“Experience has taught us that we have only one enduring weapon in our struggle against mental illness: the emotional discovery and emotional acceptance of the truth in the individual and unique history of our childhood.”
~Alice Miller~
The Body Keeps Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma by Bessel van der Kolk
The Truth Will Set You Free: Overcoming Emotional Blindness and Finding Your True Adult Self by Alice Miller
Cured: Strengthen Your Immune System and Heal Your Life by Jeffrey Rediger
Radical Remission: Surviving Cancer Against All Odds by Kelly Turner
Breath: The New Science of a Lost Art by James Nestor
Perfect Health: The Complete Mind/Body Guide by Deepak Chopra
You're Not Crazy - It's Your Mother: Understanding and Healing for Daughters of Narcissistic Mothers by Danu Morrigan
The Anatomy of Anxiety: Understanding and Overcoming The Body's Fear Response by Ellen Vora
The Dance of Anger by Harriet Lerner
Women Who Run With Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes
Warrior Goddess Training by Heather Ash Amara
The Myth of Normal: Trauma, Illness & Healing in a Toxic Culture by Gabor Mate
In The Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addiction by Gabor Mate
What Happened To You: Conversations of Trauma, Resilience, and Healing by Bruce Perry & Oprah Winfrey
The Highly Sensitive Person: How to Thrive When the World Overwhelms You by Elaine Aron
Toxic Parents: Overcoming Their Hurtful Legacy and Reclaiming Your Life by Susan Forward
Getting Past Your Past: Take Control of Your Life With Self Help Techniques From EMDR by Francine Shapiro
The Four Agreements by don Miguel Ruiz
Codependent No More by Melody Beattie
The Language of Letting Go by Melody Beattie
Let Them by Mel Brooks
More Language of Letting Go by Melody Beattie
Journey to Awakening: A Meditators Guidebook by Ram Dass
Who Dies? by Stephen and Andrea Levine
Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer
Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert
Wild by Cheryl Strayed
Education by Tara Westover
The Awakening by Kate Chopin
The Fools Progress by Ed Abbey
The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion
When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron
Sit Down and Shut Up by Brad Warner
The Drama of the Gifted Child: The Search for the True Self by Alice Miller
Revolution From Within: A Book of Self-Esteem by Gloria Steinem
A Gentle Path Through The Twelve Steps by Patrick Carnes
Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents by Lindsay C. Gibson
The Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollen
How to Change Your Mind by Michael Pollen
Chants of a Lifetime by Krishna Das
Wheels of Life by Anodea Judith
The Untethered Soul by Michael Singer
The Book of Boundaries by Melissa Urban
“The truth about our childhood is stored up in our body, and although we can repress it, we can never alter it. Our intellect can be deceived, our feelings manipulated, and conceptions confused, and our body tricked with medication. But someday our body will present its bill, for it is as incorruptible as a child, who, still whole in spirit, will accept no compromises or excuses, and it will not stop tormenting us until we stop evading the truth.”
~Alice Miller~
When I was fifteen years old my mother told me that my brother was evil because I made him that way but that I was evil because satan made me that way. I honestly think now that I believed her. 100%
I believed that I was evil because satan was inside of me. My family made me watch The Exorcist when I was 13 years old. They said it was a classic. I was a 13 year old catholic girl watching The Exorcist and I was told that it was based on true events. Of course I believed it was going to happen to me. I didn’t sleep well after that, not that I slept all that well before. But the nightmares about possession began then. They have continued for my entire life but they have just recently began to change for me. Years ago when I was struggling with the illness of a family member I was unhinged with fear and worry. I was barely sleeping, sweating through the sheets, and having wretched dreams about her every night. One night in particular I was having one of my demonic possession dreams. My dreams always flip-flopped from me being inside of my possessed body and feeling Satan inside of me to me being the person standing over me and performing the exorcism. This dream has haunted me my whole life. And I never won. The best I could do was to wake up from it screaming and then have to spend the rest of the night sleeping with the lights on. But this night is when it started to change for me; I was having the dream and I could see the possessed me sitting on a staircase distorted and evil from having satan inside of me but instead of me leaving myself to become someone else to perform the exorcism I could feel myself struggling from within the possessed body. I was fighting within myself to overpower satan. Then I started chanting, “FUCK YOU - YOU ARE NOT ME!" But satan still had my body so even though it was me saying it from within me, it was coming out of me with his voice. I kept chanting it. I could hear myself saying it and it rattled my ears. My husband later told me that he woke up to a sound that he had only heard in scary movies. A man’s demonic voice in the room with us. He knew that we were not alone and he jumped up to turn on the lights and that is when he saw me struggling with myself under the covers and could still hear the voice but was finally beginning to understand that it was coming from me. However, the lights turning on had woken me up and I stopped. We were both terrified; of me. Since that night though the dreams have changed. They occur less frequently and when they do occur I am winning and I am not as scared. And when I wake up from them I no longer need to turn on the lights; I can simply go back to sleep. I recently dreamt that I was waking up in my own bed. It felt real. I looked out through the bedroom and into the bathroom. There was a big black cat on the counter. I was very mad about that and trying to figure out why it was there. Then I realized... The cat was satan!! And I was not scared at all - I was angry and indignant. How dare you be in my house!? I ripped the covers off of myself and stomped into the bathroom. I started beating the cat with my fist like a hammer coming down on it and screaming exorcism chants, "In Jesus's name I command you to leave this house! God commands you! Jesus compels you!" And on I went. It didn't take long though. It actually all happened very fast. The cat literally shrank under my blows and chants. Then it disappeared completely. I thought to myself, "Look at yourself in the mirror!" So I put my face right next to the mirror, at first it was really hard to focus and to see myself. Then everything came into perfect clarity and I could see my own eyes inches away from me. I pulled in closer to the mirror and I scream-roared, like a lion! I had never felt more powerful in my whole life.
As a child I was constantly in "trouble" for something that I said, thought, or did had upset my mother again. She would rage on in her name calling...
Satan - Whore - Slut - Pricktease - Selfish - Lazy, on and on and on. But always I was a liar.
And, sometimes I did lie. Usually I didn't though. I didn't lie because I was adamant in my refusal to submit myself to her. I didn't want to be to the person she wanted me to be and I tried hard to convince myself that I wasn't the terrible person that she told me that I was.
But the lying. The being a liar. She would pull out the Bible and make me swear on it. "...And if I'm lying my Mom will die in her sleep as punishment." That is what she would make me swear. And it didn't matter if I was lying or telling the truth I felt tormented afterwards. She said I needed to tell her the truth in order for her not to die. And she knew what the truth was. So I felt compelled, I would wake her up in a hot panic in the middle of the night and confess the lie that I had told. Or I would wake her up in the middle of the night and confess the lie that I had not told. And tell her what she wanted to hear. But then I would worry because NOW I actually was lying. Or was I? Did she, as she said, "know the truth better than I did". Was I a "compulsive liar who didn't know the difference between a lie and the truth?" I know now that this is called Gaslighting. When someone makes you doubt your own reality. But as an EIGHT year old, no I did not understand. All I knew was that I was BAD and that because I was BAD, God was going to kill my mother in her sleep.
“If you want to awaken all of humanity, then awaken all of yourself. If you want to eliminate the suffering in the world, then eliminate all that is dark and negative in yourself. Truly, the greatest gift you have to give is that of your own self-transformation.” ~Lao Tzu~
A chakra is a swirling pool of energy that is blocked by the emotional and physical muck of our lives. We have seven chakras that start at the base of our spine and continue through the crown of the head. Each of these swirling pools of energy flows into the next one. The energy flows in both directions. Each chakra pool can only be as clean and clear as the pool below it.
“Where you are in deep Communion, in deep conversation, or even in deep silence, but just in the presence of the divine - that is meditation. In that state of Union, what happens is that you are drawing that light, that energy, not just into you soul but also from your soul and the rays extend out into the body also. It is like the warmth of the sun. You can feel that energy, not just on a superficial level on your skin, but you can feel your body absorbing that warmth and that energy within itself. It actually is a process of healing! The primary advice given to persons with a physical illness is to practice meditation and to be mindful of every thought and action. These practices help to connect the person back to the divine energy source which is the primary aspect of their being.”
~Sister Jayanti~
We have to stop pointing the finger at other people and start pointing it at our own hearts. We are responsible for our lives. (If we are adults, I do believe that children with all of the vulnerability that comes with being dependent upon others are not responsible for their own suffering)
It is time to wake up! To look around. To take an inventory of our lives. To change the things that we do not like and to embrace the things that we love.
Like dominoes you fall through my mind; one loss connected to the next and to the next.
Tumbling through my mind; I cannot remember one of you without thinking of all of you.
I miss you. I love you.
You appear to me in my dreams; talk to me - kiss me - hold me.
I remember your eyes, your smile, your laughter, and your tears.
I know that when my time comes that I’ll be blessed with more spirit guides than most.
When I go, I will not go alone.
“It is true. I am God. But you are also God. We are the same, you and I. We are images of light. We are God.“
~ don Miguel Ruiz~
MOTHER:
My mother is 5'1 and I am 5'2.
My entire life my mother has gone into the bathroom by herself and then closed the door and came out to tell me that she weighs 104 pounds. Then I must go in and weigh myself in front of her... 112, 118, 122, 127, 135, 140, 152. It doesn't matter what I weigh the response is always the same, "whoa - that's a-lot!"
However, with my always fluctuating weight, if I would come down a few pounds from the previous weigh-in then she would say, "you better come out here and eat something and prove to me that you are not anorexic".
FATHER:
What is the funniest joke in the whole world to my dad? A fat joke. Especially a fat joke about a woman.
"Fatty Fatty Two-By-Four, Ass So Wide Can't Get in the Door"
My mom, myself, my aunts, and any friends that my mom or myself brought home. He would call all of us fat, to our face, and then laugh when we would get upset.
He would say awful things about the women that he saw on television. He would make rude fat jokes about women loudly in my ear when we were in public, and I think those women would hear him, and I would tell him to SHUT UP. And he would laugh and tell me to learn to take a joke.
He tried doing the Fat-Jokes on my step-daughter. She was 12 when he called her Thunder Thighs. That was the only time I ever seriously stood up to him and said you CANNOT do that or we will leave and not ever come back.
SELF:
My first memory of using food to soothe me was when I was five years old. I had a 12 ounce Star Wars glass and I filled it with sugar and kool-aid mix. I remember sitting in the stairwell and slowly spooning it into my mouth.
My next memory is from the same time frame. We had neighbors who lived in the house next to our apartments. They went on vacation and I climbed in through the kitchen window. I opened a box of chocolate cake mix and sat on their kitchen counter and ate the whole thing with my fingers.
My next memories are a bit later and over a larger time frame; I would say 5-14 years old. Some weekends I would get to stay at my grandma's house. For breakfast she would make me sourdough toast and put butter and homemade strawberry jam on it. I would eat slowly while she was still in the kitchen then she would go to take a shower and I would sneakily, with my heart racing, make two more slices of toast with twice as much butter and jam on it. I didn't want her to think that I was "greedy" or a "pig" so I would eat it and clean up the mess before she was out of the shower. If I ate too much at home I was called a greedy pig and I was told to "save some for someone else".
During the same time frame I would also spend some weekends at my aunt's house. And she always had two to four boxes of cocoa pebbles and I would eat them all; sometimes on the first morning so then I would have to eat another cereal that I didn't like as much the second morning. At home I was only allowed one small bowl of wheaties.
I was always a skinny kid and always kind of hungry. Then high school and puberty. In high school I would throw away my packed lunch that was "healthy" which was usually a sandwich, 8 ounces of chips, and a piece of fruit. And I would buy the gooeyest-cheesyest-greasyest slice of pizza and soggy fries from the cafeteria. I was bullied from junior high school on so I never ate in the cafeteria. I was either sitting outside alone or sitting in my boyfriend's car.
Then driving and fast food came into the picture. A cheeseburger at McDonald's was .35 cents. I ate a lot of those. And candy from the convenience store. And soda. I always had soda in my life. There is a picture of me as a baby being held with a glass soda bottle up to my mouth like a baby-bottle. We used to always have a 2 liter bottle of coke in the fridge. I honestly do not think that I ever consumed a single glass of water until I was 19, my boyfriend at the time was into health and was always telling me to "chug this" water and to stop drinking so much soda.
When I was 17 years old I had an abusive boyfriend. We would eat four or five chicken little sandwiches at KFC while sitting in his truck then something would happen (or nothing would happen) and he would scream and yell about it and then he would hit me. Afterwards we would make up by going to his house and grating a pound of tillamook cheddar cheese and melting it on flour tortillas.
When I was 18 I started dating a divorcee. I on average weighed 120 pounds at that time. He was still in love with his ex-wife and would always talk about her beauty, thinness, and how she was a ballerina. And how he wished they were still together and would never be able to love again because of her. The first time I vomited after eating was when him and I were at McDonald's. As soon as we finished our meal I got up and went to the disgusting bathroom, stuck my finger down my throat and puked. It splashed back into my face. I didn't think about it. I didn't plan it. I didn't consider what I was doing. I just did it. I didn't know anyone else who did that and that was before the internet and social media. I thought it was just me.
I occasionally vomited after that. Not regularly. I started taking laxatives regularly. The laxatives made my bowels move so fast that I would take my multi-vitamin in the morning and less than an hour later I would pass it out, undigested.
I stopped vomiting in college. Not because I realized how wrong it was or because I got healthy. I stopped vomiting because it was bursting blood vessels in my forehead that looked like acne. So I just took more laxatives instead.
I was sexually assaulted and had an abortion at the age of 21. Then had what I now think of as a nervous breakdown. I saw a therapist who diagnosed me with Major Depressive Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. She gave me Zoloft and that made me feel so much worse. I stopped taking it suddenly without help and I stopped seeing her, I just didn't show up for our last appointment and never returned her calls.
I went to taco bell every single night at about 10pm, after having barely eaten all day, and I would eat 5 crunchy tacos - a nacho - a gordita - and anything else that sounded good. I would need 10 packets of hot sauce. Sometimes I would go through the drive through twice. I gained 35 pounds in just a few months and completely trashed my gallbladder. I weighed 155 pounds on the day of the surgery to remove my gallbladder which was my highest weight.
When I had my gallbladder removed I was given no dietary guidelines. I tried to resume eating as normal but EVERYTHING made me sick. I pooped my pants. I had no idea what was going on. So I went to see an herbalist who explained that the gallbladder digests fat so I needed to eat less fat. And to detox my liver. She gave me herbs and I started learning about food; a little.
Everything I ate was still processed but it had no fat. I found a book called the three day detox. It is a three day juice fast that includes a daily enema.
After that I ate very little (1000 calories a day and less than 10 grams of fat) and I had at least one enema a day and I would frequently fast for 3 days. I lost 50 pounds in 8 months. I was 105 pounds and I had 4% body fat. I stopped getting my period.
Then I married an alcoholic. I was depressed and anxious and lonely and sad and hurt. I was also ashamed of myself for having married the "wrong guy". I would starve myself for the first half of every day trying to make up for the night before. But then when evening would hit I would have a big dinner. Then a trip to Burger King for a whopper and fries. Then a trip to Dairy Queen for an XL large cherry cheesecake blizzard with extra cheesecake. I kept having enemas and taking laxatives. When I got a divorced I weighed 140 pounds.
Two months after the divorce and I was back down to 115 pounds. I ate a 10 oz salad for lunch, lettuce/chicken/salsa. And a hot pocket for dinner. I would share the hot pocket with my dog. I would also drink a pot of coffee and 3-4 energy drinks and a 6 pack of coke every day. All while smoking a pack of cigarettes every day. I also continued to have enemas.
Then a new relationship. A healthy one. A good guy. But yes, he did come with his own complications and drama. I continued to have enemas but convinced him and myself that they were healthy. I started changing my relationship with food again. I became a vegan. I ate a lot of bread and processed meat alternatives. And I went back up to 140 pounds.
Then, finally, everything changed for me. For Good. I started getting mentally healthier. I was married to a good man who loved me. Seriously loved me! I was seeing a therapist. Finally, I was correctly diagnosed with PTSD. Catherine was a gentle spiritual woman who saw my fear of prescription meds and instead of pressuring me suggested St John's Wort, Codependents Anonymous and Yoga. I loved all three and saw immediate results in the way I felt.
The St John's Wort literally turned off the inner critic in my mind and allowed me to BE without judgement. Codependents Anonymous allowed me to see the unhealthy toxic relationships in my life that were triggering me to act-out with food. And Yoga, which I had been occasionally practicing since freshman year at college, became a life-line and a bridge between my body, mind, and spirit.
I learned the difference between processed foods and whole foods. I cut out processed foods and sugar. I stopped having enemas and taking laxatives. I started running. I read so many nutrition books (not diet books). I studied hard. I looked at myself. I looked at the compulsive nature of my actions. There is no difference between an eating disorder and an addiction. I also think it is like a lot of other self-harm behaviors. The pain and guilt that I felt after eating far too much food was a huge distraction (and relief) from the pain and the guilt that I felt just from being me. I had to learn to love myself. I had to stop punishing myself and I had to let go of the toxic people in my life who continued to put me down and make me not like myself.
I have been a healthy weight and had a healthy relationship with food for eight years. I weigh 125 pounds. Currently, what works for me, is eating 3 meals a day and, in general, not snacking. I don't eat dairy or gluten or sugar. I find all three of those foods trigger me. Physically and Psychologically. They give me tummy aches but make me want to eat more or them. As does processed foods. I follow the 90% rule...
90% Whole Unprocessed Foods - 90% Plants - 90% Organic
Why not 100%? Because when the "rules" get that strict, I also find it to be triggering.
In my opinion, the only way out of an eating disorder is to deal with the issues, deal with the past, the low self-esteem, the trauma, the abuse. Therapy helps. Learning about nutrition really helps. But most importantly surrounding yourself with healthy loving people helps. Love Heals. And being true to your values. And loving yourself. It has taken me a long time to get myself to a point where I can say I LOVE YOU TANYA and truly mean it. Please love yourself.
I had an abortion when I was 21. I don't usually tell anyone about that. I am not ashamed. I am simply sad. And I feel it to the core of my being.
I did not want an abortion, I wanted a baby. I had always wanted babies. Many. It was in my plan. Unfortunately, my long-term partner did not want a child. He was seven years older than me and had been married and had a child. He had his heart broken when he divorced and had sworn never to re-marry or have more children. I think he secretly also swore never to love again, which is why he always kept me at arm's distance even though he did love me.
But, given my childhood, loving someone who pretended not to love me felt normal. I was scared to death when I found out that I was pregnant. But I was also excited. I was six weeks along and had gone to the doctor thinking that I had an ulcer. I was shocked to find out that I was pregnant. Literally shocked; I started chanting the word "What" then fell to the ground and turned ghostly white. This was not what I expected.
I told my boyfriend and the first words out of his mouth were, "What are your thoughts on abortion?" I immediately had him drive me to the bookstore and purchased the book What to Expect When You are Expecting. I thought he would come around. Because I knew deep down that he loved me. And I knew what his values were. He was a good guy, he was just scared.
But, for six weeks he rode me. Daily. Grinding me into the ground, "You and that baby will starve to death on ramen before I help you." We had stopped living together. I cried myself to sleep every single night alone in my bed. Actually, it wasn't a bed. I was sleeping on a stack of blankets because I couldn't afford a bed. I was dirt poor. I was working for $5.25 an hour at a convenience store. My boyfriend was rich, literally rich, and he just watched me suffer.
I got a terrible cold and didn't take anything for it and it seemed to last forever. I quit smoking, cold turkey, the day that I found out. I was having terrible withdrawal symptoms but couldn't do anything for it. It was winter and I had been diagnosed with Major Chronic Depression, which was always far worse for me in the long dark winter months. So, to put it mildly, I was a mess.
My boyfriend's younger brother, who was my age, was an addict. Hardcore. He was looking at prison time for hitting an old man in the side of the head with his skateboard. He started showing up and talking to me, nicely. He said that if his brother wasn't going to do the right thing then he would. It felt really good to be treated kindly. Even if he always stank of alcohol while he talked to me.
One night, immediately after a huge blowup with my boyfriend where he broke up with me and said that he no longer wanted to talk to me, I went to his brother's house. I was inconsolable. We had sex. I went completely numb and limp and I cried silently. Immediately afterwards his brother said that he had plans for later that night. He got up and got ready to leave. I quietly left and drove myself home. I had hit Rock Bottom.
The next day I found an abortion clinic. And I made the appointment for the following week. I kept to myself for that week. Broken Hearted and Barely Alive.
I went to bed the night before my appointment. I laid awake for hours. I wasn't thinking at all, I was just lying there in physical pain. My heart and soul were completely broken. I had just dozed off...
I was later told by my roommate that there had been loud knocking on the door. It was my boyfriend's brother. My roommate just let him in and went back to bed.
He came into my bedroom. He was drunk and high and stunk. He took off his clothes and laid down next to me. All I said was, "NO. I can't. It will hurt the baby." And I said this over and over again as he climbed on top of me and tried to take my clothes off. I struggled against him. This lasted for about 10 minutes. He shouted "Fuck!" and then he jumped up and put one hand around my throat while he masturbated in my face.
When he was done he rolled off of me. I just laid there and I think that he thought he was going to sleep. I began pushing him to get up, I lied to him and told him that his brother was coming over and that we had plans to talk. I begged him to leave. "Please, you have to go before he gets here." Finally he stood up and headed for the door. As he was leaving he looked back at me and said, "I love you."
As soon as he was gone I ran to the bathroom and vomited. I laid on the bathroom floor. I spent the rest of the night locked in the bathroom. And in the morning I made the three hour drive to Portland for my appointment. That was the closest clinic to my home.
When I got to the clinic I had to verify my identity with an armed security guard and he had to buzz me in through a metal door that had a glass window. The window had a sign on it saying that it was bulletproof.
The women at the clinic were very kind to me. They explained to me ALL of my options and they answered all of my questions.
I am to be the first person seen today. But, I’m not the only one there early. I look around the waiting room and it occurs to me that I am the only woman there alone. All of the women have men with them. But, I think that I am not really alone. No, for a few more precious moments I have my baby with me, in me, a part of me.
My memory magically transplants me from the internal hysteria of the waiting room to the blind numb fear in the tiny back closet of a changing room. I’m sitting on an army cot.They give me a basket for my clothes and a gown to put on. My clothes seem to melt and fall into the basket. Somehow I manage to tie the knots on the gown. Now I sit again.
My hands on my stomach, holding my baby for the last time. Holding my stomach as if I were nine months pregnant and waiting for the doctor to arrive and deliver my baby. Deliver me.
Blackness, again a magical transportation of my body into another room. I am lying on the table. There is a girl sitting next to me. She is explaining that they will only be giving me nitrous because I have to drive myself home and the valium would last too long.
No memory. NITROUS.
A doctor. What happened first? Talking. The feeling of de JA vu. I know everything she is going to say before she says it. Giving me more nitrous, she asks about my schooling and blah, blah, blah. She’s holding my hand.
I think?
Or, did I just grab her hand. Grabbing and gripping her hand in pain. The sound of a vacuum. Roaring so loud in my ears.
WOOSHING
WOOSHING
NITROUS
Sucking. All I can hear is bloody sucking. So much pain. So unreal. Wet Sucking. I can hardly breathe. Are they stabbing me with knives? Are they tearing my uterus out of me? I’m being ripped apart. What are they doing?
Oh God Stop!
Tearing my baby apart. Tearing my soul out my cunt. Darkness. Bright beautiful flashes of a beautiful baby boy, Vincent. I see a daughter, Kiara. Voices again. Why am I hearing everything twice? “Almost done.” Heard twice or was it heard once and remembered once? Picture in my mind of my beautiful mutilated baby. Bloody arm, face, leg – all in a clear plastic garbage bag.
No memory. Only absolute darkness.
I find myself hunched over and walking into the “recovery” room. As if I could ever recover from this. Still high. Still dying. I lay on a gurney next to a window. There is a heating pad placed on my now empty uterus.
Finally, I cry.
Sob.
Shake.
And I apologize for crying to anyone who will listen. I lay their trembling and staring out the window. I look at the tall buildings of Portland. So different from my home. Look at those tall buildings.
The city.
“I will never forget how the world looks at this moment.”
Unexpectedly I call for the nurse. I ask her if I am bleeding because I feel wet all over but I can’t seem to pull myself up to look. She lifts the sheet and says “a little” and leaves.
Now, after staring, crying, praying, resting and trying to stop the pain. I ask for help getting up. I can go when I’m ready. When did they tell me that? I think I’m ready.
I’m led to the bathroom, still hunched over from the pain. I’m staring at the two girls who have been added to the room. One looks how I feel, and the other one looks like she just had her hair cut and isn’t quite sure if she likes it.
“Don’t flush the swabs - they will clog the toilet.”
“What?”
“Make sure you use a pad, not a tampon.”
“What?”
I’m in the bathroom now trying to figure out why I can no longer understand anything.
I look down.
My white gown is solid red from the waist down. Did that happen after I asked the nurse if I was bleeding?
Did she lie to keep me calm? Or is this really only a little bit of blood to her?
I’m trying to dress when the door opens.
“oops - sorry”
I smile “oh that’s o.K.”
Now I am gone. When did I leave the clinic? How did I get out of the building? How did I manage to find my car? My key? I have a yellow pouch of pills in my hand. Advil? 800mg?
I also have a pocket full of big bulky pads. The kind I haven’t worn since I was in middle school.
My time warp has again transplanted me somewhere new. I’m sitting in my car.
I will tell everyone I miscarried. I don’t need to tell anyone the truth. They won’t understand.
They will think I’m bad.
OW!!
It still hurts so badly.
Three hour drive home. Home to the world of no abortions. Home to the world of my judgmental family, my distant friends, and my boyfriend who wanted this. But I won’t tell him I won’t let him think he won. My decision. My choice. Not his.
I will deal with this alone. Because now, I am alone.
I was two that became one.
I thank God that I had the choice and that I made the choice that I did. I'm grateful that I could have a safe and legal abortion. I could not imagine having to go through what I did while also having to procure an illegal abortion. Because I would have had an abortion either way. If I had to drive to Mexico or go to a stranger's dirty basement it wouldn't have mattered because I would have made the same choice. Nothing could have stopped me.
Abortion is Healthcare. Abortion is private. Abortion decisions should be made between a woman and her doctor. Women across this country should not have to tell their private stories. But we do. Because, unfortunately, the private is political. And, the only way that we can secure the right of all women to make their own medical decisions with only their doctor is by telling our stories. And by voting. And by being an activist for other women. #metoo
If we had never met?
Would I even be,
If you hadn't of been?
Patient - Kind - Sympathetic
Loving - Wise - Understanding
You were everything I needed.
Never Judgmental.
Never Angry.
You were the woman in my life,
my mentor - my mother.
You could listen to me for hours,
And talk for even longer.
Sitting outside on your porch,
The minutes turning into hours...
The hours turning into days...
The days turning into years.
You Knew Me - the real me.
And you loved me.
You offered me advice and guidance,
And wiped my tears when I didn't follow it.
You told me that the saddest thing you ever saw,
Was my lip trembling while I cried.
You said it broke your heart.
And when I was sad,
You would make me
Warm Oatmeal and Pour
Cold Milk on top.
You were my friend,
And I was yours.
You told me all of your secrets,
Your dreams and your fears,
And I kept them dear.
Feeling honored by your trust and respect.
Thank you.
I love you.
I will miss you. Forever.
Where am I?
Where am I!
The veil of darkness lifting,
Moonlight penetrating my pupils.
My vision tunnels,
I sit up.
Breathing labored, looking around
Seeing only darkness.
Remnants of dreams lingering,
Where am I?
I look straight ahead,
Door open to the night’s
Cacophony of sounds….
Frogs, dogs, wind through aspens.
But I see only my dreamscape,
My desert memories.
Otherworldly splashes of colored sand.
Where am I!
My heart beats faster,
Am I safely nestled into my bed
Or
Am I sleeping in my van,
On the side of the road
Behind a rock as big as a house
Hiding from rangers and rednecks
Boondocking on public lands.
Where am I?
The wind whips red sand into the van,
I sit up further, straining my neck and my gaze.
Staring at the full moon rising in my windshield.
The coyotes howl and the wind shakes the van,
Where am I!
Home in my Bed, sleeping with grizzlies outside my open door?
Or,
Home in my Van, sleeping with tarantulas outside my open door?
The wind howls - my husband snores.
I lay my head back on my pillow,
Where am I.
I am here and I am there.
I am nowhere.
I am everywhere.
'All right,' I said, and I felt some electric slide down my spine.
'Our Mother Mary is not some magical being out there somewhere, like a fairy godmother. She's not the statue in the parlor. She's something inside of you. Do you understand what I'm telling you?'
'Our Mother Mary is inside me,' I repeated, not sure that I did.
'You have to find a mother inside yourself. WE ALL DO. Even if we already have a mother, we still have to find this part of ourselves inside.'" ~Sue Monk Kidd~
"As I often tell my students, the two most important phrases in therapy, as in yoga, are 'Notice that' and 'What happens next?' Once you start approaching your body with curiosity rather than with fear, everything shifts.” ~Bessel van der Kolk~
“Everybody wants to change the world, but most people can’t even change themselves.”
~Tolstoy~
Try to heal, try to change:
1. Prayer
2. Meditation
3. Therapy
4. Acupuncture
5. EMDR (release trauma)
6. 12 Step
7. Massage
8. Journal
9. Read
10. Create
11. Hypnosis (reprogram)
12. Go To Nature, Every Day
13. Yoga
14. Eat Only Organic Whole Foods, Mostly Plants
15. Exercise
16. Cultivate Friendships
17. Surrender
18. Prioritize Sleep
19. No Intoxicants
20. Remove Toxic Relationships
21. Be of Service
22. Get a Good Doctor
23. Do Not Consume Violent Images/Music
24. Meaningful Work
25. Forgiveness Practice
26. Sing
27. Dance
28. Find Your Purpose, Follow It
29. Pranayama (breath work)
30. Affirmations
31. Participate in Community
32. Grieve Your Losses
33. Communicate Kindly & Honestly, Always
34. “No.” Is A Complete Sentence
35. Establish Boundaries
“And this above all else, To Thine Own Self Be True!”
~Shakespeare~
“I am not what I think I am, and I am not what you think I am. I am what I think you think I am.”
~Charles Horton Cooley~
The Buddha said there are three types of people. The first is born with their eyes fully open, they are the rarest. Most are born with their eyes fully caked in mud. They will never awaken. But a few are born with merely dust in their eyes; needing only to find the tools and the teacher to help them remove this dust and to awaken. How do we find the tools and the teacher? The guru? When most of us have been buried in the debris of our parents and the chaos of others, ancestral demons handed down generation after generation, trained from birth by society to consume or be consumed. How do we let go? Let go of not only our past but our material possessions as well; the things that bind us to this earth and remove us from the reality of our true selves - our true natures! Who were you before you were born? Where did you come from? Who would you be if owned nothing? Had nothing? Hoarded nothing? When you know this, and you do not question the reality of your divinity - then, and only then, the dust begins to move. And who will you be after you die? And where do you go? The cosmic universe is merely an ocean and we are merely waves. Neither lasting forever nor never existing. Divinity. Impermanence.UNIVERSAL COSMIC BLISS!
Are you talking to me?
“I used to feel impatient with the old me: why was she wasting time? why was she with that man? at that appointment? forgetting to say the most important thing? why wasn’t she wiser, more productive, happier? But lately, I’ve begun to feel a tenderness for her; a welling up of tears in the back of my throat when I remember her. I think: she’s doing the best that she can. She survived! And she is still trying so hard!
We are so many selves. It’s not just the long-ago child within us who needs tenderness and inclusion, but the person we were last year, the person that we wanted to be yesterday, the one we tried to become in one new job or in one winter. Or in one love affair or in one house that even now when we close our eyes we can smell the rooms of. What brings together these ever shifting selves of infinite reactions and returning is this: there is always one true inner voice. Trust it.” ~Gloria Steinem~
“Between stimulus and response lies a space. In that space lie our freedom and power to choose a response. In our response lies our growth and our happiness.” ~Victor Frankl~
“We grow neither better nor worse as we get old, but more like ourselves.” ~Mary Lamberton Becker~
“A woman wins by giving herself and other women permission: to eat, to be sexual, to age, to wear a boiler suit or a paste tiara or a Balenciaga gown or a secondhand opera cloak or combat boots, to cover-up or to go practically naked; to do whatever she chooses in following her own aesthetic. A woman wins when she feels that what each woman does with her own body is her own business.” ~Gloria Steinem~
This is Me.
This is 45.
I am in Love…
With myself,
With my life,
With the mystery,
With the mountains,
With the deserts,
With the seas,
With the grizzly,
With the rattlesnake,
With the shark,
With Shiva,
With my husband,
With my children,
With my family,
With my friends,
With you,
And, with everyone.
