There we were getting ready for our annual holiday ornament party. Friends had up from orange County and from various parts of southern California. My parents were here helping along with a couple that come up from Long Beach to help us run the bar and make our celebration terrific. My husband has known them for many years, and they are from the same parts of Pennsylvania.

So I climb in the shower, and I’m doing all my normal things. Which one of my friends would call the PTA.

What is the PTA?

Well somebody might think that PTA means Parent Teacher Association. And, they might be right if there were from Alabama, and NOT in the shower.

Hmmm… The PTA.

And, like I said I was in the shower doing my normal things, which included the PTA…

Puss, Tits and Ass.

Well, let’s be real… everything does need to be cleaned, right?

I have to look, smell and feel absolutely divine for my guests that are coming for the annual Christmas party… so everything gets washed including the PTA.

So, I climb out of the shower and I’m towelling off…

I am calm, because downstairs I know that everything is in place.

The Bar.

The Buffet.

The vegetable crudite display and the candles in the chandeliers were lit.

24 Christmas Trees dangling beautiful ornaments from around the globe …

Yes, now the number had grown to 24 trees. I can’t help it. They just look so beautiful… I can’t stop buying them.

It looked like a gigantic Winter Wonderland inside my house…

Sans the snow…

And, of course, no mittens or galoshes…

79 degree California weather with palm trees outside.

A giant California Winter wonderland, okay?

We Californians have got to do it our own way… I just throw a little “Alabama” in on the side from time to time — with a Y’all here, and a Y’all there! But, you understand that I do have some of the California affectations absorbed by now, and so… well, I don’t really do anything “small.”

So, yeah, I’ve got 24 Christmas trees running up my electricity bill. It’s beautiful, dang it. So get over it.

Yes, now there I am. Unusally calm with the impending knowledge that very shortly my home was going to be alive with about 80 other minds… and the fact that I was going to have to be witty, charming, and beautiful… Well, hell… I should have been freaking out.

Don’t worry…

My calm didn’t last for long.

The help was busy prepping the hot food and everything was on schedule.

So, there I was… still damp, with my PTA’s still tingling.

I had just begun to shimmy into my beaded dress because I wanted to do all my makeup and hair after I finally got my dress on.

It’s a fabulous dress, but I don’t know why I always buy such complicated clothing. Once again, not a “step in” dress… an “over the head” dress with straps going this way and that.

Just a fricking pain in the butt to get this dress on.

Holy crap, what a mess.

I am standing there contemplating just wearing the stinking thing as a partial top since it was strangulating to get the dress on over my head and wet showered hair. One arm in, one breast out.

No problem. Throw on a skirt and my left tit will be the hit of the party.

Right.

So, I finally get the frigging thing on.

Slide it down over my hips.

Thank God it still fits.

I’ve been eating my weight in turkey, brownies, fudge and cheesecake for the past two weeks. So, my ass is about the size of Oklahoma right now.

Thank God for the proverbial black dress…

… that stretches….

A silent “yay” for  the creation of Spandex.

Bless this inventor, this Sultan of Elasticity. I will always display their label of honor on my expanding derriere…  

So, I finally get this beautiful, god-forsaken, beaded strappy dress over my head with final authority, and slick it down the side of me.

Finally.

I need a frigging drink just to get this dress on.

Relax. Relax.

“Honey, can you get my a green apple martini from the bar?”

Yes, relax. Help is on the way…

No sooner to I get the dress on… zipped up… looking in the mirror I turn left, and turn right… and of course, curse the size of my butt…

When all hell breaks loose. The fire alarm starts to go off at my house. It’s a loud blaring bell that is completely destructive to your senses.

BANG, BANG, BANG.

CLANG, CLANG, CLANG.

WTF?

Aaaaaaaah! I am running down the stairs with a trail of obscenities still stabbing the air behind me. Shoeless, and bra-less. Boobs bouncing, and wet hair flopping.

80-some people are coming to laugh and schmooze in less than an hour. WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO? TELL THEM THE NOISE IS SANTA COMING…

AND COMING…

I NEED THAT ALARM OFF. PRONTO.

“What the hell is going on?” I scream.

I them begin pounding the number buttons on the alarm pad.

Pressing. Jabbing. Cursing. Screaming. But, the alarm keeps screeching.

7 minutes of this was enough to drive me out of my mind. “We’ve gone to all this trouble for this party, I need for you (the alarm) to shut the hell up! (:?sdt% qvio4$ – More obscenities) ”

I was screaming so many bad words, that I ran out of them and had to make some up.

I finally pressed a series of numbers that seem to work…

Aaaaah. Sigh of relief…

Well, it worked for 10 ten seconds, and then:

BANG, BANG, BANG.

CLANG, CLANG, CLANG.

HOLY CRAP!

I have this vision of all these firetrucks pulling up elbowing my guests, “Excuse me Ma’am, but we’ve got a fire in this house to attend to.”

“A FIRE?” And, then of course my guests run screaming for their lives.

Nice.

Yeah, that’s the type of celebration I wanted to have that night. Right.

Fun. Fun. Fun.

Right.

Another 6 minutes of ear-piercing stressing-inducing mind-numbing noise enveloped my house. What the heck am I going to do?

Where is my alarm company?

“Ding-dong.” 

BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM. Pounding on the door right next to where I was standing cursing and banging the alarm codes. I could feel the vibrations of the knocking only.

I’m thinking, holy crap, the firetrucks are here and I am going to get a humongous bill from the City for a false fire alarm.

Shit.

I open the door, “Is everything alright here, ma’am? We got a signal at the station.”

It was a man from the alarm company dressed in a Kevlar vest and carrying a “piece.”

My eyes widen. Double holy crap.

“Well, this alarm won’t go off, and in a matter of minutes I am going to be hosting a holiday party, of which the loudest part is supposed to be singing holiday carols, not the piercing clang of ringing alarms.”

We finally got it to stop. “I can’t guarantee that it won’t start-up again,” he said.

“Well, that is the point when I will rip the alarm out of the wall, sir.”

He looks at my husband. A knowing nod passes between them. This must be “male code” for “and you have to live with this, huh?”

“Smile for the camera. You’re now part of this night,” I said.

So I in my barefeet, and he in his kevlar had just settled down the long alarm for a nap.

And, what to my wandering eyes should appear, but 80 familiar faces carrying ornamental reindeer.

Where up in the past the alarm rose such a clatter, and now it all behind us, it didn’t seem to matter.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and stopped all the ringing and turned with a jerk.

Laying his hand on the side of his Glock, I thought for a moment there he was going to whip out his …

Identification.

You guys are so naughty… I just love it!

And, giving a nod, out the door did flee, this house of freakouts and terminal glee.

He sprang to his patrol car, gave a loud call, “have a great party, my dear! Oh, Belle of the Ball!”

But, I heard him exclaim as he drove away faster, “If is goes off again, I know a man that’s good repairing wall plaster!”

…

The party was a great success… and, the alarm did NOT go off again.

Thank you, jeeze Louise.

We drank, and we schmoozed, and some carols we did sing.

But, the alarm stayed silent, not nearly a ring!

Here are some pics from the party!

xoxo

Be well,

Belle

  A 78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award Winner

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
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I’m not going to say much today.  Two years ago today, my little fur-sister, Puss, went on to heaven.

I will spend the rest of my life trying to help other kitties; none of them should ever have to be alone or afraid.

As much as her leaving us hurt, I wouldn’t trade a minute of having her in my life for almost nineteen years.

There is no love quite like the love of a cat, and I pity those who’ve never gotten to experience it.

To love a cat is one of the most frustrating, yet totally rewarding blessings that life can offer.

Someday, I’m going to do something in a big way, a big, big tangible way, to help homeless and especially special needs kitties.  Just wait and see.  And I will have done it all for Puss.

If you think this post is going to be one word – you are going to be disappointed!

I have been struggling a bit for the last few days.  A few reasons colliding to get me down again including:

1) A friend said to me over the weekend something to the effect that some people might think I was finding Abigail much harder than I should be.  He made clear that he didn’t think this himself but it still made me feel rubbish all the same

2) Someone said to my wife over the weekend during a prayer time that God had given her a single word for us in 2010 – “fruitfulness”.  She explained that this was related to our whole lives – work, church, family.  This is someone who we would very much respect spiritually.  Now the thing is fruitfulness in my family means only one thing to me – “GIVE ME A BABY NOW GOD!”  God knows that is how I feel.  And if that is for 2010 we better be pregnant by March.  But seriously I don’t really have faith to believe in that after what the Doctors have said.  I have just been coming to terms with not having another baby naturally and it doesn’t help to get pulled back into hoping unless God is really going to deliver this time.  “Oh and God it would be really nice if we could have a living breathing baby this time!”  If God does this fantastic but to live in hope when we have been disappointed so many times really sucks.  But if we proceed with adoption is that a lack of faith?  Anyway, I have been thinking we should adopt even if we had another natural baby.

3) It was a year since Abigail’s due date on Sunday and as much as I thought this a fairly small anniversary by comparison it still got me down.  Imagining what life would have been like in a parallel universe.  We went to church and it really wasn’t where I was at.  I didn’t really speak to anyone after the service.  I sat in the kids area and the baby at church who was born within a week of Abigail got left near me whilst the mum went off for a chat.  I so nearly picked her up and imagined myself into oblivion but I couldn’t do it!  I might have walked out of the church and kidnapped her there and then!

4) Later in the day I ended up getting all cross with wife and son and we all fell out – but made up later.  Rubbish though.

5) Both the neighbours each side of us now have a baby.  On our left a couple had their first baby – a daughter – about 10 days ago.  I went round to see them and take them a gift and card last week – beautiful baby in a Moses basket in the lounge.  She was asleep so at least I didn’t have to hold her.  And then today I saw about 15 blue balloons and “Its a Boy!” poster tape on our other neighbours house.  The Dad was putting it all up to welcome his wife home.  I made a very deliberate point of going out to see him and congratulating him and shaking his hand – I didn’t feel like it but wanted to do it all the same.  This is their third.  So hey, we are the infertile couple in the baby sandwich.  (Thank God we have our son! some people don’t have one living child, we are blessed really we are!)  Still it will be fun when they are all playing in the garden next summer.  They seem to understand how blessed they are so that makes it easier.  Both sides know about Abigail but we are hardly the best of friends.  To be honest it is a huge step forward for me that I could go and see them and congratulate them – still hurts but at least I could do it.

6) I feel myself withdrawing from real world friendships.  In evenings away with work when I would have been calling friends to catch up I feel this creeping dread.  “Don’t call them, they won’t want to hear from you, they won’t want to hear about how you are doing and how you are struggling with Abigail and infertility and the rest.  You won’t want to make small talk so just DON’T CALL!”   And no one ever seems to call me anymore unless I have left a message for them.  Very few people bring up Abigail anymore!  Very few people ask about infertility – I feel very lonely in the real world.  I think most people see us as a burden to have around.  People putting off meeting up with us by avoiding setting a date to meet up.  There really is only so far you can go to reach out to people.  It would be nice if someone in the real world reached out to us for a change.

And so this brings me to the title of this blog.  If I had to summarise Grief in one word it would be…

… loneliness.  Mind numbing, isolating loneliness.

The first few months were shock for sure.  But now I just feel lonely.  No one else in the real world gets where I am at.  The blogging community is a real support for sure because people get it.  But what about my friends who know me in flesh and blood?  The blogging world just shows what I am missing here in my real life!  I wish someone would get how hard life has been for us.  I wish someone would give me a hug, ask me how I really am and listen as if they really cared.  I wish someone would see through the layers of emotional armour I wear and see the real me.  I wish they would show that they didn’t mind that we were not on top of life and give me licence to be myself.  Show that they understood how hard it is.  I wish some of my friends would talk to me about the things I write in this blog (those that know it exists – do you read it I wonder?  No one seems to!)

Anyway I digress – that is grief in 1047 words

Grief in one word – loneliness

Love is a Universal theme. It can be deeply fulfilling and very inspiring or throw you into the darkest void when there is heartbreak or breakup. Most people seem to be on an intense quest to find love and intimacy or the partner that is most suitable for them.  But are you chasing an endless illusion or the real thing? Or are you feeling a lack of love and going through repeated patterns with partners?

A good place to start is to ask yourself what are the core qualities required in an equal balanced love-based relationship? Relationships, Love, Partnership and Intimacy are big themes for the next two years.  Is the relationship enhancing your best qualities or draining you? Couple’s may find that their relationship is being tested on many levels. People are not going to be able to ignore the issues that arise and each person will be held accountable. It can be very difficult or it can invigorate a relationship.Even one partner can find that getting guidance about their own self or the relationship can offer fresh perspectives and insight to help you cope with challenges happening within the relationship. If you are going through a life transition, confusion or loss it is beneficial and genuinely want to move towards a fresh start it is wise to receive support and objective insight as you move through the process.

Guidance  will help give an understanding into the dynamics as well as current developmental cycles going on.  If you are having difficulties or want more support while going through things, consider having a Couple’s Consultation/Reading. You can schedule an appointment quickly using my Online Booking Form.

…AKA carpal tunnel syndrome, from decades upon decades of writing. Okay, so only a little over 2 decades, but still, many, many years of writing, and yet nothing to show for it. The operative, key word being yet. As I seek many and various means of getting my words out there, I am hoping to change that not yet into, soon everyone will have read and benefited in some way from reading what I’m writing. I opened a Triond account today and am looking into helium and all while I work on my third, or is it my fourth screenplay with the goal of turning my hobby into something somewhat lucrative. One word, independence, that is what I work towards.
Here is an excerpt from the piece I published on Triond.com, it was inspired by William Carlos Williams in its formatting and is a hybrid poem/short story called “Remembering Forever:”

There you are, right there, in front of me. But, how can that be and where is she? Nothing makes sense. Yesterday a memory, a dream, and today you exist. But, it can’t be, you are not real anymore. Were you ever? Was she? It feels like I spoke to you just the other day. It feels like yesterday when last I heard her laughter. But, that’s impossible. I wonder what I am doing in the bookstore. I shouldn’t be here despite the doctor’s insistence that I get out of the house. I look around the café and then at all the books out in the store. Books, chairs, people, and tables blur together…

The silly argument we had over how to make smiley face,
chocolate chip pancakes. The day you kissed the back of
my neck and told me I didn’t have a problem you didn’t get
first, I didn’t have a pain you didn’t feel worse. The slam
poem you wrote about me and performed in front of hundreds
of people. Her skin as pale as the sand on that beach in Florida.
The day we played in rain puddles while it poured. The
laughter, always the laughter.

I look down at the paper and your eyes form on the white space. Those eyes make the parts of me I thought were dead feel alive again, if only for a moment. Last night’s dinner blazes the back of my throat and I swallow. Emotion burns by eyes and tears stain the paper. Maybe it was wrong to let go, maybe I didn’t hold on tight enough. I stare out the window. The sun bounces off chrome wheels and metal bumpers and blinds me.
…

For the rest of this, and more to come, visit me on Triond.com and look for me at helium.

Today marks one month since our little Noah left us. As I mentioned on my Facebook page, in some ways it feels like it isn’t possible that a month has passed already and in others it seems like, “it has ONLY been a month?! How can that be?!” My life is essentially back to normal (though I also feel changed forever), though I find that at least my every third thought is about the baby, the miscarriage experience, or about how many weeks pregnant I “should” be, etc., etc.

Ever since the day we found out he died, I have been pondering the “language of loss.” It seems inadequate. It bugs me. There are not the right words to express what happened. I do not like the phrase, “I lost the baby” or “she lost the baby.” It bothers me for several reasons—one, it sounds like you just carelessly misplaced the baby. Two, it implies a personal failing of some kind. And, three, it just doesn’t feel accurate or true. My baby died. That is how I feel. Fourth, when I worked at the Ronald McDonald House we learned (and the books I have about grief and working with grieving people reaffirm this) that is is better NOT to use euphemisms when talking to people who have “lost” someone—say, “I’m sorry your baby died” and not “I’m sorry for your loss.” I even prefer, “I’m sorry about your baby” to the lost word. I do feel like I am someone who has “experienced loss” and for me, semantically, that is different than “I lost the baby.” Perhaps it feels different to different people, but my experience is that my baby died and then I let him go. Maybe if we hadn’t known in advance that he died, I would feel more of the “I lost the baby” sense—like my body malfunctioned and evacuated the baby before it should have. Instead of feeling as if my body failed me, I feel like it held a tremendous amount of wisdom, strength, and grace and was able to do what it needed to do—let my baby go because he had already left. I feel like he left us, versus, we lost him. I don’t know why he needed to leave, but I do feel at peace with it—not “angry” with him or betrayed by him (or by my body).

“I had a miscarriage” also feels different—and more accurate—to me than saying, “I lost the baby.” Just to be clear, I am not “offended” or annoyed when someone tells me “I’m sorry for your loss.” I appreciate the caring. Also, sometimes it is simply the only word/word derivative we have. However, it always catches a bit to me and just doesn’t feel accurate/right. I think it is symptom of how our culture views death and how uncomfortable people feel about talking about or confronting the issue. It doesn’t feel socially appropriate to say, “died’—but, that is the reality. As I mentioned, I changed my own phrasing after working at RMHC—for example, I always says, “Mark’s dad died in 1998″ and not “Mark’s dad passed away in 1998.” Died is more honest. Maybe it makes people uncomfortable to hear, but it is the reality of what happened.

There are a LOT of losses also associated with my miscarriage though and do feel accurately described as losses. There is the loss of the baby and the promise of our life with him in the future. There is the fact that he was due on my birthday and therefore my birthday will NEVER be the same for the rest of my life. There is the loss of the experience of being pregnant. I feel this one very keenly. Every week, I think about how many weeks pregnant I should be. Today, I would have been 19 weeks. Practically halfway done! ::sob:: It is strange to not be wearing my maternity clothes anymore and so forth. And, there is the loss of innocence. The loss of feeling “safe” during pregnancy and an anticipated loss of excitement and anticipation during the first trimester of any future pregnancy to come. My children have not only experienced the loss of their little brother, but the loss of the promised “big brother” role as well as a degree of loss of innocence too—if/when I get pregnant again, will they be excited or feel “safe” about the pregnancy and baby? I do not want to end my childbearing years on this note of loss or with a sense of fear for them rather than the triumph of a beautiful birth of a new sibling at home. I do not want the last time I gave birth to be a memory of death as well as of birth.

I shared this quote on my Talk Birth Facebook page this morning (it is from the article, “Supporting a Mother Whose Pregnancy Has Ended,” in Midwifery Today Issue 41, Spring 1997):

“Miscarriages are labor, miscarriages are birth. To consider them less dishonors the woman whose womb has held life, however briefly.” –Kathryn Miller Ridiman

I need some rest.  really.  just some uninterrupted sleep would do me a world of good I think.  there has just been too much going on.  company 2 weekends in a row, having surgery, coordinating cole’s doctor appointments and braces and surgeries and ingrown toenails and on and on.  trying to get dawson ready for his big trip.  keeping up with punkin and her craft projects. oh and brian…. we’re like ships in the night.  silently passing sometime in the darkness and then gone in the morning.  needless to say the washing machine keeps washing and the sink is always full of dishes. we are always out of something… milk, juice, bananas.  and of course that is just the physical part of it.  now add emotional drain.  were I had been doing pretty well, I have now started to stumble alot more.  falling here and there.  snowflakes everywhere I turn.  babies and baby things all over the place.  all the haunting memories of a year ago.  like the way I would stop and get a double cheeseburger and fries after my ultrasound every week.  how I’d choke it down between sobs, and wonder why I even stopped for food in the first place.  all the phone calls I avoided because I couldn’t speak.  sara, the nurse, who became my friend because she was so kind and helpful when other nurses were not.

anyway…

I tried to get some rest today.  I layed down after I dropped gabrielle off.  my rest was very troubled though.  I couldn’t fall into a peaceful sleep.  my dreams just continued on with my day.  I was making appointments, cancelling appointments, arguing with nurses, feeling scared.  just like a year ago, when any moment of sleep I got was plagued by nightmares.  todays little troubles were not near the same level of awful as the dreams I was having last december, but still bothersome.  why can’t I just dream of a beach with the gentle crash of waves to lull me to sleep as I swing in a hammock in front of my very own cabana?  why not a crackling fire to put my feet by somewhere high in the mountains after a long day of skiing with my love?  why not the chirp of crickets and flickering light of fireflies as brian lay on a blanket out in the tall grass starring up at the sky and counting the stars?  these things have all happened?  why can’t my subconscious pull up some of this stuff?

enough rambling.  thanks for listening.  I’ll let you know when I have a sweet dream or some peaceful sleep.

++++

I have the advantage of trying to work my way through trauma related information using my own experience as a basis for what I know, rather than being locked into any established patterns of thinking about either trauma or the so-called ‘mental illnesses’ that are directly connected to Trauma Altered Development (TAD).   I am writing a ‘forensic autobiography’.  That means I write from the perspective of being a ‘confessional’ rather than from being a ‘professional’.  I am free to think any way I want to about the topic of trauma as it concerns me and others like me.

I try to understand what the developmental, attachment, and neuroscience experts say about the topic of TAD, but I am certain that if I line up my conclusions on the topic against these expert findings we will not always match point by point.

I want to talk today – again – about how trauma influences our core development as infant-child abuse survivors.  If our earliest caregiver interactions were not safe and secure, our development was altered from the start.

The experience of shame, as I have written before, is a very real physiological Autonomic Nervous System response to explorations within our early environment that caused us to experience conflict – rupture either with or without repair – with our early caregivers.  If there was no serious rupture (we were in agreement with our caregivers about our self in our environment), or there were ruptures that were met with repair through the appropriate actions of our early caregivers, the “GO” and “STOP” balance within our growing Autonomic Nervous System (sympathetic arm = GO, parasympathetic arm = STOP (pair a brakes)) developed optimally and well in a balanced, ‘ordinary’ way.

These ‘shame’ interactions are always based on the experiences prior to the age of one either in a benevolent or malevolent early caregiver environment that has already by this age built our growing brain, nervous system, body and earliest experience of self in a particular direction.  If these interactions were benevolent, a different body-brain-growing mind and self is forming than would be one that is forming under malevolent conditions.

We have to begin to REALLY understand how profoundly our experiences within our earliest caregiver environment affect us – permanently.  Once we are one year old, our development has already been profoundly directed by the kinds of experiences we have had with our caregivers, primarily with our mother.  It is on this earliest foundation that all other experiences will be processed within our little growing body.

By the time we grow a body-brain that is physically developed enough to be able to experience SHAME at one year of age, the course of our development has already been determined – either within and for a safe, secure, trauma-free benevolent world, or for the opposite.

++++

I mention this today in following my post of yesterday where I described my opinion of our nation as not being completely pro the human rights of children.  The ability to optimally experience shame in a growing body already by the age of one, I believe, is directly tied to how we experience any later event that involves conflict, consciousness, conscience and choice.

I believe the earliest caregiver interactions we have, mostly benevolent or malevolent, color the development of our personality.  Experts still suspect that personality is primarily influenced by our genetics.  However, developmental, attachment and neuroscientists are rapidly uncovering the facts about how our earliest experiences actually tell our genes what to do.  Given these new and extremely important findings, we can no longer ever assume that anyone’s personality follows the same developmental pathways if everyone is not raised with the same Universal Human Rights guaranteed.  Any violation of basic human needs for development, as conveyed through our understandings about basic human rights, causes Trauma Altered Development (TAD) to occur.

Our national personality is built upon the personalities of all the individuals that are a part of the whole.  Because we are a democracy, the most obvious personality we show to the world becomes the personality of the majority of our members.  Each of our own individual personalities, in turn, were built upon a combination of our personal genetics as they manifested themselves within either a primarily safe and secure early environment or within a traumatic one.

If early attachment is not safe and secure, some degree of trauma is present because fundamental universal human rights were not guaranteed.  We are talking humans here.  Humans have basic PHYSIOLOGICAL needs for our optimal development that create us – in an interaction between our genes and the quality of our early environment – to end up being a certain way in the world.

++++

America prides itself on being a nation of individualists, choosing to consider that within the perhaps one percent of our genes that make us different from one another there is enough individual potential for differences that it outweighs the 99% of our genes that we share in common as members of our social human species.  I suspect, however, that it is only when early developmental needs are met through the application of human universal rights that the development of the foundational 99% of our shared genetic material can manifest itself optimally that the remaining 1% that provides us the buffet of individual differences can grow, develop and shine among us.

If basic human needs are not met in a safe and secure early environment primarily free of trauma (without ruptures for which there are not adequate and appropriate repair) as described within the recognition of basic human rights, the 99% of us has to take a course through Trauma Altered Development that means we have been forced to adjust to the trauma in a way that limits our ability to be far more of our unique, different self as adults.

Early traumatic, unsafe, insecure and malevolent environments seem to me to narrow the ‘channel’ through which we can pass through our early body-brain-mind-self developmental stages – and still survive.  One by one, I can think about everyone I have ever met who suffered from a malevolent early childhood and begin to see how the patterns among them-us-me become more alike in fundamental ways than they are different.

If I simply look at the so-called ‘personality disorders’ that researchers are now finding are nearly ALWAYS tied in their origins to early infant-child abuse and trauma, the end result makes these people enough alike that they can be grouped into ‘functioning categories’ according to the ‘symptoms’ that they demonstrate in their continued lives.

If I look just at three particular people, I see how Histrionic Personality Disorder, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, and Borderline Personality Disorder lie on a continuum of personality alteration that created these people to be different than I believe they would have been had their Child Rights been guaranteed so that they would have been able to grow up without Trauma Altered Development.

The very best scenario for human growth and development occurs because of development that happens without the mediating and CHANGING affects of trauma.  Only when Children’s Rights are guaranteed within safe and secure environments can a body-brain-mind-self grow up to be free – and by that I mean, free to be MOST flexible and creative throughout their lives in their actions and responses to every life experience (change) that they encounter.

Trauma Altered Development means that we have been forced to sacrifice aspects of our own autonomous development.  We are forced to be more alike than different because SURVIVAL itself has specific requirements that need to be met.  If we are exposed to overwhelming danger, threat and trauma during our early development, our specie’s resiliency factors from within our bodies will be forced into activation.  If the threat to our infant-child well-being endangers our body-brain-mind-self on the most basic levels, the Trauma Altered Development we experience will simply turn us primarily into SURVIVORS    rather into the most unique, flexible, creative original beings that we had the capacity to become.

To the degree that trauma changes a developing infant-child so that they can survive, to that degree will conscious choice and aware decision making be removed from them – unless and until these survivors can learn what the physiological trauma-changes were, how they affect us, and how we can now FORCE ourselves to become increasingly more conscious in our lives.

Non-trauma-altered people who were not forced to physiologically adapt to early traumas naturally end up with a fuller buffet of consciousness – including the ability to empathize, use a broadly built Theory of Mind to understand themselves in relationship to others in the world, and filter their experience through an aware conscience.  They simply have more choices about how to be in the world.

Of course, these non-trauma developed people can choose to be total jerks if they want to be.  Yet we know that a staggeringly high percentage of our nation’s criminal population suffered from Trauma Altered Development in malevolent childhoods.  Compared to people with Trauma Altered Development, the range of potential choices for non-trauma altered people appears to be almost infinite.

The feedback-feedforward information gathering and response loops within the body-brain-mind-self of a non-traumatized infant-child compared to a traumatized one form differently.  When I think about optimal development using the image of the infinity sign, non-trauma development creates an ever expanding, fully operational flow of life force along that “8” pathway.

The more an individual is forced to apply survival-based physiological changes during their infant-child development in the midst of trauma, the smaller the “8” pathway becomes.  In cases such as my mother’s was, the “8” simply broke so that she was left with the repetitive patterns of “0” only, living her life without the ability to allow incoming information to come in without it having to be processed entirely through the filer of the damage she suffered in her development through trauma.  My mother was not allowed to become the fully unique, thriving, creative, flexible person she COULD have become had she not been forced to physiologically adapt in order to survive during her developmental stages as an infant-child.

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The physiological crisis point within our human body-brain-mind-self as we interact with others of our species is at the SHAME point.  No matter how we choose to recognize this point, no matter what word we choose to apply to this very real physiological point in the operation of our Autonomic Nervous System (ANS), it is at this SHAME point that we are notified that there has been a rupture in need of repair between ourselves and others around us.  The SHAME point is where the “GO” and the “STOP” within our body-brain-mind-self happens.  It is at this point that negotiation can happen successfully – or not.

It seems entirely possible to me that this SHAME point is where the two circles of the “8” infinity sign meet one another.  In cases such as my mother’s, it is at this point that she broke and was left with “0”, unable to negotiate herself as a being in relationship not only to others, but also in relationship to her own self.  She lost the ability to consciously identify herself in a complex world of shifting realities.

My mother operated from the extremely limited survival-based point of automatic pilot only.  She could not flexibly and creatively, openly or consciously consider options to solving conflicts because everything about her centered on NOT feeling shame because she could not tolerate it.  When an infant-child’s environment is so unstable, when their basic human needs-rights are not met, when survival becomes the ONLY option, it means that the patterns of rupture without either repair or HOPE of repair have so signaled the developing little person of danger in a malevolent world that all but the most very basic, primitive options have been allowed.

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The problem with overwhelming trauma is that it disturbs the rupture-repair pattern of checks and balances that allows life to continue going on in anything like a normal or ordinary way.  The problem with overwhelming trauma during our infant-child developmental stages is that we are forced to find a way to survive at the same time we have the most limited resources we will have in our lifetime.  Our only option was, in effect, to steal from our own inner bank of resources in order to survive.  This causes the problem to be built right into our developing body-brain-mind-self because we are then depleted from the inside out.

The point of surviving trauma is to eliminate its effects on us.  If we have no power to eliminate its effects (think here, little tiny person) then the next best thing we can do is eliminate our awareness of the experience of being in a state of ongoing trauma that we cannot escape from.  We have no option except to escape on the inside.

Recovery from trauma post-infant-childhood means that we ‘return’ to a normal or near normal state which happens when the rupture that trauma created becomes repaired.  There must be adequate resources available to allow repair to take place so that life can “GO” on, one way or the other.  In the case of Trauma Altered Development during infant-childhood, the resources had to be found within the child itself because they were not available from the outside.

I do not believe it will be much longer before we understand completely that nearly all of what we call ‘dysfunctional behavior’ including ‘mental illness’ is a result of overwhelming trauma during infant-childhood developmental stages that causes survivors to steal from their own inner storehouse of resources at a time when having to do so – in order to stay alive – robs them of the capacity to later experience a full, healthy, flexibly adaptive, creative best-developed-self.

It is for this reason, if for no other, that a guarantee of Child Rights becomes such a critically important factor.  When a child has its fundamental human rights provided, it will not be forced to use up its own internal resources in order to survive.  Those resources HAVE TO COME from the outside of the child.  That is what human childhood is – a developmental period of growing and expanding ability to sustain oneself in the world.  In order for an infant-child to develop optimally, its needs must be attended to and met during these stages of dependency.  If those needs are not met from the outside, Trauma Altered Development will occur, or the infant-child will die.

It is the responsibility of all adults to ensure that all of a child’s rights are guaranteed and protected.  Nature has designed humans so that appropriate and adequate adult caregiving of infants and children is our specie’s primary, number one resiliency factor.  We must lift the yoke of stigma off of the survivors of infant-child neglect, abuse and trauma and place it instead on all the adults in the society surrounding our little ones that allowed this malevolent treatment and trauma to happen to them in the first place.

It is on this level that I place responsibility and accountability on our nation when I say “SHAME on you!”  Either we intend to STOP neglecting our responsibility to our nation’s children or we don’t.  Either we intend to repair the rupture in the fabric of our society that allows the basic rights of children to be violated, or we do not.

If we choose to GO on letting traumas happen to our little ones that is within our society’s power to STOP, then we must realize that the Trauma Altered Development that will happen to these maltreated and traumatized infant-children will change them on their most primary, physiological level — as they are forced to take from inside of themselves what they need in order to survive — because the adults in their world were not there to help them.  Having to do so will change the degree of well-being for these survivors for the rest of their lives.

When the trigger point of shame is touched, it is time to examine conscience and to choose a course of action.  This is true for individuals and for the societies they are a part of.  In cases such as my mother’s, these abilities were removed from her through trauma that caused her Trauma Altered Development.  Is this same kind of pattern also contained within our nation?

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Please feel free to comment directly at the end of this post or on

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Your Page – Readers’ Responses

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I know you’re probably reading this because you want to read up on social media and something to do with its impact on marketing and communications for business, but I needed to take a step back this last week.

It’s been a crazy year for me. My mom had a bout with cancer, I changed jobs and moved across the country from Detroit to Seattle and now I’ve lost one of the most consistently supportive presences in my life: my dog, Jupiter.

He was very old — thirteen years old — ridiculously old for a St. Bernard, but no amount of thinking on the matter prepared me for losing him. He has been by my side in three different cities over the last 13 years and he was with me for almost four years before my husband and I started dating.

It’s been difficult to concentrate on other things, not because I’m preoccupied with thoughts of him, but because I’m so afraid of forgetting him — his different looks and mannerisms, his smells (even the bad ones), and because I also look for reassurance everywhere I go that he is indeed okay.

I apologize if you came here today for something else, but I had to share where I’m at in order to begin to move forward — I hope that’s okay with you.

I promise the next time you come back here I will continue to share things related to social media marketing and communications. Hopefully you’ll even find it useful.

Today I had to use social media to help me remember my best friend and I just have to hope you’ll understand.

Unfortunately, we all know there is no pause button on life — online and offline, but sometimes I think it’s okay to let some things go on without you in order to give yourself a chance to regroup. What do you say?

Top Infertility Survival Tips 

Be as informed as possible during your journey with infertility.  Doctors don’t always have the answers! Research your condition online, but be careful to get your information from reputable sites.  

 Decide your limits (morally, physically, spiritually, and financially) before you go for treatment.  Put them in writing and share them with your doctor.  This will help you stick to your limits when the pressure is on. 

 Don’t take everything others say to heart.  People will say the most awful, stupid, hurtful things.  Expect it, and remember: they (like all of us) are doing the best they can.  

 Make sure you understand your insurance coverage and the state laws that apply to coverage of fertility treatments.     

  If you’re not happy with your doctor, change right away.  You need to be understood, be able to ask questions, and not feel threatened or challenged. 

  Find support.  Your family and friends are important, but they can’t replace the value of sharing with other couples who are facing the same fight against infertility.  Seek our support groups in your church, community, and on the Internet. 

 Don’t let life pass you by while you are waiting to become a parent.  It would be better to cancel plans at the last minute than to let opportunities to enjoy your life, and your spouse slip away while you wait.   

 Laugh when you want to laugh and cry when you want to cry. 

 Give yourself the freedom to grieve.  The inability to have a child is a loss.  It’s okay, even healthy, to grieve that loss.  Don’t allow people to stop the process by telling you to stop making a fuss. 

 Try to have your husband or another support person with you at doctor visits.  You never know when you might receive upsetting news, and it helps to have someone there to comfort you.  

 If your marriage suffers because of infertility, get help early!  My husband and I found that our infertility problems were tearing us apart.  Getting professional help was the best thing we’ve ever done for our marriage. 

 Be selective when telling others about your infertility.  Many of us have lived to regret making our struggles common knowledge among family and friends.  

…could maybe put Jenny together again?

I want to thank everyone who’s been so incredibly supportive, although only a couple of you actually know what happened.  I know people just know i’ve been incredibly sad.  I’ve been avoiding blogging since my last entry.  I guess it was because I knew that once I typed these words, it’d make them true because I’d be acknowledging them to the world:  I broke up with my boyfriend the day before Thanksgiving.

Not an earth shattering revelation for anyone but me, but I needed to share that, nonetheless.   I still love him and care deeply- that really hasn’t changed.  He is a wonderful person, but circumstances of our situation (which I won’t share out of respect for him and us), make it so that this is better for both of us.  Doesn’t mean I don’t miss him terribly.  Doesn’t mean I don’t feel a horrible sense of loss.  Doesn’t mean I care any less or have shed fewer tears than I have.  I find myself wondering how is he is, what he’s up to, if he saw that little blurb on the news he’d think was funny, wonder what he’d think of my latest faux pas, and of course, I wonder if he misses me, too.  It’s only natural, I suppose, when you’ve shared so much of yourself and your life with another person and all of a sudden, they’re gone.

It really only sunk in the week after Thanksgiving that it was really and truly over.  I was numb with shock and found myself living on popcorn and Mike and Ikes.  One day I just had a baked potato and was startled when I went to bed to find that I had truly forgotten to eat.  I wasn’t listening to my body because my mind and heart were so otherwise engaged.  Bad food blogger!  I realized soon, though, that not taking care of myself wasn’t doing me any favors.

I started to cook a bit again and realized that doing what I love was going to help me get through it.  Then I started baking.  I baked my ass off.  I attempted to go vegan(disaster), I wrote up recipes to try, and dreamed up new and odd ingredient combinations.  I discovered the most amazing brownies- butterscotch and peanut butter(heaven).  Sometime between slowly melting butter and folding in egg, the flood gates opened and I lost it.  Apparently, the secret to good brownies is tears.  Right in the batter.  Must help them rise or something, because those puppies rose to new heights.   I’ll post that recipe and a few others soon.

I still cry, but not as often.  I’ve finally stopped listening to sad, sappy music.  So, my next step?  Yoga.  Gym. Jewelry design.  Writing.  Blogging.  Things I enjoy.  It’s really time I started taking care of me again while I let my heart heal.  It’s time I started learning how to love myself instead of depending on others to do it for me.  So, I’ll pick up the pieces and try to put MYSELF back together, because at the end of the day all I really have is me.  I just hope that someday missing him will abate a little and every time I realize anew that he isn’t a part of my life, my heart will stop skipping a beat.

So, we all have different sides to ourselves . . . Mostly I devote my time to writing Bible Study resources for teenagers. Except when I don’t . . .

My lovely wife and I help facilitate our church’s grief outreach. My wife is a grief counselor. I’m just a dude who has (unfortunately) dealt with a lot  of loss in his young life.

So, one of the areas I write and speak about is grief and loss.

For lots of folks, the holidays have a sort of cloud over them. These are people for whom Christmas is a reminder of a void. A void left by the death of a spouse, child, or some other significant loved one.

I spoke at a banquet our church gave for those who have lost someone this year, a banquet focusing on finding hope amidst grief in this holiday season.

I thought I would post the talk here. If this applies to you, please read on. If not, recommend it to someone who might struggle some this Christmas due to grief.

And as always, let me know what you think or if I can help you.

It was Thursday morning, October 6^th, 2005. It was a little before 10:00 AM. I was sitting in a cubicle at Student Life, editing a Bible Study lesson for teenagers. My desk phone rang. I looked at the number. One of my brothers was calling me from their shared home in Athens. I picked up the phone and was greeted by the hysterical voice of my middle brother.

“He killed himself. Paul killed himself.”

I remember telling my brother to call me back on my cell phone and hanging up. Walking out of our office space, one of my co-workers asked, “Is everything OK?” I answered him . . . No.

Paul was my baby brother. He was my best friend in the world. His loss changed something inside of me. In some ways, forever. The days after his death were awful. They were so hard! I remember the waves of emotions coming over me in the days after his death. I remember wanting to just surrender to it. Just sit in it. Wallow in it. Let it overtake me.

But here is an interesting thing: God saw me through my grieving.

Certainly, the kind words and emotional support of my wife helped. And there were other gracious people who made healing easier. But it was God who literally pulled me through it. He saw me through the lowest time in my life. He has seen many of you through yours, as well.

Some of you, however, are in the midst of your low time. Some of you are seeking out God each day to bring you through this valley.

Even those of us who have come through the most imposing moments of our grief journey are susceptible to being sucked back in during the holidays.

So, regardless of who you are, I want to speak to you very briefly today. I want to speak to you as someone who has been in the valley. Someone who has looked for God in the shadows and could not always find Him. Someone who cried out to God for comfort when there was none.

In those dark times, I remember feeling like God was very far away from me. What a terrible feeling in such a distressing time. I remember not understanding why I couldn’t feel God’s presence. And I remember this really giving me great pause. Maybe you can relate?

Well, I want you to know that I read something the other day that I believe God alerted me to, knowing I had this talk to give, knowing it was on my mind. It is an amazing commentary on this very subject. And I want to share it with you.

Joey Shaw, one of the pastors from The Austin Stone Community Church in Austin, was doing mission work in China. While in China, on November 8th, Joey was robbed by a group of Chinese youth. In the attack, he was cut by a straight razor on from his ear to his cheek.

Reading the accounts, it sounds like a horrifying experience. I will save you the details. Several days after the attack, Joey wrote an amazing blog post where he detailed the reflections God had lead him to in the wake of this attack. He said something profound I wanted to share with you today, something that resonated very deeply with me as it pertains to the days following my brothers death.

This is what Joey said:

Sometimes the Lord might keep us from feelings so that we will rely on simple faith in His written promises. Immediately after the attack, as we ran for safety and sought medical care, I wanted to feel the Lord’s presence with us. Our hearts were racing, our emotions were barely steady as blood gushed from my wound onto my shirt and pants. I wanted the physical comfort of the Lord’s presence. But I did not feel it; rather, I had to believe it. Where my feelings failed, my mind thrived. I remembered Scripture and believed it. My heart followed the leadership of my head and believed in the Lord’s comfort and presence even when I did not feel it.

What a deeply profound thought. “I wanted the physical comfort of the Lord’s presence. But I did not feel it; rather, I had to believe it.”

I can relate so much to this thought in the days and weeks after my brother died. I remember wanting so badly to be comforted by God, and feeling perplexed when I did not feel comforted. I think this was the biggest question I had in processing grief. “God, why didn’t you make me feel comforted?”

I believe Joey nailed it.

Our feelings are so fickle, aren’t they? They can deceive us. We can feel one thing one moment, another the next. We can feel badly when everything seems to be going great. We can feel great when all around us is falling apart. So, it is no wonder that sometimes, in the midst of extreme grief, we do not feel God’s presence. We do not feel comforted.

What this Joey reminds us, and what I am fond of reminding others in a time of trouble or separation from God, is that God always is.

God is always near.

God is constant.

God always is!

Malachi 3:6 says, “I the LORD do not change.”

Isaiah 40:28 says  “The LORD is the everlasting God . . . He will not grow tired or weary.”

He is always there with us. He is never far away. Whether we feel Him or not changes nothing about this fact.

God is our comforter. How do we know this? Because the Bible tells us.

May your unfailing love be my comfort, according to your promise to your servant. Psalm 119:76

God is our healer. How do we know? Because the Bible tells us.

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. Psalm 147:3

God is the giver of peace. The Bible tells us this is true.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. John 14:27

One of the most important things we can do is turn to God’s Word in times of darkness, in times of trouble. Everything in your body might rebel from this idea. Your spirit may tell you the last thing it needs is to read the Bible.

But God has chosen His Word to be the primary way He communicates to us. And He has given His Spirit to help lead you to encountering Him through the Bible: “But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you” (John 14:26 ).

God longs to communicate with you in your time of grief. Proverbs 8:17 says “I love those who love me, and those who seek me diligently find me.”

When you do not feel God, when you are overwhelmed by your situation, God has given you His promises, in His Word, to sustain you.

My word for you today is to seek God in His Word.

Zen Teacher Darlene Cohen is a true dharma warrior. Faced with the pain of crippling rheumatoid arthritis, she has used this very pain to go deeper in the dharma and find a way through the suffering. I deeply admire her courage and her bodhisattva heart, which impel her to share what she has learned with others.
As she says at her website:

My purpose in establishing this website is to encourage and inspire people living with chronic pain or crushing stress to learn the skills necessary for dealing with these often catastrophic situations. Even if you are taking medication, seeing a physician regularly or already have established a formal meditation practice, I believe it is in your daily life and everyday activities that you will find the antidote to your distress.

I’ve personally been greatly helped by Darlene Cohen’s books and teaching. It’s so very hard to go into the pain and see what happens to it when held in mindfulness and compassion. We all want to run away, to hide, and yet with chronic pain, there is no place to run. Worse, yet, trying to escape, we only go deeper into suffering. We actually block ourselves off from the very mindfulness and loving-kindness that can heal our suffering. We blind and numb ourselves to the presence of what is in fact good in our lives—the happiness, goodness, and joy that are available right in the midst of our suffering.

One of the most important lessons I’ve learned in Buddhism is this: The only way out is through. That’s the hard lesson when there’s nothing we can humanly do about some physical pain or mental distress. Only be being with the pain, holding ourselves and this pain in our arms like a crying baby, can we begin to get healing. This embrace of what’s going on is not stoic endurance, gritting our teeth and suffering dumbly. Nor is it an escape to some nirvana of bliss, even though we do find shelter in metta practice and the genuine mindfulness of meditation.

Is being truly present in the midst of pain easy? Is it easy to find happiness, even pleasure, right in the midst of acute, chronic pain? No, it’s not! But it is doable. Listen to what this wise dharma teacher has to say about it. She’s been there; she is there. If you’ve been in despair over chronic pain, learn how even this despair can be skillfully used to open the door to freedom.

The Only Way I Know to Alleviate Suffering

Excerpted from Being Bodies essay by Darlene Cohen

Photo by Masha Oguinskaia

Self-healing is an area I’ve explored intensely because I have had rheumatoid arthritis, a very painful and crippling disease, for eighteen years. It began in my seventh year of zen practice, while I was living at Green Gulch Farm. . . . . .Because of my pain I lived in a world of continual intrusive sensation. It was very much in my self-interest to notice what circumstances increased or decreased my pain and then alter my pain level by manipulating those circumstances.

Before becoming so ill, I had trouble interrupting my discursive mind to make the observations necessary to begin a mindfulness practice. On a Sunday I would vow to notice all my postural changes, determined to say to myself when I went from sitting to standing to lying: ‘Now I’m standing.’ Now I’m lying.’ Then the next time I remembered, Thursday, say, I would suddenly cry, ‘Oh! I’m standing!’ After becoming ill, I was highly motivated to make these observations. Changing my posture was a dramatic event in my life. I needed to heed every little sensation in my legs and feet in order to go from sitting to standing. Getting out of my bed and Going to the bathroom took the same kind of focus and attention as going on safari.

Dealing with pain, step by step

I lived a half-block from the San Francisco Zen Center and used to try to go to dinner there once a week as a treat to myself. I would walk down the hill, which brought me to the bottom of a number of steps to the front door. Going up the steps would be the second leg of a laborious journey. Sometimes I would make it all the way to the steps and not be able to go up them. So I would have to strain all the way back up the hill to my apartment. I asked myself, what is it about my walking that is so tiring? What I called ‘walking’ was the part of the step when my foot met the sidewalk. From the point of view of the joints, that is the most stressful component of walking. The joints get a rest when the foot is in the air, just before it strikes the pavement. I found that by focussing on the foot that was in the air instead of the foot that was striking the pavement, my stamina increased enormously. After making this observation, I never again failed to climb the steps to knock on the front door of Zen Center.

Where is our focus?

I was struck that the focus of my attention could make that much difference in my physical ability. I began to search out the times my brain was clumping together many disparate motions into an idea which would prevent me from overcoming an obstacle, and then I concentrated on breaking down these aggregates of ideas into discrete units of smaller experience that I could master. Sick or well, we all do this all the time. We get into the idea of something, the clump, the heap, the pile, rather than the actual experience.

Someone says, ‘I can’t practice because I haven’t been to the zendo in three weeks’ instead of just going to the zendo when she can. When I haul out the carrots and the cutting-board during the arthritis workshops I give, everybody immediately groans: ‘I can’t cut carrots with my arthritic hands!’ But when you actually hold the knife in your hands, feeling its wooden handle and sharp, solid blade; and you touch the vulnerable flesh of the carrot on the cutting-board; your wrist goes up and down, up and down; and the orange cylinders of carrot begin to pile up on the board, you realize: ‘I can cut carrots.’ Tears come to people’s eyes.

. . . . .When Trungpa Rimpoche wrote in The Sacred Path of the Warrior that ‘the human potential for intelligence and dignity is attuned to experiencing the objects around us, the brilliance of the bright blue sky, the freshness of green fields, and the beauty of the trees and mountains,’ I think he was suggesting that our intelligence and dignity themselves are developed by our being alive for the mundane chaos of our lives. If we cultivate awareness of our actual experience, without reference to any preconceived idea, then we don’t prefer any particular state of mind. Intimacy with our activity and the objects around us connects us deeply to our lives.

Connecting to what is

This connection — to the earth, our bodies, our sense impressions, our creative energies, our feelings, to other people — is the only way I know of to alleviate suffering. To me our awareness of these things without preference is a meditation that synchronizes body and mind. This synchronization, the experience of deep integrity, of being all of a piece, is a very deep healing. It is unconventional to value such a subtle experience. It is not encouraged in our culture. We’re much more apt to strive to feel special, uniquely talented, particularly loved. It’s extraordinary to be willing to live an ordinary life, to be fully alive for the laundry, to be present for the dishes. We overlook these everyday connections to our lives, waiting for The Event.

A client of mine was very annoyed and scolded her husband for coming in and telling me a joke while I was massaging her at her house. When I asked her why she minded so much, she said to me, ‘He was using up my time with you.’ She was not in a state of mind that could be satisfied by simply listening to the sound of her husband’s voice as he told a joke, of feeling my fingers on her body, of sensing the animal presence of the three of us sharing the room. She didn’t even examine the starved, jealous mind that resented his brief interruption.

Perceiving the shadows

Paradoxically, noticing this kind of small-mindedness can actually add rich texture to the weave of your life. When you include the shadow in your perceptions, your conscious life begins to be shaded and textured by your anguish and your petty little snits. Sanitizing your thoughts and your preoccupations not only squanders vital energy that would be better spent in your creative endeavors, but your not-so-presentable life can be enormously enriching and provide the compost for the development of compassion

If you have never given into temptation of any kind, how can you ever understand — or embrace — the sinner? I pointed out some of these things to my client. When I next saw her she told me that after our session she had begun to be flooded with perceptions. She had noticed how much pain her tense relationship with her teenaged son was causing her. Being numb had enabled her to tolerate their friction, but now it was clear to her that she couldn’t live with those hard feelings. She had to engage him and discuss their problems.

Diving into the despair—what is this?

People sometimes ask me where my own healing energy comes from. How in the midst of this pain, this implacable slow crippling, can I encourage myself and other people? My answer is that my healing comes from my bitterness itself, my despair, my terror. It comes from the shadow. I dip down into that muck again and again and then am flooded with its healing energy. Despite the renewal and vitality it gives me to face my deepest fears, I don’t go willingly when they call. I’ve been around that wheel a million times: first I feel the despair, but I deny it for a few days; then its tugs become more insistent in proportion to my resistance; finally it overwhelms me and pulls me down, kicking and screaming all the way. It’s clear I am caught, so at last I give up to this reunion with the dark aspect of my adjustment to pain and loss. Immediately the release begins: first peace and then the flood of vitality and healing energy

I can never just give up to it when I first feel it stir. You’d think after a million times with a happy ending, I could give up right away and just say, ‘Take me, I’m yours,’ but I never can. I always resist. I guess that’s why it’s called despair. If you went willingly, it would be called something else, like purification or renewal or something hopeful. It’s staring defeat and annihilation in the face that’s so terrifying; I must resist until it overwhelms me. But I’ve come to trust it deeply. It’s enriched my life, informed my work, and taught me not to fear the dark.

It seems to me that when we fall ill, we have an opportunity we may not have noticed when we were well, to literally in-corp-orate the wisdom of the Buddhas, and to present it as our own body.

You can find many wonderful resources at Darlene Cohen’s website:

http://www.darlenecohen.net/

Didn’t sleep very well last night and am up early this morning. I have to be at the hospital at 7:30 this morning. I am not sure why but I am feeling a little apprehensive even nervous about this whole thing.  With this heart of mine I have been through a lot of tests and procedures and have never felt this way before.

Maybe it is just this memory of mine. I know I have to be there but for the life of me, I can’t remember why. Obviously, I know it is a test of some sort in which a dye is put into my system. So it involves taking pictures of my heart, a cat scan or ultra sound something like that. That part doesn’t worry me.

I remember being told a follow up procedure will be required. What that is will be determined by the results of this test. I always ask for a best case worst case scenario. Best case I like, worst case not so much.

Lately, I’ve been burying my pain. I’ve been burying it far below the demands of work, school, and life in general. It feels better that way. I even convinced myself I was further along in the healing process than I really am. I thought I was way ahead of the game. But I’m not. There is a difference between healing and refusing to feel.

Sometimes taking a break from grief is necessary. Good days provide the necessary strength for plowing through the next bad day. Good days are essential to the healing process. Without them, all purpose would be stripped from life, and all that would loom ahead is despair. However, having good days is not the issue.

The problem is that I have been ignoring the grief and the pain. Once I re-established a routine in my life, I realized I could avoid it through distractions. I learned that while the pain is like a drone behind the tune of my life, never fully disappearing, I could muffle it. Doing so felt good. I don’t enjoy the crying or the searing pain that courses through my entire body. I hate everything about feeling vulnerable. In fact, I try so hard to be transparent on this blog, and I am always perfectly honest with my feelings here, but sometimes I even struggle with that. I want to pretend I’m doing better than I am. It is hard to give people a non-tinted window into my heart.

Last night I couldn’t sleep, and as I reflected on these things, I realized there is only one true exit in the tunnel of grief, and that involves walking through the darkness. I can close my eyes and imagine I’m in a different place, but the reality is, I’m standing still as long as I do that. In order to move through this tunnel, I must accept the pain and darkness surrounding me and march forward.

Cisco was alive a year ago.

We didn’t know he had cancer.  He wasn’t in pain.

I have lost nearly everything.  Not to be egotistical, but I feel Job-ish.  I have faith still.  My rope is mighty thin and short some days,  but I hang on.  I don’t know why…….

RIP:

Ralph.  Sweetness.  FlatCat.  Hammy.

Stuffed RIP:

Gus. Phil.  Hippo.  Hum.  Pesky.  Dan.  Lovey.  If you are not on here, it is more the hour of the night than the lack of caring; forgive me.

There are the days we get out of bed, ready to face to world and embrace whatever comes our way .  No one can predict whatever the new day may bring us.  It’s exhilarating and enthralling but at the same time, kind of frightening.  You never know if you walk into work and get that raise that you’ve been anticipating for the last 6 months.  Or perhaps you receive a call from an old friend that you haven’t talked to in a decade.  Or maybe you will randomly find $50 in the pocket of one of your old pair of jeans you hadn’t worn in over a year.  The possibilities are endless.

But what happens when something terrible occurs?  It’s inevitable.  The pleasant things in life are limited.  Eventually, something that’s not so wonderful will happen – it’s part of life. But what if it’s something that you least expect?  After all, this world is full of surprises, right?  But surprises are not always sunshine and rainbows.  My dear friend and roommate came home last Thursday night with terrible news that really rocked her to the core.  She found out that her young, 26-year-old cousin had cancer.  When I saw her blood-shot eyes and tear drops on her long lashes, I knew something was immediately wrong.  I hugged her after she told me the heart wrenching news.  She curled up in my arms and just cried.  I haven’t seen her cry like that in some time.  Her cousin is beautiful, driven, intelligent and has a successful career.  She had everything in the world at her fingertips and now has to deal with something that people dread and fear having to ever go through.

All that my friend could repeat was “It’s unfair.  Why should any 26-year-old or any person for that matter have to go through such a horrible thing in life?”  It’s something that happens to people every day.  But it really hits home when it’s someone you are close to and love dearly.  She asked me how there could be a God if this kind of thing happens to such a good soul?  As I listened to her intently, it took me back to when I lost faith.

When I was 16-years-old and in high school, one of my closest friends was killed in a horrific car accident.  She was a passenger in the back of an SUV.  She had it all.  She was a beautiful girl with long, blonde hair, a stunning smile, intelligent, on the lacrosse team at her high school, an endless amount of friends and an incredibly close, tight-knit family that loved her dearly.  She grew up with all of the wonderful privileges in life.  A large, magnificent home, a doctor as a father, a nurse as a mother and a sister who attended one of the most prestigious colleges in the state.  The girl who was driving the car was wreck less and driving too fast that night in April.  She hit a tree and my friend and a young peer who also attended their high school were flung from the back window.  They both died instantly.

When I was notified about the accident, I was on Spring Break.  My friend was supposed to meet me down at the beach only a few days after this took place and until I received the phone call, I thought the plans were still on.  My phone rang and a terrified and very saddened voice from a mutual family friend was on the other line.  I remember everything.  I was lying on the beach with the sun in my face and enjoying the sand in my toes.  When she broke the news to me, I literally dropped my phone out of my hand and it hit my towel on the beach.  My entire world went black at that very moment.  I was in an absolute state of shock – there is no other way to describe the overflowing emotions that completely took over my body.  All of a sudden, my world came crashing down.

I left the beach the next day to ensure I was back in time to attend her funeral.  I attended at 16-year-old’s funeral.  That should never be.  Nor should you ever be a parent and be at your own child’s funeral.  I lost faith in God that day.  I lost faith in a lot of things.  How could this happen to someone who was such a good person?  She was really an incredible young woman who had no enemies, not one single foe.  She was loved by the masses.  She would have given her life for another.  She was truly one-of-a-kind and no one could hold a candle to her.  I took it so rough that I saw a grief counselor for many months following the accident.  It has now been almost 8 years, I am still not over it.

The one thing that I learned through this life-changing experience is that it’s important to live your life and not just for yourself, but for the person who can’t. Be grateful for what is around you and that you wake up every morning and can take a breath.  I learned to still believe, even when it was almost impossible to.  If you don’t believe in something, what is there to really live for?

It’s very difficult to be a part of this world when unfair things happen every day to such wonderful people who never deserve it.  To actually see the things that some struggle with and the pain and strife that follow.  It’s hard to believe in miracles when they are not occurring around you.  Whether someone passes or someone gets sick, as hard as it can be, you have to try to turn to your family, God and whatever it is that you believe in and keep the faith, even when life is unfair.

Compulsive Hoarding is a cluttery mess!!

What makes this happen?

Have you seen homes that look like this?

Does your home look like this?

Compulsive hoarding, or disposophobia, is a psychiatric condition that affects millions of people.

Compulsive hoarding is an obsessive need to acquire and keep possessions, even if these items have little value, are unsanitary, or broken, or unusable.  Numerous items are kept and not discarded.  Instead of using the items already owned, or looking for items that are lost in the piles, new items are acquired repeatedly to the point that the clutter creates significant dysfunction in a variety of areas of the person’s life.

Compulsive hoarding is far more complex than it first appears.  It is connected to a variety of disorganized chaotic behavioral patterns and disorganized thinking patterns.  It typically occurs in combination with other psychiatric issues, such as depression, anxiety, obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), eating disorders, attention deficit disorders, addiction issues, trauma disorders, attachment disorders, etc.

There appears to be a biological base to this behavior as research is beginning to explore a genetic link to compulsive hoarding in generations of families.  As children, many hoarders were raised by parents who were hoarders, so not only is it a learned behavior, but it could also be  biologically connected. The area of the brain most significantly different for hoarders is the part of the brain that is responsible for focus, attention, and decision-making.  According to research done at the University of Iowa, damage done to the to the right medial prefrontal cortex of the brain tends to cause compulsive hoarding.

Hoarders have a great deal of anxiety when pressured to let go of their possessions.  They typically require external assistance, including professional assistance, to help with the cleaning and organizing tasks.  Feelings of emotional overwhelm, intense anxiety, and panic attacks can be paralyzing for the hoarder.  These increased anxiety symptoms create an inability to make decisions, stir up friction and emotional outbursts, lead to fatigue and exhaustion, and repeatedly interrupt the cleaning process.  Letting the hoarder have control of the cleaning process and allowing time for the harder to build trust with the cleaning crew is particularly important to successful organizational efforts.

The clean-up process is intense and slow.  Forcing a hoarder to clean too quickly will not result in long-term resolution of the problem.  The problem is not just “clean up your house” or “throw this away”.  The problem lies deeper within the person, and the struggles will manifest again in just a short-time.

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How does compulsive hoarding relate to Dissociative Identity Disorder?

Compulsive hoarding is an issue separate from DID / MPD, but many dissociative survivors struggle with hoarding issues.

DID survivors have a variety of issues that overlap with hoarding behaviors: intense anxiety, deep feelings of hopelessness, fear of being out of control, problems with focus and decision-making, attachment issues, loss and grief, depression, the need for memory reminders, disorganized thought processes, disorganized behaviors, etc.

How many trauma survivors do you know that did not have safe people to attach to?  And how many survivors of neglect were left alone, isolated with no one to attach to?  When children spend too much time alone, they tend to attach to items, toys, books, stuffies, etc.  Attaching to stuff is better than attaching to nothing.  It is an adaptive behavior in a painfully difficult environment.  However, when this continues over time, the potential for these behaviors to develop into a compulsive hoarding situation increases.

The emotional pain from not having deep personal relationships or the fear of being near people can add to the need to connect with physical possessions or animals instead of people.  Building a personal relationship with stuff, and with animals can add to a compulsive hoarding situation.  Attaching to stuff can feel much safer than attaching to people.

With all the switching and amnesia that can happen with dissociative identity disorder, DID survivors can experience a lot of chaotic thinking and chaotic behaviors.  It can be difficult to complete a task – you can be there, and then suddenly find yourself somewhere else five hours later, having never finished the task you started in the first place.  These kinds of disorganized behaviors can leave unattended messes and growing clutter all around your house.  Do your child parts pick up the messes they leave behind?  Do your teenage parts pick up their clothes?  Did anyone remember to finish the dishes?  What about the mess those angry parts made?  Who wants to clean that up?

The “I didn’t do that, so I’m not cleaning that up” concept can get very difficult for dissociative survivors.  You might not know who made the mess in the first place, or the part that did it might not be around anymore, you might not know how to call them back, etc.  You might not know who to assign to completing basic household chores.  Developing system work and system cooperation can help, but in the meantime, there can be a lot of “that’s not mine” / “I’m not doing that” arguments.  Clutter and external disorganization can build while you are sorting out these internal system issues.

How many dissociative survivors have trouble remembering if they have something?  Do you own one of those things?  Did you buy that, or just think about buying that?  Or was that last year?  Do you still have that?  Or was that way back then?  Where did you live when you had that? Or if you know you have it, do you know where it is?

Sometimes it is easier to buy the item again than find it or remember if you have it.  While this can be a dissociative symptom, this also contributes to the “Shop and Drop” behaviors found in compulsive hoarding.   Shop and Drop refers to a pattern of behavior where the compulsive shopper drops their packages and purchases in some unspecified place.  Over time, the packages and purchases get lost in the piles of other clutter, and then when it is time to use the items that were purchased, the location of the dropped items cannot be found.  It becomes easier to buy those items again, instead of finding the ones you had.

There is also the complication of accumulation by repetition. Compulsive hoarders will acquire and stash away numerous items that are basically the same.  What if you buy everyone in your DID system a stuffie?  How many stuffies will that be?  What if everyone wants their own books?   And of course, many of the different insiders will have their own shirts, their own pants, their own shoes, their own socks, etc.  While it is extremely important that the insiders have their own things, the sheer volume of each of the parts keeping their own stuff can add to the size of an ever-growing clutter problem.

The same as with compulsive hoarding, things / possessions / items can represent memories.  For DID survivors, memory is a very complicated subject.  Having items that trigger memories, or remind you of certain things can be a significant part of a growing clutter issue.  Loss and grief are hard emotions to process, and holding on tightly to the items that help you to remember certain people or events can be significant.  It is particularly difficult to let go of an item that has emotional significance to you, especially if it feels like you won’t remember someone or something if you don’t have those correlating things.

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Here are a few ideas for addressing compulsive hoarding issues:

• Decide your current life goals, and keep only items that match with those life goals
• Explore the various meanings that possessions have for you
• Consider appropriate medications for anxiety, OCD, depression, etc.
• Work hard in therapy to address your emotional pain and other emotional issues
• For DID survivors, work hard on developing better internal communication and cooperation so clutter issues can be prevented or addressed
• Address your fears of letting go, or letting go of control – what is that about for you?
• Be honest with yourself about what you really need, what you will really use, what actually works, what you can actually fit into, etc.  Challenge delusional thinking.
• Get professional help if necessary, especially if clutter is affecting your life
• Consider taking pictures of emotionally important but logically unnecessary items.  Photo albums can be less cluttering than keeping all the actual items.
• Donate your excess to those less fortunate than you.
• Consider new rules to live by:  If you get something new, get rid of something old.
• Address your deep feelings of shame, embarrassment, humiliation, fear, sadness, etc.
• Work on building deeper and longer-lasting attachments instead of repeatedly discarding and replacing things (but keeping it just over there in case you want it again)
• Work on building meaningful attachments to people, learning to trust, and finding ways to connect
• Find healthy, meaningful ways to fill the voids in your life by doing more, and keeping less

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By:

Kathy Broady LCSW

www.AbuseConsultants.com

www.SurvivorForum.com

With circumstances in my control and out of my control all mixed together I was “let go” from my job last week. That moment keeps playing over and over. Of curse it does “We’ve decided to let you go”. Shudder. Then I had to make the phone calls to tell the people in my family (both blood and not) and each one makes me feel a little different. I’m still driving home from that office for the last time. I’m still in shock. I’m numb. But the hours move by and the though keeps crossing my mind. I don’t have a job. What am I supposed to do?? I was design engineer for a medical device company for a year. Monday through Friday I got up and went to work. And now I’m just one of many with no direction. So let’s find some direction. I’ll stat applying for jobs. I know it’s not easy. I know were in a recession, or depression, or economic downturn. Whatever buzz word label you want to put, I know we’re in it. But I’m in the medical field. People are still seeking treatment, still seeking a solution to their physical ailments. Maybe at a slower rate, but business is still pretty good. There have to be a few jobs out there. I started applying. I realized that in the short 18 months since receiving my bachelor’s I had made more networking connections that I thought. I could contact them. Get me some help. I started to contact everyone, apply to everything I found. I had updated my resume. Updated all of my professional profiles. I was ready to go.

As with anything though, after a short amount of time, the shock wears of and the stages of grief kick in. Amazing how true all of that is. After a trauma or tragedy everyone goes through them. You might not acknowledge it, but you do. I holed up I ate more junk food than I should have. But after only a day I started to feel human, though a little scarred.

Then I remember that there are others worse off. Which sounds corny even knowing it’s true. Remembering that it’s time to get down to business.

To Do:

Apply for Jobs. Check

Pity Party. Check

Eat 10 lbs of junk food. Check

Stages of Grief. Check

Remember it could be worse. Check

Get out of sweatpants for afternoon. Check

Reconnect with fresh air. Check.

Apply for more jobs. Not check. But it’s next up!

A healthy stepmother worries about filling her own shoes.

A healthy stepmother gives no apology for her presence.

A healthy stepmother . . . like a duck, lets the waterfall of insults roll right off.

A healthy stepmother can wade through the knee-deep BS and come out unscathed on the other side.

PAS-drami & Wry . . . what stepmothers often eat for lunch.

Thank your stepmother, without her you’d be your father’s caregiver.

The Sacrificial Stepmother . . . every stepfamily has one.

What is tempered like steel, abused like Samsonite, and irresistible in black . . . your average stepmother.

When others thank God they are alive, a stepmother thanks God she hasn’t killed anyone.

© 2009, Kim Cottrell, Feldenkrais practitioner, speech pathologist, author, and stepmother. (www.kimcottrell.com)

After months of letters, phone calls, and pleas for to Janey to intervene, finally I asked for a meeting. They might be happy to play unreasonable by post, I reasoned, but it would much harder for them to do it in person.

I stayed calm, and simply explained that I wasn’t going to go and blow the money in the south of France. That my childcare costs were astronomical, by the time I’d paid Rachel and paid for her overnight stays whilst I was away with work. And that was before any thought of college education costs in the future.

I said, look, it’s not anyone’s fault that Jenny died.

But her children need you to be fair now if they are to have the upbringing that she had planned.

The company never explained why they wouldn’t honour Janey’s agreement, and legally they just didn’t have to. Fairness could be sacrificed to save money.

Eventually, their letter arrived, offering a final small increase. My advisor said, it’s not fair, but you’ll have to accept it, and so I did.

It was hard to retain any affection for the company after that, however much Jenny had loved working there. It would have been marvellous to say – yes, it was terrible what happened, but Jenny’s company was fantastic.

Instead, we had to fight them every step of the way for what they gave us.

Why did they behave like that, I asked myself. Well, they were all men. Jenny worked, and they had wives at home. She was on maternity leave when her health failed, and with me working they didn’t see it as a hardship case.

I guess that the money looked good, until you thought of the commitments involved.

And until you remembered that it was Jenny’s money, not mine.

Above all it was money for her kids, and she’d have been hopping mad to have been treated like that.