Thy Olympics and Milestones

 

I always get excited, emotional and sentimental when it's time for the Olympics. All the time and energy that these athletes have put in, I feel it.  The hours and hours of sacrifice and training all comes to this stage to show everyone what they are made of. I watched a documentary on Simone Biles and it was fantastic!   Her journey her trials and where she is now!   It was inspiring, and honest. She has fought and worked so hard to be where she is.  Watching it was perfect timing as my own milestones have become clearer and clearer.  When things were at their hardest, it was the Olympics that gave me hope and helped me see the light.  When I didn't really have a home and was living somewhere; where I wasn't wanted the Olympics were on.  I can remember watching and crying about where I would be the next time that they were on. I can remember the exact place that I was sitting, and I said out loud to the kids, just imagine the next Olympics we will be in our own home. I am sure that I probably cried. And just like that I was in my own home, the next time that they were on.  I remember sitting on that red couch thinking about that exact day when I wasn't wanted and didn't have a place to call my own.  I smiled and tried oh so hard to be happy, for my children.  My heart was crushed and more than defeated. I was working so hard and finishing school to be a teacher.  It was one of those big once in a lifetime milestones.  Today I can hold that and see how far that I have come since all those years ago. Today I find myself in a similar situation, only I am in my own place, but this year that light, that milestone ahead of me is grad school.  This time it's for my career. This time, it's to make my heart happy following a dream that I have always had.  The next time that I watch the opening ceremonies I will have my master's degree and be working on my LPC. I will be guiding and companioning others on their journey helping them finding their own hope and light. How exciting is that. I am not sure I can put into words what that truly means.  I watched part of the opening ceremony today; 2024 Paris Olympics.  The look of awe on the athletes faces, those ever-present rays of hope that could be seen in all their eyes. It was beautiful and magnificent.  Tonight, Mariska and I will watch when she gets off of work.  I think that there is a part of myself that is so very grateful that I never gave up in this life. Back then all I wanted was my own safe place to be, to feel just to be home with no worry of someone telling you they didn't want you there anymore.  Today I have that.  I am here and as I look around; I am proud because I have done this.  I have worked, cried. laughed, healed and learned and I am here in my own safe place doing the things that make me happy.

    I heart your heart

Next Speaking Engagement

 

I may be overdoing it, I may be overthinking just a little bit.  I have an idea for my next speaking engagement.  I wrote a blog a few weeks ago about us, trauma survivors falling through the cracks, and how things need to be done differently.  It's such a drive for people to do things differently and for them to understand our hearts. 

Don't let trauma survivors fall through the cracks: 

"Don't Let Trauma Survivors Fall Through the Cracks" is a speaking engagement focused on raising awareness and providing actionable strategies to ensure that individuals who have experienced trauma receive the necessary support and resources. The session aims to address common gaps in care and highlight the importance of comprehensive, empathetic, and continuous support systems to prevent trauma survivors from being overlooked or underserved. Topics may include identifying signs of trauma, creating inclusive support networks, and implementing best practices for trauma-informed care in various settings such as healthcare, education, and social services.

Yes, I think that is it.  

But wait there is more there are so many ideas in my head.  There are so many things that I want to say for people to do things differently. 

Another really good one : Beautiful and Healing   The impact of ART 

There are so many.  So many things that I want people to 

I need people

 

There is a longing lately to find my own people.  To find people that care about the same things that I do.  People who have things in common and have an understanding. I feel like an idiot, because I am 49 and these are things that should be well established you know.  People at my age already have people and I am the odd ball.  I am the one that is different that is alone.  I am the one so far behind in life that it often feels like I will never catch up.  I catch moments where I think, wow look at you, then all too often the other shoe drops and there is that oh yea,  I forgot, I don't fit here either.  I am not about fitting into what anyone thinks of me,  I just want to find a place where who I am fits. I want to be me and find a place where I belong.  Where I can share all the things that make my weird little heart happy.  I want to find people that I can call and say, can I just come over and sit on your couch I don't want to be alone.  I am already thinking about after the conference.  I wish that there was someone who would say ok we are going to dinner when  you are done, or, let's get coffee and you can tell me all about it. If someone said hey want to come watch a movie tonight, I would with out a second thought.  I have always been everyone's friend.  Going out of my way taking care of them, making sure that their heart was cared for and a few times I got that.  Never on a consistent basis, and when I thought we were in a place to share what I thought I was rejected before I took my next breath.  That is how things work for me, and I want them to be different.  I want to be their friend, but I also want them to be my friend. 

I heart your heart

I want 30 minutes

 

I am in a place that I have never been before. I want 30 minutes in a room with each of the people who chose to look the other way while I was suffering alone and in silence. I want that time to rage, to point fingers to scream at the top of my lungs and tell them how their actions have affected me.  Some of them are family, some are counselors, some are just people who didn't give a shit.  I just want that time to tell them how they affected my heart and the lasting impact that their lack of care caused.  

I woke up this morning with this feeling, like I have never had before.  I think part of it was cleaning out more of my mother's things, part of it is being ignored by my brother.  Part of it, is that so many have pretended to be something that they are not, and I have been left to deal with the damage. 

I saw a saying this morning that hit me like a ton of bricks.  When a loved one dies it feels like a part of us dies with them.  I do not believe that to be true for myself. When my mother died, there were pieces of me that came back to life.  It is so incredibly hard saying that.  I would not be where I am today if she was still alive.  I would not be free; I would still feel like a girl slowly drowning while she looked on. She didn't know how to love me, and she didn't know how to let me rise.  She was a witness to the drowning and never reached out a hand.   She was not able to acknowledge my pain or the part that she played, and that had a devastating effect. It has been said that I was a co-spouse and that is the most gut wrenching of words. There was this competition that I never asked for, she would sometimes seem proud, but I just don't know if it was genuine.  The stronger I became the more she hated me. I only ever wanted her to love me unconditionally.

So today I am not ok.  And to make matters worse, I tried to talk to someone, and my heart was not heard.  And I am far too angry for it to even matter. Another wall put in place, our relationship is about her and that has to be ok, or I have to move on.  I am hitting exhaustion, but I fear the tears will come if I stop cleaning, fixing, making things look nice.  I am not ok, just not ok today. I feel like my wings are constantly being plucked, and I wish someone would stay and help them grow back. I am alone in this journey and that is never a fun place to be. I don't want to be alone anymore, and at the same time I don't know how not to be.  

I heart your heart.

I Never had a chance

 

There are times that something when I was little hits more than hard.  Sometimes I just start writing then when I look back, I think, how in the world does a child live like that? When I think about the thoughts that I had and how I survived, it is pretty amazing, that I still have breath in my lungs and the muscles to stand.  The first time I remember my father touching me my first thought was that 

"it's ok, he just thought I was my mom"

In my father's bed his hands all over me and my first thought was that it was ok because he thought I was my mom.  The weight of that.  Why was that my first thought?  Why would my thoughts go straight there?  Why in the world were my first thoughts to make excuses for him.  There was not thought to tell him to stop this isn't supposed to be happening.  There was not a single thought to say no or to tell someone to ask for some help.  No, none of those things just

"it's ok, he just thought I was my mom"

It wasn't until my early 20's when I spoke those words to my detective.  I couldn't look at him, I was looking at his hands, memorizing them.  The shame so thick, I could feel it in every cell. It felt like the world around me had come to some sort of stop, everything lost in time.  He just quietly said,

 Don't you think he knew the difference between the body of a 5-year-old and the body of a woman ?

I remember that moment, that my world stopped, and I looked him in the eyes. Absolute shock that thought had never once crossed my mind.   I had never thought about it like that. In that second the excuse that I had always had for my father no longer seemed to fit. It had never even crossed my mind that he did know the difference. I kept hearing Det. Plemmons words, and I replayed the situation, replayed my words and his.  That realization is a different kind of broken, that can never be healed. 

Today at 49, even still there is a sting in those words, in the situation in imaging that life of that scared little girl.  Even then I just had to pretend that everything was ok and make excuses for the things that were happening.  There is a fucking sadness in that, that is hard for me to even comprehend today.  It's a breath stealing, world stopping kind of realization.  

I should have been able to run to someone and ask for help, tell them what he did to me, but that was nowhere in my little brain.  At 5 I knew that there was not a single person that was going to protect or help me in any way.   

 

That is so difficult, I think of a five year old and they can barely make it to the cafeteria on their own.  Yet, there was little Callahan who was making excuses and trying to understand in her little world why her father was touching her.  That is devastating, and more than painful. I have been able to process that as that little girl.  But the woman that I am today, I am just speechless.  It makes me so angry.  There was no childhood, no innocence, no sense of safety.  

I heart your heart. 

I missed out on Family

 

I started talking about my aunt yesterday and the tears came without any warning.  I miss her. She had just come back into my life, and it was amazing getting to talk to her about things that matter. I was never afforded any family relationships. That was just never an option for me.  When my father moved us from Boston to Texas, he took us away from everything and everyone. I believe that he knew what he was doing, that was the point.  He didn't want us to have any connection.  Well, it worked.  I grew up having no one.  There were no family get togethers, no family holidays or celebrations.  We came to Texas all on our own, he wanted us isolated and dependent on him. It worked, and I was robbed of so much.  No cousins, no aunts and uncles, no place to go for a break where we could just be. That sense of connection was something that I never got to experience.  I guess that when you are little there is no way to understand that significance.  As you grow older, and all around you people are sharing about their family, you realize just how different that your experiences are. 

My grandmother would often come to visit.  She was a breath of fresh air.  She would always sleep in bed with me, and I knew at least for a few nights, that I would be safe.  I was always so dressed up.  I remember her having little feet and I loved playing in all of her shoes.  When I was little, I felt such great care by her. I can remember her crying each time she left to fly back home.  I never understood that, maybe she knew more about what was going on in our house than she ever talked about.  Just like my family you didn't talk about things, that was what happened in her home.  My mother did the same ignore and deny maybe the problem will go away.  I was always grateful for my grammy.  I knew that she loved me.  She always took me ice skating, with her I didn't have to worry about the craziness of life, I got to be a kid.  I remember how we always had to visit the liquor store before we got to my house.  I think it was scotch, and she would get the biggest bottle.  There was something comforting in that smell, it was her and she was safe.  She smoked, and that smell with coffee in the morning bring back the warmest memories. It was when I got older and refused to stay quiet, refused to just go with the flow that our relationship got strained.  She wanted me to be the good girl, just be quiet and always smile.  As I got older that didn't work for me anymore, and she could never understand that.  When I was in my early 20's and pressed charges on my father, she never spoke a single word to me about it.  She would glare, I would get the cold stares, she never ever said a word to me.  I became something that she didn't know what to do with. 

My father's parents came to our house once.  They were scared to fly, so they never made the trip to visit us.  Once they did come.  We drove to Boston, then drove them here to Texas.  I remember driving to pick them up, and I think that they took the greyhound bus back to Boston.  There was not much connection.  I again knew that my grandmother loved me.  She made me feel special and went out of her way for me.  They didn't have much, but still gave you the world.  Every Christmas, Easter and Birthday they sent boxes of toys and gifts. I think that if we were around them more, we would have had a stronger bond.  She was one that stood up to my father.  I can remember her yelling at him telling him to be more kind to his children.  She told him not to yell at us, that was something different. When I was older, I did fly to Boston and got to visit with her, but I don't remember anything about the interaction that stood out.  I remember bringing her lots of gifts and being sad that the next time I went over there they were in a pile in the hall.  I can remember feeling hurt, that was the last time I ever saw her. 

There were a few interactions with my uncles.  In my early 20's I went to visit Dennis.  Everyone thought that I went to visit him because I wanted something.  Really, I didn't want a thing just a connection with family.  I think that things started off in a good place but that changed quickly.  It is safe to say that both of my parents came from very dysfunctional families, and they didn't fall far from the tree.  It was Dennis that asked me if my father had ever done anything to me, because, he had sexually abused him as a child.  I was in shock, I said that no one knew.  I think back and yet, I was the one that everyone warned him about like I had some kind of ulterior motive, when I had none.  He was the one that opened that can of worms.  He was the one, that asked the question and then couldn't handle the truth. So strange looking back.  I wanted nothing but a relationship with my uncle, and he was unable to do that.  The next time that I went to visit him in Boston, my other Uncle Danny came for a visit.  It was very strange, they were running around getting things that he liked, you would have thought someone famous was coming over.  I did a lot of observing, how they interacted and spoke to each other.  Then the topic of my father's stepdaughter came up and the words that came out of their mouth, will forever sting.  They were laughing, talking about the past and my father, and Angela was brought up and they laughed saying that was one more for him to poke. They laughed like it was the funniest thing that had ever come out of their mouth.  I was shocked, and terrified.  I was fighting to keep her safe, and they were making a joke of the worst kind.  I cried, and ran upstairs, I was mocked saying that I was too sensitive. That was the last visit.  It was in the weeks following, that when the DA called and spoke with him, he said that he would make my father look like a fucking saint on the stand.  I was done. They wanted me to quietly ignore, the facts and continue moving on.  That was not something I was willing to do.  

Then finally in my 40's.  With all of my mother's surgeries, Donna my mother's sister was going to come from Virginia and help take care of her. It was so exciting having her here.  She listened to me, she heard my point of view, and she was such a support.  She saw how hard that things were for me, she was a lifeline for me.  We talked we laughed, we got to know each other and had so much fun.  We kept in touch; it was more than amazing to have someone that I connected with that was a part of the family.  She said that she always thought that we didn't like her.  But it was simply the fact that there was no connection.  It's very hard because I feel like we missed out on so much, and that is heartbreaking.  It was nice to get to share my life and my kids with someone.  She loved animals, and she was really funny.  We told so many family stories and truly bonded.  We would text and she would check in, she was always planning the next visit.  She was going to come for the kid's graduation.  We worked on the family tree while she was here, learning about so much.  Then she had surgery and she never recovered.  I texted her the day before her surgery. We were talking about a game night her next visit.  She was so excited visiting, it felt like we had found each other, and we were both so grateful.  I so miss her, so so so much.  She would have loved what I have done with the library, and she would have been so excited for me being in grad school.  We had an aunt Neice connection and had so much fun.  We had such a short time together, and I will cherish each second, we had. 

Then I think of my brother.  The way that we were brought up the kind of home that my mother grew up in, Boys were everything and that clouded our relationship.  I will say it over and over, my mother could never be nice to both of us at the same time.  She played us against each other and was often in the middle.  I was the one who was able to move beyond that, my brother never was.  He was the favored, the favorite and I often fell to the wayside.  He was never willing to rock the boat and that it what I always did.  Even to this day, he let others get between us instead of speaking up and telling them to mind their own business.  He is no longer speaking to me. After my mother died there was about a year that he would visit often, and we would laugh and play games.  We had dinner.  When I found out that he was the sole beneficiary, I was crushed, and it had nothing to do with the money but the fact that I meant so little to her.  I spoke about it to my cousin Sam, since they were dealing with some of the same issues.  Sam took it upon himself, to tell me brother what he thought and that was the end of the relationship with my brother.  I told him I didn't care about the money it wasn't meant for me.  I do not know what my cousin said, but my brother completely blocked me out and we no longer speak.  Once again, he chooses to listen to others instead of speaking to me.  It's hard.  Sometimes I miss that relationship, the only family I have left. I still love him and always will.  He is totally a product of the house that we grew up in.  Sometimes I am relieved that I don't have to deal with the drama, the girlfriend the children, health crisis after crisis.  Those are the things that I don't miss but do I mis him yes often.  He has chosen to live his life, and I am not a part of that. Heart breaking. 

My entire life I have missed out on family.  I have been given moments that I will forever cherish.  I have my children and the three of us are quite the family.  Mariska is fine with what we have I see Vincent longing like I have for family that we don't have. That also breaks my heart that I can't snap my fingers and give him that kind of connection. A very hard place to be family is something that just is not something that can be made up.  I think for me there will always be that hole.  I hope for my children as they become adults and start their own families that they will be able to create those family bonds that are things I have just gotten glimpses of.  

I heart your heart. 

I feel very raw

 

There are so many feelings going on. It's as though my heart is entirely too big for my chest.  The tears are too heavy to contain, and my body feels the ache of all the things that all the tears are about. There is a quiet heaviness, in all the things. It's more than hard to explain and I am not sure that any words are going to even come close to explaining what is in my heart.  I think that each time I speak there is a level of healing.  There is a different level of understanding of comprehension of why I am the way that I am. It is crazy that each time. there is a different realization about the things that have happened to me and how I have been treated.  Each time I speak brings a different level of sadness and pain.  Not in an awful way, but an honest and true way.  I have never been allowed to feel about so much that went on, and maybe there is a part of me that is just catching up.  I found a poem this morning talking about a broken heart.  They were comparing it to a broken arm.  At least with a broken arm, it's visible. They can give you a cast for 12 weeks then the bone is healed everyone signs your cast and well wishes are given.  But there is no cast that can be placed on a broken heart.  There is nothing visible that anyone on the outside can see. You just keep walking around like everyone else, and no one can see how truly broken that your heart is.  I think maybe that is perfect to explain where my heart is right now.  There are so many good things that I am more than grateful for. I never for a second want to downplay that I live in an amazing house, I have all my bills paid.  On the outside, things are taken care of.  It's just my insides that need some work.  That's the thing I am working on them, it's just that they are complicated and often confusing and have so many different moving parts. 

Yesterday I thought I smelled my mother.  That Wiff of her perfume, just walking in the hall. It caught me off guard.  The relief is so great, I see her pictures and it just aches.  She didn't like me or the person that I was. I wish that she could see me now and have an appreciation for all that I have accomplished and how far that I have come .  Truth is, she didn't see me while she was here, so wishing for her to see me now, would probably make things worse. She could never appreciate my heart, she never understood, how I saw the world. She was unable to understand the hardness and softness of who I was. 

It was my brother's birthday July 9th. I stopped texting when I realized that there was not going to be a response.  But it was his birthday, I just sent a happy Birthday in a text. Still nothing, no response. He has chosen not to have any contact, which I do not understand.  He is the one that is 100 beneficiary. He couldn't see the hurt that it caused or understand that it had zero to do with the money. I guess it takes me awhile, it's hard to realize that I have zero family that I can count on that are there for me. 

I will start teaching again in a few weeks and there is a sense of dread, it's there if even a little.  I just don't fit in, and I am not sure that I really want to.  I will go do my job then work on the things that I love that will get me to where I want to be.  I am super focused on my next steps, working really hard in grad school to help others. I know that this is the place I must be in the meantime, but that doesn't make it any easier. I hate that those in authority in prior positions have left me with a dread and a worry that I am doing things wrong all the time. I am just completely burnt out, that makes me more than sad.  I want to love it, like when I worked with Stacey, I felt seen heard and understood.  I wanted to go to work. I am not seen or understood by my team, more often than not I am brushed aside, and that is hard.  I  am really good at what I do, and my ideas are not heard.  I am there for my little friends and will continue to do that, a hard place for a heart to be. 

Then of course there is the conference.  That brings a certain rawness in itself. It's exciting to get to share and find meaning in the things that have happened to me.  I look forward to meeting new people who are as passionate as I am about making a difference for others.  It's amazing how I put that brave face on, and behind the scenes there is still an ache. Each time I have spoken there is a sad moment.  It's only a few moments, I won't let it be any bigger, but there is a sad in how I was treated. There are still pieces that long to be different, that are difficult for even me to understand.  For me there is almost a sense that I have to present, like pressing charges. Foe me there is an I have to.  I have to speak so that others can understand and can make a difference.  I think there needs to be an understanding of what those that have suffered trauma need from their therapists.  I look forward to the day when it's less about my story and more about doing the best for clients. Presenting is a feeling of life in so much darkness.  Presenting is a chance for others not to have to experience the things that I have. 

I don't know there is just a very raw feeling, I am open wide, healing myself, speaking to heal others and all the while learning to help others in their healing.    It's a lot.  I wouldn't want it any other way. And I have to honor exactly where I am.  

I heart your heart. 

Trauma Survivors fall through the cracks

 I am in the fight of my life right now.  I am working so hard healing Spunky, that little 13-year-old girl part of myself that is terrified of life. Things happened to her that I don't have words for, but still, I am here trying to heal. I am not sure that I believe in Happily ever after anymore, but I keep looking for it. All the while, still healing, I am working to help others understand the importance of helping survivors like me.   I have been treated so badly by so many people and I never want other survivors to have to experience the things that I have. Too many trauma survivors fall through the cracks for so many reasons.  Often as survivors we are so tired of fighting every day in life that fighting for our own healing becomes close to impossible. We need you to be that flashlight when all we can see is dark. We need someone to help us find our fight and be a guide on our healing journey.  All of this is just my own personal experiences and why I take my counseling classes so seriously.  When we go to someone for help the last thing that we need is an addition of pain.  The statement first do no harm should be of the utmost importance.  There are so many barriers that never ever get acknowledged for survivors. For so many of us healing is that wish that never comes. I think there are a few reasons for that.

1. We don't have words 

2.  We don't have the funds 

3. We don't trust that our hearts will be cared for. 

4. We don't have people that are willing to be a companion on our journey, finding that right fit. 

5. Too many are too invested in the latest tool instead of being present. 

6. Experienced more harm by those supposed to be helping. Have to be Competent. 

All too often, others don't know how to care for us, so they don't and choose to look the other way.  Or they try to help but then blame us when things aren't going the way that they planned. The way that "they" planned, there is a huge problem in that.  In trauma nothing goes as planned and there needs to be a certain gentleness, we are strong but also fragile.  I know that for me if I didn't find where I am now, I would still be falling through the cracks so very afraid of where I might land. It takes someone special to meet us where we are and join us on our journey.  I truly believe that finally finding that for myself has allowed me to grow and get to the point where I am today.  Trauma isn't a buzz word, it's something that affects many more than you can imagine.  Those that do come to you for help and support, need you to be there, if you can't be there then find a different population to work with because the last thing that a trauma survivor needs is added wounds. Trauma is one of those things that people think they can take a class or two and be an expert.  In my personal opinion, and experience that could not be further from the truth.  It takes a heart for it and there are many that just are not cut out for it.  That doesn't mean that they are not great counselors, I am sure many of them are, but it takes something special something different to help those that have been through the worst life has to offer. it takes someone who is able to sit with the dark that life has to offer, while holding a flashlight as proof that there is good out in the world. I have heard the worst things from the mouths of those that I went to for help. I have been treated so unkind and been left out in the cold.  A good trauma therapist has to think about what they say and how they say it.  They must be aware of all that is said an unsaid and have a gentleness about them.

From personal experience here are just a few things I have encountered in my counseling journey. Some have come close to destroying me and left me wondering what in the world was I doing wrong.  If it got to the point that I was asking for help, I more than needed someone. If I was asking for help, I was literally drowning and not in a great place.  I needed someone to help not someone I would need to heal from.  Here are some of the things that have been said to me.

Well, it sucks to be you, I was being compared to an alcoholic when talking about my nightmares. 

I was asked how long they were there, when I said that it felt like a long time she laughed and said sex didn't take that long.  The day that I came home from filming my documentary, the counselor sent an email telling me he was going to charge me going forward. There was another counselor that had me talking about the picture that was on the wall while I was being raped at 5, then said Well I will charge you from here on out, do you want to make an appointment.  I was talking about being exhausted being a single mom and working full time she told me that I made my bed so lie in it. I was telling my story and the counselor gasped with each word I said.  The counselor that old me that church was the only thing that was going to help me, that everything else was tried. There was the pastor that told my mother I should have kept my legs closed. There was the counselor that asked how many men were there for the gang rape.  I said 5 and he continued talking to my father as if I didn't exist. There was the counselor, that suddenly remembered nothing when my case went to trial. The therapist that left me out in the cold saying that I needed a team.  Talk about abandonment. So many things that there was no thought behind, and I was left more defeated than before I asked for help.  It takes so much to go and ask for help and then to be treated, so badly creates more wounds more shame and more hate for ourselves.  If we could just feel better, just pull ourselves up by our bootstraps we wouldn't have to ask for help.  Trauma survivors need something gentle and safe.  We have been through hell and back and if a person cannot meet us where we are then please don't add anymore hurt to already fragile hearts.    

One of the first barriers that survivors face is being able to find the words to even describe the things that we are feeling.  For me there are many times that I don't have words, and I will go the long way around something that I need to discuss because I just don't have the words to describe what happened.  It could be the actual event it could be, the feelings, it could be both of those things.  Often, we need help finding the right words, and we are not stupid or trying to be difficult it's just that we don't know how to explain the things that happened to us and how they made us feel.  For me that is where pictures, art, music and other words whether written or spoken have been so important.  I can find a song that describes the feeling or see a poem that explains what is going on inside of me. I see a picture and think that is how I feel, that is what my insides feel like. Opening that up gives a counselor so much information about where we are. It takes time and you have to be able to explore the things that we can't yet talk about or feel. 

Another barrier is having the money to afford counseling. That is a huge barrier for far more people that you can possibly wrap your head around.  Good therapy, therapy that helps you understand yourself and where you have come from is expensive.  More often than not finding a competent therapist when you have little to no funds is close to impossible.  When a person has a trauma history, there are so many roadblocks that they face.  Often when coming from a trauma background the cards are often stacked against them from the earliest of life.  We are behind in life in many areas and finances also fall into that category.  I believe that a lot of complex traumas that start early on, puts the person behind in life.  Being behind in all areas, socially, emotionally, financially, I mean all areas.  There are aspects of this that deserve a great deal of research, and I am not a researcher.  I can tell you that I should not be where I am today. I have had to fight my entire existence and that has gotten me here with a few therapists who went above and beyond.  Helping when there was nothing for them to gain financially.  I understand that counseling is a job, and that they have bills to pay and expenses in life.  I understand that with my whole heart.  I also know that sometimes people just need good people along the way who are willing to help and care. I am forever grateful to have found one of those counselors.  And I can say that what I have received I will continue to pay it forward once I have my own practice.  When you have been hurt your entire life and have someone willing to offer you kindness and support for the mere fact that you are important and deserve to be heard, is life changing.  Even the counselors who decided to start charging me, it could have been done entirely different and my heart cared for more gently.  I understand the need to charge, I understand that it is their job. There was no care for my heart in the situation and that is where I struggle. When dealing with emotions, and heart there needs to be a level of care.  I felt abandoned in those cases, and it did so much more harm.  I think there is a way for those things to be handled and if someone is working and are in the fight of their life, more consideration must be taken.   

3 and 4 can be put together really.  There is an aspect of trust that must be there.  We have to believe that you as a therapist are going to care for our heart.  I think with this profession there is defiantly a connectability factor. There are times when people just click.  Sometimes there is just something that works between two people.  Counseling is no different.  I think trauma survivors often have a different sense and we know when someone is genuine, kind and truly cares.  We also know when they are not. There has to be a trueness to what a person is saying, or things just won't work. Finding that right fit is so very important.  Two counselors could say the same thing.  One counselor can say the right things but have no connection behind it. While a different counselor may say the same thing with great connection and care and their words are going to mean the difference.  The counselor from the rape crisis center when I was 13.  She said the right words, but there was no feeling. For her they were words.   What she was saying was just words, merely syllables put together the way that she was taught.  I can speak words to myself all day, I need them to be important and mean something.  She told me all the things that I shouldn't feel, and how it wasn't my fault.  She was giving me a script and not listening to the things that were important to me.  That is a huge difference.  You have to be on this journey with us, there is no one size fits all.  I just need you to be present, to be real and to listen to all the things I say and even the things I am unable to say.

I think that 5 is something that is really important.  There is no one therapy or way of doing things that is going to work for everybody.  I think it's awesome learning about new techniques and ways to do things.  But believing in one thing to fix or heal a patient is thoughtless.  More than once people said EMDR was perfect. The way to go that was going to heal and make me all better.  I tried that and it was not for me. I don't like to be in my own skin and no one cared to dig deeper and find that out. As each client is different the therapies that are going to work for each client are different and that has to be respected.  You have to look at the whole person and their experiences and where they have been.  If a client like me who is uncomfortable in their own skin, distrustful and terrified is asked to close our eyes and imagine being in a stream, that just might not be the best option.  I think it's about following your client and finding what they need instead of some buzz worthy new technique.  Each new thing that comes out has its place and I am sure will help some.  Please don't assume that the latest technique you have taken a class on is a catch all for everyone with trauma.  I can bet that what we need most is that presence, honesty and realness.  Some of those new things might work.  We are so much more than the latest new technique.  Some of them are very worth a try but if they don't work then that just means we need to try a different avenue, and there is nothing wrong with that. 

Finally, there is a need for competence.  I went to one counselor and every time I talked about my story, he would give the loudest gasp.  I was shocked and left feeling like he was unable to hear my story.  I felt bad that so much happened to me.  I was the one that had done something wrong once again.  He was kind, and trying but I knew that he was not competent or able to help me where I was. There was the counselor who when I hit a roadblock and was "stuck" on a particular area, he told me that the only thing that was going to fix me, was Church. He knew my trauma surrounding the church but that was his comment to me.  I was more than upset and took it all on that I was doing something wrong.  In not so many words he blamed me for where I was. Now I am able to see that it was more about him and his competence than where I was.  There are going to be times in therapy when a trauma survivor does get stuck, does struggle but telling us that one thing is the only option to heal is thoughtless and cruel.  Not to mention that the church doesn't fix everything.  I never understood the idea of competence before my grad classes.  In the beginning I was almost put off, like who are you to tell me I am not competent.  When I was able to look deeper and make connections, there is a different understanding in what being competent means.  Not everyone can help someone who has been severely traumatized.  There is nothing wrong with that, but it's something a therapist needs to know.  If a survivor scares you with what they have been through, then maybe a different population is for you.   Different counselor for different people and that is ok.  You have to know what you are comfortable with and how willing you are to join in one of the most painful journeys that a person can experience. There must be an acceptance of the terrible things that the world has to offer people but that you can also be a part of them overcoming those worst of the worst things. 

I have come to enjoy the work of Alan Wolfelt and he talks about being a companion to people.  I think that is what a lot of survivors are looking for. There are a lot of survivors that don't have anyone so being our therapist means that for a time you will be our person and there is a huge responsibility in that.  Different than couples and other types of therapy.    We are on this trauma journey because of what has happened to us and we feel like we are so much less than everyone us.  We feel like our stories are a burden, that we alone should carry. Often there is no family or support system of any kind.  For many we are alone in the world searching; searching for a place that feels like home. We are other than all those that are living around us.  To have someone during our sessions that is able to come alongside us and be truly present means the world.  We need a companion to our journey when we feel like we are the only one in the world to feel the things that we do. This is not a catch all.  This is nothing than my own opinion as one who may need therapy until my last breath.  This is just my experiences of therapy and things that I have found are the most important.  I think that a lot of Trauma Survivors do fall through the cracks and if I do nothing else in this world I have to speak and make sure that happens less and less in the world. Some would stop at that first counselor, and not keep going until they have a right fit for them.  To trauma survivors, I hope that you never give up trying to find your own healing.  For the therapists just be gentle be kind and know that the work that you do is more appreciated than you could ever imagine.  You may plant a seed that will bloom in years, and you can never understand the impact that you have.  What you do matters, just be patient, aware, and meet us where we are in this life that we have been handed. 

I heart your heart. 

Nothing

 It's the holidays.  Those special days when people are celebrating surrounded by family.  Just a very real reminder that today as many days I will be on my own.  I have my children my own family.  There just isn't family for me. People will not check in there will be no invitations to join any family celebrations.  I will be sad; I ache that I am not a part of any special activities.  I will do all my normal things, cleaning, fixing, trying to get engrossed in something on TV so that time passes quickly. Mariska will be at work; Vincent won't be home.  I will be left with all of these thoughts and nowhere for them to go.  I reached out to one person and got a snap back What can I do for you! I took it that I was being pesky.   I just told her I was glad she wasn't alone and said Happy Fourth.  I guess that is how things go. 

Today started out as one of those days.  It was one thing after the other, just a string of things nothing serious, but no matter what I did something happened.  Went past the table broke a frame, cleaning up the glass went to throw it away, the pool fell on my hand and gave me a papercut.  Typing them sounds so stupid but some days I just want things to run smooth. Today was just a day.  someday, I will find my people and there will be lots of celebrations.  

I heart your heart.