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, and 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 I now,  I am in a job, where I am not heard not listened too 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 if I am good enough, if I am smart enough. Everyone in the program has to out do the other.  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.  So many good things are happening, and the sadness of that time is overwhelming. Recently, some 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 is almost like feeling 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. 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. 

Not alone but lonely

 

Mark said this the other day, and my reaction was yes! YES, that is exactly it, there are a few people around but it doesn't seem to be enough.  I am in this place, and I am more than lonely.  I cried talking about it. I am not at all ungrateful for the people that have shown up for me; I am so excited that they are around.  Even though they are around, it feels like they are not my people. I want people that are there when my hair is greasy, and I have bed head. I want people there when I don't have any words, and when I do seem to find them, the tears come, in that ugly cry kind of way. I don't really understand it. I have been on my own for most of my life; why does it hurt so much now? I thought maybe in my DOC classes there would be connection, and I have found that they get on my nerves and are already complaining about class and want to leave. Those are not my people. I am the one on the outside.  There are the few younger ones who like to hear themselves talk, the older lady that I do like, but one of her good friends is in the class, and when she is there, I am invisible. So once again I am just there on the outside. I often think that I am just a deep thinker, too deep and intense often, and it's hard to find someone who understands that. I just want to find people that I can connect with. People who can have those dark, deep conversations sometimes and not think that I am out of my mind.  I think when a person has grown up with trauma, we see things differently.  Lighthearted conversations aren't what we understand or feel comfortable with.  Give me the hard, the deep, the edgy, and I can talk about every side and give different perspectives.  How do I find my people? How do I tend to this loneliness and find a place where I belong? When I want to go somewhere, who do I go with? Who will go with me?  I know that I am weirdly different; I have a different perspective on life, but I want someone to share the person that I am with.  My children are getting older; they have their own lives, and I have to find my people. 

I even came home the other night to an empty house and was more than uncomfortable; I didn't know what to do with myself. I was walking in circles, and there are only so many things that a person can clean. Even sometimes that doesn't fill the hole. When all is said and done, that alone is still there as I write, scroll through my phone, or play a stupid game just to make the time pass. On those days when I can't get out of my own head, there is no one to call and no one to be there. Yesterday was an extremely rough day. I even cried holding Amelia. I apologized and told her I was sorry; I was just sad. I cried as she fell asleep on my shoulder.  That deep sadness, that loneliness, is ever-present, and lately it's there as a constant. Yesterday was a rough day anyway because it was Aug 22, and that day is hard.  It was even harder this day. 

I just want to find a place and people who are there for me, with no ulterior motive, just pure and gentle kindness. A genuine interest in me and my heart. I want to find those people who can hear my thoughts about my dissertation, question me, make me think, and keep the conversation going. I am just in a really lonely place, and I think for once in my life I don't want to feel that, and I don't have a clue where to start. I have so much to share and to give; this heart of mine longs for that connection that I have never been able to find, where it went both ways. 

I heart your heart