Hard Days

Write 31 Days Day #11

Some days are harder than others.

Today has been a hard one and I can't tell you why. I've struggled all day to come up with something meaningful to share in this space. It's a day like any other. I've done the usual things, but there have been more dark images and thoughts today. 

That's the way it is with survival. And every time I write something like that, I am reminded that is the way it is with life. I'm really no different from anyone else on this big blue ball. We all have good days and bad days. Ups and downs. Highs and lows.

It's not about having the bad days. It's about how I handle them. Today I did okay. I got some things accomplished that needed taking care of. I talked with a few people. I ate pretty well and did some stretching. And I spent a lot of time snuggling with Millie.

Have you met Millie, yet? No? Well, here she is!

She's part chihuahua and part feist. She's probably about 12 years old. I got her through a rescue program back in the spring. She's my spoiled sweetie who likes nothing better than snoozing in the big comfy chair most days.

We napped together today and I was kind to myself about the hard time I was having. I call that a win.

Blessings!

Welcome, 2015

Welcome, 2015.

Welcome a new year. A clean slate. A fresh start.

A chance to do better at everything. At loving myself.

I'm welcoming in more thoughts and actions concerning things that are important to me.

I've been a wife and mom for nearly 30 years (yikes! I'm old) and I'm just now recognizing how important it really, really is to feed my passions and nurture myself. How good it is for me, yes, but how much better a wife and mom I can be when I do that! It seems foreign and counter-productive to me. This focusing on me, to help others, but that's how it works.

Once again I am reminded of Jesus' words -- 

37 He said to him, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ 38 This is the greatest and first commandment. 39 And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ (Matt. 22:37-39)

If I'm not loving me, I can't be loving others. And that is what I'm called to do.

So, welcome, 2015. A new year of learning to love myself because Jesus said so.

Blessings.

linking up with Five Minute Friday

It's the most wonderful time of the year . . .

But is it really? Let's be clear I enjoy the holidays. I especially like Thanksgiving because it's all about being appreciative and grateful for our families, friends, homes, and food. We actually have one day each year set aside to stop and really think about how blessed we are. And there is FABULOUS stuff to eat!

But, but. The holidays bring out a lot of other feelings besides gratitude. A lot of those other feelings are the result of societal expectations, but others are experiential. The commercials tells us to feel one way, but our memories remind us of past holidays and how we felt let down.

I'm attempting to write something with depth and meaning and the reality is I'm depressed. Not as depressed as I was a few days ago, but I know it will be a see-saw from now until after the new year. Because it's hard not to feel bummed when my holidays won't look like the TV commercials, and I'll be reminded of family dissension. Reminded of family I don't interact with (by my own choosing and for my own good), but I miss the idea of a family filled holiday.

I have this little voice in my head that reminds me over and over again that it's all my fault that I don't have a TV family. It's all my fault that I'm not over the top happy for 2 straight months of the year. It's all my fault that I'm tired and headachy, and would rather sleep and watch TV than decorate my house, bake cookies, and shop. So I wind up feeling like the Grinch. And I'm not the Grinch. I'm a basically happy, upbeat person. Yes, parts of the holidays are difficult because they aren't the way I want them to be. But I have family and friends that I share the holidays with -- I am not alone. I have more stuff than I will ever be able to appreciate, let alone use. 

I sat in my therapist's office on Tuesday and felt relief wash over me as tears squeezed from my eyes. She reminded me that PTSD from childhood abuse is one of the most difficult diagnoses to deal with, because these traumatic events happened during my formative years. In my case throughout my formative years. The negative patterns are imprinted on me. It's not that I am unwilling to let go of the past, but rather that it is imprinted on my brain. So, yes, it's going to crop up. There are going to be triggers. Getting over it doesn't mean it didn't happen. Just like getting over the flu doesn't mean you don't remember how sick you felt when you had it. 

I read a quote this morning -- 

“If you believe you deserve nurturing only when you’re extremely upset, you’re like the majority of survivors who feel they have to be totally falling apart before they slow down and take care of themselves. But taking care of yourself should not be confined to times of crisis. Nurturing and taking care of your needs should become a daily habit, not something special to be pulled out in an emergency.” The Courage to Heal Workbook by Laura Davis

and it reminded me to take care of me. So that's what I'm doing. I drinking lots of water, paying attention to what I eat (but not too much!), resting when I'm tired, getting some exercise, doing yoga, seeing the chiropractor, talking with my therapist, and planning some fun things just for me. 

When I dream about the episodes of abuse, it is as if I am reliving them. The key is to remind myself when I awaken that I didn't cause the dreams to come anymore than I caused the abuse to happen. I'm learning to see the return of the dreams as my subconscious telling me to slow down and take care of me. It's not my fault, but I can do some things to help myself.

With those ideas in my head (and in writing) I can enjoy lots of things and people and food this holiday season, hopefully release some those expectations, and just be in the moments to come. 


linking up with Just Write

Reflection

. . . the art of bending back.

I don't like to look at myself in the mirror. I make myself do it when I'm doing my hair or makeup. It's unavoidable when I step out of the shower in the morning. Over time I've been forcing myself to look . . . really look at myself. For a long time all I could see were the negatives -- round cheeks, graying hair, a much rounder body. 

This month I designated as self-care month for me. I didn't create a lengthy to do list. Instead I've tried each morning to check in with myself and see what sounded like self-care for that day. The month isn't going exactly the way I imagined it would, but I am paying more attention to my wants and needs, and being a lot less strident with myself.

It's a month of reflection in many ways. I'm bending back into my old self. The one that existed before the abuse. The one who thought more about herself that what other people thought about her. I'm not calling it selfishness (although I would have in the past), but am rather reframing it at "as a valuable and necessary step in providing proper care to others" (Counseling Today January 2013). If I won't take care of myself, why should anyone else?

Yesterday I looked in the mirror longer than usual. I realized that, yes, I've gained weight and things aren't as taut as they once where, but that smile is still there and brighter than it was during the worst of things. I'm still me -- someone who cares a lot about how others feels. Someone who will go a long way to keep from hurting another person. Someone who likes to laugh out loud, and desperately wants to be accepted for who she is, warts and all. 

Because the first step in getting what I want is to offer it to myself. So I'm reflecting and bending back to take better care of me.

linking up
 with Writer's Workshop

Wordless Wednesday -- A Delivery

linking up with Wordless Wednesday and Wordless Wednesday at The Jenny Evolution

Misperceptions -- OR -- I Thought I Was Fat

This past weekend my husband turned 50. My daughter posted a bunch of old photos on Facebook in his honor. And then she posted a bunch more because she was having fun. It went on and on all weekend. What a good time we had looking back at those photos -- babies, toddlers, school days, dress up. It was lovely.

But . . . but, for me there was a recurring theme that is still nagging at me. I've thought I was fat most of my life. And now at 51 when I'm heavier than I've ever been, I look back at those pictures and I realize I wasn't fat. And I find myself grieving for the lost time spent worrying about weight and what I looked like. Time that would have been so much better spent enjoying myself, my husband, my kids, my friends, my life.

It's vain and shallow of me that one of the first things I noticed looking back was my size, but truth be told I was stunned. How could I have thought I was fat? 

Blame it on a lot of things -- the media, fear of failing (at anything!), misinterpretations of comments made by others, and abuse. Abuse that made me feel "less than". Abuse that made me question every thought and idea and belief that popped into my head. Abuse that made me want to hide my body, as if that would somehow keep me from being abused again -- a protective shield if you will. Abuse that told me if I felt good about myself I was proud and arrogant, and deserving of the past abuse.

So I'm trying to learn to love myself regardless of what the scales say, and I'm learning to ask questions about my health and weight. Learning to eat and exercise in a way that honors my body. That makes me healthy and strong, regardless of what the scales and the dress sizes say.

I still would love to have that time back, but that's not an option. What I can do is move forward with clearer perceptions. And a lot more self-love.

Peace.

Because I Am His Beloved

We had the same conversation on the way home from church. We've had it a million times. The lesson had been on David. Not just about David, but about the garbage in our lives and how it effects and defines us, but really how God uses it.

My husband said, as we got in the car, "I don't suppose that hit any nerves did it?" (Sarcasm being one of our favorite forms of communication) I smiled and nodded. Yes, it hit a nerve, but it raised that question again.

Religion keeps telling me to see my sin. Confess my sin. Recognize what a wretch I am. But, therapy keeps telling me I am not a bad person, bad things were done to me. I am worthy of love and care, yes, even self care. And I'm not a murderer or a liar or a gossip, but I also know I'm not without sin. So how to balance the two.

That's when he said it, "Sin is anything that draws us away from God." Not what God sees and pushes us away because of what we did (or didn't do). Sin makes us move away from God, because we recognize our unworthiness. I recognize that I am unworthy, but God loves me anyway, and that doesn't have anything to do with being abused and raped. God loves me because I am his child, and he wants me to come closer to him all the time -- when I sin, when I feel unworthy, when I'm having a good day, when I'm mad and can't figure out why I'm mad. When I feel beautiful or when I feel fat and ugly. God wants me all the time. God wants me even when I don't want myself. Because I am his beloved.

Taking care of me is another way of letting God take care of me. So that nice long soak in the tub, surrounded by candles and music? That's God giving me a hug, and telling me it will be all right. That nap I took yesterday instead of doing all those things I thought had to be done? That was God, tucking me in and saying, "Rest a while." And he gives me those things because he loves me, and he feels my hurt, and he's not angry with me that it still hurts. He wants me to feel better about me because he knows who I really am, and he likes me and wants me to like myself.

linking up with A Dare to Love Yourself

Taming the Holiday Angst

I'm trying something new this holiday season. I'm taking care of myself, asking for help, and accepting when help is offered.

The holidays are rough for a lot of people, and that includes me. I don't have a Norman Rockwell family situation. I have struggle, obligation, guilt, and dysfunction. As a friend with similar issues said recently, "I'd be happy to stay on the couch from October through December just to avoid the drama". I feel her pain.

So this year I'm taking a new approach. I bought Mandy Steward's Advent calendar for self-care. It's full of daily reminders to be intentional in our care for ourselves as we are caring for others.

I've also collected a variety of Groupons over the past few months to use for myself -- massage, mani/pedi, a restaurant to try, and a trip to a pottery studio.

I'm buying fewer gifts with more intention. My goal is to purchase only  for those I want to purchase for, and to make those gifts meaningful to those people. That's something that's gotten lost for me over the past few years. I want to reclaim it.

More importantly, I'm going to honor what I feel about Christmas. I am going to make it about what is important to me, my husband, and kids. That's it. No Martha Stewart angst. No comparison to what everyone else is doing (or says they are doing). No setting myself up to get hurt. I will honor this holiday as the holy day I choose to see it as.

Will you join me in this? Are you already doing this? Share some of your ideas.

Blessings.

linking up at imperfect prose on thursdays