Recent posts
#1
Recovery Journals / Re: Living As All of Me
Last post by HannahOne - February 11, 2026, 11:55:49 PMWhen 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.
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.
#2
Recovery Journals / Re: Post-Traumatic Growth Jour...
Last post by HannahOne - February 11, 2026, 11:31:57 PMSenseOrgan, the image of 97 square meters of soil is incredible. A billboard, announcing... "Hello World"? "I am here"? "I do it My Way"? "Extravagant Energy Found Here"? What does the billboard say?
"Social anxiety doesn't exist," I agree! It's trauma! When it's not safe to exist as a child with caregivers, how can we exist in the wider social world? We can't learn by experience, it's not safe to try and fail, to explore, to be curious.
You were able to find felt safety in Awareness, using all the tools and practices you've been doing all these years. And be present at the meeting.
Curiosity is a sign of felt safety. Frank will not explore if it doesn't feel safe. You were interested in writing an article, curious about it, about publishing, being public in another way.
And claimed what you wanted, shelves, and MORE shelves! Shared your predicament of bicycling with shelves, and had a laugh together with another about the human predicament, the human condition. Aren't we all on a bicycle juggling four shelves? That's connection! You deserve all of that and more and it is yours.
I understand survivors' guilt, I think about it too when I post something positive. When I read your words though it gives me so much hope. Thank you for sharing the positive experiences. It helps so much to hear. It also brings admiration, which is really important. We all have CPTSD. When I can feel admiration for another with CPTSD it helps me realize I'm not SO different. I can admire my own courage, too. If SenseOrgan can do it, I can do it. If I can do it, you can do it. This is one of the many ways we can share healing energy with each other in a safer way, by showing that it can be done, sharing the positives. It's wonderful! And it feels so good to celebrate someone else!
Heck yeah for flirting! Heck yeah for claiming all the shelves and more! Next time, buy up all the masking tape! LOL. Lounge around, take up space. Stare your mother down.
When it's time, you will confront her in exactly the way you need to do it. Hurrah!
"Social anxiety doesn't exist," I agree! It's trauma! When it's not safe to exist as a child with caregivers, how can we exist in the wider social world? We can't learn by experience, it's not safe to try and fail, to explore, to be curious.
You were able to find felt safety in Awareness, using all the tools and practices you've been doing all these years. And be present at the meeting.
Curiosity is a sign of felt safety. Frank will not explore if it doesn't feel safe. You were interested in writing an article, curious about it, about publishing, being public in another way.
And claimed what you wanted, shelves, and MORE shelves! Shared your predicament of bicycling with shelves, and had a laugh together with another about the human predicament, the human condition. Aren't we all on a bicycle juggling four shelves? That's connection! You deserve all of that and more and it is yours.
I understand survivors' guilt, I think about it too when I post something positive. When I read your words though it gives me so much hope. Thank you for sharing the positive experiences. It helps so much to hear. It also brings admiration, which is really important. We all have CPTSD. When I can feel admiration for another with CPTSD it helps me realize I'm not SO different. I can admire my own courage, too. If SenseOrgan can do it, I can do it. If I can do it, you can do it. This is one of the many ways we can share healing energy with each other in a safer way, by showing that it can be done, sharing the positives. It's wonderful! And it feels so good to celebrate someone else!
Heck yeah for flirting! Heck yeah for claiming all the shelves and more! Next time, buy up all the masking tape! LOL. Lounge around, take up space. Stare your mother down. When it's time, you will confront her in exactly the way you need to do it. Hurrah!
#3
Please Introduce Yourself Here / Re: I think I may have found m...
Last post by TheBigBlue - February 11, 2026, 08:58:29 PMHi Mia, 
I'm so sorry for what you went through. My introduction read very similarly. And yes, the "what did not happen" paradox - the invisibility of complex relational and developmental trauma. Reading this article "Death by a Thousand Cuts" helped me
I'm really glad you're here. You deserved so much better - and you're not alone anymore.
(if that's ok)
I'm so sorry for what you went through. My introduction read very similarly. And yes, the "what did not happen" paradox - the invisibility of complex relational and developmental trauma. Reading this article "Death by a Thousand Cuts" helped me
Quote from: Kizzie on December 07, 2023, 07:13:22 PM... There's a good article here I found today that explains why this is so, how those of us who cannot describe our abuse as horrific and in some cases as abuse itself end up with Complex PTSD.Those constant wounds - being invisible, unwanted, unlovable, shamed, treated as if you didn't belong - are relational traumas that cut deeply precisely because they come from the people who were meant to protect us. Minimizing it is something so many of us do ... but what happened to you was real, and it mattered. One of the first things I learned on this forum, by reading the experiences of other CPTSD survivors, is this: if you have the symptoms of CPTSD, then yes - it really was that bad.
https://www.complextrauma.org/complex-trauma/death-by-a-thousand-cuts/
I'm really glad you're here. You deserved so much better - and you're not alone anymore.
(if that's ok)
#4
General Discussion / Re: Copper toxicity linked to ...
Last post by Teddy bear - February 11, 2026, 08:27:52 PMThanks! That's interesting
Probably I've heard about it previously, but never tested my levels.
It's a good idea to check it, as I have some symptoms like learning disabilities, I guess (mild dyslexia and dyscalculia), poor concentration etc, especially in stressful situations
Probably I've heard about it previously, but never tested my levels.
It's a good idea to check it, as I have some symptoms like learning disabilities, I guess (mild dyslexia and dyscalculia), poor concentration etc, especially in stressful situations
#5
Recovery Journals / Re: Post-Traumatic Growth Jour...
Last post by Marcine - February 11, 2026, 08:22:57 PMSO, my mind is conjuring all manner of imagining you getting shelves home on your bike 
Love it!
So happy for you, friend, for all you're creating, demolishing, building, transporting, and setting down. On your terms
Love it!
So happy for you, friend, for all you're creating, demolishing, building, transporting, and setting down. On your terms
#6
Recovery Journals / Re: Post-Traumatic Growth Jour...
Last post by TheBigBlue - February 11, 2026, 07:41:55 PM 
This made me genuinely happy to read. 🎉🌊
Those moments you describe - finding your voice, reframing "social anxiety" as what it really is, and then living differently in real time - that's huge.
And the store story? That spark, ease, playfulness, not caring in the old way ... that's life peeking through. It absolutely counts, even if the storm isn't over.
Please don't let "survivor's guilt" steal this from you. Sharing these moments doesn't take anything away from anyone else - it gives hope, orientation, and proof that things can shift. You made my day by posting this. Truly. 💛
And yes ... from here, that definitely looked like flirting. 😉
P.S.: We all want that ☂️ 😉
#7
Please Introduce Yourself Here / Re: I think I may have found m...
Last post by Teddy bear - February 11, 2026, 07:41:32 PMHi Mia 👋
Nice to meet you here
Welcome!
I've just read your post, I also had neglect in my childhood.
That's really tricky what to do about it 🤔
I haven't tried EMDR yet and no therapist for now (but had tried different previously, not sure they were actually helpful though).
Nevertheless I'm going to search again a bit later on.
Glad you've found this place, and it gives you the feeling of connection
Nice to meet you here
Welcome!
I've just read your post, I also had neglect in my childhood.
That's really tricky what to do about it 🤔
I haven't tried EMDR yet and no therapist for now (but had tried different previously, not sure they were actually helpful though).
Nevertheless I'm going to search again a bit later on.
Glad you've found this place, and it gives you the feeling of connection
#8
Frustrated? Set Backs? / Re: trying to make sense of th...
Last post by Teddy bear - February 11, 2026, 07:22:26 PMThanks a lot to you too
I can understand you perfectly, Dalloway, as I am also trying to do something with my life, searching for purposeful and fulfilling activities and something exciting, engaging and meaningful. And I am rarely satisfied with my results honestly.
Wishing you all the very best!
I can understand you perfectly, Dalloway, as I am also trying to do something with my life, searching for purposeful and fulfilling activities and something exciting, engaging and meaningful. And I am rarely satisfied with my results honestly.
Wishing you all the very best!
#9
Recovery Journals / Re: Post-Traumatic Growth Jour...
Last post by Dalloway - February 11, 2026, 07:15:35 PMSenseOrgan, I read your latest post with a smile on my face and a joy in my heart. I´m SO happy for you that I can barely put that into words. You write with so much clarity about your experience. I think that acknowledging the possibility that it may not be permanent is one of the hardest things on the healing journey. And yet, I don´t feel hopelessness from your words at all. Being happy for a friend is one of the most awesome feelings ever and that´s how I feel right now, so thank you for that. You deserve to be happy with your authenticity that is the most beautiful gift one can give to themselves and you´re doing that right know, so kudos to you.
And the myth of social anxiety? Wow. You spoke to and from my heart really. As someone who´s been struggling with that my whole life, I felt every word deep in my soul. And you´re perfectly right. It is always a flashback to those scary times in the past when I was in real danger and it doesn´t matter that I´m not in one anymore, my body feels otherwise.
I´m more and more convinced that the key to recovering our whole self is to connect to safe and loving people. Building relationships and/or a community is crucial to heal the wounds of disconnection. I´m glad you´re taking those steps and it´s really awesome to bear witness to that.
Maybe you could pass me your umbrella once you got out of the storm if you won´t need that anymore.
And the myth of social anxiety? Wow. You spoke to and from my heart really. As someone who´s been struggling with that my whole life, I felt every word deep in my soul. And you´re perfectly right. It is always a flashback to those scary times in the past when I was in real danger and it doesn´t matter that I´m not in one anymore, my body feels otherwise.
I´m more and more convinced that the key to recovering our whole self is to connect to safe and loving people. Building relationships and/or a community is crucial to heal the wounds of disconnection. I´m glad you´re taking those steps and it´s really awesome to bear witness to that.
Maybe you could pass me your umbrella once you got out of the storm if you won´t need that anymore.
#10
Recovery Journals / Re: Post-Traumatic Growth Jour...
Last post by SenseOrgan - February 11, 2026, 06:53:24 PMHannahOne
Thank you my friend. That bit by Paul Simon is very inspiring. It's how I'd like to go through life with other people in mind.
sanmagic7
Thank you San! I love your inclusive way of thinking.
Marcine
That's really nice to hear. It's invaluable to be able to communicate about this with you and others here. I consider myself really lucky that I found my way here. There's no way I could do this on my own. And it wouldn't be quite as fun.
Yes, Philip Glass. What can I say? Will a genius and a gift to humanity do? I like his solo piano pieces a lot. Love at first hear for me.
TheBigBlue
Thank you very much for your kind words. We're all essentially in the same boat, aren't we? We'll get there with a little help from our friends, I like to think.
Chart
Right back atcha!
It's been a while. I'm not exactly sure how it happened that I've been so busy. Right now I'm quite melancholic. Radiohead is the soundtrack for this entry. I think it's time to slow down a bit. Hopefully have a good cry.
Last Sunday was the annual general meeting at the community garden. An event I dreaded ever since it was announced. I had discussed it extensively with wonderful people who gave me great feedback. It helped a great deal to create space around it, and lessen the contraction a bit. And still I kept dreading it. The core issue here, is that I'm afraid to show up. As me. The real version. My survival self feels like a suit that doesn't fit me anymore. I want to drop it. A little bit of a mask, or reluctance, is fine. But it needs to be me who's there, essentially. I want to exist. And I want to connect. Neither of those happen when I'm not there.
It became a big thing for me. My shrink pretty much encouraged me to go, without pushing me. He went quite CBT on me, which, for once in my life, was actually appropriate. I wasn't going to push myself to go, but I felt pressure to attend. It felt rude to not show up. And I didn't join to dodge this kind of thing. I joined to connect. That doesn't mix well with hiding. Sleep had been punishing. I was constantly on the edge of things being too much. It's hard to find the middle way sometimes.
On the dreaded day itself, I was in a conversation with a good friend and discussed the issue again. I lost track of time, and if he hadn't notified me, I would have missed the moment. Connecting with him had reduced my sense of otherness, and somewhat lowered my anxiety [connection is the answer!]. Click. Decision made. Go. Now.
I had to hurry! Upon arrival, I noticed it wasn't too crowded. Even fewer people than I had expected. Sill a good bunch. Entering the community building was scary. Who's going to be there? I'm stuck here now. I sat down somewhere. A bit of small talk with the neighbor's and the volunteers. Nothing too scary. More conversation. Safe enough people. Few. I remained present. Flashes of fear. For blushing. No escape. Memories. So many memories. The social battlefield of my life.
Awareness. I'm sitting here. Being present. I am actually here. I am. Some anxiety, yes. Nothing like it used to be. Shocking. Walking out of the storm. That's what this is. That's what's happening. Connectedness has been corroding otherness. It has been normalizing my self image. In many, many, infinitely subtle ways. It is becoming part of who I am. It lives in me as an okayness, even when I'm in a challenging situation. That's what safely attached people have heaps of, always and everywhere. I know what it's like now.
After the meeting I connected with a board member. I had a few questions and we started chatting. Before I knew it, she asked me if I wanted to write a piece about regenerative agriculture for the community journal. What I felt was interesting. It wasn't terror or shame. The idea didn't scare me. Huh?! More like I don't mind to tell something about what I'm up to here to the other people. What?! I perplexed myself. Since I still want to ease into this community, I told the board member I have some personal challenges and want to take it slow, but I'm up for it at some point.
Just five months ago I joined. I vividly remember the fear I felt every time I set foot on the terrain. Until very recently. It was the others and me. The threat and the threatened. The exposed and the judges. Recently I had my coming out as a no-dig gardener when I requested way more compost than folks around here are used to. A few days ago an acquaintance with a car helped me to get heaps of cardboard to my garden. The other day I finished covering the entire surface with it. 97 m2. It sticks out like a flashing billboard. And I stopped caring what others may think of it. I went all the way and became unapologetic about it. No overcompensation. ME. I don't know how permanent this is. In any case, it's a huge victory for me. And it came much earlier than I had dared to dream.
Stepping out of my ashamed self, into my authenticity, also makes it painfully clear how awful life was all these years. And who caused it. I think I've done the bulk of grieving. Even to the point of embracing the inevitability of all of it. My challenge is to stop hiding and to speak my mind. That's more difficult for me than to suffer in silence. I feel like life is calling me to reclaim the healthy anger that was stolen from me. I did a good bit of that in the past. But much of it is still suffocating under a blanket of shame. At some point I'm going to tell my mother exactly what she has done to me. She's not going to get a free pass anymore. Not with me paying the ultimate price for it. It's crucial that I find my voice, especially there. It'll come. I had flashes of insights. Just no time to capture any of it. Sleep gives me little room to maneuver. I can only spend the time and energy I do have once. I feel awful about disappearing here for bit. It happens sometimes. You guys are on my mind frequently. It's odd that I start to feel a bit of "survivor's guilt" writing these positive experiences. Not that I'm actually out of the storm, but I'm getting a taste of what that must be like.
Oh, yeah. One more thing I wanted to write. Social anxiety doesn't exist. At least not for me. It's yet another way to frame trauma as a character flaw. I'm sure it's not intended that way. But that framework does do that. It's not social anxiety. It's not ahistorical. It's a flashback. How it was. Experienced again. In the present. Every social interaction. Over and over. The same mechanism as the firecracker to the war vet, that does get the acknowledgment it deserves. Those who haven't lived it can't fathom what it's like to go through life as if everyone is pointing a gun at you. Social anxiety almost sounds cute in comparison to what it's actually like. I don't have social anxiety. I'm reliving how I was treated by my mother.
Okay, one last thing. I came out of the night quite grumpy, irritable, and overwhelmed this morning. There were some shelves on offer that I needed, so I went to the store when it opened anyway. I joked a bit with the cashier when I entered. When I got to the shelves, I loaded the only four that were available in my cart. Something that would normally greatly embarrass me. I didn't care. Pushed the thing through the store to get some other stuff. Odd looks from an employee [objectively so]. Didn't care. Then went to the cash register. The cashier made a remark about me taking all the shelves. I joked that it's even worse. That I wanted to buy more. No anxiety. Enjoyment. Great chemistry with her, who was in an equal playful mood. She called someone, who got the extra shelves for me. I joked some more with the cashier and said I was here by bike. I had to leave some here to pick em up later. She was clearly enjoying me joking about the situation and wondering if I was going to pull it off. When I got back, I joked some more with her. Was I actually flirting? Not sure. Anyway, these are the moments when I realize how much better life got.
Thank you my friend. That bit by Paul Simon is very inspiring. It's how I'd like to go through life with other people in mind.
sanmagic7
Thank you San! I love your inclusive way of thinking.
Marcine
That's really nice to hear. It's invaluable to be able to communicate about this with you and others here. I consider myself really lucky that I found my way here. There's no way I could do this on my own. And it wouldn't be quite as fun.
Yes, Philip Glass. What can I say? Will a genius and a gift to humanity do? I like his solo piano pieces a lot. Love at first hear for me.
TheBigBlue
Thank you very much for your kind words. We're all essentially in the same boat, aren't we? We'll get there with a little help from our friends, I like to think.
Chart
Right back atcha!
It's been a while. I'm not exactly sure how it happened that I've been so busy. Right now I'm quite melancholic. Radiohead is the soundtrack for this entry. I think it's time to slow down a bit. Hopefully have a good cry.
Last Sunday was the annual general meeting at the community garden. An event I dreaded ever since it was announced. I had discussed it extensively with wonderful people who gave me great feedback. It helped a great deal to create space around it, and lessen the contraction a bit. And still I kept dreading it. The core issue here, is that I'm afraid to show up. As me. The real version. My survival self feels like a suit that doesn't fit me anymore. I want to drop it. A little bit of a mask, or reluctance, is fine. But it needs to be me who's there, essentially. I want to exist. And I want to connect. Neither of those happen when I'm not there.
It became a big thing for me. My shrink pretty much encouraged me to go, without pushing me. He went quite CBT on me, which, for once in my life, was actually appropriate. I wasn't going to push myself to go, but I felt pressure to attend. It felt rude to not show up. And I didn't join to dodge this kind of thing. I joined to connect. That doesn't mix well with hiding. Sleep had been punishing. I was constantly on the edge of things being too much. It's hard to find the middle way sometimes.
On the dreaded day itself, I was in a conversation with a good friend and discussed the issue again. I lost track of time, and if he hadn't notified me, I would have missed the moment. Connecting with him had reduced my sense of otherness, and somewhat lowered my anxiety [connection is the answer!]. Click. Decision made. Go. Now.
I had to hurry! Upon arrival, I noticed it wasn't too crowded. Even fewer people than I had expected. Sill a good bunch. Entering the community building was scary. Who's going to be there? I'm stuck here now. I sat down somewhere. A bit of small talk with the neighbor's and the volunteers. Nothing too scary. More conversation. Safe enough people. Few. I remained present. Flashes of fear. For blushing. No escape. Memories. So many memories. The social battlefield of my life.
Awareness. I'm sitting here. Being present. I am actually here. I am. Some anxiety, yes. Nothing like it used to be. Shocking. Walking out of the storm. That's what this is. That's what's happening. Connectedness has been corroding otherness. It has been normalizing my self image. In many, many, infinitely subtle ways. It is becoming part of who I am. It lives in me as an okayness, even when I'm in a challenging situation. That's what safely attached people have heaps of, always and everywhere. I know what it's like now.
After the meeting I connected with a board member. I had a few questions and we started chatting. Before I knew it, she asked me if I wanted to write a piece about regenerative agriculture for the community journal. What I felt was interesting. It wasn't terror or shame. The idea didn't scare me. Huh?! More like I don't mind to tell something about what I'm up to here to the other people. What?! I perplexed myself. Since I still want to ease into this community, I told the board member I have some personal challenges and want to take it slow, but I'm up for it at some point.
Just five months ago I joined. I vividly remember the fear I felt every time I set foot on the terrain. Until very recently. It was the others and me. The threat and the threatened. The exposed and the judges. Recently I had my coming out as a no-dig gardener when I requested way more compost than folks around here are used to. A few days ago an acquaintance with a car helped me to get heaps of cardboard to my garden. The other day I finished covering the entire surface with it. 97 m2. It sticks out like a flashing billboard. And I stopped caring what others may think of it. I went all the way and became unapologetic about it. No overcompensation. ME. I don't know how permanent this is. In any case, it's a huge victory for me. And it came much earlier than I had dared to dream.
Stepping out of my ashamed self, into my authenticity, also makes it painfully clear how awful life was all these years. And who caused it. I think I've done the bulk of grieving. Even to the point of embracing the inevitability of all of it. My challenge is to stop hiding and to speak my mind. That's more difficult for me than to suffer in silence. I feel like life is calling me to reclaim the healthy anger that was stolen from me. I did a good bit of that in the past. But much of it is still suffocating under a blanket of shame. At some point I'm going to tell my mother exactly what she has done to me. She's not going to get a free pass anymore. Not with me paying the ultimate price for it. It's crucial that I find my voice, especially there. It'll come. I had flashes of insights. Just no time to capture any of it. Sleep gives me little room to maneuver. I can only spend the time and energy I do have once. I feel awful about disappearing here for bit. It happens sometimes. You guys are on my mind frequently. It's odd that I start to feel a bit of "survivor's guilt" writing these positive experiences. Not that I'm actually out of the storm, but I'm getting a taste of what that must be like.
Oh, yeah. One more thing I wanted to write. Social anxiety doesn't exist. At least not for me. It's yet another way to frame trauma as a character flaw. I'm sure it's not intended that way. But that framework does do that. It's not social anxiety. It's not ahistorical. It's a flashback. How it was. Experienced again. In the present. Every social interaction. Over and over. The same mechanism as the firecracker to the war vet, that does get the acknowledgment it deserves. Those who haven't lived it can't fathom what it's like to go through life as if everyone is pointing a gun at you. Social anxiety almost sounds cute in comparison to what it's actually like. I don't have social anxiety. I'm reliving how I was treated by my mother.
Okay, one last thing. I came out of the night quite grumpy, irritable, and overwhelmed this morning. There were some shelves on offer that I needed, so I went to the store when it opened anyway. I joked a bit with the cashier when I entered. When I got to the shelves, I loaded the only four that were available in my cart. Something that would normally greatly embarrass me. I didn't care. Pushed the thing through the store to get some other stuff. Odd looks from an employee [objectively so]. Didn't care. Then went to the cash register. The cashier made a remark about me taking all the shelves. I joked that it's even worse. That I wanted to buy more. No anxiety. Enjoyment. Great chemistry with her, who was in an equal playful mood. She called someone, who got the extra shelves for me. I joked some more with the cashier and said I was here by bike. I had to leave some here to pick em up later. She was clearly enjoying me joking about the situation and wondering if I was going to pull it off. When I got back, I joked some more with her. Was I actually flirting? Not sure. Anyway, these are the moments when I realize how much better life got.