I don't really know when it happened...

But somewhere along the lines, I think I lost a part of myself. 

Before the pandemic.

Before I had kids.

Before I got married.

Before my parents died.

Before I decided to call trauma, trauma.

Before the fighting and manipulation of my childhood.

Somewhere it happened.

Maybe a really long time ago.

I don't really know.

But the when part doesn't really matter. It only matters that it happened.

I've been having a really shitty time emotionally. And it peaked after the holidays this year. I mean PEAKED. I couldn't get out of bed some days. I felt like crap about myself. I've put on a ton of weight. I felt like writing a blog post about PTSD symptoms would help me help explain to myself that what I was going through was normal for what it was. I thought maybe it would allow for connection. I thought it would make me feel better. 

It didn't.

I've been in weekly therapy for the past several months. Going back and forth between seriously intense EMDR sessions about childhood trauma and talk therapy sessions where talk about how I feel like I am losing my mind and that I am not good enough for anyone in my life including myself. And then I try to logicize all of it with all of my book knowledge of psychology and experience as a therapist. But logicizing why it is happening, doesn't help my heart from feeling shattered and my self belief just continue to crumble. Because I do not want to let myself feel. One time during EMDR, my brain manifested a migraine as if to say -- leave her alone, she doesn't want to do it. But I keep pushing through because I desperately need those chapters from the past to close and not keep slipping out when I don't want them to anymore.

I told my therapist that I was thinking of taking my kids on a trip, or one of my kids on a trip. That I was feeling burnt out from Extreme Parenting: Pandemic Edition where you are your children's only social interaction for 400 million days. Understandable she says. Why not go by yourself, she asks.

Ew. No. I do not want to spend that much time with me and my thoughts thanks, but no thanks.

Maybe you should dig into that a little more.

I don't like me. Why would I want to spend time with me? Plus my children need me and how is it fair for me to go on a relaxing vacation when my husband is the one that works all the time.

Because you need to take care of yourself and you're busy taking care of other people all the time and doing the incredibly hard work of the chapter of therapy you are in. And you're grieving a lot. And you need to also be happy. So.

Eh. I don't know about this.

Fast forward to Saturday night insomnia of this past week and crying and telling Mike that I changed my mind and I am not going to go. No you have to go -- they'll still charge you for the hotel...AND you need to do this for yourself. 

Crafty husband telling the frugal part of me that I will now lose money if I don't go...so now I must. But meanwhile still feel guilty. Cue bursting into tears to say but it isn't fair to you. Yes it is. Stop. You're going.

Ugh. Fine. 

He gets home from work Sunday night. I leave to drive for Mystic, Connecticut. Children get emotional. I get emotional. I think about perhaps taking the children even though it's the last minute. 

I don't. I leave during crying chaos.

5 hours drive turns into almost 6 because of rain and my weakened pelvic floor from having the two children I left behind. I think several times that I am too anxious to drive this far away from home. And then I remember that I used to go places all the time by myself to meet up with other people all the time prior to 10 years ago so what is going on now? But what if something bad happens? Should I turn around? No. I will lose money if I turn around. Plus it is late and I am tired and maybe it will feel good to not share a bed with any people or animals. Maybe.

Fast forward to Monday morning. I did not sleep well. People are freaking loud and I am basically an old woman at 32 and would like some peace and quiet. I guess I'll wander to get breakfast and then start my itinerary.

I've never been to an actual restaurant alone. So I take a book. Find a breakfast spot. And sit down. Two middle aged women sit next to me, both look at me and whisper to each other. I continue to read my book but then get self conscious and then say to myself...why in the actual hell are you concerned about this right now? Who gives an actual eff what they are saying? And honestly it could be that they like your hair or something and don't think you're some weird lonely woman. And again, it doesn't matter!

Breakfast complete and I head into Olde Mystick Village. It is charming. I go to get donuts. I tell the cashier I can't decide between two of the donuts and ask her which one she prefers. She says their both good and why don't I just get both? I think, clever sales ploy but sure why not. She says, to be honest with you, that's how I am living my life lately. I am not stressing over decisions like, which donut should I get, I think I might like both and I get both. We're only here once.

You know what, yeah. Absolutely. I'll take both. And I contemplate. How much time do I spend stressing over decisions that ultimately have no bearing on my quality of life or dreams? A lot. A ton. Too much. Okay. I hear you universe in the voice of donut shop cashier. Later I buy some crystals at a shop. I've been into this lately and feel embarrassed when I first go in because, I don't know...I'm a straight laced Virgo? I've been intrigued. WHY AM I THINKING ABOUT WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK AGAIN? Who gives a flying eff? I like them. I think there's power in anything we give power to. I am allowed to feel this way. I buy them. I'm happy I did it. 

Later I head to historic downtown Mystic -- it's the definition of little New England coastal town. I go into Mystic Pizza. Fangirl at the pictures of Julia Roberts and think about how cool it is that the movie was actually filmed there. I ask for a table. "Are you waiting for more people?" No. Just me. Oh. Then you can sit at the bar. I feel slightly awkward. But a little less than I did at breakfast. The pizza is amazing. I buy a T-shirt from the movie. That was on my list. Check.

I think about the fact that I have a dinner reservation for 1 later at a relatively upscale place. Sigh. Is that going to be really awkward too? I don't know. I could take a book again. Would that be weird? I don't know. Walks around to more shops and the waterfront.

I go to the aquarium. I'm obsessed with the beluga whales. They're adorable. It is way too crowded everywhere else so I just leave.

I go back to the hotel to get ready for dinner. I'm going to do my hair and make up and wear a dress. Literally just for me. When is the last time I did this? My hair is in a messy bun so often I think my hairline is starting to recede. How even long is my hair anymore? Oh wow, there is no one here to interrupt me getting ready. It's too quiet. Turns on the TV for background noise. Oh my damn, I do know how to do make up and my hair is long and looks fab. Despite my fat face. SHUT THE EVERLOVING EFF UP WITH THE NON SELF LOVE, have you not been practicing grace for yourself and your current weight. Stop it. You'll get there.

Back downtown. Walk around more. Head into a cute shop where I know none of the clothes will fit but the accessories will be cute. The woman behind the counter is chatty. I haven't really chatted with anyone. I am also chatty. She asks me where I am from. 

Pennsylvania. 

Oh nice! I'm from Atlanta, my daughter lives there now, she's an influencer. I live here to be near my mom.

Oh cool. Slight internal eyeroll at daughter's profession being a social media influencer. It's a cute town. I'm here to have a mommy break since I've been solo with my kids since the start of the pandemic. And also just needed a little me time.

That. Is. AWESOME. That is such a good idea to do that. You need a break as a mom. You have to give up so much of yourself to parent.

Do I dare say what I really feel without fear of judgement? Sure. Why not? --  Right?? They do not tell you that part, and honestly, I love my kids but no one tells you that sometimes it is just shitty but everyone wants to act like it is all rainbows and butterflies and act appalled if you're honest that sometimes it sucks AND you still love your kids. That those things co-exist.

OMG THANK YOU FOR SAYING THAT YES! It is SO SHITTY sometimes. Why do we not support each other more in the fact that it is shitty?!? Being a mom is literally the worst sometimes and you lose yourself. And I have THE BEST KID. I love her to pieces. But oh my god sometimes it was the worst!

Phew. Metaphorically wipes brow of non existent sweat of honesty. Thank you for being willing to be honest too. We seriously need it more so we feel less crappy about ourselves when we aren't being perfect. It is a paradox. On another note, since I am surrounded by constant testosterone, I need this really pretty headband.

Omg yes you do. It looks awesome. By the way, your make up is fabulous. Do you do that yourself?

Yes. And thank you. I almost forgot I knew how to look like a woman and not just a mom in oversized t shirts and yoga pants. 

Enjoy and relax and do whatever you want while you can!

Fancy dinner time. Fan girl a bit because it's owned by a baking God in my opinion and purposely didn't go to the bakery on the first day because I want to take everything home.

I'm early for my reservation. It's cold. It's on the rooftop. Whatever. I'm here early. Oh that's totally fine. And sit at this long communal table with a firepit. I look around briefly and quickly. I'm the only lonely, except for some old dude at the bar. And guaranteed no one is saying...look at him all alone. If no one is saying that about him in my mind, why would they say it about me? I eat a fabulous meal. I have a lovely server. I drink a fabulous drink. I relax. I don't read. I just sit. And I just enjoy. And then I stroll the waterfront and sit and enjoy the birds and distant noises and watch the boats. And it is perfect. I am alone and happy and not feeling extraordinarily guilty. Oh, that's new.

At the urging of my waitress she tells me to message the owner on social media after I leave because his wife runs it and they're awesome and she'll more than likely get back to me. So I do. She's the literal sweetest. She tells me to stop in the next day to say a quick hi to her husband, and he'll do his best to pop in. Oh my gosh cool. I've been wanting to go for a while. I've been following their journey on social media and just found it inspiring. And I am surely on the hunt for inspiration in any way shape or form right now.

More shitty sleep because people are loud again. But I'm also anxiety-ridden again thinking about talking to someone that is so successful and that I idolize. Mike jokingly says, you're going to do that weird laugh you do when you're nervous and filling space. Then that's all I can think about. Being a weird fangirl and my awkward silence filling laugh.

I head to the bakery for breakfast. I feel awkward and ask the girl if he's there and that his wife said he would try to say hi. She says he's not. I feel slightly defeated and also more awkward. Well, whatever. It's fine. It wasn't meant to be. Also, I slipped malachite in my pocket that I bought the day before because of destiny and manifestation and whatever so I was like oh I guess this isn't it. I stock up on pastries anyway and buy breakfast to eat on the porch. I look around like a little kid in a candy shop...well I mean...I'm a kid at heart in a bake shop so it's really the same thing. I drop $50 on pastries and feel zero guilt about it because I am obsessed and the artistry is insane and it is everything I want to be capable of. But you know, they say not to meet your heroes because you'll be disappointed...so maybe this is for the better.

I go to the Mystic Seaport Museum. I meet an old boat captain that now does river tours. It's not crowded. We chat for a while. He lives on a boat and just travels around doing odd jobs. He's awesome. He asks me a lot about Amish people in Lancaster. I realize I am not as passionate about where I live as he is. And he's my second favorite person that I met on the trip. He refuses to use the microphone provided for the tour and just yells as loud as he can, which isn't very loud, over the boat engine to me and two other passengers about the history of the seaport. I leave that tour knowing small bits and pieces, and really just words, that I picked up over the engine about the port. Thank you Jeff. You were awesome and I hope your day is the best. Safe travels to you, Jackie. 

I walk through the old village. It's awesome. It touches something in my core. I think about writing again. Here we go again you indecisive person. You've had like 47 different jobs and passions and tried 84 different hobbies. And you're back to thinking about writing but you also want to open a bakery which is also intense. Make up your damn mind. Walks through an old house, stares at the hearth and listens to a woman talk about making a sponge cake over the fire and the recipes of old that say mix eggs, flour, and sugar and bake until done. I'm enchanted by the herbs that hang from the beams on the ceiling and the warmth of the fire and I think of the characters I've developed in my mind over the years. And suddenly, why don't you get both donuts? chimes in my mind while I'm staring at this kitchen. Because both things are hard. So shut your face about that. All things are hard and you like both so why do you have to give one up? Oh. Why not both donuts? I didn't have a good answer for why not get both donuts. I don't really have a good answer for why not both things. Why not bake and write? Because "it's hard" isn't good enough. Well, now I have more thinking to do and a lot less excuses.

It's weird if I go back. Like how stalker-y fangirl is it for me to go BACK to the bakery when he wasn't there this morning. It's really dumb. It's weird, right?

It is not weird Jackie. Just go. You'll be mad at yourself if you don't. And they seem really nice. Just go.

Okay. Who cares if it's weird? I won't be back and put myself in this situation again and they were just being nice and I'll buy a sandwich. I will buy a sandwich and a drink and then I'll ask. And they'll say no and I will just go home.

I will take the chicken salad croissant and I feel weird asking but I was talking to Adam's wife on Instagram and she said that I should tell you guys when I came in and he would try to come and say hi. And I totally understand if he's busy but it doesn't hurt to ask. And, what's butterfly lemonade? No, I'll just take a Hibiscus Mango Lemonade. Thanks so much and I really hope it isn't too much trouble. I see her talk to another barista and then she asks my name and says she'll go check. She calls. No answer. He is probably busy but am I planning to stay to eat? She'll try again. Sure. I'll sit and read my book but I am content that this isn't happening. I give them a big tip because I feel awkward again.

Jackie?

Just as I take a bite of my sandwich and respond with "Oh. My. God. Hi!" 

He thanks me for the kind message that I sent on Instagram and how much it meant to him. Tells me he is in the middle of working on his first cookbook and he's hoping to finish it up tonight to send to a publisher. I prepare myself for this to be it and quick but I'll ask one question. What would be the most encouraging bit of advice you could give someone that is standing right on the ledge but is too scared to step off? He says, you need to do what you want and not let other people steal your authenticity. There are ways that I could cut corners and make more money in this business but I don't want to. I want to stay authentic to scratch baking and quality ingredients and my vision and myself. He tells me more about the business and the cookbook and starting up and Food Network and friends with connections I might be inspired by. We talk about what is important in connection and the therapy that baking can be and how to have a loyal staff and my dreams for what I want to accomplish and our kids and the importance of family and time for yourself. I talk about how passionate I am about mental health and recovery and reducing the stigma and how I feel there has to be a way for me to connect everything. An hour and a half goes by and we take a picture and he thanks me, genuinely from the heart for the opportunity that we had to connect and talk, and I thank him from the bottom of my heart for the encouragement and direction. And I'm supposed to keep them posted on what I decide to do and what I accomplish. And I truly believe that they meant it and are invested.

And then I drove home.

And I haven't cried until right now. 

I don't know if the malachite in my pocket helped give me the placebo effect of manifesting my destiny or if the universe said it was my time to shine and learn and grow or if maybe I don't give myself the credit I deserve for making things happen.

But I do know these things:

I bought both donuts. Physically and metaphorically.

I spent time alone but still with me, and I am not as bad to hang out with as I thought.

I authentically connected with people with the realest version of myself.

And I found the pieces that were missing. 

And I'm not certain what exactly is next but goodness knows I now know the direction I am headed.

You're Allowed to Feel

Part 2 of the symptoms I experience personally from C-PTSD and how they look to others maybe.

 Today's Topic is emotional regulation.

I was raised in a house where this wasn't a thing. Grown ups were allowed to have big emotions, and not acknowledge them as such, and I was to remain quiet and compliant with whatever they were feeling and not be reactionary.

OR

If someone was acting out a big emotion -- i.e. my dad screaming and punching walls and calling me or whoever else names -- I was to not let this bother me and pretend as though I was unaffected and not allowed to react, partly out of fear and partly out of  wanting to not make things worse.

I'm sure there are other instances of this throughout my past but these are the biggest ones that seem to still resonate with me.

So what does this teach a person?

Well, to be simply terrified by the concept of anger.

Up until a few years ago, to be perfectly honest, I did not think that ever being angry was okay. Sure I would get angry -- but then immediately feel guilty and tell myself that I had no reason to be. 

I had a therapist once tell me, you realize that everyone gets angry, right Jackie? She told me that just the other day prior to our conversation she was frustrated with situations in her own life and had ripped up a phone book and strewn it all over her kitchen. Felt better, picked it up, and continued on -- not worrying about what others thought and feeling a bit more in control of her emotions.

I remember being shocked. For a moment I thought to myself -- should this lady be my therapist, or even a therapist at all? What is HEALTHY about anger? I don't know if this is for me. (Spoiler alert -- I stayed on with her for like 5 years) 

Nowadays -- I am very firm in my belief that anger is a secondary emotion -- a lot of my anger is tied to triggering moments and grief. And not having a healthy example of how to handle it in any of my most formative years. 

So if my son tells me that I am a mean mom for some normal kid reaction to not being able to do what he wants when he wants do -- as is normal for children -- I think my brain flashbacks to what my experiences of mean are, feel horrible that my child could think that I am that kind of mean, and either get upset and yell because I'm feeling triggered -- or honestly...give in to whatever it was that I was denying because I can't equate myself with mean.

Or if someone hurts my feelings -- I'll apologize for whatever I think I must have done to deserve my feelings being hurt in whatever capacity -- and the next day I'll show up at your house with spaghetti and a gift and telling you how wonderful you are because I too scared of being abandoned by people even if they hurt me. 

Kind of like when my dad would have completely explosive anger and then take us out to dinner like nothing had happened but still trying to keep the peace. Or he'd be abusive towards my mom the day before his birthday and I'd still be encouraged to make a cake and get a present and sing happy birthday. 

The lesson -- people can treat you however they want to and have whatever feelings they want to have around you and about you -- and you still show up and take care of them and praise them and act like all is well -- even if on the inside -- you're an incredibly scared mess.

Any time I had a moment of happiness -- my mom and dad would make sure to lay on the guilt. She was miserable and had sacrificed her entire being for my father. He was so unstable it was impossible for him to really feel happy for long. It turned into bitter jealousy for any friend I had or boy I liked or trip I decided to take or anything kind of good that happened.

 Don't feel happy.

When I got sad, and man did I eventually get extremely, horribly, scary sad, I wasn't allowed to feel that way either. What did I have to be sad about? Didn't I realize that people had it far worse than I did?

Yes. True. People had it worse. I didn't have it that bad maybe. 

Don't feel sad.

If I felt angry -- and if I got angry towards my dad for him manipulating and gaslighting and hurting my mom -- he would hurt my mom more. 

Don't feel angry.

So then wait...what feeling am I allowed to have?

All of them -- at the wrong time or the wrong time or too much or too little. 

Always concerned about what other people are thinking when I emote. At ALL.

Am I saying that there were never good moments or times that my parents were proud of me? I think they wanted to be. I think they wanted to be better. I think they wanted to be happy for me and proud of me. But I think they were too wrapped up in their own sadness for some reasons that I know and some that I will never know to really be there for me in the way that I needed. 

And  this is when people will say to me -- oh but one time your dad told me this and oh but your mom always said this.

That's great. 

I was also taught not to talk about what happened in my house and act like everything was fine.

I learned how to hide everything from the best of them for literally years.

I know they wanted to. But the more I have been remembering, the more I realize they didn't and couldn't. And it is devastating. 

My therapy and especially EMDR has helped me start to regulate my emotions and realize that things are okay to feel. And not only are they okay -- they're normal.

What isn't normal is not feeling. What isn't normal is letting people hurt you and still trying to please them so they don't abandon you. 

I know there have to be some people out there reading these things and rolling their eyes -- thinking -- seriously, you are 32 years old -- this stuff happened forever ago and you should be able to get your shit together by now and not be affected so much by it.

Maybe that's what some people think. 

That's what my brain tells me some people think.

But honestly, this stuff was still going on until my mom died almost 6 years ago. And before that, it was total enmeshment and ingrained into my life and how I functioned. 

And trauma changes the way your brain works. Scientifically true.

I'll get into the neuroscience of it all in another post.

Unfortunately, it's really hard work to break generational trauma. 

These days I just cry for what feels like no reason until I examine what's coming up and where it is coming from. Try to give myself space to feel sad. Cry for what I needed in those moments. Basically tell that little girl or younger version of myself in whatever scenario it is that it wasn't her fault and she shouldn't have been responsible to fix things. And breathe and continue processing in therapy weekly.

But I am so incredibly thankful that I am doing it so that my children won't bear the same deep scars my heart does. 

Healing hurts significantly. 

And it can be a lonely place sometimes. Especially because these relationships with my parents will never be healed with them. I can only heal myself.

But learning to give space to my emotions and allowing them, has really been freeing thus far. No more glossing over things. Just feeling raw emotions.

Deep Fear of Trust

 I've decided to start going through the symptoms of Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and how they present for me -- because I think it is important. Not only for me, but for others too. It isn't normal to feel these things, but there needs to be more open and transparent conversation about it because it is really lonely sometimes and can honestly make you feel like you  just might be crazy.

But you aren't crazy.

You're just hurting.

So the first one I am going to talk about is a deep fear of trust. 

When trauma is ongoing -- so growing up in an abusive household -- your brain gets rewired for distrust and fear -- so you are always kind of in survival mode. Fight or flight. Your brain actually adjusts to having high levels of cortisol (stress hormone) so you're always kind of on edge waiting for what is going to happen next. And when you can't trust significant people in your life -- i.e. caregivers -- who are to model behavior and relationships for you to mimic basically -- it makes it very difficult to trust anyone.

Hello Anxiety!

So for me -- my memories go way back -- probably as early as 4 and 5 -- to insecure situations.

My dad's moods were ALL OVER THE PLACE. One minute he would be playing and happy and fine and the next he was screaming and throwing things and just being volatile. 

But as soon as his outburst was over -- he'd take us out to dinner or the movies or to the park or whatever.

And you NEVER knew what was going to set him off or how escalated it would get. 

How can you trust any situation when no situation has ever been predictable? And how can you trust people that are also unpredictable? Especially when your little and they are supposed to be taking care of you, not scaring you.

And when I got older -- it was all about placating -- my mom called it "playing along" or "playing the game" -- you know he won't understand and he needs to be right so even when he is wrong, say he is right -- even if he hurts your feelings -- pretend that he doesn't.  You know you're right, smart, capable, not a bitch, not stupid, etc -- so just hold on to that.

So now -- 30 years later -- I still don't really trust people AND I feel like crap about myself because we internalize it. 

I don't trust people's intentions. I don't trust them when they are being nice. I don't trust how they feel about me. 

None of it. 

Which goes back to what I said previously on missing out on true connection with others. Even my husband. And sometimes my kids. Which is depressing. And I get so frustrated with myself.

But I literally can't help it. 

And I have to retrain myself to be able to trust without ever really knowing what it was in the first place.

And if the SMALLEST thing happens to break my trust that I attempt to build -- it is really hard for me to figure out what to do with that and to be perfectly honest it wrecks me emotionally.

It's really, really hard. And exhausting.

But if you look at the why -- it makes sense.

The Problem Is...

 Well, there are a lot of problems when you're dealing with C-PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression...

But to start, a reflection back to my last post about abandonment and self isolation...

The problem with when you feel like everyone is going to abandon you or has abandoned you, and then you end up isolating because you feel like your a burden -- is that you still feel like people have abandoned you even when you're causing it yourself.

I know. It doesn't even make sense when you try to write it out and explain it.

Fear of abandonment and lack of self worth almost means that you go ahead and just help people abandon you. And then you're sad that you're lonely. But then you're worried about trying to connect because you feel like you are too much or will say the wrong thing. 

And I am aware that I am doing it -- but I can't find love for myself enough to stop. And even beyond that -- I'm really scared of being hurt or not accepted. 

If I share too much, will it scare people away? Will people think I am the victim? Will they roll their eyes? Will they tell me I am dramatic? What if I don't focus enough on trying to help THEM? What if I don't listen enough? What if I say the wrong thing? What if I am too honest? What if I am not honest enough? What if I just go with something that is being said because I don't want to stir the pot? What if I stir the pot too much? What if people don't feel like I care about them if I talk about myself? Should I talk about myself at all? What do people think about me really? Are they just being nice?

There are probably a million more questions that go through my head but those are the biggest ones, at least when I actually try to focus in. 

It's really hard to trust anyone when you couldn't always trust the people that raised you.

And when you don't let yourself trust people, you miss out on the potential for connection.

So even people I have known for years, I don't feel like I can necessarily really truly talk to them or even try to connect with them anymore.

And it isn't their fault.

And it isn't my fault, really.

I am scared to do it, if I am perfectly honest. 

And it comes from a really deep place of pain and some really deep scars.

And I am so aware that it can sound kinda dumb.

And I am not at a place where I am over it and ready to test it out completely.

Someone in group therapy last week said that in a book she read one of the passages said something like -- there are already people out there that love you and you don't even know it yet.

And I think there are also people out there that probably love me too but I won't really let them.

Because I don't really love myself always or give myself enough grace sometimes. I just nitpick and get angry at myself for not being perfect and handling everything perfectly always.

Healing process to be continued....

Oh The Drama

I can't tell you how long I have felt that I am an overly dramatic person. 

My therapist even told me this week -- almost every time you go to talk about your feelings, you start with "I know I sound dramatic; or this probably sounds dramatic; or I know I am being dramatic."

Her response was -- Jackie, from what I am hearing, you're not being dramatic -- you're having feelings and your feelings are very valid and you are human.

To be perfectly honest, I met that with an eye roll, like okay but basically I'm paying you to tell me I'm not crazy so mmmk 👍 (Truly not what therapy is, but I hardly trust anyone, so from that perspective, it makes sense)

But I'm on this really intense healing journey so after I eye roll, I try to be introspective.

Is it possible that I am not crazy? Is it possible that I am just feeling things that are valid to me?

I very easily feel left out. The bigger word for that is abandoned. The bigger word feels dramatic to me. It feels gross actually. So I will immediately tell myself -- why on Earth do you feel abandoned? No one ever left you alone for days at a time as a kid or something. Knock it off you overdramatic psycho.

I am a professional at minimizing my own feelings.

If I let myself look deeper, it's because somehow, I have internalized that if I feel left out or excluded from something, I immediately feel like it is because I am not good enough. There must be something wrong with me. I must have done something horrible to be left out. I must be actually the worst. Maybe I'm not a good person. Maybe I said the wrong thing. Maybe this. Maybe that. And then I am left feeling awful about myself. 

I have genuinely thought in the past that people get together and say "Let's tell Jackie she's a good person and she's funny and kind, even though she isn't, but she's so fragile, if we don't, she'll self implode" I've thought that about my friends and my family, because how could they possibly actually love me for me or even like me for that matter, when I feel so very inadequate.

I am extremely aware of how messed up that is -- and yet -- my brain will go there sometimes. It isn't realistic in any realm.

All of that thinking leads to me feeling like a burden -- and who the heck wants to be close to someone who is a burden? I feel guilty for having been at my lowest with people because I didn't know what to do with my feelings. Sometimes they came out as tears. Sometimes they came out as anger. Sometimes I just overinvested myself in other people's problems so I didn't have to think about mine, since I didn't know what to do with my feelings. 

So, internally, I decide -- well then, I'm just not going to talk about my feelings or problems with anyone anymore because no one wants to know or cares (it's super extremist thinking that is for absolutely certain not self pity, because I think it can sound like that, it is actually being overly considerate of others at the detriment of yourself)

So what does that lead to? Isolation and feeling lonely. I, by no means, feel sorry for myself while I am doing this by the way -- I literally feel like I am sparing other people of my "drama", so I deserve to be alone. I just feel sad that I am too much, and if I wasn't too much, then I could have connections with people. But I am. So I can't.

Where does all of this come from?

Well -- that's a good question. 

As far back as I can go in my memories, I never felt good enough. I had to care for a mother with complicated health issues, sometimes alone, as early as 5 years old. I had a very mentally ill father for as long as I can remember that didn't necessarily feel as though he needed to be responsible for me in the way that an adult parent should. And he was pretty abusive and manipulative because of those things. There's a lot to unpack there, but I don't want to go into anymore detail at the moment. I had a lot of responsibilities that I for sure wasn't going to be able to handle as a child, and it became the overarching theme of my life called "You're not good enough and never will be" -- and it was unrealistic for me to BE good enough at these things to begin with. I was a kid.

I glossed over this stuff for a very long time. With "yeah but" and "at least ____________ didn't happen". But none of it was okay. 

There was so very much that was not okay. Even beyond the moments where I just didn't feel good enough.

The last thing I want to believe about myself is that I am an overdramatic and negative person.

But the fact of the matter is, I am just really sad. And a lot of things happened to make me feel that way. And I don't always know what to do with my feelings because I was never given safe space for them. 

Somewhere underneath all of this junk, at my very core, I do think I am a good person and have a kind heart -- and I try to my best to live that out in so many ways.

But other days, it's really hard to believe it and not just thinking I am delusional in feeling good about myself. 

It sucks sometimes. Positively hurts.

But this is the path to healing.

The Mess of A Journey

Today I let myself cry for everything that happened.

For what it really was. 

Without trying to give excuses to behavior and actions. 

Without feeling like I was being dramatic. 

I cried for the pain. I cried for the grief. I cried for real. 

I cried for all of the times that I tried to tell myself "at least"

I didn't try to be perfect. But I did feel insecure in my tears.

Because for years I have tried to cover a wall of ugly wall paper with pretty things and distracting things and lots of things in general to try to forget the wallpaper exists. Or to at least try to act like the wallpaper doesn't mean as much as it feels like it does sometimes.

But it still peeks through.

Healing hurts. And it is a mess.

But it is hopeful. 

Soon new wallpaper will go up -- on a different wall -- in a different place and I won't feel like I need to cover anything anymore.

Time To Cocoon

When caterpillars cocoon themselves to turn into butterflies -- they do not simply sleep and wake up with wings. They have to dissolve into literal goo and rebuild themselves.

I am in the goo stage.

I've told people I am great. I've told people that I am happier than I have ever been. I have been told to concentrate on the good. I have been told to be thankful for what I have and the strength I have gotten from what I have been through and experienced.

I am thankful. For my husband. For my beautiful and crazy children.

And I am utterly sad. 

I am not hopeless. I am not miserable. 

But I am full of grief. 

Grief for my parents. Grief for who they never were. Grief for my children not having the grandparents that I wanted them to have. Grief for what I feel like my parents took from me. Grief for the little girl that had to grow up too soon and had too many expectations thrust upon her. Grief for myself feeling never good enough for anyone. Grief for the friends that I feel abandoned by. Grief for my childhood home. Grief for my family not really being as close to me as I thought they were. Grief for the fact that neither of my parents loved themselves enough to want anything better for themselves or for each other. Grief for their unhappiness. Grief for the hurt I may have caused others. Grief for the secrets. Grief for the abuse. Grief for the life I could have had sooner if I wouldn't have been so completely absorbed in their toxicity. Grief for the fact that sometimes I don't miss them and that makes me feel guilty as hell. Grief for everyone else that I have dearly loved and lost. Grief for jobs. Grief for normalcy. Grief. Grief. Grief.

Some of it is legitimate. Some of it is what my brain has made me think of my own worth over time.

It is true the more you say a word, the weirder it sounds. Grief makes people so very uncomfortable. Our culture handles it TERRIBLY. 

"Remember the good times"

"They're in a better place"

"Time heals all"

"Everything happens for a reason"

"At least ________"

"Try to look at the positives"

It is messy. It is painful. It is sorrow.

I can't even deal with my grief sometimes because of how much gaslighting I experienced growing up. Maybe I shouldn't feel this way. Maybe I am thinking of it wrong. Maybe it wasn't that bad. Maybe I really wasn't ever good enough for anyone.

The common theme of my life and the theme that has made itself all the more apparent the more trauma therapy I go through. I was never good enough. And then my brain applies that to all things. I guess I am not good enough to be invited somewhere. I am not a good enough mother. I am not a good enough wife. I am not a good enough friend. I am not a good enough person. 

In the depths of sadness (that I don't let myself wallow in for too long) I do not feel good enough for anyone or anything.

Right now, I am in EMDR intensives and group therapy for differentiation. And tonight, someone said in group that they just want to be 80 years old and happy with themselves and feel proud of themselves before they die.

And that is when I lost it. 

Both of my parents died at 51. Two and a half years apart. Neither one of them was slightly happy with themselves. 

"My mom died unexpectedly and I really think it was because of how much stress my abusive father caused her. I got to be her emotional punching bag in the last few years because if she talked back to my dad they way she projected everything on me, he would hurt her or threaten to hurt himself. Then my dad decides he can't be alone and abandons his family for a girlfriend. I don't talk to him for 2 years and find out that he died. Alone. And no one found him for 3 weeks. And I don't have time for any of their crap to take up any more of my life and keep me from who I am supposed to be. I don't have time for it and it hurts so much. I've been through too much to do this to myself anymore."

I've been crying on and off since my group ended this evening. I am lonely. I am sad. I am broken. I am goo. I overcommit with the best intention. I am really good at being high functioning nearly every day and pretending everything is okay. I get upset with myself for not doing enough and not being enough pretty much constantly.

But maybe...it's time to let myself be goo. I spend far too much time on trying to be perfect and not enough time letting myself feel things so that I can rebuild and heal.

I share this because *I* need to. I don't care if nobody else cares about what I am going through. If you can't handle my mess, then my mess isn't for you, and that is okay! I need to look back eventually to say "Oh  man, that gooey place was awful to sit in...but oh look at what you built with it. Remember where you were? Remember how lost you felt? Remember how lonely it could be? How good does it feel to not be goo, but to be strong and beautiful now and to believe in yourself on the other side? How good does it feel to be you?"

But right now, it positively sucks. And it hurts. Deeply. Being heartbroken and trying to put your best face forward, faking it until you feel it, does not work. It can't.

But goo. Goo is workable. Goo is hopeful. Even though it feels positively disgusting and uncomfortable. It won't all be for nothing. It can't be. 

My children will know better than I did. Momma is healing herself for herself and becoming who she was supposed to be and that creates something so much better for them. 

Generational curses be damned. 

I think I am ready to let myself cocoon and try not be so much for everyone else and be goo for me and rebuild something better that lasts forever.