And the Saga Continues...

It has been a long time since I've written.  I have been thinking a lot about why that is and I think that it comes from feeling too exposed and what that brings with it.  Being open about this aspect of my life--and I am referring mainly to my childhood relationships here--brings up a lot of emotions that I sometimes would rather avoid.  Self-preservation is the name of the game folks.  But aside from that, I think it is also the feedback that sometimes comes with being exposed.  The wonderful thing about technology is that I can write in the confines of my own safe space without facing the reader. Once I am faced with someone who has actually read it I feel very vulnerable and awkward.  The other issue is that sometimes people, well-meaning of course, have advice or thoughts on how I can move forward in my life.  And I think that maybe people just want you to be happier or they think that they have answers that you don't or maybe they are just uncomfortable with your (their) sadness.  I find myself this way with my children at times--it is hard watching someone you care about go through tough emotions.  And writing this, I am reminding myself that sometimes just being a witness and really hearing someone's story is healing enough.  I wish that I could let people live in my head for a day, especially a day like today, that is full of triggers and anxiety and absolute dread in the pit of my stomach and help them to understand that, though I try to control all of these things, my brain and body often react in ways that I can not control.  And I want to find a way to figure it out--I have tried many things and will continue to do so--but I do feel helpless at times like this.  Thankfully I have days that are much better than today and for that I am grateful.

But on to the real purpose of this post....

The last three days have brought on a barrage of texts from my mom--in the past it would have been days of voice mails but, once again, technology has come to the rescue and expanded opportunities for families to connect.  There is a context to all of this that I will get to in a minute, but first I feel it necessary to say that I sincerely thought that if this happened again I would be able to handle it.  And I guess if I am comparing apples to apples, I would say that I am doing better than I would have in the past--but then again this assault of texts is mild compared to what it has been in the past so maybe comparisons don't work here.

Remember when I talked about triggers earlier? Well, welcome to a very obvious and direct trigger of my appropriately named "Complex PTSD."   I think the complex part makes me sound more sophisticated, don't you?  This is much easier to explain than all those other pesky subtle triggers that are unexpected or nonsensical.  What is this Complex PTSD you ask?  Well here is a link for your bedtime reading:  http://outofthefog.net/Disorders/CPTSD.html

I realize now that it is getting late and so this is going to have to be a 2-part blog.  Oh, the suspense.  I have to tell you that I already feel a little better after writing so that is the whole point right?  I promise to finish this story soon if you'll promise to read it...

Happy Mother's Day

Though I hope that during this blog I've been able to convey my immense love and respect for my mom, not just the struggles between us, I am not sure I've been able to do her justice as of yet so here is my attempt to do so.

Growing up my mom was my shining star.  I loved her so intensely and completely and wanted to be just like her when I grew up.  She is the most hilarious person I know (though sometimes at other people's expense).  She is very quick-witted and highly intelligent so getting into a fight with her is literally a losing battle.  She taught me to be empathic and extremely sensitive to others' feelings, through her own struggles and through watching her in action when it came caring for the most marginalized in our society.   She took risks, lost jobs, and wore herself thin in order to advocate for those who could not do so themselves--maybe because she often had felt the same and wished someone was fighting for her.  She was my hero and still is in many ways.  I am not near as courageous as she is but I do have a tendency to create waves if I feel something is unjust and it makes me feel proud to know that I am at least a little like her in this way.

It's hard to describe the kind of mom she was.  She was complicated, still is complicated, but back then I saw her as infallible, larger than life, which I guess many of us probably do when it comes to our parents.   She is beautiful.  I never have doubted one moment that she loved me.  She worked several jobs sometimes just to keep us afloat financially and still managed to be involved in every aspect of our lives.  She worked hard, non-stop, while also dealing with her own demons.  Her body has taken a beating, literally and figuratively, her whole life and she somehow has kept going.  She has been victimized in every way possible, so many times, that it makes my heart sick to even think about.  She is truly a survivor and I am grateful that she continues to go on in the face of so much pain, though I know for her the choice has not always been so easy.

What I am the most sad about is that this is a woman who is amazing and who could've had a different life had her childhood been different.  I have been angry with her but never once have I felt that the outcome of our relationship was her fault, or even her parents' fault, or their parents' fault.  Well, OK, so I have blamed her parents at times but I know that they are the product of their environment too and so how do you blame any one person when it is just a cycle of dysfunction?  The main point here to take away is that though my mom had a very dysfunctional childhood, she managed to come out of that with an amazing determination to do better for her kids.  And she did.  And it wasn't perfect by any means and some of the damage done to her had an impact on us, but she did better than she knew how--by a million degrees.  

I am sitting here thinking of so many memories of her and I really miss how I saw her when I was a little girl.   It was so much simpler then.  I think I always understood her, from a very young age, but not necessarily how that translated into my relationship with her, especially as I grew into my own person.  It is nice to think back and I try to do it once in awhile, but it is hard too.  I just want her to know that I love her, have always loved her, and that I want only good things for her.  I would take away all the pain she has experienced if I could and let her have some real peace--she deserves at least that. 

I love you mom.

Life Of An Imposter: Take Four

In my recent posts I think it is obvious that I am struggling.  It's interesting in some ways, because each day the amount of struggle I feel varies and maybe that is how it is for everyone.  I have trouble really knowing what feeling "normal" means and maybe it means nothing but still I feel like I am always striving to reach it.  This is why I want to hear other people's struggles so desperately, so that I can gauge my own thoughts and feelings against theirs and figure out if I am getting closer or further away from who I want to be.  I am fearful that I will never reach that point and that so much damage has been done in my past to ever fully recover.  When I look at where I was 10 years ago, I am amazed at how different I am and how differently I view the world, but still I am not content with who I am.  It feels like I am in this constant internal battle with myself and I don't really know who I want to win.  I have moments where I think that I need to accept myself as I am and then moments where I think that would mean giving up on things getting better.  And as I write this I am thinking, "Well, why do the two have to be mutually exclusive?  Can't I accept myself and strive for better?"  And the answer is likely yes, but my brain has trouble with seeing the gray sometimes.   Though in recent years, I am discovering (to my great awe as I spent 22 years of my life identifying solely with my mom) that I am strikingly like my father and most of this seems to be pure genetics--which is both extremely interesting to me and a little frightening since I would prefer my own kids not to have to struggle with anxiety and depression as I have had to.  I am sure though, that my environment didn't help my predispositions to these things, and I hope I can at least provide some relief to my kids in that way, though some days I wonder if I am doing a good enough job. 

To illustrate the difference between my old life and my life now is a text I received from my mom yesterday relaying a story of yet another altercation between her and my brother where he attacked her while she was driving over something seemingly minor and fractured her wrist in two places.  I wasn't there and so I don't know the full story but does it really matter when the end result is a fractured wrist?  These are the kinds of things that I used to witness growing up and just getting a text about something like this occupies my mind for days as I relive the event as if I was there, since I was there for so many times before.  And I am relieved that I am separate from this now and proud that I have been strong enough to pull away for myself and my family but I am deeply sad too, as you all know, for the loss of the family I wanted to have.  And as I've grown older, and maybe even from a young age, I have always known that it is hard to place fault since I understand why things have turned out the way they have and I know that I have to just accept this and move forward.  And I do.  I keep moving ahead, but the past trails behind me, popping up at all sorts of interesting and not so convenient times.  It limits me and I don't want it to do that forever.  But like someone who has been through war, my mind is wired to be hyper alert, sensitive to vulnerability, and ready for attack.  The only difference being that the ones I fear, I also lived with and love with an animalistic instinct that is beyond my control.

And to tie this all back to my Imposter Syndrome, I will say that feeling like you live in a war zone, when the people who love you are also very likely to be the ones you need to fear the most, is a lonely place to live.  It is hard for others to understand and even if they do, it is likely hard for them to love someone who has such a damaged approach to life.  This is what I fear the most, that though I am scared to be loved too much, I will not be able to be loved at all because I am too damaged from the past and my brain and heart have been broken beyond repair.  The combination of genetics and environment have taken their toll and I have worked hard to fix what I can and I will continue to do that, but will it ever be enough?  Will I ever be enough?  And just not enough for others, but for myself?  And maybe the answer won't be a resounding, "Yes, of course you can overcome this!" but instead, a more subtle acceptance of where I have been and who I have become and the ability to let doing my best be good enough. 

As I walk through my daily life, internally battling all of these things, it is hard to relate to people in a way that feels authentic.  I learned early how to act "normal" but not how to feel it and so I feel perpetually scared of being found out as the imposter that I am.  And more than fearing being known, I fear not being accepted once I am. 

The Best Laid Plans...

I had all of these grandiose plans to write a fantastic blog today but yet here I sit, a few minutes before I am due home to take care of my kids and I have managed to put it off.  The issue is not that I don't have anything I want to say, it's that I have too much I want to say.  This is how I get sometimes.  My anxiety gets high at certain times and I get easily overwhelmed.  I don't sleep well .  I am crabbier.  It's like my brain starts working on overdrive and I want to do everything and nothing all at once.   Decisiveness is illusive and the checklist in my head gets increasingly longer.  You can imagine that this would be frustrating right?  I know it will pass and I believe this is mostly hormonally driven, but frustrating nonetheless.

Just to give you an idea of what my mind is like, here is a list of the things in my head over the past few days:

1. Cleaning for upcoming party at our house--this is a broad category that entails many detailed projects I think I MUST have done before Sunday.

2. Finishing numerous sewing projects--though there will always be more I want to do so I shall never be satisfied.

3.  Ideas for blog posts ranging from the continuing inequality of woman to the annoying girl at the Bread Garden to my obsessive compulsive tendencies to parenting to birth order to friendships to mistakes I have made to my likes and dislikes about myself to my sibling and on and on...

4. Thinking about how my issues impact my relationships, now and in the past

5.  It's been too long since I've seen my therapist.  lol!

6.  Always struggling to be a better parent.

7.  An on-going list of tasks I feel I must complete to feel like a competent human being

8.  The need to be more positive because people don't like negative people but then arguing with myself that positivity is sometimes just a mask of what lies underneath and so isn't it better to be honest but then shouldn't I be expressing more gratitude for what I do have and on and on.

9.  If this blog is worth while.

That is just a sampling.  Oh lord--I better refer to #5. 

Craigslist Has Super Powers...

About a year and a half ago, my husband and I were looking for someone to help watch our kids once in awhile.  I would look on Craigslist as part of our search and one day I saw an ad from someone who seemed like they might be a good fit.  And though Craigslist gets a bad rap, the person we interviewed soon became a regular part of our lives. 

I will call her only by her initial in case she doesn't want to be known.  K. has brought an interesting component to my life, though it is likely she doesn't even realize it (until she reads this post that is!).  Aside from our kids loving her, she and I have gotten to know each other over the past year and a half--usually by cramming in conversations when she arrives or before she leaves.  Many times, when we talk it feels like we are in a race trying to say all the things we want to say before the buisness of tending to the kids takes over.  It is one of those relationships where you never run out of things to talk about because you have so much in common. 

And that's the funny things about K. and I.  We met through something as anonymous as Craigslist, yet we are so much alike.  In fact, when she read the first couple posts for this blog, the next time I saw her she seem confounded that I had written things that she first took for being about her.  We have had funny moments of finding out we are reading the same book at the same time (this has happened more than once) or realizing that the shoes I just bought, look very similar to ones she already has.  Once we even bought the very same fabric at the fabric store to make a similar gift for my son.  We are both creative and love to constantly learn to make new things.  If you asked us both what a perfect afternoon would be, I would bet that we would give very similar answers.  It is a strange thing having so much in common with someone who just came suddenly into your life, who you see once a week, and who you pay to watch your kids. 

The more complicated part is that though she is nowhere close to being old enough to be my mom, she reminds me so much of her.  Not the parts of my mom that I wish could be different, but the amazing parts of her--the fun, empathic, adventure seeking, creative parts.  All of the things K. likes to do for fun are the same things my mom and I had our greatest memories doing together growing up--going to garage sales, flea markets, being out in nature, collecting weird stuff, taking spontaneous road trips, going to the zoo, and on and on.  Many of these things, K. does with her own teenage daughter and I find myself wishing that were me--wishing that I was the one who got to have this mom, who reminds me so much of my mom, without the darker parts.  But that's confusing right?  I mean, she is not my mom obviously and it is not that I really want her to be, I just wish that I could have the good of my mom without the hard stuff.  It makes me sad.  It makes me long for those moments my mom and I had when I was growing up that were pure joy and goodness.  I miss it so much. 

So with K. I always feel confused.   It seems like we should be friendship soul mates right?  But because my relationship with my mom is complicated, so is my internal relationship with K..  I know rationally that she is not the same as my mom but I still have this fear of getting too close to her, of being hurt by her, or maybe just being reminded too much of what I don't have.  I struggle with my feelings even though I know it makes little sense.  In the world of therapy, we call this phenomena transference.  Wikipedia defines transference as, "a phenomenon in psychoanalysis characterized by unconscious redirection of feelings from one person to another. One definition of transference is the inappropriate repetition in the present of a relationship that was important in a person's childhood."

So where does that leave the relationship between K. and I?   Are we friends? Employee/Employer?  Kindred spirits?  What happens when she is no longer watching my kids?  Do we just go back to our completely separate lives and that's that?  I really don't know.  It all seems very strange.  And all of this from a little ad on Craigslist.  Gotta love life--always keeping things interesting.  

All I Want For Christmas...

Today I am holed up in my house for the third beautiful day in a row due to a recent surgery extracting my two front teeth that has left me looking (and feeling) rather crappy.   The irony of this situation is that so often I long for time alone to write, read, or sew but now that I have this time, I am bored and restless and wishing I could be outside in this wonderful weather with my family.  I am not particularly vain, but I scare myself when I look into the mirror so I am not ready to go face the world just yet.  I feel uninspired to do much of anything really since I am in pain and on mind numbing medications.

Being the impatient person I am, I thought that I would be up and running again by today but instead the swelling is at it's worse and my face looks nothing short of a bloated horse.  I now have these fake teeth that are uncomfortable and look strange and are pressing up against the swelling of my gums.  These fake teeth have to get me through the next several months until I can have yet another procedure to place two rods in my jaw bone and later place permanent caps on those.  It is going to be a long process and one that I have avoided for as long as possible.  It is expensive and painful and time consuming.  Eating is almost impossible and, for some reason, I didn't think that part through much either.

When it comes to medical procedures, I have a tendency to just not think about it much at all leading up to the event since I know doing so would make my anxiety out of control.  The downside is that I often feel unprepared for the outcome as I didn't take the time to think it through.  But which is worse, worrying for weeks or being unprepared after?  I think I'll stick with my way.  My husband, on the other hand, always likes to know the fine details of things and so I look to him to research, go with to appointments and ask questions.  I tend to tune out the doctors after awhile but he is able to engage with great interest until his questions are satisfied.  I think these differences between us, which I've touched on before, highlight the greatness of having a partner who has different strengths than you.  We share much in common too but it is really the ability to pick up where the other one leaves off that is key.  But I digress.

I bid you farewell for now.  Maybe I will feel more inspired as I get better to write more.  Wish me luck.

Life Of An Imposter: Part 3

This post is the most personal thus far and is one that I've been struggling with posting.  Instead of giving any long explanation of the complicated relationship I share with my mother, I am instead choosing to put out a selection of  letters in a series I wrote to my mom during a 5 year period when we were estranged.  We are now speaking again and have come to some sort of understanding about the relationship we are able to have at this point in our lives, but it is not what I wish it would be nor is it what she would like either I am sure.   These are letters that I wrote for myself and have only been seen by a couple other people so it is scary for me to let them go out into a world where they will be judged and I won't have control over the memories anymore, but that is also what I am seeking...a chance to let some of this go.  So here it is, another attempt to explain my Imposter Syndrome and how it is linked to how I grew up--it is not direct by any means but I hope I am getting closer to finding a way to explain this feeling that follows me and slowly become more free from it.

#1

4-1-08

She is right down the highway, east and a little to the south.  I know her doorway, her broken windows that refuse to open, her flowers and lilac bushes she planted herself—stolen but hers. Her smell.  Cat fur flying, smoke lingering in the air—motionless.  House filled with things that tell you something about the woman who lives there.  A tight box.  Suffocating.  Can’t breathe here.  Ashes and Patchouli.  Laughter. Stories told with full gestures and such clarity it is like you were there.  Bitterness. Anger.  Loss.  Hammer to skin.  Black and Blue.  The knife out of the drawer.  The big one.  Point in her soft belly.  Stopped.  Barely in time.  Dust lingering, being tossed around this way and that, never to settle the same way again.  Screaming. Begging. Confusion.  She can’t breathe.  Violence from angles I never imagined—though I should have known. I should have known. Threats or reality?  Those eyes.  Who is right?  What can I do?  Fear.  Am I still here?  Numb with tears—tears for who?

Just one button on my phone straight to her ear.  That’s how quick—how close she is.  Lost the connection.  Barriers as thick as the blackest fog.  Impossible to see in the dark, I wasn’t born that way.  Where is my phone?  I hope I don’t find it.  I still know the number by heart.  Can’t get through, can’t bring myself to try.  Frighteningly comfortable with the lack of noise, chaos, promises of death, and eccentricities.  Everything seeming so grand—larger than life when really she is more like a mouse, searching for a crumb in hopes of being filled.  Bottomless hole—black and unrelenting.  Feed me.  It is never enough.

#2

4-1-08

I want to die.  Tell me it is okay to go.  I have no reason to stay here.  I’m in so much pain.  Please.  Just say I can go.  You don’t need me anymore.  I have no purpose.  It’s not fair to make me live just for you. 

Please don’t die.  I need you.  I love you.  I can be your purpose.  I will do more, be more.  Just stay.  I will save you.  I’ve done it so many times before.  I’ll list the reasons to live.  But I can’t think of many.  Is it selfish to want you to stay?  Or if I’ve thought about how much simpler life would be without you—without this?  Oh god!  Maybe I should just let go.  Let you fall into the dark.  Heart broken into pieces of glass that fill your lungs and let the air out slow, like a balloon with a small leak.  You can almost hear the sound of the deflation, the fading rasping of life passing you by.  An ending. 

It has to end somehow.  Somewhere.   Sometime.  I can’t think of any more answers.  I can’t give you any more reasons.  What will happen if I am not here to save you—surely you will die.  You will die and I will be to blame.  You have said as much.  I did leave you to freeze to death on the shores of a creek out in the middle of nowhere.  Out of gas, out of touch, wanting to be found but you are lost.  Alone.  Your greatest fear yet one that you create over and over again.  Proving to the world that you are unworthy.  No!  You mean so much.  I should’ve done more. 

I understand.  You are too fragile for these things.  You have never been strong enough.  I forgive you. 

Have you forgotten all we’ve been through?  All the ways I tried to be everything for you?  Your mother, your child, your friend, your partner?  You hate me either way and love me every way.  How can that be? 

I am a burden to you.  You would be better off without me.  You don’t even want me around anymore.  You don’t need me.  You aren’t the same person--as me. 

I am not the same, I admit it.  I am myself and you are you.  That is okay, isn’t it?  The way it’s supposed to be?  At least that’s what I thought.  Why can’t you see it?  I know.  I really do know.  But we are both feeling this gut-wrenching pain—a baby taken from its mother.  Primal.  I’m so sorry. 

#3

4-1-08

What do you write about a mother lost?  Too much time to think.  Too many memories attacking my brain.  I feel like crying, but I’m not sure I have tears left for this.  How can I be your daughter now—if you can not be my mother?  Why do you have to be so good and so bad?  I want to be angry at someone.  It’s not your fault.  It’s not mine.  It just is. 

How can I explain this to people?  It isn’t a matter of will to change on either side—it isn’t a lack of love.  There must be a solution.  No one can tell me what it is.  I want no part of it all but still I ache for what I can not have, what you have given me and what you can not.  I feel so guilty.  Blood on my hands.  Abandoned.  A child who only wanted a mother who loved her unconditionally.   I thought she did.  Didn’t realize she couldn’t.

#4

8-26-06

I don’t like when it’s quiet

Your absence gets much louder

Too busy to cope

Too still to stand.

You’re probably sleeping

Maybe on the couch

Fallen asleep to the t.v.

Snoring and restless

Grinding teeth, fitful dreams

Your sweet scent filling the room

Patchouli, lavender, and mom.

Mom.

Your breath is slow

You hold it now

Savoring the oxygen

Are you okay?

I’m sitting here killing myself too.

Why?

Identification with you?

One last thing to hold in common.

One way to be near you—like you.

Making my own destiny—it’s out of my control?

It’s not—but yours is.

I can’t take that.

It makes me cold.

Freezing.

I wish…

I hope…

I can’t stand the quiet.

#5

8-26-06

I am getting closer,

To being far away

Or moving in

to crack open the door.

Peaking inside

Fearful and shaking

All of my hope in a sliver of light.

How can I be so scared of someone I love so much?,

Know so well.

I wanted it to be okay.

I want it to be okay.

Can I be safe with you?

Can I keep myself safe?

I don’t know.

I am not so strong anymore.

Not in that way.

I can’t fight now.

Can you accept that?

Please…