“Grit your teeth and let it hurt. Don’t deny it. Don’t be overwhelmed by it. It will not last forever.”
-Harold Kushner
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Keeping in line with suicide awareness, I thought I would talk about a couple of groups that reflect awareness and prevention. There are so many groups out there that stay along these same lines. And I wish that I could spotlight them all.
To Write Love On Her Arms
This group is a nonprofit group dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury, and suicide. Jamie Tworkowski set out only to help a friend and to tell her story. When he met Renee Yohe, she was struggling with addiction, self-injury, and suicidal thoughts. He wrote about spending five days with her prior to her entering a treatment facility. And he began selling t-shirts to help fund her treatment by posting them on Myspace. Soon people from all over the world began contacting him and telling him about their struggles and heartbreaks. And in 2007, TWLOHA became an official organization.
Here are some numbers associated with their organization:
· 210,000 messages from individuals in over 100 countries.
· 3.8 million miles have been traveled to meet people in their communities.
It is an online community that began in 2013, when Amy Bleuel created it to honor her father, who died by suicide. The organization centers around mental health awareness and suicide prevention. The World Health Organization (WHO) reports a 25% increase in anxiety and depression during the first year of COVID-19. That combined with the nation’s political instability characterized by protectionism and unilateralism has led to strained international relations. And the stress funnels down to our families and personal stories.
The semicolon represents a continuance of life where a period could have easily ended the story. There have currently been over 89,000 assessments completed. 5,336 journal entries shared. And have provided direct support to 214 individuals. Semicolon badges in Apex Legends and Call of Duty has reached over 1.3 million gamers and additionally 50 new chapters. And 84% of Project Semicolon members report that the organization has saved with lives in times of crisis (www.projectsemicolon.com, 2025).
Mission Statement
Our mission is to empower individuals with mental health experiences to embrace their journey and recognize that their story is far from over.
I hope that you can take something from this information. Please take what you can use and leave the rest. And please pass along the information to someone who can benefit. Even if that someone is you. Keep smiling! And do not be afraid to reach out for help.
Affirmation: There are other ways to end my pain, even if I cannot see them right now.
“Our country is grappling with a youth mental health crisis, and it is particularly pronounced for LGBTQ+ youth.”
-Ronita Nath
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away. Today, keeping in line with the topic of suicide, I want to discuss suicide in the LGBTQ+ community.
The prevalence of suicide in the LGBTQ+ community is nothing new. The risk for suicide attempts and suicidal ideation can be 3 to 6 times greater for lesbian, gay and bisexual adults according to the National Institutes of Health. But there are also other statistics to keep in mind.
In 2024, 39% of LGBTQ+ youth considered attempting suicide according to The Trevor Project’s national survey. 1 in 10 of LGBTQ+ youth attempted suicide in the past year. And LGBTQ+ youth are more than four times likely to attempt compared to heterosexual youth. I can tell you that personally, I’ve been suicidal many times because of rejection from my family as a lesbian woman.
Transgender and Nonbinary identified individuals are at an even higher rate of suicide. And almost half seriously considered suicide in the past year. In 2022, 80% of transgender people had considered suicide and 40% had attempted. These statistics while staggering are not surprising. These demographic struggles are way more than they should be with little compassion from society.
Bisexual identified individuals are 1.5 times more likely to report thoughts and attempts compared to gay and lesbian individuals. And 2.98 times more likely to have a suicide-related event compared to heterosexuals according to a 2022 study. And the LGBTQ+ youth of color report higher rates of suicidal ideation and attempts compared to white peers (www.therevorproject.org, 2025). And there are several contributing factors such as:
· Discrimination and Prejudice:discrimination, harassment and violence due to sexual orientation or gender identity increases the risk of suicide.
· Lack of Support Systems: Limited social support from family, peers and community exacerbates the mental health challenges.
· Mental Health Disparities: LGBTQ+ individuals are more likely to experience depression and may face barriers to accessing mental health services (https://mhanational.org, 2025).
For someone who is a member of the LGBTQ+ community, I can tell you that I’ve considered suicide many times. The rejection from family and friends are sometimes more than I can bare. And having worked with someone in therapy many years ago, who was not sensitive to the needs of someone in these communities, there was little progress made. Mainly, because I couldn’t trust her. And she was extremely judgmental.
Since collaborating with coach for almost a decade, I can tell you that I have been able to fully accept the fact that I’m gay, despite my family’s disapproval. And then the religious communities also seem to greet us with bible verses telling how many ways we are going to hell. We all know that “choosing” to be gay is such an easier way of life. There the secret is out.
With the current political administration taking away the rights and freedoms that the Stonewall riots stood against, and the lack of funding for suicide hotlines for LGBTQ+ youth, these rates will only climb. Our families, friends, churches, and government should be ashamed of standing by people who are ok with the policies set in place. We are the same as we ever were. We just wear rainbows now.
There are those beautiful allies out there who remain the strength and backbone of our continual fight for equality. We are youth, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, husband, and wives who just want to be recognized as equals in the eyes of the law. But where reputations and political agendas are from the far right, we must be even more solidified as a community. If someone is for rights with some and not others, I have no room for them in my life. But it’s taken me years to come to this conclusion.
Is it lonely? At times, yes. However, I want people in my life who not only support me but also my friends. The suicide hotline is something that our community not only wants but needs. Many of us have non-supporting families and mine is no different. But I do have a place to live currently. But that does not constitute me putting up with homophobia or fragile masculinity and femininity.
The very few “true” friends I have, understand that being gay is not a “choice.” It’s who I am. And if that’s too much for someone to manage, that’s just too damn bad. To my fellow allies and community members, keep up the good fight. We must take up the original Pride flag are carry on. I love our colors. And I’m proud to call myself a member of the LGBTQ+ community.
Keep smiling. Keep shining. Knowing you can always count on me, for sure. That’s what friends are for. We are seen. And we are heard. And….WE ARE FABULOUS! Thanks for reading. Take what you can use and leave the rest.
Affirmation: I am proud of myself and will continue to strive to do well.
“The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war.”
-Douglas McArthur
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negativity energy, go away. Today, I want to discuss veteran suicide. I know that this topic has seemed to get old and fast. However, I believe that the more we talk about the harshness of life, the more the stigmas will begin to disappear.
In 2022, the most recent year for the current data, 6,407 veterans and 41,484 nonveteran adults died by suicide. The rate among veterans was 34.7 per 100,000 compared to 17.1 per 100,000 for nonveterans. Since 2005, veteran suicide has risen faster than any other group. And these rates are unacceptable.
The veterans who died by suicide in that year, 40% were under the care of the Veterans Health Administration. Among those patients, who were also diagnosed with a mental health disorder or substance abuse disorder, there were 56.4 per 100,000, which was twice the rate of those without a diagnosis. And among 1,548 veterans who died by suicide 64% were diagnosed with depression, 43% had an anxiety disorder, 40% had PTSD, and 32% had an alcohol use disorder. However, the highest suicide rates were associated with veterans who had sedative use disorder which include benzodiazepines, barbiturates, and opiates (www.rand.org, 2025). And the stigma about mental health in the military further increase this problem.
Aspects of Veteran Mental Health stigma:
· Fear of judgment and perception: Veterans worry about how seeking help will affect all areas of their lives and especially on career repercussions.
· Military culture: The “warrior ethos” which emphasizes self-reliance and stoicism create barriers to seeking help.
· Loss of security clearance: Some fear that seeking mental health treatment will lead to revocation of security clearances.
· Impact on treatment: stigmas can lead to untreated mental health conditions, substance abuse and increased risk of suicide.
· Self-stigma: Veterans may internalize negative societal views about mental health which can lead to shame, self-blame, and more reluctance to seek help (https://oxfordtreatment.com, 2025).
As an advocate for medical cannabis, I believe that our veterans should be given an ounce of cannabis the minute their feet hit US soil upon returning from active duty. As I personally deal with PTSD, there is not another medication on the planet that can bring me relief like cannabis can. And it’s such a safer alternative to alcohol, opiates, and benzodiazepine medications.
Currently, the Safe Healing Act, which was introduced on February 4, 2025, is designed to prohibit the Secretary of Veterans Affairs from denying a veteran benefit administered by the Secretary by reason of the veteran participating in a State-approved marijuana program and other purposes. But unfortunately, there is only a 3% chance of being enacted (www.govtrack.us, 2025). And I consider this utterly ridiculous. There is an unmistakable problem with veteran suicide. It appears Big Pharma is still in the way of progress. I wonder how many people who oppose this bill must suffer, daily, with the horrible effects of PTSD, anxiety, and chronic pain that “Big Pharma” can’t seem to help?
Our returning soldiers are faced with horrors that no one understands until they’ve been there. And though I have never served our country, I can tell you that the above-mentioned mental health disorders have also almost taken my life many times. The symptoms are horrific in nature. Put chronic pain in the mix and suicide often seems like the only answer to have a break, though it be permanent, for even a moment of peace.
Veterans, in my eyes, should be held to the utmost respect. They should be the highest paid employees before professional athletes. And we as a country should make sure that the best treatment is available to them for the rest of their lives. Some have paid the price of their lives on the battlefield. And a high percentage of others pay with their lives when they return home. But instead of treating them like the heroes like they are, they are often discarded by the government that they so proudly serve.
Is cannabis the only answer? Not at all. However, while they find the modality that works for them, I think that cannabis could lighten the load and make their futures seem a little brighter. Discarding them along with all the judgmental stigmas only adds to the problem. And until this is rectified, we will continue to lose those beautiful people who are willing, at any moment, to lay down their lives for our freedoms. Shame on the United States of America for treating them like that!
I know reading this is not easy. But we as a nation must stand up for these individuals who continue to pay the price every time, they open their eyes. Let’s get past the “reefer madness” ignorance and allow our veterans the opportunity to extend their lives at home. A special thanks and salute to one of my favorite veterans who I’ll call Joe. Thanks for reading! And God Bless America!
“Be careful because cyberspace is a two way street those that hunt and stalk and troll can also become the hunted by those that they harass and attack. Cyberspace has a definite dark side.”
Don Holbrook
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away. Today, I want to talk about another reason that people are committing suicide. It’s the inevitable factor of cyberbullying.
Cyberbullying is bullying with the use of digital technologies. Research consistently indicates that there is a strong correlation between being a victim of cyberbullying and increased suicidal ideations. In fact, once study showed that students who are subjected to cyberbullying are 4 times as likely to commit suicide. And a major increase occurred during the COVID-19 pandemic). Another study found that cyber bullying increases suicidal thoughts by 14.5% and suicide attempts by 8.7%. The limitations are since there is usually not just one factor that contribute to suicide (www.nih.gov, 2025).
I can tell you that as an 8th grader adult bullied me where I was supposed to be safe, at school. And though there was no cyberbullying at the time, due to lack of access to the internet, I quickly began having suicidal ideations that have plagued me ever since. When you’re a child, bullying is such a violation and betrayal. And for me there was no way out. So, I had to fight the best way I knew how. Sometimes it was quiet while escaping within my mind. And sometimes, it was through pure aggression. Sadly, aggression was the only thing to make it all stop even for a moment. But the colossal damage had already been done.
That year of bullying set the precedence for how my life would turn out. I lost all confidence in myself and my abilities. My self-worth was destroyed. And I turned to the only thing that seemed to accept me no matter what my condition. It was addiction. By the time I started high school, I was a full-blown addict of drugs, alcohol, self-harm and eating disorders. And at almost 50 years old, I continue to struggle with them.
I learned that no one was a “safe” person. I learned that if anyone were going to protect me, it would have to be me. I learned that taking the first shot at someone was the safest way to live. I also concluded that no one that I saw as an “underdog” would ever have to fight their own battle again if I were there. I asked for help but was denied. And when I did, the abuse only got worse.
Cyberbullying takes on a whole new level of abuse. And the damage can be irreparable. It’s said and done by people who don’t have to look at you in the face. And typically, most people wouldn’t have the balls to say those same things if done in person. Since our national politics are so unstable, I would venture to say that the amount of cyberbullying would increase significantly. Below are a couple of the cases that I wanted to show you about. There is no way to list them all.
Megan Meier’s Case (2006): a 13-year-old American girl who committed suicide after being bullied on MySpace. The bullying was orchestrated by an adult neighbor, Lori Drew, posing as a teenage boy. The adult was the mother of a classmate. The mother was found guilty of cyberbullying in 2009. However, the conviction was later overturned.
Texas Child Suicide (2023): A child in Texas died by suicide during an online game due to alleged cyberbullying. The suspect lived in Michigan who eventually plead guilty to crimes related to aiding suicide and harassment causing death (www.nbcnews.com, 2023).
In the world that we live in, it is imperative for us parents to pay close attention as possible to what our kids are doing and with whom they are interacting. I do not live under the delusion that it is possible to know everything. I am not God. The only thing I know to do is to regularly talk to my children about the dangers of cyberbullying. And that just because someone is on your “friends list,” doesn’t mean that they are really friends. And that predators disguised as heaven will often put you through hell. And even with that knowledge, I know that I can’t protect every facet of their lives. The very essence of a predator is to go undetected. And to operate in the shadows, often in plain sight.
I hope that you have gained useful information on this topic. I continue to learn each time I blog. And maybe, it’s bringing some type of comfort as I look at these difficult topics. I write thinking, “What can I do to help other parents?” And then, BOOM! Another blog appears. Thanks for reading! As always, take what you can use and leave the rest. Keep smiling. And stay informed.
Affirmation: I forgive myself for believing when I’m bullied it’s my fault because I let it happen, or I was in the wrong place, or I should have known better.
“When you feel like giving up, just remember why you held on for so long.”
-Hayley Williams
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk about some myths regarding the topic of suicide. I was first exposed to suicide at the age of thirteen. One of my friends and classmate committed suicide when we were in the eighth grade. As a child, how do you manage that? I can tell you that among all of the major events in my life that has changed me in some way, the day that I lost my friend to suicide will always rank high on my list. I think, though, that the biggest impact for me was how our teachers and school administrators dealt with the situation.
I grew up in the 1980’s when child and adolescent mental health was rarely recognized. And, honestly, my generation was sort of left with the attitude of “figure it out yourself.” Situations that left gaping wounds were merely glossed over. And so, me and other friends and classmates turned to a life of addiction and suicide. As a teen who was being abused daily by a teacher, and the complete lack of protection from the adults, I was forced to just “figure it out.” I did it in total “self-preservation mode.” The behaviors that I developed were not healthy, but they were there when no one else was.
In the 35 years since my friend’s suicide, I have lost a lot more friends. And sadly, I have built walls all throughout my life that continue to help me through my pain. The one thing that has seemed to resonate through the years is how religion constantly attacks those who have been through the most. And I grew up being marinated in the ideology that suicide was “selfish,” “a sin,” “immediate condemnation to hell,” “the easy way out” and the most “self-centered” act known to man.
A lot of the “indoctrinating messages” I was raised to believe, life made me realize how very untrue and damaging they are and will continue to be. I have been on all sides of suicide. And from a personal standpoint, those beliefs couldn’t be any farther from the truth. Below are a few common myths regarding suicide.
Myth 1: Talking about suicide increases the chance a person will act on it.
Fact: Talking about suicide can reduce rather than increase suicidal ideations. It improves mental health related outcomes and increases the likelihood that someone will seek treatment.
Myth 2: People who talk about suicide are just seeking attention.
Fact: People that die from suicide have often told someone about not wanting to live anymore. And it’s always important to take it seriously. In my own family, these statements have rung true. Or most often, those statements are ignored.
Myth 3: Suicide can’t be prevented.
Fact: Suicide is preventable but unpredictable. Most people have experienced intense emotional pain, hopelessness and a negative view on life and the future. Suicide is a product of genes, mental illnesses and environmental risk factors. Intervention can and does save lives.
Myth 4: People who take their own lives are selfish, cowardly or weak.
Fact: People don’t die of suicide by choice. The emotional pain that they experience makes it difficult to consider different views. Have you ever turned a gun on yourself? I have.
Myth 5: Teenagers and college students are the most at risk of suicide.
Fact: Suicide rates for that age group is below the national average. The age groups with the highest rate of suicide in the U.S. are women 45-64 and men 75 and older. Suicide is a problem among all ages and groups.
Myth 6: Barriers on bridges, safe firearm storage and other actions that reduce access to lethal methods of suicide don’t work.
Fact: Limiting access to lethal means of harm is one of the most straightforward strategies to decrease the chances of suicide.
Myth 7: Suicide always occurs without warning.
Fact: There are almost always warning signs before a suicide attempt.
Myth 8: Talk therapy and medications don’t work.
Fact: Treatment can and does work. I don’t agree with big pharma for many reasons. I guess, though, “life over limb.” Lives are saved with both therapy and medication. Therapy has saved my life for many years now. But finding the right one to work with can be taxing. Most people who are in the helping profession do help rather than harm (mayoclinichealthsystem.org, 2025).
Myth 9: You have to be mentally ill to think about suicide.
Fact: 1 in 5 people have thought about suicide at some time in their life. Not all people who die by suicide have mental illnesses at the time they die.
Myth 10: People who are suicidal want to die.
Fact: The majority of people feeling suicidal do not actually want to die; they just want the situation they’re in or the way they’re feeling to stop.
Myth 11: Most suicides happen in the winter months.
Fact: Suicide is complex and not just related to seasons or the climate. Suicide is more common in the spring and a noticeable peak on New Year’s Day.
Myth 12: You can’t ask someone if they’re suicidal.
Fact: Evidence shows that asking someone if they’re suicidal could protect them (Samaritans.org, 2025).
Myth 13: Strong faith prevents suicidal thoughts.
Fact: Many deeply religious figures including biblical figures have experienced suicidal thoughts. The misconception that strong faith eradicates mental despair is false. Faith doesn’t guarantee protection from difficult emotions and struggles.
Myth 14: Suicide indicates a lack or abandonment of faith.
Fact: Suicidal ideation is viewed from different perspectives. Suicide does not inherently mean that someone has abandoned their faith.
Myth 15: Fear of religious repercussions is a sufficient deterrent for suicide.
Fact: For some maybe the fear of divine punishment can be a factor. However, many faith communities emphasize grace and forgiveness, even for those who die by suicide. And personally, I have rarely seen grace and forgiveness on this topic.
Myth 16: Religion or faith alone is enough to prevent suicide.
Fact: Studies show inconsistent findings regarding the protective effect of religious affiliation on suicide risk. It is crucial to understand that faith alone is not a guarantee against suicide and should not replace professional mental health interventions when needed (https://pmc.ncbi.nim.nih.gov, 2025).
I hope at the very least that some of the myths regarding suicide have been explained. My own personal suicidal feelings have been dismissed the majority of my life. And no amount of “bible beating” has ever helped. It has only made things much worse than they already are. And some of the statements made disguised as “help” by family members, are not help. The statements are just toxic. Saying that you have “x” amount of years living and never considered suicide isn’t helpful. Please don’t play therapist when you’re not one.
Put harmful judgments in the trash where they belong. Love and appreciate those that you love. Because it can all change in an instant. Quit making “their” suicidal feelings about “you.” Because it’s not. And always remember, “Just because someone has a smile on their face doesn’t mean that they’re not suicidal.” Thanks for reading! As always, take what you can use and leave the rest.
Affirmation: I am overcoming depression one step at a time.
“This life. This night. Your story. Your hope. It matters. All of it matters.”
-Jamie Tworkowski
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Thank God, we have made it through most of the hottest months of the year. September is another sticky, humidity filled month before the beginning of the cool down. September is also Suicide Awareness and Prevention Month. I know, it’s another upbeat topic. I think that the topic of suicide shouldn’t be taboo. It’s an unfortunate dark part of nearly every culture. And, yes, it has also affected my life in many ways which I’ll share.
Suicide has always been referred to as “the easy way out,” “selfish action,” a “total disregard for friends and family,” and the most hurtful “a sin.” And it’s really easy for people to throw out opinions that help no one when they are struggling. That is minimizing their pain and abuse.
Having been not only a patient in the mental health system for the majority of my life, and working in the mental health field as a professional, I have also seen and been on most sides of this problem. People are so quick to judge what they don’t understand. And, sadly, suicide is a topic that tends to be discussed in judgment versus with compassion.
I have been chronically suicidal since I was a teenager. I was being abused and put on display for others to see for an entire year in school. I was also locked in a closet in that same room while being verbally abused in any way imaginable. I tried to tell adults about what was going on. However, I was made to feel like it was my fault. This helped the teacher to further perpetrate her abuse. My parents also made me apologize to her for comments that I made to her. But as their child, I was not protected by them or the administration. I was in a difficult situation without the possibility of brighter days ahead for the future.
My suicidal feelings got the best of me one day at school when I took forty aspirin. I had no idea, at that time, that it wouldn’t work. But the thought of continuing one more day at the hands and mouth of s purely evil woman was more than I could deal with. My parents were called and made aware. Nothing was ever done. I was never provided with any kind of help. Maybe it was the “standard” of the late 1980s. I was not given the emotional support to sort out my trauma.
What I did begin doing was self-harm. I had no idea what it all meant, at that time. But I knew that it made things better even if for just the moment. As I’ve stated about my family’s dysfunctional dynamics, I was told just to make it through the year and everything would be fine. It wasn’t. Yes, the abuse ended. But I was not fine.
By my freshman year in high school, I was “balls to the wall” in addiction. Addiction that presented itself in drugs, alcohol, eating disorders and self-harm. The strongest addiction being self-harm. And 35 years later, it continues.
The depression, anxiety and suicidal ideations never subsided as I was told. One day I finally told my mother that had I had access to a weapon, I was going to kill myself. Instead of offering help, of any kind, I was met with anger and told that I was being selfish. My thoughts were anything but selfish. I was hurting in ways that no one knew. And no one seemed to care. So, I suffered in silence for many years.
As a child/teenager when traumatic events occur, your mind goes directly to self-preservation. You do whatever you can to either tolerate the darkness or end the pain. Meanwhile, the trauma of life continued at a level that no one is capable of dealing with alone. My next real relationship was abuse that lasted 14 years. And again, I felt trapped.
If you don’t understand the concept of Pavlov’s dogs, then you don’t understand what it’s like to be held mentally captive while the world sees your situation with an easy out. And the sad part about it, is that they think that you deserve everything you get because you don’t just leave. My parents attributed all of the chaos of that relationship as being something that religion could fix. So, we got involved in church. If anything, the abuse got much worse because now his weapon was a Bible that he read and used as justification that I should be “submissive” to his every demands. Mentally, I was trapped again without any way out. And my self-harm was not about survival. It was about making the pain end.
I would reach a mental breaking point and would stand out in the front yard where we lived and pointed a gun at my chest and pulled the trigger. The strange part was that I seemed to be witnessing rather than taking an active role. I watched that whole event as a spectator. I don’t expect you to understand the power of dissociation. Most people, in fact, are very ignorant about it. Again, I was met with anger from my mother. She kept saying, “Hush! Hush! Do you want to go back to Pine Grove?” That is the local mental health facility. And at that moment all I needed was compassion. But again, I faced anger and judgment. I wasn’t trying to “take the easy way out” or be “selfish.” I just wanted the pain to end. And everyone seemed to lose sight of that reality but me.
The bullet went into my shoulder only a few inches from my heart. And even hospital staff treated me as though I was taking up space much better suited for someone else. Self-harm became a way of life for me. It’s been there when people should’ve been there. But self-harm doesn’t always mean “suicide attempt.” And this is a very sore subject among family members. But I sit as an outcast by my family who want nothing more than the family name to not be tainted by abnormality. They acknowledge that bad things happen. But they just want it to disappear and to quit bringing shame to the family name and instead just move on with life. But the biggest factor, is that they don’t want to be perceived as “parental failures.” It’s still all about the reputation of the family.
People that is not how trauma works. And saying, “We just didn’t know how to help you” is “shit”of an excuse. I was a child when it began. You were in the position to help protect your daughter and you didn’t. Remember, the part of the story where I said, “Just make it out of the 8th grade and everything will be better.” It’s 35 years later and it’s not better. It has crippled me as an adult. And has stolen my hopes and dreams. And I still deal with suicidal ideations on a daily basis. Those never went away either. So, I guess feeling like a “burden” to those who say that they love me but treat me as such will forever be the unhealthy narrative. I’ve asked them to do therapy to help with our relationship. But again, it’s of no importance. And the unspoken belief that I’m unworthy continues.
I wrote this blog to say this, “Quit making someone’s struggle with suicidal thoughts and actions be all about you. You are not helping anything. You only make it worse.” Simply say to them, “Your thoughts and beliefs are valid. Let’s find some compassionate help that will help you thrive. Throwing Bible verses in their face is not helpful. Telling them that they will go to hell is not helpful. They are already living in an emotional hell.
This is not rocket science! Just don’t be an asshole as a rule of thumb. I have been in the position of being the last one to talk to a person moments before they completed suicide. I can tell you this, “I’m not mad at that person. I don’t condemn their actions. I don’t say, “Well I guess they’re in hell now. How selfish of them.” I simply say, “I hate that they were in so much pain that nothing anyone said could break through the cloud of despair.”
Until you’ve been in that position, you have no idea how strong emotions and thoughts are. And if the person felt like they had exhausted all of their means of trying to end the pain in an acceptable fashion, then they see no other way out. Judgmental comments about, “well, they didn’t seek out every source of help” is you seeing in from your perspective only. If you can’t see it from their perspective, you’re one of the lucky ones. Thanks for reading! Take what you can use and leave the rest.
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away. Today is a special day because I brought this beautiful little girl into our family. She is the epitome of being a survivor.
I had been wanting a new kitten for over a year. And I always thought that the name Onyx would be a great name for a black cat. I looked locally and the black kittens were either feral, no veterinary care or too expensive. But then I saw the story about this litter. And I just could not seem to put it out of my mind.
The story goes like this…Someone left a litter of kittens in a concrete parking lot in a metal cage. And there were two little ones that were hanging on for dear life. I know. I want to find those people and set them on fire too. People are just a special kind of evil for doing things like that. A lady saw them as she pulled up to the store and rescued them. And went to get veterinary care. She and her family also hand fed and spent countless hours and emotions making sure those two babies made it. A month later, I my heart told me, “That little girl is the one.”
Me and the owners talked, and I realized what this special little kitten would be for me. I met up with one of the owners at a neutral place. I got the kitten’s tiny little body out of her crate while she meowed. And I melted and then lost my breath all at once. That little girl melted my heart once I saw her. I lost my breath not from her beauty but from her tiny little “murder mittens” that reached out for safety and grabbed my boob. I felt like I had just been stabbed and was clinging to life. I’m pretty sure I dissociated too. I really hope the fear in my face and the gasp from my throat wasn’t noticed.
To keep from trying to make her a black cat when she is not, I have changed her name to Piper. And from what I can tell, the name suits her simply fine. We need each other. Her sisters Tink and Coco are not grateful for her arrival currently. I am guessing that it is because neither of them wanted to share lap space or cookies. I talked to them like toddlers saying, “We do not hiss and try to bite our friends. She is a kitten. Not a crocodile. And she is your sister.” They did not seem to care about the rationale. And they continue to hiss and sulk.
I am now at my “cat limit.” Me and my girls know how to do two things, “We know how to adapt to change and love.” We do not always do it with a smile on our faces and with love in our hearts. But little Piper is just what the three of us needed to complete our family unit.
Big brothers, Marshall and Copeland, will give her “a run for her money.” But they will no doubt love her too. She already speaks English and is sassy and mouthy just like her sisters. Stay tuned for more interactions with my three amigos. Welcome Home, Piper!
Thanks for reading! And Please Spay and Neuter Your Pets!
“Always remember, if you have been diagnosed with PTSD, it is not a sign of weakness; rather, if is proof of your strength, because you have survived!”
-Unknown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to take time out from celebrating Pride, to give light to National PTSD Awareness Day. This one hit hard as I’ve lived with PTSD longer than I’ve lived without it. And there are so many of us who don’t make it to the other end of the tunnel. It’s an incredibly dark place to wake up to and go to sleep with every night.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) dates back to ancient civilizations and military conflicts. Terms used early on included “combat-related stress,” “shellshock,” “combat fatigue,” and “railway spine.” In the 1800s and early 1900s, the “talking cure: was popularized by Sigmund Freud and introduced in medical literature. And the treatment went from psychoanalysis to electric shock treatment. By the 1950s, the treatments had become more humane. However, now people would not admit to any traumatic symptoms due to the stigma. So, group therapy and psychotropic medications were introduced (blackbearrehab.com, 2025).
In the 1970s Vietnam veterans began experiencing a lot of psychological problems that persisted even after returning home. And survivors of domestic abuse were also included. In the 1980s, PTSD was officially recognized as a mental health problem. Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders adopted the diagnosis where it has remained (blackbearrehab.com, 2025).
PTSD is a developed from a traumatic event. C- PTSD when a traumatic event continues for months and years or multiple events occur. The intrusive thoughts, flashbacks, insomnia, avoidance, memory problems, detachment from friends and family, feeling emotionally numb, hyper startle, irritability, trouble concentrating, impulsive behavior, paranoia, severe anxiety, nightmares, suicidal ideations and actions and uncontrollable thoughts about the event. And over time, these symptoms completely devour who you once were (MayoClinic.org, 2025).
I know that PTSD is typically related to soldiers. I am here to tell you that I never went into the military. But the PTSD that I deal with, as a result of domestic violence, grabbed hold of me and has never let go. It has completely stripped me of everything that I used to enjoy. I don’t care about relationships. I question people about their intentions, even if they’re pure and good. I’m constantly waiting for the next shoe to drop. I don’t have typical reactions to being scared. I could see a moth out, of the corner of my peripheral vision, and then jump and scream like Jeffery Dahmer was staring at me and about to take the first bite. I face the stigmas of both friends and family mainly due to a lack of understanding. However, the reasearch information is everywhere. Sometimes others just need to their own leg work. I have come to realize that instead of trying to find out how PTSD affects someone that you love, it’s “the easy way out” to just to be dismissive, embarrassed and judgmental instead. The attitude is “just change X behavior.” Without having a solution, the resounding message of “just make it go away” further ostracizes the person that you say you care about. And so the anticipated glimmer of hope dissipates further isolating the individual. And sadly, can lead to suicide.
PTSD is not about you, it’s about them. It’s just a diagnosis until it’s “you” that experiences it every day. It has taken me down to the point of putting a gun in my mouth. And because living in the abuse was so severe, I actually pulled the trigger after pointing the gun at my torso. It missed my heart by only a few centimeters. Nothing was messed up to the point of needing surgery. But self-harm is something that I’ve dealt with since I was a 13-year-old child. And I had no idea how to deal with all the overwhelming emotions of abuse. In that cold, dark closet where I began to self-harm, and as maladaptive as the behavior is, it worked. It was the only thing that worked to bring me back to complete balance. But the problem is that it became a true addiction issue that I continue to struggle with. And before you ask, yes I’ve done a lot of therapy. It’s not that the therapy doesn’t. It’s that the addiction is that strong.
PTSD is a true injury on the brain. The brain’s job is to help you survive in any way possible. So, we reach for anything to help calm the barrage of intrusive thoughts, memories, smells and sounds. And once it’s been damaged through a traumatic event, it creates a “work around” solution. What typically works? Self-harm and substance abuse creates almost instant comfort. You don’t have to wait for 6-8 weeks to reach your therapeutic dose efficacy to begin working. It’s an immediate fix that some of have to use just to stay alive.
Cannabis was recommended when all other “Big Pharma” medications failed. And it has saved my life on a daily basis ever since. Cannabis seems to put a cloud over my brain saying, “Settle just for a moment.” And for that moment, I can take a break from the constant paranoia and overstimulation of a brain that wanted to do nothing more than survive. And that, is my battlefield. It wasn’t in Iraq, Afghanistan or Vietnam. My battlefield is everywhere I go. I fear people and social situations in a way that most cannot understand.
It literally takes me about a week in advance to start prepping to leave my house just to go to pick up medications,that I,unfortunately have to take. But I don’t take anymore psych meds. I was extremely sick, coming off all the meds that I had been begging for over two years to be tapered off. And I got tired of waiting, so I did it myself. I don’t advise this way because it was a really miserable process. However, I was at a point of desperation. And now about 6 months later, I feel like a new human being after the toxic feeling of all the medications. All of my true feelings and emotions have awakened, and I really like feeling somewhat comfortable at times.
My personal opinion is that anyone returning home from the active duty should be handed an ounce of weed the minute they step off the plane to do with as they wish. And it would be perfectly ok if they gave it away. That’s like paying it forward in “Weed-O-Nomics.” As it stands, soldiers come home from a war that never ends. And they are committing suicide at a rate of 22 soldiers a day. And that is less than unacceptable.
As the topic of cannabis continues to circulate among social circles and national politics, I hope that veterans from our military will step out against the shame that is felt from social stigmas. And reach for the plant that can “help take the gun out of your mouth.” Cannabis doesn’t cure PTSD because it wasn’t the one who caused it. But it does make things much more tolerable.
Thanks for reading! Happy Pride everyone!
Affirmation: I am resilient and capable of healing.
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today I want to talk about one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. Coming out of the closet! Holy Cow what a topic! This is a topic that is as individual as a fingerprint. Anyone who has ever had to assert yourself as more than the typical “straight” person knows how very difficult it can be. My situation wasn’t any easier.
Growing up in the deep south of Mississippi you are expected to have a certain path to adulthood. Go to school. Graduated high school. Go to college for more school. Meet and marry someone of the opposite gender. Have children with your husband or wife. Always say, “For the bible tells me so.” And perpetuate this cycle. You are not to EVER consider loving someone of the same sex. But what if you, no matter how hard you try, cannot be straight? Apparently, no one has an answer for that. They just hide behind their bibles and tell you it’s wrong. This was even more pronounced because I live in the “Bible Belt” area of the state. Here’s my coming out story.
I knew at a young age that I was going to be different. I had no idea how or why. I just knew that it was how my life would be. I began having feelings about being gay when I was a teenager. I dare not tell anyone. The best thing I knew to do was keep it all hidden. I wasn’t overtly acting gay. I was just a “homie” to my guy friends. And I never really hung out with the girls unless I was excelling at the lesbian “gateway” sports of basketball and softball. I never really had many boyfriends because I wasn’t attracted to them. This was more out of choice. I just couldn’t seem to connect with any.
On top of all the tumultuous years of a trauma filled adolescence, I realized early on that I would also have to stuff my “authentic self” into a closet where I would remain until my 30s. I know. It sounds horrible and it was. I’ve always heard, “That parenting doesn’t come with a manual” and I truly believe that statement being a parent myself. But being a gay teen also doesn’t come with a manual. The only thing I’ve ever heard is that being gay is wrong. There was never really any explanation except that the Bible says so as they would claim. The topic about being gay was also attributed to getting HIV/AIDS. Yes, I grew up in the 80s. So for the longest time I thought that if anyone ever found out that I wasn’t straight, God would kill me with AIDS.
I took the bait of a man nineteen years older than me. I don’t really know why because I wasn’t attracted to men. He was incredibly abusive in various ways. And four years later, I would marry him. I knew that I wasn’t meant for him because the abuse escalated over the next ten years to a level that still horrifies me to this day. But I did, in fact, marry a man. I remember thinking, “No wonder everyone hates being married.” I continued in that marriage knowing that there was nothing about it that I truly loved, especially him. I did, however, continue being a wife and my wifely duties.
At one point I asked him, “Why are you being like this to me?” To which he replied, “Because the Bible told me so. I am the husband and you are the wife. And you are to do what I say.” And that was the end of the discussion. He would take this role to a very perverse level, always beating me over the head with the Bible to justify his actions including rape. I would eventually leave him and his abusive ways by the hair of my chinny, chin, chin. And it felt so good.
No more being ordered to perform sexual favors that I hated doing. And many times said “no” only to be told, “that if I didn’t that he would take it anyway.” No more pretending like I was happy in public and then crying tears in private. And it wasn’t just because he was so mean that I left. I just wasn’t “straight” and I couldn’t face another day of living that lie.
Six months later as we are going through a horrible divorce,he and his family’s threats and intimidation were just that. One day, though, I would be introduced to a woman who I knew instantly that I loved. We became very close friends very quickly. And we ended up “uhauling”like most lesbians do. For the first time in my life, I was going to love who I wanted to love versus being told who to love. And it was the most beautiful thing that I ever experienced. She was exactly who I wanted to be with.
Being a party to a scandalous relationship like the one with my ex-husband taught me “toughen up your skin because one day you will need that lesson to reflect on.” And I would soon come to understand what all of that meant. I was scared but confident because I felt that my family would understand having gone through hell with the ex. So, we sat with both of my parents and I told them that I was a lesbian and I loved Mel. Yep, that shit went over like “a turd in the punch bowl.” They would make it very clear that saying that she loved me for me didn’t matter. It only mattered that she had a vagina. I would also learn soon enough that the reaction was “because it would hurt their reputation and how that might impact their “church life.” It didn’t seem to matter that I could’ve died in that closet. Because I almost did.
I was hurt but I didn’t care. For once I was becoming my “authentic self”, one piece at a time. We moved away to Albuquerque, NM where we took solace in a lesbian group. Finally, though, we were free to love each other openly. And no one cared. We would go on to have two handsome little boys who call us mommas. And I continued fighting battles within my family over their ignorance. I still have family who won’t talk to me or let me be around their kids because, I guess their kids will catch the “gay virus” from me. And others, who won’t even acknowledge my existence because of how it looks in the family.
That hard lesson about having “thick skin” is that it has given me the strength to stand up for myself and others in the LGBTQ+ communities as we stand together demanding equality for all. These days there aren’t many people who try to debate those topics because my reputation of being a “verbal sniper” will shut them up very quickly. And my beautiful boys also know that no matter who they love or how they identify, it is absolutely ok. And that hateful things are said by people who stand behind the Bible in order to justify their right to be hurtful. And sometimes people ask you not to show up at the church because they don’t want anyone they know to see those beautiful rainbows. Maybe, however, it’s just because my light will shine too bright for their comfort level. What I had to learn through my process is that their ignorance is about them, not me.
You see, the Jesus I was always told about is someone who loves people no matter what gender or sexuality we are. Because we are made in “his” image. We are not made in his “straight” image. But when I came out, all of a sudden I was told how mad it would make him and how I would be punished. Apparently, there is a different mainline number than what I have in my phone.
I’m sorry. I just don’t believe that at all. I think that God is so proud of me for discovering my “authentic self” because I no longer live a lie. And having the courage to stand up for others who are abused by religion based on their gender or sexuality is not ok. My sons have asked me on more than one occasion, “Momma, how do you know that?” I tell them, “Son, because the Bible tells me so. And LOVE IS LOVE.”
I wasn’t built to live my life in a box or a closet. And neither are you. So if it goes against societal norms and makes me unpopular, then so be it. Keep fighting my LGBTQ+ family. Enjoy being authentically you. No one will ever have the power to love you like you do. Those rainbows make us look fabulous! Happy Pride everyone!
“There’s no right or wrong way to be gay. No right or wrong way to come out. It’s your journey, do it the way you wanna do it.”
“I was tired of pretending that I was someone else just to have a good relationship with people, for the sake of having friendships.”
-Kurt Cobain
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! I thought today, while staying in line about mental health awareness, it would be a clever idea to explore why we pretend that we are ok when we aren’t. And what are the reasons for doing this?
When someone asks, “How are you doing?” Most of the time they just expect the typical answer, “I’m fine.” Truthfully, though, most people do not don’t give a shit about how you are really doing. And when you tell them, you are met with an instant cellular retraction. You are seen as boundaryless or too overbearing. The truth, however, is that most people don’t know how to deal with anything that’s perceived as abnormal. My opinion is, “You asked how I was doing? So, guess what? I’m going to tell you exactly how I’m doing.” I do that sometimes just to see the reaction of others.
When I was doing my undergraduate studies, one of my beloved professors explained this very thing. And ever since, I’ve assessed those theories only to prove them right repeatedly. I am not saying this as a blanket statement. But the truth is the truth. People back away from what they don’t understand. That’s about them, not you.
It does not speak about you as a human being. We have been conditioned as human beings, as a species, to be accepted and wanted despite the personal cost. Social media is all about presenting something that the average person considers useful in some way. It does not mean that what you witness is how someone is truly feeling. The conditioning that is implied is that without millions of followers, gets labeled as unworthiness. So, we put on a happy face and try to stay in some form of societal compliance as “normal” which doesn’t have a definitive definition. But do you know what the term “normal” actually is? It’s a setting on a washing machine. The term “normal” is actually a subjective term that doesn’t have a concrete definition. It’s nothing more than someone’s interpretation and social constructs of mainstream behavior.
When we tell people we are ok when we really aren’t, is a “hail Mary” attempt at acceptance. But when we do that, we deny our true feelings and experiences. A big turn off when dealing with people is how they tell me how I should or shouldn’t feel about a situation. What this does is minimize the person’s feelings. It’s not up to you to tell them that their feelings are “ridiculous.” However, the damage has been done. You just sent an unspoken message to the individual who asked the question, that they are not worthy of your time. And it’s incredibly hurtful. And since they aren’t a therapist trained on how to respond appropriately and therapeutically, the damage that is potentially caused can be catastrophic. So, instead of a positive act of vulnerability, the vulnerability is now covered in shame. We can develop a fear of vulnerability based on that one experience. And we also tend to prematurely judge every person and conversation thereafter in the same light.
I can’t tell you how many times I have been told that my fears and phobias are preposterous. But the situation that caused the fear was in fact very real. And its people, who have never gone through the same precipitating factors nor situation, who seem to have all the “correct” answers. I have been told some of those very things when it took everything I had to just be vulnerable enough to tell someone what happened. It has created so many therapeutic “pitfalls” because of the fear and shame that I was left with from the very beginning of my trauma history. So many times, I could’ve gotten help sooner, but I suffered in silence because of how unworthy I felt trying to tell the wrong person that I needed help. And sadly, there are many people who die by their own hand. Shame was the killer.
Sometimes all you need to do is just hold a “non-judgmental” space for someone to talk. You don’t have to, nor do you need to have the answers. You are NOT a therapist. You are a “sounding board” at best. However, “non-judgmental” space is usually not common unless you’re sharing space with a competent therapist who understands the powerful and most sought-after form of safety that deserves the utmost respect.
The most supportive thing you can say to someone who approaches you needing that “sacred space,” is, “I might not know how to help you, but your feelings are valid and I will listen supportively until we can find a mental health professional to help you.” That simple statement can change the course of someone’s life. You don’t have to be smart. You just have to be a HUMAN. Thanks for reading! Keep smiling!
Affirmation: I am a work in progress, and that is okay.
“I find it quite ironic that the most dangerous thing about weed is getting caught with it.”
-Bill Murray
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go aways. Okie dokie! Today marks my second favorite time of the year. Yep it’s the month of 420! Not everyone agrees with it. For me though, it has saved my life. To the naysayers, there is absolutely nothing you can tell me negatively that I’ll believe about the plant called cannabis.
Cannabis has been around for forever and ever amen with a lot of negative connotations. My own family still takes issue with the fact that federally it’s still considered illegal. And you can’t really have a conversation about it because some of them are not willing to discuss the science. In a lot of ways vilifying this plant because of the Nancy Reagan 80’s seems to have stuck. I have family members that are earthy, crunchy thinkers in regard to health. And their lives all about healing with fruits, vegetables and herbs. But so am I. I like fruits, vegetables and herbs too. I just smoke my herbs. The side effects are very simple: sleepy, happy and hungry. “Big Pharma” on the other hand are constantly being sued for all of the harmful side effects. No thank you to medications that cause more harm than good. And drinking and driving home is the much safer option?
Over the years cannabis has gotten a horrible name. It’s not because it’s a dangerous drug. In fact, cannabis is one of the healthiest plants available. Our country has now made it a priority to invest money into science and discovering the healing properties. And there are scientific studies proving that cannabis isn’t as bad as once thought.
Unlike alcohol and other harmful drugs, cannabis continues to provide people with life saving medicine as it has for me. It’s healing cannabinoids help with chronic pain, epilepsy, anxiety, multiple sclerosis, PTSD, alzheimer’s disease, chemotherapy induced nausea and vomiting, insomnia, cancer, fighting cancer, inflammatory bowel disease, tourette syndrome, crohn’s disease, depression, HIV/AIDS, muscle spasms, anorexia, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, addiction, inflammation,parkinson’s disease, PTSD, reducing blood pressure, anxiety disorders, stabilizing blood sugar, decreasing overdose rates, opioid dependence, spinal cord injuries, dystonia, dementia, glaucoma, schizophrenia and other medical and psychological problems (ncbi.nlm.nih.gov, 2017).
The days of believing that cannabis is a drug that causes great bodily harm are over. Hallelujah! Now let me point out one thing. Cannabis isn’t for everyone just like certain pharmaceuticals aren’t. And I agree that some people might have some type of addiction issues. However, there is no physical withdrawal that occurs. It is impossible to overdose on cannabis. You might take or use too much, causing intoxication. But that’s not the plant’s fault. If you have a problem with addiction to this, it is a “you” problem not the substance.
I can only speak for myself as one who has a lengthy history of addiction, I have never had a problem with marijuana. The problems have always come back to myself and the maladaptive ways of coping. Buying marijuana off the streets where most of it has come from cartels, it can be sprayed with poisons which increase the effects and dependency. And this is also where a lot of the paranoia stems from. Yes, there are people who complain about paranoia induced by cannabis that is bought from very safe dispensaries. These cases are very minimal on a broad scale. So, marijuana might not fit you as an individual. However,for people like me who continue to reap the benefits of this plant minus the addiction, I can say that it has truly saved my life. And as a result has lowered the amount of suicidal ideations that used to plague me on a daily basis.
The effects of PTSD continue to complicate my life. The overwhelming symptoms are not near what they once were. Cannabis does NOT cure PTSD. It simply helps with the unfriendly symptoms and side effects. I have gone from being on close to fifteen psychiatric “big pharma” medications down to zero. I didn’t see the point of taking Parkinson’s medication for a side effect of the anti-depressant. Not to mention that I wasn’t able to experience emotions in a way to gauge how I was healing. And everything from the waist down was literally dead. If that’s the price you pay for happiness, then I would rather be sad. I still struggle hard sometimes. And that is where working with coach is other beneficial piece to my treatment. If it is not a substance that doesn’t work for you then move on. But don’t demonize this medication for those of us that it helps to ensure survivability. Thanks for reading! Keep moving forward.
“It is irresponsible not to provide the best care we can as a medical community, care that could involve marijuana. We have been terribly and systematically misled for nearly 70 years in the United States, and I apologize for my own role in that.”
“Nothing is more creative…nor destructive…than a brilliant mind with a purpose.”
-Dan Brown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Wow. I had no idea that I would write about this topic today. And it’s a concept that has haunted me for many years. What is my purpose in life?
Is my purpose to see how many punches I can take and still walk out of the fire alive? Ok. I’ve done that and continued to do that on a daily basis. Is it to conform to societal standards of what “normal” is? That will never be me. Is it to tackle difficult subjects that make people cringe? You’re getting warmer. Well, let me see if I can discern the information that I know without a doubt.
1. I love helping people. Helping people is a burden on your soul. You don’t decide to help people because of a dollar sign. Helping people whether on an ambulance or in an addiction facility has always been my niche. My actions are done because of a calling that I was born to do. If anyone needs help and I can provide it, I will. That is one of the things that my family dynamics impressed upon me.
2. Helping and caring for animals. You also don’t just decide to have compassion for animals. Some people say these things and yet I watch them beat their animals without constraint. My ex-husband has always said that he was an animal lover. That is the farthest thing from the truth. I’ll never forget the screams of my animals when he would take a belt, in the middle of the night, and go beat them. And I was completely powerless to defend them. When I left that horribly abusive situation, my animals were killed. My animals and the other animals that I interact with are my kids. I learned a long time ago, that I could trust animals when I couldn’t humans.
3. Speaking up about difficult topics. I have no problem talking about really difficult topics in society. Sometimes it doesn’t make me the most popular person. And I don’t care. The topics of racism, mental illness, addiction, abuse, medical cannabis, suicide, self-harm, sexual abuse, puberty, predators, LGBTQ+ equality, rape, parenting or any other topic that makes us cringe. What you don’t see is how sometimes I struggle discussing them. Part of that is because of how I was raised. In the deep south, we are taught to not create any waves as it might reflect poorly on the family. And to know our places as children which was to always respect your elders without question. But what if you are a bystander to something that is abusive, and you don’t speak up? That’s what keeps me up at night. The personal information that I blog about that has happened or is currently happening in my life isn’t always pretty. And I realize that I’m not the savior who can swoop in and rescue people. I can, however, do my part as a human being. And, yes, I still worry about things that I cannot control and still become obsessions.
4. Writing is a passion. I began writing out of necessity. When I left my abusive therapist, I felt completely broken. The person I went to for help betrayed me in a way that continues to affect me. And unless you have been abused, you have no idea the hurdles that would have to be overcome to continue moving forward. And the complete disconnect between your emotions and your brain So, I began writing about topics that were affecting me in that moment. And suddenly, I began to get relief even if I hadn’t found the answers that I needed. I finally felt like I had a voice that deserved to be heard. I was tired of remaining quite as I had been expected to do my whole life. That’s when I realized that I wasn’t all those names that I had been called. I was someone who had information and experiences to share in order to help others. I have always felt alone no matter how many people I was around or despite the number of smiles that I put on my face. Blogging itself is a platform to help others in similar situations understand that they are not alone. Had someone just explained to me that my situations were not ok and that millions of people, worldwide, suffer in silence as I have, maybe that sense of loneliness would’ve diminished. However, when it’s happening to you especially all of the manipulation and brainwashing that occurs, you cannot see past the moment. Abuse leaves you questioning everything about the next person and even those in my family. I knew one thing for sure, I could not remain quiet.
5. Humor brings me enjoyment. Humor has always been one of my greatest coping skills. I go through life as a literal thinker. So, if someone has a “Freudian slip” I will laugh myself silly even if that slip up was from myself. Humor a lot of times was used against me to make me a public spectacle. And it was done in a very demeaning way. As a way of life, I learned how to beat someone to the punch on a smartass comment. I always try to see the humor in most situations. And when there is no humor, I will find a way to interject some of my own. This gets me in trouble sometimes because that’s not conforming to those around me. And I’m expected to just let crazy happenings go without acknowledgment. That’s like putting a plastic bag over my head and being expected to breathe when the air is gone. I will always point out the sometimes-ridiculous way a situation looks. And I’ll probably write a note about it in my phone to use at a later date. I’m not right or wrong. It’s just how I operate.
My passion and purpose is to help others understand that just because you have taken the broken road in life doesn’t mean that you still can’t achieve happiness and also help others. I write about a lot of maladaptive behaviors that I continue to struggle with. But I also share my experience, strength and hope with those need that need the validation that they are not inherently bad or unworthy of happiness, love and inclusion. I still struggle with that concept. If you are a human being, you will fail. You will fall. You will be forced to confront your demons head-on. And it will scare the literal shit out of you. You will be forced to look at your part in situations. If you do not, you will remain stuck. You except your responsibility and move on whether or not the others do the same. You are responsible for only your feelings and emotions that are constantly changing. If they don’t except their responsibility, then they will shift the blame back to you. Push that shit out of the way. Hold your head high. And leave those people like a boss. You are worthy. You are loved. And you are enough!
“Be a lamp, or a lifeboat, or a ladder. Help someone’s soul heal. Walk out of your house like a shepherd.”
“To make mistakes is human; to stumble is commonplace. To be able to laugh at yourself is maturity.”
-William Arthur Ward
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy goes away. Okie dokie! Today I want to tell you about one of my follies. I began many years ago working for a local veterinarian. Ok, it was a long time ago. I wasn’t surprised because my love and very strong connection with animals just led me in that direction. Then the opportunity presented itself so that I could house sit people’s pets while they were away. I have taken care of dogs, cats, frogs, pigs and others that at one time or another had their own follies. This was one of those times.
I was housesitting a little, old poodle named Abby. This old girl is spicy in her own way. She is so sassy, in fact, that when her owners are gone she DEMANDS that I give her multiple treats every time I go see her. While I enjoy spending time with her, we have our own schedule for how we do things. I go to her house and open the door and start looking for her. Being an aged girl, sometimes she doesn’t hear me walk in. I frantically begin looking for her when I don’t see her because in my mind I’m looking for a body. She is in great health to be so old. But the thought that nature will act when I least expect it is one of my greatest fears. I couldn’t find her initially. But I soon find her lying in her cozy bed sound asleep. So, I gently start petting her and startled when she awakens with the look of, “How did you get in here without me knowing?” I always act excited to see her so that she knows that everything is ok on my end of the relationship. However, this particular night had much more in store for me than I bargained for.
I take her outside as usual for her night time potty session. Before I lock up for the night I always make sure that she has food and water available in both areas of the house that have been designated in advance. I walk to the back of the house and enter a back bedroom. What I saw horrified me. There is a purse that has been knocked to the ground and everything strewn from within including lipstick. Naturally, I think, “Oh no! Someone has gotten into the house and robbed Jojo and Poppy!” I look around the room and notice that a family picture has been knocked off the wall and I think, “I have watched many hours of true crime shows and know that these signs are because of something personal.” Then I get really scared. I make a mental note and then begin constructing a plan for how I would reach safety. I can’t scream or make any loud noises because if the criminal was still in the house I could get murdered. I know. My past trauma has led to this moment.
I quickly walk back through the house with my eye on the front door. I also pay very close attention when moving past other doorways while keeping an eye out for intruders. I have a feeling that this night could be my last. I finally make it to the front door and out I go. I don’t know why I didn’t think of Abby at this moment. Apparently, though, I must’ve thought everyone for himself. I make it to the middle of the driveway and call my daddy who lives directly across the street. With a shaking voice and body I tell him, “Jojo and Poppy’s house has been robbed.” I explained what I had seen and he said he would come over and check things himself. When he makes it to where I’m standing I begin telling the story all over again. As you can imagine, I was very animated.
We walked back into the house together. I am thinking, “Now both me and my daddy are going to die!” I followed him while telling him, “Daddy be careful they could still be in here.” We finally made it to the back bedroom and I showed him exactly what I had seen. He began to look things over and we saw a pack of saltine crackers in one of the recliners that had been absolutely demolished. I said, “Crap! The intruder needed a snack!” So, now I’m positive that the criminal is well nourished and ready to kill. He walks over to where a picture in a frame laid face down on the floor. I said to him, “See that’s what I was telling you.” He bent down to pick it up and he said, “Dana, this is a scale for someone to weigh on.” My eyesight has failed me on numerous occasions. And apparently this was another time. He looked through Jojo’s purse and the scene before us and said, “I bet that dog got those crackers out of her purse and then dragged them over to the recliner where she had her little snack.” I called Jojo reluctantly and explained the situation to which she had a good laugh. She said, “Yea, Abby is probably mad that we’ve been gone too long.” It turns out that that was, in fact, what had happened. There was no boogerman that needed a snack that night. Only a sassy little poodle who thought, “My momma and daddy have been gone too long so, I will eat her leftover crackers in her purse while I drag everything else out. And I’ll set up the whole situation so that Dana will think that she is about to get murdered.”
I tell you this comical story to let you know that it’s ok to laugh at yourself. Life happens sometimes in the most comical of ways. Abby is doing fine and is still demanding multiple treats each time I go to check on her. And that little spicy old lady continues to bless my life each and every time our eyes meet.
“If you can laugh at yourself, you are going to be fine. If you allow others to laugh with you, you will be great.”
“I am just a human being trying to make it in a world that is rapidly losing its understanding of being human.”
-John Trudell
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! I want to clarify one thing before I get into the topic for today. This blog is more like an online journal of sorts. I write about things that affect me at this moment. Many topics repeat and that’s perfectly ok. Each thing I write about is in some way me moving forward even if at a snail’s pace. Trauma is not one of those things that you can talk about today and it will be gone tomorrow. Those who have never been in therapy or are from a generation where therapy was not an option don’t get this concept. And truthfully neither did I. Heck, even though I grew up in the 1980’s therapy was only for the lifestyle of the rich and famous. Nevertheless, the trauma still left its mark.
All of this has been a process that doesn’t have a set time limit. And to think that I can process some of these gut wrenching problems on Monday and then on Tuesday be able to say and believe that the hurt and pain won’t resurface is only a pipe dream that leads to disappointment. You have to have a therapist who is compassionate and patient to say the least. And with my coach that is exactly what I got. And the time it takes to find a therapist that is a good fit sometimes involves more trauma. And it certainly did for me. It took me over forty years to become dysfunctional to this extreme. So, to think that all of that can be wiped out with even a few years of intense therapy is very unrealistic.
Today I want to talk about imperfection. The holidays are so incredibly stressful for me as with most people. I think it’s just all of the emotions of being around more people than I’m used to. And when the Frat Pad is in full swing with our crew it can be exhausting. Don’t get me wrong, I love hanging with my boys and friends. However, after all of the holidays are said and done I am completely exhausted. Maybe it’s because when we are all together we are all on such an emotional high that when it’s all over with my mind and body say, “Dana, What the hell were you thinking? You don’t have to do everything to extremes!” For the last several weeks I just can’t seem to get my energy back. I can’t sleep. I have been in a horrible depression.
As a child we don’t really think about the concept of “imperfection.” We go through our little child life learning from our mistakes on a daily basis. And that’s the way it should be. As we grow, socially, emotionally and physically everything begins to change. We begin to form our own view of the world and expectations that we have for ourselves. Maybe it’s just a combination of societal, personal, environmental, and familiar experiences that begin to teach us that ‘perfection” is the only way to be. Not all are affected in a negative way.
My life was affected negatively because of my experiences. When you are very impressionable at a young age simultaneously, your brain is still underdeveloped. You begin to see life for what it is either negatively or positively. If you are exposed like I was to narcissists who only told me that no matter what I did, I would never be good enough, my life began to play out just like that. I learned very quickly that not being perfect meant that my life was not as worthy as others. Little by little this core belief that I was inherently unworthy of good things continued to chip away at me until waking up every day became a punishment rather than a gift. And since the age of 13, I have been chronically suicidal. I still completely disregard dangerous and impulsive behaviors that are very detrimental at the very least.
When I was married to my ex-husband he took my whole feeling of inadequacy and belief that I wasn’t worthy of love, acceptance and compassion to an all time high. Instead of taking the information that I told him about my life to show me everything that I had been missing, he used it as a weapon to have ultimate control over me. Not to mention that he was also nineteen years my senior. I was so naive that I held onto his every word as truth. The “truth” however was that he was and still is a very sick man who was also horribly abused by his father. And to my knowledge was NEVER told that he was loved by him. So, if he wasn’t in control including his perfectionistic ways then he felt completely out of control. And he perpetuated that abuse onto me.
One of his favorite things to tell me was, “I’m not the one with the mental history.” And the fact of the matter is this, he has never gone to see a therapist for any of his issues. His mental illness has just never been diagnosed. It doesn’t not mean that he doesn’t have a mental illness. Therapy also requires a level of rigorous honesty about yourself that he is incapable of being. I will be the first to tell you that therapy isn’t always fun. However, it is necessary regardless how far down the spectrum you may go. When I needed therapy in my teens therapy was not possible. So, even though I began seeing a therapist in 2009 my work didn’t truly begin until about 8 years ago. At the time, I was undiagnosed with a very serious trauma related disorder that not just every professional knows how to treat. It goes way beyond basic depression and anxiety issues. The problem was so much more complex than I had any concept to be able to understand at that time. And let me just point out that any level of depression and anxiety are in their own way completely miserable.
I had a therapist long ago tell me when I was in despair about always making mistakes tell me, “Welcome to the human race.” And I never understood what that meant until years later. I still make a lot of mistakes as a human being. I take as much as I can and I fall. I still get angry and say hurtful things. And I also still go to bed many nights with tears in my eyes. I’m now learning how to embrace my whole self mistakes and all. And I’m trying not to let the opinions of those who bled out on me for crimes I didn’t commit determine my self worth. My imperfection is what classifies me as being “PERFECTLY IMPERFECT.”
“I don’t have to be perfect. All I have to do is show up and enjoy the messy, imperfect and beautiful journey of my life.”
“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal,love leaves a memory no one can steal.”
-Unknown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today marks the 10th anniversary since Sarah died. Recently, I have done some work in therapy about her loss. What I’ve learned is how traumatic events never seem to lose their power. While it’s always been very upsetting to me to live without her. Re-experiencing those moments with the full force of emotions is decapitating my soul. And I truthfully, had no idea that I carried that much emotional exhaustion.
I have been asked before “why do you refer to her as like a God?” To me Sarah wasn’t just a friend. She was so many things to me. But most of all she was my hero. I sought her guidance as a struggling alcoholic/drug addict. But years later and the respect for a seemingly genuine woman progressed to a relationship where I experienced unconditional love and acceptance for no other reason than because I existed. I just needed someone who cared on all levels. And it was her.
I hungered for the peace that she seemed to carry around in her soul. I watched her from all angles and she was the most authentic person I had ever seen. And I was very intrigued. She was the same no matter where she went. Our very close relationship was like a “maternal mentor.” I wanted to learn everything I possibly could about her “road to peace and serenity.” There was a mutual space that we held for each other with the utmost respect. She was my “safe person.”
We spent many hours talking about life and the broken roads we had both taken. And I saw how she had risen. And how I was barely breathing. Over the years she became my “Mr. Miyagi” and my “Yoda.” Every Time I was around her I learned another lesson about life. And it was exactly what I needed. And I flourished. I had begun to rebuild my shattered self-confidence, self-worth, self image and the idea that I was entitled to love, happiness and belongingness just like everyone else.
I continued to struggle with addiction for a while. And Oh the boundaries. Anyone that knew her also knew that she was a boundary setting “queen.” Boundaries were placed before me many, many times. That was just something else that she taught me.
It wasn’t “rules” coming from an authority figure with her. It was simply teaching me about boundaries and standing up when they are tested. And she also taught me about our own boundaries and why we deserve for them to be respected. I realized that my way of thinking was courtesy of generational patterns of insanity. She praised individuality, autonomy and authenticity.
I began to notice that I was changing. My thinking, heart, conscience, was all changing for the better. I needed the stability of someone who was loving and consistent. And I’m sorry but there are just not that many people like that who possess both qualities. And I thanked God everyday for the blessings I received that allowed me to be open enough to experience “love” for the first time since stepping onto the gravel of my broken road.
I had, once again, found that passion for life and the ability to succeed which was lost for many years. I began excelling as a student. And I realized that I was not too dumb to learn. And about the symbolism of the Phoenix in Greek Mythology. The symbol of the camel in 12-step recovery. And about living life on life’s terms. And about her walk with Jesus. And how life is about acceptance even if it’s not the hand that you wanted dealt. The woman I speak of I would’ve laid down my life for. And I still will at the speaking of her name.
And when she died, I’ve been unable to move past my grief. Instead I burned every bridge that I could. And I found dreams and ambitions in the safe confine of isolation slowly withering away. I guess over the years I never saw having to live life without her or her guidance. But here we are. And her absence is more than I can bear.
I exist but I no longer live. I keep chasing the monster that keeps chasing me. Again I am the shell of who I used to be. Shouldn’t her memory and advice propel me past that? Shouldn’t living a life that I know would please her give me the energy to help me carry on? Maybe. But my heart feels none of that. I am paralyzed by fear, grief, loneliness, sadness and debilitating depression. But I do have my memories. I guess sometimes, though, the wounds are just too great.
“The absence of your loved one will lead to a profound wound of their loss that will never completely mend. But they will forever reside in your heart and will remain partially broken.”
-Unknown
***Don’t forget to watch the video at the end!!!***
I wake up, puddle of sweat I have nightmares, and I get back into bed It’s like these voices just keep playing on repeat in the back of my head And I can’t get them to leave me alone Thirty-years old but still hates being alone when I’m home Because that’s when the voices get the loudest Opening up like this is a moment far from my proudest But these demons keep pressin’ me, I swear they’re the foulest But I’ve grown comfortable with their presence, my conscious is calloused My dreams are their playground, my thoughts are their palace I tried to evict them, they returned with more Anxiety isn’t an item you can return at the store I was 10 the first time I had a panic attack Like a punch to the stomach, there’s no planning for that And I didn’t tell anyone because I was too scared about what they’d say And I knew deep down that there was nothing they could do to take it away It was my fight to fight and my battle to face I remember that house I grew up in and how those demons would rattle that place I’d lay awake at night just staring at the ceiling I’ve spent my whole life trying to run from that feeling That feeling of being lonely, that feeling of being lost That feeling of being sick when the lights turn off That feeling of being depressed, that feeling of being anxious That feeling of screaming to God begging Him to take this Only to get silence in return I’d lay in that bed crying, and I’d toss and I’d turn And I turn and I toss to this day The doctors gave me medication, the pastor said pray I tried both, and this anxiety still hasn’t gone away So forgive me if I fantasize about being gone today I’m an actor who got really good at being on today But when I turn off, I go right back into the shadows I’m in the deep-end now, but I started in the shallows And I might just drown myself in these waves Suburbian hell, these homes are all graves Everyone’s coping with something but won’t admit it, they’re all too afraid And these kids are glued to watching me, what do I say? If I’m honest with them, maybe they won’t think highly of me Everything they want me to be is what I’m dying to be But everything I really am is what I’m not trying to be I want them to know that they’re not alone in their struggles I wake up in tears and fall back asleep in those puddles And I don’t ever think I’ll get out of this valley I’m in Terrified that all along God has tallied my sins And if He has, the number must be astronomic My life is a joke, and you keep reading, just pass the comic Because everything you think that I am is far from the truth I wish I could open up to you and just let loose But my vocal cords get tight when the Devil pulls on this noose And then I’m back to keeping everything bottled up inside But he’s not gonna keep me from pulling the throttle back this time He’s not gonna keep me trapped like this I can’t get out of bed, I was never made to act like this I’m packing up my bags, and he can’t stop me from running fast like this I’m not gonna be a slave to these voices of anxiety I’m shoving the Devil back for every time that he lied to me And I’m taking a belt to these demons who whisper despair in my ear And I’m ignoring every naysayer who stands and stares when I’m near I’m moving forward out of this slump I took my bruises, I took my lumps I fell down, but I got right back up So give me a torch, and let’s light that up I’m setting fire to the Devil, and I’m dousing these demons in gasoline Look at you now, now you’re not laughing at me Now who’s the one who’s being tortured and punked? Now who’s the one closing every door that I want? Now who’s the one watching the other burn the ground? Don’t look away from me, you better turn back around I’m not done talking to you now I’m watching your moves I’m on your back, and I’m stalking you, too And when you try to ruin some other kid’s life, I’ll be stoppin’ you, too You took thirty years of my life, and I can’t get that back You told me to end my life, and I nearly got killed for that You took me down, but I bounced right back I was lost then, and I got found like that And everything you told me I wasn’t someone new told me I was And everything you hated in me someone new told me He loves And when you tried to kill me with depression and anxiety He reached in and placed hope deep inside of me So I’m done listening to you and letting you control me I’m announcing it now that the Devil can’t hold me I’m walking away from the old me And I’m demanding a refund on every lie that you sold me You knew I’d find a way out sooner or later And I found my escape in the form of a Savior.
***This is just a little nugget of gold during the pandemic that I never posted.***
Until very recently I’ve thought that my days of writing were days of long ago. I was writing one day and the next day I fell into a big dark hole of nothingness. My last blog entry on September 25, 2020, entitled Beyond the Mask is about how my life was beyond typical Halloween themes and rewritten into a language that I still wouldn’t understand. Today I sit, one year later, with the latest ideas and revelations about my ongoing therapy. And realizing how sometimes the simple reasons for a smile would once been seen as insignificant.
A pandemic has a way of wiping the smiles off the faces in society. And sometimes society tries to force the pandemic out only for the pandemic to re-emerge with the upper hand. I fell victim to Covid-19 twice with the most recent adventure only a couple of weeks ago. This time, however, I had to cuddle with a blood clot in one of my lungs. How I contracted Covid-19 was sort of perplexing since I hate being in public to a point of phobias at times. And the seclusion for safety by the virus had me fearing everything that much more. So, these days I’m having to force myself to go in public even if it’s just riding in my vehicle or walking down the street.
What I have enjoyed are the relationships with my cat Coco, my new cat Tinkerbell and my children. Copeland and Marshall have a healthy fear of the virus with comical threats “that they might not breathe again if they take their masks off.” The boys tell me things like, “Momma I love you so much that I’m going to fart on you next time I see you.” What boy mom doesn’t melt when her babies say things like that? “And when I see Coco, I’m going to fart on her too!” Yep, we keep it real like that. I will take that any day over losing one of my children to the virus.
Coco has gone from my sweet kitten to a very voluptuous and very entitled cat. Oh, how I love my Coco! Me and the boys have renamed her as “Coco Momma Lita.” These days we just refer to her as “big and beautiful.” Nothing could’ve prepared me for the next little beauty in our lives……Tinkerbell. Or “Tink” for short. Early on I thought the scene might play out like it did for Marley the little kitten that I will never forget. Again, I adopted her from a vet clinic and again this kitten was sick with a big, bad dose of intestinal worms.
Me and this little calico beauty were just meant to be together. I had never seen so much diarrhea in all my life. The stress was unimaginably high for us both. I was headed straight towards psychosis and all she knew was play, play, play and poop. I was lucky in that she was able to hold her own until the medicine began working. But this little girl was determined to make it, and I was determined to somehow make it through a bout of psychosis. All you must know is that it’s scary and you can’t hear what I hear.
While I took a break from writing my therapy didn’t end. I’ve continued to meet with coach, and I’ve found a new love for scrapbooking. And my “head mates” like that activity too. So, during this pandemic I’ve still found a way to give “my guys” a voice even on telemedicine. So, what has this pandemic taught me? Persistence.
“With COVID-19, we’ve made it to the life raft. Dry land is far away.”
“When [Jesus] saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd”.
Matthew 9:36
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Now I’m ready! I thought I could finish writing this later. But No, cigar! Now is as good a time as any other.
I keep coach very up to date with my thoughts and close attention with my “parts.” My main protector has been upset for quite a while. She’s willing to try to derail me in any possible way. So, naturally, I wondered why? Like most teenagers, she has once again, began striking out in fear.
I don’t typically do well with guided imagery. In the past, I’ve gotten tickled and would create some type of comedy. I’m always the one in the room when therapists start with creating a scenario like, “walking into the woods and becoming one with your senses.” What do I see? What do I hear? What do I feel? And then I’m the dufus and speaks up by saying, “It was me that stepped in it! I’m sorry for the smell!” And as if that wasn’t enough I would add this one in just for giggles. “Oh No! It’s a tornado in the distance! It’s coming straight for us! Run!” I know it’s silly. Since working with my coach, I haven’t done anything like that. You begin to realize when you take things in perspective. All I know is that I was tired of constantly trying to run away from things that are much bigger than me.
I settle in and begin breathing while coach guides me to facing the pain. My protector had a death grip on that baby. Vowing to protector her at all cost I thought, “Oh boy! Here we go again.” I’m doing my best to stay focused when I heard, “And just imagine that Jesus is standing there.” I froze while watching the interaction in my mind. Jesus spoke up and said, “Bring me the baby.” The protector surprisingly froze and all the angry words leave as soon as they had appeared. She slowly walked to Jesus and hands him the baby. The angry protector doesn’t say or do anything in protest. And for the first time in my life, the baby is calm and falls asleep on Jesus’s shoulder. The protector takes her cue by turning with Jesus’s hand on her shoulder. She too had a calmness that many have been unable to achieve. And she says only in a way that fits her perfectly, “Don’t worry. Jesus has our back!” Jesus then says, “Go ahead. You’ve been waiting for this your entire life, my child. I will provide all the protection that is needed for all of them and you.” I felt calm and reassured that I was making the right decision.
During, “The Passion Of The Christ” diamond painting project, I was told that he would never leave me. And had left me to help in securing my insecurities. And I remembered that I heard something that was said in an earlier encounter, “Me and the father will give you the strength you need.” And I realized that the gift in this encounter was that No one said that it would be easy. Jesus upheld his promise that he was not abandoning, any part of me, no matter the number. And so me and my parts begin the difficult road of healing the most difficult part of our trauma.
It is through these seven gifts–wisdom, understanding, counsel, knowledge, fortitude, piety, and fear of the Lord–that we grow in holiness and are continually reminded of God’s loving presence within us and around us.”
– John 14:26
***Don’t forget to watch the special two videos on the bottom***
“Don’t be afraid to celebrate a promise when kept. In doing so, you’re the potential for a better world.”
-Unknown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Ok, much better. Today I am going to write about a recent occurrence in therapy. Through some recent events, therapy has led in the direction to tackle my core issues about my adoption. Truly I can say that it’s not a day that I have been looking towards with excitement. It is so necessary, in fact, that I still shiver about how painful it will be. For those that don’t know, it is a topic so strong and powerful that the thought of it makes me want to vomit. However, it’s something that has caused a dark cloud to follow me in every facet of my and for the majority of my life. The very mention of the topic causes a retraction that is so instantaneous and powerful, that I don’t feel that I have a weapon in my arsenal strong enough to stand a chance against its negativity.
I have trusted my coach on so many occasions for when it would be the appropriate timing to tackle different traumatic events. But the timing of this one, I would soon realize that no matter when she would decide on that “perfecting timing” it would never be convenient. I have written and spoken about it many times. And most of the time, I do so from my brain instead of my heart. I knew instantly that it would require a level of trust that I struggle to accept. After 8 years of doing therapy with her, I should know and feel that it’s been long enough to tackle the “primal wound.” And I ashamedly still don’t know if I’m ready. I get some specifics about the plan, and I sit with the idea for a few days knowing that coach has never led me astray. And she ALWAYS has my best interest at hand.
A few days went by, and I decided that no matter how scared, I would at least try. Seeing the strength and compassion in her eyes that I felt when I first met her told me that everything would be “ok” despite the agonizing pain. The biggest protector in my “system” of many distinct parts of myself is held by a 13-year-old that would give anyone a run for their money. She has protected me so many times from total annihilation on so many and very distinct levels. And this time would be no different. Once she realized that I had agreed to do the work, she immediately began throwing up roadblocks. The infant part of me is the most ferociously defended of any type of perceived threat. And I told “coach” what has been occurring. This defender is “top notch” at keeping me safe. But will also sabotage things out of fear. Some of her tactics were immensely helpful during traumatic events. However, she is still reactive during peace time. And this causes therapeutic roadblocks that can throw a “monkey wrench” in about any plan.
Coach and I begin the session with some guided imagery that helps me to prepare for the monumental task before us. What I begin to see is that this “protector” is holding hostage the newborn baby part. And she has always been inconsolable. No matter the situation, this little baby is like a an infant with colic. There is nothing that has helped her agonizing cries EVER! There is no amount of compassion that has been able to comfort her. She is non-verbal but her emotions are so uncategorical that I am not able to capture it with words. I am not able to listen to lullabies or tolerate the sound of a baby crying. When the boys were little their cries flew all over me. But at that time, I didn’t know how to do anything but run from the situation. I thought to myself, “How do people deal with a baby crying both inside their heads and as parents. What I didn’t know, at that time, was that “normal” people don’t hear things like that. I wouldn’t understand my pain until I understood the reason for the crying. And then one day the “A-HA” moment happened. She was retracting from the pain that occurred when me and my “birth mom” separated.
When I met my birth mom many years ago, she said to me what I had always feared, “You were an inconvenient then and you still are!” I can’t tell you how bad that hurt. And I still can’t understand how that must’ve felt like for a newborn baby. I could, however, understand what it was like for a 30-year-old adult. It was absolutely the worst pain imaginable. The rejection was like no other situation that I had experienced. And to put that much fear and pain on a little bitty baby was something that I would have to find healing from at some point.
I tried everything I could think of to fill that hole to bring me some level of comfort. I have tried drugs, alcohol, self-harm, relationships and nothing was strong enough. Coach would have the answers. But would I have the courage to step out on faith and take her hand as guidance once more? Not long ago I would speak with a resounding, “NO!” What I didn’t know was how very quickly I would change that lifetime of pain with a different answer.
“Faith consists in believing when it is beyond the power of reason to believe.”
-Voltaire
***Don’t forget to watch the video at the bottom***
“Having children is like living in a frat house – nobody sleeps, everything’s broken, and there’s a lot of throwing up.”
-Ray Romano
Light charcoal. Sprinkle the Sage. Negative energy go away! This next post will hopefully help you understand a little bit better about the relationship between the boys, me and our friends.
At the frat pad, me, the boys and whoever else wants to stop by for a visit are more than welcome. The “Frat Pad” is where we can all check out from reality by having fun and growing in our relationships. The adults can be kids if they want. We do so many cool things like nature walks, silly string war, gel blaster gun wars, water guns, slip n’ slide daytime and nighttime, campfire, roast marshmallow, fireworks, forts, bridges, playing in the creek, farting, nerf gun wars, burping, bathroom humor, swimming, movie nights, homemade ice cream and meals with friends, water gun wars, feeding and observing the wildlife.
We also have serious discussions about life. Currently, one of the biggest sources of entertainment is the topic of puberty. Another main attraction is that we feed a little snack on the porch to the local wildlife. And we enjoy watching every minute of it from inside in the ”safe zone” area in the house.
Good friends, good family and lots of fun is what “Camp Frat Pad” is all about. I let kids be kids and do what some aren’t allowed to do such as Staying up all night Which they never make it to sunlight o’ clock. And sometimes they eat ice cream and leftover cold pizza for breakfast. Of course, there’s always “Tink” and “Coco” who enjoy being the supervisory onlookers. And subsequently getting some much-needed attention from their crazy friends and brothers.
The times when they come for a visit, and I mean the very minute they enter my house. It’s Instantly transformed into a college frat house party. We talk, swim and do many other things. The boys’ main goal is to eat as much as their bodies can tolerate. And to play until they collapse. The goal is to let them and teach them to love and to appreciate being children.
They begin eating like starving feral dogs. There is a lot of bathroom humor. Copeland loves to be out in the woods with his beloved rubber boots. Before I bought him the boots, He would accidentally on purpose get his shoes wet playing by the creek.
Me: One day I was frustrated and said, “this house looks like a fraternity house!
Copeland asks “mom, what’s that?”
Me: “I tell them both, “when you go to college most places have houses where they drink a lot of alcohol and do some “whack-a-do things. They are called fraternity houses. Where only guys live. The times where I’ve gone to parties are loud and the houses are completely trashed. By the time you go back home my house looks like a comfortable place for squatters.
Copeland: “Cool momma! Can we have our own fraternity house?”
Me: “Of course. What would you like to name our fraternity house?”
Copeland: “I don’t know. I need your assistance coming up with a name.”
Me: “Well, how about if we try to come up with a name that has “Frat” in it?”
Copeland: “Ok. But Momma, what is another name for a house?”
Me: “A Pad.”
Copeland: “So it’s a frat pad?”
Me: “What if we called it “Camp Frat Pad?”
Copeland: “Perfect! Yay, I love Camp Frat Pad!”
Me: “Ok. At fraternity houses you must be accepted into the club before you can live there.”
Copeland: “How about at the frat pad anyone can be accepted if they need friends or if they want to place with toys, Xbox, and have snacks. The exception is not really sleeping here because we don’t have much room. If they’re adults that can sit by the fire and talk with you, Mrs. Robyn and Ms. Shelby?“
Me: “That’s a great idea, son! But what about in the summertime when it’s hot?”
Copeland: “They can come swimming with us. And then when we go back home you can get some pizza. And the adults can stay inside and talk where it’s air conditioned. DUH!!!!”
Me: “And if we don’t’ go back swimming that evening what would yall like to do?”
Copeland: “That’s simple. Make some homemade ice cream and we can play outside until its ready.”
Me: “What would yall play at night?”
Copeland: “We could play either Slip N’ Slide. Or a water gun war. Or a game that you can teach us. Mom, trust me we can find something to do. But we will be hungry again. Playing makes you hungry, you know.”
Me: “What do you think a good motto would be?”
Copeland: “A what?”
Me: “A motto.”
Copland: “What is that?”
Me: “It’s like a statement that makes up what Camp Frat Pad is all about.”
Copeland: “hmmmm…. I’m thinking.”
Me: “Think about what I allow you to do within boundaries.”
Copeland: “Something like when it rained a lot and you let me walk around in my boots and playing in the water?”
Me: “Exactly!” I knew what was about to say.
Copeland: “How about ‘Where everyone can be their self and have fun!”
Me: Copeland that is perfect!
So that, my friends, is what makes Camp Frat Pad so special! With the hustle and bustle of life and school sometimes you just need to take time out to enjoy and reignite the simple pleasures of life. There is nothing like sitting with your friends, roasting marshmallows, building bridges in the creek and hearing about how rude your older brother’s puberty is affecting little brother.
Thank you so much for reading this blog! Start from the beginning and experience the peaks and valleys with us.
“Some frat houses have a story. We have a legend.”
“Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”
―C.S. Lewis
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Ok, I’m better. I have become obsessed with diamond painting and how soothing it is for me. And so is writing. I was working on a custom designed painting which was 15 inches x 23 inches. It consists of 40 assorted colors. And it was my first portrait. The design is, by far, the most intricate design pattern I have ever done. I spent close to 80 hours and around 50,000 pieces. I was very skeptical about how it would turn out. And my greatest fear was that I would put all the time and effort into only revealing itself looking like and melted and hammered moon pie. The shading was also nothing that I had experienced. I had already decided that no matter how it turned out, I would keep this one for myself. And from the beginning, it proved itself to be monumental. I had gotten into the mindset that I would pace myself. Taking my time is not usually something with which I can connect. I always want to get everything done in the first 3 hours. There were around 15-20 assorted colors and symbols being used sometimes one after the other. And I had an exceptionally long way to go. So, I decided what the best approach was and turned on the documentaries.
I’ve only shown a couple of people during the progress. I wanted it to be a surprise for everyone who saw it. I would hold it about five feet away so that I could try looking at the shading and definition. I must admit that after about ¼ of the way through I was thinking to myself, “this thing is going to be a disaster.” I kept looking at the full picture on the side of the fabric thinking, “this makes no sense.” Frustrated, I stayed to my plan and tried not to judge. But, rather, I stayed consistent.
Again, I re-evaluated at the end of the day or night. After a couple of days of work, I looked at it again. And it was finally taking shape. At that very moment, I said, “this is going to be epic!” I began noticing a great sadness come over me. And it took me a day or two of sitting with and deciphering what it all meant. The tears began flowing and before long I began understanding my biggest issue. I began sobbing as though I were a child. I pinpointed what I felt was an overwhelming since of despair. I soon realized that it was “the fear of abandonment.” This time it hurt more than I had experienced in quite a long time.
**It’s the glare of the light reflecting.**
When you deal with the effects of a trauma filled life your mind begins, at some point, it begins to purge itself. And it’s usually at the most inopportune times. Tink and Coco always walk in circles and begin meowing when I cry. And while one is always rubbing up against me, the other is pawing at me. I put my diamond tools to the side, and I took a few minutes just to try and figure out what was going on. I begin saying, “why do I always feel alone?” The sweetest and most loving voice speaks, “Look at what’s directly in front of you.” I looked up to see my brown, wooden cabinet with my scrapbooks in it. And, of course, cat tunnels. The level of compassion that I experienced I had never felt before. I love my coach dearly. And she is one of most compassionate people I’ve ever met. This was almost other worldly. And I’ll admit that it scared me initially. I even searched my head mates and asked, “Which one of you said that?” It was not a voice that I recognized. They all just looked at each other and said nothing. I began getting angry because it felt like a joke gone bad. And when you get rebellious teenagers together and they’re silent, it’s remarkably like when a toddler leaves the room and becomes silent. For safety reasons you must go check things out.
Again, I said, “I’m all alone, no matter how many people me are around! Now leave me alone!” The voice said one more time, “look directly in front of you.” I start looking around. And then I saw what the voice was telling me. The diamond painting that I was working on was a picture of Jesus holding onto the cross bloody and beaten after the scourging seen from the movie “The Passion of the Christ.” That was what I had custom made. I was speechless. I had a sense of relaxation that I have never felt. The voice said, “I never left you. And you were worth it.”
I’m still in shock about what I experienced. I felt a sense of safety that through abuse you don’t feel. I’m not a big religious person. I have been on all sides of it. And in many of my experiences with religion have been used as a weapon. But what I felt was not “religion. It was love.
“Let your conversation be without covetousness; and be content with such things as ye have: for he hath said, “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.” Hebrews 13:5 (KJV)
“Rescuing one cat won’t change the world but it will change the world for one cat.”
-Unknown
After the death of my sweet little Marley, my aching heart cried out for another cat. I soon brought Coco into my life. But even then, something didn’t sit right with me. I sat with that feeling for about a year stumped me at what it all meant. One day, like a light bulb, it would be revealed that I had a cat shaped hole still in my heart. I thought back to when I had Simba and Nalla and how devasting it was to see and experience the loss while watching the other one go around looking for the missing one and calling her through the meowing. They were littermates and kept each other company when I got busy. I always said that if I ever decided to have cats again, I would make sure and have two. I struggled so hard with the decision because my heart and mind weren’t in complete agreement. Would I, once again, be able to be vulnerable enough to step out and take that chance again? Turns out I did.
Returned to the same veterinary clinic and asked if they had any female kittens that needed a home. I didn’t care about the color or the markings. One of the receptionists said, “I think so.” She called to the back and within minutes a technician brought me the prettiest little calico. When our eyes met instantly I needed her, and she needed me. I was told that her name was Maisie. I said, “Today her name is Tinkerbell (Tink).”
I left the clinic with that sweet baby in my arms. I began to feel the healing of my heart wound. My only concern was how Coco would adjust. They both hissed at one another the rest of the day. By morning they were both peacefully sleeping and seemed to be getting along great. I was told by the clinic that her health was in good shape. But this little girl was walking, crouching and sitting like something was wrong. I panicked thinking, “Please not again!” my heart was beginning to retract. next place I checked was the litter box for anything abnormal other than their regular Tootsie Rolls. There was the most horrid diarrhea that I had ever seen. That was not the sign of a healthy kitty. She would constantly be going back-and-forth to the litterbox. My entire house smelled like I had been cooking a turd casserole. And This went on for a week. I felt so bad for her. She would play and then suddenly curl up into a black, white and orange ball of fur. She had a severe case of intestinal worms. I’m assuming that she had been given dewormer. Gradually, she started getting better.
The girls’ personalities instantly began to blossom. And have been the best of friends ever since. “Tink” has always looked to Coco for guidance on how to be a cat. Some of the instances are quite funny. Just to imagine their “supposed” conversations and I get to have a nice laugh.
Living as a friend, sister, niece, aunt, daughter and mom with a traumatic past isn’t always about being sad or depressed. I try to go through life laughing, as much as possible, when the moment arises. It’s who I am. And it saved my life.
Please continue to read this blog as funny short stories, dialogs, and captions I will post soon.
“In order to write about life first you must live it.”
-Ernest Hemmingway
Ok. This is it! I promise. When those popcorn thoughts hit me, I must try and list them before they disappear. Thank you so much for stopping by. New posts coming soon!
1. Animals are the ultimate beings of compassion.
2. Crying is NOT a weakness. It’s the reality of living in an imperfect world.
3. When you meet people who lovingly stand out from others, they’re priceless gems. Never take for granted that tomorrow they will be there.
4. Religion is for people who are scared to go to hell. Spirituality is for those of us who have already been there.
5. Cellphones were not created to be an appendage.
6. If you knew better, you’d do better.
7. Kids favorite foods are candy, hot dogs, chicken nuggets and boogers.
8. Learn to take care of yourself. Because no one else wants the job.
9. Marijuana is a medication. Not evil deserving a felony. If you miss use, it is
10. Fentanyl could destroy a generation.
11. Harmful stuff happens to everyone. Some more than others. Staying in your hurt pain forever isn’t required.
12. You can learn lessons from daily life that will help to guide you to your future.
13. Don’t discount the little things.
14. Pain is inevitable. Misery is optional.
15. Most people don’t have the capacity, knowledge or want to understand your life or situation. The ones that do, hold them close.
16. Surround yourself with people who reflect positive energy. They’re worth it!
17. Take time to reflect and notice the daily miracles of life. They are right in front of you.
18. Heaven is real. Hell is too. Carefully make your choice.
“The worst type of crying wasn’t the kind everyone could see–the wailing on street corners, the tearing at clothes. No, the worst kind happened when your soul wept and no matter what you did, there was no way to comfort it. A section withered and became a scar on the part of your soul that survived. For people like me and Echo, our souls contained more scar tissue than life.”
― Katie McGarry, Pushing the Limits
Recently, there seems to be some type of shift that’s taking place in therapy. Coach and I have been working on a few things with “my guys” and that’s where it seems that the shift started. I can’t do much explaining other than my personal opinion because right now my job is to trust and let the fairy dust fly. The player/coach relationship that I had with my coaches was always considered very sacred to me. So, you can bet your ass that the “therapeutic relationship” that I have with coach is one that is very sacred and protected as well.
Tonight I was suddenly stopped in my tracks with a big dose of anxiety that instantly had me in tears. A lot of old and extremely painful feelings have been nipping at my heels and tonight was the breaking point. Crying in front of a therapist again has taken some getting used to. I didn’t say that it was comfortable but what it has been is……SAFE. After years of being made fun of, ridiculed and belittled for my tears, it makes doing what seems natural appear impossible at times. I can’t begin to explain how damaging abuse and “bad therapy” can deeply impact someone. What I can tell you about is the relief that is felt after months and, in this case, a couple of years watching so many things about a therapist and finally taking that chance again with my tears and not getting hurt. The unspoken message between stares that says, “I’m not going to make fun of you” instantly makes the tears fall faster. There’s not a monetary value that you can put on an experience like that. Your heart feels a pleasant but guarded relief and overwhelming grief all at the same time. Since that day a deeper level of trust and openness was achieved and therapy continues to evolve. Leaps and bounds is the Speed at which I’m doing work.
Last night I found a picture album that I had forgotten that I had stashed away in my room. Curious what pictures were in there I looked and felt a lump in my throat when I saw it was pictures of Marshall when he was younger. I was just being a proud momma until the pictures of him as a preemie in the NICU. Feelings ran hot/cold from head to toe. I felt the same fear that I had experienced when I was unable to hold him initially. I couldn’t understand why this was happening with our new baby. The guilt and shame was incredible then and still is now.
There were approximately 30-40 more pictures each with heavy emotions attached to each one. I sat there in the quietness of my bedroom and let the anxiety and 30 years of shameful grief overtake me. The tears were not gently rolling down my cheeks. I was “Snot crying” like a toddler in Wal-Mart. Each picture’s emotion was like it had been felt for the first time. I held my stuffed animals and wished for anything but aloneness. I needed someone to tell me that grief will not kill you. And that I couldn’t possibly cry enough tears to be seen in the emergency room for dehydration. Maybe I could try and understand it my way that I could make sense of things. The best possible explanation was that I was losing water weight. Yep…I got it after that. The grief I was feeling was just too much. Those pictures needed a better place to stay until they don’t have quite the sting that they do now. And I’m proud to say that those pictures have a new temporary home placement.
After adjustments were made with my guys a couple of weeks ago, the freedom for better communication has been allowed. What a sense of freedom and a new level of understanding I’m experiencing with my alters. Emotions are still very overwhelming for me. They’re almost always very intense whether or not they are positive or negative.
I began to feel the individual feelings that my alters experience daily. I have been coasting on laughter and anger for so many years that I seem to have forgotten how to experience some of these feelings on their most basic level. And just me, my stuffies and my guys would be here to deal with them all……ALONE. I was soon overcome with grief, loss, guilt and shame not for myself but for those children, teens and adults who were so mistreated. I know it’s weird hearing someone talk about different parts of themselves like they’re the poor, pitiful neighborhood kids. But to me they are all individuals. They just all live under one roof…MINE. Just roll with it.
I began to cry for the fear that each one experienced at a level that’s not easily put into words.
I cried for all of the anxiety, from the years of stress, that has left its permanent mark on my body physically.
I cry for the secrets that the children were forced into silence thus preventing help. And for the teens and adults that still keep secrets now because they still feel that they aren’t worthy of being helped.
I cry for the person that I use to be before the damage of the abuse showed such overwhelming evidence.
I cry for the children and their lost innocents.
I cry for those that needed and wanted help and it never arrived.
I cry for the fear of having relationships with people because when I was younger relationships came with an “OWIE.”
I cry for the adults who experienced every level of pain in a relationship for many years that was supposed to be one where love and protection were a natural reality. Unfortunately, though, relationships now equal fear.
I cry for the ones who had relationships with those trusted and respected people who have since died that had such a positive impact on us all. But the loss was so great that the impact can be felt with every failed relationship since.
I cry for the one that hurts so deeply over losses that she will sabotage anything good.
I cry for the ones that miss out on the joy of being able to enjoy food and eating. Because those times were used for target practice by others.
I cry for the little one that cries continuously. Her pain cannot be soothed. She has a hole in her soul that was created from rejection and abandonment. She craves security and safety that was lost in 1975 and 2015. Nothing and no one but me and the universe can hear her piercing cries.
And I cry for everyone who is doing their best to realize that love and compassion aren’t supposed to hurt.
And those who are also very slowly beginning to allow both empathy and compassion to collectively soften and re-warm the hearts that were tucked away for protection that have grown cold and necrotic. With the re-warming comes new and healthy growth. Hearts with healthy tissue begin to mend. The soul energy that had become so depleted will be renewed. Tears go from the color red back to clear. The masks of the clown and the devil will not be the only two available because there won’t be a need to looked through the eyes “masking” pain. That determined athlete will have a renewed sense of purpose and a new set of trusted and loved teammates. And a new coach who’s words of wisdom gets absorbed and held onto with a death grip. Self-worth and value become realized and then actualized. Scars begin to fade from fresh battle wounds to the scars of the war once fought. New and healthier ways of protecting myself will become the new breastplate that will be worn with pride knowing the work that was done to earn it. And another dynamic “coach” that will have motivated and pushed me with fairy dust to be the best possible “ME” that I could be. But the greatest gift that will be gained covers it all……AUTHENTICITY.
Who will cry for this little girl? The ones that live inside of me. She matters and so do they.
“I define connection as the energy that exists between people when they feel seen, heard, and valued; when they can give and receive without judgment; and when they derive sustenance and strength from the relationship.”
― Brené Brown
“When you’re just like everybody else, you’ve nothing
to offer other than your conformity.”
—Wayne Dyer
Lately, I’ve been adding some poetry that I had saved on my phone. What I’ve learned about having relationships with my internal guys is how to listen to them. If I get a wild hair and need to either write a blog or poetry it usually means that someone is needing to be heard. Write it down and then ask questions later has been my motto lately. What I’ve realized is that chaos and confusion are minimized and open, honest and direct communication has been encouraged. Trust me….this is one big process of learning how to build and maintain relationships with “head mates” that have seen a lot of the evils of mankind. I would like to thank Hobby Lobby and Michael’s Crafts for allowing me to buy supplies from them in order to do projects that enhance the building of a better relationship with my alters. Ok….now I’m being silly.
I usually start getting silly when I become uncomfortable in some way. And well, “Coach of the Year” has assigned me to write about what I have to offer as a person. I don’t always like the “assignments” but I love the lessons and answers I get from them. To put it all into perspective, growing pains are called “growing pains” because growth doesn’t always feel good. Likewise, growth as an athlete requires constant practice and learning the ins and outs of playing the game.
One of the greatest lessons about playing ball that I remember was when we were learning how to run bases. Stay with me because this part can get confusing. You don’t wait until you’re all the way down the baseline to the base to look at your coaches for direction about what to do. You ALWAYS keep your eyes on your coaches. Half way down the baseline to 1st base you start looking at your first base coach. If he or she thinks that you can take another base they will point in that direction. Half way to 2nd base you begin looking for your 3rd base coach for direction on either to stay or go while also listening to your 1st base coach from behind you about whether or not to slide. If your 3rd base coach signals to take 3rd base he or she will also be rounding you to home or telling you to “get down” to beat the throw at the base. If you start rounding 3rd base and head to home plate, you look to your teammates on whether or not to slide. So, from the time the ball hits the bat you look for direction and trust that your coaches are making the best decision for both you and the team. Either way, you’re not alone…ever. You’re simply being directed until you’re back to the safety of home plate. They direct you but they don’t nor can they bat for you individually or as a team. The work has to come from you.
Artist: Celeste Roberge
It’s the same way for me in therapy. I’m always looking to coach for guidance. I don’t want anyone to do my work for me. I hunger for her guidance and fear the unknown. But I also trust her and know that decisions will be made in my best interest. And from having been mistreated by a therapist previously, being able to trust her to not hurt me or to not have ulterior motives is really kind of a big deal. It has take now a solid 17 months to try to work through a lot of the fears surrounding the therapeutic process. I haven’t conquered them all but when I moved here I hadn’t conquered any. Getting hurt in therapy by a therapist has caused more issues then what I was prepared to deal with. I had no idea how hurt I was but Texas has a way of revealing all kinds of things. Yep….a modern day “Mr. Miyagi” she certainly is.
All of this ties into the original topic “What I have to offer?” It’s embarrassing for me to discuss this kind of topic. After years of being told by different people that I wasn’t good enough as a human being and the fact that I’m a total non-conformist, it’s really difficult to say, much less believe, that I have anything to offer this world. I totally stick out like a sore thumb with the problems that often arise in public (tics, switching, emotional outbursts, aggression, etc) regardless if I can’t control them falling short in society’s definition of “normal” is not easy.
Having limitations like this certainly makes life incredibly more challenging. The eyes that you view the world with after abuse seem to be put into place without knowledge that it’s happened. The confidence that I worked so hard to gather and maintain as a child was completely dismissed and destroyed through the hatefulness of others. The compassion that helped to build my confidence as a child didn’t seem to be able to shine through the darkness. Slowly, I began to lose my spunk for life and likewise pieces of myself. I could no longer offer those qualities in myself that I lived with daily that made me proud to be a part of the human race. I no longer saw people that I welcomed around me as a precious commodity. I now saw them as potentially harmful, shady and very scary. I kept my jovial demeanor that everyone loved until the hurt I was hiding became the new clothing for my soul. And my big heart that had always been one of my greatest assets had gone into hiding in order to also protect itself. I looked up one day and had no idea who was looking back at me from my reflection in the mirror. My arms were severely scarred. Eating had become a necessary evil. And my dreams and goals for what I had worked so hard to achieve had disappeared like grains of sand that slipped through my hands never to be seen the same way again.
I had become emotionally feral through my own survival. I seemed to have changed right before the eyes that had supported me for so many years. And now, I had become not only someone I didn’t recognize but also someone that other people who loved and respected me didn’t recognize. I simply had morphed from an individual that people loved into someone that people feared. It was heartbreaking to know that this emotional freight train was going through destroying everything in my path and I was powerless to stop it. Mel and I searched for answers daily for years in hopes of finding anything to help explain why I had become this aggressive monster that even she feared. She fell in love with Dana who loved and cherished her unconditionally. And almost overnight the Dana that she knew was gone only to be replaced by an aggressive, disrespectful, scary, immature and seemingly much younger version of herself that Mel didn’t recognize or understand. And frankly, I had no explanation for anything regardless of the evidence that would be presented to me.
We moved to Albuquerque and for me it was something that I had hoped that a geographic change would help to remedy. It didn’t. Once we got there free from the oppression of the deep south, we sought out counseling knowing that I had problems. We had no idea how deep those problems ran but soon we would. I could offer nothing to anyone. I felt I was being drained of my “goodness” and all the positive attributes that made me the compassionate and loving person that I had always been. All I felt was hurt. And all I seemed to be able to offer was more hurt. So, my only solution to stopping the hemorrhaging was to end relationships and to isolate myself, as much as possible, from society. That way no one would have to suffer pain through my own doing anymore.
Again we would come in contact with another hurtful human being in the form of a therapist. The only thing good that came out of the 2.5 years that I saw her was the correct diagnosis. Other than that she was incredibly damaging for me therapeutically and emotionally. I soon wanted nothing to do with professionals and became even more aggressive to make sure that no one wanted to help treat me. The truth was that I wanted so desperately for someone to help me. I, however, was so scared of having another hurtful professional that the fear paralyzed me and sabotaged any type of help that might’ve been offered. My new motto was: “No one would ever hurt me again professional or not. And I would do everything in my power to make sure that happened.” True to my word I became a patient in facilities that people hated to deal with. I gave a whole new meaning to the term “non-compliance.” I trusted no one and hated everyone. But my fearless and loving wife still searched for answers while trying to raise our two little boys despite me often times being in a condition where I couldn’t even get out of bed to take care of my basic hygiene needs. And yes, there were times that she had to bathe me because I just wasn’t able to at the time. That, my friends, is a example of love.
She would find a facility in Texas that she thought I needed to try. For two years, she pleaded for me to go and I wouldn’t. I eventually showed up and set the aggressive tone early just to prove that I could hurt and scare people just like they had done to me. I finally met the therapist that would work with me while I was there. I was determined to run her off too. What I didn’t count on was that she would be able to see past the anger into the pain hidden behind the spewing and venomous rage. I tried to end the caring and compassionate look in her eyes and couldn’t despite my greatest efforts. This peaked my interest but the fear of her position as a therapist took over. I knew that I had finally met my match.
Within 1.5 years of this experience I moved to Texas as a last ditch effort of trying to save myself from an assured death. I didn’t come here believing that things would change and get better. I came here because a rare find showed me compassion despite my self-destructive path. So again….what do I have to offer? For me, I’m still in the process of finding out what those gifts have the potential to be. My sense of humor continues to be one of my strongest and best qualities. I have an education that allows me to speak to people about the damaging power of abuse. I have the emotional knowledge to be able to reach teenagers and to know the struggles of living life feeling emotionally trapped. I have the knowledge and firsthand experience of seeing how compassion and love can topple the effects of abuse by soothing the pain and hurt. I know and can feel what it’s like to be loved by someone who will sacrifice everything to make sure you’re safe because they want so desperately to help find the one they fell in love with. I know what it’s like to make sacrifices as a parent to protect two little precious beings that still call me mom. I know what it’s like to still be coachable after being a washed up “has been” athlete from 20+ years ago. I have the experience and know how to continue to pick myself up and keep going when I’ve pushed myself way past my limits in order to survive. I know what it’s like and fully understand the fear of letting someone in to help when allowing someone to do that caused so much hurt and pain. I know the feeling of not being heard. I know the agony of silent screams and the language of pain that can take on so many different forms. And I have the Experience, Strength and Hope of someone who’s been fighting a war my entire life without being in the military and not ever having to leave my homeland.
One thing that Sarah taught me many years ago was this, she said, “Dana, you have the capacity and ability to do great things. But you can’t give away what you don’t have. Recovery is what you need and what will make great things possible.” So, I say this to you now…recovery is a marathon not a sprint. You don’t ever reach the finish line of being “recovered.” I still struggle emotionally on a daily basis and I still don’t yet have all of the answers I want. I am, however, slowly receiving the answers I need. Healing wounds is not easy nor is it comfortable. And unfortunately, it’s also not instant. It took me 43 years to become this damaged and dysfunctional and to think that it can all be changed overnight is unrealistic. One thing I never allow life to come between is me and my therapy. I have my heart set on once again being a functional part of my family and to help my one and only soul mate raise our two little boys that we fought so hard to have. And today I can say that the parts of my destructive self, no matter how slowly, have begun to be silenced.
“Mentors don’t just have to be people
who are older or more experienced that you are.
Mentors are people who really care about you, know you,
and want to offer feedback and advice to help you grow.”
“My basic principle is that you don’t make decisions because
they are easy; you don’t make them because they are cheap; you don’t make them
because they’re popular; you make them because they’re right.”
—Heodore Hesburgh
As I count down another 365 days in my life, I also look back on holiday traditions and 2018 as a year of struggles and lessons. Yep, I’m too lazy to write separate blogs about Christmas and New Year’s. Did you catch that or is it just me? Ha! Ha! At this point, I’m just glad that I still have the ability and “want to” to write publicly about my struggles as an individual, family, therapeutically and as a system. Honestly, my first thoughts about the year 2018 all revolve around my middle finger.
In January, I started my new path alone by moving to Texas. The importance of this decision was realized only a couple of months prior. Mel and the kids needed to live in a place that was familiar and where they could regain their own sense of balance and security that I could not help provide in my condition at that time. And I needed answers and healing from my own demons and dark past. Sometimes life gives you a way out but only for a limited amount of time. Our life in New Mexico had finally come to an end complete with two little boys that make our hearts beat. My mental health issues were becoming increasingly dangerous and the toll it had taken on Mel and the boys was almost irreparable damage. If love was all that was needed to “fix” everything that had been damaged there wouldn’t have been a need to leave. Mel and I both saw the need and the importance of me moving somewhere that answers could be found but only with the right practitioner.
I had set my sights on moving to Texas in 2016 but actually taking that step without Mel and the kids wouldn’t happen until January 2018. This was a decision that kept tugging at my heart. I knew it was the right decision but I didn’t have any way of proving that to make the decision easier to make as a couple. It would be one of those Please don’t be the wrong decision! Please don’t be the wrong decision! moments that was so scary I couldn’t put into words. She and I knew that without long term help of some kind I wouldn’t have a relationship with them anyway. I was just dangerously out of control mentally.
By March life would once again be full of new struggles. My 2006 Honda Pilot that I brought with me on my new endeavors would be totaled in an accident. Not knowing the extent of my injuries I would run to the vehicle that hit me to help the driver as I had done many times while working on an ambulance many years earlier. Once the emergency vehicles showed up and I had returned to the opposing side of the highway where my own vehicle turned its last wheel the searing pain in my neck, back and legs would make its way into a form of uncomfortable permanence. The days of having good medical insurance was left in the deserted high mesa of Albuquerque, New Mexico. And now I was just another American leaning on Medicare for help. I would also soon be driving an 18 year old black leather 2000 Pontiac Grand Prix that would come to be known simply as “The Hot Pocket.” Let the frustrations begin!
Learning who I was as an individual is still a process that I continue to learn about every single day. But I was learning since moving here in January that I had a very large trigger that I had never even considered. In Albuquerque we were left most times to fend for ourselves no matter where we looked for answers. When I moved to Texas I was greeted with a large outpouring of love that most would welcome. I, however, was terrified by all the help that was awaiting. I honestly didn’t know and still don’t really know how to receive help without there being a price for it. I suddenly became very triggered and left a stable living situation only to “couch hop” for the next few months until I looked up and I was homeless. This would mean that I didn’t have the privacy and quiet that I longed and hungered for. No one seemed to understand especially me. Being in public and around people all the time seemed to make me feel like I was boiling in hot water. No matter how hard I tried to accept this form of love and acceptance…I just couldn’t.
My mental health issues soon began to show the ugly faces that I had tried to warn other about and all I could think was “Damn, not here. Not to these good people.” But trying to wish them away wouldn’t happen in Texas anymore than it had worked in New Mexico. I knew that this meant one thing….people would get hurt and relationships would be damaged and lost. I couldn’t stop it. I had seen it 100’s of times and nothing good ever came of it. I just knew what it felt like when it was about to happen. All I could hope for was that it wouldn’t be too bad because this time I was alone without Mel and the kids. I prepared my heart for the worst like I had many times. This time would be no different as I would lose the relationships of those that I loved and admired without even trying.
Physically I felt completely beat down. Mentally I was a hot mess and I now doubted whether this move was in fact the right thing to do. The true reason that I moved here, to do therapy with my new coach seemed to be the only thing that still seemed right. I leaned on the many years of lessons that I had learned from Sarah to help me make the decision again about staying in Texas when I wanted to run because it was the right thing to do….and again I stayed. It wasn’t because I had faith that things would get better. I stayed simply because I trusted her and that she never led me in a wrong direction while she was alive.
Therapeutically, I thought moving here and working with “coach” would be an easy thing to do since I was so incredibly excited to be given the chance. I was excited and I knew without a doubt that my decision of working with “coach” was still the right decision. But “easy” was never in the realm of reality. I had a decorated therapeutic past and it didn’t seem to recognize good or bad practitioners. It only recognized “practitioner” and “position of authority” both which scared me to death. I constantly reminded myself that I already trusted her on some level because I moved here to work with her. But instantly trusting even though I was confident in my decision just wasn’t going to happen.
When I looked at my new life the only place that didn’t seem to bring some form of unwanted and unneeded pain was the hour that I spent with coach in session. Most days the money it would require to afford food was always an unknown. I was not willing to forego a therapy session because for that hour I felt safe even if I was shaking with fear for the time I was in there. I would be scared of possible topics I might have to discuss and I fear her position as a therapist but I didn’t fear her as a person and that meant everything to me. I wanted to be heard and my pain validated and the only place that seemed to happen was when I was in a session because I wouldn’t dare open up to others. Life is hard and society can careless how I feel about anything in the present time much less 40+ years of pain and abuse from my past….but she did and still does care.
Coach knows what she’s doing and I have to continue to trust her. She knew that the only way that I would find comfort is through consistency and compassion. I was sloppy seconds of a very abusive therapist but I was looking and hungering for the help that I so desperately needed. And that my aggressive nature had to have a reason. Before long her compassion began to melt my very tough exterior and tears would form and begin to drop from the years of abuse. Except this time my tears brought about more compassion and validation where, at times, tears were seen as a weakness and more abuse seemed to follow.
August 1st started the “intensive” that she and I would have for a month. That month did a lot for me regarding trusting coach and the therapeutic process as a whole. Before this started, though, I vowed to be completely focus, “nose to the grind” and completely secluded. This was no phone calls except immediate family and my coach and no social media except for blogs and remembering friends who have died. Sometimes solitude is all you need to help regain focus on things that are important. Because in solitude you have no one to look at but yourself. Apparently, this is just what I needed because the changes that have occurred within my system are some that I never dreamed possible for a teenager who was simply not heard. The key to her was something along the lines of a forced hug (not literally) to show her that everyone isn’t the same. And allowing her a voice preferably not a screaming one. Yes that teenager is indeed coachable when others have often thought incorrigible.
Fall time for me brings about some pretty horrible memories and anniversaries. At some point, coach responded to a question of mine “being thankful for what I do have” was the answer. I’ve thought about that every since the day that was said. This fall I would finally understand what she was saying. Now that It’s towards the end of December I can say that I put her phrase into practice by being thankful for what I do have this year despite all the struggles:
I made it to Texas where I was met by an awesome group of people.
I was involved in a wreck and injured but I wasn’t killed.
I ended up back in the psych hospital 2 more times but it didn’t hurt anything but my pride.
I ended up homeless but repaired the relationship with my parents.
I had two surgeries because of my wreck but I’m still walking and talking.
My time in Texas has been a struggle in every way. But….I Still Made It To Texas.
I don’t get to see my boys very much but there is Facetime.
I have several addictions that I struggle with but I’m still here struggling.
I never get to see my wife. She was able to be here several days for my surgery.
I don’t get to spend holidays with my family. Making the sacrifice to live in Texas without them helps to ensure I get to spend the rest of my life healthy and happy together as a family.
I just embarrassed myself and my wife because I “flipped my wig” coming out of anesthesia. What a great education in mental illness behaviors the hospital staff got from me free of charge not once but twice.
Difficult decisions were made and tears were shed because it was the right thing to do. Not the easiest thing to do.
I always think about the holidays when I was little and prior to our family’s matriarch, my Nannie’s death. I can remember the smell of the air and the damp fall leaves, our family traditions and how much they still mean to me. I remember my daddy’s Christmas morning breakfast and the year Sarah and Doug sat at our family’s table and had breakfast with us. I also remember how much holidays scared me when I was married to my ex-husband. The day time hours were fake happiness and gifts. And the night times were criticisms about what I had managed to mess up and how dumb I was. Don’t think for a second that he didn’t criticize my appearance on those days too.
Recently, Mel came to Texas because I had back surgery as a result of the wreck in March. This was the first time she and I had spent any significant amount of time since I moved here. The experience was a disaster for both of us at the hospital even with my limited memory. The embarrassment for me personally has been a lot to bare. But the tears we both shed before her ride picked her up to take her back to the airport because we both love each other and miss being a family were the ones that were the heaviest. I asked her again now that it’s been almost a year since moving here, “Do you think we made the right decision?” We both agreed and said, “Yes.” Moving here was the right decision but it didn’t guarantee things being easy and so far that has remained true. This year has been one of many ups, downs, struggles and lessons…..BUT…….WE STILL MADE THE RIGHT DECISION TO MOVE TO TEXAS TO DO THERAPY…..AND WE MADE IT HAPPEN!!!!
“The will to win is important, but the will to prepare is vital.”
—Joe Paterno
As a athlete the one thing you always prepare for is Game Day. Usually this means an opening tournament to kick off the season. Nevertheless, there are those moments prior to this day that a coach cannot prepare you for. This is time for you as an athlete to sit with yourself and to reflect on what you’ve been taught, thus far, and to prepare for the upcoming season.
My time was always spend inundating my brain with music prior to ballgames. This was the time where I could not and would not be disturbed and with my focus becoming even clearer. I thought about lessons I had already learned and the specifics about our upcoming opponents. Some things were known about top players via scouting reports but there were a lot of unknowns. What I did know, though, was that I was being coached by someone who had faith in me and my abilities regardless of my own confidence. I also knew that I had a “team” that counted on me as much as I did on them.
The time that you take for yourself during these moments is one that might not be shared with the rest of the team and/or coaches. You imagine yourself making plays and potential plays. You think earnestly about what you’ve been taught about the game and more specifically “your game.” What are your strengths and weaknesses? And how are you as an individual player an asset to your team?
You reflect on how hard you’ve trained and those that have trained you. My number one concern each year was not whether or not I had been coached effectively. It was simply, how would I perform as a player. The heart, guts and ability was there but when it came to “game time” how would I measure
up? Would I give my all just to fail miserably due to opening day nerves and/or jitters? Would I succeed but only at the level of average?
I wanted to be the best and the best was what my goal was. In the rankings 2nd Place was first loser. Life is not about how much fun you have playing the game. And in life everyone doesn’t receive a participation trophy. Life is about winning and losing. Winning coaches don’t get fired. Top performing athletes don’t get traded. Sorry but I just don’t buy into “it doesn’t matter if you win or lose” theory. I was taught that winning does matter and as a athlete if that’s not your goal then why are you even trying or participating. I do, however, understand that perfection isn’t possible even for the most talented athletes. There are failures that occur that are also known as “lessons.” These sometimes come with a high price but you will inevitably learn from them if you’re willing.
The last month I have been spending some much needed time preparing myself for a moment such as this. I have looked back over the last 6 months since moving to Texas at the incredible struggles that still seem to have with no end in sight. I have thought about lessons that I’ve already learned from “coach” and her willingness to be compassionate and consistent. I have shot looks in the direction of my demons that you give to an opposing team’s players and coaches when you pass them as they prepare for the same game. The “stare down” is one that’s meant to size-up your opponent as well as to break them down through intimidation. And lately, I have stared my demons in the face with a look of “soon, very soon we will meet.”
Without preparing for a season both mentally and physically the results would be less than a desirable outcome. I’ve hoped and desperately wanted this opportunity that I’m about to have for some time now. And honestly, even through reflection it’s difficult to imagine that I’ve finally been presented with this very opportunity. The lessons already learned are some that have been very difficult and gut wrenching. But now……my demons will answer to me. Scared as I may still be to face them, I press forward in the battle for my life. And with any “luck” I might just succeed. Some say winning is about luck. But I say that it’s about “Preparation Meets Opportunity.”
“There may be people that have more talent than you, but there’s no excuse for anyone to work harder than you do.”
“Miracles happen every day, change your perception of what
a miracle is and you’ll see them all around you.”
–Jon Bon Jovi
Easter is the time when most if not all Christians celebrate the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Jesus has always been widely known for performing miracles. While living in New Mexico and working with a melting pot homeless population you begin to see that religion and spirituality can take on many different meanings for different people. My decision was simple do I accept their differences? And well…..it was a very easy decision a resounding YES!!! As individuals we are not made to fit into a box. The point in being an individual is that you’re different from others. You are uniquely you.
The clients that I worked with came from many different walks of life and belief systems. I allowed them to be and feel accepted without judgment. Pretty soon a mutual respect was developed and connection with them was made. I’ve heard different stories about miracles happening mainly from religious people. Working with the substance abusing homeless populations sometimes the miracles were only for one or two to see.
Where 12-step recovery was really pushed there not all of the clients were accepting. This is when I began to see the importance of individuality in the counseling field. I also learned that the term “recovery” can mean different meaning for people. Some prayed to God, Allah, The Great Spirit, the earth, nature, the spirits, etc.
The miracles that I’m specifically talking about were maybe something like being able to have a genuine smile during a conversation. It might’ve been learning to trust someone who is white because of the transgenerational trauma forced on their people. It could’ve simply been someone treating them with respect rather than as a label. Or it could’ve been about someone willing to listen when no one else would. Nevertheless, for these clients miracles happened.
The detox center might have been the only place where the term “recovery” was ever mentioned to them.. There’s an obvious shortage in substance abuse treatment centers throughout the nation. But with the population that I worked with most had no insurance because they were homeless. This ensured them being discharged back into a very hostile living situation. Consequently, the rate of recidivism was very high. One thing I knew without a doubt is that they would call sometimes looking for something, as simple as, a warm cot and a sandwich.
I think a lot of times that “we,” as a society, have a definition of miracles where we expect people to walk on water or raise the dead so we can catch the proof on our IPhone. And many times life circumstances keeps us temporarily blinded to the beauty that sits before us. I’m certainly not an exception to that rule either. The weight of my trauma gets so incredibly heavy sometimes that the only thing I can see is the unfairness, despair and hopelessness related to it all.
The good days are the ones that drop by just like an intermittent reward system when gambling. You keep putting money in the machine and winning minimally or not at all. And then there’s the win, though not too big, that keeps the dialogue of “I’m close, I can feel it” continuing. If look at how the stars line up in our lives sometimes we realize that other painful situations had to happen for the miracle to occur. Here’s are a few of the miracles that I’ve noticed in my life. This list is by no means exhaustive.
1). It’s a miracle that I made it through my former marriage alive.
2.) It’s a miracle that Sarah Pardue and I crossed paths in a treatment center because I was a drug addict/alcoholic that was angry and running amuck in life.
3.) I was a miracle that I met my best friend and soul mate, Melody Landrum-Arnold, and I met each other through Sarah.
4.) It was a miracle that Mel and I ever left the deep south.
5.) It was a miracle that we met our therapist in Albuquerque. She turned out to be one of the very rare finds in that state. She was certainly the wind beneath our family’s wings.
6.) It was a miracle that both of our invitro babies Marshall, 6, and Copeland, 3, made it successfully to their forever home with two mommies.
7.) It’s a miracle that we made it out of New Mexico as a couple due to so many years of stress and a lot of it related to my mental illness.
8.) And how could I ever forget what a miracle it was to find a new coach that saw my anger and rage, knowing me very little, while on an inpatient unit and still willing to work with a group of broken children trying to function as a healthy adult.
9.) And well….leaving my two boys and my dear wife to go live in a state and sacrifice not having the time with them in order to work with my coach regularly in an attempt to save my own life….that too is a miracle.
At the detox center, I would work around the rules to get everyone who asked for help some type of help no matter the situation. And sometimes……they would show up hoping to see a friendly face and maybe experience another little miracle. And well…every encounter with them I experienced a miracle too.
“A pattern of raised crisscrossed scars, some old and white, others more
recent in various shades of pink and red. Exposing the stress
of the structure underneath its paint”
― Amy Efaw, After
Sometimes the material and subsequent titles for these blog posts come from out of nowhere. I begin writing and then sometimes I just watch as the words are typed. I’m sort of multi-talented like that at times. Stand in the way of children and teens while they’re attempting to have their input on a blog and well…..it’s just not worth the frustration. Anyway, this is a topic that, literally, continues to resurface. As an angry teen, I thought that I had found something that could help me somewhat contain the intense aggression that seemed to be so foreign and scary. And just like the drug that seems to come along a the perfect weak moment to sweep you off your feet and directly into a marriage with it so, did my razors.
Since the day we met I haven’t found another chemical or behavior that has launched such a false sense of safety and control for me. Yes I have seemingly have a continuous love affair with eating disorders. Self-harm just seems to be in a category of its own that nothing else can touch. I had no idea what this behavior was called but I knew what it did for me. IT just seemed to let the air out of the balloon. Somehow I just seemed to find balance if for that brief moment. Then the shaming comments made by teachers, administration, doctors, friends and family seemed to little bit of sparkle that I had told no one about began to disappear. Some of the worst shaming I’ve ever faced is by those in the medical community. After only my second trip to the local emergency room, as a minor, it would be my last. It was a horrible experience with an uneducated and very judgmental doctor. So even today when I should go to the emergency room, it would take the entire Texas National Guard or me being unconscious to get me there. This is why a lot of us have suffered in the dark. The freedom to openly discuss this topic has never been well received.
Where the scars are embarrassing at times because of the questions asked and assumptions made. In the words of Plumb’s song CUT, “…the only anesthetic that helps me feel anything kills inside.” This behavior is one that was typical of some type of anger or depression. However, now, I can have this compulsion even on “ok” days. The types of emotions that seem to trigger these thoughts are all encompassing. Even in graduate school between classes I would have to go to my vehicle to be able to cut to make my brain settle enough to go to another class.
I begin to feel a very strong paranoia followed by a tsunami of emotion in my gut about something I can’t identify. You try to do what they say to but my feel my face get hot and the voices and sounds begin disappear. I use to see this religiosity of the behavior carried out many times without the fear of feeling the pain. Now, I see and feel nothing. She uses it not as a soothing tool but rather her “cat-o-nine-tails” as her way to enforce her discipline. And this is her way to hold everyone inside hostage from speaking truth. Her raw power and emotion have kept us safe for many years. Her extreme paranoia and impulsiveness continues to wreak havoc and destroy even with good intentions.
She doesn’t understand how to view the world as an adult. She continues to live life and view the world like the one she was created in….FEAR AND CHAOS. Don’t hurt her because she’s incredibly sensitive. But she’ll be the very one to push you as far away as you’ll let her just so she doesn’t have to feel the pain of losing someone else that she’s deeply connected. To be that angry every day takes a lot of energy. I’m scared of her every moment of every day. I don’t take the comedic moments for granted as I completely understand Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and her capabilities.
The next episode I’m able to open my eyes and continue breathing once again. As with any other addiction though, there’s always a bullet with our names on it that we continue to dodge until we can’t. And then….a new statistic emerges for various types of studies done on mental illness. It was done out of love and compassion she thinks. And into the arms of love and compassion she can finally retreat. No more scars. .
And at the very last second the hands and shoulders of compassion are extended. This war torn mind and body slowly begins to trust enough to step off into some pain. Instead of the vision of hatred thought by many, there’s a kid silently crying all alone desperately wanting help. But striking out at anything that moves be it good or bad. SILENCE HURTS.
“Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.” ― Anatole France
I’ve written about some of the funny interactions between me and animals namely the Angry Birds of Albuquerque. And I’ve probably mentioned, at some point, my cats Simba and Nalla in passing. But what I would like to share is how two cats changed one part of this big world….MINE. They changed me through their unconditional love.
In June 2000 I was working at a local vet clinic in the Hattiesburg, MS area. Specifically, I was over the adoption center they had there. I would take in puppies and kittens and find homes for them. There was a lot of work that went into that job but I loved working with the animals. This became a place of catharsis that was a nice break from the daily emotional abuse of my marriage.
One day a gentleman walked in with a box and inside it were two little kittens barely a week old. He told me that the momma cat was killed attempting to move these little kittens across the road. We typically didn’t take animals this young so, I took them on as a personal project. From that day forward that box and those two kittens went everywhere I did.
My days and nights included bottles every two hours for these little beings. I hungered to be a mother but deep in my soul I knew that bringing a baby into that volatile situation was not smart. And these kittens were filling that void for the time being. During some of those long nights and sleep deprivation I said to them, “Six weeks and you will be finding a new home.” Tube feeding, bottles, antibiotics and ringworm later and six week old playful kittens would be taken in that same box to the adoption center.
I made their cage extra special and comfortable. These cats would be going to their new home together as the loving sisters that they were. I watched every visitor to see if they were interested in these cats. I was going to interview anyone who was interested with a fine tooth comb. Secretly, I hoped no one wanted them because somehow I had formed a connection that I never thought possible. No one came in and met my unachievable standards for these cats. So…..they came home with me where they would live out the next 15-16 years.
I would find solace in these cats that had no expectations of me. They loved me unconditionally and new when the perfect time was to want to cuddle. Always on their terms of course. If I cried in silence as I usually do, they could hear me from any dark clothes draw, closet or clothes basket in the house. They came running and meowing almost as if saying, “Momma let us love you.” I could be having a true snot crying moment and as long as they were in my lap or touching me somehow they were my own personal sponge to absorb my tears and often heavy emotions.
Simba and Nalla would become the original “Battle Buddies” our fight to survive abuse both physically and emotionally. The emotional and psychological abuse from my husband and brother-in-law could be intense and dangerous. Somehow, though, as long as Simba and Nalla were there I seemed to be engulfed in a bubble that no abuse could reach at least for that moment. This seemed to be that extra bit of protection that I used to my advantage. As long as they were determined to be by my side, I was determined to one day find a way out. That day would eventually come.
There were nights when he would angrily get up with a belt and going into the room where all my animals slept and began hitting anything in his path. My cats were terrified of his anger just like I was. He would hit torment them with a broom which they never get over. As much as I wanted to protect them, it was just too dangerous, for both me and them, to intervene.
My and “my girls” eventually left that relationship with PTSD intertwining our emotions and thoughts. I would take them into my relationship with Melody with all of our scars both visible and unseen attached. Anytime one of us had to use a broom to clean Simba and Nalla would run for cover. And loud noises and even mild arguments and you would find them tucked away in whatever haven of safety they could find nearby.
My girls were quirky as hell just like me. The ultimate form of loyalty I experienced with them and it was beautiful to say the least. A couple of years ago I walked into our living room in Albuquerque to find Nalla, our black and white, overweight kitty sometimes called our “Gateway Kitty,” rolling around on the floor in obvious pain. I looked into her eyes and knew that she was suffering in a way that was not visible. We made eye contact and a feeling from her that said, “You know what to do. Please stop my suffering.” I’ve always told pet owners that when it’s time to put a family pet down you would just somehow know.
This was the day that I had feared since they were very young kittens. My heart was breaking for this beautiful creature that through love had propelled me to safety. The years of intense love for both she and her sister was now gathering for this one moment. With tears streaming down my face and Mel looking on I said, “Get the laundry basket comfortable for her….It’s time.” Trying to comfort Nalla knowing that I really couldn’t physically she seemed to know that my heart was breaking. I kept looking into her eyes needing the reassurance that what I was doing was the right thing. And she looked back at me as if to say, “It’s ok.”
Simba was meowing not really knowing where Nalla was going. She went to her place of solace which was a pillow next to mine on my bed where she slept every night. The ride to the vet was one of the longest rides I had ever taken. My heart was breaking even if the right decision was being made.
I handed the laundry basket with one of my best friends in it to the tech. With tears falling I kissed Nalla and told her that I loved her. A few minutes later I would receive the her collar with the bell on it. A couple of weeks later I would receive her ashes. Simba seemed lost but still tried to comfort me at all costs. Somehow a the survival of an era seemed to be coming to an end.
Exactly one year to the week I would go through the same process with Simba my grey and white tabby. It was like their job had been done and it was time for me to fly on my own. These beautiful animals were with me through a horrible time in my life. They expected nothing other than treats and junk food. There job, as they saw it, was to be with me in whatever way needed or possible. And through their undying compassion I was beginning to heal. Those two little kittens were more than house decoration. They changed my world.
“An animal’s eyes have the power to speak a great language.”
“Coaches who can outline plays on a black board are a dime a dozen.
The ones who win get inside their player and motivate.”
—- Vince Lombardi
I’ve always spoke very highly of all the coaches I played for now 20+ years ago. I’ve always had that strong connection to them regardless of how much time has gone by. Now if you want to know how I get motivated, let me know that “I have a ballgame to play and my team needs me.” My life as a ballplayer took on some of the most raw feelings I’ve ever experienced. Being an athlete was about more than just a game, it was about the entire journey of learning fundamentals and evolving into an individualized athlete with a heart of a champion. Here’s the story of a man that knew exactly what to do to help me step my game up as an athlete. But what he didn’t know he was creating for me was a way to survive.
Nicholas “Nick” Kolinsky was a ex-football player who had a heart as big as his frame. He is still and will always be a legend from the South MS area. He was originally from Pennsylvania but moved to MS many years ago to play for the 1962 championship football team from the University of Southern Mississippi. He stayed around that same area met the love of his life and raised one beautiful family. His youngest daughter, Nikki, and I would be teammates for several years.
This man was surely a legend in the city but for me the term “legend” would take on a whole other meaning. I would meet coach Nick sometime in the early 1980’s. I had play some form of “coach pitch” softball for a year but this was “real” softball, as I saw it, because we had tryouts. I was an okay player but nothing was serious and I was having fun. We had the tryouts complete with coaches from the league and their notebooks looking on and taking notes. A couple of days later my parents and I got the call that I would play for Nick’s Ice House and my coach would be Nick Kolinsky.
This big and loud man would laugh and smile in a way that you just instantly know that he was different than most people you meet. His happiness and love for life, his family and now this young softball team was infectious. You never had to ask me if I wanted to go to practice. I would sometimes walk back to the vehicle with my heart crying tears because I didn’t want practice to end. I ate, slept, breathed and fully saturated myself with his coaching as much as I could.
He pushed me but in a way that I wanted to play at my best. He always told us as players, “You will perform in a game the way that you practice. Winners never ever give up. Every play and every ball you catch or hit effects everyone on your team and they are your family. You leave it all on this field. If at the end of the game you have played the best you could and you left it all on the field no matter what the score you will always be a champion in my book.” He knew how to motivate me. I instantly took some of these lessons with into now a 42 year-old womanhood.
Every athlete has a difficult night where things just don’t seem to work. You misjudge balls. Your hit timing is just off and you begin to worry if you even have any eye/hand coordination left. It was these times when coach would say to me, “Dana, that was a $100 catch and a .10 throw!” It wasn’t earth shattering to be “off” for those games but disappointing it was. He could somehow tell when I needed that “compassionate coach” side and he always encouraged me. He would bring his big “man size” body down to my child size self and look me in the eyes with compassion and said, “Keep going baby. These kind of nights don’t last but you have to keep pushing through them. Don’t you give up! Do you hear me?!!! You leave it out here on this field no matter how much you have to give. Your team needs you. If you get scared and don’t know what to do on those bases KEEP YOUR EYES ON ME. I’m right here and we will do this together.”
Now to most people this interaction might not have been that big of a deal. To that developing child and athlete, that was all I needed to hear. He didn’t say that he would be there to do it for me. He said, “I’m right here and we will do this together.” From that day forward, I played with confidence and have faced every obstacle knowing that he would always be right there. He had no idea what those positive interactions would do for me as an adult. Every single time I had to pick myself up from one of life’s unfriendly occurrences, I always heard my coach saying, “Charlie get up! Your team is depending on you. The game is not over yet. Get back over here!”
Charlie was a name that Coach Nick gave to me because of the way that I played. He always told me, “You play a lot like Pete Rose. You have some of the best hustle I’ve ever seen. From now on you will be called Charlie Hustle.” As long as there was daylight and the “want”, “need” and “will” to continue was there he would stay after practice and hit me additional balls to help me sharpen my skills. Our team seemed almost untouchable. It wasn’t just me who would benefit from his coaching. We practiced and practiced hard every single practice. Lolly gagging was not allowed by him, other coaches or the other players on the team.
After ballgames it was nothing for him to load up the entire team in the back of his pickup truck while we cheered going riding through the city like we were national champions. And to me we were. I’m glad that he gave me a foundation of self discipline. It might be in only a couple areas of my life but it took and I’ve never let go of many of his life lessons. We were told very seriously, “that being a winner is not given. You have to put the work in and even then you might not win the game or the battle. It’s the same with life. You give everything you have all the time until there’s nothing left to give. That is a champion!” He gave all us players a t-shirt that had his business logo on the left chest. But on the back it said “I’M ONE OF NICK’S BOYS” He told us as a team that those shirts you have to earn to be able to wear them. Until I graduated high school, I was known by my nickname Charlie Hustle and I wore that shirt with pride. I always wore that shirt under my uniform shirts throughout my high school career as a kind of balance and piece of my coach right there with me like he had promised.
Because of the impact of his compassion in my days of being a child and developing athlete, I have survived many different situations. I worked hard to live through a lot of things. I reconnected with him after this many years. I was contacted by one of his daughters via Facebook to tell me that his health was declining. On one of our trips back to Petal where he and his family lived the whole time I knew them. I walked into the house where he was sitting and his eyes lit up. “Dana!!!” He chuckled. My eyes filled with tears and I hugged him and said, “Coach I’ve missed you. Here’s my family.” I don’t know if the tears fell like they’re doing now as I write this. But shortly after Marshall pooped on his lap he wanted to talk about old games from when I played ball for him. It was like one of the most beautiful times as a child had been resurrected by the gentle giant that had become a gentle old man. I called him several times since that visit and each time we spoke he had a even more difficult time speaking due to a failing heart.
My beloved coach passed away July 5, 2016. The grief is so great that it’s taken until now to be able to write about such a great man. The towns of Petal/Hattiesburg knew when this man passed away. For me it was like a new national day of mourning. The pain of the little child inside had me disappearing inside myself. My athlete has never stopped mourning over his loss. Anytime you ask me about this guy I called Coach Nick I tear up but not out of sadness. I tear up over the gift I was chosen to receive. That was just gratitude rolling out of my eyes. Since trauma has had such a big impact on my life more than once I always wear that shirt into a session with my therapist when I need his encouragement.
Ironically, as the universe would see fit, I met the one who would be the next big coach in my life only a month later. This time things are different. Now I’m not in the fight for a win in a game, I’m in the fight for my life. And everyone doesn’t receive a participation trophy. Grateful again? You bet I am. I will find a way to succeed because I’M ONE OF NICK’S BOYS!
Below are links and newspaper about this guy everyone knows as The Man, The Myth, The Legend. Please take a little time to read about this man that both South Mississippi and I loved.
“When you know who you are; when your mission is clear and you burn with
the inner fire of unbreakable will; no cold can touch your heart; no deluge
can dampen your purpose. You know that you are alive.”
– Chief Seattle, Duwamish
I was looking through my recent blog posts and realized that I had not yet written about a place I went to visit last summer/fall 2017. There are some situations in life when/where it happens you have to just be quite and let it soak in. Sometimes just looking at how situations came to be can unlock a little patch of “surrendering to the process.”
I believe wholeheartedly that there’s something about how the stars are lining up in my life. I don’t have those answers yet but they’re out there somewhere. In March 2017, I was pretty hopeless in most areas of my life. Out of the blue I get a call from someone who still completely amazes me with her compassion and patience. I had found my new coach finally. Tears streamed down my face as I call my wife Melody to let her know what had just happened. The challenge would be for Mel and I, as a couple, to figure out what was best for our family as a whole. I had my eye set on one thing as my goal and that was the day I could begin this arduous work with someone already proven trustworthy.
We already had planned a trip to Walt Disney world in Orlando, FL with our boys obviously not knowing what the coming months would bring. Anyway, the boys and Mel enjoyed the trip. I just realized how bad things had gotten and was continuing to decline. Our boys were entitled to have some genuine fun that normally they couldn’t do around me because of PTSD symptoms. While at Disney World I enjoyed seeing our boys and Mel with smiles on their faces. For me having so many issues with social situations the trip was torture. The amount of people and no private space had me wanting to just randomly bite people for no reason. Then somewhere on the inside I heard…”Orange is not a good color for you! And you won’t like the flip flops!!!!” Not conventional grounding method but it worked. The fireworks shows, though beautiful, had me running for cover. But I do love my family.
Mel’s grandmother passed away which meant we would be staying very close to the city where I grew up. It doesn’t matter the situation. That area of the country is just not safe for me to be hanging out in. But It was a death in the family and loyalty to our friends and family are stronger than anything we have individually, as a couple or as a family. We eventually made it back to Albuquerque. And things went from bad to worse.
I ended up returning to a trauma unit where I would meet more close friends referred to as my “battle buddies.” This stay was quite difficult to say the least. Things were much different and I left there completely defeated. Just months before I caught wind that someone cared which left me very curious say the least. The only thing I’ve never been surprised by is in the fact that change is constantly happening. This situation was absolutely no different. I licked my wounds all the way back to Albuquerque to my awaiting room where I keep all of my secrets. It was sort of my prison within my own prison.
Someone did mention about this place out in Tioga, TX called Healing Springs Ranch. The last thing I wanted to talk about was more treatment. I was exhausted and felt beat up. My recent trauma unit stay reaffirmed to me that professionals were just dangerous no matter how they put a nice spin on things. And I hated them all. No one would have another shot at me like that was how hurt I felt. I was so miserable and wanted a way out. I wanted help but feared it to my core. Again, I was told to call them and check it out.
I wanted the opportunity to go and try another open campus facility, at some point, because those were where I was most comfortable. I just didn’t want to go right then. Being on a locked unit never helps me or anyone else. But what I was about to walk into was something I was never prepared to experience. I was told who my inpatient therapist would be. I had already known her from previous visits to other facilities and knew that she was gentle so having that knowledge really helped me to settle. Here I was about to trust someone to mess with my “system” again and I wouldn’t be able to leave for awhile. And there was only minimal trust to start with.
My wife dropped me and my belongings off after getting checked in. I was told to enjoy that last Diet Coke for a while. I froze. What in the hell did he just say?!!!! I instantly felt death near. I knew that coffee was not even a remote possibility for me. Caffeine, Caffeine where shall I find thee? I was truly starting to panic. OMG….what have I just agreed to? I was trying to keep the fear buried and plenty of smiles and laughter on the outside.
I soon took that long ride, on the golf cart, to the main building known as the Bunk House. I was beyond terrified and my inside guys were assessing everything we saw, heard and smelled. We passed the field of cows I would learn to love and talk to every morning on daily walks. There were a couple I would name T-Bone and Rib eye. I know I should have a conscious about their names but I don’t. And the golf cart would be parked by cows that had this exact conversation go on right before their eyes.
Friend: Dana those are those different cows called Yams!
Me: I can assure you that those are not yams.
Friend: Dana yes they are I know what I’m talking about. Those are YAMS!!!
Me: Oh for the love of God and the Holy Angels! That is not a potato! A yam is what you have on Thanksgiving! If that is a yam then that potato has four legs and a tail while also saying…MOOOOOOO! A YAK! A YAK is what you’re thinking about and that is not a Yak either! That’s just a messed up looking cow! We laughed then and still today about how funny that brief moment in time unfolded.
When the doors opened and I began the incline on the floor to the nurses’ office I was greeted by a few people welcoming me to Healing Springs Ranch. Omg…they’re a cult! They have a following of people that claim that they care and are happy. I saw who would be my therapist and instantly I thought…Damn I feel bad for you already.
Everyone was so incredibly caring and you just somehow knew that this place was special. It was just different in a loving kind of way. In my illustrious career of dealing with treatment centers and stabilization units I had never found this much compassion in one place. This is a place far from a locked unit. They loved without conditions. This has always been a foreign concept for me because from several abusers “love” had conditions. So accepting this love was going to be a challenge and it was the majority of the time.
Very slowly but surely I would begin to settle in with this new community. This place whatever its magical powers was loving me and I began to melt. No one saw this right off but both me and my alters felt it instantly. I’m a difficult patient in the best of circumstances. But apparently The universe knew what it took to make me crumble……COMPASSION. I was still a very angry and scared person under all the smiles and laughter. They had already found my weakness.
And you seem to know that the relationship is going to be interesting when one of the first people you see you say, “Hey 13 is that you?!” Calling someone, who would turn out to be one of my closest friends, one of your alters’ names can be incredibly funny. I’ll be honest that an argument between a 10 year-old and a 13 year-old can be awfully flamboyant. But put them both in adult bodies and that could be sent to the comedy show of your choosing. However, The awesome look at nature and it’s scary and comforting critters it hides seemed to be medicine for my soul.
Charlie the Squirrel seemed to take the place of the Angry Birds in Albuquerque. My personal encounters involves said tree rodent. Oh Mr. Sandy cheeks decided that I needed a little more confusion and proceeded to bark at me machine gun style. With my very well developed hyper startle response, Charlie might as well have been sitting on my face and chewing on it. All I could think to say was, “It jumped out from the bushes and almost killed me!” Really he just scared the shit out of me from about 10 feet away in a tree. Then I scared the shit out of the people walking with me. We still laugh about it all.
Life had become routine which I loved. At night after most of the day staff left for the evening and we had all gotten our night meds and snacks people would head down to their rooms either for a shower and/or bed. But there were also members of our tribe that enjoyed that 30 minute time period of sitting on the porch with the slight breeze and just decompress from all of the day’s activities. The night wildlife was front and center. If you were brave enough to listen to some of the conversations we would have you would realize that there was an amazing amount of healing that went on. There started out with about 4 people, including myself, who took full advantage of hanging out with this new family. By the time it was my graduation, there were usually over 10 people at night.
I was usually telling some kind of funny story or just getting tickled about the day’s activities. There were stories about Miss Betty and the Mr. Bitchy. Many also know about my Ozzy Osborne impression shouting “SHARON!!!!!!” Any issues between me and Charlie the Squirrel had to be told. Funny stories from being an EMT. Or the funny things about being a lesbian mom raising little boys. On a more somber note someone might bring a guitar to the patio and we would sing.
These other clients and staff were hearing details, ugly details of my past and they still loved me. They were getting to know my alters almost as well as my own spouse. The work we all did was hard to say the very least. Walking in their doors with all of my therapy baggage at the forefront assured me just starting on trust again. But my family members who were also working on their individual issues were also there. After many years of Melody and I flying solo through this life of Dissociative Identity Disorder, I can only wish that the facility had been there much sooner. Finally I had found a place that would take the time to get to know someone beyond the adolescente.
There were times when the work we had done during the day time just managed to leave the mark on someone’s face that said, “I need a friend who understands and to be able to let the tears fall where they may without the fear or feeling of judgment.” Healing with your peers with no parameters to interfere was total freedom.
At HSR, I found my tribe. I found a whole host of “safe people” that I never knew existed. All of the amenities are just a bonus with the total experience. The food is prepared by one of the finest chefs on my list. The staff packs a lot of knowledge about both addiction and mental health disorders. Their passion for what they do can be seen many miles away…like Albuquerque. But what you’ll experience as a whole is beautiful. I didn’t leave there with a lot of answers. But I left there knowing and believing that all people aren’t dangerous and that was just what I needed. Because “those people” and the alumni are who I call….FAMILY.
These are just a few of the reasons that Healing Springs Ranch is where I found my forever home with a brand new, handpicked by the universe, group of likewise compassion and passion for life kind of family. I learned at “The Ranch” that even clowns need to make time for tears. And that not everyone is put on this earth to hurt me. As for my alters and I, well let’s just say that the process of “being loving” with our tone to each other is still moving forward just at a snail’s pace. And I did get to move closer to my HSR family. As difficult of a process as it’s been not moving here with Melody and the boys, I’m in the arms of members of that same family. I finally made it here about 2 months ago and I walked into those loving arms of people that I met hear. They understand without explanation but with humor when I say that I’m one of those people who are buy 1 get 15 free.
“You treat a disease, you win, you lose. You treat a person, I
guarantee you, you’ll win, no matter what the outcome.”
“I didn’t become an EMT to have a front-row seat to other people’s tragedies. I did it because I knew the world was bleeding and so was I, and somewhere inside I knew the only way to stop my own bleeding was to stop someone else’s.”
—Anonymous
There’s no possible way to accurately describe what it’s like to work as an EMT on an ambulance. It’s a career that requires split second decisions and those decisions can and are life changing in many different areas. This was a career that I had fallen head over heels in love with. Please keep in mind that anyone in the EMS system that gets called out is not because someone is having a good day. The same thing for seeing a therapist. No one seeks out a therapist just to go in session and say, “Hey, everything is going great. All I wanted to do was pay a co-pay.”
For me working in the EMS system only for a year still had big consequences. The things I saw in that short year still affect me today deeply. Companies that own this type of service whether they be hospital based or privately owned are suppose to offer stress debriefing after difficult calls. However, I worked for a company that was more concerned with getting shifts covered rather than the emotional and physical well being of their employees which I’m sure was pretty standard in the late 90s.
The year that I worked I developed PTSD as a result of everything that I saw. Some are effected deeply by this and some have less of these effects. Neither of which are right or wrong. PTSD is cold and heartless in its effects and can affect anyone at anytime. I and many others saw human bodies in conditions that no human eye should ever encounter. Yes I chose that career but anyone who enters a career like that are going to see the cruel ways that humans treat others and the consequences of poor choices. And then you also see instances where accidents have sometimes devastating effects. Who does this type of job? Well someone has to do it and I felt incredibly drawn to do this work despite the low wages, long hours and effects on the human psyche. Living in a very abusive situation at this same time left me with no one to talk to without judgment. I also never felt like I could talk with my co-workers because of the machoesque attitudes that were front and center most days. Maybe this was their own way of dealing with things but I needed a release and I never found it there.
Very seldom do you ever truly reap the benefits of such horrible scenes. But there was this one time where I felt that my hard work was done with an outcome that I could smile about. He was a young 7 year-old boy who was heading to his big brother’s birthday party about an hour away. His mom stopped to fill up with gas while he messed around inside the gas station store. Mom was busy with another sibling and making sure the car got filled up with fuel. But this day something caught the eye of this 7 year-old little boy. There was a mechanic shop right across the road. Whatever his reasoning was at the time is unclear but this little boy darted across the busy road only to be hit by a drunk drivers side mirror on his head. The child went down and we got the call.
We were told that the call involved a child and that it was serious. My own stepchild was also 7 years-old at the time so this one was going to be difficult. I just had no idea how difficult it would be. Upon arrival the mother was noticeably hysterical while her child was laying on the unforgiving road. My partner said, “Dana we’ve got to get out of here he’s bad.” So, load and go we did and his mom still hysterically crying was in the front with me. I think we made it to the hospital in about 3 minutes. But this call no matter what our efforts would be left in the hands of God and the universe. I couldn’t leave this situation until I found out if this child was going to make it. I stayed in the trauma room among all of the chaos of a severe traumatic injury. He was showing some very disheartening signs that this injury would be his last. They worked on him for a while but I had to leave prematurely because we had another call to take. I almost couldn’t think because I wanted to stay with him. I guess somehow I thought that if I stayed that he would have a better chance. Irrational as that might seem I just didn’t want to leave him.
A few days later I went back to check on the boy and his mother. The boy having a major brain injury was still in a medically induced coma to give his brain time to heal. His mother told me that he was going to be flown to a hospital in Jackson, MS to receive specialty services for his injury. In my gut, I just knew that the long term outcome would not be favorable. We lost contact but I never forgot this little family. This scene was one that I would replay many times over the next 10 years.
We would bump into each other only by chance maybe once or twice. I found out that he was in a wheelchair and that the medical bills reached approximately $1,000,000 but he was alive. I saw he and his mother she and told him, “She’s one of the people that picked you up on the ambulance.” His beautiful little face lit up and said, “You helped me?” Starting to get choked up but swallowing those tears into my soul I said, “Yes baby I was there.” That answer seemed to be enough and I said goodbye once again.
A few more years went by without anymore contact. And then at the 10 year mark I received a call from out the blue. It was his mother. In my gut I was thinking that he had died due to complications from his disability. But his mother said, “Dana this is_____. He wanted me to call you because he’s graduating high school now and wants you to see him walk for the first time.” Frozen my thoughts were, “Wait what? Walking?!!!!” The only thing I could say was, “I’m there!! Give me the time and place.” So she did.
I immediately explained everything to Mel since we were now together and asked her if she would go with me. She agreed and when the time came we both went to this event. She was taking pictures and I was down on the football field where the graduation ceremony was being conducted. I stood with his family and prepared myself for what I was about to see. What I saw was the most courageous 17 year-old boy who didn’t let a set of horrible circumstances stop him from achieving his goal of one day walking before a crowd of hundreds of people.
Chill bumps and emotion overcame me and a sense of pride that this little boy wanted someone who met him under difficult conditions to be there again for the most important day of his life. Honestly, there’s no way that he should’ve lived but that decision was not mine but was something granted from God. My life was changed that day yet again. He reiterated through his actions again the importance of never giving up.
After the ceremony was over and he was sitting back in his wheelchair, I walked to him to tell him how proud I was of him and to tell him goodbye. He told me, “Ms. Dana thank you for everything you did for me.” And I told that little warrior as I looked into his eyes, “No thanks needed. I would do it again in a heartbeat!” I gave both he and his mother hugs and a little kiss on his forehead and then turned to walk away. My heart was overflowing with joy and I concluded that all the images and calls that still bothered me was worth every penny to be able to have this God given opportunity to witness.
“Life is about making an impact not making an income.”
“I know now that we never get over great losses; we absorb them, and they carve us into different, often kinder, creatures.” ― Gail Caldwell, Let’s Take the Long Way Home: A Memoir of Friendship
Let me start off by saying that I am one of thousands of addicts/alcoholics whose life was touched by Sarah G. Pardue. I remember vividly lying in my bed, depressed and mad at the world that I was sitting in some “rehab” that was meant for people who lived on skid row or had no teeth. I was very quickly but gently told that addicts come in many different forms and that I just so happened to be one of them. I didn’t know who she was but there was something about her that attracted me to her. Not in a sexual way, but like there was more that I wanted and needed to know about this person. She very gently told me, “Dana, we’ll take this one step at a time.” I was so sour at the world that instead of thanking her for her kindness. I simply said, “Really, is that available stitched on a pillow.” I promptly proceeded to roll my eyes.
I guess maybe that comment or instincts kicked in about how I might be as a client. I was like a feral cat that was just angry and hurt. She had that perfect balance for me. She knew exactly how to push me without being condescending or aggressive. And she knew that I needed that very nurturing side to let me know that she was a human that didn’t have any intentions on hurt me.
I, unfortunately, can’t remember all 90 days of being a patient at Pine Grove’s Women’s Next Step Program, but I remembered the therapist that would forever change my life in a very unique kind of way. I was once handed a “character defect” worksheet where there were like one hundred or more on there that we were to circle as our personal character defects that have entangled our lives with addiction. I very quickly looked at both sides; handed the sheet back to her and said, “Nope. None of these describe me or my current, past or present behavior.” She had that “momma look” in her eye that can spark fear in Satan himself. She simply and very non-confrontational said, “Really? Would you like us all as a group help you pick out which ones belong to you?” I promptly answered, “No. I’m sure I can find a few.”
After 90 days of treatment at the “resort” as the husband at the time use to refer to it, I head out on my own with promises that I would one contact her in the event that I found my birth family or completed school. She had done a lot of something most people don’t really know how to do for me that made a huge impression on my life……SHE LISTENED. To that struggling drug addict, that meant more than that next ‘high’ for me. I will admit that I didn’t go willingly. I also didn’t leave willingly even though I had completed the program and for once I was safe from most things. I cried because I was leaving a “special” and somewhat sterile environment from the outside world that was so mean.
About 5 years later, I tracked her down at work to tell her that I had gone back to school to become a drug/alcohol therapist and was currently in my undergraduate work. I also called to tell her that I had found my biological brother, 2 half brothers, my birth mom and birth father and was flying to meet them. We agreed to talk when I got back from my trip and that’s when the re-connection emotionally began for me. From that point forward, I felt like I owed her the unpayable because she had done the one thing that no one besides my parents and certain close friends had never done, at that point, not give up on me. She always saw some form of potential that even today I still can’t see.
I allowed her to slowly begin and to love me until I could love myself. Under the hard exterior, I was melting like butter. I was a kid again with an adult separate from my parents that seemed to love me and listen anytime I said anything. She knew that I was still married to my ex-husband and I was also doing internships under her and a couple other people. It was like everything had come full circle. She and her now deceased husband Doug Pardue became like surrogate parents to me.
They used some very tough love approaches to some of my behaviors and some I didn’t appreciate. I always, knew though, that it was done out of love. They would have “good cop, bad cop” sessions with me that made the show Cops look like pretend. I don’t know if some of you know what being “12 Stepped” means but I can tell you that I’ve had both of their shoes broken off in my hind parts, more than once to get my attention, in an attempt to save my life from whatever behavior was consuming me.
For whatever reason, the stars lined up perfectly again and she is now simply called “mom.” Our friendship grew into something much more special. She has been a “life force” for me for the last 14 years. They both saw me at my worst as a struggling addict of all kinds of addictions. And they were both there celebrating the victory of completing my undergraduate degree in psychology while finally leaving a very emotionally and sexually abusive marriage. Their compassion and my independence that I gained while becoming educated led to me believing that I was not nor would I ever be all those things I had been told all those years by him. I was the only one that could make that change. I wanted someone to come rescue me. This time, though, the realization was that I had to do this scary part on my own.
I became part of their family and she and I had lots of talks about life. We always told each other that we loved one another no matter what. I also was getting to learn from the one that I considered as the “master” of counseling. I watched her every move both at work and home. I wanted to learn everything I could possibly learn from the “Yoda of 12-Step.” The key that she taught me about working with others was not with words but with actions. She quite simply taught me the definition of compassion. I’ve never lost the feeling of an innocent stranger that was getting paid a salary, that for once, cared about what I had to say about what had been done to me and how I felt.
A few months down the road she introduced me to my now legally married wife. She played matchmaker which was never intended. I’m glad the universe saw fit that we be together. We have a beautiful little boy and one on the way to thank all because of Sarah G. Pardue. Both she and Doug took me under their wings and showed me again that a healthy love was possible. I might not ever fully understand why they did that. However, greatful doesn’t begin to describe the feelings I have about what they did both directly and indirectly in changing the direction of my life.
I did complete a master’s degree in counseling in 2009. I have fallen in love with working with the ones that always seem to be the “leftovers of society.” Truly, this is partially due to my own trauma. But the other reason is because of the example that she set for me time after time. She didn’t just talk recovery, she lived recovery. The clients that she worked with saw this and you couldn’t help but to gravitate to something you don’t see every day in a person……AUTHENTICITY.
Sarah fulfilled her passionate dream of working with drug addicts/alcoholics and touched many lives. There is only 1 of the 30 women that I was in treatment with, at the time that I stay in contact with. She also happens to be the only one that never relapsed. I’ve had my struggles for sure. And the other former patient has been a prayer warrior for Sarah during her time of grief and acceptance of the death of her husband and her own illness that took her life.
As I sit in this hospital room, waiting for her time to meet her maker, past friends and family members. I also think about how much she impacted my life in a positive way. I’m just one addict that she took time with and let them know that there was still value in a person who had been told for so long that there was no value left. She did addiction work for 20+ years. How many addicts/alcoholics lives did she impact in ways that no one will ever know? To me her concept of counseling was very simple, “Read the person, not the book.” She taught me things about counseling that no book could ever convey. You just have to be able to watch the miracle happen.
What an example of true love, compassion and everything authentic that many of us as her patients, friends, family and co-workers got to see displayed even when she no longer went to work. The word RECOVERY has her picture out beside it. What a beautiful person that God loved me enough to allow into and bless my life. And because of her love and continuous fight against the war on the “disease of addiction” my future clients will also in some very special way will be touched by her as well. With tears in my eyes and streaming down my face, I can say that there are many people that will always remember the legacy that she left on the hearts of many addicts/alcoholics that didn’t deserve another chance.
I have taken that same compassion and concept into my own style of counseling. She has passed the torch to be paid forward as she did with many of us. I remember that everyone is individual and will have individual needs. Above all, she taught me compassion before judgment because in everyone there is some worth. Thank you for loving me, Sarah G. Pardue!!!!!
And she is now with the love of her life, Doug Pardue. You two will be dearly missed.
Sarah G. Pardue
7/11/53-2/11/15
“You were born a child of light’s wonderful secret— you return to the beauty you have always been.” ― Aberjhani, Visions of a Skylark Dressed in Black
This Puzzled Life 