Who’s Fighting Now?

It amazes me how the physical and mental are constantly working together and against itself, yet as a system we seem to separate them like they are two different entities. Those of us who work with people in pain know for fact that there is no separation. In the last few days I have witnessed the concerted take down my own system has pushed.

I sit here writing this missive, music pounding in my ears to quiet the internal noise. For months now I have been doing my best to keep myself steady in the what feels like never-ending stream of chaos. Some mine, so much from those I love, watching constant hits, so little reprieve and so much dead sadness. I’ve had some lows, I have had so much grace- but it always feels fragile.

The bad habits and masking always within easy reach, fighting to do the ‘good’ thing. Honesty vs hiding (provided there is a safe place). Protein, veg, water vs sugar, alcohol and carbs. Exercise, meditation, responsible medication use vs numbing with meds.

4 days ago a migraine settled in. Not surprising given the weather change, the joys of menopause and the amount of constant stress, that one of these gems would try to bust out of my brain. Raw burning cotton filled my head, the muscles down through my neck becoming cement and the inside pressure clanking so loud. Loads of water, migraine pain meds, ice and sleep. Waking the next morning the knock was still there but seeming manageable. By afternoon the take down had begun in earnest. The eyesight blurry, movement bringing waves of nausea, craving stillness, even from breathing and meds hardly touching it. The only thing making it remotely liveable was a little cannabis. Dulls the pain, gets rid of the nausea. But the opening for the ‘other’ had already happened.

So which monster took the opportunity in my weakened state? The one who hates me most. The one who wants me to believe I am only a commodity and easily replaced for almost everyone.

The ‘great massage therapist’- so many others out there, some I have trained…..

A partner…it might take time but maybe someone less complicated will come along.

A friend….. a mist that will fade quickly, there’s always another that can provide laughs, space and interest.

I leave no mark, no need, no want, no lasting anything, kinda like fast food. But…….

A mother…. That’s the tough one, that’s the one that will leave the biggest empty. That’s my biggest strongest weapon against the vicious monsters. That is the anchor.

So today, the headache has receded to a constant dull throb inside, the rhythmic chant of monsters, I am doing my best to drown out with music. The exhaustion of the last lifetime pouring down my face in rivulets. All while replying pleasantly to texts. Desperately wanting to ask for validation. Wanting to hear that my existence has meaning to others. Frozen from reaching out, not wanting to add this desperation to a growing pile of crap out there. Fear of being rejected. Fear of the fact my masks have always done such a good job that instead of being seen in need I am seen enough to get a pat on the head and reminded that this too shall pass. The absolute fear of having someone bear witness to the puddle mess I am. The fear of it being a never ending cascade of trauma and pain that will drain anyone silly enough offering physical space.

I told a friend a while back that I knew it was an absolute tragedy that I have only allowed myself the vulnerability to cry in front of another a handful of times in the last decade. Yet I have held many through their breaking moments, with out judgment and with the patient compassion I so crave. What I left out is that in those handful of times, less than half felt safe. Intentionally cruel or not, the other times I was told I am too hard to handle when I am upset or that of course I will get through, I always do..’pat on the head’, you are good now right?

There are spaces I have where I can vent but I have mastered the passive talk. The telling of the frustration, fear, complication, but no emotion, always written, never looking at anyone in the eye so they can see that I am about to break. Careful language as to not scare anyone. Being analytical, and a fast apology if I feel like I am being needy. Pull back and isolate until the need passes. Give nothing away. The amazing ability to switch gears if I can be needed instead of needing. Fucking hell I am a walking contradiction. I am in a loop of my own creation. One that offered protection when I was young but has become a prison that I can’t seem to make my own key for. So then, which came first, the headache or the bubbling tension needing attention? In some ways it matters not. This is what it is. And I know I am not he only one who has mastered this art of broken deception, yet it’s funny how lonely it still feels.

So for now, a few more Tylenol, water, wash my face and get to the gym. Let the heavy beats pounding in my head (music and pain) create a rhythm to push my self to. I’ll get through to the other side, I always do………….

Everyday Insanity

You see it when you look in the mirror

The circles under your eyes, the slightly off colour off of your skin

The exhaustion sucking away what’s left of your youth

Is it illness? Stress? Unrelenting shit storm of life?

Wash your face, hoping the cleanser, water and lotion revitalize you the way it says in the ads

You sigh… all you want is to pull the blanket over your head, a good cry and then set off for the mystical woods to find your peace.

A mouth full of coffee

A mitt full of vitamins

Paint the mask on

Another mitt full of pain relievers washed down with now lukewarm coffee.

This is not life, this is a never ending grind of insanity.

Don’t let the easy tears wash away the mask. Keep reminding yourself that ‘someday’ the break will come

Or is that the breaking point?

Others have it worse, they tell you about it

You wipe tears, hold hands and encourage the breath in others-

But you can’t catch your own.

Another mouth full of coffee, don’t forget to eat? Did you eat?

Check on those you love. Smile. Do your best to ignore the din of your own internal monsters.

Life must go on, there are things to get done.

Come home, the most you can do is mind numbing scroll or watch TV

Try to sleep, hoping truly for rest and pray it looks different in the mirror tomorrow.

What is Real in the Mirror

I had someone tell me once that they thought what people posted on social media showed who they really are.

I completely disagree with this. We may show pieces of beliefs, portraying the perfection we desire, airing a wound or betrayal to gather momentary sympathies from faceless people who for the most part don’t really have any vested interest in the outcome. Even in real life I don’t think any of us at any time show anyone who we really are.

Most of us wear multiple masks in any given setting depending on the role we are in and the people we are with.

The closest we get is to when we can drop a few of these masks, is with a person or in a place where we feel safe. There is still trepidation as we have been taught that the masks created are to hide the ugliness and unacceptable things about ourselves. But in all honesty there is no perfection or ugly behind it, we are a kaleidoscope.

Depending on the moment and who you’re with you may drop a particular mask, but the tumblers of your being will roll and fall into place in a particular way. That is the fractal light they see.

This takes a particular vulnerability, that is hard for some, as a mask is easier to navigate.

Masks are solid, smooth, thought out creations. They can be heavy, and locked in place. Perhaps once created for protection and conforming to expectations, now a preformed prison, some resistant to internal change. It is the expected acceptable face.

The colour and pictures seen in the eye of the kaleidoscope will always be subtly different, cracks will show in different places, pieces will fit differently. The colours don’t always match. While we may spin the wheel ( an illusion of control) we don’t choose where the pieces fall.

Trust, that is the hardest part. To trust that the colourful, cracked pieces of you will be accepted as a beautiful moving puzzle. That you will not be harshly judged for what is behind your mask. In order for that to happen you must look at how you judge that on others, and how much you judge that about yourself.

Not everyone is worthy of seeing the beautiful art behind the masks we wear. But allow yourself to treasure your own and know that each person you encounter is not just the mask they are showing in that moment, but a collection of things that are ever changing underneath.

Containment Disaster

I search for stillness

There is fire burning with in

But the noise keeps the heat contained

It’s burning like a fever

To fuck

To create

To run screaming searching for an entry to the Ether

I search for stillness

The fire threatens an explosion but the noise and distractions don’t stop

Embers become white hot

Being dissolved from the inside

So much to get out

Words, feelings, colour

Need to touch, speak, release

This is not living when the spirit is contained ignited and starving for space and oxygen

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

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.

New beginnings old ghosts

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.

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- 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…………