NATURE SPEAKS
I decided to upload a handwritten entry for a change, hope you enjoy 🙂
The article I refer to can be found HERE.
The Longest Journey
Healing from trauma is a long journey. Lifelong, for some. In my late 40s, my own journey is just getting started. There is a lot to work through and I’m not exactly sure where to begin however I know it has to happen if I’m ever going to start thriving. Since I was 17, it’s just been surviving (and sometimes barely, at that).
Usually the advice is just to start at the beginning, square one, but we’re talking about going back to before I was born, with my mother’s toxic relationship with my father, her dysfunction in the way she treated my grandmother, and my grandmother’s own dysfunctional upbringing. This realization that it goes way back prompted me to purchase a book entitled It Didn’t Start With You by Mark Wolynn. My daughter, who is going through her own healing process, bought it about 4 years ago and strongly recommended it to me. It addresses generational trauma and PTSD with studies backed by leading experts in neuroscience and post-traumatic stress.
At its most basic, it affirms that in histories like mine (and by proxy, my daughter’s), some of the behaviors I exhibit may not come from abuse handed to me throughout my life, but may be pre-programmed types of reactions to things that happened before me and have been passed down genetically. It would seem the genes we carry are programmed for far more than blue eyes or big thighs. Mental states, even reactive memory, too can run in the family.
This honestly takes a lot of pressure off. Instead of asking what’s wrong with “me,” now I can go back and see that it wasn’t me. It does not become a matter of shifting blame for a rotten situation – I am not looking to blame – it instead becomes a matter of, “where did this come from – this trauma response to every little thing, this fear, this anxiety and regression, depression, these trust issues, this inability to relate to others or hold a relationship, this inability to care for myself, this inability to thrive?” Once that is sorted, the next question becomes, “how do I heal?”
I know forgiveness is going to be a major hurdle in healing as I am nowhere near ready for that yet. My dad (who I met finally when I was 24) taught me that forgiveness does not mean saying what a person did was acceptable. It means that you – the forgiver – are willing to acknowledge it happened and essentially erase that debt, let it go. It does not mean necessarily forgetting. It simply means moving on. As of today though, even hearing the name “Brenda” automatically makes my jaw clench, my body tense, and triggers me to either fight or ball up and cower. That is the power she had over me and still does even though she’s finally deceased (and I do not regret feeling relief and even joy over that fact).
And this is why it is finally the right time for me to begin this journey through facing the pain and abuse, facing the fallout, and clearing my path to healing. I don’t want to carry all this trauma the rest of my life. It’s too much. The burden has kept me from so much happiness, health, and success that I can no longer accept having the baggage.
Burnout Rant
Call center work is burning me out. For the past year I’ve been working in a strictly sales position (and I am not a salesperson by profession) with no break in my work routine. There is also no work-life balance to speak of and it’s wearing me down.
Several times throughout my tenure there I have tried to go into other positions to get out of the aggressive and often dirty sales tactics we’re forced to use. Twice I’ve applied for a position in Quality Assurance and been denied, another time I applied for just customer service and they wanted me for that however before I was able to make the move, they shut down that department! The only position for me to go into at this point would be a downgrade, both in position and pay, which I just can’t afford.
My shift, which I have no say in, takes up the portion of the day where I don’t have time before or after work to get anything done. As I’m leaving for work, things have just opened and after work, most things are already closed. I get home usually around 9pm, try to decompress from the day, eat, and pass out for a bit, then I’m awake for several hours because it’s screwed up my sleep schedule so bad. I try to be asleep again by 2am so I can be up by 9:30 to do it all again.
My health is legitimately suffering. My mental health is deteriorating. My stress levels are through the roof. Management is on us constantly, pushing us for more and bigger results at everyone’s expense. With the exception of the rare nice and civil person who calls in, most of the people on the other end of the phone are utter asshats who feel they can be abusive to a stranger with zero accountability. I take it from all angles. My anxiety over walking in on Monday mornings begins in my stomach on Sunday and I dread thinking of what I’ll be walking into. On the drive in, a 45 minute commute, I get heart palpitations that terrify me because often I feel like I’m going to pass out at the wheel while driving. That Monday morning meeting is always about how terrible we’ve done and how much harder we have to push. Stop pushing me!
So, for the almighty dollar, I keep plugging. I go in every morning only to hear how bad I am at my job, to get pushed harder and watched under the microscope, afraid to stop to breathe. I’ve had medical issues this year between COVID and heart issues brought on by the stress so I don’t have time off to use for a break. Plus, we are heading into the busy season where all time off requests are in the blackout period for most of the rest of the year. I need to be in therapy for C-PTSD and stress but I have no PTO with which to schedule it. I need 2 weeks off to breathe and reset but I can’t get to a doctor to recommend a short-term for mental health. I can’t afford to just leave because I’m already living paycheck to paycheck and I am the only income in my family. This job is gonna kill me.
F3
I’m sitting under a painting. Knees pulled tight to my chest, soul reaching its tendrils outward into purple-gray clouds. The painting rolls, swirls, builds. Huddled next to a ’74 Chevy Nova – not the safest place. Not even sane. But the view!
It’s thick and it begins descending. The painting shifts, background taking on a sickly green hue. Sky is the color of last week’s black eye – but that’s neither here nor there. Still crouched, half-willing the masterpiece to swallow me whole.
Hail. Screw it. Been beaten before. Let it hail. Not long now. God takes my picture. Here it comes. The painting comes to life. Arms unclench my knees and I unravel my body to stand. The Chevy can’t go anywhere anymore but with any luck, I can. I pray to the tornado, “take me away.” I scream at it. Demand it to. Then the vortex descends.
Covid is a Respite from Work
Disclaimer: I’m not condoning getting Covid. It’s horrible. We (my partner and I) are on day 19 of symptoms that keep coming in waves. It started Christmas Eve. We thought we just had a cold. Scratchy throat, sinusy, coughing, run-down. I started taking a ridiculous amount of zinc (Zicam) and symptoms started ebbing. Christmas night, they came back and by Sunday, I was wiped out. Still went to work Monday with a pack of tissues and a tickly cough that could best be described as annoying. My partner came in 4 hours later and told his supervisor how he was feeling at which point our respective supervisors immediately sent us to get the Brain Probe.
We tried the Health Department tent site – they had run out of tests hours ago but we were still able to register and the administrator promised to call us that afternoon saying she would hold tests for us when she got a resupply. That never happened. I tried to get us in at Walgreens, CVS, the local community clinic, and 2 walk-in clinics – could not get an appointment for over a week. Our job will not accept a home test – they must be done in a lab – but there were no home tests available either just for our own edification. We went home exhausted. I made some more phone calls. Finally I found a sketchy walk in clinic that confirmed there were tests available and they were testing every day from 10 til 2 with the caveat that it would cost $20 with insurance, $100 without. As mad as I was at that, we really had no other choice. Everyone else was no cost – as it should be in the 3rd year of a frikking pandemic – but there were simply no testing supplies anywhere.
The next morning, we tried the tent site again to no avail. Still no tests. We went on down to the sketch walk-in and were able to get right in. Within 72 hours, we had positive results in our emails. My blood went cold when I saw mine. I had no idea what I was in for, how bad symptoms would be, how it would affect my asthma, how long it would last. I had an unknown in my system and no idea how I would react to it. That was terrifying. Even more scary? How the hell am I going to tell my partner who was still sleeping and hadn’t checked his email yet? Having worked in a medical field for 20 years, he was especially up at arms about folks spreading it by not getting vaccinated. The twist here? We had both had both shots AND our booster was done just a week prior to showing the first symptoms. Plus we’d just spent Christmas with his family.
I told my dad first, then my sister, just to practice I suppose. They were concerned and supportive. By the time he woke up, he checked his email and saw his positive, I just said, “Same.” I thought he would be mad but he was just in shock. That was 2 1/2 weeks ago and we’ve had another positive test since then, awaiting our 3rd results. We keep calling in to work every day to ensure we’re still on the payroll. We’re not getting paid because our short term disability has a 2 week elimination period so that’s hit us for about 2 grand. We’re having to get financially creative.
On the bright side, we’ve gotten a lot closer during our quarantine and isolation. We’ve had many good talks, even some including marriage. I’ve gotten a lot done around the house and we’ve gotten caught up on things we’ve been letting slide, including intimate things. We’ve not had work stress, no schedules, just time together and instead of being left at each other’s throats, we’ve actually gotten closer. I have to say I don’t mind the forced lock-in. I couldn’t ask for a better plague partner.
Next results should be ready in the morning. This is round 3. We still have symptoms. All bets welcome.
The rest of you, stay well.
Mosquitoes in December
Alright… I understand it’s Florida. I understand it’s been a strange year for weather what with 15,000 named storms in the Atlantic this hurricane season (which started early and doesn’t want to end). But dear Mother Nature, can you please cut us a break? It’s bad enough to still be in the 80s entering December. The mosquitos though have got to go.
Mosquitos belong in the summer. Steamy August nights, a whining buzz in your ear followed by a slap on the neck. Wearing long sleeves in the 90% humidity even though you know they’re going to bite through your clothing anyway. They are relentless little vampires whose only purpose in life is to eat and breed.
Honestly though, I enjoy my time outside. It’s my space to breathe in the fragrant flora, the scent of rain. It is my space to defuse, to ground, and to let inspiration flow into me. It’s my space to just be one with the earth.
But I can’t *slap* rightly do any of *slap* these things if you *slap* won’t stop frikken *slap* eating me alive!
And when my presence outside isn’t enough for you, you take advantage of every gap in the house you can find to get in. You bite me while I’m working at my desk. You bite me in bed. Do you never sleep? For heaven’s sake it’s December! Go burrow underground or do whatever you do but go away!
Feral Follies
It’s safe to say I live in a cat house though which of us three women here is the quintessential “crazy cat lady” it’s difficult to pinpoint. We are all over 40. We are all essentially homebodies. We all talk to our cats as if they were toddlers. I’ve two of my own, indoor only. They’ve been with me for 8 and 11 years respectively and I would move mountains for them. Each of my three housemates has one indoor-outdoor as their own. And then we have the ferals. Mama, Bobby, TJ, Mango. Mama is the mother of three of our cats – 2 tuxes and a calico. The others, 2 are truly feral and one we discovered was abandoned because when we took her to get her spayed, the vet discovered she already had an unregistered microchip from the next county down.
Well, the orange ferals, Mango and Bobby, have decided they are moving in. Mango was first when he wandered in for breakfast one morning because he wanted the “good food” and just never left. He quickly learned to love the lap and now thinks he’s looking of the castle. Bobby, a real tomcat until he got snipped, he’s slowly getting better with people. He loves the head rubs but don’t dare touch him anywhere past the shoulders. He has a biting habit he needs to break.
TJ, the abandoned female, she’s a lover when she wants to be but only outside and only if you’re sitting down with your hair back. She’s afraid of long hair for some reason so I always have to have mine up in a bun. She could be sweet if she wasn’t so paranoid.
9 cats. 1 house. And truth be told, every hairball, every “accident,” every item knocked out a shelf or table or counter, it’s all worth it for those cuddles. Hopefully though we are not on our way to becoming another Hemingway house.
Shattering Fears with Karaoke
According to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America, approximately 7% of Americans suffer some degree of social anxiety. This reflects only the professionally diagnosed case and encompasses all age groups, generally taking hold during the teen years. It is important to note social anxiety is not simply shyness. It is a psychological disorder that affects the functions of daily life.
My own onset came at some point after college. During my elementary years I was an oddball but then I had an odd upbringing. I still cringe remembering some of my antics and how little I cared about them. High school, the same. I was fearless, had a large group of friends in several different circles, and was open to anything. College came and I calmed down a bit, eventually becoming quite socially isolated once I got established in my own place. I had gotten tossed out of my home at 17 and basically couch surfed and lived in a youth shelter until my first real apartment at 21.
I was ill-prepared for the world. I was terrified and beginning to realize that a single young female was vulnerable. During my transition from a sheltered life to forced independence, I was raped, I was mugged, I was in a physically abusive relationship with the guy I had my first apartment with. He quickly abandoned me (thank God). I was learning not to trust people. I began to leave my apartment less and less, at one point going three months without leaving my room except to retrieve mail and delivered groceries. I existed only online (dial-up, if you can fathom that). Loneliness took over and I tried going on a few blind dates, all of which were disasters. Nope. I was done with people.
After so much avoidance, I could no longer function around people. Even job interviews triggered panic attacks where I would sweat and stammer and make a fool of myself. I remember an incident at a job where I was tasked with giving a PowerPoint presentation on skip tracing and private investigation (I’ve had some interesting jobs). I’d compiled the presentation perfectly however when it came time to present it, I froze. Physically froze. I couldn’t move a muscle. My boss was telling me to start, to speak. My mouth opened and nothing came out. I hid my face. I looked up and the whole office was starting at me. The tears started to come and I ran into the bathroom to cry.
Fast forward to recent years and two of the closest people to me, one being my daughter, also suffer from this level of social anxiety. Whenever I am with them, I have to be the strong one. I have to do the talking. I have to make the moves they can’t, whether it’s asking for help or initiating a phone call. I’ve had to put my own issues aside to help them function with theirs. Someone forcing me to speak couldn’t break the fear but having to be the voice for someone I love certainly helped put a crack in it.
This brings me to this past weekend.
Yep, that’s my weird self. Microphone in hand, I sang my heart out at a small Karaoke party Saturday night. I never thought I’d see the day. The support I had is what made all the difference. It was a small group of very friendly people – perfect strangers and casual friends – and my daughter. She promised if I sang, she would sing with me. She put her own fears aside to coax me through mine, something I’ve been doing for her most of her life. It felt like my parenting had come full circle and I was too proud of her to let her down.
In front of a full bar, there’s no way I could have done it. But in this intimate setting, a tiny lounge in the back of a proper arcade where I know all the regulars, it was scary but not impossible. If I start small, maybe I can use this as therapy and really start to come through the anxiety that has crippled me half my life.
If you’d like to learn more about social anxiety, the following site has a wealth of information on the topic:
ADAA https://adaa.org/understanding-anxiety/social-anxiety-disorder
Gym-spiration – I Need Some
Two years ago I joined Planet Fitness, determined to get out of my funk of being overweight and exhausted. I had a goal of getting my body back to where it was in my twenties. Now being in my 40s, I realize that was quite a lofty goal, nonetheless I worked hard at it. Because of certain health issues that I have, including COPD and asthma, it does make it hard to keep up with workouts the way healthier people would. I was actually proud of myself because I was going to the gym 5 days a week without fail and continuously upping my workouts to beat my personal bests. I did end up losing about 20 lbs, gaining a lot of strength but not a lot of tone. I still had quite a few inches of fat to lose.
Then the pandemic hit. In March and April, all of our gyms started closing down. Membership fees were frozen until an unknown reopening date. I went ahead and canceled mine because I didn’t want to be surprised with a membership fee when they decided to reopen. During that time of being stuck at home, no longer able to go to the gym which was directly between home and my office, which had also shut down, my motivation went to shit. Now I was waking up to walk 20 steps to my desk where I sat for 10 to 11 hours everyday only to walk 20 steps back to bed at the end of my shift. Working at home redefined a sedentary lifestyle. The pounds came back quickly. The energy left quickly.
Now that the gyms are open again, I have been trying to get back on the path albeit slowly. My lack of energy makes it difficult, as does no longer passing by the gym on the way to the office and back home. Now instead of ending my shift at 8:00 p.m. and going to bed, it means actually getting dressed for the gym, driving down there, wearing myself out, and driving back home. When you haven’t really left the house for 8 months, that’s a heck of a chore. I know that one option would be to wake up a couple hours early and go work out before I start my shift but I’m always leery of doing that because anything could happen to make me late for work. I am no stranger to flat tires and dead batteries. I’m also no stranger to back injuries which lay me up for a few days at a time. One wrong move and my scoliosis reminds me it’s there.
I desperately want to get back to my 5-day a week workout routine. The trouble is finding the energy and motivation to do so. I suppose I do have the motivation in being sick and tired of looking the way I do. I know that the more weight I lose the more energy I will have. So what’s my problem? I think once I got into the gym habit it was easy to go. It was my personal time, my alone time, and I looked forward to it. The lockdown broke that habit however and now it is extremely difficult trying to get back into it.
For those of you who continue to go to the gym, I would love to hear what inspires you to keep at it. Let me know in the comment section below what motivates you to be your best self.
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