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.

 

 

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.

The starting line.

If I were to choose a theme for the last several years, it would be upheaval. There was a time in my life that I wanted nothing more than change. Than to have some variety. I’ve certainly gotten what I wished for, and I can’t say that it’s at all what I was expecting.

In the last several weeks, I’ve experienced heartbreak. Found all new medical providers. Been accepted to graduate programs. Had interviews with east coast non-profits. Taken medical leave from work. Re-evaluated my entire life. I am only at the beginning. This is just the starting line. As I told a friend today, I am interested in the self-actualized ErinBird. Interested in finding what happens when I open myself up and bleed out all the negative energy that has held me back for so long. Instead of working through heartbreak and lost love, I’m holding on to it with both hands, interested in experiencing all of this pain and sadness, because it’s just as real and important as the joy and heart-swell; the love and excitement. I’m listening to my doctors. I’m ignoring my instincts. I’m only sure that I don’t know the answers anymore, and maybe never did.

The starting line. There is no end in sight. I have no idea what the finish looks like, or if there is one. But I’m on my way to finding out, one small step at a time.

Love and Marriage

My sophomore year of college, I took a film class about civil rights. During the first week, the professor showed If These Walls Could Talk 2-1961. I was sobbing by the end. The thought that two people could spend their lives together but have to hide their love was heart wrenching. The hospital scene when Edith learns of Abby’s death comes to mind often and still brings me to tears.

It was easy for me to get married. I don’t mean the idea of marriage was easy, or that it was easy to think about that level of commitment, but the actual process was easy. It took maybe 30 minutes to get the paperwork, and because the state I was living in had no waiting period and allowed couples to solemnize their own marriage, I was officially married in a matter of hours. I didn’t even need witnesses. Thinking of how little I had to do when so many have worked so long just for the possibility of marriage, I feel ashamed. It’s not right.

I am thinking about and encouraged by those people who have been sleeping on the sidewalk to have a place in the courtroom to hear the arguments in person. I am sending my positive energy and love to my dear friends who have been waiting for this week to come. You inspire me and challenge me to think about love more honestly every day. Thank you.

An insomniac’s guide to hypochondria

My mom loves to tell me the story of the time we drove by my doctor’s office when I was maybe three and I held my stomach claiming to be sick. Apparently, I had a thing for doctors… Or was predicting the future.

I’ve had bizarro illnesses my entire life. I’ve never had a standard head cold, but instead some monster virus that takes me out for weeks. Whenever I get a stomach bug, I have to have an IV and meds because how quickly I get dehydrated. After a car accident, I started having seizures. I’m also (duh) an insomniac, and have been since I was a little girl. My brother and I have joked that I quite possibly have the worst immune system. Of anyone. Ever.

Recently, I’ve had a series of medical issues that have felt less bizarro and more real life. They’re a little scary, but I’m counting on my freak body to do what it usually does and baffle the medical community for a while before I’m given a clean bill of health. Until then, I’ll be making inappropriate jokes about the evolutionary impossibility of my survival… To myself… In the middle of the night… When I’m not sleeping.

Facing fear: a resolution

Though I don’t typically make resolutions, this year is different. With the transition of the last several years (and especially the last few months), I’ve been soul searching. I’ve thought about my life and the decision making process that got me where I am today and realized that most of my decisions have been made out of fear. I am so afraid of the unknown that I’ve become stagnant. And I don’t want to be.

So. I’m resolved to face fear and to make choices for my life that put me first– even when it’s scary. Even when my choices might not make other people happy. It won’t be easy, but it will be worth it.

Soap Box.

I work in child welfare. It’s not something I usually share with many who are outside of my circle because I tire of the questions and the judgement. I tire of the assumptions and the stories everyone seems to have of the one cousin who had a bad experience with their local child welfare office. Child welfare is both the best and the worst job. It is emotional and exhausting. It requires equal parts empathy and stoicism.  It is unpredictable and specific. It is a job that is impossible and so full of possibility. It is a rabbit hole.

A friend shared this post tonight and I thought, “YES. Finally.” Read it. Share it. Spread the word. Or don’t read it and finish reading this, because I’m going to say some of the very same things (I’m thinking the more posts like hers, the better). Every day, child welfare caseworkers are knocking on the doors of known criminals with little more than a notepad to protect them. They are in court advocating for parents and children who  have no voice. They are transporting children to their schools/doctors offices/visits/therapists office. Caseworkers are managing the lives of 15 + children at a time, doing literally feet of paperwork per case, and documenting every conversation they have with every key player in the case. They are developing safety plans to ensure that a child doesn’t suffer further abuse or neglect. They are finding adoptive resources for children whose parents have relinquished or lost their parental rights. They are having conversations with a 5-year-old about why she can’t live with her mommy or daddy anymore and trying to explain to a 10-year-old that even though his mom didn’t show up for her weekly visit with him, she loves him and it’s not his fault. Caseworkers do all of this while making the same amount per year that most recent college grads make in their first jobs (I know this because people typically laugh out loud when I tell them my salary).

So that’s my soap box. If you come across a caseworker, give them a hug or buy them a sandwich. The sandwich would probably be best: they most likely worked through lunch.

Two years ago today.

Two years ago today, a friend flew from Seattle to Colorado and helped me pack whatever I could fit in to my car. I had to leave behind file cabinets with all of my banking and account information. I left furniture and my cats and dog. I drove from Colorado to Oregon and moved in with my parents. I was 28 years old and completely broken.

During the first conversation I had with my dad after unpacking, he asked what I needed and I told him that I needed to curl up somewhere; that I couldn’t be around people; that I didn’t know how to do anything but cry. He said I could have the space to heal, but he wanted me to take a walk with him in the evenings. So we walked. And walking seemed like a challenge, but it was something I could cross off of a “To-Do” list, and so I counted it as an accomplishment.

I didn’t sleep more than an hour or two for the first two weeks. There were four days in a row that I didn’t sleep at all. Little by little, I learned to sleep. Little by little, I started eating again. I started cross-country skiing in the mornings. Leaving before dawn, I would ski for a couple of miles until I got to a clearing. I would watch the sunrise and try to think of things that I was thankful for. Eventually, I didn’t have to think so hard. After a while, I started to feel like a person again.

The emotional and physical abuse that I experienced changed me on a core level. When I see friends that I haven’t seen in years, they comment that I’m not as light-hearted. They notice that I apologize constantly and am not as confident as I once was.  I notice those things too, and I have worried that I may never be as strong as I was before that relationship, though sometimes I think I’m fine just as I am now.

Today I’m stronger, though not as strong as I’d like. I’m on the domestic violence awareness coordination team in my office. I’m working in child welfare again. I’m taking care of myself. Most people would never know what I’ve been through, but I’m not ashamed. Sharing my experience may help someone else.

Domestic violence affects 1.3 million women every year, and that’s just the figure for physical assault. It is the leading cause of injury to women ages 15-44 in the United States. 1 in 4 women will experience domestic violence in their lifetime, which means that you probably have a friend or family member who is now a victim or was a victim at one time. October is domestic violence awareness month. Take time this month to donate to an agency that works with victims and survivors. Talk about your concerns for friends or family when you see something that doesn’t seem right in their relationships. If you are a man, and you know men who are hurting women in their lives, do or say something. Most importantly, don’t ask WHY someone stays or why they got in to the relationship, ask instead HOW you can support them or how you can help.

If at first you don’t succeed, you can dust it off and try again.

So. On Sunday, I was forced to confront the reality of my weird life: health issues, divorce (surprise, Internet! Probs more on this later), my aunt’s illness, the crazy sort of homeless lifestyle I’d been leading, the whole opening my heart to someone  thing–all of the stretched-way-too-thin sorta stuff that has had me spinning out of control–and it was obviously time to slow it way down and go back to basics. I called one of my dearest friends who has known me since I was a tiny, and asked if I could move in. Settle for a bit. He and his partner welcomed me with open arms (and 3 drawers in the dresser) (and karaoke games), and I decided that with a place to crash for longer than a night or two (and a sweet dog to snuggle), I should establish some new goals:

Goal #1:

Eat.

Goal #2:

Sleep.

Goal #3:

Go to work.

So I asked myself if she would be interested in dating me. She said yes. It turns out she’s sort of perfect for me, but it’s not all easy breezy. The thing about attempting to date yourself when you’ve been busy taking care of everyone else for, well, all of your life, is that it can be confusing. I’m not sure what I want to do,but I know the things that make me feel happy: my relationships with the people I love, the beautiful families that I work with, FALL (!), being outside, bike rides, dinners at home, running, cooking, reading, yoga, travel…and a million other things. What I’m not always sure of is what percentage of those things I need to feel balanced. Imma find out, friends, with the help of my new girlfriend (she’s so knowledgeable about what I like and what I need). For now, I’m sticking to the goals listed above with the idea that I will add in the fun things little by little as I get more rest, am better nourished and when I have reassured my wonderful boss and co-workers that I can actually spend a full week at work without my world caving in.

The gratitude that I feel for this messy life of mine is immense, and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t take a moment to think of what is going well, but I know that I could be more present. That there are things that I have wanted to do that I’ve put on the back burner because I’d decided that meeting everyone else’s needs was more important than making sure mine were met. It is a learning process, and I know that finding the balance between caring for me and caring for others won’t be easy, but I’m sure there will be joy in it. I’m certain that I will come away from all of this healthy and stronger, and more thankful for all of it–for the mess, the joy, the pain, the LIFE that I am living. As Aaliyah would say, it’s time to dust it off and try again.

 

 

 

The highlight reel.

I am currently on my couch in comfy clothes, drinking tea and eating cookies (thank you Molly), thinking about all of the wonderful ways that my life changed in 2011.

Throughout the last year, I have had the absolute pleasure of connecting with new friends and reconnecting with old. I’ve been challenged by some scary medical issues and learning the ropes at new jobs. It’s definitely been a year of transition. But, mostly, it’s been a year of some really awesome things.

Without further ado, I present my 2011 Top Ten List:

10. Moved in to the tiny house in Bend.

9. Worked in 4 separate agencies at 5 different positions.

8. Got much better at thinking before I speak (Whoa!).

7. Had a lot of “ME” time.

6. Went on long, exhausting bike rides….and really enjoyed it.

5. Had weekly (life saving) Mac & Cheese nights with sweet Christie McC

4. Met the wonderful, amazing and super tiny Olive Wynn. In the process, got to know two of my oldest friends as parents (pretty incredible).

3. Got to know my grandfather & spent some quality time with my parents (it will take several posts to thank them for all that they’ve done over the last year…I’ll get there, really).

2.  Spent time with my new family members.

1. Really learned a lot about what it means to be a partner.

Thank you all for your love and support. It means the world to me.

Love, love, love, and Happy New Year!