stigmas

darnold1975

Trauma Awareness Month: The Stories We Carry, The Healing We Claim

“Trauma doesn’t make you weak. It makes you a witness to your own survival.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Let the smoke rise like it’s clocking in for a shift. And let the air shift like it’s bracing itself for whatever truth you’re about to drag into the daylight. Today isn’t about pretending everything’s fine or slapping a smile on top of a wound. It’s not about the vibes, snacks, or cats doing interpretive dance in the sunbeam. It’s about trauma awareness. It is about naming the things we survived. The things we carried alone. The things we laughed through so we wouldn’t crumble. It’s a Southern‑fried, emotionally honest, and funny enough to keep you from dissolving into a puddle on the kitchen floor. 

Trauma Awareness is the kind that hides in your shoulders, jaw, breath, memories, and your jokes. And if we’re going to talk about it, we’re going to do it the only way I know how. Complete with honesty, humor, and the kind of emotional courage that feels like taking your bra off after a long day. It’s painful, relieving, and absolutely necessary.

There’s a moment right before you talk about trauma where your whole spirit goes, “Are we sure we want to do this?” It’s the same tone you use when someone says, “Let’s just run into Walmart real quick.” You know it’s not going to be quick. You know you’re going to see something you can’t unsee. You know you’re going to come out changed. Talking about trauma is like that. Except instead of a man in pajama pants buying raw chicken and fireworks, it’s your nervous system holding up a sign that says, “We’ve been through some things, ma’am.”

Trauma doesn’t just show up when you’re ready. Trauma is that one cousin who arrives early. Eats all the good snacks. And then says, “Why you look stressed?” It pops up at the worst times especially when you’re trying to relax. When you’re trying to sleep. When you’re trying to enjoy a sandwich. When you’re trying to mind your business. And when you’re trying to be a functioning adult for five minutes. Trauma will tap you on the shoulder like, “Hey bestie, remember that thing from 1998? No? Well, I do.” And suddenly you’re staring at the wall like it owes you money.

Your body remembers everything. Even the stuff you tried to bury under humor, iced coffee, and pretending you’re fine. You’ll be walking through Wal-Mart. Touching a throw pillow. And your body will whisper, “Hey, remember that time?” And you’re like, “No I do not. I am touching a pillow. Let me live.” But trauma doesn’t care. Trauma is like a Southern grandmother with a memory like a steel trap. And no sense of timing.

People talk about healing like it’s a spa day. Let me tell you something. Healing is not cucumber water and a robe. Healing is crying in the shower because your shampoo smells like 2007. Healing is realizing you’ve been clenching your jaw since the Bush administration. Healing is sitting in your car after therapy like you just got hit by an emotional freight train. Healing is messy. Healing is loud. Healing is quiet. Healing is confusing. Healing is holy. Healing is exhausting. Healing is worth it. But cute? Absolutely not.

So, buckle up. Because the cats have decided it’s Trauma Awareness Hour. And apparently they’ve all been waiting their whole lives to trauma dump with the enthusiasm of a group therapy circle run by toddlers. And today is the day they ask deeply personal questions with the emotional sensitivity of a toddler holding a chainsaw. They have formed a circle. They have snacks. They have opinions. And apparently, they have questions about my trauma.

Me: “Okay, girls. Today we’re talking about trauma. Share whatever you feel comfortable with.”

She raises paw like she’s in kindergarten

Piper: “I’ll go first because my story is the most dramatic. Obviously.”

Coco: “Oh lord.”

Tinkerbell: “Let the child speak. She needs this.”

Piper: “So picture this. Me and my siblings. In a metal box. In the Mississippi heat, basically sautéing like tiny furry cornbread muffins.”

Me: “Baby, that’s awful.”

Piper: “I know. I was basically a rotisserie chicken with trauma.”

Coco: “You were a sweaty raisin with opinions.”

Piper: “Anyway, I survived because I’m dramatic and stubborn. And now every time the sunbeam hits me wrong, I flop over like a Victorian woman fainting at a garden party.”

Tinkerbell: “You faint because you forget to breathe when you get excited.”

Piper: “Trauma. Tinkerbell. Let me have this.”

Coco clears throat like she’s about to deliver a TED Talk

Coco: “My siblings and I were found under a house. A house. Do you know what lives under houses? Darkness. Ghosts. Tax evasion. I was basically a feral raccoon with trust issues.”

Me: “You’ve come so far.”

Coco: “Yes. And now I cope by judging everyone. It’s called growth.”

Piper: “You judge me the most.”

Coco: “You give me the most material.”

Tinkerbell: “I don’t remember my trauma.”

Me: “At all?”

Tinkerbell: “No. I simply chose not to be present. I was spiritually unavailable.”

Coco: “You had worms.”

Tinkerbell: “Yes, apparently my intestines were hosting a music festival.”

Piper: “You pooped like you were trying to summon something.”

Tinkerbell: “I was summoning peace. And a vet. Preferably both.”

Me: “You really don’t remember anything?”

Tinkerbell: “I remember diarrhea. And then I remember you. Everything else is optional.”

Me: “Well, we’ve all been through some things.”

Piper: “Yeah, but now we’re together! A family! With two crazy brothers who scream at dust!”

Coco: “We are a support group. A dysfunctional one, but still.”

Tinkerbell: “We heal one memory at a time. Preferably with snacks.”

Piper: “And naps!”

Coco: “And boundaries. Mostly for Piper.”

Piper: “I don’t believe in boundaries.”

Tinkerbell: “We know.”

Piper: “Sometimes I get scared when it’s hot outside. So, I cope by yelling at the sun.”

Coco: “I cope by staring at people until they feel bad.”

Tinkerbell: “I cope by leaving my body spiritually whenever something stressful happens. Like when the vacuum turns on. Or when Piper breathes too loud.”

Piper: “I have big emotions.”

Coco: “You have no volume control.”

Tinkerbell: “You have the energy of a toddler who drank a Red Bull.”

Piper: “Momma, what is your trauma about?”

Me: “Oh absolutely not. We are not opening that can of worms. We’ll be here until this time next year. And I don’t have enough snacks or emotional stamina.”

Coco: “Is that why you have panic attacks in Walmart?”

Me: “Yes.”

Tinkerbell: “But what’s scary about going to the pharmacy?”

Me: “Everything.”

Piper: “Everything?? Like the shelves? The people? The lighting?”

Me: “Yes.”

Coco: “The lighting is aggressive.”

Tinkerbell: “The vibes are hostile.”

Piper: “The blood pressure machine is a demon.”

Me: “Exactly.”

Coco: “So what did our therapist tell you?”

Me: “She said, ‘I’ll see you in another couple of days.’”

Tinkerbell: “Translation: ‘You’re a lot. But I believe in you.’”

Piper: “Translation: ‘You have so many issues we need a punch card.’”

Coco: “Translation: ‘You’re keeping the lights on in that office.’”

Me: “But look at us now. We’re safe. We’re loved. We’re healing together.”

Piper: “And we have snacks!”

Coco: “And stability.”

Tinkerbell: “And indoor plumbing.”

Me: “We survived things we never should’ve had to survive. And now we get to build something soft and silly and sacred together.”

All Three Cats: “Group hug!”

Coco: “But don’t touch me too long.”

Piper: “I’m crying!”

Tinkerbell: “I’m dissociating!”

Me: “Perfect. Exactly the emotional range I expected.”

In small Southern towns, admitting trauma is treated like a social crime. The moment you name what happened, you’re not just telling your story. You’re “disgracing the family,” “embarrassing the community,” and threatening the carefully polished illusion of stability that everyone works so hard to maintain. The culture teaches people to swallow their pain. Protect the reputation of the town at all costs. And never, under any circumstances, call out the people who caused the harm. And because the “good ole boy” network is alive and well. And sitting in every position of authority from the courthouse to the church pews, the truth gets buried right alongside the accountability. Even when the perpetrators are known. Especially when they’re known. Nothing is done. The silence is enforced. The victims are shamed. And the town keeps smiling for the church directory photo like nothing ever happened. But the truth doesn’t disappear just because the town refuses to look at it. It lingers in the air, the families, the generations, waiting for someone brave enough to break the cycle and say, “This happened. And it mattered.” And I am that one in my family who refuses to stay quiet about the trauma that happened in the small city of Petal, MS.

Trauma will have you doing things that make absolutely no sense. Things like apologizing to furniture when you bump into it. Jumping at sounds that aren’t even loud. Overthinking texts like you’re decoding ancient scripture. Saying “I’m fine” in a tone that suggests you are, in fact, not fine. And crying because someone said, “I’m proud of you.” And your body wasn’t prepared for that level of kindness. Trauma will also make you emotionally attached to random objects. A mug. A blanket. A rock you found on a walk. A pen that writes really smooth. Your brain will be like, “This is my emotional support spoon. Touch it and perish.”

Trauma awareness isn’t about reliving the pain. It’s about naming it, so it stops owning you. It’s about understanding why you react the way you do. It’s about giving yourself grace for surviving things you never should’ve had to survive. It’s about learning that your triggers aren’t flaws. They’re evidence that you lived through something real. And it’s about knowing you’re not broken.

You’re healing. You’re growing. You’re learning how to breathe again. You’re learning how to trust softness again. You’re learning how to exist without bracing for impact. That’s not weakness. That’s strength with stretch marks.

May your healing be gentle. May your memories lose their sharp edges. May your nervous system unclench one muscle at a time. May your heart learn safety. May your voice return to you. May your laughter come back louder. May your story be yours again. And not something that happened to you. But something you rose from.

So, if no one told you today. You’re not dramatic. You’re not broken. And you’re not “too much.” You’re a whole human who lived through storms that would’ve snapped lesser souls in half. And you’re still here healing. Laughing. Unlearning, Softening. Reclaiming. That’s not survival. That’s resurrection. And baby, if that isn’t holy, I don’t know what is. Drop the sage. Keep the truth. And walk away knowing this. Your story didn’t end in the dark. You did.

Affirmation:  I honor the parts of me that survived. I honor the parts of me that are still healing. I am allowed to grow, to rest, to feel, and to reclaim my peace. And I can do it one breath at a time.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Addiction Awareness: The Lover That Cuts Deep and Comes for Everything

“Addiction is a quiet predator. It’s patient. Calculated. Always hungry. And waiting for the moment you’re weakest to take the biggest bite out of your life.”

-This Puzzled Life

 Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Because when we talk about addiction awareness, the air needs to be thick with truth, protection, and the kind of courage that makes your voice shake but keeps going anyway. This isn’t a pretty conversation. It’s not a gentle unveiling. It’s not polite. It’s not something you whisper behind closed doors like a family secret wrapped in shame. It’s the kind of truth that shakes the floorboards and rattles the bones of anyone who’s ever lived it. Loved someone through it. Or buried someone because of it. This is a front porch, bare soul, trembling‑hands kind of truth. And today, we’re telling it out loud.

Addiction doesn’t walk into a home quietly. It barges in like a storm. It tracks mud across every memory. It rearranges the furniture of your life. And convinces you that chaos is normal. It teaches you to apologize for things you didn’t break. To shrink yourself so its shadow can stretch across the room. And to pretend you’re fine when your insides feel like shattered glass. And the cruelest part? Addiction doesn’t just take from the person struggling. It takes from everyone who loves them.

Families learn to tiptoe. Children learn to decode moods like weather patterns. Partners learn to carry burdens that were never meant for one set of shoulders. And the person battling addiction, learns to hide their pain behind a smile that fools everyone except the people who know them best. Addiction awareness isn’t about statistics or slogans. It’s about the people who wake up every day fighting a war no one else can see.

There are the battles fought in bathrooms, parked cars, and bedrooms with the door locked. The battles fought in silence because shame is louder than the truth. The battles fought by people who are terrified to ask for help because they don’t want to be judged. Dismissed. Or treated like a problem instead of a person.

Addiction awareness means saying, “You are not alone. You are not broken beyond repair. You are not the worst thing you’ve ever done.” It means recognizing that recovery isn’t linear. It’s messy. It’s painful. It’s full of relapses, restarts, and revelations. But it is possible. I tasted that freedom many years ago, during a moment in life that now seems like it never existed. 

Let’s talk about the people that love them too. The ones who hold the line when the person they love can’t. The ones who pray. Cry. Scream. Hope. And repeat. Addiction awareness means honoring their resilience. Their heartbreak. Their bravery. Loving someone through addiction is its own kind of battle that deserves to be seen.

Addiction is not a moral failure. It is not a character flaw. It is not a sign of weakness. It’s a neurological hijacking. And once it gets inside, it takes the controls and refuses to give them back. It’s a thief. A liar. And a weight that no one should carry alone.

Awareness is the first step toward compassion. Compassion is the first step toward healing. Healing is the first step toward freedom. And freedom? Freedom is the birthright of every single person touched by addiction. It doesn’t matter whether they’re fighting it. Surviving it. Or loving someone through it.

I have been an addict in one form or another since I was a very young teen. That’s the part people don’t see. The way it starts before you even understand what “coping” means. Before your brain is fully formed. Before you know that one decision can echo for decades. Some things I let go of and never touched again. But others? Others I’m still married to. Still controlled by. And still waking up beside like a partner I never meant to vow my life to. I’ve stood on every side of this issue. I’ve been a patient, professional, survivor, and witness. I’ve buried friends and family. And I’ve found the bodies of patients. I’ve even sat in classrooms learning the science. And I’ve sat on bathroom floors learning the consequences. 

One of the biggest debates is whether addiction is a disease. And honestly? I see both sides. But I can attest to this. What I know in my bones is that addiction will pick up exactly where it left off. It doesn’t forget you. It doesn’t forgive you. And it doesn’t loosen its grip just because you got tired.

It progresses like a slow-moving fire. Consuming everything until it shuts down every functioning cell in your body. It’s the lover that kisses your forehead while holding a knife behind your back. And it’s like trying to pet a rattlesnake and hoping it suddenly cares about your well-being.

There are no social crack users. No social heroin users. No social meth, fentanyl, or “just once in a while” users of the things that hollow you out from the inside. I’ve known too many who didn’t make it. Too many funerals. Too many empty chairs. Too many stories cut short. And the truth is brutal. Addicts are not the type who typically live to be 80. The statistics confirm what our hearts already know. That many have died. And many more will die.

And process addictions? Eating disorders, self-harm, gambling, sex addiction, etc. are not softer versions. They are simply different roads to the same grave. Addiction doesn’t care about the method. It cares about the destruction. And it will be done in totality emotionally, socially, spiritually, and physically.

It strips you down until you’re a shell of what once resembled a human being. It destroys your life and the lives orbiting yours. That’s the goal. It wants no interference. And no one slowing its roll. It wants you wrapped around its finger in a relationship so co-dependent it feels cellular. It doesn’t care how many relationships are ruined as a result. Addiction is about the next fix. Whatever that fix is. And you will chase it until the line between living and dying blurs. 

The saddest part is that you don’t know you’re susceptible until you’re already in it. Addiction does not discriminate. It shows no mercy to clergy, billionaires, politicians, Hollywood actors, musicians, doctors, lawyers, nurses, or the people just trying to keep the lights on and food on the table.

And the idea that you can outthink addiction? Outsmart the chemical, emotional, and neurological machinery it hijacks? That’s the thinking of fools. And I say that with compassion. Not judgment. There is nothing more heartbreaking than watching someone, yourself included, need their “drug” so badly that they would burn down every good thing in their life for another taste of something that is killing them.

Let the truth rise with the smoke. Addiction is not romance. It is not rebellion. It is not escape. It is suicide on an installment plan. And for every person who struggles, it has a bullet with their name on it. Even mine. Speaking the truth out loud is how we start breaking the cycle that wants us silent. Awareness is the first crack of light. Awareness is the first act of rebellion. Awareness is the first step toward choosing life. Even when the addiction whispers otherwise. It’s a story of survival in a world that doesn’t teach us how to hold our pain. 

Your days of hiding in silence are over. We’re speaking your name. Shine light in your corners. And refusing to let shame be your shield. This is awareness. This is courage. This is the moment we stop whispering and start healing. And it’s for every soul who deserves a life bigger than their battle. Thanks for reading! And ask for what you need.

Affirmation: I honor the battles I’ve survived, and I refuse to let the shadows that once claimed me write the rest of my story. I rise with clarity, courage, and a spine made of truth.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

You Can’t Pray the Gay Away, But You Sure Can Expose the Hypocrisy: A Southern Queer Survival Guide

“If your faith requires someone else to suffer, it’s not holy. It’s just dressed‑up cruelty.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Apparently the courts woke up. Stretched. Sipped their Folgers and said, “Hmm. What if we brought back psychological torture today?” And the conservative Christians said, “YAY! Revival!” Meanwhile, every queer person in the South is standing on their porch like, “Lord, give me strength, patience, and a Xanax the size of a biscuit.”

Down here in Mississippi, we know hypocrisy like we know humidity. It clings. It suffocates. It ruins your hair and your spirit at the same time. And nothing brings out the hypocrisy quite like a ruling that says, “Sure, go ahead and traumatize queer people in the name of Jesus. He won’t mind.” These folks will tell you with a straight face that they’re doing this out of “love.” If that’s love, then I’m a straight man named Bubba who drives a lifted truck and says “bro” every six seconds.

Let’s be honest. This ruling isn’t about saving souls. It’s about controlling bodies. It’s about punishing difference. It’s about making queer people small enough to fit inside their narrow theology and even narrower worldview. And the wildest part? These are the same people who can’t keep their own households together. The same people who preach “traditional marriage” while living like a deleted storyline from a messy reality show. The same people who scream “protect the children!” While ignoring the actual dangers children face like abuse, exploitation, and the youth pastor who keeps volunteering for overnight trips.

But sure. Let’s focus on the gays. Because we’re clearly the problem. Not the pastors who keep getting “relocated.” Not the lawmakers who can’t keep their pants zipped. Not the “family values” influencers who spend more time in hotel rooms than in prayer.

Let me break it down in terms even a conservative uncle can understand. You cannot convert someone out of being gay. You cannot shame someone out of being gay. You cannot therapy someone out of being gay. You cannot “deliverance session” someone out of being gay. Unless the only thing you’re delivering is trauma.

If sexuality were a choice, don’t you think I would’ve chosen something easier? Something with less paperwork? Something that didn’t require me to explain myself at every family gathering like I’m giving a TED Talk in a Cracker Barrel? But no. God made me like this. Curved, colorful, and incapable of pretending otherwise.

You could dangle 45 sets of dangly bits in front of me like a clearance sale at Spencer’s Gifts and I still wouldn’t be straight. But put me in front of some boobs and a cooter cat and suddenly I’m glowing like a porch light in July. That’s not a choice. That’s not a phase. That’s not a “lifestyle.” That’s divine architecture.

If you want to stay in the closet because it feels safer, I get it. But don’t pretend it’s holiness. Don’t pretend it’s righteousness. Don’t pretend it’s “God’s plan.” It’s fear. And fear is the currency of conservative Christianity. I sprinted out of the closet like it was on fire. And I’ve been free ever since. Even with my own family members who weaponize scripture like it’s a Nerf gun filled with shame. I send that mess right back to sender with a smile and a boundary. Chosen family is where the love lives. Chosen family is where the truth lives. Chosen family is where the rainbow was always meant to shine.

Theo rainbow is divine reassurance. It’s God saying, “Relax. I made y’all fabulous on purpose.” No court ruling can change that. No pastor can change that. No conversion therapist with a clipboard and a superiority complex can change that. We are here. We are queer. We are not going anywhere. And we are not apologizing for existing.

So let the smoke rise like a prayer the evangelicals forgot to proofread. Stand tall in your queerness like a magnolia tree that refuses to bow to the storm. Because here’s the truth they don’t want to face. Every time they try to erase us. We multiply. Every time they try to shame us. We shine harder. Every time they try to legislate us out of existence. We become louder, brighter, and more unbothered than ever.

Their hypocrisy is loud. But our joy is louder. Their cruelty is sharp. But our resilience is sharper. Their fear is deep. But our love is deeper. And at the end of the day, when the court rulings fade. When the sermons lose their sting. When the shame campaigns collapse under their own weight. We will still be here laughing. Loving. Living. Thriving. Dancing in the rainbow God hung in the sky as a reminder that storms don’t last forever.

So let them clutch their pearls. Let them scream about “family values.” Let them pretend their closets don’t have motion‑activated lights. We know the truth. You damn sure cannot stop the rainbow from rising. Mic dropped. Floor cracked. Hypocrisy exposed. Amen and pass the sweet tea. Thanks for reading! And Happy Pride year-round. What are your thoughts on this type of ruling?

Affirmation: “My identity is divine. My joy is sacred. And no court, church, or closet can dim the rainbow God put in my soul.”

***Don’t forget to watch the video!!!

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Self‑Harm Awareness Month: Where Growth Happens and My Nervous System Tries Its Best

“I didn’t choose the healing journey. The healing journey chose, dragged me and asked for gas money.”

-Unknown

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. It’s Self‑Harm Awareness Month, and if there’s one thing this month teaches us, it’s that healing is messy, sacred, and occasionally accompanied by a cat sitting on your chest like a furry emotional support paperweight.

Self‑harm is one of those topics people whisper about like it’s Voldemort, taxes, or the time they accidentally liked their ex’s Instagram post from 2014. But here? We talk about it with honesty, compassion, and the kind of humor that keeps us from spontaneously combusting. Self‑harm isn’t about attention. It’s about pain. And the people who say otherwise are usually the same ones who think essential oils can cure a broken femur.

Self‑harm doesn’t happen because someone is weak. It happens because someone is overwhelmed, hurting, or trying to survive emotions that feel too big for one body. It’s a coping mechanism. Not a character flaw. But the world loves to misunderstand what it doesn’t want to deal with. People will say things like, “Just think positive!,” “Have you tried yoga?,” “My cousin’s neighbor’s dog used to feel sad too.” Ma’am. Self‑harm is not cured by downward dog or inspirational throw pillows.

Let’s look at how the addiction occurs. The brain notices that shift and files it under: “This worked.” Not because it’s healthy. However, because it changed the emotional state quickly. The body reinforces it by sending a rush of endorphins, adrenaline, and dopamine. These chemicals temporarily reduce emotional pain or numbness. That relief, even if brief, can make the brain want to repeat the behavior. This is the same reinforcement loop seen in many addictions. Next, the cycle becomes automatic. And with overtime urgency , the brain starts linking stress → self‑harm, numbness → self‑harm, shame → self‑harm, and emotional overload → self‑harm. It becomes a reflex. A pattern, not a personality trait. A survival strategy, not a moral failing. And then shame strengthens the cycle. People who self‑harm often feel guilt, embarrassment, fear of being judged, or the pressure to hide. Those feelings can increase emotional distress. Which can then trigger the urge again. It becomes a loop that’s incredibly hard to break alone. And finally, it’s not about wanting to die. For many people, self‑harm is about wanting to feel something, wanting to feel less, wanting control, wanting relief, and wanting the emotional noise to stop. It’s a coping mechanism that becomes addictive because the pain underneath it is overwhelming. People don’t heal because they’re scolded. They heal because they’re understood.

What does help? Why don’t you try some compassion, support, safe conversations, professional care, people who don’t minimize your pain, and a community that refuses to let shame win. Some days you glide. Some days you wobble. Some days you crash into a display of discounted cereal and pretend it was part of your spiritual journey. Healing is allowed to be imperfect. You are allowed to be imperfect. You are allowed to take up space while you figure things out. “Keep going. Rest when you need to. And stop carrying pain alone.” You deserve support. You deserve compassion. You deserve to be here. And you deserve to heal without shame breathing down your neck like a judgmental church lady.

Self‑Harm Awareness Month isn’t about fear. It’s about understanding. It’s about breaking silence. It’s about reminding people they’re not alone. Not now, not ever. So, here’s to choosing growth even when it feels like a group project we didn’t sign up for, choosing compassion even when our patience is on backorder, choosing to stay when our brains are acting like and the whole system is like, “Ma’am, I was not built for this.”

Then light your sage, drink your water, moisturize your spirit, and strut into the rest of the month like a woman who has survived every plot twist life has thrown at her. Including the ones that arrived unannounced, barefoot, and holding a casserole of chaos. Because you’re still here. You’re still growing. And honestly? You’re doing better than half the people who think essential oils are a personality. 

And as we wrap up this emotional rollercoaster of a topic, complete with sage smoke, hydration, and my nervous system acting like it’s auditioning for a disaster movie. It is like trying to assemble IKEA furniture with no instructions, three missing screws, and a mysterious extra piece that definitely wasn’t in the box. I’ve also realized something important. And it is that healing is basically like trying to reboot a Wi‑Fi router from 2007. You unplug it, you wait, you pray, you bargain, you threaten it, you light a candle, and somehow it still blinks at you like, “Girl, I’m doing my best.” Same, router. 

Here’s to all of us out here choosing growth even when our brains are running on 3% battery. Choosing compassion even when our patience is on backorder. And choosing to keep going even when life feels like a Walmart parking lot at 2 a.m. You’re doing your best, you’re sweating, you’re questioning your life choices, and at some point you whisper, “If this thing collapses, I’m blaming Sweden.” Thanks for reading and remember, Healing is holy, humor is medicine, and you are too stubborn to give up now. But you keep going. Because that’s what we do. And if anyone tries to judge your healing journey, just smile sweetly and say, “Sweetheart, I’m busy becoming emotionally stable. I don’t have the bandwidth for your nonsense.” Thanks for reading! Get educated.

Affirmation: I honor my healing by choosing compassion over shame, boundaries over chaos, and growth over the nonsense that used to break me.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Domestic Violence: Why Didn’t They Just Leave?

“Trauma Bonding is like being a hostage who has developed an irrational affection for your captor. They can abuse you, torture you, even threaten to kill you, and you’ll remain inexplicably and disturbingly loyal.”

– Ann Clendening.

I posted this today to help give you a voice to your own abuser/abusers. I have been in therapy for many years, and sometimes, I even doubt these words. The problem is that we were so indoctrinated with their beliefs, comments, gas lighting, manipulation, and co-dependency that we formed a something called “trauma bonding.”

Trauma Bonding is an unhealthy emotional attachment that develops between a victim and their abuser. It is a complex issue that occurs in different abusive situations that include physical, sexual, and emotional abuse. But it’s also important to note that not everyone who goes through abuse forms a trauma bond. However, some people may be more prone to forming a trauma bond due to the early experiences as a form of repetition compulsion https://www.attachement project.com, 2025). This can happen in domestic abuse, child abuse, elder abuse, exploitative employment, kidnapping or hostage-taking, human trafficking, and religious extremism or cults (https://medical newstoday.com, 2023).

Characteristics of Trauma Bonding:

·        Intermittent Reinforcement: The abuser cycles between periods of abuse and kindness creating a sense of hope and dependence in the victim. Victims of abuse may be waiting for that next “feel-good moment” in the relationship that also keeps them trapped in a cycle of abuse and relief (https://www.domesticshelters.org, 2021).

v  This is also how many addictions keep you stuck. If everything were bad all of the time, you would grow tired and leave. But the intermittent reinforcement is how they maintain control.

·        Isolation: The abuser often isolates the victim from their support system, making them more vulnerable and reliant on the abuser ((https://medical newstoday.com, 2023).

v  I was not completely isolated physically from my support systems. But emotionally I was very isolated. He constantly told me that my friends and family didn’t have my best interest at hand. He would make up lies about things they said and assassinate their character behind their backs.

·        Fear and Insecurity: The victim experiences constant fear and insecurity, leading them to believe that they cannot escape the abusive situation (https://www.savantcare.com,2023).

v  The constant fear and insecurity that I experienced was, in fact, my prison cell. And I was afraid to leave even when the door was wide open.

·        Justification: The victim may rationalize the abuser’s actions or blame themselves for the abuse (https://thriveworks.com, 2024).

v  I was conditioned to believe that everything I did that made him angry was my fault. And it wasn’t. Now, I can see that his actions were because of his behavior, not mine.

·        Emotional Manipulation: The abuser uses emotional manipulation to control the victim’s thoughts, feelings, and behaviors (https://wondermind.com, 2023).

v  This right here was the #1 key factor for why I wouldn’t leave. He even told me, “No other man would ever put up with the things that I have to deal with in you. All of the good things about you, which aren’t many, are because of me. You are useless without me. I have given you everything you wanted. And disobeying me is the thanks that I get? Why do you need anti-depressants when there is no reason that you should be depressed.

Consequences of Trauma Bonding:

·        Difficulty leaving the abusive relationship.

·        Feelings of guilt, shame, and self-blame.

·        Low self-esteem and trust issues.

·        Mental health problems, such as depression, anxiety, and PTSD (https://www.savantcare.com,2023).

Trauma bonding kept me trapped in an abusive situation. People have said, “Why didn’t you just leave?” The problem lies in the way they you manipulate you into believing that everything bad that happens, no matter how minor, is the victim’s fault. And day after day, their hold strengths without you even realizing it. And in my case, I felt as though I was responsible for their thoughts and feelings. I constantly strived to be “good enough” or “well deserving enough” to see the person that he told and showed me he could be when we met. And quite frankly, it was always just a game. Their abusive self is “the real them.” Believe your instincts and the colors in which they present themselves. For that is who they truly are.

If you have read through this and have never been in a situation where everything you do is being controlled, consider yourself lucky. But don’t you dare sit there and say, “It was their own fault that they didn’t leave.” That is one of the most callous things that you can say to someone who is currently trying to survive and those that have survived finally leaving that situation no matter how long it took.

You have absolutely no right to tell me or anyone else how we should feel simply because you have not experienced it. I stayed much longer than I should’ve. And there are times when I still beat myself up for it. Now though, I give myself some grace for not knowing how to leave or recognizing what was going on in plain sight. It’s not just one event that causes this. It’s something that happens every single day methodically planned and executed by the warden in the relationship.

Once you leave, I highly recommend getting into therapy. Just because you think that no damage has occurred, doesn’t mean that it hasn’t happened. Even now, 19 years later since I left him, I have phobias, anxiety, depression, difficulty concentrating, and difficulty making decisions. He has left a mark that will last a lifetime. And some of the things that he did I’ll never recover from. He once told me, “You’ll never be without me no matter what you do!” And the truth is that, while he still doesn’t have total control over me, I still allow parts of him to live rent free in my head.

The next post will be something that represents those of us who have managed to leave and have an understanding through therapy how and where to put the responsibility where it truly belongs, on them.

To those who are still in these types of relationships, I see you even when you don’t openly identify yourself. To those who have left and still live in fear, I see you and you’re not alone. To those of us who continue to strive to change those hard-core beliefs that were instilled by way of threats, intimidation, and violence, I see you as well. None of you are alone. And not all relationships are like this. 

Find a therapist that you trust and open your soul to them. Coach has been a lifeline of compassion and understanding for me that I’ve rarely experienced. And she has never made fun of or questioned why I didn’t leave. Unconditional support and her teachings have made life possible for me many lonely nights. I will probably always struggle with some things and that’s ok. This process is certainly a marathon instead of a sprint. And there is no time limit for healing. The whole point is to continue showing up and moving forward in whatever way that might take shape. You are not on an island like you think. There are millions of us both male and female who struggle with the effects and consequences of domestic violence and abuse.

You are loved. You are wanted. And you deserve the good things that life has to offer. Thanks for reading! And I hope you look for the next blog in a couple of days that I post that will help you begin to find your voice. The power to heal is now and ours.

Affirmation: My story has power and inspiration through it.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

 #Thispuzzledlife

darnold1975

National Domestic Violence Awareness Month

“Never stop fighting for your freedom, you are worth it.”

-DA Survivor-Anon

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negativity energy, go away. Today is the beginning of Domestic Violence Awareness Month. This month is when our voices from all over the globe will be heard. We as victims, survivors and warriors bring to light the horrors of domestic violence and the impact that it leaves on our lives and those around us. Let’s take time out for a little education on a few of the topics surrounding domestic violence.

Domestic Violence is a topic that I know a lot about. Well, I know how to function in it. And I know how to get away from it. But living with the aftereffects reveal a whole other set of problems. Where domestic violence used to be seen as something that only happens to women and their partners. There is more awareness on the abuse of men by their partners. No matter how you identify. It also happens to the most innocent, children and pets. This happens in all forms of relationships. And the statistics are staggering.

Domestic violence is violence committed by someone in the victim’s domestic circle. Which include partners and ex-partners, immediate family members, and other relatives and family friends (https://www.UN.org, 2025). The behaviors can include such things as:

·        Physical

·        Sexual

·        Emotional

·        Financial

·        Psychological actions or threats of actions that influence another person.

This includes any behavior that intimidate, manipulate, humiliate, isolate, frighten, terrorize, coerce, threaten, blame, hurt, injure, or wound someone. The repetitive exposure to violence teaches children that violence is a normal way of life (https://dvcc.delaware.gov, 2025). And for those of us who leave, constant confusion and every minute of no knowing when something else will happen again, is our normal. And the many years of programming by our abusers takes years of therapy to de-program ourselves. But you will never be who you used to be.

Recovery is not for the faint of heart. It is hard and uncomfortable. And it takes years to undo the damage that was caused on so many levels. I was one of the lucky ones. Long story short, I survived. But the mental damage that was caused has left me crippled in some ways. And through the sleepless nights filled with tears, therapy, psychiatric medications, body memories, flashbacks, phobias, and panic attacks, I have learned that I have a voice that deserves to be heard. And no matter what people say or believe, I can validate my own story regardless of the opinions of others. Because I lived it. 

The main thing I want to say to other women and men across the globe who are still in their own processes, “YOU ARE NOT ALONE!” Because it happened to me too. Thanks for reading! Keep smiling and pushing forward.

Affirmation: My light shines even in the dark.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#Thispuzzledlife

darnold1975

SUICDE AWARENESS AND PREVENTION GROUPS PART 2

“I had gotten to the point where I was suicidal every day for six straight years…On that day, I made a choice. The choice to live, the choice to get better for me.”

-Justin

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away. Today, I want to tell you about a couple more suicide awareness and prevention groups. I wish I could cover them all. Unfortunately, there are just way too many. Please familiarize yourself and those you love and are affected.

Stop Soldier Suicide 

This is the only national nonprofit focused on solving the issue of suicide among U.S. veterans and service members. They have an aggressive goal of reducing the suicide rate by 40% by 2030. Veterans are at a 58% higher risk of suicide than those who haven’t served.

Other statistics about veteran suicide:

·       6,407 veteran suicides in 2022.

·       22 consecutive years with 6000+ veteran suicides.

·       140K+ veterans have died by suicide since 2001.

·       Second leading cause of death in veterans under age 45.

·       The rate of veteran firearm suicide has increased by 65%.

·       The suicide rate among veterans ages 18-34 has more than doubled.

·       Western states have experienced the greatest increase in veteran suicide rate, increasing by 55%.

·       31% Depending on branch, up to 31% of service members develop PTSD after returning from combat.

·       7x the rated of suicide for veterans in the LGBTQ+ community is up 7x higher that for non-LGBTQ+ veterans.

The organization’s impact on veteran suicide.

·       90%+ of our most at-risk clients completed a crisis response plan in 2023, giving them tools and resources to cope in moments of crisis.

·       73% of clients experienced a decrease in thoughts of suicide over the course of treatment.

·       92% of clients who were meaningfully engaged in our care showed some improvement in mental wellbeing by the end of treatment (www.stopsoldiersuicide.org, 2025).

The Trevor Project

The Trevor Project was founded in August 1998 by the creators, James Lecesne, Peggy Rajski, and Randy Stone, of the Academy Award-winning short film “Trevor.” The film was about a gay teen who attempted suicide. The filmmakers then established a crisis hotline for LGBTQ+ youth after realizing that there was not a resource available. They have since expanded services to include text and chat support and resources for parents, schools and others seeking support for LGBTQ+ support (https://obamawhitehouse.archives.gov, 2025).

Crisis Services: Providing counseling support services for LGBTQ+ young people 24/7 all year around.

Peer Support: Providing  an affirming international community for LGBTQ+ youth.

Advocacy: Working to change hearts, minds, and laws in support of LGBTQ+ lives.

Research: We conduct research studies to equip policymakers and other LGBTQ+ youth providing professionals.

The Mission

To end suicide among LGBTQ+ youth by providing crisis support, suicide prevention resources, and educational programs (www.thetrevorproject.org, 2025).

Thanks again for reading. The more education and resources we can provide each other with, the better the outcomes for us all. Please pass this information along to anyone who could benefit. I am one of those who suicide has affected my life in epic proportions. I am also one who continues to fight for understanding and compassion in a world that is lacking.

Affirmation: I am not alone, and others care about me.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#Thispuzzledlife

darnold1975

Suicide Awareness And Prevention Groups

“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.

·       1,100+ blog posts and launched a podcast.

·       56,000 find help tool searches.

·       27,000 fulfilled merch orders

·       $3 million donated to treatment and recovery.

WE BELIEVE:

You were created to love and be loved.

People need other people.

Your story is important.

Better days are ahead.

Hope and help are real.

(www.twloha.com, 2025).

The Semicolon Project

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.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#Thispuzzledlife

darnold1975

LGBTQ+ And Suicide

“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.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#Thispuzzledlife

darnold1975

First Responders And Suicide

“Real heroes don’t wear capes. Real superheroes wear uniforms and badges and stethoscopes! Real superheroes are members of our military, law enforcement, and first responders. Pretend superheroes wear capes.”

-Dean Cain

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negativity energy, go away. Today, I want to talk about first responder suicide. This is another group that seems to be looked over when discussing this topic. Having worked in the EMS field, I can tell you that sometimes I saw things that continue to haunt me to this day.

Individuals, who have also worked in the field, have told me, “they just left work at work.” And it was simple. In that case, “Congrats! You are the winner! And you were much stronger mentally, I guess.” But in my situation, I was trapped in a domestic violence situation where emotional abuse was normal. So, working myself to death while experiencing trauma in both my private and professional life, my mind was so overloaded that I developed PTSD from both situations.

Maybe it was the 7-year-old who was hit by a drunk driver and left for dead. Maybe it was the car wreck where sister and boyfriend we both killed. And older sister’s face was ripped off in the wreck. Maybe it was the murder that left a body with half a head from a shotgun blast. Maybe it was the screaming mother, who I had to tell that her child was dead. Maybe it was the mother on Mother’s Day that was told that her law enforcement son was killed in a drunk driving accident. Maybe it was the woman who was ejected from a vehicle after falling asleep behind the wheel, whose legs were pinned behind her head. Maybe it was the suicide scenes. Maybe it was putting a child in a body bag in front of a mother. Maybe it was the person hit by a train where chunks of meat were the only thing that remained. Maybe it was the disabled individual in a wheelchair who was raped by her cousin. Maybe it was the woman who was cut from ear to ear, because she was cheating on her boyfriend with a white man. Maybe it was working hard on a grandmother, in front of the family, begging for us to save her when we couldn’t. Maybe it was the male body that was found in a house that had been dead for several days. And the only way the neighbors knew something was wrong was because they smelled him through the walls. Maybe it was the little girl who innocently climbed up in her daddy’s pickup truck only to find a loaded gun and accidentally pulled the trigger leaving one of the bullets lodged in her brain. Maybe it was the little boy who was handed to a good Samaritan from inside his father’s eighteen-wheeler, only for the truck to explode because the jaws of life were not available. Maybe it was the car wreck where I had to sit in the dead passenger’s lap to work on the dying driver. Maybe it was the mother who died from a seizure and her little girl was left in the home alone for over 8 hours before the body was found. Maybe it’s the smells of decaying bodies that I continue to smell almost 30 years later. Maybe it was telling my boss that I was having flashbacks from a gruesome scene only to be told, “If you can’t handle it, pick a different profession. Maybe it’s the incessant scenes that I continue to replay beyond my control with questions about if we did enough. Maybe, Maybe, Maybe.

In the time that I worked, I saw enough trauma to last me a lifetime. There was no one to talk to about anything. Like I was told that there would be. Getting shifts covered was more important than the safety and well-being of employees. And somehow, sexual harassment and a near rape by a co-worker was viewed as though I brought it on myself. And eventually, trying to survive by living in my car and attempting to distance myself  from the domestic violence situation led me to a level of depression and despair that was somehow new to me. I was forced to keep unethical secrets which was “normalized behavior.”

A lot of people that I worked with were dealing with problems through narcotic diversion, sex with random partners, alcohol and drugs were seen as “off-day or working” coping skills. And the level of compassion for another human being “hitting the skids” to a level that was disturbing. There was not just one reason that I was having suicidal thoughts. But I had nowhere to turn for help that was “safe.” And the work environment was just as toxic.

Life said, “Here are the pieces. Figure it out.” And I tried to bury them so far down that I never wanted to revisit those fears and feelings again. For a long while, I was able to do just that. But when you have unresolved trauma there’s only one thing that you can be sure of, it will surface again. And almost 20 years later it would come forth vigorously. And it almost killed me.

First responders include police officers, firefighters, paramedics, EMTs, and telecommunicators. Due to the unique occupational stressors, the risk for mental health issues and suicide are at a much higher rates of depression, PTSD, suicidal ideations, and behaviors  (www.cdc.gov, 2021). And due to consistent exposure to traumatic events can impact the brain’s ability to process the experiences.

The Impact on Mental Health:

·        PTSD, depression, and anxiety: first responders are at a significantly higher risk of developing these.

·        Cognitive Issues: Trauma can lead to difficulties with memory, attention, planning, problem solving, which can affect daily functioning and relationships.

·        Secondary Traumatic Stress (STS) and Vicarious Trauma (VT): first responders can experience emotional and/or psychological distress from observing or hearing  about the trauma of others. And can lead to the symptoms of emotional numbness, irritability, sleep disturbances, and physical complaints.

·        Burnout and Compassion Fatigue: Demanding nature of the job and frequent exposure to suffering can lead to emotional exhaustion and reduce capacity for empathy (https//extension.usu.edu, 2025).

It has been said too many times, “Well you chose the profession.” And to that I respond, “Yes, I did. Who else would’ve done it? You?!” And then, of course, the sound of crickets followed. To this day I can say that I loved working in the field of EMS. But my brain took a beating. The trauma of the event doesn’t happen at that exact moment. It creeps. And if you are running back-to-back traumatic calls, then the brain never has a chance to recover. Also, when therapeutic help is seen as shameful or weak, this further ostracizes the employee to thinking that there is no way out. There are those “trauma junkies” as they are called that seem to enjoy the trauma. However, from working with those types of individuals, I have found that there is also a higher rate of alcohol and drug use.

Reducing the stigma will only happen when senior management are supportive of mental health efforts to keep all employees safe. And in the environment where I worked, the stigma couldn’t have been any stronger. People were allowed to work an extreme amount hours without sleep, which was very dangerous. In fact, an EMT who was in paramedic school, was allowed to work without adequate sleep and he wrecked an ambulance with a patient on board, because he fell asleep at the wheel striking a telephone pole. And sadly, there are currently no federal laws that regulate this. This problem is still left up to the digression of private companies. 

A national organization known as  the National Association of Emergency Medical Technicians have issued guidelines for managing fatigue in EMS personnel. This sets guidelines such as limiting shifts to less than 24 hours in duration and providing access to caffeine to help counteract fatigue. And offering naps. However, I can tell you that the only “nap” I was offered was during the time it took for a red light to change to green. And there is a recognized concern about EMS worker fatigue for both workers and the public. Research also shows that more than half of EMS workers report severe mental and physical fatigue, poor sleep quality, and inadequate recovery between shifts (www.ems.gov, 2019).

I can only hope that those entities that have an ambulance or some other type of EMS service abides by this. However, I can almost guarantee that senior administrators are more concerned with the dollar amount that is acquired at the end of the month. Because the low pay rate of EMS workers makes the individual “a dime a dozen.” And they will just be replaced if they can’t handle the stress. And this attitude combined with the difficult nature of the job is why I would still consider this working environment dangerous for the worker, as well as patients.

If you are or know someone in this profession, it is imperative that you and they both know the importance of “healthy” self-care. Asking for help is not a weakness. It’s the personal responsibility of the employee and the companies that employ them. Please make use of services that are provided. Thanks for reading! Stay safe.

Affirmation: I am allowed to ask for what I need.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#Thispuzzledlife