Posts Tagged ‘life’

Albedo – Trauma Insight – Those Lifetime Costs

August 27, 2026

“…survival…is not synonymous with wholeness. We don’t survive whole.”
Daria Burke, Of My Own Making

The Superfund site

“Something in me…screams…This is not all I am. I had something more in mind to do….We are reclaiming what another human being…decided to ruin, to take for themselves…Many of us don’t die. But our trajectories are forever altered.”
Jen Cross, Writing Ourselves Whole

And Cross goes on to so eloquently point out that they didn’t just TAKE from us; they left us with a MESS to clean up, comparing us to an “oil spill,” a Superfund site in need of cleanup that will never be quite the same. :

“We spend the bulb and blossom of our lives cleaning up a toxic waste site. Meanwhile, we watch our friends come into full flower: making connections, reaching out, writing books, making marriages and families, developing their crafts, their skills, themselves. We watch them build careers, and wonder what is wrong with us that we can’t do what they’re doing. But we are still salvaging the superfund site inside of us. We painstakingly wipe off every blade of grass and feather of every bird that is a necessary part of our inside selves. The oil is never completely eradicated. Some of the areas impacted never recover…never become what they ought to have been…And then we simply have to mourn their loss, grieve what might have been….Meanwhile, those who polluted us are allowed to continue…”

I agree with every word…and deeply feel the effects of both what was taken…and what was left…and what goes forward…

“The past is not the past…We all bring every second of our lives to who we are today.”
Andre Dubus III, with Melanie Brooks, in Writing Hard Stories – Celebrated Memoirists Who Shaped Art From Trauma

About costs

Let me first be clear… I have managed to reclaim a lot in life. And Cross notes the same in her book when she indicated that we can become a hybrid of what we were meant to be; that we can go on, go forward, and still thrive.

But too often society “glosses over” that whole in-between section, the blatant, cold, hard reality that exists in between “the abuse and the thriving.” So for once, I want to be very specific about just what this life of mine has cost me…about the fact that no matter how good we make it – there were…and ARE…costs we incurred.

And by “we” I mean not just myself, or other abuse survivors, but society in general.

But first, let me talk about my personal costs in this.

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Albedo – Taking Things to the Next Level

August 10, 2026

Are you talking about me?

Until 2009, I didn’t really get it. Despite all I had lived through, I never considered that I had been “traumatized.” I knew I had been harmed, abused, even. But I never realized that “PTSD” applied to me, much less a diagnosis of severe PTSD with anxiety, depression, and emotional dissociation. I thought those things applied to someone else who’d had it “worse than me.”

But slowly, I started to grasp that the recurrent bouts of anxiety I felt so often were actually “emotional flashbacks.” That some of my health issues came from stress. And that the nightmares and medication for depression and anxiety spoke to deeper wounds than I’d ever understood. I’d written things off as I’d “just” been abused, never understanding how much harm had been done.

It was only slowly that I came to truly appreciate that severity… and how much work there still was to do. There were still so many things that I couldn’t get past and so many issues I revisited again and again. There is that saying that if life presents the same problem over and over, it means you’re not done with it. So my lessons were not finished.

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The Nigredo Years – Rage Part 2 – WHY?

July 28, 2026

The vein of my life force?

When I first started working with this trauma therapist almost twenty years ago, all I could feel was anxiety and terror. I wasn’t even aware of the rage, just terror. Beyond that, my emotions, as well as any emotional power, were a flat line. I was not a fully open, fully expressive human being

It took ten years of regular work for me to even reach the place where anger might be a possible emotion in me. It took a literal lifetime for me to mine deep enough into my psyche to finally hit that vein of rage.

No question, once opened, there was no turning back. But then…maybe that was the point? Could it be that maybe my very life force…the one I’d been denied since infancy, was also there? The life force that is the “light side” of rage, and that could finally allow me to accept and embrace all of me, all of my life and being, fully…with love?

I only knew that once I started through that swamp of emotions, I had to keep going…because the rage had something to teach me.

THIS TIME, I’ll win…

I talked about proxy battles — re-enacting past moments of abuse or conflict by “fighting back” in some current-day situation — my way to win some kind of perceived battle in the present day. They could be some small angry interaction with someone in the grocery store, or whatever. But if I perceived insult or disrespect, especially by a man, I would “stand up for me!”

Even as I know I don’t want to get hooked by whatever it is, and on some level I know it’s ridiculous, there are times I just feel compelled to do it anyway. And even more weirdly, I experience a tremendous sense of relief if I “win.” And it’s not just relief that I “won”, but…that I FOUGHT BACK.

Then I came across these passages in the book Trauma and Recovery, by Judith Herman, MD:

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Nigredo Years – Triggers and Flashbacks

July 9, 2026

There are things left within that remain still totally alive today, buried alive, even though you don’t know it. They lurk…in your psyche. Your nervous system. Your memories. Waiting.

Something happens in the moment – a loud noise, a smell, a touch- and you are suddenly spiraling backwards in time, to a place of total emotional chaos and terror. It doesn’t matter how old you are now, or how long ago that memory was buried.

They are happening again…right now.

Triggers and Flashbacks

There are so many instances that I will be having a pleasant day, absorbed in something fun, and then, when I least expect it, it overwhelms me.

A knob on the kitchen cabinet catches my shirt, and I react with fear and rage at “being pulled.” Someone starts up a loud motorcycle unexpectedly, and I jump out of my skin because the loud noise was like the noise of Dad coming into my room ready to grab me. Body and sensory memories.

Then there are the emotional ones. I have hated weekends most of my life. Except for when I worked in the hospital lab. At least on those weekends, I wasn’t home and was doing something useful. When I was at home, he was at me. Either sexually, or physically if I refused. It took me years to realize that my weekend “dread” was a powerful emotional flashback to “those weekends.”

These days the weekends still haunt me. I will be cleaning the house, then I sit down to rest for a moment and look over my to-do list. Immediately, from out of nowhere, I am filled with intense anxiety and the sense I am “bad.” I feel afraid. I feel like I’d better not be “caught” sitting down. I am in danger…or I am a “bad person” because he has made that clear to me.

Then, there is the “3:00 p.m. sense of dread” every day because “Dad will be home soon,” even though he is long-dead and I am in my seventies.

Or every year in July, on the anniversary of the first moon landing. I hate that day, feel anxious, and full of dread. I just want to sleep. That’s because it was one of the worst days of my life then. I had “avoided him,” and so he was at me all day verbally and emotionally. He didn’t hit me that day – he might have had to explain why to my mother. But he would shoot me “The Look” – that intense glare of pure hatred and rage that kept reminding me I was unloved and in deep trouble. When he wasn’t doing that, he was totally ignoring me. If I talked to him, he looked right past me.

So there is no question but that those memories are totally alive yet within me. I experience them all the time.

“The Look”

We all know those family photo albums full of pictures, especially those candid ones that can range from fun to outright silly because the camera caught the person off-guard in a hilarious position.

And then there are those posed family shots too, the ones everyone gathered for and smiled in unison.

My father’s posed photos sometimes captured a smile. But, especially back then, they usually looked more like his work badge. Sour. Unsmiling. “Tough guy.” Even when we were celebrating.

This was the photo from the celebration of my First Holy Communion when I was seven. In the Catholic Church, it’s a joyous time. Grandparents, cousins, aunts, everyone’s together laughing, smiling, eating. And photos. Lots of photos.

The smiling “posed ones” would always be taken outside by the flowering bush in the backyard. Here is Dad’s posed, “celebratory” face. Could he have been any happier that day??

Photo by author
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Tools – Writing – Why “Story” and About Structure

June 30, 2026

From the caves of the ancients, to now

So, after all these posts on the “Tools” I use to heal, tools which drove my decision to write, the final question to answer was: “What “form” of writing to use?

For me, it was a simple choice – STORY.

It is a method as old as humans themselves,
the method used around the campfires of ancient hunters and warriors,
the tool heard from caves, to feudal halls, to family hearths.
Story.

Story, in all its ugliness, joy, failure, and success.
Story, not as “happily ever after,”
Story, not as journalistic objective news reporting
because that is never possible.
Story, not as seen by others,
but Story, as what happened to me.

And when you write your own story
you need to put it ALL out there on the table,
see all the bits and scraps, pain and mess,
mistakes and breakthroughs,
spread out before you.
Only then can you start the long hard work
of examining each piece,
and then putting the pieces all back together.
Only then can you see the whole picture,
and what it can teach you.

What is “story?”

Because my academic background is science, not literature, I went looking to people steeped in both writing and psychology for the answer to this question. These were my favorite and most helpful answers:

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Tools – Why Write? The Answer’s in the Words…

June 27, 2026

“You too are driven by the desire to understand, know…beneath your desire for knowledge writhes the hunger to understand and love yourself.”
Gloria E. Anzaldúa’s essay: “now let us shift…the path of conocimiento…inner work, public acts,” in This Bridge We Call Home

Time Passages…

It all started with Al Stewart’s song, “Time Passages,” on the radio. It’s a mellow song that I have heard thousands of times and always enjoy.

On this particular day, the melody and lyrics drifted through the background of my consciousness as I drove along. As usual, I hummed along with some of the familiar words about memories and escapes into the past. But this time, one particular line smacked me with a recognition I’d never had before – the line about things left behind.

Like a lone dancer on a dark stage suddenly framed in a brilliant white-hot spotlight, those words flashed in my brain. Things left behind. THAT’S what this has been about.

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Tools – Art – Why SEE it? The Heartfelt Attempt to Reach for Human Connection & Understanding

June 11, 2026

Why show abuse and trauma in art? Why show it to another? Why SEE it?

The very direct version? For the world…and for me and anyone else who was abused.

Let me start with “for the world.”

For the world – the moments NOT in the family photo album

There is a raw reality that exists behind words like abused or molested. Those words are relatively “clean.” Cerebral. They tell another that “this” happened, but they do not convey the real horror of what “this” was.

They do not describe what I had to live through in each of those moments, for thousands of moments. They do not show the true images of what happened behind closed doors. Images that weren’t memorialized in the family photo albums. Those words don’t tell the “other side” of the story.

So, seeing those moments of horror in living color on a canvas gives that story a level of reality that words just can’t match.

My husband, who has watched me paint for every one of these pieces and saw the episodes of abuse emerge in paint, said as much. “I always knew about these things from what you told me, and I believed you. But seeing those moments makes them real in a whole different way. If he were standing here before me right now, I don’t know that I could actually restrain myself from going at him.”

The paintings show things that maybe society has never thought about in relation to “abuse,” things it doesn’t understand, or things it doesn’t want to look at.

And I want society to understand, because that is the only way this can change, and those harmed can be fully loved.

I want society to see what “childhood sexual abuse” really means. For me. For that young child that I was. For anyone out there who has been through it and isn’t understood by anyone around them. And to answer all of those who demand to know, “When are you going to get over this and leave it behind? Why can’t you just forget it already and move on?”

Intention

People may question the motives of artists and writers who are candid and open in sharing these experiences.

I will state totally emphatically that the intention for the art in this book is NOT to shock, traumatize, or titillate.

It is actually a heartfelt attempt to reach for that deepest human need – connection – by communicating what that reality was.

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Tools – Art…When You’re Just a Raw Nerve

June 10, 2026

Disciplined, driven, unrelenting

I’ve been reading a book by Jim Collins called What to Make of a Life. Over ten years, he and his team researched hundreds of people to see how they managed the challenges and moments of truth in life by harnessing what he calls “their encodings.” Those are people’s special innate talents held within and waiting for us to discover them. When used in the right moments and circumstances, those encodings propel us to fulfill our destinies and lead rich, satisfying lives.

He writes the book using the stories of matched pairs of individuals from all walks of life. For each particular life path, he showed how each member of the pair got started, found their way professionally and personally, then confronted a “cliff” — a moment of big change. Using their unique encodings, he showed how even very similar people can navigate transitions in very different ways.

It’s a great book and one I find very uplifting. It is heartening to read how even the likes of John Glenn, Carlos Santana, Admiral Grace Hopper, or Led Zeppelin’s Robert Plant can struggle, be enmeshed in a fog of “what next,” even choose poorly, then dig deep within to find their way.

I just finished reading the chapter about writers Toni Morrison and Barbara Tuchman. Morrison, winner of a Pulitzer Prize for fiction and the Nobel Prize in literature, wrote stories about the young black girls that did not seem to exist in any books she had read. So she wrote for herself, to create the stories she wanted to read. Barbara Tuchman was passionate about history and making non-fiction as rich a read as any good novel. Very different women, very different writing. But they were similar in one way.

Both were absolutely passionate about writing. They could not “NOT write. “As Morrison put it, “If all the publishers had disappeared in one night, I would have written anyway.”

And both used the word “compulsion” to describe what drove them to write. It wasn’t self-discipline enforced from outside themselves, but an inner compulsion to keep going for the sheer love and desire to see how their next sentence, paragraph, and story would turn out.

I resonated with these two women because that is exactly the word I would use to describe my attitude toward writing this book — compulsion. I MUST write it. I WANT to write it. I NEED to write it, to follow the story’s lead, to learn what wisdom it will reveal along the way. And I NEED to share it with whoever is supposed to find my story.

So I get up, write, research, and plan every day. And every day I channel a driven energy from somewhere within me. And that energy is always there.

Until lately.

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Tool – The “Small” Matter of Time

May 31, 2026

This tool does not require a lot of words. Yet do not consider the brevity of this post an indication that it is not that important. Other than attitude, it is the most important one of all. To show no awareness of what it means is to throw away a most precious gift:

Time.

I’ve read a number of books by a YouTube podcaster, Ryan Holiday. He writes and speaks about a 2000-year-old philosophy called Stoicism. And that ancient philosophy couldn’t be more relevant for extracting meaning in every moment, today.

People often hear the word “stoic” and mistake it for taking on the world with no emotions and a hard, outer shell. It is the opposite. In some ways, it mirrors many teachings of Buddhism, Taoism, and many other ancient paths to wisdom. It is about living as fully as possible in the present moment; about knowing what is in your power to do or control and doing it without procrastination. And it is also about knowing what you can’t control, and letting that go.

But most of all, its most valuable message can be summed up in two Latin words, two words that say it all:

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Post-EMDR — The “Tightly-Packed Onion”

May 27, 2026

A new dawn?

“Whatever it was that he saw in me that made him choose me – I was determined that part of me would NOT survive!”
My journal, July 22, 2018

If ever there was a statement that captured the self-hatred, blaming, and disgust that I felt toward me all through life, this was it.

I assumed it was me. I was wrong, somehow to blame, somehow responsible, contaminated with some trait that he couldn’t resist. I must have brought something to the table that caused this…and thus…it was my fault.

Or, even if I cut me some “slack” because, at least in the beginning, I was an infant, still, I was disgusted with myself. He had chosen me for this hell. So whatever it was that I possessed that drew him to me, I was going to PURGE it as soon as I could identify it.

Looking back, it’s a ridiculous idea…it wasn’t me at all. But given that he abused me right from infancy, it is a logical one. When bad things happen to young children, they assume they caused it and are to blame. They are still at that stage of thinking that everything is about them. So good or bad, it’s their fault. And on some deep and early emotional level within me, I carried that same message.

It was only now, in my late sixties, that a germ of a realization was dawning upon me and creeping into my consciousness…an idea I could finally FEEL, not just tell myself and try to believe it: Was it possible…that I was NEVER to blame? For any of it? That maybe it was about whatever he carried WITHIN HIM all along…

Pre-EMDR Journal notes — BRING IT ON, OLD MAN!

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