Cheers to the ordinary and mundane

Hello, my loves. Hope this post finds you dreaming glorious dreams after last weeks post and if not, I hope good dreams are just on the horizon for you.

This past week has been a week of some of the most lovely, mundane moments. While mundane is often thought of as synonymous with boring, for me I live for the mundane moments. Part of this stems from my trauma history. When living in trauma, we are often operating at a high level of survival mode at all times. Healing from trauma means that not every moment in my world do I need to feel like death and/or pain is lurking by. I can sit with friends, family, strangers and just sit. Before, when I was running on survival mode, sitting and just being with others was near impossible.

The lingering questions were always: Do they hate me? Am I safe with this person? If I make a mistake how will they respond? Can I be myself? Is it safe to be myself? Am I being too loud? Too opinionated? Too timid? Too awkward? Will they hurt me? Even just writing those questions I am exhausted. These questions though, were trying to keep me safe. However, in exchange for safety, I was willing to live without peace. What is safety without peace? It is a shell. It was a shell that I am grateful for. Regardless of how I was doing it, I was living. Without that shell, I wouldn’t be here today and I know that. However, now I am living in a different way. I now understand that peace can coexist with safety. Healing the injured inner parts of myself has allowed me to revel in the mundane because I equate mundane to peace.

One of those mundane moments was a recent conversation with a Lyft driver. He was a kind man who was late picking me up because he had stopped to help someone that had fallen. This person, who was still in the car, was clearly drunk. They became irate that he wouldn’t take them to their stop first. He was trying to explain it to them, but they got out of the car spewing something based on their assumption of his race. His cheeks became flushed as he tried to explain the situation to me, sharing he was fearful that I would report him. “I just wanted to help” he kept repeating. I could tell, he really did just want to help. I assured him that I had no intention of reporting him.

After he realized I would not be reporting him he appeared to be more at ease. He changed the conversation to more small talk. A fun fact about me is that I love talking to my Lyft drivers, some of the greatest conversations I have had have been with my drivers. Where are you from/what do you do type questions is how it started. Then, he became very intrigued when I said I do crisis counseling.  This driver, we’ll call him Frank since I don’t have permission to use his real name, said “what does a crisis counselor do? Can you give me an example?” “Well” I said, “for example if someone feels suicidal, I help assess them. Perhaps help them work through the feeling or try and get them more support if they need it.”

He paused for a moment. I could see him thinking a lot of thoughts all at once. His face was full of curiosity. He continued “Can I ask you about that more? I have a lot of questions, but you can stop me at any time.” “Of course” I responded. “Why do people get this way? Why do they want to die? Is it something in their head? Are they sick? Is there medicine they can take? How do I help people that feel this way?” His questions went on and on. He was not kidding when he said he had a lot.

In the name of honesty my first thought before allowing him to ask his questions was ‘Frank, please don’t make me work today. I am tired and don’t want to social work’. Then I took a deep breath and thought ‘what else am I going to talk about for the next 20 minutes, might as well talk about something I know’… and I was so glad I did. We talked about stigma and sitting with hard feelings and all the things I am passionate about. As I left the car, Frank said that he was glad to learn something new today and happy that he has more ways in which he can help others. I thanked him for the conversation and for wanting to help others. I also thanked him for the ride and tipped him graciously and made sure to give him 5 stars and a good review. Frank was a good dude.

I smiled as I exited the car thinking about those simple moments in life. Those moments where we can connect, human to human, and those walls that I used to so fiercely put up now closely resemble foam pits that I sometimes dive into or sometimes gently walk over.

This, my friends, is the power of healing. Unwarranted fear becomes the mundane. Simple conversations no longer produce anxiety. Mistakes are no longer the worst part of living, but rather a simple fact of life. The question of ‘am I safe’ often answered with an affirmative answer- yes.

It’s wild because this time last year, I was at rock bottom. I didn’t feel safe anywhere. I was hurting and years and years of untreated trauma, depression, and anxiety came to a head with the ending of my relationship. I didn’t know how to trust people. I felt safest under my covers and even then my thoughts were so dark that I would need to put my headphones in to drown them out. My roommate would come home to find me on the couch, unable to move, trying to coax me out, in any way she could think of. A year later, with some really significant changes and hard work on my end, writing about those days when there was no such thing as the mundane sounds like a horror movie I once watched. Did Alfred Hitchcock take over my life script for a moment there? Who knows.

What I do know is that today, one year later, I feel ordinary and I wouldn’t want it any other way. This post is an ode to the ordinary and mundane, where life happens- when we are paying attention.

A[wo]men

wake up.

you are safe-

in the dark,

in the light.

in the water

in the forrest,

in the city,

and the country side.

with their thoughts,

with your thoughts

-you are safe.

go to sleep.

wake up.

you are safe-

-finding peace in the day to day

 

Breaking the Cycle

Writing right now is hard for me. I’ve put it off for so long because I don’t know where to start. I have gotten multiple requests from people for a new blog post. When I hear these requests, a little voice in my head screams “I CAN’T DO IT, OKAY?” This voice sounds off about 50 times a day. Gotta, go brush my teeth: “I CAN’T DO IT, OKAY?” These dishes are really piling up: “I CAN’T DO IT, OKAY?” I’m sure you get the point and the point is that life is hard sometimes.

And you know what? We all go through hard times. Humans, animals, aliens, plants, the atmosphere… We all struggle and we all continue to go about as best we can. I find that quite beautiful. So, today I woke up and I thought about how today was the day that I get back to it. That I take my struggle and I put it out there for the world to connect with and that maybe, just maybe, we can recognize that we’re all in this together. *Cue High School Musical cast*

So, I guess I’ll start from where I last left off, with my anger. My anger was a refreshing journey for me. An emotion that I bottle up so often, was finally sent pouring out of me and for that I am grateful. My anger, since my last post, officially morphed into depression. I traded Megadeth for Adele.  (Yes, I had to google angry band names). Good, faithful depression. Now, that, as you all know, is my comfort zone. The ebb and flow of “I’m not good enough. I deserve this. I will never find love…” I welcomed it with open arms. I hugged the negative thoughts of myself like long lost friends and told them to never leave.

Of course, I didn’t mean this, I just feel safe in an abusive relationship with myself because that is what I know. I went to school for social work and I know the cycle of abuse like the back of my hand, but this was the first time I applied it to myself. I was playing out my own cycle of abuse. 1. Tensions build: Getting out of bed is hard. I am scared. I don’t recognize myself.  2. Incident: I start to criticize myself. Everything I have done lead me to this mistake. How can I be so stupid? I am not good enough. I deserve this. I will never find love. 3: Reconciliation: I write a blog post about how I have been mean and how I have to forgive myself. I say I am sorry for the way I have treated myself. I vow to be better. 4: Calm: The “honeymoon” phase. I am a body-positive queen, who loves who she is. Look out world. *Repeats cycle, over and over and over again*

So, this time I had to do something different. This time I wasn’t going to just let me get away with a promise of a new me, so I can end up in the same position I have found myself in. I started therapy. Like really started therapy. Like no holds barred, let everything out therapy. I tried therapy in the past, but most often I lied out of my teeth. Why did I lie? Because the truth was scary. The first time I went to therapy was because of a boy that took advantage of me. I couldn’t say that though, that was scary. So I said I was sad and of course it didn’t work and I moved on, back through my own cycle. Another time I went to therapy I said that I was binge eating.. which I was, but I didn’t say why. I didn’t say eating was the only time I felt like being alive. Instead I said I just eat too much and I would like not to. Another time I went to therapy, I was like yeah, I’m sad and stuff and I drink too much, but I am in college and this is normal, right? All of these times I went for a total of 3 sessions. 3 sessions until I hit my honeymoon phase and made everyone believe I was good.

This is not how I am doing it this time. This time I’ve already noticed a difference in the way I interact with my therapist. Actually, since I live in a small island in Alaska I am essentially doing Skype therapy. I video conference with her once per week and I am happy to report that I LOVE IT. I get to have therapy from the comfort of my own couch, with my coffee in my hand and a screen between us, which feels way less invasive. I am honestly surprised at how comfortable it feels to do therapy this way. I have already opened up so much, like truthfully opened up, and I’ve noticed immediate changes in my mood. It feels really powerful to tell the truth… the whole truth and nothing but the truth, A[wo]men.

That’s how I am going to break the cycle. That’s how people across the world are breaking the cycle. They are standing up and saying “me too.” Because we are all just humans, trying to find a semblance of peace, and we can’t do that without recognizing our likeness. This is not to say that our differences aren’t powerful, because they are, but it is more to say that together, hand in hand, our fight becomes much easier.

I would like to end this post with honoring of our veterans, who fought side by side. It is their bravery and ability to fight together that shows us we don’t win a war alone; we win a war by standing together.

P.S. the other difference is that I have Ariana Grande’s “Thank u, next” on repeat, which is basically like free therapy post break-up. “I’m so f****in’ grateful for my ex.”

To all the things I’ve loathed before

This post has been hard for me to talk myself into writing. I know I’ve written about my depression before, but I’m currently dabbling in depression mixed with heart break. It is quite the cocktail for loneliness and overeating. I don’t want to get into the messy details of said heart break. My brain has gone over it enough for the rest of us.

I digress.

My rose colored glasses are currently smeared with crimson red, as if I am the next PETA victim. Anger is an emotion that I will openly admit I don’t feel comfortable with. In fact, I joined an anger management group in middle school because I was so worried about my inability to express my anger. Perhaps, this is the reason I give 2nd, 3rd, 5th, chances to those that may not  deserve it; I cry when someone yells at me; my heart races when I even think I have upset someone in any way. It’s funny because as I write this, I think of all my posts I have about how we, as a society, need to sit in our feelings. Yet, when I would say feelings I meant sadness. Sadness I feel comfortable with. Sadness is a close friend of mine.

I have not shown the same appreciation for anger. Anger, a natural emotion, has somehow become my enemy. The Nicholas Cage of emotions if you will. I need to learn how to sit with my anger and then I might be able to move on from it. Even if we don’t think we are expressing our feelings, they come out in other ways.

My anger tends to come out, inwards: “You deserve this. You did something wrong. Look at all the mistakes you have made. You are gross and you don’t treat your body well. No wonder nobody likes you. Your skin is disgusting. You shouldn’t even bother getting up today.”

This list could go on and on and on. This horrible, horrible list. “Would you say these things to your friends?” No, I reply. “Why do you feel okay saying them to yourself?” Because I can. I can be so angry at myself and beat myself up and at the end of the day the only person I hurt is me. I don’t hurt anyone else which feels that safest to me.

It isn’t though. It isn’t safe to have these thoughts. These thoughts are harmful to us as a society. Anger is okay; anger displaced is dangerous. I need to find a way to take my anger out, without harm to others or myself. I know what these things are, but then depression comes swooping in making it hard to move.

What I really need is to get back into running. It was the one space I could feel the anger drip away. Not just the anger, the sadness too. I felt safe when I was running. I also need to get back into writing, starting with this post. Blogging is the place where I feel like I can sit with my emotions and not run from them, but face them. I can look my anger in the eye and tell it to give me a hug because that is exactly what it needs. I need to type it again: Anger is okay.

So, to honor my anger, I would like to write a letter based off the latest trending teen rom-com, coming-of-age movie: To all the boys I’ve loved before (but with a twist).

To all the things I’ve loathed before:

I need to express how absolutely pissed off I am. I am pissed off to the point of wanting to throw glass plates at brick walls. The red that I am seeing is allowed. I don’t want to see rose color all the time [unless it is rosé, okurr]. I also don’t want to see red all the time. So, let me just get these specifics off my chest:

ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW? I KNOW I DESERVE BETTER THAN THIS. WE ALL DESERVE BETTER THAN THIS. F*** OFF. I AM SO SICK OF THIS BULL. I CAN’T.

one-two punch.

I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME?!

jab-jab.

PLEASE STOP SINGING. YOU MAKE MY EARS BLEED.

uppercut.

IF Y’ALL DON’T PULL YOUR HEADS OUT OF YOUR BUTTS I AM GOING TO CALL THE DOCTOR SO SHE CAN SURGICALLY REMOVE THEM.

front kick.

I HAVE HAD IT WITH THESE MOTHERF****IN’ SNAKES ON THIS MOTHERF****IN’ PLANE.

Okay, that last one wasn’t actually something I am feeling, but Samuel L. Jackson’s anger is equivalent to mine, so I felt it necessary to include for reference.

As I wrote each one of those, I yelled them (hence the caps lock). And I could go on, but honestly the release I feel right now is good. The red is starting to fade and my head is starting to clear. This too shall pass.

I don’t forgive everything just yet, but I am starting to feel that I can and that is all I can ask.

With rage and peace,

Sarah Lorraine

P.S. I know the things that I have loathed, will likely not see this letter, but I don’t need my anger to be received by anyone or anything to let it go. This is what I am learning.