Shame Culture

What does therapy look like for you? 

Am I doing it right? Is there even a right way of doing it?

Do people tell their therapists everything---like absolutely everything? Is that the only way to truly heal or figure your stuff out?

There are certain things I could talk all day about. Not necessarily easy things but things that don't feel shameful.

Shame culture runs deep around here. It does. And I don't even know where that started. Is it a religious thing or have I just learned to beat myself up about anything and everything that I can?

I went to therapy yesterday with one rule for myself---don't talk about sex. Don't talk about missing it or wanting it or thinking about it. Just don't. Because shit will get uncomfortable and your therapist will think you are gross and you will not feel better.

One rule. 

But here's the thing---it's one of the main reasons I used to refuse a specialized eating disorder therapist---my therapist has been in my life for 5 years. She was there as a marriage therapist and she was there to watch me as I went through my divorce. She gets me.

So I usually get in to her office with my set of rules---taboo subjects that I'm NOT going to talk about---and somehow those are always the things that get brought up. Partly because I start to feel safe and decide to throw out a hint (that sounds way dumber than it feels when I'm there...). Partly because she knows me really well at this point and there isn't much I haven't told her. So she figures out what my taboo subject is and dives in.

And I cringe and feel uncomfortable and stress about whether her perception of me has changed. But when I leave, I feel like I accomplished something huge.

Merely surviving the conversations that feel so absolutely shameful is such a huge deal for me. And I like being pushed. In fact, I need to be pushed. Because if it were up to me alone, therapy would be about only showing my best attributes and laughing and pretending that life is always awesome. [I'm kind of an idiot, guys...] 

So it's a good thing I'm not running the show. It's a good thing she knows me.

But this week, that hasn't helped me to pull out of the shame spiral where just the fact that I miss having sex makes me feel like a bad person. Like there's something wrong with me. Like I'm gross. Like I'm not a "normal" female.

And I hate that. 

I hate that the shame I feel seems to have ANYTHING to do with my gender. Because---why? Why is it ok for boys to feel this way but not girls?

I'm working through it, I think. And if I'm not, I'm going to try and continue this conversation in therapy next week, even though I will hate it.

The hours where I hate therapy are usually the best hours. I always leave feeling better. Because there is just something about pushing past my comfort zone that makes me proud of myself.

Bravery, y'all. 

I Quit My Job

You know that post about being selfish last month?

I had to be selfish this past week and make a decision that I did not want to make.

I had to quit my job teaching dance.

It was weird how much anxiety I was feeling when it came to making this decision and then how much peace I felt after it was done.

I’ve been burned so many times. Too many times. And this time, I was done being burned. I was done spending my days with anxiety over how my boss felt about me and spending nights teaching dance and feeling the anxiety dissipate because dancing is such great therapy for me. It was an absolutely unhealthy rollercoaster.

A month ago, I loved that job more than any other paying job I’ve ever had.

But as it has been before with my life, there were red flags regarding my boss and her personality. I knew she could flip a switch quickly but as it has been before with my life, I believed she wouldn’t do that to me. How could she not like me? My classes had the highest numbers of students. The parents loved me. I loved all of them.

And when something switched in her, I asked to have a meeting with her to go over why she was calling me a liar and accusing me of going behind her back. I decided the right thing to do would be to sit down face-to-face and explain why I had been misunderstood.

The confusing part is that meeting went really well---or maybe that’s not the confusing part. Maybe I’ve been through this multiple times in my life with different people.

Things were better for a few weeks until last Friday.

Last Friday, I got a text saying she was cutting my classes in half.

Ok. That sucks. It doesn’t really make sense. But ok.

And then lower down in the text, she began accusing my son of inappropriate behavior in the studio and she used the phrases “I’m thinking it’s happened a lot of times but other kids haven’t said anything” and “Kids with problems like this”, among other assumptions.

And it took everything I had in me not to say “EFF YOU!” back to her text.

Not only because I have given so much to that studio but also because my son is six and ONE time of him showing the character print on his damn underwear to his friend does not make him a ‘predator’---in fact, although we’ve talked about not doing that ever again, it’s absolutely normal six year old behavior---and he’s SIX!

And I just knew in that moment that I had to quit to protect my son and myself.

Because it wasn’t the first time and somehow, I knew it wouldn’t be the last.

Somehow I knew this wasn’t going to end and that if I continued just for the mere fact that I love teaching dance, the fallout was going to be so much worse.

And although it’s been an emotionally hard weekend and my daughter was caught in the crossfire and had to lose her spot on their competitive dance team, we are already picking up the pieces.

She starts at a new studio this week and I’ve even noticed a little bit of excitement in her voice.

I’m proud of the decision I made to be selfish in favor of my family. I’m proud of the lessons I learned and the way I handled everything.

I may not be anywhere near perfect but I am learning and growing from my experiences.

And I guess if life is going to keep throwing sticky situations my way, at least I’m learning how to handle them better than I used to. 

Face To Face

Finally. 

Face to face. 

It only took fourteen months. 

Fourteen months of hurtful comments and hateful looks. 

I took a trusted friend with me because I knew I needed someone to actually process and hear everything while my anxiety did it's work. 

And when we walked up to her, I felt this waive of relief that we were finally face to face after so long. 

And maybe I felt like I had missed her. 

Three hours of each of us explaining our side and trying to get the other person to understand. 

It felt like a divorce mediation. 

She said some things that later I realized were hurtful to me as I thought over them. And I think she knew that. 

I didn't need to know details. But because she had been hurt living through it all, she wanted me to know all of that pain. 

And the reason it was unnecessary is because the whole point of this meeting was supposed to be about moving forward and about telling her how ONLY in hindsight could I have prevented everything. 

The whole point was to convince her I wasn't ever malicious. 

She already knew that though. I know she did. Because she knows me---or at least she knew me. 

I am a completely different person after going through everything I've experienced these past fourteen months. 

So we met. 

And afterward, she asked if I wanted to keep talking and let my friend go home. Maybe her and I could go grab some lunch? 

But I said no. I wasn't ready for that yet. Or maybe ever. 

And when we got in the car to go home, my friend set me straight. 

She is still blaming you. 

What she said was manipulative. 

That felt fake. 

Don't go home and blame yourself all over again. 

And I was surprised because I felt so good. 

But my friend was right. 

Because later that night, I started to panic about all of those details. 

She had gotten to me again. 

Whether consciously or subconsciously, she had said things in a way that made me wonder if this was all my fault. 

Was I really to blame? 

Somewhere deep down, did I know what I was doing? 

And as I pondered these questions and allowed myself to go back to that dark place for a minute, I suddenly remembered back to those days and weeks. And I remembered my heart and how I did everything right in the moment---the best I knew how. 

I told the truth. And although that truth brought about more pain for a while, it was still the truth. 

And in that moment, I knew that meeting did not have the power to put our relationship back where it had been fifteen months ago. 

And I didn't want it to go back. 

Because I remembered how all of this hurt my family and made it so that I could not safely talk about my own children's pain and healing. 

I had been stifled because I had been blamed by someone who should've trusted me---who should've answered when I tried to call dozens of times---who should've come over to my house to talk face to face when everything happened---who should've trusted me instead of turning me into a villain. 

I was never able to talk about my own children being hurt because the times that I tried to, I received nasty comments about how this was all my fault anyway. 

 And I suddenly questioned how any of those people would've known the part about my own children. Because I had only told one person from their group. 

And so when months later, a comment was made on Facebook that said, "How sad that you are dealing with that on top of your son being molested", how did that person know? 

And I suddenly realized that the betrayal went much further than I had thought. I kept quiet about what had happened, not knowing that a large group of people were spreading around the fact that my son had been involved. 

My family was not kept safe in all of this. 

And none of them really seemed to care about that fact. Nobody stood up and said, "No matter the circumstances, we should NOT be gossiping about her children." 

Nobody did that for us.

So yes, we met face to face. And maybe it helped in little ways. 

But it will never be the same. Because the protection of my family is far more important than gaining a friend back who wasn't really a friend anyway. 

And I have so many people in my life who are capable of trusting me through really shitty times. 

So I'm glad it's over. And I will continue to move on and heal each and every day. 

**************

PS: My children are bravely and beautifully doing well. They are warriors. And they are my greatest teachers. And I may never mention their part in this again. Or I might if it feels right. But I hope if you read this, you will respect the privacy of my children in all of this. 

Dream Boy

This weekend was so overwhelmingly good and I think I've crashed from that intense high down to a sense of anxiety.

I had a date with Dream Boy. I asked him on a date. I really did. It was the bravest of brave choices for me and I fought my fear and asked him out.
We had a great time. He opened my door for me and asked if he could hug me at the end of the night and none of it was awkward. He made it not awkward.
We talked for five hours. We laughed and talked about serious things and explained our family dynamics a little bit.
I fell in love with the idea of being with someone like him.
A dream boy.
Not to be confused with a perfect boy. Dream Boy isn't perfect. But he is open and I like that I trust him.
Dream Boy has OCD and I'm sure he has many other faults. I'm not going to deny that. But the characteristics that I am most looking for in a man, he has.

I decided it didn't matter if he called and asked me out after Saturday. We had a good time and if that was a one time thing, I have no regrets. He's moving back to Utah in January anyway. It wouldn't ever work out.

But I find myself thinking about him every few minutes and dreaming of a future with him. I want him. I want him to want me. I want to believe that I deserve him and that he can recognize the goodness within me.

I find myself hoping he calls and wondering why he hasn't.

And this is why I hate dating. Because my heart starts to ache before I ever get a chance to breathe. I don't ease into relationships. I love with intensity and trust with ferocity. I am a giver and a pleaser.

I've learned how to be on my own and I'm stronger because of it---but my hell, can it just be over already? Can I date someone? Can I kiss someone?
I'm ready.
I'm ready to be in an interdependent relationship with someone who can take my whole self and their whole self and put those two wholes together.

I don't always feel completely whole and some days, I still fall apart. But I feel healthier than I have in a long time and stronger than I ever have been in my whole life. I feel like I'm ready to figure this next step out.

Can't it just be easy this one time? Can't I just have my Dream Boy and we can get married soon and we can build a life together? I'll move to Utah. I'll quit school for a while. I'll make sacrifices.

I just want this to work out.

But if it doesn't, please pray that my actual Dream Boy is somewhere out there. Please pray that he finds me or that I find him.

I'm ready for him. Please oh please pray that he is ready for me too.

What Is Brave?

I've been thinking lately about what it means to be brave.
I use that word a lot these days---as in, the past year. I tell my tribe of WoPA sisters they are brave because they are. I tell my kids they are brave because they are.
People are brave.
Simple things can make a person brave.

Today brave for me was getting out of bed. That sounds simple, doesn't it? But it wasn't. When my alarm went off for church, I just stared at the clock and I toyed with the idea of never getting out of bed. I don't even know why. I guess sometimes depression just tells you that staying in bed is going to feel better than getting out of bed.

I did skip out on church because of the amount of energy it took for me to get out of bed. I did lay on the couch while my children watched hours of Disney channel. I did knowingly ignore the fact that I could hear my kids sneaking their early Halloween candy every three seconds.

But I also took my kids on a twenty minute bike ride. I also wrestled with my kids and had a tickle fight. Today those things were brave because they fought my original idea of just staying in bed the entire day.

A long time ago, I started drinking Diet Coke. To tell you the truth, my DC consumption got bad at the peak of my eating disorder. At the time, sipping on DC made it so I could go whole days without eating because the caffeine and carbonation would trick my body into feeling semi-normal. I've learned that this way of thinking is quite normal for eating disorders but at the time, I can't quite remember if I was doing this with that knowledge or if I just knew it would help curb my appetite.

My body has gotten to a point where it relies on the consumption of Diet Coke on a daily basis---actually moreso on a tri-daily basis. I decided last Sunday that this has to end. I have to give up something I love because I am relying on it way too much.

Although it no longer feeds my eating disorder, it is still a huge part of my every day life. I eat meals---and I drink a hell of a lot of Diet Coke.

And if I skip a "dose" of Diet Coke, I start to get pretty bad migraines.

No bueno.

In the past 7 days, I have had two Diet Cokes. I'm serious about that.
But I think with that has come these stupid withdrawals that have put me in a semi-depressive state that make it hard to get out of bed.

I'm proud of myself. Quitting Diet Coke may be one of the bravest choices I've made in weeks and it is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

So I guess what I've learned is that being brave can be anything. It is different for everyone. For some of my friends, answering the phone is super brave. For some people, jumping out of an airplane is their brave. It never looks the same.

Getting out of bed is brave. Getting out of bed means trusting that there is something better out there.

Even though I skipped church today, I still found myself making brave choices. These steps might seem small but they are helping me on my way to recovery.
I am learning how to be the me that I want to be and that is super brave.