One Night Stand……

   A much needed girls night out brought up a topic that I feel strongly about. I have been very single for six months now, and I admit there have been some times recently when loneliness has crept in. My friends know what I have been through and the level of stress I experience lately. With good intentions, they decided I needed to get laid. It was said more than once that it would do me good to have a one night stand. This is something I have never done despite the fact that I have been single most of my life. It wasn’t just a couple girls pushing, but a large diverse group of women. I know that sex is now the basis of dating. In fact sex has lost all meaning in society. It is more like a sport now. That is just not how I am wired.

  If you are lonely and go out for a one night stand, what do you get out of it? You are still alone the next morning. There is a level of guilt associated with it, especially if alcohol is involved. You can convince yourself that you used him, but you in fact were used. How special could you possibly feel when he could have chosen another drunk woman and it would have meant as much? Is thirty minutes of pleasure really worth being used and tossed aside? It is so often the answer when someone goes through hard times, especially relationship issues or break ups. What I cannot understand is what people believe it repairs.

  Maybe I am missing something. It is possible that it is an adventure I will one day regret never experiencing. Still I think I will keep my morals where they are. Sex is great, but it has nothing on companionship. I would get more out of it if I could pick a guy up from the bar and stay up talking all night fully clothed. My loneliness has nothing to do with sex, I want someone to share my thoughts with. Sexy is intelligent conversation and making plans. Instead of trying to get laid, take me hiking.

   One night stands are not the solution to whatever you are missing. Allow sex to still have meaning by waiting till it is with someone you want to have coffee with in the morning. Just my thoughts on the subject.

Social Laziness

 

I was spending time with friends today. We were discussing dating now and how much it seems people have changed. I know there are good people out there. I am a good person and I have friends who are truly good people. Still it seems they are far and few between. Blame it on society today or social media, but the fact is that people in general have changed. Drive down the highway and watch the actions of the other drivers. Everyone is in more of a hurry than the rest. Whatever they have to do is apparently more important than everyone else around them. Many are lost in their devices and unaware of the world around them. Whatever that person they only see on their screen is posting about is more important than the real live person right beside them. It’s all about convenience and easy access to everything. This has made society socially lazy and entitled.

That brings us to dating. So much of it is done online now. People don’t take the time to get to know someone and are too lazy to put an effort into building a real relationship. There is very little commitment. You don’t have to be alone as long as you have a device and wi-fi. A few clicks and you can have a date every night of the week. Sex is expected and seems to have lost all meaning. If the person you are with isn’t willing, you can just swipe. You don’t meet people out anymore. No one talks to each other. They are so lost in their phone or in such a hurry, they just don’t even see the people near them.

I can not lie, if I am in a crowd and feeling a little nervous, I will stare at my phone. I have online dated. I spend time on social media. I have friends who only exist through my devices. I love that people are so accessible, but they are not true connections. Today I decided to make this one of my goals. I am going to leave the phone in my car and see the people around me when I am out. It is my goal to say hello to total strangers. I want to meet new people and communicate without a screen between us.

Now I am going to challenge those who read this to do the same. Put down your device the next time you are out. Pay attention to the people around you. Start a conversation with a stranger and see where it leads. Don’t rush through your day. Those who are single, try looking for someone you could truly care about rather than the convenient hook-up. Be real and spend time in the real world with real people.

Stalking Ex

In my last post I mentioned that my ex- narcissist- boyfriend, Marc, was driving past my house a lot lately. I also said I was going to just deal with it when I had to. The problem is, I can’t do anything about it. It’s a game he is playing and I don’t know the rules. There is another road that runs parallel to mine so he could use that one if he was just checking up on me. Instead he is driving right past my driveway. Is he working himself up to stop? Hoping to catch me outside? Does he think if I am forced to see him I will not be able to help myself from contacting him?

Okay, do you see the problem here? He is always there. Popping up somewhere, then stuck in my head. I don’t love him. When I fell in love, it was with the person he pretended to be. I do not miss him, want him, and all I need from him is for him to go away. I think I might hate him. Still he wins. I am still stuck thinking about him.

That is what they do. Narcissists or other manipulative emotional abusers plant a seed in your head. Even if the sprout grows into a dark withered vine full of rotten fruit, it has still rooted itself there. I have been hit by a man, yelled at, cussed and called names. It all hurt, left scars, and tore me down. His abuse was different. He never laid hands on me, called me names, and rarely raised his voice. Yet he destroyed me. It was like how a water drip eventually wears a hole through stone. It takes time and the process is nearly invisible until the damage is already done. He tore me down little by little til there was nearly nothing left. Love is just the name he gave his ownership of me.

Four months ago this weekend I claimed my freedom. I blocked him from my life in every way possible. I am healing. Everything he took from me has been restored and I am good with out him. The anger is still smoldering from the terrible things he did. Everyone says I have to forgive him to move on. I can’t do that yet. Still I have good days and I am moving on. It is fear that keeps him always present in my mind. Fear of the wounds reopening, fear of my own anger, fear of reliving the pain he caused, fear of my own reaction. He is going to eventually make it a point to run into me, if not just walk up to my door. They are known for it. A narcissist is prone to stalking and many will do it for years. He has shown in the past that he will always come back.

What I am working out in my head is how to deal with it. I was told to involve law enforcement. That really is not really possible at the moment. Technically he hasn’t done anything, and when he drives by it is in a city work truck. He works with and is friends with enough police that it would be hard to convince them he is doing anything. I have already been told by several people that he is saying that I am crazy. According to him, I am harassing and stalking him. Even told one of his girls that she had to hide her truck when she was there so I didn’t bash the windows out. Basically, i am just going to have to deal with it when he decides to show up. I am always running the scenario through my head.

I am pumping myself up. He is nothing. His hold over me is gone. I am happy now and he can not take that away. He wants a reaction, so I will not give it to him. I am better than him. I deserve better than that. He can not hurt me anymore. I do not belong to him. I am strong enough. He will not see my anger, my pain, or what he did to me. I will not care when he is standing before me. No matter how he goes about this, I will be okay.

 

Inspire

I have written about the harder things and how I am trying to change. Today I wanted to write something inspiring. I have started multiple times. Flat, that is the best description for the words that have come out. It’s raining. Thunderstorms have been rolling through here for days. I have had physical therapy or doctors appointments everyday this week. 8 weeks since back surgery and I am frustrated with the progress. Marc is driving past my house. I have caught him a couple times this week creeping by in his work truck. My daughter has been on the low end of the bi-polar spectrum all week. My workman’s comp. representative got switched and so my check has been delayed.  Tonight is the full moon. Some call that superstitious, but I have seen the shift too many times to not believe in the effect.

I needed inspiration. That was why I wanted so badly to offer it to others. So, I reassessed all the stresses. The sun is supposed to shine tomorrow. The surgery was successful and I am healing well. Marc may be driving by my house, but that is as close as he is to being a part of my life. That is a problem I will handle if and when I have to. Although things with my daughter are not always easy, they have improved greatly over the last few months. A delayed check is like a temporary savings account. The full moon will be past in the morning.

It can be hard to remember how insignificant one bad day is. It is just a day, out of the thousands we are given. I have heard people say to forget the past, don’t stress the future, and just live in the present. That is such misguided advice in my opinion. The past made you who you are. The present could at any moment be a bad day and in that case the future is what makes it better. The promise of more days to come. The idea that you can change the present and have better days down the road. Even in the worst of situations, not every day is a bad day.

My goal for tomorrow= Look for the good moments no matter how the day turns out.

Breaking out of my bubble

    We all have the instinct to self-preserve. The same as you wear a helmet to protect your head on a bike or pads for football, we build walls psychologically. To protect our more sensitive thoughts or weaker parts of ourselves we tuck them down and surround them with a protective layer. Those who have suffered may build those walls thicker and stronger than those who have not. I started building mine many years ago and have been layering them since. Still they continued to fail and allow the hurt in. So I formed what I call my bubble. It expands out and envelops all the aspects of my life. More flexible than the walls, it occasionally allows new people and new things in. When I stretch it too far and I get hurt, it rapidly shrinks to a safer size. The space within the bubble is my comfort zone. At the worst of times it recedes to only include my immediate life. My home, my town, a couple family members, and a small group of close friends are allowed in. Activities that I know and love are permitted to be performed as long as they can be done within the confines. Unfortunately I miss out on so much. I envy the people out there walking around without a bubble.

     As good as life can be inside my bubble, it has become not enough. One of my goals, as part of making changes in myself, is to expand these perimeters. Step out of my comfort zone til the bubble stretches enough to burst. The trick is to do so without crossing the healthy boundaries I have also set in place. I started with little things, like sitting down in a restaurant by myself to eat lunch. Now I am working on bigger steps. I bought two kayaks. Why two? So friends can join me if they wish, or I can load one when I need some time to myself. I spontaneously met up with a guy I had not seen in 30 yrs and ended up on a 5 mile hike. Normally I would have let being nervous stop me from going, but I am so glad I did. Had I talked myself out of it like I used to, I would have missed an awesome day. Last night I agreed to go on a road trip with a friend. Something I have never gotten to do. We are traveling 800 miles to New York state for a five day stay. I know myself enough to know that I will be a nervous wreck the next two weeks just thinking about doing something like this. At the same time I am so excited to have the new experience.

   With each new experience I gain a little more confidence for the next. Everytime I step out of my comfort zone I feel a little braver. I can’t wait to see what the rest of this summer holds. I am learning to say yes to the new and it feels great. My advice for today is, if you feel stuck in a rut or unhappy where you are, do something for the first time.

Victim or Survivor

   I have been told so often that I am not a victim, but a survivor. This is meant to empower those who have been through a traumatic event. Although I understand the idea behind it, I cannot claim to be one or the other. Both sides of that reside within me.

  First, meet Gabrielle. She is a survivor. I call her by my full name and what I introduce myself as because she is the woman I show to the world. She has experienced the harder side of life and come out the other side stronger. Gabrielle is confident and intelligent. She has a good social life and leads an active life. Her freedom is valued above all else. Fiercely independent single mother who is successful in life. She is kind, generous and loyal.

   Then there is a moment and something changes. Let me introduce Gabby, my childhood nickname, she is a victim. She is shy and awkward. Fear rules her world. In the mirror she still sees an inadequate little girl. Gabby’s insecurities tend to overwhelm her good sense. She is desperate to be loved, but feels unworthy when there is a chance. Like Gabrielle, she is kind, generous, and loyal, but she has no limits. She is kind and generous until she has nothing left and she is loyal to those who care nothing about her.

   These are not separate personalities, but two side of the same person. The survivor takes the lead in most aspects of life and is most always in control. The victim is a reaction to the environment. When I was with Marc, it was the survivor who stood up and walked away time and again. The victim went back over and over. His unkind words, angry voice, silent treatment and ability to make me feel invisible put the victim side in the driver’s seat most of the time. In the end, it was the survivor who won and got herself out. I understand that by saying survivor rather than victim, it is a reminder that you are no longer there in that situation. The problem I see is that you cannot have one without the other. By denying the victim you discredit the truth of what you have been through. The victim is a reminder of what the survivor is capable of.

    My victim, the little girl who still resides within me, still has so much to share about her story. She has been a prisoner for so long. I am for the first time in my life getting to know and understand her. At the beginning of this journey it was my goal to remove her. Now I understand that she is a huge part of who I am. Instead, I am working to free her of the cell I locked her in. I am embracing her as an essential part of the whole. The more she shares the less power she holds over my life and the decisions I make. Instead of choosing one part or the other, I can say with pride that I am the surviving victim.

Digging up the past

    Living with my narcissist abuser brought up memories from my past. These memories played in my head as dreams while I was asleep or would pop up randomly in the middle of the day. It took awhile to figure out why this was happening. It was a form of PTSD and he was like a giant trigger. I realized then that I needed to deal with these events and the abuse I had suffered if I was ever going to heal fully. I didn’t know where to start and quite frankly was afraid of taking that path so I started to see a counselor. I am still in the process of working through this, but the beginning was to tell the story that I had never shared. This journey has opened so many doors along the way. Some revealed darkness hiding behind them and others opened up to allow new light in.

   My first abuser was my mother. As my father once told me, she just did not like me from the day I was born. I was the target for whatever she was feeling at the time. She could tear you down with one sentence, although it rarely ended there. Some days she was content to insult me or throw jabs and jokes my way. Then others it would be screaming and threats that could go on for hours. If that did not satisfy her it would become physical. In a rage she would grab whatever was closest to her and use it to “spank” me. I was drug around a lot by my arm or hair while she was screaming at me for whatever she deemed I had done wrong. The rule I broke the most often was never cry. If she could not come up something I had done, then she would say something mean and wait for the tears. Tears were punishable by any means she deemed necessary. According to her I was fat, unattractive, stupid, a slob, a clumsy ox, and a burden she did not wish to carry. My earliest memories of the abuse are around age 5 and it did not end until I was finally freed from her right before my 16th birthday.

    Very few people knew about my past and those who did, did not know stories or details. What most people knew of my childhood were the unique and good parts. My parents were both extremely skilled artists so there was a lot of creativity in our home. We were taught to know and appreciate nature. Most of our vacation time was spent doing historical reenactments, where we lived as Indians  or occasionally pilgrims for days at a time. I grew up on a 13 acre farm where we raised everything from goats and chickens to rescued wild animals, like raccoons, opossums, and skunks. All of these things shaped who I am today and I wear them proudly, but so did the abuse and neglect.

    I have recently begun to share the darker stories and the truth of my childhood. For years I had stuffed it down inside. I had tried to share when I was young, but I was always treated as if I was making it up or exaggerating. I stopped trying and put it all away. Partly I was hiding it from myself due to the pain it would stir up. I thought if people knew they would look at me different. They would see me as damaged or weak. People would think I was looking for attention. So I kept it there til I finally saw what it was doing to me. Now with each story I tell I feel a little lighter. When I allow myself to go back there, I can see the damaged parts of myself and where they started. I know myself better because I have opened that door.

    As for the reactions of others, it is mixed. It is almost always shock and pity to start, but I had underestimated many of the people in my life. There have been a few comments about how my story could be a lifetime movie. Most importantly they just listened and didn’t judge me or look down on me. Instead I found long term friendships growing stronger than they had ever been. I found support where I didn’t know I had it and I began to feel better about sharing more of my truth.

     There are two reactions I have seen the most. The first is pity. “I am so sorry you went through this.” Then the opposite, “You are so strong to survive that.” Never at the same time from the same person. I don’t think it should be either or. It should be both. To the pity, my response is “I am not sorry, it made me who I am”. In truth, I am sorry that the child version of myself had to go through that. No child should have to suffer. As for my reaction to the strength comment, I was not strong. I had no choice but to live that way. It was all I knew, so to me this was normal. The strength comes now as I tell my story. I lived with these secrets my entire life. Sharing these moments has allowed me to begin forgiving myself and let go of the shame I have carried for years.

Love really can be blind

  When Marc came into my life I thought I had found that guy. All of the ones in the past had major, more obvious issues. He was different. There were no drug addictions, past or present. He didn’t drink. He was not violent. A single dad with a nice home in a good neighborhood. Not only did he actually have a job but a long term career. His stories were of a brutal divorce with a terrible ex wife and the struggles of a single parent. Even when the fights started, he never cussed me or hit me. When he would start pulling away, I would be understanding. He had gone through such a hard marriage and I was just feeling the after effects.

  It was a year in before I was actually called the girlfriend. By that time I was completely involved with his life. I was spending time with his sons, helping with things around the house, and spent more time in his home than my own. We would be good for weeks or months at a time, then things would crumble. Everytime we fell apart he would come back stronger than before. I knew he loved me because, no matter what, he always came back. It was like we were addicted to each other.

   In the beginning he was so impressed by my independence. My woodworking skills and ability to do my own car repair were things he admired. Then it became an issue. I was hurting his manly pride by being better at these things. Eventually I started playing dumb to make him feel better. Despite the fact that he made more money, I was smarter financially, so I always had more spending money. First he complained that he didn’t have money to go out and do things, so I started paying more often. Then he got upset because once again I made him feel less of a man because I had more than him. I started hiding the extra money. If I bought things, I lied about the price. Most of the time I just stopped offering to pay and pretended to be broke so he felt like he had the financial power. It was a small sacrifice to make to keep him happy. I stop seeing my friends and for the most part my family. He didn’t tell me to stop, it was just hard to find time. We were always so busy. His children required a lot, there was always something to be done at his house, and he had a lot of family. I stopped going out with the girls because it upset him. Once again I understood, I wasn’t single anymore. I cleaned and cooked for him, because it brought praise. I didn’t like that everything on his phone was a secret and that new girls were always popping up. When I would get upset, he explained it all till I could see I was just being paranoid and jealous. My insecurities seemed to cause us a lot of issues. I just needed more patience and be better to him so he would be able to see how he needed me in his life. It wasn’t his fault, it was just who he was and if I was going to love him, I would have to learn to accept it. He was moody, but the good times made the bad worth it. I was just unstable due to my past relationships and abusive childhood. It really upset me that I was not allowed to tag him on social media or in any way claim our relationship publily. Once again I was just insecure and it was no one’s business. To expect him to call or message during the day, know when he was picking up shifts, or really question anything was clingy and controlling.

   It was slowly, over time, and in a way that I was blind to the truth. My friends called me stupid everytime I went back, but I couldn’t see it clearly. He had manipulated me to the point that I could not think rationally. I had no life of my own anymore. The parts of me that I hold so dear had been slowly taken away. He lied about everything, cheated, put me down constantly, and completely controlled my world. Everything I did was for or about him. I could never seem to do anything right and could never do enough. There was not a moment of my day that did not somehow revolve around him and his life. He had me convinced I was crazy and that I was somehow hurting him all the time. I had no confidence left. No one else could ever love me, the mess that I was, so I was killing myself to keep someone who believed they owned me.

This is narcissist abuse and I was the victim. I was a strong independent woman who had swore no one would ever abuse me again yet I fell head first into a trap. When you are the one in the relationship you can not see the truth. People can tell you all day long and you will defend your abuser. Friends even got mad and turned their backs instead of trying to help me.

   I am sharing this to raise awareness. First, to the people who see a loved one in a bad situation, do not lose patience. All forms of abuse are forms of brainwashing so most people can not grasp what is really happening. It is not their fault. Secondly, there does not have to be physical violence, yelling, or name calling for it to be a form of emotional abuse. Lastly, to anyone who is in a bad situation, do not doubt your own instinct. If something feels wrong, most likely it is. Educate yourself on forms of abuse and how to handle your situation. There is a way out. You are worth helping and deserve to be happy. Most importantly remember that it is not your fault.

Creating Happiness

What makes you happy? I don’t mean every moment of everyday. Just a smile, a second of relief from everything else. So many people set a goal to find happiness. They have the idea that if they can accomplish certain things in their life then they will find their happiness. Most of the time it is based on a particular idea of family, career, financial status, or success. As great as it is to have goals, basing your happiness on it will likely lead to disappointment. When you reach your goals and accomplish what you set out to do, you may find it is not as you envisioned. Life does not follow a plan even when you are doing everything right. Happiness cannot be searched for or even created.

     My daughter told me once when she was angry that she did not want to be like me. She did not want a hard life, she wanted to be happy. I was taken aback by this comment. That isn’t at all how I have viewed our lives. Of course i struggled. I made bad choices in men, but by the time she was starting kindergarten I had removed the abuse from our lives. As a single mom I worked terrible hours at low wages so we did not always have much, but we always made it. Since I have very little family and even less that have ever been a good part of our lives, it was her and I against the world. We lived in a low rent run down trailer, drove cheap cars til they gave out, and ate a lot of canned goods. Maybe it sounds like a miserable life, but for me it was amazing. She was my world and I grasped every moment I could with her. When I look back, I remember so much happiness. Crackers and cheese picnics in the field, hanging out at the swim hole, crafts we made together, and giggles at bedtime. Our home was filled with love and in my eyes all we needed were each other.

     I guess I saw it more easily. Growing up as a child, I didn’t have those moments. A good day in our home was a day Mom forgot I was there. A day without being called names or hit was a good day. It was not till I was an adult that I understood there was more to life and that not all families were like that. What I viewed as normal was hell to others. Seeing the harder side of life makes the little joys so much brighter.

    Despite her words I have seen her light up on a bad day because she found a patch of daisies in the yard. I hope one day she will look back and see what I do.

    We are surrounded by happiness if you open yourself up to it. For each of us it is something different. On my worst day at work, it can take nothing more than a butterfly landing beside me at lunch to turn the whole day around. For me it can be a moment with nature, a conversation with a friend, or the right song. Happiness cannot be forced or even sought out. If you spend your life looking for it, you will miss what is right there the whole time. Appreciate the small things. Allow yourself to be satisfied with what you do have rather than crying over what you don’t. Make the decision to be happy rather than allowing stress to rule your life. Just one smile a day makes all rest worth it.

 

But you are so strong….

I have always heard how strong I was. When everything fell apart, that was what they told me. The strongest person they knew. That is the face I showed, the part I played, but not what was on the inside. Some knew pieces of my past. That my abusive mother was not a mother at all. That as a young adult I lived with a physically abusive drug addict. I had my daughter at a young age and her father disappeared when she was a few months old. I survived and I made it through each day. Is that what it is to be strong?

   What they couldn’t see were the insecurities and fears that tore me down everyday. The scars I carried were hidden under layers of practiced smiles and kind acts. The caretaker, always there for those in need, just another way to hide from my own darkness. Hidden was the desperate need to be loved and accepted while doubting anyone who claimed to do so. Falling into abusive relationships on the rare occasion I allowed myself to fall at all. Spending most of my life alone because I was too afraid of the cruelty I have seen in the past. I believed it when they called me strong. Locking away the darkness was how I had survived so far.

   By the end of my time with Marc, I was beginning to see the truth. There was a weakness that I had no control over. So many dark days I had buried. His manipulative games and cruel words brought it all to the surface. Not only did my insecurities take center stage but the memories from which they grew started making appearances. Nightmares of past abuse and forgotten moments began to haunt me.

   When everything exploded, I was given no choice. People who had known me more than ten years saw my tears for the first time. I had to ask for help, I had to talk and allow them to see the parts that I have hidden for so long. No one ran away, no one lost respect for me, and to my surprise I am now closer to many of those people than I have ever been. Over the last few months I have begun to share my story, the truth of my past for the first time. I have allowed the demons to come out and be seen.

    I believe this is true strength. Not hiding your darkness and scars, but wearing them proudly. Being able to admit that you can not do it on your own all the time. Allowing others to see all of you, even the parts they may not like. I feel stronger now that I am able to admit that I have not always been the strong person they all believed me to be.

   There is a beauty in the pain we all experience in life. It is a major part of who we are. Be proud of your story. Embrace your scars and bruises. There is no shame in what you have been through, whether you were hurt by someone else or yourself. Strength comes from facing the hardest moments and making it through to the other side.