a healing journey

Hello all! I am so happy to be back and writing. I had a good break, but I really missed my me time. A lot has happened in the last couple weeks. My friend, Kitty Sopow, who you know a little something, something about from a previous post came to visit. We had a blast exploring the city and being all around basic. This included a photoshoot in Brooklyn Bridge Park, watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer, tons of shopping/eating, and seeing Hamilton. Hamilton was a bucket list item and I can’t believe I got to cross it off the list #blessed.

Lately I have been in a pretty good headspace. I mean Hamilton was really my peak so it may all be down hill from here, but I digress. I am still riding the waves of my human emotions because I am not AI, but overall I feel grounded and it is amazing. As I feel this sense of grounding I find it more difficult to write. Comedians and artists alike often joke about their best work coming from dark places. So, when I am not in a dark place in can be harder to find inspiration. I thought about this as I geared up for another new blog post. “What can I possible write about today” I pondered and then I thought if I can write a whole post about my 5 hours at the DMV, I am pretty sure I can find something meaningful to write today.

In fact, when I first sat down to write, I wrote a ton of different things, but none of them were the story I wanted to tell. I probably could have made them work, but I don’t like to force things. Then this voice kept showing up. There is a story that I was never sure I would be ready to tell, but my head keeps saying today is the day. So, I guess today is the day. This is a story that I have alluded to many times over in previous posts, but never really said outright. I am ready now. Today’s story is about my own experience with sexual assault, so please read only if you feel in the right place to do so.  

C/W Rape, sexual assault, suicidal ideations.

Today I want to talk about the time I was raped. *I originally wrote assaulted here, but I want to name it exactly what it was, it was rape* A moment that really shaped the person I am today. I don’t really want to talk about the details, because I don’t think it is necessary. I think there are enough movies and TV shows that depict the horrific things that can be done to a persons body without their permission. I have no desire to further that aspect. What I do want to talk about is the aftermath- the hardship and confusion I experienced for many, many years.

When I first started writing, like way back during my first blogging days, this was the story I really wanted to tell. It was actually the first story I had ever written about myself, I just never posted it anywhere. I saved it to my desktop and still have it hiding in a documents folder titled ‘extra school work’. Sometimes when I am feeling confused or lost I go back and read it. It reminds me of how far I have come.

My experience was my first time, I was 20 years old and it was with someone I liked… well if I am being honest, who I thought I loved.  I spent a long time confused about the entire situation which in turn made my whole understanding of sex and relationships confusing. When I told a previous therapist about my ‘first time’ I told her a lie. I talked about how sweet he was and recited a scene that could have been placed in any romantic comedy. That lie morphed over time and depending on the person asking I would share different versions of what happened. I was disappointed in myself and scared to tell the truth. Alcohol was involved and so for a long time I blamed myself. Actually for a long time I didn’t even consider it rape; it was just sex that I didn’t remember. Throughout my early twenties I would sometimes close my eyes really tight and just whisper “remember, remember” over and over to myself, hoping that I could get one glimpse of what happened that night. What I do remember is that next morning. Every single part of it. I know what I was wearing, what we talked about. The exact words exchanged. When I would close my eyes and try to remember that is what I would see.

After that, I spent most of my early 20’s drinking a lot. It wan’t too unusual to people though because it is so embedded in college life. I was exhibiting normal early 20’s behavior, which now that I am a bit older is entirely alarming. I would drink to the point of blacking out, more often than I would care to admit and still this was pretty mainstream in the college scene. The thing is I didn’t want to remember things anymore. After that first time blacking out and with everything that happened I wanted to be this alternate universe Sarah who, in my head, was promiscuous and confident and attractive to others. I didn’t know who showed up when I was blacked out of course, but I remember she would make my friends laugh and they would give me stories that I didn’t know about my own life. I couldn’t be intimate with people unless I was drunk. I didn’t know how to feel safe any other way. My vulnerability was stripped with alcohol and I could hide behind her and block out the truths that would shout at me in the daytime.

Many weekends would be filled with alternate universe Sarah, but as time moved, the more I drank the less I would black out and the higher my tolerance became. Instead of becoming alternate universe Sarah, I became sad Sarah. I would drink and I would cry and my friends would take care of me. And then next time we drank I would begin the nights with promises that I wouldn’t cry this time and of course I would and the cycle would continue. My only saving grace was school. Just as school saved me as a child, it saved me as a young adult. The more immersed I became in school the less I could drink and the more head space it would take up. School has always been my safe space.

The first time I really talked about it to a professional was at the counseling center in my college, junior year. I was 23 at the time- 3 years after it happened. I was extremely depressed, suicidal, and my binge eating was at it’s worst. My best friend said ‘I think you need to go talk to someone. I’ve never seen you this bad’. So I did and I told her everything. I told her about my first time, my real first time. After I let it all out she said “Sarah, what you are telling me is rape”. I remember feeling taken aback. My first thought was that ‘that can’t be right. I don’t even remember it. I don’t know if I said no or fought back.’ She went on and said she experienced the same thing with her ex-husband. She broke down the stigma’s that I carried around like they were a part of me. She lifted each one off by saying what I needed to hear- “It wasn’t your fault. It doesn’t matter if you were drinking. He had no right to do that to you.” I connected with her in a way I never had with my previous therapist. I never went back after that first session. It was too much to process, too much that happened. I wish I could remember her name  or send her a thank you card though because she was my first step in a long healing journey.

The assault happened when I was 20 years old. It has now been 8 years and for the first time in those 8 years I truly feel at peace. I think this is why I couldn’t write about it before. It was too raw and I hadn’t done the appropriate healing to write about it in a way that felt healthy. I didn’t want to write this story and not be able to end it with a sense of hope because I needed the hope when I was in the beginning of my journey. I didn’t need the detailed stories or even what the healing was supposed to look like, I just needed to know it was possible. I get to now say that it is possible. I went through this really awful thing and there is no erasing it. However, I also got to do some pretty amazing things through that. It drove me into my career choice. The older I got the more I wanted to help people that had similar experiences. I now get to sit with people who have experienced similar situations and I am able to be that therapist that is sometimes their first step in healing.

Over and over again I have read from all the brave and honest people who said #metoo and told their stories. I read poems that stuck cords with me. I listened to stories that I played on repeat sometimes. I want to continue the movement of shedding the stigma, breaking down barriers, and keeping the conversation going. To know I wasn’t alone was another part of my healing journey. Most friends I disclosed to shared their own stories. Little by little I let go of that pain. Today I write this with a scar that will never fade, but one that I look at with gentle love rather than pain. It marks the beginning of journey I never expected to be on.

If you are on a healing journey or don’t know how to start a healing journey you can reach out to me for support on my contact page or you can go to RAINN the largest anti-sexual violence organization that has a 24/7 hotline 800.656.HOPE (4673).

A[wo]men

i had a dream last night that you apologized for all the ways you hurt me.

you listened to what I had to say and you heard all the bad you had done.

you owned up to it. you accepted it. you cried.

it was only a dream, yet it was the closest i felt to closure.

we swam in the moonlight.

you kissed me like I deserved to be kissed when i thought i loved you.

it was a goodbye kiss.

goodbye, forever.

-healing

Jessie Foss: Single & Thriving

Hi all and welcome to the second post from another brave and honest story teller. This months story is one that hits close to home for me and to anyone that’s done the dreaded dating in the 21st century, but before I get there, let’s start at the beginning, shall we.

Our story teller this week is Jessie Foss. I met Jessie when I was working at my first job out of undergrad. I was young and scared shitless. *Enter Jessie my postgrad-work friend-angel* The program I worked for was under an AmeriCorps grant called BuildingOpportunities which operated out of Workforce Connections, Inc. which is where Jessie worked. I didn’t start working with Jessie right away. Our original building was actually off site, so I only went in to bother her when I needed gas cards. She was always nice and gave me what I needed, but the interactions lasted no more than five minutes.

Then, my position changed in the company and I moved into the main building. Jessie recalls the excitement too. See, me and Jessie had a passion that saved us from the 9-5 office jobs in which we were sitting. Just what was that passion, you ask? The Bachelor. It was literally our saving grace being able to talk about the farmer from Iowa who was the actual worst, but also had the most dramatic season according to Chris Harrison circa 2015.

“I always love it when you can connect with somebody at work over ridiculous things… so yeah, yeah I loved having you over there that we could just talk about dumb stuff like that” she joked.

It really did save us because the other thing we had in common was a real struggle with the boss. One of my favorite memories of Jessie was when I posted a blog about how my boss called me naive and I cried in the bathroom. I remember her reaching out to me that night, or maybe the next morning, and just giving me the support I needed. It never ceases to amaze me how close I can become with my ‘work friends’ even if we never talk outside of the office. These are the people that get you through the tough meetings, the long days, and the mean bosses. Jessie was that person for me. 

I hadn’t talked to Jessie much since I left that job except for the occasional message about The Bachelor, but as soon as we started talking it was like we never left that office building. We Facetimed as she entertained her pup, Carver, who is the literal cutest, like longtime friends would do.

She was on her couch in standard Sunday attire, the cozies I like to call them, with her hair looking fabulous as it always does. She has this amazing curly hair that I have pure jealousy over and a nose ring that I wish I was cool enough to pull off. Jess was just as bubbly as I remember her too. We pretty much laughed our way through the entire interview. Jess does some of her own freelance writing for the Coulee Region Women’s Magazine with her own hopes to write a book one day which I have no doubt that she will get done. She is a determined individual who knows what she wants and is not afraid to go after it which you will understand as her story unfolds. After the walk down memory lane, I just dove right into it:

“And so as far as the story goes… for my first interview I just kind of said ya know, is there a story that you want to tell or had in mind? Like what were you thinking of for your story?” I asked.

“…One of the things that resonated with me that you recently wrote was about the dating burnout. It’s so real. Like so real.”

This was the story I didn’t know I needed. Everything Jess said I resounded with a hard “yes, exactly.” She sat in her truth of being a 37 year-old woman who was still putting herself out there and trying her best to figure out what she wants while also feeling completely exhausted by everything dating entails. I think my favorite part of the interview was how confident she sat in this truth knowing that she was doing what she needs to do for herself. I often talk to people about dating and it is typically coated in this sad overlay of just wanting to be wanted. Jess, like most humans, wants to have a partner and be with someone and she also knows the things she does not want. (Funny enough, off the road truckers are something she definitely does not want. She’s not sure why because they make decent money, but it’s just an automatic no. Along with anyone that lists the school of life or hard knocks for their education. LOL Automatic ‘no’s’ for me include dead animals in a pic and people that write nothing. I’m sure both of our lists could go on.) Honestly, the whole conversation was filled, not with sadness, but that of like ‘I just want people to know what it is like to be in this situation and stop giving me bad advice or making me feel bad for my approach.’ She was essentially saying, this is me on my own “journey for love” (to quote our fav show) and if you could just let me be my own leading lady that would be great.

One thing I think we both want to shout from the rooftops to our well-meaning and at times hurtful friends is the saying that ‘if you stop looking, that’s when you’ll find love.’ Jess responded to this best when she said “I find [that] to be such crap too. Shut up. I just want to punch people a lot of times. I’m very crabby about it… I hate it because, I’m like, it makes you feel like you’re doing something wrong by putting effort into something thats important to you.” We get what you are saying, we really do. Except you really, really don’t get what she is saying. If you haven’t been single for a long time or haven’t dated in this century you don’t know what it is like. What your single friend really wants is for you to just listen and actually just keep the advice to yourself.

The conversation from there went on to talk about the people we have met in the process and the not-so-great-dates we have been on- Dudes that just up and ghost, to people that have no idea how to communicate, to the person that is DTF (down to f***, as Jess learned from her google search the first time someone sent it to her). Honestly, we talked about how scary it is to date right now. Online, you could be talking to anyone. We’ve seen every episode of catfish, okay? We know how it works.

I agreed with her ideas of safety and said “I think it has to be like a balance, like protect yourself, and also be open, and it’s a hard balance to find.”

She responded saying “I don’t think I’ve found that yet.”

Truthfully, I don’t think any of us have. What is the right amount of openness? How much do we share and how much do we hold back. How long until we can confirm the person on the other side of the screen isn’t a murderer, or married, or has 11 toes? I, for sure, don’t know. I have a whole blog about my life on the internet. Do I share it with my Bumble matches or do I keep it to myself? They could very easily find it with a simple instagram search I suppose. I preach openness, but I also don’t know where to draw the line sometimes.

Which is how we landed on the topic of the profile– it starts the whole connection in the first place. What to write, who am I trying to portray, is this picture sexy enough for someone to like, but not too sexy for them to know I wait a few dates before I’m DTF? IT IS A BIG DEAL. Jess has this dream of just “[putting] your worst pictures and like what you’re really like on a daily basis. Im probably gonna be a little bitchy sometimes… [and] if your gonna waste my time, my emotions, you’re not serious about this, like swipe left. Otherwise I’m cool.” Jess, I fully support this profile idea. I think the honesty and bravery revolution should filter into the online dating sphere. One hundred percent here. for. it.

We then talked about the part of the story that Jess really wants to take to her future book which will be titled “Your Last Single Friend”. She talked about what is like to be 37 and single and how this plays a role in her search. She said that it sometimes gets to her that she doesn’t have a partner that can take care of her during her upcoming surgery or be there after work, but the real struggle is “not having anybody else that relates to your life. Like that’s always hard. You don’t have that person to reach out to because [they] get it.”

And this is exactly what this blog is about. It’s about the connection that comes from sharing, because I know Jess isn’t my last single friend. I know people older, younger, and the same age that just haven’t found that person or person(s). I am also finding that more and more people are working to not settle, to find relationships that are meaningful and feel right. She mentioned the old adage if they are a certain age, then there must be a reason they are single. The more I think about this, the more I think that people are single because we aren’t falling for the stupid tricks society is feeding us. No matter the age, we aren’t just getting into relationships just for the heck of it. Jess wants someone that will go to church with her, likes dogs, communicates, and is preferably a male nurse. I see this in her future because she knows what she wants and she is not going to settle. We’ve seen the failed relationships, the abuse, the poor communication, the heartache and we are not here to continue that cycle. I think Jess and people like her are the people that remind me that I am doing exactly what I want to be doing and when I meet a person that I want to give more time and energy to, great. And until then they will go down in the bank of bad dates that I share with all my other single friends, who are out there relating to that content wholeheartedly.  

A[wo]men & Jessie Foss

I want to thank Jessie for sharing her story and being so brave and honest with me about what it is like to be 37, single, and thriving. If you or someone else you know has a story that they would like to share please fill out the contact information on this page. And if you are single and want to send some love and support to the rest of us single humans, well that is just always appreciated.

The Stranger Friend

Have you ever been in a really crowded place and all you could think was ‘so long as no one talks to me, I’ll be okay.’ I do this often. In New York, basically everywhere is crowded and escaping people is only done in the solace of your bedroom, and some aren’t even that lucky. I often use the tactics of loud headphones, avoiding eye contact, and looking as though I am feeling any emotion but happy. I would say this works fifty percent of the time. Some people really don’t care. Typically, I am polite and make conversation, but the whole time in my head I am screaming “LEAVE ME THE EFF ALONE, damn…” 

Currently, I am writing this from one of the most crowded places one can find in any city: The DMV. *DUN DUN DUN* If you have seen the movie depiction of a DMV- then you know exactly what surrounds me. The wait time is an estimated 4 hours, everyone is grumpy, and it smells of something I can’t quite place. I’m pretty sure this kid next to me did something in his diaper, but who I am to say for sure. It’s an anxious ball of energy just wanting to be, literally, anywhere else. 

I spent two hours here yesterday with no luck of getting what I came for. I had to get to therapy by 4pm, so I had to leave before my number was called. I left angry and on the verge of yelling at a stranger- not in typical Sarah fashion. I was mostly angry because I knew I would have to do it all over again. I would have to wait in the long lines and sit with the smell and “waste” two-three more hours of my life. I was definitely in the ‘nobody talk to me or I’ll scream’ mood. 

I thought about those two hours on my thirty minute train ride to therapy. I thought about how that sucked and how none of it was urgent and I will try again tomorrow. I calmed my nerves by breathing and just felt glad that the moment was over and I was on my way to talk about my feelings. Bonus because if I had any leftover feelings from the moment, I knew someone who could help. (She did help, as always. #ilovetherapy)

So, for my return to the DMV this morning I set a different intention. Instead of wasting time, I wanted to utilize the time that lay ahead of me. I was prepared in my head to be there for 5 hours (better to think it will be much longer than to think it will be much shorter). I then thought about what I would like to get done in 5 hours and what was possible. Hello Sarah, you have a blog to write. Five hours of uninterrupted writing will help the time breeze by.

Right off the bat the line was long and I waited 40 mins just to get a number to be seen. I couldn’t exactly write while I was standing in line, so that 40 mins had a lot of scroll time. Instagram kept telling me I was all caught up… so rude. Then, there was a chatty person in front of me. “Can I ask you a question? Do you have a number? Should I already have one? You were here yesterday? How long was the wait? Do you have a pen?” On and on and on. At first I was back to the “LEAVE ME THE EFF ALONE, damn…” mentality. I smiled politely and answered their questions between scrolls. Then I started thinking about the five hours ahead of me and I wondered why I didn’t want to talk to someone who was just as bored as I was. I then put my phone down and tried to keep the conversation going.

They asked me where was I from, what I do, the usuals from strangers. The not-so-usual from strangers occurs when you tell them you’re a social worker and used to be a child and family therapist. For those of you not in this line of work, it is extremely common for people to hear this and think that they can just get a free therapy session. Often I am stand-offish when this happens and imaginarily cover my ears and say “I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you! Nanananana.” *sticks tongue out* In this moment though, I thought, well sh*t, I’ve got time. Hit me. They proceed to tell me about their son who is 5. He just started kindergarten which was so exciting for the family. His class did a scavenger hunt the first day and it was really nice for the family and their son to orient to a new surrounding. However, the last week or so things have been hard. He has trouble sleeping which in turn causes him to be tired in the morning. They said “it is just a battle. Sometimes I can’t handle it. And then you’ve got these moms who brag about their kid going to bed at 7:30pm and I just wonder why he won’t do the same.”  I was amazed at this person just telling me their struggles, so openly and honestly. At one point they whisper “sometimes I just want to give him ambien… I mean I never would, but gosh it is tempting some days”. I pictured this kid, with assistance from the many pictures they showed me, just laying in bed fighting sleep wondering why his parents get to stay up so late, but he can’t.

“So, do you have any tips? Should I, like, take him to a therapist?” Again, said at a whisper.

I took a deep breathe, wondering how to breach the topic of “yo, I don’t know your kids life” in a graceful way. 

But then they just kept talking. 

They talked about their own troubles with sleep and how their anxiety keeps them up with their racing thoughts. How sometimes they need to listen to sleep stories, and take ambien, and need a warm bath before they can go to bed. “Maybe it just runs in the family,” they sighed.

As they are talking, I am so fascinated by their story. I find myself wanting to know more. Not because I am feeling like their therapist at this point, but because it is two people in this place that feels so rushed and hectic, slowing down. The loud speaker is intrusive in the conversation, continually calling out numbers. “B545 AT COUNTER 14.” And then here we are, two total strangers, connecting and passing the time together. I told them about my own life. How I just moved back after living in Alaska and giving them tips if they ever go there. My reasons for getting into social work and how ‘I don’t have a family yet, but I hope to one day.’

“Would you look at that, we’re almost to the front of the line. Thank you for chatting with me, Sarah, it was a really nice way to pass the time. I really appreciate you listening, I know you do it all day for work, but it was nice to just have someone to talk to. And good luck with everything.”

As we wrapped up our conversation I thought about how nice of a time I had in that line all because I decided to challenge my thoughts of ‘avoid, avoid, avoid’ to ‘lets just see where this conversation goes’. I think back to all the times I avoided people and what they had to say and the many connections I overlook on a daily basis. This is not to say that I am going to start talking to every stranger I meet, heck I may not even change my ways at all; it did remind of how simple it can be to just do one thing differently and how that will impact you in any moment.

I have now since left the DMV and am writing in the comfort of my own home and as I was leaving I thought about how I felt yesterday compared to today. Today I was smiling when I left. I utilized my time there, got what I needed, and was even able to gather a whole post just from a single morning. If I hadn’t talked to them, if I just put my headphones in, I don’t think things would be extremely different. I would’ve written about some other thing I’ve experienced, I would’ve gotten my license, had the same lunch, still gone for a run, taken a shower, picked out the same clothes. It just would’ve been one less connection I made in the world.

Then again, I don’t really know, we never do. Perhaps, if I didn’t talk to them I would have become angry again and then decided to leave and just deal with it a different day, then not to run and so on. We just never know how one thing impacts another. I think that is something I am trying to recognize more of. Perhaps tonight when my stranger friend goes home they think about how I told them I’ve met a lot of kids that have trouble sleeping and how they aren’t alone and this thought makes them feel less anxious for just a moment. See the impacts are invisible most times, but I think they are there and I think they all stem from each connection we make. And again, maybe they don’t do this at all, but isn’t it cool that it’s a possibility? That maybe just maybe I impacted their life, as much as they influenced mine. A whole blog post of material, ya know?

I guess I would like to urge you to maybe take your headphones out one day in a crowded place. Maybe start a conversation or don’t write off the stranger trying to start one with you. I think we are all just a little lonely some days and a stranger is just as good as anyone to listen. Heck, you might even make a stranger friend out of it.

A[wo]men

“Can i ask you a question?”

No-

You can ask me a million questions,

fill my head with a million conversations.

Become a stranger friend.

-How to make connections

Kitty Sopow: The Wish

Imagine you’re a child sitting in a field of grass; you see a dandelion and your eyes perk up. As you pluck it from the base of the earth, you think of the one thing you wish for most in the world. What was that young you thinking of? What did you whisper to yourself as you blew the seeds into space to take on a new life? 

For Kitty Sopow it was always the dream of her parents getting back together.

This week we will be exploring the brave and honest story from my dear friend, Kitty.

I met Kitty in a Target in Anchorage, which is strange because neither of us lived in Anchorage and neither of us lived in a Target, although it sometimes feels like it. Kitty had known my then boyfriend through Skype calls as they worked together on a project. As we were strolling down the aisle I remember him squinting his eyes and saying to me ‘I think I know her’. Then he said it to her, “I think I know you”. I remember looking at Kitty and thinking ‘damn… she’s cool.’ She had punk rock hair, 70’s fashion glasses, with printed leggings and an oversized sweatshirt on. She had a huge grin on her face as she finally got to meet her friend outside of the screen. I lingered back from the conversation, as shy people often do, trying to not embarrass myself in front of the cool kid.

“Kitty, what were your first impressions of me?”

“I could tell.. you were like ‘something is wrong with this bitch!’”

“HA All I kept thinking is… this girl is a badass!”

“WHAT?!?”

This is where I like to begin because this is where Kitty and I began. And, as I’ve learned many times in my life, first impressions are often *pardon my language* total shit. She said she thought I didn’t like her. She thought I was assessing her, trying to figure out if she was into my boyfriend or not. She shared that when she first moved to the island in Alaska for the summer, which is how we became closer than a Target meet and greet, she thought I was a “wet blanket”. RUDE. To be fair, she only knew me for five seconds and thought I was scared she was into my boyfriend- I can’t hold that against her. We all do it. Another commonality among the human race. And so, this was where our story began: Through thoughts not discussed, but impacting the relationship regardless.

As we continued on the with the interview, agreeing that we were closer friends by overcoming our preconceived ideas, I started to find a common theme- often the things we don’t talk about are creating the biggest impact in our relationships.

“Why do you want to tell your story? 

“Well, ya know, I want to support you. And I’m always the one recording stories, so [I thought] it would be kinda nice to reverse the rolls…”

Kitty just graduated with a Masters of Science in Applied Anthropology in August of 2019. This degree is what brought her to Klawock, Alaska and into my life. For her thesis she wrote about subsistence on Prince of Wales. She interviewed people about the role subsistence plays in their lives. I spent many nights with Kitty hearing her talk about her interviews and would see the way she lit up when she became a part of someones story. In a way, I think she influenced me to start this project of telling other peoples stories. Seeing the way she became so involved and immeshed in each persons way of life was intoxicating.

“What do you like about your role as the interviewer?” I asked. 

“You know, you just sit in silence and people just tell you what’s important to them and I think that’s really cool.” 

Kitty, still airing that ‘cool girl’ vibe even today, is sitting on her bed, morning hair falling every which way, as she paints her toenails a merlot red. Oversized boxer shorts and a fitted tank top sets the tone for an ‘I woke up like this’ conversation.

“So [Kitty] the other part of today, obviously, is talking about a story that you have that you feel like might connect with other people… Do you have a story in mind?”

This is where I started to see a different side of Kitty. Her words became a little more rushed than normal and I could feel her energy shift from confident to unsure. The cool-girl vibe still lingered but mixed with a story that she has been holding in for some time. 

“Can I cry while I tell you.. I think I know a story I want to tell…” 

Her eyes were watering and her voice began to shake. She took a deep breath in.

“When I was a kid, there were dandelions all over the place, obviously in the spring. And uh, and my Aunt told me if I picked one up and blew, when all the whispers went away in one blow your dream/wish would come true. And they would always say that stupid wish would come true, like, if you wish on the first star that you saw or, or like, *sniffles* you blew all your birthday cake candles out in one blow your wish would come true, but I never could… and for years all I did was wish my parents would get back together. And yeah… sometimes I sit here and I forget that for years I would just oh, I would wish so hard every night when I’d see a star, every year on my birthday, or every f****ing single breath in the spring I would wish that. And they never got back together and so… I would go from like being at my dads house with my step-mom who hated me, to going to my moms house with my step-dad who we hated.”

I could tell this was something she didn’t talk about often. This was a story that came through with most of her relationships, both platonic and not, but was never said out loud. It felt as though Baby Kitty was sitting across from me, still just wishing on her flowers, candles, stars and now blog posts for the miracle of a family that didn’t know the word ‘divorce’. I know she isn’t alone. I’ve sat with friends, clients, partners, you name it, who all dreamed of different family dynamics. My parents never got divorced, but I remember when things would get bad, using some of my own wishes on a desire to feel like the Brady Bunch. I didn’t talk about it for a long time though. Blood is thicker than water, therefore, it is easier to drown in. As Kitty took her deep breaths between sentences, it felt like she was working her way up to the surface. With each word that left her lips, the heaviness seemed to start lifting. She was no longer holding in the story that held her under for so long.

Kitty was coming up for air in front of my eyes. 

Kitty went on with how this whole situation impacted her choices moving forward. She, like a lot of kids that have difficult relationships with their families, learned to be independent. She knew as soon as she could leave their care she would; her ambitions fueled by the desire to be done with needing her family. That mentality, however, started to feel a bit bit blurry when she got the news that takes over much of the space in her mind today. 

“I was just like thinking you know, wow, like I spent years just thinking about that one wish, ya know? Now it’s just weird because well my moms got breast cancer… and I had to call my dad and tell him. And it was like, I’ve know for a long time that my moms had cancer like at first she had skin cancer, then had cervical cancer, and now its in her breasts and lymph nodes and my dad didn’t know any of this… and he was like ‘Oh, thanks for telling me.’ And I just thought that was, like, just weird. It’s so weird. What’s really weird, okay, is so my dad’s mom also has cancer. Everyone else knew that my mom had cancer but my dad didn’t and it was just weird. ‘Oh yeah dad, sorry, you’re the last one to know my moms had cancer for like a year… And its like, you know, I know my dad at one point had to have feelings for my mom… so, like, I wonder what he is thinking?… his mom has cancer, his ex wife now has cancer, I wonder if he’s thinking ‘oh my daughter is going to get cancer.’

As she said this sentence I could feel my body start to heat up, because all I could hear in that sentence was ‘oh, is my friend going to get cancer?’ My friend, that was so rawly telling me about the difficult childhood she had and her family’s battle with cancer, and the person that was there for me in some of my darkest times, would I see the day that she get’s sick? I tried to let the thought pass through, not letting it derail the conversation. 

She continued on about this strange dynamic that now existed and then it hit me, was my friend sitting there also wondering if she was going to get cancer? 

“You know [Kitty] you mentioned your dad wondering if you were going to get cancer, but is that something you’re thinking about?”

“I think so. I always thought I was going to die from suicide or cancer,” she shared as she was laughing through her nose.

Kitty uses laughter as a way to cope with the dark things in her life. It is something that I love the most about her. She continued to make jokes throughout the interview, saying things like “my mom is the one-percenter of breast cancer, so bow down, she is a one-percenter.” When I lived with Kitty we would spend hours laughing at everything we could. We would talk about our suicidal ideations like it was going to be the kickstart for our stand-up shows. No matter the topic we find a way to laugh together. But the good thing about knowing Kitty, even more after this interview, is that I know that between the laughs there are deep, deep pains that spill out with hard crying. This interview was no different, oscillating between laughter and tears. I could feel her pain and I could feel her trying to cope with that pain. 

She went on to talk about her two siblings who have gone through the same events, but how they handled it much differently. 

Kitty talks about her family through a lens of empathy, wanting to have a deeper understanding of the choices that were made as to lessen the pain and the way it impacts her daily life. She told me about her brothers and how much it affects them. She recalled the disconnect from her older brother as he pushed away from any sort of connection, which they have now started to rebuild. Then to her younger brother, who is still working on finding himself. As she then laughs and throws in “So, yes I am the middle, obviously.” Needing to interject some more comedy to help protect herself. 

All of this disconnect and hurt with her family kept her on the move. She winded up in Alaska in August of 2012. If there is one thing that Kitty has always made clear to me, it’s that Alaska held one of the most special places in her heart. 

“And so, do you think you’ll be in Alaska forever?”

“You know, I used to think that, until my mom got sick again. I’m gonna go home for a little bit. It’s not healthy for me to be there for a long time. I haven’t been home for more than 5 days in like 7 years. Yeah, I was thinking about going home for a month.” She was quick to note that she wouldn’t be staying at her families homes, she would be renting a place, still finding ways to keep herself safe. 

It felt as though Kitty was letting go of something as the interview came to an end. She was recognizing that as we get older we can take our history and rather than let it define us we can let it inform us. Kitty still cares deeply for her family, regardless of the unfulfilled wishes from her childhood. She is there for her mom and they are all working together to get through all the ways cancer derails their lives. Her wish now transforming into one of keeping her mother alive, healthy, and married to anyone, so long as she can stick around.

Kitty, who I see as a strong, bad-ass, presented me with very real vulnerability. I felt so connected to someone I already call a close friend. Hearing her story, I was humbled by the ways I didn’t know this part of my friend. It reminded me that whether you are sitting with a complete stranger or your best friend, there are always new stories to discover, so long as you leave space for people to tell you what’s important to them.

“Okay last question for you, Kitty. Is there anything you want to recommend to people hearing your story and have experienced or are experiencing the things you have experienced?”

“Uhm, probably just self-care and mindfulness and sometimes self-care isn’t a bubble bath it’s actually getting a f****ing therapist and talking about some shit. In order to have productive self-care I think you need to know a lot about yourself… Self-care doesn’t necessarily feel good. It can honestly be the most painful thing you ever do.”

Blunt enters the screen, another coping skill she has acquired over time.  

She continues, as she exhales from a deep drag, “my mom consumes every thought of mine right now. I’ve been crying a lot lately… Here I go crying again.”

“I wish I could hug you.”

Through the tears, “I just want to say that if my mom were here she would say ‘google how to do your own breast exam. And don’t forget to get your mammogram at dat 40’ and then she would cross her arms and give you the look.” 

Sound advice, I would say.

And I would like to add, never stop wishing on anything you can. As Kitty so perfectly demonstrated, sometimes hope is all that we have to get us through a difficult time.

A[wo]men & Kitty Sopow

* Featured image gathered from story-teller (From left bottom to right bottom: Joe, Terry-mom, Kitty, Pearce-dad, Bobby)

Vows, schmows. I don’t care.

Is it hereditary?

I really don’t know.

-Divorce by Kitty Sopow

If you or someone you know is interested in having their story told please fill out the contact form located on this website.

***For more information on the story-teller, follow her on instagram @sopowart

The Inevitable Connection

Hello folx. So, this weeks post is going to be a bit shorter because I am gearing up to do my first post on the most recent interview I did! I am so excited with how it is turning out and *Alert* you are not going to want to miss next week’s post. It will bring all the feels. Of course, I can’t bring all the feels without some serious dedication to transcribing and really getting deep into the work, hence the shorter post this week.

So, here goes the quick snapshot:

Tears flowing, ice cream in one hand, hitting the ‘continue watching  button’ on Netflix in the other, and on-again, off-again napping throughout the day. That was my Sunday- a ‘straight out of a rom-com’ scene. My body was on empty and I tried all day to refuel it with anything that I thought would make it happy.

‘You wanna go on a walk, girl? How ’bout a nap? Is she hungry?’

Turns out, I was exhausted from dating.

I called some friends to tell them how I was feeling. I told them how I feel empty, how I can’t believe I am still thinking about my ex, and how I keep meeting these really great guys and I can’t seem to move forward with any of them. They all responded with the same exact words: “You’re trying too hard.” Okay, rude, but like… so real. Thank goodness for friends and therapists, amiright?

So, I deleted the apps. I erased the accounts. I’ve called off the search for now.

I’ll be honest, the sense of relief that came from that small act was unreal. I couldn’t believe how much pressure I was putting on myself and how easily I could take that pressure off. I don’t know if you’ve ever done this, but sometimes I feel like I am going a million miles an hour and I can’t slow down because if I do I will fall apart. Of course, I always do slow down and I do fall apart and that breakdown is the catalyst for me moving on. A lesson I seem to keep forgetting.

I think that’s why I was putting all my energy into dating. I didn’t want to spend time thinking about all the hurt and change I experienced in a months time. I was recently reminded of everything I’ve gone through. In one month, I left a job and started a new one, I moved across the country and then moved again across Brooklyn, I quit drinking coffee, I went through a major and minor break-up. It almost feels unreal because I blew right past all of it. So, I am finally slowing down. I am sitting in all the change that I have endured and letting it wash over me.

The beauty is that we have all experienced some change in our lives and I am sure you can attest to the grieving process it can evoke. Just remember, that change is inevitable and that’s a beautiful thing because it’s just another way we can all connect to one another.

And as a sneak peak into next weeks post: The story-teller went through some big changes of her own at a young age and it has impacted the major changes she is going through today. I hope to connect more with you all next week through this brave and honest story.

A[wo]men

Fire and ice burn up through her throat,

a tornado inside.

“I can feel it,”

Water flows from her eyes,

sinking into the creases of her smile.

“I’m human.”

 

Indecisions, Indecisions

Hi friends, I am writing to you from Philadelphia. I’ve decided to run away and live here now. JUST KIDDING. I am here for a conference and I am excited to be spending the day here exploring— and by that I mean sitting at this one coffee shop, not buying anything, and using their internet for the day. And what a day it is-not too hot, not too cold, partly cloudy with a chance of fun.

I’ve been getting many inquiries and desires for the deets of my dating life. I know the deets you are all looking for and honestly the name of my show would be sexless and the city. I must’ve shaken the magic eight ball and received ‘outlook not good’ because the people that I have met are, well, underwhelming, to say the least. There was one guy I dated for a hot second, but it was just that—a second. And the rest were nice enough, but not my cup of tea. *I would like to note that I feel very lucky that I have not met anyone that is cruel*

What I am finding is that there seems to be a lack of passion in the world. I am not just talking about romantic passion, but passion for life. When I ask people why they do what they do, most don’t have a real answer. Often responded with ‘I make good money’ or ‘what else would I do’? I’m fairly certain they don’t even enjoy their work. And these aren’t the people that are making money to get by. I get those people. I’ve been that person. We gotta do what we gotta do. These are people that have spent years of their lives in school, pursuing something that they aren’t even sure of. Then when I ask what they do outside of work I tend to get the generic ‘hang out with friends, work out, *cough* do you even lift bro?’ It’s like someone is playing a joke on me. I mean if it is a joke, that’s pretty good. But like, Ashton, you can come out now. 

Really though, in this frame I feel lucky- and not just because I don’t call people bro. In my undergraduate studies I changed my major several times. I wanted to be a kindergarten teacher, work in media, learn spanish, teach spanish, teach math, go into politics … and more. Often the response I get to this is of shock and confusion. Personally, I am more shocked and awed that this isn’t the standard. I often get down on myself about being indecisive. At times it makes me feel like I have this burdensome weakness. “Just pick a cereal, Sarah, it’s not that hard”. Sure, Reese’s Puffs vs Cinnamon Toast Crunch doesn’t seem that important, but to me it’s a couple weeks of breakfast. What do I want to wake up to every morning? Will it bring me joy. My mornings are my favorite part of the day. This decision is crucial. And you know, I typically go with the choice that I hadn’t even been considering, i.e oatmeal. Might bring this up to my therapist later, idk.

These dates with people that seem ‘just okay’ with their lives have been a friendly reminder to me; I am indecisive because I care about myself. This is not a weakness, this is a strength. When I meet people that just do things because that’s what they are supposed to do and they don’t question that, alarm bells ring in my head. Every choice we make should mean something to us. For this reason, I am taking a new approach with my dating life. Previously, I was going on dates just to go on dates. It didn’t matter the person, I just needed to get used to dating again. Both my quest and therapy have helped me get over that fear. Now, I have a new goal. I want to meet people with intention. I want to be surrounded by thoughts I haven’t had yet and feelings I didn’t know I could feel. I want to leap back out of my comfort zone, not into a fearful zone, but of excitement. I want passion in all aspects of my life. 

Jumping back into dating with intention means that there has to be a critical look at my past relationships. Looking back, my most recent relationship began without intention. One minute we were friends and the next minute we were more than that. Then the next minute we weren’t either of those things. Then we were again. Then we weren’t. Then my friends started calling us Rachel and Ross. Not really, but they could’ve. My emotions followed suit—Happy, mad, sad, happy, sad. Yet, I never assessed those feelings. I took them at face value. I thought I was sad because I was letting go of something I shouldn’t; I thought I was mad because I wish I didn’t know what I knew; I thought I was happy because there was still a chance of us being together. Now I know I was all those things because I was supposed to be, because break-ups are hard. But there was that emotional stigma again, telling me that sadness/madness are bad and all I should want is happy. I just kept reaching for happy, not understanding that all my emotions were trying to tell me something. Up and down, up and down my feelings went. I got so seasick I had to jump ship and landed all the way in New York. 

But see, leaving Alaska was done with intention. That was a decision that I mulled over and feared of making the wrong choice. As I sit here thinking back to how hard that choice was for me, I am wondering why I have never put the same energy into picking the right partner. My indecisiveness does not translate to my relationships. I often find myself dating people simply because they want to date me. I don’t think about why I want to be with that person or what makes me passionate about building a life with them in it. 

What is it about finding a partner that I don’t think it warrants the same attention? If there is anything I should be indecisive about, it is finding a person that I let into my life in more intimate ways than any other person. With pillow talk, I pass out deep secrets like candies. I am consumed with the vulnerability displayed by nakedness. For me and the things I have been through, I tend to let my guard down as a way to protect myself. If I say yes, if I tell them my secrets, even if I don’t necessarily want to, then I am safe. They can’t hold anything against me. I think this is why I have been so hesitant to give my attention to this. Because it means I have to take myself off of autopilot and really check myself every step of the way. These connections, though, deserve more of my attention, more of my indecisiveness, more of me caring about myself. I want to find people that have passion and that make me feel safe to let my guard down, not as a way to protect myself, but because I feel safe to do so.

I, with the help of a dear friend, have come up with a plan to do just that. I am going to start meeting people with more intention. First off, I am going to start talking to people in public. [I know… it’s so un-millennial of me. Talking to strangers just out in public like some kind of wild animal.] Secondly, I am going to be observant and reach out to those that seem to have a spark in them. Thirdly, I am going to try new things. Join groups, lean new skills, leap into new passions! This process is not just for romantic relationships, but for connection with all humans. 

Isn’t that all any of us are really looking for anyways— Connection. 

A[wo]men

It’s radiant – the black and the white
The good and the bad
The sharp contrast.

I, however, am gray. 

It’s subtle- black and white
No good, no bad 
The blurry mixture.

-Just stories. 

The Social Media Revolution

Hi Friends, you may have noticed some upgrades to the site (and if you’re new here welcome and I hope you enjoy the lewk). I have decided to take my blog to the next level- the professional level. *Look at me adulting* This upgrade has been something I have been stewing on for quite some time, but the reason I chose today is because a spark was lit in me. I believe the main ignitor was therapy- ergh let’s be real, I KNOW the ignitor was therapy. All of this work I have been doing on myself- my patterns, the parts of me holding me back, baby Sarah- I finally realized I had the power to change. I know, that’s like the therapy moments in the movies, ya know?

I used to say that I hated those people that had a ‘thing’. You know the type, where they have something that they are so passionate about that they almost seem to emanate it. I was always jealous of the sports kids, art kids, and well pretty much anyone with a hobby. My hobbies seemed to include hating myself and helping others. The latter I was able to make a career of and the former is what deterred me from trying anything else. When I left therapy yesterday, I started to think about what could be my passion? What is something that brings me true joy and clarity? I’d like to say that writing jumped up at me like there was no real thinking to it, but I honestly made a list for quite some time before hitting on the blog. As I sat there writing all of the things I loved -bread, cheese, pigs, photography, music, Stranger Things– I had this moment of looking at my pen and being like ‘duhhh’. Of course, that passion has been here for awhile, but that inner voice told me I wasn’t good enough to take it further. The inner voice told me I couldn’t have writing be my passion because I am not a trained writer; therefore, no one would want to read what I have to write.

Yesterday in therapy I talked to that inner voice. See, that inner voice, like baby Sarah (see post-Nobody Puts Baby [Sarah] in the Corner), is also my protector. When I spoke to the voice I told them that I appreciated all the pain they have protected me from. I hugged them and thanked them for continuing to motivate me to be better. The image in my head was that of a cartoon. I was the little girl in Inside Out and my inner voice was a cute little black fluff ball. Then, my therapist encouraged me to invite a new feeling in with that inner voice and all of the sudden me and the little black fluff ball were hugging as we were surrounded by hundreds of little yellow fluff balls. We felt warm as we were surrounded by a new energy. When the hugging ended I told the voice I didn’t need it and that they could hang around if they would like, but they couldn’t speak to me in the same way anymore.

I know what you might be thinking, especially if you have never done inner work, ‘this sounds like some hippy-dippy-shit!’ I know this because I have been that person. The person that scoffs at the idea of letting your imagination help you to heal. It seems made up, and while part of it is, when I let down those walls and open up to the idea that it could work, my imagination started to go wild with it. The point of me telling you all of this though is to really bring to the forefront the ideas that we create about ourselves; the stories we decide to showcase. Going to therapy, consistently was a challenge, even as a therapist. I resisted feeling vulnerable because it is scary. Telling you that I talked to an inner-voice in my head, and also gave it an image and a story line, also feels vulnerable and  scary to type out loud. It is stories like this that I think we need to hear.

Yesterday, a friend of mine was doing a hard creep on my instagram and commented on one of the photos “little did we know these nights cloaked in depression [would form] an impenetrable bond.” When I reexamined the photo we were so bright and happy it was hard to believe that it was taken during the height of my depression. These were the days where my suicidal ideations were stronger than ever, yet when you look at that photo it is near impossible to tell that fact. 34 likes on that picture and most of them probably thought I was in a really good place, they were none the wiser. This is why I am telling my stories… my real stories. Because the pictures we paint on the internet are often glossed over with smiles and joy. We don’t often see posts of the hard times, heartbreak, pain, anger, but we all know we are experiencing it.

This is why I write and I share. My stories may not be very different from anybody else’s, but to me that is the point. I want people to know that they are not alone. And just as powerfully as a funny image on Instagram can bring me joy, so can a sad post on Instagram that brings me connection. I want to be a part of a revolution on the internet where honesty and bravery become the norm; where all emotions are brought to the table and we begin to normalize and accept all emotions. I feel that when we start to see this shift we will see a decrease in suicide rates, self-harming disorders, body-image issues, etc. With the internet being run by happy posts and joy it sends a message that fear, anger, sadness, disgust and any other feeling you can conjure is bad. This, as we know, is incorrect messaging. All feelings have a purpose and are valid.

So I am giving you all a call to action- share a new emotion on the internet. Join me in the social media revolution by following my Instagram and liking my Facebook page and use the hashtags #honestyrevolution #braveryrevolution to post stories of some of your own truths.

xxoo

A[wo]men