Always outside the Box

 

I think this is a place I will always be. A place where I will always see things differently. A place where I have that just-enough-different perspective that no one else sees.  I was more than excited to attend a counseling meeting with many other experienced counselors, but I quickly felt it wasn't the place for me.  I met some very nice people.  But they were not my people.  They just didn't have the passion that I am looking for in the field. They were missing that untouchable piece of presence, that piece beyond theory or diagnosis.  They were missing that thing that I have that makes me, me. I know that I can not expect everyone to have it.  I know that. But there is so much that is in that connection, that carving of space with another human, that makes such a difference.  I said that existential made sense to me; I got the looks.  I am ok with the looks, and I understand that it is not meant for everyone.  I just want to find people who can see where I am, who I am, and appreciate that. 

I was speaking with one of the counselors about finding a supervisor, and she was arguing with me about what I felt and saw.  I was thrown off, like, who are you to judge my thoughts and feelings!   I tried to explain my passion and point of view, and it was dismissed.  It wasn't long after that that I said my goodbyes and left.  I got in my car thinking, these are not my people. 

It was watching Yalom's cure and feeling it so deeply that I was able to understand a different part of me.  I have a different understanding of myself, of life, of just how precious each and every moment is.  I think part of that is where I have come from in this life and all that I have survived.  I have thought that I would die; I have even at times wanted to die, but there was something or someone that kept me going. On the worst of days, there was a spark. A spark that doesn't even have any words. Another part of that is just me, the person that I have become and worked so hard for in this life.  I have always been the one to think about things a little harder and a little differently than everyone else. I think, for most of my life, I have seen that as almost a curse. Maybe it's time that I start looking at it as the thing that makes me who I am.  I struggle to even put that difference into words. 

It's sitting in a session, seeing that little bird on the ledge outside the window, and enjoying it with every speck of space and time.  Yet, someone else could see that same bird, and it doesn't even register just how cool it is.  I feel like I live life like that every single day. So often I feel like the way I experience life isn't appreciated or even understood, and that is what I long for most. For that part, that spark to be seen, understood, and cherished. I come to my therapy sessions with a rawness, with a desire to understand and help them move forward. It's just that how I do it comes from a place beyond the books. The book part is important; the theories, skills, and techniques are important, but there is something beyond all of that that plays an equally important role. 

Even in this profession, I am going to have to look for those people who think differently, who can appreciate how I see things even if they don't see it the same way.  I am always so accommodating and willing to understand others.  I want that same kind of understanding from others, for myself.  I just don't think I realized I would have to search for it, even in this field. 

So I will always be outside the box, and I am going to have to understand that part of myself and be ok with knowing it is just one of the things that makes me me. Goodness, I truly hope that this will make sense to someone other than myself. 

I heart your heart 

Not a fan of Holidays

 

It doesn't matter which one it is; I am not a fan. I was thinking about that today, because it is the fourth of July, and as I took Mariska to work today, there were all these people loading up their cars, getting ready for the cookouts, picnics, and pool parties, and then there is me. Dropping Mariska off at work, seeing everyone with their pool noodles, their festive Fourth of July colors, the big hats, the beads, then going home alone.  There are no invitations; there are no invites asking if we are ok or if we want to join them.  There is nothing, just another day doing the normal things I always do, and not a single soul reaches out to invite us or make sure that we are ok.  

Then I get angry at myself: why, after all this time, does it even bother me anymore? We have never really been included, thought of, or made to feel special. I am 52, and why after all this time do holidays still sting? I feel like holidays are made for families. They are made for the people who have people! What about those people who don't have people? What about those people? What about me? To be honest, I would not even impose; if someone asked, I would probably say no, I wouldn't want to get in the way or be a bother. I am all too aware that I am not a part of their family. But just to be a thought to someone would be more than I could hope for. 

So on this Holiday, I have separated laundry, washed the rugs, mopped the floor, vacuumed, and done all the things. I am getting ready to write my paper. And there is a sad ache in my heart that I just can't shake.  I would love nothing more than to make that special red, white, and blue dessert or pasta salad to bring to a gathering of people, just because it's what you are supposed to do on these days for families. Not a fan of fireworks anyway; they just scare the animals. 

So instead of a gathering, a celebration connecting with friends, I write what is on my heart and hope that someday there will be a place for me.  A place where I am thought, a place where I belong. 

Someday, maybe. 

I heart your heart 

So much Shame surrounds her

 

It's really hard to realize that I was truly just a kid at 13. I was not this little adult; I was just a girl who had no chance of being the little girl I deserved. Wrapping my heart and head around her life, the life that we lived, is extremely difficult. There is so much shame and embarrassment that surrounds everything about her. I find this all so hard to comprehend. All the work that I have done and all that I understood, there are pieces of that 13-year-old that I just don't understand. There is so much that I understand today, yet this girl has so much that I struggle to find words for. I was all around an embarrassment in every way, and ashamed of all of me all the time. I never said the right words, never looked the right way, and never fit in; in all of the ways that everyone thought that I should. Because of that, there was this constant embarrassment that I wore no matter what I did. I still carry so much of that today. This is one of the hardest pieces to understand with a history like mine. It's like there are pieces that she has, there are pieces that I have, and to finally hold all the pieces at once and try to put them in some kind of order and give them meaning is a place that is just extremely difficult. 

The shame and embarrassment that exists for merely breathing is so real and so intense. I feel it to this day. Sometimes it's little things. Other times it's bigger things.  There was this feeling that I have always had, something untouchable and ever-present. There was just something about me that was wrong.  I was just never enough, and in the same breath, I was always too much. What kind of place is that to grow up in, or at least try? Well, it isn't. 

There is just so much about that spunky girl. So much for me to understand, to hold close, and make space for without any judgment.  She believed that she was going to die that day, and living with that is an enormous burden.  Feeling like there is something inherently wrong with you, having that happen, and then thinking I couldn't even do that right.  In those moments, I remember thinking that I just wanted them to kill me.  I wanted them to just finish me off; I could not imagine another minute of what they were doing to me. I didn't want to die, but the weight of what happened was suffocating.  When it was over, I wanted to be anyone but myself. I didn't know how to live, and I sure didn't know how to live with the memories and the silence about what was done that day. And I think I always used to say, one rape was ok; if I just had to deal with my father, that was ok; if it was just Albert. If it was just Don, I could just keep going. But this was something so very different; this was something that happened that broke pieces of me into millions and millions of pieces that I have slowly been trying to get back together. I do think that there are pieces that have been found, there are pieces that will never be found, and pieces that Spunky holds that need care. It's giving those pieces a place to rest, recover, and be seen and heard.

I feel like I am not making any sense; feelings and thoughts are swirling, and I don't know how to make sense of them. How I have managed to keep myself together and survive what I have been through.  Somehow, being 13 is so different for me to process. Like the life that a 13-year-old is supposed to get to experience are things that I never got.  I am trying to wrap my mind around those things, and I am not sure that I can.    I want to see her and all the things she experienced, like how I am finally able to see little Callahan.  It's like all the things I know are thrown out the window, and I am starting all over again trying to find my words. She was just 13. The shame grows, and I think it's been growing since that day. I have shed some and continue to, but there are things just so affected. There are things that have never been given a voice, and I hope they will scream when the time comes.  I want that feeling to disappear of wanting to understand something that there is no understanding.  I want to take each piece and have it make some kind of sense; that just isn't possible.  There is no way to understand evil, no way to comprehend what they did.  I want that need to understand to disappear and feel able to let go and keep moving forward. I think about how far I have come, even feeling stuck in this spot, and I find it hard to imagine the things that I will be able to accomplish when I no longer feel that need to understand the incomprehensible. 

I heart your heart

I weep when the silence opens

This is so the place that I am in. I am blossoming. I am in the mending phase, and there are so many things I know and so much I am learning. It's a place where I am challenging what I have learned and looking towards what I want to understand better. There are so many tears and lots of growing pains; it's letting go and adopting new ways of thinking. 

 I cry, and I cry, and I cry. There was a time that I didn't, and now it seems that they flow quite often. I have been trying to figure out where they all come from and what they mean.  Some are sad, some are happy, some are the things that I don't have words for. My eyes are a river that flows freely. I am sitting here now, the tears flowing, listening to a new song that speaks to my very soul. I feel everything so deeply, and I am grateful for that, even though it is hard. There are still so many sad tears that have never been given a voice, but lately these tears of mine are just the tears of all the silences that I have had in my life where tears were never allowed, and are just now starting to blossom.  The tears today are tears that I never imagined I would get a chance to share, to experience, to feel. I am at a place in life that I have worked for, and I am not even sure I ever truly imagined what it would be like. I knew I wanted it, but never imagined it would actually be mine. 

I am in a place where my tears are helping plant seeds for others, and I am offering hope to those who may have lost theirs for a time. I am doing things today that are making a difference and have purpose and meaning. I am better at controlling those tears, but they are the things that deserve to be seen and even witnessed by others. Too many sad tears have been cried as I fell off to sleep or hid the deepest pain to make it just one more day. I have cried oceans, and only a pond has been seen. So the tears just come, at the little things, the big things, and all the things in between.  For the longest time, I wasn't allowed to feel or experience, and now it is my time to experience all the things that I was never given permission to feel or see. The silence is so loud and I am working to give that part a voice. All that spunky was never allowed to share, to speak to feel. Because today I don't need anyone's permission, and if a person can't handle my tears, then they need to find a different space than the one I have worked so hard to build. 

I am not a fan of all the tears, but I have to say, it's a kind of reassuring softness I feel when I think of my tears as something blooming, watering the path I am on for all the amazing things ahead of me. I feel like pieces are falling into place for me, and I am scared to death and more excited than I have ever been in my whole life. 

I heart your heart 

When fathers day is heavy

 

This year, Father's Day hit differently than it has in the past. It held a sadness: a quieter awareness for me of all that I never had, all the things that my children never had, the amazing father that my son is, and how he is impacted by not having a dad or any kind of role model to look to. It felt like this merging of all the places, things, and events that have led me to this point. There was a sadness for what I didn't have, a breaking of my heart for my own children, and another breaking for Vincent, who wonders what the things that he thinks and feels as a father are, not having a father, and having to deal with all of the things that go with that. 

It was the night of Father's Day, and I even found the courage to ask Mariska if it was hard for her, and she said yes, sometimes. I am sure I could hear my heart hit the floor.  I tried to speak, heard my voice crack, and waited a minute. I asked what made it hard, and she said she didn't know and changed the subject. I wanted her to come sit next to me and ask all the hard questions that she has in her heart. I don't even know if I could answer them. I don't know if I would have an answer to put her heart at ease, but at least it would be named and spoken, and I hope that alone would make a difference. 

I think a huge difference for me this year is Vincent being a dad. I see just how important that his daughter is to him.  I love how he knows her, what she likes, and what she doesn't. He knows her schedule and what makes her happy. They both light up when they see each other. How she melts on his shoulder, and he just is there with her, it's beautiful.  Getting to be a part of that is something more than awesome. On the flip side, my heart breaks for my children; they have a burden that I feel with every inch of my being. They never had that, and often I feel like I am not enough. To know that it has had an effect on Mariska is heartbreaking. There are so many things I want to say, and I just don't know how to say them. I will forever be sorry with all of my being. I know that it has affected Vincent, and I don't even know how to talk to him about it.  How does a mom tell her children the most precious things to her in the whole world that came from something violent, but for me, they are all that matter?  So many questions, and I feel like that elephant in our hearts is getting bigger, and I have to find a way to bring it up and let them know that everything is already alright. I have them, and that is all that matters to me. 

I heart your heart

What do you do when justice never comes

 

I saw this in an email post and haven't stopped thinking about it.  What do you do when justice never comes? You cry, you scream, you keep breathing, and then you cry some more.  There are some things in this life for which there will never be justice. There will be no answers; there will be no resolution. There are some things in this life that are not fair and should not happen, but they do.  So when justice doesn't come, you hold on to the things that make your heart sing. You find ways to find meaning in those injustices around you, then find ways to do things differently. 

I know, for me and my story, there are things that are just completely unjust: the things that have happened, the way I was treated, and the ways things were handled. There is nothing fair in the cards that I was dealt in this world. I could have hurt others; I could have turned cold; I could have made the choice to hate, to become bitter.  Instead, I took all of the things that happened, and I worked on them, I molded them, I tore them apart in order to heal. I made the hard choices to do things differently than I had ever known.  I do not blame a single person for how they chose to handle their injustices. All of us deal with the worst things in all different ways. Some heal and grow, some heal and hate. Some look the other way, and still, some heal and make a difference for others. When your justice doesn't come, you have very important choices to make, and decisions about the life that you want to lead going forward. My heart aches; there are still some wounds that need tending, but I will never stop tending. I will never stop giving meaning to the things that have happened to me in order to breathe freely. I used to say "fighting," but I think "tending" is a better word.  I am present, I am aware and I am more than willing to do the mending to find the happy. There are times that often get lost, but I am still clearing out, making room for all the things that I deserve to make this little bruised heart of mine forever happy. 

I heart your heart 

I can carry us home

I heard this song, and the tears started flowing. I can carry us home. A song about grief and how it changes you, how it affects you, and the impact on everything after that moment. This song could not be more perfect for that 13-year-old part of me that has tried to do everything on her own for her entire life. She has lived lifetimes and is closer to me than she ever has been. For the first time in forever, I think she may even be in the same room with me.  I have pictured her out on a couch, sitting alone, thinking about all the things that she never got; all of the things that have been done to her. She has sat alone, trying to figure out everything she has done wrong that has gotten her to this point. She has this forever-long pointer finger pointing at herself for every fault, every decision, every pain that she has encountered.  Finally, I think we are in the same room. Tell me your story, and I will tell you mine.  Everything is already alright. We are so alright, and I haven't felt that in the longest time.  There is this sense of peace that I have longed for for so long. It's such a soft place to be after fighting for so long. Today I found out that I passed my exam, I had supervision, and I am so proud of my work with clients.  I am here because Spunky helped me survive.  I am here because I wanted better and knew that someday we would get there. She is that quiet force that always kept me going, that always believed that there was more. She would much rather be in the shadows, making magic. With each heart that she touches, it's another healing stitch in ours. I wish that I had better words to explain, but this is what I have. We live in this place of grief where there is so much loss.  We lost who we were as people.  We lost things we never knew were ours to be had. Despair and sadness followed us everywhere, and yet we have always had each other. I have always been so afraid of her bravery, her strength, and seeing things differently today is something there are no words for. I can carry her home.  Her story won't break me, and I will be ok.  She will be ok, and together we are unstoppable. 

I heart your heart.