zeros & ones

I have been seeing a therapist weekly for a good time now.  I honestly couldn’t tell you when I started or what initiated it, but I’m glad I went.  This journey has been so challenging.  The journey to love yourself, forgive yourself, give yourself time to heal is so, so incredibly challenging.  Well, I was diagnosed with PTSD.  Post-traumatic stress disorder.  Most of the time I just kind of laugh it off, throw it out there casually and move on.  Today that word, that diagnosis, stings a little differently.  It’s so dramatic.  Post traumatic stress disorder.  Trauma being the key word here.  Honestly, PTSD is just so scary sounding in and of itself.  You hear about veterans with shell-shock experiencing PTSD, refugees displaced from their families in times of warfare--not 30-somethings from the suburbs.  I know it’s not fair to compare, but I can’t help but feel as though mine isn’t real enough sometimes, like I haven’t experienced enough pain to have this label.  I can’t help but wonder if this is on me, my inability to cope and handle situations more effectively.  But then I remember this: I survived.  Sure, i did it by any means necessary, but I made it out of the hell that gave me this diagnosis in the first place and I survived.  I remember not to diminish my pain because someone else has a different narrative than my own.  

I keep going off on tangents.  Once, when I first started my journey into therapy and emotional healing, i had four weeks off.  My therapist had placed me on a weekly plan but due to some crossed wires, life-getting-too-crazy-as-usual, I had a month off.  I felt fine.  Recently, however, it’s happened again.  I have three weeks off and I don’t even know how to handle this.  It’s strange--I’ve become so dependent on the need to talk out loud about everything that haunts me and yet I feel so simultaneously inconvenienced by this task.  Not having a session scheduled for three weeks is filling me with so much anxiety.  I’m afraid I’m going to word-vomit all over my husband or brother.  I’m afraid i’m going to relapse into an awful behavior that puts the needs of my abuser above my own.  I’m afraid that I’m going to hurt the feelings of someone I care about because I’m too emotionally distraught and I lack the appropriate outlet at the moment.  But then--that creeping feeling of inconvenience rears his ugly head in.  I see these sessions on my calendar and let out an audible sigh.  On the day of my last session, I let out a massive groan when I was reminded by my planner that i had an appointment that evening.  Why do I have to do this again?  Why do I have to feel these feelings again and relive those painful moments in an attempt to quell their toll on my heart and head space?  It’s so much to deal with that sometimes, I feel like I just don’t have the time to do it.  But then again, here I am, so lovingly dependent on these sessions to give me an outlet and a refreshed perspective; to remind myself that it’s okay to take a stand and not feel so alone, so guilty for allowing myself to finally be a little selfish.  My therapist has told me that healing will come in waves.  One moment I’ll feel at peace, as though I’ve made progress, and the next I’ll become distraught with emotions and overcome with anger.  It’s absolutely true.  While i hate going through it, it’s a good testament to her expertise on the issue.  Healing comes in waves, and it will all be okay.  I need to step back and remind myself: I’m neither inconvenienced by the sessions or the reprocessing, I’m inconvenienced by the trauma.  Not surprisingly, trauma is incredibly inconvenient for navigating daily life, raising a child, and being a good spouse.  

When I first started this journey, my goal was to just be less angry and to begin a path of having a stronger relationship with the person who hurt me most--my dad.  As my journey has progressed, though, I stand here angrier than ever, more hurt than ever, and full of resentment that I feel 1000% entitled to feel.  I no longer crave this relationship, yet part of me feels guilty for feeling this way.  I should be sad.  I should be trying, I should be giving in and allowing my abuser to continue to have a say in my life.  I know the guilt will subside eventually and I’ll be more at peace with my emotions and my decision to estrange myself from my father--but I don’t know if the anger will ever fade.  I have less confidence that the resentment will dissipate.  I’m so mad at my father for everything he has done and put our family through.  He doesn’t deserve a relationship with me and I’m more certain that he doesn’t deserve happiness or success with others or within himself.  I know this sounds unhealthy, it deserves attention and I’m proud to say that I haven’t kept these emotions to myself.  I’ve shared them not only with loved-ones who will reinforce negativity by nodding their heads in agreement and shouting “hoorah!”, but also with my therapist who has assured me that this process could take a long time, perhaps even years.  

I mentioned last week that I truthfully didn’t know what my end goal was anymore.  After tonight, I think I am closer to knowing it.  I want peace.  I want to be at peace with this all.  What he did and what he continues to do will never be okay--ever.  What I want to do is build distance from these painful memories and be content.  I wish I could forget, more than anything.  I wish I could forget the beatings, the screaming, the running towards me, kicking and hitting.  I wish I could forget the name-calling, “you’re a failure”, “you’re a disappointment”, “you’re a slut/whore/bitch”.  I wish I could forget the late night phone calls to my home from his mistress, who felt empowered to speak directly to me while speaking ill of my mother and brother.  I wish I could forget the fear of being killed in my own hallway, being sent to work and school covered in bruises with swollen, tired eyes from crying and not sleeping.  I wish I could forget being told not to laugh too loud at the table, that it was annoying and interruptive.  I wish I could forget the shame I was made to feel for being a victim of sexual assault.  I wish I could forget the name calling that came from it--”you’re a slut”, “you deserved it”, “you’re a hypocrite and a coward for not reporting it”.  I wish I could forget the bad decisions I made in my life while I attempted to navigate a life that was founded on physical, emotional, sexual and psychological abuse.  I still wish I weren’t too cowardly to report.  Part o me feels like I did deserve it.  I am working on it.  Until I can fully reach a place of healing, these are the waves I must endure.  I continue to wake up each day, grateful that I have the opportunity to embark on this journey and with with these affirmations in my heart:

I am enough.

I am strong.

I am a survivor.

ˆAw shiett.  You know, I always tell people going through shit to “write it down”.  Writing has always been therapeutic for me.  I’ve kept a diary since I was literally six years old and didn’t know how to spell.  I would draw emojis and hieroglyphic-like cryptic messages to say what I wanted.  True story: when I was six I wanted to write about my hamster, but I didn’t know how to actually spell “hamster”.  So, I drew a picture of a slice of deli-ham and someone stirring a bowl.  Get it?  Ham-stir = hamster.  My point is, I talk this big talk about writing and how it’s good for you and how much I love to do it and yet I hardly ever do it.  That changes now, in this moment (until I neglect myself again and put it off for another year or so.  

The last time I wrote was back in March.  I was still pregnant and teaching.  I wrote this little gem in my last post:

“It’s almost 1AM, I had coffee, I’ve got an achy back and only three days until I go on spring break, followed by maternity leave.  Does anybody know where the time went?  I sure don’t.  I can’t believe that i’m having a baby (that’s weird).  I’m so excited but so nervous to become a mom.  This is such a vastly different role than any other position I’ve held.  Teacher?  Sister?  Wife?  Daughter?  Friend?  I’ve done all that, somewhat decently (maybe), but never have I been responsible for birthing someone and then being their mom after.  Don’t get me wrong…I can’t wait.  I’ve been dreaming of this moment for a long time.  But the thought of it finally being here, holding my baby, dressing her, caring for her, feeding her…it’s all so foreign.  I’m so happy…the happiest I’ve ever been.  I just want to do this right by her.  I want to be a good mother, more than anything I think I’ve ever wanted for myself or someone else.“

Ah, motherhood.  I was expecting big changes from this major level-up, but nothing as blissfully wonderful, overwhelming, heart-warming, heart-breaking, and fantastic as this.  My Mia Jean is the light of my life.  She is my motivation.  The air I breathe.  Jesus, that got cliche fast, and yet these universal truths still fall incredibly short of how truly wonderful motherhood is.  I love my daughter with my entire existence and every fiber of my being.  I worry constantly if I’m enough and if I’m doing enough for her.  I’m trying my best.  This promotion to “mom” has been the biggest challenge and greatest blessing I’ve ever known--and I am one sick mofo that is known the world over for throwing myself into the fire and forcing myself to rise to the top.  I guess the words I’m looking for are this: motherhood is humbling.  When my child was born via emergency c-section 3.5 weeks early and I rested my faith in the well-trained medical staff surrounding me, I had never felt so vulnerable and humbled in my life.  My beautiful sterile, hospital gown was lifted so a nurse could shave the vagina I had lost sight of for four months.  They laid me on a bed, pulled my gown up, and there I lay--vagina hanging out in all my lovely, naked, pregnant glory--in front of about 15 nurses and docs as Luther Vandross played through the speakers.  Then they gave me some happy meds that made me numb but kept me conscious, sliced my uterus open, and pulled out a healthy baby whose loud, little kitty-cry and gooey little face stopped my heart and changed my world forever.  H-U-M-B-L-I-N-G.  And yet, that was the easy part.  It’s only gotten more humbling since then.  But--and let me emphasize this point--it’s been a wonderful ride and I wouldn’t change a second of it.  Our Mia is perfect in every way and all I want in my life is to live a life worth modeling for her.  Am I a good mother?  I have to say, I think I am.  I’m not perfect but who is?  I have my shortcomings, just as much as the next person.  Sometimes she eats avocado toast.  Other times, she eats cold Spaghetti-O’s right out of the can.  You know what they call that?  Balance.

So I guess we can say Mia was the best part of 2018.  Fucking easily.  No hesitations.  Other cool shit that happened: I got my second and third credentials in mild/moderate Special Education and moderate/severe Special Education.  So I’ve got the necessary docs to go out and start teaching tomorrow, but I’m taking some time off to enjoy our baby bug and be a stay at home mom.  Sure, it’s not the easiest job in the world maintaining a clean house, well-fed kid, and all the other tasks stay-at-home-moms are in charge of throughout the day, but man, do I consider myself fortunate to do this.  Without this opportunity, we’d be scrounging for daycare and paying out the ear to make it happen, so I’m so glad that we’re able to do this and I’m able to spend more time with our angel to get to know her and play a role in shaping her.  

That being said, I’m not used to not-working.  2017-2018 were two of the busiest years of my life, career-wise.  I began my first year teaching and added a third credential to my teacher prep program.  I began my master’s studies and grew (and then birthed) a baby.  I love being able to stay home with our baby, but I miss working and having coworkers.  I miss my money and I’m not wild about relying entirely on Sean, so I try to stay busy with my side business to satisfy the need to contribute.  I’ve been working since I was 16, so this is all still very foreign to me.  Again, I’m grateful, humbled, and consider myself extremely fortunate, but there’s been an ongoing adjustment period that I’m still trying my best to get used to.  I guess you could say I want to do it all.  I truly do.  I want to be the Wonder Woman who teaches full-time, nurses exclusively, finishes a master’s program and more.  I’ve gotten some eye-rolls from women who have done it all at once.  I feel like I used to be the woman that would judgingly pass the same eye-roll and now I know that I never want to be her again.  Again, the theme of 2018 that seems to keep popping up is “humbling”.  Motherhood, 2018, all of it has been humbling.  I’m learning that it’s okay to say no to certain tasks, people, and things.  I don’t have to do it all.  I can focus my energy on two or three major things that make my heart sing and do them really well instead of spreading myself so thin that I can’t do any of it well.  That’s okay and I’m not less of a woman for wanting that for myself and my family.  I can do this, I can scale back, I can focus on what’s most important, and put some stuff on the back burner and that is all quite alright.  It’s taking some time, and I’m getting there.

Speaking of boundaries, 2018 has taught me a lot about that, in (again) the most humbling way possible.  This year, Iearned that a loved one, whom I have a very strained and complicated relationship, is struggling with substance abuse.  In the process, I’ve learned that someone whom I love so dearly has put that same person’s needs before mine.  I’m trying to not get too detailed here, because this is all sort of private and very difficult to share.  I’m mostly trying to sort my thoughts out for myself, for the sake of having some clarity and mental health.  What I’m trying to get at is this--as time has gone on, this year has taught me that what you see isn’t always what you get.  That even the people you love and trust the most can hurt you in the deepest ways possible.  I’m learning a lot about myself through this journey and all the drama that comes with it.  I have a voice, an opinion, and I’m entitled to both.  I don’t have to forgive, but I have the capacity for it.  I have headspace, and I can choose who I want to share that with.  What’s happened to me in the past doesn’t have to define me.  The people that have hurt me and the horrible things they’ve said do not have to crush me.  I do not have to let these people into my heart.  I do not have to give people the power to hurt me.  I can have a relationship with people I love who have hurt me, but on my terms.  There is nothing wrong with that.  There is nothing shameful about that.  I am not selfish for creating boundaries.  I am caring for my own mental health and the safety of my family.  That being said, it’s still hard and I’m working on it every day.

I’m also learning that I can’t control others around me.  I can’t force people to make decisions that I deem “good” for them.  I cannot say anything or do anything that will move someone towards positivity or mental health.  At the end of the day, people will do what they want to and I need to face the fact that I have little control over this.  I’ve spent the majority of my life hoping, praying, wishing constantly that I can move my loved ones towards self-care, to no avail.  I still feel hurt and let down when I see my loved ones engaging in self-destructive behaviors, but I’m learning to release feelings of resentment and the false sense of control that I hold onto.  I’m dealing with this by establishing boundaries.  For myself.  In my life, I’ve often put the needs of others before my own.  In 2019, I’m vowing to be a little more selfish--to take care of myself and focus on my own health and needs.

This year has been a whirlwind.  I gained a daughter but lost a grandfather.  I lost a job but became a mother.  I lost some personal time but managed to complete my master’s proposal.  We went on vacation, we went horseback riding, we got drunk and acted like idiots at a swanky spa.  I reenrolled in school and started a business.  I’ve felt a lot of pain and put my heart and feelings on hold to take on some of the hurt of my loved ones.  It’s been exhausting and it’s been hell, but I made it and 2019 is on the horizon.  The promise of something new.  A blank canvas.  The chance to start fresh.  It’s cheesy, but I’ve been thinking a lot about 2018, what sucked, what I have control over and what I don’t.  And this mindset has helped me to determine what I want out of 2019.  I’m not entirely sure how I’ll get there yet, but at the very least, I’ve got a goal.  A wish.  A foundation for change.  Here it is.  

1.  I want to build a thriving bridal business.  I want to book more weddings.  Better clients.  Become a marketing wiz.  I want to make at least $50,000 this year in bridal work alone.  That’s like a 458293085904% increase from what I typically make out of this glorified hobby.  It’s also not a ton of money, in the grand scheme of things, but it’s more than i was making as an intern so it’s my goal.  My first year as a makeup “intern”.  Employed by me.  Reporting to me.  I am my boss.  I can do this.

2.  I am going to graduate.  I am going to walk in the summer and place my grad cap on my baby girl’s head.  I’m going to kiss her on the cheek and take a photo with her.  And when she goes to school, I’ll whip that picture out every year and show her how possible it is to achieve your dreams...even with a kiddo.

3.  I am going to focus on my mental health.  I am going to say no to certain projects, people, situations, and things that don’t bring me happiness.  This is the year I will use my voice and enforce my boundaries.

4.  I am going to be more present.  In the moment.  Less phone when I’m with someone, my nine-month old daughter, included.  

5.  I am going to be more mindful about the way I speak.  Less fucks and shits and damns, especially around my kid.  Yeah, I know...I fucked up and said all those things about a million times in this post.  But I’m working on it.

6.  I’m going to save money to buy a house in three years.  Three years.  I’m saying it and putting it out into the world.  I’m going to make it happen.

It’s almost 1AM, I had coffee, I’ve got an achy back and only three days until I go on spring break, followed by maternity leave.  Does anybody know where the time went?  I sure don’t.  I can’t believe that i’m having a baby (that’s weird).  I’m so excited but so nervous to become a mom.  This is such a vastly different role than any other position I’ve held.  Teacher?  Sister?  Wife?  Daughter?  Friend?  I’ve done all that, somewhat decently (maybe), but never have I been responsible for birthing someone and then being their mom after.  Don’t get me wrong...I can’t wait.  I’ve been dreaming of this moment for a long time.  But the thought of it finally being here, holding my baby, dressing her, caring for her, feeding her...it’s all so foreign.  I’m so happy...the happiest I’ve ever been.  I just want to do this right by her.  I want to be a good mother, more than anything I think I’ve ever wanted for myself or someone else.

I want to be a good teacher.  I’m struggling at that lately.  I try my best...but I’m so sleepy.  Pregnancy knocks you on your ass.  I fight off sleep all the time.  Like right now.  Wtf am I doing awake still?  I love my job but it is so much work.  I knew it wouldn’t be a cake walk but damn, man.  It’s hard to hang up my hat at the end of the day and call it quits.  

I’m thinking of my friend Eric.  What would he do?  Climb rocks, move mountains, be a bad ass, and conquer the world, that’s what.  He inspires me so much and I’ve lost touch with that lately.  The second anniversary of his death is coming up and I’m losing sight of how he’s inspired me.  I want to keep going, keep on moving, and keep making shit happen.  I wonder what he would say to me right now?  I miss you, my sweet friend.  I think of you often and try to keep up with your life even today.  I’m not as cool as you are, but you’ve really pushed me to push myself and pursue my dreams.  I’m finally doing it--I’m helping others but it’s tough work sometimes.  I wish we could grab coffee (no beer for me right now) and catch up.  I’d love to give you a big hug.

Fack, man.  Life is strange lately.  I’m worried about stuff.  Thinking of my family and the friends I don’t get to see all the time.  It’s so hard to make time for all the important people, yourself, and your fetus simultaneously.  Sometimes I feel like my head is going to explode.