Posts Tagged ‘struggling’

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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freedom

Posted in beginnings, family, memoir, self-discovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 13, 2012 | Leave a Comment »

It is one of the turning points in therapy when the patient comes to the emotional insight that all the love she has captured with so much effort and self-denial was not meant for her as she really was, that the admiration for her beauty and achievements was aimed at this beauty and these achievements and not at the child herself. In therapy, the small and lonely child that is hidden behind her achievements wakes up and asks: “What would have happened if I had appeared before you sad, needy, angry, furious? Where would your love have been then? And I was all these things well. Does this mean that it was not really me you loved, but only what I pretended to be? The well-behaved, reliable, empathic, understanding, and convenient child, who in fact was never a child at all? What became of my childhood? Have I not been cheated out of it? I can never return to it. I can never make up for it.” (Drama of the Gifted Child, Alice Miller, 1996, p.39)

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I am that child – all grown up.

Source: tumblr.com via Pinterest

 

I am grieving.

In my own rebellious way right now.

I don’t want to cry for that little girl that never felt good enough.
That just wanted so desperately to make her mom and dad happy or proud – that sweet, little, innocent girl that felt she had to earn their unconditional love.

Fuck them!
Nope, she did not deserve any of that!

I didn’t deserve any of that!

Right now, I just want to…

Set. Her. Free.

Go crazy sweet baby girl!

Do whatever your little heart desires.

Make a mess!

(And make mistakes…it’s OK, I promise.)

Color outside the lines – backwards and sideways while your at it!

Let your heart soar — let it fly away!

You are free.

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If you’re new here, let me explain some stuff.  I started therapy awhile back because I thought I was living with too much anxiety.  I had some life-changing experiences and thought the trauma was still affecting my life.  However, I have learned that my mother suffers from Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) and that my father is co-dependant and enabling of the situation, the illness.   Anyways…this is where I am at right now.  Angry and sad all at once.  But, I also feel like a huge weight is lifting from my life.  Thanks for stopping by to read! ~ S.A.A.

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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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hold on

Posted in memoir, tagged , , , , , , , , , on May 11, 2012 | Leave a Comment »

I squinted as the morning rays shone – too bright for my sleepy eyes. The haunting, ethereal words from Sarah McLachlan filled the car, “Hold on, Hold on to yourself, For this is gonna hurt like hell.”

My stomach sank over the irony. “Yes, I know.” I thought to myself, quietly breathing the tears away, afraid to look over at Owen behind the wheel.

I knew something wasn’t right this time around, but no matter what doctor or specialist I pleaded my case to, they still concluded that the normal ultrasound results were their best tool for prediction.

What ever happened to trusting a mother’s intuition?

Hooked up to machines and monitors with an attentive nursing staff watching as the Pitocin dripped into our systems, my baby and I were in the safest place possible.

“Why are your contractions not doing anything to your cervix?” the doctors pondered to the nurses, myself and my husband after nearly twelve hours.

So they added internal monitoring devices, and my water broke.

I started to really concentrate, working through each contraction. Then each time the wave broke, I welcomed the the blissful moment of peace and relief. The ride was familiar again, and I was calling on my past two experiences for guidance and support.

Gradually, a burning sensation started to radiate from my left side. After a few more contractions, I was sure my baby had a fork and was stabbing my belly from the inside. I told the nurse about the alarming sensations, and she agreed that labor pains were never described as such. She checked me over, finding nothing unusual, then went to find the doctor.

I rolled to my left side to soothe the burn, realizing quickly that it wasn’t going to ease up. Sickly warmth reached up my neck, my ears ringing. I needed an epidural.

My doctor returned, performing a thorough exam of me and the attached monitors, finding nothing abnormal. The burning and stabbing persisted, although I was dizzy-drunk from the epidural.

Deep concern masked over my doctors face. Our eyes met while a knowing passed between us: we were two women, inexplicably connected, balanced dangerously on the edge of a vast unknown, our fall inevitable.

The pressure of another contraction started mounting, suddenly my entire pregnant belly felt as if it were ripping open, bursting into flames of fury and fire.

I screamed out, grabbing the left handrail of my bed with both hands, raising to my elbows, “SOMETHING!” , “IS!”, “WRONG!”. Each word shot out, combusting with fear and pain.

The overhead lighting suddenly scorched the dim room and important people flood in. Time slowed, I heard and saw everything at once. I writhed on my left side, forcing my breath in and out, fighting the white light feathering my vision.

“Breathe! Breathe Salem, breathe!”, Owen was urgent, panicked.

“I AM!”, I was determined to keep my eyes wide open. The white light would not win.

This would not be how my story ends.

A split second – the baby’s heartbeat vanished.

“Code Blue – Code Blue – Labor and Delivery – Code Blue”, echoed through the halls, announcing that my baby boy and I were dangling by a thread.

The birthing bed instantly snapped back together, side rails up, locks released and I was moving.

A nurse told Owen, “You need to stay here, Dad.”

Hot tears pricked my eyes. I turned in my bed, forcing out the only three words that mattered, “I. Love. You.”

“I love you!” Owen’s voice trembling, filled with fear.

I was flying down the hall, crashing through swinging doors “Code Blue” still resonating through the speaker system while blue siren lights flashed in the ceiling.

Doctors and nurses yelled orders across the operating room. As my hospital bed slowed, I instinctually lifted myself up and slid over to the operating table, summoning every last ounce of energy into my fight.

My shoulders and neck muscles screamed in protest as my arms were yanked out straight from my sides and restrained. Beneath the blue surgical tent now, my gaze locked with my nurse as she pushed my baby back inside. Her eyes, pleading with me to keep fighting.

Owen’s voice trickled through the roar of the OR. The cool and clammy nurse’s grasp was replaced with the familiar warmth and strength of Owen’s. Love infusing between our palms, I squeezed tighter, never wanting to let go.

“Please, please just put me under.” The words barely audible as the white light flooded my vision.

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Quite the cliffhanger…so I’ll fill in some blanks.  My uterus ruptured during labor, baby boy was revived and recovered quickly and miraculously – he’s turning 2 in a few months, healthy – strong & happy.  Me?  I had lots of postpartum issues, life-threatening infections which ultimately led to a hysterectomy 6 months later.  I plan to share more about this near-death, life-changing miracle of mine…but for now, I’m sharing this essay with Heather of The Extraordinary Ordinary.  She’s hosting a writing contest in honor of the newly released, Use Your Words: A Mother’s Guide to Writing, by Kate Hopper.

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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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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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writing poisons my inner demons

Posted in self-discovery, why I blog, tagged , , , , , , , , on April 16, 2012 | 3 Comments »

I won’t lie. There is a part of me that enjoys hearing about other people’s struggles in life. Not because I want to place judgement on them. My judgement-filled upbringing has made me hyper-aware of how toxic that nasty little mindset can be (for the judger and the judged).

No, I find solace and peace of mind from hearing that maybe I am not the only one with flaws and imperfections and in general, shit. Yup, every single one of us has our own brand of crazy. And we all have that shit pile somewhere that we try to clean up and deodorize before anyone catches a whiff.

I think part of the reason I like the blogging community so much is that I get to feel that camaraderie, but I am hearing the stories first hand, not through the deadly gossip mill. These people are telling their stories – opening up to whomever happens through.

And I think it’s awesome. Writing is freedom. Writing is when it is easiest for me to be myself, be authentic – imperfections and all.

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Some of those inner demons that I’ve kept neatly stuffed away inside are pretty horrific. And I know deep down, those beasts are truly not a part of me, just paraphernalia that I’ve collected along this tumultuous journey. But I’ve been harboring them for so long their roots have intertwined and entangled into everything. Like those horrible thistles that you can never pull out entirely; they pierce your fingers with tiny splintery shards and just when you think you’ve got the main root loose – it snaps – leaving behind it’s lifeforce, to grow back more resilient and stronger than before. That’s when you pull out the Round-Up right?

Writing is my Round-Up. This concoction of words thrown into the cauldron of pages, stirs and churns and bubbles. I type away, allowing the poison to pour directly onto those inner demons. I can almost feel them writhing and shriveling up, their tentacles of roots retreating until they have nearly vanished.

I am through imprisoning myself, allowing those inner demons to root deeper, stronger.

I will write, and I will write often.
{afterall, that’s what this gray daisies blog is about – at least for now}

I am free to be just me.

s_a_a

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