Fear of invalidation

Having my feelings validated has always been a huge issue in my life. I’ve always been told that talking about my feelings is complaining and a very selfish thing to do. Although logically I know otherwise, obviously, somewhere inside I still harbor guilt talking about my feelings.

The fear of being judged in certain aspects of my life still haunts me even after years of sobriety, and is probably the reason why I have neglected to post for so many months. I have felt free to “like” and remark on other’s blogs, giving them words of encouragement. I have always been a nurturer by nature and search for some life’s lesson for myself in other’s posts.

I’ve been concerned sharing my true feelings on WordPress because of the fear of judgment. But considering I posted just recently and only three people out of 36 followers visited, and only two are truly verified as followers of mine, I really don’t give two shits anymore. As a matter of fact, I’m starting to rethink who’s blog I’m going to follow and encourage from now on.

In my outside life, I have spent years purging my life of those, including family members, who were toxic to me and my wellbeing. Some of my sibling think we have a close bond, but they are so wrong. When I try to talk about my feelings about the past, present, future, anything or anyone, I pretty much get the same response. I’m expected, as I was as a child, to suck it up and just deal or let it go. In the past, I’ve tried to explain that’s not my process, but they look at me like I’ve just grown a horn in the middle of my forehead. They chose to live in denial of so many, many things that have occurred in our past. So now, I keep my feelings to myself or try to avoid family like the plague.

The last few weeks I have really been struggling with my feelings and it’s really difficult because I have no one to discuss them with except a weekly visit to my counselor.

My son, who just moved in with me, and I had a disagreement last night. I expressed my feelings and he stated, “You’re way too sensitive”. OMG really??? It was like hearing my mother’s voice from the grave. It triggered me big time. Not only have I lived alone for years, I have literally been alone for years, so I immediately resorted to the old pattern of shutting down. I went to my room and stayed there for the rest of the evening, leaving him alone to care for my 10 month old grandson.

I do everything alone and I am self-supporting. I went from being co-dependent from childhood until 41, to being totally independent and self-sufficient. Last year I had two surgeries that I went through on my own. There was no one there to hold my hand before, during or after. I didn’t share on line about it. In my outside life I sucked it up and didn’t tell others because it was what I was taught and it seems what the Universe wants me to do. But it gets tiresome being by oneself and being the only one I can depend on… EVER. At times like these I keep remembering the words uttered by Sonny Robinson, a psychic medium acquaintance of mine, “If you’re all alone or feeling alone, man do I understand. Open your eyes and look around you. Your support group has been there this whole time”. I’d really like to think that’s true, but for me it feels it only pertains to other people.

I have found myself getting angry and bitter a lot these days. If you’d known who I was before, light hearted and so positive, you’d know it’s not like me. So, I keep praying for my HP to relieve me of the bondage of self and to take away my difficulties. I keep praying my HP will put a somewhat healthy person in my life with whom I can talk about these things, who doesn’t have a hidden agenda.

Hide your stretch marks ladies, the bikini police are coming…

courtesy of woodsy at rgbstock.com

Yes I’m daring to go there, someone has to.  It’s soooo out there ladies, so let’s put on the table and speak of it.  Everyone wants to hide them, the dreaded, shameful stretch marks.

It never cease to amaze me how women who do not have stretch marks seem to flaunt that very fact in the faces of those of us who do.  Well, la-de-da.  Not everyone was blessed to be born with Stretch Armstrong skin; and if you don’t know who Stretch Armstrong is, Google him.

As much oil slicking, cream lathering and vitamin E sucking one does, if you’re gonna get ’em, you’re gonna get ’em.  Some of us who were not blessed with smooth, unblemished skin after carrying a child or losing weight, do not always take it as well as others.  I know one lady who wears her stretch marks proud.  She calls them her “mommy marks” and wears them like a badge of honor.  God bless her beautiful, sweet, pure soul.  I wish I had that kind of mindset.

Plastic surgery?  Oh, hell yes!  If I had the cash rolling in, in a heartbeat I’d have a full on tummy -tuck, and maybe a couple of other tuck’s as needed.  Yes, I’m that kind of vain and I’ll be the first to admit to it.  But as far as nature’s concerned, like so, so many others, I didn’t hit the lottery when it came to stretchy skin.  Nor was I born into, marry into, or did I come into a fist full of money to take care of what nature did not.

When my two oldest were little, they would rub my “bumpy” belly to soothe them while I read them bedtime stories every single night.  Today, my daughter does not want to look at my belly.  She says she already knows what it looks like and doesn’t care to see it again.  Girl, pa-l-e-e-e-ase.  You were my first born and the very reason why my belly looks like this.  So as you walk away in your bikini-clad body, remember this, if it weren’t for this body, you wouldn’t have that body to walk away in.

So those of you who have been fortunate enough to forego, one way or another, the stretch mark dilemma, lucky, lucky you.  But please don’t mess with those who are not as fortunate.  Everyone has flaws.  Some you can see, others you can’t.  And just because your flaws aren’t visible, doesn’t mean others aren’t seeing them.

Saging be damned…My heart took over

Well, I spent a good part of the morning writing about the saging process of my home, why I do it and the benefits…. and I lost it.  It’s somewhere out there in WordPress Land.  Maybe someday it’ll find it’s way back home to me. I wanted something a little lighter, less dark to talk about after saging.

In the meantime, I’m having a brain-fart…. so, I’m going to just add a piece I wrote, back in 1999.  It’s upbeat, unlike most of my dark, deep stuff.  Needless to say,  I was in a really good space when I wrote this for a friend who was not.

author unknown

My Heart Says...

I come to you now
with my heart on my sleeve
Re-membering it's ok
I just have to believe

I feel such a sadness
for those I can't help
I can, but I can't
without hurting myself

The choices are many
but seem like so few
And I know in these times
it's hard to know what to do

The path you have taken
seems rocky and bare
and sometimes it appears
you are all alone there

Lie your head to your soul
and listen real close
The answer will be
the one you "feel" most

When you look to your heart
to find what is true
You live in God's plan
and what is right for you.

Addiction… so you think you’re immune to the stuff

Addiction… it’s such an underestimated word. Some people cringe when they hear it, thinking we should just get over it. To those people I say, educate yourselves. If you think, like I once did, that addicts live under bridges and drink canned-heat, you are living in la-la land.  Chances are, you know someone who is an addict of some sort.

Before I had a name for my addiction, I really thought I was going crazy. I knew I drank too much, but kept trying to control it. Like so many others I had the preconceived notion that an alcoholic was not functionable. I worked 7 days a week, had my own place and the main breadwinner of my family. For years I purchased and read self-help books by any author I could find, trying to fix what ailed me. Obviously, none helped until I saw a book that said “I’ll Stop Tomorrow”. I thought to myself, “God, how many times have I said that about so many thing in my life”. So I started to read it right there in the book store. It was a book  on Alcoholism. The first couple of pages told me all I need to know. I identified all over the place and I knew. Oh, Hells Bells…this chick is a full blown alcoholic! Believe it or not, I felt relief. I was not crazy.. I had a name for what was wrong with me, therefore I could do something about it. That was the beginning of my long journey out of my own self made hell.

The following I wrote 3 years before before I discovered I had an addiction.  The piece remained untitled until a few years ago when I figured out exactly what I was writing about. Funny how our mind works.

courtesy of wintersixfour at Morguefile.com

Addiction

Lost souls trapped in an endless hall
of empty promises and broken dreams
where nothing is
as it ever seems

Where monsters
with bright colored eyes
look to devour what's left
from those who have already died inside

No way out
Nowhere to go
Void from above
Void from below

There is no light
in this hall of hell
just the glowing eyes that draw us back
to make the same mistakes we know so well

Only wishing to be freed
from the loneliness and pain
but the monsters continue to feast
again.. and again

So hopeless.. so helpless
and empty the lives
of those who have to exist
with the monsters of lies

So those wretched monsters
will continue to feed
off those who are dead
but still can bleed.

It’s my journey and I’ll cry if I want to

I cannot tell you how many times when I was growing up I would hear “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry for!” Well, hot damn!  After you’ve fallen and had glass embedded in your hand at the age of 9, just had your hind end beat with a belt or been molested by an uncle who lives at your house, who the hell doesn’t have something to cry for.  These are just a few examples of the dysfunctional dynamics of my childhood home.  So, when I figured out I could put my feeling to pen and paper, out they came.

It took a few years to actually express how I really felt, because of all the confusion I had surrounding my feelings. I didn’t know how to express them appropriately. So crying was my outlet for anger, resentment, hate, anguish, sadness, love, anything positive or negative.

Back in 2001 I wrote a little ditty  called “It’s Ok if I Cry”.  I was still trying to come to terms with being ok to cry and that it was not a weakness.

By the way, the little girl inside of me that you will read of so much in my poetry, has healed nicely today. The person she gets to lean on and depend on to protect her, grown up me.

My oldest grandson, Alec, as a baby

It's Ok if I Cry

There are times I sit and wonder
why I'm the chosen one
To bear the physical hardships
For someone who's so young

I'm told that I am strong
and I'm lucky to be alive
I smile and nod in agreement
If they could only see inside

Sometimes I feel like a little girl 
needing someone to hold me near
Someone to lovingly stroke my hair
and help ease away my fears

Someone who'll say, it's ok to cry
"as much as you need to dear"
Someone who will not leave me alone
in my darkness and my fears

Someone who will not say "Don't cry"
Or say, "Please don't be sad"
They will not say how brave I am
or that things aren't all that bad

Sometimes I feel not all grown up
I still have a little girl inside
 Who fears what she does not understand
And sometimes she just needs to cry.