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.
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.
(Author’s note, this was written from an experience in 2016, during one of my favorite seasons in life. The message is still relevant and this man remains my dear friend.)
So today while I was laying in bed with my guy, spooning and napping, yes, in the middle of the day, on a Monday, I found myself anxious, wondering how I could sneak out from the folds of his strong, comforting arms, unwrap my legs from his, move my cold feet from under his warm ones, and get up. I know, don’t say it. I was restless. I was overly tired from last night’s insomnia, hadn’t expected a nap and couldn’t sleep. There were workmen right outside my window and all I could do was hear their conversations, and their phones ringing, and the garbage truck, and then I started counting all those little popcorn texture thingies on the ceiling (there are a lot, in case you’re wondering) and then I looked at every picture hanging on my wall and recounted every story and memory that went with each one, and then of course I thought of a really good blog idea and wanted to write it down before I forgot, and man, I’m not used to laying so still and in one place for so long and my leg started to ache…and blah, blah, blah!!
I did actually find a quiet way to get up because by then I really was cold and I really did have to pee…but then he sat up and beckoned me back to bed, pulling back the sheet. “C’mere, c’mere, c’mere,” he said sleepily, and he motioned me over with his fingers. Of course, I jumped back in, I’m not an idiot!! Much.
And as I did, it occurred to me…WOMAN, ARE YOU CRAZY?!? YOU ARE SLEEPING WITH A VERY HOT, VERY PASSIONATE, AND VERY RIPPED YOUNGER MAN, IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY, ON A MONDAY!!! LOTS OF WOMEN WOULD GIVE AN ARM TO BE WHERE YOU ARE NOW!! WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE MORE IMPORTANT THAN THIS?? COUNT THE DAMN CEILING THINGIES AND JUST EMBRACE IT!!!
So I did, and no, I still didn’t sleep, but it didn’t matter…we spooned, and cuddled and at one point I couldn’t tell his breath from mine. And he whispered, “Are you comfy, are you content, are you warm?” Am I content, who says that??
It felt like the most amazingly, comforting thing anyone ever said to me!
Bliss. Pure. Bliss.
Tonight, I smile about my day, because there was so much to smile about…we started out grocery shopping and then cooked breakfast together, we talked and laughed about our irreverent outing to the museum last week and how his favorite part was breaking into The Cookie Monster song at the lunch counter and being so silly that the security guard was following us, and then we did more yada, yada, yada, and then we hung out and did nothing but relax on the couch while he held my legs over his lap, and talked about how much we love doing nothing together. The ease of being. The simple pleasures.
And, as I smile, I consider the idea that it is a rare and wonderful thing to just live with abandon, on a weekday or any other, with someone you enjoy so completely, partner or friend, and that I never want to take it for granted. Ever.
A day to play. With good company. With no other obligations. My friend reminded me that she can count on one hand how many of those days she’s had in her life, with anyone. And I am lucky enough to have them fairly often as we always play on our days together, even though they are few and far between. We make it a point and a plan. We schedule it. We savor it. We enjoy everything from good restaurants to home cooking, to movies and museums, to ice skating and roller coasters. We make sure we stay in and we make sure we go out. And every single time we’re together, we laugh, we talk, we hold hands, we have fun! He’s not my happily ever after, but he sure is my happily doing this right now. And that, my friends, is a beautiful thing.
And this is good for us, we’re both getting what we need. So we soak it up!!
This is my time, our time, and one never knows when it’s done. And I almost let that slip my mind today.
So next time I get the chance to take a mid morning, do nothing, sleepy Monday nap…yeah, sign me up. No ceiling thingies required.
There are few things more comforting than a genuine, heartfelt apology when we have hurt someone or been on the receiving end of someone’s wrongdoing. We’re all human and it’s inevitable that we’re going to make mistakes. Saying “I’m sorry” with sincerity carries a lot of weight because it requires vulnerability and invites us to seek to understand how our actions affect that person. It is an exchange of honesty and accountability with a promise to do better so we don’t inflict that kind of pain again. In a healthy relationship, apologies are a necessary part of connecting, and in my opinion a sacred emotional space because when we’re dealing with another person’s wounds, that should never be taken lightly. By offering our commitment to grow we validate the importance of their feelings.
In an unhealthy relationship, however, apologies are often used as a form of control and can be difficult to recognize if you have grown used to the familiarity of negative emotional indoctrination. This form of apology is prevalent and often repetitive with abusers, whether it be friends, partners or family members.
An apology without change or reparation is simply a hollow gesture, a form of manipulation.
Abusers, narcissists and manipulators have a very difficult time carrying guilt because they don’t like the idea that you might perceive them differently. They’re not willing to do the emotional heavy lifting to change their behavior and accept no real accountability, so they seek absolution as a way to dispose of their guilt. When their repeated empty apologies do not work they often use grand gestures, which are desperate acts of releasing their self imposed burden, designed to speak to the most compassionate part of your goodness. Therein lies the manipulation. That might sound harsh and it doesn’t make it less true. It’s easy to get lured into these actions because everyone wants an apology when they’ve been wronged. Especially if you once believed that this person loved you, and was incapable of hurting you in such a way.
Honey, don’t be fooled. When those same tired, meaningless string of words come disguised in a bouquet of flowers or gushy prose scribbled in a Hallmark card with no amends and no actual remorse, just remember, the offender is not sorry. They are guilty, and they’re just tired of hauling it around, so they lay it at your feet in the hopes that you will be grateful for anything they offer. You are not obliged to carry it for them. If you’re anything like me, you gave them chances, you had conversations with them explaining how harmful their behavior was and yet, it escalated until you knew you had to let them go entirely. You can confidently let that apology lie where they left it, step over it and move merrily on with your life. There are few things more toxic and destructive than allowing someone to sneak back into your circle of trust after presenting you with nothing but a disingenuous plea for forgiveness that they refuse to earn. If this is repeated behavior that never diminishes, make no mistake, they know what they’re doing. Those are patterns that deserve your attention.
Don’t get me wrong, I believe in the power of forgiveness. I learned a long time ago that apologies are not something I can hold out hope for, because sometimes they never come. As with any circumstance, I cannot attach myself to an outcome I have no control over. I alone am responsible for how I handle every situation and strive to remain true to myself and my integrity. That’s not always easy to do, trust me. I have forgiven some very dire offenses, including many depraved acts of abuse, knowing that otherwise I wouldn’t be able to move forward with my life in a healthy way. Holding onto pain, hate or grudges left no room for my growth and made me feel ugly inside. I wanted my life to be open and honest so forgiveness became an integral part of it for my own sanity, clarity and peace of mind. It is a practice that I work at. I also came to understand that forgiving someone doesn’t mean I have to let them back in my life. We can change our hearts toward someone’s actions without inviting their harmful patterns into our space or energy. Forgiveness and boundaries are not mutually exclusive.
On my journey to this place of goodwill, I am still learning to see through what is an attempt of manipulation to regain my trust and what is an actual commitment to work on change and do the right thing. As an empath and a person who desires to be gracious I have had to teach myself to recognize the nuances of people’s actions. I’ve gotten it wrong so many times because I see the good in people first. It is so easy to want to believe that someone we love and care about has had a change of heart and really recognizes the damage they’ve done. Sadly, that is not always the case and we are left to pick up the pieces.
It’s a disappointment that cuts deep and because of it I’ve had to reframe my thinking so as not lose hope in humanity. I cannot let it break my heart. I believe that we can only meet people where they are willing to meet themselves. If I acknowledge that we are in different places and send them on their way with peace and light, I can focus my energy on my healing and growth.
I have been at the receiving end of some very beautiful, humble apologies in my life, and I have also been the one to offer them. It is healing. There is no perfection in our humanness, but our willingness to be self-aware and develop compassion is a powerful revelation of our character and a foundation for a kinder world.
It’s a warm and balmy 70 degrees. My children are what feels like a million miles away at their homes in Idaho, possibly making snow angels or catching snowflakes on their tongue. And I am cozily nestled in my writing nook, savoring the sound of rustling leaves as the breeze dances through the trees outside my open window. It is Christmas Day and I am spending it in chosen solitude. There was talk of plans with friends for the holiday; food, movies, what have you, but my month has been full of traveling, adventures, birthday celebrations, toffee making and other festivities, with a few more parties coming up, so I decided to just take the day and be. No promises, no commitments, definitely no cooking. And it’s given me the luxury of time for reflection.
I am a Christmas girl. Through and through.
I don’t have a single memory of Thanksgiving growing up. Not one. As an adult I’ve never really cared for it much either, although I’ve shared lovely moments cooking with my children, family and friends. Thanksgiving was always more of a gateway holiday to Christmas, which has been my favorite as far back I can see. My mother became happy and hopeful and she was never happy and hopeful. The house was filled with tinsel and magic and endless possibilities. It was extra special to my young girl heart because my birthday was a week before Christmas and we would decorate the tree then, as if it were just for me. Oftentimes, I got the short straw for presents because nobody could afford both birthday and Christmas and I never got a cake, but somehow that was all okay too, because I still grew up loving my birthdays. I don’t remember Christmas being about the presents, although I recall vividly the year there was a guitar for me under the tree. I just remember the world feeling wonderful and whimsical. I remember that blissful feeling of believing in something. And it wasn’t Santa. I remember knowing that Christmas was about service, giving and sharing. That must have come from my mother, that beautiful intrinsic goodness in her that she had a hard time finding the rest of the year because it was buried beneath the rubble of brokenness, mental illness and pain. Christmas was like a portal, some kind of miracle time machine, where she read us stories and her hazel eyes lit up like twinkle lights. I think that is the closest I ever came to understanding what my mother might have been like as a child. Those feelings all stirred together were the enchanted elixir that carried me through the difficult times. So I inhaled them deeply and held them in as long as I could.
The saddest thing I hear throughout the month of December is that people hate Christmas or they’ll be glad when it’s over. They dread the obligatory family visits, the inevitable arguing and the greed, they detest the commercialism and expectations. Then all the magic and the wonder that is Christmas gets lost in the unrealistic ideals. Ideals that don’t even belong to us. I decided a long time ago that I wasn’t going to let anything ruin my holiday. I was a young mom once with small children and lots of family that pulled at our time and attention or wanted to shower the kids with too many presents and activities. We struggled with finances, time and energy. It was up to me to be protective, intentional and make boundaries. That meant slowing down and deciding what I wanted and what I didn’t. It required paying attention to what worked for our family, especially when a divorce was thrown in the mix. As our children grew and our family expanded we learned to adapt and flow with the circumstances, which was such an important skill when our children had families and partners of their own. I always knew one thing, I wanted the essence of Christmas to be simple and fulfilling. Yes, like now, we loved the gifts, the wrapping, the fun little surprises and especially the stockings, but it wasn’t about the money. I wanted my kids to remember the way they felt, not the things they got. I wanted them to experience seeing the look on someone’s face who got a gift when they were expecting nothing, whether it was a widow or a needy family that we took under our wing. I wanted my daughters to carry a deep sense of joy from giving and service. Everything else was window dressing. That has served them well as adults.
New Year’s Eve is right around the corner which means all of our obligatory resolutions are bubbling to the surface, maybe even some unfinished ones from 2015, and it’s got me thinking about what’s really important. Do me a favor and just take a moment, close your eyes and ask yourself this….how did your last 6 weeks feel? If it was everything you wanted then go ahead and learn that new language or lose that pandemic pooch, or whatever lofty resolution you want. But if your spirit fell flat or you’re drowning in exhaustion right now, ask yourself what was missing from your holiday. Did you feel nurtured and loved by the people you spent your time with? What were your stress levels like? Were you shopping the week before Christmas when you wanted to be home making cookies? Did you have time to watch holiday movies that you love or were you too busy finishing your to-do list? Are there family members that you would like to not see every year, or ever again? Here’s a secret, we don’t have to say yes to everything, in fact, we can say no to anything we want. That’s right.
Stop saying yes to shit you want to say no to.
Yes, you’re allowed to do that. This is your one and only freaking life and this time and these holidays belong to you. Full Stop. You don’t have to love it like I do, but please, please don’t let somebody else suck all the joy out of it for you. You can create the Christmas that you want. Let go of the pressure, change the expectations and take a good look around because there are plenty of ways for you to give back and lean into the beauty of this holiday. There is so much good to be done and so many happy things to take part in that have nothing to do with forced or self-imposed obligations. I promise. Do you really want to spend a month to six weeks dreading and hating an entire season? Do you really want credit card debt that you’re going to be paying off until next Christmas for presents that no one remembers? Wouldn’t you rather create something meaningful that you can enjoy? Even if it means saying no to nosy Aunt Martha or your insistent mother-in-law. Or taking a family vacation instead of buying gifts. Or refusing visitors until another day, that is not Christmas, so your family can have some peace and quiet. You’re even allowed to take yourself off the family gift-giving list and decline politely with no explanation, while drinking a glass of eggnog. Spiked eggnog. You are entirely allowed to not open your home to anything or anyone that does not provide you with the energy that you desire. That’s a big one for me. My peace matters to me and I am fiercely protective of it, so if you can’t get on board with that, or your vibe is off then you don’t get to spend time in my space.
The point is, don’t let anybody else steal your joy. For Christmas. For Life. For Anything.
It’s easy to pack away your holiday decorations along with all the stresses and the reminders of how miserable you’ve been and forget about them. Then next year rolls around, you’re knee-deep in Christmas drama again and you have no idea how to redirect your holiday and make the madness stop. So if you start now, while it’s fresh in your memory, you can make a resolution that you want more peace and then you can start creating a plan for how that looks. And whether it’s just you or your immediate family, you can use this opportunity to take some steps toward creating boundaries that you’ve been unable to meet. Those steps will become practices that you will do again and again until you’re comfortable with them. And before you know it you’re going to get the holiday that you want and deserve. You can expect push back if you have a family that’s in any way demanding, and that’s okay because you’ll be sure of yourself by then and you’ll be able to honor the new boundaries that you’ve made. Merry Christmas and here’s to a peace filled New Year with holidays that you love.
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.
When we are met with trauma, we can empower ourselves to heal.
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 spontaneous moment after my wedding, 2003. I love his dancing eyes and carefree laughter…
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.
Me, about one year old being held by my oldest sister while my brother looks on. I love this picture.Spending time with our friend’s baby while I visited my brother in Houston, TX. Circa 1979Just chillin’…don’t know when or where but man we were young.
It will never be about walking away from someone for someone else. It will never be about greener grass or being too afraid to be alone. It will always be about me not being willing to abandon myself. It will always be about valuing myself more, not valuing them less. So I won’t stay. If there is a hint or a spark of the idea that I am giving up who I am for something or someone it’s time for me to bow out gracefully.
And if you do it at the beginning when your intuition tells you instead of waiting until you’ve tried every way possible to twist that around and turn it into an answer you like better, you have a really good chance of doing it gracefully. For you. For your truth.
When we abandon ourselves because of someone’s inability or unwillingness to hear or see us we lose so much more than we realize. We give up our self-confidence, our innate sense of trust in our intuition and most importantly we begin to see ourselves through the distorted lens of their dysfunction. Doubt creeps in and second-guessing becomes the norm. And for what? So we can obtain a false sense of belonging? So we can fit into the comfortable nook of another person’s opinion?
One of the most empowering lessons I’ve learned during relationships, with both friends and partners, is exactly what it feels like when I abandon myself. The way my body responds to being out of alignment, the nuances of feeling off balance emotionally, physically and spiritually. That moment when you realize you’re walking on eggshells because you know if you say the hard, but necessary thing it’s going to start a conflict that will turn into something untenable. That moment when you find yourself filtering what you say because you know that expressing your feelings will make them angry. That moment when you realize you’re defending yourself and trying to explain away who you are, because their ego is too fragile to make room for your story. That moment when you feel yourself stepping back, making yourself smaller, to allow them to step up, even though you know deep down that you can’t fill the gaps of what they’re missing.
We don’t owe these things to anyone. Our only responsibility is to ourselves and that is not selfishness. That is vital self-love and no one can give that to you. That quality is nurtured and grown from inside and with it comes a healthy dose of self-respect and boundaries. In turn we come to our relationships as a complete and whole human, emotionally mature and ready to share life’s challenges with another person. We’re not free of baggage but we have the skills necessary to unpack them, and we don’t ask another person to be in charge of our emotions or responses.
It took me years to understand the difference between compromise and sacrifice, which would ultimately require that I cast aside who I am for the needs of someone else. It took educating myself and really looking at my internal dialogue to realize that I was handing over the most valuable parts of me so I could make another person happy. But that’s not my job. The truth is that it was codependency and it was never going to be enough to make them happy; it just allowed them to take more pieces of me. I didn’t recognize it because it was so familiar, it had been the foundation of how I grew up. I practically evaporated into a shell of my former self before I realized what I was doing. Once I did I stepped away and started focusing on my growth. I needed to take a long hard look at my patterns and how my unstable upbringing informed my decisions. I’ve been stepping away from things that don’t serve me ever since. The practice of listening to and staying in my truth has led me to a deeper understanding of what makes me who I am and what I bring to the table. I now recognize sooner when someone is emotionally unprepared for a relationship and have the courage to move forward without them.
My commitment to me is that I will love myself so fiercely that I can discern the condescending tone of disrespect, the sharp edges of passive aggressive behavior and the subtleties of emotional manipulation.
And don’t kid yourself into thinking that this kind of behavior only comes from abusive people. It can come from decent people who simply don’t have the emotional skills to deal with conflict. It doesn’t make it any less damaging or insidious. We owe it to ourselves to have razor sharp clarity with our own voice so we never accept this as normal or tolerable. As we release these negative interactions, we make space for healthy, reciprocal relationships.
