That Time I Flew Too Close to the Sun

Welcome to the Shit Show- An Epic in Many Acts

This one is going to be long and might get ugly. Grab a cup, buckle up…it's a doozy, 37 years in the making. I hope it is as enlightening for you as it was for me.  I started this blog three years ago, I wanted to document my healing and share some things that helped me in hopes that it would resonate with someone and maybe help them too. I was energized and excited, I was developing recipes left and right, I had a notebook full of ideas, a calendar with cooking and shooting plans and time allotted for posting about self care stuff that was filling my life outside the kitchen, until it all came to a screeching halt.

Tracing the Cord Back to the Wall

The stopping started when I attempted to dive into addressing the past.  I thought I had done enough healing and enough shadow work to really start unpacking my life experiences that were likely contributors to my development of autoimmunity. It was only when I started poking around in those old wounds that it became apparent that I had more healing to do. It was like when something burns you and you remain leery to try again. I all but stopped blogging, I’d brought toxicity to this place of healing. (Are you familiar with ACE- adverse childhood events, and how our past traumas can contribute to chronic illness? Read: The Body Keeps the Score.)

Turns out I was dead fucking wrong about being ready to go there.  I started a post about how I effectively lost my dad at 16 to a brain aneurysm, then again at 27 when his body returned to the earth. I had  been (and have continued) learning about the social-emotional components of autoimmunity, making the connections between what I was seeing in the Autoimmunity-Community and noticing that a lot of us had these histories and traits in common, patterns and traumas persistent since childhood. If you lurk in the AI community long enough, you will see that many are Type A to the core, lots of Enneagram 2’s out there, the empaths, the ones who hate conflict and tend to overcommit, the people pleasers...there’s definitely an archetype that dominates this space.

Knowing and exploring these things was a real eye opener for me, it really changed the way in which I viewed my life and past experiences. Without regrets, but through a different lens. I thought the loss of my dad, whom I ultimately became a caregiver for at 16, could help explain things. I remember hearing often as a young adult “you’re so mature for your age” and shit like that. Guys, I didn’t grow up because I wanted to necessarily, and the experience definitely left an indelible mark on my youth, but due to some more recent revelations I now know it goes back much farther than that.

I’m not super well versed in Ayurveda, but I will say that I have seen time and time again Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis being related to a blocked throat chakra and feeling like you have something stuck in your throat; from withholding your voice, or your words. Hashimoto’s being a manifestation of not making yourself or your needs heard.  Something that I recognized had plagued my life for as long as I could remember. I was one to consistently put my needs below everyone else’s, I busied myself by taking on extra. Something I have come to realize is a behavior I exhibit when I am avoiding dealing with something within me, that shit stops NOW. Again, no regrets, only self awareness.

Fast forward to now, three years later. I recently had a birthday and was asked if I was satisfied with my life…If this is how I imagined it would look at 37?…IF I COULD GO BACK IN TIME AND MAKE DIFFERENT DECISIONS, WOULD I? Well I am proud to say I shut that shit down pretty quickly, I have no desire to dwell on the past, I’m happy in the present and changing anything would not have led me to this point. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, thats what you say to someone on their birthday?! GTFO! No literally, get the fuck out! I’m generally pretty chill these days so I was willing to be a duck and let that shit roll off my back.

We Aren’t Running an AirBnb Here

Then scathing review; the dogs bark too much, the kids are too loud and there too many (You do know what causes that right? Have you thought about birth control? Vasectomy?) There's laundry and dishes going at all hours. Flushing toilets. Teething babies that don’t sleep. Coffee makers running. Cloth diapers washing. The bed sucks, because it's a couch. I can’t sleep here. 

*If you’re new here we’re homeschooling two dyslexic boys while working at home during a global pandemic with an untrained, uncontained baby. We’ve got cats that do shenanigans at night, dogs that bark, chickens that need un-cooped with the sunrise and it's all powered by coffee and cuss words…you get the picture. It can be chaos, but it's OURS.*

But let's just say you knew what you were signing up for well in advance. Lets just say you’d been offered and declined an actual bed on every other occasion and declined (it would have been closer to the scream vs sleep infant though). Lets just say for a minute your stay was your idea, despite it being so different than the life you’re comfortable with and accustomed to. It’s a truly immersive experience, and not one for the faint of heart.

Thats when it hit me, like a claw hammer to the fucking throat. That feeling. That same feeling that I’d been swallowing as long as I can remember. I knew in that instant that the years of introspection, unlearning/relearning/reparenting and self-healing had prepared me for this very moment. It wasn’t the mention of the better offer...seriously though, I don’t blame you, I’d love to have a break from the chaos and comfy king bed all to myself-- I harbor NO ill will there. It wasn’t the words being spoken in that moment, rather every “but” or “its just that..” a seam ripper to an old wound that had never truly healed. To any bystander it may have looked like the classic “its not you, its me” line that George Costanza popularized, but we all know that’s code for naw, its really you and I’m trying to let you down easy. The overarching theme of disappointment hung heavy and familiar in the room. 

“Maybe we’re just not your brand, and that's OK.” 

I’m in no way asking you to lower your expectations, but your expectations are just that, yours. Manage them. Don’t go to the circus and complain that its not the fucking ballet.

I’m sorry that you don’t enjoy kids, and never really have, but we have four of them and they live here. I’m sorry that we have barking dogs that live indoors that get on the furniture and cats who get on the counter, but they live here, they are family to us. I’m sorry that the laundry is going almost 24 hours a day in addition to the dishwasher, but six of us live here and there aren’t enough hours in the day otherwise.

I’m sorry that your stay did not live up to your expectations; manage them. I’m not going to apologize for not meeting your expectations. I’ve been doing that as long as I can remember and at 37 I’ve finally found my voice. I’m sorry you’re facing your own mortality and questioning if it was all worth it, or if there was anything you would go back and change. I’m sorry that your sacrifices don’t seem to be netting you the return on investment you’ve been waiting for all these years.

Sorry, Not Sorry.

You see, I’ve been apologizing for being “too me” all my life. Apologizing for not being good enough, not trying hard enough, not living up to my full potential. All the “you did good, but it could be better”, “your blog is looking good, but you should tone down the swearing, it might turn people off**”…under the veil of constructive criticism. I’ve been forced to shrink into someone else’s idea of what I should be for too long, my voice silenced immediately at any attempt at making myself heard. It's been a mindfuck to say the least. It crept into my being in the form of imposter syndrome; I’ve become my own biggest critic. Regardless of what I do I will continue to tell myself that my work could be better, that I don’t know enough or have enough knowledge to get people to listen. Time and time again I’ve proven this to be un-true, but it's still a struggle.

For the first time in my life I had a clear idea of where my boundaries were and that little lump in my throat was there to let me know it was time to make them heard. “Please just go. Please leave.” I needed time to process the huge download that had just happened. It was as if I was given a replay of all of the times that lump had appeared in my throat and it all happened within mere seconds. I was no longer willing to be ashamed of being me, for living the life I chose. 

Crappy Birthday! I thank you very much. 

While my birthday may not have been filled with chortles of rapturous glee, I feel like my mindset reframing has allowed me to see it as a gift. Some insight as to where I’ve still got work to do—both as a person and as a parent. Also, a clear idea of what my boundaries are, an understanding of what it takes to cross them and a voice to make them known. Now thats a gift!

Hi Mom!

**A note on my sometimes borderline excessive use of sentence enhancers- I try to keep this little corner of the interwebs as me as possible. I want you to know what you’re getting into from the get-go. Can you imagine signing up to work with someone who has marketed themselves one way, then turned out to be someone completely different once the contract is signed and the work is starting? Maybe in your search for greater healing you’re looking for someone that you can be your gritty, raw, unpolished self in front of, I want you to feel welcome and unapologetic. If you’re sensitive to this see Maybe we’re just not your brand, and that's OK.

Stay tuned for #motherwound part 2!