Sometimes, some force

Mind Wanders aka Connor Muskett (Scottish) - A Cold Winters Night, 2020, Photography

1.

This week I have been growing more aware of a part of me that is perpetually cautious of impacting others, striving to make sure my impact is good at best and neutral at worst. This part is terrified of being left. Of becoming unwanted. The threat of exile feels genuine. This part is eleven years old. She is still at the kitchen table, sitting next to her sister and across from her mother. She is listening to all the things her and her sister are ungrateful for. She is hearing that she is not a good daughter. She is believing that she has turned into an obstacle in the way of her mom’s happiness. She is watching as her stepdad silently walks into the garage for another beer. In her mind, she maps out all the minefields she must tiptoe around so she does not have to come to this kitchen table again. She is wondering: am I insane? What changed and why is everything different now? Where did my mom go? Do I have any adults in my life on my side? To her core, she feels alone.

I tell this girl I am 25 now. I am future you and things aren’t like that any longer. You don’t have to worry or constantly cushion others. That isn’t your job. I give her all her favorite books Hush, Hush and Maximum Ride and I’d Tell You I Love You, But Then I’d Have to Kill You. I say I know it is lonely, and I know you want your old mom back. You crave some adult that understands and sees how incredibly sad and lonely and afraid you are, and I am so sorry you never got that. I am here now. You don’t have to tiptoe around anything. You can read and be eleven years old, and I will be here now. I’ve got you.

Much has changed since I was eleven. My mom is one of my absolute favorite people. If anyone could be immortalized into a saint, I believe it should be her. I feel a sense of guilt writing those events all those years ago. Looking back, I can see we were both dealing with the aftershocks of trauma from the same man. I used to believe my mom’s actions had a greater (negative) impact on me than those of my dad. I do not believe that is true any more. I do not believe that either can even be quantified. I am less interested in keeping score and more interested in healing. Having gone through my own maze of complex trauma symptoms, I have an immense amount of empathy for her having done the same while also being broke and parenting children with no support.

2.

My trauma brain was very active this past week. My eleven year old self and seven year old self were running the show most often. It felt like I was either obsessing over making sure no one was mad at me, or I was ruminating on past abuse. Now, I am working on not berating myself when these old patterns emerge. I am working on understanding that these patterns make total sense given the context of their origin. I am working on accepting myself without obsessing over where a symptom came from, what it means and how I can eradicate it. Radical acceptance is a term I had heard of but did not grasp until I understood just how little acceptance I held for myself.

3.

It snowed Wednesday evening and into the night. We haven’t had much snow this year, and the temperatures have been exceedingly warm for a midwestern winter. I missed the snow. There is a palpable softening during and after a snowfall that is hard to beat. On Wednesday, it felt like I had been given something I was missing. Inside of me, some seasonal rhythm was allowed to find its normalcy. It was a reminder of the small wonders in this world, and I was grateful for it. Sometimes, some force - nature, god, love - takes me just enough out of the melodramas of my life that I am reminded of the mundane joys in this world. Sometimes, all it takes is a little bit of snow to help me come back to myself.