The car . my safe space taught to me as a toddler. My scary place taught to me as a tween. My freedom taught to me as an adult.

Sitting in the car outside of my daughter's school today because she was too tired to drive, talking to my counselor about my massive fatigue the last week from the trauma I have been processing seems sort of funny when you think about it. 

This is my academic counselor. It was nice to talk to him about some of what I would like to do in the future. I am thinking I would at least in part like to work with people struggling with addictions. He says they will easily get me into an internship when that part of school happens. 

🅃🅁🄸🄶🄶🄴🅁 🅆🄰🅁🄽🄸🄽🄶 🄸🄵 🅈🄾🅄 🄲🄾🄽🅃🄸🄽🅄🄴:

⚠️⚠️⚠️

I don't know what counseling will look like. Gratefully I have a lot of years to address my own healing before then. I am aware, though, that I will likely never be fully healed, and am working towards managing my nervous system and the way it impacts my day to day. 

I never realized how broken I was, and yes having fractures in your psyche is a state of being broken apart. Parts of yourself that you can ask to return. Not all parts will ..  and integration is a b%&@ 

I have a complex trauma disorder now diagnosed as Complex PTSD, that I learned at a very young age to mask. My mother, who I still love, is emotionally unavailable, and wasn't a great mother beyond paying the basic bills. I may also be somewhere on the spectrum according to my daughter and her friends. (Would you like to know a fun fact about your microbiota?) I went through a long childhood of ACEs and then was in relationships that normalized punching holes in the walls, breaking things, hitting animals, amd berating and belittling me, slowly breaking me away from friends and family until I was almost completely isolated. I went through periods of deep depression and long periods where I couldn't even work. It wasn't until this year that I have been able to recognize when I become emotionally numb, and when I disassociate and go full on autopilot. 

Having kids in my life (all the kids) saved me. It gave me purpose and a reason to have to connect with other humans in a way that I had been unable to do before. Playdates and birthday parties became getaways. Mommy friends became safe spaces. The orchestratas, field trips and PTSA meetings became the things I loved to complain about and yet was so grateful to have. As I got older I had a nice home, and my child was funny and happy,  and we vacationed and had family visits, and my social sharing looked beautiful. 

What people didn't know is that from age 5, myself and my siblings were left without parents for days at a time. When I was 10 I became the caregiver of the house buying groceries at the Food 4 Less. I was bring beaten by an older sibling until I broke his nose on my 16th birthday and moved into my friend's house for the rest of my junior year. My mom invited my boyfriend of two weeks to move in with us at age 17. Before age 20 I had experienced every ACE. 

I had a late term miscarriage and my partner went right back to work and never talked about it again. This was my third lost pregnancy. I went into pre-term labor with my daughter at 30 weeks and was at the hospital three times before being on bedrest the last month. We always joke about how the nurse asked if there was violence in the home as I now know she must have realized something as she moved between us before asking... but I thought if you aren't being hit, it can't still be called violence. My childhood is what I thought violence was. I spent my birthday that year uber pregnant in bed, alone, with no one. I received less that half a dozen gifts for any occasion my entire marriage. This last Vslentine's Day I finallly admitted to that sadness of not being celebrated in love ... Nit ever. 

I learned to "take care of myself". Even rigging the $500 VW Bug I found with a 1970s chair cushion back to drive was a less on in tsking care of myself... And the tiny people who were scared of the holes in the floorboards. I had multiple other pregnancy losses, so of course I am blessed that while others never had a full pregnancy, I did and am grateful. She is my breathe. But also love the kids I practiced with.

Yet, when my daughter couldn't breathe at 18 months old it was myself alone that drove her to the ER...  yes alone. It was me that started sleeping in her bed when she had panic attacks at age two, and rubbing her belly and feet because of her pain and  crying due to what was finally diagnosed as cEDS this year (which we both have). I finally understand what she was dealing with. 

Marriage was a repeat of my early childhood, and with no iron stores, chronic pain, and walking on eggshells to keep the peace I lived to escape into mommyhood, science and fantasy. I fully understand the Russian roulette of "if I eat this allergy item, will the ride end." The last ride was Feb 2020 while I was isolated at home, being ignored, and feeling guilty for letting my child see me drunk after I fell of the wagon, again. I was gutted for drinking a half a bottle of rum. I had to self epi twice that night.... imagine if that had gone differently and my child had woke up to no mom with her dad in India and all other relatives many states away. IATA. 

And then the pandemic began awful ... I was trapped in a house with a volatile adult and a sad kid. When I did take her anywhere I would either trauma-vomit on people or go sit in my car to decompress, which is a sign that people don't understand (Sorry for those that experienced that over the years).If you've bought my books, know writing was what kept me going through all of that constant state of cortisol. Those books were safe bubbles of sanctuary. 

Why am I sharing this?? 

How long have you known me? 

I smile,  a lot. I am helpful. I love people. I joke. I laugh. I listen well. I don't ask for much, and in fact almost never ask for anything. I must have a great family being married for so many decades, and such a wonderful kid. I share personal details of my life (but ... wellness related 99% of the time). So I must be okay.

Uh ... guess what?? 

You never know what someone is dealing with, or what they've been through. You never know when someone is thinking the things that we don't like to talk about. You never know because someone with such deeply conflicted emotions who has believed that they are wrong and that they don't matter... they aren't going to show anyone the crack in that armor. If you know someone that is always "fine" and never asks for anything ... that's not actually a normal thing. Don't seek to be stronger like they are. They aren't actually strong at all, and in one moment you could lose that person because they honestly don't know how to ask. You have to push.

I am four years outside, in the midst of trauma therapy, and seven years into a massive healing cycle. I am so much better at reaching out and asking for support, but it's still limited. I don't often text first, or call, or do more than like a post, because I am still coming out of the shell. I don't know who I am, and I am learning how to feel safe in a world where I show my feelings. If I don't reach out it is because I have been conditioned to remain isolated. If I don't post for a week I am most likely in bed, overwhelmed by my process and my fatigue.

The Universe sent me shamans when I was ready to start seeking outside of myself to the shadows I couldn't see. Amazing blessing to have that show up one day out of nowhere. I am also lucky enough that the angels sent me a therapist who, due to my situation, saw me pro-bono for most of that time. If not for the shamanuc support group I wouldn't have made it through the pandemic. If not for my therapist I would not have made it through the last four years. I recognize that I am a lucky one. God continued through my life to put purpose in front of me in the form of every single one of you that has ever asked for help. Due to each of those moments you showed up needing me, I am actually still here. Your ability to ask for help from the person who can't ask for help ... ironically saved me. 

Keep asking. But also look for those that don't ask, don't reach out, are isolated, and ask them : How are you? If they say, "fine" ... keep asking until they speak the truth.

There is a theory called “Structural Dissociation.” It proposes that individuals with complex trauma (c-PTSD) are characterized by a division of their personality into different prototypical parts, each with its own psychobiological underpinnings. The theory says that the parts are divided into apparently normal parts (ANPs) for adaptation to daily living and two or more emotional parts (EPs) fixated in the traumatic experience. The person with C-PTSD has a “manager” that deals with life as usual without even notice how difficult it is to live with a nervous system that is always forcing this high-functioning system. 

Truthfully... almost none of you know "me". You know my "manager." I don't know me either. I hope over time more of "me" the integrated whole person will show up and spend time with you. Lets hope and dream together.