It's Complex: Growth

Changing of the Seasons

As stated in my last post, I am a little over a year into my healing journey. The word “healing” is very cushioned and has a sense of comfort surrounding it. The truth is healing is an extremely painful, agonizing process that must be done for the sake of hoping there is a better outcome on the other side of it. Before I started, I thought it was going to be impossible to feel any different than filled with noise, anxiety, and depression while white knuckling a smile every day. I thought it was normal to have racing, ruminating thoughts that poisoned so much of my life. I thought it was normal to lack big emotions that everyone around me seemed to deal with. I thought that perfectionism, people-pleasing, working to exhaustion, and struggling alone were admirable. Part of healing is outgrowing the person you once were, but this comes at a cost.

I have spent this year reflecting on my past. For 23 years, it felt as though I was strapped in on a rollercoaster that I could not break free from; there were many highs but just as many lows. Once I hit the age of 24, it was as though that rollercoaster came to a screeching halt. I was weak, dizzy, and so overwhelmed from the amount of agony I was experiencing that I could not envision a better future. Eventually, I removed the straps that were held strong by my mother and made my way to the exit from her alcoholism. Each step I took brought slightly more relief to my soul that ached for so long; it became addicting. In the beginning, my legs were weak and taking those steps were extremely difficult; however, with persistence, I have removed much of the shame that was a burdened weight on my shoulders.

I felt as though I was rebuilding a new life for myself that could carry me far into the future and not just to make it through the day. In the beginning, I tried to intellectualize my way into this new life by learning as much as I can about my Disorganized Attachment and Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I read books, listened to podcasts, watched videos, and took in as much information as I could. Each time I watch a video by Heidi Priebe, I found myself laughing at the fact that she knows me better than I know myself; she has a special way of simplifying issues that can feel extremely complicated and isolating. After many months of looking at my problems like a visitor at a zoo, I knew it was time to jump into the lion’s den that was reconnecting with my body and emotions.

Much of the heavy emotions I had been avoiding were ones relating to my childhood upbringing and alcoholic mother. I went no-contact with her shortly after graduating college and before she was diagnosed with Wernicke-Korsakoff Syndrome. It was not until two years after the ordeal that I could grieve what felt like a death with no funeral. Not knowing where to begin, I started with accepting that our futures were going to be different than the one I hoped and dreamed of. It was a fairytale that was did not include a Princess but a sober, healthy, stable mother who accepted the therapy she desperately needed and found happiness in turning her life around; one where she would be at my wedding, give me advice on pregnancy, babysit my children, and grow old surrounded by friends and family.

From the future, I went to the past. I went down the timeline of traumas that had been living rent-free in my head since they occurred. This time, I did not focus on the moment itself but rather where I felt the guttural sadness that accompanied them. I had to practice speaking to the inner-teenager that was still stuck in those moments in attempt to walk her through them. I learned to notice her voice in situations I had not heard her before; I associated her with the part of me that had the immediate “Hell no!” response to things that seemed good for me. I had to dig deeper by asking curious questions instead of jumping to conclusions. These conversations with myself led to major breakthroughs that helped me ease many other lingering symptoms that I had not been directly focusing on such as ringing in my ears, social anxiety, and disrupted sleep.

The only time left was the present. My therapist would often have to remind me during sessions, “You are here now as an independent 24-year-old woman, not as the little girl trapped in that home.” I am what that little girl dreamed of. That hit me hard, and overwhelming gratefulness brought tears to my eyes. I was spending so much time on what went wrong that I missed what went right. I had lost my connection with my biological mother, but I had a stepmom that has been nothing short of amazing since I was a toddler. I had felt abandoned by many friends, but there were a few that stuck around and even stepped up. I had to let go of what was no longer serving me, this included habits, vices, media, and friendships.

I cringe at the fact I fell into the trope of moving away to “find myself”, but it unfortunately is the exact plot of the story. Being isolated in the mountains is a great way to fall into a depression, but it was exactly what I needed. I used this time to accept the pain I had been running from feeling my entire life. It was as overwhelming as I imagined it to be, except worse. I could not avoid the heaviness that weighed down on my chest and the repeating memories of some of my most hurtful experiences. People say they want you to reach out when you’re struggling, but I could not even find the words to describe what I was going through. I sat under the stars and begged God to show mercy.

It did not happen overnight, but day by day I spent time just focusing on this pain and where it was coming from. I journaled, sat in nature, cried, listened to music, interacted with animals, went to bed at a normal hour, and fought to bring myself out of the hole I had found myself in. I realized that no one could rescue me from myself, it was a not a fair responsibility to put on another in the first place. I let go of the dream and accepted the reality. I eventually found myself no longer wanting to beg for friendships and wanted reciprocity. I needed more than a text once a year from people claiming to be my best friends. I needed to be shown love and affection because empty words meant nothing to me. The standards I held while in my fight or flight state were different than the one’s I held in my regulated state. I was no longer desperate for disappointment; thus, I had the tough conversation of letting them go of any expectations at all.

I opened up to the ones who remained in my circle and have developed a sense of closeness that had been a barrier for many years. I feel more seen, more heard, and more authentic to all of myself, not just the parts I want to present to the world. Whereas before I felt so mentally weak and drained, I now feel so clear and strong even on my “bad” days. The world no longer feels like it is attacking me but I it. I now look forward to people asking me what my goals are for the future because I now have things to look forward to. I never thought that my world would become so still that happiness could be a daily priority, but because of the promise I have kept to myself, I find peace in the sunrises once again.