Blog

Posted on

Adult Relationships & Priorities

Our wounds are often the openings into the best and most beautiful part of us. ~David Richo

Most people think of love as a feeling but love is not so much a feeling as a way of being present. ~David Richo, How to Be an Adult in Relationships: The Five Keys to Mindful Loving

The older we get, the more difficult it is to find other people who can give us the love our parents denied us. But the body’s expectations do not slacken with age—quite the contrary! They are merely direct at others … The only way out of this dilemma is to become aware of these mechanisms and to identify the reality of our own childhood by counteracting the processes of repression and denial. In this way we can create in our own selves a person who can satisfy at least some of the needs that have been waiting for fulfillment since birth, if not earlier. Then we can give ourselves the attention, the respect, the understanding for our emotions, to sorely needed protection, and the unconditional love that our parents withheld from us. ~Alice Miller, The Body Never Lies: The Lingering Effects of Hurtful Parenting

Never expect.
Never assume.
Never demand.
Just let it be.
If it’s meant to be,
It will happen.
~unknown

In the northern hemisphere more than mid way through fall. Fall is my favorite time of year for many reasons, and one of them is it is my birthday season. This is both my season of New Year and the kick off to the traditional Holiday Season.

This time of year has me thinking about a lot of things. Reflecting back on my past year, and years. Considering what has been working for me and what hasn’t. Connecting to the person I want to be and seeing the work I need to do to grow into her.

I’ve been exploring my wants and examining if they are realistic and mature, or if they are problematic and will ultimately cause me harm.

I’ve been tending to what I call my black holes, my attachment wounds. Finding ways to fill them myself, ways to find connection within to my own love, compassion, and acceptance.

I’ve also been thinking a lot about adult relationships, both platonic and otherwise. I’ve been thinking about the ways I’ve looked towards others to fill these black holes of mine. I’ve been thinking about the way we are socialized about romantic relationships and how we are supposed to be the other person’s number one priority and they are supposed to be ours. I’ve been thinking about Hallmark and happily every after and til death do us part and fairy tales in general.

I’ve been thinking about what it means to love someone unconditionally. And how that unconditional love doesn’t automatically give them a permanent place in our lives. I’ve been thinking about unbreakable love and how some people will always have a home in hearts whether or not they have a home in lives.

I’ve been thinking about loving someone and not expecting anything in return. What it means to be in a relationship without expectations or demands or assumptions and still getting (reasonable) needs and wants met.

And just what is a reasonable want or need?

Alice Miller has written that we can never expect unconditional love from anyone who isn’t our parents. That if we didn’t receive that unconditional love from our parents, that we need to do the work of unconditionally loving ourselves. That it is no one else’s job to fill those needs within us. And also, these needs don’t just go away.

We really do need to do the work of filling our own black holes.

We need to acknowledge them first. My guess is most of us have attachment wounds from childhood. Whether we experienced abuse or neglect or if our parents simply didn’t see us or love us in the ways we needed when we were young.

These wounds affect the ways we interact with others, our friends, our lovers, our children. Unchecked these wounds create expectations within us of how others should treat us, how they should know things about us without us sharing them, how they should make us and our relationship with them A, or The, priority. Always.

When we have these expectations, we will inevitably be disappointed. Because we can’t ever be another person’s number one, primary priority 24/7. And I’ve come to believe, not only we can’t be, we absolutely shouldn’t be.

I follow a lot of poetry and relationships accounts on my secret/personal IG profile. I see post after post about how if a person doesn’t make you their number one in all cases every moment of every day then they aren’t worth your time. How if we aren’t showered with attention and promises to stick around no matter what then they aren’t worthy of us. How we need to be treated like queens and kings, put on pedestals, worshiped like gods and goddesses.

These are all such unrealistic expectations. Especially as we grow older and have more and more responsibilities. Kids. Work. Aging parents. Our own mental health.

It is true that we should be respected within all our relationships, both platonic and sexual relationships. We should be appreciated. We should never be abused, physically, psychologically, or emotionally (and we should never do any of that to another). Effort within each relationship should relatively equal, or at least over time effort is equal-ish.

And, we aren’t goddesses or gods or kings or queens. We are each beautifully flawed human beings who are seeking connection. We each have our own wounding that we try to navigate the world with. We each have our own trauma lens that we view our relationships and ourselves through.

We can never expect or rely on another person to make us feel whole. It is not anyone else’s job to help us process our traumas or heal our wounds. This is our job.

And we don’t have to do it alone. Having good friends who can hold space for us helps. Having lovers or romantic partners who are doing their own work and can be supportive while we do our own. But ultimately the work is our own to do with the help of a therapist, coach, priest/pastor, or other person who is actually knowledgeable about how to guide a person through this work.

We can’t be the center of another person’s world. I’ve come to the place of deciding I actually want to be my friends’ and lover’s third priority. First priority is themselves. Second priority is any children they have, and in the case of my platonic relationships, their partner(s)/spouse comes in here too. I want to be a relatively solid third, with the understanding that sometimes in life I can’t even be that – parents age, other friends need attention because they are in crisis, work/careers need to be prioritized for a while, life happens.

I can however expect that I am my number one priority. My mental and physical health. My happiness. My safeness. My own trauma processing and healing of my own attachment wounds.

This doesn’t mean that I am suddenly all cool and collected when it comes to my relationships. It means I am a work in progress. It means I am doing my work to be more aware of the ways my black holes show up in my relationships. It means that when a friend or lover disappoints me or doesn’t meet an expectation I have, that I slow down, allow space for the sadness, and dig deeper into what that disappointment is really triggering in me.

Being an adult in relationships can be challenging. It means being brutally honest with ourselves. It means being mindful of boundaries, our own and those of others. It means checking in with how the behaviors of others are affecting us and deciding moment to moment if we are triggered if it’s because of our own stuff or because the other person is being abusive in some way.

To be clear, abuse isn’t okay. Ever.

And not being another person’s number one priority is part of being in adult relationships. It is an opportunity for us to look within and start making ourselves our own first priority.

/../

This essay was originally published in my newsletter on September 29, 2019. It has been revised and edited for publication here. To receive my most recent writing you can subscribe here.

Posted on

I want (a declaration)

On February 1, 2019 I wrote the following :: “I am getting to discover what I actually want. Who I am. The kind of person I want to be with. Not forever and happily every after. Because that illusion is shattered. Rather for now and we’ll see where the days take us. I want to be with someone who feels as cozy as the idea of home and who pushes me outside my comfort zones in ways I never imagined. And I want to be the same for them. I want someone who has a whole life and identity outside of me and us. And I want the same for me. I’m learning not to compromise these things.“

Then, on February 14, 2019 I wrote: “Want :: feel like home; feel safe, at ease; be silly; honest; easy; sweet; gentle; tender; trust; amazing sex; physical; cuddly; funny.”

On February 15, 2019 I met a truly amazing person and could check all these things off.

I believe there is power in stating what we want in our lives. Not in a “manifesting” kind of way, more in a getting really clear on what we want in our lives so that we can learn to not settle or compromise when we don’t need to.

I created a revised list of wants in August and have been editing it over the last couple months. I have been holding this list relatively close. When I started I was going to limit my number of wants to 48 (as I’m turning 48 today) and then realized putting limits on our wants is kinda going against the point. So these wants flowed. Some are about the type of intimate partner/relationship I want. Some are about the friends I want; how I want to be with my kids; how I want to be in life in general. All of them are morphing and shifting and changing. And some of my wants are likely missing because I haven’t been able to fully articulate them yet.

And.

For the days leading up to my birthday, each day I posted a different image that lists some of these wants on my secret IG account. I did this for me, to help me get clear with myself. To explore the ideas of adult relationships and wanting and wounding and getting curious about how some of my wants may not necessarily be so great for me, and also some are.

To be clear I don’t want all these things from a single person. Rather, these are things I want in my life, somewhere, with someone. And sometimes that someone is me, myself and not someone outside of me.

Below is the list of wants, in its entirety. It is a love poem of sorts, to myself, to the world, and to you.

In rebellious solidarity and wanting, always. xoox grr

I want (a declaration)

I want passion. Red. Hot. Smoldering and bursts of flames.
I want deep belly laughs that won’t stop.
I want to write. About processing trauma. Poetry. A memoir. A love story.
I want touching. I want not being able to keep our hands off each other. I want personal space respected.
I want to paint. I want to freely express my Self. I want to move it out. I want to let it in.

I want snow magic and summer heat.
I want saltwater and salt air, rocks and sand.
I want narrow trails through dense, lush forests.
I want open, honest, consistent communication.

I want political compatibility with just enough difference to spark debates so deep we get turned on and can’t help but want to kiss each other ravenously.
I want out of body experiences. I want deep dives into our souls.
I want support. I want to be told to never doubt myself, to never sell myself short.

I want safeness and home and being pushed outside my comfort zone.
I want mystery and curiosity. I want well known and semi-predictable.
I want rainy days curled up in bed and sunny days stretching on the water.
I want the sweetness of protectiveness knowing they know I can take care of myself.

I want games of pool and smooth bourbon and pale ales. I want witty conversation and knowing looks.
I want to light up at the sight them as they light up at the sight of me.
I want good morning texts when I can’t have good morning kisses.
I want hand holding, our hands fitting each other’s perfectly.
I want to feel valued, understood, appreciated. I want to value, understand, and appreciate.

I want texting just because, without concern about bothering or boring each other.
I want forehead kisses and ass slaps.
I want rolling over in his sleep and wrapping his arms around me.
I want dinners in and dinners out. I want movies in bed and movies at the cinema. I want drinks at home and at the bar.

I want dog walks at twilight.
I want safeness and ease.
I want honesty and emotional intelligence.

I want sweet and tender, gentle and kind. I want softness as strength.
I want to trust and be trusted.
I want flowers for special occasions and just because.
I want to get lost in his eyes and while I’m there knowing how loved and wanted I am.

I want to feel accepted, in all my awkwardness and dorkiness.
I want to not always be in control or making all the decisions. I want equal effort.
I want to break cycles and patterns. I want to shift . I want to fill the black holes within myself so they can no longer devour me or anyone else.
I want snuggles and secret sharing and telling dumb jokes.
I want childish giggles and smirks and the thoughts that go with them.

I want to be alone together, each doing our own thing in the comfort of each other’s presence.
I want singing together in the car to my favorite bands.
I want road trips and adventures. I want quiet Sundays together at home.
I want to feel so overwhelmingly happy I have to sob.

I want dancing late at clubs with loud music and dancing slow in our living rooms in the middle of the day to no music at all.
I want sparks. I want electricity. I want fireworks.
I want quiet. I want peace. I want breath.

I want the Marvelverse and vampires and campy thrillers.
I want butterflies and giddy nervousness. I want ease and relaxation.
I want to tingle at the sound of his voice.
I want lots of amazing sex.

I want sunsets and moonrise and star gazing and warm fires under dark skies.
I want sunrise and burning fog and cool crisp air and seeing our breath.
I want freedom and space and closeness and intensity.
I want creativity and rawness.
I want growth. Mine. Theirs. Ours.

I want to be wholly seen and still be adored. I want to feel wanted, every part of me.
I want open, honest communication. I want shadows shared. I want to bask in each other’s sun.
I want to live life in the fullest ways I can. I want rest and naps and regeneration.
I want gentle and rough. I want smooth and scratchy.

I want unbreakable love and appropriate boundaries. I want clarity. I want emotional maturity.
I want to be held together when I feel I’m falling apart. I want to hold them together when they feel like they are falling apart.
I want separate lives. I want our lives to blend and grow together.

I want expansion and contraction. I want beyond the edge of the universe and cuddled close together on the couch.
I want playfulness and fun. I want seriousness and dedication.
I want to go out and stay in. I want to be social and have solitude.
I want connection beyond this realm, indescribable, outside of language and the deep knowing that goes with this.

I want to not take life so seriously, not take myself so seriously.
I want pleasure in every sense. I want financial stability and security.
I want the hard times that bring us together and help us grow.
I want open communication & expressing our needs and wants, without demands or expectations.
I want presence. I want being here now. I want self-awareness and doing our own work. I want repair when harm is unintentionally done. I want loving each other and our selves enough to encourage growth, change, and healing.

I want long term with no contracts or promises. Decades filled with single days waking up and choosing each other and ourselves over and over.
I want to feel more alive than I ever have before.
I want what I had. I want what I have. And I want more.

*I reserve the right to edit and revise as I want.*

…

Posted on

The stages & tasks of grief

Every broken heart has screamed at one time or another: Why can’t you see who I truly am? ~Shannon L. Alder

When you experience loss, people say you’ll move through the 5 stages of grief … Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance … What they don’t tell you is that you’ll cycle through them all every day. ~Ranata Suzuki

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.

At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me. ~C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

Most of us have heard of the Kubler-Ross stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance). It is a standard way of looking at grief and how we as humans process it. Sometimes folks think it is a linear progression, that once we finish one stage we’re done with it and move onto the next. And grief doesn’t actually work that way. We may feel each of the stages at different times or we may feel them all at once or we may have both experiences at different times.

During my clinical internship we utilized Worden’s Tasks of Grief, which are a bit less known, and I feel more powerful and representative of how we actually process grief, whereas I see the stages of grief as the emotions we cycle through when grieving.

The tasks of grief are:
Task 1 :: To accept the reality of the loss
Task 2 :: To work through the pain of grief
Task 3 :: To adjust to an environment in which the deceased are missing
Task 4 :: To find an enduring connection to the deceased while embarking on a new life

As I’ve said before, we don’t only grieve the deceased though. We grieve relationships that have come to an end. We grieve our children growing up and leaving home (which we also simultaneously celebrate their achievement). We grieve paths not taken and choices not made.

We have the opportunity to grieve what was taken from us when we were young, either through abuse or neglect.

And we can utilize the information of the stages and tasks of grief to do this work.

When I look at my own abuse, I think about the little girl who existed before it and then who essentially died because of what was done to her. That may sound dramatic to some. And it is true that the abuse any of experienced changed the course of our lives, irrevocably. The young, innocent, trusting person who existed prior to the chronic abuse and or neglect ceased to exist and grew into the people we are today.

We will never know what our lives would have been without the abuse and neglect we experienced. We will never know who those innocent children would have grown up to be.

When we are able to begin to consider all that was lost, we can then start to feel the emotions that come with that loss. The denial (which can also show up as it wasn’t that bad). The anger (or rage of what was done to us). The bargaining. The depression. The acceptance (which isn’t about it being okay, but about understanding these things happened and they deeply impact us).

We will cycle through all these emotions, often having more than one at the same time. This is part of grieving what was lost, yes. It is also part of processing the trauma itself. Of allowing ourselves to come into our bodies and actually feel the sadness of what was done.

And while feeling the emotions and sensations is vital, we also need to find ways to process them, to allow them to flow and move out of our bodies, minds, beings. We need to feel yes, and also to not get stuck in the feelings.

Emotions want to flow. They want to move. They want to come and go.

And since many of us have lived our lives at least partially dissociated and suppressing our feelings (emotions and the physiological sensations that go with them) we need to learn how to process them.

Worden’s tasks give us a way to do that. They give us a framework. One where we can acknowledge and accept the losses we experienced because of our trauma. Once we have acknowledged them we can then work through those emotions and sensations, feeling them, allowing them, and knowing they are valid and real. To accept the impacts of the abuse and how it has influenced our choices and lives and to create the space to ask all the what if questions we want. And to find ways to connect to those younger parts of us, to let them know they are safe now, and that you will keep them safe.

It is intense work. It is non-linear. Each individual comes at this work in the ways that are right for them. Often we move back and forth between tasks or are working through more than one task at a time. There is no one right way to process our trauma or our grief associated with it. We each come to this work in our time and work through it at our own pace.

And it is important work, I believe. Vital. So that we don’t perpetuate harm. So we don’t continue cycles and patterns that hurt us and can hurt others. So we can begin to live our lives on our own terms, becoming more and more self-aware and learning to shift and change the ways we respond to others and ourselves.

/../

This essay was originally written for my weekly(ish) newsletter on September 8, 2019. It has been revised and edited for publication here. To receive my most recent essays (and more) you can subscribe here.

We will be utilizing both the stages and tasks of grief in the seven week writing program Embodied Writing :: Unspoken Grief. To learn more and register you can go here. We begin on September 16, 2019.

Posted on

Seasonal Grief

So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love. ~E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly

Anything that’s human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less scary. The people we trust with that important talk can help us know that we are not alone. ~Fred Rogers

You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp. ~Anne Lamott 

Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them. ~ Leo Tolstoy

I’ve mentioned before how much I dislike the month of August.  Historically it is month filled with death anniversaries (of long-time important pets, people, and a couple long term relationships).  I feel extra anxious throughout the month as my body re-experiences the losses of years past and my mind going through another round of processing.  August has a heaviness to it for me.  It feels oppressive and generally speaking all my “stuff” is really up, front and center, leaving me exhausted at the least and feeling like my life is spinning out of control at the worst.

This past month was no exception to any of this.  And to say I am thrilled to be in September is the understatement of the century.

It is also true that this August has also been filled with new found appreciation of this season.  Of the heat.  The sun.  Of those little in-between spaces where I can breathe.  Those joyful moments of watching my kids enjoy the sun and water and sand and driftwood; as well as those happy moments of retreating to the shade, eating popsicles or painting on our deck, and cuddling on the couch watching shows together.  

This August, the first August in my memory, was filled with both ands.

Truth is all my Augusts were likely filled with lots of both ands.  Lots of dark and lots of light.  And because of where I was in my life I couldn’t see it all.  This is what it is.  And it is true several Augusts I was deep in the raw and traumatic grief of recent losses, and so seeing any light in those dark times simply wasn’t possible.

Both experiences, past and most recently last August(s), are true.  Both are valid.

It is also true that now we are in September I feel like I breathe better.  Like a weight has been lifted.  Like all my stuff that has been stirred and swirled up for the past 31 days is settling down and I can get back to being the person I want to be in the world instead in a constant struggle with my own automatic trauma responses and focusing on little else than slowing them down so I don’t damage fragile relationships or even the more stable ones.

I believe we all have times of the year that do this to us, that are filled with anniversaries and or stir up all our “stuff”, our deep woundings, our painful losses.  For many this time of year is the holiday season.  For some it is summer.  For others we have a specific month that just feels like Hell Month.  Some experience multiple times during the year that are like this.

In all this stirring, there is grief.  Old grief.  New layers of old grief.  New grief.  

Grief is a part of life.  Learning to feel, to process, to be in, and to allow it flow… this is our work.  

Acknowledging how that grief shows up for us – in our bodies, in my minds, in our moods, in our emotions, the ways we interact with others.  Learning to slow down and recognize what is happening, how grief is affecting us and our lives, that is not a simple or easy process.  And it can be done.  

This is the work of our own unraveling and rebuilding.  The work of falling apart and putting ourselves back together.  The work of dismantling and creating something new.  The work of deep love, and the heartache that we open ourselves up to because of it.

We all have much to grieve.  Death, any type of death, is a transition.  This is true as much for the person or thing that has died as it is for those of us still left standing.  We each experience death within our own lives, within our Self, differently, and still we all experience it.  Change, even good change, means the end of something.  Every beginning is preceded by an ending.  

And.

There is a beauty in grief.  It means we loved.  We loved deeply.  

As we begin our grief work of what could have been, that What If grief I’ve written about before, we find the deep love we have for our Self, our past selves, our current Self, and the Self we are becoming.  There can be no grief without love.  And that is what makes grief work beautiful, all the love that is a necessary part of the work is revealed.

/../

This essay was originally written for my weekly(ish) newsletter on September 1, 2019. It has been edited for publication here. To receive my most recent essays (and more) you can subscribe to my newsletter here.

In Embodied Writing :: Unspoken Grief, we will spent some time unearthing and embracing all the love we have for our younger Selves, our present self, and our future Selves. If you would like to learn more you can go here.  Partial scholarships (of 50%) are available for those who are called to this work but cannot afford it.

Posted on

Breaking cycles & grief

Be fearless. Have the courage to take risks. Go where there are no guarantees. Get out of your comfort zone even if it means being uncomfortable. The road less traveled is sometimes fraught with barricades bumps and uncharted terrain. But it is on that road where your character is truly tested And have the courage to accept that you’re not perfect nothing is and no one is — and that’s OK. ~Katie Couric

You’ll learn, as you get older, that rules are made to be broken. Be bold enough to live life on your terms, and never, ever apologize for it. Go against the grain, refuse to conform, take the road less traveled instead of the well-beaten path. Laugh in the face of adversity, and leap before you look. Dance as though EVERYBODY is watching. March to the beat of your own drummer. And stubbornly refuse to fit in. ~Mandy Hale, The Single  Woman: Life, Love, and a Dash of Sass

A thing about doing our own personal trauma work is that we are doing the work of breaking long standing cycles and patterns, many that have been passed down through generations and generations.  We are also helping stop the cycles being passed forward through future generations.  It is intense work and the ripples move in all directions.

And.

When we decide to do this work, that is the very first cycle we are breaking.  We are going against the status quo of our families of origin and our culture.  We are calling out the dysfunction that we were raised within and stating it isn’t okay.  We stop keeping secrets.  We stop keeping up appearances.  

And sometimes, those around us, don’t particularly like it.

Going against the grain is rarely comfortable.  And when we begin to break these patterns and cycles those around us become uncomfortable too.  

This can show up in a number of ways.  From subtle to overt attempts at gaslighting, sabotaging our work, desperate attempts to keep the status quo, including saying what we know happened never did.

Or.

Those around us can actually begin to do their own work.  

Or.

There  is a combination of all of the above.

When we begin and continue on the path of our own trauma processing, we can lose people.  Friends and or family.  This looks different for everyone of course, and isn’t always true; and I’ve seen it happen often enough, that I it is something I always talk with my clients about.

As we do this work, our relationship with our Self shifts and changes and so our relationships with others also shift and morph.  The relationships can either grow stronger or they can disintegrate, and often we are surprised by which relationships do what.  

These losses, of friendships, of family, are not easy or simple losses.  There is intense grief involved.  There may be times when we think doing this work isn’t worth the losses.  And that is okay.  We are where we are in our process, and it is true that sometimes holding on to a relationship, even if ultimately harmful to us, is what we want and need at that time.  And so, we stop our work in many ways and perhaps continue it others.  Or we stop for a while and then come back to it.  Or we work on strengthening the relationship so that it can tolerate our own growth (and the growth of the other person) and then come back to the work.

And.  In that last option, the other person has to be willing and able to do some of their own work too.  This is something we can’t control or dictate.  

I believe there is incredible power in doing our trauma processing work.  Breaking the patterns and cycles of inter-generational trauma is no easy feat.  And it is also so freeing.  Liberating.  We learn how to develop deep and vulnerable relationships with ourselves and others.  We learn how to feel our emotions and their sensations without going into total overwhelm.  We learn resilience.  We learn peace.  We learn to be generally at home in our bodies.  

And often there are losses that come with these incredible gains.  Those losses can cut deep.  They can be horribly painful.  And you are the only one who can ever judge if they are worth it or not.

I will say though, that while I have experienced intense loss because of my own work on setting boundaries and calling out harmful or hurtful behaviors of others, and while I miss some of those people daily, I am so much happier in my life and body now.  

We can miss people and also not want them in our lives.  

We can heavily grieve these losses and know there is a freedom in the loss too.  

The more we are able to embrace this, the more of our own work we are able to do.

/../

This essay was originally written for my weekly(ish) newsletter on August 27, 2019 and has been edited for publication here. To receive my most recent essays (and more!) you can subscribe to my newsletter here.

**Essay now on Substack