2024 is ending, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it has been my favorite year in a long while.

While it contained its own stressors, overall I feel so good to be at this stage in my life.

I love my home, I love my little life and “fur family” I have created with Aly, and I love my routine. On weekends, I look forward to the weekdays. I look forward to my weekly therapy appointments, and I look forward to my job. Stability and consistency has been so good for me, and most of my life never looked this way.

For a while I have viewed my life in chapters. I am a visual thinker, and I see the stages of my life as a linear process, and a new chapter with a new theme.

Recently I told my therapist that I believe I am in a new chapter of my life. She asked me what it is called. I told her that it didn’t have a name, but that it’s a really important chapter.

For the past 4-5 years my life has been associated with healing C-PTSD and depression. I’ve done SO much trauma work. I give myself a huge pat on the back for the intensity of the therapy I engaged in to work through some really dark stuff.

This past year, things have calmed down. Less flashbacks, no depressive episodes, no more depersonalization or derealization. Anxiety used to be an every day experience, and it’s not anymore. Not to the same extent, and not very often.

It was unfamiliar, and the unfamiliar can be scary. What does this mean that I used to have flashbacks and now I don’t? This should be a good thing. Feeling far removed from my trauma almost makes it harder for me to feel validated that it is real.

I talked about that in therapy a bit too, but now I am able to acknowledge that my trauma will always be my truth- even if it isn’t running my life.

This year’s theme was a continuation of something I was starting to come to terms with last year: I have masked a lot of struggles for too long.

This led to different assessments from July- October and receiving a diagnosis that actually explained a lot more than trauma had.

There was validation in this, but it’s not all “yay”. I had an idea of what my story was up until this point, and now I’m looking back and rewriting that story in a more accurate way. I’m left with grief that a big part of my experience and struggles were missed as a kid when I could have received support. I’m left with imposter syndrome, as I don’t fit the stereotyped traits that the world believes I should have. I now have a name for things I resented about myself since childhood.

However, I am also learning about this name through positive resources. It has corrected my negative self-perception as the topic is not as taboo as back then. I am finding community. I am also accommodating myself, and educating myself and others. I am embracing and appreciating the qualities I have, rather than trying to fight them.

I last wrote about self-acceptance, and a big part of accepting myself comes from understanding myself.

I don’t want to do things that most people my age like to do, and that’s okay. I’m tired of pushing away the things that made me happy as a kid because I told myself I needed to “grow up”. I want to prioritize my needs, even if they are different from others. I want to listen to my body, and say “no” when things don’t feel right for me. I want to enter the spaces that accept me, and leave the spaces that don’t. I want to embrace my comfort items. I want to bring back my American Girl dolls, keep sleeping with my teddy bear at night, and talk to my imaginary friends when I need to sort out my thoughts. In the past, I would have been embarrassed to say that. I needed them then, and I still benefit from them now.

I don’t need to force myself to fit into places that I wasn’t meant to fit into. I don’t have to feel inadequate because I think and communicate differently than others. Many things are really hard for me, but I also have many strengths.

Last holiday season I was very overwhelmed and sad. This year I am limiting the events I attend, taking quiet space when I need it, and finding time for the little joys of the holiday season that are more comfortable for me.

These changes sound so easy and simple, but I have never done these things with intention.

I feel lighter, I am thinking clearer, and I’m not using up as much energy anymore fighting against my challenges.

These challenges were never less important than my PTSD, and I should never have treated them that way.

For 2025, I don’t have any resolutions or goals. I want to take things day by day, week by week, and see how this “new me” evolves. I have a feeling it’s actually not new at all. This is who I’ve always been, and who I’m supposed to be.

I’m really really proud of myself. It is such a good feeling to have reached this place.

When I was young I developed this habit where I would close my eyes really tight when I thought of something I didn’t want to remember. Most of the time, it was related to something I said or did that embarrassed me, or how someone else at school treated me.

At this point in my life there is nobody bullying me but myself. I sometimes find myself straining my eyes closed at my work desk when I’m feeling hard on myself. In front of me are all of these positive messages from my friends/coworkers, but in these moments I’m too absorbed in my shame to look.

I wrote this in a support group recently:

“All of my life I have felt like an alien, like I don’t fit in this world or among others. And I’m realizing after my late-diagnosis that I still have those feelings among the autistic community. Can anyone relate to this? I have people I can relate to, and yet, I feel like I don’t belong. I wish I could stop seeing “there’s nobody else like me” as a bad thing.”

I received many comments from people confirming that they feel the same way. It was reassuring to know that I wasn’t alone in this, but I’m also a problem-solver and it has bothered me that I haven’t figured out how to change this within myself.

I read positive quotes, I write myself letters to build myself up, I attend therapy, I surround myself with good people. How can I make self-acceptance stick in my brain?

When you’ve had this habit for so long, it’s not easy to change. I’ve made progress, and that is worth something. It helped me to understand neurodivergence because I saw myself in a new light. There was nothing wrong about me, my brain just works a different way. However, there are people who do feel and think similarly to the way I do. I don’t want those people to feel alone either.

It’s hard to feel good about myself at work sometimes. I’ve needed a lot more accommodations, and while I’m grateful to have them, I also feel like I shouldn’t have them. I feel like this is temporary and that one of these days I need to give them up. I feel like these things make me stand out, and not in a good way.

When it comes to advocating for yourself, you first have to realize you’re worthy of it. You then have to find courage to ask for it, and then you accept the ways you are accommodated. I believe there is another piece to this. There is guilt, there is imposter syndrome, internalized ableism, and comparing yourself to everyone else.

This year I made progress in recognizing, “this is why this is hard for me!” instead of “why can’t I do this?” When I compare myself to others, or struggle at work, I hear the voice again that says “you should-”. “you should be able to do this” “you should suck it up” etc etc.

Haley! Be kinder! Haley, give yourself grace! Haley, it’s ok to be exactly how you are.

When things are hard, it doesn’t always mean I have to change. It might just mean I have to accept those parts of me.

Recently I celebrated 150 days of no added sugar. That was something that was entirely self-determination and the work began in my mind. Sometimes you have to want something badly enough before you can make a change happen. If I was able to make the commitment to quit sugar, it has to be possible to attain more self-acceptance and self-compassion. I know it isn’t that simple to make it happen overnight. I know I might not be able to do this entirely on my own.

I may feel different, and I may always feel that way, but it doesn’t mean that everyone else is completely ordinary. Everyone has their gifts and struggles and not all are visible. Mine are visible to me. At the end of day, I’m the one at my desk with my eyes tightly closed. I’d like to leave them open a bit longer.

This post is a bit uncomfortable, but also freeing in a way. I have this blog to be honest with myself, so this is something that I don’t want to hide.

My last post talked about my neuropsych evaluation and my language disorder diagnosis. I had shared that I was getting referred for another assessment to look a bit deeper into things. I got more answers on October 17th, when I was diagnosed autism spectrum disorder. People are usually diagnosed as children, so you can imagine how this might feel to learn this in your mid-late 20’s. Actually.. there isn’t just one feeling.

I’ll be honest, I had done a lot of research for months once this was suspected. I did not understand how I could possibly be autistic when my understanding of what autism looked like was based on stereotypical presentations and those with higher support needs than me. Knowing autism stereotypes can be beneficial to identify some people who present with commonly known characteristics, but for others it can be harmful and lead to a missed diagnosis. It is a spectrum because when you know one autistic person, you literally know one autistic person.

When it was disclosed to me that I had ASD, I was asked how I was feeling. I didn’t know. I had done my research to prepare myself for the possibility, but I still had no idea how I was supposed to feel.

What I learned is that autism (and even ADHD) is much harder to diagnose in girls. One reason for this is because it can present differently, and another reason is that girls & women are more likely to mask their behaviors and struggles to fit social norms/expectations.

Of course my diagnosis is happening at a time where autism is being taken both more and less seriously. I don’t watch TikTok, but I hear more and more people are being diagnosed or are suspecting they are autistic. I see this a few ways. I see this as just like any misunderstood diagnosis, when more research comes out and people learn more about it, of course diagnoses increase. We saw it even with covid, or endometriosis. Social media can be educational just as it is entertainment. When someone shares their story, others pay attention and relate. However, there are also people who make jokes about autism and think “well maybe I’m autistic because I relate to this meme, trait, etc”.

There is a difference between someone relating and saying “well everyone is a little autistic”, to someone who relates and then spends a great amount of time researching, reading books, and seeking out professionals. It’s not just about memes, it can create challenges in one’s life. No, not everyone is a little autistic.

Why am I sharing this? The belief that autism is becoming a “trend” is making it harder for people who are diagnosed to be taken seriously. I am looking back at my life and sitting with the fact that things I could have gotten support around were missed. Yet, I have an incredible amount of imposter syndrome for not meeting stereotypes or others believing you have to “look autistic”. It’s easy to minimize my struggles when I do not struggle immensely in every way.

I wrote in a previous post that this was hard for one provider to confirm because I also have trauma. This provider was particularly trained in trauma, so it made sense she would see things through this lens only. I needed to find the right professional who could adequately explain why my results showed autism, and to explain how trauma looks alike and different from autism. I was told both were true for me.

A psychologist told me that due to the fact that I was quiet and “well-behaved”, a lot of my struggles were likely missed in school. However, for me, I knew they were there. Growing up I had sensory sensitivities and shutdowns. I had social struggles and anxieties despite having friends. I had strong special interests and hyper fixations I kept to myself. I was bullied and better in low maintenance friendships where we were okay not talking every day. I had a strong need for routine and order, which also brought me strengths such as being detail-oriented and great at picking up on patterns. I would often find myself in situations of misunderstanding and miscommunication. As a kid I would be told I’m stubborn to apologize, but I often didn’t understand what I did or why I needed to. Or I would be unintentionally irritable because I was experiencing sensory overload. My facial expressions were either very easy to read, or really hard. For years I’ve been told I look sad, mad, or I’ll be asked what was wrong. If I was social and smiley that was normal, but if I became silent and in my own head people were concerned. I didn’t know why my resting face was so confusing for others, when I was just being myself. I didn’t know why I was told I was giving a tone or attitude, when I didn’t feel like I was. I had bigger emotional responses to change. I would get upset if I was interrupted when I was very focused on something. I wanted things to be done the way I wanted them. My mom would tell me that as a child there were times where she and my grandma would say my name, and I had a delayed response after being called multiple times. These are just some examples. There were many ways I met DSM criteria, and a lot of them presented in childhood.

Some of the traits I experience could apply to many others. Some people may say, “but you give eye contact.” However, if giving eye contact induces stress and energy and effort, that’s a problem. As a kid I would record myself or make faces in the mirror because I didn’t know how I came across to other people. I absorbed the communication and adapted to the behaviors of others. I gathered my sense of humor from characters I loved on tv. People in my life knew I could be shy and anxious, but I was also called animated and silly depending on my comfort zone. I felt that there were two versions of me and one others didn’t understand the way that I did.

When you spend a lot of time telling others “I feel different” or “something is wrong with me” and they assure you that you’re okay the way you are, their good intentions can often miss what you are trying to communicate. I didn’t mean that I was inherently flawed or broken. I was trying to communicate that things felt harder than they should be. Sometimes what people see, is very different than what is going on inside. I am the only one in my body.

I often love my quirks and differences. I’m not just trying to focus on my difficulties here. Being my unique self has led me to find some of the most true and genuine friends, and people I can relate to. I know what makes me happy and I have held on to those things my entire life. I challenge myself despite things not being easy. I prove to myself I can do many things. Though sometimes, I wish I knew I didn’t always have to try to leave my comfort zone. Sometimes it hurts me more than it helps me grow.

In my life now, I have a full time job, a serious relationship, and I am independent and on top of things. I thrive in my routine, so people don’t assume otherwise. However, when my routine changes I have emotional breakdowns or depression.

I originally sought testing because despite me doing well in many areas, I also struggle a lot at work and in my personal life. I knew I needed support. The people who notice this the most are my girlfriend, my supervisor at work, my closest friends, and my therapist of course. When I’m too overwhelmed or struggle with someone misunderstanding my words, my feelings grow so intense I feel like I could explode. It’s like I’m speaking another language. I’ve thrown things, I’ve unintentionally hurt myself, I’ve had full meltdowns. I will spend hours sitting on the shower floor. It’s not depression, it’s an entirely different thing. As a kid I turned everything inward, and as an adult I’m noticing myself handling things in the opposite way. If you don’t see me every day, I can look like I’m thriving.

Being diagnosed with autism doesn’t mean I need fixing. There isn’t anything to fix. This is just how I am and how my brain works. However, a diagnosis means finding the right support. I’ve already been making adjustments in the way I do things or accommodate myself. Even changes that feel so small have actually made a huge difference. Maybe I will do a post on that too.

One friend told me she believed I was autistic years ago. While pursuing the assessments, my old supervisor, my old roommate, and another friend believed I was as well. These people are either autistic themselves, work with people who are, or know someone who is.

Other people in my life don’t know as much, understandably. I for sure didn’t, and in many ways am still trying to learn. The small bunch I first shared this with have been supportive no matter their level of understanding.

Unfortunately, this diagnosis has made me so absorbed in what everyone else might think. Because of this, I haven’t taken the time to truly process how I feel about it. My therapist brought up the idea of me also working with an autism specialist/therapist so I can be educated in that way as well. I received this diagnosis and now I’m like “now what?” Who can I ask these questions to? It might be useful to have someone to check-in with once in a while who can help me understand autism better, as someone who is late-diagnosed. At the same time, I don’t want to be overwhelmed with more providers.

For some, a diagnosis/name doesn’t matter. For me, it always has. Whether it was my heart condition, endometriosis, arthritis, depression, ptsd- a name led me to the right support and guidance. Despite it taking a bit to truly accept this, I know that this is only a part of me. It’s still a part that matters a lot, and impacts how I think and see the world.

If it makes sense to me, that means I’ve completed a missing piece to my puzzle. I no longer need to ask the question “why am I like this?” I can’t explain how much that means to me to better understand myself. I’m having a lot more self-compassion.

Some things may always be hard, but if I can learn to make things a little easier, I will continue to be proud of the person I am and the person I will be.

I went to return to this draft to find that I never saved it..

That is one of the worst, if not THE worst things that can happen when blogging. I’m a bit less motivated to rewrite this now, but we will give it a try!

I wrote a post about my experience with neuropsych testing this past summer. This post is going to be about my results.

My results were confusing, upsetting, and disappointing, but I do believe I grew from this experience.

I thought that neuropsychological testing would give me the final, defining, complete answer about how my brain works.

Here is where I was wrong. There isn’t one answer, not always. Not when you have complex things going on. It does bring results, it does bring answers and explanations- however, it is just one person’s interpretation of the data you provide. Other providers may interpret the data differently. Someone who doesn’t live your life or live inside your body, will only evaluate you on several days (or however long) of testing. The tests are specific and truly provide information on how your brain works, but it doesn’t always mean the results will sum up the answers to your problems. At least, they didn’t with me.

I was referred for testing with ADHD and a sensory processing disorder in question.

What stood out in my testing from the very beginning was my trauma history. This makes sense, as it certainly does stand out when people hear my story. Where things got complicated is that because PTSD symptoms may overlap with other disabilities, it can be hard to determine what is going on. My trauma became the focus of my report. I did not seek testing to find out if I had PTSD. I knew this. I have been in therapy for years doing intensive prolonged exposure therapy. I have made huge progress. Still, I believe there are things I struggle with that will always be there despite how much therapy I do. I am aware that my brain works differently. The tests revealed this as well.

The scores conflicted with the reasoning.

• I scored highly for sensory issues, but did not receive a diagnosis for a sensory processing disorder.

• I scored highly for ADHD (inattentive type), but did not receive a diagnosis.

• I scored highly for ASD, but did not receive a diagnosis.

My new diagnosis were:

• mixed receptive-expressive language disorder

• social anxiety disorder

Here is the thing.. language disorders and social anxiety are common signs of ASD. I was not diagnosed because the symptoms can overlap with trauma, and trauma was what she was most confident in.

My results did not explain nor mention any answers to the struggles I sought testing for. It only confirmed I have trauma. I ask myself why I did all of the testing if she was going to question the results in the end. I shared my report with my psychiatrist. When she read the “attention and executive functioning” part of my report and also was confused that her description of the results sounded like clear-cut ADHD.

I cried for many days after receiving my report. Not only was it disappointing, it also was dismissive, and stated things about me that were not true (which reflected that the provider did not listen intently to me). It was not at all strengths-based.

When I went to my feedback appointment, I was honest with the provider that while some things did resonate, many did not. I for sure have social anxiety. It also would make sense that I would have a language disorder as it is really difficult for me to comprehend language in groups and keep up with a conversation. I also struggle with reading comprehension and auditory learning since I was a kid. I learn best visually. Those things explained a lot, but I still did not understand how that explained my other struggles. Why do I relate to an ASD diagnosis, and have to settle with the provider’s “uncertainty”? The provider said, “you’re allowed to disagree with me. I have humility. I can be wrong.” She said “All this is, is my best guess. I gave you my best, but you need to trust yourself. It’s not about what I think right now, it is about what feels right to you.” “I am providing you with part of an answer from my view, from my opinion, but it should never invalidate what you feel is true for you.”

This was nice, however..

How do I trust myself when what I believe is going against what a professional tells me?

This has been a question I have been asking myself since. I went to see someone for their opinion, and they want me to trust my own?

It is one thing to get a diagnosis that surprises you, but to have the explanation bring clarity and hope.

It is another thing to get a diagnosis that surprises you, and for it to not even resonate with your experience.

I decided to seek another opinion.

I want a chance to get a report that does resonate, and to have an idea of the best ways to support myself going forward. I am not doing a full neuropsych evaluation again. I decided that what I want to understand the most, is my scores around ASD. I am going to get assessed by someone who solely does ASD assessments. I found a place that is knowledgeable about trauma and autism, and how the diagnosis can be missed in high-masking adults (especially women). It was advised to me to seek another opinion and I decided that it is worth it. I have started to accommodate myself in my life, but I want to make sure I’m getting the right support. My struggles may be psychological, but there is a neurological component I need to understand as well. Life is hard enough, I don’t have to make things harder for myself.

The next updates to come will include my autism evaluation. I didn’t go through all of the exhausting and difficult tests just to “accept” a report that didn’t provide a thorough explanation. I don’t want a provider to make an educated guess just because I have a trauma history. I want someone to hear me, and what is happening for me, not what has happened to me.

I realized that my brain might be more different then I believed… (and that’s OK)

About a year ago I became curious if I had something wrong with me. I didn’t mean “wrong” as in personally flawed. By “wrong” I meant that I knew I was struggling and wanted to know why. I struggled in school as a child. I loved writing, but reading was hard. I could read at a good pace, I could pronounce and understand words, but I struggled to comprehend words when they were organized together. If I read a paragraph and then was asked what I just read, I wouldn’t know. Once I finished a sentence it had left my brain. With standardized testing, when it came to reading I would lose track, get distracted, and circle random bubbles in the multiple choice answers. My 4th grade teacher even reported to my mom that I drew lines and connected the dots.

In 6th or 7th grade I was put in a special reading class when all of my friends were assigned to take Spanish. I honestly enjoyed that class because it came easy to me, we didn’t have homework, and it was a smaller class so I felt comfortable to participate more.

I did well in school, but school never came easy to me. I loved writing (of course) and creative assignments, but I needed to work extra hard in many other areas. I felt like I took longer than my peers to understand things. I was not a good test-taker, I often forgot my homework, and I would cry because I felt so badly about myself.

My grades weren’t bad, I was well-behaved, and so I went under the radar for most of my teachers. Nobody could see how much I was truly struggling and how much harder I had to work. When they did see me struggling, they misunderstood what was happening. My teachers thought I was just shy and anxious, but they didn’t know why I had so much anxiety. My brain was working overtime.

Years later, I went to college, I was on the Dean’s list, I graduated on time. I needed support at times, and some tutors, but I did OK. Still, there were other ways I have struggled throughout my life that nobody seemed to understand. I would get overwhelmed with bright lights, loud noises, and have trouble following conversations when too many people were talking at once. I would get so overwhelmed at social gatherings I would shut down and get spacey. I have explained this away to be trauma-related, but I believe it was more than that. I didn’t realize how much sensory struggles I had until much later.

There is this thing called “masking” and I believe it is what I have done my entire life. I have struggled with eye contact, but would force myself to do it so I didn’t look rude. I never threw tantrums over my sensory struggles, I just held my discomfort inside. I didn’t ask for help in school, because I believed I “should” just be able to do what was expected of me.

I grew up in a chaotic environment, so while my body was always in fight or flight, it was understandable I didn’t take time to really reflect on things that were hard for me. I always just pushed through. My jobs following school were always stressful as well. I worked in busy restaurants, and then a psych hospital. I didn’t have “think time” I just had to dive right in.

until I got my dream job…

Almost 2 years ago I got a job that has been perfect for me. It is fairly predictable, it is supportive, and my body feels at peace at work. I love what I do, which consists of supporting adults at a mental health clinic. While the most important parts of my job I seem to excel at, I found myself struggling in other areas. I have been struggling in team meetings. I have trouble following the flow of conversations. When a question is asked I realize I take longer than others to process my thoughts. By the time I go to share, the conversation will move along or my voice will be drowned by others. I had this huge realization. I always thought my struggle in groups was due to social anxiety, but I think it has more to do with my processing speed. I either cannot judge when to chime in, or I lose my thoughts before I speak them. I started participating in virtual meetings by writing my thoughts through the Zoom chat. Writing comes easier to me, and my thoughts feel more structured. I was finding myself having a huge drop in self-esteem following these meetings. I have so many things to share, but either I can’t or I am afraid to because I worry it will not make sense. I would be called on which made me panic inside as well. I know people were trying to include me, but I couldn’t gather my thoughts as quickly. I would force myself to say anything so I didn’t look bad, and then I would be overthinking whatever it was I had said. Even if others told me I had made sense, it didn’t matter to me. I knew that still wasn’t the way I wanted to say it.

This isn’t the only reason why team meetings are hard. The office lights can be so hard on my eyes that it would give me panic attacks and sensory overload. I went to an eye doctor thinking my sensitivity to light had to do with that, but he said my eyes were fine. I bought these light sensitivity glasses meant for indoor & outdoors, and for a while I was ashamed to wear them at work. People think they’re sunglasses. I had to get over the fear of what others will think and I needed to accommodate myself. My anxiety dissipated once I wore them, because I was much more comfortable.

My therapist wondered if I have ADHD or a sensory processing disorder. She explained that maybe that is why I struggle in meetings, and that people with ADHD can also struggle with sensory things.

At one point in the year my supervisor introduced us to this new way of charting on Excel. I couldn’t understand her template, so I made my own chart. She told me there was a reason why I needed to use hers, and this overwhelmed me. I would stare at it for weeks. She explained it so many times and I just didn’t understand. It was making me irritable and angry. I wasn’t angry with her, she truly wanted to help me. I was angry at myself. I felt like a little kid who was frustrated that they couldn’t do something. I got so upset to the point of throwing a book in my office, behind closed doors. Was this a processing thing? A struggle with transitions when I had been used to a certain way of doing things? I realized that all of these ways I struggled as a child in school were showing up for me in my adult full-time job.

steps to neuropsychological testing..

At first I was told there was no need to get a neuropsych evaluation as an adult. I later heard that many seek it as an adult (even very very late in life) because they did not receive the right support as a child and it stayed with them. For some, getting answers later in life improved their self-esteem, helped them to understand their strengths and weaknesses, and find ways to support themselves now in life. While I can’t go back in time, this felt important to me to get more answers now. I am open to receiving a diagnosis, whether it is ADHD, or a learning disability. I know that some things shouldn’t be this hard, and I owe it to myself to get some answers so that I can stop being so hard on myself for struggling to meet my own expectations.

My therapist referred me to a neuropsychologist who also believed that I likely have a disability of some kind. I went through 3 days of hours-long testing with her. Before testing, the neuropsychologist gathered an entire history. One of my concerns and confusions is that because I have PTSD, symptoms can overlap with other disabilities. This woman had a great understanding of trauma and did separate evaluations to determine which symptoms can be related to trauma, and which could have been an existing developmental disability.

The tests were extensive and some were easier than others. There were tests that induced panic in me, and several times I had to pause to calm my tears and nervous system. I could hear the same voice in my head that has been there all of my life, “this shouldn’t be this hard!” The woman also recognized that I would go into freeze response, and that some things I really did know but would have trouble thinking when overwhelmed. She also picked up on the fact that I struggle with self-doubt immensely, to where I was comfortable saying “I don’t know” instead of giving a wrong answer. She encouraged me to take a guess. When I got the answer right, she gave me a look that implied see, you can do this! She said, “I’m starting to figure you out!”

These tests aren’t fun. It may sound cool to be able to get an evaluation of how your brain works and to be given some challenges, but it’s serious. It’s long days and it’s hard to transition from one test to another. I was incredibly burnt, and emotionally exhausted for the rest of the day.

The neuropsychologist included one last test which was for ASD. This is something I never told anyone I had been curious about for the past several years. There are many myths and stereotypes of an autistic experience, but they call it a spectrum for a reason. I have learned that autism is incredibly under diagnosed, especially in women and girls because it presents differently than it does in boys.

One of the neuropsychologists other assumptions throughout the testing was that I may have an auditory processing disorder. When I read about it online, I did resonate to it in many ways.

I have been waiting over a month for my results, but I appreciate how thorough my provider is being. She has to analyze every piece of data and write a full report.

I’m proud of myself for doing it, but now is the waiting game. I’m trying to tell myself that if I do receive a diagnosis or a new name for things, it is just for the purpose of getting the right support! This is a positive thing, not a negative thing. In a way it is kind of emotional. I wish I did this as a child. I think it could have prevented years of school anxiety and wondering what’s wrong with me. Perhaps I wouldn’t have seen it as something being wrong with me, but have seen it as, this is why this happens! There are ways to support and nurture your inner child as an adult. This is one thing I’m doing for little Haley, but also the person I am today. My supervisor is understanding and willing to work with me if I need any accommodations. Aside from work, I need to stop masking as well. I will always try my best, but I need to stop pretending to be someone who is confident and comfortable all the time. I need to start unmasking, and become confident saying, “this is what I need.”

But first, I have to learn what that is.

Stay tuned!

Estrangement: There is no right way to do it

Months ago I made a decision to go no contact with a family member. I was grieving and the heartbreak was so intense I was physically sick and sobbing daily for over a month. It was my choice, but it still was excruciating. I could not listen to a song that reminded me of them. I would watch a show that we both love and wish I could talk about it with them. I would have a great day at work and want to give them a call. It just wasn’t worth the unhealthy cycles and how many times it prevented my own healing.

I wrote about this before, so I am not going to make that the focus of this post. This post is about opening contact.

Months ago I told myself I was going to eliminate all contact with the possibility that things could change down the road. I did not have a specific time in mind. The decision was intended to be a “forever.” This was all dependent on if the boundary would be respected, if changes would occur, and when I would open the door on my own terms.

There is no right way to go no contact. Likewise, there is no right way to open contact.

Recently I opened that door. It started with cracking open that door. It felt like putting my foot in water to see if my toe would get bit off. It began with a situation where I had no choice to open contact in a serious matter. I made it clear that speaking in that moment didn’t mean everything would be back to “normal” now. Not that anything was normal before..

In the early months of cutting contact, my boundary was not respected, but months went by and I noticed the silence finally became consistent. They proved to me that they would give me my space, and my guilt and grief diminished. I could go on with my life a bit easier.

A big change happened not too long ago. I reached out willingly to acknowledge a holiday even though I wasn’t attending. At first I felt guilty. Notice how I was guilty for cutting contact, and then I became guilty for opening contact? I was worried I was betraying myself, but I started to see it with a new perspective. This was different. I was making this choice on my terms, the same way I chose to cut contact. I was making this choice knowing this person understood that they had to earn a place in my life, and understood that I will do what I need to do going forward.

This person surprised me when they did not guilt-trip me for my absence. They never brought up the holidays I missed or made the focus on their emotions. They simply appreciated that I was talking to them in that moment. It has nothing to do with reward or punishment, but for lack of better words it taught them that respecting my boundaries is all I ask for. If they did that, I would show them they could have even a small place in my life.

Where we are at now: There is still a distance between us. I saw them recently and it wasn’t as hard as I thought. I didn’t avoid them, we were civil, we were communicating, but it felt very appropriate and boundaried. Things still feel distant, there is a clear separation, but in a good way. I see it more as I have my life and they have theirs. This is working for us. I feel content.

This person also communicated to me how during the no contact, they did a lot of reflecting. It didn’t seem like times before where I received an apology and then they would do the same hurting again. Again, this wasn’t about punishment, but by cutting them out, I gave them the time to look inward. They were unable to do this when I was still present.

Life is messy and I kind of had to live in gray.

I couldn’t see it this way at first, but I needed to tell myself that if I resumed communicating with them, it didn’t mean that I was weak or I don’t have willpower, or that I am absolving them of their actions. I also needed to tell myself the opposite, that eliminating all contact didn’t make me a bad person.

I guess I needed to make a conscious decision which said, “you know, I am going to maintain these relationships in whatever way makes sense or works for me.”

If I live on this little island of good, and it’s because I need it, then I don't think that it has to mean all of those other things.

Once I felt more confident in my own ability to set an emotional (and physical) boundary, it hasn’t been as hard or scary to interact with them, because I know that they’re not going to be able to move the core of me.

How I lived the past months was where I was at right there and then. This is where I am right now. It doesn’t mean there is a permanent change. It simply means I have proved to myself that I can set and maintain boundaries, I can express and believe my worth, but despite it not being easy I will be OK.

Every relationship and story is different. This is my story about one person, where my stories with others I have lost contact with are different. This is why there is no “right” way to go no contact. Going no contact is about what is right for you as an individual based on your experience. I am still exploring what this means for me, but I do know no matter what I must give myself grace for wherever I am at.

the beginning: compression gloves

May is Arthritis Awareness Month. It is also Mental Health Awareness Month, and the two can absolutely go hand in hand. While rheumatoid arthritis is typically acknowledged in September, I have been wanting to share my story for too long.

It’s been a weird past 3 years. I share this for awareness and to educate others that yes, young people live with arthritis.

In the fall of 2020 I was living in covid isolation in Hawaii when I began struggling with joint pain/deformity, skin problems, heart problems, in addition to extreme eye sensitivity.

It wasn’t until spring of 2021 when I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis (RA) prior to a heart surgery. I never made the connection that the reappearance of my heart condition (WPW) was related to this inflammatory disorder. There are many different types of arthritis. Rheumatoid arthritis, however, is a chronic autoimmune disease that affects the joints as well as organs.

I could not say “I have rheumatoid arthritis” for the longest time, because I had been in denial that I had it. I live with C-PTSD and I am always aware of how my illnesses coincide with the stressors of my trauma. I thought if I managed my mental health, worked harder in therapy (whatever that means), had more positive thoughts, and ate healthier, that my arthritis would simply go away. That was not the case.

When I was first diagnosed I cut my hair very short because I couldn’t hold a hairbrush. I could barely turn a doorknob, and became frustrated at how long it would take me to key into my apartment. Very few shoes did not hurt me. I wore sunglasses indoors, and blue light glasses. When my heart condition worsened, so did my other autoimmune conditions. I became desperate for a new prescription of steroids. I could not walk or use my hands without them. My fingers changed shape and ability, my hand developed a ganglion cyst, I lost too much weight, and none of my clothes fit me.

I initially tried one medication that gave me the worst nausea and brain fog that I could not finish my sentences. I then tried injections of a different medication last spring, which also brought horrible results. I left work, unable to feel my arm aside from a tingling sensation. I went to the ER because my doctor expressed worry that I was having a stroke. Thankfully, I wasn’t, but was told to stop the med immediately.

Rheumatoid arthritis has certainly given me embarrassing moments. When I was living alone, I was unable to ask for help when I couldn’t open something. I am stubborn. I used my teeth too many times, until I held a piece of my front tooth in my hand. I got a filling, but it was certainly a wakeup call. Several times, my arm had been stuck in a bent position with a swollen elbow for a full workday and I could not straighten it. When I want to hide my knee braces, I try to wear skirts or baggy pants. Looser clothing also helps because tighter pants tend to suffocate my swollen knees. I love baths, but I also would feel so defeated when I had trouble getting out of the tub.

When I started my job, I was required to take a CPR test. I had an anxiety attack beforehand. I’m sure very few people were crying before their CPR test. I did not know how I would pass, as my wrists would not allow me to put pressure on my hands. The instructor was understanding, I did pass the test, but I know the light on the dummy did not appear once.

I would sob every single time I went to the rheumatologist. Every treatment method recommended to me has side effects, many that affect my other health conditions. I had listened to doctors tell me that without treatment my body would fail me more, and I would be handicapped before my old age. I had held off on trying a new medication for so long, because I was terrified that I would need another heart surgery. Many people do choose to manage their arthritis naturally. For me, I’m not sure that will help enough.

hopeless rheumatology visits

Where I am today:

I found a new rheumatologist, one who doesn’t make me cry, and provides hope that someday I will live life without feeling like I have rheumatoid arthritis. I am finally on a medication that seems to be working, I am on a much lower dose of steroids, and I hope to be completely off of them by next year. I am not where I started, but I am not where I want to be. All I can do is find things that help, even if they are not cures. I have learned other ways to manage my RA. I have found that swimming helps, more omega3’s in my diet and anti-inflammatory foods help. I also advocate for myself and work from home when needed.

I do get sad quite often. It is hard not to get frustrated with my body. It is hard to tell others, “I can’t do that.” I miss not having to explain myself. I miss running. I miss riding a bike. I miss the little things like being able to put my hands flat on the ground and support myself in yoga poses. I don’t like the sound of my knees cracking, or being unable to walk downstairs after a day of ordinary movement. However, I know I’m not the only one. I know that this disease is only teaching me how to take care of my body and make smarter, healthier decisions. My body reminds me it has been through a lot, and it deserves care now. I’m learning that I can still live a full life- even while navigating RA.

There have been so many changes that have happened so quickly. I moved back to the city, and I moved with my girlfriend Aly! This post will share our little journey in a short amount of time.

I have had 7 bedrooms in my life (not including dorm rooms). I have moved every year since graduating college. I always intended to be somewhere at least a few years, but life would happen. I have wanted more than anything to be in a place that feels like I’m finally “home”. Bouncing around after a year’s lease makes it impossible to feel settled. I used to love change, and exploring new places to live. I have grown to recognize that the changes were fun at the time, but now feeling grounded in my environment is important to me. My PTSD is worse with moving. Packing my belongings into boxes, organizing a plan for getting my furniture out, and then unpacking in a new place is all overwhelming. It can take me a while to make my home feel like my safe place. Last year, I moved to be closer to work. I had a 10 minute drive, and it made my life so much easier. On days I was dissociating at work, or my arthritis was bad, it was so helpful to have my bed be right around the corner. I grew to love my apartment, and the very small town and community.

Something was missing though. I wasn’t happy living alone anymore. Aly and I have been ready to live together for a while, but it couldn’t work with our jobs being so far away from each other. Come December, Aly became motivated for a change. She was worried, understandably, but decided to apply to jobs in a city closer to me. This would mean that we could live together! It was surreal that it was finally happening. I’m so happy for her for taking the leap, as starting a new job can be intimidating. We blinked, and then March 15th was our move-in day.

Even the best changes can have some rough adjustments..and that is certainly what I’m going to share here.

If you have been following my blog, some things you have likely learned about me is that aside from having trauma, I’m a pretty anxious human, and can be kind of a loner. I have lived my entire life surviving by my alone time. In my childhood, that is how I coped. I would be alone with my creativity, passions, and imagination. I was never bored being alone. I knew how to have fun alone. I have always had good people in my life, but I also have a learned habit of having time to myself at the end of the day. I am familiar with being in my own thoughts. I am familiar with quiet. This is something very important to me, and it was a little scary to imagine the idea of not being alone. I thought about how depression and trauma are parts of my life. Sometimes I just feel sad, and need to cry. Sometimes I just need to feel it, without talking about it. Aly has seen me in these times, but she hasn’t truly lived with it. I had this anxious thought of, “Am I someone that someone would want to live with?” Even when we know something rationally, it can be easy to have those worry-wart thoughts creep in. I didn’t need to worry about these things, because Aly already knows, and she already accepts and loves me for me.

Before the move, my brain had been in so many places that it was hard to keep up with my blog. Aly was navigating the uncomfortable feelings of changing jobs and leaving her friends, and I was navigating the idea of moving from a place I felt comfortable, and having a farther commute from work again. I wholeheartedly believe that our anxiety had to do with how fast the move was coming, and not at all that we were not ready for this next step. I didn’t even realize how it was affecting me until I talked in therapy about leaving my apartment. I joked about how I was going to miss it. She said, “you really felt safe there”, and I unexpectedly started to fight tears. I told her I didn’t want to cry. She told me it was OK if I did, but I really wanted to focus on the excitement of living with Aly. I later realized that my emotions around leaving that apartment actually did not have much to do with loving it. Leaving my apartment was like leaving a therapy room. I was leaving a space that held all of my tears, flashbacks, depression spells. It was a safe place, but it also was a container for my wounds, and my healing. It was actually healthy, and it was closure for me to leave it.

Where we live now, is not new to me. I lived here before, and I loved it when I had! I have been so excited to move back and to now build new memories with Aly. We had this idea that within our first week of moving we would have friends over, we would go out in the city, and we would enjoy the week before Aly’s first day of work. However, our first 2 weeks did not go as planned.

We both got sick. Aly had a sinus infection starting from move-in day, and then I had covid not long after. Due to this, we hadn’t fully unpacked as soon as we would have liked. Our initial weeks were spent staring at boxes and looking for a couch. We were having anxiety that we were living in an apartment that looked like a storage room. My experience living alone gave me my own routine. I had my own belongings to worry about, and they all had their place. I wanted this new apartment to immediately look like my last one, and I wasn’t anticipating how much stress the clutter was giving me. We reminded each other that we had been sick, and that the place will be done and decorated soon enough. We started experiencing more chaos. My car was vandalized. Someone has been neighborhood hopping, throwing rocks at windows but not stealing anything. I was one of the unlucky ones, and I needed my rear windshield replaced. Before my windshield was fixed, I had a panic attack in the middle of the night. Aly held me and asked what was wrong. I told her it was stupid, but she encouraged me to say it anyway. I was panicking about my car, and the apartment being messy. We talked it through, she reassured me it will all work out, and then I was able to fall asleep. It probably had little to do with both of those. We were so tired. It had been a lot of stress for a both. New city, new home, and I’m not trying to be negative- but it was a lot of bad luck. For Aly, she also got a parking ticket, and then ended up in the ER. It was almost becoming humorous. Like, what next?

Our neighborhood is adorable, but we knew that our apartment would need a lot of love. It has grown on us, but initially it was easy to recognize its flaws. It’s older. We have already contacted the landlord due to several things needing fixing. Our bedroom and living room are nice and cozy, but the kitchen feels like a basement with cement floors, and no windows. We have been working with what we have. With limited storage space and no room for food, Aly assembled a large kitchen cabinet. I decided our kitchen needed something bright and happy, so we turned it into a lemon theme. My therapist surprised me with a housewarming gift; lemon salt and pepper shakers, and a lemon print dish towel. I wasn’t expecting it, not that I should have. It was something so thoughtful, and I imagine it had to do with the sessions I spent feeling silly stressing about wanting the apartment to look better. I didn’t realize how much my environment impacted my peace. It has had a great transformation. I love coming home, and I’m proud of our hard work despite the challenges.

We are enjoying the little things. I love waking up and coming home to Aly. I love having dinners with her. I even love doing her laundry, compromising on what chores we do such as dishes and taking out the trash. I love her company. I love sitting on our couch together (now that we have one), and deciding on what movie we watch. We spent one day this past week walking on a trail and something as small as going for a walk in our new neighborhood felt like so much fun.

My drive to work may be longer, but my drive to therapy is shorter. My life has not changed so much. I still see my friends at work, and I have actually moved closer to some of my other friends. I do not have to drive far most days of the week, as I work from home as well. Living in my comfort zone served its purpose at the time. I needed that environment to create peace for myself. Sometimes, we need a comfort zone and there is nothing wrong with that. Though, a comfort zone can grow old. I wasn’t gaining anything there, and Aly believed the same to be true about where she was. It was hard to only see each other on weekends. I was also so isolated, and I now am back living in a place where I can branch out. I recently walked to the store, because things are close enough where I don’t have to drive. I felt free.

I have always been comfortable with my solitude, and staying in my shell. Aly knows I am an introvert. She knows I may need my alone time. It helps that we can live together, and also meet each other’s needs. Right now, as I’m typing, she is on the other side of the couch watching a show. When I’m done, I won’t be alone. I do know that she is being very patient, but is ready for me to be done so she can talk my ear off! It’s these things as well, that make me happy.

There is a joke that lesbian/same-sex couples “U-Haul”, and move-in at a faster pace. I’m not going to say that our relationship didn’t grow quickly, but this stereotype would have others see it “rare” that we have gone this long without living together. It weirdly feels like an accomplishment. Living away from each other hasn’t been easy, but we made it work. We respected that we both liked where we were living and working, and we were not going to make a change until we were ready. We have been with each other long enough to know each other’s joys, pet peeves, needs. The time before living together gave us the opportunity to learn who we are as individuals in addition to who we are as a couple. There are no surprises, and we know how to navigate the hard times. Even though we have wanted to live together sooner, I believe this pace has benefited us as well.

One thing we say often, “we can get through anything together.”

I’m curious, as well as looking forward to seeing how we continue to grow together and within ourselves. Apartments may change, but living with my person- is just a new beginning. Oh god that sounded cheesy, but it’s a good feeling to have someone, and I’m lucky to have her.

Places can be “home”, but so can people.

I have been wanting to write about this one for a while.

This past summer I went with my girlfriend Aly and her family to the Outer Banks. I was with Aly and her brother when we stopped at a smoothie shop. I don’t remember what I was feeling. I’m sure I was tired, overheated, dehydrated? I’m sure the very small, and very crowded shop made me feel overstimulated. I’m also sure that I was just being me- patiently waiting for my smoothie. The man at the counter looked to Aly, and gestured to me while saying, “Does she smile?”

I felt embarrassed, I felt like I was under a microscope. I became hyper-aware of how I look to others. I’m sure I forced a slight smile to assure this guy I was fine. Though, maybe I didn’t. Maybe it made me frown more, or even glare at him. I can’t remember how I responded, I just remember wanting to cry, hating him, and hating myself.

“Does she smile?” It took me back to childhood. I was at the grocery store with my mom. Again, who knows how I was feeling. I know I get overstimulated at grocery stores, I know my mom often made me irritable. I don’t remember if I was sad? I do remember the cashier. She was an older woman. She stared at me the entire time she was scanning our groceries. My mom was paying when she slipped me some candy. I went to thank her, just before she said, “Ah! There! I got a smile out of you!”

I remember it making me more angry, and I remember never wanting to go anywhere ever again. Both of these experiences made me feel horrible about myself. I believed I was darkness, dimming everyone else’s light, and bringing gloom into the world. I was that miserable kid in the grocery store.

In the cashier’s mind, she could have been thinking, “I did a kind thing. I made a sad girl smile.” For me, it carried such a different meaning.

“What is wrong with Haley?”

Oof. I heard that one a lot throughout my life. I would not know why, but I would be in a room full of people and my energy would die down from when I arrived. I would be spacey, sad, or just overwhelmed. I remember my aunt once assumed it was my pre-teen hormones that made me leave the room in tears. I didn’t know why I was crying, and she hugged me and joked, “I understand. I get this way too.” But do you understand?

Everyone would ask if I was okay. It is a complicated thing to be upset over, because sometimes I’m not okay and I appreciate people noticing. Other times, I am just in my head or being me, and that question teaches me that I am making others uncomfortable by being me. I will space out or dissociate and someone will wave their hand in front of my face. They will ask if I’m tired, or if I need food. I am in my 20’s now, so why is this still happening?

My mom once approached me after a family gathering. A relative had asked her if I was mad at them. They told my mom I had been glaring at them across the room. When my mom told me this, I was confused. “Mom, I don’t even remember a moment where I was looking at them or staring at all.” I realized I must have been spacing out, and this person just assumed I hated them. It makes me feel so uneasy to hear the ways that people view me, and perceive my behavior. What do the people I don’t know well really think about me?

I don’t think this post is going to have a positive twist. I don’t feel like saying, “I’m just going to embrace who I am, because who I am is enough.” I don’t feel like saying, “I’ve grown to not care what people think.” Yes, I can see compassion for myself by revisiting these stories, but I am writing this to acknowledge the hurt. It hurts. I’ve spent my life reassuring people I am okay, and turning my resting face into a smile when I don’t feel like smiling.

“Does she smile?”

Yes. I do. Can you see me with kind eyes if my face has a frown?

Sometimes I can walk around with the knowledge that I have PTSD, but it doesn’t hold me back. It is a part of me, but it doesn’t always rule me.

Today, everything is harder because of my PTSD.

My last job was so chaotic and stressful. I could hardly breathe. I would pop Ativan in my car on lunch breaks, hoping I wouldn’t be crying by the time I walked back in.

I feel safe at my job now. I go into work and my day is predictable. It’s not loud, I have many supportive coworkers, and I feel confident in the work that I do. I still experience panic attacks and dissociative episodes. It doesn’t mean my job is the cause, it means that PTSD follows me where I go.

I had a panic attack at work this week. It began in the middle of a team meeting. I didn’t understand what happened. I had been fine, talking, smiling, laughing. It happened suddenly. My eyes couldn’t focus, everything was too bright, the back of my neck hurt and felt heavy, my chest was tight, my breathing was shallow. My body was working overtime, and I was exhausted. I left the meeting a few minutes early. I went into a coworkers office and burst into tears. I was supposed to be heading to another meeting with a clinician. I couldn’t collect myself in time. I couldn’t do anything. I tried to go to my supervisor for help, but the words wouldn’t come. Everything was in slow motion, my surroundings, my thoughts, my behavior. She was walking out the door, carrying her laptop and notebooks. She looked at me, asking if I needed her. “If you have a meeting it’s okay.” I said, but it took me too long to say. “Are you dissociating?” She asked. She knows this happens sometimes. “I’m starting to.” She told me to go home. She told me to go home because I have become so dissociated before that I am unable to drive. It is better to catch it before it gets worse, while I’m still somewhat present.

It wasn’t my fault. It was out of my control. Still, I drove home with so much embarrassment. Embarrassed about the meeting I had to cancel last minute, embarrassed that this has happened at work more than once. I don’t like not knowing things, and I didn’t know how to prevent this. I still don’t. With this, something is triggering it. I haven’t figured out what it is yet. When there is something unprocessed, my body often responds before my mind understands.

Back to today-

I had a therapy session. I walked her through the panic attack and everything that led up to it that day. I was feeling fine, until somewhere in the conversation I felt anxious. My mind floated to flashes of old memories. Her questions were harder to answer. I felt overwhelmed. Things started to look blurry again. I found my eyes getting stuck at the same part of the floor. I fought it the entire session. I used my coping skills, we took a break from that conversation, but it was hard to break out of my shutdown. I held back tears. When the session ended the tears caught up with me. It was time to leave, and it sunk in that now I would have to continue to try to pull myself out of this feeling on my own. In a weird way, I wished I had released the tears earlier while still in her presence. I wish I didn’t try to push through.

My therapist told me her next patient wasn’t coming in for 45 minutes, so I would have the waiting room all to myself. She offered me tea, and let me stay until I was comfortable to drive home. This has happened before, and I appreciate her for this. I cried in the waiting room, and tried to bring myself back to the present. Within 20 minutes I heard someone coming and I darted from the waiting room.

During the drive home I was still struggling. I had planned to stop for gas on the way back, but at this point I just wanted to go home.

Now at home, I changed into comfy clothes. I made ramen noodles, climbed in bed, and put on Grey’s Anatomy (as if that will make me less emotional).

Sometimes I just need to dissociate into something else. I guess Grey’s Anatomy isn’t the worse thing. Feeling sad, or feeling empathy, is still feeling something.

I have been tracking my panic attacks with a timeline. I looked back at text messages where I mentioned a panic attack or dissociative episode. I wrote down the dates and times and what was going on. 8 days since November, not including the ones I don’t remember. Majority were on Tuesdays, and then Thursdays. What is it about Tuesdays? Why do the attacks usually happen after 3pm?

It’s frustrating to not know what is happening inside me. My therapist reminded me that eventually we always figure it out. I want to say a sarcastic “great”, but it’s not a bad thing. She is right. My pattern is usually that things eventually make sense. I will figure out the trigger, I will understand what my body is telling me.

Dear Me,

A) Don’t hate your body, don’t place judgement on your feelings.

B) Let your body do its thing, don’t fight it, care for it.

I need to broaden my understanding about what people who survived trauma look like or are capable of.

I came to this conclusion after expressing to my therapist that I do not understand how I endured what I endured, and also have a fairly ordinary life. I assumed that for one to be true, the other couldn’t be.

I don’t want trauma to be my identity, but it also is my identity. It is my daily experience without it being visible. Trauma runs my life, and it also doesn’t. From the moment I wake up in the morning to going to bed at night my trauma is what I have to navigate. At the same time, I go about life like everyone else. I get dressed like everyone else. I watch tv series that make me happy. I enjoy creating playlists. I get excited when I reunite with someone I haven’t seen in too long. I even have become so present that I forget I have trauma.

Sometimes I question my own reality. If these bad things really happened to me, and here I am working a full-time job, living alone, in a healthy relationship…does this even make sense? Does it make sense that someone with the trauma that I have had can do these things? So I realize, I still believe trauma has a “look”, and that it isn’t me.

As a child if I was hurt by someone at school my mom would say, “maybe they have a hard home life.” Ok maybe they did, but does this mean that only bullies have trauma? Does this mean I would have to be on my worst behavior for it to mean I went through something? The same way that every child, every adult, every person can experience trauma differently, we can also cope with trauma differently.

I know trauma is more common than we think. I know that so many more than me are carrying a difficult story. I also know that one of the effects of trauma, which greatly impacts me, is the fear of not being believed.

I fear others not believing me, and I fear not believing myself. I’m still trying to grasp that just because something is unimaginable, doesn’t mean it did not happen.

Living with C-PTSD, I experience steps forward and steps back. As hard as they are, those steps back help me to recharge and move forward again. At some point in each year I will reach a low point, and sometimes more than once. I am able to bring myself out of it, but I am starting to accept that I will eventually crash after living my life like everyone else. My body catches up with me. In the times of these lows, I surrender to my pain. My emotions are heavy and intense. I isolate, or I lash out. This is my unconscious way of saying, “See me. Believe me. See the pain I carry.” In a complicated way it is healing to believe that in these times my trauma has a look. My trauma can be seen without having to share what happened to me.

Dear Me,

Is it possible that you are able to do what you do, because people with trauma are still capable of living a full life? Is it possible that while living a full life comes with work, it is doable? Is it possible that it is not weird that you are able to do these things, but that it is a strength? Is it possible that it is a strength, because people who have experienced trauma are strong? Lastly, is it possible that they are strong not just because they had to be, but because they are? Because you are?

Just because people do not know, does not make it any less real for me. Just because people would be surprised, does not mean I am living my life wrong as someone who experienced trauma.

Trauma does not have a look, and that is the point. It is something that happens to a person. Even though I can go to work, a store, drive, etc, doesn’t mean it is always easy for me. I can live with trauma, and still laugh at funny videos in bed at night. All of these things can be true.

My story is real. Trauma’s appearance comes in many forms. I am not a fraud. I may not always believe this, but I guess this is a start.

I am not writing this because I had a massive epiphany. I need some self-talk from time to time to remind myself what I know to be true. It may be that someone else needs to hear this too.

No matter my abilities, inabilities, successes, failures, choices, emotions, or behaviors-

I am a trauma survivor. I wouldn’t have chosen it, but I would choose to have others believe me, and for me to believe myself.

photo by unsplash

Do you ever have something you believe to be so nerdy, and unique about yourself that you never told anyone?

Some of my childhood interests, I believe, had stemmed from my dissociation. My ability to dissociate was a way to cope, without me realizing. Dissociating for me, was not always the freeze response or forgetting where I was. Dissociation also was my imagination and play. I would explore other time periods and settings as a way to cope. I would do this to separate myself from uncomfortable or fearful situations, and also to create a life I wanted.

From a young age I envied the old-fashioned dresses in movies. Yes, even corsets. I wanted to be those girls.

I’m not exactly sure where it first started..

I know I would read Dear America books in elementary school which were historical fiction about different girls' diaries from different time periods of history. One book from the series I loved was called The Winter of Red Snow and it was about a girl who lived during the Revolutionary War. Come 5th grade my favorite movie, even to this day, was Pirates of the Caribbean. I wanted to live the life of Elizabeth Swann. I still am unsure if I wanted to be her, or if I had a deep crush on her. Let’s be honest; both.

I had “imaginary friends” and an “imaginary family”, but I also would be a part of different worlds. I would imagine myself in a dress like Elizabeth, having sword fights. This interest in this era at such a young age, clearly did not have me thinking about the racism or hazings or witch trials or homophobia or lack of electricity or hangings or sickness or war. Would I live in that era now? Hell no! To younger me, it was about the innocent things like dresses and bonnets and candlesticks and bravery.

I developed an interest in the Revolutionary War era and the patriots vs the loyalists. Why would I become so intrigued by this aspect of history as an elementary/middle schooler? I realized later on that the same way I wanted a voice, and to escape wrongdoing, the patriots wanted to fight and protest as well.

Patriots didn’t want the king to control the colonies, while loyalists were obviously loyal to the king, and wanted to keep the peace. I became fascinated in this divide. Despite where that history led to, maybe in a weird way my fascination came from my desire for freedom, and associating that opposition to escaping the unhealthy cycle of my family. Perhaps my family were the kings and queens, and I didn’t see why I needed to support all of their choices and share their beliefs. I know I did not see it this way at the time. It was about what made my heart happy, and my mind busy.

Child Haley likely came through many times as I got older. I’m sure the same things did interest me, but I’m also sure in times of distress it became impossible to turn away from this part of me. My favorite American Girl doll, Felicity, was from Williamsburg, Virginia in 1774. I stopped playing with dolls, but when I reached my sophomore year of high school I was too excited to tour the College of William and Mary during a visit to see my grandparents. I wanted to go to school there and work at Colonial Williamsburg (Yikes. I know, I know). Every time I visited I didn’t want to leave. If it was possible I’d live in the Governor’s Palace. I learned that trip that my GPA left me with a slim chance of being accepted to that prestigious school, and I know now I wouldn’t fit in there anyway.

It gets better. I wanted a vintage nightgown as a child. This could have very well been how I wanted to support my daydream of pretending I was walking to the bathroom with a candlestick in the middle of the night. I got one for Christmas, but it was the wrong size and I never got one that fit. I remember holding it up, twice my size, and saying “what is Santa trying to tell me?” So here we go, in my early 20’s I ordered an adult one on Amazon. I said “fuck it” because I live alone and can live in my own fantasy when I want to. When I would wear it, I would find myself feeling more worthy, maybe even prettier. I stood a little taller, and for some reason it was harder to slip into self-hatred. This is probably that dissociative part that got me through childhood.

I love period pieces. Pure, and historical fiction. I love Little Women, and Anne of Green Gables (highly recommend Anne with an E). Despite the brutal things that happen I also love Outlander, The Patriot, and Glory. I love Little House on the Prairie, Pride and Prejudice, Pirates of the Caribbean, and so many more. While I don’t watch these every damn day, several of these are my comfort films.

Allowing myself to live through books, movies, and different time periods saved my mind. Is it weird, or an example of my inner strength? I remember being so embarrassed to tell my therapist about all of this. I remember her asking why I loved the colonial times and I wouldn’t say. “Of all the things you told me this is the thing you don’t want to tell me?” I laughed. Eventually when I told her about all of this, she said, “What a wonderful life you were able to create for yourself.” I never thought about it this way. She didn’t find it weird at all, and she wanted to hear more about it.

I can no longer be ashamed for holding on to the comforting parts of my childhood. I shouldn’t be afraid of my coping mechanisms, even if they are different from others.

My therapist shared a quote with me, “We are the age that we are, and all of the ages that we’ve been.” I always wanted to keep these things to myself, even as a child. While this doesn’t take up my life as it once did, when I feel the pull to remember this piece of me, I know it’s my inner child reminding me what once saved her.

Maybe I don’t have candlesticks or sword fights, but I guess these things do speak to bravery. I can’t be ashamed of that.

Yes I have been emotional lately, yes I have not been sleeping well, and yes..several days ago I found myself crying over 4 words, “bows in my hair.”

There is a chance this would not have upset me if I was feeling better, but feelings are feelings and they are very real when they come.

I scrolled through many pictures of me as a child under the age of 6. Bow, bow, bow, picture after picture. By bow, I mean those tiny bow hair clips.

My childhood was confusing. I was given so many hugs, received so many I love you’s, and never went without the things I needed. The confusing part was that there was so much hurt, so much emotional neglect, and abuse by my father that went unnoticed by too many. I didn’t always feel seen or safe. I wasn’t always treated like a person.

But then… there were bows in my hair?

I cannot wrap my head around it, though I am starting to understand.

I went to school dressed in Gymboree outfits from my grandparents. Teachers saw a sweet, shy, small, well-behaved little girl. They had no reason to suspect anything other than that.

There I was just recently, crying on my bathroom floor, looking at some childhood photos. I remembered that the parent who hurt me the most enjoyed doing my hair the most. I sometimes struggle to have compassion for that little girl. I see her dressed in disguise. It wasn’t her doing. It wasn’t her fault, but I ask myself so many questions. If my parents didn’t spend so much time on my hair, if I wasn’t dressed in clean, nice clothes, would they have noticed? Would my teachers have noticed, or wondered? Would they ask if there was more to my shyness and kindness?

Then I feel guilty. I was told “I love you” and I had things when other kids didn’t. I don’t know how to see my childhood sometimes. Yes, actions speak louder than words, but I was shown both sides. Should I be disturbed or grateful? Can I be both? Is it bad if I don’t always feel grateful? I didn’t need things, I needed safety. I didn’t need to be told I was loved, I needed to feel it.

What I do know is that having bows in my hair has a greater meaning to me now. It allowed the world and my family outside my household, to believe everything was fine. It made me believe that despite how sad I would feel, I was expected to smile with those clips in my hair. Every day would be school picture day in my life.

Don’t get me wrong, I imagine I loved the bow clips. I probably even loved my parents doing my hair. That was my life. However, when you grow up, you can look back and see so many things differently. I can see how many photos masked my story.

I want to look back at photos of little me and see her, not the bows in my hair.

I said a strong statement the other day. I told my therapist that this feels a lot worse than when *insert a past trauma*. I really can’t compare the two. I wasn’t saying that my trauma wasn’t bad, but this was the best way I could describe how awful I feel. I told my therapist that the emotional pain is so bad, so intense, and the stress it is creating feels crippling.

“It’s hard to like myself right now.”

Well, there it is.

Guilt.

In my post about what I learned this Christmas, I wrote, “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.”

I may learn these things, but I need to consistently remind myself of them.

I tell myself, “You do not have a reason to feel guilty. You did nothing wrong.” It is so hard to believe it sometimes.

I have never experienced guilt like this before. I’ve always tried to do the good thing, the right thing. I’ve always tried to do the thing that will not hurt someone else. Is this what true guilt feels like? Turns out you can feel guilt even when you have not done a bad thing or made a mistake. I feel guilty about doing the right thing.

There are physical symptoms of guilt. I have had shooting neck pain and a headache for over a week. I am having trouble sleeping, and when I do I am having disturbing nightmares. I always have had nightmares, but they went away for a while, only now to return. Thinking about my situation can trigger nausea so badly that a couple times in the past week I have put a trash can at the side of my bed. My appetite is poor. My PTSD symptoms have returned, and I will find myself shaking under the covers. My chest will hurt. I will start to cry, not always because I am sad, but because physically I feel so terrible. My stomach is out of whack; I have been using a heating pad because of the pain. I ask myself if this will get easier. Is this happening because everything is still fresh? What if I physically feel worse and worse?

Guilt. This is all because of guilt. Guilt for text messages I have not replied to. Guilt for Christmas gifts I have not retrieved or exchanged. I have been turning to online support forums, friends, my therapist, reading quotes, over and over again asking if I really am doing the right thing. Is my body responding because this is new and change is scary, or because it is telling me it truly does not want this? I listened to my body when it told me I needed to go no contact, and now I’m listening to my body as it tells me how hard no contact truly is.

This is how I’ve grown up. I have always chosen my own hurt, my own discomfort, to avoid the conflict that comes with saying, “no.” I have been told I am “too nice.” So here I am, doing the opposite of what I have done my whole life. Here I am, putting myself first over my family. Here I am, feeling like I am bad. I feel like a kid, who has done a bad thing.

I have been reading a book regarding no contact and unhealthy family dynamics. One of the things I learned is the difference between abandonment and no contact. Without this understanding, comes guilt. One of the paragraphs states, “Instead of viewing our decision as ignoring them or abandoning them, we can look at it from the vantage point that we have simply changed the form of the relationship we share with them.” “The relationship is silent and ordered rather than chaotic.” (Excerpt from But It’s Your Family..Sherrie Campbell)

It doesn’t mean I don’t think about them. I do, a lot. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about them. It means that right now, I am protecting myself.

I don’t know what the future will hold. Maybe within this year I will open contact again. Maybe this will happen sooner than intended. Maybe I will reach a place of acceptance, enforce stricter boundaries than what I had before, and have low contact rather than none. Perhaps I can open a door for low communication, and still avoid all holidays and family gatherings. I’ve tried this, so maybe it is not possible. Maybe this will deny me of peace. However, maybe I can do it. Whatever decision I make, I don’t want it to be out of guilt, fear, or sadness. I want to make the decision knowing I will create peace within myself. I want to make the decision without hoping things will change. Maybe there doesn’t need to be an all or nothing.

I never believed it was OK to do the back and forth of opening and closing the door. I might have held on to this belief because I thought it was annoying or confusing for them. I told myself it would be harder for them to truly understand what they did wrong. What I am learning during this period of no contact, is that their feelings are not for me to worry about. If or when I’m ready, I can open or crack open that door with the intention of knowing that once I am disrespected, or manipulated again, the door will close for however long I want it to.

I know that in the past, opening the door only led to disappointment and hurt again. I am reminding myself I have choices, and that nothing has to be permanent. Knowing this, makes it easier to breathe. It can be a mental workout- having thoughts of guilt and self-doubt, to then try and think rationally about things. I have been learning to stop myself when I hear thoughts of self-doubt, and challenge it. When I am unable to do this, or the thoughts get too loud, it helps me to talk it through with someone else.

This period of no contact is bringing up hurt, but there would still be hurt if there was contact. Right now, I recognize how much good I am also gaining from this. I am learning a lot about myself, and the unhealthy situations I no longer want to put myself in. I am learning how to give myself what I deserve. What I am doing is crucial, not just for my wellbeing, but for my growth.

It has been 1 month. Crap, it has been 1 month as of today. When I first stopped responding, when I first put my foot down, I anticipated the worst. What if someone dies? What if something really bad happens? Certainly shit has hit the fan this past month, and certainly people have been upset. However, I can take a breath and look out the window and say to myself, “see, the world didn’t implode.” “You don’t feel safe, but you are.”

When I chose to leave graduate school, my program director told me my decision was not a reflection of failure, but a success, as it was a healthy decision I was making for myself.

I believe the same can apply to this.

I will not feel guilty for choosing to be healthy.

It is a new year. I said that I wanted to try and write about new things. I always say this. I end up realizing that it is OK to write about where I am at, and not pressure myself to write by pushing myself where I want to be. My posts may be more gray and gloomy lately, but I have to ride this wave. No matter how long it lasts.

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“What if I become more like someone else and then more things change, or people don’t like me the same?”

This is an old fear. I was reminded that historically the evidence has been that the right people seem to like me, flaws and all.

I was complimented recently for being an independent thinker. This is a good thing, but it doesn’t always feel like a good thing. The problem with going against what others expect you to do, is that people don’t like you as much.

I joked to a friend that I needed to go to Bitch School. Bitch University; taking a course in Bitch 101.

I was joking. The goal is not for me to become a bitch, but I do want to worry less about becoming somebody I would not want to be. I grew up believing that if I stood up for myself, I was being a bitch. I was told that I was. I am afraid of changing in a negative way. Instead of this “what if” I would like to ask myself “what if I change into someone I really like?”

There are 3 specific parts of me who are coming to the forefront lately. There is someone older, who wants to do good, but gets too caught up in her feelings. There is someone who is angry and feels incredibly misunderstood and unimportant. There is also someone younger, who is a bit naive, and surprised that nothing is how she imagined it was. There is another part that I can’t name right now. I believe this is the part that is in the process of changing and becoming.

Lately I have been asking myself in different situations which part of me is showing itself. Sometimes I am feeling all of those things at once and everything becomes clouded. It has been helpful to notice this when everything feels mixed up. I am able to say, “Oh okay this is coming from this, and this is coming from this. No wonder I am confused!”

I am feeling so good and also so terrible. I am feeling good about the space I have created, and I am feeling a bit more peace. I am also feeling terrible because I feel like I am disappearing. I know I wrote about this in a recent post. Everything feels harder because of this dissociation/depersonalization. I tend to confuse dissociation with depression. I know it would make sense if I was feeling both of them. Maybe I don’t even have to name it.

At times where I am struggling, I have to treat it the same as I would a physical sickness, or my arthritis. I have to take extra care of myself, and right now I am dragging my feet.

My work is so close, but driving feels exhausting. I have to work harder to focus whether it is remembering conversations, eye contact, where I am going, where I came from. When I meet with people at work I want to be 100% present with them, but I worry they will also recognize I am different. I wish I wasn’t working right now. I wish I had a break from more in life, not just certain people. I also know that working is helping me to get out of my head a bit.

I feel incredibly lonely and alone. Just because I have less people who are there for me right now, does not mean that those who are there for me are not making a difference. Those who are there for me at this time are helping me without even trying to “make it better.” It also would make sense that I feel alone, because I feel less connected to myself. I am trying so hard to feel present again. I worry that if I push myself out of how my body is choosing to heal, the pain will be unbearable.

Most of my writing lately has sounded like one big contradiction. I am sorting out my feelings, my opinions, my understanding. It sounds so simple, but I’m not sure people can truly understand how overwhelming this feels. I need to accept that some people just can’t understand. I can’t blame them. I just want clarity. I want things to start making sense. I also wonder if I am asking these questions because I am already on my way to things making sense.

If that makes sense..