PTSDonald

Recently I enjoyed a visit with a friend who I met when I was dating my abuser. She’d known him for years before I moved to town, and while we were on a drive together, she said that she knew I’d had some problems with him, but she remembers him as a charming and friendly guy who always had a smile on his face. As we talked further, she let me know that many people in the town where I’d lived during that time thought I was crazy, primarily because the man who abused me lied constantly about our relationship, denying it to the extent that he told people we were not in a relationship despite the fact that we lived together. I explained to my friend that she, like I, had been a victim of gas lighting, an  especially traumatizing tool utilized by abusers.

Thanks to the presidential campaign, gas lighting is on display during every debate. It’s that thing Donald Trump does whenever he’s caught in a lie or when the facts aren’t what he’d like them to be. It’s the outright denial that he’s said or done anything wrong when there’s evidence on video that proves the opposite is true. It’s the victim blaming and shaming that he encourages, shifting attention from his wrongdoing and focusing on the faults of those he’s harmed.

While the physical violence I experienced at the hands of my abuser was scary, the emotional trauma has been devastating. Today marks 6 years since I left the relationship, and I am still attempting to heal the deep emotional wounds caused by his constant undermining of my truth and reality.

When I see Donald Trump and I hear his rhetoric, I see a caricature of the man who abused me. I refer to the experience as “PTSDonald.” While watching him is triggering for me, I have found that I can use Trump’s behaviors as examples for people who may not understand what emotional abuse looks like.

Domestic violence is pernicious. The fallout often takes years for survivors to recover from, and much of that time is spent attempting to rebuild relationships with family and friends who just don’t understand. October is domestic violence awareness month. If you see something, say something. If you are concerned about a friend or family member, check in with them. Educate yourself, advocate for survivors and hold offenders accountable.

 

 

Giving thanks.

My aunt was diagnosed with lung cancer last year. Though I only wrote about it briefly, my aunt (and her illness) have never been far from mind.

I’m able to be with my aunt every day, and I am incredibly grateful that my crazy life changes have allowed me to be present at a time when I am very much needed. But I realized recently that when I spend so much time thinking about her illness, I lose sight of why there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

My aunt is one of my greatest friends and strongest advocates. She’s loved me for my entire life, even though she knows everything about me (good, bad and awful). Her incredible support and advice have gotten me through when nothing else could. She has always been one of the first people to hear big news (or gossip) in my life and is always ready with an invite to spend time together. She’s always been genuinely interested in my life and who I am.

Every November, I think about what I’m thankful for. This year, I’m thankful for my messy life. I’m grateful that losing my way made it possible for me to spend time with a woman who has absolutely shaped who I am in the world. Eden is an incredible aunt, a dear friend, a wonderful mother, loving wife and one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever known. I am so thankful (as ever) for the incredible relationship I have with her, and especially for every moment I get to spend with her now. Every day I spend with her is a day spent in exactly the right way.

It takes a village.

October is domestic violence awareness month. It is also the month I celebrate my escape from an abusive relationship.

Though it’s been three years since I left, the emotional wounds are still healing. There are days that I have more questions than answers, but most days, there isn’t a point to asking any question but one: how do abusive men continue to thrive in their communities and find new victims? The answer, though not a good one, is that domestic violence is still seen as a “personal” issue and victims are tasked with the burden of proving abuse.

What I’ve learned not only through my experience in an abusive relationship, but also through years of professional experience in advocacy and support, is that abusive men do an incredibly thorough job of discrediting their victims. In the town that I lived in, my abuser was involved with many businesses and was a fixture at community events. Through reaching out to other women he had dated, I learned that he had been hurting women he dated for years, but they felt such shame and guilt that they didn’t feel comfortable speaking out. He quite effectively convinced us that we were without value, and that we didn’t fit in with the members of a community we cared about.

What I know for sure is that my abuser is a coward. His cowardice and insecurity are trademarks of men who harm women. Had community members held him accountable, asked questions, been supportive of the women he had harmed, this story would be very different.

It takes a village. If something seems wrong in a relationship, ask about it. If you see something, say something. If you know that someone is being mistreated, do something about it. Educate, speak up, and advocate. Whether you know it or not, you have someone in your life who has experienced abuse, and you can make a difference.

*I understand that domestic violence occurs in all relationships, not just heterosexual relationships, and not only violence perpetrated against women by men. This domestic violence fact sheet has more information.

Grace.

I woke this morning with a list of failures running through my mind. And I could feel the weight of them holding me down. It’s a feeling I know well; a trademark of clinical depression (a diagnosis I received in April).

The thing about depression and the fight to get well is that sometimes there are only a handful of productive days in a month. Sometimes there are only moments. The struggle is to accept that there may only be brief periods when I will be okay and simple tasks won’t feel like major obstacles.

I often think that I could give more grace; work to understand people around me even when it’s hard. Rarely do I think about my own need for grace. This morning, waking with the weight of it all, I thought about grace. I decided to give myself grace and to face today from the point I’m at right now; not looking forward or back, but being in this space: the cool, early morning dark. The smell of coffee. The knowledge that this is exactly where I need to be.

Passing time.

Time is flying, dear friends, as it tends to do. Recently, I’ve crunched some numbers, and realized that I haven’t spent more than 6 nights in the same place since the end of April. This Bird is needing some stability. With the changing leaves and autumn light, my nesting instinct has returned full force. Though transition is challenging, I’m coming out the other side with renewed interest in self and the desire to move forward.

Fall is my favorite season to make new goals, take stock of my surroundings and restore good habits and routines. I’m ready to settle; to find my nest and make a home. As always, I’m in awe of the selfless and kind people in my life: my wonderful parents, dear Other Mother, sweetest brother and incredible friends (if only I could truly express my gratitude). For the first time in months, I’m feeling hopeful. Perhaps I’m starting to find my footing. Perhaps I’m finding my way. The only thing I’m certain of is that time is passing, and that’s okay.

 

Quitting.

One month ago, I made the decision to quit social work after 12 years in the field.

Leaving a field I’m passionate about and choosing the unknown is scary, but it’s also right. I’m prioritizing my health and interests and accepting the support of the people who love me (ahem: major transition).

To past supervisors and colleagues: thank you for all of it. You are the strongest, smartest and best at what you do, and your dedication and devotion to the families you work with will continue to inspire me in all that I do.

Here’s to what comes next.

Weak.

In January, I resolved to face my fears. Six months later, I’m recognizing just how important that resolution is.

Though I’ve always joked that my greatest fear is success, I’m most afraid of weakness. Or appearing weak. While previously I would argue that staying strong through any challenge made me a better person, I now clearly see how it only enabled me to bury my problems.

Right now, I’m weak. And I’m not denying it. Facing my true fear has allowed me to deal with issues I’ve never dealt with. I’m facing old hurts and working on healing them little by little. I’m learning that my true friends don’t need me to be strong all of the time, they just need me to be me (thanks, you dudes). Facing fear is still scary. Admitting weakness is the most challenging thing I’ve allowed myself to do. It is also the most brave.

I have no idea what I will be like after I finish this hard work. I do know that being weak is the only way I will ever gain true strength, and if nothing else, that’s a real deep thought. And that’s something.

Hot mess.

I’ve been thinking about love. Duh. Obviously when heartbroken it is natural to think about love: why we love who we love, how much we love them, why they don’t reciprocate. The biggest challenge is that there’s no way to quantify love, just as there’s no way to measure its loss.

Loving my ex is the easiest thing I’ve done: we met and fell in love. It wasn’t that he was perfect; he isn’t. He has many imperfections, but it is despite and because of those flaws that I love him. The timing was wrong. We live on opposite coasts. There were terrible Skype connections and layovers and hours of planning for one weekend. There were insecurities and baggage and all of the life stuff in a typical relationship, but condensed because of long distance and plans.

I don’t have answers about why my relationship ended, and probably never will, but I have the knowledge that I have known someone in a way that no one else has known them. And they have known me. I hold their faults and imperfections and all of the messy stuff they shared close to my heart, because that is where it belongs. And I carry my baggage, my life, proudly.

I’ve been thinking about love. And I’ve been trying to hold onto gratitude for the experience of love. I am giving myself grace, and am acknowledging flaws and baggage and mistakes, because they are what make me beautiful. They are me, and one day (I hope) someone will love me despite and because of the hot mess that I am.

Getting personal.

I invited myself to visit my other mother’s oldest son. Though I’ve known him for 20 years, we’ve never spent time together without his family. Being far away from home with someone who wouldn’t notice that I’m a mess was exactly what I wanted, so I flew to L.A.

The first two days were uneventful, but just right: food, friends, Mad Men, Game of Thrones (ohmygod-how did I miss this?) and hours of conversation. On the third morning, what started out as a bad headache quickly became a serious issue, and I drove him to the ER. We spent the next 5 days at Glendale Memorial.

Though my initial plan was to not get personal, time spent at a hospital at someone’s bedside sorta forces the issue. During the days spent waiting for test results and trying to convince him to eat, and nights spent talking about everything while hoping to get some sleep, I got to know him and in the process, started to feel a bit more like myself.

There’s still so much work to do, but I have a new friend, a sweet L.A. sunburn, and the idea that I’m still here. Getting personal was exactly what I needed.

Perspective.

I read the New York Times today. Those who know me well know that I’ve read the Times every day for the last 10 years. But I haven’t been able to read it for the last 8 weeks.

Heartache is (to quote a friend) the pits, and though I logically understand there will come a day when I don’t have this weight on my chest, emotionally I’m not so sure. Simple things like the daily routine of coffee and the Times, going on a run, or watching Meet the Press on Sunday morning, are things I can’t do because the reminders of my relationship are everywhere.

Heartbreak has me feeling so much and so little at the same time that I end up generally apathetic. Typically I care too much. Now I have to work to feel anything. Though disconcerting, apathy has benefits. If I don’t want to do something, I don’t do it. And I don’t care if that’s a problem for someone else. Most of the time I just want to snuggle one of my closest friend’s babies, which is doing me far more good than nearly anything else I can think of.

Despite the anguish, I have glimmers of hope: in a baby’s smile, in a shared connection with a new friend, in moments when I actually smile or laugh. All of these things leave me feeling some what reassured. Though the pain of this loss will be there always, the immediacy of it won’t. There will come a day when reading the New York Times won’t be worth writing home about, but for now it is. And that’s okay.