Once upon a time...
...I was happy, overjoyed. My days were filled with family (the one I created), friends, laughter, and growing.
Now, my days are filled with my own thoughts, contemplation, sadness, and growing.
I unintentionally hurt the ones I love the most. I suppose I felt slighted by them in some ways at the time. I’ve been told I “play the victim” but I assure you there is nothing fun happening here. No “playing” involved. I think I sometimes I get so wrapped up in my own trauma responses that I fail to see how much damage it causes others.
I’ve been called abusive more than once and by more than one person, which means there’s some truth to what’s being said. My experience is that I am protecting myself from the misfiring neurons all triggering all pain receptors all at once on my brain. I start grasping at actions that will keep me safe. Blocking people on social media is a go-to response. Screaming at people to “STOP!!” when really I’m screaming for my trauma-brain to stop.
The pain is unbearable.
Every cell and fiber of my being hurts all at once from every trauma I’ve ever experienced. From childhood to womanhood. Every single one; physical assault, emotional assault, sexual assault, death of loved ones, car accidents, surgeries, broken bones, mis-healed broken bones, job loss, divorce, homelessness, verbal assault, shattered self esteem, weigh gain from traumas...being kicked out of people’s lives.
It’s called “no contact.” I can’t say that I blame them. I can hardly stand myself when I’m triggered. I seriously can’t imagine being on the other end. I remember one day my daughter kicked my bad knee in her own trauma response. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I know our relationship came quickly to an end. There’s only so many times I can say, “I’m sorry” or “It wasn’t about you.”
Two of my children, my younger sister, and someone I thought was my best friend all cut off contact with me within a few months of one another. The grief has been a journey of pain that rivals the two years that 22 people I knew had died. Actually, I think this pain has been worse because I hold out hope that maybe one day, someday, possibly, I’ll be the kind of person who is healthy enough to be worthy of one more chance.
It’s been nearly two years.
I’ve been in trauma therapy for three years now. I’ve done counseling for nearly 30 years. Trauma therapy has been the best at helping me to navigate my emotional responses differently, as I’ve reprocessed most of the major traumas that were haunting me. However, occasionally, I’ll get pushed over my emotional edge and all the pain happens all at once... those are my bad days. Fortunately, they’re becoming more rare as time goes on.
I attempted reconciliation and asking for forgiveness from my children. My attempts failed. My sister recently unblocked me from her social media, and it feels like someone deeply cut open an almost healed wound. I see how joyful she is without me in her life.
I’m angry and sad.
It’s lonely here.
I know I’ve grown into a different woman these past two years. I’m calmer now. I listen more. I talk less. I try to be more mindful of others without being codependent. I do my best to navigate life each day with more purpose.
I remember the last time I wrote on this blog, I was being bullied from family for telling “secrets” about the generational abuse I suffered through. It seems so long ago. I think it’s time to finish my book. I think it’s time to publish and move on.
I think it’s time to heal.