Healing Awaits

Start small, start small. That’s what I was told. This writing thing bubbling inside of you? Just start small. So I didn’t. 

I started big-ish. In 2014, I was obsessed over a particular topic, so, duh, I hired a writing coach.  I was told I had a raw gift and, with help, I could hone my message. So I worked with that coach for almost a year and did All. The. Things to position myself for success. Thankfully she understood something that I couldn’t and told me it was ok to shelve an idea. To come back to it later. Or don’t. What she sensed (and I was clueless on) was that I had A LOT of internal work to do before I could begin to fully write. But you can’t usually just tell someone that. Especially someone blind to the truth. They have to come to the realization in their own time. So having lost some of my interest in the subject, I shelved it. And went on my way, continuing to do what I did.

I’m a pharmacist by training. A doctor of pharmacy in fact (be impressed because I was for years). And boy, did I live out all the best ‘shoulds’ that ever did exist. I should make good grades, I should take this job, I should lose weight, I should ignore this feeling of discontent, I should do this because the church says so, (but I want to do that because my heart says so…but they say the heart is deceitful above all things so I should ignore it).

I should, I should, I should.

Followed quickly by the ‘ifs’

If you were a good Christian you would…If you were a good daughter you would…, if you were a good wife you would…, if you were a good mother you would…

To write this exhausts me but to live it damn near killed me. By the end of  2018, I was at the end of my rope. A tricky, invisible rope that I carried with me everywhere I went. A rope that had unknowingly tethered me to my past and was slowly cutting off all circulation. And I was clueless to the loss of oxygen I was enduring. The ability to get up each day and paste on a smile was quickly fading. Playing tug of war with the rope became a battle I no longer had the energy to fight. I spent as much time as I could get away with in bed because that was the only way I had any solace from the exhaustion and brain fog. It felt like I was living my life while drowning in quicksand. But I had polished my veneer of happiness to a gleam for so long most people (including ME) had no idea what was going on.

Until November 2018 when I shared a thought on constant refrain with a new friend: “my family would be so much better without me.” It was my absolute truth. I believed it in the depth of my soul and the marrow of my bones. Unbeknownst to me, my friend was a couple of years ahead of me in her mental health journey and inserted herself immediately. Thank God for her bravery. She asked if I realized those were passive suicidal thoughts and, of course I didn’t, because all they were to me was the truth. She gave me her therapist’s number, I got over my issues, and that was that.

Except not.

The healing process has been one of the most harrowing experiences of my life. I thought it would kill me. But I knew if I didn’t do it, then that would kill me. So I might as well try for life. Feels like it’s taken forever. But I’m on the other side of it now. Because I didn’t stop, and I won’t stop. I would do anything for my husband and kids, including die for them, but what they needed (and need) is for me to live. And that required the work of healing.

The traumatized brain tells the craziest, most deceitful, yet most believable lies. I’ve made it far enough into this thing (I don’t know that it’s ever finished) that I can now speak with compassion and authority on what I’ve overcome. My biggest hold up on sharing has been the question of how to tell my story without shaming others in the process. It’s not my intent to damage or shame anyone. And ultimately, I don’t think I will, because it’s MY story. Not someone else’s. I can’t tell their truth and they can’t tell mine. And to remain silent because of this fear doesn’t seem right. It’s the story of what I, the sparkly, smart beauty queen, hider of secrets, had to do to overcome near death. And of what I have to continue to do to live a fully present, joyful life. 

This writing is a redemptive work for me. Another step of my healing. Am I a good writer? Who cares.  It doesn’t really matter. But what does matter is that others in similar situations (or dis-similar ones but with the same results) know they’re not alone. To validate that even if your struggle doesn’t seem like a big deal, IT IS! If it has affected you, it’s a big deal. And it will continue to affect you and the generations after you until you DEAL. WITH. IT! TRUST ME. Healing is painfully slow and, at times, maddening, but it’s possible for all of us. We just have to be willing to take the next, hard step. So however you’ve come to read this, I hope what you find in the posts to come are helpful. My intent is to post once a week but we’ll see. I’m being gentle with myself (something this perfectionist has learned to do over the last 4 years, sigh). Sign up with your email address to make sure you don’t miss one. 

Here’s a high quality photo me in 2018 vs 2022. A lot has changed but apparently I still love a hat :-)