how my body has responded to setting a huge boundary:

My reflection is a stranger.

The world is a dream through my eyes.

I move my legs and I feel nothing.

Do they even belong to me?

I look in the mirror and someone is staring back at me.

I’m not sure that I know her.

I hear myself talking to familiar faces.

My voice doesn’t sound like mine.

I move my hands and they look smaller;

they look unfamiliar.

I worry I have to re-teach myself how to drive.

I hit the road without thinking about the motions.

I still am unsure how I got from point A to point B.

Even right now I am typing,

but these thoughts don’t feel like mine.

If none of this is me, I’m not sure who it is.

It has to be me, it couldn’t possibly be someone else.

I have experienced something similar before.

It scared me then, just as it is scaring me now.

I know I feel this way now, and it doesn’t mean I will feel this way forever.

I am well aware that this is my body trying to protect me.

I must remind myself of this when everything feels against me.

But I sit in the tub and ask myself when the switch will flip.

When will the light turn back on?

I made one decision.

I made one hard, impossible decision.

I do not regret it, but it hurts.

It even hurts when I feel nothing at all.

I didn’t expect my world to turn upside down.

I didn’t expect to lose myself in the process of finding myself.

When something is missing, it doesn’t mean it is gone.

I am in there somewhere.

Well, I did it. Christmas has come and gone. This was the hardest Christmas. I have been emotionally preparing for it all month. I knew it was not going to be easy, but it was very hard.

I had a great Christmas with Aly and her family. I was so grateful to feel like a true part of her family. There were laughs, movies, matching pajamas, good food. There were mixed emotions, but ultimately, I wouldn’t have wanted to spend Christmas any other way. Emotions hit me at the dinner table after a phone call with a family member. I wish I had stuck to my plan and kept my phone off. I returned to the table and could not hide my tears. I had to excuse myself twice. I did not eat as much as I would have liked to. Everyone looked sympathetic toward me, and I know they were being caring, but I was embarrassed.

Today, the day after Christmas, I feel guilty. I woke up with self-hatred. I did not do anything wrong by talking to this family member, but I gave them the power, again, to upset me. I can’t change anything. I can’t go back. Sometimes I have to make choices more than once until I really decide enough is enough. Sometimes I have to be disappointed enough times before I truly believe things won’t change. Sometimes feeling better about myself for being kind, is just not worth the hurt I will receive from them. I feel like a bad person if I don’t engage, and I feel disappointed for letting myself down if I do engage.

What I can feel proud of is that I succeeded in doing the absolute hardest part of the holiday season: not attending any of my family’s Christmas events.

I need to focus on the strength that came from setting that boundary and sticking to that boundary. There were so many days and weeks of guilt and sorrow. I had a healthy, happy, Christmas with my girlfriend and her family. I feel hopeful for the Christmas’s to come. This wasn’t nothing. I did it.

I have done so much grieving, and so much reflecting.

What I have learned:

• I do not have to do anything that makes me even a bit uncomfortable during the holidays.

• I do not have to surround myself with people who are “neutral” when it comes to my abuser. There is no such thing as neutral in this case. Neutrality supports the abuser, not the one suffering.

• I used to think that chosen family was not as meaningful as “real” family. This isn’t true. We can’t choose our family. We may surround ourselves with people who we don’t feel we fit in with. We may feel obligated to have relationships with people we likely wouldn’t choose if they were strangers. Chosen family is quite literally people you “choose" and that is what makes them most meaningful.

• People will have reactions to my boundaries, but it does not mean I am a bad person.

• People choose to feel how they feel, and even if my choices make them sad it does not mean it is the wrong thing for me to do.

• What I am gaining from certain relationships is not worth what they are costing me.

• If I break my boundaries to please others, I am still compromising a vital part of myself.

• I am not trying to hurt anyone. I am trying to take care of myself.

• There is a difference between feeling guilty, as in I’m doing something wrong VS. this is a really difficult decision and I’m sad I have to make it, but it is the right one for me.

• To cut contact does not mean I am losing everything, it’s that I am losing the possibility of everything.

• All I have known is to please others, as if nobody is responsible for their own feelings. I am not responsible for anyone’s feelings but my own.

---

It is time I write about something new. A new year is coming. This is not to say that the same challenge will not be affecting me anymore. I am sure there will be days where this is exactly what I want to write about. Right now, I need to apply everything that I have been reminding myself of. My challenge for right now is not so much navigating estrangement, but more about re-discovering myself. I have been struggling with dissociation, but more than I ever have before. I feel like I lost a big part of myself, and it has been scaring me. I don’t see the world the same way. Through my eyes, everything is foggy. I do not recognize my reflection in the mirror. I keep shutting down. I can’t speak, can’t move, and it feels like something bad is going to happen. I stop trusting myself. I am coming to understand that I must not feel like myself because I recognize on some level that someone new is emerging. This “someone new” has parts of myself but is also someone entirely different. This feels scary right now because it is unfamiliar. It is unknown. I do not know who is going to come out, and what she’s going to be like.

It is scary doing something that you have never done before. What I am doing, is so hard, and so different from what I have always known. I am changing in the process. Like a snake, I am shedding my skin. I am just hoping that with the changes and choices I am making, I will be prouder of this new me. I will be getting to know her, as everyone else is.

Lately I have been worrying about being a bad friend, a bad girlfriend, and feeling like I could be doing more at my job. I feel weird even typing that, because I don’t fully believe it. I think that despite everything I am going through, I have been doing my best. I have been good at staying connected with others. I don’t have proof that I am not doing enough, I am just afraid of it. I am afraid, because I don’t want the focus on me. I don’t want others to get tired of me. I don’t want to burden others. I don’t want it to look like I’m not trying my best.

I worry I will be seen as self-centered or selfish or inconsiderate. Where does this worry come from? There have too many times I have put others needs first, and learned that people didn’t like when I started to put myself first. I was made to feel like it was wrong to turn inward, listen to my gut, understand what I think and feel. This is an incredibly difficult time of year, and I am experiencing a range of emotions as I set boundaries and express my needs.

I have cried every day for the past 10 days. Christmas is around the corner, and my heart has been hurting from emotional pain. I am flooded. I am exhausted. I am dissociated. My eyes can’t focus, and my memory isn’t clear. As much as I want to give and give to others, I have limited energy to give to myself.

Sometimes I hear that people don’t want to burden me by sharing their struggles, because they know what I am going through. Though I also worry about being a burden, I always reassure people that it doesn’t work that way. Just because I am hurting does not mean they cannot hurt too. My hurt is not more or worse, and certainly not more important. Two people can support each other no matter how much “battery life” they have. Two people can be hurting and be present for each other in their hurt. It’s okay to “take turns” listening and offering support. It’s okay to just simply be there. Nobody should feel alone.

What is important is being honest about where you are at. I will typically apologize if I’m a bit dissociated and have trouble with eye contact. I will tell someone when I want to hear what is going on with them, but am not in a space to take it in at that very moment. Last week, a coworker came into my office and noticed I wasn’t myself. They asked if I wanted some space. I usually say “no”, I usually force a smile and sweetly say “it’s fine”. This time I said “yes please” and reassured them it was not personal. They were not offended one bit. They thanked me for being comfortable enough to set a boundary with them. Communication is key. It’s not easy being open, but I know it eliminates the possibility for people to wonder what’s going on, or wonder if it’s them.

A guilt I have had since I moved away from home, and since graduating from college, is that I am not always good at checking in with people I hardly see. There are friends I haven’t seen in months, or years, and I feel guilty when I only text them a “happy birthday” or comment on an Instagram post. It isn’t that I don’t care or don’t think about reaching out. I realize I have lived much of my life surviving. Trauma exists even after the events occurred. Even when I no longer need to “survive” I still feel as though I do. I face each day to get to the next. Days go by, weeks go by, I go to therapy, I go to work, I see Aly, and sometimes guilt sets in when I realize the time that has passed. I worry that if I don’t check on others they will think I don’t care. I fear losing connections.

I take a moment and recognize that it goes both ways. If people wanted to chat, wanted to hangout, wanted my support, they would also reach out. Just as my life is busy, so many others are experiencing the same. It doesn’t mean people don’t care. Life is just hard. I can’t predict what is going on in others lives, just as they cannot predict mine. I write about a lot, but certainly not everything. I am very much aware that just because I write my story, doesn’t mean my story is the only story out there. Everyone has a story with peaks and valleys, whether they share it or not.

I often feel alone. I feel alone, because I live alone. I feel alone with my feelings. I feel alone when I cannot relate to how others are presenting. I feel alone, because of those friends I haven’t seen in months or years. Writing has been healing for me, but it has also helped with connection. Maybe it will be months or years, but then I will exchange a few messages with someone, and it feels as though nothing has changed. I tend to forget all of the people I have, when I only see who lives nearby, or is in my immediate circle. I am really lucky to know so many true friends. I guess sometimes I need to stop worrying about being a bother, and instead reach out, and receive those reminders from time to time that people are still there.

As horrible as right now feels, lately I have been talking to several people going through similar things as me. I have even reconnected with friends who live across the country. Many of my friends are navigating holiday blues, family, or grief. We are checking in on each other each day, even if it’s just a brief text. Having extra support is the best thing I have right now. I am proud of myself for utilizing it. As I take care of myself this holiday season and remind myself that I matter, I am making sure I remind others that they matter too.

Apparently, this has been in my drafts since April 2018. Though I have made a lot of progress, these same feelings still come up from time to time. Weirdly enough, while I am trying to take a break from writing about estrangement and grief, I believe this post is still connected to that.

My weakness? Goodbyes.

Endings.

Change. (well, sometimes)

I have experienced many of these. So why hasn't it gotten any easier?

I have always been a relational person. When I connect with someone, it is always meaningful to me. I have never had service level friendships, and in small ways people can have an impact on me. I find comfort in their presence. I feel good about who I am when I am with them. I admire certain people in a quiet way, and I don't realize just how attached I am until our paths are finished crossing. I do not have an anxious attachment style, but the traits can certainly affect me at times.

I trust there can be meaning for those who enter my life, and I also trust that some people aren't meant to stay. This is a topic that my wise mind practically does a sweaty workout over (interesting description, Haley). Still, my emotional mind is saying "Yeah ok wise mind; that doesn't matter because it feels like this-"

I have experienced this many times since childhood. A nurse after a surgery, a friend, my school social worker, a teacher. It does not matter who or the amount of time spent. My heart leaps out to people whom I feel safe with. I have learned to tell people when they are appreciated, because can you imagine how many would not know if they were never told?

People see my humanity and vulnerability to be a strength, because very few allow themselves to feel this much. Though, I don't really think I can help it.

---

What this post is truly about isn’t so much about becoming attached to anyone. This is about something I have experienced since I first found a therapist I connected with. The feelings of attachment hit me the worst in therapy, especially this past year.

I am not embarrassed for going to therapy, but I am embarrassed by my attachment to therapists I feel safe with. I know there is nothing wrong with me for feeling this way, I just wish I didn’t.

I have been with several counselors. The first, I was not attached to at all, and our work together did not last long. The second, I was not too attached to either, but I surprised myself when I cried in our last session together before I left for college. Maybe I didn’t think I was attached, but I was gaining more than I thought by having someone listen to me week after week. When I started college, I immediately registered with my school’s counseling center, as I had been hospitalized just months prior. That office was my safe space on campus.

I was in counseling at my college's center for 2 years. My first termination (I hate that word) was at the end of my freshman year, after working with an intern. I will call her J. I knew my time with J would end after her internship, but I did not know I would be so sad when the time came. In our last meeting she handed me a funny drawing of my favorite animal, an elephant, with a list of qualities I share with them. She wrote that I had made an impact on her. It was such a comfort to have that to take with me. My sophomore year, I said goodbye to my next college counselor, S. I planned to work with S until graduation, but my plans drastically changed. My private college closed due to financial trouble. I did not expect to love my school as much as I did, and I did not expect to be leaving after my sophomore year. S, who knew of the intern’s drawing from the year before, sketched me a picture of an elephant as well. This counselor was actually an artist, so I love to see the comparisons between their pictures.

drawing by one of my former college counselors

Even though I was studying to be a social worker, the therapeutic relationship was something I could not wrap my head around. It's not that I don't know. I have enough understanding of the ethics, the boundaries, the process. I understand the difference. It is a safe space to be able to open up. I understand the professionalism, that it is not a "friendship." But it is a unique, and special kind of relationship and it makes sense why people get attached. I am sure if I sought counseling as a child it would be just as hard, if not more.

For many weeks I would be absolutely vulnerable with someone, even at the most difficult times. When the work ends, my heart hurts when it hits that there is now a "goodbye." The goodbye is most painful, because it is not in a way where we can stay in touch. It is a final, our work here is done, and it is time to move on. When someone can be there for you when you feel alone, believe in you, support you, share a laugh, a smile, hold your cries, your story- and then never speak again...it is hard.

I try my best to be thankful that we had that time together, rather than focusing on the time we cannot have.

It hasn't gotten much easier. I don’t dwell on it as much, but I still have triggers from time to time. I have asked myself if it's worth it? Is the work worth the pain I feel with the goodbyes? College counseling, yes, is supposed to be temporary. A part of me still does not understand why these relationships can't continue. Obviously, I do know why. What I mean is how this heart of mine does not hurt any less with this understanding. 

In addition to college counseling, I worked with a therapist for about 2 years who was originally through BetterHelp. She later moved to her own practice where I followed via telehealth. I never met her in-person. This is a complicated story. It is also just hard for me to talk about. I had an endometriosis surgery, (a disease I knew this therapist had as well). I was hospitalized for suicidal ideation within a month after that surgery. While in the hospital, and after I was discharged, she did not address my hospitalization at all. I was very depressed, and likely had some suicidal ideation, but the reason I went to the hospital was because she told me she would call the police on me if I didn’t go. Everything changed once we resumed therapy. She may have been going through something in her personal life. Maybe it was counter-transference, but she turned cold to me. I was reserved, and asking myself what I did wrong. Someone I used to look forward to speaking with, who knew everything about me, became almost a different person. I felt so small.

I did not know our last session would be our last. I felt so uncomfortable during it. When she asked to schedule our next meeting I told her I would reach out to her instead. I definitely waited weeks before I called. I guess the time just passed, and I felt safer not meeting, until I finally reached out again. I didn’t realize it then, but I wanted to wait because I was protecting myself.

When I had called her later, she told me she already closed my file. I feel like this is the part of the story where I would take a long pause. I was shocked. It had been 2 years of us working together, and she just dropped me. She never contacted me during that time to see how I was doing; She never contacted me to see if I wanted to continue services. There was no rule about how long I could go without seeing her before termination. If there was a rule, she never made it clear to me. She still didn’t care enough to try. I felt betrayed, hated, and worthless.

I don’t remember everything she said in that last conversation, but she spoke down to me and her words stung. She basically told me I should have known better. What should I have known? I remember during our call I told her how confused I was, but I didn’t beg, I didn’t fight to stay. I believe I said, “ok” and might have even thanked her for everything. I knew she was done with me, and I just let her get everything out of her system before the call ended and I could fall apart. I allowed this person to bully me, and horribly let me down. I became this child who believed she was in trouble, and who believed she deserved it.

I wanted desperately to fix it. I had a breakdown in my college dorm. I don’t think I can adequately describe my pain in writing. It is a pain someone would only have to feel to truly understand everything that transpired between us. My body physically hurt. I felt like I was having a heart attack. My world was ending. I thought I did something wrong. I remember calling my best friend while hysterically crying. She knew how much this therapist made an impact on me. She was just as shocked and confused as I was.

I had leftover liquid codeine from when I had bronchitis. I took the rest of the bottle because I wanted to sleep to avoid the pain I was feeling. The pain could kill me, but I wasn’t using the codeine to harm myself. I didn’t have that much of it to end my life. I just wanted to stop feeling what I was feeling for a little while. I woke up feeling numb.

Even though I was so hurt, I felt badly for this therapist and whatever I had done to her. You see, I did not see this as only a betrayal; I saw this as me ruining the best thing that has happened to me. I wanted so badly to apologize to her. I think I recall sitting on my dorm floor whispering to whoever or whatever could be hearing me, to make sure she was OK. I figured for someone to do that, she must be really struggling. I look back now, and I can’t believe it. I cared more about her than I did myself. I wish my anger turned outward then, not inward towards myself. I know now I did not deserve it.

---

I finally found someone good.

I have been working with my psychiatrist for a little over 4 years now. When I found her, I was desperately seeking someone to help me to get off a slew of medications I was given in the psychiatric hospital. She prescribes, but she also does therapy. When I started working with her, I told myself I would not become attached. I went in with the purpose of detaching from her completely. I was going to be upfront about why I was there, share as much as possible, but also keep my wall up. I did not want to get hurt again. It took a long while, but eventually after developing rapport I told her about my previous therapist. I was so ashamed when talking about it, fearing she would also see me differently. She surprised me when I saw her become baffled, and that it wasn’t at me. She validated me, and confirmed that the things this therapist said and did were wildly unethical. This was about her, and not about me. I needed to hear that. Still, the fear was there with my psychiatrist. I would not do anything wrong in fear of her leaving .

When I reached 2 years of working with her, I panicked. I had never worked with a therapist longer than 2 years and I was afraid an ending was coming. We had a lot of conversations about my fear of her firing me. I needed a lot of reassurance. She said, “How about I make you a promise that in the unlikely situation that would be decision I would make, I would bring it up with you first. Not just make it unilaterally without any warning or discussion.” I agreed.

One day during our session she had to take a phone call from someone who continued to call her. She said, “I’m sorry I have to take this, it’s their first day of camp.” I heard her say, “This is ___ and ____’s mom.” I remember thinking, cool she’s a mom. Later on however, this made me very sad. I could not truly understand my emotions. Was I jealous of her children for having her as a mom? Was I sad because I had a perception of what her life was like compared to my own? It took me months before I told her about this. I cried the whole time. I knew I wasn’t supposed to know about her life, but it wasn’t my fault she answered her call in front of me. I didn’t know what she would say. I wondered if she was regretting that accidental self-disclosure. Luckily, it was a helpful conversation. She did not make me feel weird about anything.

I was insecure about attachment, but through her I learned that attachment can be a good thing. In relation to my trauma, I remember her saying, “It is a sign of resilience, because people who did not get their early needs met, don’t even see in people the potential of being in a relationship with them in any way.” I remember saying, Really?” “Haley, the fact that you can still connect and empathize- that’s strength.”

We talked about how what I want is not necessarily her in my life in a more personal way, but I want what she represents, what she has been to me, and who she is in this (therapeutic) relationship. The fact that these feelings came up with her, show that we are doing the right work together. I never knew that having the hard conversations about your therapist, with your therapist, could actually help them to help you. I still struggle at times. I get very overwhelmed and sad when our sessions end. I know I will see her again, but I still cry when I have to leave. We use the last 10-15 minutes to talk about something light, and to help me feel secure before I leave her office. We have made huge strides together. She reminds me that we are a team. I’m so grateful to have found a great, trauma-informed therapist, who I trust and have built great rapport with. I don’t know how long our work will last, but she has assured me it can last as long as I want and need it to. I have made much progress with her. Despite these past 4 years, I know I still have a lot more work to do in therapy.

Therapy is practicing. It is practicing someone supporting you and being able to accept that support. It is practicing what a healthy relationship looks like, so that when you go into your own life, those will be the relationships you’ll be able to build.

Choosing to begin therapy can take tremendous courage. Taking a chance on a therapist and hoping they don’t hurt you, is scary. I have worked with many different people, as I have moved and experienced many changes in my life. I know that if one therapist doesn’t work, it doesn’t mean none of them will. Therapy is a privilege that not everyone can access. I am very aware of this. As someone who has healed more and more since beginning therapy, I am grateful for it. I am grateful for having that space to be supported, and work solely on myself.

Still, whether it is a therapist or someone else, I will always wish that the good people will stick around.

8 years ago..the age I started therapy

I cry a lot, and I have always disliked it. I cried when my mom dropped me off at preschool. I cried when I forgot my homework. I cry at songs. I cry at movies, I cry at things I wish I had that I will never have.  I cry when I think about my childhood. Funerals feel debilitating to me. I also cry when I’m happy, but those are the best kind of tears.

I have been in therapy for 7 years, and with my current therapist for 4. It was not until the past few years with my therapist that I started crying in front of her. I had been so shut down from all of my emotions and they were too heavy to bear. I have C-PTSD and a load of grief. I don’t always mind crying, many times I know I need to let it all out. I do mind crying in the “wrong” places. When things had been really bad with my depression, anxiety, or trauma triggers, I would shut the door and cry in my office at work. I have cried in front of my supervisor a handful of times. I still feel so fragile when it happens. 

What I have learned is that one of my strengths is that because I have experienced such pain and hurt, I am also able to experience love and joy more intensely than most people. I can’t change my sensitivity, as much as I often want to. I often feel like I struggle to fit in this world.

Not too long ago, I could not go one day without crying. I could not take it anymore, so I went back on an antidepressant. I did not cry on it, but it did not change how sad I felt. I had no way to release my feelings. I felt more numb and dissociated than I did before. I would try to cry, but I couldn’t. Antidepressants are life-savers for many, but too many have not worked for me. I now take a mood stabilizer and my lows are not as low, but I still experience a lot of grief and sadness. I learned that grief does not go away, but over time it hurts differently and becomes more bearable. I am holding out for that.

I live alone and even though I have a support system, I can feel so incredibly lonely. It is so easy to get caught up in my head. When I am home and I start to feel flooded with emotions, I write them all out. Often I bring my writing to therapy. This helps in case I am not in a position to speak about it all. My therapist will read my writing, and then we will discuss it. At home, I will also curl up in my bed, pet my cat, and allow the tears to fall and remind myself that I am safe. I had a realization that I may cry so much now, because I am releasing years and years of tears I never cried.

I used to be disappointed that a day that begins with happiness, would leave me crying in my bed at night. When I am crying, and alone, I realize that nobody else knows I am crying. Not unless I tell them.

I now know it is normal to experience more than one emotion in a day. It is ok to not be happy all of the time. I likely will always be an emotional person, but I do believe that there is so much I have already healed and so much I will continue to heal. There were too many times where I did not feel safe to feel. As much as I want to cope better with my emotions, I know I need to be patient with myself. Many people do not know my story or what I have been through. In a weird way, my tears help me to keep going. It can be hard to be a person who feels so deeply in a messy world that has expectations of who we are supposed to be.

I can be both soft and strong. When people see me at my weakest moments, it does not take away from everything I have overcome and the strength I carry every day. It does not matter what others think of me, it matters what I think of myself.

[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!