Tag: family dysfunction

Letters Of Healing #2 – Letting It Out Is Important Too

I have a bad habit, I’ve acquired over the past few years: I bottle things up so people don’t leave me. Hi, I’m Magz and I have a problem. A two-prong issue, actually, I am not processing my feelings, and I am irrationally concerned about rejection. It’s not good. I was taught to believe by family and society that it was because of divorce, specifically placing the blame on my dad, and to be honest, I believed that for a long time. But that answer leaves all of us who have experienced that or who fear rejection in this weird pseudo-reality of things being out of our control, which doesn’t help. It turns the intensity up all while limiting personal growth. How can you move on if this is baked into your personality, right? I mean, everyone who knows your story will instantly know your flaws – your parent or parents “didn’t love you enough” to stick around. Yeah, this is a toxic bunch of nonsense.

So what has helped me get more clarity on this, honestly, is learning about what makes my mind tick and how I can work with myself to be healthier. For me specifically, learning about neurodivergence, and specifically the possibility of undiagnosed autism or adhd, has helped me understand that there might be more to my penchant for brutal honesty than just being an off-putting person or a bad person. It might be that my brain simply processes differently, yet because I want to fit in – masking, I fall into people-pleasing patterns to “fit in” with those around me. Similar to learning about high-masking autism in females, with adhd, there is a sensitivity to rejection and difficulty with emotional regulation that makes processing the rejection more difficult. I can see these in the ways I have interacted with people throughout my life, especially family members.

I get stuck in these camps of either feeling the need to be brutally honest, especially if I feel an emotional meltdown coming on from bottling everything up, or I clam up and shove it down, no matter how much it hurts to “please” the person. All this does is create a cycle of emotional repression, overwhelm, and meltdown behind the scenes. Loneliness, anger, bitterness, shame, fear of rejection, and pain. This is not what a healthy person looks like.

For too long, I’ve mistaken being “tough” with being healthy. It’s been the one-two punch of finding Elena Carroll’s reflective essays and watching Scrubs for these to start clicking in my brain. I find myself pinballing between being like Dr. Dorian, who lets people like Elliott walk all over him, and Dr. Cox, who shoves it all down and sinks into a pit of loneliness behind the shadows because dealing with my problems makes me feel uncomfortable.

My constant dysfunctional relationship, which gets more unhinged every year, my relationship with my mom is the place where I see all these problematic habits come to the surface. I will bottle something up for a decade, afraid of the confrontation, and then one day I will just explode about something else. To be fair, when I do blow up, it’s usually after my mom has contributed to my anger with a gem of guilt or a little nugget of criticism on some part of my personality. Like recently, I was told she was intentionally withholding her health updates after two concerning ER visits, because I am too “sensitive” to handle anything after I told her it has been scary thinking of being sick because I love her. Yep, I see where I have learned to shove everything down – you can’t be weak and express emotions, that’s for losers.

So where does that leave me? Well, I can either choose Option #1 – be honest about my frustrations and stand up for myself, which comes with consequences, Option #2 – bottle it up and fake a smile, all while my shoulders knit themselves into a stress knot and my jaw clenches like a bear trap, Option #3 – I avoid the relationship for months at a time and pretend like nothing happened. Lately, I’ve been thinking, why can’t I just be honest as it comes, instead of bottling up to the point where I am furious? I don’t live there anymore, there are no consequences for being honest gently, and in the moment that I disagree? That would be healthier, and somehow, over all these years, I forgot how to do this. Because adulthood is lonely. Grief is lonely. Sometimes that fear of rejection and people pleasing is all that you crave just to keep a relationship with a loved one steady, because you miss how easy it was when you were a kid.

I think health, though, might be more important than the illusion of peace, because I have not been managing stress well over the last ten years. My mental health took a toll, and so did my physical health. I’ve stored so much stress in my body, pretending I was happy about things that hurt me because I didn’t want to hear how I was different, not enough like my mom’s family, or weak for being sensitive, or a bad person for getting angry sometimes. I’ve had the same knot at the base of my neck for 5 years, which is not healthy at all. So what am I doing with all these revelations about who I am and what is healthy and what is not? I am slowly shifting through it. I’m taking space and a break from some of my more trying family relationships to get this stress worked out of my body and find my calm again. My husband, friends, and my beloved bun deserve better than for me to let things out of my control take a toll on my mental and physical health. Especially when they are the ones who pick up the pieces when I fall apart.

How do you manage stress? Do you struggle with people pleasing or bottling up emotions? Have people ever told you to change who you are to fit their standards?

Unmasking is Hard

The term “unmasking” was new to me when I first learned of my neurodivergence. I saw it on Pinterest and Instagram, displayed in captions and little relatable memes, but what did it mean?

I felt the full experience of what it means a few nights ago when I was invaded once again by rising anxiety, flooding through my mind, and this pressure, invisible yet firm, closing in on me. I knew deep down that I was close to having a meltdown, from environmental things that a neurotypical would brush off. I also knew that I couldn’t melt down; it wasn’t safe to be me. I couldn’t stim, that would be looked down upon with pity. I had to put on that mask, the normal-brained facade I’ve studied my whole life to become invisible and just blend into the sea of normies.

I feel this pressure to mask the most when I am interacting with my family. My mom and her side, for a brief time, my dad and his side. It’s a quagmire, being the offspring of two very domineering, neurotypical, narcissistic humans.

It’s a lot of work. Why am I sharing this? Because if you feel this way, you are not alone. I see you. I support you. I am rallying for you and I to make it through these moments holding space for us to be as we are, and to feel like we are enough. We don’t need to be fixed, we need to cope with this wild world that doesn’t understand us.

Like an ill-fitting garment, the clothes are the problem not your body. Your brain is not the problem, the world favors one way of doing things and that doesn’t make it right. Being louder doesn’t make your point more correct. There is nothing wrong with who you are and who you were created to be.

I hope wherever you are, this finds you well. That you are safe, loved, valued, and being kind to yourself. The world needs more kindness. Know that I love you and support you. Take the mask off, breathe, stim, and find peace.

Until next time ❤

Phone Calls in the Smartphone Era

As a Zillennial, on the cusp of both Gen Z and Millennials, my generation(s) have been stereotyped by the older folks as being afraid of phone calls, preferring a text to a voice on the other end of the line. And for a while, I’d say, yeah, I fell into this place of preferring a text as a teenager or chatting online, in my moody, insecure teenagedom, but then the phone call became this novelty of a thing. Calling someone seemed so serious, I became apprehensive if my question or answer was “serious” enough to warrant a call.

I didn’t want to be a burden, which is such a strange upside-down world from childhood, when the phone was the only way to contact your friends. I remember in the days of late elementary school, email being another exciting tool to communicate, like letters, but now email has become an intrusive contact on my smartphone. And maybe, that’s because email felt like real mail, when you could only check it on your window of computer time on the shared family computer. There was a boundary between online and offline. My mind has been marinating on this since watching a Theresa Yea video called, Why the Internet Will Never Be Cool Again.

I’m currently stuck in an endless game of phone tag, which is quite common when I am talking regularly to one of my parents. With my dad, it was a long game of waiting for that perfect window of nothingness. His layover in a city he found boring, I’d keep him company as he complained about life. Entertaining him and supporting him in his time of boredom, because if he were home, he was on the go every single moment. If I needed him, he would usually call me back on a drive home with a small set window for his attention span or horrible service.

My mom, in a similar fashion, gets stuck in these loops going non-stop. Except she answers the phone in loud restaurants, in the car, or at events, just to tell me that she is not available. She will even talk to other people around her, making me wait, or will pass the phone to the people she is with, as if I want to say hi to them when I really just wanted to converse with her about something important.

There is nothing like being on the brink of a panic attack and having your mom pass you to an acquaintance to say hi instead of listening to your crisis. Especially when you called because you thought they were home and available, but really, your loved one is always on the go. Not emotionally available. I hate calling and being met with passive-aggressive pressure to stop talking and let her go, even though she chose to answer the phone and enter into conversation like she was available at first, only to break that illusion as soon as you answer “how you are doing”. Read the room, kid, but honestly, how can I? This is particularly confusing when my parents both let me know how they would prefer me to live closer so I would be more available, but would it matter?

The video call and the text have become two of the most intrusive manners of communication, because a text should be responded to promptly and a video call, in her mind is perfectly normal to answer in a public setting like a restaurant or car without letting me know before I speak, what I believe I am saying in private to a person who is available to talk, to be swiftly gotcha-ed by the fact that I am not alone, and my privacy is not respected. The video call is like a two-edged sword; it is nice to connect with friends and family over long distances, but it is also a tool that hinders connection. It drops in unannounced and forces conversations that should be private to be open to the room.

I crave the dedicated correspondence of my grandma’s era, when she moved to another town, which meant that calling her mom would be categorized as long distance, and so she and her mom wrote letters to each other every day. I haven’t had that kind of connection with my mom since she got remarried, and I miss that feeling of connection, of being heard. It’s something that carried through my Grandma and my Aunt Florence’s generation, my phone calls with them being so intentional and full of connection. It was a visit, a catch-up, and was treated with hard boundaries. The common thread here is the lack of a smartphone.

Phones were still seen as tools to converse, not mini-computers full of distractions. I find this intentionality coming back to conversations I have with my friends; there are boundaries and moments set aside to converse without distractions. We have planned phone calls or dedicated pauses to set aside other tasks to write longer messages, like letters, through messaging apps. It has improved our communication and respect for each other’s time, in a way that I wish I could have with my parents. I just want to connect and not be connected. I want to converse and not call. I want to correspond and not text.

It is all a pipe dream, because this is never going to happen, they are just too enamoured with technology and the endless possibilities of their boomer generation, and the financial leg up that their generation has to be on the go and do things nearly constantly. We live in two different worlds, and that makes me sad.

Editing My Manuscript from 2017

Yes, I finally did it. I found the manuscript and shifted through the 250+ pages to wrangle this story of years past down to a neat 187 single-spaced. It was a mental challenge to revive these characters I knew so well and remember who they were and why they were important to me. More important to me than I think I gave them credit in years past. Saoirse, Kinvara, and Biorn were characters I felt connected to because they were just as lost as I was. They had life toss them about, treading water for meaning in the dramatic family civil war they found themselves in. It mirrored life. It foreshadowed the losses I knew were to come and helped me sort out the mysteries of my own life in an imagined Viking Age Ireland full of shifting alliances and invaders.

After all this time, why now? I have two other novel ideas I want to explore yet I felt unable to write again until Udal Cuain was laid to rest. The leviathan of the past which helped me forward when I was stuck. I believe I needed creative closure. It was a manuscript without an ending. I revised and revised the story in 2018, taking it into darker waters. It became too dark for me to continue as my life was moving from darkness towards the light once again, there were things from history and Irish Celtic culture, as well as Norse culture I was unwilling to interact with anymore.

When I was first working on this project, I was steeped in historical research from my independent study about Early Medieval Ireland and fresh from watching the television show Vikings. It was a time when I was hiding behind a shell, numb from unresolved trauma that I was a shell of myself. Hidden away from my true self, masking and unhealthy. The violence of this show and the research on Irish pagan rituals were something I ignored, even though I cannot think of them without shuttering now. These were things, details I needed to remove from my own writing to find my own peace. Not to censor it but instead to be authentic to who I am. If you want to learn more, this novel will just be a stepping stone for more research because I cannot in good conscience tell a story with such evil and bring that evil to you the reader.

The bulk of my revisions were just that, removing things I no longer felt comfortable with to have the story reflect who I am now.

Being in the present, and seeing through the time how I have found peace in my personal life since writing Udal Cuain in 2017, allowed me to give it an ending. I didn’t know where to leave my characters when I was walking through a season of confusion. I see now that I had to read more of my own story before I could write their story.

Why am I sharing this novel on my blog instead of shopping it around to publish or publishing it as an E-book? I don’t know if this novel is something at this time that I am pleased with as a representation of who I am as a writer. It was a story that I needed to write for myself but not something I felt like it was a story I wanted to have out there for people to rip apart. I don’t feel ready to put it to market so I am sharing it on this blog for you the reader to read if you would like to do so.

Analyzing how I wrote the story and talking through the novel planning process has been more rewarding than seeing it as a published book. It was a process that gave me meaning then and still rewards me now for the things I learned through trying something new. When I started jotting down ideas for Udal Cuain I was a non-fiction writer, preferring essays and historical research as a medium to write, as well as a creative expression like poetry. World building? Not a thing I thought I could do, nor did I think that creating characters and crafting dialogue would be as fun as I thought. If you have an idea, go for it! You will surprise yourself by what the discipline of writing and creating will do for your mind. It’s challenging, confidence-building, and relaxing to escape into a world of your imagination. I believe you can do it!

Thank you, reader, for supporting me and viewing those Udal Cuain novel writing posts. It gave me the encouragement to go back and finish what I started many years ago.

Can It End With You and Them?

I think the most shocking thing for me from the aftermath of the ‘It Ends With Us’ film and subsequent press tour has not been Blake Lively’s seemingly out-of-touch behavior by promoting her brands alongside this movie nor the disturbing allegations detailed in the 80-page lawsuit filed by Lively against Baldoni and Wayfarer Studios, but it is that this movie and novel which at their core are about domestic violence continue to skate around the subject matter instead of using this project to help bring real change to our culture.

After looking at the PDF of the lawsuit, I question all motive behind any of the money Baldoni’s company donated to the charity No More, because the details in this lawsuit are too specific to be made out of thin air, in my opinion. There are cell phone screenshots and bizarre accounts from the set of behavior that is straight up inappropriate for any work place. So many that I’m not sure one person could manage that many levels of lies. If Blake Lively was able to pull this out of thin air, she needs to start writing books, because dang it is layered and disturbing.

George Constanza said it best when he explained how to con people, “It’s not a lie if you believe it.” That seems to be what the production held as their mantra because a movie about domestic violence with unsafe work environment screams delusion and narcissist behavior. Things that the internet is still giving Baldoni a pass on and heralding Lively as a crazy woman for reporting in her lawasuit. It’s very strange to me. How can we forget the ‘Me Too’ movement so rashly? What about Harvey Weinstein and Prince Andrew? The infamous Epstein list? Or the unfolding case of Diddy? Like Prohibition in the United States was installed to stem the tide of domestice violence, in my state of Pennsylvania, during the 2020 lockdown, alcohol sales were limited by the Governor to get ahead of the problem. On Live on Patrol, the Ramsey County sheriff department can attest to how the rate of domestic violence corresponds to the weather, with winter being the time they get the most reports of violence at home. It’s a well documented problem in America. So why would it not be possible on this film set at the hands of a handsome guy claiming he wants to help women? Just think about it. Do all bad people look like bad people?

There is a rampant evil that has pervaded every corner of our world, so I fully believe everything in that 80-page lawsuit could be proven true in court. Power is an influence that corrupts. Hollywood is powerful and has a long standing history of unsafe conditions going all the way back to the golden age, when doctors prescribed uppers and downers to keep stars working, making the studio money, instead of caring for the actor’s wellbeing. This happened to Judy Garland on the set of the Wizard of Oz when she was only 17. Now do I believe all film companies are bad and everyone is just there to use and abuse people to make millions? No, not at all. I think there are good people and bad people everywhere, in every industry.

I also think two things can be true at once. I think that Lively can be a victim worthy of our compassion and can also be a self-absorbed human that made questionable decisions, when she marketed her products during a movie that called for wisdom and tact. But I think we should all be given grace. Yes internet, give her a break. I also think we should held accountable for our actions in order to grow, and I don’t think Baldoni, Wayfarer Studios and the others named in the lawsuit have been held accountable by society. I think Lively has because Lively is rich, she pretty, she has played some mean girl roles and I think those roles stick in our minds more than we realize. If the actress who played Blair Waldorf, Leighton Meister, was in this movie I think society may have a different view because Blair was a more sympathetic character. The Weekend faced similar backlash to Lively, after his character in ‘The Idol’ because we as humans blur the lines between performance and real life. I find it weird that Baldoni is not facing the same backlash as The Weekend when they both portrayed abusive men, why is Baldoni special?

Simply, I believe because we don’t know these people and so our imaginations fill in the blanks. I think as humans we get jealous of successful, beautiful people and enjoy tearing them down. Baldoni has the novelty of being more unknown and can shape shift, if that’s what he is doing.

I’m trying to keep an open mind, and respect the fact that these are allegations but it is hard to not question all his motives when he separated himself from the group during the press tour and so eloquently spoke about ending domestic violence. It was an excellent opportunity to build a case against Lively and discredit her. I’ve personally experienced this from men and women in my life, they entrap you before you realize it and then scapegoat your reputation to cover their own bad behavior. It’s bizarre to me that the film production of this story, ‘It Ends With Us’ was filled with so many cross overs to the subject matter. In some ways it appears, in my opinion, that Wayfarer and Baldoni, have such a hero complex that they are unaware of the darkness in their actions and the hubris of hurting women on a set that was portraying the story of a woman who is abused.

It’s like how Colleen Hoover writes these books that have such dark and triggering subject matter, and some people still think its a romance novel, or in Hoover’s case, that trigger warnings aren’t needed for her books. It’s such a bizarre universe that makes me question what is the point of the art?

For Hoover, is it to educate and bring awareness to domestic violence? Is it to sell books because violence and violence against women sell? Hollywood would seem to prove this point with how violent and disrespectful they are two female characters with the stories that are greenlit. For Baldoni, why did he choose to adapt this film? Was it to tell a story to reach his fellow men to change their hearts or is he a dangerous narcissist that thrives on this kind of treatment of women? For Lively, why did she choose this project? Was it to inspire hope for women who are survivors and tell their story or was it for her personal brand, to boost her product sales? I don’t know.

I think in advertently this movie and the drama surrounding it, including the public opinions swirling around the internet, show that I don’t think we as a society are taking this seriously enough. Even myself, who although I experienced the trauma of having an abusive biological father, I was quick to fall for Baldoni’s interviews and found myself disgusted with Lively because of how little she seemed to care about a subject that was so important. I may have fallen for the lies, again. I don’t think this issue is a problem that can be tackled through movies or books to create real change. With every book and movie I question, where the does the line blur into glorification? And why, when so many people experience domestic violence and abuse, do we have to read it replayed in books or portrayed on screen? I think we are fully aware of the problem and are giving the evil acts too much room to live rent-free in our imaginations.

Domestic violence, narcissists, sociopaths, and abuse are woven well into the fabric of society so well that it is hard to unravel it completely. The cycles of trauma carry down through generations. It’s a ripple on a lake, fanning out farther and farther.

I hope that whatever comes out of this unfolding lawsuit, that the real evil is exposed and that it creates real conversations for change so that we keep our eyes and ears open to those in our midst that are suffering silently from dangerous people lurking in their homes, their families, and the workplace. I also hope that the actors involved, on both sides, the studio, and the author will think more about the victims of domestic violence and get involved. They have money, influence, and could do some good in our communities if they would think outside the bubbles they are in. I also hope as a society we begin to consider the kind of content we consume, so that tales of abuse can never again be marketed as a romance story, cause that’s sick and wrong, in my opinion.

#66 – Pies, C-PTSD, and Learning How To Move Forward

It’s been a complicated week. I had plans to start blogging every day, to clean my house in one day not over several to prepare for hosting Thanksgiving. I also thought my pie crust would roll out with ease. Nothing went to plan.

It started with the couch breaking. One evening we noticed the leg fell off the mid-support but instead of buying a new one (Have you seen the price of couches lately? Yikes. Dubious quality to boot.) we opted to fix it. Improve it really. That was a bump in the road, the couch is stronger, and we have storage, but then we hit a pothole.

It’s like our rescue rabbit Mia unbonded to us. She became irritable and aggressive and would thrash around her room. She bites at us, growls at us, and won’t let us do normal things like sweep out her area. This whole situation is discouraging because how will we be able to properly care for her if she won’t let us? I never experienced this with my previous rabbit, Midnight, or with my family dog, Sully.

I was thrown into a murky mental pool. I have some deep memories from childhood of my dad that terrify me when loud outbursts happen. How could this happen? This rabbit I was so excited to adopt and give a loving home, was suddenly a source of triggering panic.

Cleaning ground to a halt. Kyle’s woodworking is uncertain. Walking through the office and living room tense, uncertain, scary, as the furball held us in her grip of territorial fury. She began to destroy the floor filling me with despair.

Every little part of preparing for the holiday felt treacherous as the C-PTSD clouded me from the reality of the tasks in front of me to the mountains of my mind. The craggy, inhospitable rock that has been too high to climb. I didn’t expect this random experience to cause such pain and confusion in my mind.

But the clock kept moving forward and things still needed to be done. This holiday we looked toward with joy could not become a thing we wanted to run from. It was our first holiday here.

Living as a human can be so tough. We are all broken and have hidden scars that can be reopened in the blink of an eye. What has been the most challenging part of this week has been where I find my pauses to take a breath. Finding opportunities in the chaos to recenter instead of giving up.

Making those pies was one of those moments of joy in the center of the storm. Cutting the Crisco into the flour is rhythmic. Feeling the sand become dough, stimming. Rolling out the crust and having it fall apart, is tragic! Finding the inspiration to make the difficult crust mold into the pie tin anyway, is a victory!

Seeing the smiles the pumpkin and apple pie brought to my family filled me with warmth. Yesterday, was a wonderful day. Yes because the food was delicious, but more so for the reminder that what makes the day special is being next to my loved ones and reflecting on the year and what blessings we received despite the chaos of life.

I hope you know that you are loved, dear reader and that you remember not to give up!

Reclaiming the Calm

As I mentioned in The Rewards and Scars of Setting Healthy Boundaries, I am on a journey to let go of the cortisol and tension I have unknowingly stored in my body. I didn’t realize I was doing this, possibly for decades now, because I don’t feel my feelings I bury them, which I’m working on. The only time I think I wasn’t doing this was during my sophomore and junior years in college when I was doing yoga practice, deep breathing, and trying to get to know myself. Which sounds odd, but was a great way to get through a broken heart.

Emotional Unintelligence

The hows and whys of the broken heart are a bit complicated but I was muddling through the after-effects of a situation ship. Why a situation ship? Well, I believe I was doing anything and everything to feel something, because I buried the heartbreak I felt at the end of high school, realizing my dad had missed my entire childhood and turning 18 meant that child support, the only string connecting us was severed. I didn’t know where he was and if I would see him again. It turns out I did see him again and would be moving to the same town as him five years later, another story for another day. Life is wild.

Anyways, coming out of high school the weight of that broken heart was so much I didn’t know what to do with it. There was so much emotion, so much tension and confusion, in my mind and body that I didn’t understand so my brain freaked out and gave me my first taste of anxiety, depression, and panic. It was a lot. During this time I also lost my ability to cry. I went totally numb which was unnerving, but at the time I was happy at least I wasn’t overwhelmed by my emotions anymore. The downside was that I felt nothing.

I’m Chuck Bass

I didn’t like that. I’m a highly sensitive person, an artistic soul, and feeling is how I understand the world around me. I wanted to feel like myself again. Here’s where the mess began – I decided to go into dating in college in this incredibly unhealthy mindset. These casual relationships were doomed from the start. It couldn’t grow into something real because I wasn’t emotionally available. Which opened the door for the worst relationship type in my opinion the situationship. It was the exact opposite of what my personality needs or wants but hey, I couldn’t feel anything so how hurt could I get?

Blown Up Life

Yeah, this blew up in my face. Once I came out of this situationship and this time of emotional numbness, I realized that I had completely blown up my life. Close relationships that I had from high school were not there. I had not invested in good friendships and community in my college life either by not seeking it out or ditching out on friends who could have been healthy supportive people, because I was scared of these friendships. It was a mess. I was so lonely. I had to get to know myself because there was no one else. I also didn’t know myself anymore. Who was this numb person I had been? Who is this new person who feels, but also feels lost and lonely?

There was so much I needed to understand about myself before I could be a good friend again or try dating once more. I didn’t know where I was going, or who I wanted to be as an adult. There was so much change in a short time. It was time to pause, slow down, and spend time doing the work to find this new person within the closed-off shell.

Meeting A Healthier Me

During this time I became independent for the time. I started going to the coffee shop by myself and learned to be okay on my own, which was wild. This is a skill I’ve forgotten how to do. I let myself be alone with my thoughts, it was a rough road to get there. This time alone started with a season of insomnia, where there was no choice but to be by myself, and now I realize spent time alone with God even though I wasn’t focused on this at the time. I discovered new shows like Fruits Basket, Trigun, Firefly, and Vikings. I also began thinking seriously about what I wanted in life with this new scenario. I didn’t end up going to fashion school or doing the Fashion Business major I was supposed to create with my advisor. I found myself drawn to fashion history through the creative sandbox of one cool professor who gave us the freedom to explore our interests.

I also started doing yoga and learning to train my mind and my breathing to keep going when my body and mind were tangled up in knots from the stress and trauma of life. It was the first time I think I was doing exercise for exercise itself not for a job like paint crew or campus mail delivery for the mailroom, which were both pretty physical. My campus was old and full of hills and stairs, so many stairs.

2020s Version of Numb

As life goes on, things repeat. Life changed again and I got busy. I stopped practicing these healthy habits into post-grad and getting married which was dumb on my part. I got healthier but I don’t think I got wiser. So I find myself now relearning how to find healthy balance and healthy habits to rid myself of the tension and wild mind that has trapped me in a prison of my own making.

How do I find my way out? My plan is to reflect and discuss that process here as I go through this journey of self-discovery again because I think this is something we all face and I wish I had known more about emotional health when I was younger. There are a lot of things that kept that from being something I understood. We don’t always have the most emotionally mature parents and I think it’s hard to talk about. I hope you’ll join me on this little adventure.

#53 – Lemon Curd

In Portal 2, Cave Johnson has an iconic rant about lemons that may have been the inspiration for my Saturday plan – to make dairy-free lemon curd from scratch.

To clarify, no lemons were exploded. But they were zested, juiced, and combined into a luscious lemon sauce and baked into lemon bars. Tart, sweet, buttery, lemon bars.

“All right, I’ve been thinking, when life gives you lemons, don’t make lemonade! Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don’t want your damn lemons! What am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life’s manager!
Make life rue the day it thought it could give Cave Johnson lemons! Do you know who I am? I’m the man whose gonna burn your house down – with the lemons! I’m gonna get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!”

-Cave Johnson, Aperture Laboratories

But why did Cave Johnson speak so deeply to my mood on Saturday morning, one of the best times of the week? Well my dysfunctional family, of course. Communication is truly an art form, and for some relationships, healthy communication seems as easy as replicating a Michelangelo masterpiece with a butter knife. I am a member of that club. I feel like sometimes a conversation with my mom is doomed from the start. I call her and there is something in the air. A mistaken tone she finds in me, a lack of matching her extroverted, neurotypical energy.

The inability to recognize drama or harshness in her tone. My anxiety and frustration at being accosted by questions, picking remarks, or in general still not living up to whatever I was supposed to. It’s a mess, a mess that continues to respawn after numerous attempts to get rid of this and live a drama-free life with the mom that I do deeply love even if sometimes I get exasperated at her. This was one of those conversations, I did something and the verbal missiles were locking on me, which was really disappointing because it was supposed to be a simple conversation – what time are you coming up to celebrate my husband’s birthday?

Instead, there was chaos, my confusion at why there was chaos with questions followed by accusations of trying to fight and being told I was being a problem, gaslit into the aggressor when I held my temper in check and just asked questions. There seems to be no light at the end of the tunnel. I was being baited into a fight and it sucked. It was a conversational sucker punch. Some weeks I don’t even want to pick up the phone, I yearn to move far away from the possibility of hanging out with her, because I just want to be loved not picked at. Being lonely but happy feels better than being close and miserable. I feel like she brings all the drama-ma-ma-ma-ma and then runs away from me after her work is done.

In the screaming silence that followed the nasty encounter, I felt confusion, anger, hurt, sadness, failure, shame, disappointment, a building pressure of anxiety and depression, and the complex childhood trauma memories flooding back of her gaslighting me into thinking I was a kid with an un-teachable spirit, a stubborn child who spirit needed to be broken because seeing things differently from her was a sin.

I feel sorry for my mom because none of those things are true, and keeping me at arm’s length hurts both of us. We only have so much time on this earth, wouldn’t it be better to be laughing instead of arguing, smiling instead of crying?

I’ve learned there is nothing wrong with me. I’m neuro-divergent and God made me this way for a reason. There is beauty in being different, but she can’t see that. She sees me as difficult, and I in turn see her as small-minded.

Recently, I’ve turned to baking when I feel down in the dumps. For a while, baking was quite painful for me, after Grandma passed away in 2020. She was the one who taught me how to bake and that void made baking a chore. Since watching the Great British Bake Off, I’ve found my baking delight once again. We had a bunch of lemons on hand for a separate recipe, and since the rest needed to be used, I decided to make something I’d never made from scratch before. Lemon curd.

They make it on Bake-Off and I used to love eating lemon bars and lemon meringue pie as a kid, it was Papa’s favorite pie. We had it each year on his birthday. It was the bomb. The tart, lemony sharpness of the filling with the pillowy sweet clouds of meringue on top, slightly browned like a marshmallow with a flakey crust. Scrumptious.

Fun fact: My grandma dressed, acted, and looked a lot like Mary Berry. Watching Bake Off is like a hug.

And you know what, baking helped. I felt the tension melt from my shoulders as I zested the lemons and squeezed the juice into the bowl. The delicacy of separating yolks from egg whites required me to slow down, to breathe through the emotional stress. I made a cup of herbal tea and began work on the sugar and butter. After combining it came time to use the bain-marie to slowly temper the eggs and cook until thickened. The result was a dreamy curd that I was hoping for!

Out of pain, something beautiful came, and the next day I made shortbread for the lemon bars and layered the golden yellow lemon sauce into the pan for a delight I hadn’t had since childhood. Next time we’ll make that lemon meringue pie.

I’m glad I’ve learned coping mechanisms like baking, cleaning, stimming, etc so that I am not tempted to rage at my mom, clench my jaw, get drunk, or go on a shopping spree to fill the pain with stuff. It’s been a journey but through my tumultuous twenties, I learned that the dysfunction is never going away but who I am and how I respond to it are not beholden to other people and their poor behavior. And that is true freedom.

Have you ever made lemon curd? Do you like lemon meringue pie or lemon bars? What’s your go-to way to calm down after a stressful encounter? Thank you, dear reader, for coming along on this blogging journey with me. I’m incredibly thankful for you.

Easter Traditions and Celebrating the Resurrection

For a while now, during Easter Week, I feel a bit like Charlie Brown, and like unsatisfied Chuck, I’ve been doing some thinking. Why does it feel like however I’m celebrating Easter that year, it’s just not exactly enough or appropriate for the gravity of what Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Resurrection Sunday truly represent?

Tradition!

Some of this feeling is my fault as I have changed churches a lot and gone through big moves and stretches of not knowing where to attend for a complex of reasons. That being said, I remember as a kid the feeling of joy and exaltation that filled the house from Palm Sunday on when I lived my grandparents. There was the music, a 1995 Easter cantata that my Grandma would play while baking tea rings, a Swedish wreath shaped pastry, for us and the whole neighborhood. It was a tea ring factory filled with music that told the story of Jesus’ triumphal entry, his walk to the Cross, his death and Resurrection, as told from different perspectives of witnesses.

My grandparents, I see now as an adult, gave me an example of balance for this holiday, because it wasn’t somber and it wasn’t trivialized into a holiday about bunnies and chocolate with a splash of Jesus. There was genuine joy, faith, and love for others expressed. Grandma would usually play piano at church on one of the Sunday services and Papa would help serve communion as part of his duties as a church Elder. He and I would enjoy the Easter chocolate after service and my extended family and friends would come over after church for a meal. There was usually a small candy egg hunt for me and my cousins too.

Since then two things have changed in my experience of Easter – the absence of family for those traditions and the absence of faith in our Easter celebrations.

When my mom got remarried I experienced my first Easter holiday where believing Easter was about Jesus was weird. My new family were and are some of the nicest people I’ve met and yet, this day was so weird because I’m not exactly sure what we were celebrating? As they grew up in the church but had moved away from the faith into adulthood and raised my cousins without any context of Jesus, it was an odd day, full of love and great memories, but a bit hollow? It was eye opening in a good way of the bigger context of the world and how not everyone believes the exact same things as you but you can still get along. It was a point of maturity for sure and put this ache in my heart for the old holidays with my grandparents.

The weirdest of these experiences for sure has been the holiday with traditions but without family. Do traditions matter if there is no one to share them with? It’s a weird place to think through because you don’t want to lose your family traditions, but like, you can’t help feeling like its dead without the rest of the family to share with. And this is not because my family all died, no just my grandparents did, and my extended family on that side lives within a 10 mile drive of each other. They simply have no interest in getting along anymore and have just dropped our family connection because of silly disagreements and its sad. Being on the receiving end of it it honestly feels like crap. There have been holidays I have absolutely dreaded because of this and its taken time to start to be okay with the new normal of being an island.

Love Your Neighbor as Yourself

Something that has helped me move forward to a new normal has been to focus on what the holiday is actually about – Jesus’s death and resurrection so that we can have salvation from our sins and become a new creation in Him. In doing this I found myself ironically back at the same problem, no matter how I celebrate this day it doesn’t feel like enough. Until yesterday while I was doing dishes and was daydreaming, I thought about something I think is profound.

I think the reason this holiday in the United States feels a bit flat is because this day represents a moment in humanity that is a bit bigger than just a day of remembrance. It’s a day where I want to give thanks to God for sending his son to do this amazing work of redemption. It was the ultimate gift that I have received. It symbolizes a new start and also a day of freedom and independence from my sin. It is essentially four of our major holidays rolled into one – Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, and the Juneteenth/4th of July. Because of this I’m not sure if I will ever feel truly satisfactory with how I celebrate this holiday. I don’t think its possible and that’s okay. And potentially how the Reformed Presbyterian church (as much as my Wesleyan mind grumbles giving Calvinism the nod here) is right and celebrating the resurrection every Sunday is the most satisfactory.

So I guess my point here from all my rambling is that I miss my family, I wish they would come back but if they don’t its okay because there are others who love me that may not share my beliefs and the ultimate point of this holiday is not ham, candy, or pastry, it’s the resurrection and what we do with this fresh start. Giving in love of our time and our resources to bless others with what we have to continue what Jesus started almost 2000 years ago. He is risen! He is risen, indeed.

Coping with Negative Emotions

What strategies do you use to cope with negative feelings?

It’s taken a while for me to find healthy coping mechanisms when negative feelings wash over me. Before I used to push the feelings down and grow numb, I’d clam up, or I’d get angry and stay angry. I’d shop for the heck of it or engage in self-destructive behavior like drinking or fighting with people I cared about until they didn’t want to talk to me anymore. I’d punish my body with exercise or restrictive eating. After a certain point the negative feelings and my destructive solutions, came to run my life and the anxiety and depression I had been allowing to take root in my life were in the driver’s seat and I was not even a passenger looking out the windshield, but was all the way in the backseat and had no concept of where the car was going.

Three years ago, I decided to take charge of my responses to stress and negative feelings. I stopped using alcohol as a crutch when I was overwhelmed by stressful and painful life situations and decided to look my pain in the eye and face it down. Now, I’m not doing this alone, when I made this decision I surrendered it to God, and chose to let Him be my driver of the car instead of myself or my anxiety and depression. It wasn’t any easy choice. It was scary but also an unknown to be explored. It was a new beginning.

Prayer

Prayer became the immediate lifeline between me and the negative emotions in my mind in combination with spending time in God’s word. Consciously shifting my perspective from, I’m alone and I’m scared to I’m scared but I’m never alone truly helped me feel sure footed when negative emotions clouded over my mind. Was it an instantaneous fix? Yes sometimes and other times it was a slow burn, it’s been a process of sanctification.

Focusing on God can pull me out of panic attacks and remind me that I am loved when dysfunctional people in my life make me question that. But I’ve found that when I’m really dialed into my relationship with God that is where I see the most results because prayer is about preparation. Being consistent so when those big, scary emotions come I can remember God’s promises. Being present keeps my eyes fixed on Him and helps me feel His presence even though I cannot see Him in front of me.

Has it taken away the negative emotions completely? No, they still happen and I still get anxious and depressed but I don’t remain there. Like a rain storm there is a clear sky on the other side, the morning always follows the night.

Poetry

I started writing poetry again back in December after a long hiatus, like maybe five years of turning away from it because of a friendship that I didn’t want to have creative competition in. That was a mistake because poetry, like journaling is an incredible way to walk your mind through your negative thoughts and process them through creating a work of art in words. Whenever my head feels too full with emotions and negative thoughts I pour them on to the page. I have specific notebook for this purpose and I say what I am feeling to my notebook.

I’ve done this as a way to get out of a loop of insomnia I was stuck in because of grief and it helped me digest the pain that was hovering in my mind so that I could move to the other side and back to a more balanced mind. Some poems I share and some are just kept for my own creative expression. It’s like Dumbledore’s Pensieve in Harry Potter. The memories, emotions, and negative thoughts are extracted on to the page where they can live and my mind can have some rest. Which is oh so nice for an over thinker like myself, who will continue to think until the wee hours of the night on problems there is no clear answer to.

Music

Since I received my iPod nano in 2008, I have been a music escapist. I need my headphones and my music at the ready for trips, errands, social situations, etc. I crave that escape when the world feels like too much. I need music to carry me through what I’m feeling and get my emotions out.

I usually run to music when I’m feeling angry, fed up, or in pain. I will play it loud and let the beat and the bass overwhelm me in its world until the anger feels less explosive. I’ll run to music when I’m feeling scared and uncomfortable to distract and get my mind out of the loop its in. Music is motivating. My favorite go to songs when I feel like I’m going to explode from all the emotion inside and I’m feeling anger rise in me are LALALALA Rock Version by Stray Kids, Cover Me by Stray Kids, Bouncy (K-Hot Chili Peppers) by Ateez, Guerilla by Ateez, Haegeum by Suga, Kill this Love by Blackpink, or Drama by Aespa.

Exercise

The other day I felt some unsolvable pain due to an increasingly dysfunctional relationship I have with a parent and I wanted to give into the temptation of destructive behavior. I wanted to drain my bank account with a shopping spree and get very drunk because I felt so helpless from this relationship ever getting better here on Earth. I was frustrated and wanted to feel pain because I was feeling angry and numb. Instead of doing something destructive, I decided to work out, and push my body though exercise to embrace the burn to feel something instead of hurting myself and my future. It worked!

I was motivated to lift weights longer, hold wall sits and planks longer, to push my leg muscles, my core, and my arms to higher reps. It was awesome and constructive instead of destructive but with the release of anger in a healthy way. I remember my Papa telling me that he would channel all the anger he had from his own dysfunctional parents on the football field and get the emotions out through the physicality of the game. It truly made a difference and I was able to no longer feel explosive after my workout because although the pain and negative thoughts were still hovering in the background, I felt like I was no longer trapped in my mind.

Art

When I don’t know what to do with my mind, I make art. I get creative and let myself escape into a world of my own creation in order to get out of my own head and my swirling negative thoughts. Getting creative reminds me of what my purpose is and my calling and helps me to remember that there is more to life than the bad times. There is so much beauty beyond what I am currently stuck in, when I’m feeling low, that I need to carry on and make something beautiful. Get out of my own head and remember that I have worth, I have the ability to create beauty in this world, and I can do better than those around me who hurt me. Art is uplifting. Creating is nourishing. It channels the pain into something more than it started as, it becomes a touch point of connection with others and the world around us.

My favorite way to escape into art is to draw landscapes, flowers, animals, and the sky in the majesty of a sunset.

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