I recently met a friend here on island who took the most special photos of me. They captured my joy, my glow, my confidence in a place still very new. I have since heard comments about how happy I look, how I always look happy, but these photos show my absolute genuine happy self. 

It is nice to finally be somewhere that can reflect that sort of joy.

I think though, that it is a misconception about living here in Hawaii. It’s paradise, it’s my happy place, but I did not just walk off the plane and find my demons to have disappeared. My struggles are still there, just a little different here.

I shared before how I was going to continue therapy while here. I am. Twice a week. One recent session I found myself shutting down, I left my body, couldn’t tell you what I was thinking or feeling. Our session came to an end and with the shut of my laptop I broke down in tears. I could not tell you what happened. For years I have been doing this. I have worked so hard to love myself, to love my body, and for years I have fought the feeling that makes it very uncomfortable to be in this body. My next session she complimented me for how I was able to stay present, but what she did not know was that my legs were shaking rapidly under my desk.

The same week I found myself sleeping a lot, eating less, which has been a noticed pattern of mine when I am starting to struggle. I haven’t felt sad, I told her. But numb, maybe. The ocean is not so far away, but it is up to me to get myself there. It is up to me to say “yes” more even when I feel comfortable under my covers.

The notebook I bought for my class is mostly filled with pages of journaling about the past. I know I will be able to move forward from things, but first I am determined to know exactly what those things are. It is a complicated feeling, getting older and questioning every memory you have. Realizing that your life was not always what it seemed. Realizing that there were many, many, missed signs, and reasons why I feel the way I do today. How did it all go unnoticed? And why is it creeping up now? 

The most recent realization is that I had experienced the effects and symptoms of PTSD as early as 13 years old. It made me weep for little me, who really believed for so long there was something wrong with her. That nobody believed her. A memory from after my heart surgery, where my mom called the hospital because I was seeing things that weren’t there, saying things that weren’t making sense. All these years we thought it was a bad reaction to a medication. Or the anesthesia. I am just now learning it was a flashback, vivid memories, of things that actually happened. 

I’m here in Hawaii. I’m finding myself, I have sun kissed skin, and I have made friends who seem like true friends. I have to admit, things have not been easy as I am making new discoveries. I do not see things as falling apart though. I see things as broken pieces of glass or pieces of a puzzle that I am starting to realize did not fit where I first thought they did. I am becoming Nancy Drew in the story of my own life. It is non-stop. The analyzing, the questioning. I am tired, yet I keep sleeping. You ask me how I feel, and I don’t know what to say. About any of this.

Some days I have to remind myself who I am. I start to believe that I can not trust anything or anyone. I also forget that despite what I have been through, I have made it this far for a reason. I can endure much more than I think I can.

I recently wrote in my journal that I feared vulnerability. How is it that something I love and admire is also something I fear?

It’s vulnerable to love, and to allow others to love you. It’s vulnerable to show up, as you are, and not just as you want to be. It’s vulnerable that I write posts like these, knowing others are looking into my not-so-perfect life.

I forget to take a breath.

I need to breathe, to remind myself of my tiny accomplishments.

Tomorrow is the last day of my summer course. The last day of my first graduate course. I will then have a few weeks of freedom before my fall semester begins. The reality of graduate school is hitting me. The amount of readings, the amount of papers due in 1 week for a single class. I’m learning though, that it is doable. I can do this.

Now that I have more friends here on island, I also can remind myself that these friends were once strangers. I had to push myself out of my comfort zone to make friends, and as much as I love meeting new people- there are nerves that come with it too.

I have only been here a month! I am by myself, I’m doing this thing! I’m applying to jobs, and scheduling interviews for my practicum.

Oh and- this pandemic is still very much a thing. I can not pretend the highly sensitive person in me is at all adjusted to any of this by now. Is anyone?

On hard days when my body wants to sleep, when I break down in tears after a therapy call, when it takes me a little longer to get dressed..

I’m very very hard on myself. I see this to be my life, and I ask myself when it is going to get easier and if 22 will look different than 21. Oh hey it’s my birth month!

I can’t expect to have it together all the time. I can’t expect to define myself by my mental health or trauma, but I also can’t expect to pretend it is something I do not fight with every day.

I always end up finding the right people for me. I always end up finding those who love me just the way I am.

I need to do the same- love myself through it all- as I am.

When I studied abroad in Oahu the summer of 2018, I did not know how much I would fall in love with this island. The sun on my skin, the ocean, the new friends and connections, my time at the university, small aspects of daily joy that were making me feel right at home when my home was really far away. I did not identify with my socially anxious self, my depressed self, and I felt comfortable in my skin. I felt confident. I do believe that places and environments can bring out the best in you, and Hawaii did that for me.

Leaving the first time, left me in a puddle of tears. Crying in the shuttle to the airport, crying in the airport bathroom, crying on the plane until I fell asleep from crying so much. I tried to remember things to look forward to about going back home, but if I could, if I really could have- I would have stayed.

The first time I went to Hawaii was less than a year after I brought a coworker to court for sexual assault, and during the time my college closed to due financial problems. It was the perfect time to focus on me, and focus on healing.

Since my return from Hawaii, I have been challenged. Transferring schools, changing jobs, moving into my first apartment, being diagnosed with endometriosis during an exploratory surgery, and hospitalized a 2nd time for my mental health. These things could have very well occurred in Hawaii, but there were many days I wished I had the weather to pull me out of my seasonal depression, and the mountain hikes, and beaches not being so far away on days I need some extra “self care.”

It was impossible to keep Hawaii off my mind. Stickers on my laptop, photos in my bedroom, and the memories to fall asleep to. When it became time to start applying to graduate schools I knew I had to apply to Hawaii Pacific University, the same school I attended that summer of 2018. When I received my acceptance, the decision was going to be harder than I thought it would be. I knew Hawaii would always be there, but this opportunity would not be. It took many big conversations with my parents, weighing out the options of staying in Boston where everything was familiar, or challenging myself to take on something new. Many times I agreed I would stay in Boston, but it was always with glossy eyes or a shed of a tear. My step-father could see it, turning to mom, “she chooses Hawaii.” It was written all over me, and it had been for several years. Now was the part where I said yes, where I had to take the leap, and make it happen.

With COVID-19 bursting many bubbles, “what-if” became a frequent saying of mine. I planned for the “what-if I can’t go.” I waited until the very last second to book a flight, waiting to see if the school would change its plans. To our surprise, they changed the summer courses to online, but insisted the fall semester would remain on-campus as HI continues to have the lowest cases of any state.

June 29, 2020, I started my morning with a 6:30am flight from Hartford -> Dallas --> to Honolulu!

mask provided by Nana!

Packing was a challenge! I stuck to my goal of 2 checked bags, and the days leading up to the flight I was wrapping kitchen items in bubble wrap and getting boxes ready to ship out the rest!

After a long travel day I arrived in Oahu, and before I knew it I was in an Uber headed to the student apartments.

These past 2 weeks I have been in quarantine. That means I have not left my apartment, I have not been outside in 14 days! Hawaii is strict with the quarantine order, as they should be! People are getting arrested for breaking quarantine when they fly into Hawaii, so nope it was not worth it for me to risk it! The first week in quarantine was not bad at all. I ordered my groceries in, I got settled, I rested from travel and tried to adjust to the time zone as best as I could.

By the second week, I was getting more anxious to leave! I love my me-time, but this has been a lot of me-time! I began my first graduate course which is online for the summer session. The first day was a success, I enjoyed getting to know my professor and the other social work students in my cohort. When it was over, I had a smile on my face and wanted to call my mom almost like it was the first day of kindergarten. I just knew I made the right decision, and that is an amazing feeling. I am more looking forward to continuing my courses on-campus come the end of August.

On the 13th, finally my two weeks of quarantine were over, and I spent my first day on the beach building a new connection, and a mean sunburn!

I just feel so grateful. I am grateful to be here. I am grateful for the journey that led me here. I am grateful for the confidence I have been building piece by piece.

I am ready for what’s ahead,

even if it includes purchasing a lot more sunscreen and even more aloe vera.

Let’s talk about the inner child.

(n) a person’s supposed original or true self, especially when regarded as damaged or concealed by negative childhood experiences.

I have been diving back into my spiritual side, after unintentionally pushing it away. No, it’s not a recommended part of my therapy, but it is important to me.

The concept of the inner child is not primarily spiritual, and it is used in psychology and some psychotherapies, but inner child work and inner child healing is still a little taboo, and I did not know about it until several years ago or so.

“It can be used to resolve emotions in childhood your “inner child” still holds, as well as the joy, innocence, and confidence that is your birthright.” (Harley Therapy)

This can include learning how your childhood has impacted you today, learning to re-parent yourself/your inner child. The goal is to accept and reconnect with that part of your personality.

I recently had an inner child reading. One that revealed my inner child withdrew very early in life, likely around the age of 3 or 4. She learned very quickly that it was best to stay quiet. Quiet would keep her safe. I quickly went into a safe space in my head.

A few glimpses from my reading:

“You were/are a very sensitive and insightful little girl, wise beyond your years. You noticed patterns and could kind of see energy in motion.

You are becoming more aware of yourself, separating some of the conditioning from childhood from who you really are....as if you were hidden, even from yourself.

You have felt that you had no control and so you fell silent within... you are a strong and somewhat stubborn little girl, you didn’t easily give in to the fear.... your inner child kept you kind of propped up when the going got rough.

Your inner child has been cowering for a long time. This is for good reason. And it is also safe now for you, the adult to hold and love your little self so that she feels ready to either look at the past or to move on from a new point of strength.

I get the sense that you prefer to go solo, you don’t easily trust others, but you do trust your inner voices.... you could say that you have an inner wise man.... your inner child is quite Old in some respects, an ancient one that you are just tapping into. She is fun and full of joy when she is free...the sense that she has led you through a troubled time in your life, now things should get easier.

She challenges you to get out in the summer sunshine, enjoy the good days and taking a walk in the park.... sit on the swing and dream a little..I get the sense that you can tend to restrain yourself, afraid to reach out.... but this is the time in your life when you are ready to bring new energy around..”

This photo above is from my pre-K years. I had stopped crying for that smile. I had bad separation anxiety and often cried every time I was dropped off at school.

I’ve been “toughing it up” since the early days. It’s been a blessing for my resilience, but a curse when it comes to not being hard on myself or allowing myself to feel what I feel. I’ve always had the playful, dreamy, silly side to myself. I tend to push this side of me far far away, feeling the need to stay serious and keep my guard up in this world.

Learning about my inner child has been a big source in my healing during my C-PTSD treatment. She (little Haley) has been with me all along, and knows me best.

My job now is to make sure she knows it’s safer now to open up. She doesn’t have to be silent anymore. Her voice matters. I am re-learning with her, who I am, who I was before my inner child shut down. It’s pretty transformational.

I was not sure what to expect when I took the plunge and received this spiritual reading, if you are interested I am happy to pass along the recommendation. The results opened my eyes, and I was surprised to how much I resonated with the findings. Soon, I will write a letter to my inner child, and I am looking for more exercises and ideas to incorporate inner child work in my healing/daily life.

Recognizing that there is a child, or a hurt child, within us all is helpful to find empathy and compassion for ourselves. It’s hard to see that when we look in the mirror, and it’s why I often turn back to old photographs. Love, as always, has to start with us.

Oh hey, I’m gay! Or queer. Or a lesbian. Or part of the LGBTQ+ community. Honestly, I’m still playing around with what labels fit me best, but news is I ain’t straight. I’ve been told I don’t necessarily have to label myself, and that’s a comfort, but I think the more confident and comfortable I get being out and proud this will come naturally. For now, I am most confident in saying I like girls! I like people! I love who I love.

I want to share my coming out story. It’s June, it’s Pride Month, and I haven’t written about this yet!

My story will include my first girl/girl relationship, because dating her was what prompted me to come out in the first place. As of April 2020 we have broken up. I won’t get into that much either, other than that I initiated it, it was not easy what-so-ever. Our breakup was messy, and definitely a heartbreak. I cried for a long long time, and I wasn’t sure how long it was going to take to not feel that way. I’m 21, and this was the first heartbreak I’ve ever had. Broken hearts are the worst. Relationships are hard. But I learned a lot from this. I am growing more as a person, and figuring out who I am because of this.

Most recent Instagram post from 06/12/2020:

“My first lgbt related post, as just me! My first pride month newly-out is interesting that’s for sure, but it doesn’t mean less.

I fell in love and had a meaaan heartbreak all within the year I came out and dated a girl for the first time. It was all messy and complicated and wonderful and everything else. Relationships can be worthwhile even if they don’t give you everything you need. Do you ever forget your first love as a baby gay? Probably not!

In coming out, it was hard to navigate the pressures of labeling myself as bi/lesbian/pan. I was still figuring things out. I didn’t want to define myself in a box, and the best way I could explain it to my family was that I just love who I love.

I look forward to continue navigating being comfortable in my skin, and refusing to hold myself back from loving who I am and who I love! Coming out, for me, has looked like baby steps, and walking on eggshells. I still have some family who don’t know I like girls, and I’m still nervous as hell for when/if they do!

Though it feels like the end of the world when people have trouble accepting me, the people who do are the important ones in my journey, and changing myself for others will not result in my own happiness.

Being open and honest is how I want to roll, and my goal is to become more vocal + educated in the LGBTQ+ community, and be more confident in my belonging. This month, I’ve also been taking the time to learn more about the Stonewall riots, where pride originated. Queer and transgender black people and people of color protested and advocated for the rights of this community, paving the way for more to live and speak our truth and keep doing the work!! No, it wasn’t always a party. Still, there’s a long way to go.

I am still coming out of my shell, but I have much appreciation for the strong community to grow with. & a big thanks to @allieandsam for being a big influence in my decision to come out last year, your t-shirts are just another way I could show appreciation for you both! (Link to snag your own is in their bio)

Thank y’all for accepting me, as me.❤️”

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I came out in August of 2019. I did not just surprise my family by telling them I liked girls, I surprised them by telling them I also had a girlfriend. Though my mom said all the right things, that she loved me no matter what, and wants me happy- I could tell this was not going to be easy for her. Growing up in a mostly-republican family, a small town with very little gay representation, getting others to understand was going to be my biggest challenge.

In meeting my girlfriend, my mom was great, but she made it very clear that if we were to hold hands and such, she wasn’t sure she was “ready for that.” This hurt, but I knew it would all happen little by little and I needed to trust her process as well. The first time she saw a photo of us together, hugging each other, she said it was a little too “snuggly.” I sent her a similar picture of me hugging my best friend. “Is this too snuggly too?” Though she wasn’t blatantly unsupportive or homophobic, I could sense her discomfort, and that made it all the more difficult for me and our mother-daughter relationship.

I came out little by little to other family members and the reactions were all very different, but it was a good thing! My aunt and uncle were instantly supportive, surprised, but very happy for me. My cousins each gave me a big hug and one of them expressed she “knew it!” My best friend was not super surprised- I had been questioning my sexuality for some time- and she was genuinely so happy for me.

I was most nervous to tell my brother. I sat on his floor, came right out with it. He had the most dull reaction, which honestly- was perfect. He said “Okay” maybe even “Cool” and that was that. My step-father expressed that as long as they treated me right, and I was happy he would support me loving who I love, boy or girl.

I wanted it to be private at first, I wanted to take things at my own pace. But I was so happy with this girl and I wanted to be proud of it, not hide it. About a month after dating I posted that “snuggly” photo of us to my Instagram account announcing my new relationship. I received more support than I anticipated. Though it was now out on my Instagram, my Facebook account (which was mainly extended family) was not allowed to have any mention of me being gay. It has been almost a year, and I have grandparents who still don’t know, but I am more comfortable that way. Putting it out there like this, I am risking people finding out. If they do, that’s okay, we will go from there. I am definitely cautious about the platforms and people I feel most safe sharing with.

Let’s back up a little though. The big question, how did I come to realize I liked girls?

My last relationship was when I was 16. There was absolutely nothing wrong with this guy. He treated me well, we had a good time together, but I could not see us as more than friends. I remember telling my closest friends that I questioned my sexuality when I dated him. Though I said it jokingly, I think that was a red flag. I did not date for a while after him. Mainly because I was going through a lot, and I needed to learn to love myself first before I could be in a relationship with someone else. I also was very content not being in a relationship. At least, I think I was. I’m very independent and can be happy by myself, but I also don’t know if this is what I told myself to feel better about not truly connecting with anyone. I had never been broken up with, and that’s not to say I’m amazing as hell, that’s to say I was always the one to break up with a guy first!

In college I went on dates, but did not have much luck. I thought I was just picky as hell (which I probably am too), and I also encountered a lot of assholes which lowered my interest in dating all together!

It was always in the back of my mind that I might be happier with a girl, but I never wanted to consider it. I had only ever dated guys, so I always told myself I was straight. During one of my college internships I developed a crush on another intern. They used the pronouns they/them, and though they did not identify with being female they had feminine features. This confused me. Not their identity! The fact that my brain first saw them as a “girl” and I really really liked them. I never told them, but I was feeling like a middle schooler with this crush and it was the first time I started to open up my mind to the possibility I wasn’t quite “straight” but maybe pansexual. I started exploring by switching my dating apps from guys to girls, and was playfully swiping for a while. I found girls so much easier to emotionally connect with, and so much easier for me to flirt with haha.

I met my girlfriend on an app. She messaged me that she lived in my neighborhood, and after talking for a while we planned our first date. I was open-minded. I wasn’t really looking for a relationship, I was mainly figuring things out, and really wanted a connection. When I first saw her, I honestly thought “fuck” I knew I liked her immediately. I had been used to trial and error dates, and coming up with excuses to leave early if they didn’t go well. Our date lasted into the night, I didn’t want to leave and she didn’t either. We spent almost every day together after that. I can’t explain it. It was not what I would have expected, but it just happened. We fell for each other and became comfortable together very quickly.

She never pressured me to tell my family, or to come out, but I knew I was ready when we started becoming more serious. We went from being best friends, girlfriends, to roommates within the 8/9 months we were together. My mom did come around, but there were many arguments and tear-filled conversations as well. Times she told me, “I still see you marrying a man someday.” Or “I don’t think you’re gay, I think you’re still very young to know.” I was never the lesbian stereotype, a tomboy, I never outwardly expressed crushes on girls in my younger years. She took this all and denied what I was telling her. It hurt the most, but I needed to educate her as well. She wasn’t all for us living together, she wasn’t all for her being older than me, and though she was being a protective mother, I saw it as one thing only. “It’s because she’s a girl!” She swore it wasn’t about that. It came between my relationship too. My girlfriend overheard our phone fights, and took it personally, that my family must not like her. Her family was accepting when she came out, and the fact that my family was not instantly understanding did not make sense to her. If I came out long before we started dating, things might have been different. It was certainly a challenge for our relationship because it was all very new to me, and not so much for her. Though I lived on my own, my relationship with my family was very close and they were often involved in my decisions. She grew to dislike my family because of this, seeing them only as controlling than loving, and that drove a wedge between us. My family and I don’t always see eye to eye, but I love them and they love me. Girlfriends may come and go, but my family will always be there for me.

When you’re so deeply in love with someone you can almost go blind to your other feelings. You learn to let things go, dismiss boundaries, and it can be easy to put someone before yourself. Truth is, there has to be a balance. I didn’t realize until after we broke up that we probably should had long before, that our relationship was not the healthiest, but I didn’t know until I knew. I was also committing to graduate school in Hawaii, and she really wanted to stay in Boston. We were at two very different places in our lives, and wanted different things.

I posted more openly about my identity and my coming out journey when we were dating, and with it being Pride Month I think it is a reminder to me to not feel as though I should go back into hiding who I am. My Instagram post has received a lot of love, and I couldn’t be more grateful. With so much happening in our world, my first Pride is not how I expected, but I’m still celebrating me, learning more about the LGBTQ+ community, and how I can do better. I knew that I wanted to start with sharing my story. I feel much more free, knowing I can be me, knowing I can love who I love.

Happy Pride Month, lovelies. <3

Haley

update as of June Pride 2022:

I’m almost 1 year into a wonderful, healthy, happy relationship and I could not be more confident and comfortable with my life, who I am and who I have become since coming out. My family is supportive. Her family treats me like family. What was once so new in my household, is almost “old news.” As I expected, it did not take long for my mom to come around. We both had to get to a point where we didn’t worry so much about what others might say or think. Today, it’s natural, it’s normal, it’s me. My grandparents know and are accepting and couldn’t love me less. I’m grateful for the courage I had several years ago to speak my mind and open my heart.

I enjoy rainbow dresses, and rainbow everything. I know, I know.. totally giving into the corporations, but it makes me happy. It makes me feel bright and confident and seen. I’m proud to be queer. It feels great to be able to say that.

Last Tuesday, June 2nd, will be a day to remember in my healing journey.

My mind the previous week, was running through negative thoughts, and old memories. I have been feeling like a small child, wanting to be held, yet feeling most comfortable suffering in silence.

I knew the suffering was only going to continue, unless I spoke up about what was going through my head. I’m not ready to share it here, maybe this is not the place to unpack my traumas. I have a journal where I can keep those thoughts. In my therapy appointment that Tuesday, I read a document in my “journal” that disclosed of childhood abuse, and fears I had struggled to share since my mental health was in crisis in 2015.

I wanted to leave my body the entire time I was reading my words. My therapist said one sentence that above the others, would stick with me, and lead me to breakdown at the very end of our call.

“I don’t believe your mind is playing tricks on you.”

I got off the phone and sobbed in my car for almost an hour.

I even had a good talk with my mom when I went back inside. It’s hard opening up about what’s been troubling you- but that day was a much needed release.

I truly think I cried all the tears I could possibly cry that day. With a little more strength, I made a bowl of mac and cheese, and agreed to go that afternoon to finish moving out of my Boston apartment. I was emotionally exhausted for the entire drive, but I listened to music through my headphones, and tried to take in the messages of the lyrics. I carried out the last box of my home these past 2 years, and left my keys on the kitchen counter. An ending, and a beginning.

I was able to do the things, even after that difficult therapy call. I was hopeful I would continue to find strength in moving forward.

Wednesday, though, I woke up disappointed. I felt as though I got hit by a bus. Periodically throughout the day, I was having breakdowns, overwhelmed at the slightest thing. Texting my psychiatrist, she validated my feelings were normal, that I should ride this out but to reach out if it becomes unbearable.

---

I got through this week. Focusing less on my problems, and more-so continuing to educate myself on the issues in our world, Black Lives Matter, telling myself that now is not the time to share my blog, about a white person’s mental health- there are bigger issues at hand to be talked about. My family has been having conversations on these topics, daily, non-stop it seems. It’s good, and I hope more people- especially white families are learning how to communicate these topics. I’ve made donations, I’ve spent hours of my day researching and educating, and also learning more about black mental health. I know, these things don’t mean my “job is done” and it will never be enough, but I’m growing, changing too. Everyone’s mental health journey is unique, and I know mine, and my treatment journey could be entirely different because of the color of my skin.

There is nothing easy about any of this. I am also acknowledging that as an empath, as someone who battles clinical depression and PTSD, I need to make room for things that take care of me while I do the hard and important work. That is a necessity too.

Though I’ve spent time away from my blog, it helps me heal and grow in more ways than one. If I’m not writing about BLM and other social justice issues here, please know I am making efforts to confront those issues in other aspects of my life.

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I want to share something that happened last night. I’m not perfect, far from it, but if my social media images reflected the moments that happen, like the one last night- it would be a much different story.

I wasn’t in crisis, but to be honest, I wasn’t sure if I was or wasn’t. I just knew that no matter how much pain I felt, I was not allowed to do a damn thing about it.

I am going to share something I wrote in the midst of it all. Today is a better day, but these times do creep up on me. A trigger warning- that though I was not suicidal or at risk for harming myself- it sure sounds that way:

“what keeps me from giving up?

is it that things can get better?

is it that i have a tattoo with the sole purpose of not harming myself?

is it that i believe so strongly nobody should end their life? and if i did..that means anyone could.

i don’t know how to tell when im in crisis anymore. bc i know hurting myself isn’t an option.

so all i can really do is just wait these feelings out, suffer through them, and hold on. 

so why bother asking for help. nobody can actually take my pain away.

i would just be burdening them. or taking away from someone who is at greater risk.

and right now could feel like the end of the world.

but if i wait it out i could feel completely fine later. 

but am i ever completely fine?”

Yup, even a new social worker has felt that ^ and I know better..

Yesterday I locked myself in the bathroom. I just needed space, but I scared the shit out of my mom who has seen me in a great deal of pain. “Haley, come out, I want to talk to you.” “Are you going to hurt yourself?”

I said NO. I have a history, so honestly- my mom wasn’t wrong to ask that question. But if you never had someone ask you that- let me tell you, that sentence is a reminder of the burden you put on those you love when you are struggling.

Yesterday I did something you should probably never do if you are hysterical, get in your car and drive. I sat at an empty lot for a good while with a packed bag, not really knowing where I was going to go, but knowing I needed to be somewhere, and alone. My mother even contacted my best friend in a panic, not knowing where I was but maybe I was headed to her. The last thing I want is to worry those I love when I am struggling. It was why I left. In leaving, I faced the fact that those people who love me are still going to be there for me. My plan didn’t last, I drove home.

The imperfection that is my life- 9pm now home again, sitting on my bedroom floor with my mom. Both of us crying. Talking about how we are going to get me through this.

“You’ve done it before.” she said. “You will do it again.”

21 years old, back in the bedroom at my parent’s house leaning against the bunk bed which I share with my step-sister, my mom holding me while I fall apart.

Messy.

As you can imagine, I slept pretty well after last night.

Today, Sunday, I learn it is my Papa’s birthday. He has been gone for almost 5 years now.

My mom reminds me, to think about what he would want for me today; for all of us.

I got up, I showered, I got my coffee. I thought the pain that was yesterday was going to last forever, but today is a new day.

I finished the finale of 13 Reasons Why season 4 on Netflix, which as the show warns you, and many of you know, is not the best to show to watch if you are already depressed as hell.

Me while watching it:

For those who don’t know the show, it is a high school drama that faces issues like mental illness, suicide, substance abuse, violence, sexual assault, and just about everything else that teens are conditioned to keep quiet about. In a weird way though, it was exactly what I needed to watch today. I won’t spoil anything, but what the last 30 minutes of the series reminded me, is everything I needed to hear. There will be times in our life that will break us, but if we keep going, we will survive. We get so caught up in the motions of our lives, that few of us take a minute to stop, and say “I’m here. I’m alive.”

This week, OK, this month has not been easy. I watched a character in the show go to weekly therapy, and I related it to my own life and the steps I am taking to move forward even when it feels like I am not getting anywhere. I watched characters come together, and take care of each other through shared grief. I watched them graduate from high school and be able to say they did it, they survived. I graduated from both high school and college with great challenges at times, but I did it. Soon I’ll be off to graduate school, and I know I can do that too.

Life tests us, over and over again.

Today though, as I think of my Papa in heaven and his birthday, I am reminded that I am here.

I am alive.

Yes, hurt will come my way.

So will the good.

So will love.

Stress inhabits the body in weird ways.

My first symptom of my anxiety disorder was located in my gut. Everyone told me it was stress, it was nerves, it was anxiety, and I refused to believe it. No, I have an illness, no there is something wrong inside my body. Now, I did have endometriosis and a heart condition, so it makes sense why I was so quick to assume something was not right physically. I was happy, from what I believed I had no reason to have stress or anxiety I was fine.

Yesterday I was typing away on my site about how I have been isolating, how I have been impatient for my next therapy appointment, and not wanting to talk to anyone else. Later that same day, I had pain. It sat in my pelvis, and I cursed my endometriosis for flaring up now when everything else seemed to be falling apart. I curled up in a ball on my bed, watching Tangled and relating to Rapunzel feeling trapped and controlled and desperately wanting to explore the world and feel free of the bars in her childhood.

I skipped dinner, and held my very bloated belly which was gladly distracting me from the thoughts in my head I had been searching for an interruption from. As I listened to Rapunzel sing “When Will My Life Begin” I recognized a tightness in my chest, the racing of my heart, and the beginning stages of a migraine.

It could be my lack of sleep, my bird-like diet, dehydration.. absolutely. But all of these feelings, all together, allowed me to listen closer to what was going on inside my body. My jaw was tense, locked. My shoulders were curled forward, and probably had been for a long time. Escaping into a Disney film let my anxious thoughts hide away for a little while, but I was given the space to be mindful. I was realizing how my mental health was affecting me physically. My mind did not just ache, everything ached. I recall thinking, far too many times, I can’t live like this. How long am I going to feel like this? How many more nights am I going to toss and turn in my bed already wishing for tomorrow to be over?

Around 6pm on a Sunday I texted my therapist asking if we could speak before our next session. My anxiety told me I was bothering her, that she would be upset with me, that she would say no? I don’t know. None of that happened. She replied closer to 8pm, that she could speak briefly the next morning.

Weights left my shoulders, I could breathe a little easier, and I knew I did the right thing asking for what I needed, even if I did feel guilty about it.

I woke up today, Monday morning after a night of tossing and turning, a 20 minute check-in with her was exactly what I needed to have the strength to hang in there a little while longer. Trapped in a wave, I had forgotten my skills, and the tools I had that I could use to make this time even the slightest bit easier.

After that call, we agreed it would be helpful to check-in periodically throughout the day. At noon I sent her an update that I was hanging in there. I went for a nature walk with my mom, I took a shower, and I expected to take a bath later in the day to ease my pains. I also asked my friend if she would go for a run with me this week, even if we end up walking most of it. She was glad to hear that I was able to do those things. Next, we planned to check-in again for 5pm.

I woke up this morning in a different light, knowing I was not alone. My day started with my step-sister Maddy sharing her pancake batter, a warm mug of coffee and 2 chocolate chip pancakes which I covered in powdered sugar. The sun was out. My stomach hurt a little less. My mom even surprised me with something I can “bring to Hawaii” - handing me a 4 pack of Moana-themed chapstick. “You can pick the one you want, and the other 3 we will give to the little cousins!” It did make me smile. I had been short with my mom all week, and I realized it wasn’t about Moana-themed chapstick at all, not even about the reminder that very soon I will be leaving this nest and moving to Honolulu for graduate school. I realized, I was able to see good in something so small. Lately, that has not been the case.

Today, I’m doing okay. Soon I will dive back into trauma therapy and likely explore the depths that led me to my struggles this week, and I may start to struggle some more. I may start to heal some more too. It may be absolutely worse, before it gets better. I started my day thinking that I must be doing something terribly wrong, that I don’t know how to help myself. Hours later, typing here I realize I am doing many things right to help myself.

How about that.

I came to the realization last night, that this pandemic, this quarantine, could be absolutely what I need to heal.

One year ago, 2019, I was in a psychiatric hospital. The positive side of being there, was that I had the much needed break from the world that I needed. The isolation, was healing, but the healing was painful. I struggle with major depressive disorder and post traumatic stress syndrome. I struggle with dissociation and flashbacks, and when feelings get too intense I tend to shut down. I isolate, I struggle to communicate. I lose my appetite, and as tired as I am, I cannot sleep. One painful memory was sitting on the floor of my hospital room, no memory of how long I had been sitting there. I just could not stop crying. My tears made no sound, and my body was tense. I could not move if I wanted to. A nurse came in and sat in a chair near me and asked what was going on. “I can see that you are not okay.” My mind was racing miles a minute, flashes of pieces of my childhood, the assault I experienced in college, and a choking feeling sitting in my throat. I don’t remember if I answered her. I don’t remember being able to speak or able to explain to her what I was experiencing. I just remember wanting to be alone, but also, not wanting her to leave. Perhaps I knew if I sat there long enough, someone would come looking for me. Too many people walked past my open door, before she came.

I have been handling this pandemic the best that I can, as everyone else is. Once a week I talk to my psychiatrist on facetime, and one week ago I asked to go back on my nightmare medication. I expressed to her that I have been anxious for our sessions in-between appointments, and she encouraged me to reach out if I felt like I needed an extra one. But me being me, I’m stubborn. I try to handle everything on my own first.

While I have much more freedom during quarantine than I did when I was hospitalized, I am noticing some things to be similar. As I continue to work on myself, on my mental health, I do not currently have work or school or very many things to worry about while I do so. I am in a safe place with room to explore the past, present, and future. But maybe..too much of the past. I have been blaming quarantine, living back home with my family, on restricting my freedom and triggering bumps in my healing process. Truly, because I am continuing therapy, and because I have few distractions, the healing is happening all at once. Things are creeping up on me in the shower, in the car, when I wake up in the morning, and when I go to bed at night. It has been messy. I have been trying. I have been pushing the people I care about away, I just want to be left to myself while I deal with these emotions and process past traumas. It’s a lot. I know there is a way out of this, and I know these feelings won’t last forever. I have been trying so very hard to not feel the way that I am feeling these past few weeks, but maybe now is exactly the time I need to be feeling this way, processing these things.

My step-father came to my room yesterday, sat on my floor as I stayed in my bed turned away from him. “Talk to me.” I didn’t give him much, other than I don’t knows of what I was thinking, feeling, and needing. I am grateful he cares, I am grateful that I have so many people who do give a shit about me. Lately, I feel like I am disappointing them all. PTSD is so very hard to explain to those you care about. Everything can be so good, but one thing can trigger something else and it is very hard to separate the two. Everyone wants me to talk, to open up about what is going on inside my head. Other than to my therapist, it just feels easier trusting that nobody can understand. “You went to school for 4 years studying this stuff.” he said. “What would you say to someone sitting on your couch going through what you are going through, telling you they just want to be alone and shut everyone out?” I would empathize, I would validate those feelings.. but I also was overwhelmed by him asking me that. Fears creeping up that I won’t be able to truly help my clients, because I am them.

I will help my clients. I know I will know what to say. Right now, I can’t, because as any good social worker knows, you have to take care of yourself before you can take care of someone else. I will learn from my own experiences. What helped, what hurt, and I will get to a point where I am stronger than ever, and will be a great social worker.

This, right now, isn’t defining my ability, my worth. It is messy and uncomfortable, but I have to believe it is ok where I am at right now. This is just a stepping stone to something great, a healing that would have been halted unless the world itself were on “pause.”

When I first started blogging, I was writing daily, sometimes 2 posts a day. That was when my blog was anonymous, most of my readers were strangers, and I did not have to worry one bit about what people were thinking. I was not writing to help anyone else but myself. Most of my posts were journal entries about how I was getting through high school while seriously depressed and anxious. I did not know how to talk about those feelings, so I would write about them instead. Somehow along the way, as I was helping myself, I was receiving emails and comments from strangers. Instead of judging, they were supporting me on my journey. Many could relate to what I was going through, and many expressed that they were amazed at how I could express such emotions and experiences in the written word. For me, it was not about that at all. I was just writing, because it felt easier than talking.

When I realized my words were helping other people, I took a shift with how I was using my site. I was no longer anonymous, I deleted my personal Instagram account and I made my new one only dedicated to my blog site. I went from posting twice a day, to spending hours thinking about what to write next, and what people would actually want to read. I spent less time using writing as a journal, and more time trying to be an inspiration for others.

I recently was talking with a family member about the importance of doing things for you first, before the focus becomes about everyone else. He expressed interest in making videos, but that the more he would overthink about what people would want to see. The more time would pass, he would hold himself back from doing what he wanted. I related in a lot of ways. Blogging and writing was something I enjoyed, and when I put too much thought into it I found it harder to make it happen. People asked when I was writing a new post, and I pressured myself to please them. It was no longer helpful or enjoyable for myself.

Now that I graduated from college, and am about to embark on a new journey and a next chapter, I feel it is important that I make some changes with how I am using this site. I deleted many of my old posts, with the intention of starting fresh and writing new ones. I have decided to make this site’s focus about me first; my diary, my journal, and welcome others to read along. It may not always be pretty, I may be opening up a door to some vulnerable and darker sides to me. Writing has helped me to grow, and sharing my story is not at all easy, but in the past I have found it to be worthwhile.

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Let’s get to it.

I was diagnosed with PTSD before my senior year of college. Looking back, the symptoms go back long before. The nightmares, the insomnia, my mind replaying difficult memories, the panic attacks and episodes of dissociation.

I never acknowledged I was someone who had experienced trauma, I just thought there was something wrong with me. At age 18 I learned for the first time in my life that I was survivor of child abuse and a household of domestic violence. I somehow took all the pain and put it aside, telling myself I should feel guilty for feeling so sad so often, for feeling like I did not belong. After all, I was a happy child from a big family, and things could not be as bad as they seemed. I have had to face the facts that both could be true. My childhood was both loving and wonderful, and though I have been privileged, things have been incredibly difficult too. I’m studying to pursue a profession in mental health care, while still learning how to cope myself.

It is difficult graduating from college, moving away from home, and trying to move forward with my life when every day my mind and body wants to go backwards and over-process things from my past. After two psychiatric hospitalizations and several counselors in 5 years, I am finally working with a psychiatrist on healing from trauma and the roots of where my anxiety and depression began. It’s fricken hard work, but I have never been more ready to do this. The work, has to start with me, before I can properly allow myself to take care of myself as I pursue a career in helping others. In the midst of COVID-19, my therapist’s office has become my bedroom, or my car via video call. I am grateful that I can continue therapy, and that even when I move to Oahu for graduate school I will be able to continue therapy virtually in another time zone. One of the challenges I am facing is that when my weekly session ends, the processing continues. I am having a hard time without a schedule, a hard time “leaving my stuff” in therapy.

One of biggest challenges is staying present. My mind always wants to drift elsewhere. Writing, helps to bring me to this moment.

I have started crafting a schedule for myself that will tell me when to wake up and when to go to bed. It will include getting outside, some type of activity, my weekly therapy session, and time set aside for writing. I have tried this in the past but I have failed to stick with it. I’m giving it a shot again now that I am home 24/7 and am out of school and work.

I have been asked how I am doing and I continue to say “Alright” which in my words translates to not great, but not terrible.

I’m hanging in there, aren’t we all?

As I pursue my social work degree, my main drive is advocacy. Looking back at my younger years, my ability to advocate for others came from compassion. Though I was a shy child, compassion taught me to use my voice. 

The truth is, advocacy was something I often struggled with. Well, only when it came to advocating for myself.  

I was just too selective with my words. let a lot of things slide. I would straighten my back and move along without saying much. If I was confused, I would not raise a hand. If I was lost, I would pretend I knew where I was. And if I was hurt, I would wait to see if it met my own definition of “bad enough” before I told. 

Advocacy is something that has always been a drive of mine, but it needed to start with me.  

I bring up the topic of advocacy because for many reasons I have advocated for myself these past few years. What has been a bigger challenge in self-advocacy is making sure you are being heard.

At the end of my New Years post I wrote that I would strive to advocate for my health for the year ahead. This post will share what I have learned as I have since done just that.

Written by me, a chronic pain sufferer. I write this after my recent Endometriosis diagnosis. Though, I hope all readers can apply this to their own story, reflection, + action.

It is one thing when you tell a doctor you are in pain. It is another thing if the pain is invisible. It is another thing if the blood tests, and radiology results return “normal.” You feel good for a second to hear those words, but then you feel frustrated. I have been in pain for 4+ years. It became my normal, and if it wasn’t “bad enough” I wouldn’t complain. Just a once in a while’s doctors visit where I said, “yeah it’s still there.” About 1 year ago things got worse, so I sought out the testing. In 6 months I was bounced around from 3 providers of different specialties, trying to uncover the cause. 

When the first result came back normal I crawled in bed and debated the help I was seeking. Especially the bills to my insurance. 4 months later I was missing classes and googling when it is necessary to go to the ER (yes I am stubborn). When it reached that point I sought out a new specialist and a long-waited appointment at a Boston hospital that I was positive would run more tests. Instead, I was recommended a probiotic and told to come back in 1 month. I could have fought for the testing, but I felt so defeated that I could hardly speak. I left that appointment in tears, and after that next bill came in, I knew I would not be returning to that provider.

I had many appointments that left me feeling so helpless that I would take something to fall asleep, to keep myself from feeling depressed. It didn’t matter if it was 3pm, I decided to sleep my day away. I have had a lot of these days. Days where a phone call to my mom said the words, “I can’t keep doing this.” These days are important too. With an illness, it is days like these that remind you how important it is to bind together every last bit of your strength and be your own damn advocate.

Maybe after the first few specialists scratched their heads and told me nothing was wrong, I would have given up- but I didn’t.

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seven suggestions to share

1. do not hesitate to do your own research.

   But do discuss findings with your doctor! It is recommended you don’t read too many WebMD and MayoClinic articles, or try to self diagnose, but by doing so I was able to start conversations with my doctors I would not usually have. Yes, it did make my head spin and create more anxiety at times. I was fortunate enough to have several sit-downs with my PCP where we went through the process of elimination and addressed my concerns.

2. get a second (third, fourth, fifth) opinion.

   **I know this is not always possible.

   I could go on a healthcare rant here..because it does break my heart with how long it can take to get a diagnose for an invisible illness. Most people can not afford multiple trial and error doctors visits. But I am including this bullet point because of the number of times I wanted to give up on asking for help. When you are led to believe it is in your head, it’s shameful. It sucks, it hurts, and it’s costly. But if you can..please don’t stop there. The reason I saw too many specialists was because my symptoms were not adding up. I had neurological pain, gastrointestinal issues, chronic fatigue, brain fog, joint pain, pelvic pain, and bladder retention. I saw one doctor, who would refer me to the next.

3. do what you can to remind yourself it isn’t in your head, when others imply it might be.

“Everything looks normal.” I heard those words over and over again. Which should be comforting, except I was still in pain and out of options of what to do differently.

I take pictures of the one symptom I have that is is not invisible. My stomach will blow up like a balloon. Painful bloating leaving me looking pregnant. I would drive with my pants unbuttoned. It’s cute. Many endo warriors take belly pics, and some advise against it because it can be triggering for body image issues. I took the pictures as many do, but I took them because on the low pain days, I wanted to remind myself it was very real.

Without taking a picture, you can validate what you feel in many ways.

4. find what helps in meantime

For me it was an epsom salt bath a day, elevating my legs before, after, and in between shifts at work. Buying and wearing compression socks. Sleeping with a heating pad (total fire hazard but you know-), and cutting out inflammatory foods from my diet. I did not have a cause to my pain, but I knew what made it better and I knew what made it worse!

5. keep track of your symptoms, dates

Mark flares on a calendar, get an app to track symptoms, start a pain journal. Document past doctor’s visits, tests that were done, etc. Document it all.

6. keep light (try)

It’s hard feeling unwell 99% of the time. It is frightening to feel so different from the you that you knew yourself to be.

Take care of that precious mind and heart of yours. Watch shows, listen to music that makes you feel good. Surround yourself with people who make you feel good! Soak in moments of laughter.

Tap into your light. Don’t lose sight of it, even on the darker days.

Self-advocacy takes strength, willpower, and hope. Reminding yourself of your worth, and taking even the smallest efforts to bring light into your day will put you on your path to receiving the care you deserve.

7. don’t be afraid to be bossy, “needy”

Let me first emphasize this: Be patient, and respectful to medical professionals.

They are human too.

But as my bullet point reads, sometimes you have to do a little more to be heard. You need to let someone know when you feel you are not being taken seriously, or are not getting the care you deserve. I tend to worry about burdening or bothering others. Knowing what I needed and asking for it is something I am still working on.

My turnout ..

I found a doctor who looked me in the eyes and apologized it had taken me so many years and so many doctors to find someone who heard and believed every piece of my story.

I didn’t give up on myself..

and I don’t intend to.

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xx