End of the year words that Speak to my heart

 

The End of 2024

It's hard to believe that today is the last day of the year. I'm feeling a lot of emotions, and my heart is heavy. Just as I put up all the Christmas decorations alone, I am taking them all down alone. I feel like I did get to enjoy them, even for a short time, and that feels good.  I already looking forward to grad school starting back.  I have been checking out the Syllabus for all my classes, so I know what's ahead.  The Child Development class will be interesting; they want a lot about how we grew up, our experiences, and how we were impacted.  It feels more personal even talking about the ACE score, so I think it's going to be a good class. I just love it, and when it comes to 2025, I can finally say that I am graduating next year, and that feels amazing. 

It's a time of change. The kids are getting older. I love them with my whole heart, but they have some growing up to do. They turn 21 in April if that isn't crazy. I want so much for them, but they have to want it for themselves. I think there is a part of me as a mom that feels like I failed, and that is hard. My Mariska sees me and has a heart of gold.  Vincent is angry at me beyond words, I catch glimpses and think, oh, he does love me, but he breaks my heart often without a thought. My automatic response is that I have done something.   He is angry at the world, and I can give you a list of all the reasons why, but there is still no need for his unkindness to me. 

I think I have finally found answers and will be able to send Calvin his letter. That makes my heart happy, and I hope that I get some kind of response. I won't hold my breath, but I am hoping with all that I am, I hear from him. I wrote to many of those who have been a part of my journey and have yet to get a response from anyone. Dr.Culpepper, Det.Plemons, Oliver just so many and nothing.  It goes to that feeling of being alone in the world that I just can't get rid of.  There is a lot of alone, and I have a few really good people around me. I just want someone in my every day, again. Maybe that is just too much to ask. 

There is still healing to do, and I won't stop until I get there, but I am tired. I am tired of recovering from people and places that don't understand me. I think that finally, this year, I am learning to accept that I am different and that it is okay. Only a lot of the time, it isn't ok, and it weighs heavy on me. I am always going to be different and experience the world differently, just simple facts.  Until I am faced with someone who doesn't understand and wants people to respond how they would, usually at work, I just have to keep thinking, one more year, one more year. 

There is a lot of work to do with Spunky.  I am terrified, but I know that it's time. The darkness isn't on her, but there are pieces of her so broken by the things that have happened.  There was an interview with VanDerKolk, and he said it's not a remembering. It's a reliving.  She is in that place of terror, even sitting there on the couch in the most safe place that she knows in the world.  Mark asked me what she would want for Christmas, and I bought her this huge Whale in the store; it's more than perfect, and I am sure it would have made her heart happy. I think that to help her move on, I need to spend more time focusing on the whales; that is truly what kept her going.  I watched the Movie that Mariska gave me for Christmas, Patrick and the Whale.  It was pure greatness and something that only those who will understand have the same kind of connection with whales. Spunky always had that connection and that may be just the thing to help her move forward. Whales are her safety. They always have been, and I need to lean on that. 

I said goodbye to people this year who have hurt my heart and silently moved away from people who are no longer a part of my journey. I am leaning into those who are constants and are with me in those dark times and in my happy moments. It just feels right, and if things aren't right for me, then I no longer need them around. There is just a heaviness that comes from being alone, and today, I feel it with my whole heart. I feel everything with all the intensity all the time, and it gets heavy. So I am going to continue to put Christmas away; I am going to give myself space to feel whatever it is that is inside and keep moving forward. 

I know that many great things happened this year, and I know that next year will be filled with even more. So, I am going to end with all the things that I am planning for the next year and all the good things that I hope to come my way.  

I will finish the school year with a bang as the Elevate teacher. Those littles are what keep me going and why I do this. I will present again in July for Trauma Support Services and then start practicum right after that!   I will continue to work with Mark, I trust that he isn't going anywhere and can help get spunky where I need her to be.  I hope that the kids will make some career choices and maybe even go back to school.  More than that, I hope that their heart is happy in whatever they do. For me I hope that I can find comfort in my own skin, in who I am. I hope that I grow in my confidence and truly learn to see my own worth in the world, I struggle with that, and it holds me back.  I am just as worthy as any other person,n and I want to believe that with all that I am. I want to accept the sadness that creeps on that I missed out on so much, and in the same breath, I want to be grateful that I have come so far and that sad place isn't somewhere I need to stay. What a year 2024 was! I hope that 2025 will be even kinder and show me things that are even beyond what I ever imagined. I may be sad and so alone today, but this is going to be one amazing, magical year for me. 

I heart your Heart. Happy 2025.

Seeing it different

 

I have been thinking and may have been doing this all wrong. I spend so much time so angry at myself that I can't just let it go and put down what happened to me at 13.  No matter what I do, I can never make it go away or make it anything other than what it was. All of those experiences are in every cell, every memory, and every part of me to my very core. All those memories are inside of me and outside of me; they are everywhere all the time. It's often like I have this death grip, like the things that have happened to me are mine, and I have to prove them.  I have to hold on letting others know that they were that bad, and this is why I do some of the things I do today.  I have to hold on, let them dig in, and even prove just how hurt and affected all of those things left me.  

When I told, when I thought that help was close by, nothing mattered, I was made into something awful. I was made to be a liar and someone who just wanted attention.  That was the last thing I ever wanted.  I wanted someone to sit with me and ask me what happened and if I was ok. I needed someone to tell me that it wasn't my fault, that I didn't cause those things to happen, and that nothing I did warranted what they did to me. I still talk about it in terms of "it" because of the shame that comes with the words.  There is a weight to the words that I am unprepared for.  

I am tired of something that I can never get rid of.  I have to do something different.  I have to learn to sit, to see it, to feel it, to let it be what it was.  I have to feel and know that I am not those things that happened to my body. I have to know that this is something that will be with me forever.  It's not that I am holding on for dear life; it's that it's just so much a part of who I am.  I will forever close my eyes; it is just a thought away, but those thoughts need their place, and it isn't in my present. Those thoughts and feelings and memories will creep in show up when they are least expected, somewhere in my bones I have to find a place to be ok with that.  

I heart your heart 

More layers

 I can't believe it is almost the end of December, and I have only written two posts.  There has been so much going on.  I have been in a different place.  Even after all this time doing my own work, there are times that it still knocks the wind out of me.  After all this time, there are still layers that have never been acknowledged.  There is a part of that that makes me sad.  Then there is another part that says it's ok; you are just doing the hard work from living the life that you have.  Neither one makes it any easier, not really.  

Christmas was different this year, a realization I think that the once magical season is different. I do everything on my own, all the decorating of each and every tree, setting up the village, and making everything look magical and twinkly. It's fun and beautiful but hard doing it all on your own. Vincent and Mariska aren't little anymore, and with all the magic that I am still able to find and enjoy, it's different as your children are older.  I did the best that I could with the Christmas decorations.  I managed 6 1/2 out of 8 trees. One tree was up and ready to go, but the ornaments and garland just never made it to their place. I soaked up the moments with Mariska; she still has that Christmas spirit; she gets excited and enjoys the little things. Mariska and I had a wonderful Christmas morning, reading our Christmas Eve books with that crackling fireplace on the TV that Mariska loves. These are the memorable moments that I never want to miss or take for granted.  It's just a different life phase that I have to get used to.  

My mother's passing hit harder this year.  There is an ache, but only because of the things that we never got to share; I long for what I wanted and not what was.  There was this realization of just how alone I am, and I am not sure that I like that feeling at all. I still do not miss her, and I am not sure I ever will.  I needed her to be more present for me in my life; I needed her to appreciate the person that I was becoming and not want to hold me back. So many things that I needed that were never meant to be.  There is anger at my brother and the situation. Still, no communication, and that hurts.  I can't imagine the reaction if the shoe were on the other foot.  I am still made out to be the bad guy, and I think that there is always going to be a sting that comes with that. There is a sting that no one cares to hear how I was treated and why I reacted to things the way that I have.  There is an anger that I am the one who had to make those end-of-life decisions.  That was not my job, yet the heaviness of that is something that is still there.  I had known for a long time my brother was power of attorney, all decisions were to me made through him yet I was the one that was there those final moments. I can never unsee those experiences, and my feelings have never been considered, I fear that will forever be an ache in my heart.  

There are more onion layers to be peeled back, and there is nothing pretty about them, just more truths that are beyond hurtful. Even in the things that I am dealing with today, the roots are often back in the things that I learned growing up in the home that I did. That is extremely sad, and it often feels overwhelming. Every time I think I am done, something ties back, and there is something else to look at. I think that I may finally be learning, that there will be things like this that show up my entire life.  Things will come in pieces as they can as I am able to handle them. At almost 50, these things still come like little earthquakes. There are times I feel like I have come so far, and others that I feel like I am in a deep, dark hole. I know that I have come a long way, but sometimes, the road is just so long that I get so tired.   

I finished the book today, When Breath Becomes Air, by Paul Kalanithi; it was heart-wrenching and so powerful.  To live each day to the fullest to follow the things that are calling you.  To make all your dreams come true and be fully present. I feel like I am in the midst of those things, following my passions, dreaming of making a difference, and taking things as they come.  We are all on a journey, and it's up to us how we do that.  My heart often aches as I continue to struggle with my past.  My heart is also full, knowing that I am going to become the care that I never got.  Beauty in the sadness.  A happy personality, just a sad soul.  There is a sadness in parts of me that I would like to think would somehow magically disappear, but I think it is just there.  Maybe it is a reminder that something is just broken, and we can find happiness, but they will never function the same. That is where I am with the 13-year-old part of myself.  That so sweet girl with a pelican as a friend threw herself into learning about whales to survive all that life had thrown her way. I want her in a place where the sun shines brightly always as a reminder that even in the hellish she has survived there are good things to be had.  That scared girl doesn't believe me yet, but I hope that one day she will. Here's to more layers, more healing, and more connection to all the things that make me feel alive and that make a difference. 

I heart your heart.   

Slut

It's amazing sometimes the things that I still think.  I don't remember the exact conversation or what was being discussed. My first thought was, well, I danced with him.  I did this, and I did that. I was the one who had butterflies.  I was the one who liked the attention, and I thought that I mattered and that he cared.  And the thoughts start rolling, and the next thought is, well, I was just a slut.  These thoughts are more than automatic; they are truly what I experience to the very core of who I am. Some can say something, and before anything kind about myself, my go-to is, well, I was a slut. I danced with him, and I could give you millions of reasons why I am an awful, terrible person. I don't ever remember a time when I didn't consider myself a slut; that was just who and what I was. I do not remember a day in my life when I have known anything other than being a slut.  That word has literally attached itself to me like gorilla glue. I was a slut when I had butterflies; I was a slut that I danced with him, kissed him, and even liked the attention.  All those things made me a slut in every sense of the word. Once a slut, always a slut.

I think even as far back as five, that was what I was; I was a little slut.  Really, I could never have known what that was or all that it implied.  All I knew was that was what I was. To my bones, I felt like I was a slut.  I was a slut standing there picking out one of his tee shirts.  I was a slut when he would grab at my mother and look at me.  I was a slut when they would go take a nap on the weekends. I was a slut when I had to take the evidence to the trash in my bare feet. It really didn't matter the situation; I was the slut; I was the one that was something terrible and grotesque.  I was the one who was sluttish to my very core.  I was ashamed of everything about me.  I don't remember a time ever liking something about myself or being comfortable with who I was. I was hurt because there was something wrong with me.

I have been ashamed of myself my entire life.  I don't remember feeling anything different.  As time passes, I think it has lessened; it never really goes away.  That feeling of being a slut, of being a burden. All those times being a slut makes you a burden.  I always knew that no one wanted to be around me, and I always turned that around and made it all about me.  I always had chicken arms. My feet were ugly and terrible, and let's not even talk about our toes.  Shame was a constant for me because I never did anything right. There was always just something inherently awful about me, no matter what I did. I can remember my father's anger when I didn't do things the way that he wanted. Even when I had to hold his cross so it didn't make any noise. I was the one that was doing something wrong. 

There is a brokenness that comes with the word slut.  It's something that I don't even think that I have thought about or fully understand; it's just something that I am.  To this day, this is something that holds me back and makes me different. That is something that people just can't put their finger on, but it's there all the time, all day, every day. 

Today for the first time in fifty years, I learned that slut is not something that comes from a five-year-old or a thirteen-year-old.  Slut is something that is told to them. Slut is something that is told and reinforced over and over. I was made to believe that is just who I was, a little slut, always asking for it, looking for trouble. I was made to believe that was just who I was.  I will be 50 in 5 months and never ever knew that. I don't know who actually said those words.  I can make a pretty good guess that it was my father.  Honestly, I don't remember him speaking to me much. I knew so much by his actions. All that I knew, even at 5, those feelings and words were engrained, and I took them to mean that is who I was. When my mother would say I have to go make him happy, And they went to the bedroom, I took that on; I was the slut, I was ashamed of myself because of them. Somehow what was happening to her was my fault. 

I even tried to look up a picture of slut that would convey my feelings. I scrolled and scrolled; the pictures I found could never fit the little girl I was. I am so ashamed of all I knew and how I felt like I did something wrong when my parents were sleeping together. It's hard to even give it words. That utter loss of innocence.  Something that I want so badly that will never have.  Even trying to describe the feeling, knowing that my parents were going to have sex and the guilt I felt, the shame that I was doing something wrong. I was a slut for all I knew and all I did. I was even a slut for all the things that I didn't know.  So, anyway that I looked at it, I was a terrible, awful person who was at fault for everything. How unfair to a 5-year-old.  How unfair to a 13-year-old.  How unfair to any child.  Even me. 

I heart your heart.

Three Years

 It's hard to believe that it's been three years today. I read the post I wrote a few days after her passing and realized that not many things have changed. I still feel like she broke me.  I thought that there was a part of me that somehow was going to forget the hurt and the pain because she was my mom. Three years later, I think that that hurt is even more intense now than it was then. This year is hitting differently; it seems there is a deeper sense of loss, a different sadness that she disliked me so much. This is the first year that Everything Christmas is going up, and it feels really good.  I am doing all the things that make me happy and highlight the season's spirit.  With that comes looking through boxes of things that used to be hers and deciding what to do with them.  Do I keep them, toss them, and ask the kids if it's something they want?  I find it feels rather liberating to throw things away that are not me. I have filled the trash with broken things, things that we got together, and things that used to be ours.  It feels good and gives me the energy to clean out things that no longer suit me or who I am. 

I struggle to understand the depth of her hate for me.  I wonder what that exact moment was when she decided I was no longer worthy of her love or being included in her life insurance. It felt like I was no longer her daughter, and that hurt the most. What moment was that in her mind to make my brother the sole beneficiary.  Goodness, I couldn't care less about the money; it wasn't anything life-changing.  For me, it was just reinforcement that I meant so little to her.  Months before she passed away, she pretended like it was this huge secret.  So after she passed, Chris mentioned it, and I said I already knew, and the look of shock on his face was something astonishing.  In true mom fashion, it was about being between us and keeping secrets, trying to play us against each other. Amazing that even in her passing, there are times when I feel like she is still doing that. Not from my end but from my brother's and his inability to see things from anyone's viewpoint besides his own. 

After her passing, my brother was very vocal, telling me to be careful with what I said and who was around.  I wasn't allowed to share my feelings of relief, hurt, and alienation.  Everyone was allowed their feeling, but since mine were different, my experiences were too intense and real for anyone to be able to hear them.  

Even when I found the letter saying that my brother had been noted as the sole beneficiary, he could not understand the pain that that caused.  I called him and left a message crying and received no response. He said he didn't know, but by connecting some of the dots, I believe he knew.  Not to any fault of his own, but he knew.  Even after he knew he could not see the other side of the coin. He talked about everyone who surrounded him, brought dinner, and gave him money.  He talked about all those things, and I was on my own.  He connected with all of her friends like he was once again the big hero.  Such a crazy place to be and an incredibly difficult spot to be in. So much for me was reinforcement that I was worth little to her.  And even though he had power of attorney, it was I who had to make the decision to stop the medicine that was keeping her alive. I was the one who had to stand there and see the line go flat and hold my children as she passed.     

The other day, I realized all her messages had disappeared from my phone. During those last few days, I never got a response to the messages I sent her.  Maybe she was too sick; I will never know.  She was worried about some food subscriptions that she got.  And I was pretty matter-of-fact and cold.  When someone is sick and complaining all the time, it's hard to take things seriously.  This, like all the rest, I did not take seriously.  The text said that she was going to the emergency room and that she was going by ambulance.  Then she didn't even tell me what hospital she was in; I was in a panic calling around.  She was able to text and tell Vincent where she was. Since it was COVID, we were not allowed to see her, so all we had were texts. All I had was nothing, really. I can remember speaking to her Dr and he said her lungs looked like a snow storm, and I knew it was serious.  The prior few days were conversations about how she couldn't wait to come home and be with the three of us. She didn't have nice things to say about my brother and said how she just wanted to be home.  At this point, looking back, it is unbelievably sad just how many faces she had.  It depended on who you were and what face you would get.  I talked about it last week, and it's like looking at that picture with your nose to the painting.  You are not going to get a clear view of all these things.  As I step back, more and more things become clear, and I am able to see so much more of the picture.  Maybe that is the part that affects me so much.  When I am able to step back and see things as they were, it breaks my heart even more.  

So today, it has been three years, and my heart is still broken.  For the mom I didn't have, for the support I never received, and that I was made to be the villain in her story. But at the same time, I am clearing out and making room for things that make my heart happy.  My brother still refuses to speak to me because of a conversation with my cousin.  He chose to listen to someone else rather than speak to me and hear my heart.  I talked about my thoughts and feelings.  The cousin thought it was his job to tell my brother how not ok things were, and in the process, my brother decided I wasn't worth speaking to either.  Anyway, you look at it; I am the one who was left hurt.  I even tried telling my brother those were his opinions. I didn't and don't care about the money. The entire issue was the hurtfulness of not being included, and he could never understand that. I still don't know what my cousin said, but the damage that his words caused was great.  I sent messages and tried to reach out for over a year, but with no response, I was tired of getting nothing in return, and I just stopped sending messages.  I spent so much energy and then wondered if I would get a response.  I was no longer willing to do that anymore.  The ball is in his court.  He had to figure things out; he didn't really like the person that I was and thought he knew all about me, but really, he didn't have a clue about the person I was.  He constantly commented about who he thought I was, and I would remind him that wasn't who I was at all.  What he knew of me were things my mother told him; he chose to believe. We live on two totally different planets in different universes, and for now, that has to be. 

So that leaves me. 1095 days ago, my world changed. my mother passed away, and it was the biggest relief I could have ever had.  Many people don't understand that, and many never will.  This is my story and my truth, and they don't have to. My mother hurt me more than words and failed to protect me in so many ways. She made me the villain of her story because she didn't understand who I was or how I got that way. She never listened to my heart or heard what I could not say.  There is that saying that basically says you don't get to treat me like shit and then complain about how I respond.  The quote I am thinking of says it so much better, but it means the same thing.  There is another quote: Nobody apologized for how they treated me; they just blamed me for how I reacted.  I was never understood. I am not the bad guy.  I am a terribly hurt daughter who was treated in many unkind ways and who is finally finding her way in this world. I can not make this day anything other than what it is,  I can not change the facts.  All there is to do now is move on and become the person I have so desperately wanted to become.  All there is for me is to hold my head high and make all my dreams come true in spite of everything.  I don't have a mom, but I didn't have a mom even when she was here. The sad thing that I face is all the things that were missed out on because she was unable to be present for me. It was a few weeks before she passed, and she came into my room wanting to take a trip with me. The kids' senior year of high school, and she didn't see an issue leaving them home alone.  I had no desire at all to go anywhere with her and wondered where this came from.  Her presence in my room was not welcomed, and it felt like she was an intruder in my space. Just as she would always look at me, there was this stare, this blank look of disapproval, no matter what I was doing. 

I have to believe that there was a time when she loved me just because I was hers. I have to believe that there was a time when I meant everything I have always dreamed of to her.  Maybe someday, all that she did or didn't do won't hurt so much. This year, this day, it does hurt, and my heart is tender. I don't have a mom, and I don't have someone who loves me unconditionally, no matter what. I will make it through, strong and brave, because that is what I do. I will make it through this day knowing that I am moving in the right direction because I am the person that I have chosen to become. Wherever she is, I hope she knows how she was loved and how hard I tried to make things work and to make her happy.  She will always be my mom, and I loved her so much.  But I was unwilling to lessen myself to stay who she thought I should be. 

I heart your heart.