Tag: mental health

About Me

Why Being ‘Nice’ Can Be Exhausting

Autumn

I was listening to YouTube Radio when a song came on in which a male singer was expressing how his partner made him feel safe. I started thinking about how, for as long as I can remember, I believed that my desirability was tied with how I made other people feel — I had to be reassuring, uncomplicated, safe.

Then I started wondering what sort of person I would be if I stopped doing all that. If I gave up on being “desirable” and started being me.

Maybe I’d be more blunt. Maybe I’d tell more jokes without worrying about whether or not the other person would understand them. Maybe I’d geek out about anime more openly.

Most of all though, I’d be free to pursue the life that I wanted.

Not the non-threatening life that I’ve been living — a life with big ambitions. I wouldn’t constantly scan for other people’s discomfort and I wouldn’t feel guilty for not being more. Giving up on my “desirability” would be a huge relief. No more, “I’m a great cook.” No more, “I work hard.” No more, “I’ll shower you with compliments.”

I prefer to microwave frozen dinners because of how much time they save. I like to lie on the floor and binge watch TV. And secretly I don’t respect people over the age of 20 who need non-stop coddling or they have a meltdown.

Like, dude, I deeply resented you for demanding praise every time you skipped a stone. I wanted to keep an eye on the children and enjoy my time in nature, not tell you “great job” for throwing rocks into water.

Something that I suspect happens is that when you have the social reputation of being “nice”, people become brutal in their expectations of you. Be nicer. Be more understanding. Be more patient. Let others burn you out and use you up. Don’t have emotional moments. Don’t burden others. Keep your secret thoughts deeply hidden. Then pretend like you don’t notice everyone accusing you of being inauthentic for being too nice.

Yikes.

Clearly “nice” isn’t being reciprocated and they aren’t looking out for your well-being. Is being “desirable” to people who treat you like that really worth it?

I wash my hands of all of that. I don’t care if anyone wants me. Consider me undesirable. I live for me now.

About Me

Coping with Broken People: A Personal Reflection

Autumn

I still feel philosophically orphaned.

It hit me hard that not everyone has good inside. For some people, their “good” is nothing more than surface-level manipulation and inside they’re … empty.

While I can logically understand that this is the world we live in, my heart still struggles to accept that some people are broken — real people, not fictional villains. Not criminals either, but people who go to the grocery store and stand in line with the rest of us (though they do have a disproportionately high occurrence of “I want to speak to the manager”). That part that feels, cares, and makes us human, is missing inside of them.

And they aren’t even rich megalomaniacs who built their fortune on illegal deals. Some of them are surprisingly mediocre, because they think the world should hand them everything without any effort on their part, like someone is going to walk up to them and say, “You’re special. Have a million dollars.” Ha. Yeah right.

Maybe it was part idealism and part coping mechanism, but I really did want to believe that everyone had a point where they cared.  A point where they would pause and say, “I should stop hurting others.”

In the postmortem I regret reading marriage advice books and blogs. They painted a picture that kept me trapped and unprepared. They perpetuated the message that if I kept doing more more more then one day he’d be happy. But no matter what, it can always be twisted into “criticism” or “passive aggressive” or “stone walling” or or or, and absolutely nothing will ever be right. There was no such thing as enough respect, enough simpering, enough accommodation. He was never going to be happy.

You cannot understand and accept someone into becoming a better person.

For some of them, your pain and suffering is the point, not a byproduct.

About Me

Awkward Encounters and Discovering Myself

Autumn

A random woman walked into my house today.

Okay, so that was an exaggeration. She opened the door slightly, my dog went totally crazy with barking and rushed at the door, so she closed it and quickly hurried off. I followed outside to see what the heck, and with a huge amount of embarrassment and number of apologies, she explained that she had the wrong house and she was actually going over to my neighbor’s. She also said that my dog was a great guard dog.

So that happened.

I probably should keep my door locked more, if only because it’s one of those neighborhoods where all the houses are similar. I’ve even driven past my own place when I wasn’t paying close enough attention.

In other news I had a cavity filled recently, and the one thing the assistant asked me was if I was going to travel anywhere for Spring Break. I kind of had a moment of, “Why are we talking about Spring Break in February?” Followed by that awkward feeling of, “I’m not going to find any common ground with this person.” Which was fine, because for the majority of the time my tooth was getting drilled and I couldn’t have participated in the conversation if I had wanted to. Which I didn’t, because I actually really hate traveling. Ha ha, so grumpy.

Personally I would have preferred it if the topic had been, “Nice snowstorm we recently had,” or even, “What’s your favorite flavor of ramen?” A vague, “What do you do for fun?” would have brought out a conversation about Netflix. Oh, yes, I recently started watching Squid Game. I love it, and I can totally see why it’s so popular.

But travel?

Well, that’s just too privileged. Like I have the money for that.

Then afterwards my face hurt for the rest of the day. Unfortunately I’m always sensitive to … everything. I never bounce right back from anything. 😅

Ever since then I’ve been thinking about socializing. I’m a lot better at it now than I used to be, but I still hit moments where I don’t know how to work with someone, and I’ve been reminding myself that it’s okay. No, I’m not reverting to being quiet and shy, I’m just not vibing with someone (is that what the kids say?). That same day at the dentist’s office, I had a wonderful conversation with the receptionist while half my mouth was paralyzed. And it’s fine. Not everyone catches each other’s wavelength, and I don’t have to connect with anyone I don’t want to.

It’s just awkward sometimes, knowing that I’ve been blossoming into the world lately, and yet I’m also still that person who sometimes has nothing to say. Both are the true me, and they can coexist without negating each other.

Because that’s what I’m doing right now: discovering the real me. Not the version that had to play up femininity or stand quietly on the sidelines so someone else could grab all the attention. I don’t exist in any sort of support role managing someone else’s life and image anymore.

Just my life, my image.

Whatever that is.

About Me

Finding Balance: Work, Home, and Parenting

Autumn

Some things are a lot easier to see through the contrast. I didn’t really enjoy being a stay-at-home mom, doing the same chores over and over, day after day after day. For years I told myself that the chores would still be there even if I got a job, so it was better to tackle them and stay with my kids.

Then the chores really did magically up and vanish.

In full disclosure, my entire environment is completely different now. I’m still certain that if I were in the same place while trying to work a job, the chores would have magically doubled instead.

I’m not interested in debating stay-at-home vs working with parenting, as life is complex and most of us are trying to survive the best we can. We’re all doing what we think is right, and we don’t always have a choice in the matter.

What I had wish I had known is that it isn’t as black and white as staying-at-home is easier than working.

The endless repetition of chores is difficult. They don’t give a sense of fulfillment, and to make it worse there are plenty of people online claiming that they can keep their house immaculate with just fifteen minutes a day. Even if the physical action isn’t difficult, emotionally it wears down your soul.

And you know what? I’m just going to say it: if you spend hours cleaning every day and the house is never clean, then maybe you’re trapped in a toxic environment. Because sometimes the mess is deliberate, not incidental.

What I’ve realized is that my kids don’t generate anywhere near as much mess as I thought they did. I didn’t have to spend all those years trying to stay on top of an insurmountable mountain.

Finally, I’m still every bit the homebody that I always was before. Thankfully there’s such a thing as laptops and internet connection.

About Me

Overcoming Emotional Blocks in Creative Writing

Autumn

I still don’t feel any emotional resonance with my fictional writing.

Way back when I was a teenager taking creative writing, I went through something difficult and my teacher advised me to write it out in a story. So I did. And it was deeply therapeutic. I know from experience what writing is capable of doing for me when I can immerse myself in it.

Now that I’m 38 and I’ve survived horrors I never imagined … I can’t. The emotion sits frozen inside while I mechanically type the words.

The fact that what I went through last summer caused me to drop 20lbs in two months was a physical trauma, and even without violence I was still scared for my health and safety. The damage was real. It’s been four months since then, but I’ve only gained back 8lbs of what I lost. I don’t feel safe yet. I feel like I’m waiting for more bad things to happen that I’ll have to keep it together to deal with despite secretly falling apart inside. Again.

The thing about therapeutic writing is that you need to be healed to a certain point for it to work. I’m not there yet.

So we need to be patient.

Time is something that can never be forced. Time feels like eternity while it’s happening but is always a microsecond in retrospect.

Emotional resonance is something that can’t be forced, it has to flow. So, until I’m able to feel again, we’ll let the words be as stilted as they need to be.

About Me

Coping with False Allegations in Co-Parenting

Autumn

Back in November I hurt my knee, and now when I sit for too long my calf muscle becomes tight and painful. I probably should have started wearing some sort of knee brace back when the injury happened, but I could never muster up the motivation to buy one. Modern life is rather tricky when sitting triggers pain like this.

I keep thinking about last summer when he made allegations of neglect against me, filed with the court with no investigation or evidence, in an effort to gain full custody. I answered the door with all the kids eating in the dining room, had the papers served to me, and had to hold it all together while keeping everything a secret.

A few days ago I learned that he had been going around telling people that I was neglecting the kids around the same time — including when we had been out on coparenting activities together.

I had suspected it. I’ve watched enough Dr Ramani to know that this sort of behavior is typical for a certain personality type, but the confirmation feels like an entirely different beast.

It hurts to remember how I had been running myself ragged trying to achieve everything single-handedly, while at the same time he was spreading false allegations against me. Heck, I even coordinated and paid for weekly picnics to get him to spend more time with the kids, and that was his response. Brush your teeth, brush your hair, three meals a day, laundry laundry laundry, homeschooling, soothe tears and fix problems, put up with him telling me I’m a bad mother for letting the toddler get more than three feet away from me on the sidewalk, spend all my money on things the children need while I go without, rinse and repeat day after day after day.

Only to be accused of negligence.

The silver lining is that my hard work was so obvious, the people who knew me didn’t believe it for a second and were enormously horrified at his behavior. I wouldn’t be where I am today if his actions hadn’t spoken of how badly I needed help to get through.

Now here I am and I can’t get it off of my mind. Logically I know why it happened — as I’ve said, I’ve watched enough Dr Ramani to understand it. That doesn’t stop it from feeling like a core wound. I had always dedicated every moment of every day to the well being of my children, and now it’s permanently on record with the court that he had made the allegations against me. The part where he didn’t have any evidence against me is a footnote at the very end.

And the violation of learning that he had been accusing me of negligence just outside of earshot? I don’t know how I feel about that.

Maybe this is the sort of post that qualifies as “too personal” or too emotional, but writing helps me process. If we always keep our stories secret then we’ll never know how many others have endured and survived similar, and we need to know that we aren’t alone.

About Me

Finding My Voice: Writing from a New Perspective

Autumn

I’m a little surprised at how much of a stumbling block my little laptop “unidentified network” malfunction is for me. I keep thinking that I should reinstall Windows, but the fact that I’m not the most computer savvy is making me pause. Also, we just had Christmas, and that’s a good excuse to not try anything new.

I have a desktop computer that works fine, but something about sitting at a desk is more than I want to bother with.

So, essentially, I haven’t been blogging because I simply couldn’t be bothered to get out of my recliner.

Writing wise, I’ve decided not to use anything that I’ve written for Runemaster over the past two months, and instead I will rewrite it from Malachi’s perspective. It was too slow paced and awkward — too reflective of a life turned upside down and a mind turned inside out. It will be easier for me to write in the steady voice of the mentor.

Malachi isn’t just any old character. He’s existed for 20 years now and has had countless adventures written about him. He might just be the source of wisdom that I need.

It’s hard to keep momentum going with joint custody. The routines between days with and without the kids are so different that I haven’t yet found a good rhythm. I am sleeping much better than I have in years though, so it’s a matter of time.

I finally figured out how to change my HVAC filter; better late than never? I suppose that I won’t tell you how much time I spent staring at the furnace, trying to will it into giving up its secrets… in my defense, I didn’t have the slightest clue what I was looking for until I finally found it. And it was camouflaged. Then had an old water heater placed in front of it. It was not easy. 😅

I think that I can handle independence well enough.

It feels good.

About Me

Empowerment through Honesty: Lessons from K-Pop Demon Hunters

Autumn

Over the weekend, the kids and I watched K-Pop Demon Hunters at grandma’s house. All of the sudden at the end of the movie, this song began (massive spoiler alert, btw):

“My voice without the lies, this is what it sounds like.”

For years I was a liar.

Before y’all gasp and clutch at your hearts with betrayal, I told the most lies to myself. Lies like, “This is normal”, “I don’t need more”, and “I’m fine”.

I repeated the lies that he told me, even when they didn’t feel right. Lies that protected his image, even when they cost me my happiness.

But the truth is …

I was always terrified of how he’d punish me if I outshined him. He knew how to criticize and nitpick. He knew how to start arguments when I needed to be at my top game. He knew how to casually drop, “You do have a big nose,” in the moments when I was feeling vulnerable. And I knew it. It didn’t matter that he’d say that he didn’t feel threatened by my success, because underneath the words in the spaces where real life clashed against dreams, I felt sabotaged. Not supported.

Deep inside I knew that he’d find a way to make me miserable if I was successful, which is why I never tried to push beyond my tiny bubble. I didn’t want to see what was behind that door.

I felt it when The Scion Suit was mildly popular on Reddit — a story that I began entirely on my own while he had been at work, and it gained recognition without his stamp of approval. Behind the scenes, he grew pushier about where he wanted the story to go, to the point where he wrote the ending himself. I edited it as heavily as I dared to, but I always hated it. I thought it was nauseatingly pretentious and not remotely on-brand for me. I even slipped in how much I hated the scene when I added the sentence, “She hated it when people gave roundabout answers to direct questions”. Yup, that was me commenting on the entire scene through the character, hur hur.

I broke into a million pieces, and I can’t go back
But now I’m seeing all the beauty in the broken glass
The scars are part of me, darkness and harmony
My voice without the lies, this is what it sounds like

K-Pop Demon Hunters: Come for the music, laughs, and popcorn, stay for the life changing affirmations.

Apparently.

I’ve always felt a light inside of me, and I’ve always wanted to share it with others. So, this is me, giving it my all. No more lies. No more fear. No more holding back. I want the Truth in me to reach the Truth in you, and we’ll both find our voices.

I’m also going to include this song, because it’s just plain fun to dance to:

About Me

The Long Road to Healing from Psychological Trauma

Autumn

How does one put into words how bad it was?

I want to try, so that I don’t inadvertently paint the picture that you just move on and live ever after. So, how do I explain how the demands and criticisms pushed me well past the point of discomfort, and landed me in crisis counseling? How does one describe the injuries of abuse that never left any bruises?

Psychological sadism.

I once sat hidden in a car and tearfully told a complete stranger, “I’ve realized that I will never be broken enough.” There was no end goal. No stopping point. It was only ever going to get worse. I couldn’t eat or sleep, and I was fading away. My body couldn’t carry on in that situation.

I only got out because people helped me.

I didn’t put the TV in the front room with the big window of my new place. It feels too exposed and unsafe. I hate how frequently the motion sensor of my doorbell camera goes off, because I don’t like how it makes me feel. I like feeling hidden when I’m at home.

Sometimes I just want to sit and binge watch random shows while doing nothing. Sometimes I don’t have the energy to get up or think. Sometimes ordinary tasks feel like a big accomplishment.

As I’ve been healing, I’ve been realizing how bad it was, and that hurts in a totally different sort of way.

One doesn’t just move on.

About Me

Overcoming Anxiety: My Journey to Healing

Autumn

It’s difficult to start.

I was so stressed out that I was vomiting and I ended up losing 20lbs in two months. I also spent a month in crisis counseling.

I also learned how to reach out and open up, to tell the people around me about what was going on. I discovered that people are a lot more supportive than I expected … and that the truth of my situation was a lot more visible than I had been led to believe.

And now here I am, in a better place. Quite literally, too. I have a great view of the sunset from my new home, and I’m in walking distance of nature — I like to take my dog out and have small chats with strangers.

I also still have anxiety when my doorbell sensor goes off. The occasional bad dream. Triggers that lead to quiet meltdowns … in a nutshell, PTSD.

Not exactly the life I dreamed of. I keep going round and round in my head, asking, “Can one person really cause this much damage?” It seems so unbelievable, that a person can hurt someone this much without it being a crime. Yet it happened. I know it every time I step on the scale and see how much weight I have yet to gain back.

The far more important question now is, “Where do I go from here?”

I often wonder if my fantasy life — the way I imagine myself getting up and spending the days if everything was perfect — is achievable or not. I have a clean house now, with white walls. Day-to-day life is running more smoothly than it has in a long, long time, and my thoughts are feeling more alive than they have in years. So maybe, just maybe, I can achieve my dreams.

I’m definitely not getting bombarded with criticism and demands the way I was not too long ago.

Let’s work on baby steps.

I want to be a writer. I’ve always wanted to be a writer. So let’s write. Casual. Small. No pressure sort of writing. Free writes. Story snippets. Totally random stuff that has nothing to do with anything.

Then one day, I’ll pick my bigger projects back up and start self-publishing novels again.

You ready?

I’m not sure if I am.

But I can’t spend my life always waiting for the next crisis to hit. I want to take charge and make my dreams come true.