Trigger warning: Rape and related sexual violence
Reader warning: People read my blog because it’s funny. This one probably isn’t very funny.
Reader warning: People read my blog because it’s funny. This one probably isn’t very funny.
I’m ambitious. People tell me that a lot. I take on too much and I take some big risks: I change careers every two years or so; I can’t seem to step away from school for very long; this is the first time in my life that I’ve only had one place of employment (instead of several); I travel a lot; and I am constantly adding to my family (human and animal).
But, you know what? It works for me. Multitasking, juggling several lives, it’s just how I’ve functioned for a very long time now. I’m good at it, and I thrive in that sort of stress.
It’s probably for this reason that I was really drawn to the book, “The Year of Yes.” This book was written by Shonda Rhimes, creator of the shows “Grey’s Anatomy,” “How to Get Away With Murder,” “Scandal,” and some others. In this book she discusses (and I’m going to completely bastardize the message here) that you can’t do it all. You can’t be a perfect mom AND a perfect wife AND run an empire perfectly AND thrive at self care AND yada yada yada. But if we can get okay with being a little imperfect at things, and let ourselves thrive in different areas at different times, we can allow ourselves to say “Yes” more. And by saying “Yes” to more, we can grow and challenge ourselves, and really explore our areas of strength and joy.
It was basically a book affirming my entire approach to life. And I really went for it. In 2016 I took on 2 new kids, 3 new animals, I cut off all of my hair, I took a big job promotion, I fell in love, I bought my first house, I tried (and failed) to start my Master’s degree, and I took trips to Belize and Costa Rica without my kids.
I also had my first mental breakdown, started antidepressants, was raped by someone I thought was a friend, and started drinking a….more than social…. amount. I also stopped writing this blog. (You may or may not have noticed).
I would love to say 2017 was better. But I have no idea if 2017 was better or worse. I blinked and it was over. I was working WAY too much and just trying to survive my life with my kids. I wanted to be a good mom, which meant all of my energy went into making money to keep us afloat, and having witnesses around the house so I wouldn’t scream at them so much.
I decided to approach 2018 differently. I decided it would be my “Year of No.” I wouldn’t leave the country. I wouldn’t take on extra things. I wouldn’t sign the kids up for every sport. I would say “no” to outings I found taxing. I would give myself permission to work less, and put family first. I would engage in relationships that felt like sunshine, and move away from relationships that felt like rain. I would start therapy. I would kick out all the extra people living in my house. I would spend as much time as possible doing nothing. I would simplify.
And this is the part where people who are addicted to busyness want to hear about how my life improved once I stopped moving. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it’s really not that simple.
Putting my family first meant losing my job. Putting myself first meant having to draw some hard lines in the sand with family members. Some of the relationships I said goodbye to were important to me, and didn’t feel good to lose. And therapy? Therapy fucking sucks.
Therapy is taking all of that stuff you’ve shoved deep, deep down, and taking it out, dusting it off, putting it on a pedestal in really good lighting, and examining it closely. I have never been closer to my PTSD. You know that memory you buried long ago? Take it out! What were the smells? What were the sounds? What was your body feeling? What was your mind thinking? What were your fingers touching? What was around you? What were your toes doing?*
---*I am participating in a form of therapy called EMDR, which is meant to help people with PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) move the memories they react to viscerally (heart racing, nausea, sweating, nightmares, etc.) to a more logical and objective part of the brain so they can be remembered without the negative physical and emotional responses. To learn more about EMDR you can check out this site http://www.emdr.com/what-is-emdr. Not all therapy is like EMDR and you should find the kind that’s right for you. When I say, “therapy fucking sucks”, I mean that it is really, really hard. And necessary, and helpful, and beautiful, and I’m very thankful I am getting it.*---
So a few months into 2018 I found myself jobless, way-less, and saying “No” to stuff. I found another job that allows me to work from home, isn’t stressful, and is not very time-intensive and I figured, “Great, I’m simplifying! Goal accomplished!”
September brought the start of my new job. The start of therapy.
It also brought Brett Kavanaugh and the roar of the #MeToo movement, Times Up, and The Weinstein Effect. And you know what happens when you aren’t busy? When you aren’t busy you have nothing to distract yourself with: nothing to push down the hard thoughts; the scary emotions. Nothing but you and your brain.
Suddenly- out of nowhere- if I was awake, I was thinking about rape. I was thinking of narrow escapes, and times “boys were being boys.” I was hearing the stories of others, and looking for ways to be involved in the movement forward. I was oscillating wildly between anger and hopelessness and a very strong desire to just-get-over-it-already.
I was lamenting the world in which I am raising daughters, and grappling with whether or not to report what had happened to me. Do I say his name? Do I tell our friends? Do I go to the police? What does it say about me if I do? What does it say about me if I don’t? Will it happen to others? Is that my responsibility?
I became the most depressed I’ve been since 2016. I cut people out. I stopped communicating. It became almost impossible to get up off my bedroom floor. After a few months of this I started to feel legitimately crazy. Why is this something I’m thinking about now? Some of this stuff happened decades ago, why are the nightmares suddenly back? There’s nothing to be done about what happened in 2016, why am I feeling it in my body NOW?
I think I figured it out. It was a perfect storm of awareness (social media, peer conversations) and lack of distraction. And suddenly, in that light, I was forced to reevaluate all that ambition I'm so proud of.
That insomnia I got in high school, and my reactive enrollment in every play under the sun- that wasn’t enthusiasm for theater, that was distraction.
Starting an aide organization in Sri Lanka- distraction.
The surge of activity while in Sri Lanka- distraction.
All the careers. All the school- distraction.
All of 2017- distraction.
“You keep this company running!” Distraction.
“You’re such an adventurous mom.” Distraction.
“You love challenges. It’s good to work in an environment that’s complex.” Distraction.
I never processed things that demand processing, so as I found myself with free time, for the first time, they seized their distraction-free opportunity. They refused to be pushed aside. “Examine us, damnit!” they seemed to scream.
Fine. I hear you. I will pay attention to you. I won’t push you away. We can spend long nights together exploring the different attitudes I could have towards past events. I will acknowledge your effects on my current relationships. I’ll continue going to therapy, and I’ll even give myself some space to share this tension with others.
But, for the love of God, 2019, let me be busier. I won’t say “yes” and I won’t say “no.” There is a fine line between being too busy to feel your feelings, and being so bored that you dwell on your feelings too much to grow through them. Let me walk that line this year.
Let me be ambitious again. I need the distraction.
But, you know what? It works for me. Multitasking, juggling several lives, it’s just how I’ve functioned for a very long time now. I’m good at it, and I thrive in that sort of stress.
It’s probably for this reason that I was really drawn to the book, “The Year of Yes.” This book was written by Shonda Rhimes, creator of the shows “Grey’s Anatomy,” “How to Get Away With Murder,” “Scandal,” and some others. In this book she discusses (and I’m going to completely bastardize the message here) that you can’t do it all. You can’t be a perfect mom AND a perfect wife AND run an empire perfectly AND thrive at self care AND yada yada yada. But if we can get okay with being a little imperfect at things, and let ourselves thrive in different areas at different times, we can allow ourselves to say “Yes” more. And by saying “Yes” to more, we can grow and challenge ourselves, and really explore our areas of strength and joy.
It was basically a book affirming my entire approach to life. And I really went for it. In 2016 I took on 2 new kids, 3 new animals, I cut off all of my hair, I took a big job promotion, I fell in love, I bought my first house, I tried (and failed) to start my Master’s degree, and I took trips to Belize and Costa Rica without my kids.
I also had my first mental breakdown, started antidepressants, was raped by someone I thought was a friend, and started drinking a….more than social…. amount. I also stopped writing this blog. (You may or may not have noticed).
I would love to say 2017 was better. But I have no idea if 2017 was better or worse. I blinked and it was over. I was working WAY too much and just trying to survive my life with my kids. I wanted to be a good mom, which meant all of my energy went into making money to keep us afloat, and having witnesses around the house so I wouldn’t scream at them so much.
I decided to approach 2018 differently. I decided it would be my “Year of No.” I wouldn’t leave the country. I wouldn’t take on extra things. I wouldn’t sign the kids up for every sport. I would say “no” to outings I found taxing. I would give myself permission to work less, and put family first. I would engage in relationships that felt like sunshine, and move away from relationships that felt like rain. I would start therapy. I would kick out all the extra people living in my house. I would spend as much time as possible doing nothing. I would simplify.
And this is the part where people who are addicted to busyness want to hear about how my life improved once I stopped moving. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it’s really not that simple.
Putting my family first meant losing my job. Putting myself first meant having to draw some hard lines in the sand with family members. Some of the relationships I said goodbye to were important to me, and didn’t feel good to lose. And therapy? Therapy fucking sucks.
Therapy is taking all of that stuff you’ve shoved deep, deep down, and taking it out, dusting it off, putting it on a pedestal in really good lighting, and examining it closely. I have never been closer to my PTSD. You know that memory you buried long ago? Take it out! What were the smells? What were the sounds? What was your body feeling? What was your mind thinking? What were your fingers touching? What was around you? What were your toes doing?*
---*I am participating in a form of therapy called EMDR, which is meant to help people with PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) move the memories they react to viscerally (heart racing, nausea, sweating, nightmares, etc.) to a more logical and objective part of the brain so they can be remembered without the negative physical and emotional responses. To learn more about EMDR you can check out this site http://www.emdr.com/what-is-emdr. Not all therapy is like EMDR and you should find the kind that’s right for you. When I say, “therapy fucking sucks”, I mean that it is really, really hard. And necessary, and helpful, and beautiful, and I’m very thankful I am getting it.*---
So a few months into 2018 I found myself jobless, way-less, and saying “No” to stuff. I found another job that allows me to work from home, isn’t stressful, and is not very time-intensive and I figured, “Great, I’m simplifying! Goal accomplished!”
September brought the start of my new job. The start of therapy.
It also brought Brett Kavanaugh and the roar of the #MeToo movement, Times Up, and The Weinstein Effect. And you know what happens when you aren’t busy? When you aren’t busy you have nothing to distract yourself with: nothing to push down the hard thoughts; the scary emotions. Nothing but you and your brain.
Suddenly- out of nowhere- if I was awake, I was thinking about rape. I was thinking of narrow escapes, and times “boys were being boys.” I was hearing the stories of others, and looking for ways to be involved in the movement forward. I was oscillating wildly between anger and hopelessness and a very strong desire to just-get-over-it-already.
I was lamenting the world in which I am raising daughters, and grappling with whether or not to report what had happened to me. Do I say his name? Do I tell our friends? Do I go to the police? What does it say about me if I do? What does it say about me if I don’t? Will it happen to others? Is that my responsibility?
I became the most depressed I’ve been since 2016. I cut people out. I stopped communicating. It became almost impossible to get up off my bedroom floor. After a few months of this I started to feel legitimately crazy. Why is this something I’m thinking about now? Some of this stuff happened decades ago, why are the nightmares suddenly back? There’s nothing to be done about what happened in 2016, why am I feeling it in my body NOW?
I think I figured it out. It was a perfect storm of awareness (social media, peer conversations) and lack of distraction. And suddenly, in that light, I was forced to reevaluate all that ambition I'm so proud of.
That insomnia I got in high school, and my reactive enrollment in every play under the sun- that wasn’t enthusiasm for theater, that was distraction.
Starting an aide organization in Sri Lanka- distraction.
The surge of activity while in Sri Lanka- distraction.
All the careers. All the school- distraction.
All of 2017- distraction.
“You keep this company running!” Distraction.
“You’re such an adventurous mom.” Distraction.
“You love challenges. It’s good to work in an environment that’s complex.” Distraction.
I never processed things that demand processing, so as I found myself with free time, for the first time, they seized their distraction-free opportunity. They refused to be pushed aside. “Examine us, damnit!” they seemed to scream.
Fine. I hear you. I will pay attention to you. I won’t push you away. We can spend long nights together exploring the different attitudes I could have towards past events. I will acknowledge your effects on my current relationships. I’ll continue going to therapy, and I’ll even give myself some space to share this tension with others.
But, for the love of God, 2019, let me be busier. I won’t say “yes” and I won’t say “no.” There is a fine line between being too busy to feel your feelings, and being so bored that you dwell on your feelings too much to grow through them. Let me walk that line this year.
Let me be ambitious again. I need the distraction.
I know that I’m not alone in my Mental Health Plummet of 2018. Kavanaugh, #MeToo, TimesUp, and all the other outrage around sexual violence and the justice system is getting louder and louder. It’s good that it’s getting louder, but for many of us that have personal experiences with this, it makes it feel harder to breathe.
I’m extraordinarily grateful for the people in my life who have supported me in these last few months. Some of them just showed up. Others talked it out. Others shared their own struggles. Some were completely abandoned and just had to wait around for me to get my air back. If this is not your personal experience, but you have someone in your life with a history of sexual assault (of any kind, to any degree) can I just ask that you try to remember that it’s probably on their minds even if they aren’t talking about it? You are not going to understand, but you can at least be aware of what it’s like to live as a survivor of sexual assault right now. Today. At the beginning of 2019.
It’s hard to go out because most public places have TV’s, and those TV’s play 24-hour news, and that news is hard to hear. It’s challenging to be in settings with a lot of strangers, because we are feeling extra un-trusting of others. It’s hard to be out at night, because we become hyper-vigilant at night. We’re more sensitive to comments about our bodies or sex, because we don’t want to be objectified. We look schlubby, because we don’t want to be sexually tempting to others. We aren’t sleeping well, because we’re scared and we don’t understand what we’re scared of. We’re being more self destructive than usual, but we don’t know what it is about ourselves that we’re trying to destroy. We cling to other women, because women are safer, and because women understand without having to ask. Don’t ask us to talk about it, we probably don’t have the words.
It’s not your daily reality, but it’s ours. We think about it when we’re watching movies, when we’re eating dinner with our children, when we’re making love to our partners, when we’re in the grocery store. We can't get over it, because it's everywhere. Just sit in it with us.
And if this is you, let me know. I have a secret group you can join. ‘Cause you aren’t alone, and knowing that really, really helps. Also, don't believe the stigma, antidepressants and therapy really are amazingly helpful things.
I’m extraordinarily grateful for the people in my life who have supported me in these last few months. Some of them just showed up. Others talked it out. Others shared their own struggles. Some were completely abandoned and just had to wait around for me to get my air back. If this is not your personal experience, but you have someone in your life with a history of sexual assault (of any kind, to any degree) can I just ask that you try to remember that it’s probably on their minds even if they aren’t talking about it? You are not going to understand, but you can at least be aware of what it’s like to live as a survivor of sexual assault right now. Today. At the beginning of 2019.
It’s hard to go out because most public places have TV’s, and those TV’s play 24-hour news, and that news is hard to hear. It’s challenging to be in settings with a lot of strangers, because we are feeling extra un-trusting of others. It’s hard to be out at night, because we become hyper-vigilant at night. We’re more sensitive to comments about our bodies or sex, because we don’t want to be objectified. We look schlubby, because we don’t want to be sexually tempting to others. We aren’t sleeping well, because we’re scared and we don’t understand what we’re scared of. We’re being more self destructive than usual, but we don’t know what it is about ourselves that we’re trying to destroy. We cling to other women, because women are safer, and because women understand without having to ask. Don’t ask us to talk about it, we probably don’t have the words.
It’s not your daily reality, but it’s ours. We think about it when we’re watching movies, when we’re eating dinner with our children, when we’re making love to our partners, when we’re in the grocery store. We can't get over it, because it's everywhere. Just sit in it with us.
And if this is you, let me know. I have a secret group you can join. ‘Cause you aren’t alone, and knowing that really, really helps. Also, don't believe the stigma, antidepressants and therapy really are amazingly helpful things.