Posted in Being Vulnerable

It’s not real

When I was a kid, my anxiety was managed through control.
I controlled my room, my performance at school, my hair, and eventually my body.
I believed the more structure I had in my life, the less uncertainty I had to face.
And it worked for a while, except if I lost my spelling book for example, I would have a full blown melt down.
I would become out of control with fear and stress that if I didn’t find my book I would fail my spelling test.
Yes, my friends, I was growing up to become a class A perfectionist.

As many of you know, perfection doesn’t exist. But in my dad’s mind, it did.
So I tried to be perfect. Again and again I studied and got good marks, but this didn’t improve my self worth.
Every validation I sought for was matched with “you could do better” or “your sister did better than you in this subject”.

And part of me believes he had good intentions. He wanted us not to settle for sub par. He wanted us to reach our full potential. And maybe that’s true, or maybe he felt so insecure of not reaching his own potential in life that he had to live vicariously through us.

I’m not sure. I’m not a parent.

All I know is this:

The idea of perfection will hold you back in life because

It makes you hyper critical.
It makes you less creative.
It makes you constantly compare yourself to others.
It makes you desperate for affirmation that “you’re enough”.

And it doesn’t exist.
Perfect is not real.

-B.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

My accomplishments in life

My accomplishments

  1. I stood up to my dad and decided my own path in life
  2. I performed well in school and tried my best
  3. I ran a half marathon when I was 21
  4. I moved across America for a new job when I was 23 and I was all alone
  5. I have maintained my fitness passion since I was a kid
  6. I have gone to therapy and put the work in to emotionally grow as a person and have the language for my feelings
  7. I have moved across the world to be with someone I love
  8. I have made friends through facebook and have actually maintained friendship
  9. I have become honest with my family about my past trauma and decided to live a more vulnerable life
  10. I have chosen to create healthy boundaries in my life that I didn’t have before
  11. I have chosen joy over productivity
Posted in Being Vulnerable

Childhood trauma

When I was a child, I organized everything. My mom says, even my diaper bag was packed by me, I was that meticulous. As I grew up, I shared a room with my sister and the one thing we would always fight about was the order of the room.
I wanted it perfect.
I don’t think any of them realized this at the time, but the order kept me calm. It still does.
Because as a child I was anxious about everything: the dark, heights, strangers, under performing at school, and my dad.
I grew up during the time of belt and wooden spoon spankings, but I have to say the belt was worse. The snapping of a belt still triggers me.
Now that wasn’t all that worried me about him.
What really worried me about him was how volatile he was.
Every day was uncertain.
It was like walking in a war zone when you don’t know where the bombs are buried. I felt my heart race when he would snap his fingers at us to stop talking. I felt like hiding when he would start yelling.
I didn’t know where the abuse would land, but usually it landed on my brother.
My beautiful, big brother always protected us from him. And so did my mom.
My mom tried her hardest to shield us from his fury. But I know the damage this caused her.

You wonder where anxiety comes from, sometimes it comes from within your own home.

Please seek help for your childhood trauma.
You are always worthy of help.

-B.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Bleeding from the inside

You don’t know this, but your discomfort with my tears caused more wounds than I’ve been able to heal.

I’m bleeding with shame, caught in your trauma.

You think I don’t remember, but your face said it all.

“I can’t handle this”, it read.

So I’ll make fun of her instead.

Posted in My Poetry

Dear dad

My feelings about you seem to waiver between resentment and gratitude

And I don’t know how to live between the two

So today I am choosing gratitude.

I’m choosing to see the best in you

Even when I know you will never change.

I’m choosing to see the best in you

Even when I know you don’t see the best in me.

I’m choosing to see the best in you

Because I’m tired of judging you.

You have your demons

And I have mine.

But today I choose to see your wings.

Because you have never left me

And have always told me you love me

Even if your actions didn’t show it.

At least I heard it.

Because many women I know haven’t.

So I’m grateful for that.

For your love and your choice to stay,

Mr. Ray.

Posted in My Poetry

Shameless killer

You’re a collection of my being

Every letter

Every word

I see as a part of me

These sentences are my appendages

I cannot move without them

But they do not come from my mouth

For I can not walk through my tongue

Only my writing can give me legs

So please understand

My voice is within me

Not outside of me.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Bless and block

From the great words of Glennon Doyle, “Bless and block, baby. Bless and block. “

When dealing with haters or toxic relationships just remember you are in control of your island. You choose who you let the drawbridge down for.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Joe Rogan podcast

“I let my trauma time travel.” – Jason Wilson

This episode has me feeling all the feels. Grown men, fathers, talking about their vulnerabilities always gets me teary. He told Joe, “Don’t let your trauma time travel.”

And don’t I know I do that. I not only let it time travel. I let it brood and take pieces of me. I drag it around with me like an anchor, yet never let it down when I get to shore. There is no shore. I just sail in circles brooding and shaking with anger.

But here is this grown man who has experienced a thousand more times the trauma than I have telling Joe to let it go.

It doesn’t serve you.

Stop bleeding and go get healed.

Life is more than just our pain.