Do the storms ever stop?
But neither do the rainbows.
Do the storms ever stop?
But neither do the rainbows.
I took my own challenge this last week and chose to dive back into true crime reading and documentaries the way I used to.
It does seem a little backwards to dive into such a heavy and negative subject matter when that is all that seems to be going on around us. Although sometimes when the skies open and show it’s beautiful mood, you let it whisk you away with it.
However, this is just thought provoking enough that I knew that it could occupy all of these little section of my mind that wanders away when bored to think about things it shouldn’t.
I needed this.
Dark crevices lead to strange rabbit holes of thought.
I watch my children as they go through things that I absolutely remember going through myself and can’t help but feel proud.
I have worked to keep open communication with them all, while firmly keeping the mother child roles in place. I will find out so much later that I missed or messed up on because that is the way that this job works.
However for today I will sit back and allow myself to be proud of them for the choices they make. I will also chose to be proud of the way my husband and I have raised them so far. I look forward to more of these feelings to help counteract the days I feel the polar opposite.
Forgiveness mode has been in affect for me this last few weeks. This is something that I come in and out of every few months so this time I chose to force myself to stay out to deal with itm instead of running to hide the way I normally do when it gets too deep.
The best thing is that there is always new things to forgive yourself for! Especially when you’re a hot mess like me. Forever throwing new things into that basket of things to work through.
My current favorite thing to do on this journey is actually a well used method that I brought back. The good old trusty empty notebook that I sit down with. After searching my whole house for actual writing utensil that aren’t for my children’s homework, I find the most comfortable spot in the house. I turn on some back ground music that won’t distract me.
And then I sit there. Drawing a damn blank. Every time.
However after a forced start that lasts the whole front of the first handwritten page I tend to unleash. I find myself finding out which way is the best to let whatever feelings out.
Sometimes it is written as if I am speaking, or yelling, at the person that is affecting me the most.
Sometimes I am berating myself for the dumb move that I made at some point.
For a long time it was written to the people that died. Whether they died because of natural causes or suicide. Whether I was yelling at them for leaving me, or I was telling them the newest thing that I feel they missed out on.
I write until I honestly feel like I have nothing more to say about it for the day. I make sure that I am honest and frank. I say the things I can’t say out loud. Don’t hold back. Write as if no one will ever have the chance to read it.
And then I rip it out of the notebook, walk outside and burn it. Safely of course. All in the name of safety.
But burn that shit. To the ground. Let it turn into ashes that the wind will send flying through the air.
Imagine those feelings flying away are little chips off the block that is building up and getting in your way.
The reality of being a survivor is something that strikes me a lot.
The honest fact is that ‘survivor’ means something different to everyone makes that sentence bring something different to every readers mind.
The basic definition of the word is simple.
Definition’s in the dictionary are great but it always feels different. They never seem to be able to describe what to expect the feelings to be.
That said I can’t even begin to explain how it feels different depending which thing I am feeling like I am a survivor from that day. That sounds crazy even to me.
But when it comes down to it, I am a survivor of a whole list of different things. As is every person alive.
That list can seem daunting but that needs to be something I chose to focus on in the near future to make sure that any of my past damage does not creep up to affect my future.
The biggest thing about being a survivor however is learning to move past it. Past the trauma. Past the events. Past the guilt. Past the feelings. Past the judgement. Past the pity. Past the expectation of what it should have been. Past the expectation of what could have been.
I think that is the hardest part. It doesn’t matter what type of ‘event’ happened. It’s the idea of forgiving yourself for letting it happen. Forgiving yourself for expectations. Forgiving yourself for not seeing it coming. Forgiving yourself for not getting over it as fast as people think you should. Or even as fast as you think you should.
Be kind to yourself. Accept the reality of it. It is your domain. It is your safe space. It will always be overwhelming. Break it down into peices. Handle the peices in the best way possible… for YOU.
Growing up every Saturday afternoon I knew I could find my father in his bedroom playing records on an old record player. As I got a little older he advanced to big speakers attached to whatever the newest computer model he could afford to have. The one constant however was the music.
The man taught me the love of sound.
The feel of the bass coming through the floorboard and pounding a distinct rythm into my soul.
The sound of the harmonies had an absolute calming effect on whatever stresses my childhood overthinking had caused over the last seven days.
He would pull out a chess set sometimes for us to spar without words. Shifting little wooden pieces around the board attempting to out -think each other.
I’ve managed to fall in love with music just the way he does. Every sort of music has heart and soul, even if its not my taste.
I envy those that can close their eyes and play their feelings on an instrument. I dawdled and gave feeble attempts but was never able to truly make magic happen. Not even the type of magic originally spun by someone else.
I’ve come to accept my place in the musical world is simply through someone else’s imagination.
Instead I dedicate every emotion I feel, and every Saturday afternoon, to loud speakers attached to a music playing device like my daddy taught me.
Staying alive while facing mental health battles seems to be a minute by minute choice. It’s the conversations that no one wants to have, but are more important than anything else you talked about today. There hasn’t been one moment in my last twenty years that I wasnt intimately aware of mental health. Between dealing with ever cycling emotions of puberty in my own body, and watching some of the others around me face battle deep inside.
Within that same timing I had my world flipped upside down because someone close to me lost the battle.
Talk to you lived ones. Listen when they chose to talk. You may be the only one they turn to.
That makes it all that much more important to chose the people you surround yourself with.
Make sure they are healthy for you, in the good times and the bad.
Apologize to your body.
Thats where the healing begins.
Learning the healthy normal in my relationship is going to be the new challenge in my life. We have forgotten how to function as a couple with all this running around parenting and working.
Recently he has had to switch a different shift that works him an opposite shift as mine. As much as space is something that our relationship thrives from, this may be a little too much space.
So I am looking around at different things that can help us re-center our focus. While I am mainly focused on getting us fun positive time together as a couple, I also would love to strengthen our communication.
Yup, I said it.
That magic “C” word that always gets thrown around in a relationship. Everyone can stand to do a little work in that department, at any point of the relationship. However when we are as strained as we are, I think that it is important.
Check back soon to see if I can get him on board as well. 🙂