Ruby Fitzgerald's Blog, page 3
April 4, 2020
Writing a New Story
Shan of The Kind Mind Club was generous enough o share with me her story of mental health growth and it served to me as an amazing inspiration... it's a story of strength and hope much needing during this time of confusion and fear due to the ever-growing COV-19 pandemic. Please do not hesitate to read more from her at thekindmindclub.com
Writing a New Story:
A few years ago, I was lost. I was hurting. I was struggling with my mental health and was
diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder and depression. I was desperately trying to get
better, to feel better. But no matter what I did, it just didn’t work. I was fighting this battle
within my mind every single day. There was an invisible shadow hovering around me, a
relentless storm dowsing me in cold rain. I felt like I was stuck in someone else’s body, unable
to be the strong and empowered girl I knew I could be. But I didn’t give up hope. I couldn’t. I
knew there had to be a way out of this storm. I tried all that I could. I avoided caffeine. I
exercised. I wrote in my journal. I saw a therapist. I tried various supplements. I went to a
chiropractor. I did yoga and meditation. I talked to friends and family. I took deep breaths. I said
positive affirmations. I still felt anxious. I still felt depressed. That’s not to say all these things
didn’t help. They definitely helped me. They kept my anxiety and depression at a somewhat
manageable place. They just didn’t erase my mental illness. They didn’t make me feel like the
person I wanted to be. The person I knew I could be.
I had a story written in my head that I was weak, that I was too fearful, that I was always
overthinking and over-worrying. I was being overtaken by the shadows within my head,
forfeiting my strength to the darkness. Like the bad guy in a book, my anxiety tried to render
me hopeless. But then one day it hit me. This bad guy was a part of my brain, a part of the
thoughts and ideas that had cultivated in my mind since I was little. How could the bad guy win
if me and the bad guy were one? So I decided to rewrite my story. To tell things differently. To
see things differently. It wasn’t easy, but I took it day by day, page by page. I had moments
when the rain would settle and the sun would peak through the gray clouds. These moments
proved to me that somewhere inside me I held a power- a power that could defeat this storm.
One day after the storm hit particularly hard, I came to the realization that I couldn’t change my
story if I stayed in the same setting. So I packed up my stuff and moved home. I added new
characters to my story that would help me find my strength. I let go of characters that dwindled
my powers and made me feel like I wasn’t worthy. I continued with the meditation, the
journaling, the positive affirmations. I continued to talk to others. And I decided to create a
platform where others could find their power within too. The storm still finds its way to me on
occasion. But now it’s not so scary. The rain is little more gentle. The clouds are a little less gray.
And the sun, it always comes back.
Writing a New Story:
A few years ago, I was lost. I was hurting. I was struggling with my mental health and was
diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder and depression. I was desperately trying to get
better, to feel better. But no matter what I did, it just didn’t work. I was fighting this battle
within my mind every single day. There was an invisible shadow hovering around me, a
relentless storm dowsing me in cold rain. I felt like I was stuck in someone else’s body, unable
to be the strong and empowered girl I knew I could be. But I didn’t give up hope. I couldn’t. I
knew there had to be a way out of this storm. I tried all that I could. I avoided caffeine. I
exercised. I wrote in my journal. I saw a therapist. I tried various supplements. I went to a
chiropractor. I did yoga and meditation. I talked to friends and family. I took deep breaths. I said
positive affirmations. I still felt anxious. I still felt depressed. That’s not to say all these things
didn’t help. They definitely helped me. They kept my anxiety and depression at a somewhat
manageable place. They just didn’t erase my mental illness. They didn’t make me feel like the
person I wanted to be. The person I knew I could be.
I had a story written in my head that I was weak, that I was too fearful, that I was always
overthinking and over-worrying. I was being overtaken by the shadows within my head,
forfeiting my strength to the darkness. Like the bad guy in a book, my anxiety tried to render
me hopeless. But then one day it hit me. This bad guy was a part of my brain, a part of the
thoughts and ideas that had cultivated in my mind since I was little. How could the bad guy win
if me and the bad guy were one? So I decided to rewrite my story. To tell things differently. To
see things differently. It wasn’t easy, but I took it day by day, page by page. I had moments
when the rain would settle and the sun would peak through the gray clouds. These moments
proved to me that somewhere inside me I held a power- a power that could defeat this storm.
One day after the storm hit particularly hard, I came to the realization that I couldn’t change my
story if I stayed in the same setting. So I packed up my stuff and moved home. I added new
characters to my story that would help me find my strength. I let go of characters that dwindled
my powers and made me feel like I wasn’t worthy. I continued with the meditation, the
journaling, the positive affirmations. I continued to talk to others. And I decided to create a
platform where others could find their power within too. The storm still finds its way to me on
occasion. But now it’s not so scary. The rain is little more gentle. The clouds are a little less gray.
And the sun, it always comes back.
March 28, 2020
Faking Happy
I’m very good at pretending to be happy. I’ve spent my life masking pain, pretending disfunction doesn’t exist, covering up the wounds of trauma, and ultimately faking a persona of light and confidence.
It’s a coping mechanism.
It means I can hold a public job despite the fact that I have social anxiety. It means I shower, pay my bills, and show up to work on time even though I’ve struggled deeply with depression. It means I’ve done physical jobs while being in excruciating pain, I’ve chatted comfortably with someone even though, beneath my calm exterior my skin was crawling because they reminded me of negative things of my past... the list goes on and on. The coping has served a purpose. Many purposes. That have made my life easier and more functional. It’s not healthy, but it’s what made me get by. I resent it (myself) sometimes for holding together so well, so well that sometimes people literally do not believe me that I am troubled. But I try instead to focus on the actually - truly - good thing that has come from coping. From faking.
And that’s that I understand others who are doing the same. I’m non- judgemental and willing to listen. When some one says they’re struggling or sad, I believe them no matter how big their smile was the day before. I understand that pain comes in all forms, all depth, it manifests in a hundred different ways. Sometimes it shows, sometimes it doesn’t. And I understand that, because of what I’ve been through, and how I chose for years to carry my pain in silence.
There’s always good that comes from coming out on the other side of evil. There’s always hope. I believe that, more than anything else.
It’s a coping mechanism.
It means I can hold a public job despite the fact that I have social anxiety. It means I shower, pay my bills, and show up to work on time even though I’ve struggled deeply with depression. It means I’ve done physical jobs while being in excruciating pain, I’ve chatted comfortably with someone even though, beneath my calm exterior my skin was crawling because they reminded me of negative things of my past... the list goes on and on. The coping has served a purpose. Many purposes. That have made my life easier and more functional. It’s not healthy, but it’s what made me get by. I resent it (myself) sometimes for holding together so well, so well that sometimes people literally do not believe me that I am troubled. But I try instead to focus on the actually - truly - good thing that has come from coping. From faking.
And that’s that I understand others who are doing the same. I’m non- judgemental and willing to listen. When some one says they’re struggling or sad, I believe them no matter how big their smile was the day before. I understand that pain comes in all forms, all depth, it manifests in a hundred different ways. Sometimes it shows, sometimes it doesn’t. And I understand that, because of what I’ve been through, and how I chose for years to carry my pain in silence.
There’s always good that comes from coming out on the other side of evil. There’s always hope. I believe that, more than anything else.
Pandemic Anxiety
I am trying ever so hard not to have the coronavirus dominate every conversation I have and every post I make... but it’s incredibly difficult! The virus is all anyone wants to talk about. It’s all they’re thinking about. It’s looming over some like a dark cloud and itching unhappily in the back of other’s minds. But I swear, in the last week, there’s not been an untroubled or unburdened or unconcerned person anywhere around me.
And then it hit me.
Everyone out there... they way you’re feeling: the tension in your shoulders, the doomsday dread in your thoughts, the tangled of knots in your stomach, the nightmares and fears, the wariness and suspicion and trepidation constantly clinging to you... Welcome to my world. Welcome to the world of anxiety.
My brain CONSTANTLY tells me there’s something wrong or that something bad is about to happen. It makes me struggle to concentrate, struggle to remain calm, struggle to do normal, everyday things. And it makes me hate grocery stores haha. Now everyone is having those exact same problems. It sucks, doesn’t it?! I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, I really wouldn’t. Anxiety, depression, panic attacks, PTSD... they’re no laughing matter.
Which is my point!
I hope that, in the future, after the virus has run its course and the medical and financial base of our world has been righted, that y’all will still remember the terrible anxiety you felt while all this was going on. And that your memory will translate into understanding and compassion for those who live with anxiety every single day... whether or not there’s a pandemic happening.
Be good to each other. Be patient. Be kind. And don’t forget the hardships you’ve been through— instead let them teach you lessons of humility and unity.
And then it hit me.
Everyone out there... they way you’re feeling: the tension in your shoulders, the doomsday dread in your thoughts, the tangled of knots in your stomach, the nightmares and fears, the wariness and suspicion and trepidation constantly clinging to you... Welcome to my world. Welcome to the world of anxiety.
My brain CONSTANTLY tells me there’s something wrong or that something bad is about to happen. It makes me struggle to concentrate, struggle to remain calm, struggle to do normal, everyday things. And it makes me hate grocery stores haha. Now everyone is having those exact same problems. It sucks, doesn’t it?! I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, I really wouldn’t. Anxiety, depression, panic attacks, PTSD... they’re no laughing matter.
Which is my point!
I hope that, in the future, after the virus has run its course and the medical and financial base of our world has been righted, that y’all will still remember the terrible anxiety you felt while all this was going on. And that your memory will translate into understanding and compassion for those who live with anxiety every single day... whether or not there’s a pandemic happening.
Be good to each other. Be patient. Be kind. And don’t forget the hardships you’ve been through— instead let them teach you lessons of humility and unity.
March 14, 2020
Women's History Month
In honor of Women’s History Month I would like to say Thank You to all my female readers and followers. I want to express gratitude for all the ways you make the world a better place. And I want to remind you that you are capable, strong, resilient, intelligent, powerful, and beautiful.
12 million women in the US each year experience clinical depression.
That leaves 153.92 million of us to help them. To lift them up. To give support and love and encouragement to our fellow women. Especially now, in a time of fear and uncertainty. We need to unify. We are all sisters, mothers, and daughters. And I’m certain we all know someone who is struggling with a mental health issue. So for this Women’s History Month I encourage you to create new memories that the women you love can remember with fondness in years to come. To assist them in making their personal history better. In believing that the future will be better, brighter, and more wonderful than these dark days.
There’s been enough pain and anger, discouragement, discord, and prejudice already between women, inside our minds, and in our hearts... there’s been enough isolating and pretending nothing’s wrong, and there’s been way, way too much willingness to better ourselves at the cost of someone else’s misfortune.
It’s time we, as woman, stood tall, chins up, and trusted the loyalty and love of our sisters, and let the world know that we are proud of who we are and how far we’ve come. We’re not sex objects. We’re not dumb. We’re not lessor. We’re not weak. And we're not going to settle for mediocrity.
We are equals. And together we are great.
12 million women in the US each year experience clinical depression.
That leaves 153.92 million of us to help them. To lift them up. To give support and love and encouragement to our fellow women. Especially now, in a time of fear and uncertainty. We need to unify. We are all sisters, mothers, and daughters. And I’m certain we all know someone who is struggling with a mental health issue. So for this Women’s History Month I encourage you to create new memories that the women you love can remember with fondness in years to come. To assist them in making their personal history better. In believing that the future will be better, brighter, and more wonderful than these dark days.
There’s been enough pain and anger, discouragement, discord, and prejudice already between women, inside our minds, and in our hearts... there’s been enough isolating and pretending nothing’s wrong, and there’s been way, way too much willingness to better ourselves at the cost of someone else’s misfortune.
It’s time we, as woman, stood tall, chins up, and trusted the loyalty and love of our sisters, and let the world know that we are proud of who we are and how far we’ve come. We’re not sex objects. We’re not dumb. We’re not lessor. We’re not weak. And we're not going to settle for mediocrity.
We are equals. And together we are great.
March 7, 2020
The World Will Follow
Although I haven’t asked many people-- everyone that I have asked has confirmed that we all, and I mean ALL, go through a “what’s wrong with me?” period in our life (sometimes more than one...).
If you’re reading this... I guarantee at some point or another you googled the causes of depression, you took an online quiz to see if you had social anxiety or autism, you dug through Webmd for symptoms of PTSD, or used an online psychologist chat to find out just how truly “messed up” you are. You wanted desperately to know if you were diagnosable or just weird. You wanted to justify how you felt. Wanted to prove that something was wrong— so that there was something to fix. You wanted the world to accept that you were hurting by putting a label on your pain.
I understand.
If you’re seeking treatment: medication, support groups, therapy, or suggestions for better living, by all means keep on googling and testing and talking. But if you’re simply seeking validation... knock it off. You don’t need the world to give you permission to be sad, permission to be stressed, permission to behave or think differently than the “average, normal person”. It’s ok to have bumps and bruises, cracks, and crazies, bad days or even bad weeks. You don’t need to explain that shit to anyone. You need to accept it. For yourself. Accept that you personally, individually, uniquely are on a path through life that may or may not look like someone else’s. You may have more ups and downs, more struggles. Or more challenges to overcome. But that’s ok. You are ok.
You just focus on you. On getting stable and healthy and right with YOURSELF. And the world will follow. Love you. Love you first. And when you’re ready - when you’re strong enough - throw your arms out, puff up your chest, and say to the world:
“Here I am! This is me!”
And do not be ashamed. Ever. Of what you’ve had to do to become you.
If you’re reading this... I guarantee at some point or another you googled the causes of depression, you took an online quiz to see if you had social anxiety or autism, you dug through Webmd for symptoms of PTSD, or used an online psychologist chat to find out just how truly “messed up” you are. You wanted desperately to know if you were diagnosable or just weird. You wanted to justify how you felt. Wanted to prove that something was wrong— so that there was something to fix. You wanted the world to accept that you were hurting by putting a label on your pain.
I understand.
If you’re seeking treatment: medication, support groups, therapy, or suggestions for better living, by all means keep on googling and testing and talking. But if you’re simply seeking validation... knock it off. You don’t need the world to give you permission to be sad, permission to be stressed, permission to behave or think differently than the “average, normal person”. It’s ok to have bumps and bruises, cracks, and crazies, bad days or even bad weeks. You don’t need to explain that shit to anyone. You need to accept it. For yourself. Accept that you personally, individually, uniquely are on a path through life that may or may not look like someone else’s. You may have more ups and downs, more struggles. Or more challenges to overcome. But that’s ok. You are ok.
You just focus on you. On getting stable and healthy and right with YOURSELF. And the world will follow. Love you. Love you first. And when you’re ready - when you’re strong enough - throw your arms out, puff up your chest, and say to the world:
“Here I am! This is me!”
And do not be ashamed. Ever. Of what you’ve had to do to become you.
February 29, 2020
Work to Grow
Mass shootings, a looming pandemic, nearly 800 million starving people in the world, and here I am, well-fed, housed, healthy, safe... and sad.
It’s hard for me sometimes not to be angry at myself for my anxiety and bouts of depression when I know that there are people out there suffering so, so, so, so, so much more than I ever will. I feel somehow unjustified to feel bad. I feel guilty for being joyously grateful that my life is so good. But that’s not fair. That’s not a healthy way of thinking. There will always be someone worse off than I am... and there will also always be someone better off than I am. And being self-loathing, jealous, or guilty because of those other people is stupid. It’s just plain senseless. The state of other people's lives is mostly out of my control, and me self-inflicting misery doesn't help anyone else feel better!
Instead of kicking myself, I should respect that my path is mine and mine alone. I do not need to compare my life to others’... not in a positive or in a negative light. I need to understand that fate and luck, fortune and wellbeing, comes and goes. I need to accept my own struggles and work to grow, rather than degrading or belittling my own state of being. And with a healthy mindset and a clear understanding of my good fortune I can look at the world with fresh eyes.
I can give - of time or money or effort - when I am capable of doing so, to help those less well-off than myself. And I can congratulate and be happy for those of more success or comfort than myself. I do not need to judge myself. And I absolutely do not need to justify my sorrow or my stress. I am entitled to my emotions.
What it comes down to is that I need to view myself as I do others around me - no matter status or struggle - with compassion and acceptance!
It’s hard for me sometimes not to be angry at myself for my anxiety and bouts of depression when I know that there are people out there suffering so, so, so, so, so much more than I ever will. I feel somehow unjustified to feel bad. I feel guilty for being joyously grateful that my life is so good. But that’s not fair. That’s not a healthy way of thinking. There will always be someone worse off than I am... and there will also always be someone better off than I am. And being self-loathing, jealous, or guilty because of those other people is stupid. It’s just plain senseless. The state of other people's lives is mostly out of my control, and me self-inflicting misery doesn't help anyone else feel better!
Instead of kicking myself, I should respect that my path is mine and mine alone. I do not need to compare my life to others’... not in a positive or in a negative light. I need to understand that fate and luck, fortune and wellbeing, comes and goes. I need to accept my own struggles and work to grow, rather than degrading or belittling my own state of being. And with a healthy mindset and a clear understanding of my good fortune I can look at the world with fresh eyes.
I can give - of time or money or effort - when I am capable of doing so, to help those less well-off than myself. And I can congratulate and be happy for those of more success or comfort than myself. I do not need to judge myself. And I absolutely do not need to justify my sorrow or my stress. I am entitled to my emotions.
What it comes down to is that I need to view myself as I do others around me - no matter status or struggle - with compassion and acceptance!
February 22, 2020
Decade of Adulting
A few days ago I got a notification on my phone that my memory-cloud-data-whatever (can you tell I’m not tech savvy?) was nearly full. So to make some space I started going through my old photos and deleting unimportant images. At first, seeing photos from the last year or so made me smile. It was a pleasant walk down memory lane: photos of my adorable twin nephews, good times with my friends last summer, beautiful shots from my birthday vacation last winter... However, when the photos switched from the last year to a few years ago and beyond, I started getting really sad.
I feel like I’ve lost people. Squandered time. That life is flying by me and perhaps I’m not doing all that I should. That somehow I’m getting older but not more... I don’t know... experienced? successful? better? It’s strange because on days when my emotional health is strong and my depression is nothing more than a lingering scar, I feel so accomplished. So proud of myself. Happy. I’ve seen things and done things and gone places... I have not squandered my life. I haven’t. I haven’t!
But seeing photos of 22 year old me, 20 year old me, even 18 year old me... it made a strange sense of nostalgia come over me. Not so much of judgement of my actual life but more of judgement of what my life could have been— what I thought it would be when I was thinking of my future at 18. It’s my ten year high school reunion coming up; I’m facing a decade of being an adult. What have I learned? What have I done? Would my 18 year old self be proud of who she’s become?
Even the most powerful, successful, beautiful, wonderful people have moments of self doubt, I can say that, I can remind myself of that... but sometimes it’s hard to accept it. To believe that that includes me. To offer myself the same patience and forgiveness and kindness that I do to others.
So I had to put my phone down. I had to close the photo app. I had to get out of my apartment and walk around my neighborhood and look at all the other people running errands, eating lunch with their friends, trying not to laugh at their child who had let their scooter roll into a street sign, arguing with a comcast employee on the phone, washing the window of the coffee shop they wished they didn’t work in... I had to remind myself that day to day is allowed to be ordinary. Every moment doesn’t have to be picture-perfect, doesn’t need to be amazing. My goal in life isn’t to live fast and party hard, and blast through time like a superstar. No, my goal is be happy just living. Love my family. Have fun with my friends. Do my writing. Grow my plants. See the world.
And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. At all. I don’t know if my 18 year old self was mature enough to understand that concept, but I know my 28 year old self is.
I feel like I’ve lost people. Squandered time. That life is flying by me and perhaps I’m not doing all that I should. That somehow I’m getting older but not more... I don’t know... experienced? successful? better? It’s strange because on days when my emotional health is strong and my depression is nothing more than a lingering scar, I feel so accomplished. So proud of myself. Happy. I’ve seen things and done things and gone places... I have not squandered my life. I haven’t. I haven’t!
But seeing photos of 22 year old me, 20 year old me, even 18 year old me... it made a strange sense of nostalgia come over me. Not so much of judgement of my actual life but more of judgement of what my life could have been— what I thought it would be when I was thinking of my future at 18. It’s my ten year high school reunion coming up; I’m facing a decade of being an adult. What have I learned? What have I done? Would my 18 year old self be proud of who she’s become?
Even the most powerful, successful, beautiful, wonderful people have moments of self doubt, I can say that, I can remind myself of that... but sometimes it’s hard to accept it. To believe that that includes me. To offer myself the same patience and forgiveness and kindness that I do to others.
So I had to put my phone down. I had to close the photo app. I had to get out of my apartment and walk around my neighborhood and look at all the other people running errands, eating lunch with their friends, trying not to laugh at their child who had let their scooter roll into a street sign, arguing with a comcast employee on the phone, washing the window of the coffee shop they wished they didn’t work in... I had to remind myself that day to day is allowed to be ordinary. Every moment doesn’t have to be picture-perfect, doesn’t need to be amazing. My goal in life isn’t to live fast and party hard, and blast through time like a superstar. No, my goal is be happy just living. Love my family. Have fun with my friends. Do my writing. Grow my plants. See the world.
And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. At all. I don’t know if my 18 year old self was mature enough to understand that concept, but I know my 28 year old self is.
February 15, 2020
Powerful Hugs
For a long time, I hated hugs. As a child, I hated being instructed to hug adults I didn’t know, I hated classmates greeting me with air-hugs that felt forced and fake, but I also didn’t even feel comfortable hugging my own family and close friends.
It took me a while to realize it was because physical touch had been used as a form of control when I was a young child. My stepfather would use his hand on my shoulder at church to hold me still, a captive at the pressure of his fingers. So for years after, a hand on my shoulder would make me cringe. Hugs were obligational. I would hug my mother when she was angry/upset to calm her down, not necessarily because I wanted to but rather because I knew it would help defuse her hostility. I would hug my step-grandparents because it was expected of me. I would hug my unfamiliar relatives because it was a holiday. I would hug classmates because that's what they did, I didn't want to be "weird" by not giving hugs as greetings.
Touch became synonyms with pacifying the people around me. It took me YEARS to get over that mind set: to realize touch - specifically a hug - was a communication of love, care, concern, and sweetness.
In high school I used to tell people I’d give them a hug on Valentine’s Day. Friends would get all excited because that was such a rare thing for me to do. Buuuttt... I’d buy a bag of Hershey’s hugs and instead prank my friends with the candy instead of an actual hug. I repeat: it’s taken years for me to heal— to be able to accept a touch and give a hug. To take pleasure in being physically close to someone.
Yesterday was Valentine’s Day and rather than buying a bag of hugs, I told the story of the candy to my current friends and coworkers. And you know what their responses were? A little bit of laughter. A lot of smiles. And some actual true ‘I’m happy you’re my friend’ hugs.
It’s good to be loved. It’s even better to let yourself feel loved.
Take care of yourself. You deserve love. And you deserve to feel safe when hugged.
It took me a while to realize it was because physical touch had been used as a form of control when I was a young child. My stepfather would use his hand on my shoulder at church to hold me still, a captive at the pressure of his fingers. So for years after, a hand on my shoulder would make me cringe. Hugs were obligational. I would hug my mother when she was angry/upset to calm her down, not necessarily because I wanted to but rather because I knew it would help defuse her hostility. I would hug my step-grandparents because it was expected of me. I would hug my unfamiliar relatives because it was a holiday. I would hug classmates because that's what they did, I didn't want to be "weird" by not giving hugs as greetings.
Touch became synonyms with pacifying the people around me. It took me YEARS to get over that mind set: to realize touch - specifically a hug - was a communication of love, care, concern, and sweetness.
In high school I used to tell people I’d give them a hug on Valentine’s Day. Friends would get all excited because that was such a rare thing for me to do. Buuuttt... I’d buy a bag of Hershey’s hugs and instead prank my friends with the candy instead of an actual hug. I repeat: it’s taken years for me to heal— to be able to accept a touch and give a hug. To take pleasure in being physically close to someone.
Yesterday was Valentine’s Day and rather than buying a bag of hugs, I told the story of the candy to my current friends and coworkers. And you know what their responses were? A little bit of laughter. A lot of smiles. And some actual true ‘I’m happy you’re my friend’ hugs.
It’s good to be loved. It’s even better to let yourself feel loved.
Take care of yourself. You deserve love. And you deserve to feel safe when hugged.
January 18, 2020
Piecing Together my Childhood Soul
Brittian's story of growth and recovery may make your heart hang heavy, but it should also make you raise your head high. She shares a story of trauma and heartbreak and yet has come through to the other side strengthened and full of determined self-love. I find her - and her stories - to be stunningly inspirational, a reminder that no matter the struggle, no matter the pain, there is hope and beauty in life. There is peace to be had, if only we take the time and do the work, to reach it.
Thank you for sharing, Brittian. Thank you for being you. You are a beautiful soul.
Read her post below, and if you care to read more, please don't hesitate to check out her Instagram @brittianismental and her blog at www.brittianweaverphotography.com
Piecing Together my Childhood Soul
As I looked at my tired, tired hazel eyes in my brown, squared mirror. I began noticing my physical health was starting to deteriorate. My once bright, brown freckles on my very pale nose no longer shined the way they use to. My long hair had knots that clumped throughout my head and the dandruff was noticeably white on my faded black tee. Oh, man was that smelly too - black tee filthy with all sorts of questionable stains.
At this point in time, it was probably almost two full weeks since I showered. And not because I didn’t want to. I desperately wanted the warm, steamy water to touch my dirty body and cleanse my soul away. But I convinced my tired brain that I just physically couldn’t stand for the whole three minutes. Every damn thing was just too hard. But as I starred at my puffy, black eyes, I told myself tomorrow would be the day I washed my face. I probably told that lie to myself for at least three months. I would bathe, but I hated my life while doing it and I would go into a rage every time I was “forced” to take care of myself. I just wanted to die. And I was too much of a coward to do so or at least that is what I convinced myself I was. A coward. Because I wanted to die. I wanted to die because I no longer felt like I had meaning in my life.
I just lost my entire family and the only world I’d ever known. Long story short, my adoptive father decided he was going to videotape me nude without my consent, and upload the videos in hopes that I would want to give him affection in return. I told my mother and like many, I didn’t have the fairytale outcome. My mother chose my father. Her love for me became nonexistent when her image was at stake. So hence the feeling of wanting to die. And it didn’t matter, at the time, who was there to support me. I wasn’t alone on the outside, I had love from others around me. But none of that mattered because I didn’t love myself. My father took that away the minute he decided to take my privacy away and to violate my body. I hated myself. And honestly sometimes to this day, a little over three years later, I still struggle. Triggers, memories, and flashbacks haunt my brain, but unfortunately for us Warriors, I’ve learned it’s a part of our healing. Without struggle, we won’t truly heal from our past. And honestly, I am grateful to remember something from my childhood, even if it’s haunting most of the time. I’ve never really experienced the happy family memories with friends or loved ones because, quite frankly, most I don’t remember. I know we would go to exciting places, but I remember being hateful and grouchy.
As I allow my body to heal, I am slowly piecing together my childhood soul and allowing her to heal. And I am just going to say right now, most of society will think this way of thinking is bullshit, but just let their negativity be. Those individuals obviously have never been in your certain situation or still living in denial about their own. Both are not worth your breath or time. I’ve come to realize you only need you to survive, but allow those who want to support you help. But always trust your gut and follow what your heart desires, no one else’s, you have the right to be selfish in certain situations. For a long, while I allowed others to dictate my decisions and because of that, I’ve made far too many mistakes. Learn from me and choose yourself, always. YOU come first. YOU are the only one that has your back a 110% and don’t YOU dare forget that.
Thank you for sharing, Brittian. Thank you for being you. You are a beautiful soul.
Read her post below, and if you care to read more, please don't hesitate to check out her Instagram @brittianismental and her blog at www.brittianweaverphotography.com
Piecing Together my Childhood Soul
As I looked at my tired, tired hazel eyes in my brown, squared mirror. I began noticing my physical health was starting to deteriorate. My once bright, brown freckles on my very pale nose no longer shined the way they use to. My long hair had knots that clumped throughout my head and the dandruff was noticeably white on my faded black tee. Oh, man was that smelly too - black tee filthy with all sorts of questionable stains.
At this point in time, it was probably almost two full weeks since I showered. And not because I didn’t want to. I desperately wanted the warm, steamy water to touch my dirty body and cleanse my soul away. But I convinced my tired brain that I just physically couldn’t stand for the whole three minutes. Every damn thing was just too hard. But as I starred at my puffy, black eyes, I told myself tomorrow would be the day I washed my face. I probably told that lie to myself for at least three months. I would bathe, but I hated my life while doing it and I would go into a rage every time I was “forced” to take care of myself. I just wanted to die. And I was too much of a coward to do so or at least that is what I convinced myself I was. A coward. Because I wanted to die. I wanted to die because I no longer felt like I had meaning in my life.
I just lost my entire family and the only world I’d ever known. Long story short, my adoptive father decided he was going to videotape me nude without my consent, and upload the videos in hopes that I would want to give him affection in return. I told my mother and like many, I didn’t have the fairytale outcome. My mother chose my father. Her love for me became nonexistent when her image was at stake. So hence the feeling of wanting to die. And it didn’t matter, at the time, who was there to support me. I wasn’t alone on the outside, I had love from others around me. But none of that mattered because I didn’t love myself. My father took that away the minute he decided to take my privacy away and to violate my body. I hated myself. And honestly sometimes to this day, a little over three years later, I still struggle. Triggers, memories, and flashbacks haunt my brain, but unfortunately for us Warriors, I’ve learned it’s a part of our healing. Without struggle, we won’t truly heal from our past. And honestly, I am grateful to remember something from my childhood, even if it’s haunting most of the time. I’ve never really experienced the happy family memories with friends or loved ones because, quite frankly, most I don’t remember. I know we would go to exciting places, but I remember being hateful and grouchy.
As I allow my body to heal, I am slowly piecing together my childhood soul and allowing her to heal. And I am just going to say right now, most of society will think this way of thinking is bullshit, but just let their negativity be. Those individuals obviously have never been in your certain situation or still living in denial about their own. Both are not worth your breath or time. I’ve come to realize you only need you to survive, but allow those who want to support you help. But always trust your gut and follow what your heart desires, no one else’s, you have the right to be selfish in certain situations. For a long, while I allowed others to dictate my decisions and because of that, I’ve made far too many mistakes. Learn from me and choose yourself, always. YOU come first. YOU are the only one that has your back a 110% and don’t YOU dare forget that.
January 11, 2020
The Habits of January
I start every year by doing my version of a Dry January. I cut processed sugar, alcohol, and caffeine out of my diet. It’s a great way to reset my tolerances, take a hard look at my bad habits, and give my body a break. More importantly, however, it’s a way to cut mind-altering substance consumption out of my daily routine.
Although sugar, alcohol, and caffeine are socially acceptable, they are still forms of drugs. They produce chemical reactions in the mind, alter the body’s functioning, and are addictive. So, it deeply bothers me when I find myself craving such things, or - over the course of the year - becoming dependent on them to get me through the day. I like my mind, I respect my body, and I wish to be well both today and into the future. In order for me to achieve that I need to be conscientious about what I’m putting into my body... and why.
Why.
That’s the important detail.
The tendency to stay up late puts me into a cycle of ‘needing’ coffee to get myself going. The caffeine in the coffee keeps me awake longer though, which means I stay up later, which means I’m even more likely to want coffee in the morning. When my alcohol consumption goes up so does my caffeine consumption. When my anxiety is high my alcohol and sugar consumption increases. One habit leads to another, one stressor to another. One less-than-caring treatment of my mind and body leads to more. And the ‘why’ becomes subconscious. It’s no longer based in pleasure, a treat, an occasion, a choice... It simply becomes normalized. It becomes a vicious cycle. A cycle that I religiously insist upon breaking in the beginning of each year.
You may ask me why I don’t just cut sugar, alcohol, and caffeine out of my diet entirely... well, it’s because I’ve learned that it’s not sustainable to my lifestyle. I love treating myself to a doughnut, I savor the meditative time I spend over my cup of coffee each morning, and I enjoy a drink or two with friends at the end of the night. Such things, such moments, are important to me. I appreciate the experiences that these “drugs” are at the base of. I don’t wish to cut them out of my life entirely. But I refuse to let an altered state of mind and body become the norm.
I like me. I like me without the help of sugar, alcohol, and caffeine. And as long as I can say that, I feel content with how I’m living, how I’m treating my body. However, it just plain feels good to hit the reset button every January.
Although sugar, alcohol, and caffeine are socially acceptable, they are still forms of drugs. They produce chemical reactions in the mind, alter the body’s functioning, and are addictive. So, it deeply bothers me when I find myself craving such things, or - over the course of the year - becoming dependent on them to get me through the day. I like my mind, I respect my body, and I wish to be well both today and into the future. In order for me to achieve that I need to be conscientious about what I’m putting into my body... and why.
Why.
That’s the important detail.
The tendency to stay up late puts me into a cycle of ‘needing’ coffee to get myself going. The caffeine in the coffee keeps me awake longer though, which means I stay up later, which means I’m even more likely to want coffee in the morning. When my alcohol consumption goes up so does my caffeine consumption. When my anxiety is high my alcohol and sugar consumption increases. One habit leads to another, one stressor to another. One less-than-caring treatment of my mind and body leads to more. And the ‘why’ becomes subconscious. It’s no longer based in pleasure, a treat, an occasion, a choice... It simply becomes normalized. It becomes a vicious cycle. A cycle that I religiously insist upon breaking in the beginning of each year.
You may ask me why I don’t just cut sugar, alcohol, and caffeine out of my diet entirely... well, it’s because I’ve learned that it’s not sustainable to my lifestyle. I love treating myself to a doughnut, I savor the meditative time I spend over my cup of coffee each morning, and I enjoy a drink or two with friends at the end of the night. Such things, such moments, are important to me. I appreciate the experiences that these “drugs” are at the base of. I don’t wish to cut them out of my life entirely. But I refuse to let an altered state of mind and body become the norm.
I like me. I like me without the help of sugar, alcohol, and caffeine. And as long as I can say that, I feel content with how I’m living, how I’m treating my body. However, it just plain feels good to hit the reset button every January.
