Posts Tagged ‘escapism’

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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second chances {my fiction}

Posted in creative hobbies, fiction, why I blog, tagged , , , , , , , , on January 31, 2013 | Leave a Comment »

She stood up a little straighter.  Shoulders back, chin up.  Her right hand instinctively reached up to smooth her flowing chocolate strands flying in the autumn breeze.

Does he remember me?  It’s been so many years.  We were practically children…

Her thoughts wandered through fuzzy memories of adolescent yearnings and confusion.

She looked around.  Children running, tossing balls, in the grassy bowl of the elementary school yard.

Her own children were down there somewhere.  His were too.

When did this happen?  When did we become the grown-ups?  The old people?  When did we become our parents?

Theryn still felt like that fourteen year old girl who was trying so hard to leave her childhood behind.  She had been running away for over twenty years.

As she stood on the sidelines of the children’s games, she pulled out her phone and acted like she was engrossed in reading and tapping out messages.  She couldn’t bring herself to look up again.

Josh watched her from the shaded lenses of his sunglasses, masking his line of sight.  He was certain it was her.  There was no mistaking Theryn, even spending most of their lives apart, that small flutter in his stomach told him without question it was her.

As his stood there amidst the memories of a life past, the fluttering turned into knots, and his conscience reminded him of the stupid, selfish actions of 15 year old boy.

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I’ve been silent here (and really, everywhere) for awhile.  It wasn’t something I did intentionally.  In all honesty, I haven’t put pen to paper for weeks at time over the past several months.  I dove into my life as a wife and mother, hoping to busy myself enough for those worries, fears, and nagging memories of the past to fall away and let me be.  Life doesn’t work that way though, and the more I have squashed away those feelings and memories, the more Life has thrown my way to stir it all up again.  

“Face your Fears head on”, Life has told me in these past months.  So here I am again, hoping to find peace in sharing my words, my life, my art – in other words – My Heart –  on these pages and posts in this little gray garden I’m growing.  

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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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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.“

:: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::

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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reflections, connections & life as we know it

Posted in beginnings, self-discovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 4, 2012 | 1 Comment »

Something inside of me has started to stir.

The past couple years have been the most challenging ones I’ve known (let’s save those details for another post, K?) and I’m not the same me anymore.

I have changed in ways I don’t quite understand.

I am not sure of the reflection I see in the mirror anymore. I stand there, in front of it every morning, putting my contacts in, brushing my teeth, going through makeup and hair routines…and the inside me doesn’t feel like she knows this outside me at all.

I’ve always had a strong sense of self, even as a teenager. So this unsettled uncertainty is really quite foreign to me.

For several months, I’ve been altering my outsides. I think I’ve changed my hair color or hair style 7 times in the past 7 months!

I don’t know who I am anymore – and I think by changing my hair (something I’ve always thought was fun) I was trying to see if I found a reflection that felt right.

Of course, none of the external changes really changed anything I felt on the inside. But, it did serve as a good distraction. A hobby, or more accurately, a means of escape.

The physical pain I endured (now, almost 2 years ago) forced me to focus my energies inward. While I was always somewhat aware of my inner self (intuition, inner voice, etc.) I -like so many others out there- usually focused on finding a solution from the outside world.

I have come to believe that in times of unfathomable physical duress, survival depends on one’s ability to separate oneself from their physical being. That I am not comprised solely of this vulnerable, fleshy bag of water that is the human body, well, that realization – that separation saved my life and my unborn child’s life too.

This “awakening”, if you will, isn’t bad and it’s not necessarily a good thing either. It’s just different. And it takes a lot of adjustment. My perspective is dramatically different, my priorities have shifted.

I notice Life all the time, and I actually feel the Life that surrounds me.

It may sound weird or strange, but I cringe and get a tad bit queasy when I see the neighbor boy stomping defiantly on the anthill in his backyard.

It hurts me and it hurts my soul.

While everyone else around me connects via Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc., I am connected to The Source. The Universe. God. {or whatever it is you believe that Life stems from}

And just as many people feel like they have information overload from being connected through the plethora of social media, I feel that overload from Everything.

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Is it possible to feel too much? I don’t know.

I really don’t know.

What I do know is that every single person in this big, wide world is connected, just as I am. For some reason or another, my little “switch” got activated or possibly another “switch” got deactivated during my fight for survival. And now, I am aware of my connection to this world – to Life.

And it’s weird. It’s really, really amazing.

But it’s weird. And I wish that I had the words to describe it.

To share it.

Because it’s really quite the experience.

And I’m pretty sure that if more people felt this “essence of Life” that it would truly, undoubtedly change “Life As We Know It.”

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anxiety & motherhood

Posted in beginnings, self-discovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on April 25, 2012 | 3 Comments »

I recently read a post over here, (Aidan is just awesome, btw) and it triggered something in me.  Something that I’ve been trying to cover up and ignore for a very, very long time.

 I am horrible at coping.

As a result, I live with more than my fair share of anxiety.  Lots and lots of anxiety.

When I was in my early twenties, I used to laugh it off, saying how no one would ever describe me as “laidback” or “easy-going”.  Of course, back then, in my college and early career days, that underlying need for perfection and control translated easily into a  successful, driven young woman.  People respected me for my attention to detail and strive to reach lofty goals.

Fast-forward a decade, and here I am, a stay-at-home mom/housewife and I am drowning each and every day in a current of chaos.  I know that having young children means that life is messy and loud and, in general, plain crazy.  While I force myself to have patience on the outside, I am screaming for this madness to end on the inside.

 I swallow it down.  These feelings of frustration and anger and hopelessness.  I feign patience.  And I love my children.  I really, really love them.  So I keep at it, day after day.  Every night, I hope and pray that the next day will be the one.  The day that I am truly able to let it all go.  And every evening, sometimes even earlier, I find myself reaching for that top shelf in the pantry.  The one that holds all the pretty, colorful, soothing bottles of escape.

 I drink.  I drink to relieve my anxiety.  And then I feel guilty.  I shouldn’t need to live this way.  It’s not like my life is that horrid, in fact, it’s a pretty charmed life.  But the ups and downs  and all arounds of motherhood are taking a toll on me.  I know I’m not alone, and that this is just how life goes sometimes, but I want to be able to cope with it.  In fact, I should be able to thrive in it.  But lately, without the (insert any random escape mechanism here), I feel like I am going to shatter into a million, tiny pieces.

I owe it to my children, to my husband, to myself for God’s sake to take back the reigns of this self-loathing downward spiral.

Yes, there are reasons – sure, I have plenty of excuses – but the bottom line is, I want to release this anxiety.  Face it, head on, and take back control over myself.

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