Preface this to say, I’m not feeling any kind of way tonight. I’m a-ok, b-ok, etc. I’ve just been meaning to get this thought down for awhile now.
So, one of the wonders of PTSD is flashbacks. Luckily, I didn’t have to deal with those. Or…so I always thought.
Like most people, I always assumed flashbacks were uncontrollable memories of the events. Like a soldier back from war will SEE visions of what he left behind.
That was when I thought all PTSD was the same, regardless of mine having a C in front of it.
I was wrong on both counts.
For many, flashbacks and nightmares aren’t memories of the actual event(s). They are being flooded with the same FEELINGS that you were flooded with during the event(s). Fear, loss of control, anger…all of it.
I only recently understood this about flashbacks. (I already knew it about dreams.)
And since learning this, I keep coming back to one particular memory that always left even me saying, “WTF?!?!?”
It was about 4.5 years ago. I was meeting some friends for a race. I was rather…meh…about going for a couple of reasons. 1. I had just found out that my mother had moved. Still somewhere close, but I didn’t kmow where yet. And that is a terrifying thing to me. 2. I knew someone I REALLY didn’t like…like she triggered me in a way only my mother can…was going to be there. But, so were my friends…so I went.
When we got there, I started to walk to the area everyone was in. But…as I walked up…I saw that woman…and I started to cry my eyes out…I was wandering in circles trying to convince myself not to flee…I was both frozen and ready to take flight. Someone I was friends with could tell I was upset…although neither of us could say why…so we just stuck together for the race and then went to get breakfast.
What I knew, even in that moment. I looked like a crazy woman. A crazy woman who wouldn’t even stop to talk to her friends, but just wandered around crying.
What I now understand, I was having a flashback.
I was already triggered by the move of my mother. Then…as I walk to my people…my life that I’d built for me…there was this woman…this blonde embodiment of my mother (to this day, I swear in EVERY way)…holding court in the center of my friends…my friends that I had already felt slipping alway…as they steadily slipped forward towards her.
In that moment, I was 10 years old again and I was losing everything. In that moment, I was 18 again and my job was on the line because she’d shown up and talked to my coworkers. I was 22 again and she was telling me she didn’t need a daughter, thus taking my little brother away. I was 24 and she was calling my fiance to tell him not to marry me.
In that moment, I was somewhere between that park and my childhood home.
In that moment, I was losing everything all over again.
In that moment, I was again a child who could only stumble around and search for a way out.
Understanding that…and applying it to other memories that suddenly make more sense…has made a huge difference for me. I no longer feel like I’m too emotional and dramatic.
I understand the strength it takes every time I stay and “finish the race.”
What used to be a point of shame is now a point of pride.
I think you’d be proud of me. I’ve been finding my way back to life lately.
Bella and I took that trip to Warped and…it kind of pushed me out of my fear. (I should probably mention that I found myself talking about you a lot that weekend. Like I was trying to bring you on the adventure and remind the world that you had lived and were loved.)
You can thank Lizzie for most of that. That “friend from the pit” who told me, “Everything is only scary the first time”. I know you know who I mean. After she convinced me that 46 years old was the perfect time for a first time crowd surfing experience (she was SO right!), she told me you were watching and you were so proud of me. I’m choosing to believe her. It sure felt like she was right. I really felt you there.
I don’t know if you saw the other two parts of that weekend that solidified my resolve to try to live again.
The first was literal moments after Bella, Jazzy and I went our separate ways the first time on Day 1. I made a beeline for Charity Circle (you know that’s how I roll). And, of course, my first stop was To Write Love On Her Arms. There were a man and a woman working the booth. I started looking at shirts and the lady came to talk to me. I told her,
“I need you to know that this was my first goal for the day. Finding this table. My daughter made an attempt almost 4 years ago. And, because of organizations like yours, she’s 19 now and thriving in a pit down the way. I always try to support your organization to give back. So I had seen you were here this weekend and knew I had to get over here. Plus…you know…no shipping on this shirt!”
I vaguely heard the man speak then, “How is she now?”
You know how when mens’ mouths open, I just assume they must be speaking to someone else? Yeah, I did that again. (In my defense, at least this one wasn’t asking me out like when I usually become completely oblivious. 😆)
So, he stepped in front of me. “How is she now?”
“Oh! Me?! Sorry! She’s doing so great. The first year after that was pretty rough. She got into some trouble. A lot of fighting. But…then I met this guy (his eyes light up) that I fell in love with (huge smile from dude)…and she loved him as much as I did…”
“That’s so great!”
“Yeah. I really feel like he changed everything for her. But then he passed away on New Years Eve (you should have seen his eyes)…so we’ve been kind of grieving…but this is our big planned trip and we’re here together…and…Jesus…I don’t know why I’m crying! I’m happy today! I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”
The look on his face…”You’re crying because it’s real life…and it’s really fucking hard. But I have to ask you…you’ve told me all about her…are YOU ok? Are you talking to someone? That’s a hell of a 4 year run.”
I have to tell you. That was the first moment I said it all in one breath. The first time, when I put it all together, someone looked at me with the pure compassion I never look at myself with. It woke me up like nothing had before that (this year lol). Like, “Holy shit. When I lay it all out like that…why have I been so hard on myself about not being able to “just smile and be happy”?
Seriously, it’s not a moment that I knew I needed until it happened. You know I hate pity and I’ve had to run from that a few times. But, this wasn’t pity. This was pure compassion and acknowledgement that I’ve survived an awful lot since 2021.
The other moment was on the way to the festival on Day 2. (Seriously, what ever happened to camping at the event?? Can you talk to someone up there about a new commandment coming down or something? Plzkthnxbai?)
We were waiting for the shuttle. (Stop laughing. Yes, I hate taking shuttles when I can walk perfectly well. We didn’t on Day 1. But none of us could walk by the end of Day 1. 😆) I started chatting with another woman who was waiting.
She was telling me that it was her first festival alone and that she was facing her fears head on. I told her that I got that and told her about you.
Her response floored me. “I’m so sorry. I get it. My boyfriend died 3 years ago in a plane crash.”
“I’m so sorry that you understand. I wish no one had to. It’s weird…everyone wants you to rejoin the world and be happy again and…”
“And you have no idea how to do that when you feel like you don’t even know who you are anymore and like life already passed you by.”
Ho.lee. shit. Seriously…I couldn’t believe I was hearing MY FEELINGS come out of this woman. She was maybe early 30s and absolutely drop dead gorgeous. All this time…I’ve been telling myself that I must be feeling these things because I’m older…I’m not in the shape I was….I wasn’t attractive anymore…and life had already passed me by. It turns out those feelings are normal and not indicative of me being on my way to being that urban legend widow in the woods.
Mind blown.
Anyways, sorry this is so long. It’s not MY fault I can’t text you all of this as it happens. 😛
So. That was Warped. Between those experiences and spending a weekend back in MY world…with MY music…and MY people…I decided I was determined to keep it going.
Since then I’ve been out with Amber (and didn’t even try to bail!), have been traveling for work and actually TALKING to people again…and…I went on a date.
I know you said you wanted me to. I hope you meant it. Because it feels like I’m betraying you. Even as I simultaneously find joy in life, it feels like a betrayal.
I honestly didn’t mean for it to happen. It was late…I was alone…and decided, “Ok. Everyone keeps telling me that Aaron wanted me to find Love again. I don’t believe that’s possible…but I’ll go window shopping for guys. No intent to purchase. Just see what’s on the racks these days.”
Baby. It’s ugly. I’m not even going to lie. I only responded to one person (and have, since, already hidden the profile from anyone I hadn’t already matched with). So. Many. Shirtless. Gym. Pics. Which reminds me, thank you for never being that guy.
I did get one message that made me proud. “You’re cute. More attitude than I’ll ever put up with again. But you’re cute.”
Stilllll got it. 😁 You know I love making lesser men cry. 😆
No! That wasn’t who I went out with. That one went right to trash after my little mental hair flip. 😆
But, like I said, I did get one message that made me do the intrigued head tilt. I decided to respond to him. We chatted for a day or so…and then I told him about you and told him that I meant it on my profile when I said I had no idea what I was doing other than window shopping. I kinda figured he’d run for the hills. He didn’t. He still, apparently, hadn’t. I’m assuming you understand that since you never ran…but it’s still feeling a little foreign to me. 😆 But…anyways…it was a really good date. Mexican and an arcade. (I know, right? Dude knows how to play to his audience!) And then a whole lot of talking. Honestly, you two would be friends. It was kind of weird how much you had in common. Lol
Will it go anywhere? God knows. (No, like really. Go ask him. You can do that now!) But I don’t know. Lol But I had fun. And I like him. So time will tell.
But, that led to a whole new situation with Bella. She had told me she wanted me to get out there and even date. She fully supported me going out with him.
Aaron, I hope you know how much that girl of ours loves you.
She was panicking that I wasn’t home. She kept texting and calling to make sure I wasn’t dead. To be honest, I thought she was just being Bella. I didn’t realize the depth of what was happening with her that night. And I’m kind of ashamed of it. Like maybe I don’t deserve the “mom” in the dot Com.
When I talked to her the next day, she was pretty pissed off at me. But, being Bella, didn’t really want to talk about it for about another 12 hours.
After that, she came to me and asked about my date. But…you know how I read the emotions in the room…she was asking because she thought she should, but she wasn’t comfortable with the conversation. So, I asked her if she was really sure that she was ok with me dating. She swore that she was but admitted that it was weird. “Because it’s not Aaron?” “Yeah.” “I get it. It’s weird for me, too. Are you SURE you don’t need me to wait longer?”
“I’m positive, but…maybe next time check in more before I start to panic. I was really convinced you were going to die.”
I was shocked. You know how purposely hyperbolic she is sometimes. I thought that’s what she was doing the night before.
No. Apparently, Bella has been afraid that I wouldn’t come home since the day you didn’t.
She promises she’s been talking to her therapist about this, but I’m worried. She’s been holding all of her grief in. Refusing to talk about it except with her therapist. And I’ve tried to respect that. And, in doing so, missed this very big thing.
So, we made a plan. She wants me to continue to date. But I’m going to be checking in more intentionally…and I’m not going to bring anyone around until she’s more comfortable with it. These both felt like very fair commitments to make.
So, yeah…I’m living. And, as I remembered, life is messy…but also pretty glorious when you let it be.
But now…the real reason I’m writing this long ass missive tonight.
It’s December.
Tomorrow it will be a year since they told you you were terminal.
In two weeks it will be a year since the last time you were home with me.
Christmas will be your birthday and a year since I got to see you conscious and speak to you in person.
And New Years Eve…yeah.
I’m going to do my best not to let the month of anniversaries derail me. I’m going to keep trying to see friends. I’m going to be present with Bella for the holidays. And, yes, I’m going to go out with him again if he asks.
I’m going to try to honor you by living the life you asked me to live.
But sometimes…on nights like tonight…it hurts. And I miss you.
And I just really hope you’re not mad at me up in Heaven.
Because, yes… I’m still the “Are you mad at me???” girl. Some things never change. 😆
The past couple of days we hear ALLLLLLL the opinions. Or do we? We hear those loudly proclaiming their hurt and anger at decisions made. We hear those crowing with glee at a war they feel they “won”. We hear both “sides” loud and clear. Or do we? I am here to share the opinion […]
I have a lot to say about what’s happening in our country right now. And I will. After tax season. Unless you want random calculations in the middle of a blog post. 😆 But, for now…
I just came across this from 3+ years ago. The similarities to the current situation struck me loudly. The specifics have changed, the divisiveness and deafening quarrels have not. At that point, I didn’t believe it could get worse. It has. We HAVE to do better.
Ok, first…you guys…I just broke chat gpt. I asked it to create an image of Jesus walking across a raging river. Next to Jesus should be a bridge also crossing the river. It couldn’t even process. It just kept spinning and spinning and spinning.
Yep. I broke chat gpt. I’m kind of stupid proud of this. 😆😆
Want to know WHY I was trying to create this? Then read on!
So, the other day, my daughter (who is wading into the horrors that is online dating) joked to me about not being…I don’t remember what word she used but, basically,… malleable.
In one of those epic parenting moments that you’re not even trying for, I just told her to add to her profile:
“I’m the raging river, not the bridge. Trying to walk over me is just going to hurt you. Unless you’re Jesus. (If you’re Jesus, call me! *finger phone*)”
She laughed at me and told me there’s something wrong with me.
I mean… yeah, but what’s that got to do with anything?
I stand by what I said.
I raised a daughter who is, God bless her, just like me… but more confident. So… all of my ways of thinking about things (both the serious and the quirky), but 💯 ready to speak those thoughts as loudly as she wants.
Which is great. But we’re also not going to make any man happy who likes meek quiet women. It’s just not going to happen.
Because we’re not bridges to be walked over.
We’re the raging river that will hurt you if you try.
It’s been almost 6 months since I felt any real urge to be anywhere but my bed.
Last night, for the first time since Aaron passed, I started having this feeling of,
“Ok, enough is enough. Aaron would be ashamed of me for giving up on life.”
This morning, I woke up with energy…ready to get some shit done.
And I actually did.
I completely cleaned my entire room… you guys, I even dusted the ceiling and did a COMPLETE rearrangement of my furniture.
And, other than it being a Georgia summer and me being a middle-aged woman with hot flashes, I didn’t lose steam 5 minutes in and return to my hole. I stayed in that mood.
Now…cleaning isn’t exactly fun, but what is fun is that first feeling of life in a long time. I know I’m NOWHERE near the end of this grief roller-coaster, and tomorrow could be another major dip, but…
Let me preface this blog. I wrote a different blog earlier. That blog is now deleted at my daughter’s, rather reasonable, demand. You’ll see why.
I, halfway jokingly, often say that I don’t have a passive-aggressive bone in my body. All my bones are aggressive. 😂
But, truly, I believe that communication can save most true friendships and relationships.
Lack of communication will kill them dead.
Does absolutely every blessed thought you have need to be said out loud? Absolutely not. Please don’t do that. Ever. Bad things, man. Bad, bad things. (Ask me how I know.)
But, if something is really bothering you or, worse, bothering you for multiple days? Say something.
If you don’t, you’re running the obvious risk of eventually snapping.
Moreover, you’re assuming that you’re right.
You are literally sitting there obsessing or hurting over something that someone you love said or did…that you potentially misunderstood.
Do you always misunderstand? Hell no. And if someone is trying to make you believe that you’re *always* misunderstanding, JUMP SHIP. That’s called gaslighting. We’re all wrong sometimes, sweetheart. We’re also all right sometimes.
ANYWAYS…This is one of my quirks. I do obsess and let things fester if I don’t handle things in one very particular way.
I write it down. Maybe here. Maybe in a notebook. Maybe ranting in a text to a friend. Maybe in a private Facebook group of very close friends. I get it out.
After I get it out, I try to push it to the side. If it goes away easily, I was just reacting out of gut instinct…but I’ve realized I’m not quite on the right side of it. (This result happens more often than not.) If it keeps coming back, I need to move to step 3.
Calmly (always wait until calmly) tell the person that I want to explain to them why I seemed…whatever it was that I seemed in the moment…I’ve been told my eyes give me away every time, so they already knew. Tell them, “I really don’t believe that you meant this this way.” (Remember, this is someone I love and trust, so I don’t believe they mean to hurt me.) “But, when you said this…I heard this…and it really hurt.”
This can go two ways. Either they listen, and you communicate and clear the air. Or they refuse to listen and get angry…and you should reflect on why you trust this person with your emotions (or they’ll just dip, which…much to my chagrin, I have to admit…was probably them doing you a favor in the end).
I trust more accurately these days, and I’ve never been a person who will pretend.
If I don’t like you, you will know I don’t really like you. I don’t have tolerance for fake. I’ll also always be kind and would give you the shirt off my back…but you’ll still know I don’t like you. I don’t know any other way to be.
But if I DO like you, then our relationship is more important to me than my pride. It’s more important than any potential hurt feelings. I know that not communicating, even when I’m hurt, is death to the relationship.
Don’t get me wrong. This isn’t exactly my most endearing quality, even to those who love me…but they accept it because they understand. If I’m coming to you to tell you that you hurt me…then I trust you and love you enough to be vulnerable. That simple.
WELL. Here comes the prior blog part. (Excited? Did I build it up enough? It’s like when you’re just trying to find out how to make fried chicken. You have to read about someone’s first marriage and how that bastard cheated before you can get to the recipe. No? Just me? ANYWAY….moving on…)
I had a feeling today that I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced before. I honestly don’t even have a name for it. Maybe…Sapiness? Not like, “I’m being sappy”. But a simultaneous feeling of happiness and sadness. (Hapness? Ha-penis? Tried to find a word…found that a common word is an insult to some dude’s small peen…)
Good God, I didn’t take my Adderall today.
I was hanging out with Bella. She is my 19 year old daughter, for those of you who haven’t known me for years. I was talking to our (Aaron’s) big fat orange boy kitty (that says it all, right?), Excatibur (Exi for short…The King’s Blade…). I was telling him how much his daddy had loved him. I then looked at Bella and said that I missed him.
Here’s where things get screwy.
She said, “Oh”.
What’s funny is I then wrote a blog. A blog about ALLLLLLLLLLL the different uses of the word “Oh” and how every use carries a different punch. I…ummmmmm…haven’t drank the wrong punch like this since a bad frat party in college.
I took the “oh” to mean, “Can we end this conversation. I am uncomfortable.” Now…to my credit, I was right. Girl does NOT do feelings. What I misunderstood was what came after.
I’m 46 years old. Sometimes, I think my hearing is just not what it used to be. LOL
I asked Bella if she had talked to her counselor at all about Aaron. “A little.” OK…”Are you kind of feeling like you’re over it?”
WHAT I HEARD: “Uh-Huh.”
WHAT SHE SAID: “Nuh-uh.”
I mean…I thought she said she was over losing him.
I was…sappy? had? I don’t know, but I was something. I was THRILLED that she was feeling so centered with everything. My first reaction was to be happy that she was doing well. My second feeling was sadness. Sadness that I was truly alone in my grief now. Sadness that Aaron had been so easy for her to move passed. Sadness that I would hold our memories of him alone now.
So. I wrote it down. I wasn’t angry. Just to be clear. I was filled with…hadness?
I wrote it all down. I re-read it a few times over the next few hours because it was still weighing on me.
I asked her if she wanted to come talk (we’ve been a little snappy with each other today…).
She walks in. “Yes?”
“Do you want me to explain why I’ve been…whatever…for the past few hours?”
“Sure…”
“I’m really happy that you’re doing so well. But it made me a little sad, too, to know that you’re over Aaron’s passing.”
“WHAT IN THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! WHEN DID I SAY THAT?!?!?!” (We embrace all words in this house. 😂)
“Well…when I was saying I miss Aaron…and you said, “Oh”…and I could tell you didn’t want to talk about it…so I asked about therapy…and you said you’ve talked about him “a little” which made me think you don’t need to talk about it anymore…so I asked if you were over it and you said, ‘Uh-huh.'” (The Blog Gods are yelling at me for a run on sentence, but I really do speak in run-on sentences when I’m nervous.)
“I said, ‘Nuh-uh.'”
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh….” ~ #Whoopsiedoodle
“YOU’VE BEEN MAD AT ME FOR HOURS FOR SOMETHING I DIDN’T EVEN SAY???? Bitch…”
Yeah…I kinda deserved that….
Yay, Communication! Go Team! *cartwheel* *jazzhands*
OK. Here’s the honest truth about my struggles for the last 8 days. It has…made me question things that I’ve never questioned before, and this is hard to admit.
I have ALWAYS had faith in God. I have ALWAYS had faith that every bad thing that he allowed was for a reason. The reason for mine was always clear to me:
I needed to help children who will be where I’ve been.
It was that simple. God has us go through events that will help shape us to help the people who come after us.
I don’t know now like I knew before.
First, let me start by saying: I’ve had two things I have always wanted in life.
I have wanted to be loved for who I am.
I wanted to use my own traumatic experiences to help other traumatized children. I want to believe that is why God put me on this earth. (I NEED to believe there’s a purpose.)
Like I said. Two things I’ve wanted.
Two things I’ve lost.
I was finally loved for exactly who I was.
Sometimes, as part of my grief, I’m still afraid that Aaron was tired of me. He changed so much at the end. To be honest, the drugs, pain, and illness made him snappy and slightly dismissive with me…he became someone who basically wanted me to be quiet and look pretty. Which was not Aaron. And…as I remember telling an ex in the past, when I asked if I could help him with a problem, and he literally told me to just be quiet and look pretty…I’m not exactly a be quiet and look pretty type of girl. LOL Sorry!! I’m not quiet with my opinions and…honestly…I’m cute, but I’m not pretty enough to just sit there silently. 😂
But, deep down, I know…I was finally loved for exactly who I was.
And…minutes before midnight on New Year’s Eve…I lost the one person who’s ever truly loved me for exactly who I am.
I was never too much to him. He never asked me to be less (unless it was about his mother…and we’ll give that a “boys and their moms” pass LOL). I was never not enough for him. I was everything to him. He was everything to me. I truly believed that God had finally granted this one prayer of mine.
To be loved for who I am.
Once again, I’m surrounded only by people who want me to be less…or more. (This excludes select friends and my amazing daughter.)
The world is Goldilocks. I am the first two bowls of porridge. I’m just not what Goldilocks wants.
Which leads me to the second loss.
The absolute faith that God never put me through anything without a purpose.
My abduction.
My illnesses.
My PTSD.
Even the loss of Aaron.
My life.
My life was all supposed to lead to this one thing. Helping traumatized children not become like me.
Helping them not become…well…an, admittedly, pretty okay human being. A person who can never trust enough to believe that anyone else sees, in me, any of the good that I see in myself. A woman struggles to let go of the “everybody leaves” mentality. Because I have always allowed people in my life who…yeah…leave.
Even after Aaron passed. When I threw myself into the idea that God was telling me it was time. It was time to more actively pursue that second deep prayer that I had for my life.
I decided CASA was a great fit for me. Literally being an adult that these children can trust.
I made it through the interview. I was very open about my traumatic past. I explained why I wanted to volunteer. I was very honest about my PTSD. I *did* believe they might factor that into their decision. I was transparent throughout the entire process. They accepted me anyway.
I made it through the background checks.
I made it through the two nights of training.
I didn’t make it past 2.75 nights of training. I was triggered when I discovered that parental abduction is still seen as a “victimless crime”. Even once the child is found.
Between that and, I’m fairly certain, the “team” at CASA reading my Deathiversary blog. The traffic was too exact on the day that they rejected me. I was determined to be “not a good fit”. (Blog link here, if you’re interested. https://jazzhandsmom.com/2022/11/18/my-deathiversary/ )
Let me say that again.
Finding out that 10-year-old Sheri *still* wouldn’t have been helped triggered me. A blog that I wrote about how my abduction was traumatic made them judge me as unfit to help children.
I’m devastated. Not about CASA per se. I mean…yes, they hurt my feelings. Yes, I feel like they victim shamed me. Yes, I feel like they stalked me to decide that I’m unfit. Yes, I feel like their generic “we don’t want you” email lacked the insight expected. It was not the writing of someone who should understand how childhood trauma affects adults. They could have done better. They should have done better. I deserved better.
But, they’re not wrong.
I’m not fit to have my hands tied by a broken system. I’m not fit to be part of observing traumatic events happen to children. I can’t be the judge, jury, and executioner of their trauma’s validity. I’m not fit to push my triangle self into their oval-shaped hole.
I’m not fit to ignore the fact that a system is broken.
But it still hurt.
The rejection hurt.
But, mostly, the feeling that it stole my faith that everything happened to me for a reason, hurt. This hurt more than anything else, besides Aaron’s death, has ever hurt me.
The loss of that faith…the THEFT of that faith…I’m struggling with it.
Yes, I’m still going through with my advocacy plan (https://jazzhandsmom.com/2025/06/14/the-plan/). I have letters drafted for my state Representatives and for the Governor. I also have letters for their Chiefs of Staff, for Senate and Congress, and for the state DFCS. The letters are so solid that my editor friend blessed them with only a suggestion for more statistics. They do not throw my county’s DFCS or CASA under the bus. That’s not the purpose. The purpose is change.
I’m trying to believe that *this* is the path God is sending me down. I’m hoping that I can effect even more change this way than by being a CASA.
I’m trying to believe that there’s still a purpose.
I’m trying not to lose faith that God doesn’t allow bad things to happen, especially to children, for no reason.
But I’m struggling.
In a matter of 5.5 months…I lost every vision of the future that I had for myself.
Me. The girl who never believed in forever, but then found it and cherished it until the bitter end. The girl who always believed that nothing happens without meaning.
I find myself in this place where I can’t picture my future anymore. My future, and everything we had planned for it, is gone…and even my hope has been damaged…
I can’t see where life is supposed to go now.
This…emptiness…it makes me feel like there’s no point to anything.
How do I try to find new hobbies and passions? I feel like I can’t even decipher who I’m going to be in my next chapter of life.
How do I try to push passed the anxiety and fear, and meet new people, without being able to see the future? When I can’t even tell you if I’m staying where I am…or throwing my hands up in the air and finding a remote cabin to live out my days?
How do I feel true happiness when everything feels so empty?
My daughter is going to continue being the light of my life. This is the one certainty about my future. But she’s 19 and she will move out one day. Even if she does swear that she will never live away from her mother. LOL So, the one happy part of my future that I can see…includes a vision of her going off to follow her own dreams…leaving me, again, in that remote cabin.
I want to believe.
I want to believe that I will matter to someone (anyone) again one day. I want to believe that I will be truly loved for who I am again. (Not romantically. I still say my romance days are over. I found my person, and now he’s gone. But it would still be nice to find other people who can love me.)
I want to have faith that God DOES love me. He would only let bad things happen because he has a plan. I want to have faith in his path. I want to truly be able to say my favorite prayer and mean it.
Dear Lord,
Please allow me to hear your voice louder than the voice of my hopes
and allow me to hear the voice of my hopes louder than the voice of my fears.
This is a big day for me in my grief journey. I haven’t left the house a whole lot, other than work, since Aaron passed almost 6 months ago. Today…not only am I deciding to leave the house when no one is making me…I’m finally getting the chance to fulfill one of Aaron’s wishes.
Aaron and I both loved Star Wars. It was one of our things. A few months into our relationship, I found these lightsabers that are actually REALLY good quality and got them for Aaron so he could play with his son with them.
He loved them so much he ordered another set to give his two best friends at work. So they could battle.
So, after he passed, I mentioned to his best friend that I had these lightsabers that Aaron wanted him to have. I promised I’d get them to him.
And then I couldn’t face going through everything.
And things I wanted to do didn’t get done.
But. Today I’m ready. I have a VERY rare day off of work. I texted his best friend. Told him I was driving out to the office today. Pulled out the lightsabers. I actually did my hair and makeup and put on real clothes (I never met some of his coworkers and I still don’t want to reflect badly on him).
I gave myself 2 hours to breathe and relax before I leave. (Self care, y’all. Lol)
And I’m doing it. I’m taking a step to push through my grief and honor his wishes.
I miss you, Aaron. More than I ever knew it was possible to miss a person. And I know your friends do, too. So, today, they will fight for their lives with real lightsabers. Hopefully not ending with one of them joining you in Heaven. But, if so, what a way to go. May the Force be with them. And also with you, my love.
I used to do this in a very unhealthy manner. I told myself that I was doing it to control my anxiety. Which is true…I did. But, I’m realizing that I also hoped that people would notice I was gone and care. (The anxious spiral: No one cares. Must run. Want to know if anyone cares. But terrified they will not. Wash, rinse, repeat.) Considering this is something huge I’ve been working on in therapy…I’ve worked very hard lately, in all aspects of life. I am focused on not allowing myself to have conversations where I’m hoping for a particular response. I also avoid taking actions where I’m dreading a specific response. If I can already feel that one of those things is true, I stop…because I only have control over my own words and actions.
This time is different.
This time, I caught myself feeling incredibly anxious after being triggered last week. Add this to my constant grief over Aaron, honestly, I’m just struggling with extra “noise” lately.
Let’s be real. Social media is 95% noise.
Additionally, I have recognized another action that happens when I am triggered. I revert to needing to say everything…hoping that someone will read it and tell me I’m not crazy or that they validate me.
Validation is, realistically, something we all need. (Yes, I’m even talking to those of you who pretend that you don’t care what other people think…even you want validation in parts of your life…and that’s OK!) That said, it’s not something I should be looking for when I’m triggered. I need to get my anxiety under control. Doing this will help me avoid seeking validation on the “am I crazy” or “AITA” type questions. I need to validate myself. Additionally, I need to only share the words that really need to be shared. Otherwise, people stop listening.
So. I deactivated. To reduce the noise and validate myself and my new path.
I’ll be back. And I’m truly okay. I’m actually more emotionally healthy than I’ve ever been in my life. But sometimes being alone needs to be part of our healing journey.
It’s been a rough week. In the middle of a rough year. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been triggered to the point that I’m spiraling a bit. But, at the same time, I’m filled with hope as I remember my belief that…
My voice is a gift that God gave me, to speak out against the crimes that he knew would be committed against me.
It’s as simple as that. I have faith that God doesn’t allow things to not have purpose. The purpose of my existence is to help others through what I’ve been through and to use my voice, both in comfort and to make change. And, while I stumble over my words out loud at times, I’m the first to admit that I could probably talk a vegan into a steak if I wrote to them about it. When I put pen to paper, my words rarely get denied.
So, what happened was this.
After Aaron passed, I decided that it was time to get back into volunteer work. I knew what I wanted. It’s what I’ve always wanted. To help kids, who are where I was, in the ways that I wish I’d been helped. (That’s the other gift God gave me…I’m the traumatized child whisperer…they sense a kindred spirit and they let me in. I’m not even exaggerating here.)
So, I decided that the best step was to become a CASA (court appointed special advocate for neglected and abused children). It felt like the perfect fit. It felt like I would be able to do some good. And…it felt AMAZING to know that the county had something in place for these kids (which did not exist at the time that we were caught). It felt like the county had really moved forward in the 3.5 decades since my world fell apart.
I made it through the interview. I made it through the background check. I made it through the first couple of nights of training.
What I didn’t make it through was the guest speaker on the third night. A DFCS employee, who spoke about the wonderful programs in place to help these kids, was asked a question that led her to mention, in passing, a parental abduction case. I was intrigued. I asked if they see a lot of those and how they handle them. She was confused and asked what I meant. I specified parental abduction. At which point she told me…
…there’s no such thing as parental abduction…a parent can’t kidnap THEIR kid…and the police can get involved if they want but DFCS doesn’tget involved.
I was devastated. For the little girl inside me. For the children that have come since me. For the children yet to come.
Parental abduction still doesn’t exist as a traumatizing event to them. Services are not ordered to these children afterward. They are still alone.
I wanted to scream the truth at her.
That studies show that ANY child, taken by the noncustodial parent with the intent to run, is in danger. That, no matter the reason, that parent is not in a healthy frame of mind. Whether they are running to protect the child (fear), to punish the other parent (anger), to escape and start brand new (desperation)…whatever the reason…whatever the motivation…they are being controlled by emotions and a child can be hurt.
That NO child who is parentally abducted, no matter the length of time, will ever be able to have the same relationship with both parents. Abducting the child is one of those lines in the sand that no parent ever forgives. The left behind parent (even if it’s a day) will HATE the abducting parent. The abducting parent…let’s be honest…already hated the other parent. And that kind of hate is never unfelt by children. Even IF everything is done to help the child, in the end they will have to choose which parent to be close to. They’ll never be allowed to have both.
That it’s estimated that 200,000 children per year are put in this position.
I wanted to scream all of it. Luckily, I’m far enough in my therapy to not let my emotions control my reactions. So, I went outside and cried. Composed myself. Went back in.
The rest of that night was a bit of a train wreck for me because I was already triggered, and it’s an emotional topic. So, after the end, I stopped to speak to the person in charge and had a heart to heart about whether she thought this was the right place for me, if I can still be triggered. I wanted to HELP children, not somehow make it worse. But I assured her it wasn’t the material, it was the unforseen topic that came up. She told me to keep giving it a try but that we’d stay in communication.
Two days later, she sent me a very generic email thanking me for my interest but they’d met as a team and decided I wasn’t a good fit.
Oh. Wow. Ok. A lot of reactions to this.
First and foremost in my mind: Wow. This feels like victim shaming. Not only should I be ashamed, they met as a group to talk about me and to decide, as a group, that I should be ashamed.
Next: *spiraling* WHAT DID I DO WRONG??? I handled it right this time!! I don’t understand what I did!!
Followed By: My boss telling me I should demand an explanation…and me saying, “No. I don’t chase people or their acceptance anymore. I’ve grown past that. They don’t want me? Fine. I’m gone. Yes, it hurts like hell, but I won’t beg for anything anymore.” And THAT felt like INCREDIBLE growth for me.
Simultaneously with: Acceptance that I didn’t do anything wrong. Maybe I did in their minds. I don’t know. I’ll never know. I don’t need to know. Because *I* know I did it right.
And then, finally: Resolute anger. Not at the DFCS worker. Not at the people who decided that I shouldn’t be allowed to help children. Resolute anger at a system that still teaches that children abducted by their parents are, “Fine. They’re with their parent.”
IT. HAS. TO. STOP.
So, I began to research. Here’s what I found for the state of Georgia (which was no surprisurprise, as this is how it is in most states, and it’s something I’ve helped fight against in the past). Parental Abduction falls under Custodial Interference. This bucket encompasses the extreme of parental abduction all the way down to a parent being an hour late returning a child from visitation. Because, yeah…that’s TOTALLY the same. Additionally, that bucket is so all encompassing, you can abduct your child twice without it being a felony, as long as you don’t cross state lines.
Let me stress that point. A child can be kidnapped twice, and it’s only a misdemeanor.
This is, quite honestly, unacceptable.
So…back that voice.
Thanks to the moment that I never expected…and the triggering that followed…and then the spiraling of feeling rejected and shamed…
I decided that, if I can’t help in the way I had planned, I’ll use my gift to take it further.
I’m going straight to the state about the laws. They can hear from the mouth of a survivor WHY these laws have to change.
I’m going straight to the state and county level of DFCS to plead that they change policy to start assisting victims of parental abduction, as well.
Don’t get me wrong. Inside of this determined, and usually fairly composed, woman is a raging petty w(b)itch…who WANTS to blast the woman who told me it wasn’t a crime. Yes, I want to scream at her…I want to write a letter to her boss…I want to scream at the people who decided, as “a team”, that I wasn’t acceptable. I want to do all of these things, but I won’t. Why? Because part of the gift of a voice is knowing to use it when you have a chance of being heard. But if you use it in anger and retribution, people stop listening.
Just as I won’t let anyone take my voice from me, I also won’t give it away recklessly. This gift of mine has been hard won and I’ll never let it go.
*Jazz Hands* Mom 