war·y adjective feeling or showing caution about possible dangers or problems.

Last week I got a new tattoo, just the word wary. And the story that lead up to me getting it is a little bit funny but very telling how deceptive anxiety came be. I have a friend who told me the word wary really resonates with them and I really couldn’t relate to it for me or that person.  Rewind like a year ago, I was submitting my insurance reimbursement forms and I saw that my diagnosis is PTSD, anxiety and OCD. To be honest,  I was shocked so at my next therapy I asked her if I had anxiety and OCD, of course she responded with a yes. I was floored. I don’t have rituals and I have normal worries being a mom and a woman.  After my appointment I wondered if anyone else knew this about me. I asked the people close to me if they thought I had anxiety. And yes, they all said without a doubt that yes I had anxiety. And were not surprised about my OCD diagnosis as well. My therapist apologized for not telling me sooner, saying “I assumed someone had told you in your other therapies.” Nope. No one, every therapist told me I was “normal and well adjusted.”  I spent the next few months thinking about this. Thinking about what an anxious OCD person does. And one day, I realized I am wary, I am anxious, I am OCD. And that I was so deep in my anxious obsessive thoughts for so long that I didn’t know there was any different way. 

When I pack for trips, I pack all the things, because, what if I am cold or hot or what if that sweatshirt I packed gets dirty and it's the only one I feel comfy in. What if I get bloated and my cute jeans don't fit right so I pack all the leggings. What if I feel ugly or fat in my go to outfits. What if it rains. What if the Heating/AC breaks. What if we stay longer. What if we are going to be outside more that I thought. What if we go somewhere fancy. What if something rips. I also pack so many pairs of shoes, comfy, flip flops, sneakers, slippers, boots and a dressy pair, A weekend trip unusally involves all the things, it looks like I have packed for a month, or I coud move in somewhere. Because I am afraid of forgetting something and just not having it.

I don't know if there has been a day since I was I got my peroid that I have been without some kind of pad or tampon. I carry them in my purse, my gym bag, my glove box and my trunk. I am so worried I am going to get my period when I am not supposed to, or be completely unprepared for a heavy flow.

I do laundry 1-2 times a day because I am worried that I won't have the option for a piece of clothing and will be stuck being itchy and uncomfy.

I don't like my sink to be full of dishes. I love the dishwasher and don't really like hand washing because I know the water is hot enough to kill bateria. Same with the washer. Everything is scorching hot. I love paper towels, because I know that they aren't carrying bacteria like the dish towels.

Every day I fight the urge to be okay with disorder and chaos. I also notice now that when I am having a bad day, I turn to baking and cleaning, something that I can follow instructions and finish, that's beautiful and complete. 

Every morning I think about the possible tragedies, how to prepare for them, how to prevent them. I like to see doors and exit signs, I like knowing my safety roots. I am always checking my safety.

I love making my bed because it feels so methodical and perfect when I am finished, it brings me much comfort and satisfaction. And when I go to bed at night, it's like I am opeing a gift just for me.

Except at night is when my anxity takes over. It's where my brain reminds me of all the uncertainies of the world, it reminds me of all the things I don't have control over and won't have control over. To the point of feeling doom. My heart starts to pound and there is a warming from my center out but as it's happening my limbs feel cool, almost cold. It's an overwhelming feeling that feels almost impossible to shake. It's paralyzing. It makes me feel out of control. I don't know how to control these thoughts. I don't know how to stop my brain from telling me to control what I can't control (the usual death, pain, suffering). My brain is like a drill sergeant, asking me to fix things, to answer questions that can't be answered, done over night or on my own, but it demands it anyways. It demands that I fix it or it won't let me sleep. I worry about not getting enough sleep to deal with the next day and I remember to do some deep breathing, sometimes a walk around the bedroom or some writing and then I can get back to sleep after a few hours.

I don't know how I didn't know I didn't have anxiety and OCD. Because now, it's all I see. I see it in every decision I have made for as long as I can remember. It ran the Kristy show for so long. It was so deep that I didn't know any other way. 

So, Wary, is me. Perhaps I am the most wary-est person on the planet. This tattoo is a reminder to me of that moment when I realized how it ran my life and that it still has a place in my life but it no longer runs the show. 
 

"The only time we suffer is when we believe a thought that argues with what is. When the mind is perfectly clear, what is is what we want." -Byron Katie

"Don't believe everything you think." -unknown

“Always trust your gut, it knows what your head hasn’t figured out yet.” Anonymous

You are not the sum of your mistakes.

I am about to tell you something you probably already know. Here it is, You can still be a good person even if you’ve made mistakes or did something mean or bad. I didn't know this. I mean, I knew it for other people but not myself. Like, I just realized that I am not a bad person because I made some bad decisions in my life.  I know, you probably already knew that.

Last weekend was particularly difficult, I was processing the dental visits and sharing very personal feelings and being extremely vulnerable with a friend and I upset some people that I love. I confided in a few friends and was reassured I was a good person. But when I think about my life in this way, it's almost like a Kristy score sheet. One side tallies the bad things I have done (like calling my aunt a fat puss) and the good things I have done. Its like I have this idea that I can't be a good person if I have too many tallies on the bad side. And for some reason the bad tallies seem much more heavier, they hold much more meaning that the good things.  I am constantly evaluating who I am based on this score sheet. For every time I have heard you are good person, you're pretty, you're nice, you're smart, you're sweet, etc this score sheet comes out with a memory of when I wasn't acting like one of those things comes out and just reminds me I have done crappy things, I haven't been pretty, I am not good.  It's like I can't let go of the times I was less than. There's a part of me that just won't let me be think nice things about myself. I talk to my therapist all the time about why I feel like a bad parent or family member or friend and she's always saying that since I think about it, I can't be as terrible as I think I am. I am still at this part where I am struggling with knowing I am good.

I know that everyone makes mistakes, everyone had done crappy things and they aren't all the mistakes they made. But it doesn't translate to me. I mean, until now, it's starting to translate. There is some forgiving going on inside me. I don't what for or who, but it's starting. 

“We are all mistaken sometimes; sometimes we do wrong things, things that have bad consequences. But it does not mean we are evil, or that we cannot be trusted ever afterward.” - Alison Croggon

“Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes.”  - Mahatma Gandhi

“To err is human, to forgive, divine.” - Alexander Pope

“Don't confuse poor decision-making with destiny. Own your mistakes. It’s ok; we all make them. Learn from them so they can empower you!” - Steve Maraboli

“Well, we all make mistakes, dear, so just put it behind you. We should regret our mistakes and learn from them, but never carry them forward into the future with us.” -L.M. Montgomery
 

Dear Mom.

Dear Mom,

Despite all the things, I love you. I miss you. But there some things I have to say to you. 

You left. You never came back. You stayed away. You started a new family. You got cancer and died. That day 3 decades ago when you left, I would have never known that I that would have never seen you again. I thought you'd always come back. You promised you would.  I feel sorry and sad for you often. But today so much feels mixed up and confusing. And I am upset with you. 

You weren't there for me when I had to change schools and struggled to make friends.

You didn't listen to me practice the oboe and all the concerts I was in. You weren't there to talk to me about boys and my first boyfriend or to take to the gynecologist for birth control. Or to tell when I got my first menstrual period and buy me pads or chocolate.

You weren't there when I made bad decisions with friends and almost got suspended.

You weren't there when I played softball.

I couldn't go running to you when I was being made fun at school.

You weren't there for my 13th birthday or when I took my drivers test and got my license. 

You weren't there to watch me graduate high school and start college.

You weren't there when I turned 18 or 21 to celebrate me. 

You weren't there when I got my first job with benefits and when I bought my first car.

You weren't there to comfort me when I was rear ended.

You weren't there for my first broken heart or when I moved to Boston to be with a man. 

You weren't there to help me move back home and start over when it didn't work out. 

You weren't there when I got engaged and the day I got married and bought a house and you won't be there when I get divorced.

You weren't there when I paid off my debt on my own.

I didn't get to tell you that I was pregnant. You weren't there when I became a mom to a beautiful girl and when you became a grandmother.  You weren't there when I had my amazing sweet son. You didn't throw me a shower. Or comfort me when felt like a failure. You will never attend a birthday party for my kids or their games or concerts. They will always know about you but you never knew them. You missed so much. But most of all I missed having you around for all the moments, the good, the bad and the ugly. I'd also love a hug from you too. 

You had more kids, you made best friends with wrestlers, had a gambling day with Rob Lowe. You had boyfriends and made a best friends daughter your granddaughter. You got cancer and beat it. Then you got cancer and you passed away. And I am sure so much more in between. And I was never there for any of that. 

I miss you so much. I wish I would have just said hello those few times I called or sent those letters. I wish you would have found me. You weren't the best but you were my mom and I love you. 

Every wish I made was to see you again. 

Your daughter, 

Kristy

“In a child's eyes, a mother is a goddess. She can be glorious or terrible, benevolent or filled with wrath, but she commands love either way. I am convinced that this is the greatest power in the universe.” - N.K. Jemisin

 “The best place to cry is on a mother’s arms.” —Jodi Picoult

I am not perfect and for that I should be loved.

My goals for 2018 are to continue self care like exercising my body and mind regularly, getting on top of my health and eating well. In the beginning of the year I took a day and made phone call after phone call, making appointments for doctors and the dentist. It has been 9 years since I have been to a dentist and I am embarrassed to admit this. I was discouraged to go regularly because of money and the embarrassment that I felt at the last dentist appointment I had, where an assistant asked me if I even brushed even though I brush twice a day and floss despite it being very painful for me. My mouth is super small and my teeth super sensitive. A friend offered to drive 40 minutes to my house to pick me up to drive me 50 minutes to a dental office that was recommended for how compassionate they are. They are going to stay with me the whole visit and drive 50 minutes back to my house and 40 minutes back to theirs.  As soon as they offered  a voice in my head started talking to me. It said, "how embarrassing, are you a little baby, a little whittle baby needs a friend to come along."  She made me feel shame that this person will know how poorly I treated my teeth. I have been noncommittal with this person. But they continue to be persistent on being there for me. And every time I think about the appointment this voice speaks up. I am forcing myself to go and allow my friend to tag along. I don't want to, but I am.

Then, I walk into therapy and I tell her about the dentist and the voice. She asks me, "What do you think this Little Kristy needs?" I don't know what she needs, I tried to think about her needs and I see nothing, an empty room, like I haven't a clue what to offer her. But mostly I just wanted her to shut up and go away. Then she asked, "what good has this Little Kristy done, what is she good for?" And I realize, she motivates me, she is so mean to me and I always want to prove her wrong by doing everything on my own. And I realize she is my willpower. She is my survival. So as mean as she is, I like her, I don't want her to go, I fear without her I will be lazy or unmotivated or I won't survive. But she is mean, and makes me push people away, she doesn't allow me to be vulnerable. She needs to know that I am more than capable to care for myself now. That I am able to be vulnerable and it doesn't mean rejection will follow it. That I can be imperfect and still be loved. As I sit here and write this, I now realize every little Kristy wants to loved for exactly who she is. That's all. All the little Kristy's are fighting to keep her loved ones close and loving her. They want love and relationships. I have attachment and abandonment issues. Somehow I have to figure out how to give all of them the reassurance that I am perfectly imperfect. That I don't have to give all of myself to be loved. I don't have to be a certain way to be loved. That as I am, I deserve love. I deserved to be loved by others and myself. 

SO, how do I get to the part where little Kristy's get to be themselves without fear of abandonment or rejection? First, I need to sit in them and let them feel their emotions, Which is hard because I like to fix things immediately and this process is definitely not my speed. I know that this little Kristy is essentially responsible for my survival, my successes, so of course, I am not so sure I want to get rid of her.  I have to remember that I am not getting rid of her. I am simply healing her. Letting her be a kid. I need ease her mind that I will do the things, I will take care of us and she can play and be a kid and not have the burden of safety or survival. 

Now, Here we are, after my dentist appointment. Yes, I went! My friend took me! I made follow up appointments. I did it. And I cried afterwards. I don't want to say it was easy. I heard a little Kristy feel shame when the hygienist kept saying, "you're doing good."  Little Kristy was screaming in my head, "I am not a baby, I can do this, please stop talking to me like I am a child."  It felt very embarrassing for me to share all the work I will have to have done to my teeth with my friend. To have another person witness how I neglected myself. Its like I was sharing with the world how broken and decayed I am inside. I was the most vulnerable I have been with anyone, face to face, that wasn't my therapist, ever.

BUT, I wasn't rejected. I was shown compassion, understanding and love. I hope this is the beginning of changing little Kristy's mean tone. Showing her that I got it. Showing her that we are lovable during our dark days, our brokenness, after we've allowed ourselves to decay. We don't have to be perfect to be loved.

And I am on my way to treating myself better than I have in the longest time. I deserve to be happy and healthy. And I am going to show the little Kristy's that they can rest and play. That I am here, I am going to keep us safe and I am going to take good care of us.  

 “The thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself.”  - Anna Quindlen

“Our bodies are our gardens to which our wills are gardeners”  - William Shakespeare

“Nourishing yourself in a way that helps you blossom in the direction you want to go is attainable, and you are worth the effort.” - Deborah Day

“The only person who can pull me down is myself, and I’m not going to let myself pull me down anymore.” - C. Joybell C.

“Today and onwards, I stand proud, for the bridges I've climbed, for the battles I've won, and for the examples I've set, but most importantly, for the person I have become. I like who I am now, finally, at peace with me...”  - Heather James

There was a huge difference between what was said and what I heard.

This blog entry is difficult to write, especially since it will include two people that I love and that love me dearly and I hope they know that I am writing this because of the struggle in my head, not because they did anything wrong. They navigated this the best way possible and it's me who is struggling with the conversations in my head.

I submitted a blog entry to be published in an online magazine and it got accepted. I still can’t  believe it and only told a few people because I am cautiously excited since it hasn't gone live yet. But I told a friend and she was very supportive and excited for me. A few days later she was confiding in me that she was told to consider her stories/poems for publishing. I am thrilled for her. Her writing is beautiful and clear and everyone should have an opportunity to read her work. But the voices in my head were telling me that she read my work and thought if Kristy's terrible writing can get published so I shouldn't have an issue getting mine published. I know that she never thought that, I do. But there is this ugly voice that tears into everything that I find my worth in.  Like when a friend called the other day to tell me that she didn't want me to come over because her daughter was sick and needed to rest. Totally understandable, I'd do the same. I mean, she actually called me to make sure I understood her correctly, she didn't want to hurt my feelings and she wanted to make sure I didn't misunderstand her tone via text. Shortly after we hung up, a voice said to me that she hates me, she just doesn't want me around. I know, she didn't mean that. I know that she cares about my feelings and this had nothing to do with how she feels about me. Neither of these things do. Both friends, were and are loving and supporting people and yet my brain know exactly how to twist it and hurt me. These voices have been there my whole life. I didn't always know they were there but that's because I have lots of confusing (anxiety) chatter in my head that over the past 2 years I have started to acknowledge, to challenge and heal. I am getting much better at acknowledging chatter and trying to challenge it. For the past 2 weeks I have been challenging these voices, telling them that my work is good and that my friends love me and what they said was what they meant. I have tried sitting with the little Kristy voice to try and figure out which one is talking, what she is saying, why she is saying it and what I can do to heal her. To help me move on to being a better listener.  I haven't yet connected with her. I think it's because she provides some kind of security blanket for me.  Maybe she's protecting me from feeling a grave loss. Maybe she thinks that if I think I am a horrible person that doesn't deserve goodness and kindness, when anyone is mean to me, or leaves me or hurts me, it wont feel so bad because I expected it. Because that's what I deserve. This is so hard, why do I think I deserve to be hurt or left alone.  I do know why, these things have happened to me over and over again as a child and as an adult. But why is it still there, why is it so hard to challenge. I am trying so hard to see my worth, to feel it. I am fighting a war in my head every day, every second, even in my sleep. All the time I am fighting and I will continue to fight. But, when will it be enough? When will I be enough for me? I have been looking for a sign my whole life as proof that I am worthy of more. Something external, and now that I think about it, there are plenty of external things that have shown me I am. My two wonderful friends are showing me that. My kids show me.  My family has shown me. And now I realize that I need to see it inside me. I am so scared. To be truthful, I am scared to see my worth, what if I suddenly become someone I don't think is worthy. What if I let myself down or worse, my kids. What happens when something bad happens, when someone leaves or hurts me. This is so scary and frustrating and exhausting. But I do know it's so worth it. I will try, but that doesn't mean that the voices lose all of the times. It just means I am never giving up.     

“You have been criticizing yourself for years, and it hasn’t worked. Try approving of yourself and see what happens.” – Louise L. Hay

'We are infected by our own misunderstanding of how our own minds work." - Kevin Kelly

“You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection." -Buddha

“If only you could sense how important you are to the lives of those you meet; how important you can be to people you may never even dream of. There is something of yourself that you leave at every meeting with another person.” – Fred Rogers

I went to the doctors and I left feeling worse than when I arrived.

I am a mother and for the past 8 years I have been spending any free time taking a nap, catching up with friends or enjoying a cup of coffee and a TV show and calling it self care. And it was, because at the time it was what I needed. But my goal for 2018 is to use some of my free time to catch up on doctor appointments, because that's also self care. I work at a doctors office as an allergy tech, and talk all the time about people needing to be their own advocate. But I was super duper sucking at at advocating for myself. This year that's all gonna change. Last month, I spent a few hours, finding a new primary doctor and dentist and making those appointments. Today I had that appointment with the new primary care doctor. I wouldn't say my experience with doctors was horrible, but it wasn't spectacular. I had some anxiety going into this office. More about being taken seriously and validated.  I check in and the receptionist is really kind. I get called back and everything is going well. I have good feelings and am looking forward to meeting the physicians assistant. I get back in the exam room and the assistant starts asking me questions and she starts to be argumentative about how some prescription drugs make me feel and why I don’t want to take them. I shrug it off.  She leaves and I wait for my doctor to come. She comes in and we start talking, all is well, until we get to family history. Which is complicated. Since my mom left around age 8 or 9 and my dad has been in and out of my life I don't know their medical history very well, my siblings are younger than me so not much there. Not many doctors take stock in your grandparents, aunts and uncles medical history.   I tell her that last year, I met my half brothers, the two sons my mom had after she left us and my mothers best friends and found out that my mom had "female" cancer that she beat the first time and she relapsed and it was in her lungs and that's what killed her. I inform the doctor of this and she wants me to specify what cancer, and I keep repeating to her that I don't know, I didn't know my mom when she died and they weren’t sure. It was like she didn't listen to me. She goes on to see that both my parents were drug addicts and that I have PTSD, OCD and anxiety. She get this mortified look on her face and asks if I have a psychiatrist, to which I respond no. She questions why and I told her that some over the counter medications and my weekly visit with my therapist has healed me more than any prescription drugs have in the past and this is what we’ve chosen as a good course I’d action for me. She asks about my father and his conditions which I know little about. I no longer have or want a relationship with him. He was arrested and spent time in jail after he and I mended things. I was 6 weeks pregnant, he got caught stealing oxycodone from a pharmacy and selling them. He doesn't see the wrong that he did and I cannot have any sort of relationship with a man that is selling drugs and doesn’t understand how that might hurt me. SO, no, I don't know my fathers and mothers medical history very well and I wasn't around for most of their life by their choice, not mine. The thing is this doctors visit isn't unique for me. Every single doctor I have ever been to have questioned me over and over again about my parents medical history, and most want to immediately put me on antidepressants just hearing my abbreviated story. Which she asked me again if I had a psychiatrist. And was confused that I didn't. I explained again that I am working on all this with my therapist and we are both very pleased with how I am progressing and think that this is the best course. I wanted to talk to her about the possibility of Rheumatoid arthritis and she responds with a "but you are not deformed." To which I show her my pinky fingers that have started to grow nodules. She is sending me for blood work to rule it out, so I did stant up and advocated for myself.

The intake form they gave me asked if I was in a physically abusive relationship. At first I was applauded their efforts for asking. But after I was treated the way I was by the her, which felt like I was a bother, I  was upset. I was bothered that they specified a type of abuse. I was bothered that this doc wasn't more mindful that she had a woman in front of that is suffering with PTSD, anxiety and OCD from abuse and neglect. Why didn't the intake form include other forms of abuse? It just left me with this really bad feeling, in my entire body. I felt invalid, pushed aside. I felt like it was a mistake. Having the abuse on the intake form made me feel they were trying. But the fact that the physician was completely unaware of how to listen to me, made me feel even more upset that it was listed on the intake form. I did make some comments on a comment card as I left so that they knew how I felt and how others may feel. I will be returning for a follow up in 3 months, because I need to take care of myself. I am going to give them a second chance, I am just gonna think that they had an unusual off day and that sometimes these things have nothing to do with me. 

As I was driving home, feeling so easily discarded. I thought for many people a visit to the doctors is scary and anxiety inducing and just showing up is a really big deal. A visit like this might mean they might spend the next few years ignoring their health or never returning until they have to because their life immediately depends on it. It takes so much energy to get there, to talk about the trauma in your life and ask for help, even if the reason why you went to the doctors was unrelated to the past history in your life. I hope to come back to this in 3 months and write that it was just an unusually bad day for them, I really do.  

“Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.” -Leo Buscaglia

“The most basic of all human needs is the need to understand and be understood. The best way to understand people is to listen to them.” - Ralph G Nichols

Tell your truth.

Last week a woman, who I will call Cora came into my office and I had no idea how she would help lift the anxiety/trauma tornado that has been hovering the past month.  I sat her down and begun the testing. I typically ask my patients random questions to keep them talking and distracted from the testing I am administering. Curious about her name, I asked Cora if she was named after someone or if it was a interesting story. She told me that her mother was the wicked witch of the west and she probably let someone name her. I didn’t know what to say, so I asked her about her accent and her children. She went on to tell me that she has four children that she delivered 2 and 2 children that she hand picked. She was a foster parent and that lead to adopting 2 other children. She went onto tell me that when she was a little girl that promised herself that she'd never treat her kids like her mother treated her. She said that she believed that her mom had children to have people clean and wait on her, like servents.  That if she left a single sud in the dish drain that she'd be taken care of. She went on to tell me that she didn't think she herself was the best mom but she did her best. I told her that I am sure she is an amazing mom and that we don't give ourselves enough credit for just stopping the cycle. By loving our children and not doing to them what was done to us is enough. I said, Cora you were and are enough for your kids. She and I talked more and hugged. Her appointment was finished and out door the she went. 

That evening I was sitting on the couch watching TV and I realized that the tornado was gone, I felt free from anxiety again. I could feel more than just sad and worried. I was feeling relaxed and happy and just lighter. I was me again. I thought, what changed? See, lots of people tell me, including my therapist that I am strong and brave and enough. I am enough of a mother for my children. And of course, I understand that on a very surface level, I get what you all are saying. But I didn't feel it in my bones. And at that moment, the moment with Cora, I understood it. I saw me in her. I was talking to her but I was also talking to myself. Seeing this woman, being angry at her mother, recognizing as a child that it was wrong and declaring that she wasn't going to repeat the cycle. And how her heart grew to help other children. That’s what I hope for me. I didn't want to relive my childhood ever again and I wanted to parent differently for my children. I want to someday help children and animals that have been neglected. I want anyone that has been abused or neglected, anyone with trauma to know that I understand, I am here, they are not alone. I want them to tell their truth. There is power in it for yourself and for the rest of us, we/you are not alone. I want them to know that there is a peace. It may not be all peaceful all the time but there is peace.  I realized that night and because of Cora's bravery to tell her story to a stranger, that I am enough. That I am strong and brave and mighty for trying and wanting more for the next generation. And that the goals I set out for myself when I was a little girl are attainable. Just like Cora. And to anyone reading this, the same goes for you. 

“You can recognize survivors of abuse by their courage. When silence is so very inviting, they step forward and share their truth so others know they aren't alone.”  ― Jeanne McElvaney, Healing Insights: Effects of Abuse for Adults Abused as Children

"Survivors of abuse show us the strength of their personal spirit every time they smile.” 
― Jeanne McElvaney, Healing Insights: Effects of Abuse for Adults Abused as Children

“Don't judge yourself by what others did to you.”  ― C. Kennedy, Ómorphi

"She's terrified that all these sensations and images are coming out of her — but I think she's even more terrified to find out why." Carla's description was typical of survivors of chronic childhood abuse. Almost always, they deny or minimize the abusive memories. They have to: it's too painful to believe that their parents would do such a thing.” ― David L. Calof

This scar on my knee.

I have a scar on the side of my right knee. It's one of 2 physical scars that remind me of my childhood. I got it when we were living in Florida. Someone put a thick broken coffee mug into the trash can without telling anyone it was in there or putting it into a bag before putting it in there. So I didn’t know it was in there or to be more careful.  I took the trash out to the dumpster and put the bag down to wave hi to friend and I when I picked the bag back up the broken mug ripped through the skin on my leg. I can’t remember any pain until I looked down and was covered in blood. I ran back crying and my mom drove me to the ER. I don't recall a ton at the hospital, just that we waited a while and I felt like I was in and out of consciousness. I got a bunch of stitches and was told to return there or go to my pediatrician to have them removed in a few weeks. I think it was clear we were living in questionable conditions or maybe it was because my mom was too drunk to care to take me back. She took them out herself.  Too soon. She took them out with a pocket knife. And “sanitized” the entire procedure with vodka. So, this scar is pretty icky looking, it opened up and healed that way, exposed. It's very sensitive to the touch. Anything that touches it makes me feel icky and I just want to kick. Maybe it's a reminder of that time that bothers me, or maybe it's just the way it healed, exposed.

Today, while doing yoga I was doing a runners split stretch and this pain went up my leg and felt like the scar was gonna split wide open. And then, a flashback. Badass little Kristy was there. The little protector Kristy showed up and started screaming for everyone to back up and she as telling me it wasn't really happening and to just close my eyes because it was too scary.

And I just froze and cried.I am not supposed to do that. I am supposed to thank her for keeping me alive and safe and tell her I got it from here. I was supposed to be confident so she knew her job was over and she can go back to being a kid and it was my turn to keep us safe.

Later, as I was thinking about this flashback, I realized that I am also a mad at her. She stood up to my Mom and this man that was in house often. This man called me names. touched me, made me do things, and then he told me that the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus weren’t real and it was all my mom and I am an ungrateful little bitch. See. I am mad at her for making this man so angry at me and for hurting me.

I know, she didn’t deserve this, I know I didn’t deserve this. But I’ve been mad at her. I know it’s not her fault. I do, but there’s a place inside me that wishes she wasn’t so badass, wishes she disappeared into the background and was never seen again. I suppose that’s another Little Kristy I need to get to know. 

My therapist says I can't help heal her if I am angry with her. I need to love her. And I need to reassure her that I am here now. I can keep us safe. That even when bad things happen I can run, I can leave, I can yell. I can do whatever I need to stay safe, to escape danger.  And that I am in control.

That last paragraphs gets me every time. I forget how I can leave if I don't feel safe.  I am no longer stuck and forced to take it.

“She is at a crossroads: a child’s violent will to survive lodged in her chest where her heart should be, but an utter indifference along with it.” -  Lidia Yuknavitch

“Dissociation is the common response of children to repetitive, overwhelming trauma and holds the untenable knowledge out of awareness. The losses and the emotions engendered by the assaults on soul and body cannot, however be held indefinitely. In the absence of effective restorative experiences, the reactions to trauma will find expression. As the child gets older, he will turn the rage in upon himself or act it out on others, else it all will turn into madness.” 
― Judith Spencer

I am tired.

This will be the first time that I have sat down and written while actively being in an anxiety loop and triggered. Most times I write about them after I have had some time with them after seeing my therapist and when they feel better managed. They take so much of any leftover energy that I just can't stay up to write or I just can't find the time. For the past 2 weeks I have had nightmares almost nightly. Nightmares where I am actually crying in my sleep and wake up crying. They are torturous and graphic and just horrible. And then my head keeps replaying things and I just can't let it go. I am trying to be present because I know that it's anxiety. And I am scared. All day, I think about death. Of my own, of my kids, of anyone I care about. I  am worried about them all the time. I want to be present, I want to be here but I also don't want to be in anymore pain. After all that I have been through, all that I have survived, all that I am trying to heal and trying to grow from could all be taken away from me. There is no gauge on how much pain a person will experience in a lifetime. I mean, I could still experience my greatest tragedy in my lifetime. What a dark looming thought. It makes my chest hurt.  I know better than to stir that for too long and I do remember with all the sad and tragedy that there is the miracles and love and kindness and good times. And they outweigh the others, I am sure of it. But it just feels so heavy, so deep of a feeling. Preparing myself for the moment when my heart is broken again.  I don't want to miss the good days, I want to be all in these so full of love days. I really do but I am so so scared that I won't have those days anymore.  My therapist has to remind me that healing little Kristy's won't hurt as bad as when it actually happened cause I am not actively there anymore, I am safe, I have choices. I have an escape. But the thought of accepting my childhood, feels much sadder and heavier than it did when I was in it. The idea that it won't hurt and why it won't hurt as bad makes sense. The heaviness on my chest, the nausea in my stomach, the dizziness in my head tells me that it's going to be bad. I am so tired. I am tired of my nightmares. I am tired of having to do all the things. I just want to be confident. I just want my head to be quiet. I just want to be comfortable in my skin. I just want to know how to handle things without being SO set back or triggered. I want to be proud. I want to stick up for myself. I want a do over. But I don't get one. This is my life. And I have choices, and escape routes and a voice. And those 3 things always seem to be missing from my view when I need them. Not because they aren't there but because I forget that I do.

"You cannot control but you can make choicea."

"May your choices reflect your hopes and not your fears." - Nelson Mandela

The Bad Monster

It's been almost month since I have sat down to write. And this post will probably all over the place because my 27 year old cousin GIgi was killed in a car accident a few weeks ago. Leaving us all behind. We are all devastated. I am crushed. Gigi was a bright light, she was a kind person. She loved fiercely. She'd give the shirt off her back. I think anyone that was close to G, was considered her family. All I can think of was how I really need a hug from her. She gave the best hugs, not too long, not too short, not too weird. She just wrapped you up. If you were sad, she felt it with you. If you were happy she felt that with you too. She just knew how to sit with you. When our Poppee died last year, her hugs helped. And all I could think about and wish for was one of her hugs. The only way I could survive this grief would be with her hugs. Except I am grieving her. I don't get to hug her again. I miss her so much.

My aunt called me that day to tell me the news and it just keeps replaying over and over and over in my head. It's like, my brain won't let me forget. It's so awful that she's gone. She was so special. The whole world is missing out. She loved without restriction. I will try to honor her everyday. She had 2 cats, Nimbus and Leah, they were her pride and joy, her little babies. My cousin sent me a message that afternoon, making sure they didn't get forgotten, making sure they went somewhere they were loved just as fiercely. Of course I would take them. I am honored to have them. I have a part of Gigi in my home. They cuddle and they give kisses. The kids and I (and Rex) get a little piece of Gigi everyday. For that I am lucky. I am also lucky that we had a quick exchange over snapchat an hour before she passed and I saw how happy she was. She and our Margee (grandmother) were having a great big laugh over the filters. 

This next part I struggled writing about. But I know Gigi wouldn't mind. I know she supported my blog and mental well being.

That morning, I was declaring my freedom from anxiety to friends and was even going to write about it. That I finally saw it for what it was. I was okay with my lack of control. To be present, to do all I could to be safe but not be all consumed in worry. I finally had my arsenal for fighting the bad monster anxiety. That night, I sat in my bathtub crying. I got mad at myself for letting my guard down. I was mad that I thought I could be present, that worry would no longer run my mind. It was as if the universe was using me and laughing at my pain. I no longer wanted to defeat anxiety because I didn't feel prepared for this giant hole in my heart that will never be filled. I know that is the monster talking, that is anxiety. And luckily I reached out to a few friends who reminded me that the ugly monster was talking and to remember my arsenal. I am using my arsenal of coping tools as much as I can. It doesn't sound like much but it's exhausting. And I am grieving and grieving with my family and her friends.  I am also trying to continue on this journey of unraveling my trauma. Ah, ya know, trauma, it never goes away.

Little Kristy's are being healed but that doesn't mean they have forgotten.  They still get triggered, demand to be heard and to be paid attention to. In one of my first posts I wrote about my hula hoop. Who deserved to be in it and out of it. And I have been scared to keep people out of it because I am scared of losing people. But I am understanding the more people that I keep close that hurt me that harder it is for me to help myself and the people that need help. I used to think I had to chose people that are hurting over myself who is hurting, all the time. But I finally get it, I finally understand that I can be more helpful and more compassionate by showing myself that love. I realized recently that I am not responsible for peoples feelings and reactions what so ever. I can be careful and mindful not to hurt someone and still hurt them. Because I cannot control them or their reactions. Because 9 times out of 10 their reaction has nothing to do with me, It has to do with something or someone else. I don't know why I placed myself in this position. Well, nevermind, I do know why. Someone else put me there, my parents. My parents didn't provide a safe environment, an 8 year old was put in charge of caring for the well being of her younger brothers and sisters. Making sure we were fed and clean and dressed. At 8 years old I did my best to change their diapers, get them dressed, feed them, clean up after us,  play with them, and make sure we were safe when my Mom was blacked out and my Dad in jail.  I am a Momma bear, I believe its something that nature made me but was also nurtured into. My brothers and sisters are my first cubs. And over the years, as we grew in our grandparents care, I desperately wanted to be their big sister, but it never happened because I felt like their Momma bear. Trying to protect them. Trying to love them for our parents. And as we've grown older, I always hoped that the bridge would be closed and I would be their big sister. But it hasn't quite happened yet. And I think it's just a huge conflict in me. The need to be their Momma bear and the want to be their sister. And recently I felt responsible for their emotions and feelings. But I realized I am no more responsible for them than anyone else in our family. But they are my first baby cubs, and I want whats best for them, I want them to be happy and healthy. I'd do anything for them. And then I thought, they are adults now, and even if I was their actual Mom, I still wouldn't be responsible for their emotions and feelings. They are. All of this is really hard to marry in my head. But for the first time I feel like I am starting to understand my part in my relationship with them. Where to go from here, I am not sure.  

grief

noun

deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone's death.      

“If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them."  —James O’Barr

"Those we love and lose are always connected by heartstrings into infinity." —Terri Guillemets

"It is the capacity to feel consuming grief and pain and despair that also allows me to embrace love and joy and beauty with my whole heart. I must let it all in." —Anna White

anxiety

noun

a feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome

"Monsters don't sleep under your bed, they scream in your head." - therebelyouth

“He was the ultimate experiment in Nature Versus Nurture, and she imagined he must be engaged in a constant battle between what he was and what he wanted to be.”  -Larissa Iorne

It was a normal day and then poop happened.

This past Wednesday was a normal day, nothing out of the ordinary. Kids to school, me to work, etc... But when anxiety and trauma are involved any normal day can turn sideways with just the smallest amount of poop. And yes, poop was the reason for the day going sideways. See, my son woke up, "not feeling well,' but no fever, no clear signs of illness and so I sent him on his way to school with the instruction that if he felt worse to go to the nurse and she'd call home to possibly get him from school. It was their Dad's night to have them and so I wasn't going to see for myself how he was doing. I got a text from their Dad saying he was clearly not feeling well, appearing weak and tired. And at that moment, my brain started racing. Sitting at work thinking about  how my son is in pain and how his needs are going to met,the way he needs them to be. I had a burning in my chest that this was gonna be a disaster and my son was going to hate me forever. I was trying really hard to resist offering to pick him up and take care of him, because I do *know* that he is okay, that he is with his Dad who will do his very best to keep him comfy and safe and I know that this is an important thing for  all 3 of us. But I begin to feel a warm wave over me, panic coming over me, and I am just really uncomfortable. And I just want these bad feelings to go away. Kristy of past would have done all she could to push these annoying feelings down because I wanted to enjoy my evening of pizza, wine, movies and relaxing and I didn't want these sad and anxious feelings to invade and ruin it.  

But. 

I am learning that locking these feelings away doesn't mean they go away or even change how I feel any little bit. So, on my drive home, I said okay Kristy, why do I feel my son won't be taken care of? Why do I feel this way? He is with his Dad, he loves him and he it totally capable to handle his son being sick and I know he will tell me of he worsens or needs my help. I realize I feel this way because I wasn't taken care of properly by my parents. And so, I tell my Little Kristy that we are safe, we are well. I went through that and it’s not happening anymore. I move onto why I feel my son will hate me or think I wasn't there for him. And again, I remind myself of all the things I do for him, all the times I have comforted him and the fact that will never waver. So, why do I feel this way? Because I have love/hate feelings for my parents. I remind myself that those days are over that I have found love and comfort I need with my kids. And that this happened in the past and its all over with. And I allowed the feelings that were there just be. And I cried, I cried so hard because it's sad. It's so sad that I didn't have the things I really wanted. I didn't have the stability and safety and comfort that I needed. And I was thinking about how these bad things have happened to me. The enormity of this feeling makes me scared to connect to it, sometimes to even think about it. As my therapist and I have talked about a million times, this connecting back to my childhood and the bad things isn't me experiencing them again. It's me accepting them. And I don't know, it doesn't feel that simple, it feels all consuming and sad. Now, I am almost home, ruminating over all feelings I begin to realize that everything I have done has been dictated by anxiety and trauma. All of it from fear.  I am not saying that I regret or feel bad for those decisions but that I can't believe how long I thought I was over it all when in fact it ran my life. And my life probably would still lead here because I wasn't the only player in the decisions and relationships in my life but that I now see very clearly how my trauma and anxiety was at the wheel.  I just sat with all these thoughts and feelings and let them be, I let them have their space and honestly they didn't stay too long. I was able to have quick talk with a friend and get to my wine, pizza and movie. I also slept well that night and woke up without a migraine, neck pain or much exhaustion.  Usually episodes like this derail me, they take weeks to pick apart. I spend a significant amount of time with neck pain and migraines so being able to connect tothe past and wake up feeling better than in the past feels reassuring.  

By the way, the reason all this came about is because my son, was constipated and once he pooped he was back to being himself.  So, something as small as having to poop triggered me. That's what anxiety and trauma can do to a person.

The next day, in therapy we talked about what happened. I have also noticed that my daughter used to be a trigger for me and that’s starting to subside and my son has been come the source of triggers. And I realize that it isn't their personality or gender that’s  triggering, it’s their age. She’s moving out of age 8 and he’s 6. The age 6-8 seems to be the most triggering age bracket for me.

I try so very hard to make their childhood (for obvious reasons) full of innocence. I want them to have the magic of it. And in some ways it is very therapeutic for me. I don’t remember what it was like to enjoy the magic and innocence. And in therapy yesterday I wondered if/when the 6-8 year old heals and gives me the wheel back will I still have the energy and love for the magic in their childhood. And she said “Kristy, you will always be you, and Little Kristy’s will always be apart of you, we’re just letting them get our their sadness, we’re giving them what they needed back then so that they can spend all their days playing, what they should have been able to do when you where that age.” I was so relieved, I get so much joy in celebrating all the holidays, and all the things with my kids.  I love that part of me. I don’t want it to ever go away.  

This also makes me so sad for Little Kristy. I wanna hug her so tight and dance through rain puddles, have a snowball fight, ride the waves in the sun and jump in leaf piles without a care in world. She deserves that. 

Maybe that’s a promise her. I promise her to always see the joy, the magic and the innocence in being a kid and to enjoy it, fully.

“Happiness is not a brilliant climax to years of grim struggle and anxiety. It is a long succession of little decisions simply to be happy in the moment. “ J. Donald Walters

“Do not let your difficulties fill you with anxiety, after all it is only in the darkest nights that stars shine more brightly. “  Hazrat Ali Ibn Abu-Talib A.S

I have anxiety. I have ocd. I have ptsd. I also have strength, courage and awareness.

I have anxiety. I have ocd. I have ptsd. I had a traumatic, abusive and neglected childhood. And I didn't know it wasn't normal to feel the way I feel on a regular basis. I knew growing up that kids had both parents or at least one of them. I only knew of one other family where the children were raised by their grandparents. What I didn't know was the lack of confidence, the neck and body pain, my need to control and manage everything around me, the overwhelming fear of death and ability to expect the worst to happen to me was not normal. My earliest memory of being scared to die was when I was living in city with my grandmother, a house I was in and out of, so it's hard to pinpoint an age, but under 7. I was laying in bed, and I prayed over and over and over again. To not die until I was ready. What's a young child got to be that worried about death for. My daughter is 8 and son is 6, I believe most days, death is the furthest thing from their little minds. I guess that was the beginning of my anxiety and ocd. I needed to control something and when I was sleep I couldn't be on watch, its the only time I am completely vulnerable. I am always thinking about a crisis, always trying to prepare for one. In my mind I can take a perfectly good moment and totally make catastrophic. Maybe everyone does that. But I am pretty much evaluating every moment for an escape route or ways to be safer and avoid catastrophic accidents. And if you have known me my whole life, you might not realize this, because I probably don't freak out.  I might have an occasional rational safety issue. But that's because I fight my need to flee constantly. And sometimes I challenge safety (such as sky diving) because I see it as facing my fear. Cause no one wants to live a boring life if it's gonna be short one. But, one way to combat this overwhelming feeling of death is to stay present. When I think of dying, my heart races, I get sweaty and I begin to think about all the things I could be doing or fixing, or where to go that isn't such a big risk. I would stay up researching what happens to a body when it dies. I research religions and their beliefs on death. I read up on statistics on break ins and murders in my area. I booby trap all the doors and windows in my house.  And none of it helps. Most of makes it worse. SO, I ask, how do I fix this before it takes over my life and I become a recluse. Just by being present. Which sounds simple, but it's incredibly hard to stay present when you are an anxious mess. But if you've read my other blogs, you know that I am working REALLY hard on it. And until this past Tuesday I didn't realize how much it had actually worked.  Tuesday was a normal day (ya know they all are really) and that's the thing about trauma and anxiety, you never know when something will pop up. The kids and I went to bed and we were all cuddled up and I thought I heard a scratching and then something come crashing outside. I assumed it was a raccoon (sometimes one gets in my trash) when I looked outside everything was untouched. I tried to mediate and let it go and not freak out and search the house. I started to fall asleep and something in the bathroom fell to the ground and woke me up. I freaked. I couldn't help myself. Initially I was paralyzed, and I had to work up the energy to get up because I knew if I didn't DO something, I would lay awake wondering all night.  So I got up, I put 911 on my phone so I could hit send quickly. Walked around the house with a knife, checking every closet, every door and window, any nook that someone could hid in. Yes, it sounds a bit excessive but if any nook wasn't uncovered than I would just lay in bed obsessing about it. Everything checks out, I climbed in bed and realize that I hadn't done that since June. And it all clicked for me. I realized that I have anxiety and ocd and ptsd and I have had it all along. I was just so deep in those rituals and coping mechanisms that I couldn't see through them. I realized this past year has been incredibly productive. And then I woke up the next morning with a sore neck (one I used to have 5 out of the 7 days most my life) and my posture was poor. It took a minute, the neck pain I have had for as long as I can remember is directly related to my anxiety and trauma. When I feel defensive, my posture turns in, my shoulders come up to my ears. I grit my teeth. I have been a long time sufferer of migraines and headaches. And it all makes sense. Now, I have to remember to relax my shoulders, and stand up straight. I don't need to be defensive anymore. I am on offense now. 

“Traumatized people chronically feel unsafe inside their bodies: The past is alive in the form of gnawing interior discomfort. Their bodies are constantly bombarded by visceral warning signs, and, in an attempt to control these processes, they often become expert at ignoring their gut feelings and in numbing awareness of what is played out inside. They learn to hide from their selves.......Trauma victims cannot recover until they become familiar with and befriend the sensations in their bodies. Being frightened means that you live in a body that is always on guard. Angry people live in angry bodies. The bodies of child-abuse victims are tense and defensive until they find a way to relax and feel safe. In order to change, people need to become aware of their sensations and the way that their bodies interact with the world around them. Physical self-awareness is the first step in releasing the tyranny of the past." -Bessel A van der Kolk

“As long as you keep secrets and suppress information, you are fundamentally at war with yourself…The critical issue is allowing yourself to know what you know. That takes an enormous amount of courage.”  - Bessel A van der Kolk

The ending, her ending, was already written. I can still write my ending.

ACCEPTANCE CONTINUED......

I have always felt some of my life's big decisions were made for me. Even if they weren't directly, they were because of my childhood (me wanting to correct it, heal it, etc). And part of that is that I was afraid of disappointing everyone. Yes, everyone, my family, my friends, my teachers, even people I didn't know. For a long time I have spent my time trying to be perfect at everything and hiding from the things I wasn't. This spreads to today. For example, I went to the dump, for the first time ever and I was excited. Because throwing trash and releasing some anger. But so very nervous because this was the first time I have ever been to the dump and I haven't a clue what to expect. Would the people be nice? Would I know where to go? Would someone be mean to me or disappointed because I was confused or slow because I didn't know what to do. Would I get lost? Would I appear stupid? Would I have enough cash and then do they take credit card? And my stomach starts churning when I am 3 minutes away. I starting picking the skin around my nails. I start obsessing over the directions I was given by friends. ALL THESE FEELINGS FOR THE DUMP!!! And let me tell you, these aren't abnormal thoughts for me. I am not confident in my abilities, at all. I am learning to be and totally trying to get over that it's okay to be confident. Cause ya know, that's a thought. Being too confident in my confidence. It's like, why would anyone expect me to be perfect? Why do I put this outrageous standard on myself?  Sometimes I think I can't be loved if I have flaws. And I don't think I am perfect. I think I have so much room for improvement. And I know this all goes back to me thinking that if I was a better kid, or if I tried harder that my Mom would have loved me, she would have come back. It also makes me think, would she be proud of me? I have always wanted to hear her say that she loved me, that she is proud of me. I don't want to guess anymore. So when I walked into therapy about 2 years ago, Meredith told me that I have the ability to make my own ending because my Mom was no longer alive. I can say my mom was proud of me, she loved me and she thought about me everyday. Frankly, that pissed me off. I didn't want some made of version of how she felt for me. I wanted to hear what she really thought. And then, recently I realized two things.

First, maybe she wouldn't have been proud of me, maybe she didn't love me, maybe she never thought of me again and that would be the meanest things she could say. Or maybe she wouldn't be able to understand all the work I've done, understand what I feel, why I write, why I share. Because she wouldn't be there herself. 

Second. The ending, is what it is, it's been written. She left, she never came back and she died. That's it. I need to accept that is the way it went. And I can bury the feeling that she will ever tell me that she loved me, she was proud of me.

So I have decided that I am going to believe she loved me, she would be proud of who I am, and who I am trying to be. I am going to believe that in her heart she thought she was doing the right thing for me. I can also say, it's sucks that she died before I was able to see her again. And that it sucks that once again someone made a decision for my heart without asking me and the decision was made for me. But the obsession is over,  I have finally accepted that I won't ever know. And that's okay and sad and painful and that that is all okay too. 

“It is always important to know when something has reached its end. Closing circles, shutting doors, finishing chapters, it doesn't matter what we call it; what matters is to leave in the past those moments in life that are over.”  Paulo Coelho

“It's much easier to not know things sometimes. Things change and friends leave. And life doesn't stop for anybody.”  Stephen Chbosky

"A sunset is nothing more and nothing less than the backside of a sunrise." Craig D. Lounsbrough

"It all begins and ends in your mind. What you give power to has power over you." Leon Brown

ACCEPTANCE. Yes, I got there!

It is a new day, another therapy in the books. Which brings another blog. After the last post, I woke up with a new perspective. For as long as I can remember, if anyone asked me about my parents, my childhood, they'd get a small synopsis, don't know where Dad is, maybe jail, maybe not, Mom left, don't know where, don't know if she'll be back. Shocked faces, people stumble over words, part curious, part horrified, part unsure of what to say next. That's an extremely uncomfortable for anyone, even more for me. I want to comfort that person, I don't know if you have read my other posts but I am working on not feeling responsible for the way other people feel.  Typically I would respond, "Ah, it's okay, I am okay, it made me who I am, happy to just be here, I don't really wish for a different beginning, ya know, that was the beginning of my story and now it's closed and away and I get to write the rest." And it's true, I viewed a large of my childhood as a story, in a book, sealed and put up on a shelf, I knew it was there but it wasn't apart of me anymore. It can't hurt me anymore, if it isn't apart of me. So now back to this new perspective, and believe me, this isn't brain blowing or anything for most of you but it was for me. And it took me 2 years to get here. That book, that story of mine, up on the shelf that I have been trying to integrate. Well, it's always been inside me. It's integrated, it controls me already. I just didn't know it. I didn't know that no matter how hard I try to block and change how it has affected me, it still does. I can't change that. That was my childhood, it will always be apart of me. You guys know what that is, apparently that's called ACCEPTANCE. Yep, I think I just leveled up. Funny thing, I don't think I feel any different, I suppose I don't because the work and changes I have been making, slowly and gradually, despite wanting to be quick and get it over with, actually work.  This was the good part of therapy (well, all parts of therapy of good, but some aren't this fun, lol).

We continued to talk about the Kristy who doesn't feel enough that is at the wheel for adult Kristy more often than any other Kristy. She was very much present for the visit. All I could do was describe the way I was treated as child was mean. My mom was mean to me, and the things that happened to me was mean and then more mean things happened and it was just a big old mean sandwich. No matter how much I tried I couldn't think of any better way to describe what happened to me. Mean, but I really don't feel that mean sufficiently sums up what I went through. Fucked up, horrific, horrendous, those are pretty good words for what happened. But a 5 year old wouldn't use those words. She would call it mean. My therapist suggested to help 5 year old express herself, to give her words. And for some reason, I sat there angry at this. And after some digging, we realized I was mad at 5 year old Kristy. What for? I am mad she didn't fight back more, I am mad she didn't run away, I am mad she didn't call 911. She knew to call her grandmother to ask her to bring her food to take her to school, WHY DIDN'T SHE DO MORE?!?FULL STOP, Kristy. You are mad at a 5 year old for not being a better adult. A better adult than the adult in the house. I think your anger is misplaced here. So, step one, stop being mean to myself.  Step two, be a 5 year old for a day, give love to her, give her what she needs. Step one will be hard, actually, step 2 will also be hard, maybe more so than 1. Step three is actually get mad at the person who deserves it (that's much later, am not ready for that one).

I will continue to do the things until it begins to feel normal. Normal to feel enough, normal to not be mad at myself, normal to not be okay. 

Dear Self, I am sorry for all the mean things I said. I love you.

"We think we must struggle against our lives to change them but in truth, we must first come to peace with exactly how they are." - Suzanne Heyn

“Trauma is personal. It does not disappear if it is not validated. When it is ignored or invalidated the silent screams continue internally heard only by the one held captive. When someone enters the pain and hears the screams healing can begin.”  -Danielle Bernock

“The greater a child’s terror, and the earlier it is experienced, the harder it becomes to develop a strong and healthy sense of self.”  -Nathaniel Branden
 

We are now safe.

It seems the more difficult sessions with my therapist often lead to me to avoid writing about them, so today, a week after my last therapy visit, I am forcing myself to write. I am not enough, unless I am perfect. I can't give anyone a reason to leave me, to hurt me, or to dislike me. If I am am giving all of myself to someone they can't possibly leave me and maybe they'll love me. Who could love me, as I am. I do have friends, I have family, I feel like I am their obligation. Often I feel like a burden. That they all feel bad for poor Kristy, so we tolerate her. This is me, deep down. Just being everyone's charity case. And no matter how hard I try, i just can't shake this.  I *know* how I feel about others, I know that I don't pity other survivors of trauma, I feel their strength, I know they are the badasses of the world. For some reason I can't turn that inward. That's my next step, turn that inward. First, identify this Kristy. Oh, I am familiar with this one, this is one that tried so hard to make her mother happy. She just thought if I could just let her sleep a little longer, if I could just clean a little more, if I could just manage to feed everyone before she woke, she'd be a happier, she wouldn't yell so much, she wouldn't be so disappointed and mean. And  maybe there wouldn't be so many nights she fought with my Dad or cried about him or called hospitals and jails looking for him.  Maybe if I made her life easier she would love me. Maybe if I was a better daughter she'd love me. And that later turned into if she loved me than she'd come home, she wouldn't have left me. This is the Kristy that no matter how hard she tried and sacrificed herself, she wasn't enough for her to receive her own mothers love.  I wasn't enough her for to stay, for her to get better, I just wasn't enough. How do you even start to feel worthy of love, of basic humans rights, when that is where you started. I was devastated last night trying to recall a time when my mother may have told me she loved me. I don't have that memory. She must of said it, but I don't have the memory of it. As I laid there last night and these thoughts were crossing my mind, I started having flash backs, of all the times I was yelled at by her, and I so desperately want to ignore them.  I don't want to believe that this was me, that all these mean horrible hideous things happened to me. But they did, and it's okay to sad by them, I need to start feeling them, because I am allowed to feel them now, I am safe, I don't need to be protected. That is all over. I have spent the last 25 or so years try to push them down and away. I put them in a box, sealed it shut and put it up on a shelf I couldn't reach. Because it was scary. Because it hurt. But that didn't do me any good. Here I thought if I could separate my childhood from me, it can't hurt me anymore. I didn't realize, I didn't really lock my childhood away.  It's been inside of me the whole time. And it's had control of me always. I just refused to see or believe it. I don't have to hide from it. I can feel it now. In the safety of my home, and my life. Far away from danger.  And I am allowed to be sad about it.  I can't adequately sum up the feelings I have but it's really fucking sad. All of it. And it's also sad that I don't even realize how fucking bad it was most of the time. You know I walked in to therapy last week and asked her if it was normal for someone who has "multi-level" trauma to feel one is worse than the other? Like, I asked if it was normal to feel the neglect and abandonment was worse than the sexual abuse. Like, I seriously asked that question. And I saw nothing weird about it until she said, "no one should have to rank their abuse because they shouldn't have it in the first place, and for you to think that it's not okay to feel worse about on than the other is also very upsetting."  When she said that, tears poured from my eyes. I realized how sad that is. I was ranking my trauma and abuse, man that's fucked up. I have these moments where the impact of childhood comes raining down on me, and that was one of them. It felt like a very legit question to me. But insanely horrifying to another.  

Back to allowing neglected, abandoned abused Kristy to finally feel sad, she's always been stopped. Stopped by some protector Kristy that tells her she's not allowed to feel those feelings, that I cannot handle feeling the horror and sadness. I have to stand up to her and tell her that I am adult, I am safe and that I got this, I can handle it. Last night I fought the urge to push abandoned, neglected, unloved Kristy to the depths of my stomach, I told protector Kristy that we are safe and we can handle this. And it lead to just an outpouring of tears and sadness and some confusion. And even though these Kristy's are still very much in my emotional driver seat, I did take the first step in reminding them we are now safe. 

"Unlike simple stress, trauma changes your view of your life and yourself. It shatters your most basic assumptions about yourself and your world — “Life is good,” “I’m safe,” “People are kind,” “I can trust others,” “The future is likely to be good” — and replaces them with feelings like “The world is dangerous,” “I can’t win,” “I can’t trust other people,” or “There’s no hope.”  - Mark Goulston

"Survival mode is supposed a phase that helps save your life, it's not meant to be how you live." - Michael Rosenthal

“So many broken children living in grown bodies mimicking adult lives.” Ljeoma Umebinyo

"You are not your abuse. 
You are not what they did to you. 
You are not your trauma.

You are the cleverness that survived. 
You are the courage that escaped.
You are the power that hid & protected a tiny spark of your light." -unknown

Who would have thought that being nosy isn't how I was born, it's a coping mechanism.

Part I

Anyone that knows me, knows that I am an extremely nosy person. And it's not because I want to know bad things, it's not because I want to tell all the people all the things about peoples personal life. It's just this strong desire I have to know things, it makes my blood boil, it makes my chest burn and once I know, I am relieved. I thought this was how I was born, I didn't see it as too terrible of a character flaw because I don't judge and wouldn't use it to hurt anyone. Turns out, that it's not very nice to be nosy even if its done without meanness.  Like I said, I thought it was just the way I was born. But, no, this isn't the way someone is born. This is a coping mechanism. I was raised without routine, without knowledge of my next meal or who was taking me to school, who was going to be in my house, or even who was going to take care of me, if anyone. How could a kid prepare for anything, or what to expect. So, I wonder what a kid does to cope with this kind of situation. She becomes hyper vigilant, she becomes super aware of her surroundings, she thinks the more information she can take in the better she can predict the future and prepare for all situations. SO. I am nosy because it makes me feel safe. The therapist and I talked about this and just the thought of letting go of that desire, to ignore it or ride it out gave me extreme anxiety. And the first step is to recognize when it happens and let it be. That makes me so uneasy, how am I going to do this, the need to pull information is deep inside me, it's like telling hunger pain that it's not real and to not eat and ignore it. But I will try, I don't what will happen but I will try. I am safe now, I can learn new habits, right?There's no reason to be nosy, I am an adult, in charge of my life.  Well that's what I keep telling myself, even if I don't believe it.  

Part II

I have an incredibly hard time with people who hurt their family or friends because of their own selfishness. People who put themselves first and can't even see how they hurt the ones they love the most. I often find myself obsessing about it. And wanting to make sure the person they're hurting knows they're cared and loved for. I don't why I am like this, and honestly it annoys the poop out of me. And I don't know why, and I want to be able to rid myself of this obsession, I don't want it go away, I just want to stop obsessing over other peoples morality. First, we start with why. Jealously, I am jealous that people have an ability to automatically put themselves above others. When I do it, it's painful, it's a thought process, its going against what feels right. I am jealous, that most people are ignorant to other peoples feelings. I want to do what I need for myself without feeling remorse, without feeling I don't deserve it, without thinking I owe someone something for this time I have been given for myself. My therapist also asked me to take those feelings and close my eyes and see what comes up. And it was very interesting, I flashed back to the day I came home with my daughter and I was breastfeeding her. And someone that came to visit me said, "you know, if you don't eat right, than your breast milk is bad for your child and you're not going to be feeding her well." Which, I know this isn't true, I know my body would sacrifice me to feed and provide my baby with nourishment. But this made me feel, less than, like I wasn't enough for my new baby.  Something I researched fiercely. Something I knew was the best for her and I. But yet, I was left with feelings of not being enough for her. And there it is, I wasn't enough for my mom to pick me over the men in her life, over her own life. I wasn't enough for her to stay and get better. And I am still not enough to stick up for myself, I am not enough for myself. Am I enough for my kids? Am I enough for my friends and family? I don't think I am. I feel I have never been enough, nor do I think I am ever going to be. 

Because I don't know that I am safe or enough, I *need* to know when I care for someone,  if they’re going to walk out of my life or hurt me, because of course they are and I *need* to prepare for it. And that is my obsession. My need to prepare for disasters. 

As I was sitting there with my therapist after this discussion and she asked why I might feel like I am not enough. Why is it my job to be enough? And without thought, I told her a story about a conversation between a family member and myself when I was 16.  She sat there, astounded by what just happened. I thought I revealed something in that story. Nope. Not at all, that story had nothing to do with what she asked me. What happened, is a very protective little Kristy took over and said not now. This little Kristy wouldn't let me dig that deep. Looking back at the session I was extremely animated and loud in the beginning and suddenly I was calm and quiet. We talked about how we need to respect both little Kristy's, the one that's feeling not enough and the one that felt the need to protect that little Kristy and let it be for now. I have never felt more crazy in my life and amazed by my brain. I also left feeling more disconnected from the little Kristy's in the past year. Back to the,  "I know this stuff happened to me, but I don't feel it." Whatever this little Kristy feels or knows, is deep, dark, sad and shamed. I want to heal her but I am also scared of what she holds.  Our first step into this was for me to come up with a mantra for her. Whenever I feel like I am not enough for anything or anyone I need to repeat this mantra. This homework annoyed me, but I did it, with help from a friend.  "Be me, be damaged, be who I am, from birth to today because she's enough."  The hard part will be remembering to use it. 

"And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope. It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat. Because looking for heaven, found the devil in me, whoa, it's always darkest before the dawn."     -Florence+The Machine

"That's the thing about pain, it demands to be felt." -unknown

"A smooth sea never made a skilled sailor." -unknown

"Be me, be damaged, be who I am, from birth to today because she's enough." -Kristy

I adopted a senior dog named Rex and of course he rescued me.

Ever read an animal rescue story and the adopted family says in the end that the animals actually rescued them, my story about my dog Rex, is no different. For several years I have been thinking about adopting a dog, and the past 2 years, very strongly thinking a dog would good for my family, my daughter has generalized anxiety, obsessive compulsive disorder and sensory perception disorder, and I thought an animal would really help comfort her. When I was in fourth grade, my grandparents adopted a dog named Ruff, and he was my bestest friend, he saw me through a lot of tears and he just laid there and listened and just comforted me, I miss that dog like crazy, he was crazy special. And I really wanted that for my daughter. But, just some things got in the way and I take being a pet owner very seriously. But when Hurricane Harvey hit and people were leaving their dogs tied up and left to die. My Facebook feed was full of posts that shelters needed people to adopt dogs as they were at their max and needed the space to take in new rescues from Harvey. I was thinking and having regular dreams of adopting a dog, already. I just had a gut feeling that andog from Harvey would be the best fit for us. Well, one day, I saw Rex on someones feed, and I went to Baltimore County Animal Services website and read more about him. I think his profile said that he was 12 years old and he didn't like to be told that because he believed he was much younger, that he loved to play fetch and that the family that adopted him would be very lucky. And honestly, his profile had me hooked. I sat on it for a bit, thinking when I had free time, I would go see him and maybe I'd adopt him. Let me tell you, I walked into that shelter and there was no turning back. Rex and I met eyes and I started crying. There was no way that Rex wasn't going home with me. Who surrenders a 12 year old family member to die, in a cold, loud, bright shelter (and this isn't a dig at the shelter, they do the best with what they have, a dog deserves a home).  I took Rex outside to play and to "get to know him," and the techs told me all about him. His family surrendered him because they were moving somewhere that couldn't have dogs and he was in good health for his age, he has moderate arthritis and a recently resolved ear and eye infection. So, they reminded me that he would find a home and not to adopt him because I was sad, but there was no way I could meet him and love him and not bring him home. The whole shelter was excited that Rex found his forever home. I cried the whole weekend for him. I would just look at his sweet face and think, how confused he must feel, how much his misses his family and why he's been bounced around, All weekend I would just break out into tears for him. Its very clear to me that he was around children in his previous family. He's just so perfect, all day long, all he wants is to be pet and fed. He is so full of love. My heart was just broken for him.

And then I realized why, I knew that feeling, I knew the feeling of being left and abandoned and confused.  My parents did the same to me. And it's so confusing that I was so loved but yet they left. I would just lay there with him and cry. I couldn't control it. I was just so sad for us. But it was pretty clear from the beginning that we just understood each other hearts. My children came home and met him and they were thrilled to have a dog and agreed that no matter how much time Rex has on Earth that we were going to make the most of it. That there was no way we were going to let him die alone in a shelter. And my heart grew a million times, my children understood pretty quickly how important it was that he lived his days out with us. About 4 nights after Rex's adoption I woke up in the middle of the night and saw him laying next to my bed and I was no longer was sad or angry at the family that surrendered him. I felt a sense of calm, and I was thinking about my mom who essentially surrendered me (even though mine was to the care of her parents that I was already with often). And I no longer needed all the answers. I no longer felt this burning desire to know what happened to her. I no longer wanted to find a time machine to turn back time to get the courage to find her. I just accepted it. I can't turn back time and bring her back to life and I can't keep dwelling on it. She made some really awful decisions that hurt me, and that is the beginning and the middle and the end of the story. I don't need to know the answers to know that I will be okay. I don't need to understand how its possible to drink yourself into a coma and leave your young child to care for herself her baby siblings and allow strange men abuse her. I don't need to understand why she choose to abandon us and make a new family instead of getting healthy and coming home. I don't because those things happened, I am still here, I am still surviving. And I don't need the answers to heal. And I have been working on this for so long, and this dog, Rex, walks into my life and just shows it all to me. This dog that was so thoughtlessly put to the side. was showing me such incredible love and resiliency that it was exactly what I needed at exactly the right time. I may have rescued him, but he rescued me right back. 

Today I walked in to therapy and I told Meredith all of this and then told her that I know that I won't ever NOT be sad about my mom leaving and her death or my childhood, but that's okay, I am allowed to be sad. It's really fucking sad. Never is not sad, and never does it not deserve it's on space to be felt. And, I also told her that I was scared this sense of calm and closure was fake and she said there's really only one test of that. And she asked me how I felt about this little Kristy and for the first time I said, valid. She reminded me that I have never said that before. That I am typically annoyed with Little Kristy and her feelings. But not this time, she totally deserves to be sad, and when ever she wants. And now that she knows that, she can take a seat and allow ME to be at the wheel.  

"To not have your suffering recognized is an almost unbearable form of violence." - Andrei Lankov

"One of the happiest moments in life is when you find the courage to let go of what you can't change." -unknown

#adoptdontshop

#seniorrescue

#herescuedmerightback

#baltimorecountyanimalservices

Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday Mom. You left when I was 8, I think after your birthday, but I am not sure, so maybe the last birthday we celebrated together was when I was 7. I do know why you left. But why didn't you come back. You promised you'd be back at the next holiday, which would have been my birthday. But you didn't show. You never showed. And to be honest I was in my twenties before I stopped thinking you were just gonna show up at a random holiday. I did still always think that I would see you again. I did. It's really something I am having trouble reconciling, that I won't ever talk to you, see you, hug you, ever again. I held onto that for so long, I thought I would find you or I thought you'd find us. I never thought much about what would happen after that but it didn't matter. I am a mom, and my daughter is 8 and my son is 6 and I just don't know how you stayed away, it breaks my heart to think about a life without mine. And you made a new family (who I adore, I actually am more grateful that you had them than anything) and you couldn't translate that feeling to us? I just want to know, how you did it, how you were able to stay away. You loved us, right? You had to, I know you didn't have an ice heart, you were an addict and a mean (the nastiest) drunk but you weren't without a heart. You loved fiercely. So I just can't wrap my head around it. Even when you were diagnosed with cancer and knew it was terminal why you didn't reach out. I wax and wean with how I feel about you. I love you, I miss you and I hate you. You were one of these people that when you were great, you were absolutely the best, everyone wanted to be like you and be around you, but when you were awful, you were the pits, the absolute worst.  But you were my mom, the one I was given. And I loved you and I still love you and miss you everyday. I see you in my kids. My daughter, your granddaughter, is so smart, just like you, she just gets it all so naturally, and my son, he's just all laughs and giggles, he loves a good party, just like you. I see you in your daughters, one is your twin and the other just loves love and she loves music like you did. And your sons, one is just the fiercest Dad you'll ever meet and the other just loves to love people and party but he too has stayed away. Oh, if I could understand what kept you away and what could have brought you back maybe I could see him more. Because, I miss him like crazy too. Mom, I wish you were here now, I wish I could be celebrating your birthday with you. I wish I could have this conversation with you. I wish I would have had more confidence before you died and to have found you. But that isn't the reality, the reality is that I can make my own ending and I can celebrate your birthday today by listening to all your favorite songs that I remember listening to with you and toast you with a 7&7.  Happy Birthday to my mom, a sister, a daughter, a grandmother and an aunt. We miss you like crazy.

"Grief, I've learned, is really just love. It's all the love you want to give but cannot. All of that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go." -  unknown

Time travel is exhausting.

Healing trauma that has happened to me is super inconvenient and annoying. I took some days off work, took a small beach trip and one day of missing a meal triggered a little Kristy to take the driver seat. I was stuck in a visceral flashback (my actual body is back in time, feeling all the things it felt during the time of trauma) for about 10 days. I was uncontrollably itchy and unable to feel settled or comfortable. I knew where this all came from, I knew I didn't feel safe. I didn't know how to take back control. Trailer park Kristy took control of the wheel in my 37 year old body. This Kristy, was often full of bug bites, and had lice so many times that her mom just cut her hair short to make it easier to manage. This Kristy saw drug deals, her mother blacked out, unable to care for her or her siblings, she got yelled at repeatedly for not keeping a clean house and often hit across the face when she didn't do as she was told, she was molested and was forced to do sexual things to other people. This Kristy did her very best to make everyone happy, she did her very best to keep her siblings and herself safe and fed, she did what the men in the house told her to do, even though she knew it was wrong, she knew there was no where to run to be safe. Biologically her brain had to disconnect her from all this horror, she had to go somewhere else in her head to actually survive. My brain protected me, it kept me safe, without it, I wouldn't be here today.  And now that I have made it here, and I am now safe, my brain is still protecting me in the same fashion. Detecting false danger and little Kristy's are taking the wheel, begging to heal from the times she didn't get to be a kid, for when she didn't get to run away from danger.  

Back to the past 10 days, I knew, who this Kristy was, I knew what I had to do, but it was when I was on vacation, when I wanted a break, from life, from my brain. But, you can't hide from trauma, you can't hide from the work and I could no longer hide from this Kristy, she was not letting go till I listened to what she needed and gave it to her.  This past Tuesday I finally gave it to her, I went into work, heart racing, clammy and nauseous, I was just not doing well. I needed this feeling to pass, so, I knew I had to move, I needed to run away from this perceived danger. During my lunch break, I went for a jog through the woods,  and I cried, I didn't hold back, I let it go. And then, out loud, I said, I am safe, there is no danger here, no one to disappoint, I am safe. If I am threatened, or put in harms way, I can run, I can retaliate, I can use my body and voice to protect myself. I am no longer forced to stay and endure any pain, I no longer have to take abuse. I have control over my body, I can escape, I can fight back. And I finished my job and walked back into work, feeling relieved. The next morning I woke up and realized what happened. I walked out of a flashback. I gave little Kristy space to cry and to hurt and then I let her run away and then I, Kristy of today, made her safe and came back into herself. You guys, I DID ALL THE THINGS. I became aware of a flashback, I said hello to little Kristy, I gave her space to heal and then I remembered that I am actually the one in charge and am safe. And little Kristy left the wheel and I got to be at the wheel. I was present. Do you know what this means, this means, I can do it. I can heal, I can be present. I am the hero of my life. Did you read that, read it again, I AM THE HERO OF MY LIFE.  And when I realized what I accomplished, I felt over whelming joy and clarity. And then I treated myself to a glass of wine and crab crakes for dinner to celebrate.

"Being a hero doesn't mean you're invincible, it just means that you're brave enough to stand up and do what's needed." - Rick Riordan

A $40 Ikea nightstand

Many of you probably don't know what drove me to therapy. Primarily, my kids, and the lack of sleep and the inability to take meds without a very sleepy side effect. I was worried at all times of the day about their safety and at night about our safety in our home. I used to set booby traps and stay up late researching local statistics about home invasions, for some reason, numbers always calm me. Finally after a month of only sleeping 2 hours a night on average, I decided to ask for some help. I needed sleep, I needed to shut up these thoughts. I knew this wasn't healthy and I needed help. Initially I took Celexa and just one night Xanax (more on why just once, at another time, funny story, involving sleep, but never again will I take Xanax). My anxiety was SO bad that all I did was worry that the meds were just covering up my ability to be alert and aware. So, off to find a therapist I went. This where my kids come into play, my daughter has generalized anxiety, OCD and sensory perception disorder. Which means, she's brilliant but very rigid and her meltdowns can be massive because she is young and still trying to figure out how to communicate and express herself. She also has a therapist and we have made huge strides lately. I am so proud of her. BUT. She still has meltdowns and they are massive. And last week she was in an obsessive loop (which can be triggering for me) and I was just letting her repeat herself and letting it out, and BAM, while I was driving home, I had a flashback. It was dark, it was me looking in on myself, I became hot and dizzy but luckily I was able to focus and take that last turn into our court. I quickly decided to put the thoughts out and focus on getting the kids ready for bed. I also decided it was time to put together a new nightstand. I thought that if I stood still it would rush back and I would be stuck. So, I put together a $40 Ikea nightstand at 8:15 pm after a long day, with anger and frustration. I just needed to put something together, I needed to complete a task and make it whole. Even if the drawer was put on upside down, even if my kids were up until 10 pm helping me, even if the arthritis in my hands were killing, I NEEDED this night stand to be whole. And I did it. And we went to bed, and I slept. AND I SLEPT. A night like that would have kept me up, thinking about the flashback and obsessing about what it meant and why. I would have likely checked all the locks and windows in the house and set booby traps and then become paralyzed in bed.

It's funny the things you forget about yourself, and thanks to my therapist, she reminded me of how Kristy of last year would have handled this. And how much progress I made just automatically following what I needed. Which was to move out of the moment, to not stay stuck or paralyzed. SO thank you Ikea, for being cheap and requiring assembly, it was perfect therapy for me at that moment. 

Yesterday, I walked in therapy, talked about this flashback, the things I did, and how when I woke up the next day and I couldn't really remember the flashback. I remembered the fear, but couldn't recall the actual flashback. I was  frustrated because, the flashback was me being an onlooker and then I couldn't remember it and that I am trying so hard to connect with Little Kristy and heal her. And that this was just another example of how I am failing. Meredith (my therapist, if I have never mentioned that) reminded me that I don't have to stay in the past to heal Little Kristy, that I have to be present and mindful and loving to myself to heal. But my default is to naturally attack myself. Man, self love is hard. Being present is also super hard, anxiety sure knows how to mess with your brain that way. Making you think by living in the present means your not prepared for some tragedy. But statistically, if you have ever experienced trauma, you are more likely to experience it again. And that's because a  trauma brain might initially be aware of danger but it also knows how to disconnect to protect.....instead of what it should be doing which is running away from the danger.   I tell myself on a regular basis that my level of anxiety is not helping me and is actually making me more vulnerable. Because I forget, because I just don't believe it. That's because many years ago, I got stuck, in a loop, a trauma/obsessive loop. And that is if I can control how people see me that they won't hurt me. If I plan for all the things that I can some how be prepared for when danger strikes. And when you plan for these things, and then they don't happen, you reinforce the worrying and the planning because THAT IS the reason why danger didn't strike. Not that danger wasn't going to strike. I just kept feeding myself that same lie over and over again, that my actions some how prevented bad things happening to me later in life. I mean cause lets face it, when I was a kid, I was told I was bad, I was wrong, I was selfish, I was a bitch, so when abuse and neglect happened to me, I thought I was bad, I was wrong and I was selfish, not this adult, who was abusing drugs, neglecting my siblings and I on a very basic human right level, who was leaving horrible mean men in our home that abused me. I thought it was my fault, I thought it was because I was bad. And somehow I have thought up in my brain, a long time ago, that if I can act a certain way, be a perfect person, a perfect mother, a perfect sibling, a perfect friend, that nothing bad will happen to me and that no one will leave me. Because that is the core of it all, I have tried my whole life to perfect so that I can be loved. I am scared to disappoint, anyone, I mean that, anyone. Even mean people, even people that don't matter or shouldn't matter. I am scared that if anyone that gets to know all of me, that they won't love me anymore, and that they will leave me. I have been working so hard on this simple concept. To know, that I am a good person, to know that I deserve love. And I am working to being Kristy, and to letting people love all of me, flaws too. But it is scary, scary as hell. Scarier than any trauma, neglect or abuse I have ever endured.   

A $40 Ikea nightstand helped me stop the obsessive loop. Helped me move on. Helped me stay present and not stuck in my loop. I am not perfect and I have no *real* control over how other people feel about me.  And I have to stay true to myself and love me and just let go and be present, it's the only way to truly heal.

"Trauma creates change you don't choose, healing creates change you do choose." _ Michelle Rosenthal