I might be back

I’m thinking about coming back.

I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting on my year, and I feel like I need a safe place to lay these thoughts down.

I feel like I need to explore these feelings and thoughts and emotions somewhere where I can process them without judgment.

And here, and you guys, feels like that space.




It’s Been A Hot Minute

I’m at the airport, waiting for my flight, drinking a glass of pinot grigio that is outrageously priced, and thinking of how long it has been since I’ve written here but also, how long it’s been since I’ve caught up with all of you.

I separated from this blog at the right time for me, and I know I disappeared and apologize if that brought any sort of trauma or worry to anybody – but I think of you all, often.

I’m not healed, but I’ve stopped believing that that’s the goal here. I read this snippet earlier and it captures how I feel, perfectly, so I’ll copy it here:

You do not heal ‘from’ trauma.
You simply come to know yourself as Life itself.
And you turn towards the wounded place.
And you flush it with attention,
which is love. 

And maybe the wound will always be with you.
Maybe you will always walk with the hurt.
But now, you hold it. It doesn’t hold you.
You are the container, not the contained.

– excerpt from writings by Jeff Foster.

I’m on my way back to MO (where I grew up, if you’re new here) for my brothers wedding. It’s a ridiculous state of affairs, once again a situation where hypocrisy runs rampant and the standards that have always been held for me are not held for him.

I’m more at peace with it than normal, though.

I’ve decided I’m going into this treating him exactly how I wish I was treated around my wedding. I’m not going to cause problems. I’m not going to make snarky remarks or statements (out loud, of course, in my head I’m smug AF cause I know my wedding was better). I’m going to love the shit out of them and then return to my balanced life where routine and healing take precedence.

The weirdest thing about this trip was packing for both a funeral and a wedding. My grandma is quite ill, and there is a chance she may pass when I’m home, so I can’t be without proper funeral attire.

It’s essentially a wedding and a funeral.

I’m okay with that.

I’m okay with a lot more than I used to be.

I’m here, I’m growing, I’m better than ever, and I’m at peace with the fact that this journey doesn’t end. There will be good days and bad days. But I’m starting to believe I’m worth it, and that’s new – and huge.

Update me, let me know how you are.

All my love,



There is a light 

I haven’t written, and my sincere apologies for that. I know I tend to worry about you all when I don’t hear from you.

But I am fine. I am better than fine. I am happy. I am okay – and happy. There’s some relationship bumps occuring right now, and my husband and I may or may not make it. But the marked difference is that I can see myself being fine either way because I can stand on my own now. 

My break went so well. So many differences than before. I kept waiting to separate from myself but never did. 

Here’s the thing – I have realized it isn’t about never feeling things. It isn’t about completely forgetting what has happened or even ‘getting over it’. That was never going to happen. 

It ended up being an internal process I am not even sure I understand. It ended up being about acceptance, both of myself and others and perspectives that will never unite. About accepting that feelings will come and they will be hard and sometimes they will not be of the time and place. Sometimes they won’t be accepted by others but that doesn’t mean they aren’t valid. 

Healing ended up being about a whole bunch of stuff I never expected. It ended up being about release, of expectations and grief. About facing really ugly parts of myself and learning to love them (I am still learning and I imagine it will be a few more runs with the lie monster before she’s gone. But the runs are less intense, the high is less satisfying, and the lies are imbued with a vulnerability and a truth). 

And healing isn’t a finish line. It will never be work that I am done doing. But I can see the picture now and when I fall down or fail I don’t hate myself. I don’t feel the need to give up completely. I don’t expect failure. I ask for support. And I don’t see the fact that I will never be done as depressing. I see it as opportunity for growth. 

I am currently sober and plan on staying that way for quite a while – until I am confident I don’t need alcohol as a medication to salve emotional wounds. I don’t feel like I need A anymore to live or survive, and that is terrifying to me but so exciting at the same time. Today in our session I exclaimed to her that I didn’t hate her children! She has noticed this marked shift. I have work to do around my relationship with my husband and my family. I have to pay attention to things to stay healthy. Staying in tune with my emotions is going to be like exercise – its a muscle that will get weak. And I will be taking it one day at a time. 

But this phase is done. When I cried for five days in December I released a lot that needed to go. But today when I left therapy I knew for sure with a solidness it has taken me so long to find that I had shifted and that I will, no matter what happens, be okay. 

It was a combination of things that got me here and I imagine the recipe is different for everyone. I needed the support I have in my friends and husband. I needed the therapeutic relationships I have had in the order I have had them. There needed to be Em before there was A. The flexible job and career. The resources I found and have read. The mistakes that I made – some I learned from right away and some that loudly knocked me upside the head over and over again until I listened. The courage to make hard decisions and the resilence to never give up. But I am living proof that it is possible. This is possible. 

And the outlined next steps above that means that I am done writing for a while. My story is by no means over and I plan to update you all, but I don’t need to write here anymore, and forcing it is only going to hamper my progress. 

I will always always be grateful for this blog, the friendships I have formed, and I encourage you to never lose sight of the light in the darkness. I’m living proof this is possible. 

You can do this.

Back in the day a fellow blogger emailed me as she left her own journey for a while. She told me that no matter how hard it got I was to promise her I would never give up. 

(Rachel, this is a special note for you. Because I printed that out and when things got hard (and holy shit did they ever) I clung to those words like a life raft.)

And it is a gift I pass on. 

No matter who you are or what it is that you are stuck in, promise me you will never give up. 

Because there is a light at the end of the tunnel. 

Bye for now and thank you for everything,


Things Are Not Awful

I am at home and things are not awful. 

I don’t know how to compute this. How to collect it. I’ve seen my brother and his family. I have talked to my Mom and shared some of how I feel and what I need. I have cried at night and let myself feel the old emotions.

While staying away for a year was good for me it was also bad because it let me villanize people who were really doing their best. I villanized my brother. And some of what he used to do and used to be deserves villanization but not all of it. We survived being around each other and we are having dinner with our parents tonight.

Most importantly I feel like my own person this time. I’m connected to my core, to who I am back home. I don’t feel like I have shed one skin for the other. I feel more like a chameleon – adaptable but sure in who I am at my core. 

And this is confusing and terrifying. Being able to delineate between now and then, to be making progress by seeing my family (although I was angry about not having my husband here I was able to express that to my Mother and she acknowledged that it would be hard and make me angry). 

Through texts with my good friend Jared I was able to articulate my feelings about what transpired – anger, sadness, grief, but also happiness and joy – and then sort them out and explain them calmly to my mother today when the opportunity arose. 

My family are not horrible people. We are all doing our best. And it has been very weird to have a successful trip (so far). 

What growth. 

May 2018 Be The Year I Stop Living In My Head.

May 2018 be the year I stop living in my head. 

May 2018 be the year I stop feeling lonely because I will not let anybody in. 

I am packing for the first trip home in over a year, and I am reflecting on how lonely I feel. I feel lonely with my husband in the next room. I feel lonely even after text and FB conversations with my best friends today. I feel lonely even after messages from people ecstatic to see me this coming week. 

And I think about messaging some other people. People I shouldn’t necessarily message. People who are celebrating Christmas Eve with their families. And even if… even if I mentally place myself with them – I am still lonely. 

I am lonely if I am at my friend Alan’s house with his giant family and perfect dog and his girlfriend and his amazing Mom who would wrap me presents and treat me to gifts like I am one of her own kids. I was invited there and if I wasn’t going back that’s where I would be. But I would still be lonely. 

I would be lonely if I was with my own family tonight. 

I would be lonely if I was in Africa, visiting Kenya, another place I was invited but cannot afford to be right now. I would be in the warm and sunshine with four pseudo siblings and another set of parents so excited to add to their Christmas and treating me like I am one of their own. 

No matter where I am today, I would feel lonely. 

A work friend, a very good work friend I’ve referred to here before (can’t remember the name I gave him) made a great observation last week. I wasn’t feel great, had been kind of walking around aimlessly at work and ended up sitting by his desk. He said “need to talk?” And I said “no.” He said “let’s go” and we went to a boardroom and he said:

It must be so incredibly lonely to be you. You know you needed to talk. You still won’t tell me what. And yet I am here, we are friends, and even if you want to share – you won’t. People like you. People love you. People respect you. There are so many people in your life who care. And until you let them in, you’re going to keep being lonely. 

And this has stuck with me. 

And he is correct. 

So may 2018 be the year I let down my guard, may it be the year I learn to let people close. May it be the year I confront the anger and grief I have over so much of my childhood. And may it be the year I learn to let in these emotions and when they rise to the surface give voice to them instead of run from them, or bury them in alcohol. 

As an article I just read states:

“It’s very important that you take it easy, and allow blocked feelings to slowly surface. And then have supportive people to discuss those feelings with. Unfortunately, you usually have to feel a significantly worse before you can feel better. But you will feel better.”

I shared that with a friend, someone I am letting in to this pain and process, tentatively. Because I am afraid. He said:

As hard as it is the thing to remember is that it is only at first, it’s won’t be shitty forever. And I promise that even though 2018 will start shitty we are gonna make sure that it ends with you better.

We are going to make sure it ends with you better. 

2018 is the year I stop feeling lonely when I am surrounded by people who care. 

There are people who love me. People who want to help. People who are there right now and two people (my husband and Lu) who have patiently been loving me for so long now. 

It’s time to add to that arsenal and let the feelings rise up. 

It’s time to stop living in my head. 

Therapy Is Nuts

And so needed. And so welcome. But a bit nuts. Very weird sometimes. And yet this human sits across from me acting (or even believing) that it is all normal. That everything is a manifestation of my trauma. And that to get through it we have to sit with it. 

But I sat there this week with an emotional flashback playing through my brain. I had one at work that I couldn’t kick, I couldn’t get rid of. This was our second session this week (the first on the phone on Tuesday after three days of me being unable to get out of bed). 

And I am trying to tell her and I can talk around the feeling but everytime I try to talk about this flashback I get stuck. I can’t make a sound. I can’t verbalize what’s happening. And it’s weird because I want to, but I can’t. Normally if I don’t talk it’s avoidance. So I say “I am trying to talk. I’m not avoiding this. It feels like I can’t. Like I am not allowed or not able to.” I tell her it doesn’t feel like my body so she gets me to move and wiggle and feel if it helps (I hate every second of this). 

And it does a bit but not with making sound. So she asks how old the memory is, and I say 7. And she asks what the 7 year old needs and I said I don’t know, she won’t talk to me. So then I say “but she will talk to teenage me”. And so A is just like “that’s wonderful!” And I am looking at her like ‘your 29 year old client just told you that her inner 16 year old is talking to the 7 year old that belongs to this memory and you’re like this is great!? Where are the men in the white coats come to take me away?” 

She encourages me to listen to what they need. I hear ridiculous things like chocolate and a trip somewhere sunny but somewhere in there is “to draw a picture”. And I kind of ignore it cause it doesn’t feel right, it feels weird. And then it gets louder and sassy “don’t ask if you don’t want the answer!!” 

Alright then. 

“This is going to sound weird but I think, I think she wants to draw something.” Me. Tentatively. Thinking wtf am I saying. This feels weird to me. I am not saying it IS weird because I understand how we fragment and parts of our memories get all split off during trauma. So I know it in and of itself is not weird. But I feel weird. Because this is new. 

“She does!? Right now?” A is excited and looking for a pen and paper and I again look at her like she’s nuts. 

“No, not in front of you. Later. She will bring it back.” 

“I don’t think she is ready to speak to me or have me speak to her so tell her that I am very happy to have her draw for me and I can’t wait to see what she brings.” 

See? Weird. 

My therapist literally said – excitedly – you, my 29 year old client should tell your 16 year old inner self to let the 7 year old know I am so happy to have her draw for me and bring it to session. 


Therapy is nuts. 

But it is working. Because I can see the image and know exactly what it will be. And it so explains not being able to talk. 

So therapy is also awesome. Because the only way out is through. 

The PTSD Reaction

It still catches me off guard.

Our bodies are incredible.

I sent an email today back to my brother – one I spent a lot of time writing and thinking about.

And immediately after pressing send it started. My palms got sweaty, my heart raced, my neck hurts in that spot. It’s not as bad as when I receive the email. But it’s still there.

And I’m sitting with myself and it and going “okay, just breathe. You know what this is.” This is not a strange thing. Five seconds in, five seconds out. You are safe, this is old. But I still shake.

Calming myself down is difficult.