Rage -venting the feelings (pt 1)

Rage

Don’t pay me lip service

If you ask me what I need

That is not enough – not without action

If I ask you to come to my playground because I’m always at yours

Don’t decline because it ‘doesn’t suit you’

Raging about my gender will upset me

Raging with out room for learning and compassion will shut me down

Making it know that parts of me, things I care for and hold dear are ‘not your cup of tea’ so

you ignore them completely, shows me you do not accept me for who I am

Your rage breaks me apart. My shame can bury me. This time my rage will help me rise

Here we are again

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

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

Quiet quitting isn’t just for work

Do you know what the true quiet quitting is?

When you want the time, attention, effort and energy you put out to be appreciated and in some form returned and you come to the realization it is not.

When you yearn so much to be validated, seen, and heard, and when you recognize it doesn’t materialize and you just give up.

Quietly of course, your opinions get quieter and smaller, you begin to ask less, you begin to do less and you feel the shrinking taking place.

It happens in small ways at first, and not in every place in your life at the same time. It’s barely even noticeable because nothing was noticeable to begin with in that space.

Until finally the space that you took up is all but folded it on itself and winked out like a little fairy light.

That my friends is a quiet quitting,

everyone trying so hard to be heard and very few taking the time to listen. We eventually stop putting in the extra time and attention in the places we feel undervalued.

This happens in every place we inhibit, work, school, friend relationships, family relationships- our daily lives.

Nothing is ever truly balanced, that is one of life’s hard truths. Another, is that no one ( not even ourselves) can live up to the expectations we create. Compassion and understanding are needed for moments of unbalance, but should not have to be the space you always operate from.

Perhaps this is the truest form of self love? To often this disconnect is unnoticed, or blame shifted to the person receding. A reaction of fear that the person/place being receded from may need to be accountable.

What are/have you quietly quit? What was the outcome? Who has quietly quit from a work or personal relationship with you? Do you understand, will you admit your role in the dissolution? Have you ever noticed the places you quietly quit on yourself?

Not an Inconsequential Slip (ATFS)

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.

A Reminder

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

Shame- a fucking poem

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

Shame- Awkward Tales from the Shadows -pt.2

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…………

Shame- Awkward Tales From The Shadow Side-pt 1

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.

Awkward Tales From the Shadow Side: Self Owning the Ugly

The rage is almost unbearable

I want to scream till I am spent

Childhood lessons:

refining sensitivities to others, anticipate the needs to keep the peace, prove my worth.

Do not ask, do not demand, it is selfish, you are not worthy to ask so much.

Adult lessons:

I taught you how to treat me. She is kind, giving, forgiving and hardly asks for a thing, we love her.

But when she does she’s needy, an emotional sucking hole that has the audacity to want to be first. Know your place.

The rage ( at self) comes from trying to change and loosing out when I’m no longer suitable. The rage ( outwards) comes from not being considered, from not having someone, anyone anticipate how tender I am and how I might be affected. The disgust I feel ( at self) for this ridiculous notion and foolish hope.

The sadness and exhaustion comes from knowing what saved me in childhood can be dangerous to me in my adult life if I am not careful, also knowing that my empathic skill can still be a superpower.

Rage at seeing the cycle, more rage at the seemingly inability to break it meaningfully. Disgust knowing I can not demand to hold value with others until I hold value within. Frustration knowing my self worth has been dependent for so long on how others need me.

She beats her fists against the glass and still insists she’s a valid lass

Awkward Tales from the Shadow Side: Reflections Underneath

I stand in front of the mirror

Armour on

Battle worn, cracked and brittle

Some areas thick and rigid with hasty repair

Is this the way you love me?

Lifting the helmet, what can’t be seen, as they reside so deep, are the howling banshees who live inside. Burrowed in, born of survival, fear and pain. Revealed, tired, wanting eyes.

The cuirass goes next, throat exposed

Words have died here

Breath extinguished

Fine network of scars unseen but felt

Pauldron lifted, the weight had held my arms in place to brace against the blows. Shoulders curled forward with the phantom weight of all that was, without the bindings now threatening to disengage

Plackart next, twisted scars over where the heart resides

Thick, thorny vines at once piercing and protecting the beating centre

Jagged lumps of torn tissue across the upper back holding my arms in place

Faulds removed, one by one, exposing my sex. Sometimes taken, sometimes gifted

Mistaken often for the sole root of power – it is but one area I can hold sacred

The cuisse loosened to fall away, revealing legs with nearly invisible trails of scars, some inflicted through war, some used as a release to quiet the banshees on their terror.

Here I stand, the mirror reflecting all that was hidden beneath the armour

The ugly truth of the damage. The damage that created the need for the armour.

Can you love me this way?

Can I love me this way?