Out of the Storm

I don't know how much or how often I will write here. I am going through a challenging time, and I want to do it in a different way than in the past. I need to find a way to be with myself through this, and with others who understand the context of having been a neglected and abused child. Without that context my experience and my behavior doesn't make sense. When I share with people in my life "I feel anxious about X," no one knows the depth of that feeling because they don't have the context, and even if I gave them the information of the context, not having experienced CPTSD they still can't really understand. As I've read posts here, I know here people understand CPTSD.

Many people going through a struggle or illness have some of these reactions, but for me, these common grief reactions are resonating with a lifetime of grief and inflaming the wounds of my childhood, reawakening old thoughts, habits, beliefs, fears. All my life I've struggled with two main symptoms of CPTSD: Avoidance, and Re-experiencing or emotional flashbacks. I don't want to go into avoidance, or I'll forget appointments, not follow instructions, and neglect my health, but I also don't want to relive past emotions in my present situation. Maybe if I keep track of my experience by sharing it here, I'll find other ways of being with this experience than avoiding it and pretending it's not happening, or drowning in it and feeling this is the ONLY thing that's happening and it's a repeat of my childhood.

All my life I've been isolated in the sense that I never share my past. If anyone asks or notices anything about me, I just say "I was raised by wolves," as a joke and move on. I don't want to say that anymore, I would like to be more direct and clear, at least being able to say, "I had a challenging childhood" to give people some way to understand me. So I can kind of practice that here. I had a challenging childhood, LOL. I understand myself, but I often ignore or "forget" what I know and then become confused. Maybe journaling will help with that too.

TW as I will describe some of the triggers which include some references to abuse experiences but will not be graphic.

Some of the triggers are physical:

My temperature regulation is totally off and I'm always too hot, or I'm in a cold sweat. It's easy to start to feel panicked, like when I was hiding from abuse under my covers, or sweaty and running away.

My rib muscles are strained so I have pain or pressure in my chest and it's difficult to take deep breath at times. This feeling also makes me feel panic as in some of my trauma it was difficult to get a deep breath.

I can't use my arm the way I want, I have to be aware of not lifting heavy things. This makes me feel helpless, which is very scary as I felt helpless as a child, I was neglected. I start to feel like "I can't get food" or "I need water." I'm perfectly able to get myself food and water, but I have to do it more carefully, and that's scary for some reason. I feel compromised. I also feel restricted, which makes me feel like I need to run.

Some of the triggers are emotional or beliefs. I feel a lot of guilt. I was punished a lot as a child in unreasonable ways for unreasonable reasons. The triggers:

I can't help but feel that what I'm going through is a punishment for having been abused and not standing up for myself correctly as a child. I feel that I betrayed myself when I wept after being hit or apologized in order to end a tirade or went along with something I didn't want to do to avoid punishment, and now myself is taking revenge on me.

I feel this is a punishment for not doing enough healing work in therapy or not working hard. Even though I've been in therapy for thirty years.

Or a punishment for not being more integrated, not being more "out" about my past, for hiding my past or not living more directly or honestly and pretending I was a person who had a great childhood and that I was a person to whom nothing bad had ever happened.

Or a punishment for how I coped, by people-pleasing or avoiding conflict at work or at home, punishment for denial and telling myself and others "I'm fine" when I wasn't.

Or a punishment for not being able to speak up, or speak to, doctors, or to remember what they say and make sense of it, or kept up with my health better. I shut down around doctors and fawn or freeze, and often have to be sedated for basic exams, but now I'm having to see doctors who don't sedate, and I need to remember what they say. I'm afraid to bring anyone with me to the appointments.

Last, figuring out how to get help is very very triggering for me. TRIGGER WARNING for description of abuse: When I was an abused child age nine, at one point I was taken to the doctor. The doctor was concerned enough to send my mother out of the room so he could speak to me alone and do an exam. No nurse present. But what I experienced of the doctor's exam was abusive itself, and therapists have confirmed that what happened was completely outside the bounds of an exam and it was abusive. Aspects of it were inappropriate for a child exam no matter what. For me it's never the abuse itself that messes me up, it's how people respond to it and this is one example of how people responded: My mother demanded to know what he had done, and I couldn't really tell her as I was frozen. She was enraged after the appointment, at herself for leaving the room as she assumed he had abused me, but more at me, for allowing her to leave the room and being abused, and screamed at me all the way home, then told my dad I was a horrible person, I won't use the words she used. Of course she herself had been abused as a child, so I understand her reaction. But her reaction was confusing, and she was also abusive. I was never taken back to that doctor's office. As an adult I made a request for medical records, and the exam was noted, but not an accurate description of what I experienced. And I was sent back home to by parents, despite evidence noting signs of abuse in the record, and no treatment was provided. The help did not help, it made things worse.

So although I have had many wonderful doctors as an adult, I have a fundamental tangle around medical help. Having to see a lot of doctors now, and deciding who to trust, is very triggering.

Confusion itself is a trigger. The whole thing was very confusing because all the adults involved were abusing me, and all of them seemed angry at me for being abused, and all seemed to know the others were abusing me, but no one did anything about it except abuse me more for it.

That's the story of my whole childhood and that's where the wounding really is, my endless confusion and how people were behaving, who knew what and how to hide it from everyone while still getting enough to eat, drink, and medical care, confusion about what I had done that was so wrong to cause all of it, and continually being punished for the crime of having already been punished, or the crime of someone finding out I had been punished/abused. Or the crime of being confused.

I feel like I'm in an emotional flashback a lot lately where I'm just confused about what the doctors are advising, confused about their motives, why they are doing what they are doing, feeling they just want to hurt or wound me (which sounds crazy to write! but that's how I feel sometimes), confused about if they can see my past, what they make of "Why" I am sick, what they make of any scars or behaviors they see, and how if at all to tell them or explain why I can't speak or am shaking, feeling if I do tell them or they realize, it will make things worse....Confused about what's wrong with me and why I can't do all of this like a "normal" person. Until I remember CPTSD, I feel I need to tattoo "CPTSD" on my arm or something.

I'm also unable to tell anyone in my life that I'm even sick. It took me a month to tell my partner, but I'm not letting them be involved or come to appointments or read reports. I can't talk to them about how I feel, not because of who they are but because of who I am, it's too triggering, I'm afraid. And I told my therapist, and now I told a sibling but again they're not involved in the appointments or information. I can't seem to tell anyone else, it feels like revealing abuse, which was unsafe. So I've stopped responding to texts and calls from friends. To parents of my kids' friends, when I can't drive or can't get my kid to something, I don't know what to say about why. This experience makes me feel derealization which is a terrible feeling. I am having EF to being a child and managing two different realities, what's happening at home, and who I am at school, and acting "fine" while juggling a pack of hyenas and trying not to get bit.

This way of coping is already becoming even more isolating than my life already was as now I have another "secret" and something that is causing me to behave differently, but I can't explain. No one in my life knows of my past other than my partner, who I never really "told" they just figured it out over time, and of course my sibling who lived it too. I left home at 18, moved 500 miles away and went low/no contact. It worked for what it worked for but it doesn't entirely work to live as a person with no past. This is part of why I joined the forum.... and then I got sick! Irony, or an opportunity, I suppose. I haven't been this triggered in a very long time. I was just working on being more integrated, self-aware, and letting others become aware that my past was difficult, and now I'm REALLY having to make quick progress on that project!

I know that these are triggers, they are irrational thoughts and also common emotions for anyone with CPTSD. I know that I could CBT the thoughts. I could practice radical acceptance of the experience and work on emotional regulation and distress tolerance, as in DBT. I could welcome the feelings, as in parts work, and thank them for trying to help me solve this illness, understanding their good intent to protect me in ways that worked in the past, by making me think it's my fault, so I could control it and undo it. Or by confusing me so I don't get emotionally overwhelmed and am more numb. Or I could take these beliefs and emotional flashbacks to EMDR and bring the intensity down. I've done all of those things in the past. For today, I'll put them here.

Thank you all for reading, and for making this forum such a supportive place. I'm open to comments, shared experiences, support! I prefer not have a lot of advice because I'm going to get a lot of "eat this not that" and "don't use a microwave" and "just make a list of your questions" advice as people find out my situation. My problem isn't that I dont know what to do, it's that I can't do it because of CPTSD and I already feel bad that I am doing all of this so badly. It helps just to know other people also have experiences of CPTSD symptoms, have navigated living through and with a challenging childhood, and understand and support.

I hope that I will be able to keep writing and find a way to go through my experience as all of me, aware of my past but not re-experiencing it, living in the present but not avoiding my past, and with other people who understand the context I'm living in, the context of relational trauma, attachment wounding, childhood abuse and neglect. Then I will make sense to others and to myself, because we all know what makes it all make sense: CPTSD.

I am really sorry that you are sick and that you have particular issues with the medical profession due to childhood experiences.

Lots of people with CPTSD have issues with the medical profession - I think it often stems from the medics coming across as authority figures who have all the power. And it is impossible for that not to remind us of past experiences with abusers. I had a period of serious health issues starting in 2023 and finally being diagnosed in 2024 followed immediately by a pneumonia crash, hospitalisation/ICU and what have you. Your issues with having to remain present and remember what the medics say resonates hugely. I realised in 2023 that I would have to advocate for myself and that I had spent the whole of my life previously basically hoping for the best and dissociating through medical appointments. It is really hard and because of the somewhat challenging "know all" attitude of many medics it can be very triggering. I did discover, however, that I had a voice and I could complain about poor treatment when it occurred. I could ask medics to repeat themselves and the sky would not fall in. The effort is huge and draining, especially at the beginning.

I also understand the feeling of doing it all so badly and feeling incapable of navigating these "simple" things like a "normal" adult.  I don't think these things are simple, my T tells me there is no such thing as a normal adult, and I am utterly sure you are not doing it badly at all. You are doing what you can do, and you are impressively aware of the tools you have available to help you when you have the bandwidth to use them. I hope you have found it helpful to write in this journal.

I'm glad you made it clear that you are not wanting a lot of advice.  Please always feel free to make it clear what sort of responses are helpful or you'd prefer not to receive. I have a tendency to leap in with suggestions that may not be helpful and I don't always catch myself doing it. So also feel free to issue reminders though I hope you won't need to.

Wishing you all the best for 2026.

NarcKiddo, thank you so much for commenting.

I really value hearing your experience with the kind of thing I'm struggling with. I know intellectually "I'm not alone, millions of people grew up with parents with PD, or are neglected/abused and many have CPTSD or relational trauma symptoms!" and yet it's my habit to feel like I'm the only person on the planet who has these kinds of responses. Many people with CPTSD have difficulty with doctors! It's always a hooray/boo feeling, hooray, I'm not alone! boo, other people suffered. And, hooray, I'm not such an outlier than no one can relate.

I'm so sorry that you dealt with illness and difficulty dealing with doctors too.

Thank you for using the word "dissociation." I struggle with dissociation and I find it scary to realize I've "forgotten" something or that I didn't take in what was said, it makes me feel out of control of myself.

Yes, advocacy. I do want to improve my self advocacy. I have a child with special needs and I basically had to become an unofficial attorney to get them services, so I know how to advocate and be clear and collaborative. I just have to use those skills for myself now. I can't admit my difficulty to anyone if I can't first admit it to myself, and that's part of what this journal is already doing for me.

Thank you again for reading and taking the time to comment.  :)

HannahOne, thank you for trusting this space with something so layered and painful. What you describe makes deep sense in the context of severe relational trauma: the confusion, the guilt, the fear around seeking help (same here with doctors), the body reactions, the isolation. None of it reads as failure or weakness to me; it reads as a nervous system doing its best to survive conditions that were profoundly unsafe.

I'm really glad you put this here instead of carrying it alone. You're being seen, and you make sense here.
:bighug:
(if that's ok)

HannahOne,
I can tell 100% that you are a beautiful human being with a heart of gold.
:hug:

HannahOne, Finally putting a name on my condition, Cptsd, was a huge help for me. It has changed everything. I now know what I am struggling about. As mentioned, I think my struggle got much more difficult once I realized all the interwoven aspects of developmental trauma. And as I started to link things up, and connect the dots, the conflicting emotions were terrible. I struggle enormously still. There's so much to make sense of and work out. But it helps so much knowing that I'm not the only one. Thank you for sharing your story.
 :hug:

Quote from: TheBigBlue on December 31, 2025, 03:02:01 PMHannahOne, thank you for trusting this space with something so layered and painful. What you describe makes deep sense in the context of severe relational trauma: the confusion, the guilt, the fear around seeking help (same here with doctors), the body reactions, the isolation. None of it reads as failure or weakness to me; it reads as a nervous system doing its best to survive conditions that were profoundly unsafe.

I'm really glad you put this here instead of carrying it alone. You're being seen, and you make sense here.
:bighug:
(if that's ok)

Thank you for commenting, TheBigBlue. Yes, confusion, guilt, fear, isolation. It's such a relief to make sense to other people! For me one of the most painful things about CPTSD is the look people sometimes give me, as if I have three heads. I know it's just because my responses don't always make sense. But it's awesome to experience making sense to others, without having to explain a lot.

And yes, I have to remember it's my nervous system. I often think of the crab from the little Mermaid movie---"My nerves are shot!"  :)  My poor nerves, LOL. I am going to try to do more calming and regulating things like exercise (walking my dog), listening to music. It's easy to think the problem is "in my head," but it's "in my nervous system," of which my brain is just one part.

Quote from: Marcine on December 31, 2025, 03:10:46 PMHannahOne,
I can tell 100% that you are a beautiful human being with a heart of gold.
:hug:

Hi Marcine :) THere's no emoticon for blushing. :)  Thank you for the kind words.

Quote from: Chart on December 31, 2025, 04:31:04 PMHannahOne, Finally putting a name on my condition, Cptsd, was a huge help for me. It has changed everything. I now know what I am struggling about. As mentioned, I think my struggle got much more difficult once I realized all the interwoven aspects of developmental trauma. And as I started to link things up, and connect the dots, the conflicting emotions were terrible. I struggle enormously still. There's so much to make sense of and work out. But it helps so much knowing that I'm not the only one. Thank you for sharing your story.
 :hug:

Hi Chart, thank you for commenting. Yes I seem to go in and out of being willing to accept that this is CPTSD, somehow that fact itself can be triggering. Maybe because I didn't speak about my experience, and when someone found out it was always a disaster.

I think that's something I'm still realizing too, the "interwoven aspects." It's a lot to make sense of for sure. I once compared it to a football-field sized waffle. I have to digest this ENTIRE thing!? It's going to take me a lifetime, LOL!

The doctor's appointment was ok, it was the surgeon today. I meant to have my sibling on the phone to listen but when the doctor came in I panicked and was afraid to dial. But I did write everything down that was said and I got my bandages OFF which feels so much better. And I got very good news overall, everything was removed that needed to be, I don't have to hurry to do anything more immediately, I have time to see a specialist and consider next steps.  I am so relieved. It couldn't have been a better outcome.

Today is New Years Eve. As for many holidays NYE was often tough. I remember one year, I think the year I was nine, frantically cleaning the house before midnight as if that would somehow make a clean slate or fresh start, and then crying when midnight struck and I hadn't finished cleaning the dog's foodbowls. I noticed that today I did quite a bit of cleaning, and I still feel I have more to do. Cleaning is one way I cope with stress. My extended family had some serious hoarders, my mother much milder and she did try to keep house but I"m more of a minimalist and need things to feel a certain way. My kids can be as messy as they want. I just need to mop the floors when I'm stressed!

In the new year I am hoping to continue pursuing making art, making friends, and expressing myself.

I have been studying painting for about seven years, but I still struggle to paint by myself. I get paralyzed and very self conscious and I forget how to do the steps, I get disoriented and freeze. I have my painting table set up.... So I'd like to keep working with myself about that. I will continue meeting with one friend weekly to paint.

I lost most of my friends during the pandemic. The pandemic was overall hellish as my partner works in healthcare and had a breakdown, my child had a breakdown, and then we lost our jobs and were unemployed for almost a year, prepared to move. I also ended up very isolated. I feel like I'm still trying to get back to where we were in 2019. So I am practicing going out every day even if only to the store, and chatting with the workers there. I hope to join a hiking or book club and meet more people. I am also hoping to get back into work part time. I've had a small business for since the pandemic but I'm tired of it and I want to have more structure and leave home to work. I don't know what work I can do as I want to change fields but I'm curious. I hope to meet people and find friends again.

And I want to keep practicing and playing with expressing myself. I do that through writing, but especially lately through clothes. I always thought fashion was silly, frivolous. My father was extremely misogynist and my parents very strict religious. And my father was very frugal to the point of not heating the house, not letting us use hot water.... He could be generous at times he chose, but in general was extremely controlling. So we didn't have new clothes, or didn't have clothes that were in style, and had to dress very plain and modest because he thought it was a waste of money and time to do otherwise. I agreed with those values for a very long time and never bothered much about what I wore. But this year I realized that I often don't leave the house because I'm wearing clothes that make me embarrassed. Or make me feel invisible. Everything was black or grey. Saggy. Five-ten years old and often was already secondhand when I got it. And out of date. It made me feel sad.

Getting out of the depression of the last five years meant getting out of bed, getting out of the house and that meant getting dressed. I would take care of the house chores and kids and then when they left, go back to bed in my sweats.... Instead I took all my clothes out of my closet, got rid of a good bit, and starting going to thrift stores. I also went to very expensive stores and tried things on. Twice a week I would go out and spend a few hours trying on all kinds of things I would never wear. If I liked something at the thrift store, I bought it, if I liked something at the expensive stores, I went home and bought it for half or less on eBay :)  I now have a nice small wardrobe of clothes that fit and that I can mix and match.

I'm kind of obsessed and like to just touch each thing and count what I have. I have 7 pants, from wide leg dark jeans to barrel jeans to black palazzo pants and white barrel cotton pants, and a pair of black and white track pants. I also have a pair of green pants, and camo pants! I love pants that are structured and have a strong shape. I have 4 button downs: white, black, blue and blue stripe. I love button downs because they are masculine and have a collar. My dad was a narcissist, so it's complicated. I worshipped him for many years even though he hurt me, I'm told it was like Stockhom syndrome. I'm over it now... except part of me still wants to dress like he did, Respectable and Competent in button down shirts. So, I wear them! I have 2 sweaters: fluffy brown, and white boat neck. I have 4 t shirts: 3 white, 1 black. I have 3 long sleeve t shirts, black, red, blue. I have 1 skirt, long blue satin. I have 8 jackets. Jackets are my thing. Also it's cold where I live. I feel safe in a jacket, without it I feel exposed. This is something I'm working on... but I Also love to layer, and I like that jackets are structured and masculine and say "competent." I have a black leather jacket, a light brown cropped suede jacket and a dark brown suede cropped. A black blazer. An orange jacket! A khaki blazer. A white lady jacket in the Chanel style. And a grey tweed jacket. I love to wear the white lady jacket with just the top button buttoned and the bottom open, making a triangle with the color of my t shirt showing under.

I also love my shoes. For five years I wore black felt clogs. The soles are worn flat. That's all I had! So depressing, I would just slide my sad foot into the clog and shuffle around....I now have pink sneakers, pine green sneakers, leopard print flats, brown loafers, black Chelsea boots, burgundy heeled ankle boots, and sandals. I LOVE putting a pink sneaker with. my blue satin skirt (dressy, and casual! Ready for a formal dinner, and to dance!) Or black track pants with leopard print flats and a blue button down (I'm sporty casual and also business like, with a wild side!)

I LOVE trying on and figuring out what colors I like. How to put opposite colors together for contrast, or analogous colors together for more harmony. How to wear green with orange, or green with blue. And shape, silhouette, how to wear tight with loose, or make a shape with clothes. And texture--velvet, silk, demin, wool, leather.... it's like painting in a way. Contrast, cohesion, harmony, message.

Except it involves me, my body, how I appear in the world, how others see and relate to me and most important, what I WANT TO SAY. Do I want to say "I am feminine and masculine, low contrast and practical?" I could wear a lace black top with a pink blazer, and practical flat shoes.  Do I want to say "I'm defended and edgy with a soft feminine side?" I could wear leather jacket with camo pants and pink ballet flats. Do I want to say "I'm competent and have authority, listen up!" I can wear a red top with a blazer and skirt, and boots. Do I want to say "I'm complicated?" LOL. I can wear a barn jacket with wide leg jeans and a pearl necklace, with red sneakers and an oversized scarf. There are so many things I can say with clothes, and I don't have to be loud, dramatic, flashy or weird to dress myself in a way that's interesting and expressive. A simple pair of jeans, a top, and shoes can say a lot. One thing I always try to say is, "I've come a long way to get here." I always try to have something in my outfit that says "rural, practical, poor, simple." That's my background. And something that says "professional, cultured, educated" as that's how I got out of my background. And then something that says "artistic, creative, fun," as that's who I am at heart. Whatever it says, as long as my outfit is intentional, I'm saying "I care about myself. I'm not afraid to be here and engage. I'm here on purpose."

And the clothes are for me only. No one else can wear them, they benefit no one else, they go on my body, to protect it and express it. 

The more I consciously ask myself what I want to say, and then go out of the house in my clothes, the more I am able to look people in the eye. Be present. Show up. Start conversations. Smile at people. And feel more part of the human race.

The situation with my health is making my relationship with my body a little more complicated and I Can feel part of me wanting to go back to sweatpants (not that there's anything wrong with sweatpants!It's just not really what I want to say about myself).... part of me wants to stop exploring and forget about my body and just stay in the house daydreaming. But I want to continue forward. I feel keenly aware I have this one life and I made a commitment to myself at a very young age that I would find a way to happiness, I would escape and make a life worth living. I want to continue to keep that promise to myself. Doesn't mean life will be easy or straightforward, but I can make it worth what I went through, I can enjoy happiness where I find it, I can keep showing up and saying what it is I want to say.  :cheer:

This is amazing stuff, HannahOne! Your different clothes express different aspects of your personality and you are making it a creative practice to get dressed and engage with the world... As well as a defiant triumph over your father's controlling, extreme frugality.
Inspiring!
And great news from the doctor, yay!

Absolutely beautiful post, HannahOne, thank you so much for sharing and inspiring. And I'm impressed (and jealous? :-) of your wonderfully structured writing!
 :hug:

I really enjoyed the tour through your wardrobe. Thank you! I have a complicated relationship with clothing for many reasons so it was really interesting to read your comments.

I have found art to be astonishingly therapeutic, so I hope you find a way to fully harness that aspect of it for yourself. I'm glad you have the painting table set up and plan to pursue painting with a friend.

It was great to read that you had such a good appointment with the doctor and that things are going in the right direction.

Hello HannahOne, a belated welcome to you to the forum and it sure sounds you came to the right place. I'm very sad for you having had these experiences and feeling the way you do now as a result. And it makes so much sense to me. Most everything you wrote resonates with me so much it's unbelievable. Me, I have 'known' I have CPTSD for a while now but still part of me wants to forget that and reading your story is extremely valididating to me too, so I want to thank you for sharing. Yes, these are normal responses to a terrible upbringing.

Including what you wrote about your wardrobe, I have similiar 'interesting' features and feelings surrounding that, repeating patterns I know so well and that were useful/necessary before and other parts not wanting to do do that anymore. Stuff I used to wear for years, wanting to hide myself in them. And a tiny part of me not wanting to be so 'modest' at all! Stuff I still wear because I know my mother would have approved of them (if not of me) and even still I'm wearing her clothes too.

And I also do something similar to your counting things. I make lists in my head of houses I lived in, cars I owned, places I visited for holidays etc. And I really want to finish these lists in my head as well. It seems to be some coping mechanism, I'm thinking it's OCD-ish (for me that is). I recently discovered this and now, whenever I catch myself, I try telling myself I'm safe instead. (Not to be taken as advice, only sharing what it's like for me.)

Hope I'm not crowding your journal, please let me know if I am. I hope I'm not trespassing. It all just resonated to much I wanted to share.

I'm sending best wishes for you and a hug if that's okay.

Thank you Marcine, Chart, and NarcKiddo for the comments. I really appreciate it. It's important for us to feel heard.

Marcine, thank you for commenting! yes I love how you put it, it does feel like a triumph over my past and my father's worldview. I struggle with this because I don't want to disown my past, I want to own it and make it truly mine, which means adapting it to fit me, like altering my men's thrifted trousers to fit me or tying my button down at the waist. When I do that the feeling really is triumphant, I can feel joy of my inner child or past self, it feels like keeping a promise. Also, I thrifted, which is frugal as he was, and then spent cash on tailoring, LOL, which he would never do. This is a dance I'm continuing to figure out. He still looms large in some ways, I can't make decisions without factoring his influence in, but that's because if I don't consciously factor in his influence, I often just act out what he would do unconsciously out of fear or habit. I don't want to live in his limited world.

Chart, thank you! I used to be a professional writer. I don't know how I feel about that anymore but unlike painting, with writing I feel I have some control or mastery sometimes and that feels pretty good. Often it's still a lot of effort but it feels good to be able to make choices on how to express myself, to know what the choices are, to understand the structure and be able to pick one. I'm practicing that same thing with clothes now. So if you like writing I hope you keep at it because expressing yourself how you choose is important, you deserve that.

NarcKiddo, thank you for sharing that you also have a complicated relationship with clothing! I'm a bit amazed at how much people here have in common. It feels so good to hear similarities with others and also learn more about how we are different and unique individuals.

Quote from: Desert Flower on January 01, 2026, 02:50:51 PMHello HannahOne, a belated welcome to you to the forum and it sure sounds you came to the right place. I'm very sad for you having had these experiences and feeling the way you do now as a result. And it makes so much sense to me. Most everything you wrote resonates with me so much it's unbelievable. Me, I have 'known' I have CPTSD for a while now but still part of me wants to forget that and reading your story is extremely valididating to me too, so I want to thank you for sharing. Yes, these are normal responses to a terrible upbringing.


Including what you wrote about your wardrobe, I have similiar 'interesting' features and feelings surrounding that, repeating patterns I know so well and that were useful/necessary before and other parts not wanting to do do that anymore. Stuff I used to wear for years, wanting to hide myself in them. And a tiny part of me not wanting to be so 'modest' at all! Stuff I still wear because I know my mother would have approved of them (if not of me) and even still I'm wearing her clothes too.

And I also do something similar to your counting things. I make lists in my head of houses I lived in, cars I owned, places I visited for holidays etc. And I really want to finish these lists in my head as well. It seems to be some coping mechanism, I'm thinking it's OCD-ish (for me that is). I recently discovered this and now, whenever I catch myself, I try telling myself I'm safe instead. (Not to be taken as advice, only sharing what it's like for me.)

Hope I'm not crowding your journal, please let me know if I am. I hope I'm not trespassing. It all just resonated to much I wanted to share.

I'm sending best wishes for you and a hug if that's okay.

Thank you DesertFlower for commenting! Thank you for sharing what resonated with you, it feels so good to hear what makes sense to others.

No I dont' feel anyone is crowding my journal but thank you for asking. I don't really know how these should be done or how I should be replying but I really value hearing what other people think and feel on here. I am trying to understand myself and I can only do that in the context of other people, because I am a people :)  I am trying to remember that I am a member of the human race. I am very happy to clutter my own journal with comments :) It's a community document and I hope it may even be helpful to others too.

I am looking for commonality with other people and also interested in their uniqueness so I appreciate hearing what resonated for you or how it differed, I learn from that too. Thank you for sharing your experience with taking delivery of what it means to have CPTSD, and your experience with clothes!

Thank you also for commenting about counting things. I was interested in what you said. I do think I have a touch of OCD, as hoarding and OCD run in my family. I also wonder about the relationship of OCD in my own case with trauma. There are many ways counting functions for me.

I think one reason is that in my early childhood years I experienced neglect. My parents were young. They told me they would go play cards with the neighboring apartments, beers. Fun, where was I? Oh, in my crib. For hours of cards and drinking. Standards of parenting were different then, but yikes. I was a three pound preemie, guys...My first memories are sitting at the sliding window in the apartment as darkness fell. Alone in the apartment, I must have been a late toddler. Seeing all the twinkling lights knowing there were people out there and I would find them someday. Add in that we were quite poor, my mother wasn't mentally well and also didn't drive so couldn't get groceries, my father was working 80 hour weeks on commission and extremely rigid and controlling about what could be purchased... there just wasn't much of anyone in the house even when they were home, and wasn't much food in general.

I count to have a sense of control. My narc dad wanted me to be a genius so he taught me things very young. My first memories of food is counting bites. Later I counted the apples in the fridge and figured if they didn't come back, I could eat one per day and survive four days. This was before kindergarten so I must have been about four.

I count because OCD was made worse by religiosity, which my parents got deeper and deeper into as I grew up. So I had fear and a sense that I needed inner control, to keep track, monitor.

I also think that I count because I am very concerned that I don't hoard. Counting makes sure it's a manageable amount of things.

I find that when I'm doing a behavior the causes are always multifactorial, and because it works for multiple reasons and for multiple aspects of me. You could say counting meets the needs of multiple parts of me: parts that want control, parts that want security, parts that want to make sure it's enough, parts that want to make sure it's not too much or fear being overwhelmed, parts that need to monitor. Those all sound similar but they're coming from different experiences, of lack, of hoarding, of religion, of fear.

You use parts language, and I do too. I've found it the only way to make sense of my contradictions, and the best way to be authentic about my experience. I need to be able to say, "part of me thinks this, but the other part thinks that..." if I just say "I think this," it's not true and it can't be, I have no way to be honest in that way of expression.

The poverty changed as I grew my father was able to pull us to the middle class and by high school I went to a private prep school (at which point my mother learned to drive, yay! began to hoard, boo!, and we had TOO MUCh stuff). The prep school was awesome and gave me my path out. However, it also made me hyperaware of class, and my place. I had to learn a lot of new customs, ways of speaking, topics to speak about and not speak about, mannerisms, ways to dress and do hair, BRANDS, lol.... and of course I couldn't ever pull it off, and not only because my father wouldn't buy me the expensive things. I think that's part of why I love the fashion mashup! I am a mashup myself, of cultures, class, place, style, values, a mashup of experiences of poverty and privilege, abuse and care, extreme neglect and extreme support. There are so many oddities in my life experience, I mean, who doesn't make sure their toddler has food, but buys them books and teaches them to read? A narcissist! Who knocks their kid down, then carries them to bed? A narcissist? Who sends their abused and neglected child to an expensive prep school!? A narcissist! How could such a frugal man who wont' turn on the hot water heater and made us take icy showers in a 55 degree house in winter spend money on private school? Because he's a narcissist! It's really a lot of contradiction to manage. Counting is simple :)

The clothes is how I'm trying to bring it all together right now, to express the contradictions that make up all parts of  me, so that I can make sense to others and myself...so I can connect. I can't be a person alone, we are herd animals :)

This clothes thing, absolutely amazing! I particularly like the playful aspect of it. Freedom to be who you are at any given moment. Lightness around it. Fun too? This is empowerment in practice. It's genius on many levels at the same time. Unapologetic. I think you have invented a therapy. Ever thought about guiding others with this? I'm really enjoying the inner strength and dignity that shines through your writing! Reading about your traumatic history makes that all the more impressive.

I think I also recognize "being strong and independent" as a survival strategy. I know from experience that's incredibly lonely and challenging to address. It took a complete collapse and some ontological shocks for that penny to drop for me. You are also welcome when you are not strong, or if you need help or support yourself. That is not a crime, and if there's shame around it, that too is welcome. It's all human. It corrodes isolation and loneliness to share. You know all of this already. No advice. An ongoing invitation if this resonates.

I'm so happy to hear you got such good news from the doc, despite the panic that kicked in!
 :grouphug:

Thank you so much for commenting, SenseOrgan!

The clothing thing is a kind of therapy I think! There's a term I learned "visual cultural criticism", studies how images shape identity and culture. And thats kind of what I'm doing, I'm learning another language to use to shape my own identity. That's a very powerful thing, to shape, to express, to be visible, to be participating in the culture. I feel that as a neglected traumatized child I struggled to participate in the world, did not want to be visible, didn't feel I could shape interactions and struggled to learn social rules, social interaction, human culture. I felt like a lone wolf, a wild beast in exile! I had a recurring dream that I showed up at a party wearing a Cookie Monster suit, a blue furry thing with google eyes... LOL. I was both hidden within the suit, safe, and also completely inappropriately dressed, not very comfortable. So it's really exciting to feel like I'm learning the language of fashion/clothes. Also since this is something I eschewed and downplayed all my life as "silly" or "not me", it's interesting midlife to turn around and embrace it as "part of me" and "worth spending time on if I enjoy it."

I agree, being strong and independent was a survival strategy--a mental strategy as much as physical. I needed to think of myself as that "lone wolf" in order to tolerate the isolation of no one knowing what was going on. It can be scary to not be independent and I'm definitely scared to feel weak. And this is something I'm working on becoming more comfortable with or just embracing the fear of it! Thank you for the invitation to try out different ways of being.

I had a good day, hanging out with fellow OOTS'ers here, getting some housework and cooking done, taking kids to appointments. For the last few years I spent too much time lying down in bed in a freeze, if the kids weren't home I was flattened on the comforter. In the last six months I've been putting all my strength into getting up, dressed, and out of the house, and staying out of bed until night.

Still once I get in bed at night, anxiety descends. It's physiological. I don't feel upset emotionally, but physically the anxiety is intense. I am itchy, I can't be still, I'm too hot, my teeth are clenched, my muscles tense. Inside I have way too much energy and my stomach is in a knot. It hurts. I writhe around and sigh.

Nothing seems to help. I can't focus to read, TV is inane, the internet is dark. Suddenly I regret every choice I ever made and the future seems doomed. I feel certain that my life will reveal the horrible truth about me, that I'm cursed, that I shouldn't have been born, that my FOO was broken and I'm the evidence of that brokenness. That someone with a childhood like mine can never be happy or successful. That my life will end in tragedy and reveal that I am incurably flawed. Of course, all life ends in the tragedy of death, or old age and death if we're lucky, so this metric makes no sense. If my life doesn't end with me eternally young, fabulously rich, saintly generous and contributing lasting gifts to human culture, then I'm fatally flawed and everyone will know I am the crime of being an abused neglected child? Ok, HannahOne. LOL.

I'm physically uncomfortable and want to crawl out of my skin. I feel like I'm suffocating, which is just panic. I feel like there is not enough air, but of course air is all around me. Sometimes I go outside at times like these, even in the freezing winter. My dog used to trot after me. Now she's older and pokes her head out from under the covers, and just waits for me to come back. The cold air is one thing that almost always helps. The night sky. The moon. The tree branches click-clacking in the wind. The neon eyes that trot across the yard, probably a fox. He's living out his fox life, looking for food, staying warm, resting, traveling, deciding in the moment when to change his state. If he gets tense, he shakes from nose to tail. If he feels anxious, he rearranges his shoulder blades and sighs. If he has stomach pain, he curls around the pain and waits. If he feels like screaming, he yowls into the dark.

I'm trying to live more in the moment, more naturally, more instinctively. The places I feel the best the last few months are walking in small towns, hiking, and the forum. The more time I spend in these places, the more in the moment I seem to be. I was only reading without posting on the forum until a few days ago. It was incredibly helpful to read that others also experience these kinds of struggles. So thank you to all, even though I didn't respond, I was reading.

It's important to remember, especially in painful moments, that this is part of the human experience. I'm a human. So I'm having human experience, suffering is part of the human experience. The fact that I'm suffering right now doesn't mean I've done anything wrong or that I need to do anything to change my experience. I can just wait for it to pass, without effort and stress. Or I can travel, move. Or I can look for food, nourishment. Or I can curl up with my tail over my nose and wait for it to pass. I blink my eyes in the dark, rearrange my shoulder blades, and twitch my ears to listen to the tree branches click clacking in the wind.

Hi fellow human being, from me in my den on this rainy, blustery winter night to you, in your den.  May we be safe and warm and dry, resting well.

Hey HannahOne, your description of evenings in bed make me think of my mornings. There's a thread on the forum, Mornings and Fear, will try to find it. A constant trigger for me is the waking moments of the day. I know now it has to do with being horizontal and the bulk of the trauma I experienced as a baby. This connection has been "in my face" my entire life, but when I finally put everything together with Cptsd, I suddenly had the understanding that has changed all sorts of things around my morning fears. Funny, what you described sounds so similar to my morning experience. I'll try to find that thread and post it below. Thankyou for sharing all that, it does really help.
 :hug:

Here it is:
https://www.cptsd.org/forum/index.php?topic=15819.0

I'm gonna try and reread it out of curiosity... but my daughter's making a cake right this instant... :-)

Quote from: HannahOne on January 04, 2026, 04:11:59 AMThe fact that I'm suffering right now doesn't mean I've done anything wrong or that I need to do anything to change my experience.

We would all do well to remember that. Thank you for putting it into words. I hope the suffering eases soon.

NarcKiddo, Marcine, thank you for the solidarity! Chart, thank you for the link, that is interesting. I'm sure it is a form of EF. Night was difficult growing up. During the day I was super busy super achieving, but once I stopped the quiet was scary and unpredictable. Your comment makes me consider that I need to spend more time on the exact nature of this nighttime emotional flashback and see if I can process it more. Yuck  :) more processing. Sigh. But it will likely help. That's an important connection to make.

In the morning I have a different response, also not ideal :), I wake up happy, and then gradually reality dawns on me, oh yes, I have this difficult past, oh yeah, I'm someone who wasn't loved, I can't be happy because of it, people like me can't be ok.... I feel reality settle afresh each morning. But that's much more manageable for me especially if I can get up and start playing with clothes and focusing on what _I_ want to say today about myself, not what other people said. At night it's hard because in order to sleep you simply have to be still.

 The night upset just seems intractable, but it's also not every night. I had many good nights for years. I was retriggered by the pandemic stress reliving my father's unemployment, mother's breakdowns. For the last year I was improving again...then recent illness got my nervous system all wound up again. CPTSD can feel like a washing machine, I just cycle in and out of hot water! LOL.

Tonight I'm going to be sure to take a bath with magnesium before bed. I also was rereading the book "Potatoes not Prozac" (although, por que no los dos?!) and I'm going to have a potato before bed. It's supposed to help push tryptophan or some other neurotransmitter that helps you fall asleep. I know it worked in the past for me.

I got little sleep so had some trouble functioning. Put away the Christmas tree and split my lip doing it, dropped the dog bowl and it shattered, burned the eggs.

I think I'm a little dissociated. I enjoyed a quiet house as both kids were out, and I mean I enjoyed it, savored the quiet, the dishwasher, the heat turning on, off, Frank the rescue rabbit thumping around.

Frank! the miracle bunny. Frank was born in February 2020 in a snowstorm, the farmer found him blue and frozen in the snow and put him in her pocket to throw away while she finished her chores. When she pulled him out of her pocket, he was slightly less blue so she put him on a warming pad for chickens and when she came back an hour later, found that he survived! He lived in a hutch on the farm for four years, his ears covered in scars from fights, a moldy water bowl, and in the winters, packed in with his poop and straw for warmth. That's what the farmer said, "oh, you just pack em in with their poop!" So now when the kids and I ask how we are doing, we will sometimes say, "Oh warm as toast and packed in with my poop!" to express survival, in less than ideal conditions. LOL.

I digress. But not really. Frank brings a special spirit to the house. He's a survivor. As a prey animal, he's always a little on edge. I can relate. He didn't have to trust humans after his terrible start in life, he has no reason to trust. But he does. He's never bitten. He comes running when I open his door (he has his own room, and roams free during the day). He potty trained himself! He bumps my leg with his nose to say hello. He picks up his food bowl and flings it when it's empty. He eats six heads of lettuce a day, very intensely and with great focus.

I often marvel at how he goes on with his bunny life regardless of anything, eating, pooping, sleeping on his crepuscular schedule while we turn lights on, turn lights off, take phone calls and shuffle around he is sleeping, waking, eating and then resting/digesting on his own terms. His survival instinct and his inner clock is indomitable. He's an energizer bunny. He just keeps going.

He would sorely like a bunwife, but that would require being neutered. He and I frequently debate the merits of a bunwife vs the merits of remaining intact. I feel responsible that he's a bit isolated and the only one of his kind; at the same time he is so covered in scars I'm afraid to try bonding him to a lady and afraid he might not survive the neuter surgery. I also can't afford another bun. Frank has to see the dentist every 8 weeks. When he came to us his teeth were so bad he could barely eat and was in severe pain. Poor stoic sir, he never complained. But if his bun wife had similar dental issues I couldn't keep her. So, he continues on his own and we are sure to speak bunny as often as possible with nose bumps, freezes, side-eyeing and co-breathing.

Connecting with an animal is so easy because there is no language. There's no story. I don't have to explain. And I don't have to hide, you can't hide. He knows if I'm upset ,he can feel my heart rate variability. His survival depends on reading my HRV, knowing if I, a predator with eyes in the front of my head, am hungry or not. He will lie next to my dog when she's eaten. If she's hungry, he runs. He scans me for the smell of fear chemicals, and will come close and hop into my lap if I'm calm.

So he's like a biofeedback device in my living room, a fuzzy biofeedback device with a puffy tail. I want him to want to be around me, so I have to regulate myself. Right now he's stretched out like superman with his big hind feet out behind him, it's called a "sploot." Or a "flop." I sploot next to him and we face the same direction, breathing together, me studiously looking away so as not to bear down on him with my eyes in the front of my face, him taking me in with his eye on the side of his head, moving his head up and down to create a three dimensional image in his brain. He blinks, licks his lips, and breathes. Hanging with Frank is pretty great because I don't have to talk, or think, or make sense, I can just be. B

But I'm a human, not a rabbit. I have an entire prefrontal cortex that he doesn't have. My brain produces language like my nose produces snot, as they say in ACT. And like Frank, life is good but also, I'm lonely. And bored.

And that's good. Because being lonely means I'm alive, I'm coming back to myself, and I have the energy, for the first time in five years, to live. I'm just not quite there yet, so I feel restless. I need to go more places, meet more people, do more things. Mostly meet more people. I feel dumb--how? I don't know HOW to meet people, where to find them? How to do this as myself? I could put on a costume, get a job, do the job. But that's not how I want to do it. I am open to getting a job but it has to be a job for the HannahOne I actually am, not the one I imagined I'd be as a neglected child in the rural midwest. It has to be an up to date job, an up to date life, that works for the life I've actually lived. Not sure such a thing exists. But I won't find it lying in bed.

I am committed to spending some time this month looking for clubs, meetups, groups. I'm still a bit leery of COVID and now may need to avoid getting sick even more. And, I need people.

May people come into my life speedily and soon. May Frank find his bunwife, or be content with me and my translations and approximations of "Hey, good lookin." May I go out and about tomorrow in camo pants, pink sneakers, a National Park T shirt over a men's button down and a green beanie hat and find something that makes me feel alive. Light on water, light on metal, light on snow. Any light in a storm.

 :wave:

I haven't been active since you joined to forum so just saying "hi" nice to meet you for now. Frank sounds perfect and amazing. And I relate very much to the clumsiness and forgetfulness of dissociation. Mine has gotten a lot better. I rarely set off our smoke detector now or drop things. Still smash into walls though.

Hi Armee, nice to meet you!  :heythere:

A fellow wall-smasher!  :blink:  I'm so glad your dissociation is better. I have to be extra careful right now and try to pay attention. I just went to bed for the night---leaving the sliding glass door wide open when the dog came in twenty minutes ago....

I look forward to seeing you around the forum! I'm still figuring out where people hang out on here.

Oh yeah definitely relate to that! My husband still remembers in high school when he had a crush on me and I drove away with my car door, driver's side, wide-open. He thought it indicated I was equally smitten with him.  :whistling:

It's nice to have the right explanation and to know it can get better as the underlying traumas get processed and the underlying parts do better at integrating or at least sharing consciousness.

Good luck in your journey! I'll try to stop by here and there. I mostly hang in the private journals section these days or where I've already responded to a thread as those pop up first.

No sleep again.

I realize that my symptoms are a medication I just started. I just read the insert. Sweating, severe belly pain, stomach upset. No wonder I'm anxious and tossing around the bed, my stomach isn't just in an anxious knot---the medication can cause ulcers in the GI tract. The "knot" I feel is pain.

This happens often. I assume my symptoms are anxiety or EF. Then they turn out to be something physical. And because of the delay the physical problem is always worse by the time I realize what's going on.

Of course, as soon as I get any physical symptoms,  the anxiety and emotional flashbacks start up. So, it's both at this point, both an EF and physical. But the initial cause is the medication. So that's good, I'll call the doctor in the morning and see what can be done, and I'll feel better.

Meanwhile tomorrow is going to be hard again because again, NO SLEEP TILL BROOKLYN. Dread. Day 3, or 4? Of no sleep.

I want to become more aware and able to navigate physical symptoms. It's not helpful that I don't feel pain until it's severe, that I can't figure out what I'm experiencing, that I assume it's emotional, I end up making myself worse that way. I wish I would've realized three days ago and asked to stop or change the medicine, instead I've caused more damage. But this is my automatic response to pain, I just don't notice it, and then experience it as anxiety, and then assume I'm hallucinating or having a flashback. And then I'm actually having a flashback....

My response to pain is itself a flashback.

Now that I know it's the medicine I can not take it in the morning, call the doctor, and in the meantime I can use my skills of dissociation to "dissociate better" as Joanne Twombley says. I'll try to put the pain in a magic container, and put up feeling proof walls in my mind so I have a place to chill until morning. I am certain I won't need the ER, so it's fine to do. I just have a bad stomach ache.

I already went to the ER last week for a similar ridiculous situation where my bandages were so tight I couldn't get a full breath, which cause my intercostals to be strained, and my O2 to drop too low.... but I didn't realize it was the bandages when I went in. I thought I must have pneumonia. I had no clue that the bandages were suffocating me and I'd been wearing them for OVER A WEEK like that. The instructions said "do not remove until you see the surgeon," and I was seeing the surgeon two weeks after surgery, so I religiously followed the instructions, left them as they were, and it didn't occur to me, I couldn't feel, that they were too tight. I only knew something was wrong after a week when my O2 was low. I felt so silly in the ER, although they didn't criticize me and thought the bandages were ridiculous, not me.

This all could be CPTSD. Not knowing what's going on with your own body, misreading signals, lack of awareness, confusion, doing things that don't really make sense, mindlessly following instructions. I hate the confusion, the slow dawning of reality, and the scary feeling of realizing your understanding of reality was so messed up. It's hard to trust oneself. 

My plan for tonight is to keep the TV on, pet the dog, and wait for the sun. Tomorrow night will be better, I will be off this stupid drug and on something else.

Ack I'm so sorry your sleep has been so bad! That makes everything worse. I hope you are able to.sleep better tonight.  :grouphug:

So much relatable content here...it doesn't change that it sucks but hopefully there's some comfort that this is so so common in cptsd. It isn't you being messed up but the side effect of surviving terrible things.

I hope the new meds work better. Good job figuring it out!  :cheer: 

Quote from: HannahOne on January 05, 2026, 06:48:47 AMThis all could be CPTSD. Not knowing what's going on with your own body, misreading signals, lack of awareness, confusion, doing things that don't really make sense, mindlessly following instructions.

Oh, yeah. That's CPTSD. I'm having a discussion in a lung forum about when to take extra doses of an inhaler. I have been told to do so by the doctor if I need to. Well - I don't know what that means. The poor folks on the forum are all trying to help but most of them don't comprehend that I can be completely unsure whether I need help to breathe or not. Your bandages story does not surprise me in the least - except for the bit about the medics putting them on stupidly tight in the first place.

Frank sounds wonderful!

Wow NarcKiddo, thank you for sharing your experience! That really moved me, "I can be completely unsure whether I need help to breathe or not." I'm sorry you have this struggle too. And, I feel so validated :)  I am realizing the more time I spend on the forum how heavy the burden has been of feeling like an alien or an outlier. Very heavy. It's very well for a therapist to "get it," often after years of work :) but it's so much more powerful for other people to just get it, people here on the forum, for experiences that I think are rare and strange to actually be rather common and typical.

I'm willing to live the rest of my life feeling unsure if I need help to breathe or not but I would very much NOT like to live the rest of my life with the feeling of being, as you said, incomprehensible to others so often. I want to experience being comprehensible. Thank you for comprehending, for understanding and commenting.

Today I found myself in a familiar mode. Anxiously turning to distractions, from thing to thing, getting more and more agitated, starting to have frightened, hopeless thoughts for no apparent reason about how I am messed up, or a failure, or something is wrong with me....

I turned to face the feeling and it became clear that when I want connection, I get busy. I avoid it. I stop myself from getting up, greeting whatever family member is in the house or reaching out to a friend. I/m very responsive to my children's needs but they're older teens now and really dont' want me hovering. When it comes to my own needs I continually turn away from any desire or need in myself for other people.

The feeling itself is scary. It came to me that as a very young child, it wasn't safe or useful to try to connect. When I felt lonely as a toddler, I went to the dog or got out a book. When I felt a need to connect or be with another human as a kid, I got busy crafting, cleaning, building, making, studying. Plotting my escape, building my little survival raft out of toothpicks, always toward the future. Anywhere but here and now.

As an adult I no longer want to spend time avoiding myself, my feelings, my impulses to connect, my needs, or plotting a future that I have no interest or need in actualizing at this point. My life has become dissatisfying in many ways because of these habits of avoidance. It's led to a small, isolated life lived largely in my own mind.

It's also sad.

I realize the gap between what I say I want, which is friends, connections, a way to contribute to society, work (meaningful or not!), a life---and what I currently am doing, which is spending a lot of time staring at the wall, reading wikipedia, cleaning, administrating/fretting, is just a little hop skip over a metal vein of fear. I feel it like steel in my spine. It would show up on an x ray.

The fear is old. If I go to my mother, she may be impossible to wake, and that was so scary. If I go to my father, he may be unpredictable, horribly so. I may deeply regret being in the same room with him. So I taught myself to turn away from the impulse to look for a human being, and turn toward a task, something concrete, or toward information, something to occupy my mind, in order to avoid the disappointment, betrayal, or terror of connecting with unwell parents.

It was lonely but I didn't feel lonely, because I was busy doing Very Important Things. My sibling wasn't born till I was six. And once my sibling was mobile, was my responsibility. More task, more Very Important Things to Do, make sure there's food, diaper and change, smooth the hair, teach to count. Not connecting mode, although I did connect as best I could for the baby's benefit, knowing what SHOULD happen, peek-a-boo, "Oh, feeling sad!" "Ouch! hug?" Never connecting for my own needs, although caring for the sibling filled a need to feel Useful, Important, to have a Reason to Go On. It didn't fill my needs for mirroring, support, understanding, safety. I was terrified the entire time.

School was difficult socially, the kids were too loud, moving unpredictably, too close. I turned down my ears and kept my eyes down and focused on the schoolwork, or daydreams.

After leaving home I did pursue relationships, but more for survival than connection. I needed surrogate parents to help me navigate the adult world. Peer relationships were generally few and felt tenuous. I did connect with some people, but never trusted myself and consistently resisted my own impulse to reach out, was very self-conscious, deliberate, careful, restrained. People described me in ways that didn't resonate. Independent, strong, wise, when I felt scared, fragile, and clueless. Vulnerable. I wasn't able to show or share more parts of me, so it always felt tenuous and hollow.

The first step is to start noticing this anxiety, this feeling of restlessness, tension in my face, teariness like a sore throat feeling, feeling like screaming. And instead of avoiding it, consider allowing myself to follow the impulse to reach out, not in desperation or demand for support but just the human need to say hello, catch up with a friend, share a chore, chat about the weather, dissect a reality tv show or gossip about the neighbor's BBQ. I fear this impulse as if it were a yawning threat to other people, as if it's somehow wrong. But it's just a social impulse. Hello! What's up? Want a snack? Help me fold? What about that sister wife? Did John mow his lawn at 6 am on Saturday again?

It feels like trying to turn a cargo ship, very slow, not sure I can do it. I hope just the practice of not turning away from or inverting my own impulses for connection will be healing for my inner children, even if I don't end up connecting. I can connect with myself by not turning away from my self. I can tolerate the feelings of fear and emotional flashbacks of betrayal, disappointment, attachment loss, and alienation that come up immediately when I feel this impulse to reach out, in order to feel the feelings of warmth, wanting, connection, solidarity with other humans. Or with myself.

And if it goes badly with the humans, I don't have conclude that it's too unsafe to feel. I still have my dog, snoozing on the bed, and the rabbit, chewing his hay with a wide unblinking eye.

 :hug:

Well, today I tried for social connection. After agonizing over the invite, I went to lunch with an old friend from my former religion. My goal was to try to "be myself," and observe myself if that wasn't happening to try to figure out why.

If you have religious trauma, TW, probably don't read this post. Be well.

My friend is one I knew from the religion I have left. She doesn't quite know how far I've left. I haven't attended the church in three years. But I haven't told her I no longer believe in God. So how was I going to navigate this, as "the real me"? As "All of Me"?

It started with the clothes. What am I gonna wear to this thing? Our religion didn't allow women to wear pants. Was I gonna put on a long skirt? Little bit of a flashback looking at my old long skirts, I've tossed most of them. How about the long skirt I wore to my daughter's violin recital? Too much tulle, not modest to draw attention like that. How about the long satin skirt I got this Christmas? Too clingy, not modest enough. I decided to wear a long loose navy blue paisley thing, so modest, so unfashionable! but skipped the requisite virginal ballet flats and put on pointy toed boots with it. Maybe, unconsciously, so I could kick any wayward priest in the behind if needed. Added a "lady jacket" with it, a la Chanel, very mindful, very demure. But underneath the lady jacket, black lace. Haha. And a bracelet from my childhood, to remind me where I came from. I've come a long way, baby!

Thus attired, I proceeded to step right into it and upon greeting her I said "Oh my God I love your coat!" And of course in our religion we would never say "Oh my God." That is a sin. Oh God. Why did I say "Oh my God?" Poop! Dang! ARGH!

From then on I was beginning to dissociate. I had planned out what to order, because it's a fasting time, so I would need to eat vegan. With each concession, the skirt, the fasting food, the self-censoring of my speech, I disintegrated more. Smiling, nodding. She talked pretty much nonstop. Wild things I can't believe I ever entertained, about monks knowing her future, moving across the world to become a nun after she's widowed, superstitions about viruses, complaints about the decadent West (And she's a born and bred American just like me).... No judgement---well, ok, some judgement, but I respect her beliefs--I respect her right to have them. It was just incredibly alienating to try to wedge myself into them. And I felt I had no other choice. That's the part of me I need to work with. How could I give myself the choice next time? We don't even share common context, she doesn't read pop books, or watch TV, or listen to music except religious music.... there was nothing I could say that would make sense in her world. Jane Eyre, I could talk about Jane Eyre... but I never read Jane Erye... I'm reading a book about a Korean woman who lost her mother to cancer. But my friend wouldn't read a book by anyone who wasn't the religion. What to talk about, drawing a blank, another blank....

I spent the rest of the meal somewhere above my head. She gifted me a prayerbook and a beautiful icon. I still paint icons, but am conflicted about it. I don't know if I'll continue. This one was painted on a piece of petrified wood. Lovely. And yet.

Upon leaving she wants to meet up again. I don't think it's good for me. It's too triggering. I am disappointed that I couldn't stay more authentic to who I really am now, that I couldn't update her as to where I am. But like my parents, there's no room in her world for someone like me. It would cause her distress to know my real thoughts. She would be baffled or irritated or unsettled. And I don't want to baffle, irritate, or upset. I guess, if I'm honest, I didn't want to deal with her feelings about who I am. Am I being unfair, am I assuming? I don't think so in this case, she's such a true believer it's her whole identity. But at the end, it's me, I don't want to embody my identity if anyone is going to have a feeling about it.

I think I joined this religion in part to make it my whole identity, because I hated my identity. It was a repetition, I repeated my own trauma to myself. I was raised in a brutal, insane form of Christianity, complete with speaking in tongues, laying on of many, many heavy hands, exorcisms (oh yes, even of sad nine year old girls), and so. many. rules. Superstitions. Devils around every corner. Satan in my lunchbox. 88 reasons why the rapture must come in 1988. As a child being abused every which way, purity culture was agony nd the exorcisms never stopped the abuse, no matter how many hands, how many tongues or how much I prayed. So much trauma. I left at 18 and never went back.

In midlife I fell into icon painting, and from there the religion. At first there were no triggers, all the chanting a different language, the service the opposite of chaos, everything written down and planned. But eventually the rules got to me, so many rules, and I was never doing it quite right. I realized I wouldn't raise my kids in it. So much superstition. The skirts, annoying. Can't keep track of fasting days. Confess, try again, fail. Confess, try again....fail. Lost my faith. Left.

And now what. I want to be social. I want to have friends. I'd like to be part of a community the believes in something good. But not at the cost of all of me, the me who wanted God, the me who doesn't. The me who thinks the Mother of God is a beautiful idea and the me who thinks the idea is absurd on its face. The me who liked wearing long skirts that make me the shape of a bell with little ballerina flat feet, and the me who wants to wear camo pants and high tops. The me who was abused and the me who grew up and left. The me who had no choice and the me who does....

I don't know how to bring all of this together, or how to begin to communicate it with another person. Today was certainly quite an epic fail. But maybe I just need a person who is not so locked down herself. My poor friend. May she find happiness, safety, peace, joy. And my God, her coat! May she wear it with just a little bit of pride. No one has to know! Although she'd have to confess it....

Tomorrow, I will put on cropped jeans, tall boots, a striped button down and a big fuzzy sweater and I'll stomp around the doctors office, slump over to the cafe. We'll see how that feels, and who I might make eye contact with and meet, what context we might share, and who they will say that I am.

Quote from: HannahOne on January 06, 2026, 11:03:13 PMMaybe, unconsciously, so I could kick any wayward priest in the behind if needed.

It depends on the priest of course, but there's a much more appropriate place to kick them (imo :-)

Quote from: HannahOne on January 06, 2026, 11:03:13 PMI don't know how to bring all of this together, or how to begin to communicate it with another person. Today was certainly quite an epic fail. But maybe I just need a person who is not so locked down herself. My poor friend. May she find happiness, safety, peace, joy.

I disagree that this was a "fail". To the contrary. Or maybe your objectives were different than what I understood. What a fantastic experiment you did. Everyone changes. Some a lot, others less. But change is fluid, and process isn't "on-off". We "transition" into new things. It's a learning process, like getting a doctorate. As we evolve, how great to pause and look back over our shoulder. There's nothing wrong with having one foot on each side of the river (so long as you're flexible :-)

Ultimately I believe this: it is "okay" for me to be 100% who I am at any given moment in time. So long as I am being "healthy with others", who I am and how/what/why... is okay. Anyway, the present moment will change and I have the future before me again. To change or not to change... interesting and beautiful either way.

I came up with a concept years ago. I've since heard the same thing in other forms, but I love this idea and fall back on it very frequently: 100% of Judgements are false. That is to say, "judgements" are opinions influenced entirely by beliefs and feelings. A judgment, viewed from another perspective or a different context easily becomes the reverse. I'll leave off a bit, but this idea gives me freedom. I can have my opinions AND see my "flaws" in those same ideas but still understand that that "judgment" is part of my "composed self" at that particular moment (now or whenever) and I can continue or change as I sense/feel in that experience I'm currently having called "life". I become "god" but a god who is only another part of a deeper greater truth.

Sorry, kinda rambled there... :-)

And I gotta say (admittedly a judgment on my part) I've run across a few Evangelicals... happy to hear you saw through it and got out. Huge win imo. Gotta love yourself for that.
 :hug:

I also disagree this was a fail. I think you undertook a difficult task and are doing very good work in analysing how it went and how you feel about it (during and after). Maybe you'll feel like meeting the friend again one day, even if any meeting ends up having to be superficial so that neither of you gets too dysregulated. Maybe you won't. It's fine either way, I think.

 :hug:

Will respond later... Something popped up in my mind. Terence McKenna. Consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds... Looks like he referenced Ralph Waldo Emerson.

"A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day. — 'Ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood.' — Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood."
― Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance: An Excerpt from Collected Essays, First Series

 :hug:

Not a fail. Just try socializing with less rigid friends. It was probably a wee bit retraumatiizng even to put yourself in that setting.

Armee, Chart, NarcKiddo, thank you for commenting. I guess it's true it wasnt' a fail. I got out and saw a person. It was just super uncomfortable.  :heythere:

SenseOrgan, I love that you referenced that quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson! That quote was in my high school yearbook :) It's true, as Chart said, people evolve, and that's ok, that's good! Part of me wants to be locked in to something permanent, eternal, but most parts of me want a bigger experience, a wider reach, and to keep learning, growing---which means changing.

Your post #32 is very close to home for me. It's incredibly validating to read. Thank you very much for sharing that. It took me forever to recognize that being able to handle pretty much anything on my own was trauma related. As a kid, I didn't learn what it is to be part of "we". I learned that I was on my own, and I deeply buried my need to connect, or to depend on others. In a place outside of my awareness. Only my survival self showed up in the outside world, and I always took care of my own stuff. I studied my issues, cut through the bs, hunted down the most appropriate therapies, did all the difficult things, but never really connected to others. That started later. It's insidious to be that good at being independent. The price for it is very high. Eventually it does catch up. It's also difficult to unlearn this type of coping. I think you've described how that happens very well. By following the impulse to connect.

When I became aware of this coping mechanism, I felt like I had been driving in the wrong direction my whole life, and I had to find a way to make a u-turn before I went off the cliff full speed. I can't say I succeeded at that, but I'm no longer heading for the cliff and I'm driving to where I want to be. That is in connection. Loneliness is a pretty bright red light on the dashboard. Bon voyage!

RE to post #34.
A trauma hijack sucks. I hate it when that happens despite going into a situation consciously and prepared. I get why that feels as a fail. It may be on some level. And it isn't on another. A backlash doesn't necessarily mean it was all for nothing. It makes sense that deeply ingrained safety mechanisms started to take over after/during you did something courageous. You were going against so much programming you had to endure for such a long time, and in such a vulnerable period of your life. You not only did that. You did it graciously and skilfully. You brought the same playfulness and lightness you use to express yourself with clothes to this challenge. "Oh my God I love your coat!" is a highly clever thing to say when you're navigating the layers of intra- and interpersonal tension, while still firmly staying on your own side. You aced at least a part of what I understand was your goal for this meeting. If it was a fail, it doesn't look like an epic one over here. Your intention to go to the cafe the next day does indicate a thing or two. Much respect!

TW/religion
OOTSers generally tend to seek fault within themselves. How about your friend accommodating who you are/have become? Do religious beliefs somehow come with a special right to have people around you fold around those? I'm not talking about respecting the sensitivities around it. It just isn't much fun to be granted so little space to be who you are, because so much of it can hit those long religious toes. A lot of this is often implicit, I think. The question I'd ask myself is if I'd still want to hang out with this person. It's not a crime for people to outgrow each other. That may have happened.

SenseOrgan, yes, it was a trauma hijack. Thank you for that phrase. That's been happening a lot lately, I think I'm more triggered overall because of the medical stuff going on.

I like how you describe your perspective on how I navigated. It's a dance, how to be present with someone who is narrow, how much to be present, how to allow what parts of myself I can to interact while managing the other person's reactions or my worries about their reactions. You're right, part of my goal was to show up and see what happened. I didn't like what happened when I have so little space. So, I have outgrown it and will have to let go. I got too big for the box I put myself into and that's not bad news and not a failure.

I really appreciate your perception, your username fits :) You're able to discriminate nuance and express it and that's such a powerful skill in navigating CPTSD.

I've been very easily triggered lately. SenseOrgan used the term "Trauma hijack" and that's such a good way he described it. I keep getting hijacked and that itself is scary. I feel I need to be monitoring myself a little better. That's part of the function of this journal. Self-awareness. TW for medical stuff and abuse.

I've bene healing well and wanted to "move on" with life, so I started moving more, moving stuff. The outside incision seemed all healed up. But I forgot the inner layers aren't yet healed. Is that a metaphor for CPTSD or what?

So I started moving stuff around. groceries. Laundry. Trash. And popped a stitch. When I saw the thread sticking out I thought it was one maybe the surgeon didn't remove. I don't know quite what I was thinking but I got a bit hijacked. I think part of me wants to be done with this and "back to normal" erase the evidence of any problem. But as we know there is no "back" to go to, we can only go forward.

So I got hijacked or triggered by seeing the stitch and pulled on the stitch and even though it hurt I kept pulling. I wanted it out. Hashtag regrets. It was apparently an internal stitch meant to stay in and absorb. It will be fine and there's nothing to be done about it now, it will heal how it heals, but now I have pain again. And I'm upset with myself. I feel like I messed up, again.

And it's scary to get a little hijacked like that. I have to be more mindful, more demure. I have to pay more attention and be aware of my inner children's concerns about being less able temporarily, about scars, about the idea that this is a punishment that I want to be over. About their need to erase and undo what happened and go on "as normal."

I know there's part of me that "moves on" and "gets back to work" and "undoes things." It's an old habit. It was very helpful in the past. After being beaten you have to get up and put your pants on and go to school as normal. After abuse you have to undo it mentally in order to go on. Very helpful in the past. Not so much now.

I am a little worried because it doesn't feel good to not feel in control of myself or to briefly lose awareness, to do something stupid without thinking. But I know it's common to be preoccupied when in a situation like I am, and to do something impulsive when you're stressed. So I'm going to try to give myself more support. I am going to meet with my therapist more often for a bit while I'm getting through this. I'm going to do lovingkindness meditation in the mornings with Frank, the miracle bunny. I'm going to work through Janina Fisher's workbook just for some structure, a structured way to interact with the CPTSD. That will also keep it more in my awareness, how I might get hijacked, so maybe I can prevent it. The workbook can be like the air marshall on the plane. Just the presence of the workbook can be a deterrent to hijacking. I'm calling my own bluff. And I'm going to keep eating three Mediterranean meals a day and going for short walks. I am going to create my own little IOP program at home. I've done it before.

I think the other trigger is just uncertainty. I know that I will be ok, and may not even need more treatment. But I also know waiting to actually meet with the oncologist is starting to wear on me. No human likes uncertainty, we evolved the prefrontal cortex to make up for our lack of claws and fangs. If we can't plan, we're in trouble, a helpless hairless primate on the savanna. And right now I can't plan.

I look at Frank. "Frank, I can't plan!" He blinks, unconcerned. He doesn't know the word "plan." Or "waiting." Or "tomorrow." He doesn't have that part of the brain that conceptualizes "future." He picks up on my fear and sits up, perks an ear, and gets still. Is there a wolf? No? Then why are you so tense? He sniffs again. No wolf, just the domesticated canine in a puffer coat. He shakes it off and grooms his back foot. A wolf might come, but there's no point in wasting energy worrying about it, we'll need all our energy to run if a wolf does come. So groom yourself so you don't smell like a prey animal, and chill. He flops onto his belly, hind legs sprawled out behind, a little furry superman gliding across the hardwood. Much better than his plywood hutch at the farm. Sometimes, things turn out ok. 

Frank is right, grooming is important. I will go get in the shower. I have an IEP meeting in an hour. It makes my stomach hurt and I'd rather have surgery again than do this meeting. My lawyer is coming with me so all I really have to do is sit there and try to keep a poker face. I am not good at poker face. The lawyer will be texting me "Your emotions are showing on your face, take a deep breath." LOL. I know they're going to deny our request for them to follow the rules and do what they're supposed to do, they're going to delay until it's too late to do it, and try to distract me by making me upset, blaming me for my kid's problems so I stop asking and sharing data to back up the request. I won't be able to think. I'll probably struggle to form sentences. I might end up spaced out. It's fine, that's what the lawyer is for. And it's fine, my kid has what they need, we don't really need them to do anything. If they refuse evaluations, I'll pay privately later. It is what it is, we got everything we could get for my kid, they're alive, they're well, they're going to graduate, and they're on grade level. It's just so hard to tolerate the power dynamics when it feels like my kid's future is at stake, when I feel like I am somehow not up to the task. When I feel like I will lose or be overpowered. No one likes to be overpowered. And, some fights aren't worth having. this one really isn't. I just have to sit there and blink and then the meeting will be over.

There it is again, the future, that somehow I have to control. In years past yes, it was an emergency. But it's not anymore. Right now my kid is fine, and they'll navigate their future as best they can, with my help. The situation is triggering and I might get hijacked. After the meeting I'll go for a walk with the domesticated canine in the puffer coat. Then... I'll eat something. And then time will start moving again. Frank will sit blinking. Onward into the future.

Good luck with the IEP meeting. I hope it goes/went OK. Those used to really really stress me out with my daughter's team. I'd get a major shame attack like they know it's me and I'm messed up and it's my fault. Then I'd think about my husband all handsome and in a suit and perfect looking and acting and it would feel even worse. I seem to get less triggered now during them after a few years. Next one is in a week. We'll see how it goes :Idunno:

It sounds like your concerns are less shame based and more about services and keeping a poker face but I shared that just on the off chance that this is also something you are experiencing with the IEP meeting.

I hope the pain of the errant stitch lessens and you get some certainty ASAP.

You are an amazing writer. I hope you are able to go more public with that talent sometime.

Why do we think it is all our fault? I don't think your activities popped the stitch, and even if they did it's probably because it was already part dissolved. The body doesn't always fully dissolve stitches - sometimes it treats them as a foreign body and shoves them out. For sure it would probably have been wiser not to pull on it, especially now it has ended up hurting, but to my mind that is as far as your liability goes. And I don't think it is unreasonable for you to have wanted it out if your body was already actively trying to push it out. If it were me, I would be concentrating on thinking about any reluctance to contact the medics for advice before pulling on the stitch. (FYI I would likely not have contacted them for advice either. I'd probably have been too chicken to pull the stitch and would have wandered around with it snagging on my clothing while stressing massively and imagining that my whole insides were now unravelling!)

I'm sorry you can't plan. That totally sucks. I'd rather be given bad news fast than hang around waiting for good news.

I hope the meeting goes better than you fear. I hope you can channel your inner Frank.

Armee, thank you for sharing your experience with IEP meetings! It's such a weird world, the SPED world of rules, meetings, evals etc. That's a lot of it, yes, I feel shame, like exposed, because my child isn't perfect and I feel blamed, or like their struggles shows something's wrong with me. But my child isn't a representation of me, they're their own person. I can't take credit for their good qualities so I can't take repsonsibility for their struggles either, it's not about my parenting it's about what the school is going to provide to help. It's tough as you know when the district says, about lifelong independently validated learning disabilities and neurodivergence, "Have you tried talking to them, Ms. HannahOne?" LOL. If I could talk them out of it, we wouldn't have a problem!

I wish you good luck at yours next week! Thankfully mine went well, the lawyer did all the talking, and we got enough of what we needed. I think I have a little mini PTSD reaction just to the idea of n IEP meeting. But in the present, it's ok.

Yeah Chart, why do I think it's my fault? I think it must be a habit, to have a sense of control. If it's my fault, somehow I could change it or control it, but I can't, my body's gonna do what it does.  I did learn it's not unusual to have stitches push out. And yes it's easy to imagine insides unraveling! I have to reel myself in! :)

Hi HannahOne, how are you?
What you wrote touches on something I've been pondering lately. That is the line between being a responsible adult and stealthy shame/guilt. The line between being honest with ourselves so we can grow and make healthy choices, and pushing the one we actually are right now out of our sphere of compassion. I don't have the answers. What I do know, is that none of use chose our coping strategies. We adapted to adverse circumstances to the best of our abilities. Some of us end up pulling out a stitch many years later because of patterns that are tied to how we learned to survive. I guess my question is, if you can hold that person, every action included, in compassion?

And, for reasons I don't understand, knowing that your rabbit is called Frank puts a big smile on my face. I'm totally nuts for saying this, but it's like that image puts things in perspective. Like he's saying, yeah, so what, what do you mean by wrong and wright? He just is. Just Frank.

Much metta

SenseOrgan, your comment made me smile. Yeah, Frank just is :)  And yes, I need to hold in compassion the little stitch-puller. One who erases and undoes what was done. Good plan, kid. Just not so useful right now.

Thank you.

My stitch-uation continues. The part of me that pulled the stitches out wanted to erase, undo what happened. I stopped pulling, but it turns out my body doesn't like the stitches and is actively spitting them out. I feel like Frankenstein, every day another one pokes through. Should I just cut them all? But under the skin they're still there....I cut the end of one and by the next day, it's sticking out again, like I'm growing wiry thread. This is ridiculous.

I called the doctor every other day for a week asking for a callback. None came. Part of me thought no answer was an answer, but part of me was not happy with the stitch-uation. Finally I called and asked for an appointment. That worked. Sometimes it's a matter of finding the right words. Not, "I'm concerned about something," or "I have a question," but "I'm calling to make an urgent appointment." Ok.

Today I went in. Apparently the mass was near the chest wall so I am a many-layered cake at the moment with layers of stitching. The doctor said the top layers were healed enough, and given my body is rejecting the stitches, she said we should pull out the ones that were coming out on their own. Cue surprise. She looked at me over her glasses and mask and clarified, "_I_ will pull them out, you don't touch!" "Is this going to hurt?" "Yes." But the troublesome ones are out and hopefully no more will come through. Being more stitch-less, I have to be a bit more careful for a few more weeks so that my layers don't separate.

I am trying to be careful. Mindful. Mindfully cautious. Appropriately concerned. I also have a torn ligament in my knee and we don't want it to totally tear or my kneecap will float up to my thigh, so I'm told by the PT. Ok. So I go down the stairs sideways, not using the right knee, not carrying laundry with the right arm. I go up the stairs using only the left leg, not carrying groceries. Trying to be mindful, dont' carry, don't carry. Be mindful, don't pick up that water jug. Be mindful, walk past the trash bag. Mindful, mindful. Habit still takes over, and I want to go back, go back to "normal." But I'm staying here, not going back. There's nothing back there. Go forward. Mindfully.

Franklin D Roosevelt the Rabbit had surgery this week himself. From time to time he must get his teeth filed down. Otherwise they grow into the flesh of his mouth and he can't eat. He's a prey animal, so he hides his pain. To show pain or weakness would attract predators. It took me way too long to realize when I got him why he was drooling, hunched, and underweight despite piles of green hay. He didn't want me to see his suffering for fear I might turn him into stew. "Why didn't you tell me?!" I chastise him. He just blinks at me. Survival of the fittest, dummy.

I still have to monitor him regularly to see the signs that his teeth have overgrown again. I have to be mindful that he's got a stitch-uation going on that's not his fault, he was born with a smashed-in skull, overbred for generations by cruel and stupid people, he was born to a stray mother and born into a February blizzard and half-frozen, thawed in a farmer's pocket, then had to fight for his life in a hutch too small for so many. He had a rough start. I have to be mindful. He'll never be the bunny he could have been. "You're a wonderful bunny," I tell him. He's been drowsy all day, and eating only bunny oatmeal, a mash of water and hay bits. He wants to chow down on fresh hay, but he can't. "You're in recovery!" I tell him. "Oatmeal only for you today!"

The root of recovery is Capere, to take. In recovery, we don't receive something back. There's no way to regain what was lost. The book of my life was scribbled in before I got to even pick up a pencil. Despite my attempts to undo, erase, there is no eraser for life. I want to go back, back to normal, back to Before, but I can't, there is no there there. I can only be in recovery.

Is this going to hurt? yes. I have to take it. Tolerate it. I can pull out the stitches, but that doesn't mean I'm healed. Healing takes the time it takes. Frank stares mournfully at his pile of green hay, and flops on his side in despair. "We have to be satisfied with our bunny oatmeal for now," I tell him. "You're still healing."

I want to recover, but I can't receive anything back. There's nothing back there. Whatever I get back of myself I have to take, wrestle, struggle for, now, in the present. Take delivery of it. Take account. Take it into account. I have to take into account that I'm in recovery. I have to take into account that I can't lift, carry, or move without being mindful that I'm in a stitch-uation not of my making. Not of my own making, but one I alone can carry, mindfully, lightly, with as much grace and compassion as I can, up the stairs keeping the right leg straight, compensating at the hip, leaning only on the LEFT arm, not the right... a rather awkward janky journey for sure. Frank hops over to look at me, moves his head up and down to get two images to put together and see me in three dimensions. Why am I hopping in such a janky manner? Don't I know I might attract a wolf if I'm so obviously compromised, a literal wounded animal? "There's no wolf here and now, Frank." I say. "Go eat your oatmeal."

Thankyou HannahOne! That was absolutely lovely. Frank is now a rockstar thanks to you.
 :hug:

 :yeahthat:

and for frank -  :yourock:

mindful can be a healing thing.  love and hugs

One of the effects of CPTSD is an altered sense of self. 

For much of my life I was the one to whom nothing bad had happened. I was one who got out. One who succeeded.

That's who I thought I was. But that's not how I felt. I didn't feel like I'd gotten out. I didn't feel like nothing bad had happened. I didn't feel like a success. Those feelings were kept away as much as possible, exorcised with exercise and worked out through work.

So my sense of self varied day to day and hour to hour. Was I a victim or a survivor? Did I get out, or was I repeating the same patterns? Was this enough success? Was this far enough away? Who was I beyond what happened to me? Who was I when I was living as if nothing had happened to me? I didn't want to have been abused. I didn't want that to be my story. But living as if I was someone else was leaving me disconnected from myself and everyone around me.

As I have been living more as All of Me, I'm coming face to face with the things I've denied about myself. In the past, I saw my silence as acquiescence. My acquiescence as failure. My failure as weakness. All of it as a lack, lack of self. But when I look at my life in context of what was happening at the time, I see that in the silence, acquiescence, failure, and weakness, I was there. Silence was my most potent word. Avoidance was my direct action. Acquiescence was the best chance to fight another day. If I hold Frank down by his back legs, which I would never do, he'll struggle for a few seconds and then go limp. I saw him do it at the farm when he was pulled from his hutch. It's his best chance. I get it. I never grasp him. I always wait for him to hop to me.

It's tempting to look at my life outside of the context of abuse and judge myself. If I were a rabbit who had never been grabbed and pinned, well, I'd be a different rabbit. It's only in context of what I went through that what I did and who I became makes sense. And all of that is all of me.

I am not what happened to me. But what happened to me is part of me. I am not CPTSD. But CPTSD is part of me. I am not the limited choices I made, choices to be silent, avoid, acquiesce. But all of those choices are part of me. And I'm not what I did when I had no choice. But that too is part of me.

As I take ownership of All of Me, I have so many more choices than I had in the past. Choices about how close people get, or when to say goodbye. Choices about how much information to give when, to whom. I can change my mind, go back and decide to be more open, or go back and shut the door harder. My sense of self is based less on the past and how I feel I failed, or on the future of who I might be if I succeed, and more on the present of what I'm choosing. What I'm wearing today. The words I want to say.

Quote from: HannahOne on January 16, 2026, 01:20:40 AMThe book of my life was scribbled in before I got to even pick up a pencil.

Oh boy.That resonates so much I just want to cry. Actually, I am crying. In a healing way, so thank you.

I love your writing style. Healing wishes to you and Frank.

That was powerful HannahOne, thank you.
 :hug:

Thank you Chart, SanMagic7, and NarcKiddo for reading and commenting.

NarcKiddo, I hope in a healing way. I'm aware when I'm writing, I don't want to cause pain. Or bring anyone bad news, like bad news that abuse happens. At the same time, without owning that reality in my own experience, there's no there there.

I feel like we have to build the plane ourselves while we're flying. Or make our own pie. Therapists try to help, researchers are trying to understand, but we have unique knowing, lived awareness. As SanMagic7 said, mindful healing! Reading other people's experiences here has been the most healing thing for me, and that's after 30 years of therapy. Solidarity!

Frank could hate humans. He could bite. He could scratch. He could turn, give me his back. For no reason at all I can discern, he chooses a different path.

For all the shards of ice in his water that he drank out of a moldy bowl, for all the sour straw that lacerated his mouth, for the teeth that grew into his jaw, for freezing nights and panting days---he could mark my arm with his claws.

"Thank you for being here," I say. "Thank you for living four long years in a plywood box just to come and be my bunny." He runs toward me when I walk down the hall. He gets up from a deep flop to chin my leg. He looks at me with one eye, then the other, and doesn't say anything. He sees the marks on my arms, the clenched teeth, he knows the bitter water that burned streaks on my face. He keeps his silence, chewing his hay as if there's no tomorrow.

"You don't have to talk," I say. He blinks and licks his lips, smooths his ears with his front paws. He has his own agenda, he has his plans. If I hold out my arms, he may jump in, or may insist on all four feet on the floor.

And why shouldn't he? It's up to him how close to come, how far. I breathe while waiting, letting time go by. And it does. Somehow, I'm no longer just a shattered child. I'm also middle-aged, and happy. How this happened, neither Frank nor I can say.

Does it matter if I call this "forgiveness", or "revenge"? Or "the work of thirty years"? Or just "life"?

When I was a kid I could run forever. Down the gravel road, anywhere, away. It was my own legs that carried me from there to here. As years went on, I brought myself with me, all the fragments of who I could have been. Now each day I see what needs attention. "Hello," I say. "Here you are. And here is not like there." I add, "For one thing, here we have a rabbit."

This too may be forgiveness. Or may not.

Of course I'm angry, raging, I place blame where it belongs. I set up fences. I am bitter as my children grow and bloom. I sit in judgement. In my dreams, my teeth and fists are clenched.

Is that not forgiveness?

I think it is. Because of this: Frank could run forever. But he doesn't.

He takes three hops, stands up to scan, then rests his chin in my open shaky palm.

I'm having moments lately. Moments where I am fully present. All of me is there. The best way I can describe is as incredible clarity. I have space. Space expands. I have time. Time slows down. All the options are available to me. I am able to think. I am able to feel. I am able to be.

Being fully present seems to me to be the experience that was stolen from me. The pain---eh. The suffering, yeah. Betrayal, loss, etc etc etc. But what was lost that pains me, grieves me, puts me into a total rage, is the loss of my ability to be fully present. I missed out of forty years of life because I could rarely be fully present, because of the trauma that happened to me.

Intellectually I knew, and practiced for thirty years, "this is not the past," "That was then this is now," "It's over." "Be here now." I meditated, did yoga, all the therapies, all the body treatments, somatics, books, all the things.

But I couldn't force myself to be present. By definition, force will make me unable to be present. Quickest way to dissociate: scream at myself internally to show up right NOW!

The body keeps the score, and has its own inner clock, its own switches. I could influence them, all the work I did made a difference, made me intellectually aware of my states and where the switches were, gave me emotional practice in being in different states, gave me physical experience of my state. But somehow, for me, the "switch" or "button" or "ability" to become fully present came as a a gift, not something I could force, obtain, consume, or acquire. I don't want to spiritually bypass here, and it's not "spiritual" per se, it's that my experience was like that of an animal. It was instinctual.

It was also like training an animal. I can't make an animal trust me, even if I think I've earned it a thousand times. When the animal trusts me, it's a gift. I cannot control or force that, it's something that happens, that the animal instinctually knows when it knows. I couldn't MAKE myself trust myself. It was something that had to happen over time, when my instincts could come back online and I was able to not immediately shut them down. I had to allow myself to feel unsafe and stop demanding that I feel safe. The constant pressure to "be ok" made it harder, and the constant pressure of "running out of time" or "lost time" made it harder. I had to grieve the lost time, so I could step into the present.

Receiving a gift was terrifying to me, as it was not in my control. Becoming present is not something I could do, but something that had to happen. Terrifying. Something that "happens" was always bad. Only what I made happen was ever good. Allowing something to happen took thirty years of practice. Until I could allow something to happen, I could not become present, because becoming present is something I had to allow.

What I had to practice for thirty years was feeling safe. Before I could become present, I had to have developed a powerful sense of control. I had to develop my own personal power. I had to try it out many times. And many times, it failed. But I continued to learn, grow, practice. Practice saying "no." Practice saying "let me think about it." Practice saying "Yes, let's do that." From that practice of personal power, came safety.

From safety, came the ability to be present. Not intellectually think, "That was the past, be here now," but the physical, emotional, intellectual and instinctual or spiritual joining up of all parts of me in the present, which is the only place that can happen, because that's the only place there is.

And when that happens, there are always tears. Tears of sadness, rage, and joy all at once is how I experience it. For me those have been the healing tears.

the best thing I've been able to do is keep having faith and trusting that I WILL become present again. Hopefully soon, maybe in thirty seconds. Keep noticing that I'm intellectualizing, storytelling, spacing out, avoiding, acting out one limited mode or program without full awareness. The noticing is the beginning of presence.

And keep feeling the feeling of allowing, making space, for the animal I'm training, for myself. Slowing down is the first step to making space. If I'm running, even mentally running, the animal will run. I have to ssslloooowwww mmyy thoooouuuughttttsssss dowwwnnnnnnn.  Slowwww dowwwwwn physically. Slow my emotions, let them take up looonnngggeeerrrr mmooommmenttssss of time.

The slower I go, the more present I am. Thomas Merton said, "Rushing is a form of violence."

Hannah1, that your children can grow and bloom was a breath of fresh air for me.  i'm grateful to you that they have that opportunity, one you didn't get, yet, like frank, you don't run.  you stay there, knowing where you're needed, needing what you're knowing.  well done on ending that cycle of abuse for your kids.  there are too many parents who don't.

and i'm guessing frank says the same to you - thanks for making it thru no matter how hard it was, cuz now you're here w/ me, my own lovely human. love and hugs :hug:

i wrote this before your next post came on.  just wanted to let you know i agree about slowing down, stopping at times to let things catch up, and that so many of these masterpieces of our lives, like becoming fully present, or, for me, feeling an emotion, do happen on their own, in their own time.  rushing seems to brick them up somehow, and often doesn't work.

Thank you SanMagic7! I need to remember that accomplishment. I had to give up a lot of other goals in order to be the best parent I could but being the best parent I could was the most important thing, nothing else would matter if I didn't give it everything I had. I have to remember how important it was and why.  :hug:

 :cheer: for feeling emotions!

I start every day by getting dressed. And the process is an exercise in being aware of my CPTSD. I start by making choices. What do I want to say today? How do I want to feel? And try things on until I feel an internal yes. I have to allow time for this. I cannot be rushed.

My parents would say this is frivolous, self-centered, ridiculous and inane. Who cares what you're wearing? Who do I think I am?

I get it. What a luxury to have thirty minutes to try on clothes. And new clothes! And impractical shoes! And yeah, who cares? No one. But I care how I feel. And I care about who I think I am. I care about what I want to say. And it's my life! It's now or never.... I ain't gonna live forever! I just wanna live while I'm alive.... Thanks, Bon Jovi! Getting dressed is about expressing who I am because that's what I want to do. And it's my life.

The process of getting dressed is an exercise in CPTSD. Which parts of me do I want to extrovert today and which parts do I want to protect and keep internal? I need to keep the child self with me in awareness, I need to embody the adult that I am, I need to exhibit intentionality and self control and I want to exhibit approachability and fun. I have to battle through the internal critic where everything I put on is ugly, makes me look like a slut, makes me look like a country bumpkin or a pretentious city slicker or makes me look too big or too small or..... 

Getting dressed is worth spending time on. I start the day by making conscious choices, decisions. Not on automatic pilot, not being run by old programs, not unconscious. By the end of the process, I'm as embodied as I can get, as conscious as I can be, of who I am and what I am about that day. I've thrown off the nightmares, oriented to time and space, done a life review of all the me's I've ever been and am likely wearing remnants of each. I've got the childhood bracelet, the suit pants from my office jobs in my thirties, the slouchy sneakers from the teen years, the college t shirt over a lace blouse like my grandmother wore, the mom era jean blazer. I've got all of me.

If I just throw on sweatpants, I'm ripe for an emotional flashback, easy pickings for anyone who wants to ignore or disrespect me, set up to fail when I run into the school principal or a client, and skulking around trying to be invisible.

Better to show up as All of me.

Did I make myself sick?

Not on purpose.

Did I not do enough therapy? Did I not do the right therapy? Did I not reveal enough shame, grief, rage? Did I not process it right?

Or was I "too good" of a client? Did I overwork, obsess about the past, and so "not get over it"?

Is it all because of the abuse? my lack of fight? Is it because I froze? Or acquiesced?

Are my feelings poisoning me?

Am I toxic?

I don't want to let go of the fight. Rage. I needed that. I still need it. I don't want to give up flight. I loved running, my twelve miles a day in high school. Even submit, I'll keep it, horrific as it is. In my acquiescence was my one option for power and I don't want to give up one iota of my options. Shame? Kept me safer by keeping me small. Grief? I hate it. And, it shows me that I mattered. It all mattered. It all had material weight.

My feelings are, in a sense, me. Part of the All of me.
 
Carrying grief might be exhausting. Might be giving me "chronic fatigue." I suppose holding on to rage might be giving me "autoimmune disease." Keeping shame might be making me flabby. Maybe acquiescence gave me cancer.

Maybe it's not my feelings making me sick, maybe it's how I've weaponized them against myself just as my abusers used to do. Maybe it's thinking "my feelings are toxic" "I should be more Zen" "I need to get over this" "I'm not working hard enough to heal" "What's wrong with me that I'm not calm and happy all the time?" Or the internalized abuser, whenever I'm upset, "You make me sick."

Feeling like I'm making myself sick is probably more old programming. Feeling like I'm dangerous, a problem, a poison. Like it's all my fault, everything and anything that happens.

Sometimes people just get sick. Sometimes people just have a feeling.

I want to use this experience to change and grow. But maybe the way to use the experience is not to determine that I can never get upset again. Instead maybe now it's safe to feel my feelings, and in doing so I am reclaiming myself, my power, my safety. If I feel safer, I'll have less stress, which can only be good for my body.

I don't want to get rid of my feelings. Whatever feeling I am having in the moment it's probably what some part of me thinks I need. My nervous system delivers me shame, rage, and grief on a platter as it responds to stimuli to keep me safe. That doesn't make me wrong, it makes me a mammal.

Maybe being with my feelings will help my nervous system. If I'm not fleeing my feelings, fighting them, or submitting to them, maybe my nervous system will learn that they're safe, not dangerous, not toxic. I just don't want to stay in any one state very long. I want to be like Frank, move through those states. He freezes, but only for ten seconds. He flees, but only fifteen hops. He kicks out, but then turns and hops back over, resumes chewing his hay, goes back into a flop. He doesn't stay in the stress, think about it, analyze it, reprimand himself to do "better" next time. He's ok with being a little spooky. If I breeze down the hall and don't announce myself, he's going to jump straight up in the air. Me: "Oh sorry Frank! I didn't see you there!" Him "Oh sorry, HannahOne, I didn't hear you coming!" Me: "I'll be sure to hum or call out when I'm passing by!" But it's cool. He's already back in a flop, back legs flung out behind.

HannahOne,

Frank is a creature to learn from. Before my knees gave out 5 years ago, I used to walk for exercise, at least an hour a day my whole entire life. Gads, I loved walking for exercise. I'm slow now and can only walk for about 20 minutes before my knees lock up. But back when I did walk far and fast, I had trails through the woods I could walk on. Many times, I'd admire and try to learn from the rabbits and bunnies that I would spook when I came around a corner. They'd quietly hop away, deep into the underbrush. I'd apologize as I walked past. I'd go 30 feet, stop and turn to see that as soon as I was gone, they'd return to their chewing. I wanted that so badly. I wished SO BADLY that I could handle danger and then get on with life. But no. I had to log my mistakes into the shame folder so I could run them on a loop through my conscious mind every day from then on. I have to spend the rest of my life avoiding anything that reminds me of that day when someone walked up on me and I had to hop into the underbrush.

I've given up a lot of delicious meals in life because I was too afraid to return to them after a scare.

I feel like I'm controlled by my past fears. Sometimes I wish I could get a memory wipe and wake up one morning knowing how to walk and talk but not remembering my past. 

But that only shines a spotlight on the reality that I am who I am because of every, single, solitary thing I've ever been through.

As of the past year or so, I've finally crossed a line where I still suffer with fear and EF triggers, but I don't hate myself anymore. All the incessant reading and research and pondering and meditating I do has finally pushed me out of self-loathing. But that didn't stop the fears and triggers and the chronic sense of panic that churns like magma just beneath the nice cool surface of my being. The earth is a hot ball of molten lava with a cool crust that grows pretty trees, and I'm a bit like that myself too. I can feel pretty good for a while, but when something breaches the skin, a stream of volcanic fear and trauma fly out from me, boiling my skin until I can get that gap closed again. I don't hate myself anymore, but I still live in fear.

I hope you can find that same ability to let the fear and trauma be fear and trauma without the traumatized belief that it's your fault. In this world where we are healthier to take responsibility for our actions, our traumas are not one of the things we need to take responsibility for. I believe that you are right when you say this self-loathing was given to us against our wills by the people who were commissioned to teach us self-love. So it's NOT our fault that we have trauma. We can still take responsibility for our lives, but we don't have to take the blame for how we are wired. And how we are wired is real. It's a real problem that we really have to deal with.

My hope for all of us on this forum is that we can each find ways to separate our Selves from our traumas. Both are real. Both can happen simultaneously. We can have explosive EFs while still feeling our innocence around why we're having them. It's a long road to freedom from EFs. I call it my Journey of a Thousand Steps, and I'm working hard to focus on today's steps, and know that as long as I'm on the journey, I'm right where I need to be. Progress, not perfection. On my bedroom wall I put up a note that says, "The journey is the destination". That helps me to stop focusing on the frustration I tend to feel as I keep trying too hard to be fully healed.

My path runs alongside yours. I'm really glad we can share these things with one another here. I find that for me the saying is true; We're stronger together.

PapaCoco, I am still in the self loathing. Or, part of me hates myself. I figure that's also a survival mechanism, to think that it's my fault so I can undo it. I guess I'm still also working on acceptance. Being willing to have had it all happen. I don't want it to have happened. Like you say, it's a journey of a thousand steps. It just takes the time it takes. I feel frustrated that my life is quite a bit about all of this. I would like it to be about something else. But, then as you say, I wouldn't be me, right? And, it's a whole lot easier and more fun being me with others, which I found here. And if you're here, you must be out there too. I just have to let people know I'm here out there :)  :grouphug:

Hi HannahOne,

"I guess I'm still also working on acceptance. Being willing to have had it all happen. I don't want it to have happened."

I relate with this.

Acceptance of what happened is not endorsement. It wasn't ok. It was wrong. Fact. I don't want it to have happened to you either.

And here we are, with courage intact.


"Still a good duck".  :grouphug:

that video is brilliant, marcine.  thanks for posting it.  i want to share it w/ my galpal, maybe it'll help her understand this a little more.

hannah1, i am truly sorry you have any bit of self-loathing to deal with.  we are certainly not perfect, but i do not believe any one of us here on this forum is any kind of person to loathe.  loathsome people do not come to places like this, do not allow their vulnerabilities to be seen, do not admit they have issues to deal with.  you are doing what the un-loathsome people do.  i hope you can find that within yourself.  love and hugs :hug:

Marcine thank you so much for commenting. And for sharing the duck video!! I meant to look it up and never did. It's hilarious and also so clear!

After seeing the video I'm thinking maybe the inability to accept is partly because of the gaslighting, "the water's fine!" "You're doing great!" "Don't get stuck in the past!" Not accepting was a way to not deal with it and keep swimming, but that only works for so long. I can only be me!

Thank you for the solidarity.

SanMagic7 Thank you for commenting, support, and the hug  :hug:  It's ok to be me. I dont' have to like everything that happened or everything about me, but that doesn't mean I'm worth loathing!

agreed!!! :hug:

 :hug:

It's so brave to share this here HannahOne. Your mind seems to be giving you a hard time at the moment. You're not responsible for the hand you were dealt. For none of the domino's that were set in motion. I have a hunch you did more than your best to play the game as best as you possibly could. That's good enough. Even if the fruits of your efforts aren't edible right now.

Today I heard one of my teachers talk about her dog. She said the dog doesn't even know she's a dog. Astute. I presume the absence of mind-identification equals non-duality. That's full-on. No filter. No escape. No trips into what's not happening [aka thoughts]. Intense emotions that leave the system rather quickly compared to what lingers in ours. What I've observed is a correlation between openness to difficult emotions, their intensity, and how long they stick around. It boils down to what Shinzen Young said: "Suffering = Pain × Resistance. Purification = Pain × Equanimity". That's not a switch that can be flipped at will. Especially not for traumatized people. Rather an attitude that can be cultivated, which does seep into deeper layers over time. Deconditioning/reconditioning is a messy, non-liniar process. Feeling intense emotions, or being hijacked by the mind doesn't necessarily mean that something is going wrong, or that you are. It happens. And there's Frank.  :)

We share Frank's beingness in our equally mammalian systems. We're just dealing with an extra layer of distraction from it that we identify with much more than is helpful. The mind is a wonderful servant, but a terrible master, as they say.

Much love


"Still a good duck". That's priceless Marcine  ;D

   🦆  🦆  🦆  🦆  🦆
:grouphug:

Chart, SenseOrgan, TheBigBlue, thank you for commenting!

SenseOrgan, "the dog doesn't know it's a dog."  :)) That IS astute! How to carry knowing with some equanimity and less suffering is the ongoing question. Compartmentalizing/pretending didn't work. How can it be ok to know what I know, how can I be ok with knowing? Or be ok with not being ok with knowing? An attitude to cultivate. I can create the conditions, and give time and energy for equanimity to grow. Pulling it out every five minutes to yell at the roots "ARE YOU GROWING YET?!" is probably not going to work  :))

being a plant grower, i chuckled at yelling at the roots to see if they're growing yet, hannah1.  that was great.

yep, we can only provide the conditions for our self-plant to grow, then nurture it w/ what it needs to keep growing and ultimately blooming.  i like it.  it's a good plant no matter what.  love and hugs :hug:

HannahOne

Today I'm trying to remember what it was that helped me to come out of self-loathing, and I think I'm finally able to see how I came to be a traumatized, easily triggered CPTSD'r who finally doesn't hate myself for it. So I'll just bear witness to what happened to me. I know we're all as different as we are similar, so, I'll share my story, and hope there can be something in it that can help you with your story. (To be honest, when I share my stories with others, it helps bring ME more clarity to my experiences too).

For me, it's only been a few months since I started feeling like I don't hate myself anymore. (I found self-loathing at the age of 7, so I felt it for 58 years). I think the thing that finally got me to feel in my heart that I'm not the problem is when I read a book or two that helped explain the biology of how the mammal brain works. It was Peter Levine's book, In an Unspoken Voice, where he detailed out how any mammal is designed to recover from trauma by using the built-in survival techniques we were born with. We knew how to feed, how to breath, and how to cry for help. That's it. If we were feeding and breathing and able to get our tribes to help us when we cried, we could overcome nearly any trauma--just like Frank does. But when we cried out for help and our caregivers either ignored us or hurt us, then the natural flow of energy to our survival mechanisms were pinched off, causing a predictable and natural inability to get past the traumas that happened to us. When I read that, in his scientifically detailed and believable explanation, it's like I heard my brain say to me, "this really WASN'T MY FAULT!" I think I immediately came to the forum and wrote "I finally feel the one thing I've always wanted. I feel FORGIVEN!" And immediately after I wrote that my brain said one more thing, "Now you know that you never needed to be forgiven in the first place!"

What happened inside me to make me suffer for 58 years believing I couldn't be forgiven for being who I am, was I realized how it was 100% predictable biological altering of my natural programming that was playing itself out exactly how it does in any mammal that has its core defenses muted during the formative years. To make this even more innocent, I learned from Levine, that in lab experiments with mammals, it's been proven that if a mammal is restrained while being violated or hurt in any way (And this can include a child being held down in a dentist chair or surgical procedure), the brain's rewiring is far more permanent, because being unable to flail the arms or legs rewires the brain even faster. When a mammal can "go down fighting" they can recover from trauma easier than when they go down unable to fight back at all. I feel like being unable to defend myself against my own "tribe's" lifetime of lies, smear campaigns, and forcing me to live as a servant to them, was an emotional version of being defenseless against my abusers. I've been restrained physically AND I've been restrained emotionally. The only two ways I could go were: I either hated the world and became a bad person, or I hated myself so I could become a good person. I chose to be a good person, so I hated myself instead of hating them. I suspect that's common with us here in the forum. We were the ones who turned on ourselves so we would not become what our abusers were.

In me, this has made me, not only a fawner and a freezer, but it's made me feel completely unable to defend myself in any situation. I sometimes imagine what it might be like if I ever have to get into a fist fight, or run from a gunfight or anything, and for the life of me, I cannot imagine myself having the arm strength to strike any predator. In my own mind, when trying to imagine how I'd fight off a shark or bear or human attack, my arms and legs suddenly feel like they are filled with concrete. I've never struck another human or animal. I don't believe I have the physical ability to. I can lift more than most men. I can work harder than most men, but I can't find any energy in me that believes I can defend myself if I ever need to. That inability to defend myself used to be proof that I'm worthless and unlovable, but now it's proof that I was restrained and abused and ignored. Somehow, by reading the details of how the biological responses in me were absolutely caused by the removal of my defenses when I was young, I had one of those epiphanous "Ah HA!" moments that sometimes happen in life when we suddenly realize things are not how I'd previously believed they were.  Somehow, seeing under the hood to how my brain did what it did so I could be a good person, helped me overcome my self-loathing.

I don't know if this helps others as much as it helps me, but when I can finally get the chance to look under the hood to see how the engine really works, it helps me to know what I'm really driving.

I hope this helps in any small way.

QuoteI was restrained and abused and ignored. Somehow, by reading the details of how the biological responses in me were absolutely caused by the removal of my defenses when I was young,

Quotei agree with this wholeheartedly.  our defense mechanisms were removed or altered somehow by the messages we received, which told us to stay small, hidden, or, the flip side of the coin, to lash out in some way, be seen and heard negatively as big as possible.  it's amazing to me how our systems work to keep us as safe as possible.  love and hugs :hug:

SanMagic7 :) I can't grow even weeds. Thanks for the support!

PapaCoco, your experience is very interesting. I had not thought of it like this: "But when we cried out for help and our caregivers either ignored us or hurt us, then the natural flow of energy to our survival mechanisms were pinched off." That's it, a flow of energy is blocked.

With the horse it was all about getting them moving, trotting, so the energy could move, even though moving often led to exploding at the end of the rope, bucking kicking galloping. After a time, the trot would become more rhythmic, the head would drop, shake the neck, snort.

I am trying to move more, physically move. And also move through the world, try on outfits, try things out, try talking, try writing, try cooking new things. Trying to get the energy moving after about five years of not moving, hunkering down, freeze. Trying to help that flow of energy complete the circuit.

Talking to my therapist about making a morning routine.

I get up. Get the kids breakfast, pack their lunch, get the dogs breakfast, the rabbit breakfast. Walk the dogs.

What about your breakfast? What would you like to eat? the therapist asks.

Oatmeal, eggs, I say.

And what to drink?

Water, I say.

Water, ok, she says, and coffee?

I don't drink coffee, I say, the last thing I need is more anxiety.

Ok she says, juice?

I don't drink juice.

How about tea? she says. Tea is nice in the morning, nice and warm.

Ok, ok, I say, I'll have tea.
!
!
!
!
!
I start to laugh. I'll have tea? I laugh hysterically until I cry. At the least pressure, even in complete safety, I cannot not give in. Sure, I'll have tea. Bring on the tea.

*******

I hate conflict. I don't want to argue. How many times have I said that to her? I hate conflict. I don't want to argue.

We have a big snow where I live. It's rare. It's beautiful. It's triggering. My kids want me to come out with them in the snow. "Nope! Mom doesn't like snow." I watch from the window briefly. When I was a kid, building a snowman would often devolve into a snowfight. It ended with me red faced, face down in the snow, mouth full of snow, his hand on the back of my head. For too long. He always had to win. The winner takes it all.

One day we walked miles in the snow to skate, because driving was impossible, and because it would be fun. Huge flakes coming down, my snow pants creaking against themselves, trying to walk in his steps as the snow was past my knees. I was exhausted and freezing, but terrified to keep up. He couldn't carry me, he had his hands full. We got to a small pond. I collapsed into the snow to rest. The tree branches were heavy with snow, bending down to touch the surface of the frozen water, also covered with a foot of snow. He began to shovel the snow off the pond. He never tired.

It was silent. It seemed we were the only two people in the world. Time slowed down. Big flakes falling. Would it ever stop snowing? Would the world ever reappear? If I screamed, would anyone hear? What if the pond wasn't fully frozen? If he fell in, what would I do? It would take me an hour to "run" home in snow past my knees. He made his way to the middle of the pond. "Please don't!" I screamed. "Are you crazy?" he yelled. "It'll be fun!"

After a time a clearing was made and he took off his boots and put on skates. He seemed like a god, hands behind his back and gliding along on the reflection of the slate gray sky. He called me out to the middle of the pond. My stomach sank. I didn't want to argue.

If I died, I died. There was no alternative but to go. I had only my boots, and slipped and skittered to him. Would I fall through? Was it solid? I couldn't trust him to know, couldn't trust my own feet. I grabbed onto his mittened hands and he pulled me along, skating backwards. Thrilling, terrifying, surreal. Everything with him was thrilling, terrifying, surreal.  Always the manic high, and the stomach sinking feeling.

I question myself. There are different perspectives. He was unaware of how scared I was on the ice, or just knew better? Wanted me to be brave, tough. He thinks he is generous and kind. He could've been watching TV instead of taking me out in the snow. And I didn't fall in, did I? Did I? No I did not. He would never put me in danger. Would he? The ice was solid, if it held him, it would hold me.

It's a no-win situation.

I'm ungrateful. Hysterical. Shame to keep me small and quiet, to make sure I don't argue, to keep my words stuffed into my throat, melting away like snow.

***

Ok, ok, I'll have tea.

My acquiescence kept me small. Shame and fawning allowed me to survive many storms. Fighting only led to being held down longer. Refusing only led to being dragged. He was going to take me out on the ice whether I was tired or not, had skates on or not, and he was going to spin me around until I was dizzy whether I cried or not. I know this.

Because I wasn't an adult who could speak up, negotiate, or refuse. Or scream.

Because he thought it was fun, fine, that I was tough, brave, that he was kind, good.

Yet I excoriate myself. I hate myself. I hate that I'll agree to drink tea because my kindly therapist wants me to have something more than just plain water, wants me to think about what I want, wants me to want it and take it. Wants me to win, win the morning at least. Wants to win me back to real life where things are solid under my feet and I know it, where I'm not walking on ice cold water, where I can walk across the kitchen floor and know it's not going to give way, can take my time to make tea instead of grabbing water and running back to bed. Wants me to know I'm somewhere that someone will hear me if I scream. That screaming could be brave, too.

HannahOne, you remind me just how hard this stuff is. Damned if you do-stuff... I don't believe in screaming by orders from higher-up. But the higher-ups aren't always wrong. Annoying that.

Quote from: HannahOne on January 26, 2026, 09:36:29 PMThe ice was solid, if it held him, it would hold me.

Sure. But would it hold the both of you? Your concerns were always valid.

I hear you about your kindly therapist. My husband is like this. He tries to make things better for me, making all manner of assumptions along the way. Quite reasonable assumptions that don't apply to me because - why? I am not a reasonable person? I don't know the answer, but I'd have said "yes" to the tea, too. I'd probably have cracked at juice, to be honest.

I'm not sure if I'm interpreting your entry correctly. Please ignore if I'm missing the mark. And perhaps I'm too direct, so a bit of a TW there. Reading your words, I was taken back to an experience in which there was no bs'ing myself possible. What I saw clearly, is that deep down, I don't want to be alive. Because this existence is so painful. It that it? Does your therapist skip over this by insisting on you reaching certain goals? Does your therapist allow you to have these feelings? Does (s)he make space for that to be real and validated in connection?

Generally, people seem to flip out on me drinking water. Hot water in particular. Except for tea in the morning, it's about all I drink. Because I like it. My therapist found it a little odd too when I started with it. He didn't push me like yours did though. There were just the facial expressions and perhaps a few remarks indicating it's a little odd to him. After a while, he started asking me if I'd like some hot water. It didn't feel like therapy for me, but these things can be. 

hannah1, i don't understand why water isn't good enough!  i drink water for breakfast most days, don't have an appetite for anything else till later in the day.  but water is so important for our bodies, our systems, so i don't understand the push to drink something else.  maybe it's me.

i heard about a friend who wrote 'NO' on a card when they went to see their T.  they couldn't get the word out of their mouth, but at the beginning of the session, they told their T they would hold that word up because they had trouble saying it.  i thought it was some good problem-solving. 

you'll get there, keep talking about it - maybe you can talk to your T about it in your next session?  therapists are not god figures, not parental figures - they're meant to be guides to help you get from where you are to where you want to be.  encouraging, but not necessarily pushy.  i just feel bad you went thru this w/ your T.  love and hugs

Quote from: NarcKiddo on January 27, 2026, 12:34:24 PMI'd have said "yes" to the tea, too. I'd probably have cracked at juice, to be honest.

:yeahthat:    me too.     :grouphug:

I don't know guys. I dont know what to think or how to interpret it. I was shocked that I agreed to tea. Everything stopped for a second. Why did I agree to that, it was involuntary. It felt really bad to me because it was involuntary.

At the same time, I don't know what's pushing and what's just a conversation?

Rarely she pushes, if it's a medical thing I'm avoiding. I don't think she was pushing really... I think she was just conversing, and I interpreted it as a conflict I wanted to avoid.

I guess she is pushing a little, in wanting me to "take better care of myself." And plain water and oatmeal maybe seemed like prison food  to her or something. I really only drink water. No ice. I grew up with only water.

And I am fortified in my position! a lot of you seem to drink just water :)  Thanks for the solidarity!

And I'm not the only one who cracks :) TheBigBlue, Chart, NarcKiddo.

NarcKiddo what you said about "so many things that seem reasonable to her, just don't apply to me." Yeah. I can't quite relate to a "civilized breakfast." I make a nice spread for the family, but tend to eat my dry toast by myself after they leave. Because I was raised by wolves? I dunno.

SanMagic7, I love the idea of a card with "no" on it! I gave my kid a set of communication cards because occasionally they can be nonverbal due to neurology. I know there have been times I have to write a few words rather than say them to the therapist. I'm going to make a "no" card and see if I can have a conflict that way for the next session :)

SenseOrgan, part of me doesn't want to exist, and, I'm in zero danger and very motivated to be here and heal. Maybe not wanting to do a morning routine is in part not wanting to be here, not wanting to wake up and recall how my life is. I have trouble sleeping, but I do wake up feeling happy initially, for about 15 seconds, until I remember "oh yeah, my past." Which is something that happened in my childhood, I woke up in the morning feeling peaceful, and then quickly recalled my situation with a sinking stomach and had no interest in breakfast, which wasn't often offered, and girded myself in the freezing cold to start powering through my day on nothing more than a glass of water.

I think what happened with the therapist was... in the face of feeling a little pushed, I disappeared. I also think you're onto something in that maybe I didn't even want to talk about a morning routine. Ive been in therapy for 30 years, for Frank's sake I know how to make a morning routine. I know all therapists want a little behavioral activation to round out the work, fair. But I think your sense is right in that she and I may be skating over the surface of some waters that are deeper than "coffee, or tea?" Why a morning routine might be loaded, or why a morning routine might not be the solution to my emotional state/flashback experience in the mornings.

Maybe my "ok ok I'll have tea" speaks to the dynamic between her and me, where I can't say "no" to the entire agenda of making a morning routine in the session, where she's pushing the therapy agenda/pulling me around on the surface of the ice and she isn't really aware of the danger I perceive and the dark waters I feel we're over.  Why the "let's make a morning routine" agenda feels very unsafe to me, even though she's standing on the ice herself and it seems solid to her.

Her attitude wasn't pushing, it was more "Let's do a morning routine, it'll be fun!" ...but I guess I did feel like screaming. And I didn't say something like "there's more to it than making a schedule." I wasn't able in the moment to do that.

I will have to think about how to approach this with her. I'm pretty sure she can go to dark waters, we have before. It's more, can I say the words in the moment. Thank you for commenting, SenseOrgan.

Meanwhile I'm watching myself with clients, friends, my sibling, PT, doctors, in a very passive state, nodding and agreeing and not tolerating the least friction. If I say my arm hurts and the PT says try a few more, I try a few more. If I ask a kid to walk the dog and they purposely don't look up, I just move on. If I am in line at the post office and someone gets in front of me, I just leave. That's not like me, so I must be triggered by something. Maybe having to do all the doctor appointments and having some white coat syndrome. maybe the snow. who knows.

I am printing this Bugs Bunny and putting it in my wallet:

Yes, water (preferably sparkling) no ice. Nothing else really. :Idunno:

I'm very happy to hear you're in zero danger and very motivated to be here and heal! YES to that! YES to life! YES to YOU! :cheer:

There's so much in what you wrote that I recognize! I've ended up in situations and have done things that shocked me afterwards. Because I lost my agency. It's more obvious this happens with another F response, but with the fawn variety it feels more like I'm still present. Except I'm not. Not really. Not as me. With enough threat detection [neuroceptively speaking], my survival self takes over and I'm also the person who agrees to tea. Disappearing, exactly. I hate it when that happens. It feels awful. There's anger beneath it. That anger can be fuel for emancipation if it isn't directed at myself. There's a connection to what I do want in it. That's valid and powerful. It can be a pathway out of the holding pattern of shame.

Working with therapists has more than once triggered unsafety. By definition there is an agenda for the client. That's the whole point, isn't it? This can get tricky if therapist and client aren't entirely on the same page in the moment. It can get very subtle. But I think people with our sort of history pick up on all of that, consciously or unconsciously. When my preference is met with a value judgement, however subtle, it can trigger a fawn response. Knowing that the therapist has good intentions doesn't prevent the transference from happening. My system responds as if I was left no space to exist authentically. Again. And the way I learned to survive such a situation kicks in just as easily decades later. Because I don't have enough interpersonal experiences that taught me it is in fact, okay and safe to be me. And that it's perfectly fine to want or don't want certain things that others don't agree with. It can be even more difficult with a therapist, because there often is an assumption they know what's best for us. That could be true. My position is that it only is when we are on board with it. It only works with an internal "yes" of the client, which may or may not follow that which is brought up. If it's an internal "no", that can be equally valid and worth while to explore. I think it's safe to lead with your intuition.

Quote from: HannahOne on January 27, 2026, 09:49:16 PMfor Frank's sake

You made my day with that. Boy do I enjoy this kind of playfulness with words. It's a keeper, for sure.  ;D

O, I was logged out when I clicked on the picture that didn't show... Dunno what's going on there. I cant's see it, unfortunately  :no:

Quote from: SenseOrgan on January 28, 2026, 11:44:57 AMO, I was logged out when I clicked on the picture that didn't show... Dunno what's going on there. I cant's see it, unfortunately  :no:

SO, you did nothing wrong:
"Attachments awaiting approval"
I've a sneaking suspicion that Kizzie's overworked (and very likely underpaid :-)

Quote from: SenseOrgan on January 28, 2026, 11:43:52 AMMy position is that it only is when we are on board with it. It only works with an internal "yes" of the client, which may or may not follow that which is brought up. If it's an internal "no", that can be equally valid and worth while to explore. I think it's safe to lead with your intuition.

I totally agree, only I would change "internal" to "explicit". For me, the whole idea of therapy is to simply find these limits and bring them into consciousness. The fact that so many of my reactions remain hidden from me indicates that their ultimate purpose is a secondary task to figure out. First I have to identify them, THEN I can work on changing them. There's definitely a place for a therapist to push some boundaries on occasion, in a non-violent fashion and with awareness on their part. Friends do the same thing for friends. It starts with soft and easy hints... then we can move forward depending on the realizations that come about. It doesn't matter tea or water, what matters is that the source for the decision is understood and fully conscious.
 :hug:

 :yeahthat:

I'm sorry about the picture. If you search "Bugs Bunny saying No" it will come up and I find it so funny! :) NO.

SenseOrgan I really appreciated your response. Yes," knowing the other person has a good intention doesn't prevent the response" I have. I'm so frustrated with myself about this. It's happening everywhere right now. I feel self-hatred. And I know that's another part. Part of me acquiesces, another part objects and criticizes me for acquiescing. The self-hatred was actually trying to preserve my sense of self and self-respect by objecting to fawning, by reminding me I was not only an object for the use of other people. The self-hatred is intense! Thanks all parts, I guess. LOL.

I'm struggling to find my intuition. When I look inside I feel like there's nothing. I know that's not true and I haven't felt that way in the past. I think that I am quieting and calming a lot of internal noise, which is great. And, I was very identified with the noise, stories, inner conflict, waves of feelings. So with all of that quieter, I feel .... quiet :) It feels like "nothing." I have to wait for my intuition or instincts to come into awareness, they're quieter than the fears. But I did smack into it! NOT tea. WATER. My Self is the one who has preferences. You dont have preferences in a war zone. But I'm not in a war zone. I can have preferences. I can have boundaries. I can have water, or tea, I can make a morning routine or not. If I focus on what I want for myself, I feel my self come more into presence, I can feel there's "something" in there. If I'm focused on what the other person thinks or wants, I look inside and feel there's "nothing." As you said, "I erase myself." 

Chart, I loved what you said "For me, the whole idea of therapy is to simply find these limits and bring them into consciousness." I guess that's what happened. I didn't realize I had such strong preferences about drinks in the morning... and that I had a different agenda in that moment... some more passive part of me had taken over and I was just along for the ride, sure, morning routine, uh huh uh huh, until I had to make a few decisions and realized WAIT A MINUTE I don't even want to be doing this! LOL. Limit firmly brought into consciousness!

QuoteBut I'm not in a war zone. I can have preferences. I can have boundaries. I can have water, or tea, I can make a morning routine or not. If I focus on what I want for myself, I feel my self come more into presence,

Quotei thought this was a profound realization, and i loved reading it, hannah1.

i have felt that 'nothingness' about myself as well, which is why, i think, when i thought about doing parts work, i was afraid there were no parts in there.  just a big block of 'me' who does what needs to be done. there's always been something that needs to be done, and it was often some sort of survival.  so, all of me was focused on just that, which was plenty. no room for anything else.

so glad for you that you found your 'self' in all this.  well done!  love and hugs :hug:

Thank you all for interacting with my journal. In thinking more about what everyone has been sharing here and in their own journals I've been trying something new in the mornings.

All my life when I first wake up, I feel calm and peaceful. Clear. But immediately, I remember "oh yeah, my life is ruined." the past hits me like a ton of bricks and I feel, "someone who's been through what I've been through can never succeed or be happy." This is obviously a toxic belief from the past, when I would wake in the morning and remember whatever abuse had happened the previous day or night. It's like every morning I realize it all over again and have some kind of emotional flashback of intense doom. It's like being sucker punched every morning.

The last few mornings I've been trying something new. I've been trying to "hold on" to the peace I initially wake up with. I don't know how I'm doing it. It's not denial, I'm aware that I have a difficult past, but I just insist that my mind stay in the calm at the same time as knowing that. Like walking a horse, where I just insist we not walk through the puddle, or with Frank, I just insist that he not jump out of my arms until I've lowered him enough to not break a leg. I don't squeeze or grip Frank, that would make him leap even more. I just mentally insist, hold firm and he gets the message, "this is for your good" and he relaxes and waits to be lowered. With the horse I can't pull him around the puddle, he's 2000 lbs and I'm 150. But I can mentally "hold" my space. I'm sure energetically that my "holding" affects my musculature and nerves and that's what the animals are responding to. It's pretty cool to see that somehow I can do the same with myself. It takes focus and attention and intention.

I don't know if this will keep working but I"m intrigued. If I can hold off the negative belief and rush of despair and self-recrimination for a few hours, I seem to be over it and it never descends. When I first wake up I'm probably more vulnerable to it. By the time I've done my, AHEM, "morning routine," I'm more in the present and have more inner resources.

I keep working on my clothes. I am experimenting with brighter colors lately. Red pants and a blue denim swing top, snakeskin Mary janes. Red and white striped button up under a bright blue sweater, camo pants. Pine green sweater, white pants, green sneakers. I am drawn to the intense color contrasts and pattern mixing but I can't quite handle the contrast, I end up washed out, the clothes are wearing me. The way to deal with this is wear makeup. I can't quite cross that bridge and don't know if I will. My family had extremely conservative beliefs that outlawed makeup, yet it was applied to me unpleasantly for other people's enjoyment. Such a toxic stew. So I may have to steer back to more monochrome outfits for less contrast, and more browns, blues and grays. I'm trying to see if I can get the contrast I want through texture instead of color. I'm torn what to do about my face. In painting, it' like putting on makeup, you blush the cheek, fill in the lip. It never looks garish. I would like to be able to "paint" my face, to highlight, to add color to balance my garments like I do in a painting. It's just so scary, I know I will feel all manner of disgust, feel clownish. Anyway I'm thinking about it which is step one of exposure.

I'm pretty psyched because I've started PT and while it's tough, I am already getting stronger. After a few years of lying in bed too many hours a day, I'm very deconditioned. I am angry at myself for becoming so depressed. Whenever my kids were not at home, I was in bed, and that may have led to my illness and certainly led to my torn knee ligament. I'm happy that already all my muscles are waking up, I"m moving without pain, getting my arm mobility back after surgery, and my knee seems to be healing. It feels amazing to be more in my body, to feel strong like I used to with the horses, to feel myself moving through space solidly.

I have some difficulty at times, looking in the mirror at the gym is difficult. I have some kind of dysmorphia not about my size/shape but more about ME, I don't feel I look like "me." But looking in the mirror will help me get past that. I am hopeful about this next step, not just clothes but also my body in the clothes, how I inhabit not just the clothes but my body. Can I make peace with my past, can I stay aware of my past without thinking "someone like me can't exist," can I move through time and space in the present moment as the adult I am? Can I find peace? Can I learn to live as all of me?

I am glad you have started PT and that you are getting stronger. A feeling of physical strength is amazing. I couldn't believe quite how much, when I finally discovered fitness in my 40s. I am sure you can learn to live as all of you and that you are already some way down that road.  :grouphug:

You know about art and what colours work. It seems to me there could be several ways to work with the clothing conundrum. Thinking about putting make up on is one aspect and of course there is nothing wrong with make up as such. But I can see why it holds such connotations for you. You have not asked for suggestions but I am going to throw some out here, because I can't resist it. Ignore the rest of this post if you'd rather not think about them, and if you would like me to remove them just say and I will gladly edit the post.

Options that occur to me:
Start by just putting a bit of make up on at home and then cleaning it off again if it feels too much.
Consider whether your hair colour/style is the best for you and consider making changes if it is contributing to the washing-out effect.
On the above two points there are now various sites where you can upload a photo and then virtually try on make up or hair styles. It might be worth playing with that a little, just to get used to what you might look like in a mirror if you start experimenting in real life.
Experiment with wearing different colours next to your face until you find the ones that don't wash you out. Then add colour contrast below, or with a scarf worn loose so the colour actually next to your face is enhancing you.
If your colours are fine with your complexion but your colour contrasts still feel like they are wearing you, maybe you just need a bit of extra balance up top via a hat or scarf in your hair.
Do you wear glasses? They can be a very useful way to add balance to the whole look. My mother used to make me wear glasses that looked as unobtrusive as possible, supposedly to "hide" the fact that I was wearing them. Like you can hide that!! And I was supposed to pack on make up to hide my various defects. As I have got older I have cut down make up. I also enjoy bright clothing but have found that my face can hold its own with simply the right glasses and a slick of lipstick that suits my complexion. 
If you have ever enjoyed acting see if there is an amateur dramatics group near you which might require you to paint your face for a theatrical purpose. That could be a fun way to break the back of the problem but it is very drastic!

hannah1, the PT work sounds wonderful and i'm really glad for you that you're seeing such pos. results.

i think NK"s suggestions have merit. a little here, a little there, baby steps.  or none, according to how you feel about it.

when i was in jr. high, i had a terrible time making friends and became so lonely, i brought it to my parents.  needless to say, that didn't go well, so i decided i was going to have to change me, my personality.  it took me a while, but by the time i was a senior in high school, it had worked. 

do what you need to do so you can feel better about you.  you are what you are, what you have, and you can do w/ her what you want.  choices and decisions - and lots of practice.  it'll take time, but i have no doubt you'll get to where you want to be.  love and hugs :hug:

NK, thank you for sharing some ideas. I love the idea about glasses. I wore them since I was a toddler as I was a preemie. A few years ago got eye surgery and no longer needed. But I think I will get some. They will make my face look more "intentional" even without makeup. And yes, I cannot stand ANYTHING on my skin I Can't even wear sunscreen. But lipstick I can do. I am going to experiment with the most nude lip to start LOL.

I  also love the idea about improv! I'm starting a ballet class in a few months when my knee is healed. Baby steps :)

SanMagic7, there is definitely a delayed development going on along with my midlife crisis lol. I didn't get to experiment as a teen at all it was very rigidly controlled in what could wear, and we were poor. Then I left home and was in survival mode working and saving, then kids.... I've never taken time to figure out what I want to say, what versions of me I Want to express. Thank you for the solidarity.

So my grand plan for morning failed today, LOL. Got up, made kids breakfast and lunch, made partner lunch, fed dogs, rabbit, katydid (don't ask!), walked dogs, ran the dishes Aaaannnnndddd back to bed.

Laid in bad in sad despair for several hours, thrashing around and telling myself to get up while equally yelling at myself to stay put for fear of the feelings I would have if I got up.

Thought about what I wanted to do. I wanted to play with clothes. Part of me saying that's a waste of time, need to clean up the house for weekend, I should be working, when will I get a job, I should work on my small business I have two clients to call back, no I should go back to corporate, I can never go back to corporate......

Got up at noon and got the pants that came in the mail yesterday. 14$ eBay grey wool trousers by Talbot. A strange experiment. What was I thinking when I ordered these? I put them on, they fit perfectly. I put on my ice blue lace top. wow! Added a black leather jacket. Oh yeah. Burgundy pointed toe boots. Yes m'am. Tried a white t shirt with a blue denim swing jacket. V nice, the jacket makes the pants casual. Added a sneaker. Yup. Carmel wool sweater, yep. Brown linen sweater, yep. How about the Joshua Tree oversized T shirt? Yes! Pine green athletic sweatshirt with white stripe down the arms. Wow! Add silver Mary Jane. Yeah!

These gray pants go with absolutely everything I own, every top from button down to lace blouse to sweater to sweatshirt and t shirt. Every blazer, every suede or leather jacket. Every shoe from sneaker to boot to Mary Jane to loafer.

They bring the masculine and business vibe. Then everything else can be casual, which most of my tops and shoes are. The tops and shoes can bring the soft or romantic, like the lace top of the denim swing top, the Mary Jane. The tops and shoes can bring sporty casual like the sneaker and sweatshirt. Or I can stay in the dressy lane with the caramel or chocolate sweaters and boot.

I was trying to find the perfect jeans and that was throwing everything off, because jeans are dark blue. And then I have to wear lighter things on top, and I need saturated colors near my face. And jeans say casual and they also say "mom." And I am a mom, but I am becoming more than a mom and reclaiming other parts of me. I don't need my pants to say "mom," I want my pants to say the things I am aspiring to, like solid gray wool pants. Textured, natural from a sheep LOL, woven, business, masculine. Also lower rise and straight leg slouchy. I'm a 90s high school kid after all.

The other pair of pants that usually work are light wash 90s low rise straight slouchy jeans.

I have short barrel grey jeans and I know now why I loved them---the grey. Not sure about the silhouette now. I have white jeans, and I know now why I loved them--light on the bottom. I have chocolate brown trousers and I know now why I love them---business. These grey pants bring all three of those qualities together.

Knowing why I like or don't like something is just as important as knowing what I like or don't like. I want to learn to articulate preferences. I want to gain mastery with clothes as a language just like I can learn to gain mastery with words as a language. I can feel it, the words I want to say.

I find it hilarious that the color that made everything work is grey. Not black, not white. Not red. Not blue or pine green or the orange I recently tried, Frank save the Queen. Gray, a color that isn't a color, it's a mix of dark and light. A neutral that holds the extremes. It's also the perfect contrast, whether I go lighter on the top or darker on the top, grey is holding the middle.

That's what I want to say. I want to carry, express, not black not white. Color that is no color. Wu Wei, the color that is a color is not the true color. I want to say extremes of dark and light held together by neutral, the Middle Way. I want to express business-like slouch. Luxurious casual. Serious lack of effort. LOL. Just pulled on these $14 1990s 100% wool trousers with a silk lining, hello world!

Eh, it's just clothes. But I'm thrilled. Happiness unlocked.

hannah1, i'm so glad you decided to play w/ clothes - i found a lot of enjoyment in it!  and gray is one of my very favorite colors, so i get it.  beautiful.  sounds like you hit the right nail on the head, here.  well done!  love and hugs :hug:

Thank you, SanMagic7! I am feeling a new sense of empowerment at being able to make decisions about what to wear based on how I FEEL in my clothes, and express what I want to say. Hoping this will help me move more forward and out into the world and connect to other people.

Feeling triggered and thought writing might help.

I had a wonderful day today connecting with a special group of people. Afterward I felt so centered and calm, so present. I think this has been a huge missing piece for me in my life, being with people who understand what it's like to have CPTSD, being able to be "out" about it. No one in my life knows my diagnosis. I don't share my past beyond that I was "raised by wolves." My partner knows because he lives with me, not because I've told him. My sibling knows because they lived it with me. I've lived as someone to whom it didn't happen.

To be able to take for granted that it happened, to be with people who lived it too, to even laugh about the predicament with others..... I wish I could better describe the feeling, all I can say is "solid." and "clear." "Quiet inside." "Arrived." "All of me." "What I've been searching for." This feeling lasted for hours and hours and I just reveled in it. It's like all the me's of the past were taking it in, and it was changing their lives, too, rewriting the past. Not alone---never alone. While I was suffering in the Midwest of America, these beloveds were also going through their own samsaras, AND COMING OUT ON THE OTHER SIDE, all these years ALSO fighting, climbing, searching, learning, persevering, believing. It's a shared experience. It's an experience of human beings. I am a human being. I belong to the tribe of humans. If they can live and thrive, I too can live and thrive. I can be someone to whom it all happened---I CAN BE ME.

As the day wore on I started to feel unwell and now it's clear I'm getting a cold. NBD. A little cold. Tested negative for flu an dCOVID. Fine.

Yet I'm spiraling. I HATE the feeling of "going down."

I get so scared when I feel sick. I get so triggered. I get so scared.

I hate being unable to do things. Feeling helpless is the worst feeling for me.

I had cleaned the whole house Friday, yet today it's messed up again, and I can't clean it, I can't do the dishes this evening, I can't clean the rat cage, I can't put away the laundry. I hate disorder, it's very triggering as my house growing up could be hoarded or disordered. I am not a neat freak and do regularly have creative mess, it's just that when I feel triggered I need to be able to order it. And right now I can't. Frank's lettuce sits on the counter, the dishes sit in the sink, there's a box that needs to go to recycling. A feeling of chaos and neglect overwhelms me.

It's scary to feel I must keep going, when my body says I can't. I'll still have to take care of everyone, meals, dishes, laundry, pets, a cycle of every 2 hours another production. Recently with my surgery I got one kid and the partner to step up and the other kid who just can't cope went to a friend's for the week. How will I produce meals tomorrow. I can't even think.

Being sick was rough as a kid. When I had flu they made me bathe in cold water, scrub my head (wouldn't pay to heat the water), and put on my tights and patent leather shoes and frilly dress to go to Christmas dinner. I passed out in the hallway with wet hair dripping on my dress. They bundled me up and put me in the car, hair still dripping in 20 degree winter, off to grandma's house. I laid on her carpet and the room spun. I don't remember getting home. One of the worst moments of my life was having chicken pox. Sounds wild, right? So much abuse, and yet it was CHICKEN POX that got me? I was about 9 years old and awake in the middle of the night, so itchy, and alone. Feverish. It's the only time I ever wished to die as a child. I just felt so alone in my suffering, lying on the green carpet in the living room so my crying wouldn't wake my parents, scratching nd scratching and asking God to take me. It was my dark night of the soul. Probably because of high fever. 

I also don't like my plans being messed up. I don't have much of a life, and now I won't be able to do a few things that were important to me. I had plans for tomorrow, for once in years my partner and I were going to go out to breakfast. I was to return a pair of shoes. And I want to go to therapy in person on Monday. And my older kid has several doctors appointments. And I'm supposed to see the oncologist. And I need to respond to the district about IEP. And I already can't think clearly.

If I could just lay in bed and be sick I think it could be a cozy feeling. It's the feeling of having to keep going that is getting me.

I'm not sure how to get through a night that now feels scary, isolated, nightmarish. I want to go back to the feeling I had earlier today of being fully present, clear, and inner quiet. That inner quiet was just delicious. That sense of presence was so yummy. That feeling of clarity was cravable. How can I get back to that and unblend from this?

There's a loud thumping from down the hall. Frank always interrupts my rumination, it's like he can sense overthinking and it annoys him, he doesn't like the vibe. THUMP THUMP STOP THINKING, THINKING TOO LOUD. This is Frank's happy hour, he's crepuscular so 8pm-midnight is his high time. Thump thump thump. And I'm not alone, Mia the dog is in her purple puffer coat and under my wool blanket for good measure, little thin-skinned Puerto Rican greyhound was not meant for snow. You can feel Frank's spirit loud tonight. Lately Frank is a destructo-bun. Lately he seems more frustrated. The more he heals, the more energy he has. It's his second year with us? or third? And month by month he has more energy, more self-expression. From totally shut down, to hopeful but in pain, to pain-free and curious, to connected and joyful, content and liberated, and now... destructo-bun. chewing a wire here, flinging his metal bowl there, thumping, tearing down the hall and back and tiptoeing onto the hard floor, digging the carpet into a frayed mess. He's a wild man these days. I love to see the spunky spirit but sir! You are a domesticated rabbit, please mind the wires! I think his intensity is just a sign of more healing, he feels safe enough to let his instincts out, Frank flag fly. And, clearly I am not alone. Thump thump thump, crash! I'm going to take away his bowl tomorrow.

I think one of the worst things about my trauma wasn't the fists or body part A and body part B, wasn't the emotional abuse, it was this sense of isolation. Neglect. That I'm alone, as if I'm the only one who ever suffered. Which is of course complete rabbit poop. Everyone suffers. Right now millions are suffering much more than a minor cold in a posh American suburb. It's not to gaslight myself with "people are starving in China," It's that I am not, actually, alone. This sense of profound isolation, alienation, depersonalization and derealization is an emotional flashback. It's not reality. Today I experienced not being alone. It was life-giving, absolutely life-giving.

Now, I have a cold. this too shall pass. I have taken zinc, vitamin C, vitamin D, peppermint oil, saline nasal spray and whatever other neurotic witch magic I can think of. I am safe under 100% wool covers to deal with night sweats. I have Netflix. All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well. I'm sorry I was not cared for when I had chicken pox. Which reminds me ,I need to get my shingles shot! Frank, have mercy. Frank be with me. Frank hear me, and make haste to help. Thump if you must. Be near me, and do not leave.

HannahOne, bummer to hear you feel under the weather. I'm relieved you are able to clock the emotional storm as a flashback. You're exercising powerful awareness during an intense onslaught! Those past memories clench my heart, I send love to 9 year old you  :umbrella:
itching in the night, suffering alone... 
:sadno:
 :no:

In present day, it sounds like the weight of the whole family functioning is on your shoulders. That's an enormous load to bear, even for a super mom
:disappear:

"It's scary to feel I must keep going, when my body says I can't."

I think your body's messages are real and very important to heed. And I know I'm not telling you anything new. I wish I had an instant fix that could relieve the pressure.

All that comes to mind is the Shakespeare line: "To thine own self be true."

Feeling that carefree, deep camaraderie sets the bar, doesn't it? Experiencing the safety of being authentic AND connected with others in a heart-to-heart way... well, that's the real deal.

Once that's felt, it pretty much destroys the distortion of inevitable, perpetual separateness. And the lie of being unlovable starts to shrivel.

I hope you can rest comfortably under your blankets.  :zzz: And that you feel better soon. Sending love, my friend :hug:

 :yeahthat:
Thank you for reading and commenting, Marcine!

Yes. I am working on heeding my body's signals.

That's part of what I'm trying to do with the clothes. Every morning when I put something on, is it a "yes"? How do I know? It's a yes if I feel like moving, if I feel more present. It's a no if I feel stiff, awkward, or tension in my face. This is all new and I'm struggling with it. Noticing inside what I feel. But I need to do it!

You're so right and I know you've walked this walk and come out the other side which inspires me to keep working at it and being open to it even when my habit is to shut down and just keep going.

This morning I had some clarity. It wasn't just that I had chicken pox. My sibling also had chicken pox! And was three at the time. Yikes. I forgot that part.

I was taking care of my sibling and feeling helpless at their misery. Worried, how sick would we get? I had no idea. There was no internet.  What if I got too sick to take care of my sibling? My mistakes, I ran a tub, made the water too hot. Felt scared, responsible, guilt, overwhelm. Their constant fussing. Getting us water. Standing at the cupboards having no idea what to make, or how. Put the tomato sauce in a pan, heated it, added dry pasta to the sauce.... which of course did not cook. Turning off the stove, checking it over and over to be sure it was "off." Getting us each an apple, putting on cartoons, scratching. What a nightmare.

The sense of helpless overwhelm and feeling I MUST caretake is ALSO an emotional flashback.

My kids are teenagers. My partner is an adult. The load is not so heavy as a sick three year old when I'm just nine. My family absolutely CAN take on caring for themselves for 24-48 hours. One kid may fuss and whine, OH WELL. I can tolerate it. No one is going to yell at me if there are dishes in the sink and a cardboard box on the floor. I can chill in bed if I feel like it. I don't have to get up and clean with a stuffy head. I can make myself a cup of soup, I know how to cook now.

And this is JUST A COLD. I am not going to get severely ill.

I have to work through this stuff quick. So I can do what else I have to do to take care of myself.

Breaking the isolation IS the path for me. I did thirty years of therapy, isolated in a box once a week with a therapist who, no matter how skilled and caring, couldn't share as a peer the internal knowing, because even if they'd been through it that was not their role. I love my therapists, most of them :) and they truly helped me survive and learn to semi-thrive. But this is a whole new world. I had never broken the ice, the isolation. The isolation was the biggest part of the trauma. And now that, too, is over, is in the past.

Thank you for sending love and care.  :hug:

I hope the cold goes soon. I hate being ill too - and I hate my plans being scuppered. Best wishes for some healing rest and Frank snuggles.

 :grouphug:

HannahOne, what you're describing makes a lot of sense. Being genuinely seen and met - real, mutual connection - that's gold. After something like that, the system often finally lets go enough for tiredness, sadness, or vulnerability to show up (even the little cold-bugs) - not because anything is wrong, but because something important happened.

Nobody deserves to be raised this way - honestly, wolves might be more caring than that. 🐺💛 A big, supportive hug for little HannahOne.

There's no need to push through this or make sense of it right now. Nothing to fix, nothing to do - just permission to rest, to slow down, to let things be exactly as they are. The world really will keep spinning (I know, sometimes I don't believe that either 🙂). You don't have to hold yourself together here. Here, we hold each other - quietly and steadily. 🤍 :hug:

as TBB said, here we hold each other together, hold the net when you're on the tightwire a million feet above, isolated, alone, thinking you have to do it all by yourself.  we are here for you, hannah1.

i can so relate to the loneliness, to not bothering parents w/ anything amiss.  it is a burden just to have to figure out and take care of yourself at all times, let alone a 3-yr. old when you're a child yourself.  my heart goes out to you.  the chores will wait, you deserve that, have always deserved that.   sending love and a hug filled with :zzz:  :cloud9: gentleness to all of you.   :hug:

Isolation is indistinguishable from abandonment to a child. And abandonment is death. The present moment reality may have changed, but our developing minds were utterly lost in the incessant fear. The conscious mind understands all... the body and soul stumble still. Love the body, love the heart. Announce with golden trumpets the news for the soul: we are now utterly loved, and the past did indeed make no sense. Let that sadness now have it's moment. Respect the request for understanding. All other earthly endeavors prioritize the infant self. Be with her and integrate together. Hold on to the child... and never let her go.
Love and hugs and intimate understanding. Thank you for sharing all that profound chaotic wisdom, HannahOne!
 :hug:

Thank you TheBibBlue, SanMagic7, NarcKiddo, Chart.  :grouphug: This is so hard and also I feel so supported.

NarcKiddo, I hate my plans being scuppered! :) This made me smile. I was able to do therapy virtually which is good. Came home and slept. Kids home but---each is now making their own snack. I am listening to "tink tink" and "click clack" from the kitchen. A peaceful sound. They know how to cook, there's plenty of food in the house, yummy things I didn't have access to. They know what Tzatziki is. :) The house is a bit of a mess but it's fine. Frank reclines amidst the recycling to go out tonight. I see he has tasted several of the cracker boxes.

TheBigBlue I had to laugh because you'r right, wolves do better! They keep the young wolf within the pack and share the kill.

Chart, What you wrote "Isolation is indistinguishable from abandonment to a child. And abandonment is death." really hit home for me. I am lying in bed after therapy and my teeth are chattering. I think it's a relaxation of long held tension against speaking. I am speaking in a new way from a new part of me. I am undoing isolation.

I have been listening to a song, maybe it's silly. It's a love song, but I'm singing it to me. Madison Malone singing Aerosmith. I was stunned just now when I looked it up to post. I had never seen the video. She is singing not to a lover but to her child. And that's how I was hearing it. To my younger self. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L1299NPXPeM

I feel bleary and depleted. But not horrible. Just weakened. I can't tolerate feeling weak---I couldn't tolerate it, I always pushed through. I am tolerating it. Sinking into my flannel sheets. Listening to the kids keeping normal life going, as a child would listen to parents sleepily through the door. I am certain not one recycle box will go out, I am not deluded :) But they are making their own snack and that's enough, that's fine, they are settling in after school to their routine, they are peaceful, settling into their homework, the couch, resting too. They know how to rest. I am learning.

hannah1, congrats to you for allowing yourself to feel weak, for learning how to rest.  2 things so many of us weren't taught, didn't learn, weren't allowed.  shame, guilt, humiliation - so much bad was heaped upon us  :fallingbricks:  for not being strong all the time.  those are bricks of expectation to always do, do, do.  i'm so glad to hear you were able to sing a love song to your little hannah.  it brought the sweetest picture to my mind.   

and very glad your family can take care of themselves for this bit - that's the best!  keep taking care of you, ok?  you deserve it.  love and hugs :hug:

Thank you, SanMagic. I'm getting lots of practice LOL. Still sick.

When I get overwhelmed with caretaking I just go to my room and rest. No one seems to mind, they carry on their activities.

I feel so vulnerable when sick. I imagine Mr. Frank must feel that way too. He hides his illness. You can only tell because he doesn't flop stretched out when he's sick, he sits only in a "loaf" with his feet tucked under him and you can see a little tension in his cheeks. So maybe it's just a mammalian nervous system to feel scared that I'm not 100%.

Working on grief.

A year ago I unintentionally revealed a trauma to my therapist, somehow I thought she knew, and so I said something rather awful, with zero preparation. she was a little shocked although she tried not to show it. I was really upset. I was upset that I hadn't known what she knew, that I had been a bearer of bad news. I felt that I had hurt or betrayed her.

Of course, she is not my mother.

I brought her a few flowers in a little glass as an apology. She took it. The glass has remained in her office.

"Grief is only love that has no place to go."

Age 5, showing my dad a drawing. He doesn't look. A little glass in hand. A secret. "It would kill your mother." I won't tell.

"Grief is only love that has nowhere to go."

What to do when you can't use words? I spent the next day bicycling my tricycle a few doors down to a vacant lot. Picked flowers, dandelions, thistle, Queen Anne's lace, filled my basket, tricycled them back home. Piled them on the driveway. How many trips? The pile of flowers, erm, weeds, was as tall as my head as I recall. The flowers filled two trash bags. I know because when I called my mother out to see my "surprise," she stuffed them into trash bags immediately.

Grief is only love that has nowhere to go.

This week I realized that little glass is a shot glass.

This week I realized I didn't need to bring my therapist flowers. She's not betrayed that I know what I know, not hurt that I feel what I feel.

Still don't know what to do with the two trash bags of love. Or the empty glass.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0n952KsQg6M

HannahOne, a reflection of your words, offered with respect:

A shot glass.
Keep the poisoned secret.
Secrets.
Tricycle.
Little you.
Piles of picked flowers in the driveway.
No surprise, they got stuffed right into garbage bags.
Not your fault.
Never was.
Truth.
Grief.

Quote from: HannahOne on February 06, 2026, 12:39:18 AMStill don't know what to do with the two trash bags of love.

I have no words.

 :hug:

 :bighug:

hannah1, i don't know of much more awful than having a gift of love from a child trashed. as said above, no words. the idea of burdening a child w/ a secret between parents is also awful - i've had that experience, and i caved in 3 days.  thought i was doing the right thing by being honest, turns out i got punished. i still don't know how to hold secrets that can be hurtful, that are full of poison, as marcine said.  those kinds of experiences can break a child, cause them to question their decisions for the rest of their life.  who to be true to when even being true to yourself brings pain.  my heart is with you.  love and hugs :hug:

Me neither, NarcKiddo. Music says it better.

BigBlue,  :hug:

Marcine you found some way to reflect my words. Thank you so much for reflecting back to me. The stark reality. It is what it is.

SanMagic7, thank you so much for being with me. And you can identify. That means a lot. I'm sorry we're in this club no one wants to be in.

I know better what I am carrying now. Which somehow helps me get a better handle on it and makes it a little easier to carry. Grief is love that has no place to go. I'm looking for that place. I'm not looking to receive love, although I do need love, what's driving me, what's eating me up is I'm looking for a place for my love to go. My life force. A place where I can express myself. Where I can be all of me. Where I don't have to be a secret, or feel like a walking bomb.  Where I can pile weeds as tall as my head and my message is understood and received, or at least, tolerated, not immediately trashed, not discarded, not rejected.

I feel so clear right now. In general I feel like my insides are a scribble, a scribble so intense it becomes a solid blur. But right now I feel so clear.

Today I went to a new doctor. I need a primary doctor to run the ship due to my stitch-uation. I haven't had one, don't like doctors. I wasn't going to bother mentioning anything else, the nerve pain, joint pain, fatigue, nausea, trouble swallowing, stomach pain, light-headedness, muscle weakness, genetic disorder she won't be familiar with. She'll just write "functional" and "anxiety" and tell me to drink more water and exercise. My plan was for her to just take my blood pressure and refer me to an oncologist for second opinion.

Put on the paper gown and wait. I hate doctors. Try to stay present. Refer to the text I wrote myself. Rehearse: Hello, I just need to establish care and get a referral. Hello, I just need to establish care and get a referral. Hello, I just need to establish care and get a referral.

The door opens. I hate that part. She sits down. "Is it ok if I record? That way I can look at you and listen better and not look at the screen." Look at me? OK. "Let's get to know you." Get to know me? OK.

My age. My medications, none.  Systems. "Cardiac?" A murmur here and there."Joints?" Hurts."Spine?" Hurts. "Muscular system?" Hurts, weak, constant deconditioning. "Digestive system?" Hurts. "Bladder/kidneys?" That hurts too. "Genitals?" Hurts. "Lungs?" Inflammation, scarring. "Sleep?" Nope, I can't do that. "Ok let's go through the records. You were tested in 2009---that's a painful test---and it was positive....no one offered you this treatment?" Nope. "So in 2016 you were in the hospital, procedure, procedure....but this was never resolved?" Nope. "In 2018 you saw neurologist and orthopedist...but they never gave you this drug?" Nope. "And for gyn they sedate you... because it hurts?" Yup. "Does a Qtip touch hurt?" Yup. "And you fainted in 2016, 2017, you fainted in 2019 ER trip...? No one ever did an echo?" Nope.

She asked me to do some movements and I realized she was testing for the genetic disorder that I wasn't going to bother to mention. "Do you know you very likely have this genetic disorder?" Yup. "Do you know it's in your chart as suspected back in 2010?" Yup. "And no one offered you this testing and this treatment?" Nope.

"You're too young for this much pain, you need to get your life back." I didn't tell her I've spent much of the last four years in bed if my kids weren't home, though lying flat does nothing for the pain except help me hide it. That I do the dishes in short bits. Can work only a few hours a day in bits. "You've been undertreated." Undertreated. I thought I was being aggressive seeing all those specialists. But apparently they just wrote "anxiety" or "unknown etiology." Maybe not having had a primary doctor went against me, no one was putting all the pieces together. Each specialist knows their own area, but no one knows the genetic disorder. It was 2009, 2010, 2016, 2018. In 2020 a new test came out for the disorder, but it was COVID, and most doctors still don't know how to identify and treat it. Now we know better.

Undertreated, neglected. As a child I thought everyone could see right through me, but no one put the pieces together. They just wrote "sensitive," "spacey" and "possible hearing loss?" in my school record. My ears were fine. It was the 70s. Now we know better.

"What's this---ok we're taking that out." "Deleting this." "Delete." "Deleting this." Who knows what my record said. "OK well obviously that was a result of the disorder, adding a note...."

She gave me three prescriptions. Medications that may help. It's all nerve problems, dysautonomia, nerve dysregulation, and nerve pain. But I'm sensitive to drugs. "Yes, you would be. That's why you're starting with a microdose of each. And I'll see you back in two weeks." See me again? OK. 

My kids have it, too, I told her. I was able to get the kids to doctors at a children's hospital who could help, get them medications, treatment. But pediatric doctors don't see adults.

Now I am seen.

"I have it too." She showed me. Her kids have it. No one could figure out her children's pain, she had to do her own research, advocate, demand, navigate. She will do that for me. Referral to her specialist, referral to her cardiologist, referral to her orthopedist. And a gyn who will sedate? Referral. "And she'll treat the pain. It's ridiculous for you to be in pain like this." Referral to rheumatologist. "Once the pain is treated you will sleep. And your stress scores and anxiety scores will go down. This isn't anxiety, it's the physiology of dysautonomia, fatigue, and your nervous system's response to chronic pain." Referral to oncologist. "You can't go through any kind of treatment in this much pain and already fatigued and stressed. We need to get the right medications on board now."

I can't. I don't have to. I am seen. Understood. Not alone. She has it too. "I'm writing medical trauma in your chart." Medical trauma? "Is that ok? That's what fifteen years of misdiagnosis, wrong
treatment and neglect leads to." OK, medical trauma.

If she only knew.

I didn't even have to tell her. My therapist has written me a script. Also on my phone. "I want to let you know I have medical trauma so you can be aware of how I might respond and we can communicate and collaborate effectively...." But I did not practice it. And now I don't have to use it. Relief.

I will have prescriptions that might help.

Even if they don't, I am understood. The record is clear. Doctors in future may not know what my disorder is but they'll know I have it. And know there is medical trauma. Maybe understand better why I can only say "hurts" "nope" and "yup." Why I grip my paper gown. Why I seem "anxious."

Makes sense.

So peaceful inside, all the little me's lying down cozy in bed in safe glowing rainbow rooms and drifting off to sleep. So quiet. So clear.

Thank you, all of me. And thank you all, in the storm, for seeing, reading, hearing, looking, understanding, receiving my piles of weeds/words.

Wow! Great news, so glad to hear it :yahoo:

You deserve the peacefulness, the understanding, the clarity, the calm, safety, glowing rainbow, the resting, all the good, HannahOne
:grouphug:

I am so happy you found this doctor. You have always deserved proper care and I am glad you have found someone who will listen properly and see properly.

 :grouphug:

to me, it feels like a miracle to find a doc who 'sees' you, listens, hears, helps.  hannah1, i'm so glad for you, honestly.  docs who don't listen, ignore, dismiss.  just lately i, too, think i've found a doc who will listen, take me seriously, look past the silence and ask questions instead.  feels like a miracle, indeed. 

here's hoping you get some relief from all you've been made to suffer thru.  it's just not right.  this is wonderful news! 

sending love and a hug filled w/ all the help you've been needing for so long, and meds that help you feel better. :hug:

Congratulations Hannah!

Reading this brought tears to my eyes. Being seen like that - believed, understood, protected, and not argued with - is profound. The way you describe the relief in your body, the quiet, the sense of being held ... it's incredibly moving. Not just the referrals or the medical clarity, but that moment of recognition: "I see you. I know this. This isn't your fault." That kind of attunement can be life-changing, especially after years of misdiagnosis and medical neglect. It makes so much sense that your system could finally rest. 💛  :hug:

Hannah, this is awesome and I am so very glad for you. Stories like yours are the reason I advocate for us to healthcare professionals and institutions. Imagine how things would have been if you'd had a clinician who knew about, understood and had experienced medical trauma way back when.

There is so much more science to each of us than even we know sometimes and as we all explore this terrible fate of CPTSD and what it does to us mentally and physically, hopefully we can shine a light on the impact and losses we experience so we have access to the care we need and deserve.

I hope you are on a good path that will help relieve a lot of what you've been dealing with!!   :hug:   

I believe something in the Universe works. I believe Love that falls into a black hole, does not disappear. I believe there are an infinity of realities and ours is there before us and with our spirit and determination, we will come to it, in understanding, acceptance and indestructible peace.
 :hug:

Marcine, TheBigBlue, NarKiddo, Kizzie, Chart, SanMagic7 Thank you so much for commenting and the encouragement.

I have not and will not share what the forum is with anyone. I want privacy. Even from the therapist. But I did tell her I have found a group of people who've been through similar as me, raised by various types of wolves. And that it's the most healing thing just to find them. Just to not have to pretend to be "normal" or that nothing is or ever was wrong, to be able to tell it like it is, keep it real. She was shocked at first as I don't share with anyone... and it was a happy moment. Thank you all.

Chart, love does not disappear. Thank you.

the BigBlue, yes that's it! I could rest because I was seen. And yes---the doctor not arguing with me! I swear. There's a meme I saw once, "Your one day of learning about my disease in med school doesn't compare to my fifty years living with it" and in the case of most doctors that's the case about more rare diseases, unless they specialize in it. Let alone how little most learn about menopause!

NarcKiddo, thank you for reminding me what we all deserve.

Thank you Marcine!  :hug: Your support means so much.

SanMagic7, I hope such a doctor appears for you. We need a database of trauma-aware doctors all around the US Canada and the world, we can crowd source a google doc!

Kizzie, thank you so much for your advocacy. This is essential! Today at the oncologist he wanted to do an exam. And clearly the note in the medical record worked because he said, "What can I do to make the exam more tolerable?" He handed me a list. A printed card! The nurse would be in the room. I could choose my level of recline, have him describe what was happening or not speak during, have the nurse wherever I wanted, hold a squish ball or not... It was extremely brief exam and I forget the other options. To be honest none of the options helped and seemed a bit silly, but what helped was HAVING OPTIONS. And having a mutual understanding that there was a "thing," there was a trauma, there was an issue so that I didn't have to hide it, I didn't have to "act normal" so he wouldn't know I have CPTSD. For me that is the most triggering part is having to act like there is no trigger. Is that weird? Having it be acknowledged between us with the list paradoxically allowed me to act perfectly "normal," I had zero symptoms of PTSD in the moment and the exam was a nothingburger. HOORAY!!!

I'm sure it helped that I wore loafers and a fabulous blazer with pockets aligned diagonally, with silk pants in a muddy khaki. The receptionist had on a cowprint skirt. "I love the skirt!" I said. She lit up. She had seen it on an influencer, then found it in a Marshall's the same day. What a coincidence. "Cow print is in, but I'm not so bold," I told her. "And the turban!" I said. "Pop of color!" she said, touching the hot pink head wrap. As I got on the elevator she called, "I love your bag!" I looked down, ah yes the zebra print bag! I have animal print too! Just in my hand and not wrapped around my hips. May I soon be so bold as to wear it on my hips. Clothes continue to be a way to connect with others and myself, help me show up as the middle aged person I am, in all my complexity, gifts, wounds, hopes and fears.

I was due for some good luck. I'm so glad I found the primary care doctor just when it did and will have help to navigate all this.  Overall excellent news from oncologist. Of course, I'm saddened and fearful of the medication I'll be taking and I am feeling punished, like "doom fulfilled," a sense of foreclosure and grief, "I knew it, I wouldn't get away without suffering more, I deserve this." "My life will be ruined."

But that is really premature, I may do fine on the treatment. It's just the brush with mortality even though again I am assured I will not die of this. Getting older is strange, as inside parts of me still feel so so young, almost like I haven't even started my life---and now it's more than half over, and I'm having to balance complicated medical issues that oppose each other. Parts of me are very upset, disappointed, feel I haven't begun yet, I've spent most of my life just trying to survive, and then to recover.... I don't even know what I want to be when I grow up yet and it's almost time to retire, or I'm going to be medically retired the rest of the way shortly.... ah well, I am officially old. Maybe I've worked enough. Maybe there is yet time to begin again. It's a new thing to begin to focus most of my energy on myself, what I feel, need. I am going to work through it.

I have to remind myself my age, that it's ok to be this age, it's ok to not be perfectly well, it's ok to need medicines, or a diet, or exercise, or more self care, to have to focus on being well and not on getting stuff done. I've done plenty, I did much of what I wanted to do. And while parts of me feel they haven't gotten to live yet, I have lived a very full life. One of the benefits of CPTSD is I had a foreshortened sense of the future and so I really did live in the moment, I never thought I'd live past 30, let alone 40.... I traveled when I wanted to, I quit jobs when I Wanted to, I made babies and stayed home with them when I wanted to, I worked with animals when it didn't pay, I made art, I wrote poetry, I sat under trees when I should've been putting green into my 401k. It's how I survived, to balance out the pain I sought joy, presence, nature, beasts, babies, art. And so I don't have regrets on that score. I have some feelings about the limits of what I accomplished, but that's part of the tradeoff, I made a lot less money than I planned to or expected, I left behind certain ambitions to pursue what I thought was more important, and I don't think I judged wrongly. It's just you cannot have it all. I loved what I've had. I hope to get more of it, to be well enough to enjoy, travel, be present at the kitchen sink and in the barn.

Meanwhile I have to get a bunch of scans and tests done to decide exactly which treatment would be least problematic. I am so relieved to have a primary to steer this ship. I am so glad my chart now says "medical trauma." I feel like I'm going to be able to do it. I feel some dread. But I don't feel like I need to disappear and hide from the appointments.

I'm so tired. Tomorrow more PT for the torn knee ligament. I am hoping to get much stronger in the months ahead. I am planning a trip to California to some national parks and hope to hike and tent camp with my sibling assuming I feel well enough---but it won't be the knee that stops me. It would be so healing to be outside. I have about 7 weeks to get my knee back to snuff. I packed my suitcase tonight. Wool, wool, and wool, a metal spork. I am glad I can still plan to go. This is what I live for. Moving through nature, I especially love the desert. you can see for miles and miles. The red or yellow rocks are sculptural and shape the blue air differently than anywhere else. And around them little green scrubby leaves. Everything there is hardy and living on the edge, living on the bare minimum, not flowering or leafing one iota more than necessary yet showing up fully. May I thrive similarly in my oasis, where there's water plenty now. Now sleep.

 :hug:

 :hug:

wow, hannah1, just wow!  i've lived in the desert for a while, and i know what you mean about the beauty it holds in its harshness.  i'm not a hiker, per se, but i've often walked thru forests, big and small, and they were my peace makers.  i do hope everything heals as you need it to do so you can enjoy camping and hiking once again.  sounds fabulous!

"the most triggering part is having to act like there is no trigger. Is that weird? "
 
to me, that makes perfect sense.  not weird at all.  to my mind, our world has been similar to alice's adventures 'through the looking glass' where we've had to run as fast as we can to stay in the same place, and if we wanted to move forward, we had to run twice as fast.  that's what it's always felt like to me, and it helps explain to me why i'm so exhausted most of the time!

 love and hugs :hug:

Thank you NarcKiddo, The BigBlue, Sanmagic7. SM, your description of it as Alice and Wonderland rings true to my experience. Things were so upside down!

When I don't know what to do, when I'm pacing back and forth with a tight throat but can't cry, when I've cried and nothing changed, when I realizing I've been staring at the wall for more than four hours. I come here.

It seems to help. It gives me something to focus on. It puts me in touch with other people. It reminds me this is just a very human experience. We are human. Human beings feel things. Struggle. Suffer. I'm not alien to this planet. I evolved here over millions of years. My nervous system was built for this place in all its tooth and claw, and is plastic and can recover. That I'm a tribal being, not a lone wolf. Even the lone wolf is a bit of a myth. No wolf is truly lone. And I get to read the experiences of others and cheer them on, people healing, growing, trying, reaching, having the courage to exist. It's so heartening!

The oncologist presented me some choices. I'm having trouble sorting. The medication is not really an option for me for a variety of complicated reasons having to do with the pain and disorders I already have. It also only cuts risk of recurrence in half and my risk is apparently very high. So I think I need to do surgery and cut the risk to nearly zero. Very well.

But---so many worried parts.

The parts of me that were neglected feel like this is a repetition. That my back is against the wall and I can't really consider all my choices because I don't have what I would need to make them possible. Because I don't have a partner who can help, because I'm responsible for kids, have no family, just a sib on the other coast, and have lost most in person friends... it's all up to me and I won't be able to take care of myself.

The parts of me that become a mother at age 7 when my sibling was a toddler is resentful, overwhelmed, panicked at how I will handle all of this, doesn't want to do this while I have kids in the house. feels like the Edward Munch "The Scream." A seven year old can't do this, can't be down from surgery and also caring for three other people and a menagerie of creatures..... But I'm not seven.... right?

The parts of me that got out at all costs are furious that this is how it's going, that another future is foreclosing, that I ended up here, with so few choices, without the financial independence I had before 2020, that was so hard won. I'm so angry at myself. I told myself I would never end up dependent financially, and I did. I did it because I had to save my child's life. It was a five year legal, medical fight. But I swore I would never end up here. I remind myself I'm NOT my mother, I have several masters degrees, I have a work history.... but I feel like my mother. Ashamed and trapped. Having the surgery doesn't mean I can never leave if I want to.... but it may make it harder. I don't know if I want to leave, I didn't want to decide yet. I feel like I'm having to foreclose on a future before I am ready. 

The parts of me that took the abuse feel that this is a punishment. It seems poetic to have a doctor cut off the physical parts of me that were abused by a doctor. Who does a breast exam on a nine year old? and without gloves? I look at photos of people who've had the surgery online and think they look well, strong, free. I look at Tig Nataro, she's so bad-$$$. Yet when I think of myself in their place, I don't know how to feel well about it, how to feel healed or whole about it. I feel such a sense of doom, punishment, karma. The threat was actually made to me at once point, to cut off parts of me. And now that will happen. It can't not feel like mutilation to these young parts, it can't not feel like a punishment, the scars a scarlet letter saying I am bad, worthless, only good for one thing, now not even good for that. Discarded.

God, brutal. My parts are brutal. They had to be. I know, I know.

Some parts also think I will have complications. That I'll be in pain forever, I'll get nerve damage or phantom limb feeling. My disorder leads to odd scarring and makes me more likely to get CRPS/AMPS and other neuropathies. I fear I will be haunted by sensations and pain, that it will be a never ending trauma trigger.

In reality the great thing about the surgery is that it's one and done. No more scans, no more biopsies which are torture, no more surgeries, no medications, no more worry about recurrence. If I have pain from surgery that lasts, that's still easier to treat than throwing all my body systems into chaos with a medication that causes so many side effects.

I may yet try the medication, the doctor thinks I should. What does he know, LOL? Meanwhile I have to get a bunch of OTHER tests, meet with a new surgeon, etc etc. This is going to take time and I'm lucky to have time. I know illness never comes on our timetable. It's been a brutal five years since 2020, I was just beginning to really recover, and then this. I wanted a few more years for my kids to be out of the house, to have some mental space to decide what I might want for the rest of my life....

This IS my life. This is your life, HannahOne. There is no other. And in this lucky, lucky life I am lucky to have "the rest of my life," to for now be able to presume to have it. I am lucky to have a choice of medication or surgery. I am lucky this was found so very early that I have time to consider the choice. I am lucky to have health insurance, a stable home, and a family, even if my family won't or can't take care of me, I'm not alone. I am lucky just to be here, sanity mostly intact. My cousins are all dead, in prison, prostitutes, or lost, unsolved cases. I'm here. I'm the lucky one. I am lucky to have a very flexible job that I can take time off from as needed, or just stop working if I need to, we would survive, I am lucky to have a partner who can shoulder the money. I am lucky I've already had my children and fed them from my breasts. I am lucky I got to see my children grow.  I am lucky my children are teens. I am lucky, lucky, lucky in so many ways.

Somehow I have to let these parts of me know that. That while they are justifiably afraid, I am lucky. I am an adult. I am safe. This is my decision. If I do it, it will be because I think it's my best option. That I will be with them through it. I will find a doctor I can trust. I will not punish them if I have complications, I will not blame them if I end up with phantom pain or nerve problems or wound healing issues. If they feel horrible about me after surgery, I will comfort them. I will tell them, this is not that, that was then, this is now. I will take care of myself. This is me taking care of myself. This is not a punishment. I don't deserve punishment for things I had no choice in, things that happened, what was said, done. This surgery will be my choice if I do it, a very bounded choice without other good options, but it is a choice. Not a trauma. Painful, sad, scary. But I won't let them be retraumatized.

As I write, Frank has been RUNNING back and forth down the hallway, thump thump thump thump THUMP..... THUMP thump thump thump thump. Not like him. Does he feel the stress? Now he is paused, sides heaving. It's amazing how fast he can breathe. He examines me with one eye, then the other, raises and lowers his head, and sticks his back foot out to groom. Down regulate, Frank, down regulate. I go into the living room. And what do I hear behind me? thump thump thump. The wood floor is Lava for Frank, his nails slip, he never comes this far. Frank! Why are you on the wood floor? He chins each dining chair. Chins the couch. Why, Frank? Why are you marking everything? Is it so your bun-wife can find you? All your life, you've been only waiting for your bun-wife to arrive? I sing, he stares. Blackbird, by the Beatles. "Franklin thumping in the dead of night! Chinning all the chairs, I don't know why..... all his life, he has just been waiting for his bun-wife to arrive!" I get it. I too long for a bun-wife. Or hus-bun. All my parts long for what I didn't have, and can never have, because you can't reverse time. There's only here and now. Now there's a man in my house. My hus-bun is opening the garage door. What am I going to tell him? I've told him nothing. I don't know how to tell him. Where are the words? Where are the words. The words I want to say.

Dear friend HannahOne,
It is with love, from me to you, that I share my thoughts, unsugar-coated. This is no time for frosting over.

Breast cancer is not your fault.

And it is your unwanted challenge to deal with.

Treatment options require you to spend precious focus and time weighing the trade-offs and making best guesses of outcomes without all the information. To build a healing team and gain confidence in their methods quickly.
To face mortality. To dig deep yet again, and again, then again...  and again when you think you have nothing left to draw on, for a journey no one else can make for you.

All the while fighting the battle against trauma history and fears of future pain. There is no respite during such a time of onslaught. And no tidy timeline. No guarantees. And the loneliness is real.

Intellectually knowing that this time in your life will one day fade into memories— is of no help now.

I'm not even going to mention your warrior strength and optimism, because you already know how much I respect those qualities woven in you.

I would like to gently point out that carrying it all on your shoulders alone is massively difficult... And asking potentially too much of yourself.

I went through breast cancer treatment 9 years ago and my kids were young teens and toddler-age. It was difficult for them, to say the least, to not know if their mother was going to be ok. My heart breaks knowing I could not comfort them at the same time I was going through surgery, chemo, radiation. But the fact is that I loved them and they were my motivation to survive. So as hard as it was on them, they would have felt betrayed and abandoned more if I had tried to keep the situation a secret from them.

We did not pretend with each other. We learned new dimensions of love and humanity through the process. They felt anger. They experienced helplessness. So did I. And I needed them to understand I was fighting strong as their mom.

It was a challenge to rely on friends and neighbors when I felt so vulnerable. Some did small, meaningful things. Others stepped up massively and unexpectedly. Some of them are still in my life, some faded away.

I wish I had a magic wand to give you all the time you need to make the ideal choices and to process the trauma as it comes up, one wave at a time. I don't have that power. And you probably don't have that luxury.

I can remind you that your kiddos are stronger than you might think. Why? Because you raised them.

Making the next, single, good step is enough. More than enough.

Consider sharing the load whenever humanly possible. Your healing will benefit. You don't have to go it alone. You deserve the support and all the blessings, my friend.

Reach out anytime. :hug:

I'm so, so sorry you're facing this. I had endometrial cancer and a total hysterectomy seven years ago. Especially the months leading up to surgery were brutal, and at the time I didn't have words for it. Looking back, I know CPTSD did not make any of it easier.

I'm sharing this only to say that what you're describing makes so much sense to me - this is an enormous load, and the reactions of your parts are deeply understandable. It's a human nervous system responding to something overwhelming and unjust. You don't have to frame this as strength or fighting. You're allowed to take this one breath, one decision, one moment at a time.

I'm really glad you're letting us be here with you in this. And I want to say this simply: the world is genuinely better with you in it - exactly as you are, even in this fear, even in this uncertainty. You matter, and your presence matters. 💛

This is not fair. You are entitled to have a bit of a foot-stamping tantrum in among all of this, if will help you let off some steam. Maybe that's what Frank is suggesting. We know, and your parts know, that you will decide on the best way forward out of care and love. For you, for them, for your kids, for Frank. It's a hard and scary time. Thank you for being so honest as you process this. Many of us may face similar issues at some stage. You sharing your experience is helpful for us, too.

 :grouphug:

Marcine, thank you so much for commenting. I realize I should have put a trigger warning on the post. I will try to be more mindful in future.

Thank you for sharing your experience. I so admire how you handled it. It also gives me a path in mind to follow. I do have to build the team and then have what faith with them I can.

I will be reaching out for sure. I can't carry it myself. Meanwhile I spoke to the hus-bun. He's making me an appointment at his hospital to talk to the surgeon there and scheduled all the other tests I need today. That he can do and he did. Also, he struggled up the stairs and took down the trash :) I wanted to wait to tell kids much until I know what's actually going to happen, am I going to be reduced in function from a medication for the next few years or am I going to be recovering from surgery in the next months ahead. My one kid can't handle anything, let alone weakness in me. It will be harder for me if they are dysregulated, much harder. But already my energy is off and they're picking up on it so I am going to attend their therapy session next week and get help to communicate the minimum of my situation for a shared understanding. Hus-bun will talk to the other kid this weekend, that kid will handle it fine. In my case my life is currently not in danger so they don't have to fear that. Just having a little less of a functioning mom for a bit.

Thank you for revisiting your painful experience to mine something to help me now. I'm SO glad you are here, now.

TheBigBlue, thank you so much for sharing your experience with cancer. I'm so sorry you had to go through that. And not entirely knowing how CPTSD was making it harder at the time.

Thank you for allowing me to talk about it here. In future I will try to do better with trigger warnings.

And thank you for the kind words. More and more and more the last few months I am genuinely glad to be here and not of two minds about it. I am much more present and experiencing in the moment the good things, the blue light on the snow, the water that comes out of the kitchen sink, sharing air with a child studying, making lentil soup. In some ways I feel like I've kind of just arrived, so I don't wanna leave now! LOL. My goal is just that I get the best quality of life I can have in the face of this and I think surgery is what will give me that. Feeling somewhat hopeful.

NarcKiddo, that was definitely a tantrum! LOL. Throwing a fit, I call it. I just don't want this, I don't wanna, I donwanna, I can't..... Sigh. And yes Frank was surely demonstrating! I can and I will.

A little more peace about it all today. I'm sure it will be up and down. Thank you for reading and commenting. It's good to remember this is all a human experience and we have all faced similar issues in the past in our FOO, and may face similar situations and challenges in the future too with illness or job change or whatever.

I had to remind myself today, HANNAHONE that's why the CANCER CENTER exists, because SO MANY PEOPLE HAVE CANCER that people actually spend their lives learning about how to help! This is a common human experience and not personal to me at all. It's a different kind of trauma, the natural disaster, the natural disease.... it's not interpersonal trauma. I keep making it personal and interpersonal. And it just isn't. It's just a fact. As Marcine might say :) Marcine is so clear-eyed. I go in and out of clarity. Right now, a bit more clear, thanks to friends here. Thank you.

hannah1, i'm here w/ you as well.  just went thru the whole breast cancer thing w/ my D starting last year.  she's on meds for the next 5 yrs. now, but she's already told me that if it decides to come back, she's having the mastectomy.  it was such a horrible experience for her, and just as you described, simply horrible to have to go thru all the things, all the decisions, all the pain, worry, thought processes, more worry - and you're raising kids, so you have that on top of everything else!

so glad you came here.  we are your safety net when you have to walk higher than ever before on that thin line of decision.  thank you for sharing.  much love and a hug filled w/ clarity and strength. :hug:

sanmagic7, I am so sorry to hear your D is going through this! I have to admit at 2 am I feel so alone, and then.... so many people have had it. It's a good corrective but a terrible club I wish no one had to be in. She's lucky to have you for support as much as she will allow or can receive. Thank you for reading and commenting and thank you for the hug, clarity and strength. It does feel like a tightrope decision but I am lucky to have time to gather more information that will make it more obvious I think. Kind of takes over one's life! I've fallen back into old habits, I put the kids on the bus and went back to bed and it's noon. I don't sleep I just stare, turn over, stare, turn over. I have several clients I need to respond to and I just.... dont' care. Luckily it's Friday. I have the weekend to be puddle of jello as both kids have weekend events. Will reconstitute Monday, LOL.

Made both kids a Valentine bag, even though one's 18 and off to her boyfriend's for the weekend. Want them to have love no matter what. Felt flat all day and did nothing else. Laid in bed and looked at the wall. Didn't put on clothes. All the clothes look like someone else's closet. Maybe some emotional flashback, maybe some depersonalization going on. Can't imagine ever wanting clothes, putting on any of those clothes, whose clothes are those. Stuff on the floor looks foreign, who ever wanted a suitcase full of wool and sporks? Zero interest in painting. Responded to zero texts, screen a column of green circles. Hand looks far away, why is arm so long? To do list is undone. Who wanted to make appointments, resolve X issue with IEP team, and send a thank you note? Whatever. No appetite. Partner brought dinner home for kids. Half-heartedly pet Frank, who ever wanted a rabbit? Asked kid to feed and water said Frank, went back to bed. Writing to keep faith with process. Tomorrow another day. Sometimes it's like this. Sometimes this is what it's like. Made both kids a Valentine's bag. Wanted them to know they are loved.

Hannah, I think that it is absolutely normal and fine to have days like this, even if it doesn´t feel good, what I am sincerely sorry for. Being with that, recognizing and acknowledging it is in my opinion the best gift you can give to yourself for Valentine´s day. Thinking about you and hoping you feel that you´re not alone. Hang in there  :hug:

You are loved too.

💛 💛 💛

:hug: