• I’ll Take Good 70s Music Over 1980s Emptiness Any Day

    I’d like to pretend that my nervous system hasn’t been permanently altered by men behaving badly. I  don’t know what to write about if I don’t write about the drama. I’m so used to tying up my identity in trauma.

    The floodgates of memory open; a portal to the past open a little wider, a little more today than not. Trauma anniversary begets trauma anniversary. November to February: ’tis the season.

    Jared says to keep writing. I hardly see the point.

    I’ve been reading about memoir and I’m not so sure anymore. Why? I can’t write most of what happened verbatim for good reason, left to use creative non-fiction to paint my feelings about opportunists, psychopaths, and events decades old that really would make quite the stories if I could ever tell the actual sequence as they happened.

    People would hardly believe the characters involved. Real life is stranger than fiction. I do feel a compulsion to write.

    I’m afraid if I don’t tell the stories, then I’ll forget. Or somehow the events will become less meaningful, or the fact that I went through all that will be for nothing.

    There: I said it.

    ————————

    It has been a good day. I got my life affirmation orthopedics appointment and spent the morning in Atlanta. Jared and I have gotten out to Gallery Row tonight.

    And, karma and all. There is good in the world.

    “What is my body doing?” is a good question to measure my time with. Asking myself that question near constantly is reducing my online and sitting time.

    And, I love my life. I think.

    Jared doesn’t want me to sell my XF 16-55mm f2.8 II. He says I waffle too much to be sure. I’m increasingly sure. I want to add the money to our household budget. I feel like it’s the least I can do. I greatly prefer my 27mm 1.2 and my 50mm f1. The pair can do an awful lot and the 16-55mm is the odd-man out voice-wise.

    I took every bit of physical anger and grief out on our yard this afternoon, chopping bit by bit with the loppers at the overgrowth by our back driveway. It’s almost not embarrassing, by comparison. Killing innocent overgrowth is therapeutic. We have quite the pile of brush waiting for haul off. When it’s too big for me to cut, I point and Jared gives it a go.

    I gave myself 20 minutes of indulgence in Cheez-its and Costco’s Just Bare spicy chicken tenders after the yard work for supper, giving into the desire to eat my feelings within reason. I made sure I was done around 6:00 PM; I am attempting “intermittent happiness” again low-key.

    Gallery Row’s predominantly early 80s playlist put me in a funk of all nights tonight, so I told Jared after sulking a while at home and he said, “1970s. Pull up Chicago. You pick.” “Which one?” I asked. “You’ll know.”

    “Saturday in the Park” it was. Jared knows the 1970s is my decade; my Daddy gave me his good taste.

    And Jared danced to “Saturday in the Park” in his chair, messing up the lyrics because of course he doesn’t know them verbatim like I do. Emotional co-regulation in real-time.

    A little dip because of the time of night. The probably substance-induced authors’ absurdity of “Does Anybody Know What Time It Is?” reminds me that there is so much better music in this world than early 1980s angsty love songs of Generation Jones. Oliver comes out dancing to “Old Days” to put his second dinner plate away, because he requires two suppers these days. My boys have bottomless-pit stomachs.

    And the night is better, and I am sleepy and tomorrow is football because of course it is still football season in mid-November. This is Carrollton, after all.

  • Oddness in a Good Way

    Med tech: “I hear you’re one tough cookie.”

    Me: “You must have seen the x-rays?”

    So, next year, I can skip the x-rays if I am maintaining my current baseline.

    I am writing that for myself, not as a newsflash for anyone else.

    Orthopedics is staying out of the SSDI conversation.

    Which, oddly enough, brings tremendous relief.

    And, having seen a baseline of at least three years’ worth of x-rays, I am satisfied that yes— I had progression of the scoliosis in the years I was overweight and childbearing.

    But— now that I have entered perpetual physical therapy, progression has stopped.

    Small triumphs that actually aren’t so small.

    I told my orthopedic PA that physical therapy is putting me in touch with my baseline pain levels and that I didn’t expect her to do anything about it.

    I know the difference between my baseline normal pain and stretching pain and actual injury pain.

    So. Keep up with physical therapy. Watch my weight. Keep up my nutrition. Don’t sit all the time.

    Yes, it all hurts. The pain is a souvenir that reminds me I have been through some stuff and I am still alive.

    Maybe that last statement is applicable to a wide variety of situations and feelings in my life.

  • Life as an Unbending

    A couple of years ago, my orthopedist appointment fell on the anniversary of the assault.

    I left it that way: in odd ways that I cannot explain, revisiting orthopedic offices makes me feel triumphant and like why yes, I am indeed living on the now 34 years of borrowed time I might not otherwise have had.

    My orthopedic PA doesn’t water things down or shame me about the physical therapy I might or might not do. She said once, “You know the rodeo.” She’s seen the probably 4 feet of metal I have lining my spine.

    And so, it is oddly life-affirming that I go and get to see the current state of my back, and have someone remind me that yes, she will keep the physical therapy orders coming and that yes, for this year, I don’t actually require referral to the actual surgeon, and that next year yes, we should consider not doing x-rays because, after all, the sheer amount of radiation my body absorbed from ages 6 to 14 or so was already more than any one human body should ever see.

    Maybe I don’t need those x-rays after all.

    But I sent a message anyway a week or so ago, because I’d rather see than worry about the radiation. And this year, I’ve actually been working on exercises— hanging, strange bean bag contortions— that feel like they may be doing some good.

    I want to see for myself if all this has made any difference at all this year— if the Swedish ladder in the bathroom has helped, if the Schroth breathing exercises have helped. If laying contorted on a beanbag has helped.

    I know my shoulders are more straight when I have the energy to hold them as such.

    The origins of the PTSD probably wasn’t the first assault. The origin was probably based in childhood medical trauma— my torso was largely immobile from ages 6 to 13 due to bracing, after all.

    The very good patient I conditioned myself to be (aside from loosening my brace which I still blame on kids at school who dared me to do it the first time, not knowing they set loose a chain reaction that had very real consequences for my actual physical life-expectancy without surgical intervention)….

    That very good patient was also the same personality trait that sent whatever message to my brain (and to predator-types) that why yes, I would be compliant, and why no, I might not even realize what was going on until it was far too late…… being a very good patient is quite attractive to predator types.

    And so, on the 28th anniversary of the day I was first sexually assaulted, I will wake up long before sunrise and get myself, alone, to Atlanta, to do x-rays and then sit for 10 minutes while my orthopedic PA tells me I am fine. That’s what I expect anyway.

    And, as I become more focused on mindfulness, I did actually answer the questionnaire I filled out online today differently than I would have 10 years ago: yes, my upper back hurts; yes, my neck hurts, yes, my side hurts (there was not a space for that but it is the truth) and yes, it’s there all the time.

    And yes, when I lay with a beanbag under my right shoulder blade my whole left side lights up in pain in a way like I haven’t stretched it for 10 years, even though it barely moves if at all. It’s the good sort of stretching pain.

    And yes, my hips hurt. All the time. Lying on the floor gives brief relief.

    Ten years ago, or longer, when people asked me if my back hurt my answer was, “No.”

    Here’s what I’ve learned through mindfulness and working to live in my body: I have been disassociated from living in my actual body for most of my adult life; somewhere in childhood I trained myself to not be in touch with deep tissue physical sensation.

    The pain I feel now is not new. It is me getting acquainted with sensations that have been with me for most of my life.

    And today, I am spending the day convalescing in my bed after a long day doing precisely what I wanted to do in Atlanta. Because my bipolar nervous system doesn’t differentiate between socializing as recreation and socializing in work environments; it’s all taxing and requires at least a day of recovery.

    As much as I crave a steady routine, and a clean house and a beautful yard, I am coming to understand that what I have seen as character defect and laziness (I can hear family telling me I should make myself do things in my head even now, permanently in that shame-loop)…..

    I am coming to understand that perhaps it’s enough that my children are fed and healthy and thriving and curious and our older two are out living their best lives;

    that I do in fact have a bed to rest in;

    that we have enough to eat;

    that in fact, none of my children are seeking to escape reality through substances or alcohol;

    that my children understand deeply issues of consent in relationship to the extent that the older two are in no hurry to get into serious romantic relationships before being established adults.

    Perhaps it is enough that I didn’t break my children despite disabling mental illness.

    But for Thursday, much as I’d like for it to be an ordinary day, to not give a marker to a day someone assaulted me under the guise of a welfare check while I was psychotic…. It seems like that would be an old hat sort of thing to just forget about….

    I think I might take one of my most prized possessions to my appointment on Thursday: the little 2-inch section of Harrington rod my original orthopedist trimmed off after one of the twist ties holding them together broke, in late 1994. My PA might have the sort of sense of humor to appreciate that I’ve kept it all these years.

    It’s somehow life-affirming to go spend a little time reminding myself that why yes, I am in many ways a walking miracle whose heart never was quite crushed yet by that original 87-degree curve that turned into whatever it was by surgery day in 1993.

  • November Man vs A Real Man

    Let’s talk about a man who adores popular culture.

    Stripes. Uncle Buck. Breakfast Club. Ferris Bueller.

    Let’s talk about the sort of man who tries to remake his own self-image in the vein of a John Candy family-man-wannabe.

    The sort of man who idolized shows the likes of 7th Heaven and Dawson’s Creek, for their wholesomeness.

    The sort of man who is stalled mentally at age 20 for good reason and pegs himself in the wrong generational cohort because it isn’t quite as cool.

    The sort of man with an extensive collection of secrets.

    The sort of man willing to lie about his age when convenient, as if age is a liability.

    The sort of opportunist who presented himself as the height of virtue to a new younger friend, only to prey on her vulnerability during a psychotic crisis.

    The sort of man who chooses Elton John’s “Love Songs” and the Sleepless in Seattle Soundtrack to play on repeat during echo assaults over a period of years.

    The sort of man who pulled up the song “Never Saw Blue Like That,” in generating false intimacy.

    The sort of man who really preferred to watch the likes of Dangerous Beauty and American Beauty and Se7en with his object of predation; the sort of man who fancied himself having his own version of a courtesan at one time.

    The sort of man who curated scary movies to set the scene of predation, carefully choosing the tone for taking what he wanted later.

    The sort of man who never actually achieved the family man status he aspired to because he prefers false power and predation to intimacy.

    The sort of man who confuses status with accomplishment; who gave up on his personal development long ago because he didn’t understand how it works and didn’t see the point.

    The sort of man who conflates entertainment and status, which help to pass the time, with meaning.

    The sort of man who realizes late in life that personal growth eludes him.

    The sort of man who needed to grandstand to a woman on SSDI at the height of his career.

    A lifetime absent of the very substance that makes a life worth living must be exhausting, vividly terrifying— devastatingly void.

    I’m sorry for him.

    I married a man whose entertainment tastes are wide and varied and require far more intellectual depth than popularity in nature.

    I married a man who has never once asked me to watch a scary movie.

    I married a man who saw the predation before I did.

    I married a man who finds meaning in holding my hand— he holds my hand at home and in public.

    I married a man who naturally commands authority by elevating everyone around him.

    I married a man who sacrificed his sleep night after night before workdays to tend to our three babies each, all night long.

    I married a man who goes, without complaint, to check imaginary noises in the dark when I wake up afraid.

    I married a man who refuses to fight back even when I try to pick a fight.

    I married a man who creates romance in sitting in a park.

    I married a man who tends to our children’s schoolwork and homework.

    I married a man who attends as many of our children’s events as possible.

    I married a man who makes it clear to work that family comes first.

    I married a man who introduced me to all his friends and family as soon as possible.

    I married a man who tells me the truth even when it is uncomfortable.

    I married a man who, every November, knows what is coming and holds me through it.

    Once upon a time, I chose between these two men.

    And, instinctively, I chose the real man before I’d even met him in person.

  • Back to Basics

    I don’t hate photography.

    I am tired from 15 years of conflating usefulness with art in being the friend with a camera. I am exhausted from the grief of never quite managing to replace my professional identity.

    I don’t hate photography.

    I can pick up the camera and get shots like this in a single shot, straight from my bed, with 3 clicks in post-processing. It’s not magazine-worthy, but it is vaguely reminiscient of medium format vibes.

    I don’t hate photography.

    I hate that I let the distractions of the world get between me and my actual interests.

    I don’t hate photography.

    I love that I have an excellent eye and stellar tastes in tools to accomplish precisely what I want to paint with light. In this room alone, there are 17 examples of my art hanging on the walls.

    I don’t hate photography.

    I am done seeking outside approval to wear as some artificial badge of honor proclaiming I am good enough for whatever arbitrary standard of the day the in-crowd proclaims is good.

    I don’t hate photography.

    And just for today, just from my perch on my bed if nothing else, I am redefining my relationship to photography, to my gear, to the crafts of creativity that feed my soul.

    I don’t hate photography.

Hi there– I write daily about midlife, parenting, photography, long marriage, mental health, and everyday adventures.

Two-thirds of my kiddos are off at college, and I am figuring out life by processing out loud.

read more here.