Robin Donnelly's Blog, page 4
May 17, 2020
Mother Nature Rises Above Its Raising But Remembers Its Roots
This photo came up today in my memories and it told me that we should rise above our raising while remembering our roots. We grow to be our biggest and best if we can see over our family lineage and evolve beyond the deeper layers. We need to dig deep and turn over the past to do that.
That can be difficult to do as we are busy building our lives when we’re young. It’s only with the raising of our own seedlings and the empty-nest they leave in our branches and the retirement of busy that we can start to see how well we did or didn’t do with our rising and soaring to new heights.
It’s only when we have the time and silence to sit under our own canopy that we get to decide whether it’s the leaves that made us beautiful or if it’s our barrenness.
I was once a lush green tree, full of green and colorful dangling leaves that twirled in the wind. They turned vibrant reds and golds and were my crowning glory. My reasons for living. They made me feel beautiful. But, they fell to the ground in the Fall. They made sounds like a crackling fire as they played at my feet but blew away in the four winds.
I am a barren tree now. My lush foliage is off building their own forests and deepening their roots in different landscapes. My bark is worn and my branches gnarly. I stand, but not so tall anymore. I’m bent and stiff, not easily swayed; concentrated, wise. I stand firm knowing I have given my everything.
Someday, when my seedlings are thick at their trunks, bifurcated and firmly rooted in the ground, when they are leafless and their parts have long been blown away in the wind, and time has slowed, I hope they take time to contemplate their own evolution under the shade of what they’ve built. And, when they look back over their own family lineage, I hope they see me —standing as tall as I possibly can, smiling up at them. I hope they are happy to acknowledge me, and consider me one of their most adoring fun fans and original sources of who they’ve grown up to be.
If I have but one leaf left, I will wave hello. Maybe even flip them a bird. 
Mother Nature Rises Above Its Raising But Remembers Its Roots.
This photo came up today in my memories and it told me that we should rise above our raising while remembering our roots. We grow to be our biggest and best if we can see over our family lineage and evolve beyond the deeper layers. We need to dig deep and turn over the past to do that.
That can be difficult to do as we are busy building our lives when we’re young. It’s only with the raising of our own seedlings and the empty-nest they leave in our branches and the retirement of busy that we can start to see how well we did or didn’t do with our rising and soaring to new heights.
It’s only when we have the time and silence to sit under our own canopy that we get to decide whether it’s the leaves that made us beautiful or if it’s our barrenness.
I was once a lush green tree, full of green and colorful dangling leaves that twirled in the wind. They turned vibrant reds and golds and were my crowning glory. My reasons for living. They made me feel beautiful. But, they fell to the ground in the Fall. They made sounds like a crackling fire as they played at my feet and but blew away in the four winds.
I am a barren tree now. My lush foliage is off building their own forests and deepening their roots in different landscapes. My bark is worn and my branches gnarly. I stand, but not so tall anymore. I’m bent and stiff, not easily swayed; concentrated, wise. I stand firm knowing I have given my everything.
Someday, when my seedlings are thick at their trunks, bifurcated and firmly rooted in the ground, when they are leafless and their parts have long been blown away in the wind, and time has slowed, I hope they take time to contemplate their own evolution under the shade of what they’ve built. When they look back over their own family lineage, I hope they see me —standing as tall as I possibly can, smiling up at them. I hope they are happy to acknowledge me, and consider me one of their most adoring fun, fans and original sources of who they’ve grown to be.
If I have but one leaf left, I will wave hello. Maybe even flip them a bird. Hahaha!
May 15, 2020
Hiking Field Notes and Climbing Life’s Mountains
Sometimes all we can focus on is the few steps right in front of us. The terrain is rocky and full of roots and we could fall if we’re not careful. And if we look too far ahead we’ll just get overwhelmed with how much further up we have left to climb.
Sometimes, we’re scared of falling so we hunker down and concentrate hard on making it through the tough terrain. We’re alone and no one knows of our struggle to get through.
Sometimes it’s necessary to stop and catch our breath. We need to hold on to something to steady ourselves or we need to reach out for someone’s hand to help us up.
When we feel like quitting this is a good time to stop and absorb all the beauty that surrounds us. We need to take field notes and look back over the terrain we’ve already hiked and appreciate where we are on the path. We’re in the process of doing big, difficult things, and rest and assessment are all a part of our growth.
Sometimes we’re trying so hard we can feel our heart beat in our ears wondering if we’re about to faint from sheer exhaustion. Our muscles are seizing up and burning and we are working our body to the max. We’re not sure we can go on much longer, but we continue on anyway. We miss things along the way due to our laser focus.
Other times it’s smooth sailing downhill, our body is limber now and cooperating nicely with us and when things are level again, it’s nice to report back to others all the good spots along the way as well as all the things they should to watch out for.
Occasionally a gnat swarms within inches of our face, and there’s a switchback up ahead. We swat and sigh knowing that no matter how far up we go, we will still have annoyances like these in life. Pretty soon, and without realizing — the gnat problem and switchbacks are gone and we think, “that wasn’t so bad.”
We’ve learned we have to lean into the unknown to rise; head down mostly— our upper body, with some sort of “just knowing” guiding us into the unfamilar. We’ve learned we have to lean back into ourselves and hope our knees don’t give out as we listen to our intuition to descend.
When things get too twisty turny, the path disappears under thick brush, or a tree blocks our path and we’re not quite sure where to go next… we can always turn back around and start another day.
I yelled to some hikers as we were descending and they were climbing past us that, “we didn’t make it all the way to the top.” A woman yelled back, “There’s no shame in that! There always tomorrow!”
When we finally reached the car, I ate my peanut butter and jelly sandwich like the ravenous-from-playing-outside-little-girl I used to be, and thought, from God’s mouth to my ears. Sometimes, when we’re open to it, we hear what we’re supposed to hear. And that is, there’s no shame in whatever stage of mountain climbing we’re in as long as we’re trying. And tomorrow is as good a day as any to try again.
So stop. Look around. Take a deep breath. Rest. Ask for help if you need it. Grab ahold of something to steady yourself if need be. Tolerate the gnats, and laugh at the switchbacks in life. And know that there is no shame in where you are on your path up the mountain of your life.
There is always tomorrow to try again if you can’t make it to the top of your mountain today. And it’s nice to help others along our path and yell some words of encouragement from the distance.
You can do this!
#fieldnotes #hiking #mountainmuse #theclimb #nature #healing
February 25, 2020
Tomorrow is a New Day: Managing C/PTSD
I’ve had C/PTSD symptoms since age seven. Back then, the diagnosis PTSD was reserved for Veterans who returned from war on foreign lands with these symptoms. Later, they recognized that those embroiled in another kind of war going on at home exhibited the same symptoms. So, they identified another category of post-traumatic stress called C/PTSD (complex) for those who were repeatedly abused, or had many episodes, and we’re traumatised psychologically by those who claimed to love them. You will sometimes see people refer to C/PTSD as post-narcissistic stress disorder or PNSD, but it’s the same thing.
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As someone who has had these symptoms since childhood, I can tell you with 100% certainty that there are remissions (gets better) and exacerbations (gets worse) depending on who and what is going on in your life at the time. Mine can be so missing in action, no one would know I have any sort of anxiety, depression and panic attacks at all. I’m a happy, productive, and efficient member of society slaying my day and taking names. Other times, it’s so on top of me like a heavy wool blanket in summer, I can’t escape the suffocation of it and have to retreat to my bed for days from the physical limitations and chronic pain I have as a result.
Based on my symptoms, a doctor was absolutely sure, seventeen years ago that I had M.S. (multiple sclerosis). He actually bet me that that’s what I was dealing with, but my MRI came back clean and therefore a diagnosis could not be made. This many years later, I know my symptoms to be the exaserbations of a nervous system that is being assaulted.
Sometimes, I need to search my environment for the offending culprit. Is it me? Am I taking care of myself? Resting? Eating well? Am I over-extending myself? Is it someone else? Is there something I’m tolerating that is toxic to me? Is someone causing me pain? Is it environmental? Is the space crowded and noisy? Am I on edge? Other times, it’s very apparent what is bothering me and no search is needed. Depending on the day, and the amount of symptoms I’m managing, I can deal fairly well, to not at all.
Some days I’m a trooper and I can accomplish anything I put my mind to. Then, there are days I can barely walk without assistance due to the debilitating muscle stiffness and chronic pain.
CPTSD or PNSD is so much more than any meme can include. And as you can see, most informative memes only include the psychological aspect to it, not the physical toll this takes on the body.
If this sounds like you, where you have an increase in psychological, as well as physical symptoms that prevent you from enjoying life, only to find you improve again… only to get sick again…. and there is a pattern of emissions and exacerbations, (and all other testing is normal, ) you could very well have C/PTSD or PNSD.
I can also tell you with 100% certainty that there is no cure for this. You only learn to manage it. So seek out love, light, and help when you’re in need and know that tomorrow can look and feel completely different than today. You got this! 
February 16, 2020
Document, document, document: How to survive narcissistic abuse
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Documentation is a very real thing for scapegoats everywhere!
It’s a form of hyper-vigilance, but it’s a necessary evil for proof of who’s doing and saying what.
I’ve been documenting since circa 1990. And now, this far out, we have screen shots to add to the fun! — Yay!
I used to think I was immersed in a soap opera. Nope. I was surrounded with crazy-making manipulative disordered individuals that would rather wreak havoc on others than to take a good long look in the mirror at their issues.
That would take insight, maturity and courage.
Documentation is your friend when you’re around toxic people and environments — but No Contact is the best solution when you can do that.
#documentation #factsnotfeelings #truth
November 30, 2019
Where Does Shame Come From?
I didn’t feel ashamed for what happened to me. Throughout my life when I tried to talk about it, I would be shut down and dismissed.
No one wanted to hear it.
No one cared.
After working through my own traumas, alone, I’m convinced that it’s not the abused that feel ashamed, it’s those who can’t listen who do.
It’s great to have someone to listen. But, I did the digging for gems in my own garbage and healed myself. I finally told at age 46. At almost 52, I’m freer and happier for not waiting for someone to listen.
If no one is listening, write.
November 28, 2019
Be thankful that…
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Be thankful that:
•We are not them.
•We are still alive after all we’ve been through.
•We decided to be more caring than selfish.
•We don’t carry hate. That’s too heavy a burden and we just don’t have that kind of time, energy, or heart. — We have things to accomplish in our lives.
•We turned our trauma into good and our dark into light.
•We learned that boundaries are good self-care.
•We don’t blame others for how our lives turned out.
•We have the ability for self- reflection and self-improvement.
•We can apologize, change, learn and grow.
•We don’t wallow in our pain.
•We don’t need their validation to feel whole.
•We have the guts to face our pain and our responsibilities.
•We don’t have to live like that anymore.
•We don’t live in labels.
•We don’t let diagnoses drive.
•We learned to look at fear and anxiety right square in the face and keep going anyway. (Maybe fear and anxiety are afraid of us? Ever think of that?) 
November 27, 2019
Holiday Advice from Two Scapegoated Black Sheep
For parents of adult children:
•Keep your opinions to yourself.
•Give advice only when asked.
•Don’t play favorites.
•You don’t know everything so don’t act like you do.
•They’re adults, treat them like that.
•No “just joking” comments or back-handed compliments.
•No comparisons, just acceptance.
•No pressuring or guilting.
•No pitting children/adult children against the other(s). That means, no talking about children that are not present.
•No gossiping about other family members.
•Don’t force people to get together and get along with one another for the sake of the holiday. Divide time or split days to accommodate different families and personalities.
•No blaming others for your problems.
•No discussing financial issues or inappropriate talk and/or behavior with your children.
•Don’t allow alcohol into the family holiday as this is a huge gateway to problems.
For adult children of narcissistic, toxic, or emotionally immature parents/siblings:
Remember, you are in control. If you start to feel uncomfortable at anytime, it’s time to restate your boundaries calmly and clearly. If your boundaries are ignored and things escalate after that, then you politely excuse yourself and leave. Keep your emotions in check, your volume down, and try not to take what your family says or does personally.
We know it feels personal, but it’s not about you. Their behavior is about them.
Happy Thanksgiving!
October 7, 2019
Steel Town Girl Prologue
The rickety old bridge was the stuff nightmares were made of. The two-lane bridge with a pedestrian sidewalk to one side was a huge silver steel contraption marred with rust streaks and black skid marks down its insides. It was the Steubenville Bridge and you had to cross it to get from Ohio to the northern panhandle of West Virginia. It was an industrial town whose main source of industry was steel and was where I mainly grew up as a kid.
If you got caught at the red light at the end of the bridge, there was a sign that said, “Welcome to Wild, Wonderful West Virginia.” I can’t tell you how many times in my life I looked at that sign as we sat and waited for the light to turn green and wondered, “What the hell makes this place so wonderful?”
The see-through metal slats that formed the bottom of the bridge pulled your tires back and forth making a humming noise as you drove. You had to steer with both hands, and the slight back-and-forth motion from the pulling of the tires made it look like the overly dramatic steering you see in movies.
My mom told me that once when she was a young girl, my grandma Edith, who was four foot nine, misjudged her car and scraped the side of her big gray Oldsmobile down the entire length of the bridge, metal screeching and sparks flying the whole way on the passenger side where my mom sat.
If you look out the window and over the side, you see the murky brown water below. If you are unlucky enough to get stopped by the light that sends you out onto Route 2, you sit feeling the bridge swaying back and forth. I swear the timing of the light was just long enough to let you conjure up the notion that at any moment you’d go over the edge, hit the cold, brown water like a rock, never to be heard from again.
I’d cross this bridge so many times with my parents and later alone as I learned to drive myself, and each time I still had the same reaction to it. Trepidation. Wonderment.
When I was little and asked about the movement of the bridge my dad would say not to worry, that bridges needed to sway to stay strong. He pointed out, that if it were rigid, the bridge would collapse under the pressure of the water and cars.
If you turned left off the bridge, coming from Ohio, you headed toward Weirton. If you turned right off the bridge and followed Route 2, you snaked along the Ohio River that divides Ohio from West Virginia.
First up, the city of Follansbee. You’ll know you’re there when you see the coke plants off to your right. The tall smokestacks billow large white clouds into the air that make the area smell like rotten eggs and covers everything in a thin dusting of gray powder. They have a Dairy Owl, a baseball field, gas station, a middle school, and three traffic lights.
When the street becomes a four-lane highway again, you’re on your way to the city of Wellsburg. And although I moved a lot, it’s the city in which I grew up the most until my mid-teens. At the time, there was Kroger’s grocery store, a drugstore called Super X that sat in the same plaza, the tail end of Rabbit Hill, a gas station, the West Virginia State Highway Patrol, and the dirt patch where the carnival was held each summer and the start of Washington Pike to your left. When I was twelve, we finally got a Pizza Hut and the town about shit itself with excitement. But, if you go past Washington Pike, there on the right, you’ll see DiCarlo’s Pizza, home of the hot pizza with cold toppings you can buy by the slice for just a few cents. It’s still the same pizza joint it was in the ’70s and they still use the same old payphone attached to the wall to take incoming orders for pizza. It’s the best damn pizza you will ever eat.
If you take this book with you the next time you visit, you’ll see that with the exception of a few dollar stores, and a Dairy Queen now, my description of the city and the surrounding areas haven’t changed much and is why the place is referred to as, “the town that time forgot.”
I learned to drive up and down Washington Pike and Rabbit Hill like all kids did. We didn’t have Driver’s Ed in school; our parents had to teach us. And because my dad was my dad, he was giving me the keys to the Nova at age fourteen to drive out to pay his bill at the water department located in the little white building that still exists at the end of Manner Ridge Road today.
If you learned to navigate the roads without going over a hill, you easily passed your driver’s test given by the West Virginia State Highway Patrol in downtown Wellsburg. At age sixteen, a state trooper, or a “Mountie,” as my Dad called them, sat in the passenger seat of your car in their intimidating gray uniform, and large black-brimmed hat, while you parallel parked next to where they held the carnival every August. How any of us passed with that kind of intimidation is beyond me now, but we did.
I practiced for weeks leading up to my test. Practice made perfect, my dad said. I got so good at parallel parking that I could do it in less than thirty seconds from start to finish. I know because my dad timed me. And because I was already so used to using the car, I remember at least once during my test, the Mountie reaching for the dash, telling me that I could take my time and reminding me that there were no deductions for going slowly.
I can remember when they handed me my new license. It was still warm from the laminating machine. There it was, a shiny plastic card that meant I had graduated from maneuvering a fifteen-pound ten-speed to handling a three-thousand-pound car around West Virginia’s mountainous terrain. I opened my blue Velcro wallet that had a rainbow cloud design on the front so many times to admire it, that I nearly wore the Velcro right off.
I was sixteen in the summer of 1983, and I drove my dad’s ’79 silver Nova. The burgundy red plastic interior got scorching hot in the summer and would burn the faux weaved pattern of the seats into the back of your legs if you wore shorts. Sometimes, we’d pad the seats with our wet towels from the swimming pool and wear just our bathing suits while driving around town. Our hair would blow wildly around our faces in the fresh mountain air that was occasionally laced with the strong scent of fresh lilacs, honeysuckle and wild onions that grew off roadsides.
We were all dolled up, smoking, laughing and singing to the radio, not a care in the world on our way to the Fort Steuben Mall that day.
It was my friend Annie who spotted the police car behind us. She tapped me on my shoulder to look in the rearview mirror. I turned down the radio and pulled to the side of the road in front of Follansbee Middle School and we both mashed out our cigarettes in the ashtray. My heart was in my throat as I reached for my purse, doing everything my dad taught me to do in case I was ever pulled over.
The gray uniform and big hat appeared at my window.
“Where ya goin in such a hurry?” he said as he bent over to talk to me in the window.
“Um, nowhere special, just to the mall,” I said as I handed over my license and registration.
“I clocked you going 52 miles an hour in a 35, young lady,” he said.
He scanned the documents and looked back at me.
“Um, I’m really sorry, officer… I didn’t realize —”
“You sit tight and I’ll be back in a minute,” he interrupted.
I could see him in my rearview mirror talk on his police radio.
We didn’t move a muscle or say a word.
After a few minutes, he reappeared at my window.
“You Harland Jessup’s daughter?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, I am. Why?” I asked.
“Uh… no reason… uh… you go on and git outta here, but beeeee careful. You’re a new driver and you both know what happens to a lot to new drivers around here if they’re not careful, don’t ya?”
We knew.
We’d hear the adults talking about how some new driver got seriously injured or even killed in a car accident on those dangerous roads that these damn kids just weren’t experienced with enough yet.
“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” I said excitedly.
I waited for him to pull out from behind me and drive away. Then I did the same. I was careful to use my turn signal and keep a close eye on the speedometer. Annie and I didn’t say a word to each other for what seemed like forever.
And then she spoke.
“Oh my God, I felt so bad for you back there, but you handled yourself like a champ!” she said as she slapped at my shoulder.
“Thanks,” I said as I laughed, “but I was sooooo scared!”
“You sure didn’t show it! I would have cried, I just know I would have!” she said. “And,” she added, “he didn’t even give you a ticket!” “Yeah, I know! I guess it pays to grow up the daughter of one of the most hated, feared men in town,” I said. “If I can handle living with my dad, I can handle a god-damned West Virginia State Trooper.”
We quickly fished our mangled cigarettes from the ashtray, straightened and re-lit them. I turned up the radio and we sang to the top of our lungs “Shock the Monkey” by Peter Gabriel as we approached the Steubenville Bridge. And with a racing heart and sweaty palms, I drove us across the bridge that nightmares were made of, and made our way to the mall.
Like nothing ever happened.
*If you are interested to read more, and would like to support an Indie author, you can buy a paperback copy of my memoir Steel Town Girl here.
Or the Kindle e-book here.
Thanks for stopping by my blog,
~ Robin Donnelly
June 9, 2019
Before you Label Someone Toxic… Check in With Your Heart.
I read an article by Dr. Perry of MakeItUltra Psychology about How to Have Boundaries with a Toxic Person, and although I agree with his tips when it comes to healing from the trauma pathological narcissists leave in their wake, I don’t necessarily agree they should be incorporated immediately with anyone that we deem “negative,” which is basically anyone speaking out about the bad behaviors of others lately. Reading the comments under that post proved interesting.
One reader said, “I refuse to interact with negative people! As an empath, they literally make me sick!” — Ugh! People like this make me sick. And good luck living in your bubble.
Then, there was the person that said they “ignored them and went mute.” — Yeah. That’s called “gray rock” and is a survival tactic used by those healing from abuse when they have to interact with their abusers and ‘no contact’ is not an option for their healing. Used outside of this context, these people appear to be self-absorbed and rude, aka: as an asshole. Great look by the way.
And, my favorite comment — was the manager — who chimed in saying that the employees she managed were toxic because they complained to her, therefore, drawing her into the negativity and draining her. — Uh, that’s called your job, so people are going to naturally come to you with problems, you know… because you’re the manager… yikes, really?
I just finished listening to Dr. Christiane Northrup’s new book on Audible, called Dodging Energy Vampires, and although I know energy drainers are copious; I’ve dealt with my fair share of them, and we do indeed have to check them at the door after a while — I see an emerging trend happening where people are becoming far too superior to anyone in need of talking things through. And the trend I see is it’s typically the abusers who’ve done the wrong and then want to prohibit the victim from talking about it thereby calling them “toxic” when the conversation points to them taking accountability for their actions. They are flipping the script and calling this “having boundaries.” No, you’re a bully that abuses and then gaslights your victim. Let’s not get it twisted. —
Boundaries are for victims to protect themselves from more harm. Not for abusers to be able to abuse more.
There are two people in a relationship: When one person in that relationship is no longer allowed to have a reaction to shitty behavior, and nothing you do, say, think or feel, after being abused is allowed in the name of the other person “having boundaries” — you are in fact dealing with a narcissistic bully. When that person tells you whatever the hell it is they want to tell you, no matter how hurtful, and then pulls the, “you’re negative,” “it’s not about you,” or “it’s not personal” card, when you want to talk about it, what they are really saying is that they want free reign to abuse you, yet fog their intentions by calling them boundaries.
The subtitle of Dodging Energy Vampires is, “Evading Relationships that Drain You and Restoring Your Health and Power.” Evading relationships? O.k? But at what point? Apparently, the second one deems someone is negative is the answer. If my son calls and asks me how I’m doing, and I say I have a headache, according to him, that is negative and I’m always sick. So, that has become a reason for not coming home for eight Christmases. Li.ter.al. The message is: I have to be fun, and easy to be with at every second, never mention anything about myself, and when he asks me anything, lie. No thanks. Don’t come home then.
And, really… what relationship doesn’t drain us after a while? Solution: I’ll just evade you. Nice. Restoring our health and power is not about being armored up sitting high upon a throne in our untouchable superiority. Evading and shutting people down is a rigid, angry behavior and is abuse in an of itself when done to someone you’ve just abused. This behavior of cutting people off at the knees and evading others in pain is a what Jeff Brown calls trauma-bypassing and is a learned patriarchal behavior.
This is only some of what Jeff Brown author of Grounded Spirituality writes about trauma bypassing:
“Be Here Now”! We can’t. We have too much trauma in the way. “The Power of Now”! Sounds good, but first, we have to deal with the “Power of Then.” Worst things, first. It’s easy enough to talk about being in the “now.” But what we are we even talking about? Now through the mind? Through the heart? Through the body? What does it even mean to be fully present? Most of the people teaching nowness are head-tripping, meditation addicted spiritual bypassers. What do they really know about presence? The truth is that we are all trauma survivors, and that includes every spiritual teacher I have ever known. Almost every one of them has confused self-avoidance with enlightenment, blaming the mind for all that ails them while conveniently sidestepping their wounded hearts. Bottom line- we can’t be in the present, because our emotional and physical body are tied up in trauma knots. Some, many, perhaps all threads of our consciousness are still back there, locked into the originating wounds. If we want to truly BE HERE NOW, we have to be there, then. We have to untie the knots and heal the core wounds. Then, and only “then”, will we know the true power of NOW.” — Jeff Brown
I’m all for boundaries against toxic people, but before labeling someone toxic, don’t forget people are human and looking for connection. Part of being a friend is listening and holding space for people. We’ve forgotten this. Giving people the benefit of the doubt first, with some compassion and empathy may work wonders on someone feeling heard. If someone is toxic, maybe we haven’t heard them out? If that’s your take on someone immediately, maybe you’re projecting? We live in a very literal society anymore. It would be nice if people had some sort of tolerance level before cutting people off at the knees, lest they become the toxic person themselves.
I’m not saying that we must become a welcome mat for people to wipe their feet on, or that we should tolerate people chewing our ears while we should be working, or that we need to be tolerating bad behavior year after year and calling that a relationship… let’s not be so literal and disclaimer-y to the nth degree, k? But, let’s use some common sense. We pretty much know in our heart of hearts the difference between someone venting, and someone toxic, am I right? When someone wants to mend a relationship by talking about the past so it doesn’t repeat itself, and that of someone toxic. I certainly understand the difference. Venting is a once in a while thing, and toxic is all the time. Discussion about pain is altogether different and should be a back and forth, honest dialogue between two people who reciprocate listening, asking questions, while having respect for one another.
Life is hard. Be kind. Come back later and let someone know you care before you decide someone should be written off as “toxic.” Think of that word, “toxic.” It means waste, very bad, unpleasant, harmful. Not something I’m willing to do on a whim. And, I’m not saying that we have to keep taking it and taking it to prove our love to people either. This is a balance thing. You can be soft and kind and still have boundaries like a mofo.
Thankfully, when I was dying on the vine, I was able to put myself into counseling when I didn’t have a shoulder to lean on or an ear to talk to about my pain. It made all the difference in the world to help me stay another day. Think! Some people may not have that resource. And why are they trusting YOU with their story!?
We want world peace, but we don’t want to talk. We want to break generational curses and patterns but we want to evade doing the work. That’s not how any of this even works.
Be an ear. A shoulder. Have a heart. Have boundaries, but don’t forget your own humanness for toxicity. Don’t be so quick to write people off. Take breaks, but go visit your heart and check in with what you really know. It knows the truth. Anything else is toxic.
