Courage

Someday will come. I promise. 

Someday you won’t care anymore where they’re at or what they’re doing. You won’t see their picture and feel a twinge of what if…I’d never let him say hello. You won’t hear their name and feel the hot sting of fear. You won’t wonder who they’re with and what lies they’re telling about you or themselves, even in the dark of the night when their guilt is eating them alive and no one else can hear them. You won’t care what their version of the truth is. You won’t be hurt if they gave your song away to her because you’ve already taken that back. You’ve taken everything back. Your power, your memories, your places, your freedom. You’ll feel light and breezy, and at peace and you’ll know that’s because someday is here and you don’t have to worry anymore about watching your back, guarding your words, walking on eggshells or trying to figure out if you’re being gaslighted or not. You won’t have to anticipate their moods or wonder why they feel a need to emotionally manipulate you. You won’t be more protective of their heart and wounds than your own, because you’ll understand now it was futile. You’ll realize that every time you felt like something was off when you were together, you were right. You weren’t crazy and, yes, you were in an unhealthy emotional and physical place with a person who wasn’t safe, and you’ll be so glad you chose not to abandon yourself, even though the way or the why wasn’t clear and going forward alone was scary. 

You’ll arrive. To a stronger, healthier, more evolved version of you. 

Because what you did with the time after every hope and dream fell apart was work on the pieces of you that broke or got buried beneath the rubble and confusion of the insidious toxicity. You were hurting, yet wise enough to realize there was a great deal of knowledge to be carried forward and you wanted that, so you chose to feel everything, unravel every layer and put each remnant where it belonged, all the beauty, the sadness and the pain. You didn’t distract yourself and ignore the deep, piercing ache, instead you leaned into its heat, absorbed every nuance and learned from the discomfort. You let yourself cry, walk through the misty moments of remembering and you finally breathed. The kind of restorative inhale and exhale you could never take when you were together. You gained perspective, felt the softening of your heart return, slowly began to refuel the light of self-esteem that was dimmed in the struggle and you found your way to trusting yourself again. You could finally hear that once familiar faint whisper, the voice of your Knowing, above everything else. And you carried it all with grace and gratitude.

Because you are a warrior. You invite the lessons. Your resilience is mighty and forged from the sharp and shattered pieces that people tried to destroy you with. In fact, they reveled in it, and oh, how they underestimated you. 

You choose triumph. You are indestructible. You will ever rise. You will always rebuild. And each time you do, you will be a new and more powerful force to be reckoned with, possessing a shining brilliance that cannot be overshadowed or cast out by someone else’s darkness. 

Your clarity will set you free. 

While waiting for my labs, this vibrant nurse asked what brought me to North Carolina. I told her that my life had presented me with a lot of transitions and closed doors so I had some open windows to find. I had done the work and knew I wasn’t running away from anything, but moving toward something that was meant for me, which included a new experience. So I sold everything, packed my car and came sight unseen to a place that was recommended by my sister. I told her it was the scariest and best decision I ever made, and that when I got here I knew I was home. Without missing a beat, she told me I was Brave and that she’s just not. I replied, “We all take risks in our own way and I’ve never met a woman who hasn’t had to be Brave in her life.” She just stopped what she was doing, then looked at me, took a deep breath and practically whispered with awe in her voice, “Wow. Yes. Truer words were never spoken. Thank you. I’d forgotten how Brave I’ve had to be sometimes.”

We do that, you know, we forget that sometimes just getting through the day requires us to be Brave. I see that especially in women. We’re so adept at surviving challenges, so comfortable with our own resilience and making ourselves small that we underestimate just how amazing we are and what it took to get to the other side! It’s time to stop doing that. 

I was in my car last week listening to a news story about courage that triggered me and I found myself tearing up. I’m an empath, deeply sensitive, and feel energy from others, so that wasn’t unusual but the underlying feeling behind it surprised me. It was about me. It was fragility. As I explored that, I found myself realizing that lately I haven’t felt Brave. I feel like I might shatter in a light breeze. I don’t usually walk around thinking I’m Brave but I live my life with a lot of confidence in my resilience. I don’t question whether I can get through something. Life has provided me with evidence and sound knowledge that I can handle anything, because I have so far. Lately, however, I feel like I am trying to keep my balance between being proactive and just being done. I’m spent. Then I realized that I was not allowing myself the grace that I offer my friends. I would never look at one of them dealing with what I’m dealing with and not give them room to feel whatever they needed, without judgment. And I would think they’re Brave! We are always so much harder on ourselves. What I knew intellectually and what I was feeling in my being were so different. Brave is not only about being strong through challenges, feeling bulletproof, powering through fear or taking huge leaps of faith. Sometimes Brave is about just showing up. In our weakness, in our vulnerability, in our exhaustion and when we are most afraid and uncertain. Brave has many faces, one of which is not really knowing what’s next and not really knowing if you can hold on, but somehow you do.

A lot has changed for me in the last couple months and like many of us, I have felt like life hurled me into the deep end of the ocean where I can’t swim but am expected to stay and keep trying. I have calm days where I’m treading water or even floating with my face toward the sun, and other days where I am simply flailing for fear of drowning. It’s all part of my life right now. We go through so many shifts and transitions during adversity that sometimes it’s hard to feel anything but the weight of it. At times, we push ourselves to a point where we just can’t do another thing because we’re so afraid of not feeling strong. That actually happened to me last week and I just had to stop. It was kind of an incredible feeling. To stop flailing. To stop treading water. To just stop. To trust. And what I discovered was that I didn’t drown. I relaxed into the furious water and the waves of life and just let myself go with it. Our bodies are amazing and they will always signal to us when our spirit, our minds or actual physical self needs to take a rest. Then we must honor that and give ourselves space to simply be so we can heal from whatever stress has been happening to us. When I did that it meant I had to upend my life, change my plans and release some of my responsibilities. And I realized that over the last few weeks I have really been exploring the nuances of what I’ve been going through and it’s been a teacher to me. The fact that I would even bother looking at any of that, is Brave. I am Brave.

Brave is each of my three daughters going through life-altering changes right now, at the same time. They are all taking risks in their own way and with nothing in front of them but desire, hope and belief in themselves. They are relinquishing their comforts, making a plan and jumping into the unknown to live their best life! I am in awe of these beautiful humans. 

Brave is my friend who went through endless chemotherapy treatments to find herself utterly depleted, helped along by a pandemic and crippling isolation. Yet, she reached out and asked me how one begins to find self love after losing their essence. She said one of my blogs inspired her and I remember thinking how Brave it was that with no energy and everything she’d been through she wanted to do the work to love herself again. It requires enormous motivation to relearn something when you’ve lost so much. That’s Brave. 

I have girlfriends who constantly call themselves out in their relationships, as partners, employees and friends. They dig, excavate and strive to understand their feelings so they can be a better, more present individual. These powerhouse women choose not to neglect something they’ve committed to, whether it feels like their responsibility at the time or not. They don’t plow through their feelings with careless reactions, but instead seek to connect with and understand the root of their emotions. They are self-aware and wise and they know that real growth starts with them. That is Brave. We live in a society that tries to answer problems of the heart with emojis and memes and doesn’t respect the truth of self-discovery. When we choose to know ourselves with such clarity and own our behavior it is fierce, humble, and it is Brave. I know these women. I am this woman. And I love being in the company of such greatness. 

I just want you to know, those of you out there thrashing around in the deep end of the storm with nothing in sight but endless waves crashing over your head, sucking the breath from your body, that I understand what the fear of drowning feels like and I know you’re Brave. You’re not just letting go while the current pulls you under. You’re paddling and you’re fighting. And it might be a long time until you see land. I know you’re exhausted. But you’re fucking Brave. If nobody’s told you that I want you to know it. I also want you to know that if you just let go and float for a while, that’s Brave too.  I’m still in the water, but it’s not so scary now.

Throughout my life I have faced many situations that have asked me to be Brave. Some were horrendous and required years of healing and some were simply the unexpected life moments that throw us into the unknown. Each time my Brave looked different. Sometimes it’s fierce, powerful and filled with fire. Other times it quietly sits with you. A scant whisper reminding you that you’re still here. Because you choose to be. 

Feeling fragile and being Brave are not mutually exclusive. I needed that reminder again. 

I am specifically calling you out to Own Your Brave. 

Brave, as a verb because it requires enduring, facing, choosing. Even if you’re just breathing in and out to get through your day, YOU are making that happen. When you’re depleted. When you can’t see your next step. When your loneliness overwhelms you. When all you want to do is cry. 

That’s Brave. 

I want you to get that. 

I want you to hear that. 

I Want You To Own Your Brave. 

So here’s the thing, the truth we don’t always like to admit to ourselves. 

What we don’t feel, we don’t heal. 

There is no escaping the unpacking we must do for the emotional baggage we carry and the devastating experiences we have. Those are the things that change and shape us and it’s our responsibility to navigate through them, or risk losing ourselves to them. If we try to avoid the process by going around it, under it or just ignoring it altogether, that toxicity will bleed into every other single thing we do and become a deep dark secret that we spend our life trying to hide. And who wants to walk around hiding a part of themselves? Belonging is everyone’s desire. And if we don’t belong to ourselves first, if we don’t learn to integrate our shadow self and our light, then how can we find belonging with anyone else? 

After my recent trauma, when I had to end a toxic relationship, deal with the onslaught of malicious harassment, come to terms with filing a restraining order and then sit with the reality of what happened, I had this compelling desire to stay connected with my inherent truth. After all, an important part of my life had been committed to this relationship and it deserved my reflection. I knew that all my answers were in me, waiting to be uncovered and heard. And the only way to listen was to feel everything. So, I invited it all in. 

I made a very intentional choice to not let myself be distracted by anything that would prevent me from experiencing all the nuances of my situation. I didn’t date it away. I didn’t drink it away. I didn’t smoke it away. I didn’t fuck it away. Not that I didn’t have opportunities for that and it would’ve felt great, but I carried this intimate momentum toward being healthy and didn’t want to miss a moment of that. I didn’t want to get in my own way. I knew what was coming and was ready for the arduous process of excavating the pain and getting to the other side, where I would be healthy and free. I didn’t want to carry this around unresolved and I certainly didn’t want it to make me bitter or armoured up. So I listened, paid attention and let it teach me. I allowed every emotion to simmer and bubble and welcomed it all, as much as I do joy and serenity. Amazingly, it was not as hard as I expected. I knew the terrain better, I recognized the landscape of healing. 

I became intentional and made my world small, very focused for a time, staying home more and surrounding myself with only those few choice people that know me completely. Not out of isolation, but as a way to connect, to feel grounded, so I could silence the chatter of rumination and really hear. And there were moments, between the lines of the story I had written for myself, where I could feel it happening. This transformation washed over me. I was not just taking space, but creating space for me, the whole of me. I had removed something harmful, making room for what belonged to me, and I now felt strong, energetic, light and liberated.  

When I experienced my PTSD incident at the hospital a few weeks ago, it was both alarming and enlightening. I felt out of control, yet also knew that I was having a breakthrough moment, a culmination of all the work I had been doing to get familiar with my pain. There’s an intense clarity that happens when you cross over the edge, when you go someplace terrifying, believing that it will make you better. There was a moment afterwards, a moment where I was enrobed in the warmth of self-awareness, and the world stopped. Where everything I thought I knew was gone and something different took its place. It was me. It was home. It was safe. I had leveled up. I leaned into that. I held that close and am certain I will never again stray from that place. 

The initial process of standing up for myself was unnerving. At first, the weight of it made me hesitant. I had believed in his goodness with everything in me. The boundary I had to make felt cruel. It took my energy and time. I missed work and sleep for a while. But those feelings dissipated and what took its place was profound. So, when talking about the signs of abuse and what happens next, there’s something very important to pay attention to. The signs after you stand up for yourself, the signs after you leave, after you disengage, after you do the thing that makes you feel safe again. 

You. Are. Empowered. 

I immediately felt a sense of relief and serenity. What it did for my body was incredible. I had been experiencing so much physical pain from my illness that was already accelerating and this incident had brought it to a full boil, until, suddenly, everything started to calm down. My act of fierce self-love changed everything. It was as though I took a deep exhale. During my self imposed asylum I was able to recognize my triggers and release them. I felt no anger, no animosity, no resentment. I began drinking less, eating better and losing weight naturally. I stopped smoking, even for sleep and the pain. When I resumed my normal life, people everywhere were telling me I look healthier, stronger, younger and happier. I seamlessly flowed back into my social situations, meeting new and interesting people. I was aligning with the higher version of myself. 

That is what peace feels like when you know you’re doing the right thing for you, when your motives are completely driven by self-love and not unresolved anger or vengeance. All the things that aren’t meant for you begin to just fall away, because you’ve told the universe you’re ready. Knowing your worth is everything. It is not selfish, it is the epitome of truth and the full embodiment of love. That’s the beauty of choosing to grow, to incorporate the struggle and do the work. It’s not magic, it’s an extraordinary reward of putting your emotional self on the line and owning it all.  

I understand that it doesn’t happen like this for everyone, but if there’s one takeaway here it’s that the work is an integral part of any healing process. Just like PT for an injury. I have done years of emotional therapeutic healing because of my upbringing, and I understood that I would likely make trauma-informed decisions, with its many layers and complexities. I hold no shame for the abuse I’ve experienced since then, into adulthood, even though I fought so hard against it. I’m proud that I’ve been brave enough to allow it to guide me and fill me with knowledge I can share. I’m grateful that I’ve chosen not to show up in the world with sharp, broken edges, angry and cruel, ready to harm another person. I love who I have become and feel so connected to her. 

Was I sad that he chose for the last breath of our love story to be extinguished by such insidious darkness? Of course. But not anymore. That’s not on me. This is on me, my healing work is on me, my decision to move forward with benevolence is on me. My choice to live a life of joy is on me. My courage to fight for myself and every woman that can’t find her voice is on me. And I choose to surrender to my future beyond him, send him light, and hope that someday he can see through his wounds to his path of inner peace, so he will never do damage like this again. 

Since my last blog about domestic violence, many women have reached out to share their stories with me, and that even though they were strong enough to leave they are still struggling with the difficulty of healing through the aftermath. That is a scenario I’m very familiar with. This is the long-term effect of abuse. The healing work is ongoing. Re-establishing self-love, adopting healthy communication skills after being programed for trauma responses and reacquainting yourself with your own intuition are just some of the things that you’ll likely deal with after an abusive relationship. The best way to move through these residual effects is to learn to understand the process that brought us here. From childhood abuse, to single traumatic events, to abuse in the workplace, to domestic violence, there are commonalities. 

I’m going to lead with this; I don’t like the word abuse. It’s too soft. Just like society saying ‘women get raped’ instead of ‘men rape women,’ it is a category of definition but it does not begin to identify the depth of what actually happens or where the responsibility lies. So I’m going to get real about this shit, what it is, and how it may manifest as you heal. For the sake of context, I’ll use the word abuse, keeping in mind that we all have unique and deeply personal experiences. 

This reality of abuse…

Stalking. Harassment. Gaslighting. Violent behavior. Disrespecting personal boundaries. Sexual exploitation. Physical beatings. Emotional torture. Rape. Belittling. Diminishing. Codependency. Mutilation. Isolation. Fear. Threats of violence. Molestation. Shutting down communication. Intimidation. Silence. Withholding affection. Passive aggressive responses. Angry outbursts. Insults. Jokes at your expense. Financial withholding. Neglect. Manipulation. Control. Extreme jealousy. Emotional avoidance. Obsession/possessiveness. Social alienation. Trauma bonding. 

Trauma, the body’s natural emotional response to these events, is subjective to each individual. As you begin to explore your own relationships, past and present, you can start to recognize abusive patterns and behaviors that are identified here, which is the first step to disengaging and eventually healing from their triggers. 

Years ago, I helped lead a support group for male and female survivors of sexual abuse. Each person’s story was relevant and damaging to them according to how their brain processed the event. Those events varied from being locked in a closet, repeatedly beaten, to being continually diminished through verbal abuse, and were always accompanied by repeated sexual violation, mutilation or manipulation. Oftentimes, I noticed that what might be a seemingly insignificant event to someone else was a major life-altering experience for the survivor talking about it. I witnessed that the impact was different based on that person’s safety at the time, their age when it occurred, and through my own therapy came to understand that it is not the experience itself as much as the decisions we make about ourselves in that moment that create our reality. It can often take years to excavate those underlying factors. I watched courageous people go through unfathomable circumstances and became very aware that we cannot diminish or compare another person’s pain to ours, nor can we assume the same outcome for everyone. 

Science offers irrefutable evidence that when a child’s brain development is interrupted by trauma, the neural pathways are remodeled, often resulting in disrupted attachment, cognitive delays and impaired emotional regulation. When an adult experiences trauma and abusive events it makes the brain vulnerable to similar changes, and an inability to organize or deal with common everyday stressors. As a way to cope with our powerlessness to escape our situation, survivors subconsciously initiate brain mechanisms called survival skills that help us live through these unimaginable, and sometimes life threatening events. We adopt them as normal because it’s all we know and is the only way we can process what is happening to us. These typical trauma responses include emotional detachment/avoidance, being overly responsible, lack of trust, fear of intimacy, extreme independence. We should hold no shame for what we needed to protect ourselves at the time. However, over an extended period of time our brains can become hardwired with these negative methods and then seep into our healthy relationships, causing unnecessary damage or self-sabotage. There is hope for a healthy life after trauma and it requires our desire to seek out resources and do the most difficult, brutal work of our lives. I have never done anything harder than crawl through the dark, depraved, painful memories and dissect every aspect of myself so I could recognize all of my own behaviors and patterns. That’s why many people never do it.

I became aware in high school that I was not from a normal family and sought out therapy to gain appropriate coping skills, and then again in my 20’s when I began having night terrors after I had a brand new baby and my oldest daughter was 3, the same age I had been when my abuse started. As I began to fully comprehend the deep roots and complexities of my trauma, the easier it became for me to adopt a new mindset to break the cycles I had inherited. I utilized books, podcasts, seminars, visualization and mental reframing to support the therapy I was getting. I was proactive and determined to heal. Like anything new we learn, this was a practice and not a destination, and it took time. I didn’t create my situation and yet I knew I was responsible for repairing the damage. I now discern abusive behavior more quickly, trust my gut when it tells me something and then have the courage to move on. 

Oftentimes, our opportunity to heal will continue to present itself within the boundaries of a safe, loving relationship, long after we have left the abusive situation. We may find ourselves resorting to trauma responses because they are deeply embedded in our brain. The stronger you get the more familiar you will be with what doesn’t feel right. Remember, our brains have been altered and learning to recognize what’s healthy is not a simple thing. I believe that when triggers bubble to the surface it is a sign that we are strong enough to handle the new information and add another layer to our healing. Sharing our triggers with our partners or our closest friends can help restore our ability to trust others and ourselves. 

Be very clear on this, trauma does not make you stronger, kinder or more capable. You do that. You choose that. Trauma weakens your immune system, causes flashbacks, dissociation of feelings, insomnia, irrational or inflexible thinking, memory loss, unwelcomed triggers, a sense of hopelessness, lack of focus, emotional fatigue, self esteem issues, anxiety and oftentimes masks itself as rage and anger. PTSD can include any or all of these symptoms and can also occur after a traumatic event.

People with unresolved trauma are more likely to be abusers. They carry unhealed wounds and pain that they then perpetrate on others. The people who abuse you can be very charismatic, intelligent and even popular, but make no mistake, they are also abusers. If they can be charming in public then you know that their cruelty in private, is intentional. It is not your fault. You do not deserve it. You did not provoke or invite it. They have the choice, like you, to deal with their unresolved trauma and they choose not to. 

Society holds an unrealistic stigma around trauma and emotional health issues AND there is no shame in receiving professional guidance, just as there is no shame in seeking medical attention for a broken bone. In fact, it can be a necessary step to gain new tools for growth. Not everyone who experiences trauma needs treatment, but for those who see any hindrance or deep emotional scars that they try to avoid or that don’t feel authentic, the responsibility lies with them to seek help. Especially if they want fulfilling relationships. In 2021 there is no end to the availability of resources we have, so even though it’s daunting, there is no excuse for people to ignore their issues. 

One of the best things we can do if we have never experienced trauma is to stop victim blaming and judging people who have. Asking questions like “Why did you stay?” or “How could you have missed the signs?” and saying things like “I would never let that happen to me,” are based in ignorance and an unwillingness to understand the depth of the situation. Trite platitudes like, “We teach people how to treat us” diminish and minimize the actual experience and simplify a profoundly complicated subject. They’re plain bullshit. I didn’t teach my abuser how to treat me when I was three. These manipulative, power-hungry violators don’t need our help at doing their worst. And if our complicity is a result of our brain being altered by these events then it’s easy to understand why women stay in these situations, especially when they feel powerless or afraid, have no resources and no one to turn to. One of the first things a survivor works through is shame and guilt that they shouldn’t own in the first place, and we do not make it easier on them by reinforcing that burden. They have work to do, and they are not responsible for what happened to them. Self-reflection, looking at the role they played in their choices and what kind of people they are attracting is their job. Your job is to educate yourself if you don’t understand the intricacies of abuse and the resulting trauma responses. Hopefully, some of this information will resonate with you and help you rethink ways to offer support. Your lack of understanding is not on them. So stop it. 

Trauma is an epidemic and we would all be better served to create a safe space for everyone to heal.

Resources:

Mastin Kipp, Trauma-informed/trained, Holistic Emotional Health Leader, 

Instagram @mastinkipp

Domestic Violence Hotline 1-800-799-7233 (SAFE)

NC Division of Social Services and the Family and Children’s Resource Program

The Body Keeps The Score, a book by Bessel Van Der Kolk MD

My eyelids were heavy as I woke from a restless sleep. The hospital cot was firm and uncomfortable and the thin blanket insufficient to keep me warm. I focused my fuzzy vision toward the clock and saw that it was 1:00 a.m. I had been in the ER for 11 hours, my CT was normal and I was still waiting for results from my Covid and flu tests, which should have been done 40 minutes earlier. I had never had it before, but thank goodness for morphine or I wouldn’t have been able to rest with the constant, stabbing abdominal pain I was suffering. Until then the time seemed to fly by as I bantered with hospital staff and patients alike and enjoyed the book I had been trying to finish. All of a sudden something happened to me as I tried to put my feet on the floor. I wasn’t okay. I became disoriented, and began to panic as hot tears streamed down my face. I was desperate to get the IV out of my arm and couldn’t be there one more second. I felt unsafe and frantic to be at home. In my own bed and my own space. It was as though my body was acting without my consent. Three days of vomiting, fever, flu-like symptoms, no solid food, intense pain, exhaustion and heavy drugs contributed to my vulnerability and heightened my response.

I hit my call button and asked the attendant to let me leave and finally my regular nurse came in to assist me. I was uncharacteristically irritable and impatient. I don’t treat people like that. I repeated that I had to go home and insisted she take out the IV taped to my arm. I didn’t even realize I was speaking erratically through uncontrollable sobbing, and pulling at the needle inserted in my vein. I needed to be away from these feelings, away from having to explain to anyone what was happening to me, when I barely knew myself. Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, I became aware that I was covering my face and could feel the heat of shame filling my cupped hands. I curled up to make myself very small, in an attempt to hide. This felt like an out-of-body experience, both terrifying and enlightening. I was in the middle of a full-blown PTSD episode. 

It took me a moment to gain clarity and tell the nurse that I was suffering anxiety from a previous traumatic event that had nothing to do with my hospital stay. She softened as I apologized profusely for being short with her. She asked me questions, held my hand and let me open up without judgment. When my doctor came in and I was still crying I was able to share with both of them what I was experiencing. It was their patience and compassion that enabled me to breathe and reconnect with my center. 

Many hours later, when I was home and rested I was able to explore all my feelings and identify the triggers that caused my reaction. My lifelong relationship with trauma and healing helped me recognize what was happening, and fortunately experience it as a breakthrough moment which was deeply beneficial for me. I know that’s not true for everyone. Many people struggle with trauma responses and have no idea what is taking place or how to tame it. I also understood without any doubt that this was something I needed to share.

About a month ago I had to file a restraining order against someone I had loved, trusted and invited to be part of my life. I never saw it coming. No one did. For me, it was an agonizing, but necessary last resort to take legal action. The arduous task of having to go to the sheriff’s station and report an abusive incident, recount it with a Domestic Violence Officer and plunge into the complexities of filing the detailed paperwork was an emotionally exhausting, time consuming and triggering experience. Until that moment of saying it outloud to a stranger, it didn’t feel real to me. When the officer looked me in the eyes and said that she could see fear in my face and my body language I knew I had to stand up for myself and not back down. This was not about vengeance, it was about self-preservation. After everything I’ve survived, I refuse to give someone power over me or take up space in my head with manipulation and fear.

I am not here to vilify anyone. It’s also not my job to protect the people who have been unapologetically careless with my emotional and physical safety. I’m moving forward and am compelled to share my insights. Like any part of my story, I cannot hide while others suffer in silence, nor can I ignore the statistics and how many people I know personally who have been violated. There is a need to create awareness and normalize the conversation about what domestic violence is, with all of its nuances. This is a deeply complex subject that cannot be explored in one blog post. I’ll be talking about the many aspects of abuse in upcoming blogs, from trauma bonding, to shame and victim blaming, to recognizing dangerous patterns, as well as resources for healing. I welcome your questions, experiences and comments and am committed to holding a healthy, safe, non judgmental space for your fears, concerns and contributions.

I would like to clarify that I know men suffer from abuse too. I want to acknowledge that fact, their courage and the gender stigmas they face. I can only speak from my experience as a woman and what I dealt with first-hand in the system, and I invite male survivors to lean into the conversation. Our society has a problem that has only increased during the pandemic and will grow and persist until we get comfortable with talking about these uncomfortable details and not turning a blind eye. This is not happening to ‘other’ people, this is happening to your girlfriends, your daughters, your friends, your sisters. We must bring it out in the open. Otherwise, it will continue to be shrouded in shame.

                                         Shame that does not belong to us. 

When we give our painful experience a voice of acceptance, we alter its meaning and break the chains of shame. 

I loved him with fierce and unrelenting devotion. It was like breathing. He would let me sneak up into his tree house with his friends when there were no other girls allowed, but he was always worried that I would fall. He was protective in a world where no one protected me. He was my first hero, my male role model, my only brother. With him I mattered. Even when he disappeared from my everyday life, as his being crumbled into a million splintering pieces with crime and drugs, we held a connection, like a fragile, translucent piece of hand blown glass, rare, unique and priceless. Breakable.

I wasn’t very old by the time Dan and my elder sister were both gone and for better or worse, left me to be the caretaker of my younger sisters and broken, mentally ill, alcoholic mother. My brother was in and out of my life, sometimes for years at a time. But he phoned me faithfully on my birthday. Without fail. Until he stopped. I used to imagine I’d get a call saying he was in a gutter somewhere, dead from an overdose. I tried to not see that image, but it haunted me.

I always saw the innate goodness in him. He was a gentleman, a tender soul with a heart of gold, the guy who would return something better than he found it. I remember when he borrowed a friend’s car and something went wrong with it that wasn’t his fault, yet he insisted on paying for the repairs because he was the one driving it at the time. I realized the meaning of integrity that day. He was the guy who prized honesty above everything else which was such an odd dichotomy given his addiction, the thievery and the demons that ran through his head mercilessly crying out for negative attention just to be seen. To me, it seemed like he was always doing penance for something he wasn’t guilty of and that manifested profoundly in my young girl bones. Somehow his shame was connected to mine and didn’t belong to either of us. It was forced on us by our own mother, religious men, and desperate stepfathers who shrouded us in dark corners and insidious secrets. I didn’t blame Dan. I understood because I lived in that house too and while none of us ever talked about it, each of my four siblings lived out their trauma with different responses, none of it healthy. We all carried pain, hard to identify to an untrained eye or the outside world. I was the only one who chose to get better. To recognize the power of my own resilience. To heal. It’s a really lonely and isolating road to travel and it is stunningly difficult to see the benefits of while you’re immersed in the work. You don’t know it’s worth it until you’re on the other side and even then you still live in quicksand. 

My brother never really grew from that little boy who felt lost and abandoned. The boy who hid behind a bush and watched my mother and father fight as my dad walked away with another woman and never looked back. Dan was his only son but dad willingly abandoned him to go have another one with someone else. One he would spoil and lavish his wealth on while we struggled, starved and went without. I remember knowing that my brother felt a specific pain that I could never understand even though we were all affected by my dad’s absence and apathy. I also began to see the ripple effects of my own strength of character and my ability to be there for those I loved. Something deep inside me wanted to just hold Dan’s heart but that was a fracture that couldn’t be repaired externally and I watched my brother chase acceptance and belonging for his entire existence after that. How could a young boy find the language for or know where to put that kind of pain, that kind of hollow heartbreak? I think It left him forever insatiable, forever wanting. In later years when my dad tried to reconnect and make things right it was too late for atonement. Even though he took my brother under his wing and tried to do the right thing, nothing could fill that gaping, dark chasm that had been left by my dad’s decision. He ended up stealing from my dad, doing drugs on the job and risking my dad’s contracting license. In an unhealthy attempt at penance my dad would give him chances over and over and over. The whole thing was so dysfunctional and tragic. Sometimes you can’t fix a mistake, you can only watch the consequences play out and some wounds never heal, they just bleed onto other people.

I always treated Dan like he was capable even when he kept stumbling and falling, bruising, battering and bloodying his knees. It didn’t matter that I was younger than him, that I felt alone in the world. I could be there for him and it meant something to me to do that. In high school when I was living on my own, I was the liaison between my brother and family when he was in prison. He would write letters asking me for money, for confidentiality, for favors and to soften the edges for what he needed to tell mom. I always did what I could for him. And later when I had my own family I shared them with him because I knew he would never have one of his own. He was too frightened by his own past to ever try to create a future for someone else. He couldn’t hold on to a meaningful relationship or anything permanent. Yet, I never saw so much joy in anyone’s face as when he was around my children. He exuded pure love for them. He was totally free, the self he was before he didn’t feel worthy. The self he was before the world told him he didn’t matter. One year for Christmas he bought my daughters new bikes because that was a luxury we never enjoyed as kids. He wanted to make up for everything he never had, for everything he never felt. We had a shared understanding that he would never come around my family when he was high. He attempted to get his life together and then sabotaged it just as quickly. His demons followed him, broke his spirit. 

But he remained remarkable to me. Maybe he’s where I learned to love unconditionally. Maybe he’s where I learned to look past flaws, faults and weakness to see potential, beauty and light. Maybe he’s where I learned that I’m an empath, even though I didn’t know what it was at the time. I’m certain he’s also where I learned to make boundaries. That I had a right and a responsibility to protect myself. In so many ways he gave me purpose and I did the same for him. In just as many ways he broke my heart. 

Dan walked me down the aisle at my second wedding. That remains my favorite memory with him, because in that moment he was exactly the man he was intended to be. The picture of us, with his spontaneous laugh and dancing eyes, brings me joy to this day. It’s just me and him, no damaged goods, shattered confidence or broken promises. 

• 

A couple months ago I finally discarded the letters that he had written me from prison. As much as I adore him and hold a place in my heart for him I have to put my energy where it is welcomed and reciprocated. He has allowed himself to become a user of people and he’s barely recognizable now in his behavior. He eventually abandoned me and my girls, with venom and spite. It hurt for a long time and then I sent him peace and let him go. Maybe my unconditional love was just too much of a burden for him. Maybe he just ran out of fight. Shame will make you believe that you don’t deserve happiness. 

His will remain a lesson for a life unfinished. Yet, for one gorgeous, golden, glimmering season he was my hero. For that, for my brother, I will always be grateful.