I had been practicing. By the time the apology came, I was already trained to fly.
The apology made the air under my wings more powerful, but without it, I would still be free.
I would still fly.
I will always fly.
Wednesday, March 29, 2017
Where it All Went: My Open Letter to my Dad
Disclaimer:
This is a personal, yet open letter. If you are afraid to read or don't desire to read, please do not scroll. I also ask that if you feel I should be quiet about abuse, please refrain from in-boxing or texting me to do so, because I will not comply.
Dear Dad,
I'm not really sure where to start. I haven't spoken to you in over three years. I see posts and sometimes see special things you've sent to my little sisters and I land on them for a while and allow my eyes to wander through tears and confusion until I am able to move on with my day. I've been wanting to send you a letter, but the last time I tried to reach out, you never responded. I wonder if you ask about me. Do you know I got a divorce? Do you know I'm married now? Do you know my husband's name? Do you wonder about the little girl you lost?
It's a strange thing really, to have a dad, but NOT have a dad. To feel disowned and confused as an adult. You defined so much in me and molded so much in my life. I don't even think you realize it. Sometimes I don't even want to realize it because I don't want to give you that power. I know you don't like to admit what you did and at this point I would never ask you to. I don't need validation from you, I don't really need anything from you. Not anymore. Maybe I did then. Maybe when I was lost and scared and you were the monster, maybe that's when I needed my dad. Where did he go? Was he ever there? I tend to over think our relationship...or not relationship. I give you credit for who I am today. And honestly, I probably shouldn't, but if you hadn't broken me so intensely I would have never known how strong I was. I wouldn't know that I could recover from anything. I would be weak. In a way, you forced me to be stronger. Stronger than you even.
Sometimes I get scared for my daughter. That maybe one day she'll ask about you. What will I tell her? Will she ever know you? What will I tell my son? Will he resent you? I have so many questions for you that I know will never be answered. A lot of them I've let go for the sake of my own sanity. Do you go a little insane from not knowing about me, the way I go a little insane wondering where it all went?
You'll never not be in my heart and that's a concept I've had to learn to function with. You are my father, but at the same time you're the root of all my brokenness. You planted this small seed of mental manipulation, abuse, and dependence that took me almost thirty years to break. I have moments sometimes where I blame myself for not being stronger when I was 15, for protecting you when I wasn't sure if you deserved it, but knew you needed it. Do you even know that I saved you when I was 15? Do you know that that's why I blame myself for where you are now? Maybe if I didn't save you, you could have gotten the "proper" help and it wouldn't have happened again. What happened to YOU, dad? When in your life did you lose your innocence? When did you know there was a monster inside you?
Here I am asking questions I didn't think I would. Don't worry, you won't ever see them, and you'll never have to face what you did. At least not to me. I hope you're saved now. I hope your demons have finally vacated your heart and I hope your mind is clear. I hope you know I forgive you. I forgive you for damaging my soul, for being so weak that you were used to destroy me, for not mending what you've broken, for lying to me and teaching me to lie to myself, for tainting my skin before it scaled away and revealed I was a woman and not a little girl, for ignoring me, for pretending that none of it happened, for being a better father for others than you were for me, for being there, for...not being there. I will always forgive you. Every day. I will remind myself that you are forgiven, that you have nothing to do with my successes but everything to do with my ability to be stronger than any man who has ever abused me. I will forever honor you on Father's day because you are who God saw fit to protect me and even though you failed, you provided me the tools to make my own armor and protect myself.
I walked alone on my wedding day and it was the tallest I've ever stood in my life. I walked without a father, without a man, without someone holding me up. I walked to meet a man who would hold me up for the rest of my life. I walked to meet my children who have birthed in me a love that is only possible when you call their heart your home. I earned my wings and you didn't even know. I was able to drop the armor for a day and be loved and you didn't even know.
I take you with me every where I go and in those bad moments I remind myself that I have forgiven you...even though you don't even know.
This is a personal, yet open letter. If you are afraid to read or don't desire to read, please do not scroll. I also ask that if you feel I should be quiet about abuse, please refrain from in-boxing or texting me to do so, because I will not comply.
Dear Dad,
I'm not really sure where to start. I haven't spoken to you in over three years. I see posts and sometimes see special things you've sent to my little sisters and I land on them for a while and allow my eyes to wander through tears and confusion until I am able to move on with my day. I've been wanting to send you a letter, but the last time I tried to reach out, you never responded. I wonder if you ask about me. Do you know I got a divorce? Do you know I'm married now? Do you know my husband's name? Do you wonder about the little girl you lost?
It's a strange thing really, to have a dad, but NOT have a dad. To feel disowned and confused as an adult. You defined so much in me and molded so much in my life. I don't even think you realize it. Sometimes I don't even want to realize it because I don't want to give you that power. I know you don't like to admit what you did and at this point I would never ask you to. I don't need validation from you, I don't really need anything from you. Not anymore. Maybe I did then. Maybe when I was lost and scared and you were the monster, maybe that's when I needed my dad. Where did he go? Was he ever there? I tend to over think our relationship...or not relationship. I give you credit for who I am today. And honestly, I probably shouldn't, but if you hadn't broken me so intensely I would have never known how strong I was. I wouldn't know that I could recover from anything. I would be weak. In a way, you forced me to be stronger. Stronger than you even.
Sometimes I get scared for my daughter. That maybe one day she'll ask about you. What will I tell her? Will she ever know you? What will I tell my son? Will he resent you? I have so many questions for you that I know will never be answered. A lot of them I've let go for the sake of my own sanity. Do you go a little insane from not knowing about me, the way I go a little insane wondering where it all went?
You'll never not be in my heart and that's a concept I've had to learn to function with. You are my father, but at the same time you're the root of all my brokenness. You planted this small seed of mental manipulation, abuse, and dependence that took me almost thirty years to break. I have moments sometimes where I blame myself for not being stronger when I was 15, for protecting you when I wasn't sure if you deserved it, but knew you needed it. Do you even know that I saved you when I was 15? Do you know that that's why I blame myself for where you are now? Maybe if I didn't save you, you could have gotten the "proper" help and it wouldn't have happened again. What happened to YOU, dad? When in your life did you lose your innocence? When did you know there was a monster inside you?
Here I am asking questions I didn't think I would. Don't worry, you won't ever see them, and you'll never have to face what you did. At least not to me. I hope you're saved now. I hope your demons have finally vacated your heart and I hope your mind is clear. I hope you know I forgive you. I forgive you for damaging my soul, for being so weak that you were used to destroy me, for not mending what you've broken, for lying to me and teaching me to lie to myself, for tainting my skin before it scaled away and revealed I was a woman and not a little girl, for ignoring me, for pretending that none of it happened, for being a better father for others than you were for me, for being there, for...not being there. I will always forgive you. Every day. I will remind myself that you are forgiven, that you have nothing to do with my successes but everything to do with my ability to be stronger than any man who has ever abused me. I will forever honor you on Father's day because you are who God saw fit to protect me and even though you failed, you provided me the tools to make my own armor and protect myself.
I walked alone on my wedding day and it was the tallest I've ever stood in my life. I walked without a father, without a man, without someone holding me up. I walked to meet a man who would hold me up for the rest of my life. I walked to meet my children who have birthed in me a love that is only possible when you call their heart your home. I earned my wings and you didn't even know. I was able to drop the armor for a day and be loved and you didn't even know.
I take you with me every where I go and in those bad moments I remind myself that I have forgiven you...even though you don't even know.
Thursday, February 2, 2017
My Miscarriage After My 32nd Birthday: "Are you okay?"
As a mother and co-parent, I have found it extremely difficult to "share" my children. It's not because I don't trust their father or his family, but because I've only had to share them for two years. The feeling is still new to me. I'm still adjusting to holidays and nights without them. Sometimes, I'll still wake up and feel them in the house and won't realize they're not home until I get to their rooms and see empty beds. Before our divorce, our agreement was 70/30 which meant I had them 70% of the time. Before that, their father and I were together and I was 100% in their lives. I went from being their number one provider to only having "access" to 50% of their lives (with our new custody agreement).
I've never really gone more than a few days without seeing them and even then, I'm a wreck waiting for them to get home. I still question when it will get easier, but right now, it's breaking me. The kids will be leaving in the morning to travel with their father and support him in a family emergency. I couldn't...I would never...say no to my children supporting and being with their father during a life changing moment, however, it doesn't make my time away from them any less painful.
Because on top of anticipating to be without them for almost a week, it's during a time when I needed my children and their love the most...because this week, I lost a baby.
When I was 17, I miscarried in my high school bathroom. And almost exactly 15 years later, I miscarried in the bathroom of the high school where I teach. When I was 17, I kept it quiet and dealt with it alone. I attempted to go work that evening. I cried in the back seat of my best friend's mom's car.
At 32, I tried to go back to work, but couldn't stay. I'm even going through the motions now. I lack focus because all I can think about is how I failed my husband. How my body betrayed me. I cried in the staff lounge in the office. I'm swallowing tears now as I attempt to seclude myself with headphones in the back of a class where students prepare speeches for a class I don't teach.
While the world goes on, I'm frozen in the loss of my baby.
I'm pained by the pending absence of my two children for so long because the truth is, right now, their dad might need them more than me. And moms...we are superhuman...we have super strength...we are iron...and right now, that's who I have to be.
I wasn't going to share this with anyone, I was going to let it be something my husband and I carried with us, but I don't want it to destroy me or the love we have. It's also important that his strength is shared. He's without a doubt, the best man I've ever met. When I was 17, the father of my baby refused to acknowledge more of what was happened. This week, those fears came back to me. I was afraid he would blame me for losing his baby. I was afraid he wouldn't trust me to continue trying to conceive. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to carry his child. What if this man who sacrificed his idea of a family, to embrace the family I had already made, wouldn't be able to have his own child because of me?
I'd be lying if I said I still didn't have those fears. My husband has been so supportive. Allowing me to feel my emotions while daily, "As long as I have you and the kids, I will always be happy with my life," he's constantly reassuring me that "it's okay." Such a simple phrase, but it consoles me to see the honesty in his eyes. That yes, it is okay.
For a handful of days he and I lived on this silent high where we planned the next 9 months out, talked about rearranging our room to be a nursery, pushed back plans to move, looked up OBGYNs, and talked about how to share the news. We never got to tell anyone. We never got to share it with the kids. I went from days of a natural euphoria to one day starting to bleed, a negative test (after 6 positives), and a silent personal hell.
I'm functioning. I'm going through the motions, but I end up at work and wonder how I got there because the whole ride all I can think about it how I've failed. How I need my kids to tackle me in love piles and Maliya to refuse to let my arm go, but now I won't have that for almost a week. In the moments when all I need is to be reminded that I am a good mom, my "motherhood" role will be across the country.
I'm "ok," if okay is an emotion. If okay is a state of being, that's what I am right now.
I know there is greater, I know there is light after this, I know the sayings, but right now, the best I can be is...okay.
I've never really gone more than a few days without seeing them and even then, I'm a wreck waiting for them to get home. I still question when it will get easier, but right now, it's breaking me. The kids will be leaving in the morning to travel with their father and support him in a family emergency. I couldn't...I would never...say no to my children supporting and being with their father during a life changing moment, however, it doesn't make my time away from them any less painful.
Because on top of anticipating to be without them for almost a week, it's during a time when I needed my children and their love the most...because this week, I lost a baby.
When I was 17, I miscarried in my high school bathroom. And almost exactly 15 years later, I miscarried in the bathroom of the high school where I teach. When I was 17, I kept it quiet and dealt with it alone. I attempted to go work that evening. I cried in the back seat of my best friend's mom's car.
At 32, I tried to go back to work, but couldn't stay. I'm even going through the motions now. I lack focus because all I can think about is how I failed my husband. How my body betrayed me. I cried in the staff lounge in the office. I'm swallowing tears now as I attempt to seclude myself with headphones in the back of a class where students prepare speeches for a class I don't teach.
While the world goes on, I'm frozen in the loss of my baby.
I'm pained by the pending absence of my two children for so long because the truth is, right now, their dad might need them more than me. And moms...we are superhuman...we have super strength...we are iron...and right now, that's who I have to be.
I wasn't going to share this with anyone, I was going to let it be something my husband and I carried with us, but I don't want it to destroy me or the love we have. It's also important that his strength is shared. He's without a doubt, the best man I've ever met. When I was 17, the father of my baby refused to acknowledge more of what was happened. This week, those fears came back to me. I was afraid he would blame me for losing his baby. I was afraid he wouldn't trust me to continue trying to conceive. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to carry his child. What if this man who sacrificed his idea of a family, to embrace the family I had already made, wouldn't be able to have his own child because of me?
I'd be lying if I said I still didn't have those fears. My husband has been so supportive. Allowing me to feel my emotions while daily, "As long as I have you and the kids, I will always be happy with my life," he's constantly reassuring me that "it's okay." Such a simple phrase, but it consoles me to see the honesty in his eyes. That yes, it is okay.
For a handful of days he and I lived on this silent high where we planned the next 9 months out, talked about rearranging our room to be a nursery, pushed back plans to move, looked up OBGYNs, and talked about how to share the news. We never got to tell anyone. We never got to share it with the kids. I went from days of a natural euphoria to one day starting to bleed, a negative test (after 6 positives), and a silent personal hell.
I'm functioning. I'm going through the motions, but I end up at work and wonder how I got there because the whole ride all I can think about it how I've failed. How I need my kids to tackle me in love piles and Maliya to refuse to let my arm go, but now I won't have that for almost a week. In the moments when all I need is to be reminded that I am a good mom, my "motherhood" role will be across the country.
I'm "ok," if okay is an emotion. If okay is a state of being, that's what I am right now.
I know there is greater, I know there is light after this, I know the sayings, but right now, the best I can be is...okay.
Wednesday, December 14, 2016
Trapped Inside: The Truth About Anxiety, Depression and Loneliness (Part 2)
...Plot twist; marriage doesn't solve your emotional issues.
There have been some very obvious and extreme life changes and transitions going on in my life in the past couple months.
It's amazed me the amount of people who have seen me after I got married and asked, "How IS it?!" as though marriage is this secret cult and once you get in everything changes and the masks are unveiled. Yes, there are some definite differences in comparison to what it's like to date someone long distance, but I've never experienced a more calm and peaceful partnership. With that being said....all my "problems" are NOT solved. Someone asked me, "What are you so anxious about? Shouldn't all that be over now that you have someone there to help you?"
I think a misconception about emotional turmoil is that all those waves and storms disappear with love. In the perfect world, sure, the Beatles were right; "all we need is love." But this world is far from perfection and a large crack in it is that emotional/mental struggles are perceived as easy fixes. That much like a cut, you can bandage it, prescribe a little meditation and POOF...no more anxiety. Love is the pillow of rest in my battle with anxiety and depression. Love makes it more tolerable, love slows down my brain, love comforts my mind during moments of worst case scenario movies. But love is not the root of my anxiety and because of that, love cannot fix my anxiety, it can only coat it in love ointment and allow time to go to work in its master field.
When I got married I knew that my emotional struggles with anxiety were not going to disappear and it's a little frustrating that a few people felt that it should have. Or that just because I struggle with anxiety that I'm not happy with my life. I promise you, if you were to ask ANYONE who has debilitating anxiety (the kind that sinks you into a daze mid-day and you obsess about things that don't even matter until they are replaced by alternate thoughts of things that don't matter) WHY they are anxious, they couldn't pinpoint just ONE thing that was causing it.
I'm aware that a lot of the reason why my brain works the way that it does is caused my childhood trauma. As a young woman in my twenties, I carried that trauma with me and never really slowed down long enough to allow myself to process the loss of a father in my life, the loss of security, and my need to be taken care of. Something happened to me on my 31st birthday at the beginning of this year. It was like I finally got the prescription I needed and I could finally see my emotional life clearly. I'm more aware of why I feel certain ways or why I behaved in certain ways when I was younger.
With all of this being said, not all problems are solved, but the emotional equations have become easier to understand. It's not always the easiest life to live when you're having mental warfare daily, but it's my life. I find solace in knowing that if I survived those wars so far, there has to be a greater purpose for me now. I'm extremely transparent, possibly to a fault, but I carry that "burden" with as much grace as I know is possible because somewhere out there, someone may stumble across my babbling and make sense of it and hopefully find a way to make sense of theirs as well.
Peace and Love.
There have been some very obvious and extreme life changes and transitions going on in my life in the past couple months.
It's amazed me the amount of people who have seen me after I got married and asked, "How IS it?!" as though marriage is this secret cult and once you get in everything changes and the masks are unveiled. Yes, there are some definite differences in comparison to what it's like to date someone long distance, but I've never experienced a more calm and peaceful partnership. With that being said....all my "problems" are NOT solved. Someone asked me, "What are you so anxious about? Shouldn't all that be over now that you have someone there to help you?"
I think a misconception about emotional turmoil is that all those waves and storms disappear with love. In the perfect world, sure, the Beatles were right; "all we need is love." But this world is far from perfection and a large crack in it is that emotional/mental struggles are perceived as easy fixes. That much like a cut, you can bandage it, prescribe a little meditation and POOF...no more anxiety. Love is the pillow of rest in my battle with anxiety and depression. Love makes it more tolerable, love slows down my brain, love comforts my mind during moments of worst case scenario movies. But love is not the root of my anxiety and because of that, love cannot fix my anxiety, it can only coat it in love ointment and allow time to go to work in its master field.
When I got married I knew that my emotional struggles with anxiety were not going to disappear and it's a little frustrating that a few people felt that it should have. Or that just because I struggle with anxiety that I'm not happy with my life. I promise you, if you were to ask ANYONE who has debilitating anxiety (the kind that sinks you into a daze mid-day and you obsess about things that don't even matter until they are replaced by alternate thoughts of things that don't matter) WHY they are anxious, they couldn't pinpoint just ONE thing that was causing it.
I'm aware that a lot of the reason why my brain works the way that it does is caused my childhood trauma. As a young woman in my twenties, I carried that trauma with me and never really slowed down long enough to allow myself to process the loss of a father in my life, the loss of security, and my need to be taken care of. Something happened to me on my 31st birthday at the beginning of this year. It was like I finally got the prescription I needed and I could finally see my emotional life clearly. I'm more aware of why I feel certain ways or why I behaved in certain ways when I was younger.
With all of this being said, not all problems are solved, but the emotional equations have become easier to understand. It's not always the easiest life to live when you're having mental warfare daily, but it's my life. I find solace in knowing that if I survived those wars so far, there has to be a greater purpose for me now. I'm extremely transparent, possibly to a fault, but I carry that "burden" with as much grace as I know is possible because somewhere out there, someone may stumble across my babbling and make sense of it and hopefully find a way to make sense of theirs as well.
Peace and Love.
Wednesday, June 29, 2016
What I've Learned from the Men in My Life
This year has been teaching me so much. Perhaps, in my old age I'm starting to absorb more things that simply allowing them to happen TO me. Something in me started to grow and command my attention when I turned 31 in January. Maybe it's the fact that I'm not on the precipice of my thirties, but actually IN my thirties now. There's no excusing my actions or timidness because "she's only in her twenties." I have more responsibilities to society and I'm more aware of them. With all of that being said, I have recognized my tendency to overthink situations. Like...think nine months in the future over think things. I have also accepted that overthinking is a characteristic that I will always have and I embrace it with open arms. Overthinking is what has brought me to writing this today.
Recently I was discussing my latest discovery of my power. We're all born with it and I believe that when God creates us He already knows who is going to be damaged, who will be broken, who is going to need extra power on reserve, and He installs it and programs it to be released on a per-determined date. That date for me was my 31st birthday. The day I realized I have this innate ability to move people with my words, but even more so, without saying anything at all; so many things started to make sense. I've also been able to recognize truth in the words of others. This brings me to what recent words have pushed into light for me.
In my years of trying to strangle, mash, and intertwine the arms of love I had somehow turned into the men who used me. My weapon of choice was my energy and words combined. I mixed them together and became a deadly weapon, a machine gun, and I managed to "shoot first and ask questions later." I fooled myself into believing that I could never treat anyone the way that I was treated but in reality, I suppose that's exactly what I had managed to do. For a period of my life I used men for emotional support. If I needed to vent, I would vent. If I needed to feel pretty, I would feed into what I knew was attractive to them and wait for the compliments. At the time I had no idea that I was doing it, but in hindsight, wisdom and a couple of my past love endeavors finally opening up to how they truly felt, I have no choice but to acknowledge it.
In a heated "debate" (we'll call it a debate because I don't really find myself arguing with people anymore), I was informed that a certain individual wished they "never met me," among other hateful words. Two years ago, that would have crushed me. I would have let those words soak into me for days and destroy me from the inside out. Not this time. I actually felt a little pity for that person. I have no choice but to believe that we are brought certain people in our lives during a certain time period for a specific reason. If I didn't understand that I would be damaged by every person who exits my life. The pity I felt was because this person hadn't grown and it was so evident in that moment that they didn't understand that they were supposed to grow from our interaction with each other. On the other side of that, I felt powerful. Like I had been suddenly let in on this secret that I HAD been the one to grow. That I was healing. I felt like a child discovering tooth fairy money and suddenly the world was mine to buy.
Since I was a little girl I've been damaged, abused, burned, and destroyed by men in my life and it's taken years of going through the process of healing for me to discover what was in me the whole time. It's a somewhat unnatural feeling to realize that all that pain and strife eventually became the driving force that makes me a dominant woman today.
So to all the men who have come and gone in my life, all the heartbreak and abuse, I'm glad to have met you and that you were in my life. Thank you for destroying the old me so that God could finally build the better me.
Recently I was discussing my latest discovery of my power. We're all born with it and I believe that when God creates us He already knows who is going to be damaged, who will be broken, who is going to need extra power on reserve, and He installs it and programs it to be released on a per-determined date. That date for me was my 31st birthday. The day I realized I have this innate ability to move people with my words, but even more so, without saying anything at all; so many things started to make sense. I've also been able to recognize truth in the words of others. This brings me to what recent words have pushed into light for me.
In my years of trying to strangle, mash, and intertwine the arms of love I had somehow turned into the men who used me. My weapon of choice was my energy and words combined. I mixed them together and became a deadly weapon, a machine gun, and I managed to "shoot first and ask questions later." I fooled myself into believing that I could never treat anyone the way that I was treated but in reality, I suppose that's exactly what I had managed to do. For a period of my life I used men for emotional support. If I needed to vent, I would vent. If I needed to feel pretty, I would feed into what I knew was attractive to them and wait for the compliments. At the time I had no idea that I was doing it, but in hindsight, wisdom and a couple of my past love endeavors finally opening up to how they truly felt, I have no choice but to acknowledge it.
In a heated "debate" (we'll call it a debate because I don't really find myself arguing with people anymore), I was informed that a certain individual wished they "never met me," among other hateful words. Two years ago, that would have crushed me. I would have let those words soak into me for days and destroy me from the inside out. Not this time. I actually felt a little pity for that person. I have no choice but to believe that we are brought certain people in our lives during a certain time period for a specific reason. If I didn't understand that I would be damaged by every person who exits my life. The pity I felt was because this person hadn't grown and it was so evident in that moment that they didn't understand that they were supposed to grow from our interaction with each other. On the other side of that, I felt powerful. Like I had been suddenly let in on this secret that I HAD been the one to grow. That I was healing. I felt like a child discovering tooth fairy money and suddenly the world was mine to buy.
Since I was a little girl I've been damaged, abused, burned, and destroyed by men in my life and it's taken years of going through the process of healing for me to discover what was in me the whole time. It's a somewhat unnatural feeling to realize that all that pain and strife eventually became the driving force that makes me a dominant woman today.
So to all the men who have come and gone in my life, all the heartbreak and abuse, I'm glad to have met you and that you were in my life. Thank you for destroying the old me so that God could finally build the better me.
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