Part 1: Starting Somewhere

Hello beautiful! I’m so happy to finally be writing a new post. It’s been hard finding the right words and I unloaded what felt like a TON of trauma with my last blog. On one hand it was great but on the other, it had me in a funk and where I didn’t quite feel like myself. I’ve also have been fighting imposter syndrome and had to keep reminding myself that the whole point of this blog is not to be your counselor or therapist but to share my experience and how I’ve been able to work through my issues. I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to write about or what would be best to share with you all. I’ve started this thing multiple times but wound up deleting each one.

What I have come to learn about myself is if I sit in the quiet and just listen, the answer will manifest itself. So that’s just what I did. Since my grandma had (as my kids would call it) “main character energy” in my last blog, my counselor thought it would be best to work through the grief process because I clearly had not accepted losing her. For those of you who have lost a loved one or someone close to you, I’m SO unbelievably sorry for your loss. I’m also sorry you had to experience that heartbreak and pain. You should be proud of yourself for your strength and that you have made it through 100% of the days you thought you weren’t going to!

I had an idea of what grief was but I never considered actually experiencing it myself. Though I haven’t fully accepted my grandma passing, I am a lot closer. Again, I don’t hold a degree, and not everyone’s grief journey is the same. This is just my experience and what I have been doing to help me in those times of sadness when I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around her one more time. I hope these words provide you inspiration or answers to why you may be experiencing certain emotions or actions. I encourage you to try the workbook or find your own unique way to work through your grief because you deserve happiness without guilt.

Over the course of a few weeks, we worked through a grief workbook. (If you would like to print it off to work through it on your own, the website and link are at the bottom.) I will hit on the topics and questions that I felt really hit home for me, the ones that made me really, FEEL.

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross hypothesized that grief is experienced in 5 stages: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. They do call out that not everyone who grieves experiences ALL 5 stages, nor is the process linear.  Once again implying, “not everyone grieves the same”. The image below shows those five stages and the feelings associated with each one.

Image provided by: https://online.visual-paradigm.com/infoart/templates/five-stages-of-grief/

Although I feel most grief is due to the loss of a loved one, and that is the focus of this blog, I’ve learned that grief is a reaction to ANY loss and may be experienced as sadness, numbness, or even physical pain. Whether experienced in the past or currently being experienced, some of the events that can cause grief are below. Events I am guilty of experiencing are underlined.

Divorce or marital separation, infidelity, ending of friendship or romantic relationship, loss of virginity, dismissal from work or school, loss of safety after trauma, incarceration of a loved one, significant move, estrangement from family, loss of closeness in a relationship, birth of first child, young child starting school, adult child leaving home, miscarriage or abortion, a child born with birth defects or a disability, infertility, death of a pet, aging, loss related to a traumatic event, loss or destruction of sentimental possessions, loss of a personal dream or goal, uncovering a devastating secret, loss of an important role, personality changes due to illness, loss of belief in God or religion, loss of hope.

Through all these events, you unintentionally learn different reactions to certain feelings and emotions. So when you experience those feelings and emotions, you automatically say or act a certain way. Some of the grief reactions they list that I found most interesting are below. The instructions were to call out ones that I was feeling or had felt the week prior to this session.  Again I have underlined those reactions that I felt (at the time) more frequently or stronger than others.

Anger, anxiety, apathy, bitterness, emptiness, fatigue, fear, guilt, helplessness, irritability, loneliness, numbness, regret, sadness, self-pity, difficulty concentrating, difficulty making decisions, forgetfulness, absent-mindedness, accident-prone behavior, avoiding reminders of the deceased, avoiding talking about the deceased, crying, dreaming about the deceased, eating too much or too little, decreased interest in activities that used to bring pleasure, mood swings,  reckless or self-destructive behavior, trouble sleeping, visiting places associated with the deceased, body aches & pains, exhaustion, spasms of grief, hollowness in the stomach, lack of energy, loss of appetite, nausea or upset stomach, over-sensitivity to noise & light, considering or questioning the meaning of life, seeking meaning in the loss.

Although you might not realize it, these reactions are a sign of grieving as well. Speaking from my own experience, it’s hard for me to be myself, to make goals,  and chase my dreams, because every time I put myself out there and went after that goal or dream, something came along and took that from me. In the end it made me feel undeserving of what I just achieved and not good enough. It’s hard to find courage when you are afraid. You would rather stay small and live life how everyone else expects you to. Deep down inside that isn’t me though. I wasn’t made to be cookie cutter. I constantly remind myself that I am in charge of my life now and if I want it, there shouldn’t be ANY reason to not go after the things in life that make me happy.

Looking at all of the thoughts and feelings, I can say, up to this point, I have related to every single one of them. All of them that is, except acceptance. You refuse to believe it, telling yourself “they aren’t really gone.” Or confused, asking “how can this happen?” You get angry, and spiteful. “Why does this have to happen to them?” “What did they do to deserve this?” You try to bargain with God, “Please, I’ll do anything if you let them live.” You beg God to take your life in place of theirs. You offer to do and give whatever it takes to not lose this cherished item. You feel like the world has ended, your heart broken in ways that could never be mended. You feel all of this, but never once, do you want to accept it as reality. Reality makes it true. It confirms the loss and pain. You cycle through these stages, like seasons hoping and searching for acceptance, reason, or truth.

If you’re like me, you shove all these thoughts and feelings down. You find ways to numb the pain, ignore that fact that it happened, or for you Coco fans, it’s Bruno, and “We don’t talk about Bruno.” You never sit and FEEL the feelings that need to be felt. Sorry to tell you that you are not doing yourself any favors by doing so. In order to get to that acceptance stage, you HAVE to sit in those feelings.  I’ll tell ya, when I finally allowed those feelings to take over, my “EUREKA” moment happened. I finally realized it wasn’t her dying that was hurting me. I missed her terribly but I was also missing who I was before she passed.  She was my escape, my safe space, my protection. I could unload my thoughts, feelings, and dreams and they would be met with understanding, encouragement, and judgment free. I got to be a kid with her. She allowed me to be creative. I had my own space at her house. It was no wonder I was feeling sad, lonely, and lost.

If any of this resonates with you or stirs some spark inside of you, please, give that spark some oxygen! Fine a time and space where you feel comfortable and just think about not just who that person was, but who they were to you! What elements of your life did you enjoy most with them in it?

I’ll let you ponder with that thought for now and next time I’ll share the ways I am allowing myself to be happy and how I am working on accepting her being gone. This life is too short to hide in the shadows, broken hearted. I’m sure that’s not the kind of life they would want you to live either. You deserve to live up to your full potential and show the world what a beautiful soul you are. The only way to get there is to know how you tick and the only way to do that is to be quiet, listen, and most importantly, FEEL those feelings! This world deserves to see the real you and all the beauty and creativity you bring. It’s going to be tough. It is going to require you to be vulnerable and it’s going to be uncomfortable at times but be comfortable with the uncomfortable. That is where growth happens.

Love, peace, and chicken grease,

-Em

To access the Mind Remake Project grief workbook, click here.

Part 1: My story

I recently read a book that had a profound effect on me. So much so, I bought two more copies for my friends and one for counselor. I mentioned it in my previous blog but if you are really struggling with self-love and direction, I cannot recommend “Girl Wash Your Face” by Rachel Hollis enough! There are so many powerful words it’s hard to not want to be a better person after finishing it. There is a quote in it,

“Finding the courage to be honest about who you are or what you’re going through is like throwing yourself into the deep end of the pool and fighting to swim once you hit the cold water.”

I’ve been fighting the cold water. I had this amazing idea that I would write this epic blog about my life so far (the cliff notes version of course because lord knows I’d need a whole book if I were to give away ALL the details). It would be super easy, quick and I’d knock it out in like one hour. I was so wrong. I’ve been trying to write this for a week now but replaying the scenes from images stuck in my head from my childhood has made me realize that I’m not quite ready to jump off the deep end just yet, so I’ll share a little bit for now and make sure you all get part two.

Some of these childhood memories have been tough to think about, much less put on paper. There are parts of my past that have broken my spirit, made me feel less than and small. Sometimes, I was the bad guy. I made dumb decisions and wore out my welcome. There are also times I have laughed until I cried, spoke love and beauty into the world, and gave more than I received. Regardless, my past doesn’t define who I am or who I’m becoming, and yours doesn’t have to define you either! We can learn to BE better and DO better once we recognize the parts of our past that are stopping us from being the best versions of ourselves. So, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to take you back to August of 1989.

I was born August 17th, on my paternal grandmother’s 50th birthday. She once said that I was the best birthday present she had ever received. That always stuck with me. It warms my heart and still makes me smile to this day when I think about it. I thought the world of that woman but more on her later!

My dad was an over the road truck driver for most of my adolescence. My mother worked on and off but for the most part, she was a homemaker. I am number 4 out of 5 children, starting with the oldest it goes: brother, sister, sister, me, brother. We are spread out over 14 years apart from oldest to youngest. I was the baby for a good 9 years before our parents decided that a mid-life crisis meant having another child, but I’m so glad they did.

I grew up in a small town in Texas. I wouldn’t necessarily say my family was middle class…. maybe more closely to upper lower class. My grandpa owned a small farm where he and my grandma, my family, my two aunts and their families all lived. It was our own little compound if you will. All in separate homes of course, this wasn’t the Beverly Hillbillies.

We as kids were required to help out, which meant getting up and feeding the animals before school, sweeping, moping, mowing, etc. with our allowance being able to have a roof over our head. Our families would get together every Sunday for lunch at Nanny and Poppy’s house. Everyone would pitch in what they could on a KFC bucket of fried chicken and sides. If money was really tight, someone would cook. Every holiday we would all get together once again at Nanny and Poppy’s, eat, and just enjoy each other’s company. All of us cousins would end the day by playing hide and seek outside in the dark. We were all really close.

There were occasional fights between families (sometimes within) and the Sheriff’s office would have to come out. I watched one aunt get shot at and my oldest brother intentionally tried to run over the other. But in the end, the fight would be forgotten about as if it never happened and things would slowly go back to normal.

I spent a LOT of time at my Nanny’s house. She taught me how to sew, snap peas, cook porch chops among many other things. We always loved watching country music videos or Boomerang together. She had the BEST laugh especially when she got really tickled. She was my best friend. There was a short period of time she had to move in with us when I was somewhere around 5-7 years old. Their house had burned down and she needed somewhere to go until they found somewhere to live. (My grandpa was a truck driver so he wasn’t home as much and would sleep in his big truck when he was.)

Though I don’t remember her actually staying with us, I do remember the day she moved out. Her and my mom had gotten into an argument and I watched my mom physically push her out of our house and throw a box fan at her. I was unbelievably angry with my mother back then. Having had a mother in-law of my own, I get the aggravation, though I still don’t think I would have chosen violence. My grandparents ended up purchasing a trailer home and moving it onto the property and still living next door.

Because I was the baby, that meant my older siblings would always send me to ask mom if we could do things, because in their opinion, “I was never told no.” If they wanted to go swimming, I had to ask. If we wanted to go ride our bikes, I had to ask. So when my brother told me to ask my mom if I could sleep in his room, I thought nothing of it and just did what I was told. That night my oldest brother stole my innocence. Not just that night but for weeks, months even, he continued.

I know what you may be thinking, why didn’t I just tell him no or tell an adult, but my brother was a bully. He often would start picking on me, and when I would fight back, he would whine and tell our mom and I would be the one getting in trouble while he got off with nothing. I felt that this was no different. If I tattled, I would be the one that would be getting into trouble for something he was doing, that I was the one in the wrong. So I remained silent.

I remember the day it stopped. I was nine years old, sitting in an office with a lady I didn’t know and a video camera pointed at me recoding everything I said. Her asking me if I understood the difference between the truth and a lie before she asked me about my brother and what may have happened. I wanted to lie at first because I still thought my parents would be angry and blame me but as embarrassing and shameful as it was, I told this lady everything.

My parents ended up making my brother move next door with my grandparents as he was still under 18 and in home school. I don’t remember him having any other punishment, however, I’ve blacked out much of my childhood because of this incident (and) I didn’t think it was fair that his “punishment” was to live with the one woman I would give anything to live with, and I was stuck being ushered to group therapy every week by my mother. Having to replay and repeat what happened week after week in front of other girls my age made me feel so disgusted with myself as well as embarrassed. I absolutely hated it. He eventually moved back in with us and the therapy ceased.

I found escape through reading and music. So I joined the school band my 6th grade year and was invited to be in honor band my 7th grade year. Which for you non-band nerds, you don’t make honor band unless you are really good. I was STOKED!

This was about the time my dad decided to quit long haul truck driving so he could be home more. I thought I would enjoy seeing him more, but it was weird and took a while to adjust. This is also the summer my parents decided to move us thirty minutes away to the next town over. Now, that really isn’t that far but when you are 12 years old and have no means of getting to your grandma’s house to see her, it might as well be a different country. No grandma and no honor band. My world was crushed. On the bright side, my older brother would not be moving with us.

I begged my mother to let me move in with my grandma, but despite my efforts, she never let me. So I put on my big girl panties and I set off on a new adventure in a new town, new school, to find new friends. The first year was a bit of a struggle as I learned to maneuver all the newness on top of coming into womanhood. My second year I gained a lot more confidence and decided to run for class president for the next school year. Being pretty new to the district still, I didn’t think I had a chance, but thought what the hell anyway.

I ran my campaign. I made shirts, buttons, signs, you name it. I had started to really want it so when voting day came, I tried to not get too excited and anxious because I still didn’t think I had a chance. I cannot even describe the sheer shock I felt when my name was called as the winner!

I was on cloud nine for a week making plans about how I was going do this and do that. I was determined to be the BEST class President this town had ever seen! That was until I learned that we would be moving to a different state that summer and I had to step down as class President. Once again, I felt like the “trophy” I just won was ripped from my hands. If I thought thirty minutes was too far from my grandma, six hours was going to be TORTURE!

An elderly man my mother had met in an AOL chat was offering us to stay in one of his rent houses.  He had a job lined up for my dad once we got there. It sounded like a pretty sweet gig, almost too good to be true, but we packed up the U-Haul and headed north to Oklahoma. When we arrived, we were told there were a few items still in the house that the previous tenants had left but they would work on getting it out. Turns out, it was a bit more than a “few items”. Two of the four bedrooms were packed full so there wasn’t much room for us four kids to spread out. It was just……odd and something didn’t feel right.

My parents started to fight more and more, and eventually separated. My mom moved into an apartment on the other side of town. It was just a one-bedroom apartment so my little brother ended up living with her while us girls lived with my father. It was inevitable that they would be getting a divorce. Living with my dad was not easy. He had been a truck driver most of my childhood so for him to be the soul parent and authoritative figure now was really tough to accept. He quite frankly became an asshole. I wanted nothing more but to run away.

I’m not sure how the realization of the situation we were in happened, but my parents eventually saw the red flags for what they were. We walked out of that house that day with just a few changes of clothes so we could stay in my mom’s apartment while my dad went to see his brother in hopes of finding us some place to go permanently. I don’t remember if the owner wouldn’t let us or my parents just didn’t want to, but we were never allowed to go back into that house. We would eventually find ourselves moving 3 hours south (3 hours closer to grandma). There were still a few things left in the house that would be tough to replace (I couldn’t tell you what they were now), so my sister and I broke in one night and grabbed what we could fit in a backpack. That night when I left, along with all my possessions, I left my childhood behind too.

It was middle of the first semester, my freshman year of high school. My parents decided to work things out and we moved in next door to my uncle. He had a barn where a portion of it was converted into a one-bedroom studio apartment, roughly 600 sq ft. Mind you, at this time, my family still consisted of 4 children aged 6-18 (three being teenage girls), and two adults. There was another bedroom, but it was in the barn area with no heat or ac so you could only comfortably stay out there certain months of the year plus (that’s also where the trash was kept until it was picked up so the smell was unbearable at times).

I started what I call my “rebellious period”. I got my tongue pierced, started wearing baggy clothes, and adored Eminem (okay, I still do but that’s not the point here). I was a brat to my parents, I just wanted to do whatever I wanted, when I wanted and I didn’t want anyone to tell me I couldn’t. I would want to be at friend’s houses instead of my own. I never felt like I had any privacy. During the summers I would stay at my grandma’s house as long as I could because at least there I had my own room.

My parents were both working and were eventually able to afford a two-bedroom trailer house just on the outside of town to where I didn’t have to change schools. Looking back now, with five kids, I understand why we struggled so much. Kids are expensive.

We were at least able to afford to still get together at Nanny and Poppy’s for the holidays. My sophomore year, close to Christmas, my grandma’s health really started to go down-hill, and in March she suffered a stroke and went into a coma. My grandpa would always try to lighten the mood in the hospital room by saying, “Suzie, you gotta put on your hot pink mini skirt and high heels so we can go dancin’”. It always made me laugh picturing her in a mini skirt! (I guess that’s why he will always be my Ray of sunshine) Up until this point I was staying in her hospital room as much as possible anticipating her waking up at any moment, but my parents had used up as much leave time as possible and we had to go back home.

The weather matched my mood on the drive home. It was storming so bad you could barely see the road in front of us and no matter how hard I tried, the tears wouldn’t stop falling. Halfway home, my dad’s cell phone rang. It was the call I had been dreading and praying wouldn’t come. We had lost my Nanny. I know it’s cliché but I felt like my world had ended right then and there. For now, that’s where I will end as well.

I encourage you all to think about your past. What events or experiences have you tried to bury and forget about that affected you emotionally, physically, spiritually that you may have not fully healed from yet? It doesn’t matter how anyone else viewed that experience or what their opinion is, what matters is how it made YOU feel. This is YOUR journey, not theirs. Let’s find the courage this week to be honest about who we are and what trauma we need healing from so we can forgive where we need to and learn how to do better. Most importantly, remember to love yourself and give yourself grace. This won’t be easy but I know you can do it.

Much like my thoughts - outta my control!

As I stood in the shower, feeling the hot water warm my skin, I started to make my mental note of all the topics I wanted to discuss with her today. You see, a couple of months ago, I finally made an appointment with a counselor. It was that or my marriage very well could end at any moment and my children would grow up not having the right morals and beliefs (or so that’s what it felt like).

For the last five years, my two children (boy 15, girl 12), my husband, and me had been adjusting as a blended family trying to figure out the right dynamic and every day was feeling like a struggle and I was stuck in the middle between my husband and children.

Like some of you may have experienced in your own marriages, it’s almost as though we hit the emergency brake on the honeymoon stage and dove head first into the roommate stage. Looking back, it was definitely a slow progression I chose to deny. Communication wasn’t happening, we were just going through the motions, I wasn’t appreciating my husband the way he deserved and on top of that, I had been feeling lost. Not only as a mother and wife but as a human being, I was still asking myself: “what do I want to be when I grow up”. I knew I was put on this earth for a reason but I had NO idea what that reason was or where to start.

Deep down, I knew a lot of our problems stemmed from my own self-doubt, insecurities, lack of self-love, and stubbornness. I was certain that Taylor Swifts “I’m the problem, it’s me” was my theme song and I made sure to sing at the top of my lungs every time it played in the car. Finally, after feeling like I was completely failing as a mother and wife I decided that I would attend two counseling sessions a month. One I would attend by myself to work on me and the other both my husband and I would attend together so we could work on our marriage, or if he was out of town, I would go for the extra session for myself. Since my husband travels a lot for work, I found myself attending most sessions alone. I’m not complaining though because lord knows I needed it!

Even with all the extra “me” time, I was still only scratching the surface on working through my issues. I was starting to notice small wins throughout the day but I still found myself DREADING every other Friday knowing I had counseling scheduled. Vulnerability is tough and the emotions that come with it are exhausting. Talking about myself always made me feel uncomfortable and conceited. My counselor realized this about me early on and started offering me paper and pen so I can write my answers down instead of verbalizing them. I found that made it a lot easier. Although I prayed for a reason to cancel, I still showed up to every session with intention, determined to be a better me.

It had been a pretty eventful couple of weeks and for the first time I had to cancel a counseling session. My family had suffered a tragic loss the week prior and the viewing was scheduled the same day as my next session. Since my husband was out of town, he wasn’t able to attend counseling or the viewing so I canceled on counseling and asked my sisters to attend the viewing with me because what woman does anything alone. We all agreed we would drive down Friday afternoon, attend the viewing, and stay in a hotel near our hometown Friday night. Although the circumstances were unimaginable, I was thankful for the time I was getting with JUST my sisters. We rarely get time without one of us being blessed to have a child or husband with us. We drive home Saturday evening because I have to be at the airport Sunday morning at 4am to leave for Las Vegas for a work convention.

I had just finished reading “Girl Wash Your Face” by Rachel Hollis, which if you are a female and have not read it yet, I HIGHLY suggest you pick up a copy from your local bookstore. This book put so much in perspective for me. It’s like receiving a bear hug from your grandma/grandpa after they haven’t seen you in months. It warms your heart, reminds you that you are loved, and encourages you to give yourself grace.

I was like a sponge wanting to soak up as much positivity and motivation as possible so when I found out there would be a motivational speaker at convention, and his topic was dreams and living the life that makes you happy, I was elated and eager to hear his speech.

As I sat there, listening to his story, I realized we had a lot in common. We weren’t happy with our current life and we wanted something better. We both had dreams and ideas of who we were going to be as an adult that didn’t quite pan out the way we had hoped and we were lost. We were both unsure about what we wanted to do and had no energy or motivation to put ourselves out there.

He did say something that really spoke to me. He asked us to think about who in our lives give us energy and who do we feel drained after spending time with. (I refer to those as “energy vampires”). If you want to be successful, happy and energetic you have to surround yourself with successful and happy people who bring you energy. Do things that make you happy and feed your soul.

Energy vampires drain you because you allow them to by not having concrete boundaries and expressing what those boundaries are and respecting yourself enough to speak up when someone crosses them. I empathize with people to the point I have no energy left to give. Not even to myself.  I bend and ignore my own boundaries so that others will be happy, even if it robs me of my own happiness. I will talk positivity at you until your ears fall off but fail to talk positive to myself. Queue the music!

Realizing that some of the energy vampires in my life are people I LONG to have a relationship with, people I care for deeply, I found myself perplexed. How can I spend more time with them when they are not positive people and I leave their presence absolutely drained? I didn’t see a gray area; it was all in or all out for me I didn’t see a middle ground. So I presented the question to my counselor. She explained it to me like this: Cutting people out of your life is situational. You cannot control how someone acts or how they feel; you can only control how you react. If their behavior affects you physically or you have expressed your boundaries multiple times and they refuse to respect them and intentionally cross that line, you have the right to cut them out of your life faster than they cut to commercial’s after Janet Jackson’s “wardrobe malfunction” at Super Bowl 38th halftime show.

Saying I’m sorry to someone, in my opinion, is a promise to them that you will do better and be better. If we are having the same conversation over and over again and you aren’t willing to accept responsibility for your role in the issue and make things right, why am I wasting my time and energy?

I also brought up a situation in where I wanted to express gratitude to someone but was hesitant to because I didn’t feel as though they would react the way I felt they should. My counselor asked me, “Would it make you feel better if you verbalized your thoughts?” As I sat there thinking for a moment, I almost said yes but instead answered, no. She must have x-ray vision into my thoughts because she then asked, “Are you saying no because you honestly don’t believe you will feel better or are you saying no because you are afraid you may not like their reaction?” I giggled and kind of rolled my eyes realizing what she was saying. She once again was reminding me that I cannot control how someone else feels, thinks, or acts. I can only control how I react. She was telling me to stop hurting myself by holding in my feelings and thoughts because I feared how it would make the other person feel. I hurt myself by holding in my feelings or I end up hurt by their reaction. If there is pain either way, what do I have to lose by at least verbalizing my feelings?

It takes a lot of energy to show up intentional EVERY. SINGLE. DAY as a mother, wife, employee, friend, sister, co-worker, etc. I spend so much of my time obsessing over things I cannot control even if I wanted to. Things such as the weather, what people think of me, are my loved ones are happy? Life is all about choices and as humans; we only have so many hours on this planet. You can either live a happy life by surrounding yourself with positive happy people, spend your energy on things/people that make you happy and bring you joy, or you can waste your energy obsessing and worrying over things you can’t control even if you wanted to. Either way, the choice is yours to make so what type of life will you choose?

Until next week,

-Empathetically Yours