Why did I go camping alone?

Why would I do such a crazy thing? Because I needed to do something for me. Yes it may seem a bit drastic, but it was absolutely necessary. Here’s why…

I had several boyfriends growing up, but my first long term relationship started when I was 15. When I was 17, I got pregnant by said boyfriend and I believed I needed to marry him, because I didn’t want to share my child. Well, THAT was an awful idea. We should NEVER have gotten married, especially for those reasons.

In the process of divorce, I met husband #2. He swept me off my feet, but honestly it didn’t take much. In the beginning, we were all giddy and dressed alike and wanted to spend as much time together as possible. Along the way, we had 2 beautiful children and then we grew apart to the point that the divorce was really anything but amicable.

Along came another boyfriend. We had sparks from high school that were re-ignited after hours of talking on the phone working through another ending marriage (he had been there for me through the first divorce as well). Over time, that relationship also was not all it was cracked up to be at first.

So I’ve never been alone. I’ve never truly been single. And while I had many people tell me along the way that I SHOULD be, I didn’t listen. Because I’m stubborn and thought I knew better. I clearly didn’t know better. I’ve gone through years of therapy and finally have learned a few things about being introspective and identifying my issues.

Apparently being bullied to the point of death threats at the ripe age of 13 scarred me more than I could ever have realized on my own. I became a perfectionist, and when the adults that I looked up and respected either took the side of the girls that were bullying me or didn’t believe that I was innocent, my little developing brain thought I wasn’t worthy. I sought love from anyone who gave me attention. I clung to them with all of my soul. And I got into relationships that I shouldn’t have. Well into adulthood, obviously. Only now am I able to see this.

So this solo camping trip was my chance at redemption – to myself. Proof that I COULD do it on my own. Proof that I CAN enjoy my own company. Time to reflect and decide what is truly important in my life. Time to find me and be ok with all of my flaws. But also time to be proud of my own strengths and realize that I am actually capable of the things others tell me I am. Now that I’m in my 40s I can honestly say I feel supported by those around me, and I didn’t always feel that way. Yes there were a few, but that number is far more than I ever realized.

While I was alone on my trip, I was never lonely. I was content. I not only survived, I thrived. And I’ll do it again in a heartbeat.

What PTSD feels like

Ever wonder what it’s like to have PTSD? No? Great, let me explain…

PTSD: post traumatic stress disorder. Most people think of it as a result of being in combat, but I’m not a veteran. Myopia and asthma aren’t exactly great military candidate material. But did you know you can get PTSD from other traumatic life experiences? Bullying, abusive relationships (both romantic and business), even neglect and abandonment. Trauma doesn’t have to be be physical and bloody to leave scars. In fact, emotional scars are probably worse to deal with. You don’t know they’re there all the time. They certainly aren’t visible to the general public. And they’re “easy” to stomp deep down inside while you try to forget about them. But they have a way of rearing their ugly beads.

Take, for example, a simple delay in getting started at a new job. The hiring process may have been rushed and paperwork is now being gone through with a fine tooth comb, and there may not actually be anything wrong – the powers-that-be are just making sure things are done properly. But in the mind of someone with PTSD, there’s clearly something wrong. Somehow, the new employer must have found a reason why not to hire you, and they’re just trying to find a nice way to tell you. They’ve realized you’re an imposter and you aren’t really cut out for the job. Deep down you know that they probably couldn’t find someone MORE qualified than you, but the “deep down” voice isn’t bold enough to speak right now – that voice has been quashed so many times it doesn’t even know if its voice works anymore.

So you start going over and over in your head everything you may have done or said wrong. Did you email too many times? Did you ask too many questions? That’s definitely it – that last question really made you look dumb. No, it had to be asked. Maybe there was an error in one of the transcripts and it looks like your education wasn’t complete. Maybe someone sabotaged the hire. But who would do that? Who knows, but you’ve pissed a few people off along the way…

I know, you’re surprised I’ve pissed a few people off. I’m so docile…

So I lay here in my bed in the middle of the night wondering about everything rather than sleeping. That’s what PTSD feels like. It’s an anxiety attack waiting to happen. It sitting at that simmering point and just not quite getting to a boil. But you don’t sleep and you second-guess everything. And something will finally happen to make you realize you didn’t need to do all that worrying. But for now, the S part of PTSD holds control: Stress. Yay, fun…

Riding the struggle bus

Oh man, oh man. To say I’ve been on the struggle bus lately is an understatement. My coping skills for life are being seriously tested, and the parent-teacher conference here would not go well.

As we neared the start of the school year, I watched meme after meme going up about moms ready for school to start so the kids would “get out of their hair” again. I wanted my kids “in my hair” more often. I watch my youngest child, especially, struggle with life and I just wish I could hold him longer and love him more. Maybe then he wouldn’t have so many troubles.

Maybe I was wrong for going to school so long and building up so much debt. Maybe I was wrong for wanting to be a mom who works outside the home so much. Maybe I should have done this or that, or not done this or that. Maybe it’s my fault he has behavioral problems. Maybe there’s nothing to do with me at all. I have no f&$@ing clue.

All I know is I wish i could help my child, but I haven’t a clue how. I love him. I cuddle him. I try to teach him boundaries and coping skills. I discipline him when he’s naughty. Then I love on him some more, because maybe that’s what he needs. We had him in behavior therapy, play therapy, and now with a regular therapist. He says all the right things when he’s with them, and he graduates out of programs because he gives a line of BS. In therapy right now, he can talk about all of these helpful techniques for dealing with frustration. But will he use these techniques at school? Of course not. But it sounded good in the therapist’s office.

So I sit here dumbfounded, unable to fall asleep, trying to mull over in my head what I can possibly do to help him. But tomorrow he goes to his dad’s for a couple days, and I won’t be able to help him at all. And it breaks my heart. My heart breaks daily for this guy. And so the stress continues. This stressed out mama just can’t catch a break.

I wish I had more insightful words to share today, but I guess that’s just how it goes sometimes. If nothing else, of you read these words and they sound familiar, maybe you’ll find some solace that you are not alone. Keep loving those Littles and trying to help them the best you can. Being a kid is hard. So is being a parent.

You have not failed anyone

I grew up in the church, always active in the church – as a small child I was a “clown for Christ” (yes, a CLOWN! Yikes!), then I was a part of our bell choir, regular choir, New Life teen band; I once referred to myself as a “dork for Jesus”. In my early 20s, you could still find me in our church choir, but in a much larger church and much larger choir. Then in 2007 we moved to Iowa, and I haven’t called a church “home” ever since…

Whether you’re a church-going person or not, you have SOMETHING that you do religiously. Maybe fishing or hiking is your church, maybe serving others is your church, maybe you don’t do anything at all or you don’t believe in God. Whatever the case, I ask you to continue reading. Because there’s a point to this message.

I know when we moved away from Minnesota, I was comparing every church to my Minneapolis church, and nothing compared. Not even close. So I struggled to find a church home because of comparison. It’s probably no surprise that I struggled in my marriage because of comparison, too. We seemed like we were doing ok. I would see the struggles in other relationships and think ours weren’t as bad, or so I thought. I didn’t really know what a good healthy relationship these days should look like.

When we moved back to the Minneapolis area, we used the excuse that our old church was too far away and we wanted the kids to be able to be in church school with their regular school friends. But we still didn’t find a local church home. Nothing met the standards we had set from our Minneapolis church. So we continued not to go to church, and I continued to have a growing void in my life. In my marriage, in my relationship with God, in my relationship with myself.

In the words of one of our marriage, and then uncoupling, counselors, I had grown disgusted with our marriage. It was not what I had imagined, and I fought by myself for a long time to try to keep it alive. To no avail. Because a marriage isn’t sustained by one person alone.

I had started working on personal development because of the lack I was feeling in my life, and as I read books and listened to podcasts, I learned a lot of things about myself. I tried to improve these things, but I couldn’t do it by myself. In the process of divorce, I stopped going to our uncoupling counseling, because it was just making me more angry, and started going to my own therapist. In a previous blog post, I identified that we traced the start of my personal issues back to when I was 13. When I had adults in my life that I looked up to and respected, not believe what I was saying and instead support the people who were bullying me. For 26 years, I’ve been waiting for an adult I admire and look up to, to tell me that I hadn’t failed them and I was worthy of love and respect.

As we went through the tedious and angering steps of the divorce, I avoided the church. I became ANGRY with God. How could He have led me astray with my marriage and let me keep my blinders on for so long? How could He keep putting health issues on me and adding more stress to my life? God only gives you what you can handle? I call B.S. I’ve gotten WAY more than I could handle in the last few years. And then some.

After meeting with friends recently, and having started to feel the need/desire to go to church again, I finally sent a message to my old minister, the one that had married me and my ex-husband, requesting a time to sit down with him. He had time that week. I was shaking as I drove to see him. I got in his office and almost immediately started crying as I poured out a synopsis of what happened to my marriage. And I admitted that I had let my pride get in the way of coming back. I didn’t want to admit that my marriage wasn’t successful. I felt like I had failed him and God because I hadn’t stayed married. He told me the words I needed to hear – I hadn’t failed him or God, and mistakes are human. And anger is a natural feeling and was expected given all I’ve been through. And that God hadn’t left me alone all this time, but He had suffered through all of it with me. And He still loved me. He told me I’m still a good person with a lot of inner strength. He invited me back into the church, and encouraged me to get back into the choir.

I’ve needed to hear those words for 26 years. I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. I’ve felt a peace that I can’t even recall when I’ve felt last.

Have my friends and family and my boyfriend told me I’m loved in this process and that I’m a good person? Of course they have. So why didn’t that do the trick? Because it was adults with authority, adults I looked up to and trusted to help me grow up into a responsible adult, that had let me down when I was 13. I needed someone with that same authority figure to fix it. I’m so thankful for my minister. I’m thankful for the words that he said, the meaning and love behind them, and the sincerity with which he welcomed me back. None of it is a magic wand that will make everything amazing overnight, but it certainly makes the road ahead that much more bearable.

What is it that you need to be able to truly feel that you are worthy, and to start believing the positive words that others tell you? Because you haven’t failed anyone. The only person you have to explain anything to is yourself, and you’re already forgiven.

Stress isn’t just mental

Anyone who tells you stress is just mental is a liar! There, I said it. It’s so much more than mental.

I’ve lived in a chronic state of stress for YEARS! Stress from multiple moves, stress from job changes, stress from trouble getting pregnant, stress from family dynamics, stress from taking on too much. I enjoyed most of the things I did, so I didn’t think much of all the stress. I was young, I had the energy for it.

Well, I’m almost 40, and I don’t feel so young anymore. I feel like I’m 80. All of the stress of my life finally caught up with me and I was just diagnosed with an autoimmune disease. Autoimmunity is extremely affected by stress! Extremely.

I ended up in the emergency room, and had several rounds of blood draws to come up with a diagnosis of Sjögren’s syndrome. That’s a whole blog post in itself. But my mental stress became very physical, literally overnight. I worked out on a Monday and on Tuesday when I woke, I could barely move. I was crippled with pain, and it wasn’t just muscle soreness from working out.

It’s so disheartening to not be able to do the one thing you love. But after 3 weeks of doing nothing, I’m finally moving again. Stress can have some serious effects on your health. I recommend you keep yours in check.

My happy place

Why is it that those with the least amount of reserve are sometimes the ones giving the most to others?

In healthcare there is a thing called caregiver strain. Those caring for a loved one or working full time caring for patients in a hospital or other healthcare facility can actually get burned out from giving so much emotionally and physically to the ones they serve. And it can be detrimental to THEIR health.

With a bit of introspection (and the help of a trained professional) I learned today that I continually give to support others even when my own reserves are running dry. As my children are learning in school, there are cup fillers and cup drainers. I fill the cup of those around me, even if it means that my last drop is given away. Can you say the same? Do you get as much support from others as you, yourself, give? Or are you the one always getting support but you don’t give a lot in return? No judgment here, just a question.

So I need to find things on a regular basis that fill my cup again. I’ve been given a prescription to do something I enjoy and that helps me relax. I guess I’m bad enough at relaxing that I had to be given a prescription for it. Now, to find that relaxing thing…

Back in the day, I wrote poetry and songs and stories, I painted…lately my only release has been exercise but I haven’t been able to do it in 3 weeks. This is not good for my mental health! So back to that poetry…here goes my first assignment…

My Happy Place

The sun setting on the horizon

The breeze gently blowing through my hair

I sit in my comfy chair on the porch

Curled up in my favorite blanket

Listening to the crickets and the frogs and the owls just waking up.

The kids are in bed

Tucked under the covers

Gentle purring comes from their rooms.

Not a care in the world

My heart slows and keeps beat with the bullfrogs in the water.

I watch as the first stars come into view in the darkening sky

And start to see the moon’s reflection on the calm water of the lake.

Out in the yard

I hear the crackling of the campfire

The delicious smell of the freshly fallen wood taking flame fills my nose.

I join my love by the fire and watch the dancing flames.

This is my happy place.

Am I 13 or 39?

Running down the hall for the front of the building, trying to get out the front doors before they can reach me and punch me in the back, pull my hair, or push me. Hearing them yell at me, call me names, talk about me as I walk past them in a busy hallway. Listening to them on the other end of the phone as they say I better be scared because they’re going to kill me. They called me a whore, a slut, ugly, stupid. I had only even kissed one boy by this time, I was at the top of my class. But I ended up in the principal’s office trying to defend myself from these attacks, and no one believed me…

This is all so very real in my memory. I can see it all as it happened. I was 13 years old, in one of the most impressionable times of my life. I had all the confidence in the world up to this point. I had written an essay about my dream car for English class – it was going to be a black Mustang convertible with red racing stripes, and a license plate that read “GODDESS”…because I was THAT sure of myself. I was a straight A student, very naïve, didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t drink, I didn’t do drugs, I didn’t sleep with boys, I didn’t dress provocatively. But my best friend that I had since preschool started being friends with the girls who came from the juvenile detention home, and she started doing drugs and drinking with them, and she wasn’t happy that I wouldn’t join her, so she joined them in attacking me instead.

I loved school, I loved my friends…up to that point. I lost most of my friends, including my best friend. It had been instilled in me that in our family, we didn’t fight. So I didn’t fight. I ran. And I cried. And that made them pick on me even more, because I didn’t fight back. I became an easy target.

My mom asked me what I had done to have them treat me like this, because it didn’t make sense that it would start out of nowhere. None of it made sense. The school principal didn’t believe that things like this could be happening on school property. The sheriff, who was also a friend of the family, said there’s no way these girls would do something like that, because they’re trying to improve their lives… so what?… I must be lying??

All of the adults in my life that I trusted were questioning me. My parents chose to do open enrollment at the end of the school year and transfer me to the school in a neighboring district. I never got picked on again like that. In fact, the first year I was there, I was voted in as Snow Queen for our snow days celebration, then I was voted in for class officer. But I never got over the initial insult… Transferring to another school, while it was the best thing for me, helped me further cement the idea that running away was always the best option. Fight or flight, right? I couldn’t fight, so I flew, I ran.

With the help of my therapist, we’ve identified that this was a changing point in my life. I went from a carefree, confident kid to a people-pleasing, indecisive one. I put on a face of confidence, but any bit of critique knocked me down. I’ve never cared for confrontation, and I didn’t know how to stand up for myself. I knew how to run. That started a destructive time in my life and led to some decisions that I can never take back…but that’s a whole other conversation…

At 39, I have triggers that send me back to that school hallway and I feel like that same little 13-year-old who couldn’t defend herself and had people saying and doing awful things to her. My heart starts racing, I have panic attacks. I get sick to my stomach when I have to have adult conversations. I get upset and I cry, because that’s all I’ve known. But with the help of my therapist, I’m slowly gaining my confidence back. I’m slowly getting to the point that those memories are just that – memories – and they no longer control me. I am not the things those people said I was – I never have been. I’m learning to speak my feelings, and realize that the world doesn’t end when I voice my opinion, and it’s possible to have calm conversations with differing points of view – everything doesn’t have to be an argument.

Why do I share this? Because I’m working on shame resilience. I’m working on fixing me rather than putting bandaids on my injuries. And I’m hopeful that by sharing my experiences, it will help even one other person to feel like they can share their experiences and realize they are not bound by them. You are not the awful things mean people say about you. You are worthy, you are valuable, you are deserving – of something so much more than what you think you are. I’m looking forward to a time in the not-too-distant future where I can have passing thoughts of junior high that don’t set off a panic attack, and I’m able to just be me. Because I like 39-year-old me.