They don't like me

 

Sometimes I hate that I keep trying, when I clearly don't fit in.  Its like that in my Doc Cohort. I try to interact, comment and get looked over every single time. They are condescending and dismissive. There are people who pretend to know everything and nothing you say makes a difference. I am largely ignored, in the group chat and have decided not to keep responding. This is my cohort? The people I am supposed to connect with!! I am trying and its not happening. There were close to 100 messages last night of them talking in circles, I just don't work like that. Everything is funny everything is a joke, and I am the only one not laughing. I have so open and honest, sharing parts of me, who I am and how I work and there is not a single connection. Not everything is a joke that needs sarcasm. I hate being dismissed, when I have important things to share.

I don't know what this means for me, yet I do. It doesn't change a thing, I want it more anyway. It would just be nice to have people on my side, who are a support in the process. Its kind of funny, they talk about how important your cohort is and to lean on them, I would not lean on them for anything.  

Even last week, I was sharing about a client that made me uncomfortable, and she began speaking about a 6 year old. She didn't hear a word I said. Her response was a very clear indication that her story, was bigger and more important. Another classmate was speaking about a girl who disclosed sexual abuse and was brought into custody. They were going back and forth, making statements they knew nothing about. We started to change classrooms, and a women made a comment about hoping the father would rot in prison. It was only her and I left and I shared, a little , talking about my experience with the system and the lack of justice. I got this dismissive look. Like really and she collected her things and left class. I was just sharing from my perspective and felt like I hit a brick wall. The worst feeling. They talk about themselves and their stories all day. When its things that matter, there are no words, just that dissmissiveness that stings me to my core. 

I am hopeful to join other classes and find others who are More my people. I want to find the people that are passionate and want to make a difference. I want people who listen to the stories, and carve a place for the clients. I don't see or hear that from my cohort and its just sad. I don't belong there and I don't want this to become another lonely journey. 

I will listen and smile and slowly back away. There has to be others in the program, who can see my heart and share their own. 

I heart your heart.

I feel less than

 

I was watching a documentary about a woman who has been through many of the same things I have, and watching her, I realized that we have said so many of the same things about the life we have lived. Watching it, I also realized that I feel so much less than because of what I have been through. I feel less than as a human, less than as a counselor, and less than as a parent because the things that have happened to me have shaped every single thing about my life. I do feel less than in my Master's program, and even in applying for my Ph.D., there is a part of me that thinks, really, you are going to do this?  Are you smart enough? What gives you the right to do that when you are still so affected by what has happened to you? That is a huge feeling, and I am not sure what to do with that or how to make it go away. But that feeling of less than is in everything that I do.  Even in those moments when I am confident, I catch myself and think, "But don't forget where you have come from!"   It's as if I have taken the worst parts of the things that have happened to me and, somewhere in my mind, believe they make me less of a human and less than deserving of normal life experiences. 

I wish I understood the root of the thinking and could make it go away.  It is amazing that the things still affect all of my thoughts after all this time. I keep pursuing my dreams, but I think I could just change some of those thoughts; imagine just how much further I could be.  It's a very strange place to be and so hard to explain. The words that have been spoken, the things that have been said that I have taken to heart, still have this terrible grasp on the person that I am. 

After all of the work I have done, there are moments I fear I am going to lose it all. I always think that I am doing something wrong; I think that I am in trouble. It's such a terrible feeling. It's that knot in your throat, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I want there to be confidence, and I just don't have that right now. It makes me think of that saying that for every negative thing that is said, we need how many positives? Sometimes I wonder what it will take for me to get caught up. 

The last 4 or 5 years of teaching have been incredibly difficult; the students that I have had to deal with and offered little support have been more than challenging. The principals who were unkind and team leaders who were breathing down your throat, allowing you to make zero decisions about your class, have had such an impact. I feel like the world's worst teacher most days, trying to put out the fires that are in my classroom daily.  I was speaking with my para the other day, and I said I wish that someone would walk in our room and say Wow, look at what you are doing; look at the amazing work going on, a little positivity like that would go such a long way. Well, finally someone came out from Curriculum to observe, and she wasn't in my room for 10 minutes and said, " Wow, I can really tell that there are rules and procedures in place, that is really awesome, and I love how you have your room set up. I have been into a lot of classes and this is fantastic. What a shock; it brought tears to my eyes, and I told her how much that I appreciated her words. Those things make such a difference. She even wrote a note and put it in my box, I can guarantee you that I am going to keep that note all year, and when I feel worthless as a teacher, I am going to read it and smile. 

Feeling less than travels with me in all areas, and I truly need to look at where that comes from and do something different; no one wants to feel like there is a herd of elephants on their chest every day.

 

                               I heart your heart. 

Cornell: I AM Jane Doe

 

All of this has hit me rather hard. The talk, the stories, the posts it's all really big and close to home.  Everyone is sharing their views, but many of them feel very cold and distant. For them it's words, but for so many, it's personal. They talk about the seven men; they talk so little about the woman assaulted. But me, I think of her.  I think of how she is two years later.  I think about how I am almost 40 years later. I hope she has gotten support; I hope someone has cared for her heart. I hope that she feels the love and support that people like me have for her. To the women who post, I am Jane Doe; to the women who cry the tears for her story; to the women who thank her for refusing to give up.

When things like this break, there is this public side, everyone wanting their views heard and seen. All this commotion and attention for that big story. Then, when the next headline appears, it's all forgotten.  Those 7 boys will move on; if we get lucky, they will spend much of the rest of their lives in prison. But those who know and understand know the likelihood of that happening is slim to none.   Too often, people forget the personal side of this story before the last headlines are published. That is why this story is so hard to bear. 

Because I am Jane Doe, I was a victim of a gang rape that changed my life forever. 5 men took turns, over and over, for hours on end, and I was left alone to try to rearrange the pieces of what that made of me and who I have become. 

Today, it has been close to 39 years since that day, and to say it is over for me would be far from the truth. Some days it isn't so prominent.  Other days, my body still aches, and I want to curl up in a ball.  There are still days that I want someone to come and save me and tell me that I am ok and that what happened wasn't my fault. 

I still feel their hands, sometimes just one, sometimes all of them, sometimes a few, as others take a break. I feel like the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz, parts of me over there and over there, and pulling over there. Holding me down as if I was going to go anywhere, after completely leaving my body. I feel the sun through the sliding glass doors, too weak to even open them to escape. I feel the cold shower wall, the hot water stinging with each drop, as if the heat should make me forget what is happening. I feel everything from that day, and yet nothing at all. Some moments I am far away, watching in real time; then, without warning, I am right in the middle, feeling every unkind touch. Almost like a time warp: you feel things, you want to die, and then, all of a sudden, just black. The coldness of the gun, heavy on my skin; they could end it all. All there is is a blackness, and as fast as I get there, I am back under the 5 of them.  The softness of the one who wiped my face, the way he stood up for me more than once and told the others to stop; those hands were kind.

I can hear them laughing. I hear them comment to each other about me, my body, and what they're doing.  I hear everything like some kind of megaphone that lost its volume button. Moments when certain voices stand out, when their tone hits a note, and you realize it isn't going to be good for you. Hearing the phone ring and thinking how, in the world, you could get everything cleaned up before they came home. Hearing the phone ring and thinking about how I am going to fix the fringe on the kitchen rug. If I heard their voices today, I would know it was them. Sometimes, even in a group of people laughing, panic sets in, and I try to find that dangerous laugh and make a quick exit. I hear cars on the street and think about what I would tell them if they walked in. I hear myself screaming, screaming so loud, and yet it's like I never made a sound at all.  I hear the knocking: one leaves, another enters, and they knock?? Out of politeness?  I don't understand. 

I see the room, the rug, the fan spinning in circles so fast that, turn after turn, they hurt me. I just keep repeating their names, a way for me to focus on something else. I see the big Curtis Mathis TV, things that used to be so comforting, now seeming like another world. I see them all staring at me on the bed. The scene in the hall, the one time I tried to get away but just wasn't fast enough. I see my daybed, the knock on the door; another one has come to take his turn, as they pet each other on the way out. I see my bruised body, that isn't even mine anymore. I see the tears falling off my face and pooling on the floor. They get blurry as the day moves on; where did my glasses go? Maybe left in the bathroom? 

So you see, you can't forget something like this. After everyone else has moved on and our stories are forgotten, we are still affected. Not a single inch of my body went untouched that day. So much to remember, everything I can't forget, and then the blackness, the shock of what was happening. I don't want to see all that the blackness holds; I just wish that it wasn't so scary.  It doesn't matter whether my eyes are open or closed; that day repeats. I don't have all the words to describe each part of that day. Seconds felt like years, and hours never ended. It began with the sunrise and ended after sundown. That last turn, last disrespect, last act of cruelty as they walked out of my house. I was so ashamed and had no idea what I was going to tell people if they asked about me. When they left, I wanted to die. Maybe all I really wanted was to stop hurting. Maybe all I really wanted was someone to care that it had happened to me. 

There are days it's hard to believe I have survived. I still often ask myself: if it was really that bad, would I still be standing? If it was that bad, someone would have seen that I wasn't ok. I sit here trying to find the words that need to be said; my hands are cold, and there is this great ache in my chest.  To live with this, survive with this, and try to heal is often an overwhelming task. I want so much to heal and find it so hard. Sometimes I think I am just wasting Mark's time; some days I want to scream, others I just need the silence. Sometimes it's almost like the words have daggers, and I fear what letting them out would do.  Sometimes the heaviness of that day, and the fear of some kind of internal combustion, feels like too much. No one should have to bear witness to that kind of thing. I think about how far that 13-year-old part of me has come; she's arrived in a place I never thought she would get to, and still I want more. I want there to be some kind of peace, some kind of memorial for what was suffered, but also a celebration of who we are today. I think that I have come to the place where I have a realization that nothing I can do can change anything about being gang raped.  I can not take the pain away; I can not pretend that I wasn't affected. But I no longer want to feel afraid. I think sometimes I am looking for the answers, any answers that might bring a little peace. Someone smarter than me to say, "Yes, it will always hurt."  Someone who is smarter than me to maybe give me permission to stop fighting. After all this time, I still want some kind of justice for me, for her, for who we are becoming. Maybe that is it. I have fought my entire fucking life, people always taking what they wanted, never considering me or my feelings.  I am tired, and maybe, just maybe, I need to be told it's okay to just stop fighting. So many years ago and for such intense feelings that exhaust me.  Someday, I will have peace; someday the lump in my throat will become small enough to speak clearly. Someday, this will take up a lot less space because the world is out there and we still have things to do. 

I am Jane Doe, and millions of other women are out there. This is one public case, but this is just the one we know about. For all of us, for you and me. We have made it through so much, one foot in front of the other, at a pace that feels safe. 

I heart your heart. 

 

Just to feel Normal

 

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

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

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

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

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

Children by Robert Miles 

I heart your heart. 

An outlier who needs pictures again.

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

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

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

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

I heart your heart

 

Maybe my love story is my Doctorate Program

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

I heart your heart 

Happy Personality, Sad Soul

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

I heart your heart. 

Safe Harbor Counseling

 

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

Pictures to come when the cards come in. 

Yes, this. Safe Harbor Counseling. 

I heart your heart.      

2 things

 

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

1. I was not the origin 

2. Innocence doesn't cause evil

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

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

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

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

I heart your heart

How do I heal

 

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

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 

Why am I not happy

 

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 heart your heart.

Graduations

 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. 

I heart your heart. 

What will be enough ??

 

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 heart your heart    

Always outside the Box

 

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. 

I heart your heart 

Not a fan of Holidays

 

It doesn't matter which one it is; I am not a fan. I was thinking about that today, because it is the fourth of July, and as I took Mariska to work today, there were all these people loading up their cars, getting ready for the cookouts, picnics, and pool parties, and then there is me. Dropping Mariska off at work, seeing everyone with their pool noodles, their festive Fourth of July colors, the big hats, the beads, then going home alone.  There are no invitations; there are no invites asking if we are ok or if we want to join them.  There is nothing, just another day doing the normal things I always do, and not a single soul reaches out to invite us or make sure that we are ok.  

Then I get angry at myself: why, after all this time, does it even bother me anymore? We have never really been included, thought of, or made to feel special. I am 52, and why after all this time do holidays still sting? I feel like holidays are made for families. They are made for the people who have people! What about those people who don't have people? What about those people? What about me? To be honest, I would not even impose; if someone asked, I would probably say no, I wouldn't want to get in the way or be a bother. I am all too aware that I am not a part of their family. But just to be a thought to someone would be more than I could hope for. 

So on this Holiday, I have separated laundry, washed the rugs, mopped the floor, vacuumed, and done all the things. I am getting ready to write my paper. And there is a sad ache in my heart that I just can't shake.  I would love nothing more than to make that special red, white, and blue dessert or pasta salad to bring to a gathering of people, just because it's what you are supposed to do on these days for families. Not a fan of fireworks anyway; they just scare the animals. 

So instead of a gathering, a celebration connecting with friends, I write what is on my heart and hope that someday there will be a place for me.  A place where I am thought, a place where I belong. 

Someday, maybe. 

I heart your heart 

So much Shame surrounds her

 

It's really hard to realize that I was truly just a kid at 13. I was not this little adult; I was just a girl who had no chance of being the little girl I deserved. Wrapping my heart and head around her life, the life that we lived, is extremely difficult. There is so much shame and embarrassment that surrounds everything about her. I find this all so hard to comprehend. All the work that I have done and all that I understood, there are pieces of that 13-year-old that I just don't understand. There is so much that I understand today, yet this girl has so much that I struggle to find words for. I was all around an embarrassment in every way, and ashamed of all of me all the time. I never said the right words, never looked the right way, and never fit in; in all of the ways that everyone thought that I should. Because of that, there was this constant embarrassment that I wore no matter what I did. I still carry so much of that today. This is one of the hardest pieces to understand with a history like mine. It's like there are pieces that she has, there are pieces that I have, and to finally hold all the pieces at once and try to put them in some kind of order and give them meaning is a place that is just extremely difficult. 

The shame and embarrassment that exists for merely breathing is so real and so intense. I feel it to this day. Sometimes it's little things. Other times it's bigger things.  There was this feeling that I have always had, something untouchable and ever-present. There was just something about me that was wrong.  I was just never enough, and in the same breath, I was always too much. What kind of place is that to grow up in, or at least try? Well, it isn't. 

There is just so much about that spunky girl. So much for me to understand, to hold close, and make space for without any judgment.  She believed that she was going to die that day, and living with that is an enormous burden.  Feeling like there is something inherently wrong with you, having that happen, and then thinking I couldn't even do that right.  In those moments, I remember thinking that I just wanted them to kill me.  I wanted them to just finish me off; I could not imagine another minute of what they were doing to me. I didn't want to die, but the weight of what happened was suffocating.  When it was over, I wanted to be anyone but myself. I didn't know how to live, and I sure didn't know how to live with the memories and the silence about what was done that day. And I think I always used to say, one rape was ok; if I just had to deal with my father, that was ok; if it was just Albert. If it was just Don, I could just keep going. But this was something so very different; this was something that happened that broke pieces of me into millions and millions of pieces that I have slowly been trying to get back together. I do think that there are pieces that have been found, there are pieces that will never be found, and pieces that Spunky holds that need care. It's giving those pieces a place to rest, recover, and be seen and heard.

I feel like I am not making any sense; feelings and thoughts are swirling, and I don't know how to make sense of them. How I have managed to keep myself together and survive what I have been through.  Somehow, being 13 is so different for me to process. Like the life that a 13-year-old is supposed to get to experience are things that I never got.  I am trying to wrap my mind around those things, and I am not sure that I can.    I want to see her and all the things she experienced, like how I am finally able to see little Callahan.  It's like all the things I know are thrown out the window, and I am starting all over again trying to find my words. She was just 13. The shame grows, and I think it's been growing since that day. I have shed some and continue to, but there are things just so affected. There are things that have never been given a voice, and I hope they will scream when the time comes.  I want that feeling to disappear of wanting to understand something that there is no understanding.  I want to take each piece and have it make some kind of sense; that just isn't possible.  There is no way to understand evil, no way to comprehend what they did.  I want that need to understand to disappear and feel able to let go and keep moving forward. I think about how far I have come, even feeling stuck in this spot, and I find it hard to imagine the things that I will be able to accomplish when I no longer feel that need to understand the incomprehensible. 

I heart your heart

I weep when the silence opens

This is so the place that I am in. I am blossoming. I am in the mending phase, and there are so many things I know and so much I am learning. It's a place where I am challenging what I have learned and looking towards what I want to understand better. There are so many tears and lots of growing pains; it's letting go and adopting new ways of thinking. 

 I cry, and I cry, and I cry. There was a time that I didn't, and now it seems that they flow quite often. I have been trying to figure out where they all come from and what they mean.  Some are sad, some are happy, some are the things that I don't have words for. My eyes are a river that flows freely. I am sitting here now, the tears flowing, listening to a new song that speaks to my very soul. I feel everything so deeply, and I am grateful for that, even though it is hard. There are still so many sad tears that have never been given a voice, but lately these tears of mine are just the tears of all the silences that I have had in my life where tears were never allowed, and are just now starting to blossom.  The tears today are tears that I never imagined I would get a chance to share, to experience, to feel. I am at a place in life that I have worked for, and I am not even sure I ever truly imagined what it would be like. I knew I wanted it, but never imagined it would actually be mine. 

I am in a place where my tears are helping plant seeds for others, and I am offering hope to those who may have lost theirs for a time. I am doing things today that are making a difference and have purpose and meaning. I am better at controlling those tears, but they are the things that deserve to be seen and even witnessed by others. Too many sad tears have been cried as I fell off to sleep or hid the deepest pain to make it just one more day. I have cried oceans, and only a pond has been seen. So the tears just come, at the little things, the big things, and all the things in between.  For the longest time, I wasn't allowed to feel or experience, and now it is my time to experience all the things that I was never given permission to feel or see. The silence is so loud and I am working to give that part a voice. All that spunky was never allowed to share, to speak to feel. Because today I don't need anyone's permission, and if a person can't handle my tears, then they need to find a different space than the one I have worked so hard to build. 

I am not a fan of all the tears, but I have to say, it's a kind of reassuring softness I feel when I think of my tears as something blooming, watering the path I am on for all the amazing things ahead of me. I feel like pieces are falling into place for me, and I am scared to death and more excited than I have ever been in my whole life. 

I heart your heart 

When fathers day is heavy

 

This year, Father's Day hit differently than it has in the past. It held a sadness: a quieter awareness for me of all that I never had, all the things that my children never had, the amazing father that my son is, and how he is impacted by not having a dad or any kind of role model to look to. It felt like this merging of all the places, things, and events that have led me to this point. There was a sadness for what I didn't have, a breaking of my heart for my own children, and another breaking for Vincent, who wonders what the things that he thinks and feels as a father are, not having a father, and having to deal with all of the things that go with that. 

It was the night of Father's Day, and I even found the courage to ask Mariska if it was hard for her, and she said yes, sometimes. I am sure I could hear my heart hit the floor.  I tried to speak, heard my voice crack, and waited a minute. I asked what made it hard, and she said she didn't know and changed the subject. I wanted her to come sit next to me and ask all the hard questions that she has in her heart. I don't even know if I could answer them. I don't know if I would have an answer to put her heart at ease, but at least it would be named and spoken, and I hope that alone would make a difference. 

I think a huge difference for me this year is Vincent being a dad. I see just how important that his daughter is to him.  I love how he knows her, what she likes, and what she doesn't. He knows her schedule and what makes her happy. They both light up when they see each other. How she melts on his shoulder, and he just is there with her, it's beautiful.  Getting to be a part of that is something more than awesome. On the flip side, my heart breaks for my children; they have a burden that I feel with every inch of my being. They never had that, and often I feel like I am not enough. To know that it has had an effect on Mariska is heartbreaking. There are so many things I want to say, and I just don't know how to say them. I will forever be sorry with all of my being. I know that it has affected Vincent, and I don't even know how to talk to him about it.  How does a mom tell her children the most precious things to her in the whole world that came from something violent, but for me, they are all that matter?  So many questions, and I feel like that elephant in our hearts is getting bigger, and I have to find a way to bring it up and let them know that everything is already alright. I have them, and that is all that matters to me. 

I heart your heart