finding my space

I’ve never done the group thing before
It’s pretty damn scary
they say we are in a safe place
but any time vulnerabilities are released or revealed
it doesn’t feel safe
it’s hard to feel safe

they say it’s safe here to speak out
to tell our stories
but hearing others stories
silences my own
I don’t want my story to overshadow theirs
My story is mine
and right now it feels like if I speak
I am taking from their spaces

I feel conflicted
I am not used to just sitting
listening
watching
someone share their pain
shed their tears
and do nothing
except sit in silent agreement
I want to go to them
to surround them in a heart sharing, heart supporting, hug
but we just sit
and allow them space
to share
and to shed
to be heard
to be seen
and to grow


When it is time
then maybe
just maybe
I will allow myself the space
to tell my story
it just feels too big of a story though
it feels like it will take up too much space
that I take up too much space
that my whole story is actually just too huge
Maybe I should write a Readers Digest version
it might be easier for others to digest
but then I would feel cheated
because I too need space
to share
to be heard
to be seen
and to grow

My journal page tonight
quote – Ann Voskamp

wired to communicate

as a child we are taught
to communicate

be it with our voice or our hands
we learn to speak
encouraged to express our needs and wants
positive or negative

but we also are learned
to not communicate
by the traumas we endure
by the dangers of response

we are learned
in skills of self preservation
an innocent word
triggering an abuser
triggering a bully
triggering the anger of another

causing violent reaction
a chain reaction
learning in us
over years of trauma
to self protect

we shut down
we…
shut…
down…..

moving forward into adulthood
damaged goods
fight flight fright
concreted into our damaged psyche
cautious trusts so easily destroyed
our fragility protected by a thin crust of bravado
our lives spent walking on eggshells

the exhausting daily trials
to appear normal
to fit in
to be more than
to compensate for the imbedded feelings of worthlessness
to show that
sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me
yeah right

and then
words innocently said
body language misinterpreted
precipitously
triggering violent responses from
others
loved ones
those we trusted

like blunt force trauma to the brain
like a knee into the gut
with excruciating heart-rending pain
leaving us
reeling
winded
wounded
revictimised
retraumatised
wondering where did we go wrong
again

not understanding
that their triggers are not your triggers
their pain
like yours
is causing them to react
is causing a vicious spiral
of
damaged communication
and
damaged communicators

and so
we all shut down

A day in the life of

Facing unknowns
Unsure of what I’m entering into
Scares me shitless
Fighting the triggers and alarm bells
reverberating through my deep core
Trying to block them out
Going through the motions
Appearing to be in control
Appearances deceptively creating angst

So fucking exhausting


Filling out forms
Trying to fit myself into boxes
Am I a tick or a cross
Why can’t I just be me
Why do I have to evaluate, clarify, caterogize, or define myself
to be squeezed into boxes of mediocrity
You can have my name and address
but even those are questionable some days
Let me walk in
Unwrap me then, if you can
cuz I sure as hell can’t most days

So fucking exhausting


Answering cold calls
Arrggggg
Why did I respond
Trigger alert
Stress bucket explosion
Meltdown
Anger – at them, or is it at myself
not their fault
they don’t know what’s happening at my end of the line
Tears
Wild out of control emotional
Wipeout
Damn you trauma brain

So fucking exhausting


just one day in the life of a trauma victim/survivor