Category Archives: Life
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.
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.
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.
Wherever You Are, Be All There
As the stress of existing in 2020 continues to build, it is now more important than ever to remember that stress itself has a wide fallout of other symptoms. Headaches, high blood pressure, anxiety… These are just a few signs of the brain and body experiencing increased stress. Taking just a few minutes out of everyday to sit still, breathe, and meditate can do wonders. While our minds are busy trying to process information about everything we are going through right now, both individually and as a nation, it is imperative that we reset often and let all of it go for a little bit.
It doesn’t take any kind of special knowledge to simply meditate. With practice however you will certainly find the effects become more tangible and you start feeling healthier mentally as well as physically. Once that stress leaves your body there is a noticeable difference. Of course it will return because these are the times we live in. That’s when it’s time to meditate again. And again. Make self-care a habit that you cannot break.
There is always time and a place to meditate.
I live in a house with three other people, my extended family. We are four people in a two bedroom house and understandably it gets a little crowded at times. I work 10-hour shifts and have some small semblance of a social life. Even so, I still find and defend my personal space and time whenever necessary.
As someone who already suffers from anxiety and hypertension, quieting my mind and achieving that peace is necessary to my daily health routine. Though I rarely have any true privacy, there are still places I can go. I have no problem locking myself in the bathroom for 10 minutes. Nor do I mind sitting in the cab of my truck with the windows closed and absolute silence. Sometimes I will drive out to the river during off peak hours and sit alone just listening to the water. Sometimes sitting on the front porch and focusing on a specific bird song, or even the conversations between the mockingbirds and the scrub jays brings me back into myself.
10 breaths is all it takes. A slow breath in, holding it for as long as I can, and slowly letting it go. As I exhale, the picture all the stress leaving my body. Financial troubles, drama at work, the stress that seeps off others… I push it all out with every exhale. Sometimes I will do this between calls at work, usually on every break. After a full day on the phone, it becomes necessary to close my eyes, cover my ears, and just stop everything for a while. Via my smartwatch, I can literally watch my pulse go down from around 120 to 78 or so within the course of a few minutes simply by physically blocking all external stimulus and consciously breathing.
When you feel overwhelmed, never be ashamed to hold up your hand and tell someone that you need a moment. Go off on your own, close your eyes, breathe. It is far better to take a few moments to yourself than to let the stress build. Eventually it has to come out somewhere.
Couch Surfing Grandmas
I’m not entirely sure what’s happening but every year when I look at my earnings over the years, I find myself making less than I did a decade ago, even as a teenager. Doing relatively the same work, I earned more in my 20s then I do in my 40s. This mystery drives even deeper when I do the math and realize that at my current wage, there is no way to afford my own place whereas before 2012, I’d lived on my own since I was 17. I also was reminded of this when I heard from a friend who let me know that she would be staying with one of our other friends until she could find a place to live.Â
We are both mature adults with a long career history. I have a grown child, she has grandchildren. What has happened that neither of us, nor many others we know, are unable to afford basic shelter on our own? Where has the income gone? The LIVABLE income that we used to make? Rents have tripled in the past 10 years but pay rates have gone down. The company we work for does not give annual merit pay increases. Some folks have been at the company 10+ years and are still at their starting pay, stuck because of the lack of work available elsewhere in the area. Middle class is now low income. Here we are, with college degrees and solid work histories, with children and grandchildren, and we are living off food pantries and friends’ couches. Something is very wrong here.
In the recent election, florida voters went all in to approve a bill to raise the minimum wage to $15/hour. It will happen gradually over the next few years. In 2025 myself and many others will be back to making what we did 20 years ago. But now what is that going to do to rent prices and other necessities like food and utilities? If the cost of living increases even slightly, we’ll be right back where we are now, struggling, savings depleted just to cover a few months of hardship. Something’s got to give.Â
Daily Prompt – Don’t You Forget About Me
As you walk on by…. (Sing it with me now!)
Will you call my name? Will you remember me at all? Will I have done anything in my life that will have had an impact on anyone near to me (or far)? What will I be remembered for?
I never imagined there would be very many people at my funeral, if there was one. I’d always just hoped someone would be in my life who would be willing to dump my ashes off the side of a plane over the Everglades. On the other hand, of course it would be nice to have a finely inscribed headstone commemorating some important aspect of my life. If anything, I’d want to be remembered for the sacrifices I have made in my life to ensure that my child has more opportunities than I did (and they have been incredibly painful sacrifices). I want to go down as a Saint for work with the less fortunate – even while the majority of my life has seen me as one of those less fortunate. I want to be remembered as humble, generous, hard working, intelligent and wise, as a mother, a Christian, and hopefully one day as a beloved wife. I want my writings – poetry, lyrics, fiction and non – to be read by my family and descendants so that they may have a deeper understanding of the person I was. I’m quite forgettable in reality, but I guess in the end, I just want to be remembered with love.
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