Tiny Buddha

Tag: abuse

  • Dealing with Verbal Attacks: 6 Ways to Take the Sting Out of an Insult

    Dealing with Verbal Attacks: 6 Ways to Take the Sting Out of an Insult

    Man Yelling

    “Pain can change you, but that doesn’t mean it has to be a bad change. Take that pain and turn it into wisdom.” ~Unknown

    Sometimes other people’s words can stir up very painful emotions in us.

    Do you remember when you felt so disempowered by someone’s remarks that you froze on the spot and couldn’t think of anything to say back to them?

    Or maybe you did say something, but it was so lame that you wished afterward you’d kept your mouth shut and just sucked it all up.

    This happened to me recently when I was helping someone and, instead of gratitude, I received verbal abuse. I learned a valuable lesson from it that I would like to share with you.

    When Words Make You Speechless

    As part of my job, I provided home care for an elderly lady, and from day one I had a feeling we would clash.

    She was eccentric, quick to judge, and unafraid about voicing her opinions. Being a timid person, I always tried to avoid conflicts with such people.

    One seemingly unremarkable day, as I was finishing my duties at her house, I began to engage in small talk with her. I was stunned when she replied out of the blue, “You are so stupid! Your whole being, and the way you are!”

    Within a split second I was swimming in negative emotions, so shocked that I literally froze in my tracks. I stood there in disbelief, unable to say a single word, wrapped in embarrassment and shame.

    Then came the internal chatter. “How could she be so insensitive? Does she realize how hurt I feel? I should say something back, but I just can’t think what.”

    From deep pain to personal empowerment

    I walked away that day vowing never to feel so weakened by someone’s statements again.

    I went over this episode in my mind, looking for answers. Within a few weeks, I no longer felt hurt. Instead, I had developed a new perspective—I needed this experience to resolve something within myself.

    I have had similar incidents since then, and my reaction is now completely different. I’m freer and stronger.

    You can be, too.

    It can take a while, but determination and conscious effort will bring you the gift of a new perspective, just as it did for me.

    Taking the Sting out of Insulting Words

    Being verbally abused hurts. It’s perfectly natural to react defensively—but once the initial shock has worn off, here are six ways you can turn your reaction into something positive.

    1. Allow yourself to ruminate in a healthy way.

    It’s normal to replay upsetting events in your mind to get a handle on them. Done right, introspection is a valuable device for personal growth and empowerment.

    Thoughts and images from a hurtful episode will pop up time and again as long as it still bothers you. So instead of suppressing them, allow them to surface. Observe them—but without obsessing and getting stuck in a mental loop.

    Then, each time memories of the event surface, ask yourself if you are ready to let go of the shame that accompanies them. Think of this process as using an eraser; every time you rub away, the pain will start to fade and soon only a faint mark will remain.

    2. Identify the other person’s (possible) motive.

    In situations like this, convincing yourself you’ve done something wrong can be an automatic reaction.

    Although you’ll never know for sure why someone gains pleasure from dishing out verbal abuse, you can make some educated guesses. Unless the person is a total stranger, you’ll have some understanding about them and you can figure out if they are intentionally malicious or just thoughtless and not worth wasting your energy on.

    But don’t just rely on your own intuition—get a second opinion. Be a detective and quiz mutual acquaintances. They’ll likely share similar stories, and might even add insights that will help relieve more of your emotional burden. (This is not gossip—it’s for your own peace of mind.)

    When I spoke to friends about my experience, I heard nearly identical tales of how this woman had bullied and intimidated others. I knew that bullies are usually suffering themselves, so these stories confirmed to me that she had acted from a state of pain herself, meaning that her words were not true reflections of me.

     3. Turn the spotlight inward.

    To better prepare yourself for the next time you are insulted, spend a little time reflecting on why you are so affected by the words of others in the first place. What beliefs do you hold that contribute to your reactions?

    Think about how, in the heat of the moment, you are so swallowed up by emotions that you can’t think clearly. What creates this storm inside you?

    For me this answer took a while, but I now think it was about pride—I felt my identity was under threat. I was attached to the idea that everyone should treat me kindly, so my world was shattered when someone didn’t.

    Upon reflection, I figured I’d do myself a favor if I didn’t expect to be liked by everybody and instead embraced the possibility that conflicts might occur.

    What beliefs do you hold that might be counterproductive to your emotional wellbeing?

    4. Know what words really are.

    Another thing I learned on this journey was that words by themselves are not harmful. It’s the meanings they carry that make them powerful.

    Imagine having a conversation with someone who speaks a different language than you. Nothing the other person says to you makes sense. You look at them blankly, trying to piece some meaning together out of the jumble of sounds you hear. It wouldn’t matter if they were cursing or flirting—you wouldn’t know the difference.

    So why is it that once you are aware of what these words mean, they have the potential to hurt? At some point you learned to associate words with meanings, but in reality they are just sounds. It’s up to you what you make of them.

    5. Own your vulnerability.

    Open your heart to the possibility of being wounded by others’ words. Life is never a smooth ride, and sometimes other people will hurt you with what they say. They may even render you silent when you’d rather stand up for yourself.

    Remember that a small bump in the road doesn’t mean you’ve failed or that you have to hide. Accept that you sometimes won’t have the courage to act, but you can change over time.

    The key, I’ve found, is slowly opening up. Share your true self with others. The more you admit your ”imperfections,” the more others will respect and accept you. Talking things over with friends, family, or even someone neutral makes you more human and relatable.

    As researcher, author, and speaker Brené Brown has said, “Shame derives its power from being unspeakable.” Therefore, to prove your shame wrong, go out there and talk about it. After a while it will diminish and go away.

    6. Resolve to speak up next time.

    All this insight can help you deal with past insults, but what about the next time someone verbally attacks you? After all your reflection and internalizing the importance of bravery, will you be ready to stand up for yourself and fight back?

    Sure enough, I didn’t have to wait too long for another round of insults by someone else. She was big, bold, and brash.

    This time the stakes were higher—we were in the company of other people whom I knew and respected. And this woman didn’t just aim a word or sentence at me; it was an entire barrage of accusations intended to undermine my persona.

    I waited until we were in private. Then I said my piece with real force and emphasis. The end result? She never treated me like that again. And I grew enormously in my own eyes.

    You can do this, too.

    Reclaim Your Inborn Power

    We were all born with a perfect system to take on life’s challenges, be that running away from a tiger or standing up for ourselves.

    If you believe you’ve lost the ability to stand firm in the face of insults, it’s never too late to get it back.

    You’re perfect as you are now, warts, vulnerabilities, and all.

    So don’t let a little wobble like someone’s words throw you off track. Take it in stride and remember they are just sounds that you are giving certain meanings to.

    Because insulting words don’t just have the potential for hurt. They also have immense power to change your life for the better.

    The question is, are you ready to use the verbal attacks of others as fuel for personal growth?

    I was a timid person and I did it—so I know you can, too.

    Man yelling image via Shutterstock

  • Family Isn’t Always Forever: When It’s Time to Say Goodbye

    Family Isn’t Always Forever: When It’s Time to Say Goodbye

    “Friends are the family we choose for ourselves.” ~Edna Buchanan

    A few years ago I ended all contact with my parents, and I have not seen or spoken to them since then.

    The truth is I am actually okay with that. Initially, I thought I was going to lose my mind. I had been brought up to believe that family comes first. Children should respect and take care of their parents. Family should—and will—always be there for each other.

    Those beliefs were based on love, and I cherished them.

    I wanted so much to feel that connection—that unconditional love those beliefs promised. It was never there.

    Our lives were filled with so much fear, pain, hurt, betrayal, and lies. Manipulation and deceit were at the core of our home.

    I told myself that all families have degrees of dysfunction, and our family was no different. I could not allow myself to believe that our family was different. I believed that one day my parents would realize what they were doing and change. I desperately wanted their love and approval.

    On the night when my husband and I ended up inside a police station explaining why I thought my father was about to come to my home and hurt me, while my two grown sons waited in the car, I realized I had to wake up.

    My fantasy was over. I could no longer go on pretending our family was just like everyone else. That night I said my last goodbye to my mother as she lied to protect my father. The next day I spoke the last words to my father as he screamed into the phone repeating the lies from my childhood. It was over.

    Giving up the hope that things would get better was the hardest part. I was terrified that I was doing the wrong thing. I thought I was being a bad daughter. I was going against every cherished belief about family.

    It broke my heart to know that my life had been based on an illusion. The picture I had created of my parents was shattered. They had never been there for me, and they never would be.

    I had lied to myself to protect my fantasy and keep them in my life. Now I could no longer do it.

    Over time I began to understand why I had fought so hard to live out the lie, and I began to forgive myself for not being brave enough to stand up earlier.

    One of the problems was my belief that family were always there for each other. That was the cause of my pain and my guilt. The fact that I no longer had them in my life meant that I was going against a code I held close to my heart.

    I had to modify that belief. I had to change my definition of family. It was no longer those to whom I was linked by blood. My family now became the friends who had been there the whole time. People who I knew I could count on when things went wrong. That was never my parents.

    I also realized that I was afraid I was not lovable. In my mind if my own parents could not love me, there had to be something wrong with me.

    I did everything I could to minimize disagreements between us, keeping quiet just to keep the peace. I knew that if I spoke up we would argue, they would get mad at me, and they would not love me. I failed to realize that this was something I only experienced with them.

    It was hard work just to be around them. I was always on edge, cautious, and scared. That was not a loving relationship. I came to accept that if they could not love me, it didn’t change anything about me. I had created other loving relationships around me, and they were the scaffolding holding me up.

    My first Christmas after was hard. I had always gone to my parents’ house to live the fairy tale of being surrounded by love.

    It was always hard to ready myself for those days. We would act out the roles of happy family, hoping in some way that was our truth. It wasn’t. I had no idea how tense I was at these interactions until I no longer had to do it.

    Part of the hurt was that I now had no tradition, so I decided to start a new one. Christmas is no longer a day of obligation. I now spend it with the people who are my true family.

    I’ve come to realize that the love I had for my parents was based on a childhood need for safety and security. I had to see them as the parents who loved me, despite the things they did. I could not accept that the people responsible for my well-being were also responsible for my suffering.

    So much of the world I had created around my parents was simply not real. I have had to accept that truth and move on with my life.

    One of my fears was that by breaking contact with my parents, I was setting an example that my sons could repeat with me. I’d like to think this won’t happen because of my parents.

    The pain of my childhood taught me how important it is for a child to truly feel loved, safe, and cherished. I’ve tried to live that truth with my boys. I don’t know what the future holds for us. I can only hope that the love I’ve shown them will have created a space in their hearts where I will always be thought of with love.

    I try to imagine how I’ll feel when I find out that my parents have died. I honestly don’t know. I’m sure that part of me will be sad that we did not have a better ending. However, I know in my heart of hearts that I tried for over forty years to make it work. In the end, it just wasn’t enough.

    My parents were never who I thought them to be. I have had to let it all go. The fantasy of the perfect ending with them is over. I am setting out on a new horizon where I have redefined my world.

    As abused children, we may feel that it is somehow our responsibility to fix the broken parts of our family. It’s not. Sometimes there is no fairy tale ending where our parents realize how truly wonderful we are.

    The hard part is recognizing that and moving on. Sometimes it’s the only way to find real peace. It’s heartbreaking. It’s not easy. Finding and surrounding yourself with people who truly care for you is your gift to yourself. You deserve that. You will be okay.

    I no longer believe that I have lost my family. I have only now finally recognized who they truly are.

  • When Your Struggle Has Become Your Identity: How to Rediscover Yourself

    When Your Struggle Has Become Your Identity: How to Rediscover Yourself

    Lonely Girl

    “It ain’t what they call you. It’s what you answer to.” ~W.C. Fields

    For much of my life, I have struggled against the after effects of unresolved childhood trauma.

    For years, I didn’t even know how much of an issue it was. I thought it was completely normal to expect the worst or avoid intimacy like the plague.

    When I finally dragged myself into a therapist’s office and was diagnosed with “significant, complex trauma,” I initially felt free.

    And I admit, it was freeing. I now knew that this “thing” that I had been dealing with my entire life wasn’t just the result of me being “broken” or “born that way,” but it was a significant, understandable, and more importantly treatable response to a less than ideal childhood.

    I was flying high for a while as I attempted to recover with every type of self-help trick out there.

    But then came the fog. Somewhere in the mix I began to break down as I realized the true impact of what my therapist had told me. My entire identity up until that point in my life had been formed around that trauma. I didn’t know who I was without it.

    What did I like to do in my free time? What did I like eating? What was my favorite color, even? Was I funny, or was I more serious? As it turned out I had a lot to learn about myself, and I was going to have to start from scratch.

    I wish I could speak to you from atop a mountain of wisdom, but I can’t. I’m still in the process of figuring it all out. But there are a few things that have helped me remain strong and encouraged through the entire process.

    Release the struggle.

    This is, of course, easier said than done, but it is one of the most important parts of making peace with your past and untangling the trauma.

    The identity and narrative that was forced upon me was one of defeat and self-hate. I stuck to the narrative because that’s all I knew. I might as well have been introducing myself as “the girl whose parents don’t love her,” and “the girl who has failed to secure any meaningful, intimate relationships.”

    Realize, as I did, that the narrative is not yours. It is not your name. It is not what you have to answer to. There’s more to you. So much more. How are you going to start introducing yourself?

    Start from a place you know.

    For many of us—myself included—the onset of trauma was at a very early age, and it can be scary to try and delve into that. But “starting from a place you know” doesn’t necessarily mean the beginning of your life. It simply means picking a place to make your beginning.

    It could be the first time you remember laughing out loud or any positive memory that you have. What were you doing then? How did you feel? Who were you with? What could that experience be saying about you? This can be a great first step on your journey to discovery.

    Start from a place you don’t know.

    Seems like contradictory advice after the last point, right? But in a way, not knowing who you are can give rise to the most unexpected blessings.

    Many people have either defined themselves—or been defined by others—from day one. Some people live their entire lives this way, without ever feeling the desire or a reason to change. But you? You’re a blank canvas now, in a world full of paint. This is your chance to start creating a version of you that feels right.

    Remember what you have gained.

    As we begin this process of self-discovery, it can be very easy to get hung up on how wrong everything is, or was. Despite making significant gains (and if you’re reading this post, you probably already have!), you might find yourself focusing on what is still wrong.

    Take some time out of your day to remember how far you’ve come. Are you less anxious today than you were yesterday? Score! Did you discover a new interest but haven’t worked up the courage to try it yet? That’s still progress. The scoreboard is on your side, because we are counting wins, not losses in this game.

    Have patience.

    Patience, I admit, is pretty much a foreign language to me. I can’t pretend to be great at having it, but I will say, as hard as it is to have, it is absolutely necessary in this process.

    Discovering your new identity will take time. I’m talking months, even years. It can (and will!) seem like a wild goose chase at times, but the key is to remain patient and trust in the good work you are doing. Your efforts will be recognized.

    Take a break.

    As much as I have made my mental health a priority over the past year, it can be exhausting to feel like you have a huge problem you must fix looming over your shoulders at all times. This can lead to obsessive thoughts and dissatisfaction with your progress.

    It is important to stay focused on healing, but it is also important to get out of your own head sometimes. Throw yourself into work for a while. Get involved in an intense project to take your mind off yourself. These things help too, and keeping yourself productive is never a bad thing.

    Above all, the most important thing to keep in mind—and the thing that I keep learning every day—is that our greatest revelations don’t exactly show up in a nice, well-wrapped gift box. That would be great, right? But fortunately for us, they reveal themselves slowly, carefully, and right on time.

    As long as we stay the course, we’ll be able to see the new truths and lessons waiting for us further down the road.

    I wish you luck in your journey! Keep the faith.

  • How I Broke Free from Depression When I Felt Suicidal

    How I Broke Free from Depression When I Felt Suicidal

    “I’m stronger because of the hard times, wiser because of my mistakes, and happier because I have known sadness.” ~Unknown

    I was diagnosed with clinical depression and prescribed anti-depressants when I was twenty-one years old. I refer to this point in my life as the “Dark Ages.”

    Leading up to grad school, I’d suddenly become afflicted with incomprehensible despair.

    At seventeen, for the first time (at least for the first time I could remember), I considered suicide. I felt as if life should’ve been more than what it was. I had a deep sense that I was supposed to be contributing something spectacular to the world, to the tune of curing cancer or working with AIDS patients in Africa.

    As such, I fell short of my ideal self, and this illusion ravaged my soul. So I emptied a parents’ prescription medication into my palm, retreated into my room, and prepared for my tragic exit.

    As I was bringing the pills to my mouth, I heard the ring of an incoming instant message. I’d forgotten to sign offline. This friend of mine spent the next hour or so hearing me out. I was literally saved by the bell.

    But my despair kept visiting me like a persistent acquaintance that wanted to be more than friends. By the time I was in grad school, he’d showed himself in and made himself comfortable, asking me how long he could stay this time.

    I didn’t have an answer for him because I was getting comfortable playing house with the ole chap, until one day I realized I’d locked myself in with him, condemning myself to be a prisoner in what soon evolved into his house. We were cellmates, he and I.

    At times, I felt empty. Only a shell of a person. At other times, I felt overwhelming hopelessness and sobbed without end, uncontrollably and inconsolably.

    Still, other times I felt rage over my past, which was stained with childhood sexual abuse. And then there were the times I simply felt like being silent and alone.

    I was at the bottom of a shadowy well, and the sunlight above seemed impossibly out of reach. Could I ever climb out of this? I wondered. Or was I doomed to forever suffer this terrible fate, plagued with suicidal ideation, loneliness, and raw debilitating emotions for the rest of my life?

    As it were, I found a way out.

    It wasn’t easy. I wouldn’t lie to you.

    And yes, there are still times when I lose my way and unintentionally trip back into that old, dark well.

    But I’m stronger these days, and I’m able to catch a protruding ledge on my way down and hold my weight.

    I’m strong enough to climb back out. In fact, I’ve never fallen all the way to the bottom again, but even if I did, I’ve developed an interminable tenacity that will always see me climbing toward the sunlight one more time.

    So how did I do it?

    First, I freed myself from prison.

    That is to say, I owned my story. As I hailed from an evangelical Christian background at the time, it was a struggle to come out with regards to depression (as it is with any giant we face). The doctrine of many such religious institutions asserts that if you only believe enough, pray enough, fast enough, give enough…then your trial will pass.

    Miracles certainly can and still do occur, but the problem with such doctrines is the failure to realize that some afflictions are meant to remain with us—whether to assist us with our own personal development or to raise the collective consciousness of those around us.

    Further, people often find that they have no reason to own a “sob story.” This is perhaps one of the biggest locks on silence’s prison. We believe only people with certain circumstances deserve to be depressed. If, however, you are successful, loved, and seem to have it all, then what reason have you to feel sad?

    Unfortunately, people don’t realize that this is precisely what some forms of the attack take—feeling despair even when there are no external reasons why you should feel that way.

    Whatever your cause, the first step in taking the reins back where it concerns your life is to simply own your story and admit to yourself what you feel.

    Next, share your story.

    I never really saw myself as a potential poster child for sexual abuse survivorship or for mental health. All I knew was that every time I shared my story with someone, I felt my heart cast off a dead weight and become lighter.

    Know this: Repression only causes further depression. The more you resist your story, the more you push it deeper into the recesses of your soul, the more likely it is that your depression and silence will take physical manifestation (for me: panic attacks, among other things).

    The cure? Share your story. Yes, it will be scary at first, but you’ll soon be amazed by the sense of liberation and freedom that you feel shortly afterward. Share it with a friend. A family member. A support group. Share it on an online forum. Share it below in the comments if you’d like. Just share it!

    When we do away with silence, we not only free ourselves from its prison but we build community with each other and force loneliness to dissolve.

    Lastly, declare war.

    I had to make a decision. Was I going to let depression collar me up and take me out for walks whenever it so chose, or was I going to reverse roles and become the master of my own life?

    Was I going to fight this?

    Was I going to throw ropes down that old familiar well so that on days when I did trip and fall in, I’d have something to hold on to?

    Yes, I decided. I was. I owed it to myself. Because I was worthy. Because I deserved love. Because I deserved peace. And so do you.

    Our wars, like any war out there, are fraught with countless battles. It’s also entirely a trial-and-error type of warfare you’ll be enacting. Sometimes you’ll be on the offense; sometimes on the defense. Sometimes you’ll feel winded with defeat; other times you’ll feel high with triumph.

    What’s important to remember is that everyone is different. What works for one person may not work for you. What works for you for one season may not work in the next.

    You have to commit to continually finding new weapons and keeping the ones that are most effective. My own arsenal has consisted of things like: yoga, meditation, breath work, community, hobbies, exercise, professional help, medication, music, and more.

    And my encouragement to you would be to try all of these things and then some, and constantly evaluate and assess their impact on you.

    But what I most what you to remember, my sweet kindred soul, is that you are so much more than a diagnosis; and more importantly, you are not alone.

    I stand with you—as do millions of others around the world. And I believe hope can be yours. I believe, in fact, that hope already lives inside of you.

    It’s the voice deep in your heart that keeps you going, day after day. It’s what compelled you to even read this post. It’s the stirring up inside of you that wonders at a brighter tomorrow.

    Together, I believe we can combine the energy of our individual hopes until they come an unstoppable cosmic force that not even the most relentless of giants can contend with until we’ve reached every last one of us with the message our souls yearn to hear: you are not alone, you are loved, and we will stand with you through every storm that comes your way.

  • Learning to Forgive Our Imperfect Parents for Their Mistakes

    Learning to Forgive Our Imperfect Parents for Their Mistakes

    Parents

    TRIGGER WARNING: This post deals with an account of physical abuse and may be triggering to some people.

    “Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.” ~Oscar Wilde

    I couldn’t tell you if Oscar Wilde’s quote is entirely accurate. You see, my biological parents abandoned me and left me with my grandparents at birth.

    Growing up with grandma and grandpa was the best childhood I could have ever imagined, and I didn’t miss my biological parents at all. I guess in that sense they were my parents, and perhaps Oscar Wilde’s point is correct.

    However, my biological parents eventually came back. During the summer before my fourteenth birthday, my parents came and took me “home.”

    I didn’t know much about my new parents, but within a few days here’s what I did know…

    Mom and Dad didn’t love each other.

    They argued every single day, putting each other down in ways no child should ever hear. Their unhappiness toward one another would often times escalate from verbal abuse to physical fighting, and when their fight was over, the final punishment always landed on me.

    Perhaps it was because I couldn’t stand seeing the anger, violence, and sadness. I couldn’t stand seeing my father beat up my mother, so I would get into the middle of their arguments to stop the fight, even if it meant getting beat up myself.

    The days and nights were filled with chaos. I felt like I was walking on eggshells, not knowing when one parent was going to explode and punish me for their bad marriage. My fear turned into anger, and the anger brewed to a boil inside me. I couldn’t continue living like this.

    Arguments and beatings went on for years until I finally collapsed and I ran away from home.

    As expected, both my parents disowned me the moment I left the house.

    In fact, my mother was so mad she didn’t even allow me to come back and pick up any of my belongings. At seventeen years of age, I left to start a new life with my backpack and one set of clothes.

    When I left home I was still in high school. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but the risk of going back was far greater. I made up my mind and there was no way I could ever go back. To me, our relationship was over.

    Luckily, my best friend’s parents opened their door to me. They let me stay in their home until I graduated high school. I got a part-time job to help contribute. Things were looking up, but inside I was building resentment and blame toward my parents for putting me in this situation.

    For years after high school graduation and into college, I continued to blame my parents for not having enough food to eat, clothes to wear, and somewhere to belong.

    I blamed them for everything.

    I had made a promise to never talk to them again, and I kept that promise for seven long years. But as time passed and life experiences taught me new lessons, I learned that resentment and blame were emotions that hold and push you down, never to let go.

    Like it or not, it was time for me to let go and forgive.

    I’m not going to say it was easy, nor am I going to say I didn’t have doubts throughout the entire process.

    But I eventually learned to stop blaming my parents for my life. It was like a load of bricks was off my back. I was finally free from this emotion that I had carried with me and which had shaped my life for so long.

    Learning to let go and forgive taught me that:

    Parents also hurt.

    Sometimes we forget that our parents have lived a life and have had struggles too. We don’t always know about their pains and sorrows. I see now that I have the ability to help them overcome and grow.

    No one is perfect.

    We’re not perfect, so why expect our parents to be? Parents make mistakes too. Of course violence is not excusable, but people make mistakes, and we cannot hold a grudge forever.

    Forgive them.

    It wasn’t easy for me to forgive my parents, but forgiving them gave me peace in my heart. When we hold anger inside of us, we’re the ones that get hurt the most.

    Take the initiative.

    I wanted a relationship with my parents, and so it was I who needed to take the first step and reach out to them. We have to be the ones to step up and harvest it, otherwise, who ever will?

    Build trust.

    Rebuilding trust when there was none (or very little) to begin with is a difficult process that’s going to take time. There’s no secret or shortcut. Get right into it and start by being honest with one another, even if it hurts.

    Stop judging.

    I would always ask myself why they couldn’t be better and listen, care, and love. I had to learn to accept them for who they were. As soon as I was able to accept them as my parents, and accept them for who they were, I was able to accept myself for who I was.

    In the end, all you can do is try. There are no guarantees.

    Before making the decision to call I prepared myself as best as I could for total rejection, and at the same time I defined what a win would look like—what could happen that would make it all worth it. All I could hope for was a small token of reciprocation.

    So, after seven years I picked up the phone and called my parents. We shared a thirty-minute phone call, first with my dad and lastly with my mom. To my surprise, there was no anger, just sadness. They listened more than they spoke, and I could feel that they were hurt because they had hurt me.

    I could see that they had changed, and perhaps it was only then that they were ready for this call.

    I hung up and could feel a sense of relief take over, and I knew this was only the beginning.

    I realize now that change must go both ways. And, if your parents are still abusive and are not ready, or are not willing to be ready, then you must go on with your life. Your life cannot wait.

    Today my parents and I have an open relationship. It’s still a work in progress, but I believe it’s something worth working for. We all have changed for the better, and I am certain this was how it had to be.

    I forgive them for all they did and accept them for who they are.

    If you have resentment toward your parents, what’s preventing you from forgiving them?

    Photo by Belezza87

  • A Message for Anyone Who’s Been Abused and Has Kept It Inside

    A Message for Anyone Who’s Been Abused and Has Kept It Inside

    Stand Strong

    TRIGGER WARNING: This content deals with an account of sexual abuse and may be triggering to some people.

    “Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending.” ~Maria Robinson

    My uncle molested me from the time I was about four until I was in my early twenties. He held me too long and hugged me too tight. He would growl in my ear like an animal in heat, his warm, wet, often alcoholic smelling breath overwhelming me.

    This is how he greeted me at every occasion. When I was really small, I almost looked forward to seeing him because I liked the attention and believed he loved me, although deep down inside, I always felt as if I were doing something wrong, something naughty.

    As I grew, he began to grope my ass through my clothing while he whispered in my ear. He would tell me that I was sexy as he growled and hugged me tighter, pressing me up against his body. Much to my horror, I was aroused.

    I was aroused by my uncle. “MY UNCLE!” I would think to myself. “What on Earth was wrong with me? Surely something was gravely wrong with me to be aroused by my own uncle.”

    I wasn’t even sure of what arousal was at that point and only in retrospect could identify what I was feeling. I didn’t have a name for sex at that age, but I could feel it and knew it was wrong deep down in my belly. I felt wrong. 

    He was an adult. He was my uncle. He loved me.

    I felt the problem was surely mine and would chastise myself as disgusting and dirty. I kept my secret close. I assumed the other members of my family knew of his behavior and that he was normal. He didn’t try to hide it, or so it seemed to me.

    He acted out all the time. He was loud, erratic, and verbally abusive. His behavior was blamed on his drinking and the fact that he was an eccentric artist who simply couldn’t control himself.

    This was the way it was. This was the way it was to be.

    When I was a teenager dancing at a wedding, he told me seductively that he wanted to “make love to me.” I laughed, deflecting his advance as he pulled me in tighter. He had told me that he wanted to have sex with me.

    I knew it was true. I wondered if I would have the strength and courage to say no. I felt the planes and curves of his entire body pressed into mine on that dance floor as I drifted up above, looking down from a cloud, wondering how I might ever escape myself.

    It was only in my late teens that I began questioning if my sickness wasn’t possibly in part his sickness, because in every book that I read and every movie that I saw, I searched but could not find a relationship like the one I had with my uncle. 

    I would wait for the scene in a movie between two related people to become romantic. When it never did, I began to wonder if that bad, ugly feeling in my belly had been trying to tell me something about him.

    I cried to my boyfriend night after night, because the more emotionally intimate we became, the harder it became for me to be physically intimate with him, and he wanted to know why I was in such pain.

    After a Thanksgiving dinner accompanied by my uncle’s raucous behavior and inappropriate advances, my boyfriend insisted on confronting my father. To my shock, my father claimed that he had no idea of my special relationship with my uncle. He never would have guessed.

    No one knew but me.

    I simply never imagined that I would be in the position of having to defend myself. My uncle had been so free in his behavior with me. It never occurred to me that he would deny it.

    He denied it, as did his wife and the entire side of the family that accompanied him. Not only did they deny it, they threw accusations at me.

    “Crazy. Depressed. Liar. She’s unable to interpret harmless behavior.” They defended his honor as husband, father, and grandfather with vigor as if he were a hero—someone to be lauded, not disparaged and blamed with this filth.

    My father had confronted him and relayed the information to me. I did not have the courage to confront him myself.

    Just as I never dreamed I would need a defense, I never dreamed of how many would accuse me. Even my own brother sided with them, and my father would soften my uncle’s blame with statements like “he didn’t mean to hurt you.”

    I wanted to scream so loud the heavens would respond. Cry so long my eyes would bleed into pools of blood around my feet on the floor. Vomit up every one of my organs in sheer disgust.

    But what they didn’t understand is that the blaming, name-calling, and crafting of an airtight defense against me were all unnecessary. I wanted nothing from any of them. I did not want an admission. I did not want an apology. 

    I did not want revenge.

    I did not want him grabbing my ass at my wedding. I did not want to have to explain to my someday husband my “special” relationship with my uncle. I did not want him to have access to the children I would someday have.

    I wanted him to reconsider his behavior before his son’s newborn baby girl, the first girl born into the family since my birth, turned four. I did not want to ever see his disgusting face again. I did not want to feel anymore that sick, dark pain deep in my belly as he touched me.

    I did not want him to touch me again, ever. I wanted my future to be different from my past.  That is all I wanted.

    And I got it. I never saw him again. I turned and walked away from all the disbelievers and my uncle the molester.

    I found people who did empathize and help me heal. I faced the truth of what had been done to me and got the help I needed to go on to live a healthy, normal existence. In doing so, I learned that it is common for families to turn on abuse victims and believe the abuser rather than the abused.

    Were you abused? Did you speak your truth, and no one believed you? Did you speak your truth and experience the pain of even one person doubting you?

    If you were abused and someone, anyone, didn’t believe you, know that I do. I believe you. I stand with you, and for you, in the small way I can. 

    Speaking the truth after being abused takes incredible courage and strength. I am proud of you.  My story can be your story.

    We can be victorious together as survivors. I am a survivor. You are a survivor.

    We are stronger for having survived. We stand together triumphantly and move forward, bravely living abuse free lives.

    If you have been abused or are currently a victim of abuse and have not yet spoken out, I urge you to reach toward a safe person and speak your truth. You too are strong and courageous and deserve to live an abuse free life. Stand with me, no longer a victim but a survivor.

    Start today and make a new ending.

    Photo by Cornelia Kopp

  • Dealing with Pain or Abuse: You Can Let It Destroy You, Define You, Or Strengthen You

    Dealing with Pain or Abuse: You Can Let It Destroy You, Define You, Or Strengthen You

    Strength

    “When something bad happens you have three choices. You can let it define you, let it destroy you, or you can let it strengthen you.” ~Unknown

    When I was twenty-four, leaving my ex was my “something bad.” It was about as bad as it could get.

    After four years of dating, I was certain marriage was right around the corner. Our lives were completely intertwined. I knew he wasn’t a great guy for me, but that didn’t matter because I truly believed I was ready to take the next step.

    One night changed everything.

    I found his drugs, confirming what I had suspected all along: his attempts at recovery were just an act. Admitting to flushing them initiated the scariest experience of my life. Immediately, he searched for his pills and destroyed my apartment when he couldn’t find them.

    When he finished looking, he came after me next, verbally and physically terrorizing me as if he had not already proven his anger. I broke free from his grip and fled, in search of help. This wasn’t our first incidence of violence, but enough was enough.

    I was tired of living alone in silent abuse.

    First, It Defined Me

    When I say that night changed everything, I mean it. Aside from the major life change, something shifted in my mind. I was no longer Akirah, but rather a single, lonely, and abused victim who would never find happiness.

    The abuse diminished my self-esteem, leaving me very little to rely on for healing. Low self-esteem made it easy for me to define myself as a victim. And I preferred it that way because doing so allowed me to remain focused on him.

    This continued for several months until I eventually grew tired of defining myself by my abuse. Unfortunately, being myself did not feel like a feasible option, as I had no clue who I was anymore.

    For four years I skipped out on traveling and making new friends because of our relationship. I never made even the tiniest decision without considering his feelings first. Recalling all the sacrifices I made for him gave me a sick feeling to my stomach.

    It was too much to think about. I needed to numb the pain.

    Then, It Destroyed Me

    My destruction occurred gradually, progressing with the help of alcohol and men. Every weekend was exactly the same routine: get dressed up, get drunk, get attention. I rarely skipped a week.

    My problem with alcohol was actually secondary to my addiction to male attention. Any hint of male validation caused a rush inside of me.

    A look was good. A smile was great. Wanting my name and number?

    Jackpot.

    I maintained an illusion of confidence because I read somewhere that men are attracted to that. But nothing else could be further from the truth. If anything, I had confidence in what I wanted and who I was trying to be, but certainly not in myself.

    After each short-lived relationship, I would think of my ex-boyfriend, wondering if I had maybe made a mistake. I knew deep down it would never be right between us. I could not imagine living my entire life being abused and controlled.

    So in order to avoid getting back together with him, I would find other men to distract me.

    Because, you know, being alone was not an acceptable option.

    I was destroyed. Yes, the abuse started it, but my refusal to heal brought me over the edge. It took one sentence during an episode of Oprah to change my perspective.

    Then It Strengthened Me

    “You have to walk through the fire of grief.”

    I did a double take.

    Fire? Grief? This advice did not sound enjoyable.

    But nothing else was working. Time was not healing my wounds; hangovers and breakups were becoming exhausting and embarrassing.

    Who was I becoming? Someone who needed to walk through the fire of grief, that’s who. So I tried it. It was terrifying at first, of course, but I tried it.

    My first order of business was crying. Can you believe I would never let myself cry? After deciding to walk through the fire of grief, I knew that needed to change. So I cried.

    Then I joined a support group for other survivors of abuse, which initiated even more crying. It felt awful talking about past violence and abuse, yet comforting to know I wasn’t alone. It was as if each tear gave me strength.

    And with that strength, I blossomed.

    I traveled across the country. I ran my first 10K. I even started wearing my hair in its natural state—my afro.

    My life was moving forward and I was choosing how. It felt wonderful. Hard. But wonderful.

    Strength Was In The Healing

    Yes, abuse is awful, but I don’t regret my experience.* I don’t regret how it temporarily destroyed me either. Because without that destruction, I would have no idea today of how strong I am.

    (Sometimes a breakdown can be the best thing to happen to a person.)

    Whether you are letting your “something bad” define you, destroy you, or strengthen you, remember this: Pursue healing.

    Rather than running away from the pain, feel it. If you’ve hit rock bottom, acknowledge it. If your “something bad” defines you, consider defining yourself as someone in healing instead.

    No matter what season you’re in, it’s never over until it’s over.

    So if you don’t feel strong right now, that’s okay. Don’t pursue strength; pursue healing. Because your strength is in your healing. And healing is wonderful.

    Hard.

    But wonderful.

    Plus, you deserve it.

    *Though my abuse was horrific, I did not marry my abuser or have children with him. Additionally, he did not seriously injure me or end my life. Too often I hear stories about others whose choice to safely leave their abusive relationships was tragically taken away from them. It is in their honor that I do the work I do. If you think you might be in an abusive relationship, I urge you to contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline for support and guidance. You are not alone. You are worth healing. 

    Photo by Hartwig HKD

  • No One Should Feel That They Don’t Deserve Love

    No One Should Feel That They Don’t Deserve Love

    Love Arms

    “We accept the love we think we deserve.” ~Stephen Chbosky

    There are those moments in life when things suddenly shift from a deep, sad shade of blue to a lighter shade of sky, and then eventually the beautiful reds and pinks and oranges of a sunrise.

    When a light bulb snaps on in your head and you see something that you’ve been missing for days, months, maybe even years, though it doesn’t change what caused the sea of blue, it makes it look more like a calm lake than a raging ocean.

    I had one of those moments not too long ago. I had been stuck in a sea of blue for almost two years. After the breakdown my first “real” relationship I vaulted into a deep dark ocean where I could only tread water, and I stayed there for what felt like an eternity.

    I didn’t want to go out, happiness seemed like a fleeting feeling that left me as quickly as it took me over, and I felt like I would never feel better. I had fallen into a depression that would come and go, and a false sense of healing. 

    But what I failed to realize is that I hadn’t addressed the real problem yet. And then, after treading water for a long time, I met someone else, and he was like someone I had never been with before.

    He was gentle and really cared for me, and I honestly didn’t know what to do with him.

    I didn’t know how to handle someone who didn’t want to use me. I was completely confused and unsure.

    One night, after a particularly tense time with my current love interest, I broke down, and I couldn’t understand why I resisted a real relationship so fiercely.

    I couldn’t understand why this was so hard. I couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t let myself be cared for by someone. I was treading water again, the same water as I had been for so long, and I was frustrated.

    I just kept asking myself: What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be whole again? Why do I feel so empty and unloved?

    I stayed that way until a friend of mine asked, “Do you think you deserve something so good?”

    This was something I had never asked myself. I was so caught up in what I was feeling that I never had the courage to truly look inside and see why this was so hard for me.

    It was because I was afraid. All I had known was the deep dark blue of abuse, and I had fostered the false belief that I didn’t deserve anything better.

    For years, I found myself and put myself in situations with people who didn’t mind using me. I was used and hurt and thrown away, like an old Kleenex, and after a while that’s who I thought I was. A washed up, old person, stuck in the body of a young girl, spinning wildly in the same circles over and over again.

    I had kept that feeling as an integral part of who I was, and how I related to people. I had created my whole self-image around the belief that I didn’t deserve love.

    And because of this I had attracted people who didn’t want to love me, and I seemed to repel people who truly cared about me.

    I realized that in order to reverse this flow of people and energy I had to redefine how I see myself.

    Pop! The light bulb snapped on in my head, the waves of emotion started to calm down, and my sun started to rise.

    I could understand why I felt like this, and though I can’t undo years of this type of thinking right away, at least I am able to see it for what it really is.

    I have a long journey of recreating myself ahead of me. That is something that I probably should have done a long time ago, but I needed to tread water for a while to truly understand. And that’s perfectly okay.

    I know how easy it is to unconsciously repeat patterns, and how scary it is to break them.

    I know that I am not out of the water yet, and the sunshine hasn’t completely bathed me in its enlightened glow. I know that it may take years to understand why I do the things I do in relationships.

    But I will try to take baby steps because no one should feel like they don’t deserve someone who can love them for exactly who they are.

    Because everyone deserves to love, even if that means they have to tread water for a while first.

    Photo by Jessy Rone

  • Change Your Life by Turning Shame into Courage

    Change Your Life by Turning Shame into Courage

    “I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it.” ~Nelson Mandela

    Shame. A word that conjures up all kinds of emotions while equally keeping you silent.

    Some have even said that shame should be classified as a deadly disease because of how it deeply affects the soul.

    Then, there are researchers like Brené Brown who study it.

    It wasn’t until I started working with my first speaking coach that I realized it was actually shame that had kept me “hiding out” and playing small earlier in life.  

    Which is typical of women who have experienced shame. Isolation becomes your friend.

    I had met my coach at a networking event for women in business. She was warm and caring. I shared that it was overcoming the loss of my son to suicide that actually brought me to coaching.

    I told her of my goals of sharing my message through public speaking and advocacy to bring awareness, not only to suicide prevention, but also issues affecting women.

    Except, like most people, I had always had a fear of public speaking. Even to get up and say my name used to make my palms sweaty.

    So why did the thought of standing up in front of the room and speaking bring on major heart palpitations? After all, I love meeting new people, chatting it up, hearing their stories and learning about their lives. There had to be more to the story!

    During our first session, I told her that I thought most of my fears were from a childhood trauma I had experienced. After hearing my story, she said, “You have an element of shame that surrounds your life. You have a fear of judgment.”

    I was worried what people would think of me that didn’t even know me, or anything about me.

    It finally made sense to me.

    It all stemmed from being sexually abused as a young kid. The humiliation, embarrassment, and fear of anyone finding out was still affecting my life.

    Only now, I knew how important it was to share my story, because it could change a life or save a life.

    My life mission was now bigger than my fear.

    On my journey to healing, I read many books. Books on losing a loved one, books on overcoming trauma, books on healing your life, and books on getting healthy.

    I watched Oprah and listened to her inspiring guests.

    One day, something clicked.

    Everything that I had either read or listened to that inspired me to take action and move out of my darkness involved one thing: stories!

    It was not the technical stuff or the how-to overcome (fill in the blank). It was the stories being shared that I could relate to that helped me change my life.

    It was the people who were not afraid to share. They did not let any shame, stigma, or fear stop them because they knew their story might help someone.

    When you go through a trauma or loss, you can easily feel isolated, like you are the only one. But when you are courageous enough to share your story, you soon find out that you are not alone.

    There are people out there in dire need of someone to talk to, that they can relate to, that will understand them.

    Sharing your story empowers others who are feeling isolated to begin their own journey of healing and move forward, to create their own movement, big or small.

    It’s like a snowball effect. You inspire one person, who inspires another person, who inspires another.

    When you are finally courageous enough to share your story, it is a process. Shame will no longer leave you feeling small and powerless.

    You will feel the need to get out there, share your story, and make a difference in the world.

    Now, when I feel fear creeping in, I remind myself that it is not about me; it is about the person who is going to hear my story, feel inspired to change their own life, and create their own movement of change, one small step at a time.

    Photo by Jonatas Cunha

  • Reclaim Your Authentic Self: 4 Steps to Recover from Bullying and Abuse

    Reclaim Your Authentic Self: 4 Steps to Recover from Bullying and Abuse

    Sitting and reflecting

    When I was in fourth grade, a girl from another class bullied me. I was in the bathroom during class when I heard the door creak open and whooshing shut. There was silence for a moment, then the girl’s hands appeared on the top of the stall door, followed by her face.

    “Whaddaya doin’ in there?” she asked.

    I quickly covered myself and replied as nicely as I could, “I’m using the bathroom.”

    “Well, hurry up,” she said. “Because I want to go.” There were three other stalls, so I knew I was in trouble.

    I had no idea who this girl was. I’d seen her on the playground, but I didn’t know her name, and to this day I still have no idea why she wanted to antagonize me.

    I finished my business and thought about just waiting to go out until someone else came in, but she was banging things around, and I didn’t want to be trapped in the stall if she decided to crawl under the door. So I walked out.

    The first thing she did was grab my glasses off my face and throw them against the wall. I ran over to them, afraid they were broken. I knew I’d get in trouble at home if they were.

    I picked them up, and as I turned around, she slapped me hard. I fell back against the wall, not even knowing how to defend myself in a fight, but I was lucky. She turned, and with her nose in the air, flounced out of the bathroom.

    I carried the fear from that experience, and others, for many years. After growing up in a very dysfunctional family, I had no idea how to express all the feelings that tumbled around inside and threatened to engulf me.

    When I was in my thirties, I began reading books like The Drama of the Gifted Child and For Your Own Good, and I finally began letting go of thirty years’ worth of repressed emotions.

    Over the last two decades, I’ve distilled the process of letting go of old emotions into four simple steps.

    Even though it’s simple, the process is not necessarily easy because it can be painful to look at old memories and hurt feelings that have been with us for many years, or even a lifetime.

    But clearing out the “emotional storehouse” opens the mind to more possibilities, restores self-esteem, and leads to a rediscovery of the authentic self, which has been trapped underneath all the repressed feelings.

    Here are the four steps:

    1. Figure out and acknowledge what you’re feeling.

    Is it shame? Sadness? Despair? Anger?

    2. Find a private place, and let yourself express that feeling.

    Cry, punch sofa pillows, shake your fists, throw rocks into a pond—whatever helps.

    Let your body do whatever it wants to do. You can also journal, but the feelings move out faster if they’re physically expressed, because emotions are stored in the musculature of the body when they can’t be expressed.

    3. Tell yourself you can let go of that feeling.

    You don’t have to keep holding it inside. Call up the witness part of you to comfort yourself as you express your emotions, and remind yourself that what you’re feeling is not who you are; it’s only a feeling that will pass.

    If you feel like you can’t let go of the feeling, ask yourself, “Why? What do I need to look at? What is holding me back from letting go?” A past event or experience will often surface if you ask with a feeling of curiosity and let yourself be open to any answer that comes. You may need to go back to Step 2 if this is the case.

    Repeating this step over the course of several days gives your subconscious mind time to bring the issue to the surface, and you may find that it’s easier to let go of it piece by piece instead of all in one fell swoop.

    If you’ve experienced a deep betrayal of yourself at some time in your life, your processing time may be longer than someone who hasn’t had many traumatic experiences. Be sure to be compassionate with yourself as you go through the process.

    4. Help yourself remember that life can be good.

    After you’ve let go of some feelings, call a supportive friend to talk about something else, go to a movie, or join a group that’s going to a fun place. Anything you enjoy doing is fine.

    When someone hurts us, it’s human nature to hold on to the hurt because we think that somehow, if we can figure it out, it won’t be as painful. But you hurt yourself all over again when you hold on to a bad feeling—thinking about past experiences can drag you down and make you miserable over time.

    It feels much better to let them go; just let their energy drift out of your body and mind. Once you do, you can see everything a little more clearly and be a little more in touch with your authentic self.

    Of course, it’s always prudent to seek help if your emotions seem too overwhelming or if you find that they prevent you from functioning in life.

    But if you continue this process over a period of time, eventually the old feelings will become a memory rather than a shadow that lives with you day in and day out, and you’ll be living more from your authentic self than from your past experiences.

    Photo by Frank Kovalchek

  • Learning to Trust Again When You’ve Been Hurt in the Past

    Learning to Trust Again When You’ve Been Hurt in the Past

    “The only way to know if you can trust somebody is to trust them.” ~Ernest Hemingway

    In a world where it seems as though all we hear about and see is how one person betrayed another, how do we allow ourselves to trust someone to get close at all, let alone trust them to be near the most fragile parts of us?

    Over the course of the last year, I’ve been working as an intern-counselor at a residential high school with around seventy teenagers. Many of them have come from unbelievably challenging backgrounds where they have had to learn to not trust anyone as a matter of survival.

    Imagine having spent your entire life always having to watch your back literally and figuratively, not just because there are strangers who may want to harm you, but also because even those who are supposed to be close to you could turn against you in an instant.

    How difficult do you think it would be to let down the defenses that kept you safe and in some cases, alive, for so long?

    In my own world, I’ve struggled with allowing people to really know me because for most of my life, it felt as though I was burned every time I did.

    Over time, I learned how to seem friendly but kept virtually everyone at a distance, and those who got too close I rapidly pushed away, sometimes completely out of my life.

    I was already struggling to put my pieces back together after several major tragedies in my family, and allowing others in meant (the possibility of) compounding my heartbreak. I just couldn’t handle anymore at the time.

    Eventually I began to open up, but each time found myself wondering why I had been so naive again.

    Then there came a point where, slowly but surely, people began to enter my life who showed me what it meant to be able to trust—trust them to show up, trust them to listen, trust them with commitments, and the biggest one of all, trust them with my heart.

    These people came in the form of friends who are now my family and have had my back in countless ways over the years, and the most surprising and recent of all, a man who is not only telling me, but showing me, what a man does to express his profound interest beyond just the physical.

    If I wouldn’t have begun to take down my walls, I may have never found these amazing people. They didn’t appear because I had perfectly learned to trust already. They appeared because I was willing to learn to trust, even if imperfectly.

    As I’ve been learning to trust and lower my defenses, I’ve been working with my students to do the same.

    Their stories are different in that many of them have come from a history of abuse and/or gang related activities. But we share a similar outcome in struggling to realize that what once protected us is no longer needed, and in some cases, is actually hurting us further by isolating us from the love we need to heal and move forward.

    It’s like taking too much medicine; sometimes a certain amount is necessary to get better, but beyond that it can break our systems down.

    We each come to crossroads in our lives where we have to make the decision to let go of our old survival mechanisms in order to grow and make room for something better.

    Sometimes what used to protect us becomes what harms us and stifles the capacity for our lives to be open and full of joy, love, and peace.

    When it comes to trusting each other, we have to accept that our past is not our present. We have to be able to recognize that what hurt us before is not necessarily what is currently standing before us—even sometimes when the situation looks frighteningly similar, and sometimes even when it’s the same person.

    Does this mean we won’t ever get hurt again? Nope. That’s a part of life. People will let us down, and we will let them down, but that doesn’t mean our efforts to disassemble our defense mechanisms are in vain.

    If we never allow ourselves any vulnerability, we lose out on the opportunity to make incredibly deep and meaningful connections that open up our lives in ways that couldn’t happen any other way.

    Those connections draw out the very best within and create a new reality—one where we learn that the only way to know if you can trust somebody is to trust them.

  • Recovering from a Difficult Childhood: How to Reclaim Yourself

    Recovering from a Difficult Childhood: How to Reclaim Yourself

    “Our greatness lies not so much in being able to remake the world as being able to remake ourselves.” ~Mahatma Gandhi

    Recently, I had one of those flashes of insight that burn away the illusions I learned as a child in a dysfunctional family and help me see myself in a new light. I saw through an invisible belief that I’ve held for a very long time—the belief that I am not in control of my life.

    Standing in line in the grocery store and twiddling my thumbs, my monkey mind ran through the list of what I could be accomplishing if I didn’t have to wait in line doing nothing. And like a bright gift from above, an idea flew into my mind: If our thoughts create our reality, then I could be creating my next experience of reality right then, while I waited.

    In that moment, I realized that even when I feel like I’m not in control of a situation, by letting go of resistance and choosing to create the next situation with my thoughts, I can be more in command of what happens in my life.

    I grew up with no understanding whatsoever that I could create my life the way I wanted it to be. My father was very rigid in his beliefs and actions, and my mother was very impulsive. Consequently, my world swung back and forth between needing to follow rules and regulations, and suddenly having the rules change mid-stride so that I had no idea what to do next.

    I carried the assurance that life could fall into chaos at any time into adulthood, and though I have consistently moved forward in my life, I have never felt truly in control, because of the way I grew up.  (more…)

  • Relationships That Hurt: When Enough Is Enough

    Relationships That Hurt: When Enough Is Enough

    “Relationships are like glass. Sometimes it’s better to leave them broken than hurt yourself trying to put them back together.” ~Unknown

    There was a time when I was quite black-and-white with relationships. I either trusted you implicitly, assuming you’d never intentionally hurt me, or believed you wanted to cause me pain and questioned everything you did.

    Once you moved yourself into the latter category, there was no going back.

    Eventually, I realized I was limiting my relationships by not recognizing the grey area, where people are human, they make mistakes, and they need forgiveness and understanding.

    From there I swung the pendulum the other way—I trusted everyone. I refused to consider that someone’s actions might reflect that they didn’t truly care. And I stayed in a lot of unhealthy relationships while making excuses for people.

    I wanted them to care. I wanted to believe they valued me—that it only meant I was interpreting incorrectly if their actions seemed to suggest otherwise.

    But this is where it gets confusing. On the one hand, we often create a lot of meaning in our heads that isn’t really there. We may feel convinced someone intended to be rude, inconsiderate, or thoughtless when really that wasn’t the case.

    On the other hand, sometimes actions speak louder than words, and our interpretations may be accurate.

    Sometimes someone is knowingly hurtful or neglectful. We need to be able to recognize that or we’ll end up feeling disempowered, disrespected, and stuck.

    So how do you know when to stay and when to walk away? How do you know when you’re not reading into things too much, or being too paranoid, or making mountains out of molehills, but rather simply seeing things for what they are?

    After placing myself in this situation more times than I’d like to count, I developed a little three-question guide that’s helped me recognize when enough is enough. (more…)

  • The Transformative Powers of Pain: Healing from Abuse

    The Transformative Powers of Pain: Healing from Abuse

    “Freedom is what you do with what’s been done to you.” ~Jean Paul Sartre

    We all have our stories of how people have wronged us and caused pain. Allow me to tell you mine.

    I’m a survivor of abuse: mental, emotional, physical, and sexual. I was born into a family of abusers and witnessed it from the day I was born until age sixteen.

    As a child, I thought my family was perfect. However, when I was twelve years old, I realized just how truly dysfunctional my family was. It was as if a light bulb went off and the image of my “perfect family” was crushed.

    This realization led me into a deep spiral of depression and rebellion which entailed running away from home, hanging out with the wrong crowd, and experimenting with drugs.

    Needless to say, my future was looking bleak and my behavior was worsening.

    I had no one to turn to, and my home life was only getting worse. As I developed more into a woman, my father started to make sexual advances at me, and when I was fifteen, openly admitted that he was in love with me.

    My mother was another other story. She disconnected and completely isolated herself from communicating with anyone in the house, including my brother, father, and me.

    While my parents’ relationship completely fell apart, the physical, emotional, and sexual abuse in the house became more frequent. I witnessed my mother stabbing my father, and constant fistfights happened between them.

    The police were constantly being called and one if not both of my parents were arrested for domestic violence numerous times.

    It wasn’t easy growing up in an abusive home, but eventually I found new ways to cope and deal with the circumstances I was born in. I realized that if I couldn’t change my home life that at least I could work on my life outside of it.

    Tenth grade was the year that changed my life forever.

    I signed up for many after-school clubs and programs, joined the soccer team, and started to focus more on my studies. I tried to fill my schedule up as much as possible to avoid going home.

    One day I came home to find my parents arguing, which eventually turned into a fistfight, and my brother and I got the brunt of it. I remember my father punching me straight in the face and me yelling at my brother to call the police. (more…)