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 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

2 am thoughts

I woke up to the flame

The fire dancing between your fingers

You giggled as I stared

Scared you would burn

But you never did

You and him

Always knew how to play between the lines

How to push boundaries

Face fears

You both laughed in the face of danger

Ha

Ha

Ha

But I never did

Instead, I was your Zazu.

Scared of getting caught

Scared of getting burned

I toed the line

Until one day the line burred

And I became the flame

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

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.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 3

I sit here with my flat white thinking of last night.

I almost cried listening to Jocko Willink’s motivational speech on discipline equals freedom.

He asked questions like,

You want free time? That takes time discipline. You want more saved in the bank? That takes financial discipline.

And the whole time he was saying this I kept thinking of my dad and how he taught me the same thing. He didn’t word it that way, but he did teach me discipline at a very young age. And I feel like I get it now. He wasn’t being a hard ass just because he likes power. He was being a hard ass because he wanted me to be free when I was older.

I always thought I wasn’t enough for him because he would criticize everything I did, but really he just didn’t want my expectations to be too low. Because low expectations don’t offer freedom.

And then I thought about how forgiving my dad is. And how even after I called the cops on him this year, he still is seeking a relationship with me.

That’s more than some daughters get.

Though he never says, sorry.

I know he is

Because he wouldn’t keep coming back to me if he wasn’t.

Posted in Victory Over Verbal Abuse

I escaped into your belonging

When I was a girl all I wanted to hear was, “I support you.”

I wanted to be trusted with my ideas.

I wanted to be heard.

Instead, I was silenced.

I was bullied.

He would talk over me.

Ignore me.

Mock me.

Then when I would start to crumble he would throw in a last jab,

“Why are you crying?”, he’d sneer.

The patronizing was the final straw.

I retreated.

I stopped trusting.

I stopped crying.

I built a wall around my heart because if I couldn’t trust family, who could I trust?

I couldn’t even trust me.

For years I was bullied along with my sister and mother.

I thought it was normal.

I even dated men who were bullies.

Because I thought that was all I was worth.

Until I met you.

And everything changed.

You were the light I needed.

You were this glimpse of another reality.

One full of joy and kindness.

Without insecurity.

Without pain.

So I jumped.

I escaped into your belonging.

But unfortunately, with my jump came my pain.

My trauma.

What I thought I escaped, I actually dragged with me.

And now you are seeing it unraveling and the girl who laughed at all your jokes is drowning with the sharks and you can’t throw a life raft.

I’m sorry, babe.

But these sharks are mine and I can’t keep being rescued.

I have to learn how to survive with them on my own.

I have to do the work.

And maybe one day, with enough love, my sharks can turn into dolphins.