Just to feel Normal

 

There are so many feelings and things to say, and the overarching goal is to just feel normal.  I was speaking last night about psychedelics and the impact that they could have on the field of counseling and the difference that they could make for people. I remembered my first rave, my only rave, one I will never forget. For a time that evening, I felt normal; I wasn't afraid.  No terrifying pictures were in my head. No memories of what had happened to me; I was just another person in the room, listening to the music, and for a short time, I just got to be. I even started crying last night when I was speaking about the experience and what it meant to me. Knowing the feeling of freedom, feeling what you imagine a normal person might feel, is truly life-changing. 

My entire life was anything but normal: no normal experiences, no normal relationships.  Not a single person or experience I had was like my peers or the people around me.  Fear was never absent from my everyday. I had to learn how the people around me felt and be careful about their mood so I could act accordingly.  I had to be aware before I knew that anything else was an option. Living like that is not only exhausting but so terribly lonely. The things I wanted, and maybe even needed, were never considered. 

To have an experience where the things that have weighed you down your entire life are gone in a matter of seconds is something most would find incomprehensible. I can remember thinking how out of place I was, until in a split second I wasn't. I was leaning against this wall and all of a sudden, it hit me.  I slid down the wall, and for a split second there was this panic, then as the next beat hit, I felt the freedom.  The wonder of being in the moment.  I was out in the middle of the dance floor, and I wasn't afraid. There were no thoughts holding me back about the world being dangerous. There were no memories knocking on my door reminding me of what people had taken.  In that one second, all the weight of the world that I have to carry in my everyday disappeared, and I grew wings. I danced, I felt, I even dare to say that I fit in. There was no high; there was no exaggerated response. There was just me, the girl who felt so free that she couldn't stop dancing. 

I can also remember the moment I realized that it was wearing off. It was early in the morning; the sun was beginning to rise, and slowly all that I carried began to pile on.  The sadness crept back in, along with the awkwardness, the dread, the fear of others, and the immense weight of the pictures I carried in my mind.  Almost in slow motion, I knew what was coming back, and I wasn't ready. I wanted more freedom, more time, more of what it felt like to live without fear. 

I have done so much healing, and sometimes I wonder if I can ever feel that way on my own. I think there are times when being a DOC student is that kind of freedom for me. Two worlds colliding: one of freedom, relief, and pure magic. The other one is despair, memories, and the brutality of the world. There are times that I feel I have one foot on each side, More on the side of freedom and magic, but the brutality of the world I have experienced still has tentacles wrapped around my soul.  I will continue the untangling and hope that someday, I can live in the magic that I had that one evening at Ridglea Theatre.  

Children by Robert Miles 

I heart your heart. 

An outlier who needs pictures again.

I am in this very weird place that I do not like at all. I don't know how I feel, and I don't have the words. I find myself looking for pictures, trying to make sense of what I feel inside. So many strings are attached to the awful things that have happened, and I can't seem to be let free. I work so hard on my healing, and sometimes it feels like it just isn't enough. I want to scream at myself to stop whatever it is I am doing because it's not working. I want to be in a better place, but I don't know how to get there. Spunky is a huge barrier right now.  It's just painful; so much of being an outlier for me feels like it comes from her, who is also me.  Surviving so much, I was always ok; only now I'm not. Almost 40 years, and now I am not ok?  I want to scream at that part of myself, tell her to pull up her bootstraps, that good things are happening, life is still terrifying, but no one is going to hurt her like they have in the past.  I am stronger and would never let that happen. I do understand the terror and the fear, and yet I hate it.  It was such a long time ago, and lately it feels like it's very close. 

I feel like I don't belong in this DOC program.  Like somehow I don't fit in, but I am so happy there. I am not a fan of my classmates; they talk to hear themselves talk, everything is a joke, and they can't focus to save their lives.  Goodness, I am trying to like them, but I am different.  I don't see the jokes all the time, this is really serious for me.  I hate that I am the only one who is not in the counseling field right now. I am in a job where I am not heard or listened to, and it feels awful.  There is just a lack of support where I am, and right now I need it more than ever. I worry that I'm not good enough, that I'm not smart enough. Everyone in the program has to outdo the others.  I only slept 5 hours last night; well, I only slept 2. That is just how the conversations go, and I am not in a place of competition. 

I am in this lonely place, and I don't know if I am more her or she is more me. I have this broken heart that is spunky, and it's just so heavy. Then there is me with the passion and belief that I can make a difference.  So many good things are happening, and the sadness of that time is overwhelming. Recently, there are days it feels so close; it doesn't feel like it was almost 40 years ago.  I know there isn't supposed to be a time limit, but for me, close to 40 years is more than enough. It almost feels like the things that I did at 13- the loneliness, the guilt, the deep, deep sadness. Times like this, I am not sure.  Everything going on around me seems to reinforce how I felt at 13: unseen, unheard, almost invisible.  At 13, I was an outlier; at 52, still an outlier. Still in pain and still can not believe the things that I have survived. 

It's not a poor-me feeling; it's a loneliness that I have no words for. I want someone to understand that girl and all that she went through. I want someone to see her, hear her, and notice that she isn't ok. She is trying, so trying, but she is not ok.  Like she is slowly drowning, but she still waves so no one knows the extent of the unimaginable. Always waving even as the tears flow, pretending that everything is fine. I want to find the words, heal the pain, and move on; there are lots of things for us to do.  So many things to explain and ideas to be shared, but we have to make it out of this place that we are in, a place that no longer exists other than in the pictures I can't unsee. 

I heart your heart

 

Maybe my love story is my Doctorate Program

 I heard a new song the other day called Love Story, and it made me cry. It made me cry for reasons I don't even know. I used to think I wanted my very own love story someday.  That person who would hold my heart and love the little things that make me me. But I don't think I'll ever find Prince Charming and have my happily ever after.  It's funny; in my writing, I have gone back and forth. Sometimes there is a happily ever after, and other times there isn't. I think my love story will come from doing what I love and making a difference for others. Sometimes that makes me sad; I worry about being alone when I get old. I hate the feeling of coming home to an empty house when there are so many things in my heart that I want to share. Maybe I just need to stop thinking.  Focus on my doctorate, the research, and finding that just-right question that will make a difference for others. Maybe there are things that are too late for me, but if I can pave the way for others, then at least there is meaning.  I'm going to put everything I have into these next steps. The research, the clients, the work that must be my focus. I am just saying I don't want to hold hope for something that isn't meant for me. 

I heart your heart 

Happy Personality, Sad Soul

 

So much, and the tears just don't stop.  Today I told a friend I was officially licensed, and she asked if she could give me a hug.  I told her that I would cry, and it didn't bother her one bit.  She gave me a hug, and not only did she give me a hug, but she held on because she knew I needed it. That is a true friend.  That was the best part of my entire day. Those are the moments that hit at the very core of my being.  Those true moments mean the world. I have had very few of them in my lifetime, so when I find them, or they find me I hold on with all that I am. 

I think I am learning that I have a happy personality and yet a very sad soul.  Lately, I think that sad soul has been aching.  Aching for connection, aching for things to be different, aching that there is still an ache to be felt.  It's not an angry soul, but a quiet one that carries so much.  It's just a soul that carries such a great deal of grief that it may take her a lifetime to overcome. It's deeper than sadness and more than despair; it's a place that often has no words and offers little comfort.  There is comfort in whales, in her granddaughter, in her friends who hold on when she needs it.  In her everyday, that sad soul is there in the quiet moments when there are no demands, just presence. In the moments I have listened to a song for the thousandth time and can finally feel the words, that sad soul lets the tears fall.

I am in a new place, with new accomplishments, and I often don't understand the kind of sadness that I feel. In all the happiness, this sadness.  In all the surviving and thriving this tug that things could change in an instant. I think there is this fear that somehow all that I am accomplishing isn't meant for me, and if I am not careful, someone or something is going to pull that rug right out from under me, and I don't know if I would be ok. 

Even with Spunky, I feel her getting softer, coming closer with a heaviness, an intense heart, and it scares me.  Spunky and my sad soul are hand in hand, and I want something different for us both. I want freedom, I want rest, and I want a place where we can both smile, no words needed, and just breathe. 

When a person is genuinely happy but has such a sad soul, it's such a strange place to be. Maybe the sad soul comes from my trauma goggles and how I see the world. Maybe the sad soul is just the girl that i have always been. When you are genuinely happy, and then, in your quiet moments, this sad soul wants to crawl in a hole, it's hard to figure things out- hard to find a place to fall where someone can understand both parts that are you through and through. 

I am happy, and I am oh so sad. To be both, to feel so deeply, often feels like a curse. So many things are still a challenge: finding a voice for that soul of mine. Being scared of the world is the challenge I have had all my life. To embrace the happy, funny person I am, and to also embrace that sad soul who wants better from people.  I keep fighting, and maybe in time, with more healing, this sad soul can be a soul who can afford a few sad days but can enjoy the celebrations of being a mom, a poppy, and a therapist. Space for the sad, but go with the happy.  Being deserving of good things isn't something I am used to; maybe it's time I start learning. 

I heart your heart. 

Safe Harbor Counseling

 

So I just did this thing and got business cards.  I found something that feels most like me, and it's the best I've ever found.  I don't have a business yet, or any clients, but my heart is open and so excited for what is next.  I think Safe Harbor fits quite nicely.  A place to call home, a place that is warm, engaging, but above all safe. Whales were my safe harbor, and I have the education and licensure to provide that care to others.  A place where there is no judgment, no blame, just a safe place to heal your heart. Today I got the official word that, on paper, I am an LPC-Associate. That is more than surreal and hard to take in, but more than exciting. I get to go back to the place that makes my heart happy on Monday. I get to continue my Doctorial classes, see my clients, and do all the things that I never dreamed were possible. So many big ideas are spinning: places that I want to go, classes to teach, topics to explore,presentations to be made and stories to be told.  Today is a different kind of accomplishment than that 13-year-old girl who reached out to touch that whale and made a connection for the first time in a very long time ever thought possible. Today is a different kind of accomplishment for the woman who has worked so hard to heal the parts of herself that kept her alive for so very long. Today is the start of new beginnings, new feelings and new ways of thinking.  I will accomplish all that I dream, and more.  I never want to forget the things that I feel in this moment. 

Pictures to come when the cards come in. 

Yes, this. Safe Harbor Counseling. 

I heart your heart.      

2 things

 

Two things that have made me think.  Two things I've believed for my entire 51-years of life. I believed them, and it wasn't until last week that I learned neither was true. 

1. I was not the origin 

2. Innocence doesn't cause evil

It was one of those things that you hear, and the world starts to go in slow motion, and the words repeat as your brain tries to make sense of them. What do you mean, I was not the origin?  Innocence doesn't cause evil; are you sure? What exactly does that mean? 

I was the origin of everything that happened to me.  I was the reason, the cause. I was the one who didn't listen, who did things wrong. I was the one who wanted too much attention or needed something.  All of the healing that I have done, there are still pieces of this that linger. I am the one still so affected; how could I not be the origin? 

Innocence doesn't cause evil.  That is another level of understanding that I am not sure that I have yet. I hate the word innocence, as I have never felt like it described me. I think, in my bones, I have always felt that something was truly wrong with me. Whatever that thing was, was it what maybe brought out the evil in others ? I don't quite know.  I am trying to find a place for that to land in this mind of mine, and I just can't right now. I can see the 5 year old that I was, and know that she had no part in the things that happened to her, later, there is a struggle, if I would have just been more careful, more aware, maybe things would have been different. 

I hate being 51 and still having a lack of understanding at times about the part that I had in all the things that happened to me.  I often wonder what it would be like if that were totally gone.  In this moment, I don't have a clue, but I keep working on it, and until my very last breath, I will keep fighting ! 

I heart your heart

How do I heal

 

I worry all the time that some things will never be, that there will always be oozy spots no one wants to see or help me through. I have done a great deal of healing, and I will continue. The questions remain: how do I heal this part of me?  How do I heal that 13-year-old part of me that has survived what she shouldn't have? How do I heal that 13-year-old part of me that is so much of the reason I am the person I am today? Maybe the loneliness I so often feel comes from that part. Even in my Doc classes, something feels different; I am not sure I fit in. I have this seriousness, this intense nature about this work, and I get so frustrated with others. I have found a chair for my dissertation and am over-the-moon excited.  Good things are happening; I am moving in the right direction, but still: spunky.  She is closer than she has ever been, but it's harder than it has ever been.  I think this doctorate is more for her than anything I have ever done.  That fight and drive to find her voice.  To finally be listened to and understood.  I am pretty sure that I have talked more about trauma in my three weeks of Doc classes than I was allowed in my entire master's program.  That needs to change, and I have to make sure that I am part of that change.  I met with a friend, and she remembers me being shut down every time I voiced my interest in Trauma.  Lately, that feeling alone is ginormous; I am not sure that anyone can understand the life that I had to live at 13.  I was so alone and so afraid all of the time.  So many of the things that I was taught to believe live there, and they are still extremely hard to overcome.  Just last week, Mark said that I was not the origin of all that happened to me.  That has been a hard one to wrap my brain around. I was the origin, the one who did something wrong, the one who wanted attention or needed something.  I was the reason that those things happened to me.  Today I think through that, and it's like circling a drain, trying to make sense out of something that there is no frame of reference for. Everything was my fault all the time, and I am not saying that in a poor-me way; I am saying it because that is what I grew up believing. I wasn't worth celebrating; I wasn't worth belonging; I wasn't worth people's time.  I think that so many of those very basic beliefs were cemented during that time. The violence, the loss, the blame were all on my shoulders all the time. I have said it before: there is a heaviness to her heart, all that she carries. She just wants to breathe easy. Lately, reminders seem to be everywhere. I even got home the other night; there was a group of 5 men in the driveway, and my brain froze. A part of me is still terrified, and I think, I couldn't fight them off; how could spunky ever have a chance! Realizations like that lately are heavy and unimaginable. These moments leave me shaken; having Spunky so close brings a different realization, and it's more than hard. The reality of lived experience is here and now, staring me in the face. The nightmares have been brutal the last week.  It's like I am back at square one after all that I have learned.  Last night I woke up screaming for Mariska to call 911; it was so real and so present. They were all climbing the fence. I screamed for her and told her to hide. I woke up looking out the window, truly believing that there was imminent danger.  I am too old for this; it was too long ago for me to still be having nightmares like this. It took me some time to catch my breath, truly believing that they were still after me. It's just so much to carry sometimes, and when there is such a desire to move forward, the past keeps knocking. I want to be free; I don't want that immediate panic to overwhelm how far I have come.  I know this one is hard; I know it's on a different level of terror and shame, but it was just so long ago. I think the problem of the last few weeks is that it feels so all-encompassing; everything I do I do for her, to get us to a place where we can breathe easy, where blame is gone, and our hearts are happy.  I am holding on to hope, but I can honestly say that right now, healing this part of me is the hardest thing that I will ever do in my entire life. I keep going because that is what I do, but I am so very, very tired.