I am told I am seen by so many,
I’m not seen in the room I’m in.
I am told my words are a balm, helpful
I am not heard in the room I’m in
I am told I am valued, touched so many
I am alone in the room I’m in
Standing Still at the Speed of Light
Writing, true life, random facts and fiction
I am told I am seen by so many,
I’m not seen in the room I’m in.
I am told my words are a balm, helpful
I am not heard in the room I’m in
I am told I am valued, touched so many
I am alone in the room I’m in
You only listen when you like what I have to say
you only look when it suits you
you will talk and talk and talk and talk
and it doesn’t seem to matter
the parts of me that make you uncomfortable
the parts of me that frustrate you
the parts of me that are trying to grow and express
Are time and time again
told
too much
too much
too much
there are times I can carry this
use it to fuel me to keep growing
there are times when it guts me
and leaves me bleeding on the floor
unseen unheard unalive
Learning how to work with my nervous system is not an easy journey. Just when I think I might have the hang of understanding my triggers and feeling pretty secure in knowing what throws me and the tools I have to undo an anxiety attack I get reminders I don’t know shit and the damage I believed was scarred over enough to be considered healed is not.
This past weekend we had a random act of violence directed at our home. The place where I should feel safest. 1:30 in the morning and some shit head decided kicking our front door and screaming fuck you before squealing off in their car was a good (fun) idea.
The police, in-between informing us how weird it was, felt it was random or a case or a wrong address. Not that, that made me feel any better- my heart paused for the intended victim. For anyone this would be a nerve wracking experience, but my family seems relatively calm and went back to feeling pretty secure with in a day. It has almost been five days and I am feeling like I am on fire.
Let me tell you, that hard crack of the door frame breaking, woke up a long sleeping panic twitch in my head.
I grew up in a house that was fraught with subtle and not so subtle violence, cycles that continually repeated in my early relationships. As a child/ young woman I was often in hiding or on the run until the dangerous moment passed. I spent almost a decade of my young life being stalked and ambushed. There were many times when that same door breaking crunch was followed by threats, screams and violations of my safety.
It has been almost 30 years since I had to worry about being followed, watched and in danger. Have I become complacent? In a way I suppose. I felt it was what normal is supposed to be. We lock our doors at night and when we aren’t home. We have taught our daughter to be vigilant about her safety. I have worked very hard to not ‘go overboard’ or be paranoid given the history I grew up with. There is always a shadow that follows me.
I have CPTSD and anxiety. I have managed reasonable well. I succeed and fail epically with equal measure. Understanding that most of my ‘triggers’ are modes of (lack of) communication, lack of sleep, burnout and financial triggers. My daily mental health struggles cause body pain, brain fog and lack of concentration, but for the most part I am managing. It is not perfect but it is a far cry from what it was years ago. I don’t mask anymore, I give myself grace on bad days and make use of the tools I have created.
CRACK- FUCK YOU
And I have done just that.
Sleep has been tricky, falling asleep and staying there, not twitching at every noise, not dreaming about the past darkness that created this. Trying to keep my thoughts from running away. Not wanting to lock my daughter in her room and lay off my (over blown) fears on to her. Holding back tidal waves of tears that just come on. Feeling the phantom pain from every injury I sustained in that time of my life. I thought the pain I felt these last few years when ‘triggered’ was bad, but it ain’t nothing compared to the last few days.
Every ancient bruise, cut, break is screaming at me in the moments I try to find quiet.
I was doing so well working with silent moments in my head, a relief that I had started to become accustom to. But right now I have music screaming into my headphones (Thank the Gods for Dave Grohl howling the pain I am feeling for me) to counter the screaming monsters.
I am bouncing from project to project. Probably annoying the eff out of people with bombing them with memes or random bits of conversation, keeping myself distracted from the old fear sitting in my stomach.
Along with this horrible feeling of not having control I am so angry. I fight so hard to be well, to not let these things drag me to the pit of self destruction. One stupid prank or ‘wrong house’ and I am on an exceptionally slippery slope. I can’t explain the depths this has pierced. Fuck you, you asshole who thought this was relatively harmless, or funny even. At other points in my life this could have taken me to a much darker place that I am currently fighting my way out of. But this is bad enough.
I will do my best in the coming days to reset my system, to have grace with myself. I will keep expressing my needs. I will keep trying for positive distractions. I will just keep trying.
Lately the anxiety is bubbling just under the surface. I have had a wild month. Slings, arrows, bricks, mortar, silence and a deafening cacophony.
I had a big slip- with some help I fought back most of the way.
I have been fighting hard to breath life into the amazing opportunities in front of me.
To not be crushed by feelings of doubt and inadequacies. To not rely on ample input from the outside. To believe the reasons I’ve been given about why I’m the one who can accomplish these tasks. To trust I’m making the right choices. To not build my hopes of success by the involvement or encouragement of others. To choose carefully how I build, what I build and with who.
Trust trust trust myself
Today is shaky. Today is overwhelming. Today is very isolating. I know this place. And today, in this glorious Solstice, I cant seem to find it in me to get the monsters to be quiet, I cant seem to shake the dark. I cant seem to find my way. I am tired. I am sore. I have no voice but the inside screaming isn’t stopping.
Yet…. I have to, and I will do what needs to be done today. Measured breath, clenched jaw, head down and do what I can. Ride it out.
So tonight when I am finished doing what I must, I’m going to go to my favourite places amongst the trees, maybe find a Fae door or two. Breathe, ground, and let this finally wash through me. To let the God(dess) hold me steady, this too shall pass.
Today would have been your 81st birthday. 37 years since you were on this side of the veil. In years past I often would feel a sadness or longing on this day.
But this year feels different. There has been much mental health and trauma work done this year. Uncovering some wounds that had scarred over, the scars had created a choking trap, I’ve finally found the courage to start undoing, breaking patterns, healing.
This year feels different. Longing and sadness are marred by hurt and frustration. I still miss you, I will always love you and I’m trying to find some compassion and grace for the choices you made. The choices that had consequences for so many.
A moment of quiet, a breath, remembrance, questioning and love. Happy Birthday Mom.
This week, my mental health feels like a yo yo.
One minute I am in such a good steady place.
So much had been poured into my cup this week. Cathartic laughter, time in nature, meaningful words, expressions of love, joyful moments of being connected. There was peace. There was easy breath.
One night of not great sleep.
One more reminder of what still needs to be done
One more heartache, added to the pile I was momentarily graced with putting down.
Only to lift once again.
An opening for those pesky little mental monsters to jump in.
They turn you raw from the inside out
They turn up the volume in your head.
Use the tools. Write it out. Distill the source if you can. Assess the reality vs fiction of what you are being told. Distraction of nature, family, comedy, story telling, conversations with friends.
My monsters are on point. They find the wee bits of unintentional salt in conversation, tiny sharp fragments observed in action. And grind them into the wounds that I am working to heal, scar over at the very least.
Misinterpretation. Misrepresentation.
This is what they do.
This too shall pass. More work. More curiosity. More understanding. More self compassion
I didn’t get my first tattoo until I was beginning my 40s. In a few days, I’ll be 49. Today I just got my 9th tattoo.
Each tattoo is a symbol for something. This past decade I have been through some very dark moments, and have shed many things of myself.





Things started to get a little shaky for me. Mental health wise I shut down. A mix of burnout and elevation of anxiety and old trauma surfacing. Being compounded by upheaval and high tension around me.




I have been doing intense work over the last year. Working on releasing trauma patterning, learning about myself, the light and dark. At times the realizations have been hard. The pain uncovered, the isolation. Things I want to repair but am unsure how, setting firm boundaries. Again I’ve called to the Morrigan to remind me that I’m am strong, a worthy warrior.

I do not know what this last year of my 40s will bring, what I do know is, that this past decade has had incredible highs and lows. I’ve gained and lost so much. I am hoping my 50s will be more learning but less drops. I know it will be recorded, the pictures on my skin a reminder to myself of my journey, my growth and my power.
Fuck you for misunderstanding me with out forgiveness
Fuck you for not trusting your place in my life
Fuck you for thinking I was not worthy of growth
Fuck you for wanting me to stay at your beck and call
Fuck you for pretending I mattered as a person
Fuck you for expecting me to be your lapdog
Fuck you for your unacknowledged issues
Fuck you for being ok knocking me down
Fuck you for demanding I give things up that were making me happy
Fuck you for walking away
Fuck you for withdrawing your support
Fuck you for waking the unworthy feelings buried inside me
Fuck you for standing by while my mental health fell apart
Fuck you for deciding it was ok because I gave you your way
Fuck you for gaslighting me
Fuck you for not helping me get better
Fuck you for being passive as long as I behave
Fuck you for your lack of care for my pain
Fuck you for not being sorry
Fuck you for being angry
Fuck you for being jealous
Fuck you engaging me and walking without explanation
Fuck you for breaking my trust
Fuck you for silence
Fuck you for not listening
Fuck you for judging me
Fuck you for not caring
Fuck you for your possession
Fuck you for your temper
Fuck you for the guilt
Fuck you for the pain this has caused
Fuck you for the apology I will never get
Fuck you for your expectations
Fuck you for the sabotage
Fuck you for the fake support
Fuck you for every anxiety attack that grew from this poison
Fuck you for your lack of kindness
Fuck you for your lack of compassion
Fuck you for waking up parts that were asleep
Fuck you for the binding
Fuck you for being a liar
Fuck you for letting me take the blame for everything
Fuck you for being ok that I gave up
Fuck you for the space this take up in my head
Fuck you for giving the monsters more fuel
Fuck you for shaming me for who I was growing into
Fuck you for every tear I have cried
Fuck me for falling for it
Fuck me for taking the easy out
Fuck me for giving up
Fuck me for being silent
Fuck me for wearing shame like a cloak
Fuck me for trusting
Fuck me for not using my voice
Fuck me for giving up after trying my voice a little
Fuck me for only screaming in my head
Fuck me for fearing getting mad
Fuck me for being afraid of being abandoned
Fuck me for needing to be seen
Fuck me for being stuck in this place
Fuck me for believing in loyalty
Fuck me for not thinking I matter
Fuck me for not feeling strong enough to grow on my own
Fuck me for my lack of self love
Fuck me for my abundance of self loathing
Fuck me for expecting I mattered enough to apologize to
Fuck me for willingly taking all the responsibility
Fuck me for hoping that someone would notice
Fuck me for shrinking inside
Fuck me for rebuilding my prison
Fuck me for not being able to trust
Fuck me for not placing the good things above this
Fuck me for every tear I choked on because
Fuck me for patterned self sabotage
Fuck me for not screaming FUCK YOU
In picking through all of this I have never felt so naked. Shame is so destructive. Shame eats at you, it disguises itself in behaviours, thoughts and actions.
So does this mean I have been fake my whole life, that the things I have built are untrue? No. I do want to be of service. I don’t want to see people hurting. I want to help get you to your best place. The people in my life that I love and care for is truth. The beating of my heart is truth. My desire and drive for better are truth. But this time it will not be built to cover anything up.
To get there I need to find what I can love about my self. I need to release the shame that I have been taught since childhood is mine to bare. I need to feel. I need to feel all of it. Not just view with a critical eye, not just be analytical in how I can explain. BUT TO FUCKING FEEL. To stop denying myself the depth of joy, love, contentment because I am sheltering myself from feeling all of the pain, fear and disgust that also resides here.
I have to first start with me. Looking from outside to see what those around me see. To quiet the voices that make up the story that all they see is a grotesque shell. That there are some who truly love me. Who value me. I can accept they they know my kindness and care. They see me as flawed, scarred and beautiful. That they are excited to see what emerges.
The child I was need not be shamed by the abuse she suffered. That I am worthy of more than what I can give. The first man in my life was my father, he told me repeatedly that I was unworthy because of how I looked. That I was no better than a whore and that is all any man would use me for. That I should have died before allowing the bloodline to carry on. What followed was cycles of abuse and use by others for so long….. No more.
I will find my voice. I will not give more to you than you are willing to share with me. I will not allow myself to be emptied and devalued. I will find pride in myself. I will not feel shame for feeling. I will not shrink silently in to the dark when I am wounded. I will not feel shame for asking for what I need. I will not feel guilt for saying no. I will not feel shame for expressing myself.
I will accept if this is no longer suitable for some (this has already happened but my shame spiral took over the punishment). I will not grovel or chase. I will learn to love this scarred, imperfect human. I will learn to honour myself as much as I have honoured others. I will learn to trust that when i am told I am loved or that support is offered that it is truth, that I don’t have to perform to receive.
There is no going back this time, no more building to cover up anything. I and finally going to build a foundation that will hold me up.
At least this is my hope, that this is what is to come. But first comes the scary part, really allowing myself to feel, and to find a safe place to be supported as the facade of me falls away…………
As you walk deeper into the shadows of your self work sometimes you feel lost. Sometimes you are shaken by what you find. This is the place where the moving pictures of the past reside. It is time to look past hilight reel. Do you dare? Do you dare peek at the out takes?
Sometimes with healing there is no choice.
Things I am learning, rather, finally harshly acknowledging.
The need I have to connect, to love and be loved, the need to be considered is just a gooey shell wrapped around a dark centre of anger. The anger I desperately want to say others are completely responsible for, is actually the razor weapon I have carried since childhood- but it too is a kind of a facade. Look deeper- yes this will cut but the core must be found. The atomic destruction weapon at the very centre is shame.
As a child I was raised in shame. Raised in varying forms of hiding. We hid what was happening in our house. We hid from the monsters in our house. I was shamed for how I looked. I was shamed for my needs. I was shamed for what my father was. I was shamed for having no mother.
I turned that shame into anger, drive- I would be better, I could make myself worthy, even if I didn’t start there. What is the term- making a silk purse out of a sows ear? I would build a shell over top of the putrid thing I am.
I will give everything, time, kindness, love, – please don’t look too hard or breathe too deep, you may smell the festering wounds. I will accept all, as I know what it feels to not be acceptable. I will listen to your story and brush aside my own with no more than an anecdote. I will deeply invest in you- who ever you are. I will forgive you infinitely. I welcome you to with a smile and a hope that I will be enough. I will do anything to ease your mind and your path. I will outwardly ask for nothing while inwardly begging you for everything I do not possess.
This worked, sort of, for a very long time. Even I believed it. I believed I had achieved a place where I was loved, admired, wanted, needed. That I had healed myself, hidden the rot. I believed I was worthy of turning a light on to me. Surely after decades this was acceptable.
The disruption this caused, the hurt, the confusion- this was not the game I had created, these were not the rules I had made. The first sign of push back and the fetid began to show. They figured it out. I wasn’t worthy. More shame. Shame for what had happened. Shame for trying. Shame for being the cause of anger, hurt. Anger, at first for not being worthy of encouragement, then anger for not even finding myself support worthy.
Retreat, the defence up- you think what you have done can hurt me? I will destroy myself a thousand times before you get another shot in. I did not see it at the time, I retreated to what I believed was more acceptable to some around me, to make it better- to go back to being loved, needed, belonging. But I was wrong. I felt sick, I hid the wounds under layers of more destructive behaviour, food, drink, disassociation…….
I have been so angry. At first it was all outward. All about the recent, not really wanting to see how it was the same ride in so many ways. Shadows of the same cycle I was born into. So angry at the others- why? Why so much hurt? Was I not what you wanted? Did I not create the proper being to be loved? How did I get it all so wrong? Was the truth that I was not meant in this life to be unfiltered, raw and a little wild. Was I not to have a me- just the thing that fit you best? In the darkest moments the monsters that the anger and shame have fed grew, the razors slowly turning inward.
Yet I know I can not totally go down with out a fight. My children deserve a better Mother. Not something to be ashamed of or to hide from. I will not be my parents and I sure as hell would not wish my children to be me.