Years ago, I suffered a loss so incomprehensible that I could not take the pain. I medicated myself with alcohol and tried to numb out the pain as much as possible. For years, my drinking was never 'out of control', just a daily evening dose of medicine to numb the pain. I started to feel this 'medicine''s effect on my mind and body and realized I had to do something or I would continue to numb myself into a slow death. In looking for 'help', I chose to try one of the only methods I knew of, Alcoholic's Anonymous. Although, my story was not the story of many 'in the program', I learned to do what people told me to do and 'look for similarities instead of differences' and slowly began to be slightly brainwashed by something that never quite 'fit' for me.
With lack of any other available options, I chose to go to a place where I was told this was the 'only solution' to my addiction. Before this, I wallowed around scared and alone, not knowing where to turn. I entered AA, vulnerable and sad. I did not know or understand that perhaps if I focused on my underlying grief and trauma issues, I could live a fuller life. Instead, I went in to something where alcohol and the 'ism' attached to it, became part of my 'character' in this insidious way. I struggled through in these rooms with concepts that never quite made sense to me.
I stayed because I love connecting with people; because I was lonely. I stayed because a gentle man worked through the steps with me in an openhearted way, patient and nonjudgmental about my questions. I started to heal a little, with time and with my own work, from the grief and pain that brought me here. I watched some 'get it' and take on this program with the fervor of a Southern preacher. And sadly, I watched some come in and out sad and vulnerable, thinking that no matter how much work they did, they just couldn't quite get it. Seeing these people who worked hard, but could not stay sober, broke my heart. It made me wonder if there was another way for some and that instead of saying 'it works if you work it', maybe the saying should be 'if it doesn't work try something else because your life depends on it'. I started to question, more and more. I started to question many of the steps as they did not fit with much that made sense to me on a deep level.
I went in with help for my addiction and was told I had a 'special type of personality', that my make up was vastly different from the 'normies', as they were called. This puzzled me as my experience showed me that anyone can become an addict and that many of these 'special' traits that were talked about were also experienced by people who were not addicts. My pain and grief had led me to numb out with an intoxicating substance. This did not make me unique or different from people who numb out in other socially acceptable ways like TV or video games. My trauma, my grief, my resentments were things that were universally felt by addicts and non addicts alike.
When I struggled with depression and anxiety, it filled me with deep discomfort to hear others in the 'rooms' say that AA was the only way and to scoff at therapy and psychiatry. These people were not the majority, but their attitude towards outside help could make a deeply vulnerable person ashamed that they could not deal with everything with AA and the 12 steps. They implied that someone who needed outside help was just not working the steps hard enough. I firmly believe that this is one of the most destructive aspects of AA and other offshoot 12 step programs. It could be literally killing people who need more help than the 'program' can offer them.
I now know, from my 4 years in and out of the program, that I saw the great value that came from connecting with others with similar problems. For some, the connection to faith and spirituality was life transforming. For others, it was a baffling puzzle that never made sense. I saw lives transformed in the 'program' and I saw others that floundered. Central to this floundering, at times, was this inability to 'get' the deeply patriarchal religious underpinnings of this program. For some of us, those ideas and concepts just do not work and trying to shame us into believing that they should is just wrong.
I knew what brought me here was deep pain; pain born of many traumas, many losses, much grief. This deep pain was often brushed over and disregarded as self pity, or 'terminal uniqueness'. I knew that these rooms were not addressing a lot of these deep pains or traumas. This questioning led me to being in these rooms feeling like my head was going to explode, but feeling I must because I was told I had to. I was told I had a 'progressive disease'. Some took this idea so far that they believe their diseased character will just get progressively worse even when clean from the substance. I was told that if I stopped coming, I was bound to 'relapse'. Furthermore, that it is a given with this disease, if I relapse I will start using the substance worse than I used to and probably end up dead, in prison or in an institution. I was not told that a great majority of people who have problems with alcohol somehow 'mature' out of it and either move on eventually to moderate drinking or abstinence with no AA or specialized alcohol treatment.
Being clean of this substance did not protect me from horrible pain. Being in these rooms did not take away mind numbing debilitating pain and depression. Seeing others, who had many years of 'sobriety' be just as unhealthy, sometimes more so, than the newcomer, spurred me towards more reflection on what this all meant to me, to others. Things become clear. A weight lifted, and I realized that I did have a choice. I could change my relationship with alcohol just as I had changed my relationship with food many years earlier. The 'rooms' were not what I needed, and I was now more aware of myself and knew that if I was drawn to self medication and numbing, that I might need something else, not some archaic program that made no sense to me. Not a higher power. But, my self will, harnessed and aligned and learning to fight for my own survival. My self will was not the enemy I heard it was. It was something that could actually save me; because without this 'self will', I would not be here today. Nor would I have survived all the traumas that led me here.
In this country, our treatment of addiction and mental health issues is woefully inadequate. For years, we have looked in the wrong direction with both, believing that 12 step models worked well(when the evidence clearly proved otherwise) for addiction and that pharmaceuticals were the answer for mental health issues. For both, it is my firm belief, that the key to both, in many cases, is unresolved trauma, loss, and grief. Further research has proven that it is also social connection and support networks that make the difference in both.(which, to me, shows why 12 step programs work for a lot of people) Years ago, I would talk to a friend about things I found on the Internet that were anti AA. Her question was why rail against AA? Why not just do your own thing and quit being so negative? For me, the answer is this: if there is just one person out there in the 'program' that hears what I say and feels less alone, then, I will have done what I set out to do. If there is anyone out there 'in the room's feeling like their head is going to explode, that they just can't 'get it', my message is clear: find other things that work. Therapy. Exercise. Positive social connections. Fight for your life. Find treatment for trauma. Find treatment for grief. You do not have to stay with something that doesn't feel right to you. There are other options. We,as a country, need to quit being so backward and recognize that addiction is a multi faceted experience with many answers. If we continue down the path we are going without looking deeper at many options, we will continue to see tragic deaths of people that truly believed they 'failed' at the one answer they had and that there were no other answers. Do we really want these deaths on our hands?
Thursday, August 13, 2015
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
Trauma's Long Term Wounding
Several months ago, I was embroiled in a bit of a family drama. I received a vicious e-mail from a cousin, who I do not know, about one of my blog posts. This blog post expressed my love for experiences we had at our beloved family cabin, but also expressed hurt that the cabin was gone. Having someone completely belittle my experience and viciously attack me about a heartfelt blog post, made me sick and sad. Knowing that 'family' could be this heartless and unkind made me sick to my stomach. It also triggered old traumas, old hurts.
Since rape and domestic violence in my late teens and early 20's, I have suffered from PTSD. More than 20 years later, at times, I expect this hurt, this pain, that I carry deep within my body, to be gone. I often don't realize how easily triggered I am, nor recognize when I begin to shut down. The e-mail that I received and the actions of other family members in this same clan made me question myself, made me shut down and hide. I felt overwhelmed and felt that I had no worth. The same feelings and insidious messages my abuser had instilled in me. I recently read that one symptom of PTSD is the feeling that your world is about to fall down around you at any moment. One trigger can set me into this feeling and throw me into complete panic. With the events that happened back in February, I have slowly begun to realize how easily I am still triggered. Abuse and trauma never completely go away.
Many traditions and philosophies have a message of 'acceptance', of learning to accept those things we cannot change. This philosophy, while helpful for some, can be harmful at times for those of us who have suffered from abuse. When we have the type of body trauma and anxiety that comes from deeply abusive and invasive experiences, it is really hard to accept those things we cannot change. It can take years to heal from traumatic experiences and jumping to 'acceptance' or 'forgiveness' can, at times, suppress the real healing that comes from feeling the rage, the sadness, and the loss of innocence and trust.
With each trigger, I learn that my trauma lies deep within my body, mind and spirit. I wonder about the very public victims we have heard about the past year: the women who were raped by Cosby, the young victims of Josh Duggar, the many victims of campus rape, the ex-wife of Bill O'Reilly, and more. How are they faring? Are they easily triggered? Do they shy away from intimacy and struggle with this many years later? Do they have a hard time trusting anyone? Do they carry their trauma as wounds to their souls and have they been given a chance to heal? My heart hurts for them. This long term hurting and healing is often forgotten in discussions about sexual and domestic violence. Media doesn't focus on the fact that abuse is a wound on the victims' soul, a wound that can be re-opened, that can refuse to heal. Sometimes, they talk about the hypocrisy of the perpetrator, but we forget that years later, there are still victims of these crimes that are facing ongoing life-changing hurt.
I also feel deep sympathy for 'public' victims as they not only have their own trauma from the abuse, they are also re-traumatized by people in the media who minimize their pain. The media has been rife with examples of this cultural need to require victims to shut up, accept, forgive and move on. We hear public figures call abuse ' a mistake' while trying to minimize the impact, the deep hurt that the victims are subject to for the rest of their lives. My call to the media, to public figures who speak out, is to think before you speak, think of the victim and the trauma they endure and then re-endure when their abuse is made public by choice or by chance. My call to all of us is to be kind, to think about the impact that your mere words can have on someones life, be it a nasty e-mail or a hateful comment on social media. There are so many of us out here, wounded and trying to heal. We could do with more compassion and a little less judgment and denial.
I feel my trauma deep in my mind, my body and soul. I have worked hard to heal. But, that trauma is still there, at times, lurking beneath the surface. Sometimes I don't even recognize it when my wound is re-opened and raw. This wound is not visible to the outside, but it is there nonetheless. There are millions of us walking around with similar wounds that at times become infected and life threatening be it through suppression and minimization of pain or through new abusive and hurtful experiences. All of us need to do more to prevent our lives and our children's lives from being shattered by abuse. We need to stand up to those who want to shut us up, who want to deny our experience. As we all work to prevent and heal from abuse, we need to hold our hearts open for others who are hurt and wounded. Remember that our trauma is a long term wound and that we must be gentle with ourselves to move forward. Together, we can heal, grow, and work towards a world where abuse is rare, not common, and those traumatized are supported, not suppressed and re-traumatized.
Since rape and domestic violence in my late teens and early 20's, I have suffered from PTSD. More than 20 years later, at times, I expect this hurt, this pain, that I carry deep within my body, to be gone. I often don't realize how easily triggered I am, nor recognize when I begin to shut down. The e-mail that I received and the actions of other family members in this same clan made me question myself, made me shut down and hide. I felt overwhelmed and felt that I had no worth. The same feelings and insidious messages my abuser had instilled in me. I recently read that one symptom of PTSD is the feeling that your world is about to fall down around you at any moment. One trigger can set me into this feeling and throw me into complete panic. With the events that happened back in February, I have slowly begun to realize how easily I am still triggered. Abuse and trauma never completely go away.
Many traditions and philosophies have a message of 'acceptance', of learning to accept those things we cannot change. This philosophy, while helpful for some, can be harmful at times for those of us who have suffered from abuse. When we have the type of body trauma and anxiety that comes from deeply abusive and invasive experiences, it is really hard to accept those things we cannot change. It can take years to heal from traumatic experiences and jumping to 'acceptance' or 'forgiveness' can, at times, suppress the real healing that comes from feeling the rage, the sadness, and the loss of innocence and trust.
With each trigger, I learn that my trauma lies deep within my body, mind and spirit. I wonder about the very public victims we have heard about the past year: the women who were raped by Cosby, the young victims of Josh Duggar, the many victims of campus rape, the ex-wife of Bill O'Reilly, and more. How are they faring? Are they easily triggered? Do they shy away from intimacy and struggle with this many years later? Do they have a hard time trusting anyone? Do they carry their trauma as wounds to their souls and have they been given a chance to heal? My heart hurts for them. This long term hurting and healing is often forgotten in discussions about sexual and domestic violence. Media doesn't focus on the fact that abuse is a wound on the victims' soul, a wound that can be re-opened, that can refuse to heal. Sometimes, they talk about the hypocrisy of the perpetrator, but we forget that years later, there are still victims of these crimes that are facing ongoing life-changing hurt.
I also feel deep sympathy for 'public' victims as they not only have their own trauma from the abuse, they are also re-traumatized by people in the media who minimize their pain. The media has been rife with examples of this cultural need to require victims to shut up, accept, forgive and move on. We hear public figures call abuse ' a mistake' while trying to minimize the impact, the deep hurt that the victims are subject to for the rest of their lives. My call to the media, to public figures who speak out, is to think before you speak, think of the victim and the trauma they endure and then re-endure when their abuse is made public by choice or by chance. My call to all of us is to be kind, to think about the impact that your mere words can have on someones life, be it a nasty e-mail or a hateful comment on social media. There are so many of us out here, wounded and trying to heal. We could do with more compassion and a little less judgment and denial.
I feel my trauma deep in my mind, my body and soul. I have worked hard to heal. But, that trauma is still there, at times, lurking beneath the surface. Sometimes I don't even recognize it when my wound is re-opened and raw. This wound is not visible to the outside, but it is there nonetheless. There are millions of us walking around with similar wounds that at times become infected and life threatening be it through suppression and minimization of pain or through new abusive and hurtful experiences. All of us need to do more to prevent our lives and our children's lives from being shattered by abuse. We need to stand up to those who want to shut us up, who want to deny our experience. As we all work to prevent and heal from abuse, we need to hold our hearts open for others who are hurt and wounded. Remember that our trauma is a long term wound and that we must be gentle with ourselves to move forward. Together, we can heal, grow, and work towards a world where abuse is rare, not common, and those traumatized are supported, not suppressed and re-traumatized.
Thursday, May 14, 2015
Addiction: Looking Deeper
Since my teen years, I have fought a battle between doing what I know is 'healthy' for me and doing things that I know are decidedly not. What is it about some of us humans that we yearn for those moments of peace and calm that certain substances and behaviors give us even when we know they are killing us? Whether it be killing our body and our minds with alcohol, nicotine or other drugs or killing our minds with endless gaming and TV watching, many of us cannot stop that call to escape 'reality'.
Those of us that are on that razor thin line between the two choices are often judged for not trying hard enough. Others are baffled at why one continues behaviors that harm themselves and sometimes others. They are appalled at those who deal with grave health consequences while continuing the substance that is causing the problem. Many assume, wrongly, that one form of 'treatment' should fit for everyone and those who are not helped by the treatment are not working hard enough or doing it right. Others assume, also wrongly, that someone should just be able to quit with no problem. They have no idea the internal pain that people go through; the strong internal desire to live coupled with the equally strong desire to numb while slowly dying.
I ponder why some of us can commit to being healthy and go for it with no problem. I ponder why a very large percentage of people quit addictions like alcohol and cigarettes with absolutely no support or help when some of us can't seem to figure it out even when we do have support and resources to quit. I ponder why some of us easily embrace programs and groups that work for us, while some of us can't help but look at those programs with a cynical distrust that diminishes their value to us.
Growing older, I have watched people struggle with horrible addiction only to be 'scared straight' by near death experiences or brushes with the law. They seem to brush themselves on and move on, never seeming to crave the drug that was killing them before. I have watched people with horrible addictions benefit from 12 step programs that truly transform their lives. Conversely, I have seen people who are 'in' and 'out' of 12 step programs, never seeming to commit to health and sobriety. I have seen people truly look at their addictions and rid themselves of their addiction by discovering what works for them, be it therapy, in-depth trauma work, and even finding healthy hobbies.
I ponder my big heart, my depression, my sadness, my anger, my empathy. I realize that all of those things have led me to substances that help me 'escape' from this world. My journey has led me from 'alternative' therapies, traditional therapies and various support and 12 step groups. In many cases, all of these things have 'helped' in their way. Still, I cannot seem to fully commit myself to completely ridding myself of self destructive behaviors. Somehow, I still have that addict thought in my head that the benefits outweigh the risks. With a substance like tobacco, we all know that thinking is ridiculous! For those of us addicted to substances, there is also the overwhelming fear of the pain of detox. Although I am not actively engaged in old addictions like eating disorders or alcoholism, I am still a slave to a substance. And that thought is incredibly frustrating!
I wonder what the answer is for myself and others. And I realize, from watching people die or slowly kill themselves and from watching people get sober and thrive that the answer lies within each person. We must let go of the idea that there is 'one' answer for treating addiction. Behind addiction is trauma, is fear, is mental illness, is sadness, is self hatred, and more. Addressing those core issues or not, holds the key to life and moving forward. Addiction holds a different message for each of us and the trick is trying to overcome the physical hold of addiction while also addressing the reasons hidden underneath it.
For me, the learning continues. Each of my major addictions carried some major growth when I finally decided to heal and address them. It is my hope, for me and others, that people see addiction for what it is, instead of seeing it as a moral failing and look at addicts with compassion, instead of judgment. Perhaps my biggest hope and observation traveling this path is that we need to open our minds and hearts to different options of helping people; that we no longer assume someone wasn't 'working' hard enough if something didn't work for them. If we cannot open our minds to many options, instead of few, people will continue dying horrible deaths from addiction. For myself, I hope that I can continue to learn to be present in this world without feeling the need to escape, the urge to destruct.
Those of us that are on that razor thin line between the two choices are often judged for not trying hard enough. Others are baffled at why one continues behaviors that harm themselves and sometimes others. They are appalled at those who deal with grave health consequences while continuing the substance that is causing the problem. Many assume, wrongly, that one form of 'treatment' should fit for everyone and those who are not helped by the treatment are not working hard enough or doing it right. Others assume, also wrongly, that someone should just be able to quit with no problem. They have no idea the internal pain that people go through; the strong internal desire to live coupled with the equally strong desire to numb while slowly dying.
I ponder why some of us can commit to being healthy and go for it with no problem. I ponder why a very large percentage of people quit addictions like alcohol and cigarettes with absolutely no support or help when some of us can't seem to figure it out even when we do have support and resources to quit. I ponder why some of us easily embrace programs and groups that work for us, while some of us can't help but look at those programs with a cynical distrust that diminishes their value to us.
Growing older, I have watched people struggle with horrible addiction only to be 'scared straight' by near death experiences or brushes with the law. They seem to brush themselves on and move on, never seeming to crave the drug that was killing them before. I have watched people with horrible addictions benefit from 12 step programs that truly transform their lives. Conversely, I have seen people who are 'in' and 'out' of 12 step programs, never seeming to commit to health and sobriety. I have seen people truly look at their addictions and rid themselves of their addiction by discovering what works for them, be it therapy, in-depth trauma work, and even finding healthy hobbies.
I ponder my big heart, my depression, my sadness, my anger, my empathy. I realize that all of those things have led me to substances that help me 'escape' from this world. My journey has led me from 'alternative' therapies, traditional therapies and various support and 12 step groups. In many cases, all of these things have 'helped' in their way. Still, I cannot seem to fully commit myself to completely ridding myself of self destructive behaviors. Somehow, I still have that addict thought in my head that the benefits outweigh the risks. With a substance like tobacco, we all know that thinking is ridiculous! For those of us addicted to substances, there is also the overwhelming fear of the pain of detox. Although I am not actively engaged in old addictions like eating disorders or alcoholism, I am still a slave to a substance. And that thought is incredibly frustrating!
I wonder what the answer is for myself and others. And I realize, from watching people die or slowly kill themselves and from watching people get sober and thrive that the answer lies within each person. We must let go of the idea that there is 'one' answer for treating addiction. Behind addiction is trauma, is fear, is mental illness, is sadness, is self hatred, and more. Addressing those core issues or not, holds the key to life and moving forward. Addiction holds a different message for each of us and the trick is trying to overcome the physical hold of addiction while also addressing the reasons hidden underneath it.
For me, the learning continues. Each of my major addictions carried some major growth when I finally decided to heal and address them. It is my hope, for me and others, that people see addiction for what it is, instead of seeing it as a moral failing and look at addicts with compassion, instead of judgment. Perhaps my biggest hope and observation traveling this path is that we need to open our minds and hearts to different options of helping people; that we no longer assume someone wasn't 'working' hard enough if something didn't work for them. If we cannot open our minds to many options, instead of few, people will continue dying horrible deaths from addiction. For myself, I hope that I can continue to learn to be present in this world without feeling the need to escape, the urge to destruct.
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
Our Tragic Legacy of Hiding
Since last week, I have been in heavy 'musing' mode, struggling to find the words to thoughts that overwhelm and disturb me. So many times I come face to face with the issue of secrecy, hiding and shame and it seems like it is beyond my abilities to address it. It is so deeply embedded in our society and our families. Our ability to communicate and listen, to confront, and to soothe is so badly damaged that people are literally dying both quick and long deaths because of it.
This post is for the woman living in fear of a husband who abuses her, who hides this from everyone because he is a 'well respected' member of his community and no-one would believe her; a woman who suffers more than anyone should ever suffer without community to support her.
This post is for a man with mental health issues who lives in perpetual suffering in his head; who fears reaching out because 'men just don't do that'. Even if he did reach out, the methods of 'care' are sadly lacking because of our deep ties to the pharmaceutical industry and our inability to find better options. Options that may be more available if we, as a society, had just learned how to question, how to look deeply and confront wrongs and find better answers.
This post is for the sexual abuse survivor who tells small parts of her community her story, only to be shunned, ignored and sometimes even ostracized; a survivor who learns that hiding is better because that's the message society gives her. This survivor loses key supports by isolating and those who 'know' are often left to carry a heavy burden themselves, without community, without communication; sickening whole communities of people.
This post of for the gay teenager living in a small religious community, who hides a major part of who he is for fear of ostracism and sometimes worse; a teenager who may become addicted to alcohol or drugs or even kill himself because the price of hiding is just too great.
This post is for the person who grieves the loss of a close loved on in secret because our culture puts a 'timeline' on grief and looks down on long term expressions of grief ; a person suffering in silence instead of sharing a load that may be made lighter just by the sharing of it.
This post is for countless others who hide parts of themselves, who hide parts of their stories, because there is no support out there for them; who, when they do share their stories, are often ignored or diminished in sometimes deeply wounding ways.
We are as sick as the secrets we keep, the shame that we hold on to and are terrified to share and release. This shame isolates all of us and teaches us to shut our hearts down in the face of pain. It separates us from other people; diminishing our sense of community by closing all of us down to the pain and trauma that is merely a part of human experience.
We learn from this culture that some things must be hidden. Our deep hurts, our grief, our traumas, our addictions, our illnesses all must be hidden away. We are taught to 'hide' and 'move on'. Our children are taught that tough situations must be hidden, that its better not to talk about major trauma. This hiding and suppression is deadly to both children and adults alike. Those of us that refuse to hide are often ostracized. Hiding our trauma often leads to addiction, physical and mental health issues. The traumas that happen to one person often affect entire communities with a dark and dysfunctional weight, a legacy of shame and pain.
We cannot afford to keep hiding. Our children deserve so much more than the society that they are born into. They deserve communities of support where they can express things that torment them without fear and surrounded by love. Without expression of our deep sadness and trauma, we can never experience real joy. All of us deserve a place where we can be open about trauma, where it is not a 'dirty little secret' that we carry around while it silently kills us. We can no longer run from those things that make us uncomfortable. Those who are suffering deserve so much more than silence and avoidance. We all deserve so much more.
This post is for the woman living in fear of a husband who abuses her, who hides this from everyone because he is a 'well respected' member of his community and no-one would believe her; a woman who suffers more than anyone should ever suffer without community to support her.
This post is for a man with mental health issues who lives in perpetual suffering in his head; who fears reaching out because 'men just don't do that'. Even if he did reach out, the methods of 'care' are sadly lacking because of our deep ties to the pharmaceutical industry and our inability to find better options. Options that may be more available if we, as a society, had just learned how to question, how to look deeply and confront wrongs and find better answers.
This post is for the sexual abuse survivor who tells small parts of her community her story, only to be shunned, ignored and sometimes even ostracized; a survivor who learns that hiding is better because that's the message society gives her. This survivor loses key supports by isolating and those who 'know' are often left to carry a heavy burden themselves, without community, without communication; sickening whole communities of people.
This post of for the gay teenager living in a small religious community, who hides a major part of who he is for fear of ostracism and sometimes worse; a teenager who may become addicted to alcohol or drugs or even kill himself because the price of hiding is just too great.
This post is for the person who grieves the loss of a close loved on in secret because our culture puts a 'timeline' on grief and looks down on long term expressions of grief ; a person suffering in silence instead of sharing a load that may be made lighter just by the sharing of it.
This post is for countless others who hide parts of themselves, who hide parts of their stories, because there is no support out there for them; who, when they do share their stories, are often ignored or diminished in sometimes deeply wounding ways.
We are as sick as the secrets we keep, the shame that we hold on to and are terrified to share and release. This shame isolates all of us and teaches us to shut our hearts down in the face of pain. It separates us from other people; diminishing our sense of community by closing all of us down to the pain and trauma that is merely a part of human experience.
We learn from this culture that some things must be hidden. Our deep hurts, our grief, our traumas, our addictions, our illnesses all must be hidden away. We are taught to 'hide' and 'move on'. Our children are taught that tough situations must be hidden, that its better not to talk about major trauma. This hiding and suppression is deadly to both children and adults alike. Those of us that refuse to hide are often ostracized. Hiding our trauma often leads to addiction, physical and mental health issues. The traumas that happen to one person often affect entire communities with a dark and dysfunctional weight, a legacy of shame and pain.
We cannot afford to keep hiding. Our children deserve so much more than the society that they are born into. They deserve communities of support where they can express things that torment them without fear and surrounded by love. Without expression of our deep sadness and trauma, we can never experience real joy. All of us deserve a place where we can be open about trauma, where it is not a 'dirty little secret' that we carry around while it silently kills us. We can no longer run from those things that make us uncomfortable. Those who are suffering deserve so much more than silence and avoidance. We all deserve so much more.
Monday, March 2, 2015
We Must Demand Better
There is nothing worse than watching someone you love deteriorate with an illness for which there is seemingly no cure. With a loved one, I am currently watching a nightmare that has unfolded for many years. No-one else realizes how many things this loved one has tried to get better or that everything tried has failed. Watching her suffer has filled me with a sense of hopelessness and an even greater skepticism about our medical system.
It is 2014, and one would hope we had better medical and mental health treatment; something that could give hope to those who feel hopeless. But, the reality is that for many 'disorders', there are no good answers. For 'invisible illnesses like Lyme Disease, chronic fatigue syndrome, fibromyalgia, all major mental health conditions, and many others, the treatment is guess work, at best. People with these illnesses often feel isolated, hopeless and stigmatized. I don't see people organizing meals for them or their families when things are particularly bad. People with these chronic conditions feel great shame at having conditions that no-one knows how to treat. In fact, many of the so-called 'treatments' that are tried actually end up making them feel worse. Their ability to do basic activities is obliterated and yet, many judge them for having diseases that aren't visible, that aren't as easy to define as things like cancer or heart disease.
Although I, too, suffer from an invisible illness, it is far worse to watch someone I love go through this torture. Watching my loved one suffer with no hope in sight beats me down to the point of extreme hopelessness. It is incredible how many people I have met who feel the same way; who have loved one's with various conditions who are not getting 'better'. These families do everything they can to help their loved one in a system that is broken, that rarely has any answers. Many wrongly assume there is good 'treatment' out there for some of these conditions, and they judge the sufferer or their family members for not 'getting' enough 'help'. Believe me, if you were in 'our' shoes, you would know that all we do is try because to stop trying would mean giving up hope.
Perhaps the most frustrating thing is that we loved ones and sufferers alike have no energy left to fight for better treatment. Everywhere we turn we hit brick walls until we are are left so beaten down that we can barely move. This is unacceptable.
As a nation, we should be better than this. It is not o.k. when I hear a story about a young man who cannot get help because the 'treatment' is sub-par and he is turned away because he doesn't fit the mold of whatever 'program' there is to help him; who is just too difficult, and thus, forgotten and left to die. It is not o.k. when I hear of a friend who died of stage 4 lung cancer; who had a diagnosed mental health condition and all of her physical symptoms were ignored for months because the doctors thought she was 'just crazy'. It is not o.k. when a young person I know is treated with medications that are doing more harm than good, when there are no good alternatives and no answers and she is left without hope to potentially die. It is not o.k. when countless people with various pain, immune, mental health and fatigue disorders are left behind by a system that is just too baffled to put resources into helping them. So much promise, lost. So much hope, gone.
For our love ones and for those suffering, there must be a change in our attitudes. We need to stop offering 'helpful' tips when someone talks about their chronic pain, mental health issues, fatigue, etc. Those suffering have heard and probably tried every 'helpful' tip you have to offer. We must listen to and support families with chronic mental and physical health conditions. Often, all that is needed is a listening non-judgmental ear. Don't assume that if someone 'just got out more', or 'got a job', they could get better. Many who suffer would love to be able to do work or socialize more, but they really can't. Do not question their reality. Most importantly, remember how much families and the sufferers are being tortured by these ongoing problems. Offer practical support, offer emotional support and most importantly, drop your judgments if you do not understand.
Finally, we must demand more options, more research for 'help' that really works. We must crawl out of the holes that we have been forced into and fight for change. Our system is not working for far too many people. Something is horribly wrong. We need help. We need others, who may not suffer or even know someone who suffers from these disorders, to stand with us. We need others to help us band together and come up with creative solutions. Western medicine has been proven very effective for many conditions, but for some it is sadly lacking. Doctors must open their minds to creative and holistic solutions and actually see that some of the 'treatments' they prescribe are often worse than the disorder they are treating. Our whole model of 'treating' people needs to be turned on its head to understand and actually, help people with these conditions that are, at best, baffling.
Currently, my loved one has barely any life at all. Each day is excruciating torture due to physical and mental conditions. This person has tried treatment after treatment to no avail. It breaks my heart when every day is the same nightmare for this person. I cannot give up hope that he/she can truly live, love, laugh and dance again. I am astonished daily at the number of people in this country that are experiencing this same nightmare with us. We cannot let these lives that could be full of promise and joy fade without a fight. We have to band together, families and sufferers and push forward. We must demand better.
It is 2014, and one would hope we had better medical and mental health treatment; something that could give hope to those who feel hopeless. But, the reality is that for many 'disorders', there are no good answers. For 'invisible illnesses like Lyme Disease, chronic fatigue syndrome, fibromyalgia, all major mental health conditions, and many others, the treatment is guess work, at best. People with these illnesses often feel isolated, hopeless and stigmatized. I don't see people organizing meals for them or their families when things are particularly bad. People with these chronic conditions feel great shame at having conditions that no-one knows how to treat. In fact, many of the so-called 'treatments' that are tried actually end up making them feel worse. Their ability to do basic activities is obliterated and yet, many judge them for having diseases that aren't visible, that aren't as easy to define as things like cancer or heart disease.
Although I, too, suffer from an invisible illness, it is far worse to watch someone I love go through this torture. Watching my loved one suffer with no hope in sight beats me down to the point of extreme hopelessness. It is incredible how many people I have met who feel the same way; who have loved one's with various conditions who are not getting 'better'. These families do everything they can to help their loved one in a system that is broken, that rarely has any answers. Many wrongly assume there is good 'treatment' out there for some of these conditions, and they judge the sufferer or their family members for not 'getting' enough 'help'. Believe me, if you were in 'our' shoes, you would know that all we do is try because to stop trying would mean giving up hope.
Perhaps the most frustrating thing is that we loved ones and sufferers alike have no energy left to fight for better treatment. Everywhere we turn we hit brick walls until we are are left so beaten down that we can barely move. This is unacceptable.
As a nation, we should be better than this. It is not o.k. when I hear a story about a young man who cannot get help because the 'treatment' is sub-par and he is turned away because he doesn't fit the mold of whatever 'program' there is to help him; who is just too difficult, and thus, forgotten and left to die. It is not o.k. when I hear of a friend who died of stage 4 lung cancer; who had a diagnosed mental health condition and all of her physical symptoms were ignored for months because the doctors thought she was 'just crazy'. It is not o.k. when a young person I know is treated with medications that are doing more harm than good, when there are no good alternatives and no answers and she is left without hope to potentially die. It is not o.k. when countless people with various pain, immune, mental health and fatigue disorders are left behind by a system that is just too baffled to put resources into helping them. So much promise, lost. So much hope, gone.
For our love ones and for those suffering, there must be a change in our attitudes. We need to stop offering 'helpful' tips when someone talks about their chronic pain, mental health issues, fatigue, etc. Those suffering have heard and probably tried every 'helpful' tip you have to offer. We must listen to and support families with chronic mental and physical health conditions. Often, all that is needed is a listening non-judgmental ear. Don't assume that if someone 'just got out more', or 'got a job', they could get better. Many who suffer would love to be able to do work or socialize more, but they really can't. Do not question their reality. Most importantly, remember how much families and the sufferers are being tortured by these ongoing problems. Offer practical support, offer emotional support and most importantly, drop your judgments if you do not understand.
Finally, we must demand more options, more research for 'help' that really works. We must crawl out of the holes that we have been forced into and fight for change. Our system is not working for far too many people. Something is horribly wrong. We need help. We need others, who may not suffer or even know someone who suffers from these disorders, to stand with us. We need others to help us band together and come up with creative solutions. Western medicine has been proven very effective for many conditions, but for some it is sadly lacking. Doctors must open their minds to creative and holistic solutions and actually see that some of the 'treatments' they prescribe are often worse than the disorder they are treating. Our whole model of 'treating' people needs to be turned on its head to understand and actually, help people with these conditions that are, at best, baffling.
Currently, my loved one has barely any life at all. Each day is excruciating torture due to physical and mental conditions. This person has tried treatment after treatment to no avail. It breaks my heart when every day is the same nightmare for this person. I cannot give up hope that he/she can truly live, love, laugh and dance again. I am astonished daily at the number of people in this country that are experiencing this same nightmare with us. We cannot let these lives that could be full of promise and joy fade without a fight. We have to band together, families and sufferers and push forward. We must demand better.
Thursday, February 19, 2015
The Crazy One
In the past few weeks, I have felt myself reverting back to that uneasy label that lurks in the back of my mind, waiting to come out when I am not feeling strong or when I am feeling so completely and utterly different from the rest of the world. The label 'the crazy one' is probably one that I gave myself in my teens when my emotions and despair were so extreme that I almost died. Perhaps it was a label that came from being hospitalized at 16. There is nothing like the diagnostic and somewhat paternalistic environment of a mental hospital to reinforce that 'crazy' label. I remember coming back to school after that hospitalization feeling like I carried a scarlet "C" for crazy. For years after, I felt like family members tiptoed around me, that I was someone to be watched and shielded from the world. Internally, this label kept me from reaching out for help, from expressing who I was and sometimes left me walking around feeling like I had something to 'prove' in this world; to prove that I was strong and not 'crazy'.
Somehow in my late teens and 20's, I found myself in a relationship with someone who deeply reinforced my feeling of difference, who made me feel like I was 'nothing', who made me question my own reality and everything around me. As most good abusers do, this person was skilled at making me feel like no-one else would love me, that I was internally flawed. No matter what he did to hurt me, he could always it turn around and make it my 'fault'. This person knew how to keep the focus on himself while at the same time making me feel like nothing, like my world was only him. I remember the only times of 'joy' I had in those years in my 20's were when I could get away from him. When he was not around, my young daughter and I could be free for a bit and I actually could feel connected to her and to myself away from him. My relationships with others, who helped me reflect my beauty back to me probably saved my life. Without them, holding me up and pushing me forward, I may not have made it through this crazy time when my world was 'him' and 'I' was often completely lost.
Recently, I was embroiled in some drama that involved close family members and extended family members who do not know me at all. This drama involved my close family members defending each other against attacks by some 'not so nice' extended family members. The interesting part of this 'drama' was that, in spite of the fact that I was just expressing my feelings, an extended family member wrote one of my close family members expressing concern about my emotional state!! Additionally, I was attacked by another extended family member(same family) for one of my blog posts that basically just expressed the facts of the situation while expressing how I felt about that same situation. Somehow all of this gave me that 'uneasy' crazy feeling. In the instance of the blog post, I felt that someone was completely shredding 'my character' and I questioned and re-read all of my communications with this person, trying to find my 'craziness' to see if he was right. In the case of the other family member who sent the 'concerned' e-mail, I reverted back to questioning my own sanity and wondering if I was indeed, 'just too sensitive'.
I realized that that family drama triggered those old feelings in me; feelings that were prevalent throughout my teens and 20's. Somehow when dealing with extended family members that had no empathy for my feelings and made me feel like nothing, I found myself 'back' in that relationship where I learned to feel like I was 'nothing'. Expressing my 'truth' and my 'anger' had once again turned me into the 'crazy one'; the one who was just too emotional. Luckily, now I have enough awareness and self esteem that I know not to buy into another person's ideas of who I am. However, it is sometimes difficult to escape from those body memories that come up unbidden when triggered by narcissistic people. There is just something so mind-blowing and utterly confusing about people who have no empathy, never take responsibility for their actions, and always make the other person 'the bad guy' or the 'crazy one' when they are backed into a corner.
It took me a long time after that long abusive relationship in my 20's to regain, or even find a self beyond him. It also took me many years to recover from a hospitalization in my teens that made me feel like the 'crazy' one, that instead of giving me skills and self esteem, gave me shame. As I learn to speak out from my heart and be more of who I am, I realize that some of who I am may make some people uncomfortable. But, for those who choose to attack me for those feelings or express faux concern about my 'mental state', there is absolutely nothing I can do but ignore them. Some people are just not worth interacting with. No matter how hard I try to wrap my head around a person's behavior(particularly a narcissist), it will always be impossible to understand.
It is somewhat easy to distance oneself from toxic people, but it is not nearly as easy to distance oneself from a society that is full of 'expectations' of 'normalcy'. These expectations shame and exile those of us who may seem 'out of the norm', sometimes driving us underground to isolation and even death. If we are lucky, we find others like us and realize that we are beautiful in all our craziness. We are able to share and give back to the world. If we are not lucky, we are often exiled(with varying diagnoses) into groups of others who are dysfunctional and lost, only to struggle through life unfulfilled and sad. In order to change all this we need to learn to embrace our 'crazy' selves and be exceedingly gentle with them. When we meet someone who may seem 'different' or maybe even a little bit 'crazy', we need to open our hearts and minds and listen. For me, strength comes in finding others walking this path of growth and authenticity. If we can learn to embrace our differences, band together and reach out, perhaps us 'crazy ones' will begin to change this sometimes baffling and cold world. We can harness that we which sets us 'apart' and pierce through the crazy making world of 'normalcy' and create a better world.
Somehow in my late teens and 20's, I found myself in a relationship with someone who deeply reinforced my feeling of difference, who made me feel like I was 'nothing', who made me question my own reality and everything around me. As most good abusers do, this person was skilled at making me feel like no-one else would love me, that I was internally flawed. No matter what he did to hurt me, he could always it turn around and make it my 'fault'. This person knew how to keep the focus on himself while at the same time making me feel like nothing, like my world was only him. I remember the only times of 'joy' I had in those years in my 20's were when I could get away from him. When he was not around, my young daughter and I could be free for a bit and I actually could feel connected to her and to myself away from him. My relationships with others, who helped me reflect my beauty back to me probably saved my life. Without them, holding me up and pushing me forward, I may not have made it through this crazy time when my world was 'him' and 'I' was often completely lost.
Recently, I was embroiled in some drama that involved close family members and extended family members who do not know me at all. This drama involved my close family members defending each other against attacks by some 'not so nice' extended family members. The interesting part of this 'drama' was that, in spite of the fact that I was just expressing my feelings, an extended family member wrote one of my close family members expressing concern about my emotional state!! Additionally, I was attacked by another extended family member(same family) for one of my blog posts that basically just expressed the facts of the situation while expressing how I felt about that same situation. Somehow all of this gave me that 'uneasy' crazy feeling. In the instance of the blog post, I felt that someone was completely shredding 'my character' and I questioned and re-read all of my communications with this person, trying to find my 'craziness' to see if he was right. In the case of the other family member who sent the 'concerned' e-mail, I reverted back to questioning my own sanity and wondering if I was indeed, 'just too sensitive'.
I realized that that family drama triggered those old feelings in me; feelings that were prevalent throughout my teens and 20's. Somehow when dealing with extended family members that had no empathy for my feelings and made me feel like nothing, I found myself 'back' in that relationship where I learned to feel like I was 'nothing'. Expressing my 'truth' and my 'anger' had once again turned me into the 'crazy one'; the one who was just too emotional. Luckily, now I have enough awareness and self esteem that I know not to buy into another person's ideas of who I am. However, it is sometimes difficult to escape from those body memories that come up unbidden when triggered by narcissistic people. There is just something so mind-blowing and utterly confusing about people who have no empathy, never take responsibility for their actions, and always make the other person 'the bad guy' or the 'crazy one' when they are backed into a corner.
It took me a long time after that long abusive relationship in my 20's to regain, or even find a self beyond him. It also took me many years to recover from a hospitalization in my teens that made me feel like the 'crazy' one, that instead of giving me skills and self esteem, gave me shame. As I learn to speak out from my heart and be more of who I am, I realize that some of who I am may make some people uncomfortable. But, for those who choose to attack me for those feelings or express faux concern about my 'mental state', there is absolutely nothing I can do but ignore them. Some people are just not worth interacting with. No matter how hard I try to wrap my head around a person's behavior(particularly a narcissist), it will always be impossible to understand.
It is somewhat easy to distance oneself from toxic people, but it is not nearly as easy to distance oneself from a society that is full of 'expectations' of 'normalcy'. These expectations shame and exile those of us who may seem 'out of the norm', sometimes driving us underground to isolation and even death. If we are lucky, we find others like us and realize that we are beautiful in all our craziness. We are able to share and give back to the world. If we are not lucky, we are often exiled(with varying diagnoses) into groups of others who are dysfunctional and lost, only to struggle through life unfulfilled and sad. In order to change all this we need to learn to embrace our 'crazy' selves and be exceedingly gentle with them. When we meet someone who may seem 'different' or maybe even a little bit 'crazy', we need to open our hearts and minds and listen. For me, strength comes in finding others walking this path of growth and authenticity. If we can learn to embrace our differences, band together and reach out, perhaps us 'crazy ones' will begin to change this sometimes baffling and cold world. We can harness that we which sets us 'apart' and pierce through the crazy making world of 'normalcy' and create a better world.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
A Letter To My Beloved Friend, Heidi A.
It has been almost 7 years since you left us. It's been 7 years full of turmoil, pain and rarely, joy and laughter. I miss you my friend; sometimes with great pain and longing.
Grief has taken me places my heart and soul never visited before. It has taken me into the darkest of holes and back up into the light, at times. I have done things I am not proud of and retreated away from life and parenting in ways that have been less than healthy. There have been times that I have felt so ripped to shreds that I did not know if I would survive. I remember walking into my house when I got back from your memorial service in Portland; collapsing in tears when I saw my oldest daughter, realizing that you would never see my girls grow up. Knowing that you would not be here to share this crazy life made me feel lost and afraid.
From the first time I saw you standing in that hallway of our first apartment with your parents, I knew that we would be friends. Our friendship grew that first year in college, and then waned when I was lost in a relationship that was full of turmoil. We would always re-connect and grow with each other, even after we both had times of absence, stuck in our own traumas and scared to reach out to each other. Even in painful times, we knew how to make each other laugh, to listen, and to reflect love to each other. Ours was a deep friendship ,borne of pain, that grew stronger as the years went by. You 'got' me in a way that no-one else could.
Since you've been gone, I have suffered the loss of my dad to dementia, career issues, trauma with parenting, the loss of our beloved family cabin and much more. Every time I am going through something big, either good or bad, I miss you. I miss being able to call you up on the phone. I miss the realities that you would reflect back to me. I miss the fact that you could always show me my 'goodness' even when I was feeling horrible about myself. Your friendship taught me to love; to open my heart. When you left, I felt that heart shut down. It is still hard for me to open my heart again because it was beyond painful to lose you. I don't know that my heart could deal with that kind of pain again. But, it has and it will because life is impermanent and death happens.
The weekend you disappeared, I called your house to talk to you. Your partner's mom answered the phone. There was something odd in her tone and she said that your partner would call me later. I got off the phone confused. On a beautiful, slightly windy February morning, your partner called me and told me you were missing. My mind reeled in confusion. For three weeks, I held out hope that you would be found alive. But, Sunday night in late February, your partner called and told me your body had been found in Laurelhurst Park in a pond. My mind shut down and I immediately booked a flight to Portland. I had just suffered one of the biggest losses of my life. Even 7 years later, there are no answers to what happened. And there probably never will be.
7 years later, I still sob thinking about it. Your loss can hit me just as hard 7 years later as it did that Sunday in February. I've learned that grieving is a spiral; sometimes there is peace and gratitude and other times, there is anger, pain, and deep sadness. I've learned that friends that you make in shared grief can distance themselves and rip the scab off the wound with their absence. I've learned how very loved you were by many; how you affected everyone from your work to your personal life. I've learned that a deep friendship like ours is rare and that many don't understand the deep love that friends can feel for one another. I consider you my soul sister, as much a part of my family as my blood relatives. Your loss hit me so hard that it took at least 5 years for me to get a grip on it, to stop constantly numbing myself and decide to live.
Every year, I dread this month, the month of your death. I long to be enlightened, to celebrate who you were and not be so sad about your loss and the lack of answers surrounding your death. But, I always find myself grieving. The spirals are not as long and the moments of peace are longer, but the sadness hits hard sometimes and all I can do is feel it.
I know that you are not gone my friend. You are inside of me every day. You are in nature, in your most beloved place, the place where you found so much peace from a world that was sometimes full of turmoil. You enriched my life in so many ways. I will never forget your keen intellect, your long detailed stories, your laughter, your stubbornness, your rage, your quest for justice for the young and vulnerable, your unconditional love and so much more. Our friendship is irreplaceable. I will always miss you, but you will always be in my heart. This journey of life, no matter where it takes me, will always be traveled hand in hand with you, my soul friend.
Grief has taken me places my heart and soul never visited before. It has taken me into the darkest of holes and back up into the light, at times. I have done things I am not proud of and retreated away from life and parenting in ways that have been less than healthy. There have been times that I have felt so ripped to shreds that I did not know if I would survive. I remember walking into my house when I got back from your memorial service in Portland; collapsing in tears when I saw my oldest daughter, realizing that you would never see my girls grow up. Knowing that you would not be here to share this crazy life made me feel lost and afraid.
From the first time I saw you standing in that hallway of our first apartment with your parents, I knew that we would be friends. Our friendship grew that first year in college, and then waned when I was lost in a relationship that was full of turmoil. We would always re-connect and grow with each other, even after we both had times of absence, stuck in our own traumas and scared to reach out to each other. Even in painful times, we knew how to make each other laugh, to listen, and to reflect love to each other. Ours was a deep friendship ,borne of pain, that grew stronger as the years went by. You 'got' me in a way that no-one else could.
Since you've been gone, I have suffered the loss of my dad to dementia, career issues, trauma with parenting, the loss of our beloved family cabin and much more. Every time I am going through something big, either good or bad, I miss you. I miss being able to call you up on the phone. I miss the realities that you would reflect back to me. I miss the fact that you could always show me my 'goodness' even when I was feeling horrible about myself. Your friendship taught me to love; to open my heart. When you left, I felt that heart shut down. It is still hard for me to open my heart again because it was beyond painful to lose you. I don't know that my heart could deal with that kind of pain again. But, it has and it will because life is impermanent and death happens.
The weekend you disappeared, I called your house to talk to you. Your partner's mom answered the phone. There was something odd in her tone and she said that your partner would call me later. I got off the phone confused. On a beautiful, slightly windy February morning, your partner called me and told me you were missing. My mind reeled in confusion. For three weeks, I held out hope that you would be found alive. But, Sunday night in late February, your partner called and told me your body had been found in Laurelhurst Park in a pond. My mind shut down and I immediately booked a flight to Portland. I had just suffered one of the biggest losses of my life. Even 7 years later, there are no answers to what happened. And there probably never will be.
7 years later, I still sob thinking about it. Your loss can hit me just as hard 7 years later as it did that Sunday in February. I've learned that grieving is a spiral; sometimes there is peace and gratitude and other times, there is anger, pain, and deep sadness. I've learned that friends that you make in shared grief can distance themselves and rip the scab off the wound with their absence. I've learned how very loved you were by many; how you affected everyone from your work to your personal life. I've learned that a deep friendship like ours is rare and that many don't understand the deep love that friends can feel for one another. I consider you my soul sister, as much a part of my family as my blood relatives. Your loss hit me so hard that it took at least 5 years for me to get a grip on it, to stop constantly numbing myself and decide to live.
Every year, I dread this month, the month of your death. I long to be enlightened, to celebrate who you were and not be so sad about your loss and the lack of answers surrounding your death. But, I always find myself grieving. The spirals are not as long and the moments of peace are longer, but the sadness hits hard sometimes and all I can do is feel it.
I know that you are not gone my friend. You are inside of me every day. You are in nature, in your most beloved place, the place where you found so much peace from a world that was sometimes full of turmoil. You enriched my life in so many ways. I will never forget your keen intellect, your long detailed stories, your laughter, your stubbornness, your rage, your quest for justice for the young and vulnerable, your unconditional love and so much more. Our friendship is irreplaceable. I will always miss you, but you will always be in my heart. This journey of life, no matter where it takes me, will always be traveled hand in hand with you, my soul friend.
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Still Angry
There is a lot to be angry about. A mental health system that is so broken that it rarely helps people recover and at best helps people maintain 'stability' instead of pushing people to be their fullest selves regardless of diagnosis. A healthcare system that is still broken; that puts profits before people and doctors are unable to spend quality time with patients, often missing critical details that could mean life or death. A pervading racism that is rarely acknowledged or often vehemently denied. Rape culture persists; making the victims 'suspect' while perpetrators are given standing ovations. And these are just a few things that make my blood boil, that make me want to scream, hide or run away. They are things that seem so large that it is easy to throw in the towel and just say it is all too much to even think about.
Personally, I re-cycle through my anger at myself for things I have done that hurt people. I continually spiral through my anger at others who have hurt me. Sometimes I think I have found something like 'forgiveness', only to have that old anger hit me again with surprising force. The events in my life that caused the most trauma stick with me; the feelings don't just go away. Not surprisingly, one of the feelings that comes with all of these traumas is anger. It is a part of my being that I can't seem to erase by either 'healthy' or 'unhealthy' means. The dream of lasting forgiveness, towards myself, towards others, seems out of reach much of the time.
Our culture has a strange relationship with anger. Much of our self-help psychology professes avoiding and getting rid of anger. In the Big Book of Alcoholic's Anonymous, Bill W. says 'If we were to live. We had to be free of anger'. This is just one example of many similar sentiments that have popped up in the past century as 'pop psychology' has gained a foothold in our culture. It is hard to escape hearing statements like 'let it go', 'it is what it is' and 'forgive and forget'. My experience says that much of the time these statements are said when the 'listener' feels uncomfortable with a feeling being expressed to them. It seems we have a deep and abiding discomfort with the sharing of almost any emotion; especially anger.
I wonder at the root of all this avoidance of feeling. Could it be that we are taught to deny our feelings so that we can be more subservient in a culture that is far from just? Could it be that the teachings on suppression of anger have taken away our revolutionary thought and instead, promoted endless navel gazing? Could the diagnosis of almost any extreme emotion as an 'illness' cause suppression and despair? Could this avoidance of feeling actually create violence and hopelessness by making us so terrified of our emotions that we don't know how to cope except to turn it against ourselves or others?
Our rapid media cycle gives us a plethora of issues to be angry about for brief time periods until the next issue. Sometimes, this anger comes out in comments on social media and even attacks against other people. It's easy to hide behind a computer and spout out hurtful anger when you don't have to face any consequence of it. What if we could learn to transform our anger into real social change instead of easy reactionary anger that does not help anyone?
In order to do this we need to be willing to be uncomfortable and open our hearts to other views, even when they make us angry. Anger seems like a healthy response to an often unjust world. If we can learn to speak out, utilizing our feelings as fuel, we can open people's hearts, helping them see things in ways that they hadn't before. Beyond speaking out about the things that make us angry, we also need to act to change this world that sometimes hurts our hearts so very much.
I am a strong believer in the quote 'if you aren't angry, you aren't paying attention'. I am often guilty of seething in my anger, letting it take up my time and energy towards no useful end. As I grow older, I learn that I want to use my anger as fuel; fuel to write about the things that anger me and educate people to facilitate real change. I want to use my anger to soften my heart. Sometimes all I can do is feel without judging or trying to extinguish it. When, I have the courage to feel, I can turn my anger into something productive. We all need to have that courage, to open our hearts, feel, and most importantly, move to change the many things that are unacceptable in this world.
Personally, I re-cycle through my anger at myself for things I have done that hurt people. I continually spiral through my anger at others who have hurt me. Sometimes I think I have found something like 'forgiveness', only to have that old anger hit me again with surprising force. The events in my life that caused the most trauma stick with me; the feelings don't just go away. Not surprisingly, one of the feelings that comes with all of these traumas is anger. It is a part of my being that I can't seem to erase by either 'healthy' or 'unhealthy' means. The dream of lasting forgiveness, towards myself, towards others, seems out of reach much of the time.
Our culture has a strange relationship with anger. Much of our self-help psychology professes avoiding and getting rid of anger. In the Big Book of Alcoholic's Anonymous, Bill W. says 'If we were to live. We had to be free of anger'. This is just one example of many similar sentiments that have popped up in the past century as 'pop psychology' has gained a foothold in our culture. It is hard to escape hearing statements like 'let it go', 'it is what it is' and 'forgive and forget'. My experience says that much of the time these statements are said when the 'listener' feels uncomfortable with a feeling being expressed to them. It seems we have a deep and abiding discomfort with the sharing of almost any emotion; especially anger.
I wonder at the root of all this avoidance of feeling. Could it be that we are taught to deny our feelings so that we can be more subservient in a culture that is far from just? Could it be that the teachings on suppression of anger have taken away our revolutionary thought and instead, promoted endless navel gazing? Could the diagnosis of almost any extreme emotion as an 'illness' cause suppression and despair? Could this avoidance of feeling actually create violence and hopelessness by making us so terrified of our emotions that we don't know how to cope except to turn it against ourselves or others?
Our rapid media cycle gives us a plethora of issues to be angry about for brief time periods until the next issue. Sometimes, this anger comes out in comments on social media and even attacks against other people. It's easy to hide behind a computer and spout out hurtful anger when you don't have to face any consequence of it. What if we could learn to transform our anger into real social change instead of easy reactionary anger that does not help anyone?
In order to do this we need to be willing to be uncomfortable and open our hearts to other views, even when they make us angry. Anger seems like a healthy response to an often unjust world. If we can learn to speak out, utilizing our feelings as fuel, we can open people's hearts, helping them see things in ways that they hadn't before. Beyond speaking out about the things that make us angry, we also need to act to change this world that sometimes hurts our hearts so very much.
I am a strong believer in the quote 'if you aren't angry, you aren't paying attention'. I am often guilty of seething in my anger, letting it take up my time and energy towards no useful end. As I grow older, I learn that I want to use my anger as fuel; fuel to write about the things that anger me and educate people to facilitate real change. I want to use my anger to soften my heart. Sometimes all I can do is feel without judging or trying to extinguish it. When, I have the courage to feel, I can turn my anger into something productive. We all need to have that courage, to open our hearts, feel, and most importantly, move to change the many things that are unacceptable in this world.
Monday, January 12, 2015
At War With My Body
For at least 30 years, I have been at war with my body. This body that has birthed 2 children and survived years and years of self destructive behavior has stalwartly endured my attempts to kill it off, my disdain, and my attempts to dissociate from it.
When did it start? This deep disdain? I vividly remember seeing a picture of my brother and I taken when I was in my early teens. I thought I looked horrible. Within a few years, my war started in earnest with starvation and eventually, bulimia. I was a shy, awkward, smart teen who never had a boyfriend or a girlfriend; never asked on a date, never asked to a dance. I thought that there was something deeply flawed about who I was. Somehow I bought into the societal ideals that said that I was nothing without a romantic relationship; that there was something very wrong with me.
At 16, my depression grew deeper with trauma in my life and I almost completely stopped eating. This led to an obsession with food and my body that lasted several years and almost ended in death. As I grew thinner, I remember several people commenting on how good I looked. In my sick mind, I assumed that meant the thinner I was, the better I was. Soon, the thinness was not very attractive; I was skeletal. At my lowest point I was 5'5",78 lbs and probably close to death. It took years to recover. Somehow a yearning to live kicked in and my obsession with food and my body gave way to a grudging acceptance that I needed to eat; but very little acceptance of my body.
As I recovered from my eating disorder, I experienced rape and later, domestic violence all in a period of about one year. During the rape, I remember that a large part of it was spent completely dissociated and outside of my body. When I experienced violence against me, I experienced a similar dissociation. The year I was pregnant, I remember walking around in a fog, completely numb to the pain I was in. This period started a lifelong struggle with cutting. I did not know how to express my feelings or ask for help, so turned against my body, yet again, by cutting it. In some ways, it grounded me back in my body by allowing me to experience my deep pain in a physical way. Perhaps it was a way to return to my body, a way that no-one understood and many were completely baffled and disgusted by. I did not have the tools to cope with my pain at being violated sexually and physically so I reverted to self destruction.
The external violence against my body amplified my self destruction and detachment, but the deep dislike of my body started well before the violence. I can't help but wonder how this body hatred settled into my bones, my life, so very easily. My mom recently told me that one of my grandma's would not go to her church because she was ashamed of her ankles. I know my mom and my other grandma were no fans of their bodies either. As women, maybe we were taught in subtle and not so subtle ways, that we were our bodies and when our bodies did not fit with societal ideals, we turned against them rendering ourselves disconnected from them. In some ways, perhaps, disconnection was almost a form of rebellion; taking our much maligned and sometimes desired bodies out of the equation taught us to build up other parts of ourselves, beyond our bodies. If we felt we could not own and love our own bodies, we could at least cultivate and love our minds, hearts, and souls. Sadly, this rebellion kept us from having a full human experience.
Reconnecting with swimming this past year has helped me reconnect with and love my body, at least a little bit. The water is one place I can feel calm and strong inside my body beyond the limitations of daily chronic pain. My youngest feels this body connection and calm while dancing. But, if we did not have our physical capacity to do those things we love, I would hope that connection and peace would remain beyond what our bodies could 'do' and stay with us, deep in our bones no matter what our limitations. Our bodies are part of our expression of our life here on earth and good or bad, disconnection from them seems both sad and painful. If I could teach my girls one thing, it would be this: we need to ignore the messages we have learned and embrace this human experience in our body with all of its limitations and imperfections.
As I age, I still feel the inward judgment that comes from societal ideals of beauty and attractiveness. In the past 10 years, I have become a larger person, weighing twice as much as I did when I was 16. I still don't like to look at myself in a mirror, especially naked. I have never felt attractive and still sometimes treat my body like an unwelcome stranger. My war with my body continues at times and it is difficult to avoid detachment and be 'in' my body with all its messy feelings and imperfections.
As I enter 'middle age' and the second half of my life, I no longer want to be at war with my body. I want to love it, in all its imperfections and limitations appreciating what it has done for me and its amazing capacity to survive in spite of my attempts to harm it and kill it. I want to embrace all the sensations that come with being in a human body, the pleasure and the pain. Finally, I want to nourish this body, learning to take care of and be 'in' it, instead of constantly warring against it. I want these things for my girls and for all who are at war with their bodies, may we find peace and finally love these bodies we were born with, beyond societal messages and beyond the pain that others have inflicted on them. May we end the war and truly experience all of who we are.
When did it start? This deep disdain? I vividly remember seeing a picture of my brother and I taken when I was in my early teens. I thought I looked horrible. Within a few years, my war started in earnest with starvation and eventually, bulimia. I was a shy, awkward, smart teen who never had a boyfriend or a girlfriend; never asked on a date, never asked to a dance. I thought that there was something deeply flawed about who I was. Somehow I bought into the societal ideals that said that I was nothing without a romantic relationship; that there was something very wrong with me.
At 16, my depression grew deeper with trauma in my life and I almost completely stopped eating. This led to an obsession with food and my body that lasted several years and almost ended in death. As I grew thinner, I remember several people commenting on how good I looked. In my sick mind, I assumed that meant the thinner I was, the better I was. Soon, the thinness was not very attractive; I was skeletal. At my lowest point I was 5'5",78 lbs and probably close to death. It took years to recover. Somehow a yearning to live kicked in and my obsession with food and my body gave way to a grudging acceptance that I needed to eat; but very little acceptance of my body.
As I recovered from my eating disorder, I experienced rape and later, domestic violence all in a period of about one year. During the rape, I remember that a large part of it was spent completely dissociated and outside of my body. When I experienced violence against me, I experienced a similar dissociation. The year I was pregnant, I remember walking around in a fog, completely numb to the pain I was in. This period started a lifelong struggle with cutting. I did not know how to express my feelings or ask for help, so turned against my body, yet again, by cutting it. In some ways, it grounded me back in my body by allowing me to experience my deep pain in a physical way. Perhaps it was a way to return to my body, a way that no-one understood and many were completely baffled and disgusted by. I did not have the tools to cope with my pain at being violated sexually and physically so I reverted to self destruction.
The external violence against my body amplified my self destruction and detachment, but the deep dislike of my body started well before the violence. I can't help but wonder how this body hatred settled into my bones, my life, so very easily. My mom recently told me that one of my grandma's would not go to her church because she was ashamed of her ankles. I know my mom and my other grandma were no fans of their bodies either. As women, maybe we were taught in subtle and not so subtle ways, that we were our bodies and when our bodies did not fit with societal ideals, we turned against them rendering ourselves disconnected from them. In some ways, perhaps, disconnection was almost a form of rebellion; taking our much maligned and sometimes desired bodies out of the equation taught us to build up other parts of ourselves, beyond our bodies. If we felt we could not own and love our own bodies, we could at least cultivate and love our minds, hearts, and souls. Sadly, this rebellion kept us from having a full human experience.
Reconnecting with swimming this past year has helped me reconnect with and love my body, at least a little bit. The water is one place I can feel calm and strong inside my body beyond the limitations of daily chronic pain. My youngest feels this body connection and calm while dancing. But, if we did not have our physical capacity to do those things we love, I would hope that connection and peace would remain beyond what our bodies could 'do' and stay with us, deep in our bones no matter what our limitations. Our bodies are part of our expression of our life here on earth and good or bad, disconnection from them seems both sad and painful. If I could teach my girls one thing, it would be this: we need to ignore the messages we have learned and embrace this human experience in our body with all of its limitations and imperfections.
As I age, I still feel the inward judgment that comes from societal ideals of beauty and attractiveness. In the past 10 years, I have become a larger person, weighing twice as much as I did when I was 16. I still don't like to look at myself in a mirror, especially naked. I have never felt attractive and still sometimes treat my body like an unwelcome stranger. My war with my body continues at times and it is difficult to avoid detachment and be 'in' my body with all its messy feelings and imperfections.
As I enter 'middle age' and the second half of my life, I no longer want to be at war with my body. I want to love it, in all its imperfections and limitations appreciating what it has done for me and its amazing capacity to survive in spite of my attempts to harm it and kill it. I want to embrace all the sensations that come with being in a human body, the pleasure and the pain. Finally, I want to nourish this body, learning to take care of and be 'in' it, instead of constantly warring against it. I want these things for my girls and for all who are at war with their bodies, may we find peace and finally love these bodies we were born with, beyond societal messages and beyond the pain that others have inflicted on them. May we end the war and truly experience all of who we are.
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