Not Saturn Dear...

Words are funny things. They are permanent, but also fleeting. Sometimes we are aware of the significance. Other times, the most flippant statement can feel devastating. I often ruminate about the words spoken from my mouth, usually into some kind of self-indulgent crisis. I would call to repent for the offense. The person typically laughed and told me it wasn’t a big deal. They knew I was kidding or my comment didn’t bother them at all.

 A year ago however, my entire universe was spinning. I had no idea how to stop it. In forcing myself to accept a new reality, I spent the week purging the house from the life that was. It was left open for possibilities for a life that could be.

 What could that life be? 

 My birthday. a few days away, I decided to throw myself a party. I would fill my house with laughter and friends. To fill every inch of it with a new life and love for the new future I was facing. I needed to remind myself for the next year, that I was not alone. I asked them all if they could contribute a piece of art to this new home.

 A friend from Florida was in town and not able to come to the party. I was invited to a gathering with a bunch of mutual friends. The idea overwhelmed me. However, I couldn’t see any way to turn it down. He lived in Florida. A few years before, I traveled with a friend for a cruise and she and I had dinner with him and his husband. 

 This would be my first night in public after the…. YOU KNOW.

 I called a friend to tag along and we went. 

 How can I explain what life is like inside a PTSD/Trauma reactive brain? It is something like standing in a television store: all of the screens are on a different channel and each one has its volume up to eleven while you are trying to have a conversation with the person standing next to you. Problem is, you are the only one who hears the sound of the televisions. 

 There I stood in the lovely backyard of friends, with my adorable Florida gazing at the stars. We snarked and giggled a bit about my life at the moment. Then he pointed me to the moon in the Southwest. Holding up his phone with an astronomy app open he said, 

 “Look! Jup(static)iter is the closest to the Earth it has been in (static) years.”

 I looked up at the beautiful moon and the small glowing pin of light standing next to it. I felt in awe. Suddenly the grass became real under my feet. I could hear the fountain trickling in the backyard. The balmy summer air had the familiar Central Valley oder. My brain was quiet for a minute. Everything stopped spinning. Florida was real. I was real. I didn’t hurt in every place of my being. In my sudden excitement i burst with, 

 “OH! That’s the one with the rings!”

 Florida looked at me shocked. He then gently smiled. With a full throaty laugh he said, “Not Saturn, Dear.” I began to laugh with tears. 

 “Of course! I know that!” He gently took me and  his phone. Swung us around to the East where Saturn hung in the sky. “See, there’s Saturn.” We turned to the southwest again, “And look it’s Jupiter.”

 We couldn’t stop laughing at my silly word salad. What Florida didn’t know, he found my North Star. In simply and gently correcting my perspective, I began to feel myself for the first time in a week. 

 I could feel myself breathing.

I felt a little hungry. 

I felt Loved. 

The universe stopped spinning.

I knew where Saturn and Jupiter were.

 That night, I came home to face another night of dreaded sleep. I sat on my mattress against the window. I looked up and there was the Moon and Jupiter shining. I heard Florida’s words, “Not Saturn, Dear.” I began to cry. I knew for the first time in a week those words gave me a reason to go to sleep. I also now had a reason to wake up.

 For tomorrow night, when I went to bed… the Moon and Jupiter would be there to greet me.

 I was going to be ok.

To Fall... To Be...

The months between October and January held an organic plan for themselves.The rhythm of the holidays carried me one event at a time. I didn’t need to generate one. All I had to do was follow the prescribed social agenda. It was distracting enough to make it look like I could function.  

 In constant contact with the kids, Ase, Zany, and KJ were all sorting through the same shattered pieces as I was. The four of us held an open space as we navigated the shards gently. We relabeled some holidays and let other ones rest for a while. It was lovely to collectively agree to simply rest and heal.

As for KJ being home from college, she and I held an arrangement that we understood what was going on. Other people didn’t need to agree or know. This was her life and her decision. I respected her ability to stand up to me and tell me what she needed. I wish I had her strength at 19. To stop and figure herself out on her terms. 

My Dear Friend held space for me in the months of August to October when I was scrambling for some sanity to hold onto. They simply needed a space to heal. When they were asked for a medical plan, I was invited to be a part of their process. All they needed was a place to stay. It was incredibly healing to be a Human Being in my Dear Friend’s life instead of a Human Doing. They sorted themselves out, found the help they needed and worked through the issue. 

The holidays passed and January came. Only one personal holiday left, the four of us renamed it. The month was a quiet hurdle. January typically is a Fibro Flare month anyway. I quit talking to everyone. I simply didn’t have any words. I am grateful for the people who consistently called and showed up. Some helped to paint kitchen cabinets. Others sat and sipped tea while we built jigsaw puzzles. The regular dinner theme night kept my food on track.  Leaving the house was still overstimulating. The random text or call shed a beam of light here or there. It was enough to keep me moving forward.  

I had to let go. 

I had to stop trying.

I had to no longer Live In Spite Of…

I wasn’t strong. I was very, very weak. I needed to rest in a quiet place and heal. I needed to feel safe. I had to learn how to hear my own voice. After 51 years of taking care of everyone else, I had to discover how to take care of myself. It was time to admit that I had nothing to give anyone else. 

 I was a Human Being

I was not a Human Doing.

I didn’t know what that looked like. The only way to discover it was simply

To Be…

Finding Sunshine Through Fog

The last life battle happened a few weeks ago. It really was more like a brain cramp than a real suicidal episode. I was super annoyed as I ran through my protocols for the night:

Messaged what meds I was taking to sleep, how much and where I put them.

Messaged when I woke up.

I was getting really exasperated with constantly tattling on myself.

Then I looked at the corner of my room. I realized what happened. The day before I was working through Divorce things. I felt peaceful about it all day. No issues of attachment or wishful thinking. Simply working through the business of conscious uncoupling.

In the corner was a picture. A view I once looked at with inspiration. A cat in a garden with a tree. It reminded me that if I would be okay alone. There was plenty around me to fill me with beauty, love and meaning. To chase things that did not reciprocate was an unhealthy practice. It was healthier for me to sit alone, in a peaceful garden surrounded by beautiful flowers and a tree.

But now.

I needed a new source of sunshine. I needed something to look forward to each day. I hadn’t really taken time to create what that image could be for myself yet. Being a very visual person, I realized I was ready.

Ready to take my “What do You Want To Be” idea and first apply it to me.

Aside from my reason for living, was what I could do for a living. I was exactly what I wanted to be. 

A Wife and Mom. The last kid theoretically off to college, the nest would be empty. I would be able to contribute financially to retirement and travel. Having a job is challenging with Chronic Health issues, so it was going to take some time to figure out what I could do. I never finished my Undergrad. Somehow it ended up being on the “Later” list.

Now the constant question from Well-Meaning friends was, Well NOW you get to do what you’ve always wanted! What do YOU want to do.

I had no answer for them. Many of them struggled with my reply.

My ideas at the moment are, writhing, art, teaching, tutoring, life coaching, social media, a handful of online things. Possibly finding a way to fast-track finish my degree. However, I know the most important rule about change.

That is, that it MUST begin with me.

I found my sunshine.

So, I Arted for myself.

This is now the corner I wake up to every morning.

From this fresh corner flows, a growing inventory in my Frog In Paris Etsy shop.

The ability to write my journey.

The ability to sit and art or write a little every day.

I can hear my own voice. 

I can share it without fear. 

I am able to let mistakes in what I make go and allow them to be part of the work. 

My hope is, as I heal and move forward, I can contribute to the conversation about normalizing Mental Health issues. To help build a bridge of communication between those who struggle and the people who love them.

To continue and share my Experience, Strength and Hope. I look forward to continue learning in this adventure we call life.

Help For Me In The Shadows

The lovely thing about the time we are living in now is how Mental Illness is handled. The stigma remains, but overall, the conversation is changing. Social Media is a huge part of that metamorphosis.

In my personal life, PTSD, CPTSD, Anorexia, Suicide, Depression, and Anxiety along with the physical ramifications, Chronic Fatigue, Fibromyalgia, Migraine, etc.  are part of my daily vocabulary. Similar to someone dealing with diabetes or a heart condition. I am aware daily of the ups and downs. I am conscious of the tole it takes on my inner circle. They are not my cure or the source of my self-care. I am. Those of us who manage a chronic physical or mental illness know we are A LOT to handle. We can be draining people to be around. It is a source of shame often for me and can keep me from asking for help.

However, the relationships I had cultivated over the years understood my shortcomings. The Coping Mechanisms I developed and practiced kicked in. Anne and My Old Friend could not win this time.

This is what asking for help looked like for me over the past six months:

The house was purged of the evidence from my former life with the help of an ever-cycling team of people within a week and a half. All of it was lovingly boxed up in the garage to rest. In the bare walls and stark shelves, the trauma anxiety was able to find some calm.

A friend slept with me the first night. Holding my hand and listening to me try and fall asleep between sobs. We reminisced over our 30-year friendship. Other people helped and I tried all the solutions, but after four days of PTSD night terrors and no sleep I asked for help. I gutted the bedroom, put a small mattress on the floor next to a window. Every night Jupiter and the Stars said goodnight.  A group of friends pitched in and bought me a new bed. Slowly peaceful sleep returned.

Anne made eating difficult. With help, I asked friends to help create a nutritious simple food strategy that I could follow. I asked friends to bring me meals. I asked people to watch me eat.

When I couldn’t finish, they would say in a loving parental voice, “Yes. All of it.”

I would eat it all. With all of that nourishing love, slowly I was able to plan and feed myself again. It wasn’t perfect, but I could be consistent on my own without fear.

I asked for help in staying connected to my body. CPTSD, Anxiety, Anorexia and such often come with a side of Dissociation. In the peak of my Anorexia, I didn’t feel anything from my neck down. I never felt hungry or tired or pain, really. I always felt numb. I went to a friend for yoga sessions to work through connecting my trauma brain to my physical body again. To heal and balance the Amygdala (fight or flight gland). In healing and finding balance quickly I would be able to offer my healthiest self to my kids, who were suffering too.

Within this Sacred Circle of friends, I would message them every morning and evening at first. 

Checking in so I knew they made it through the day and I reminded myself I wasn’t alone. I still check in with them regularly.

 I threw myself a Birthday Party.  I asked my treasured people to Art my New Life. I filled my empty spaces with reminders of the people near and far that I cared about and cared about me.

Slowly the Trauma Brain eased up. CPTSD night terrors eased. Flashbacks during the day ebbed away.

I’ve learned that in order to move forward in life,

 I have to stop.

I have to let my brain heal whenever a sudden major life change happens.

I have to allow my psyche find a new equilibrium and orientation.

This is what help looks like for me. If you are struggling, please ask for help. You are not alone. You are worth a vibrant, love filled life.

A Cunning Valley of Shadow

*Trigger warning: Eating Disorder, Suicide*

I heard,  Yadayadayada, find a New Future.

I heard, Good bye.

I heard the door close.

My world went dark.

The future I was promised by Them shattered. All the answers in the Bible. The Magical Marriage Vows. The Purity Redemption promises. The If I, then God will, things. Everything I worked for over 30 years walked out the door.

My core ethic. The Part They all told me I was born to play. Wife, Mother, Partner, Faithful, Woman Who Fears the Lord, Family First, Career and Ambition second.

All the Guarantees of Evangelicalism blew up in my face.

I felt the full weight of Complementarianism. I had prayed. I played by all the rules. It didn’t fix what was wrong with the humans we were.

There was no magic cure for two humans doing their best to make a something work.

I’ve heard it said This is a Cunning and Baffling Disease. However, I had never experienced it. All I knew is he was gone. I had to force my PTSD brain to accept a reality I didn’t want. So I called for help to change the way my environment looked.

I packed away the life that was to let it rest and get used to the vacant space that my life at the moment was. I had to see the space physically in order to somehow get an orientation of how to move forward. While we were packing, that Cunning and Baffling Disease came back.

Little Orphan Anne and MyOld Friend came screaming out of the dark recesses of my soul. Just as loud and strong as they were when I was 14. I was overwhelmed. Others had left to get dinner and a friend stayed behind so I wasn’t alone.

I could barely speak, “Please rub my back.”

I could feel myself loosing my body. I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t break down again and loose time. I couldn’t abandon my Daughter to this.

My friend got up, hearing me say something and I repeated my question.

She gently rubbed my back.

I felt all the pieces of myself magnetically reverse and comeback together. I could feel the chair I was in. I could see the light in the room. I could feel her hand on my back. I could hear her breathing.

Then out of my mouth came the most humiliating question, “K, Why do I need to live?”

She was silent for a moment. Without a sound of scolding or shame in her voice. Not a catch of shock in her breath, she calmly and lovingly said,

“So we can have Coffee.”

A refreshing breeze of Life blew over my broken heart. 

“That’s right! You’d be very disappointed if I wasn’t there to have coffee with you. And….”

I began to list all the people who would be disappointed if I wasn’t around to complete projects, or to see me. After I rattled of my list of Other’s disappointments, K reminded me of my kids.

I laughed. “Yes, you’re right.” 

Now fully in myself, I could see light and color. I could feel the air in the room and the clothes on my skin. I could hear the ducks outside on the lake in the back yard.

I was also terrified.

After managing life with PTSD and I now understood to be CPTSD, it would be months before I was functionally alright. Annie and my Old Friend were in charge of my brain. It would be war to get my brain back  and them into perspective. 

I had to find a new reason for living.

A new source of sunshine for my soul.  

My Old Friend

One Sunday when I was five, dressed in my best, I waited for the grown-ups to be ready. The usual hustle and bustle to leave for church on time was in full swing. I sat on the floor in the kitchen playing with the dogs. A Parental came in, swooped me up. He laid me over his knee and began spanking my bum.

Of course I began to make noise.

A GrandParental came in and scolded the Parental. The Parental put me down, straightened my dress and they went on with their hustle and bustle. Dazed and sore, I sat down with the dogs and solemnly waited.

That night the Parentals and I arrived at our home. I went to my room and readied myself for bed. The Parental came in and gently began to explain how my punishment was interrupted. Authority had been usurped and we had unfinished business. I had been on the floor in my Sunday Best with the dogs and that was unacceptable.

So They said, “Let us resume.”

I was picked up and placed back on that knee. The “spanking” commenced. However, it was different. It hurt. I began to wriggle, say NO and try to get away. I began to kick and squirm. The spanking turned to hitting. I heard a metal watch snap. My body stopped fighting because the pain was too great, and I just sobbed.

Parental gently and compassionately lifted me from the lap, looked me deep in the eyes and said, “Now, honey. I’m sorry I lost control. I’m so sorry I hurt you. BUT you broke my watch and that really hurt me. You need to learn how to accept consequences when you are wrong. When I get that angry I just can’t control myself, you can’t let me get that angry. I’m simply not responsible for what I do.”

My Five Year Old logic heard, “I cannot ever say No. I cannot ever fight back. If I fight back it will always be worse. That worse will always be my fault because I asked for it. If something unpleasant happens, I need to accept it and never fight it. My body doesn’t belong to me”

A little over a year later the Parentals and I went on a Christmas trip to meet family. I stayed the night with a part of the family I had never met and something mysterious happened. When I came home, sleeping was never again the same.

The terrors first tickled my feet in the middle of the night when I was around 6. They would reach up from under my bed, grab my ankles and drag me down to a dark, hot flaming place filled with screaming and pain. I could hear a laughter that made my skin peal from my muscles. I would get out of bed and run to my parents. They would pat me on the head and arm me with verses like:

“Jesus came to conquer death and heal, so we have nothing to fear.”

“God is greater than he who is in the world.”

They would instruct me to go back to bed and fight these spirits myself because Jesus gave me the power to conquer all of this myself. I was fine. I was silly to be afraid.

My little girl logic heard, I had little faith. Jesus shamed the disciples for having Little Faith. Jesus didn’t have any power to do things if I had Little Faith. So, I had to have Big Faith all the time.

So I prayed, and cried and worked my Big Faith until I fell asleep. Perfectly in the middle of that bed, wrapped in the sheets and blankets. That way I was maybe protected from anything that might try and reach up from underneath.

We first became friends when I was very small. He was known by a different name at that time. I was told stories about the place he lived. How it was a wonderful place, filled with glory and grace. There were no tears or torment. No fear. He prepared a place for me. God was there. Jesus was there.

The Bible said the Days were Evil. We were to Watch for the Signs. Jesus was coming and would catch us all up in The Rapture. Jesus was going to rescue us from all of this pain and torment. Jesus was going to wipe away our tears forever.

That sounded wonderful to me.

When I felt insecure and I asked Parentals about that Thief in the Night. About my dreams of having a family and a future, I was told that it wasn’t to me. I shouldn’t plan for vain things like that. God was in charge of that. I was to look forward to being caught up in the clouds. To that wonderful place of no more suffering. Then the chastisement of my rebellious and sinful heart wanting selfish things like a future would inevitably follow.

My Childlike Faith honored, just like the Bible told me to do, my Parentals. I began to focus on that Wonderful Place.

That meant I would have no more nightmares. I would be able to sleep the whole night through and feel rested. I would never walk through a door and tremble wondering what was waiting for me on the other side. I could wake up every morning and not worry if I would have a house to live in at the end of the day. No longer would I worry about if there would be enough food for my sisters and I.

I would be free to tell the truth all the time. If I felt sad, I could say I felt sad and I would be comforted. If I felt afraid, I would be heard. If something was wrong, I could ask and help would be given. No longer would I have to say things were fine when they weren’t. No longer would I have to “protect” the Parentals so God’s power could work in the church. I would be free from the daily suffering of an ever-shifting reality and unpredictable abuse.

I really like the sound of that.

Then at 14, he took on a different name. He offered the same comfort. The same release. The same secrets. Only I didn’t have to wait for it to happen.

Really, what was the concept of Heaven and the Second Coming/Rapture really at it’s core?

Death.

Why did I have to wait?

I see through another day of pain. By this time, I was invisible to most people anyway. From my perspective, being unseen made everyone the happiest. My opinion didn’t matter to the Parentals at this point. They told me often I was rebellious, awful, lazy, selfish, nagging, self-absorbed, proud, etc. The only time I achieved approval was when I was silent and fulfilling duties. I focused all of my energies on doing as well as I could in school and making life as loving as possible for my sisters.
I stood in the kitchen at 14 with a serrated stake knife at my wrist. I could hear my sisters playing outside. I felt Death’s warm comforting arms wrap around me. The numbing silence absorbing the pain that filled me. Then a small shaft of logic light played out all that would happen next: who would find me. Could I be at peace with that being their las t memory of me? How could I guarantee I would be gone? No mistakes. This wasn’t an attempt. This was a guarantee.

My sisters were in enough pain. I couldn’t contribute to their burden. I put the knife back. Death warmly hugged me and said it was ok. We’d work it out some other time. The Light of Logic said it was Ok. This pain was unbearable.

So, I focused on choosing to live every day. Reminding myself of those I would disappoint if I didn’t.
Heaven and the Second Coming/Rapture however no longer held hope for me. They made my heart sick with longing. I got to the point where I had to stop listening. I made myself stop believing. It got in the way of my ability to live and grow through all the pain that came next.

In college I met someone. He wanted the same future I did. A family who laughed and love. To work together. Go on adventures together. Love fearlessly and simply. He wanted a simple life too, at the time. A family, memories, grandkids, happy holidays, gatherings, adventures, warm quiet nights, etc.
That was the only future I ever wanted. That was the life I chose to stay alive every day for. To build, work through pain. Walk away from unhealthy practices. End toxic relationships. It was a simple, quiet, stable future.

This summer, after almost 30 years, that future told me I needed to find a new future and it walk out the door.

For the last six months I have found myself back in that 14 year old’s shoes. Standing in the kitchen staring at the serrated steak knife wondering what now.

 Slowly, with lots of help, I choose to live each day. I say good morning to Death and we make a list of things to accomplish. I have a list of people who would miss me. Logic Light reminds me that they really would, they aren’t just pandering. I no longer have a conventional family. My future is a huge unknown. People try and encourage me with “do whatever you want.”

Logic Light says, I’m 51.

I had what I wanted.

The best I can do is take the pieces of what is left and be content with making it all good enough. To create a space of light and peace where I am.

All of it in hopes that when Death naturally comes and gently takes my hand,

I am not leaving anyone disappointed.