Reflections on Mental Health: Rough around the Edges ~ A True Softy on the Inside
Marriage is some what surreal to me
Who’d ever thought ?
Hmmm, not me ….
And not just marriage, it’s true love you see
It’s a commitment
It’s the little things that connect us
It’s the special moments we share
She my bestest friend ever
She’s always there
Now that I’ve found her
I take a deep breath falling head first
realizing she’s the most imperfect love
Not knowing what life has in store for us
I’m excited to feel this is what I deserve
My most recent Daring Way™ group, The Daring Survivors (yes, somedays they could be one of those ole’ timey all girl doo-wop bands) and I were lighting the way into the arena. We were gaining clarity on our values and making decisions about what we are going to take into the arena instead of the swords of emotional armor.
One group member piped in and asked what was Altruism? It was a difficult idea to explain in terms of a value, especially since I obviously could not keep my opinion to myself about how I felt about the concept. I did my best, but did say I worried saying ‘we are coming from a completely selfless place’ because I do not believe that is really possible.
We are humans and therefore we need connection. We cannot do this alone. We need a tribe.
Hell, sometimes I need more than one. So if we give knowing that it will bring us Joy, I would argue that it is not- nor does it need to be- from a selfless place.
And honestly, nothing has been more meaningful then the work I get to do with my fellow trauma survivors. Yes, some just come and go. But when we stick, its kind of like Mod Podge- we are gonna glue some shit down permanently. And no matter how you try to bake, it is NOT an altruistic endeavor.
I have the honor and privilege of holding space for my fellow trauma survivor. And as they plow through, trudge straight up hill- sometimes holding heavy weight for some time; I gently keep pushing on those edges of comfort and ask, ask and Ask Again to Wake Up to this life. Be Courageous. Do the hard thing- because if I can, You Can.
The transparent truth is this, I push for many important reasons, but as I watch the world shift, sometimes a life saved; I hold it dearly on those dark days. When someone does the work and moves from victim to survivor it gives me hope that WE can do it again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. Their work has a ripple effect that they will never see. Sometimes I won’t even see.
So, from my perspective, there is no such thing as altruism. I am a hard ass about the work once I know your level of commitment. I have been known to straight out call people a fucking liar when their own personal honesty is lacking and I hope ONLY when I have earned it. Giving the gift of a whole hearted life to yourself is the most important and meaningful thing you will ever do for yourself. I will then carry your authentic Self with me ALL the days of my life. And no matter what the challenge, I WILL HOPE. I will keep dreaming of another. And another. And another SURVIVOR.
The only thing we can ever really do to make a difference in this life is to change ourselves. My fellow tribe pushes me to keep growing. I push them to keep moving towards Survivorhood.
Yeah- Survivorhood: its a place where the courageous go to lay down their emotional armor and change the world by changing themselves.
Come. Come and Go with Me.
LIVE.OUT.LOUD.
I should be punished for being preachy, I am going to try my best to not allow the snakes in my head to crawl out on the page and bite you, but today, I can’t make any promises.
I was zipping through the bank drive thru (amazing they still exist in the south) and I peered over my dashboard for just a minute. The teller called me by name, smiled, asked me where my daughter was today and, as always, consistently gave me that warm and fuzzy that the little I had last week was going to be looked after.
When I peered over the dash and stared back at my community, I ached. The past several weeks have been stories of others dead asleep at the wheel; one too many Ambien while texting at 70 miles an hour. It feels extremely judgmental to sit in my car and gloat from this place of awake and I am well aware of the small handfuls of people around me who are alive and present in my life- I cling to them for life support sometimes. But somedays as a therapist, I just ache for those sleeping at the wheel.
Courage is not going to Australia, it is in the little small baby steps we take to make changes. Over time, we can slowly wake up from a sometimes dreadful slumber while someone else has been constructing our life. A friend said to me recently that it was so hard to realize he had been subcontracting out the architecture of his own life. I laughed at myself and told him that the day I woke up it was like I found myself in a crack house built by a shoddy architect and a tacky decorator.
I so get that I was there. Yes, Alicia WAS ASLEEP AT THE WHEEL. But the ache that I feel today is knowing the kind of happiness and joy that I experience in life has only come from honoring the pain and shame that is mine. If I have the capacity to wake up to this life and I have every excuse not to: I was sexually abused for five years of my life, I have been through three marriages as a kid, I had parents who kept me silent about my abuse, I have a father that still to this day I can only keep up with by checking the local county jail records because he cannot stay clean, and lets not get started on my siblings struggles….BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH! Then WHAT IS YOURS? This is hard. Life is SO Fucking HARD.
But pretending just doesn’t work.
Numbing out WILL NOT work.
Wearing that mask and painting pretty- I promise, in the end, Will Not work.
My BFF cried with me yesterday and reminded me that I cannot do this work to save the world. You know, I know that. But I cannot lie to myself and say that somedays, I just ACHE. I hurt seeing those thousand pound shields between you and me. I want to know You. I want to See You. I want sometimes to SHAKE YOU and BEG you to be brave.
Tell her you love her first.
Face that emotional demon.
Be the Architect of your own life. Who wants Martha Stewart decorating when perhaps your style has not a flower in sight?
I have quite a playlist of songs in the memory bank of my mind. This morning it was set on George Gershwin’s musical, PORGY AND BESS: “Summertime…and the livin’ is easy.” ‘Guess that’s because it is easy for me right now. Peter and I are in Maine, traveling to the Stone Coast Writing Conference which will be held in Freeport next week. We’ve been having fun together, and haven’t been reading the paper or intentionally watching TV. But we do get on Facebook or see news clips on the TV’s that are in restaurants from time to time, and when we do, it’s hard to digest the continuing reality of senseless tragedy occurring throughout the world. And then there’s OPRAH.
Yes, OPRAH. She’s still doing it. She’s working hard to educate parents and our society at large about sexual abuse. She’s working hard to protect children from sexual abuse. And…
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“Rejection is one step closer, sister. Keep on. It is clear to me this is the path for you. MAKTUB. Just lean into it. It’s already done. All you gotta do is make sure your ass is in the chair and your fingers move. The rest will take care of itself. Love, G.” *
Recently, Glennon Melton wrote this message to a fellow writer following an interview and I just kept reading it over and over again. If you are unfamiliar, Melton is the author of Carry on Warrior and writes in the image I wish to reflect in my own life. I don’t like finger waving preachy or telling someone how to live. I just want to show up, live and love to the best of my ability….fuck it up a whole bunch, hope for the best and write about my real life, an AWAKE life. It always feels like a disjointed beautiful mess, lots of Face Palms, and I love it, just the way it is.
Do you know I have dreamt for most of my adult life about writing my own book? I want the satisfaction of holding in MY hands something I birthed with my words. I am not sure how important it is to me that more than one copy exists!
What is keeping me? I have been blogging for almost a year now and perhaps that is not done with me yet. But, I can tell you, I do not give myself the space to sit MY ass in this chair and bang-bandigty-bang on these keys enough long enough.
I have something important to say, at least to myself. And if others want to listen. Bonus.
Just last night, I had the privilege of sitting with my BFF as she shared with me how she was finally making the decision to focus on what she loved and honor herself in a way that she has not for many years. I always knew she could do it. Can I?
Maybe one day both you and I will find the collective good of this life wrapped in a 3-D rectangle with a pretty picture and pretty words on the front.
Funny thing is, some days I think the fire in my belly will rot me away if I don’t make it real. Others, I am reminded I am already good enough so why am I so worried?
*check out the entire beautiful interview here:
http://arwenfaulkner.blogspot.ca/2014/06/puzzle-pieces-glennon-doyle-melton.html
Well worth the read…..
My youngest daughter, Josephine, had a birthday this past Friday the 13th.
At seven, she is dreamy, funny, contemplative and just delighted with herself. Typical of her age cohort, she tore apart her wrapping paper with a fiendish glee, strutted around in her brand new mermaid tail (though she has her doubts that mermaids actually exist, she still holds out hope that she can become one, say, as a career or lifestyle choice), and spent half the day talking to herself in the mirror as she is apt to do.
It was during one of these mirror episodes that she turned to me suddenly and said, “Mom, was the day I was born just the happiest day of your life?”
Huh.
It was not.
The day of her birth and the subsequent few years were by most standards pretty horrible, in fact. Not post-apocalyptic horrible, but bad enough so that…
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Like many Americans, our idea of the signing of the Declaration of Independence is a mass of old white men standing around in lavish clothing, likely sighing, and waiting their turn to finally sign this sweaty document that had been written and rewritten many times. The truth is each were fleeing, secretly hiding and many coming incognito to Philadelphia to sign the declaration one by one while the revolution was in full force. John Adams was incensed when he later saw the commissioned painting by John Trumball because he felt it gave off the very impression many are left with today.
Sometimes, I worry the celebration of the 4th of July perpetuates that same impression. Everything is simple. We signed a document, we are ALL free, independence belongs to each one of us and there is nothing left for us to do. Now, as a child I recall spinning my sparklers, eating Bar-B-Que and enjoying being with my family. Growing up in California fireworks were strictly forbidden so we could only watch them from the air force base. I still appreciate these simple pleasures, but I’ve grown beyond my own freedom and wondered if I only celebrate my independence, does that make me shallow? CUZ ~ just down the road my fellow neighbor sometimes does not have enough to eat and struggles to keep the lights on. Some of my neighbors cannot marry because laws have been made out of fear and hatred. Or how about the cultural phenomena that makes your head hurt like, how many women are beaten, raped and killed every day? What happened to their freedom? And how about my brown skinned brothers and sisters who would say that our independence was simply their bondage?
I ate my Bar-B-Que today. AND sour cream and onion chips, thank you (Mary Poppins intonation needed here). I am celebrating my personal freedom from the bondage of shame. I have spent most of my life enslaved to the fear of being “FOUND OUT!” As one client just joyfully said this week, “I want to march in the streets with the rest of my group saying, ‘RUINED-and HAPPY, DAMN IT!’
I hope I never loose sight of the many, many gifts I have been gifted by both circumstances and hard work. I graciously wave my American flag knowing that I can press the “Post” button and there is no one on the other side to say I cannot. May I never NEVER loose sight of what really matters to me and that is spending the rest of my life encouraging and supporting others to find their independence. May we each find our way out of whatever is enslaving us in this life, celebrate our independence and never make a hollow mockery of the struggle of our fellow human.
Transformative Trauma 