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 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.
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 have been avoiding sitting down to write because all the good things that have been happening and there is something that feels heavy. I feel more than guilty that I should be so happy, and yet I am not. The tears have been nonstop, and I found myself sobbing on the couch the other night, crying out, "Why am I not happy?" There are so many reasons to be happy, and I should be in this joyful place, but I can't find it. I think there are many reasons why, and they all feel big and looming. I graduated, and as excited as I am, there is still a certain longing that even graduation didn't fill. It's this feeling that there is still something missing. There is still something, some hole that I am trying to fill.
There are so many pieces, there are some holes in my soul that have been filled have been healed. Those holes have been filled by fighting for others, going through the court system, by finding my voice, by completing grad school. I made the choice to do all those things in hopes that somehow one of those things or a combination would give me the relief that I am desperately searching for. I know that I can not go back and change the things that have happened to me. As much as I wish there was a pill or magic wand to take away the pain and the pictures, I know they just might be forever. But the passion I have to want better for others, though it eases my own pain its still there for me.
After all of these big milestones comes the reality, I can fight for others make a difference, I can put my whole heart and soul in everything I do. Still, I am alone. Still that ache in my heart is real and ever present. I keep doing, going working to find some kind of all I never got and its hard and terrifying and lonely in the hardest ways.
There are no people to share the amazing successes and the crippling sadness. They are both there almost all the time in varying degrees and it gets hard, what is missing is something that is terrifying. I want my person my very own person to celebrate all my successes now and in the future. And someone to remind me I will always be more than the pictures that repeat. Someone to smile and understand my love of whales and passion for the field of counseling. I want someone who hears my heart, who can gently hold on my heart on all the days. Someone to enjoy my listening to the same song over and over, and someone to hold !e when I feel the most unlovable. I want those conversations about how I am impacted by all the things in my life. And I want conversations, deep academic conversations on how to help others heal.
So many things were never meant for me in this life. So many experiences I will never have. If I could have just one wish, I wish to have my very own person for all the parts of me. The strong ones the weak ones and everything in between. Someone who could see me , and share the life I am building.
I kind of need to purge the graduations that have been a part of my life and have made me dread this exciting moment coming in just a little over a week. There was my disaster of a high school graduation. There was my brother's graduation, seeing the person who stepped on my tadpoles and told me not to fight, and learning he had a daughter. There was my undergrad graduation, where I was told that I was avoiding people and just didn't want them there. Graduations have been a series of rough moments for me, each one focused on everything but celebration. I do not like celebrations, and I am struggling to move beyond that. All of these things were supposed to be good things, and they just were not. I think that I kind of felt forgotten, not heard, and even blamed for my feelings.
And I honestly don't even think that my expectations were too high; maybe they were, and I just didn't realize it. I just want this day to be enjoyable. I want to enjoy the moment and the journey that has led me to this point. I want to have conversations about what is next, and what my dreams are. I want to take in the little moments; I want everyone to at least be peaceful for the day. Let the things that don't matter roll. There is a part of me that wants to revel in each moment, and another part that is terrified that if I do, reality will be something totally different, and once again I will be crushed. I think the day is even heavier because the people that will be there are literally the only people I have, so those that are there have a huge presence and mean the world.
My first experience with a graduation was High School. I can remember just being glad that it was over. People were crying as we were getting ready to walk out, and I can remember thinking that I wasn't going to miss this place for a single second. There was too much hurt, too much sadness, and I was so glad that I thought I was going to be able to put it all behind me. I felt like I never had any true friends in high school, so leaving wasn't really a problem. The only person that I hugged after graduation was a guy that I spent most of my lunches with in the library. I was that girl who didn't even go to the cafeteria. I saw him when we all walked out of the colosseum, and I gave him a hug, but he was the only one. I don't really remember much family being there; I know they were, but I don't remember that part. I remember walking alone to the car because my father was having some kind of panic attack and all of the attention was on him. I think at the time, it wasn't a big deal I was used to being on my own and there was just another moment when I didn't matter. I can still remember the Colosseum in the background and walking down the hill alone.
The next graduation was 5 years later, same building as mine but for my brother's graduation. It's still so very clear in my head; I can still see across that stadium like it was yesterday. Once again I felt all alone. From across the stage, I saw albert, and his young daughter. He had a brother who graduated the same year as my brother. Timothy was his name, and his entire family was there, including Albert, the one who killed my tadpoles and told me that next time I wouldn't fight, the one who raped me in his living room, in the back of the van. I was in the same building with him, and I was terrified. I was even more terrified for his daughter. I was worried about what would happen after graduation, when everyone is meeting their families; I didn't want to see him. I was once again alone in my thoughts and emotions. I hated him so much, and I would have done anything to go up to him and tell him what I thought, but I just wasn't in that place. I can remember waiting for my brother to come out, terrified, standing by a tree, hoping I didn't see him and that he didn't see me. Our families knew each other; my mother took care of his brothers when they were younger. I don't remember much else besides his presence there, and not a single person there knew what he had done to me. After that graduation, I called the police in New York, where he lived, and told them the story about what he did to me and that he had a daughter. Of course, there was nothing that could be done, but they heard me. That absolute feeling of helplessness, and everyone around me being so clueless, that I was so afraid. I am not sure that I was even breathing, and I just wanted to leave.
Then there was my graduation for my undergrad. I feel like this one needs some backstory. I was excited; I had worked harder than I ever had to get there. It was a rough time, but I was more than excited and looking forward to having a place of my own and building the life that I have always imagined. There was not much contact with my mom; she was distant, and I didn't have anything to say. She was full of secrets, and I tried to keep contact with my kids to a minimum; she was unkind. I don't even know how everything came to be. I think that my family had a chip on their shoulder and had the attitude that I didn't want them there and that wasn't the case. My mom and my brother were my family, they should be there, right ?!? Well, you would think there were accusations that I didn't want them there, so many assumptions and things expected. So the day came. It was crazy, I had little money, I hated the clothes that I had, they just didn't fit. I broke a glass on my foot the day before; I hated my shoes they more than hurt my feet. There were so many things that were off, and I was just trying to make it all work. I drove there on my own. I had Fall Out Boy blaring and was singing as loud as I could. I was the first one there and my feet hurt, but I was ok.
I got there, we all walked in, and I had finally done it. Then I looked up and saw the kids and realized that James was there. I was beyond excited and couldn't believe it. So there is a mass of people once the graduation is over, everyone trying to find their families. And my mother and brother said that I was trying to stay away from them. I was shocked; that wasn't what I was doing at all. It just hurt- so much drama on a special day. All the drama just continued into the party the next day: the people and their attitudes, my brother saying that he wasn't invited, my mother came, but everything was so uncomfortable and so full of drama that it took away from the specialness of the day. They kind of wanted to show up and prove something, but I needed that a long time ago, not on my special day. So there were so many hurt feelings and just unrest; I felt like I had done something so wrong, and I hated that feeling.
So to say that I am more than nervous about graduation Friday would be an understatement. I want to be excited. I want things to go smoothly, and I want to be able to celebrate. I don't want to think about licensure, or work, or next steps, or even the doc program. I just want to enjoy every second of the day and let it soak in. I am so afraid that something will happen. I got perfect sparkly shoes; I am comfortable with my outfit. Mariska and I are going to drive there together, and I am so excited. I just want to take it all in. I have worked so hard to get here, and I am more than excited. I want to enjoy the day, and I know what this big day have been for me in the past, and I just want something different. So less than 48 hours from now, I will be on my way, hoping that all my fears will fade away, and the day is everything perfect and amazing.
Today I passed my NCE exam. When it was over, I was expecting this huge relief. I expected there to be this insight, like, " Wow, you have finally made it, Callahan. Honestly, I didn't give myself credit. In one breath I saw passed, and in the next that excitement and breath were gone. There is excitement; this was a huge deal, but still it wasn't enough for me to believe that I am good at this job, that I have worked really hard, and I deserve to be here. I think the thing that worried me the most with the Doctoral Program was that I wondered if even that was going to be enough.
What does that enough even look like to me, because I haven't hit that mark yet, and it would be nice to sit and breathe knowing that I am proud of myself and all of my hard work. But I don't feel that, because often what I am isn't enough. That feeling in my bones, that I am missing something, that there is something terribly wrong about me, is looming and large.
I have seen the statistics of the number of people who complete a master's; I have seen the numbers for those who get a doctorate, and yet I am still not enough, not deserving. I am not sure what in the world it is going to take to believe that it's ok to sit back and enjoy these things. It's ok to say yes, I am really proud of myself for how far I have come.
I can tell you that these last few weeks have been more stressful than I would have ever imagined. So many things that there can be no plan for. So many things that can't be put into a list and checked off. My fingers hurt from pulling at what little nails that I have left. I find myself getting grouchy and irritable. Sleep is an issue; I mean, what's the point? There are so many things running through my head that rest is close to impossible. Yesterday, you could say I had a mini meltdown. I canceled my therapy; I was even supposed to present on trauma-informed care with a co-worker, and I emailed and asked if she would mind if I didn't come. Something so important that means the world to me, and I just couldn't do it. Granted, I had received the letter earlier in the day that they loved everything that I have done for my Internship site, but it was a no to continue as an intern there. I was absolutely crushed; this place means the world to me. So with that news, I shut down, canceled my appointments, and began to look for places to work on my LPC-Associate hours. So many unknowns for me, and I at least wanted to be in a place where I felt like I made a difference. I have so many resumes out there, and there has to be that place that I fit into. So many things are up in the air, and I am not a fan of that feeling.
Then there is the actual graduation, which absolutely terrifies me. There is a part of me that is so excited, and in the same breath, the panic that I feel is completely overwhelming. There are the what-ifs; I worry that things will go terribly and I will be pushed to the side and forgotten. Maybe that is the thing that I worry about the most. The things from the past that all begin to creep in. I just may not be worth the celebration. The problem with celebrations are the people; when you don't have people in your everyday life, celebrations hit a different nerve. When you don't have people, is it really even a celebration, because I just don't have those everyday people. I struggle to find a way for people to understand that. Someone even asked me, well, who else are you inviting, and I didn't have any words for them, because there is no one else to invite. Honestly, sometimes that feels pretty shitty, and I am not even sure that I have the words to describe what that feels like in a heart like mine. I don't have words to express just how stressful this time is for me. This entire graduation thing is terrifying: the attention, the history of graduations, the expectations seem to overwhelm my entire nervous system. I want more than anything to be able to stand in the moment proud of this accomplishment and all the things I have overcome and persevered through to get here, but I just do not. I am scared that this day will be just another day about nothing. If I could blink, wave a magic wand, and have it be over, I think I would.
I worry that these feelings will take away from the important people who are going to be there, and that isn't what I mean at all. There is just this ache in my heart that I wish that things were somehow different. I can't even tell you what my perfect graduation would be like. I want there to be the people who matter, who have cared for my heart and have seen my struggle and are nothing more than proud to be there for me. Maybe it's sad that the people who are your family and should be there are people that I don't have, and there is a great sadness in that. Celebrations are those reminders of the sadness that some people will never be what you need in all the ways that you need them.
I will be excited, I will be scared, and I hope that I enjoy each and every little thing of the day.
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.
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