[TW: medical trauma]

In this post I will talk about one of my PTSD symptoms: shaking.

I have been in a support group these past few months, and a memory popped in my head during one of our recent sessions. In 2016 I was in a bad car accident on the highway. I was lying on the side of the road on January 1st (New Year’s Day) without a jacket and shaking as I waited for the ambulance. I was cold, but I wasn’t shaking for that reason. It was my body’s response to the trauma I experienced.

A woman pulled over and draped a coat over me. I continued to shake. I have experienced this trauma response more than once but it took me a while to recognize that it was helpful. I was shaking to release the stress that was stored in my body.

This memory led to so many more memories of shaking. In 5th grade I broke my arm badly. I was sitting in a wheelchair at the hospital shaking and teeth chattering. A woman at a nearby desk asked if I wanted a blanket, and me being me, smiled through the pain and muttered “no thank you.” She brought the blanket anyway. While this post mentions shaking, it is not the same as a shiver from the cold. Shaking for me is losing control of my body, and not knowing when it will stop. I remember learning that traumatized animals who do not shake, can die. This taught me the impact trauma has on the body.

2019

2020-2021 were incredibly hard years. While I was in graduate school in Hawai’i, I had many scary episodes of shaking. Granted, a lot was happening to me health wise, but my PTSD was also bad at this time. I remember sitting on my floor, my entire body shaking, and calling my psychiatrist from across the country. I told her I did not know if this was my PTSD or my heart condition. I was experiencing tachycardia and shaking so severely that my roommate went with me to a hospital in Honolulu. At the ER, they chose a horrible way to try to get my heart rate down. I don’t remember what they called it. I had to blow as hard as I could into a tube, and once I stopped, they lowered the head of my bed, and 2 male nurses grabbed each leg and held them in the air while I was basically upside down. My roommate sat there watching my legs shake even more rapidly. My entire body was convulsing, and I was terrified. I was convinced I was going to go unconscious, and I had zero trust in these people to help me. When they brought me upright again, my heart rate was just as high and now I was more traumatized. They gave me something to lower my heart rate, and when that did not work, I asked for ativan (thinking my anxiety was obviously related). They gave me a small dose, and not much longer, I was not shaking anymore, and my heart rate lowered. They joked that they should have given that to me in the first place. At this point I was dissociated. I just wanted to go home, but they gave me a psych evaluation before I left. Not long after that episode, I left my graduate program. If it isn’t obvious, my move to Hawai’i was not exactly paradise.

honolulu winter 2021

Back home in July 2021 following another traumatic incident, I found myself in fetal position on my psychiatrist’s office floor. I never did that before, but I just instinctively went to the ground. I was nauseous and my whole body was shaking and would not stop. She put a blanket over me (I’m realizing the blanket theme now). The added weight helped, but what helped more was having my body covered and feeling less exposed and vulnerable while in a ball on her floor. I remember worrying that I was having a seizure. I remember trying so hard to stop shaking, without knowing my body was doing what it was supposed to do.

summer 2021 following that therapy session. sweaty and exhausted. (feat. arthritis fingers)

When you’re triggered, when you’re scared, when you’re shaking, often others want you to stop shaking. As much as I want to stop shaking too, I know that this is not always possible. I have to wait it out until my body believes that the danger has passed.

Many times, I have been triggered and will tense my body to keep myself from shaking. It is terrifying to feel that loss of control. I believe that my body is betraying me. It still happens, and most times it is accompanied by fear. I often do not have a reason to be afraid. I will know that in those moments I am truly safe. There are also times where a trigger takes me back to something in my past that was worthy of fear. I can know where I am, but also have my body believe I am somewhere else. My body will believe that the thing of the past is happening all over again.

What works:

There are limited ways to help myself when in public, but when home, I will cope by climbing underneath the covers. I will take a hot bath with the water up to my neck. Sometimes, the shaking won’t stop until I take a beta-blocker that helps calm my symptoms. I have a heart condition as well, so my psychiatrist and cardiologist were on board with this one. The closer I am to the floor, the safer I feel. I have thrown my pillow and blankets on my carpet and curled up there as well. I love all of kinds of music, but I have my “comfort artists” who I listen to when my nervous system is overactive. All of these things make a difference.

It is helpful that I have learned what works. I may not be able to eliminate this trauma response, but I have noticed that each year it is happening less. This could be due to the fact that my life has been more peaceful, and predictable. I used to be in constant crisis and always on guard. I still have my triggers and I always will have triggers. It is about how I navigate those triggers when they arise. It is about trusting my body, even when I really really do not like how it feels.

I was not planning on writing about this because it felt too hard. Today was hard. I wasn’t going to write about it while in this headspace because I’m likely going to cry. I changed my mind, realizing this is probably the best time to write. It is important I truly feel my feelings in order to release them.

I grew up associating the holidays with being pulled in numerous directions. Both of my parents had divorced parents so I have step-grandparents as well. If we spent a holiday with one side of the family, I would feel guilt for not seeing the others. I grew up with 2 Thanksgivings, and 3 Christmas gatherings (not including waking up at my own home on Christmas morning). I have 2 specific Thanksgiving memories. At my Grammy and Grandpa Carl’s house we would go off-roading. I would climb in the bed of a truck with my cousins and laugh as we slid with each bump and turn, branches nearly wiping us out. Every year I look forward to my family’s sweet potato casserole, and pumpkin cheesecake. Thanksgiving at my Nana and Papa’s house we would walk down to Papa’s brook, across a bridge, and light a tree for the holiday season. Each year it was a different grandchild’s turn to flip the switch and light the tree. We would sing carols (horribly) and there was always laughter.

So many things changed. Papa died in 2015, and we stopped having Thanksgiving with that side of the family as their family grew as well. Thanksgiving was still my favorite holiday, but I still associated holidays with obligation, and pleasing everyone else. Growing up, I did not know why holidays overwhelmed me so much. I remember being young and crying at a Christmas gathering and did not know why I was feeling so sad. I was overwhelmed with the amount of people and all of the talking, even though I knew everyone in the room. Holidays were not always easy, but they certainly got harder.

Two of my family members I do not speak to. One, I don’t expect to face ever again. The other isn’t so far away. I have panic attacks each year as holidays approach because as much as I do not want to go to our gatherings, I feel guilt disappointing the family I do want to see. I have learned that holidays should not feel like something I should white-knuckle. Holidays should be a time that feels cozy, safe, and full of love. I have been better about setting boundaries each year, and my family has been better at accepting that I may be at some gatherings and may not. I may leave early or I may only stop by. Once I continued to set boundaries, people stopped expecting. Each year, however, I hear some form of disapproval. This year for Thanksgiving I wanted to try to show up because it is a time to see my cousins. There is one family member I do not want to see, and seeing this person makes me feel unsafe and uncomfortable. I thought I could go and just avoid this person, but I know that even being in the same space as them would be unhealthy for me. It is always a red flag when I am crying and panicking about a holiday weeks before it even arrives. My nightmares get worse, I dissociate, my arthritis gets worse, my pelvic pain returns, and I can hardly eat. It is not about being stubborn. Nobody understands.

Today I told my mom I won’t be at Thanksgiving. She cried. I don’t do this to hurt her. I don’t know how to protect myself without hurting her. She has a right to be sad about the situation, but it does not make it OK to make me feel badly for it. I heard, “For years we have heard you say that you are just going to do what you want to do, and here we just go along with it.” Like, yes that is what boundaries are. I have been called selfish many times, and even though she did not say those words, she basically was. I am tired of hearing this story about how my Papa used to say “Roots are important. Stick to your roots.” I am not going to stay in my hometown because my family is. I am not going to maintain relationships with family who make me feel unsafe. I don’t believe in “but they are family.” Family should feel like a safe space. Family should build you up, not drain you. Family should not leave you preferring to be alone on a holiday instead of being around them.

I never wanted it to be this way. It was weird explaining to my girlfriend that I am indeed family-oriented. At first she didn’t see it that way because all she knew was how much I did not want to see my family. Now she understands that I am family-oriented with those I feel safe with. Safe to be me. My mom suggested I text this person and remind them that I still care and miss them. I wasn’t trying to sound like a bitch, but I took a breath and said, “But I don’t miss them”. I said that I was comfortable, I was happy, I was doing the right thing by not reaching out. Why does it have to be me? I used to try. They made no efforts in replying to me, and I stopped trying as well.

I also know that it is not fair to the rest of my family to witness the drama between me and this person on holidays. Everyone can sense the tension and it does affect others. I am an understanding person, I have empathy for what this person has been through. I don’t hate them, I just want to be able to trust that they are better.

I feel so grateful when I find someone who understands what it is like to have to cut a family member out of their life. I feel so alone because I know most of my family does not understand. I come from a family who often does things because they feel they have to, not because they want to. I don’t want to live my life that way, especially when it compromises my health. I did that for years, and I learned hard lessons from it.

I’m still stuck on seeing my mother cry today. I tried to hold my own, but I cried too. She told me that she hates the holidays, because she is sad about this situation year after year. She wants everyone to get along. It is not that simple. It has never been this way. I still wonder if it is truly about her missing me, or more about the fact that I said, “no.” I wish that my decision to cut contact with this person, did not make her take it on as well. All I want is acceptance. I want my family to accept that yes this may suck, but this is how it is. I don’t want others to keep waiting for things to change, for us to start talking again. If it happens, it will happen in time. For now, I don’t see it happening, nor want it to happen. I want the holidays to go on for everyone else, as I do what I need to do for me.

I have never truly been close to this person. I have never felt accepted or understood. I have felt their discomfort around my relationship, and seen them avoid me when Aly is around. I have too many memories of fear or hurt by them. I don’t trust them, and I don’t trust they have changed. It is scary for me to wonder if I will be greeted with small-talk and respect (which is weirdly equally uncomfortable/ingenuine) or risk experiencing that pain again if I open that door.

I have to choose the lesser of two evils. After making this decision, I know that the holiday will still be hard. I know I will experience grief, and frustration, and sadness. I know a mix of emotions will come up on that day, as it does every holiday season. I also know that I would prefer those hard feelings, than to experience dread and panic while pushing myself to go. It is not worth being hypervigilant, trying my best to keep distance from someone I may not be able to get distance from. I would rather feel what I feel right now, sadness and some tears, but a deep knowing that I am doing the right thing. I can feel grief, and loneliness, and also trust that my body is thanking me for listening to its signals. I will hope that now that I made this confirming decision, my body and mind will begin to feel peace again.

When there are broken pieces in a family, it is helpful to find a chosen family. I am grateful that I have Aly, and her family who welcomes me with open arms. I am grateful that when I feel alone, I have other people to turn to. Aly is home to me, and her support means the world to me. I can grieve the fact that my family did not turn out to be what I imagined it to be as a child. While getting older, I can see that instead of waiting for things or people to change, it is best to work with what you have in this moment.

I can’t continue to fear others seeing me as selfish. It isn’t true, and I’ve never been a selfish person. If doing what is best for me means selfish, then sure, okay, I’ll be selfish. I think of everyone’s feelings before my own, but that won’t continue to help me live this life. I can create space from people without wishing them harm. It may feel safer for others to blame me than to accept that things are out of their control. I have to keep choosing myself again and again. I know that in the end, the right people will choose me too. The right people will cheer me on for having the courage to take care of me for once.

thanksgiving 2021

I don’t want to hate the holidays. I don’t want to keep trying to find ways to cope better in my family traditions. I’d like to create my own traditions that feel right for me. It will be uncomfortable to step into those changes, but I know a lot of my healing has come from even small uncomfortable steps in a different direction from what I have known.

I am sure I have written about some of the same things before. I can’t remember everything that is in my older posts, but I can always share things in a different way. I know I have shared this before, but the reason my site is called Very Haley is because it is a phrase I have heard since childhood. As a child I would hear, “That’s very Haley” when my mom saw or heard something that reminded her of me. The phrase was used with flowery prints, musicals, goofy sayings, my favorite colors. There were many things that made me who I am, and “very Haley” was the happiest and most proud part of me.

I was always called “the life of the party”. I could make just about anyone laugh, and some family members encouraged me to join a play. I was too scared to ever audition, so I entertained my family and friends instead. When I look back at childhood photos of myself I often do not recognize myself. Part of it is my dissociation, but a bigger part is that I tell myself “that kid doesn’t look like she was abused since toddlerhood.” My family took a lot of pictures and I was encouraged to give “big smiles” so much that it became a habit. It wasn’t that the photos were not genuine at the time, but what the photos never showed was how goddamn sad and scared I was most days.

I was called “happy-go-lucky”, but I also was abused in brutal ways. I believe I tried to hold on to my happiness, and making others smile was something that made me feel better about myself. When I got older and was able to communicate my depression, I heard disbelief. It was as if there were two sides of me, and the one I wanted everyone to see was ignored. Maybe it was unintentionally, maybe they did not want to see it, but I felt like a fraud for everyone thinking I was a human sunshine. Later on I would ask myself if it was my fault for not expressing more clearly what was happening to me. I could cry so easily, and I felt more like a mushy raincloud than the sun. When I did express my fear and sadness as a child, I was distracted or consoled. “Here Haley blow the bubbles.” What I needed in those moments was not someone telling me I was OK, but someone to try to understand WHY I wasn’t OK.

Even today I have this way of trying to turn off my emotions to protect others, and protect myself. I fear being a burden. I will cry myself to sleep, have anxiety and panic attacks, I will sit on the floor of my shower and feel incredibly alone. I have cried getting ready for work, or while driving to work. The moment I walk through the door, I ask everyone else how they’re doing. Even if I’m not OK I seem to throw on a smile, and make a joke about it. I let others believe I will be OK, because I want to assure myself I will be OK too. I am not always able to do this. Often I cannot hide my sadness. I have turned my camera off in staff Zoom meetings because I can see myself looking sad in the reflection.

I do believe it is a strength of mine that I am able to be happy despite how much I struggle. The times I feel genuinely happy, I can feel how bright my energy is. There have been times where I felt so good that I would also cry from pure joy and gratitude that I was able to experience that. I do believe that when you have experienced such heartache, it is easier to appreciate the good feelings. Good feelings become overwhelming too, but in the best way.

I wrote in my post, August Slipped Away that it is normal to have days that consist of both happy and sad. I think my whole life I did not know how to define myself. Am I happy? Am I sad? Am I a coward? Am I fearless? Am I shy? Am I confident? It certainly depends. It can depend on the day, the moment, and how safe or unsafe I feel in my environment. I can be all of the above, and it is because I am human.

The things that scare me don’t always make sense compared to the things that don’t scare me at all.

I have traveled to another country alone- no fear.

I have been in a shark cage- no fear.

I have walked alone at night- no fear

I’ve gone deep in the woods by myself- no fear.

This past weekend I was reminded that some of my oldest anxieties can still creep up on me. Aly and I were going for a quick ride to grab lunch, but first we were stopping at the grocery store. Grocery stores are really overwhelming for me. The overwhelm often has to do with my chronic illness and fatigue, but it also has to do with being a highly sensitive person (HSP). The lights, the people; it just feels like too much. I always leave a big store and feel like I need a nap after. I was the only one who wanted food, so I told Aly, “I’ll just see what they have for pasta salads instead so we don’t have to make another stop.” I walked to the deli and stood in between two women and their shopping carts to look through the glass. I saw one of my favorite pasta salads, but I looked to my right and saw more people waiting. Too many people. Suddenly the lights were too much for me. I did not know where to grab a ticket, and I did not want to walk in front of anyone to grab it. I am not even sure if I would call it social anxiety, but I was definitely scared. I gave up. I walked away and told Aly never mind. She had no idea that I did want it, but just could not do it.

Aly could tell something was wrong, and the more she asked the more tense I became. She asked, “what did I do?” I told her she did not do anything at all. I did not want to talk about it because I was embarrassed, mad at myself, and I wanted to cry.

Leaving the grocery store, Aly gave me the time I needed before I told her. I took a breath, “I was too afraid to order the pasta salad and I did not want to tell you because I knew you would offer to do it for me.” She asked why I did not tell her and I started to hold back more tears. “It is just embarrassing.” She assured me it wasn’t embarrassing, and offered to turn around and get me the pasta salad. At that point it wasn’t about the pasta salad anymore. I just wished something that simple did not leave me so fearful. I had the same anxiety before when ordering a grinder (yes I did just call it a grinder, I’m from Connecticut). When there are too many toppings to order, including “toasted” or what kind of bread..I choose to order a slice of pizza instead. Aly has ordered one for me before, and even though she does not mind, I did not want her to ask for my pasta salad too.

I don’t understand it. I can order at other places, no problem. It guess it depends on the environment or my sensitivities that day. I have not entirely figured it out. I have done a lot of work through the years on accepting myself. I know that I am different from people in a lot of ways, and I am trying not to see those things as flaws. Sometimes I wonder if everyone sees the world as I do. I wonder if everyone’s eyes feel like mine, or if their head feels like mine. I wonder if others ask themselves if they are really here. I often want answers as to why I am the way that I am, or what could be “wrong” with me. At the end of the day, I would not change most things about myself. It is not fair to feel like I need to change to fit in this world, fit in my workplace, fit in society. Part of my healing is understanding that I may not always “fit” and that I am not supposed to. Others can accept me for who I am, and I can accept myself too.

Fear and anxiety does not make anyone feel good. As much as I want to make sense of why I am uncomfortable at times, it is not about figuring it out. It is about being gentle with myself, and not hating myself for how I may respond. This isn’t just about a pasta salad. This is about sitting in the wrong room in 6th grade and being too afraid to walk out in case someone asked. This is about being asked by my mom in high school “how will you be able to handle college if you can’t walk into a gas station and pay?” This is about shutting down in public places while my friends were having fun. This is about the many, many times I have been hard on myself for feeling overwhelmed when nobody around me is.

I admit this is odd that this post was inspired by a grocery store pasta salad, but I promised myself I would be real on this site. This is as real as I can be.

There are so many things I have overcome. There are so many things that used to be hard for me that are not anymore. There are so many times I will do something despite it being hard for me and I will say, “I did that.” Still, there will be times I cannot do something. If I can’t do it in that moment, it does not mean I never can.

2020, tackling my fear of heights in South Africa

This post will address a few things:

1. How weather and changes of seasons influence my arthritis symptoms

2. An update on my arthritis lately

3. insecurity around wearing what helps my symptoms

Many people know that weather can impact arthritis. For me, I never really noticed this because I have struggled with my arthritis every day since I was diagnosed. I haven’t been able to go without prednisone. I do not plan to be on it forever, but until I am able to find the right treatment for me, this is working. Some nights I will try to skip taking my prednisone, but I will wake up in the middle of the night. I’ll be in full body pain, which reminds me that I cannot go without it. Lately I have been able to get away with a lower dosage, which is amazing. I started a new arthritis medication a few months ago, and I hope this means that it is finally helping. I do not see a new Rheumatologist until February, so I also hope I will have a better plan then.

For some reason I was able to go without my knee braces after my Disney trip last month. For weeks I was able to walk to my car after work without limping. This past week, however, I have been noticing my pain getting bad again. I believe it has to do with the weather getting colder. I don’t always realize how bad my knees are until I have to walk down the stairs. It takes me longer than most people, and I take one step and slowly drag the other leg behind me. At Aly’s family’s house I have crawled when I walk up the stairs, or cling to the railing when going down. I have skipped showers because I cannot lift my arms to wash my hair. One scary symptom I experience is that my elbow gets stuck in a bent position. It can take a full day or longer before I am able to straighten it. The pain with a subtle movement makes me want to cry. I do not always know what to do when it happens, other than prednisone + advil, and trying to straighten it with a slight twist behind my back.

stuck + swollen elbow

I do not mind wearing my knee braces to work, because they help me get through the day. However, I really have been trying to go without them. I can already sense that very soon I will be using them again. I have been needing to wear my wrist braces again as well. I dread winter, when I can’t take my key out of the ignition or key into my apartment. I am actually used to this by now. I know it is a part of my life, and I anticipate it. It still does not make it any easier. It is hard sitting down and being in pain when I try to stand up.

I think my eyes can sense a flare coming before the rest of my body. Light is so intense, even when it is dim. I am usually sensitive to light due to trauma or whatever the reason, but it is a different sensitivity with my arthritis. I do not always realize how much I am squinting and tense my forehead because of it. I bought light sensitivity glasses originally made for migraine sufferers. They are not the same as sunglasses, because they are meant for indoors as well. The lenses are darker, so it is easy for people to think I am wearing sunglasses. They help immensely but I am incredibly insecure wearing them at work. My supervisor told me not to worry about it, and to just wear them. I know she doesn’t care, but I certainly do. She can see how uncomfortable I am, and how my eyes can water easily. Still, I feel so silly wearing the glasses. I know not everyone understands, so I feel more insecure because of that. People ask questions, or give looks. It is not in a bad way, but I know they are curious. My old glasses were all they had in stock at the time, and they made me feel like Ozzy Osborne. I bought new ones, which are a lot better, but I am still insecure about the lenses.

the old glasses that made me feel like Ozzy. (only wore all of this when I was alone in my office)

It is hard with chronic illness because I know what helps me, but I still worry so much about what other people think. It is not written on my head, “I have RA!” I don’t mind telling people, I just wish I did not have to. A lesson I am learning is to just do what I need to do when I need to do it, and eventually people won’t be phased by it.

As a Peer Specialist, I sometimes briefly explain to the people I support, “I have RA and my eyes are sensitive today, I have to wear these glasses in case you are wondering why.” Luckily I have only done it about twice in meetings. Some people I support also have chronic illnesses, and they understand.

As I cope with the weather I know how important it is to take care of myself and to not push myself too hard. Sometimes this means icing my knees when I am home or at Aly’s. Sometimes this means texting my supervisor that I need to work from home. Sometimes this means taking a bath or sitting in the shower so I don’t have to stand. Most importantly, it means having compassion for myself. My body cannot help it, and it is trying its best.

[TW: mentions SI]

This post a bit longer.

It is November and I am remembering August. It was not too long ago, but I was in a drastically different place. I want to write about this very vulnerable time I went through. Last weekend I was on a trail with my girlfriend Aly when I found myself dancing and lip-syncing down a hill. The happiness I felt was consuming me like a fire inside me refusing to burn out. I thought, “this is the feeling I wanted in August.”

It is surreal to me to see just how bright my light was on that day in the woods, when several months ago I was re-experiencing depression and suicidal thoughts.

I want to tell myself, no, that is not what it was. I want to tell myself, that was years ago. The last time I experienced suicidal ideation was while waiting for heart surgery in 2021. I felt like my body was failing me, and I did not want to continue to live that way. In the past I had been hospitalized for suicidality, and I wanted that to stay in the past. It feels weird to name it now, but that’s what it was this past summer. The difference is that this time I got through it without a hospital. That does not mean it couldn’t have helped..

It is terrifying, but when I experience a depressive episode that has no end in sight it is easy for me to have the mindset that the pain may never end. I am writing this now because it did end. It always does end, eventually. I have experienced depression many times, and I usually know how to navigate it by now. This recent time felt different because I was not able to get through it as quickly as I had times before. Depression paired with dissociation made it feel harder to climb out of. I thought, “Why am I trying to live when I don’t even feel alive?”

This year, it began the end of April. April, May, June, July, and August were never-ending months of depression, depersonalization, and derealization. May is usually hard for me, as is June- but it did not seem to end. I had done well off of medication for a while, but knew it was time I go back on it. I went to the pharmacy and picked up my prescription, and the waiting game began.

I would stare at the wall every day and feel overwhelmed because I did not feel real. Nothing around me felt real, except my cat Eloise. I could not imagine what clarity felt like, or feeling present. I was incredibly burnt.

One August evening I called my therapist during a panic attack but she did not see my call until the next morning. I did not know it was a panic attack because it felt different than times before. Something had triggered me, but I did not know what. Everything seemed far away. My head felt “weird” and that’s the only way I could describe it at the time. My mind was on a loop of negative thoughts about myself. It felt like a volcano could erupt inside me. My chest hurt, and when I looked at my hands they didn’t feel like they belonged to me. I sat on my bathroom floor for hours, and eventually curled up on the cold tile. I could not stop sobbing. 

In the morning I assured my therapist that I was OK waiting until our next session to talk about it. It was hard to get out of bed that next day. I barely ate, barely moved, and it felt like I was recovering from a car accident. (I’ve been in a car accident so I feel like I can say that.)

Before that panic attack there had been months of driving to work every day crying. I was dissociating at work. I would avoid contact with my coworker who I share an office with. I wouldn’t turn around from my laptop. I was hiding the tears to the best of my ability. 

I avoided taking a medical leave, and I just kept telling myself this would all end soon, and one of these days I will wake up and feel happy. Then, August came. August is my birthday month. I’m not sure why but I get really sad around the time of my birthday.

My mental health became so troubling that I was weighing my options. No, I don’t want to go back to a hospital.. I’d likely feel the same there. If I did go to a hospital I would only want to be in a specific trauma inpatient treatment. I could do a partial-hospitalization program. I could take a medical leave. I was stuck. I did not know what to do. I just knew that my birthday was coming and it was hard to look forward to another year. 

At the end of the month my therapist was going to be away for a week. 1 week feels too long for me, as I have been used to my consistent sessions weekly for years. It especially felt long when I was waking up every day waiting for the day to be over. My therapy sessions helped me have something to hold out for each week, and I was terrified not having that. At the end of our last session before her vacation, I fell apart. It was a telehealth session and when I saw her face disappear from my screen I was scared. My heart ached. I felt so alone. I was ready to give in and go to the ER.

I called Aly instead. I’m not always good at reaching out to people in the moment, even her. I tried to pull myself together and the two of us brainstormed how we were going to get me through the week.

Aly and I discussed every option, even the ones that did not seem likely. She was willing to watch Eloise if I went anywhere (hospital) and she also was willing to stay with me at my apartment if I didn’t. 

Something shifted in me when I was talking to her. I told her “I know how I am and I feel the worst of it right now because I just got off the call with her. Maybe I need a nap, just to reset. It’ll be less overwhelming when I wake up.”

I told Aly I know how this works. I’ve been here before. When I was hospitalized the first time in 2016 I couldn't wait to be discharged and promised myself I’d get my shit together if I was getting out. I had choices. I knew about them, but I just needed to care about them.

1. Stay where I was headed.

2. Or try. Try to have compassion for myself. Try to find worth in living. Try to find trust that my life can be different. Try to get more help.

I was still thinking about my therapist in that moment and how she felt like my lifeline. I told Aly. “She’s coming back in a week. I want to be able to tell her that I was OK and that I did things to help myself while she was away.”

After my call with Aly, I emailed a place about a virtual Women’s Trauma Group that started early this fall over Zoom. I knew that therapy couldn’t be my only lifeline and that I needed more supports I could turn to. I continued to look for ways I can get more therapeutic support as well as personal connections. After I gave myself permission seek more support, and try to find hope, I was beginning to experience more moments of feeling like my old self.

When night came it was dark and quiet and I found myself feeling sad in bed. I was starting to cry and at the same time telling myself not to. This didn’t work; I was sad again. I thought about how I couldn't go one day without crying. The week would feel so long. I took a breath. I tried to allow myself to cry, and tell myself it would be alright at the same time. I tried to be okay with having a day both happy and sad. It is better than a full day of sadness like I had been experiencing for months. I realized I could lie in bed sad and alone or I could let someone know. I had already texted Aly goodnight but I sent her another text almost an hour later. I told her I was sad, that I was ok, but sad. I told her how I was feeling and that I didn't need anything, but that it was helping me to write that to her. It was helping me to feel less alone in my sadness. I didn’t know if she was sleeping but she wrote back. “I’m glad you texted me. you’re right, it is okay to feel all kinds of emotions in one day. Nights can be hard because you start thinking about a lot. You’re so strong Haley. It’s one of my favorite qualities about you. So I know you will be okay.”

Before my therapist returned I listened to 3 audiobooks about self-compassion. One way I know to get out of my sad brain is to take in more positive and healing content. I was sucked into a poetry book from one of my favorite authors I discovered this year. She writes about trauma and depression a bit.. but not directly.. and not in a way that is triggering. It is hopeful and comforting to know she's felt what I feel.

Even though I couldn’t wish my depression away faster.. I was trying. I was trying to find a reason to be happier. I was trying to sulk less. I was recognizing my medication helping once I landed on a consistent dose. I had moments of feeling here and present. “Moments” did not feel like enough, but I know they mattered. Over time I felt inside myself again, and the moments became days.

What I realized is that trying harder to be happy makes me feel very disappointed when I start to feel sad again. I’ve been trying to take what I’ve learned and try not to place judgment on my feelings. It is a work in progress, but right now it’s more about reminding myself of it when it happens. I’m trying to simply notice how I feel. It is still discouraging to realize those shifts in emotion when I start to feel good and then feel horrible again.

I couldn’t escape my birthday, but I do have things to look forward to this year.

Even though I wanted to tell my therapist “look at the steps I made” when she came back, I also did this for me. I needed to light a fire inside myself again. I have continued my work in therapy, but I also have been participating in a 12-week support group which ends the end of this month. I also have been leaving my comfort zone to connect with others, and that has helped me to feel less isolated. I do not doubt that those positive changes had something to do with my dancing in the woods.

I still have triggers and flashbacks, and times that almost scare me where I don't feel like I’m here. This happened very recently. It makes me feel like I am rolling down the hill I just worked to climb. But I have noticed times where I do feel here. It’s weird to me, to see things clearly in those moments. It makes me think, “So this is how being alive is supposed to feel?” 

April through August was dark and painful. Sometimes revisiting the lowest of the lows allow me to also revisit lessons learned.

What I know:

• Happiness is worth the wait.

• I can be in a “good place” and still have trauma responses.

• The bad days/moments do not cancel out the good.

• The pain and fear I try to fight, is fought with an abundance of strength.

I just shared my blog again for the first time in a while. I wrote one post about the new beginning, but no- I was not expecting I would be writing another one tonight. Certainly not about this.

I share my story, I share my joy, I share my growth, I share my anxieties. I do not often share my anger.. well, certainly not in this form. I am not taking the time to really edit this one. I am free-writing and letting my emotions and thoughts flow as I do. I am not sleeping and while awake in my bed, I hope I will word this in the ways that I am also thinking. Here we go.

I am uncomfortable. I have a pit in my stomach. I have an ache in my heart. My temples are sore from tensing as I scroll through my phone each day. All of this- is a good thing. I should be feeling this way. More people in the U.S. should be feeling this way.

There is a genocide happening and while I haven’t discussed it with every person I come across, I am bothered by how many people are not talking about it at all. I am bothered by those who are refusing to educate themselves to keep themselves comfortable while nobody in Palestine has that choice. 

I was reading some of my old blog posts and I found one where I wrote about Black Lives Matter. I wrote, “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.”

I have that same feeling now. I just re-posted my blog and it feels like a terrible time to do so. It has been a while since I felt the courage to open my blog back up for others to read. When I felt that pull, I knew I had to roll with it while it was there. Perhaps in a way, I am bringing back my writing at a time where I can also be vocal about what Israel is doing to Palestine, and be vocal about how it is affecting me. My blog has always been to write about where I’m at, and while there are many areas of my life I am navigating right now, this too, is where I’m at.

I am often disturbed that there is always a conversation that unjust things are not to be discussed because it is best to avoid “politics”. I have never understood why something so clearly wrong becomes a debate. Genocide is not war. It is far more dangerous. What baffles me is that our country, my country, is pro-Israel for our own selfish benefits. There are mass murders, bombings to hospitals, mass starvation. The documentation, the evidence, understanding right from wrong- it is CLEAR. It should be CLEAR. There are even mass shootings in this country that are discussed for maybe a day, and then life goes on? I cannot understand.

It can be hard to fathom that such terrible evil happens in our world. Most people would want to tune it out to find ways to cope.. but it does not change what is happening. It is still happening. It is a privilege to be able to tune in and tune out when we want to.

Last month I spent 2 days in Disney World. I tried to wrap my head around the concept that neighborhoods of families are being murdered and I was going to the “happiest place on earth”. Many of us have privilege- the difference is who is reflecting and acknowledging that privilege.

I cannot compare my trauma to the trauma being experienced in Palestine- but I sure have been thinking about how people to respond to evil. I had my own experiences of evil, and there were many things I kept to myself because I knew it was beyond most people’s understanding. I had been told not too long ago, “I imagine that it's a sort of deep disillusion to live in a world where you've encountered firsthand that those things exist.”

It is also a disillusion for those who have not experienced evil and having trouble believing it. This is damaging to those who have and are experiencing it. I will always try to understand why the goal is for the ones suffering to make everyone else comfortable- and not the other way around.

What I had also been told was, “I think that we survive by the love and kindness of other people.”

In a time where we feel, and also are powerless, there is also some power in the good. I know for me, I am reminding myself to connect with others, be real and vulnerable with others. Have real conversation in a world that wants us to live and present blindly.

I guess I’ll end here.. for now.

*In case it isn’t clear, this post is not welcoming a debate on genocide vs. war, or the involvement of the U.S.

Excuses have kept me from the keyboard, and I thought they were good ones.

“I want to start fresh with a new website.”
“I need to change my domain name.”
“I can’t think of a new one yet, so I will wait to write until I do.”

Or, “I can’t blog until I finish my book.”
Ok, well I have been trying to finish my book for years, is it really going to be done anytime soon?

“Maybe I should start vlogging instead? I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that though..” “Would that be annoying for others to see?”

My blog was always about me first. I needed an outlet to journal, and connect with others in a vulnerable way. 

When I tried to be like other bloggers, my joy for blogging went away. Last year I removed thousands of followers I had gained through hashtags, and kept those who I followed back, or who engaged the most with my content. 

I used to write long Instagram captions, and while I still do, I also feel hesitant to share as much as I used to. Instagram has changed, engagement has changed, and I thought, why share so much if not as many people will see it anyway?

You see, this hiding, this restricting I have been doing, has not been good for me either. 

It is 2023 and a good time for a fresh start. 

I left an unhealthy job in the fall of 2022. I have started working as a Peer Specialist and for the first time I can say I believe I am working somewhere that is safe. Somewhere I am safe to be me.

My role as a Peer Specialist means I am supporting and advocating for others while sharing my own lived mental health experiences.

Now that I decided to start publishing posts again, I realized I must do so differently. It is not appropriate to write about my days in the ways I have before. It is not appropriate to use this space to reflect on my days at work or my meetings with individuals served. It is easy for anyone to search my name or land on this blog. 

I can still write about my career growth, my personal development- but other reflections can have their separate space. This blog can have its boundaries. 

This site will stay the same in terms of reflecting on my life as a trauma survivor in her 20’s, learning to balance therapy, work, relationships, and self-care.

This is my first full-time job and I am still learning how to take care of myself. For the first time I feel supported when I advocate for myself at work. I appreciate that some days I can work from home and rest and also feel more productive. I appreciate that I can fit my own therapy into my schedule. It is exhausting having multiple sessions a week, but I am more exhausted without them. My sessions keep me going. I am still learning how to balance it all.

I work 4 10-hour days to give me flexibility for therapy. The long hours are a lot, and while I’m doing it there are a lot of things that impact me each week.

My life with PTSD means I still struggle with dissociation. I have nightmares every night and have tried a slew of medications that have not helped my sleep. Often my appetite is poor. My PTSD can trigger my other “friend”, Rheumatoid Arthritis. RA leaves my knees swollen and makes it hard to move around or even get dressed some days. RA + PTSD together.. leave me exhausted. In my work, I feel energized when meeting with the people I am supporting. I can be real, I can be me.

Many days of the week I still feel a bit of imposter syndrome in my new role. I feel like I could be doing better, because I often wish I could be feeling better! The truth is that I’m doing just fine. I’m doing it all, and it’s a lot that I am doing. I can’t compare myself to the work done by “healthy” people.

This job is a blessing and also comes with some growing pains. I have a lot of support but can still feel a bit isolated at work.

In a time I felt isolated before, I turned to blogging to connect. Why not, give this a try again!

You know how people say that a part of mental health awareness is talking about it? How people with anxiety or depression keep things to themselves because they are ashamed, don’t want others to worry, or do not know how to talk about things? I have come a long way as far as being honest about my mental health and my struggles.

I have shared tough stuff with my friends and family because it helps them to understand what is going on, and it is important I have support.

One thing I keep inside all the time, is my PTSD.

….

This article in The Mighty is a good example of what I go through.

….

Those who care about me know about it, but I realize I always refrain from talking about it when it is bad.

My reasoning is that my trauma is always there, so when I see others I’d rather talk about other things or show them the better sides to myself. I also struggle with some things that feel taboo to talk about, so I do not want to put that on anyone else. I am also afraid that the response I will receive will not be helpful, or will further trigger me.

My therapist pointed out that she is the only person I talk about some things with, and she said, “no wonder you feel so alone with it.” I thought, she doesn’t understand. I also thought, is she thinking I am doing this to myself?

How the hell do you seek support from loved ones when you have PTSD? It is a question I am asking myself.

Why is trauma so hard to talk about? Part of being misunderstood is not giving people a chance to understand, but trauma convinces you that nobody will ever understand anyway so it’s best to keep things to yourself.

I am a survivor of child abuse and the memories have affected me every day since the day they started coming back after years of blocking it out. It seems to rule my life most days, as much as I try to not let it.

Having nightmares every night, repetitive memories, body memories, many nights of tears, weekly therapy… it’s exhausting.

I’m always tired. I know the people in my life are tired of hearing about how tired I am.

I am anxious, and feel safer in very few places.

I get quiet, because my mind is always active and on guard.

Since I have had so much therapeutic support, and am better at taking care of myself, I really have been doing a great job. I really have been well considering everything. Maybe people would read this and be concerned, and that is understandable. When you live with PTSD, and have for years, you learn how to live with it even when it is hard. It is complicated trying to explain the fact that while I struggle, I am also OK..

I am starting a new job.

I graduated from a training I am passionate about.

I am back doing graduate school online.

I have a silly, energetic, snuggly cat who keeps me happy.

I’m in a relationship that is healthy and happy.

For the first time I live somewhere that feels like home.

Still, there is my trauma, my abuser being a family member. My family not all being understanding and supportive. I thought that opening up would help me stay connected to people in my life. It has felt that I have sometimes been avoided instead. Or that I learned how speaking my truth can damage someone else.

When I already have trouble staying in touch with people, it does not feel right to only reach out when I am struggling. I want to be there for others and not have the focus only be what goes on with me. I do not know many people who struggle with PTSD or CPTSD. The ones I know who do, struggle with the same things as me. They also live their lives but go through periods of hibernation and have trouble keeping up socially.

I have learned through the years that true friends, and good good people will not feel you are a burden.

I will never forget..

the friend who drove to my house and brought me cookies when I was missing too many days of high school due to debilitating somatic symptoms..

the friend who brought me Panera Bread and visited with me while I was in a psychiatric hospital, when nobody else, not even my family had visited me..

the friend who tucked me in to her twin sized bed, ordered Chinese food, and painted with me when I had a hard day..

(Ok I’m noticing a theme of food here..)

the friend who texted me he was coming to get me to go on a hike- not giving me a choice to make excuses.

or my psychiatrist who visited me in the hospital after waking up from heart surgery

Asking for help can feel daunting and as if you are asking someone to give you the world. In reality, it is the little things we can do for each other that make the world of difference. Talk or paint. Stay inside, or go out. I know I might not always know what I need, and when I’m struggling it is especially hard to make decisions. I’ve learned that sometimes, “I’m struggling, I don’t want to be alone”, or “I need to talk to someone” is a good place to start. Those who know me best, know where to go from there. Saying the words; that part is on me.

My site was meant to be honest with myself and others. I think it is important I talk about living with trauma. It is hard feeling like nobody understands but you want people to understand. It is hard wanting to show the best sides of yourself, but also wanting to feel true to yourself. It’s hard worrying too much about making others uncomfortable. It is hard not knowing how you should be, what you should do. Rest, or push yourself. Open up, or keep some things private.

I’m trying my best. That is what I want people in my life to know. Perhaps they already know. Perhaps it is me who needs to remind myself of that.

This post was written months ago, and a lot has changed since. I am going to share it, but at the end I am going to write an update about how things have been now.

The post from March 13th 2022:

I realize that one of the reasons I wanted to start writing again was that chronic illness has become a big part of my life. I wanted to bring that into my discussions of mental health and recovery. Today I have been watching Outlander, crying on my futon wrapped in a blanket, wearing a travel neck pillow due to pain. I have taken Advil and Aleve in the past 24 hours with no help. I have an appointment tomorrow with a rheumatologist to go over a slew of blood results. I’m so close, but today everything feels too far. Today I feel stuck, and in this negative mind loop that just wants to escape from my body and my life. I’m tired of being in pain. Feeling unwell is one thing, but not knowing why is equally awful.

The irony is that inflammation makes depression worse, and depression then makes pain + inflammation worse. It is a messy cycle of trying to stay positive yet feeling so overwhelmed. I have not been kind to myself. When something is wrong with my health and I feel limited, I blame myself. I have been kicking myself when I am down. It is a hard pattern to break but at least I am aware of it. I try to take a lesson from everything I go through. This is teaching me to have more compassion for myself. This is teaching me to stop expecting more of myself and to try and be gentle with where I am at in the present.

This pain isn’t my every day, but lately it has been daily tears and whimpering with subtle movements. This past year my body hit a point of overwhelm and it still bothers me that I do not know what triggered it all. I always want answers. My heart condition flared, I had ER visits, mystery joint pain and unable to straighten my fingers most mornings. My endometriosis brought me back to the hospital, with fevers and clotting and very little options left for solutions. At 23, I had a hysterectomy. It revealed much trauma within my uterus, Adenomyosis, and hemorrhaging. I did not regret my decision, but I did expect to feel better by now. My heart has been good and strong, my pelvic pain is nonexistent, but I’m not out of the woods yet. Now I am trying to figure out my low red blood cell counts, low iron, high rheumatoid factor and other signs of elevated inflammation in my body. I do have hope that I will find a working treatment soon, and I will advocate for myself as much as possible in my next appointment.

In the meantime, I’m tired of holding back on writing. I’m tired of waiting for myself to feel better in order to find my story worthy of sharing.

I’m not the only one battling illness and I am not the only one struggling with my mental health because of it. It is understandable why people do not talk about what they go through. We fear being judged, or seen as craving attention. I don’t see attention as the worst thing when it comes to this. Illness makes you feel alone. Hiding it creates shame and a sense of feeling like an imposter on social media or everyday life. I would not write about these things if I felt that someday I will be writing about something else. I want to write about the now to remind myself of this time of healing and finding compassion for myself. I’m not sure just yet how the present will fit into what I will do in the future. I do know that when I get a calling to write about things, good comes of it. I have to roll with that.

& today May 21 2022:

Months ago I was beyond discouraged over my health. Doctors were pushing me to take injections of a new medication that had a lot of side effects, and I cried at every visit because it did not feel right. I wanted to refuse the drug, but I was told that if I didn’t my illness would worsen and my joints would function as an elderly person. I felt hopeless, and I tried 1 week of injections in addition to prednisone. The prednisone helped me get through my day, but it definitely made me gain weight. I was not entirely upset because I have been underweight due to health, but I knew how bad this was for my body. I didn’t know what to do. It was the only thing that was helping fast enough. I found my injection gave me the worst nausea, a migraine that lasted days, and horrible brain fog. I could not answer a simple question. I was on phone calls with my girlfriend and I barely spoke but did not know why my mind was so blank. My therapy appointments were in silence and I was so overwhelmed that I could not think straight that I gave myself panic attacks. It was so stressful realizing my mind could not function the same. Still discouraged, I stopped the medication. I told myself I would find another way despite what the doctors told me was possible. I did find another way.

I started working with a holistic doctor, and connected with a holistic health group online for other opinions. I turned to different supplements, and a new medication that I won’t mention the name, but I will say is a lot safer and will not be long-term. I also learned why my body flared in the first place. It took a while to notice a difference, and to find my right dose. I guess over time I noticed my therapy appointments were about other things, and I stopped talking about my pain. I stopped taking prednisone. I was sleeping better. I had thought I would be feeling this way for a long time. I thought I was adding another diagnosis to my list. Now, I am just grateful I listened to my gut. Doctors know a lot, but everyone is different. I did not feel like these specialists were looking at my entire history or situation and they definitely were not listening to my concerns.

Feeling like you don’t have control over your body is scary and frustrating. Feeling like you do not have a say in your treatment makes you feel powerless. Do not get me wrong, sometimes you do have to surrender and trust the doctors. In this situation, I know I would be a lot worse had I gone with their recommendations. Now I can focus on taking care of myself without limiting myself to the couch!

Oh, and I have the energy to start writing again.

More to share soon. :)

My adenomyosis journey

December 16th arrived so quickly. It felt like forever at first. The pain I felt beforehand was a confirmation that I wanted/needed the surgery. It affected me in weird ways. My arm hurt, my wrists were weak, I could not bend my right knee. I barely slept because my entire body hurt.

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Days before surgery.. I just could not get comfortable.

I was not nervous on surgery day, it was only anticipation to get it over with. My parents could not come into the surgical unit with me, due to covid. When my name was called I hugged them, my step-dad told me to have fun, and I followed a nurse to the back. The nurses knew I had anxiety, but when they asked me if I needed anything I said I was good. I really was OK not taking anything, and waiting until anesthesia. Gathering my history, a nurse said I have the health history of an older person. Yes, I am aware. Before surgery I was very dehydrated, and they drew my blood twice because some of my levels were a bit off and they wanted to make sure it was not a fluke. I was not too surprised. I had been so unwell.

The nurses and even the anesthesiologists were very kind and it was a small hospital so I did not feel overwhelmed. Waiting for the IV, I dug into the muscles in my thighs and hoped they would no longer hurt when I woke up.

Before I knew it my surgeon had arrived, they were getting me ready, and I was wheeled into the operating room. They warned me, “it’s very bright and very cold.” It was, but at that point I had some medicine to relax me. I think the last thing I remember was them telling me they were going to give me some oxygen. I think I recall a mask on my face and I think I was knocked out within seconds.

When it was over I woke up slowly, and it was hard to stay awake. I noticed my legs no longer hurt, and I rated my pain a 3. It did not take much longer before I realized I lied, it was definitely not a 3. I asked for more pain medication and it helped tremendously. I had 3 glued incisions on my abdomen, in addition to 1 inside my belly button. I also had stitches inside to replace my cervix- which I of course won’t be able to see. In the recovery room I was doing well, so I only had to stay for a few more hours. I had a catheter in and after they took it out they wanted to make sure I could pee on my own. A nurse helped me hobble to the bathroom and TMI, I just sat there for a while with zero idea how to go. My stomach was swollen. Because they removed my cervix, and I had zero connection to that part of my body or how to relax those muscles. All I could see in the toilet was blood, and a mini trail of blood I had left walking to the toilet. I stood at the sink crying, knowing I would not be able to see my parents or get discharged until I was able to pee. I also was admittedly scared that even peeing hurt. The nurse waiting outside the door knocked to check on me, and opened the door to me standing at the sink in tears. “I couldn’t go, I said.” She looked over at the blood in the toilet. “I’m so sorry” I said. That is SO me! I WOULD apologize. She assured me it was okay and helped me walk back to my bed. I continued to cry while lying there, and I could hear everything in the hallway, including the nurse whisper to someone else how I cried and apologized for not peeing. Another nurse came in to give me more fluids, and she left me a box of tissues. She commented on how sweet my doctor was and how she wanted her 17 year old to have her. I also thanked her for being kind as well. Not all nurses are!

Once my pain was managed and I was able to use the bathroom on my own- yay- I was discharged, and brought out front to my parents in a wheelchair. I thought I would sleep in the car, but I didn’t. I was too impressed with how different I felt. On the way home there was a bright sunset, and my mom said “Look Haley! See! It’s a sign!” I was just happy to have it over with.

The first 2 days were hard, and it was painful to sit up or walk without being hunched over. I was doing ok, but my mom did have a small meltdown she told me. She just felt overwhelmed for me, and badly with how many surgeries I have needed to have, and everything I went through this year. I reminded her this was a good thing. She did say how amazed she was that after my surgery she could see the color come back to my face. I had looked so pale and skinny, and my chin was covered in cystic acne. After my surgery, my skin just started clearing up, I was no longer pale, no longer limping, and life was brought back to my eyes.

The worst incident I had with recovery so far was a cough attack I had after sipping water. My throat was still scratchy from the breathing tube and usually when I cough, it is over and over again until I can stop. I clutched a pillow on my abdomen and applied pressure as I coughed into my arm, eyes watering, yelling “OW” and “FUCK!” I could see my mom wincing as she watched me in pain. Tea helped me a lot more. I learned the hard way that laughing, coughing, sneezing, were all very painful.

When day 3 came, I challenged myself to stop taking my pain medication and only stick to ibuprofen every 6 hours as needed. Day 3 was when I felt my best. I sat upright at our kitchen table and worked on a coloring book. I had purposely bought ones with positive quotes because I had no idea how I was going to be feeling mentally.

I always learn a lesson after a surgery. That lesson is that even when you feel well, you still have to baby yourself because your body is healing from a lot of trauma inside. I find that I try to do a little too much. I stand for full showers, make my own meals, hunch over to grab things. It felt OK at first because I still had medicine in my system. As the days go on I am noticing how very sore and tired my body is. Doing an activity for 15-20 minutes long means I need a 2 hour nap after.

I am not supposed to drive for 2 weeks, but with Christmas Day approaching I am a bit anxious about my plans. Christmas Eve I will have a ride to my great-grandparents, though I am worried about my energy level, and being lazy on the couch elevating my legs. Christmas Day I was invited to my girlfriend Alyson’s family’s house to do a gift swap, but it is an hour away. I am worried about the car ride, and also my energy level. I have FOMO, fear of missing out. I want to be able to do it all but I am realizing that if I want to recover sooner, I need to take the first several weeks easy. My incisions may look small, but I still had a major surgery. I’m still not quite sure what I will do.

Aside from physically, I can tell that this surgery was a new beginning for me. My body and soul are healing in numerous ways, and emotionally I have a lot of healing to catch up on. It is all positive, though it won’t be easy.

I still intend to have a happy holiday. I am excited for Alyson to come home from NYC as I missed her so much. I just need to put less pressure on myself to keep up, and know that in time I will be able to do so many things I was never able to do before. Thanks to this surgery!

December 30th is my post-operative appointment and I am eager to hear my biopsy results. So far all I know is that during my hysterectomy my surgeon also found and removed a bit more endometriosis that had grown back since my last excision in 2019. I feel so refreshed and different now that my uterus is out so I am beyond curious what they will find in the biopsy! I have zero regrets, and I am really proud of myself for advocating for myself again. I know myself, and my body, much better than I think I do.

Thank you all for the patience and the well wishes!! We will see where recovery goes from here.

I had 3 cats at my mom + step-dad John’s house to spoil me

The countdown begins!

Not a Christmas countdown, but my hysterectomy countdown.

Really quick I want to clarify a commonly asked question and one I did not know at first! I am having a total hysterectomy which means removing the uterus and cervix. This does not include the ovaries. A partial hysterectomy is removing just the uterus, leaving the cervix. A radical hysterectomy is when the uterus, cervix, ovaries, and fallopian tubes are removed. This will mean hormone therapy, and will trigger menopause symptoms (which I won’t be going through). However, even with my ovaries I will still ovulate and therefore still have PMS/PMDD.. yay.

Back to it..

I have gone back and forth with my emotions around this surgery. I will not regret it, but it does not make it easier. I get so excited about my surgery date, but I have had moments of “weakness” where I would cry over the thought of never being pregnant. It does feel like a loss, because it is. However, what I will gain will be worth so much more. I will be healthier, happier, and my body will not limit me as it has.

Earlier this month, I had the worst flare-up of my life. Yes it began with a period, but it was so much more than that. A massive ache in my pelvis and groin that traveled to my ankles, clots, nausea. I assumed it would only last 2 days or so. I had a virtual therapy appointment and I could not talk much because I was so nauseous. I spent the session in my bed. The next day I saw my mom who told me I looked really pale. Still, I went to NYC for the weekend to visit my girlfriend Aly. Though she told me I did not have to come if I was not well, I wanted to because we can’t always see each other at a distance. I regretted going, but not because of her. My pain did not get better, it only seemed to get worse. I hardly slept each night. I had a headache, neck pain, back pain, stomach pain, leg pain- I think just about every part of me hurt. I also was hot when Aly was cold. I felt feverish. I had a bag of ice behind my head, a heating pad on my stomach, I could barely eat, and I was so sick. I think I cried every day. Correction, I know I cried every day. Aly has certainly seen me at my worst, but I am so grateful for her staying by my side. I had taken so much tylenol knowing it never helps, but not knowing what else to do. High strength CBD lotion hardly helped as well. I was crying awake at 2am come that Monday morning, and by 4am I was sitting on her bathroom floor still in tears, a warm forehead, and in the worst pain I have ever felt.

4am.. in New York City.. we were walking to the hospital. I have been to the ER before during really bad flares, and usually there is nothing they can do. When pain is invisible it is even harder to be taken seriously. I just felt safer being checked out since I felt so nauseous and feverish. In my support group, whenever somebody debates going to the ER, someone always reminds us that it does not hurt to go in case there is a rare chance something IS really wrong or a cyst burst, etc. It was a horrible experience. The nurses confessed to being short-staffed, but nobody had checked on me for several hours. At one point I was moved into the hallway and I was not sure if I was crying from the pain, my anxiety, or both. I was hysterical in fetal position, and panicking that I could hardly breathe with my mask on. I was relieved they gave me fluids, and pain medicine through the IV. I think the only reason they took me seriously was because I told them I was having an upcoming hysterectomy for endometriosis and adenomyosis. In the past, they would not give me anything stronger than tylenol. I have had scans come back normal and once was asked by an ER nurse in Boston, “Are you sure you don’t just have to poop?” It feels dehumanizing and nobody understands the pain unless they experience it for themselves. I think I would have preferred a broken bone.

We were there for 7 hours or so, and I felt horrible I kept Aly there with me. I called my OBGYN’s office but they could not give me medical advice out of state. I was told to just trust the doctors and advocate for myself. By the time we left, I had asked to be discharged. They asked, “are you sure?” They offered more pain medication but at that point we had been there all day and tired of waiting for a doctor. I was so sleep deprived I just wanted to go home. I sobbed because I just wanted my own bed and to be close to my doctors, but I was afraid to get on a train with how I was feeling. My parents were traveling, so I called my grandmother who was ready to meet me at the train station in Connecticut . She planned to come with my grandfather so he could drive my car back for me from the garage. I felt horrible, but instead of napping after the day at the ER we hurried ourselves to Grand Central station. On the train I held it together for the 2 hour ride. I closed my eyes and listened to Taylor Swift. I think it helped my anxiety, because I know all of the words to her songs. It was comforting, and took my mind away from my worries because I could focus on the lyrics. I reclined in my grandma’s car, with my grandpa following in my car. I wrapped myself in a blanket. I was so thankful to be back in my own bed that night, but that week I felt like I was still recovering from the flare. I believe I told my therapist that I felt I was recovering from a car accident.

The bright side, if there was one, was that I no longer had any negative feelings about the hysterectomy. I only had fear that I would go through that amount of pain again. My doctor said that weirdly that happens where her patients get their worst flare-up right before their surgery. I remember standing in the shower with my hand over where my uterus was pulsing at me, and I was talking to it. More like pleading. “I know. I know you’re mad. Please, please hang in there. We are almost there. I know you hurt, I know. But please hang in there.” I just cried and let the hot water overwhelm me.

Here are some items I have prepared for post-surgery so far:

• an abdominal binder

• compression socks

• a coloring book (with positive quotes because I’m prepared for a mood drop)

• a lap desk

• a Verilux “happy light” (for seasonal depression)

• the medicines I’ll need

• HBO Max- I got a subscription which will keep me occupied when fatigued

I had my pre-op appointment and I was relieved to hear that this surgery has fewer risks than my endometriosis excision. It makes sense, because with the excision they are going around or tackling other major organs. My silly mother asked my surgeon if I will be OK alone that first night home, and assured her she lived only 10-15 minutes from me. I had to remind her that a) I have a roommate, and b) I recovered without her after my heart ablation so I should be okay after a hysterectomy haha. I can feel my mother’s anxiety. I told her that I think I’m handling this better than she is and she told me that she would prefer it that way. Still, it’s hard because I do not want anyone to feel sorry for me. I still see kiddos in my future!

The week of my surgery (Dec 16) I also have a tele-health consult with a fertility doctor to discuss egg freezing. All of this is very soon to discuss in my relationship with my girlfriend, but it’s prompted a lot of good, genuine conversations between us. She has been a great support and listening ear. I’m so very grateful.

My biggest fear is that after my endometriosis surgery in 2019, I went into a deep depression around 4 or 5 weeks post-op. My thyroid levels dropped (I have hashimoto’s disease), and I was also hospitalized for my mental health come 6 weeks post-op. At least this time I can prepare myself for any mood shifts. Even though my hormones won’t be affected much, they still can be. I have clinical depression, so I am at greater risk. What I can remind myself is that this time I am in therapy twice a week. My psychiatrist is always there when I need her, and if I need medication adjustments she will be right on it. I also live with my best friend, and I know her company will be much appreciated. If the tears/emotions do overwhelm me, I am going to remind myself it is normal, I am safe, my body is healing, and it will pass.

23 more days..

I can do this!

I can’t really remember when I last felt happy without also feeling tired. Perhaps there are times I confuse fatigue with depression. This year has left me weak, but building rather than breaking. I’m building strength, I’m building myself up again. The three things that impact me the most right now are: eating, sleeping, muscle pain. I have been working on eating more throughout the day, but also eating more greens and proteins and things to give me energy. I’m not always good at this. I really have been slacking on it.

I am not sure if my sleep problem is more because I do not get enough sleep or if my quality of sleep is the problem. I know my quality of sleep is messy. It takes me a while to fall asleep, and sometimes I wake up with nightmares. I talk in my sleep, cry out in my sleep, sometimes wake up in a sweat. I have tried magnesium, melatonin, a few different sleep medications. When I am not sleeping well at night, I sleep very late during the day. This makes the cycle continue..leaving me in bed most of the time, yet exhausted.

I am also not sure how my muscle pain began, but I am trying to help it. In the spring I developed a ganglion cyst on my right hand. Wearing a brace to sleep and for driving, typing, has helped the swelling to go down. X-rays have been normal, a chiropractor told me it was likely emotional pain. I have also recognized that stress and anxiety make my hands tense up, and in my sleep I clench my fists. This makes it hard to turn doorknobs, open jars, do a lot of things. Improving wrist weakness is not easy, and I am not working on exercises as much as I should be.

With these things weighing on me, I go through periods of sadness because I am so tired of being so tired. I feel guilty I am not productive, or that I haven’t gone back to work (I do have a job interview soon). I am aware I need more creative outlets or things to bring light and happiness into my days. Writing is great, but my writing often reflects how I am feeling. It is harder to write about cheerful things when I truly want to just chill and reflect. I also realized that aside from an activity, I need to smile more and have more positive thoughts. I can be genuine, but also try harder to keep my mindset lighter. If I have better, happier thoughts maybe my energy level will be better too.

I listen to a lot of slow songs, ballads, and lately I have been playing more upbeat music. It is weird listening to faster music when I feel tired, but it has been a good change and it has made car rides more enjoyable. I have started drinking coffee again to help me train to wake up earlier. It is going to be a hard change, but a change I need in order to truly feel like I am living my life and making my days purposeful.

I used to love photography, but I need a new battery for my Canon and haven’t gotten around to getting one. I used to love scrapbooking, making jewelry. There are a lot of things I have neglected. I could create a mood board..

Really I am not sure what to do with my time to bring some enjoyment. Instead, I plan to make a list of all of the things I want to do or “would” want to do if I wasn’t tired or in pain. I know when that time comes I will want to tackle it all!

Chronic illness is about patience. Patience, and hope.

Hello!! I had no idea how long it would take me before I was back posting here..

Here is what you may have missed:

• I had a 3rd heart surgery in May

• I disclosed and have been processing trauma memories from childhood in therapy..and it is truly a full-time job + overtime. Hardest thing ever, but helpful.

• I was a contributing author in a book!! Link is on my home page :)

• I participated in a Suicide Prevention Month panel on Zoom with the Canadian Mental Health Association and members of Worth Living.

What the heck is bringing me to the keyboard today?

Something big is happening in my life and because it is something very unique for someone my age..I feel like I should write about this journey and what I will be going through.

This is the year of surgeries I guess.

I won’t get into the heart journey much in this post, but if you follow me on my Instagram I was pretty open in my captions about the journey. Before my heart surgery I was passively suicidal. I was not going to do anything, but I also gave up to where I started saying I did not want to go through the surgery anymore. I surrendered to my body and the fight. Since my surgery, which I’m glad I did surrender to- I have been doing well. It has taken some time. I struggled this summer. I don’t remember the last time I saw such a low number on a scale but for months I was having baby food, unable to digest anything without nausea and diarrhea (I don’t even care about TMI anymore lol). My collar bones popped out, my ribs showed, and losing weight was not admirable..I was self-conscious. The good news is that the more I started to work on in therapy, plus working with a naturopath, I’ve gained weight back. I want to be able to say the hurdles of the year are over, and that I can truly start to step in to my life at 23. I can’t yet, but I will soon.

My heart ablation helped so much but I want to truly feel out of the woods. This is my time to tackle all of my health stuff. I have had to be a hell of an advocate for myself.

Come December.. I’ll be tackling my Endometriosis again in a laparoscopic excision, but will also be tackling my Adenomyosis (will explain below).

At 23 years old I have made a huge decision for my body. I will be having a hysterectomy!!

*Brief moment of silence*

Many people do not understand exactly what Endometriosis is- but there is another name most people definitely do not know. Adenomyosis (what they call, endo’s cousin) 

A brief explanation:

Endometriosis is when the tissue that lines the uterus grows outside the uterus. It can stick to other organs as well. (Mine was growing around my appendix, bladder, and was pulling on my colon.) This can be treated through surgery, however it isn’t a cure- I’ll always have endo. Multiple surgeries are often necessary and endometriosis can grow back. If you don’t work with an endometriosis specialist, there is a greater chance your endometriosis can be missed in surgery as it presents in different forms. It is a disease that needs so much more research, education, and awareness.

Adenomyosis shares similarities, however it is when the excess tissue grows INSIDE the uterus. A lot of my symptoms are suspected to be due to Adenomyosis, but it was crucial at the time I have excision surgery for diagnosing and removing my endo first. However the only way to diagnose and cure adenomyosis (yes you CAN cure it) is through a hysterectomy. It is very clear my issues right now are stemming from inside my uterus, not outside.

Continuing this post I will share more about coming to this decision, and how it impacts my desire to have children someday.

I do not want to share every symptom specifically because I do not want others to self-diagnose or get worried about their own reproductive health. Just listen to your body. I will say, that my symptoms now are not identical to my endometriosis pain, but they are still holding me back. I also politely ask that though I would appreciate hearing from someone who has been through it..I really am not appreciating unsolicited advice especially regarding this decision. Endo and Adeno are very misunderstood (even from many OBGYNs) and my decision to undergo a hysterectomy is something I’ll be open about but it is still very personal. Though people mean well.. everyone’s health situation is unique.

Here is what sucks about when a specialist suspects you have Adenomyosis (or endometriosis honestly):

There is little they can do without surgery. There is no way to get rid of the Adeno, or even visually see it..without a hysterectomy. Because doctors do not push this surgery on people with a uterus, it is a very personal decision. When they can’t push surgery, they push birth control and other hormone therapies. I’ve been on the pill which affected my weight and my mental health horribly. I got an IUD before my endometriosis surgery (as a last resort before surgery to see if it would help my pain). My pain did not get better, it only gave me more mental health issues and some hella painful cystic acne so I got it out early.

I was passing massive blood clots and sleeping 14-17 hours. I sent my doctor a beautiful photo of one of the clots and she replied asking me to come in. I found myself in the same position I was in a few years ago, sitting in my doctor’s office talking about options. She passively mentioned a hysterectomy being a last resort and I said, “I’ve seriously been thinking about that.” She wanted me to think about it some more, as it’s a huge decision to pursue a hysterectomy especially at my age, and that it is OK if I changed my mind. She asked me to talk about it with my psychiatrist. I did, and my mind was made up. My specialist understands, she is on board, she is just looking out for me and does not want me to regret anything later. I appreciate that she genuinely understands the emotional, personal part. She also specializes in Adenomyosis and knows I am left with hardly any options left. I can’t really wrap my head around it. This year..having a heart ablation and a hysterectomy.

This is a decision I never thought I’d be making at 23. I was told if I go through another surgery my specialist would be taking care of all of it- as treating only the endometriosis may not make a big difference at this point.

“But what about children??”

Kids aren’t a part of my plans at this time but I have had to think seriously about their role in my future. I’ve always wanted children and the experience of pregnancy and childbirth. Childbirth interests me so much..I find it fascinating. I thought it through. Natural, home birth, doula and midwife. I also know that given my health history a home birth would not be a smart bet. Birth would be really hard for me and be more trauma on my body that has already been through so much. My heart condition, my endometriosis, sexual trauma, my PTSD, being a likely candidate for postpartum depression. It’s a huge decision, and I’m talking about it a lot in therapy. I know I want my life back. I want this to be MY YEAR I tackle the health issues that have held me back. I don’t want to experience many more years of pain and the impact it has on the rest of my body. When asked about how I feel about not ever being pregnant, I say “My want for carrying a child is so much less than my want to truly get my life back and be pain-free.” Someday..I know there will be other options. I look at things differently being gay too. I never felt, and I never feel like I will have to be biologically related to my children. I am however, looking into freezing my eggs!

“Will you need hormone replacements?”

Nope! They will be removing my uterus and cervix, but keeping my ovaries. I’ll still ovulate. I’ll still have eggs. They don’t typically take the ovaries if they don’t need to..plus hormones are still essential (estrogen helps cholesterol and bone health). Still, hormones may fluctuate after surgery. This is something I have been worried about with my depression, because I was hospitalized for my mental health 1 month after my endometriosis surgery. I am going to prepare myself before surgery by talking about everything in therapy. Surgeries in general, trigger my trauma, so I have gotten better about making sure I have the right supports in place before taking on something big medically.

Though this is a CHOICE I’m making, and am confident about- there is still a lot of emotion around this. Around the fact that I have to make a choice like this to begin with. Is it weird that I almost picture my uterus to be crying and bandaged up inside me? I almost want to hug it..tell it it’s going to be OK, or that I am sorry for letting it go.

I have tears just writing that…

I think my posts in time will become Hysto Diaries as I go through this journey. I’m grateful I can connect with people in my support groups who are around my age, going through or have gone through a hysterectomy for Adenomyosis. I can’t explain how helpful it is reading posts of so many people saying how it has helped their quality of life and that they have NO regrets. It really helps when I get lost in my head.

23 will still be my year..recovery just may be longer.

Stay well, stay kind to yourselves, and kind to your bodies.

Appreciate the days you feel well, at home in your skin. I know I am looking forward to having that feeling last longer than it has!

xx

Haley

I was never able to identify my triggers, I just knew that I had them. I could not name what would trigger me, and because of this it was hard to avoid or prepare myself for triggers. When I would become triggered, I would be asked what happened to set it off. “It” being a panic attack or dissociative episode. I would say, “I don’t know.” I would be fully aware of the shift in my mood, and could not give a reason for why it happened. When the words “I don’t know” are spoken, I become raveled in negative self-talk. I blame myself for how I am feeling, when I am unable to stop it.

I realized over time that in order to identify my triggers I had to listen to my body more.

When would my face feel warm? When did I start playing with my hands? When did the nausea start? The choking feeling in my throat..

Even if something was not obvious or did not make much sense I would start to notice my responses in my interactions with others. “I’m not sure why, but when when you said ___ I started to feel dizzy.” These are things that I shove aside and try to fight, when in reality my body is giving me messages that it is starting to become overwhelmed.

It helpful to identify triggers when you notice them. This is not always possible, but sometimes I find acknowledging them makes them go away easier. When I fight against them, I become more triggered, and my body goes into greater stress.

I have found it “cool” (when I am not actually feeling it.) My body gives me signals, and it speaks to me every day. I just ignore it. When I understand it, I sometimes give self-talk and tell myself “Thank you. I’m going to take a step back now.”

Even if I am watching a show and starting to feel overwhelmed by what I’m watching- I get very emotionally invested and sometimes feel depressed after watching too many dramas. I have learned to watch things that make me feel good, laugh, or that teach me something. I have been rewatching a lot of comfort shows and films and it has been helpful!

Sometimes writing helps, but sometimes writing triggers old stuff to come to surface. I have to be very careful of the content I consume, the places I go, the people I surround myself with. My energy is important and I want to protect it. When you have trauma, it is easy to picture your body boxed in or with a shield. The shield is never really there..

We do what we do to keep ourselves feeling safe. Even when we don’t understand our responses, are frustrated, embarrassed-

it’s OK!

& it’s OK to need reminders of that. I know I do.

"You can fly away too that’s on you, but don’t tell me what I cannot do. I can tie all my shoes and put on my coat, living a history, the one that I wrote.”

What’s this? Lyrics to one of my favorite healing songs.

Build It Up by Ingrid Michaelson came on my playlist when I was in the shower, followed by Hamilton, Frozen 2, LeAnn Rimes..

let me just say my music taste tonight has told me a lot.

I have music for every mood, and for a while lately I have been having songs to cry to which include things from Anson Seabra to Patty Griffin, and Build It Up usually makes it on that playlist too. It’s a song that hits me differently depending on my mood. Sometimes it’s a tearjerker and brings me a lot of grief and nostalgia. Other times, like tonight, it made me feel a little bit stronger.

Friday was messy. The day before Halloween. It involved a flashback within a nightmare, wine, lots of crying- and not the sad song healthy release kind, like the these tears might kill me kind. I reached out for help, and the next day I was grateful that though it was a Saturday, and Halloween, my therapist spent almost an hour on the phone with me. I was exhausted, but feeling a little bit better. I even motivated myself to make a last minute Halloween costume. Which wasn’t exactly a costume, but a look inspired by a childhood favorite. It involved playing with my roommate’s makeup and making use of the pink in my hair.

And that was after my therapy call! I didn’t go anywhere, I stayed in and watched the movies on the list I made weeks ago “Halloweekend” and crossed them off as I went. I ate ice cream, and popcorn, and drank some more wine and by 7:30 I was practically falling asleep watching Halloweentown. Still, it ended up being an OK day.

Today, I woke up at 9- which is early for me! I got coffee and went crystal shopping with a friend, adding orthoclase to my collection. I knew nothing of this stone, but from what I learned it heightens one’s self esteem, is helpful to those who are grieving, enhances intuition, and helps one to recognize their life purpose. Basically, I’ve learned from crystal shopping that certain ones tend to call to you, and this one sure did before I even knew its name or healing properties. I came home, a sleepyhead, but somehow banged out a 5 page paper. By the time I went to shower, I didn’t want to listen to the songs I have needed to listen to recently. I needed louder, stronger, songs that told me I was going to overcome something rather than songs that told me I was still stuck.

It amazes me how in a few days I can have that big of an energy shift. Amazes, yet scares me too. My therapist reminded me of a drawing I did recently. I was surprised she remembered since I told her about it. It was inspired by the grief of coming to terms with my trauma, and trying to let it go. I was grieving my childhood self. I was feeling confused by my identity. I felt like so much had changed me. I found myself googling '“having a funeral for your old self” and no it is not as morbid as it sounds. I thought, maybe I could make a ceremony out of it. A self care or healing ritual. Something to recognize what I’ve gone through, what has been, but also what will be. Grieving the old, but celebrating the new Haley, the changed Haley. I started writing and it sort of turned into a poem. I finished it by drawing a picture of my old home. The home that sneaks into almost all of my dreams. My childhood home for the first 16 years of my life. I drew all of my childhood pets. The swing set in my backyard, this big rock I used to enjoy climbing on, and the woods I used to spend hours in. I then drew my Nana and Papa’s old house which was sold after Papa died. I drew both of them together in the front lawn. I drew the pool where we had summer parties and family reunions. I drew the bridge he built in the brook near his house, and the tree we would light every Thanksgiving and sing carols around. I used different colored markers, I had a candle lit. I don’t believe I shed a tear. I taped it on my wall, and this Saturday, in a phone call with my therapist where I did not see much hope in many things..she reminded me of my drawing. I don’t think she knew that at that moment I had the phone to my ear, and I was looking right at it. Like, oh yes, I forgot about you.

I won’t share a photo of it here. I think I’ll keep this one for me.

Healing looks different every day. Some days it is dark thoughts, asking for a hand, eating my feelings or not eating enough, crying to music, or singing along, sleeping all day or waking up early. Of course I’m sick of it, of course I just want it to get easier. I want to forget everything that hurt me and continues to cause me pain. I want the good days to last longer than they have been. But sometimes I use my hurt, to be there for someone else who is hurting too. I am reminded I am not alone. Nobody deserves to feel unsupported, alone, not seen or heard. I am stepping up in my internship as a crisis text counselor, and my feedback from my supervisors have been good. I am checking in on others in my life from time to time. And I’m letting myself be a Barbie fairy for Halloween because I feel like it!

Healing is terrible,

and ugly,

and inconsistent,

and powerful,

and wonderful.

It always makes me feel like I am getting smaller, but I’m not. I’m becoming more than I am.

---

I am attempting to write this post with a wrist brace on my right hand. About 2 months ago I started experiencing the pain in both hands. My fingers would cramp up, and soon it became difficult to hold a hairbrush or turn a doorknob. I cut the ends off of compression socks and made thumb holes, sleeping with them on my hands just about every night or paying for it the next day. 22 years old with carpal tunnel symptoms- fun! One connection I made was that the pain got worse after increasing my nightmare medication. I decided to go off the meds, choosing the use of my hands over not having as many nightmares. For some reason the pain in my left hand disappeared, but my right hand has still been a problem.

It took a little too long before making the connection that months ago I fell on the beach- a very Haley moment- chasing someone’s plastic bag that was going into the ocean. I went all “save the turtles” and wiped out on the sand falling hands first. Laughing hysterically, in embarrassment, but about a week later ta-dah the pain appeared.

Why am I sharing this? I am quite stubborn when it comes to pain. Nothing beats what I experience with endometriosis, and everyone kept telling me “what if you fractured your wrist and don’t even know it!”

And honestly- I was avoiding the doctors. I have been avoiding a lot of things. My life has become the same old, zoom classes, online therapy, week after week. I get my groceries delivered, my prescriptions, and because I have been isolating more I am triggering old social anxieties where I felt safer being inside. Safer, but not happier.

I took a big step one week where I was really struggling. I reached out to several people to express what I was going through. I was also proud of myself for shooting one of my professors an email that I was struggling emotionally and it was difficult to keep up with my coursework. I asked her if we could chat soon and she sent me about 5 times within that week where we could have a video call. I was not expecting to open up to her as much as I did, but she made me feel comfortable enough to do so. I truly could feel that she cared about me. Our meeting was scheduled to be an hour but this professor spent a little over 2 hours on a Zoom call with me. We did not talk much about class, but more so about the depression and trauma I was healing and how I can best take care of myself.

“When was the last time you looked in the mirror and told yourself you love yourself?”

“What brings you joy?”

She reminded me that as important it is to do the trauma processing in therapy, it is important to have a balance. To have things in my week that bring me joy as well. Treating myself with love, and speaking to myself with love will attract more good coming my way.

Let me say, at the end of the call she commented on how I was smiling again. I sent that lady a long email thanking her. It was just what I needed. All because I was honest about how I was doing, and reached out for help. Someone gave me a hand.

I also had an appointment that same day with a holistic chiropractor where I had some alignment exercises, but also much needed energy work which awakened the spiritual side to myself I had been shoving down for quite a while.

I slept like a baby that night, had more energy that next day, and was back to using my crystals, candles, epsom salt, and gratitude journaling.

I finally brought myself to an orthopedic doctor and got an x-ray. Thankfully, no broken bones, but because my wrist does not bend as it should I will be needing physical therapy starting the next few weeks.

I haven’t been doing so great. I am getting by, but there are weeks I physically feel sick with stress and cannot make it on to my class without crying with my camera off. I have had several medication adjustments which has made me more emotional as it feels worse before it feels better. Sometimes I text my psychiatrist during the week, even after we had our 2 sessions. I still have some pretty violent nightmares, and though sometimes I am feeling good and can celebrate going days without tears, I have other days where I feel drawn to my high school unhealthy coping mechanisms and I really have to distract myself and remind myself I am not 17 years old anymore.

I have also spent more money on psychic readings this year than I want to admit. But I am learning so much more about myself, and what I need to heal. I’m constantly searching for answers, because I’ve been feeling quite lost.

I’ve (temporarily) dyed my hair pink-ish and you know, sometimes change is a good thing when you are healing so much.

I started my role as a crisis text counselor and had positive feedback from my supervisor after my first shift, “Haley had her first shift today and totally crushed it. Haley’s texter was going through some pretty intense things and Haley remained calm and followed the stages of a convo beautifully!” I felt good.

My old buddy Paul has been “kidnapping” me almost every weekend to go on a hike.

My lovely Leo friend Stacey who did an AirBnB photo shoot with me in 2018 is doing another with me next month. Hopefully a much needed self-love and self-esteem boost!

& I am trying to muster (lol that word) the energy to turn my blog more. It was a great outlet for me when my high school self was feeling low, so hopefully I can continue to find my way back to writing again.

I am often hard on myself, thinking I could be doing more and should be feeling better than I am. I am writing this post after a long cry session, and I think that in itself is a good example of how I am able to rise above.

It is a rollercoaster, and not the fun kind, that I am dealing with. As my psychiatrist reminded me, “It’s darkest before sunrise.”

I trust that I will get there.

**trigger warning**

Here I mention childhood abuse, sexual trauma-

but no specific details of abuse described.

---

This post has been sitting in my drafts for months, but only now am I taking the breath in and allowing myself to hit publish.

I have been delicate about the topics I share on here, even though I have shared a lot. I want to share something difficult, not with the intention of triggering anyone, or looking for attention, but to simply get this off my chest.

I have shared before the story of my sexual assault in Boston by my co-worker, I did not keep that post when I updated my site. It was a big thing that had happened. My job dismissing it, my police report being scoffed at. My sophomore year. Somehow, I let that story be told but I hid a story from a year before that. May, freshman year had ended and at the start of my summer I was raped and needed doctor’s care. At the time I paid out of pocket, because I did not want my family seeing the insurance statement. As much as I believed it was my fault for a while, I let my “work story” be my only story because for it to happen again in such short of time it had to have been my fault for sure, right? (emphasis on that being my trauma brain speaking)

I’m one person and I’m small but I can carry a lot with grace, I’ve proven it many times before. I can say that emotional pain is different than physical pain but it is still painful. Those assaults are a lot to juggle. I have to say that with PTSD involved, my brain is spinning with memories going back to high school, and early childhood. I couldn’t see it for a while but some things started to stick. And I bottled it up. On June 2nd, somehow I spoke of it in the backseat of my car during FaceTime therapy. I was told my mind was not playing tricks on me, and I sobbed in my car for an hour after. What am I trying to say? I was sexually abused as a child.

Though I suffer from flashbacks and my body reminds me often what did happen, I still sometimes have trouble trusting myself, and believing my gut.

I am not broken, but I have not felt like “me” since. My identity is no longer familiar to me. I’m trying to be her, the old her that got away with pretending things were OK. Who is she now? I’m still figuring that out.

While doing trauma work in therapy, I am processing my triggers, my nightmares, memories, and dissociative episodes. It has been a difficult process, and sometimes I nap for several hours after a therapy session. It makes sense why I am tired all the time. Sometimes I don’t know if it is my body, heart or soul that is tired. Emotionally, I am exhausted.

I have felt anger that things were not discovered sooner. That I didn’t get help sooner. I feel sadness, like I am connecting with the hurt child deep inside me. And trusting others, seems far more difficult to do. I’m afraid of getting hurt, I’m afraid of what I know, and what I might not know! I just graduated with my social work degree, and I’m now living in Hawaii working towards my Masters. Good things are coming my way, but there is all of this- all of this stuff I am carrying, and some days it weighs me down more than other days.

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I think people assume I just graduated from undergrad, now I’m thriving in my dream place, Hawaii. So many of you do not know what has transpired since graduation. Leaving for Hawaii, was not only a comfort for me, but for my family. I was difficult to live with when I was dealing with all of this. I was causing other people pain.

I used to feel such fire in my belly, a passionate energy, dreaming about the future and all of these possibilities for what I can achieve. Everything that has happened these past 5 years, including now dealing with the changes brought from this covid-19 pandemic, I only feel stuck. My job is take it day by day. Therapy twice a week, 5 graduate courses, and soon starting an internship as a crisis counselor- I am working every day to take better care of myself and trust that though things are hard, and that things have been hard for a while, I will get the break I deserve and have been craving. This darkness can not be my full story, there has to be much more out there; more good for me to discover. I owe it to myself to learn how to love the parts of myself that hurt terribly, and which make me doubt myself and find it difficult to be living in this skin.

I’m very Haley because I bring light and acceptance to other people. Because I still sleep with stuffed animals. Because I like to journal. Because I’m clumsy, yet caring. And because I find my sense of humor to be a savior.

None of this trauma makes me who I am, but I can’t neglect this to be a part of my story.

Would I be in this very place today without any of this?

a Pinterest find

I want to share something great that has happened since moving to Hawaii! I am living in student apartments, and during my first 2 weeks here I was in quarantine in a 1 bedroom unit. I signed a lease for a 2 bedroom apartment, and had filled out a form online to match me with a roommate.

And very curious about this freshman feeling of having a random roommate whoever this could be.

However, I got very lucky. Not even lucky, we seriously think this was meant to be! My roommate Deanna is the best roommate I could ask for at this very period of my life. She’s 26, from California, and a culinary student. I moved in first, so when I met Deanna it was during her own anxiety of moving from a quarantine room, boxes and boxes one by one up and down the elevator. I think one of the first things she said when she arrived was “sorry, I’m just having a lot of anxiety.” and I just got it. I could see it, and it was so familiar to me. She was so sweet, but I could also tell she had been anticipating this interaction as well and she smiled but was shaky. She is a great communicator. “I just want you to know that if you ever see me seeming off or if I am in my room for a while I don’t want you to think it’s you.” Considerate, honest. We have had great talks and have quickly realized how though we are both very unique, we are very alike in many ways. There has just been a weight lifted since living here, feeling like I can be just as I am and that is okay. We both have commented on how we both feel emotionally safe in our living situation and how much we appreciate that. I also have to mention that she loves to cook and wants to share, and I love to eat, and honestly have been bad about eating for a while. I have a low appetite, ever since my endometriosis flare and it has not changed. Something as simple as having meals with Deanna makes this place seem like a home, and more importantly the fact that I don’t feel as lonely.

I have not been feeling like me and recently I think that part of me came back even for a little while. I had the ultimate Haley moment. After finishing school work Deanna wanted to watch a show together. I was looking up one of my quirky favorites on Disney+ “Penguins” and while telling her how “so great” it is I was thinking of the main penguin’s name, and started to type “Steve” into the smart tv. Realizing what I was doing we both were laughing, and while I was deleting and re-tying I caught myself re-typing “steve” yet again. I jumped out of my chair and yelled “AHH- I did it AGAIN!!” She was laughing so hard, laughing with me. It was a reminder of my ability to laugh at my quirks and the silliness in me getting excited about penguins gave me some hope that I will get out of this funk I’ve been in and maybe I am now starting to.

We relate as we both care very much about people, have big sensitive hearts, but have been hurt a lot. She is emotionally intelligent, and we are able to open up to each other. We are the kind of people who want to work through bumps in the road as relationships and connections are important to us. We give many chances, find peace in forgiveness, but maybe don’t always recognize our worth. Some people will not hear us. It does not matter how loving, how truthful, or how profound we speak, and it can be so easy for souls like ours to self-blame when we are misunderstood by others. I can’t explain how much it means to the both of us that we just get each other despite how different we are. It is more than getting or understanding each other. We see each other. I have always felt and resonated with being an old soul and a tired soul- as being a highly sensitive person means I carry a lot, even when it is not mine to carry.

I have felt uncomfortable in living situations before, and as much as having someone there is good for me, I often wish I could afford to live alone. I haven’t felt that here. This is a heartfelt and cheesy post, but I am writing this because when you have experienced not being accepted, or what it feels like to be judged, finding a genuine human being who loves and accepts you for you is a feeling I can’t quite explain. I have been lucky to find a few special soul friends in my life, and I got very lucky that after moving so far, my roommate just turned out to be one of them.

I think that when sadness finds me, and I can’t help feeling alone with it, this blog post is an example of how healing gratitude can be. On my wall I have taped letters that have been sent to me from friends and family back home. I have been staying in touch with those who know me best and love me. Relationships and people are important to me- I wouldn’t be going into social work if they weren’t important to me!

So maybe this is where I should say “thank you”

to those who follow along with my blog, and follow along with my life and support me through each success, adventure, and hurdle that come my way.

After my 18th birthday I got my first tattoo during suicide prevention week. The word inspire on the inside of my left wrist, with a semi-colon in disguise as the second letter i. I wanted to get a tattoo that I could read every day on my skin, to remind me to keep going when it feels like I want everything to stop.

I have Major Depressive Disorder and PTSD- and suicidal thoughts or behaviors are risks of both disorders. In my younger years I did not know how to communicate my depression. I just did not want to see my friends, leave my room, or feel motivation to do anything.

It was not until I was 17 when my mom first heard me communicate that I had no desire to live anymore. I confessed that her happy-go-lucky child was not really happy as much as we thought, and I had really been self-harming and googling things about suicide. I got help almost immediately, but I have been hospitalized twice since I was 17 and it has been a long road. I am 22 years old now and I am still getting help. I finally feel heard in therapy, about the big and the small stuff! But mostly the big stuff..I’m finally getting it out.

I am resilient. And maybe call me cheesy, but that word relates to everyone in a different way. For me it really hits home. It is one of the strengths that has gotten me through some very difficult times. My tattoo reminds me that I have the power to pause, to keep going, and to inspire others by doing so. That it is OK to take a break, it is okay to ask for help, but in having that tattoo I was NOT allowed to cancel it out. In a way, it worked. I haven’t harmed in years. But the thoughts sometimes seem like they won’t go away. I still have my triggers I have to work through.

Suicide is a delicate topic to me, because it reminds me of many times that could have been different, that could have prevented me from being here today. It is painful to remember how dark my mind can be sometimes.

For me, it was an overwhelming sadness or numbness of things which seemed like they were never going to get better. It affected everything in my lifestyle from sleep, social life, eating, drinking, I could not function the same. When my PTSD developed it became flashbacks and nightmares, and struggling with guilt for not being able to stop dissociating in certain situations. It doesn’t mean I had a bad life, or that I was never loved, or that I don’t have nice things or things to be grateful for. It is an illness. It is the effects of trauma, and the chemicals in my brain. The dark seems more powerful and never-ending than the light.

The best way I have known to get through it is by riding the wave, or this rollercoaster we call life. I have times in my healing where I have met great strides and feel unstoppable. Other times, I feel like I am going backwards. It is the experiences that I have in the in-between that keep me going. The people in my life, the things I am involved in, and having things to look forward to!

These are some things that have helped me when I had been experiencing depression/thoughts of suicide.

1. The Crisis Text Line. text “start” to 741-741 Texting anonymously with someone who could provide support and help to deescalate the situation has helped me the few times I had used the service. Now, I will be seeing another side to the Crisis Text Line, as I soon will be starting a practicum with them.

2. Calling a friend. This is hard to do because depression makes you feel like you don’t have anyone, or that you will burden others with your problems. Many times a phone call to someone I care about has helped me get through a tough emotion and remind me that I have a support system to utilize.

3. Telling my doctor!! This one should be an obvious one, but sometimes I would forget that when I was feeling more depressed there could be more contributing factors. Sometimes diet, sleep, exercise can make an impact. Other times I did not know my thyroid levels were off. It is also helpful for my doctor to be aware to monitor my symptoms and make any changes to my medications as needed.

4. Leaving my comfort zone. When all I want to do is sleep, I try to make myself do some small tasks whether it is taking a shower and putting on “real” clothes not just loungewear. Going for a walk, going thru with plans I wanted to cancel. Eating a meal when my appetite is low. Drinking more water during the day. The small things can make a big difference! I can be the queen of isolation, but I know this does not help me even though it is most comfortable.

5. Support groups! I am a part of a few support groups over Facebook and though I am not an active poster I do find them helpful when connecting to people going through a similar experience. I am in one group for Endometriosis warriors, and this past year I joined another group for adult PTSD survivors who have experienced either domestic violence or childhood abuse. I have asked questions in the group before or used it as a place to share my experience and it really is helpful to know you are not alone.

6. and most importantly..it is always helpful to remind myself that whatever i’m feeling, even the most intense emotion or feeling is temporary. I won’t feel like this forever. I may have a mix of good days, ok days, and days when I want to hide away. It might take a very long time to get better, and it might not. But when depression convinces you that you will never feel OK again, I have to remind yourself that is not true.

It’s not an easy road. You can get through it though, with help.

Stay safe. xx