Look for the windows

 This semester is going to be amazing; I have a professor who values who we are as people. We are seen and genuinely heard. He speaks to us as the counselors that we all hope to become. He wants us not only to be better for ourselves, but for our clients. He tells stories, many of them more than once, but each time he tells one, I see it differently and consider its impact on a client. He may tell the story more than once, but I see it differently each time. Today, he was talking about seeking windows that let us gather more information and gain insight into our clients' world. They are going to give us those windows; it's about recognizing them and doing something with them. What one person may see as a window and fly through, gaining so much, might not be seen by another. Each window is an opportunity to learn more, do better, and gain a deeper understanding of where a client is at any given time. 

I think maybe this is true for all of us. We are all just hoping to share something of ourselves and to make a difference for others. We are all looking for that just-right person to come along who can hear our song, see our heart, and gently touch our soul. When that happens, we can open our window and share a deeper part of who we are. I hope that I am that for my clients: I hope that I catch those open windows and hear them in the right places, in the ways they need it most.  

So often in my life, there have been people who have either ignored those windows, chosen to look the other way, or not even cared that they were there in the first place. Today, that makes me so sad.  So many missed opportunities that no one took the time to see. I truly think that is one of the things that makes me, me. I notice those windows; I notice the little changes, the differences, and I acknowledge them. That is something that I will always always do. 

I heart your heart. 

Are you the girl ?

 

So many dreams and nightmares lately. Last night was no different.  I went to someone's house, which was huge, and lots of people were there. I am not sure why, but it felt like everyone was there for me. And then one guy, someone's dad, was talking to me and came right out and asked, "Are you the girl who was raped?" There was a feeling of shock, and I said yes. But there wasn't a sense of shame at all.  He said he was sorry, and someone brought out a huge stuffed animal for me. I think it was a Snoopy. This guy gave me a hug and said that he was sorry. I just cried. It felt like everyone in the room was there to support me. People were asking questions and supporting me in ways I had never known. Experiencing something like that, even in a dream, is a feeling that is so unfamiliar. To be able to speak and say yes, those things happened to me, but it finally felt like I wasn't the one who had done something terrible for the first time ever. That feeling that I had being in that room, being able to say yes, and then not feeling like I was something disgusting or less than.  The way that I felt in that room was the way that I felt after my documentary with Neil, Val, and Jim. I could have fallen over, and they would have caught me.  It was such an amazing feeling to have that kind of love and support.  I woke up and didn't want to; I wanted to stay right there and hold on to the feeling in the dream forever. 

And I think I am 50 and just had that dream, that would have meant the world to me when I was 13. Feeling like I was worth something, like I wasn't the one to blame, I wasn't the one at fault. Just to feel like I wasn't all alone in the world would have meant more than words. My heart hurts, and I have been teary-eyed all day. I think there was a part of me that wanted to go back to sleep, longing for that feeling.  That even with what happened to me, I was still loved and respected. I don't want to be 50 and still crying; it was such a long time ago, and yet the feelings are so raw. Today I felt like that scared little kid, afraid of the world and all that it couldn't give me.  Today it felt like it was yesterday, and I was as alone as ever. I haven't felt like this in a very long time.  If I could have just crawled back into that dream just to capture that feeling and bring it to 2026.  I would give almost anything to make that happen. To feel like I am more than the things that happened to me. To feel like someone gave a shit and cared enough to give me a hug and make sure that I was ok.  I think I would have given anything for someone to ask Are you the girl who was raped. and then to respond with such kindness. Such love, to even give her a hug. 

I often talk about how attached those things are to me, but in the dream, after he asked about me and offered care, there wasn't the same kind of attachment. I think sometimes I see myself as all those things that happened, I see the gross and disgusting, I see the marks, I feel the hands.  I still feel the pain in the worst of the nightmares. There wasn't a moment of blaming myself; there wasn't a moment that I felt gross and disgusting in that dream. There was just the fact that it happened, and I deserved the same love and respect as anyone else. 

Haven't had a day like this in forever. It felt closer than ever, and I just want to close my eyes and imagine all that I felt in the dream were things that I wish Spunky had at 13. 

I heart your heart.

My body still doesn't know its over

 

As far as I have come, there are still things that pull me back. Back to the place that I still fight so hard to recover from.  The nightmares, flashbacks, triggers, and bruises at night are still there for a good deal of the time.  I can go for some time without them, and then out of nowhere, they come back with a vengeance with no rhyme or reason. So much of me is still fighting all that happened to me. I am in such a different place in my mind.  I have learned to take things as they come and keep moving forward.  There are still days that the memories kick the shit out of me, and I become one very messy, complicated human. The morning's that I can't even brush my teeth, and the anger that I feel for myself is intense.  The mornings that a shower feels more like a memory chamber than anything peaceful and calming. The days when I lay down to sleep, and I still see the fan, and without warning, I repeat their names as I did all those years ago. The things that have happened to me live in every cell of my body. I have come so far, and I have so far to go. 

There are just things that I don't understand, and I am not sure that I ever will.  How the mind works, how trauma is processed and remembered. The insignificant things that stick out, and the big things that are not even a clear thought.  I can remember a therapist telling me once that the nightmares and flashbacks were a choice. I took that to mean that it was something that I was purposefully doing, and I think that I have held on to a part of that. It's me, I am the problem, I am keeping these thoughts and memories alive. It's not like that; there's a part of me that cannot let go of the most haunting things. There are pieces of me that are just trying to make sense of the things that hurt so much. Somehow, someway, I should be able to stop those things in my sleep, stop those intrusive thoughts, and just move past them, but if it were a conscious choice, I would have stopped them a long time ago.   

There are things that live in my skin, even on my skin. Sometimes even a kind touch can wake the memories, and instead of something loving and kind, it turns dark and heavy.  Some words, songs, even tone of voice, and my heart skips a beat, I am thrown back to a time that was more than dangerous. Sometimes I hear a song, or remember the beat, and I freeze even after all this time. And it's more than hard to understand, because those things just happen, literally in my skin, there is a reaction sometimes before I even have words for it. Last week, I wrote about breathing and how hard that is. When certain things happen, there is no response; it's a level that happens before I am even fully aware of it.  There are times, even after a counseling session, I can't catch my breath because literally sometimes the things that are spoken take my breath away. Sometimes the thoughts and reactions that I have become so automatic that even though I am aware today of so much, and have worked so hard on healing, there are things on a different level where there are no words that I am working so hard to unravel, unpack and truly understand.  The nature of trauma is such a beast in every sense of the word. 

I heart your heart.

Reactions

 

I always think about how things could have been different for me if someone cared, if someone held my hand and let me know it wasn't my fault.  I wish someone sat me down, listened to me, and given me space to talk about what happened, and didn't blame me. I had a moment the other day, and I thought, what if I had known Mark back when I was 13?  I was half awake, half sleeping, but the thought of someone caring and reacting appropriately made me cry. For that girl who just wanted to know she wasn't so awful. That girl was drowning under all that she was carrying, and each person looked the other way. In that space between sleeping and awake, Mark was walking away from everything that was so awful and was carrying me in his arms.  He was carrying Spunky far away from everything and everyone who was unkind.  It was the warmest feeling in the world. I was holding on, my arms around his neck, grateful to feel some safety and some peace.  Crazy as an adult to need that kind of care. I was who I am, just watching and grateful. It felt like one of those scenes where a firefighter is carrying someone away from the flames. Same feeling, just a differing situation.  

It's not just what happened to me at 5, or at 13, or in my 20's; it's all of those things together that I have experienced that make up the person I am today. I am strong, and I am ok most days, but those things have affected me forever and always will be a page in my story, the worst, the tragic, and the unimaginable. There are going to be things that come up on all the days of my life that I will have to sit with.  Some things I will hold my heart and wail at the devastation, and just try to breathe through the moment. Other things will feel crushing, and I will be angry that they still bother me. Then there will be things that there are no words for, that just need someone to hold space until I can catch my breath, and know that I have come so far. Always the journey, there will never be a moment when what has happened to me is finished. It sounds awful, but trauma is something that will forever and always have an impact. Sometimes small and other times huge, still an impact all the same. 

I wonder what others have done when they have found out their mother, daughter, or sister has been assaulted. I wonder what their thoughts were, how they treated them, what they were thinking, and what help they offered. Did they hold them, let them cry?  Did they ask questions? Did they ask them what they needed? Did they make sure they got medical care, did they ask them if they wanted to call the police. If they were not yet of age, did they make them feel loved? Did they explain that what happened to them wasn't ok, and that the police need to be notified so there can be some kind of justice?  Were they treated with respect, and their thoughts honored and heard?  I want to know about those things and what others have experienced. 

There is a woman that I know, who I have picked up parts and pieces of different stories.  Maybe I am just thinking too much, but I believe that her daughter may have been assaulted. She has spoken about how the world has not been kind to her and about her choice to put animals before people. There was a conversation about driving to counseling, and the music she listened to, and the idea of rape culture was brought up.  Maybe I am looking into it too much, but there is a gut feeling. Even today, I can feel the care for her daughter, the desire to understand, and the desire to understand where she has been in the world and why she sees things the way she does. Even the other day, I was sharing that I wasn't smart enough for the Ph.D program, and she said that her family has always participated in counseling and would choose me, hands down.  That meant the world to her, and I was moved to tears.  To know that someone would trust you with their family, their heart, is a really big deal. The kindness she showed her daughter was exceptional, and I hope that someday I gain a deeper understanding of her situation and get some insight into her thoughts and feelings about what happened. 

I even watched a special about Elizabeth Smart.  And she said that the rapes really weren't talked about. She felt terrible and didn't know how to even talk about it.  She didn't know the difference between consent and love, and the things that happened to her. That was astounding to me, to have parents be so understanding, and yet a huge part was looked over and never acknowledged, and not because there wasn't love or concern, maybe they just didn't know how. But the impact that had on her was huge.

And I think about that, and my heart sinks. For me, I am not sure that there is a difference. For me, it's all violence, assault, and harm.  I am not sure I can imagine making the choice to purposely have sex; I just go away. I have had sex since I was five years old. There is a certain weight to the things that i carry, that are entangled in every piece of all that I am.  I knew I was hurt; I didn't really understand what was happening. Yet, when I did, I felt like I was something terrible, awful, and I was the one who had done something wrong. When I think about a relationship, or maybe getting married someday, I think, how could I do that to a man?  Sorry, I am used goods, I will love you with all that I am, but please don't expect me to be anything sexual. Not something that I have to worry about today, but sometimes I feel like that piece is broken.  I wonder: if I ever did get into a relationship, how would my past impact it? Would they be angry? Would they be ok on those days I just want them close and to feel safe? Would they be okay with not knowing some things, or would they want to know to understand the woman I am? So many questions. 

I think of my children, and someday, if they ask more questions or have concerns, what will their reaction be towards me? Will they think of me differently?  I so badly want that open communication to know their thoughts and feelings. They know my heart, what I have done, and how I want to make a difference. Still, things are not openly discussed, and I wonder if they ever will be. Will Amelia have questions about why there is no grandfather? What will her thoughts and reactions be? So many questions.  Some things are not in my everyday, some things are not in my year, but then there are other things that are my everyday, and I want others to understand that. 

The reactions we have, how and why we have them, matter. They matter for survivors and how they interpret the world around them going forward. I will always be forever grateful to Mark for not giving up on me, for always making time and creating space for me to heal, to recover, to become the woman that I was always meant to be. He took the time and has cared for little Callahan, giving her a safe place and time. He has cared for spunky, validating all that she feels and never pushing her to do or be anything other than who she is. And for me, to make me laugh when that's the last thing I want to do, for encouraging me when I am so done, giving up feels like the best option. For his belief in me and knowing that I have what it takes to continue moving forward and make each of my dreams come true.

Reactions matter to a person in the moment and in every moment of the rest of their lives. 

 I heart your heart. 

Breathing

 You know, you would think that something so necessary to life would be easy, but the truth is it's not. Breathing is hard for me most days. Often, I have to remind myself to breathe. When someone tells me to breathe, I get this panic that makes my breathing even harder. I wish I had the just-right words to describe everything that goes on inside me when I am asked to focus on my breathing. And then being asked to close my eyes and breathe feels like something so dangerous and life-threatening.  There is this automatic response that makes me feel like I am fighting for my life. 

People often say to stop and focus on your breathing to calm down, but for me, that does the exact opposite. That stillness, that quiet, is dangerous, and a person has no idea what can happen in those moments. Focusing on my breathing for some reason brings me to the exact thing that shook me to my core. I can't take the time to breathe because for me, my very survival is at stake. I wish I had better words.  When the breathing does come naturally, when I am holding my granddaughter, when I am in a session with a client, breathing is normal and natural. When I have to focus on myself, terror creeps in, and I want to run. Focusing on my own breath brings a sense of impending doom, and it feels like I am not working hard enough to keep myself safe. 

Part of breathing brings me back to thirteen, and trying to focus on the little things just to survive.  In the most awful parts of the day, as they each took their turn and I just watched the fan, thinking each time would be the last, I am not sure I was really breathing. I know, in my head, physiologically, I had to have been, but everything in me was just trying to get through second by second. Everything was happening so fast around me. So many of them were coming at me, wanting me to do such horrid things that even breathing became something secondary.  For me, sitting with my own breathing brings me to that time, and I wish that I totally understood why. I don't think I know why, and maybe it scares me to find out. If you just pretend that you aren't breathing, then you don't exist, and if you don't exist, then those things really aren't happening. I would have given anything not to be there under that fan. I would have given anything not to be so hurt, so brutalized and disgusting. 

I heart your heart

13,522 days ago was 1988

 

Wow, in one breath that feels like forever, and in another breath it feels like it was yesterday. 1988 was such a long time ago, and yet there are things that still live in my bones. Recently, I learned that a woman who was incredibly unkind to me when I was 13 and truly needed help had passed away. The joy that I got from that kind of scared me. I saw the news, laughed, and was excited.  There was this little part of me that felt so much relief, like finally that little 13-year-old had some acknowledgment that things should have been so different for her.  As I continued to look for information, people posted about how wonderful she was and the fond memories they had.  Yet, for me, the memories I had were not good ones, not warm and kind; everything was completely the opposite. I try so very hard not to think about that time, because it hurts that much, but there comes a time when a person just can't ignore things anymore. Maybe, just maybe, 13,522 ago is a time that needs some light. The little girl that I was back then was more hurt by this woman who passed away than I would ever like to admit. Her name was Joan Lux and I hated her, I hated her with all that I am or ever was.  With her no longer on this earth, maybe it's my time to breathe and take back all the things that she made me believe about myself.  

Talking about that year, that time is so burdensome. I feel the weight of that time each and every day; I carry it with me like some kind of coat. Something I can't take off or send to a recycling bin. I carry it still, feeling like I have something to prove.  Somehow, if I could just prove my worth, just understand, just have someone to help, I could let it go and watch it slide down my shoulders and onto the floor, and I could keep walking, never looking back. The thing is,  its as attached as I am to that time, it is just as attached to me as I am to it.   It creates so much anxiety and pain in my heart, and after all this time, I can close my eyes and be back there in seconds. My chest starts to tighten, and it's like I am almost forgetting to breathe. In my head, I know it's over; it already happened, but somewhere I am still more than terrified. I am so afraid that somehow that time is going to swallow me whole, and I will lose everything that I have ever fought for. 

Even sitting here and writing about all those days ago, there is a rage, a fire like a volcano that is seconds from exploding. My chest hurts, and I don't even feel my fingers anymore. My throat feels like it's closing, and I know I am in my own skin, but it feels like a place that I just don't want to be. There is this ache in my body, and my shoulders, instead of feeling capable and strong, feel like boulders. Even thinking about talking about that time feels like I have done something terrible.  There are these automatic thoughts that make me still feel small and weak.  Like if I were just stronger, I would have already healed from this. If it were that bad, I would have more visible scars, and people would have helped me.  I know that those things are not true, but somehow they still thrive. 

When I did reach out for help, it was Joan that I wanted to tell first.  I wish I could remember what I was thinking, why I wanted to tell her. For some reason, I had to believe that she was safe; little did I know how wrong that I was.  I couldn't even speak the words, so Calvin did.  He told her that I was raped. There was no care or comfort, no checking to see if I was ok.  I was just the chubby, unpopular girl who would want to do that to me. Even writing those words, I can't believe how cemented they are to my very being. There was no presence with me; I was more alone than ever. Calvin came back into the room, and I just grabbed onto him. I can remember being worried about all the questions they would ask.  No one asked any.  I think there was a part of me that wanted them to, so that I didn't have to carry it alone anymore. I was 13, just a girl carrying the weight of the world, and Calvin was the only one who seemed to care. He was there, just holding me. There was so much commotion going on around me, but everyone seemed to be worried about themselves and not me.  I can still feel the heaviness in my chest. I felt like I was the one who had done something wrong.  I felt guilty for telling someone, guilty for involving Calvin.  There is supposed to be this relief when someone finally knows and can help you, but I never got that. And after all this time, I still feel the weight of being so alone. Maybe this is where that deep aloneness that I so often feel comes from. It's a kind of sad aloneness that I have yet to find relief from. I think maybe that is part of the reason that Spunky is glued to that couch; sometimes it's better to be alone and risk more hurt. As much as I can tell her that I am here and ready for anything, it just takes time. She went through hell, and she did it basically alone. That kind of thing takes a lot to get over. 

Joan's husband was the one who took me home, still showing no care. I don't remember the care ride.  All I remember was him sitting next to me on the couch in my living room, telling me how different things were going to be.  No one asked how I was.  NO one asked about my heart. NO one held me, told me that it was going to be ok, I did what I knew how to do, you just keep going, trying to figure out what you did wrong to make all these things happen. They didn't help carry my burden; they just added to it. I was drowning right before them, and no one cared. I was the one who was at fault. I don't even remember my parents getting home that night. Still so many holes. The things I do remember feel like they happened yesterday, and then there are others that I still don't understand how I could not have known or remembered. Such dark times, that time was just as bad as the rapes, because I felt like everyone was looking at me like something so gross and disgusting, the same way that they made me feel. And they didn't even know the whole story, but that didn't matter.  I was just a slut. 

Even the days that followed after Calvin told them, "I was talked about and not to." I was crushed and felt like I was the one who had done something so terrible. After all these days, I still carry that. All of their words were like knives, and no one cared that I wasn't ok. It's crazy that even after all this time, this is more than hard to write about. These are the things that are wide open wounds that don't seem to want to heal. That time still creates so much pain; it feels like my heart is being ripped in two. I know I have spoken about this time; it's just that each time it feels so close, and I am overwhelmed with guilt.  I have worked on this post for a week. I write a little, then have to leave. It seems exceptionally close, and I don't like it at all. 

I get angry that it still bothers me so much, even after all the work I have done. This is a piece that has a hold on me. As much as I can't forget, it seems to want me to remember. Songs come on and the feelings well, and I change the song as quick as I can. There is more connection than ever with Spunky, and it's really terrifying.  All these things were something that Spunky had to deal with. Yes, she did, but that saying that often takes my breath away comes crashing in, "You are her and she is you." I think, ok, she went through all that and survived, me, I think I wasn't strong enough or brave enough, and she kept me sane. I know that we are connected; I know all the things, but my heart struggles; there is that fear that, somehow, when the full realization hits, I am going to end up in a dark place back in time. I wish I could explain it clearly, like that, somehow, truly facing it would crush me.  I can't tell you how big that fear is.  It just hurts, and I want to be ok.  I know I have so many amazing things ahead of me, and I fear the things that have already happened the most. Somewhere in my brain, I don't believe that it is over, even though I know with every part of my mind that it is.  It was so many days ago, and it feels so current.  I just want to be able to say, this was a piece of my story, and yet here I stand today, and sometimes I am just not sure how to get to that place when Spunky is no longer afraid. Because I know that I am still terrified.  

I just want to be Free

I heart your heart. 

. 

New Year same Me

 

So many things are the same, and so many things are so different. It's a different year, and I have grown so much, finding a small comfort in my own skin. If only for a time. I am speaking more, less afraid of my own voice, and all the things that I want to share. I have lifetimes of stories to tell, and thoughts to share.  I find myself frustrated when others still want things sugar-coated and pretty. I am learning that I have high standards and believe others deserve them as well.  No one is perfect; everyone makes mistakes, but there is a level of awareness that extra care and extra caution are often needed, and I am willing to make sure others get that. 

So this year, 2026, is the year that big decisions must be made, and hearts will be split wide open; my own heart, which longs to be heard and understood, may have a glimpse of that this year. Another year in the books, and this Callahan is still standing; that is pretty astonishing. There are so many things running through my brain, all looking for a place to rest.  This past year has been one with a great deal of challenges, and even some rewards. So many new experiences, new challenges, and new ways of seeing the world. I am stronger than I have ever been, and I can see the hard work I have done and my own strength and drive to do things differently. A huge change this year was finally fighting for myself. I have spent my entire life fighting for others, making sure they are taken care of, protected, and safe. And finally, I am learning that I am just as important as the next person, and I am fighting for myself. Fighting for Spunky, who deserved a much better life than the one she was handed. I am fighting for my dreams and the things that I believe in with my whole heart. There are things in this world that I want for myself, and I am at a place where I am truly ok with that. 

I am fighting for my own worth; for so long, I have believed all the lies that I have been told my entire life. All the old tapes that are on repeat have kept me where everyone else wanted me to be.  I am here in 2026 to say no more. Don't get me wrong, I know I have a long way to go. There are still things that I need to work on, wounds that need healing so they can finally close, no longer oozy and painful. All I can think about are the good things ahead and the direction I am heading. I am ok with looking back, cleaning out the wound, then two more steps forward. Then two more, then two more, then two more. All with each part of me knowing that we have done the work, and it's time to honor how we see the world to make a difference for others.

I started the year checking out the Handbook for the Ph.D program, to say I am overwhelmed is an understatement, but goodness to someday be able to say that I am Dr.Sherri Callahan, that is something amazing. I am in a place where the world needs all the things that I have to offer. Of course not in a big head unable to fit through the doorway, but in a kind heart, trauma-informed, passionate way that only I have. To make a difference in the counseling field, to teach others what is needed, to guide softer, gentler hearts, yes, those are the things that I am meant for. I am terrified, and yet still know that it's the right thing to do. 

In the coming months, I have to look at all the things I want to do and prioritize what is first, what is most important, what my heart's desire is (Thank you, Elpheba), and where I go from here. A book is also in the works.  Well, not quite yet, but I am wrestling with ideas, outlining chapters, and deciding where I want to go. I want it to be about the little things that matter and how we can all help each other on our darkest days. I want to show people how to carve a space for others, how a space has been carved for me and allowed me to heal, as I will continue to do.  

Graduation is in late Summer, and the Ph.D. application is due in March. So many things. There will be finding a supervisor, and continuing to do what I love the most. My heart is so full, and happier than I have been in some time. I can see so many things ahead of me that I never before imagined, and it is a great place to start a new year of being truly who I am.  

I heart your heart.