when I pass, just toss me in the sea.
the depths will be much kinder than those on land have been to me.

Keep pretending you don’t see these broken pieces of me scattered across the floor.

The pieces that you destroyed.

Eroded. Chipped away. Thrown about.

These pieces are because of you. The pain you caused. The abuse. The years and years.

Each crack growing deeper. Longer. Until it gave way.

Shattered.

And here I am cleaning it up. Alone. Bleeding. Cutting into my fingers deeper.

Here I am with the broken pieces you caused. The broken pieces are all I have left.

Don’t ask how I got so broken. Don’t pretend to not know.

Turn away. Leave me with the pain. And my pieces.

It’s all I have left.

They say “to survive nursing you can’t take it home with you”. Any good nurse knows this is completely untrue. We will never be able to unsee the face of the person that was told they have just 3 months left to live. We never forget the moment someone learns their spouse will never recognize them again. We still hear the weeping of a child that learned they lost their parent. We forever see the look of fear in a sexual assault victim’s face. We carry the innocence lost noted on an abused child. We hold onto the moment a parent is told their child is brain dead. You see, to forget these faces makes you not human. But nurses must be the most compassionate of all humans. We must be human to hold that patient’s hand, to hug that crying family member, to sit in silence with the devastated, and to make that victim feel safe again. We don’t just take it home, we forever carry it in our hearts too.

I have struggled with my weight for over 10 years. Maybe I should rephrase that. I have struggled with self-love for over 10 years. My weight wasn’t going anywhere. It wasn’t a struggle. Those pounds had won the battle and the war. They had success. And there came a point in which I would accept that. This is me. This is my life. This is how it is. I had to let go of the longing of my old body. My younger, slimmer, double-chin-free body. The image of the body I though I wanted. Too many years had been wasted wishing I looked differently. Yes, there were amazing self-love moments too: looking at my legs when they had some summer color, appreciating the color of my eyes, realizing I had lips to love. There are moments. Like when you take that selfie and think “well damn that looks pretty good”. Of course, it came with angles and lighting and just the right look. But those moments of confidence were washed away when someone else took the picture. That moment when I see myself as not myself. The view of me that I could feel was beautiful was washed away. All I see is rolls, and double chins, and a girl who looked trapped in her body like a fat suit. Not realizing that I was the only one who saw that,  I ran from every damn camera and picture I could. If I was forced to be in a pic, I would use another person or object to hide me. It was like that “don’t look at me” feeling. As if no one would realize I was fat because I hid. I hid from pictures, people, and the world. I missed out on moments. I missed out on life. And then hit an “aha” moment. Not one of those earth shattering, light came down, and the whole world changed kind of moments. But enough that I realized that I was only robbing myself. I was taking my own memories. After a trip to the Savannah, GA I was looking back on some of the photos. We had the most wonderful time there. I didn’t think about my weight while there. I didn’t look in mirrors. I didn’t feel like too much for anyone. I just enjoyed walking the beautiful streets, checking out the sites, and enjoying the food. It was one of the best trips I had taken in a very long time. Such great memories. But as I looked back at the pictures, I realized I wasn’t any part of these memories. I had taken pictures of everything and everyone but me. Without realizing, I hid myself throughout the trip. I was not in one damn picture the entire time. I was so ashamed of myself that I left no memories for my family, children, friends and so on. There was no proof that I was there. In a way, it robbed me from this memory. Did I hate myself so much that I erased myself from photographic existence? Denied myself or my family memories? Think I wasn’t deserving of being seen enjoying myself? Did my weight outweigh this beautiful trip? It was a sad realization for me. Avoiding the picture did not make anyone suddenly think I was skinny. It didn’t make me feel better about myself. It didn’t change my body or size. It solved nothing. It only took from me. So this I will tell you. Get in the damn picture! Make the memories! Show your travels! Your family and friends see you already. They know you. They love you. There is nothing about you worth hiding. You are only stealing from yourself by avoiding being in the picture. Create the memories. Leave memories for your family. Let them see you. You traveling! You loving! You living! You know what they see? A smile, a journey, a laugh, beauty…you. Don’t miss anymore of these moments. Show the world you are here. Unashamed, unapologetically. This is your story. Your adventure. This is you. Don’t hide for another damn second. Be the picture!

I just feel the need to say this for many women out there. The ones who laughed in awkwardness. The ones who hid their pain. The ones that gave you a fake answer. The ones that changed the subject. The ones that went home and cried. The ones that cringe at every baby shower invite or pregnant belly post. Because there is no perfect response.  So, before you joke “you’re next” or ask “when are you having kids?” or say “time for more” when referring to pregnancy/children, be aware that you could be saying something heartbreaking to a woman. Your joke or poke is so much more than just that. Whether it is a choice to not have children, or a struggle to conceive, a physical condition, or someone who has suffered miscarriages or infant loss….these are all hurtful statements/questions. We need to be mindful of that. What may have come easy for you could be a many year struggle or tough decision for someone else. No woman ever needs her friends/family to remind her that she’s expected to have kids….the whole world does that for her already. Every Damn Day. Let’s just mind our own wombs, mmmkay?

Hello Selfish,

I never thought I would be brave enough to discuss this out loud. A secret I have carried for years now. A pain that feels like a lifetime.

I know YOU have no clue what you really did to me. YOU only thought about yourself.

That night YOU thought it was okay to force yourself on me.

YOU thought because we had been on a few dates that it was time.

YOU thought YOU would let yourself in my house even though I told YOU I was fine and didn’t need YOU to.

YOU thought it was okay to touch every inch of my body, even though I had never let YOU even kiss me yet.

When I pulled away, YOU asked me why I didn’t like kissing.

YOU thought that because YOU knew me, YOU could do this.

I asked YOU to at least wear a condom, because I knew what was happening wouldn’t stop.

YOU ignored the fact that I just laid there.

YOU invited yourself into my body, when it is the last thing I ever wanted from YOU.

YOU were fidgety and awkward.

And in that night YOU destroyed ME.

I spent days replaying each word and motion over in my head.

I spent months regretting ever knowing YOU.

I was tormented by it.

I lost myself.

I felt betrayed.

I blamed myself for forcing myself to get to know YOU even though my gut told ME there was no chemistry between us.

I was angry at every relationship I had because it somehow led ME to that awful night.

Months later I confronted you.

YOU admitted to taking the condom off.

YOU claimed “I wanted to see what it felt like”

YOU said “I thought we were going to be together”

To further disgust ME, YOU said “You never even told me what you thought about that night. Was it good? Was I big?”

YOU know what it was? RAPE.

It took me a long time to say that.

So long that I spent months having panic attacks.

How was that night? It was the change of me forever.

It was the night YOU made choices for ME and my body.

It was the reason I started therapy.

It’s the reason  I am on Zoloft.

It is the reason that I have nightmares even when I just take a nap.

It is the reason that I sat for months in doctors appointments scared that that was going to be the time they told me you gave me a disease.

It’s the reason I constantly worry that that one night could have forever changed my body.

Its the reason I fear that I could have been made unclean for my future husband.

It’s the reason I fear dating.

It a story that I dread having to tell a future love.

It’s a night that only 1 friend even knows existed.

It’s a secret that I forever feel branded with.

It’s a night that I wish I did something about.

I wish there was a second in which I could have stopped you.

It would have changed the course of my life.

It would have saved ME from what I became after.

It is my torment.

It made ME not recognize myself.

YOU see, YOU have no clue what YOU have done. YOU make my skin crawl. YOU broke me. But YOU did not see ME that night. YOU saw only what you wanted. YOU did not see the pain YOU were causing. YOU only saw what YOU could get. YOU only cared about YOU. But it is ME that suffers. It is ME that feels ruined. It is ME that carries hate and fear. It is ME that has to sit here and type this in an attempt to find some kind of relief from what YOU did. What YOU did to ME made ME hate myself too. It made ME no longer want to be ME. YOU destroyed ME in just one night. In just selfish moment.

YOU did that.

Signed,

ME.

 

 

 

 

Are we faking it? Are we the best actors we’ve ever seen in our lives? Is it just me or is it you too?

I was reading a book this afternoon where the woman talked about how she constantly faked a smile and a happy family and most of her life really. It was like she sent in a representative for her to cover the woman who was terribly alone and afraid on the inside. Because nobody wants to see that woman. And nobody wants to deal with that woman. So she just kept going on and faking it.  As I read these harsh words, I realized I AM that woman.  I’m hiding the pain with smiles. I’m faking like I’m OK throughout the day. I hide the emotions. Even today while in my morning meeting, I felt a moment of vertigo which then led me to feel very anxious. Instead of telling the room full of people who were supposed to be my friends,  I excuse myself to go to the bathroom to deal with it alone. I hold in a cry, because no one should have to see me like that. I feel as though I have accepted that nobody really wants to hear your problems or nobody can fully be there the way you need them today. And I never want to be a burden. So I just go on and struggle alone. I go back to the meeting and try to act normal as I can. When inside, everything in me is anxious and just wants to run home and get in my bed and cry. I can’t get home fast enough.  That is my safe place. And where I can be myself. Where I can cry without anybody knowing or be afraid without them thinking I’m crazy and ridiculous. In that meeting I felt that I can’t escape this and myself fast enough. So as I read those words this afternoon I realized everything about me is fake. And I was the one who tries to claim how real I am. I realize I am just an actor. Faking my way through each day. Faking my way through happiness and strength. Faking my way in every moment to have them believe that I am okay.  Is it all just an act? Are we all just acting? Or is it just me?

“No. No, I’m not”. The answer immediately appeared in my mind. And I have thought of it every day since then. One of my good friends sent me a blog post about getting over your own Fatophobia.  That’s not a real word, but that is how the writer described how she missed out on life because she felt she was too fat. And in reading this blog post, I was completely confronted with the fact that I hide myself in life too. Was I hiding because of my weight? Because of my fears? Because I’m afraid of heartbreak? I’m not sure but that one phrase hit me like a ton of bricks, “I’m not really dating”. Without a doubt, that is me. I’m not really giving anyone a chance. I’m not giving myself. People suggest online dating and I quickly refuse. I have a plethora of excuses why. I brave Tinder. I have had a few online conversations with men, but as soon as I get asked to meet up or give my phone number I quickly retreat. I have allowed just 3 men total my number and only 1 of them I would really respond too. I would purposely ignore text or take hours to respond. I would ignore Tinder for weeks and just get on there when I was suddenly motivated or finding myself feeling lonely. I wasn’t really trying to date. But why?

This is probably why I always date friends. It’s safe. It’s easy. I lie to myself and say things like “they grow on me” or “I’m big on personality so I have to be around someone a while to see if we have chemistry”. It’s all lies. It’s because it’s safe. It eliminates rejection. It eliminates exposing myself. They already know me. They see me. They know I’m fat. They know I’m all kinds of fucked up. And they wanted to be with me anyways. There is no facing something new or forcing myself out there. It’s the easy route. The safe route. The route of least fear. And as I type this, I am aware that it is a sad route. An ineffective route. As I lay here in bed typing, feeling safe in my own bubble, my safe haven, my aloneness, I’m aware that I don’t even know how to date. I don’t know who to be in dating. I’ve forgotten how to share my life with someone. I don’t even have a desire to date. I am so blocked that I have convinced myself that this is better. Solitude. But is it? I don’t even know anymore. Because I don’t know what the other side truly feels like, since I have refused to really date.

And now I must confront the why. I must confront what I really want. I must confront what I am really blocking. Because, as a woman who appears so free and confident out in the world, I am completely shaken up by the fact that I am not really dating. If that question has shaken me every day since I read it, then I must confront it. And I must confront it to change it. At 34, I must learn why I need to really date.

Where have I been? Even I don’t know! This summer has flown by. I look back and see my last blog was in May. Wow. I feel like I have been doing nothing and everything all at once. But this has been quite the summer of self-discovery. I had a roommate for a short time. A friend that needed a place to stay between moves. I am such a person of solitude that it scared me. When I wanted to shut down or be alone, someone else would be in my home. It exposed me. I couldn’t hide at the end of a long day. And to my surprise, it is exactly what I needed. At the end of a long day I now had someone to talk to. I didn’t come home to an empty house. Someone noticed when I was sad or wasn’t myself. I was encouraged to go out and do more or even share a meal with someone. Who knew that I wouldn’t miss my solitude?! Surely not me. I can rely on someone. I can not be alone. I didn’t even know myself because I never thought it would be me. You see, I use to be so outgoing and fun and busy. And then it’s like life caught up with me. Last year, I struggled with anxiety and depression for the first time in my life. I didn’t even recognize myself. It was so not like me. And there it was taking over me. I slowly got it under control, using my faith, therapy, essential oils and a good relationship with my doctor. But after that incident, I still felt shaken. You see, once you know that anxiety and depression can sneak up on you at any time, it’s like a shadow behind you. You are waiting for it to come back and torture your life. And since you feel like you have no control over when it comes back, you constantly fear it. So I found myself going out less and less. And socializing less. My safe place was my home. Alone. No one there (cause no one was there) could see me struggle. I could hide, curl up in my bed, and feel safe with myself. No one had to know I was there and hiding. No one could see my emotions. No one could see my heart. That to me was as safe as I could get. But what was I accomplishing? I was so relieved to have gotten through the rough patch of anxiety and depression but I was still living like I was in it. My life was passing me by. I was just going through the motions. Work, home, occasional time with family and friends. But I wasn’t living. I was too scared that living would cause me fear or pain or sadness. But that hole wasn’t getting me anywhere either. So, by total surprise, my short term roommate helped change that. People struggle, and she understood that. I could have a bad day and come home and talk about it instead of shutting down. I could feel sad or anxious and have someone to talk me through it. I could eat ice cream or drink wine and laugh and be okay. I could feel normal and not hidden again. I could be exposed and yet my whole world wouldn’t crumble. Wow. Such a simple thing and yet it became the start of me living again.