We Are In Process; Change Or Not

I found this post so poignant, so moving, that I had to share it -- even if I don't have much to add to the conversation...

I went back and read a post from a year ago, a post of mine. I used to be so caring and there was such a compassion there when I blogged. 1 year and month later I can absolutely see a separation, larger, from how normal I was a year ago. It’s just more convincing for me that I really am pretending to be normal. I see I am beginning to become more calloused and I don’t really want to be that way.

I'm not bipolar, but I have my swings...

If I have anything constructive to say about this post is that journaling can be therapeutic; so can reading our own words. But sometimes, we might not like what we see/read... We are in process.

Do I Seem More Or Less Credible To You Now? (Or, The Real Affects Of TMI In Mental Health Journaling)

At first I used to worry if discussing my pain, my craziness was a good thing. Journaling is agreed upon as a good therapeutic tool; but only a tool shares such things in public under their own name, right?

Journaling in public, aka blogging under your own name, can negatively impact one's career. I mean, would you hire me to write for you, to consult for your business? For a number of years I hid my true identity from thoughts/posts like these. But writing under a pen name felt... well, dirty, somehow. As if I couldn't wouldn't own my own words. If I want to encourage other survivors, the anxious, the depressed, into the empowerment that is writing, sharing, communicating -- if I want them to feel like they are worth more than they and society say they are, I need to walk the walk about the talk. So in the end I opted to out myself. Plus, multiple identities is exhausting.

But while I battled with the issues of me, myself and my credibility, time was passing...

Now my kids are older. They use The FaceBook. They sometimes visit my FaceBook page. (And admit it by posting on my wall!) Do I want them to read all this?

It's one thing to post about the stuff they do and say; it's just another way parents embarrass their kids. Right?

Seriously, I do try to keep mum on specific details, others involved, etc., as much as possible. And I don't post many of the more sensitive posts either. But do they need to know how bad things are in my head and soul? And what about the others who Google my name... I'm not paranoid; I've been presented in court with print-outs of the comments of others on my posts to be used against me. (Another, very long, topic.) Just how upsetting, or, in the legal vernacular, detrimental, are posts like these?

Yet, if I -- if we -- don't share out thoughts and experiences, how many others will go crazy, believe they are alone, suffer...

It's a fine line. One I'm continually redrawing.

I'd love to hear from others on this subject.

Emotional Laxatives

As I said, talking about domestic violence is difficult, but the risks of not talking about or dealing with the realities of it and what lies in its wake is even worse...

I think this is the number one problem faced by women who survive abuse. Society assists us in the silencing of ourselves; we live in a culture of The Good Woman and complaining -- no matter what the injustice -- just isn't something a nice girl does.

This conditioning to worry about duties to others, how we appear to others, above our own needs is a major part of our lives as women -- it's what assists the abuser in the first place, and perpetuates the further abuses we'll face from authorities (police, courts, etc.) as well as family and friends.

I think this vintage clipping captures our position of selflessness at our own expense.


Her preservation of appearance and duty to work must come before her own comfort or even her health; like most things, it's funny because it's true.

Women, especially survivors of violence and other abuses, need to speak up or risk suffering the consequences of emotional constipation.

Image via Gordon Pym -- site is NWS.

"To Drive Sadness From The Mind"

As PenileCodeAvenger herself confessed, one of the ugly truths about depression is not taking showers, so I found this tidbit published in Modern Woman magazine (volume 17 number 1, 1948) interesting:

Most of us have seen this truth in our children; they get crabby or just a little off their sunny dispositions when they skip their baths. Why don't we realize that this is also true of adults?

That other adage, about those who seem least likely to want a hug are most in need of it, is also true.

Something Simple & Positive #2

Ten minutes of scrubbing the walls, light switches, handrails, in a hallway can easily turn into 30 once you start looking. But do 10 minutes now; get to the rest, or another spot, the next day (or even later the same day when you find yourself with a burst of energy -- once you start moving, you’d be surprised how your body itches to have you move again!)

Not only will you get that heart rate up and clean the house, but you’ll really start to feel better about yourself as you chip-away at the overwhelming household, your weight, your depression.

Something Simple & Positive #1

Drink a glass of milk before bed. As an insomniac, I find a ritual or two helps my mind start to settle and give me a better chance at sleeping -- and drinking the glass of milk also does a few extra things too.

They say milk assists in weight loss and with protein before bed does too. If you’re trying to cut down on soda pop or coffee and fit something healthy in, this is the time to do it.

For those of you who feel that budget-wise you are stealing from your kids, let me remind you that you’re supposed to be taking care of yourself, your own health, too. Plus milk is far cheaper than pop or other grown-up beverages.

Your glass of milk doesn't need to be warm, but here are some tips on that too.

Brave Enough To Say It

In talking with the other bloggers here, we all were lamenting our weight. Not that that's anything new for women in our culture. But in our cases, we all put on weight once the enormity and depression of it all hit us. Part of the point of this blog is to document our individual processes in trying to (among other things) lose the ugly weight. (Ugly not only because it's fat, but because it is a heavy reminder of sadness that we literally lug around everywhere; in losing it, we let go of the past. We hope.)

Being as it was my idea to start this blog, I'm going to be brave enough to put a number on it.

228

I have never weighed that much in my life; not even when pregnant.

It's nearly 100 pounds overweight -- and I'm not saying that based on some height-weight chart; that's what I used to weigh, after my first child.

Now, since I've been so brave as to say this, the rest of the girls promise to chime in with their simple little tips on weight loss.

(We all will note our progress as things go along too.)