Month: February 2022

Evening Reflection 012: Queue Discontinuation

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Daily Summary:
I woke up today after sleeping decently. Not awesome, but decent. I’ll take decent. 

I’ve sold the twin bed frame that I had along with two storage things I bought from Walmart a while ago. I haven’t been using those things and with moving on the horizon and finances not being the best I figured I would get rid of some stuff and try to make a buck. It’s been helpful. 

Work has been alright. Got a 95 on a call. Mildly frustrating. I’ve also messed up my adherence at work a few times this week. Sort of ready for the month of February to be over and for March to start. 

Still no news about the application for the house. That’s annoying. 

I got my state and federal tax returns, so there’s that. 

I’ve also done a lot of digging into my credit and have game planed, sort of, with Ox about what things we’re going to try to tackle financially. 

I’m going on day four with no Zoloft, which will be the main focus for my ramble. Right now I’m trying to breathe through the not ok-ness. I think I’m succeeding. Tonight is also really hard and I’m trying to embrace the hard. If not embrace it, then at least acknowledge that it’s not permanent. This feeling inside my head, inside my skin, will pass and I’ll be back to normal soon.

I wish now was soon. 

Random Ramblings:
I feel like I’m experiencing discontinuation symptoms. I have a weird sense of balance. My skin feels weird. My mind is sort of foggy. It’s hard to focus. It’s been progressively harder to want to write which is why I haven’t for a few days. I get headaches off and on and there’s nausea at times. 

It… I don’t know. Sucks seems too harsh. I have definitely been through worse. But it’s not “fine” either. 

I feel my emotions more intensely. I feel like crying with some of the information I gathered today. I feel trapped by my debt. I feel like I’m playing at being an adult and I’m never actually going to be one. 

I did consolidate my student loans and filled out the application for a repayment plan. At least I’ve been proactive with that. The covid forbearance is going to end soon. At least there’s an affordable game plan for that one area in my financial world. 

I want to cry. Maybe I will. Maybe I just need a really good cry after figuring out so much today. After talking to so many people today. 

I have my dentist appointment tomorrow. Next week starts my Eqip camp that I found out… Tuesday? That means my workdays will start at 8am instead of 12:30. It means I’ll get done with work at 4:30pm. So I can go to the house and spend the evenings with Ox. There are silver linings to the things in my life which are causing friction. 

I’m doubting myself. What if I can’t be off of the Zoloft? What if my brain can’t function the way it used to before I started taking the medication? What if these sensations don’t go away, or last for months like some people report? What if I’m a failure at life and I’ll never be able to recover from stupid choices? What if my whole life is a mistake? 

I know it’s not. God fucking damnit you evil son of a bitch of a voice inside my head. I know my life isn’t a mistake. I know I am not a mistake. I know things aren’t falling apart and I know I’ll most likely feel better after I sleep. So why? Why am I feeling like this? 

Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to write. I don’t think it’s helped me feel better. At least the emotions and feelings are out there. Everything is fine and yet I’m not ok. And it’s ok to not be ok. I’ll get through it. I have before. I can today; tonight. I can tomorrow, too. 

I can do this. I’m just going to throw a fit and have a cry-fest while I do it. #INFJ

Morning Musing 012: Tuesday 02.22.22

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Gratitude:
I am grateful for the people in my life who help me stay balanced and maintain a clear perspective, even when craft stores are jerks and refuse to have THE ONE thread I need to finish a project. 


#1 Goal:
Packing up my cork boards. 


#1 Concern:
Now that I’m feeling better that the weather is going to be crap for the next forever and I’ll never get anything accomplished ever. 


#1 Achievement:
Finishing all of my meal prep yesterday.

Evening Reflection 011: The Madwomen

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Weekend Summary:
I lost my writing streak. I was so close to two weeks. While losing my streak doesn’t feel the best, I can’t deny that I loved and enjoyed my weekend. Friday night I wrote. Instead of cross stitching, I curled into bed next to Ox. I was finally able to sleep elevated since we have a billion pillows at the house. It was amazing. I slept deeply, content the few times I did wake up to find Dagger sleeping on my abdomen, his tiny chest rising and falling as he slept with me. 

Saturday wasn’t the “best” day. Even though I woke up feeling ok, I started feeling fatigued again. I did some research into “long-covid”. One of the first things I read was, “Your fatigue is real”. 

That one sentence was actually surprisingly helpful and reassuring. I keep wondering if I’m just “man-flu”ing my symptoms. I can’t be THAT tired. I SHOULD be more recovered. Only… that’s not true. Fatigue is real, and the best thing I can do for my body is to let it rest when it tells me it’s tired. 

So that’s what I did Saturday. I took a nap when I felt like I needed to. I didn’t give myself shit for not jumping straight into task list annihilation mode. When I woke up I slowly started doing things, ever mindful of how I was feeling.

I ended up dying my hair. I showered and it wasn’t just a quick “I need to shower” type of shower. I allowed myself to enjoy the experience. I shaved and cared for my body. I scrubbed my feet, which I’m sure isn’t the sexy feminine ideal that society brainwashes us into having. 

I used to scrub my feet all the time. When I worked at DaVita and was on my feet for 12+ hours a day, I would scrub them more to help ease the pain I felt. I had plantar fasciitis. Waking up in the morning sucked because those first initial steps out of bed felt like searing iron coursing down the ball of my foot into my toes. Scrubbing helped the mornings suck not as much, though there was always, ALWAYS, some degree of pain.

As my plantar fasciitis healed, I didn’t scrub my feet as much. I didn’t need to. But then the calluses on my feet started getting bad. I could feel it in the way the rough skin on the bottom of my feet would catch on the sheets. I could feel the sand-papery sensation and it bothered me. It wasn’t what I was used to. It wasn’t “normal”. And yet, every time I was in the shower I would think about how now my feet were “high maintenance” and rather than doing something about it I would punish my feet for wanting attention by not giving it to them. 

Well, Saturday, during my self-care shower, instead of bitching out my feet, I actually gave them the attention they needed and deserved. My feet have taken me literally everywhere I have gone in my life. They weren’t being “high maintenance” they were asking for regular, normal maintenance and I was being an asshole. 

Why? 

Because they were feet? Because they weren’t “supposed” to need anything? Because it didn’t conform with the false reality that it’s not feminine or sexy to pay attention to something as gross as feet?

Fuck that. My feet deserve to be scrubbed. They deserve attention just like every other part of my body. There’s nothing gross about feet that are cared for. My feet shouldn’t be in pain to be worthy of my attention. So I scrubbed. And scrubbed. And scrubbed. And scrubbed. 

With how much I had already one before setting about the scrub task, I was pretty exhausted by the time my shower was done. Curse you, Fatigue. It felt worth it though. I felt more connected with myself. I felt like I had actually done something to care for myself. It felt like I was actually, finally, “in my corner” like I keep telling myself I am.

I wasn’t able to sleep Saturday night. Instead, I stayed up and cross-stitched in the living room while Ox slept. Dagger kept me company while I listened to a new book. Burnout by Emily and Amelia Nagoski. It was interesting. It helped explain what I experienced during my last months at DaVita. It also explained why certain things seem to work for coping and why other things don’t. It talked about the neuroscience behind those things and since the book is read by the authors you get to hear them geek out over the science. 

I didn’t go to sleep until after 5am. Papa and Mama Ox were already awake. I slept for roughly 4 hours before waking up to have breakfast with the family. It was a super tasty and warm breakfast, after which I laid back down. Ox let me sleep. Eventually, I got up. I cross-stitched more. I showered. I scrubbed my feet again and this time it wasn’t a super huge involved ordeal.  We had dinner. I stitched more. Eventually, it was bedtime. I had a hard time falling asleep so I took melatonin. And that was most of my weekend. 

I got caught up, for the most part, with my Synthroid. I know that’s going to take a little bit to get into my body. I might not have hit the true slump from being behind so much. I’ll get through it though. Today is also the last day of Zoloft for me. I’m looking forward to that. Ox is off work and headed home and my day is about to truly begin. 

I’m grateful for the weekend I had, full of cat cuddles and acceptance, peace and quietness. It was what I didn’t know I needed. 

Daily Summary:
Today was a surprisingly nice day. I woke up with Ox to see him off to work. I went back to sleep with the cats after he left. Woke up again. Took my meds. Chatted with John before writing my weekend summary and taking a shower. Ox was done with work and home by then. We decided to do lunch together only to find out the place we had originally planned to go is closed on Mondays.

We ended up going to Subway instead. I also went to the gas station to put gas in the car and get energy drinks for the week. Ox and I ate outside, enjoying the relatively nice day. The wind wasn’t too bad. The sun was out. It wasn’t super cold. It was a very connective experience and I’m glad we were able to share it together before the weather turned shitty.

We even had some philosophical conversation as we shared a post-meal cigarette. : 3

I drove from Subway to Micheal’s to get some more thread for my project. They didn’t have it. Instead of falling into the pit of disappear, I called Ox. Maybe he would know of another craft store close by. He said with the time I had remaining before work, it most likely wouldn’t be possible for me to get to the other stores. He suggested Walmart since they do, technically, have a shitty craft section. 

I agreed it couldn’t hurt to look. Walmart is on the way back to the apartment. Maybe they would have it. Maybe they wouldn’t. Either way, it wasn’t out of the way so why not try? 

Well… they didn’t have it. : (

That’s ok though. I can try again tomorrow. I did pick up a yard of fabric while I was at Walmart. I want to make something… I need an iron… Super secret project. Dun dun DUUUUUUUUNNNNN!

I returned to the apartment. Unpacked the bag that I took to the house with me. Took out the containers of food from the freezer along with a bag of chicken. I got ready for work and proceed to have a chill day. 

I did get a call 3 minutes before my lunch break. That wouldn’t have been so bad except I was on that call for 50 minutes. ;-;

Once I was finally able to go to break I unloaded the dishwasher, cooked up my breakfast burrito mix, and started the chicken baking. 

I finished listening to Burnout and printed out the PDF sheets the book mentioned. I haven’t done a lot of the sheets. I’m not sure how to yet. Rather… I’m not in a place to utilize a lot of them. I don’t feel I’m having a hard time making a decision. I haven’t figured out my “smash the patriarchy” yet. 

The sheets I did work on revolved around my “ideal” schedule. Now that I have a consistent schedule, I can actually try to structure my days. This is the second day in a row that I haven’t had a fatigue spell. I’m hoping tomorrow is more of the same and I can start trying out this “ideal” schedule. It seems nice in my head. Until I put it into practice I won’t know how it needs to be modified. 

I started listening to a new book. Verbal Judo by George J. Thompson and Jerry B. Jenkins. I’m not very far into it so I don’t have much of an opinion. 

I’ve already cleaned up the kitchen. Washed the pans I used. Wiped down the counters. I’m going to finish the last thread I have before curling into bed and calling today good. Tomorrow might be a little on the busy side before work, but I’m looking forward to it. Hopefully, my energy levels align and it turns into a day of wonderful productivity. Hopefully, this post covid stuff is done. 

Random Ramblings:
One of the things that struck me most about the book Burnout was what Emily and Amilia called “the madwoman in the attic”. Essentially we all have an inner critic that is always hyper-aware of what we’re doing wrong. It’s our “ideal” self. The self we feel like we’re “supposed” to be. Perfect. Flawless. The unrealistic us society forced into our brain to make us feel like crap when we end up being human in an imperfect world. 

I’ve put a lot of thought into this section of the book. I know I have a madwoman in my head, but I couldn’t figure out if it was just one… or if I had two…

I used to write about the two sides of my mind, way, way back in the day. My irrational right brain is my 4-8-year-old self who is always throwing a fit and my logical left brain who I see as a scientist with rimmed glasses scribbling away on her clipboard. 

To me, the child is my id and the scientist my superego. And then there’s me, the ego, constantly trying to get the two to play nice and understand each other. By the way… that job is fucking mentally exhausting. 

Looking at the two sides from the lens of “the madwoman” perspective, I think I’m starting to understand those two better. I understand why mine most likely split instead of remaining as a single entity like it is portrayed in the book. Maybe other people are like me with multiple “madwomen”. I don’t know. All I know is what feels right for me, and for me, I see them as two different personas because they protect two different areas of myself. 

It made me wonder when the split happened and why. 

I don’t know when the little girl emerged. I know I’ve written about her consciously in writings since mom’s death. I don’t know if she predates that. I don’t know at what point my irrational right brain formed into something I could visualize that way. Maybe always. Maybe she was there shortly after dad left and I ignored her, forcing her to sit in timeout for years while I drifted aimlessly through the depression of not being good enough. Maybe I neglected her for a really long time. Maybe she was there through all of the shitty relationships I was in and that was why those relationships felt so shitty; because I wasn’t protecting her any more than I was protecting myself. 

What I know is this is who she is now. She is the part of my consciousness that represents my worthiness, preciousness, my softness, my care, my love, my desire to do good and to make people happy. 

She is also my vulnerability. She is the me without armor. She is the me that needs love and nurturing and affection because those ARE needs. 

She lets me know when we have hurt someone or someone has hurt us. She lets me know when we’re lonely, which is different from the desire to be alone and to have solitude. She lets me know when I have gone too long without a hug or a connective conversation or experience. She lets me know when reality is different from the ideal I feel I should be living. 

She is the me which rages at injustice and cries when the world is cruel. She is the me who is hotheaded and willful and fuck armor I don’t need armor! I will destroy you with my bare hands because how dare you think you can treat people that way! She is so full of righteous fury sometimes and hellbent on proving her point that it doesn’t matter that she is small. She will make the world see right because how hard is it to be kind? Why, why can’t people just… not be assholes?

And then there’s my scientist. I feel I have a better understanding of when she developed. Around the time I turned 13 I think. She is my logic and facts. She’s the one who peers over her rimmed glasses and informs my child-me that throwing a fit and being angry or crying isn’t going to change anything. She’s the one with charts and data and research articles worth of information supporting or disproving why something is right or wrong. 

Emotions mean very little to my scientist. The only thing she truly cares about are facts, numbers, statistics, probabilities, backup plans, task lists, visual progress, structure, procedures…. 

She lets me know when I’m “being irrational” or “emotional”. She loves letting me know when we’re “behind schedule” or “being unproductive”. She’s also amazingly awesome at letting me know when “being emotional” is dumb. 

She’s not warm and supportive. She’s very distant and detached. She is an observer and she informs me about hard truths. She’s also really good at planning and seeing patterns in behavior and calling shit because she has pages and pages and pages of unconscious information scribbled down on her clipboard. In a way, she’s my intuition. I don’t have access to all her notes, but she does and she knows how shits going to go down and I should trust her and if I don’t she’s going to do that “peering over the rim of her glasses” thing with that “look” when something goes the way she said it would. She doesn’t have to say “I told you so”. She wouldn’t sully her perfect scientific demeanor by doing something so petty. I almost wish she would because fuck that look! I know I should have listened to you, alright! For fucks sake, not everyone can be perfect know it alls like you!

She is a quick learner and one super smart cookie, even if she’s not the friendliest person. 

They both serve a role within the landscape of who I am and how I’m supposed to interact within the world. I understand now why it’s so hard for them to get along. The scientist invalidates my child’s emotions and my child doesn’t care about the numbers and logic. 

I’ve always felt these two beings were at war with each other and I am the field on which they waged battle.

Maybe it’s because I’m seeing this scene with older eyes that I realize it’s not a war but a misunderstanding. How can a child wage war and why would a scientist want to?

They both want understanding, respect, and validation. 

It’s not a battle, it’s miscommunication and it’s a miscommunication because I didn’t understand. I didn’t know how to communicate. It wasn’t either of them doing something wrong or being incompatible. It was me not listening.

My inner child was crying out about how she didn’t like the way she was being treated and yet I stayed. My scientist was giving me rational arguments and yet I ignored what she said was a red flag. 

And when my child cries it should not be my scientist talking to her. It should be me; 30-year-old emotionally intelligent me. I should be the one to hug her and ask her why she is upset because I understand her emotions. My child does not need a scientist to look at the situation and say there’s no visual reason to be upset so stop crying. 

I’m not sure I have it all figured out in my head. Maybe my scientist is the “madwoman” but I don’t think so. She means well. She is trying to help me survive just as much as my inner child. They both want me to be safe and loved and to be the best version of myself I can be. 

They both serve a purpose and my purpose is to understand them. So I’m trying to. I don’t feel like I have a lot of experience in understanding either of them. I don’t think I’ve ever tried to understand with empathy. I’ve always tried to control both of them. You! Be less emotional. And you! Be less of an unfeeling bitch. I’ve never looked at what they needed or wanted or what their strengths were; how they bettered me as a person. It was always me bitching about how they made my mental landscape hell. 

Maybe if I didn’t ignore them, maybe if I listened to what they were trying to tell me, they wouldn’t have to wage war to be heard…

Morning Musing 011: Monday 02.21.22

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Gratitude:
I am grateful for cat cuddles and pillow mountains and audiobooks about Burnout and warmth and love and connection.


#1 Goal:
Going to Micheals for more thread before going to the apartment to complete my day at work. Also food prep.

#1 Concern
Not getting approved for the lease. 

#1 Achievement:
Enjoying my weekend fully without guilt or shame.

Evening Reflection 011: Meds…

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Daily Summary:
Another night of decent sleep. That’s two in a row! Life goals are being reached!

I woke up to Ox calling me. I “Mhmmm”ed and “yeah”ed my way through the conversation, still clinging to the wonderful sleep I had been having until he got the unspoken message that I wasn’t going to wake up yet. After about another hour of sleep, I finally slugged my way out of bed. Called Ox back for an actual morning chat. I was feeling pretty good. I felt like I had energy to do some things before work, so I did.

I got my threads up away. I cleaned up all the fabric that I had gone through while I was prepping my next projects. I even went through the baggies of thread ends and made sure they were all labeled with the right year. I did a lot of cleaning and organizing in regards to my cross-stitch stuff and it felt good to finally get those things done. 

I cooked one of the frozen meals I bought yesterday with Ox. Ricotta stuffed shells. It was actually surprisingly awesome. 

I paid bills and filled out the application for the house John is leasing. I’m hoping that gets approved without issue. 

I didn’t do much of anything else before work. Ox stopped by after work and hung out with me again. Around that time was when I started feeling extreme fatigue. Thankfully it got better after a few hours. It was nice having Ox around again, doing his own thing on the PS4. It makes part of my brain wonder what it will be like to finally live together again. To not always be aware of the minutes until we go our separate ways. To fall asleep next to each other continuously like we used to unlike the two maybe three times a week we do now. 

I stitched a fair amount today. I didn’t listen to my book more. The next chapter is where Rachel talks about the suicide of her brother. I don’t think it would be a good idea to listen to that while at work or before going to bed. I’m pretty sure it’s going to stir up my own grief for mom. 

While I was on my lunch break I loaded the dishwasher and set it to run. I cut up the chicken quarters so I could put them in the freezer until next week. I swept the kitchen and wiped down the counters. I even bagged up the trash to take it out later. Look at me being productive and efficient. 

I also packed up most of the stuff I wanted to take to the house with me this weekend. After that, I finished out my night at work. 

When I got to the house Ox was apologetic, saying he was tired and going to be going to bed. I was disappointed. That hadn’t been the vision I had of our night together. But it’s ok. After about 5 or 10 minutes I had come to terms with the change and figured out a new plan for my night.

I would heat up the chili I brought with me. I would write since I hadn’t done that yet. I would shower after writing and by then Mama Ox should be asleep which means I can cross-stitch in the living room alone with the cats. 

Tonight is different than what I thought it would be, but it can still be a good night. I’ve already eaten. I’m nearly done writing. Mama Ox is in the process of heading to bed. Everything is going well even if it is different. 

Random Ramblings:
I read last night’s writing to Ox today. It was easier than I thought it would be. He assured me I could tell him anything, always. I believe him. After four years of being together and working through hard or uncomfortable conversations, I have learned that I CAN talk to him and I do not need to fear his reaction or losing his love and support. 

I told him how last night had been insightful. People think I am enlightened or that I have my life together and here is yet another example of how I don’t. How I’m human with flaws and how even after 30 years I’m still figuring things out about my own behavior. 

I do feel I should clarify a bit about the “comply” part of the writing. After rereading it, I realized I didn’t do a good job of explaining the difference between obedience and compliance. 

If dad told me to help rake the yard, it wasn’t enough to say “Yes, Sir.” I had to be ok with doing the chore. I couldn’t sigh or complain. I had to not only do the chore I had to be willing to do it. If I made any indication that I wasn’t “happy” about having to do something it was almost as bad as not doing it at all. 

That’s I guess what I was trying to get at with making the distinction between obedience and compliance. I not only had to do what I was told. I had to be happy about it, or at least be really good at pretending it didn’t bother me even if it did. 

On to another totally different topic…

I found out why my previous refill of Synthroid cost me twice as much as it did before…

Because my plan is dumb. 

I mean… that’s really what it comes down to. Because I’m taking two 125 mcg daily, I’m considered on a “weird” dosage and my plan doesn’t cover anything other than “normal” so I’m getting charged double what I was paying with my previous insurance. 

What the fuck?

There’s not a whole lot I can do about it right now. Honestly, the only way I could maybe change my dosage is to lose weight. Since I’ve been sick the past two weeks or so, that hasn’t been very high on my priority list. I’m hoping to be back at it soon. And maybe, maybe, it can save me $40 a month for the meds I don’t have a choice in taking if I want to keep living. 

Our system is seriously fucked up. 

Morning Musing 011: Friday 02.18.22

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Gratitude:
I am grateful for waking up and not feeling like death. 


#1 Goal:
Complete the rental application for the house. Also, pay bills so I know how broke I am.

#1 Concern
I’m worried I’ll start feeling like crap as the day goes on. 


#1 Achievement:
Deepening my level of self-awareness so I can continue becoming a better version of myself.

Evening Reflections 010: An 8-Year-Old’s Lie

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Daily Summary:
I slept decently last night. Woo! It meant I was able to wake up when Ox called to let me know he was almost done with work. I was able to cough my lungs clear from the yuck that had settled overnight. I was able to shower and make a grocery list. I was able to convince Ox to come to the apartment and pick me up rather than having me drive somewhere to meet him. 

While I was able to do all these things. I felt tired. Bone tired. I didn’t feel like I would be able to make it through the whole grocery trip much less drive myself there and back. Oh! How could I forget walking down and then back up three flights of stairs to top it all off? With groceries! Yeah. No…

It seemed like a huge task that didn’t have high odds of being successful. Even something as small as not driving helped the odds feel ever so slightly more in my favor. 

I masked up as Ox and I headed into the store. I got more meds and tissues. Ox got the phone card he needed along with some headphones to use at the apartment. More on that later. We got the grocery things I wanted/needed along with a few things that weren’t on the list. In my defense… stuffed crust supreme pizza should have always been on the list. >.>;

By the end of the trip, I hurt. My whole body hurt. I was grouchy and short-tempered. Ox kept walking away with the cart through the trip but I was too tired to call out to him when the first few times I tried weren’t loud enough for him to hear me. 

I wasn’t short of breath or coughing or anything along those lines. Just… tired. I’m also a week behind on my Synthroid. I honestly feel like that’s a bigger factor than the congestion since I felt fine after the shower. 

I explained to Ox why his walking away bothered me so much. I explained how I was hurting. He walked slower as we headed back to the Trax together. That helped. It was a windy, cloudy, cold day and I was grateful to be back at the apartment once we were done. 

Ox hung out with me for a bit. He had an appointment to file taxes later in the evening. It seemed the better option for him to stay at the apartment until the appointment rather than driving all the way back to the house only to come back into town later to go back to the house at the end of it all. 

Nope. Instead, he had lunch with me and used his new headphones to play on the PS4 while I was at work. It was nice. Him being near. Not being alone the whole day. 

Before work, I curled up in bed to try to get over the tiredness. I wasn’t able to; not completely. I cried. More evidence in my opinion that it’s Synthroid related. I didn’t really have a reason to cry but there I was crying not pretty tears with the only reason my brain could come up with being “I’m tired.”

Well… crying didn’t make us feel less tired. So thanks, Brain, for wasting what precious, sweet energy we DID have on something useless that made us congested all over again. You’re a jerk. 

Work went well. No quality corrections today at least. I finished the cross-stitch I was working on. I prepped fabric for my next four projects and started a new one. I have all of my unneeded threads organized and ready to be put away. Maybe I’ll finish doing that tonight. 

My energy levels got better as the day progressed. By the time Ox left for his appointment, I felt more on the “normal” side and less on the “I’m so tired I’m crying” side. Counting that as a win. /flex

After Ox left I continued listening to Girl Wash Your Face. There were some pretty heavy chapters. Not all of them apply to me. I’m not a new mom. I’m not a mother with school-aged children. There are things I can empathize and relate to in certain ways, but not as completely as other readers might. 

There is one section that touched me deeply and it’s what I’ll ramble about tonight. 

Oh. I was also able to put all of the groceries away and load the dishwasher. Totally owning that shit because I’m not going to let my cry session win.

Random Ramblings:

I don’t remember the chapter specifically, but in it, Rachel explains how she felt the need to be “small”. To have attention, but not too much attention. To have goals, but only if they weren’t too big; too lofty. 

While I can relate to those feelings, that wasn’t the part of the chapter that touched me deepest. 

In this chapter, she talks about a seminar she attended. The presenter asked the audience, “When you were a child, which parent did you want love from the most? Not which parent did you love the most. Who did you WANT love from the most?”

“What did you feel you had to be to get that love?”

“What else did you have to be?”

Rachel answers these questions and explains the insight she gained about herself because of them. Lies she had unknowing believed all her life were based on these perceptions she developed as a child. 

And so here I am tonight, asking myself the same questions and recognizing my own lies within myself. Lies that I never understood were there, but explain so much of who I am and what I went through in past relationships. 

I wanted love from my dad. He was my superman. I wanted him to be proud of me. To smile when I did something. As a child, making him happy was my world.

I felt I had to be obedient to get his love; to be worthy of his love. He would get so upset if he had to tell me to do something twice. If I didn’t get good grades. If I got in trouble. I had to do the right thing and even if I didn’t know what was right or wrong, I was punished for doing something “wrong”. It didn’t matter what my level of knowledge was. I wasn’t allowed to argue my point. I was wrong. End of story.

It made me afraid to try things for fear of being wrong. I had to be “right” and “good” otherwise he wouldn’t be happy, and that’s all I wanted. Was for him to be happy and proud of me. 

I also had to be compliant, which for me is different from obedience. It was ok if we did stuff, but it had to be what he wanted to do. It had to be done his way. I couldn’t want things. I especially couldn’t want something different. I couldn’t have my own idea of how something would be done. I was the child and he was the adult. Not just an adult. He was my parent. I had to listen. It was his way or the highway and that’s how it was. That meant even if I wanted something, I learned to not voice that because if my opinion or what I wanted differed, then it was wrong and not ok. I had to comply regardless of how I felt. Otherwise, he would be upset and my dad being upset, especially at me, was bad. 

How did this affect me? 

It meant when he divorced my mom, when he told my younger brother and I that he fell out of love with mom and wouldn’t be around anymore, that I felt like a failure. I hadn’t been obedient enough. I hadn’t cleaned my room enough. I hadn’t tried hard enough at school. I hadn’t listened the first time enough. I hadn’t BEEN enough for him to love me enough to stay. 

That was eight-year-old me. 

As a 20-something adult, I understood better what my dad had been trying to say. Having had two failed relationships under my own belt while currently being in an emotionally and mentally abusive one, I understood what it felt like to feel alone and unloved even as you tried to fall asleep next to someone who said they loved you. 

As a child though, I grew up and believed wholeheartedly that I hadn’t been enough. That I WASN’T enough. I had to care more. I had to listen more. I had to obey more. I had to comply more. I had to BE more because what I had been for my dad hadn’t been enough. 

I see that so clearly now; that mentality. That lie. I lived and breathed it for so long, and in some ways still do.

It’s why conflict bothers me so deeply, especially when it’s with someone I care about. It’s why attacks on my character cut harsher than attacks on my actions. It’s why I try everything I can to make sure there is some level of “ok-ness” when I find myself in hard or uncomfortable situations with loved ones. Their mad or angry, but it’s ok because they are still willing to hug me. They still love me enough even though I did this “bad” thing.

Deep down, I still have that eight-year-old’s fear that unless I am more, they’re going to leave. More compliant. More caring. More loving. More predictable. More obedient. More reliable. More quiet. More easy-going. More happy. More. More. More.

I have to be more. More of what they want. Less of what I want. Less even if what I “want” is something I actually need. 

It’s… sobering. To realize the underlying cause of so much which drives me to find harmony and acceptance within my life… It makes it easier to understand why voicing my thoughts and feelings can feel like the earth-shattering, world-ending task it sometimes feels like. It explains why “talking” can feel like a death sentence I try with every fiber of my being to avoid that I break down into a sobbing disaster of a human or have anxiety attacks. 

Voicing my opinion, thoughts, or feelings will make them unhappy, and if they’re unhappy they’ll leave because I’m not being enough of the right things. 

It will not be easy sharing this writing to share with Ox. It’s not easy writing this for myself, much less giving voice to it with the people in my life who are unknowingly subjected to this completely valid and yet irrational eight-year-old’s fear. 

Understanding and awareness can allow for growth and change. At the moment, I want to give myself grace and love for having harbored these unknown thoughts for so long. I’m in my thirties and until tonight I didn’t realize how deeply these unknown thoughts affected me or how they continue to play out in my life. I didn’t understand how my fears and actions were fueled in an attempt to avoid a trauma from recurring. 

I love my inner child, and in the landscape of my mind, I am hugging her as she cries. I’m crying with her as my thirty-year-old self and telling her she is loved. She is enough. She never has to be anything other than herself because she is perfect and precious just the way she is. She can be loud and opinionated. She can be angry and mad and other people can be angry and mad at her and it’s ok. She’s going to be ok because I love her. 

I am ok. I am enough. I am precious and perfect in my own way and I’m ok with that.

Morning Musing 010: Thursday 02.17.22

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Gratitude:
I am grateful for warm blankets, sleep hypnosis files, and working from home so I can be miserable in peace. Ok… maybe “miserable” is being a little dramatic… but only a little. >.>


#1 Goal:
Finish my cross-stitch since I talked to my brother instead of working on it. It was worth it though. We had a good conversation.


#1 Concern
Being too tired to survive the grocery trip with Ox.


#1 Achievement:
Sleeping for most of the night and showering before 10am this morning.

Evening Reflection 009: Girl, Wash Your Face

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Daily Summary: 
I feel like a broken record saying I didn’t sleep well, but alas… here we are. Me, bemoaning my inability to sleep, and you, poor reader, being subjected to the monotony which is my life. 

Since I wasn’t able to sleep, I called Ox as he was driving to work. We chatted for a little bit. He encouraged me to try sleeping again once we got off the phone. I did. Was able to sleep for about seven-ish hours. I didn’t feel rested when I woke up. I felt like crap actually. 

Super congested. Sinus pressure all up in my face… no bueno. 

I took meds. Called Ox to let him know I was awake. He ended up coming over after work with wonderful burritos of love. We had lunch together. I read him a lot of my previous posts on Monday while we were together. I got him caught up on the other posts. I also let him know I had responded to an email from a mutual friend. Not sure about a code name for her yet. 

The point being, Ox and I got some time together before work which helped me feel more connected. Even with being sick and the day being super winding, it was a nice reminder that maybe at some point I won’t wake up feeling like crap. 

Work was alright… I got my first Quality Correction. That means I messed up something and had to go back and fix it. That wouldn’t have been so bad except an hour or so later I got another one… Fuck you, Universe. You’re messing up my goal of getting a 4 on my scorecard. 

I type that, at the same time I’m grateful the mistakes are getting caught and I’m trying not to focus on the negative side of things. These are growing opportunities. I want to learn from these moments of feedback rather than internalize them as the QC department being jerks or letting it eat away at my sense of self-worth like acid. I’m going to mess up and that’s ok as long as I learn from those mess-ups and do better in the future to not make the same mistakes. 

So work wasn’t “bad”, but there were some not cool feelings to work through. 

I started listening to Girl Wash Your Face by Rachel Hollis. I like it so far. It’s a very authentic writing style. The audiobook is read by the author. I think there’s a specialness in that. You hear the words as they are meant to be heard. I can relate to a lot of her stories. I especially like the chapter about “No” so far. I just started the chapter about “sex”. With her amusing writing style, that chapter might end up winning out on my favorites list. 

I’ve responded to a few things on Facebook. I am almost done with my cross-stitch. I might stay up until it’s finished. It’s that close. Maybe another hour or so of work. Since I can keep listening to my book while I work on it, the chances of me going to sleep once I’m done writing like I’m supposed to are in the 0% probability range. 

Random Ramblings:
One of the things I value about Girl Wash Your Face so far is the honesty in the chapter about “Loving him is enough for me”. 

In it, Rachel talks about her first relationship. There was a lot that I related to in relation to Joe; my second boyfriend. She talks about how she didn’t blame her boyfriend for the way he treated her. And maybe that’s not the right way of saying it.

She acknowledged that she allowed herself to be treated that way. That even though his actions made her feel bad, she didn’t speak up or stand up for herself. 

That’s how it was with Joe. There were a lot of times I allowed him to treat me poorly, and I accepted it because that’s what I thought a relationship was. I thought I deserved to be treated that way. I thought if I did more, loved more, gave in more that eventually, he wouldn’t treat me like crap. That he wouldn’t lie to me anymore. That he wouldn’t do all of these things that he hadn’t done in the beginning. 

I acknowledge that I played just as much a role as he did. Was his behavior wrong? Oh, for sure. But my behavior allowed it to continue. I didn’t call him out or hold him accountable for things. It wasn’t until I started finding value in myself that I began to understand I had a choice in how I was treated. I didn’t have to take it. I didn’t deserve it. And it was within my control to walk away. 

It’s one of the reasons I am at peace with ending the dynamic I recently did. 

People treat us how we allow them to treat us. 

In my world, friends who curse at me through emails are called “not my friends”. Even my younger brother, with all of the valid reasons he has for cursing me out and as hot-headed and opinionated as he is, respects me enough to not curse at me. 

I like how Rachel doesn’t paint her first relationship as a “he was such a bad guy” story and instead owns her own role in the situation. It helps me feel more ok with the mentalities I have about my previous “bad” relationships. They weren’t awful people. They had good qualities about them. They also had issues, just like I did. I was an active participant in the dynamic and in the result of that dynamic. 

I own my past self. My insecurities. My mistakes. My hurts. I also own the lessons and insights those situations gave me. They went into making me who I am and why I have the mentalities I do. 

We choose how we let people treat us and sometimes the healthiest, kindest thing is to choose to walk away.