Til Death Do Us Part

When you have a partner who is narcissistic or emotionally abusive and you make the choice to leave them, the advice that’s always given is to go “no contact” and cut them out of your life completely.

That would work beautifully as a solution to healing from the emotional trauma of being in a relationship with a narcissistic emotional abuser. Except…

What about when you can’t go “no contact”?

What about those of us who created beautiful children with terrible people? What about the women and men who have left an abusive partner but can’t fully escape them because of the children they share?

What about the people like me?


The single, most difficult thing about my life now is managing the co-parenting relationship I have with my daughters’ father. It feels like I continue to hold the vast majority of the parenting responsibility, as I always did, but am required to engage in a relationship with my children’s’ father, regardless of my history with him.

My struggle in this relationship is so bad that I’ve idealized the lives of other parents whose former partners have completely abandoned them and their children. I recognize (and empathize so much with) how incredibly difficult it must be for these parents, financially and otherwise. But I envy the freedom they have when it comes to making decisions for, and being caregivers of, their children.

I also envy my friends who got divorced BEFORE they had kids. In my mind, that type of divorce is akin to ending a middle-school relationship; you both move on and it never has to matter in your life again EVER. Again, I’m not saying it’s easy, just that it’s easier than divorcing when you have kids.

I don’t actually think of what my ex and I do as co-parenting. In fact, there’s a different term for the type of parenting we do: it’s called “parallel parenting.” “Parallel parenting” looks more like a business relationship than a typical parenting relationship. You detach from the other parent and operate separately, aside from making major decisions together. This article explains it much better than I can, but hopefully I’ve given you the gist.

Thinking about all this stuff makes me wonder, how do other parents manage when their partner is abusive? Whether that person is narcissistic, emotionally abusive, physically abusive, or just a shitty person…how do the non-abusive parents cope with an ongoing parenting relationship? Because it’s hard. It’s really, really, fucking hard. And it takes time to figure out ways of coping.

If you also need to continue engaging in a difficult relationship, I do have a few ways you can help minimize the effect it has on your day to day life. You can do things like…

  • Setting a specific ring- and text-tone for your former partner. This way, when calls or messages come in you know right away who it is and you can pause to prepare yourself before answering.
  • Bathing your children when they return home (or having them shower if they’re old enough) and washing the clothes they came home in. I find that scent is a HUGE trigger for me. If it’s a problem for you too, you can eliminate or reduce triggering smells by literally washing them away and the kids never have to be the wiser. All you need to say is “it’s bath night!” and that’s enough.
  • Doing all pick-ups and drop-offs outside your house or in a neutral location. Two choices here: either arrange to meet your ex and the kids somewhere close to home, but not AT your home, or move the pick-ups/drop-offs to your driveway. Again, this is about putting boundaries in your life (and your children’s lives) to keep you feeling safe and secure. Your home should be your sanctuary and if you feel threatened by your ex, inviting them in—or even just having them stand in your doorway—may be too much to ask of yourself. On top of that, and I may have some personal experience with this, opening the door to your ex may enable them to invade your space without permission. So do the drop-offs elsewhere and keep your space sacred (or at least douche-bag free).
  • A similar solution, if it’s possible with your kids, would be to arrange pick-ups and drop-offs around the school schedule so you don’t even need to face your ex at all. Yay!
  • Calling in the recruits! When you have to face your ex, having back-up in the form of another trusted person (a parent, new partner, or friend, for example) can help immensely. Not only is there strength in numbers (or at least that’s how it will look if there are two or more of you), having another person there holds both you and, more importantly, your ex accountable for what is said and done. (Soooo what I’m saying, really, is to make sure there are witnesses, because if your life starts to look more like a crime drama than an actual life, you may need them.)
  • Hiring a professional. If you have the funds, hire a parenting coach or counsellor and attend sessions separately (parallel parenting, remember?). Let the coach do the work of managing your ex’s outbursts, irrational behaviour, out-of-whack expectations, and all other forms of bullshit. If you do end up meeting as a group, you’ll have the counsellor or coach there to keep things on track and keep everyone feeling safe.

Telling abuse survivors who are parents to go no contact with our abusers is actually shitty advice We don’t get to go no contact—it turns out that when you have children with your abuser, “til death do us part” is a life sentence whether you stay married or not. Instead, we should be given tools and language that enable us to set up and, here’s the key part, maintain strong, healthy boundaries that protect us when we feel (or are literally) threatened. Life’s not as simple as just turning away from our problems and when you have kids, you always have to stare those issues straight in the face.  

xxJ


My home is my sanctuary. I feel safe here and my daughters feel at home. We can be secure in these walls no matter what else is going on.

I’m At My Best When I’m Depressed

Depression can be described as a deep sensation of numbness. Of sadness. Heaviness. Loneliness. A profound sense of despair. An internalized sense of being unworthy. Constantly feeling isolated and invisible.

Depression is like:

“A distance between you and the world. You cannot see any tangible future, so there is a feeling of hopelessness. It takes extra effort to do anything because the world is so far away, and emotions rarely make it through the void either so you are numb and distant (and all to [sic] often using lots of energy to prevent people from realising [sic] how you actually feel).”

source

Saying that depression sucks would definitely be an understatement, but I want to argue that, actually, I’m at my best when I’m depressed. Let me try to explain…

When I’m depressed, I feel tired all the time. Actually, not just tired, exhausted. I can sleep for two hours or 20 hours and still not feel rested. But everyday, I get up and I get through it.

When I’m depressed, I imagine that I don’t matter; I feel an ongoing and intense sense of despair deep within myself. But, I get up and I get through it.

When I’m depressed, all I want to do is curl up and disappear. Sometimes this manifests as suicidal thoughts or ideation, sometimes it’s just a sense of wanting to shut the world out and find a safe, comfortable space to hide in. But regardless of feeling this way, I get up and I get through it.

When I’m depressed, I struggle to eat, which means that I don’t get the nourishment I need. This creates a cycle of feeling too shitty to eat and then feeling worse because I haven’t eaten. It also often results in a pattern of bingeing and then restricting, which messes up my system even more. And yet no matter what, I get myself up and I get through it.

When I’m depressed, my anxiety goes on high alert too, so I become exhausted AND hyper-vigilant at the same time. It’s like there are sirens blaring in my head but my body is so heavy that I can barely move. And yet, even with these overwhelming sensations going on in my brain, I get up and I get through it.

When I’m depressed, every part of being a mother becomes extra difficult. Making meals, getting school stuff sorted, making my children laugh, comforting them, getting through bedtime…even just being present with them… But I don’t want my mental illness to affect my children no matter how low I get, so I get up and I get through it.

If you haven’t caught on yet, what I’m trying to say is that when I’m depressed, I show up anyway. I get myself out of bed and I push through the day, regardless of the desire to stay in the warm sanctuary of my covers. Regardless of wanting to disappear, or feeling afraid, or wishing I could hit “pause” on everything and shut it all out…

I keep going anyway.

And that’s why I am at my absolute best when I’m depressed.

That’s why all of us who suffer from depression are at our best. We fight against our disorder, push through the numbness and the despair, and make ourselves face each and every day.

It may not look like we are trying. We may seem tired. We may cry often. We might attempt to isolate ourselves. We might not speak with excitement, or we might overcompensate and act TOO excited. We may just barely get through the day… But we work hard to overcome what our depression puts on us—one day at a time, one moment at a time.

Change your perspective on those with depression, because we feel like we’re drowning, yet we continue to grab breaths when we push our heads above the murky water, and that takes immense strength that few can ever see.

And if you are someone with depression in your life, know that when you feel depressed, you’re actually at your absolute best because you haven’t given up on trying to keep yourself afloat. You’re a fighter and a survivor and I hope you are proud of yourself.

xxJ


If you or someone you love need help, please reach out.

Canada: http://www.crisisservicescanada.ca/ or https://www.canada.ca/en/public-health/services/mental-health-services/mental-health-get-help.html

USA: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ or https://www.mentalhealth.gov/

Worldwide: http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html


1,040 Days

I was told it would take two years. “Two years,” they said, “and you will feel better.”

“In two years, this will feel normal and you will have healed and you’ll be happy and it will all be okay.”

They were wrong.

Because it’s been almost three years; 35 months, or 1,040 days, give or take, and I still hurt and it’s still hard and it still doesn’t feel normal.

There is no timeline for emotions. Our feelings don’t adhere to expectations placed upon them. They don’t care if we want them to go away. They don’t listen if we try to shut them out. True, we may be able to distract ourselves for a time, but in the end, our emotions make themselves known. And, in fact, when we attempt to suppress them, they always reappear with vehemence.

I think this is why emotional abuse is so hard to recover from. Physical injuries heal. Our bodies have an astonishing ability to look after themselves and heal the scabs and bruises inflicted upon them. But our feelings are different. Once they get bruised, the tender ache has no set timeline for when it goes away.

I was told at the beginning of my separation that it would take two years for me to “get over” the devastation of my divorce. I suppose my lawyers and counsellors and friends and family were well-intentioned in their attempts to both temper my expectations (i.e. it takes a long time to get over something like this) and give me hope for the future (i.e. this won’t last forever). Unfortunately for them, and for me, I’m the kind of person who clings too strongly to promises like that. I grab hold of expectations and stick to them like super glue, allowing them to set me up for acute disappointment. No one could guarantee when things would get “easier” but that’s what they tried to do.

It’s not fair to promise someone that their grief, or anger, or sadness, or even their joy, will last for a finite amount of time. We each move through our emotions at our own pace and no matter what, we can’t be rushed to overcome how we feel.

The emotional wounds abusers inflict upon their victims are what really make us suffer. And in my case, where I have children with my most recent abusive partner, I continue to face that person every day and there is no timeline for when that will change. I still struggle with relationships from high school; how can I possibly get over my ex-husband after just two years, when I have to engage with him all the time??

I know last week I wrote about love; about setting an intention to proliferate, seek out, and practice love in my life. And so the way that I’m showing myself love today is to notice that I am depressed and to allow myself the space to rest, eat good food, write, and sometimes cry; I’m letting myself feel how I feel because forcing a smile onto my face makes everything harder. When I pretend I’m okay, but really I’m not, it’s not good self-care. And I think that an intention to bring more love into my life includes loving myself no matter how I feel.

My kids have been gone for five days. I still won’t see them for another three. Was this the stuff that was supposed to get easier after two years? Was this feeling of devastation supposed to go away in those 24 months? Because I’m still sitting here, 1,040 days later, crying while I miss my children. And I still feel angry. And I’m resentful. And I hate being here alone.

There is no timeline for how we feel. So can we please stop trying to put one on those people whose emotions make us uncomfortable? Or those who are still struggling even though “enough” time has past? Those who are perpetually and authentically happy, but “should” be feeling something other than that? Or anyone whose feelings don’t mesh with ours, or whose feelings we don’t understand?

We can’t force others to follow an emotional agenda; feelings just don’t work that way.

xxJ

Life feels heavy right now and noticing that is practicing good self-care.

REPOST: looks like/sounds like/feels like

Re-posting this because Christmas time is ripe with triggers and puts many of us in close quarters with lots of people. If you or someone you love think emotional abuse is happening, this checklist can help you understand it better. Much to love to you all.

xxJ


People have a hard time understanding what emotional abuse is. In fact, I’m going to confidently state that most people really don’t get it.

Like, at all.

Because to most people domestic abuse = physical violence. To most people, domestic abuse is loud and nasty and BIG and leaves bruises and cigarette burns, broken lamps and smashed dishes and holes in walls.

And yes, sometimes (too often) domestic abuse is vociferous and physically violent. But what if I told you that domestic violence isn’t always physical? What if domestic abuse can be subtler? What if it’s relatively inconspicuous? What if the victim is so good at compensating and pretending that EVERYTHING IS OKAY ALRIGHT?! that no one has any idea what’s going on? (Not that I’ve ever done that before…)

I think emotional abuse is usually misunderstood because most people don’t realize that neglect or silence can be just as vicious as a punch in the face.

I  want to try to explain more about what emotional abuse is and how people may experience it, so I’ve drawn upon my past as a teacher and what follows is basically going to be like a kindergarten circle time where we all gather together to talk about what something “looks like/sounds like/feels like”. Except instead of discussing “Goldilocks and the Three Bears,” or how a bean seed grows, we’re going to tackle emotional abuse. Decidedly not a kindergarten-appropriate topic (Or maybe it is? I mean, kids are never too young to learn about consent and showing respect!) but I’m hoping you’ll find it insightful.

So, come join me on the carpet. Please sit criss-cross applesauce with your hands in your lap, eyes up, and mouth closed…Ms. J is going to start the lesson…

Emotional abuse looks like:

  • Absence
  • Stifling
  • Codependence
  • Intense control
  • Financial control
  • Manipulation
  • Vindictiveness
  • Pettiness
  • Insecurity
  • Narcissism
  • Lack of intimacy
  • Withholding (affection, money, time, etc.)
  • Lack of consent
  • Isolation
  • Patterns of negative behaviour
  • Idealization
  • Chronic forgetfulness
  • Posturing
  • Grandiose gestures that are out of context or used as leverage
  • Forced affection
  • Saving face
  • Hypervigilance
  • Disdain
  • Perpetual indifference or apathy

Emotional abuse sounds like:

  • Shouting
  • Silence
  • Harsh words
  • Lies
  • Backhanded compliments
  • Gaslighting
  • Indignation
  • Name calling
  • Threats
  • Put downs
  • Reprimands or punishing
  • Criticisms
  • Punitive statements
  • Questioning
  • Comebacks
  • Rationalization of unhealthy things/ideas/behaviours
  • Scapegoating

Emotional abuse feels like:

  • Loneliness
  • Despair
  • Confusion
  • Anger
  • Craziness
  • Self-loathing
  • Low self-worth
  • Lack of purpose
  • Rigidity
  • Fear
  • Shame
  • Anxiety
  • Depression
  • Mood swings
  • Self-harm
  • Suicidal thoughts
  • Needing to be in control
  • Surreal
  • Duress
  • Pain
  • Exhaustion
  • Stress
  • Being overwhelmed
  • Worry

People who exhibit these behaviours (or other similar ones) chronically are perpetrators of abuse. Those who struggle continually because of these feelings and behaviours, are victims of abuse.

My own experience of abuse was insidious and cumulative and I’m tired of feeling like I have to prove that my experience was real.

Emotional abuse looks/feels/sounds real.

Abuse = abuse.

And accepting that helps people like me by letting us know that what we’re going through, or what we’ve been through, is just as real as a punch, kick, or slap.

You can now un-cross your legs and go have free-play time. Just don’t hog the Lego table and remember to use kind words with your friends.

xx J

2018-07-24 13.24.28
Feels like belly rub time for my pup, Kara.

We Can’t Be Fixed

And that’s okay

My counsellors get mad when I say that I’m broken. I kind of get it…saying that reflects a certain attitude about my state of well-being that seems unhealthy. My one counsellor, Daniel, would likely remind me that I need to re-frame my thinking.

Ugh. Fine, I’ll try:  I feel broken.

Okay, I’m being a smart ass. Sorry Daniel…

But sometimes the word “broken” is the best way I can think of to describe myself.

My brokenness stems from  a bunch of things. In the past, I often felt confused. I was so mixed up because of the lies I was being fed and the stress in my life that I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t. I felt and still often feel fragmented, like I have too many parts of myself chipped off and spread too far. I get frustrated by my inability to do the things I used to be able to. I am aware of all the things I can’t do anymore—my brain and my body just don’t work like how they used to, or how I want them to, and that makes me feel broken.

I am happy to say that lately my okayness has seemed to outweigh my brokenness, but I know that at any moment the scales could tip and I’ll relapse. I’ve reached my depths before and risen up from there, but more stress is inevitable and change is inevitable and I accept that I will never stop being a person with anxiety, depression, and a history of abuse.

Back in 2016 I attended a life-changing mental health day program at my local hospital. Before going, I had some pretty strong assumptions about what my experience there would be. First, I thought I was going to be judged harshly by everyone and told that I didn’t belong. Second, I assumed that I would struggle to connect with my fellow participants. And third, I figured I wouldn’t learn anything new.

Wow. I was SUCH A JERK. 

Actually, I was just super nervous! 

What I got from the experience of attending this program, was that a) people in a mental health day program are, in general, exceedingly compassionate and kind; b) I found in these struggling, but warmhearted individuals so much common ground that I couldn’t wait to get to my workshops every day; and c) I learned so goddamn much more than I ever thought I would.

(I promise this story is getting to a point… pinky swear.)

But, the number one, most important, most life-altering lesson I learned at Day Program is that those of us with mental health issues will carry that diagnosis for the entirety of our lives and that this doesn’t mean we will always be unable to function, but that our goals and plans need to be adjusted with the understanding that we will always have to bear these struggles in mind. 

In other words: we can’t fix ourselves, we can only manage our symptoms. 

Boom! Take that one and throw it into your emotional health tool belt, because THAT is a quintessential moment of learning how to talk about and understand mental health problems.

Think about it like this: Cancer survivors who are in remission continue to have checkups and tests even if they remain cancer-free, and they will always keep an awareness of their diagnosis in the back of their mind, no matter what their state of health. Those of us who have depression, bipolar, anxiety, mania, or other mental health diseases have to follow a similar approach to maintain treatment for our illness. Once you go down the rabbit hole, you carry a piece of that experience with you forever. 

Knowing that we can be accepted regardless of our mental health diagnosis is vitally important. You wouldn’t expect someone without an arm to continue operating as if they have two; why do we expect people with mental health problems to behave as if they don’t? Why strive to “fix” us when we will always operate differently?

I hope Daniel will forgive me for continuing to say that I feel broken. Because if society continues to expect me to function like the elusive “normal” (Come on, what’s normal anyway? A post for another day, I think.) then I’m going to fail. Every day. And so are millions of other people with diagnoses and symptoms like mine. 

We can’t be fixed, we can only manage our symptoms.

I’m not being cynical, I’m just accepting that it’s okay to not be okay. That it’s okay to not be normal. That I still feel broken but instead of striving to put myself back together how I was before, I’m going to focus on using those fragmented pieces to build a version of myself that meets the needs I have now. 

xxJ

It’s okay to not be okay. 

“Jingle Bells, Anxiety Smells, Depression Kicked-in Today…”

“The days are short, the nights are long, it’s Christmas again, hurray!”

Around this time last year, I came across this brilliant little graphic while scrolling through my Instagram feed:

Holiday Anxiety Letterpress Card Image
(I wish I could credit whoever made this, but sadly, its source is unknown to me.)

I lol’d for sure upon reading this, but to be honest, my giggles came from a place of humour and from recognizing how deeply I related to this little letterpress graphic.

I know humour is great medicine and I’m always appreciative of a good belly laugh, or even just a quick little smile and nose exhalation (come on, you so know what I’m talking about), but when you live with mental health struggles or in the wake of trauma, too often those happy moments are small in number and short in duration. Good times always seem to be followed by a reaffirmation of the anxiety or depression you feel and usually these reminders intrude vehemently, as if they are trying to out-do the little bit of joy you just experienced. It’s like my anxiety reasserts itself saying, “No, no, no…remember me?? You can’t forget about me; I’m what matters most. Hahahahaha!”

(For the record, I’m imagining that being spoken by either Cruella De Vil or Skeletor; take your pick of the two.)

do like Christmas. I do like celebrating holidays and special occasions, or at least, I want to enjoy them. But I struggle during these times; I always have! And the recent events in my life have made these times even more difficult.

Anxiety is often described as a fear of what is yet to or may come. Working with the assumption that anxiety’s core quality is this intensely fearful anticipation of the future, and understanding that anxiety manifests as things like social anxiety, panic attacks, mania, or other debilitating symptoms, I think it’s easy to see why holidays trigger people who struggle like I do.

Throughout the Christmas season, I try to remind myself to cherish it; to use it as an opportunity to connect with friends and family, to enjoy holiday traditions with my children, to pause and celebrate my successes over the past year... I try to do all those things, and I succeed some of the time, but I know I’m facing a lonely season. I know I’m going to be without my kids for much of the Christmas break. I know I will be surrounded by happy couples and happy, intact families who get to enjoy Christmas together. I know I am responsible for all the holiday activities, meals, gifts, and decorations around my household. I know I have to bear the financial burden of these celebrations. I know I will have to participate in large, social gatherings and will need to travel substantial distances over the Christmas season. I know that I will have to manage my diet and my body insecurities as I’m offered treats throughout the holidays; I know my willpower will be tested and that when I indulge, I will feel guilty.

I know all of these things,  but it’s the anticipation of them that really causes me to struggle at this time of the year. Yes, it can be (read: it is really, really) hard when I’m experiencing them in the present, but ultimately it’s the build-up to Christmas that gets me down.

do my best to get through the holiday season, but despite my efforts, I always spiral into unhealthy thinking. Like, right now, as I’m typing this, my anxiety has just promised me that if I can just get a boyfriend, all my holiday anxiety will go away. Of course! Meet a dude—the right dude, obviously, because that’s so easy to do—and all will be well!

As if it’s just that simple!

The effect of this thinking is to lead me into another anxious and depressed down-spin, where I start thinking about how lonely I am, about how there must be something wrong with me since I’m a single, divorced, mother of two. How all the men I’ve been with have let me down or been entirely the wrong fit. How that can’t be true because the only common denominator in those relationships was me, so clearly everything is all my fault…

Do you see what I did there?

It’s a fucking slippery slope, friends. And again, I’m half-laughing because I recognize how absurd this thinking is. It is absurd, but my reaction to all these stressors does make sense.

Christmas time is one trigger after another; it’s incredibly overstimulating! And my fancy Christmas anxiety may look really pretty on the outside, but it feels sharp and gut-wrenching on the inside.

Are you lonely this Christmas? Do you have to give up time with your children because of divorce or separation? Are you a single parent taking on the responsibilities of the holiday season all by yourself? Are you living with chronic illness or mental health struggles that sabotage your experience of special occasions or require significant accommodation so you can manage?

I hear you. I see you. I feel you.

I wish I had something more to offer all of us than just that, but I don’t. And honestly, my plan for getting through the holiday season is pretty much just to rely on silly Instagram posts, a good dose of writer’s therapy, and all the self-love and self-care I can muster. I hope it’s enough, but I know I will still struggle. I won’t give up, though, and acknowledging my struggles, speaking  up about them, and giving myself permission to feel these things, will go a long way to helping me get through this festive time of year. 

I think as a starting point, I’m going to keep re-imagining the lyrics of different holiday songs. For example, maybe the lyrics “Christmas time is here, happiness and cheer…” should be changed to “Christmas time is here, doing my best to get through it this year…”

What do you think??

xxJ

Christmas Skeletor
Skeletor: Oh, oh, I don’t think I feel well.
He-Man: Well, I think you’re feeling the Christmas spirit, Skeletor. It makes you feel… good.
Skeletor: Well I don’t like to feel good. I like to feel evil. Oooh.
She-Ra: Don’t worry, Skeletor, Christmas only comes once a year.
Skeletor: Ah, thank goodness! (source)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Speaking My Truth is What Saved Me

It wasn’t therapy. It wasn’t psychiatric medication. It wasn’t my divorce. It wasn’t moving to the country… Authenticity is what saved me.

I’m betting we’ve all met some truly authentic people. You know, those people whose self-awareness and confidence is palpable. They always seem grounded and honest—they carry themselves with an assurance that belies a solid understanding of who they are and what they’re doing. They’re the people who start movements, who pursue their passions, who have a glowing energy, and who seem legitimately happy in their lives, despite their struggles and stresses. They are the people we want to be around and the people we want to emulate.

I think deep down we all know who our authentic self is. Deep down, we know what’s true about ourselves. And deep down, we’re aware of what we need and what we want and why, but we rarely act on this knowledge or understanding.

Why do so many of us sacrifice our authentic selves? Why do we hide our authenticity and keep our needs and wants private? Why have so many of us lost the ability to recognize and act on what we really need in order to be fulfilled?

I can’t speak for other people. I mean, I can guess at things, but really I have no idea how other people think and what they need in order to be happy; those things are going to be different for everybody.

I can tell you this, though: speaking my truth absolutely saved me.

My parents tell stories of me as a toddler where it’s clear that in my youngest years I had no problem communicating what I wanted. I’m pretty sure I just bit whoever wouldn’t listen and smacked other kids if I didn’t get my way. I was an adorable child, to be sure.

Something changed as I got older, though—I learned to turn that energy inward. I learned that it was unacceptable to lose my temper, or to bite and hit (kudos Mom and Dad!).

Unfortunately, my self-regulation skills morphed into a practice of self-sacrifice and passivity. I learned to deny my needs for the sake of keeping the peace and to focus solely on making sure that the other people around me were happy instead of myself. This skill for self-deprecation, that I honed in my childhood and my youth, led me into some really damaging relationships. In not speaking up, in not having the language or the tools to make my authentic-self known, I lost touch with my needs and I let other people take advantage of me. I developed a deep sense of insecurity, anxiety, depression, self-hatred, and despair.

This blog is the product of my experience of emotional abuse and me coming to terms with the unhealthy habits I formed that led to the unhealthy relationships I experienced. A few years ago, my life felt like a prison. I remember resolving myself to face at least 40 more years of unhappiness because of the commitment I felt to my partner and the life we had together. I remember wanting to completely disappear; to evaporate, to dissolve, to press my body up against a wall and seep into the paint and become nothing.

It was a very dark time in my life.

And then something changed: my marriage hit a breaking point and I saw an opportunity for escape. Something happened that made me feel justified in leaving my life as I knew it and moving on, despite how scary and foreign the future looked. I finally spoke up and it saved me.

Authenticity saved my sanity. It gave me strength and courage; it bolstered support from the people around me who cared to listen. It got me medical help. It brought me to my counsellors. It secured a healthier future for me and my children. It saved me from other harmful relationships. It allowed me to find meaningful, engaging work. It got my creative juices flowing again, it led me to make more music, to write this blog, and to self-publish my poetry!

Authenticity saved my life!

It was a catalyst for all the positive changes I’ve experienced these last two years. Sure, I’ve had an intense amount of counselling and therapy. I’ve started and followed a strict mental health treatment plan that includes mood-stabilizing drugs. I’ve moved to a beautiful, rural home, I’ve been exercising and eating better, I’ve got a dog and some cats, and my kids are a couple of years older and more independent now… Sure, all of those things have happened! But they wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t being authentic.

So I want to ask you, what do you need? What do you want? Who the hell are you and what does your authenticity look like?

I can pretty much guarantee that you will feel happier and healthier living authentically. Although, I can also guarantee that it’s not a magic cure for what ails you. There’s no lifestyle change, no medicine, no treatment, no herbal beverage, mantra, yoga flow, detox diet, religion, or amount of money that will stop stress from being in your life. But you will feel better and everyone around you will notice when you start to live your truth. Even the most selfish of us should want that!

Authenticity doesn’t have to be poetic. It doesn’t need to be earth-shattering or beautiful or eloquent: it just needs to be real. That’s the key.

And now I’m done sounding like a cheesy motivational article from a teen magazine…“10 Steps to Finding the REAL you! Plus, 10 Cool Outfits to Let Your Personality Shine!” Ugh, gag me! Bleh.

I just want to tell you that authenticity is the key to life, and I’ll swear by that. Literally: it’s the fucking bomb. Authenticity is where it is AT and you can fucking quote me on that. It saved my life. It can save yours. And then we can meet up and have a delicious fucking potluck and bask in the authentic glow of our gorgeous, real selves being exactly who we need to be and doing exactly what we need to do.

I’ll bring the casserole, you just bring an appetite for authenticity.

xxJ

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Take it from my 7-year-old: your beautiful, authentic self is in within you. Pinky-promise.