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

Heavy Lifting

In the name of honesty and bravery, I am beginning today’s post with some realness. I don’t want to write this. I didn’t even want to open my eyes this morning or even fall asleep last night. I ate this morning out of necessity, not out of hunger. I brushed my teeth with the will of 100 men in battle. I’m still, of course, going to write this; just as I powered through the other tasks of my morning, because I know that fresh air is coming.

It has been a tough week for me. Nothing in particular to note, but just a feeling of longing. I’ve spent a lot of time alone this week, mostly watching TV and lounging. For some, this can be a refreshing activity, but for me it often creates feelings of isolation. The more I feel disconnected the more I disconnect. I think I am currently in the dun dun dun ‘suck zone’. For those of you wondering what exactly the ‘suck zone’ is let me quote the great 1996 film Twister: “‘The Suck Zone’…when the twister… sucks you up. That’s not the technical term for it, obviously.” Obviously… but it is just the term I needed, Dusty. See I’ve been sucked up into the twister of loneliness.

There are a few things that I have noticed that may be playing into these feelings:

Number 1. I still don’t have a good schedule down. I keep having random appointments, odd trips, weird bed times, and strange work hours which I let take over any semblance of a routine.

Number 2. As I try to increase the reach of my blog, I have become a little too intense about social media. I went from taking a two week hiatus, to checking my stats every 20 minutes. It is too much.

Number 3. I still think about my breakup much more than I care to admit. This is a hard one to be honest about because I get embarrassed by this fact. I know, I know. I keep hearing it over and over… “It’s a process. Don’t feel bad and don’t try to rush it. This will pass.” And I get that. I know they are right and breakups are hard, but, like, I do feel bad and I want to rush it and could it just pass already?

Number 4. It’s Amazon Prime day and I don’t have enough money to buy unnecessary things for the sake of sales. Sometimes, I just want to be frivolous. I want to throw hundo’s around like I’m in a cool music video.

Number 5. I want coffee. Hi, I’m Sarah, and I’m an addict. I’ve been coffee free for one month and it’s been harder to resist the sweet bean of life, now, more than ever.

Number 6. I am still not Lizzo and that’s all I really want in this life.

So, as you can see, I’m not really setting myself up for great success. The good news is that I recognize this and I am being really gentle with myself. I am ensuring that I still do things that keeps the war at bay.

How, might you ask? Let me count the ways:

Number 1. I am requiring myself to spend time outside for at least one hour per day.

Number 2. I am still going to my therapist! This is the longest standing therapeutic relationship I have ever had. (Aside from my dog Brandy, who was my therapist growing up. RIP. [And yes, she was named after singer/song writer/actress Brandy. I really loved the show Moesha and her amazing rendition of Cinderella.]) In fact, I will be seeing her (my therapist, not Brandy) in about 2 hours. I always feel lighter after therapy.

Number 3. I am not really scrolling on social media. At this point I am just checking my own page, so the comparing is still down to a minimum. Baby steps = baby wins.

Number 4. I am planning a solo camping trip. Which means I have to buy a sleeping bag and, oh would you look at that, there is a sleeping bag on sale on prime day. How convenient. May not be throwin’ hundo’s, but I am getting turned up with nature. [That was the most embarrassing thing I have ever typed out loud. Sorry, not sorry.] Also, may not be a cool music video, but it is like a Henry David Thoreau story. So that’s pretty cool.

Number 5. I’m rewatching Riverdale to be reminded of the love I truly want… #bughead #Bettyandjughead4ever #iSHIPit

Number 6. I continue to sing Lizzo songs daily and even if I can’t be her, I am her in my head for at least 20 minutes a day.

Number 7. Exactly what I am doing right now; I am writing.

All in all, I would say my coping skills are pretty successful. I even had an extra coping skill compared to the aforementioned list of hold-ups. Sure, tasks feel heavy right now, but they don’t feel so heavy that I can’t lift them. I’m just becoming a pretty toned heavy weight lifter. “The beach is that way.”

While I am starting to grow emotional muscles, there have definitely been points in my life where I felt too weak to lift anything. In the past my coping skills list consisted of 1. binge eating and 2. self-hatred. Look at that growth. I guess this is how strength builds though. One day you’re lifting a 5 pounder and the next you are lifting in the hundo’s. +I think hundo’s is my new favorite word, BTW. Again, like a break-up, it takes time. You don’t just jump into it because then you will break your back, or is it your mothers back? Oh, wait, that’s only if you step on a crack. Either way, pain is involved.

But the real problem is we don’t talk about it; we don’t talk about any of it. We expect the quick turnaround because we don’t see all the hard work that we put in day in and day out. We see the end results, not the grueling work. The first time I opened up about any of my feelings outside of joy was in a chat room, on the Post Secret Website. If you have not heard about Post Secret, it is a brilliant site and I encourage you to follow the link. Essentially, complete strangers from around the world send secrets to another stranger who then posts them weekly to his blog. The reason I felt safe to open up there is because of the honesty and bravery shown by everyone else. I learned in those moments that feeling this way was meant to be secret. We tend to not open up about feelings outside of happiness, unless it is to complete strangers.

While I loved and continue to be thankful for the opportunity that chat room gave me, I also think it’s important we give space to those we love to hear how we are feeling. I’ve been trying to correct my way of thinking because for a large part of my life only telling strangers held me back from feeling okay. I had to be a different person depending on where I was sitting. Quiet Sarah at home, happy Sarah at cheer, sad Sarah on the computer, sassysarah600 on aim… When all I really wanted to be was Sarah Lorraine Robinson. *Gasp* THAT’S THE URL NAME.

This blog allows me to open up to strangers, but also to those closest to me, with my name right there in the website address. I am no longer hiding my identity, I am shouting it from the tops of webpages. Earlier, when I said I am still going to write and do my normal activities because I know there is fresh air on the other side, this is what I meant. I feel like I held my thoughts in for so long it was like holding my breathe under water. When I write, when I tell people the truth, just out in the open like this, it’s like I am able to exhale. In fact, breath work, i.e., the inhale and exhale, are some of the greatest coping skills we have.

I suppose I have a number 8 to add to the list: Breathing.

A[wo]men

PS- My hope is to continue the #honestyrevolution #braveryrevolution on social media. Please join me in showing your own journeys, not just the results, and all the emotions that go along with that. For more information on this social media campaign read my previous post- The Social Media Revolution

xxoo

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

Discovering My Anger

Happy zombie Jesus day, if you celebrate! Oh, and happy April Fools Day, if you’re a monster and also celebrate that. I can guarantee you there will be no April Fools surprise from me. My blog is centered around honesty, so that would be mean to lie to y’all. Also, I can honestly say I hate having a joke played on me and ya know do unto others yada yada yada.

Speaking of honesty, I have to let you all know… I am not feeling it today. For some reason I am feeling angry. I went whale watching yesterday and it was so magical, but when I got home I just felt mad. I can’t place it. I don’t know why I feel mad. I saw whales for crying out loud. The sun is out today. I have a full french press of coffee. I inhaled the six Reese’s eggs my mom sent me for Easter. I have gotten plenty of sleep and water and  exercise and episodes of Friends. I just don’t know what it could be.

Some people when they are angry, they find it the easiest time to write. I, however, am not some people. I don’t do anger well and frankly, I don’t do it often. Actually, in middle school I joined an anger management group because I felt like I didn’t get angry enough. I was worried there was something wrong with me. I felt sad, like all the time, but never angry. When I feel that other people are getting angry, I usually start to feel ill. My body physically rejects anger.

That’s why when I feel angry I don’t know what to do with it. The only thing that typically helps my anger is a run and I did that yesterday and I still felt like punching my pillow. I know that all emotions are necessary. I know that this anger is coming from some place. I know all of this and yet, I still try to hide from it. It’s like a never ending game of hide and seek. Eventually, it finds me and I run away again. See the strange part is that I embrace all other emotions. Me and sadness are BFF’s. A good cry is one of my favorite past times. Joy is excellent, obvi. I can’t wait to have laugh lines. Fear is one of my main motivators. What else would be pushing me to live all over the country. And disgust is just like part of who I am. “Oh my god, ew”. Ya know? But anger is so foreign to me.

Most days, I enjoy that. There is enough anger from everyone around me. All I have to do is go to my twitter feed to get my daily dose of hatred and I can usually call it a day. Not today though. It’s hanging around forcing me to look at it. I guess this post is the long winded way of me saying that today I am angry and instead of running from it, I am trying to embrace it. I am writing about it and talking about and trying to figure it out. Just how do I plan to do that, you ask. Excellent question. Well, step 1. is done. Write this post. This post, has taken a lot of energy, so I will probably need a reboot after this. Step 2. will include making a list of all the things that make me particularly angry. Step 3. Going through my conversations from the previous week and see if those triggered any of the things from my list. Step 4. Accept the fact that I feel angry by creating an angry playlist on iTunes and, of course, blaring said playlist. Step 5. Don’t let your anger keep you from enjoying the day by inviting friends over for dinner. Step 6. If you wake up angry, give that energy a big hug and appreciate the fact that you get to experience all these different emotions. Finally, if it comes to it I have created an additional step 7. for the most dire of cases. Throw darts at a picture of Nicholas Cage.

I hope you all have a glorious day and if you find yourself feeling angry feel free to adopt my list of steps for working through anger.

**These steps in no way guarantee the desired results. If anger lasts more than 7 days, please consult your physician. Side effects include: Hand cramping, sore throat, and self-discovery**