Posts Tagged ‘anxiety’

it’s not my fault

Posted in beginnings, borderline personality disorder, family, memoir, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on April 30, 2013 | Leave a Comment »

The Blame Game.

I’ve made a realization over the past months that my biggest problem isn’t  that I grew up with a Borderline Personality Disorder mother.  Nope.  It’s that I’ve latched on to blaming her and her BPD for all that is wrong and unsavory in my world.

A year ago, I finally found out why I could never have the relationship i yearned for with my parents.  It was incredibly freeing.  ”Thank God, I’m not the crazy one”  But…I fixated on it.  I devoured countless books on BPD and Adult Children of BPD Parents, plus many more general self-help titles.

I was weary from this forced transformation I was attempting.  I wanted to be healed – right now.  RIGHT NOW DAMNIT!

I wanted to get to a point that I could look back from and say, “whew, I’m glad I don’t have to deal with/think about that anymore.”

I will always be that little girl with a whacked out mom.  I’m realizing that this journey of healing is so much like the recovering addict’s journey.  Once an addict, always an addict.  There is no magic pill, or mantra to clean your slate.

Letting go of the blame is part of the healing process for sure.  And honestly, it’s one I could never imagine being able to do.  I was happily loathing them from afar…wishing they would up and decide to move to Timbuktu.

I picked up SARK’s Transformation Soup a month or so ago.  And the words nearly pierced through my heart.  “Stop Blaming Your Mother.”

At first I scoffed, well you don’t know my mother.  Then as I read on, it began to resonate with me.  I was unwillingly for sure.  I stopped reading the book midway through, pulled my bookmark and buried that book behind some old high school year books.

Those words haunted me in my dreams.  In my dreams, my mom and dad were nurturing me, being the parents I have always wished for.  In my dreams, my mom and dad apologized, and in my dreams, I forgave my mom and dad.

The dreams I had previously frequented — the ones where I was yelling and screaming at my parents to get away from me and my kids, the dreams that sometimes even escalated to violence — made sense to me.  I was angry, hurt, confused and I wanted to keep my parents as far from me and my family as possible.

These new love-laced dreams were disturbing.  What was my psyche trying to tell me?

“Heal, sweet Salem, just heal.”

I will never get an apology in real life.  But it’s not relevant any more.  I know who my parents are, and I can accept it {or at least working on accepting it}.

Forgiveness is not about forgetting the past.  It’s about allowing yourself to stop blaming — yourself, your mother, your father…whoever.

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time to heal

Posted in beginnings, family, gray area, self-discovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 25, 2013 | Leave a Comment »

Source: Pinterest

 

Healing.

That’s my keyword for 2013.

It’s taken me over an month to come to it.  I’ve never been big on New Year’s Resolutions. January and February are for hibernating, not hitting the gym!  I like to let the energy of the new year settle in for a while, before I decide where it is going to lead me on my journey.

In reflection 2012 was a little edgy.  Last January and February (in full disaccord to my own beliefs about hibernation) I bleached out my long brown tresses – like platinum blonde! – and then decided on a whim to cut those crunchy fried locks.  I weilded the scissors myself one afternoon during nap time!  I didn’t go all Britney Spears (remember the shaved head incident?)  But I did lop off about 6 inches and ended up with it at chin length after my shocked stylist fixed it all up for me again.   I was frantically trying to change myself and leave my past behind.  But I was only looking on the outside – which really is the easiest part to change.

Springtime brought with it an epiphany of sorts and I started going to counseling.  That’s when everything started making a lot more sense.  By Fall, I had finally decided to confront my problems rather than continue to avoid them.  And well, that was partially freeing, but mostly painful.  At least I spoke my truth.  Even if it was only met with more accusations of how wrong and horrible I am.

With winter just weeks old, the universe decided to throw me into the fire of grief, love, pain and hope.  I took lots of naps, but did very little writing.  I found solace in cooking and sewing instead.  The decided snaps while chopping vegetables.  The simple rhythm of the sewing machine.  It was very meditative for me, shutting down the crazy, babbling monkey in my brain.

I had lengthy and emotional conversations (and rants) with Owen.  I voiced my worries and fears for my sister.  I voiced my frustrations and disappointment and anger toward my parents and their actions (or inactions in most cases).

It all kept me from imploding into myself.  I wasn’t about to slip into that deep and dark hole.  I just needed to get through it all and find some time to breathe and just be.

I never got around to the healing last year.

The truth seemed to do a good job of crumbling the past (and some of the present).

Now it’s time to clean up the mess and make way for a new beginning…

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I’ve rediscovered SARK’s writing and am hoping to give this healing process a little extra help with her books Transformation Soup and Glad No Matter What. Have you read these titles? Do you have any must-reads on healing?

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let freedom ring

Posted in family, memoir, self-discovery, why I blog, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 27, 2012 | Leave a Comment »

I’ve been reading through some of my old, personal journal entries lately.  Partly for my therapy sessions and partly because I like to be reminded where I’ve been from time to time.  This one struck me as pretty important, and I think sharing it with the world (you!) is pretty important too.  Just so you know, this is pretty much verbatim from my journal…I’ve only edited out the mis-spellings and some grammar to help it flow better.

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Wednesday, August 27, 2008

The future is now.  And here I am…8 months later and I’m still avoiding a decision.  Stay or Go?  I’m still in the holding pattern.  Probably the biggest, most in-your-face-reason why I avoid this journal.  Fear.

Fear of making a decision.  Fear of making the wrong decision.  Fear of making the right decision.  I never thought I feared change, but this change is so big and life-altering…the best kind of change out there, really.

Transformation lies ahead of me.  I worry.

I worry if “they” will accept my transformation.  I worry if I will be able to stay a good mother and a good wife.

It (this change) will set me free.  At least that’s what I’ve heard.  You know, from those countless intuitive/soul-searching books?  I am FREE.  Who says I can’t continue to live in abundance?

Source: mr-little.com on Pinterest

Sometimes letting go of things no longer needed is the best way to “have more”.  Be more.

I cleaned out half my clothes in my closet over the course of the past year.  Letting go is so invigorating.  But it is so hard to let go of my paycheck.  I feel silly and stupid and greedy all for the same reason.  I want to be with my babies.  I don’t want my parents to have such a major role in my daily/weekly life.  I don’t want to be stuck in the same dysfunctional parent-child relationship as an adult.  I want to feel like I am important.  I am a mother.  And a damn good one to boot.  My parents don’t really see me for who I am.

I want freedom.  But I fear that freedom I crave will imprison me in other ways.  Financial, and as a result, emotionally with Owen.  He says he supports me.  And I think that he really does.  I think that my fear is skewing my judgement, as fear so readily and easily does.  I want to jump down the rabbit hole.  I want to do so with wild abandonment –> I won’t look back.

Owen wants me to ask about a “leave of absence”.  And – really – it does make logical sense.  But emotionally, it is just a connection to the past.  Will it be a strong enough connection with the past to affect my life?  Hmmm….?  Hard to say, really.  I have learned through writing and reading and many serendipitous encounters that I have the sole key to my own happiness.  And I’m finally “getting it”.  Slowly (and sometimes in big waves and rushes of inspiration) I now SEE ME.  I honestly think I NEED to cut the ties of my job, my career.

All of this stuff that surrounds me…it’s just stuff.  My fear is just the “sad-bad-mad” little pill living inside my head.  It’s followed me from my past.  Sure, nothing’s perfect, but it seems like I have been choosing, searching for ways to wallow in pain and wallow in misery.  Seraching for reasons to feel more pitiful.  What a crock of crap!

I am truly blessed.  And I don’t need to find any missing pieces of my soul/my self in this life.  I AM WHOLE.  I was born WHOLE.  Just like D. and B. are whole, pure little souls.  I have that power within me.  I Am Free To Be Me.  I know that I am with who I need to be with on my journey.  Owen, D. and B.  We will travel this journey together.

Anyhow – I just want to purge – everything around me.  I know it doesn’t sound rational, but it’s just spilling out of me.  I want to be in nature.  The pressures of “having” can be overwhelming.  It takes up precious time and precious energy and precious, precious moments of bliss and love.

I don’t want to be so connected to the chaos of the internet and the TV. It’s addictive – and I feel the yearnings and cravings for my “fix” even while I am outside playing with my babies.  I don’t like it.  It makes me feel black and moldy on the inside.  It’s not real.

I want to feel real, present.  I want to feel invigorated.

I am ready to take the leap.  Right now.

I want to purge & release & change everything.

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It still took me another 6 months to finally cut the cord to my career.  My parents were watching my two kids during the two days each week that I was working, which I knew wasn’t healthy for any of us…but I just couldn’t put my finger on exactly why.  This  was written nearly 4 years ago, and it is amazing to me how much has changed since then.  Perhaps this entry was the catalyst for me to finally listen to my intuition and do what was right for me and my family?  

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the duality {Trifecta}

Posted in art, creative hobbies, poetry, why I blog, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 21, 2012 | 5 Comments »

Morning light filters through

And my purple clover reaches for more

light

I shut my eyes to thoughts that race

“What If”  never finds peace

And my blue mood reaches for more

dark

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A little poetry for the Trifecta Challenge this week.  Blue – as in “feeling blue” – was the prompt this week.  Now, go enjoy some more wonderful Trifecta writing! 

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you’re so vain…

Posted in memoir, self-discovery, why I blog, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 20, 2012 | 6 Comments »

…you probably think this blog is about you.

Well, you’re wrong! It’s about me! (I’m the vain one here!)

Vanity & Aging.

It happens to the best of us. No matter how hard we try to defy time (and gravity!) our bodies insist of sagging and wrinkling and discoloring (age spots, gray hairs).

And I think it’s one of those things – like having kids – that you don’t fully understand until it happens to you. Until more recent years, I never really understood why women would spend hundreds of dollars on those anti-aging elixirs…or even cosmetic surgery!

I always thought I would “age gracefully” – which meant that I would look years younger than I actually was! But, today, at 36 years old, when I look in the mirror, or I see photos of myself, I think, “Who is that woman?!”

I don’t feel old…but I sure do look old!

I know that part of my problem stems from my tumultuous relationship with my own mother. Instead of seeing myself, I see my mom. Damn you, genetics! Don’t get me wrong, she is an attractive woman, but she’s the last person I want looking back at me in my mirror!

This aging thing feels like it just snuck up on me.  I was busy for the past 7 years being a wife and mother (I even juggled career for the first four years!) and unfortunately, I lost myself along the way.  Not entirely, mind you.  But I certainly lost the part that swore she would never “let herself go“.

I have let myself go.  I wear elastic waistbands (oh how I heart thee yoga pants!) 95% of the time…because they’re so comfy and I still have about 15 lbs of baby fat to lose (my baby is almost two now, so that baby fat excuse is getting pretty thin!).  I seldom wear makeup…and my freckles are starting to morph into age spots, not to mention the wrinkles around my eyes and forehead.   Can you say, “Laser surgery is my friend”?

I am fully aware of the “You’re only as old as you feel” adage.  And mentally, I am feeling better than I have in so, so long.  I am very grateful for that.  I do realize that maybe my outward appearance has slipped because I’ve been doing lots of restructuring and sorting out on the inside.  I also realize that I am certainly not alone in my wishful vanities and anti-aging battles.

I’m still me.  That mom-like person looking back at me in the mirror…that’s still me too.  I am a mom (but that does not mean that I am my mom).  Who I am on the outside is not nearly as important as who I am on the inside…but I have a sneaking suspicion now that my insides are humming along my outsides want some much needed (and missed!) attention!

 

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It seems a little shallow and silly to be talking so much about my outsides…but the outside and the inside both play a part in what makes me a whole person!  Society is so hypocritical – expecting supermodel beauty, but telling you how shameful vanity is!  Do you feel like your insides and outsides match/work together?  

Just Write is already in it’s 40th weekly installment…go read some more!

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restless

Posted in dreams, family, gray area, memoir, self-discovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 7, 2012 | 2 Comments »

The shades are drawn, and the skinny lamp shines on me in my favorite chair. Outside, the thunderstorms are raging, pounding rain (maybe it’s hail?) and flashes that light up the dark house. Everyone is tucked in, including Owen, whom I heard faintly snoring as I dried off and lotioned up after spending 15 minutes of solace, washing away the day.

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The book sits beside me. I’ve been highlighting as I read along (something I haven’t done since college). I am finding so much truth in those pages, but my progress is slow. The truth can sometimes be like eating your brussel sprouts: you know it’s healthy for you, but you still find yourself cringing and gagging down each “rotten-tangy-sweet” bite.

The truth has been bubbling up in my dreams, filling them with chaos and mass destruction…a reflection of some of my distant childhood memories. My mother, the epicenter of my chaos and the destruction of my self-esteem.

These words and pages I’m reading are filled with explanations. I get tingly-queasy with each realization, snapping off the highlighter cap and fervently marking the page. “This is why I am the way I am,” I think to myself.

But the high of validation is waning now, and I’m longing for words of healing.

Every night, the same prayer, “I just want to move on, please help me heal and move on.”

Inside, I sometimes scream, “Heal already damn it!”, as I imagine myself wiping my hands clean, then burning the towel with the disgusting stains of shame, guilt and a childhood lost.

My logical mind reminds me, with clarity and constance, that a lifetime of emotional pain can not be healed in a mere three weeks.

I will heal.

With love and with patience -

for myself
from myself

I will become whole.

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{just write}

The book I’m reading is called Stop Walking on Eggshells, by Mason & Kreger. I highly recommend it if someone you love and care about has borderline personality disorder (BPD) … even if they have not been diagnosed or refuse treatment, this book will help you to begin sorting through the chaos.

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The Watchling

Posted in fiction, gray area, why I blog, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 6, 2012 | 10 Comments »

I watch her.

I ache.

She shudders.

“I’m still here,” I whisper, faintly.

She closes her eyes.

“I’m still here,” my whisper fills her ears, and she shakes her head, trying to ignore, escape.

I watch her:

At the park

In her car

Running errands

Visiting with friends.

I ache.

She shudders.

“I’m still here,” I whisper again.

I close my eyes.

I am alone, floating weightless, aimless, boundless.

My ears flush with warmth.  I ache to feel her essence.

I open my eyes.  Slowly, I focus.  There are cars, a street, trees reaching from the concrete sidewalks, stretching to grab a ray of sunshine through the towering shadows of the cityscape.

My eyes are adjusting; I can’t seem to find definition in my surroundings.  Everything is gray.  The colors faded, muted, gone.

A young girl is standing on the corner, just feet away from me.  She is watching me.  But no one else seems to notice.   I am just as faded and muted as the rest of the city.

The girl’s mother is holding her daughter’s hand and a cell phone in the other, chatting away about a pair of shoes she saw in a store window display earlier that day.

I shudder.

My gaze goes back to the little girl, curiously watching my every move.  I manage to smile, albeit weakly , but a kind gesture none the less.  Her dimpled grin assures me that she is, in fact, watching me.

Her attention fills me again.  I feel the girl’s warmth envelop me.  I yearn for more.  I start towards her.  Every cell is tingling now.  The girl continues to smile, and has pulled her hand from her mother’s grip.  Her mother is too caught up in mindless chatter to notice.  I kneel down on the sidewalk in front of her.  My knees ache against the cool, rough concrete.  I focus on the warmth from this little girl, this new little soul in front of me.

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Another little bit of fiction that I’ve being writing on & off for a year now.  It came to mind when I read the Trifecta challenge for Week 30 – New.  Thanks for stopping by to read – be sure to go check out all the other writer’s entering this week!

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borderline

Posted in beginnings, family, memoir, self-discovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 1, 2012 | 3 Comments »

No one can make you feel inferior without your consent. ~Eleanor Roosevelt

I’ve been living with an inferiority complex for over three decades. I have been consciously aware of this since I was about 12.

To remedy it, I have tried to be more and do more, and basically just be perfect.

All. The. Time.

I’ve always thought it was me, that I was my toughest critic.
That I was just born so serious and so anxious and so un-fun-loving.

Then I told my therapist this story. Which made her sit up a little straighter, scribble notes down, and ask more questions about my relationship with my parents.

We all have broken bits and pieces from our childhood. But what happens when you find out your own childhood was toxic, laced with mental illness, damaging you in so many ways?

I am 36 years old, a wife and a mother to three, and I am still terrified of my parents.

And now I finally know the truth.

Borderline Personality Disorder.

My mother has “high-functioning, invisible” Borderline Personality Disorder.  And my dad, well, he’s all shades of co-dependent and enabling.

I’ve spent a lifetime walking on eggshells around them, trying to keep them happy, trying to keep the unpredictable fits of rage at bay.  But nothing was ever good enough.

It’s no wonder I have issues with anxiety.

While they will likely never seek help, and will continue to blame those closest to them for all that is wrong (both real and imagined), I am determined to heal from my lifetime of shame, guilt and chaos.

Suddenly, my world makes so much more sense. It doesn’t excuse anything that has happened. I will never be able to have my parents in my life – I will protect my children from that toxic world to no end. But, being able to label their dysfunction (because I’ve suspected it since I was 18) has been incredibly validating for me.

I can finally step back and say, “I am not the horrible person they think I am, I am OK.“

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I am forever grateful for Aidan Donnelly Rowley’s post. While my life experiences may be completely different than her own – reading her words opened up a door in my soul that I had bolted shut so many years ago. Her post, her words, sharing her own personal journey, helped me take my first steps of healing.

Thank you, Aidan, so very much.

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facing fear & vulnerability

Posted in beginnings, memoir, self-discovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 2, 2012 | Leave a Comment »

The phone call.

I was nervous (of course).

It still feels weak and a tiny bit wrong to be asking for help.  But, nonetheless, I am doing it.  

I waited until E. (my baby boy) was napping and D. & B. (the older two, boy & girl, respectively) were playing quietly downstairs in their playroom.

A friendly, woman’s voice answered.

“Hi! I’d like to make an appointment.” My in-charge, business-like voice may be dusty, but it still performs on cue.

Still friendly, she began her list of pre-appointment questions.  I doled out the relevant bits and pieces of my personal info without much thought.

Then came, “Are you considering hurting yourself or others?”

I paused, “No.”
Definitely not.

It was too late.  My chest tightened from the realization of what I was doing.

 This is serious business.  And it scares me, more than I’d like to admit.  Part of me just wants the dark and twisty stuff to stay stuffed away – deep down – where no one can lay eyes on it…especially me.

She also asked me to briefly describe what it is that I would like to be seen for.  Looking back now, I am almost certain that she was expecting a simple answer like anxiety, depression, etc.

Instead, she got an earful, “I had a near death experience during the birth of my third child which was a year and a half ago.  It has brought up a lot of issues for me, ones that my postpartum depression medication isn’t helping me with – like why my parents decided to abandon me during that whole ordeal.”

Those words (maybe not exactly, but very similar) spilled out of my mouth.  I felt my voice getting shaky with emotion when I spoke of my parents.   Then, I saw B. (my daughter) pop her little four-year-old head around the corner. “Mommy?”  I raised my finger – the universal Mommy-sign for “just give me a minute”.  She came in the room and sat across from me, waiting ever-so patiently for me to finish.

I put my Mommy-face back on, and finished the conversation.  B. knows that Mommy and E. had a really tough time when he was born.  And that Mommy got very, very sick for awhile afterwards.  She also knows that her grandparents hurt Mommy’s feelings really bad and have never said they were sorry – never even tried.

B. and her older brother, D. both know all of this.  And it breaks my heart that I had to explain the complicated truth of the grown-up world around them.  I think that it is OK (maybe even healthy) to be a little vulnerable in front of my children.  I want to teach them to have trust and to be authentic.  But I also want them to feel safe, secure and above all loved.

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So it’s a delicate balance, this vulnerability thing. 

I just don’t want them to worry.  Because everything really is going to be OK.  I am doing this – asking for help – getting help – because I want to be able to have a real relationship with my children through their childhood and beyond.

I honestly don’t have much hope at repairing the relationship with my own parents.  It will never be the same, too much damage was done and basically “too little too late.”

But I will be damned if I allow the little broken and damaged pieces of me to keep me from being a part of my own little family that I am lucky enough to be called “Mommy”.

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asking for help

Posted in beginnings, memoir, self-discovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 30, 2012 | 1 Comment »

The last post, the one where I laid it all out there for the world to see, well, it prompted an emotional purge.

It was all I could do to get through the evening rituals of dinner, a family walk, and bedtime.  Owen knew something was going on with me, and when he asked if everything was OK, I met his gaze for a brief second, holding down a torrent of tears, and replied, “Not really”.

Dinnertime conversation was full of grown-up code and knowing glances in between the usual banter of the big kids’ stories from their day and the toddler’s screeches and mayhem.

It is in my nature to just keep going, tuck my head down and keep charging forward.

No rest for the weary, as they say.

The evening went smoothly (sans wine or liquor) and by 8:30 p.m., Owen and I were sitting side by side on the couch.

“So…” was all the prompt I needed from him.

I took a deep breathe, and when I opened my mouth the words started tumbling out.  Bit by bit, much faster than expected, my truth bubbled up.

Words like fear, pain, abandonment, and anger were bursting through my stories – my soul’s attempt to purge all the junk it had collected through the years.

Motherhood is not the source of my anxiety, it is just a catalyst.

The source goes much farther back, much deeper. 

Owen is my rock, my shoulder to cry on; he is always there to listen.  And for that I am extremely grateful, but I plan on seeking outside help with this.  Afterall, he is my husband, not my therapist.

I grew up in a house that thought “therapy” was a four-letter word.  So this is a big deal for me – realizing that there are things in this life that are much bigger than one person, one couple, one family can handle.

I am finally ready to ask for help.

And, believe it or not, I feel stronger already.

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