I used to let you love me. I used to embrace a new life, a new love, a new “normal”. I let you let me put my guards down. I let you let me be not so independent. I let you love me enough to let me become me.
It’s scary you know? Not knowing who I am yet. Trying to figure out what I like, don’t like, what I want and don’t want, what makes me happy and what makes me just ehh…at 35 isn’t easy. All I know I being a caregiver. I have been parenting people since I was very young. I helped with my brother and at 9 years old I was a caregiver for my grandfather. Now that my sons are working and they are almost adults, I’m finding it hard to know who I am and to be okay with my life.
From the time I sensed my now fiancé was going to propose I haven’t been handling life very well. Transitioning to the one thing I want the most in life hasn’t been easy at all, then you throw empty nest syndrome on top of it…watch out. Not only that I’m in menopause, so I haven’t handled life well since he proposed. There are too many changes and so many “what if’s”.
I’m not feeling very secure in myself right now with all these changes that I cannot control in my life happening. I’m literally being forced into retirement and there is nothing I can do about it. My sons are becoming adults and I am so proud of them, but it’s so hard to know that they are my last two to raise. They make me want to do it all over again. There is so many challenges that they brought me, but they have literally helped become who I am today and I am becoming. My love he is a great dad and when I see him in them or them in him, I love him so much more. So I not certain why I am struggling to let people love me right now.
It’s hard I’m scared I know that everyone I love will eventually hate me or leave me. That I am just not worth someone loving or being around forever. Then I remind myself of everything he has told me. My love has spoke so many “right” things in almost 4 years together. He has picked me up and put back pieces. Now I find myself needing to walk through “reality” to remind myself of every thing he has said or done to make me love him. All the times he has told me, “Until I tell you you’re a problem for me…” This is what I’ve been reminding myself lately (by lately a couple days) to go with his words when I’m feeling insecure in my place in his life , If he had a problem and wanted me to go he’d tell me. He’s not a man of many words. He only says what he means.” It has been helping me greatly these past couple days.
Reminding myself of the good things when bad things pop up and rewriting how I feel about situations is really helpful. I’m going to get back to the place where I let him love me like he wants to. I have to put these walls back down and just feel free again. Traveling through my past over the past few years hasn’t been easy on me, but especially my 3 loves. I’m so thankful for their love, even when I can’t seem to feel it or accept it. I’m not certain if I can ever express to them just how grateful I am for the way they love me.
In the words of Megan Trainor “I’m workin’ on, workin’ on it. Trying to see what you see when you look at me. I’m workin’ on, workin’ on it…” or something like that ❤️
My grief of what I don’t have and what I have walked away from has been so great this past year, but the truth is I have done those things to heal, and healing is what I’ve been working so hard at. So I’ll keep working at this and I’ll let myself be me finally. I’m going to keep working hard to be the best version of me. I’m also going to keep on working on being me without regards to what people think of me, that’s the biggest one for me.
Chaos stole my memories.
I’ve heard it so many times from so many people. They think that I can’t hear them or read the words they write:
“It’s all for attention.”
“Stop with the pity party.”
“Just get over it.”
“The past is in the past.”
On-and-on they go. They think they are helping. On the contrary though, those phrases make it worse. The feeling of being unheard and invalidated is not a feeling I long to have.
You see, what you and they don’t understand is, when I speak it isn’t only for me, it’s for everyone else who has been hurt like me. The worse thing about being the victim of hidden abuses is no one ever wants to believe it happened. Why? Mainly because the people who know you also knew your abusers as “good people”.
The stories victims of hidden abuses tell are not for attention. Most of us will never ever speak, and never free ourselves from the crushing vices that are placed around our lives. We through no choice of our own were children of the “good people” that were so good at fooling everyone.
Writing it out is my therapy now. It is the things I was supposed to work towards in my recovery; being okay with speaking up not fearing what others might think of me. To not be ashamed of what made me, but to embrace it, own it, and to do something with it.
I have always firmly believed that God allows us to have the journey we’ve had to help someone else.
After the life I have lived if I didn’t believe that my suffering was for the better good I wouldn’t be sitting here today telling you my stories. I wouldn’t be sharing my struggles, my victory, my creative healing ways.
These stories are not easy for me to tell. They make me angry and sad. They bring out things in me I didn’t even know I was capable of doing or feeling. I used to feel embarrassment and shame from speaking up about my life, but I’ve grown. I now know and understand that the shame is not mine it is theirs.
So if one day you’re reading this and you read grammatically incorrect (more than it already is) and you feel it’s just incoherent rambling, remember this I’m probably in the middle of a PTSD attack, and have doctors orders to “Yell” at my computer and if it makes me feel better to know that someone is listening hit publish, if not just leave it as a note on my desktop. Either way I can’t yell at my family anymore.
I’m pretty certain if you’re reading this blog it’s because in some way you feel you can relate. That chances are you were searching PTSD or CPTSD (complex PTSD) and found me. Maybe you found me on Instagram. Wherever and however you found me, I believe you are here for a reason. I don’t believe in coincidences.
Welcome to my journey. My online “journal” you might say. It’s real here. I’m me always. I want everyone to know that you are not alone. I thought I was and that this was a waste of my time, but I know it’s not.
When you hear my panic. When you find yourself not understanding what the big deal is. When you can’t understand the way I respond remember this; every action and reaction I have when even the slightest bit upset is because of someone else’s actions in my past…
Thank you to @mylightshinesbright for this comment on my IG today. You have made my day and you encourage me to keep going and to speak more.
Our traumas might not be exactly the same, but trauma is trauma nonetheless.
Stay strong trauma warriors! We can do this! We are not alone! I am here for you!
Remember the struggle is real, but your “reality” may not be.
It is not here.
It is there.
It’s in the past.
So shall it stay.
It will not.
Hurt you anymore.
A lie so they say.
Anger in their hearts.
No one hears a thing.
Welts upon my skin.
It is not here.
It is there.
It’s in the past.
So shall it stay.
It will not.
Hurt you anymore.
Today everything I did was completely intentional just to see him smile. 16 years ago he graced this world with his presence and it hasn’t been the same since. I am pretty certain that in 16 more years he’ll be that civil rights attorney or politician helping to write the laws that change our futures.
He is amazingly smart. He is kind and compassionate. He is funny and can brighten any room he enters. He is a gift to any who know him. He is going places and I cannot wait to see where he ends up.
Today we had banana sandwiches for second breakfast and “Krabby Patties” for lunch. I tried to incorporate all of his favorite today. We had scratch made carrot cake, a nacho bar, and tacos. The amount of effort it takes to pull off 3 meals, a trip 45 minutes up north to the grocery store, shopping, and then travel back, 2-3 stops to find that last minute request, scratch made patties, scratch made pina colada smoothies, nacho bar and tacos, and a handmade carrot cake all in one day is huge.
It is all made worth it when I hear, “This is a really fun birthday. Thanks mom!”. My little guy is taller than me, but I still call him my little guy. To me he will always be my little guy. The 16 years I have gotten to know him and the 8 I’ve gotten to be his mom have been really blessed.
Eating! I love eating when I like the food that is.
Eating is a double-edge sword for me though. Food is something that does and always has caused me a great deal of anxiety. Something that has always been misunderstood and mislabeled as “picky eating”. Picky eating is putting it mildly for me, it is way more than just being picky and not liking certain foods, its a huge source of anxiety for me that most do not, have not, and will not ever understand.
I’m not exactly certain what fuels the anxiety besides being on the Autism Spectrum. I wish I knew because I would fix it. I find that being able to express just how badly food makes me feel is helping. It is really hard to overcome this eating problem I have, but I keep trying. I am constantly reminded to eat and to buy foods that I like when I go to the store, but that is a major anxiety trigger for me. I have no clue what I like and I care too much about how much things cost.
I try so hard to buy myself foods when I go grocery shopping for the family, but it doesn’t go very well. My heart starts to pound hard and fast, my palms begin to sweat, and I begin to feel disoriented…it is not a fun feeling. I try to keep calm and not panic, “It’s only food you crazy woman!” I shout inside my head at myself to no avail.
I stand there looking at all the options in front of, to the side of, and to the back of me. There are too many choices. I am over-whelmed! What will I choose? When I do choose something how much will it costs? “Can I just choose something without worrying about the cost for once?”, I think to myself. The answer of course is, “No!”.
If I get over those things and I choose to to ponder the thought of trying this new item, the panic gets worse.
What will it taste like? What is it supposed to taste like? What will the texture be? What will the color be? Oh, and for the love of God please don’t let it have a strong smell! Like seriously my nose is too sensitive for that? How do I prepare it? Will I like it? What happens if I don’t like it? Is there a consequence for that? If there is a consequence for not liking it, what will it be?
Will I enjoy this new food item? Will I waste it? I hate waste! Gosh I hope I like it. I don’t want to waste food when there are starving people in this world. I don’t want to waste money for obvious reasons. I definitely don’t want to waste my time like this panicking over food. Man, I hate waste! I really, really, really dislike waste…
There are just way too many unknown variables in this equation. I am not certain how I am supposed to choose for me. Feeding others is easy. Feeding myself is hard.