One Year...Ten Days.

So in a few days, my little guy hits the big ONE year milestone and I couldn't be more thrilled. It has been a trying year, but his presence in my life has muted the anguish significantly. As I think back to the week leading up to my labor, I remember the subtle hints of impending release from swollen ankles and back pain. The pictures my sister-in-law took of me the day before my water broke still give me the chills because I looked like a whale. No really. I am entirely positive that if you would have poked any part of my body with a needle, I would have exploded.

I knew that day the end was near. My gums bled for hours and my intestines decided to play along by wreaking havoc. Embarrassingly enough, the only thing that got me through that night in the bathroom alternating between sitting and kneeling, was Candy Crush. Needless to say, I do not play that ridiculous waste of phone space anymore.

Within five hours of my bathroom horror, my water broke. I had gotten up to empty my bladder...again..and I felt the rush of hot liquid expel from my nether-region.

"Oh no! Oh no! OH NO!" I was freaking out because I thought I had become incontinent. In turn, I scared the crap out of my husband.

"Wha....wha...what's going on?"

"Either my water just broke, or I seriously pissed my pants."

"Well, when you figure it out, let me know." He went back to sleep. 

After about an hour of being confused, I started getting contractions and aroused my husband from his slumber. 

"Yup, pretty sure it was my water. We gotta get the bags ready and go."

"Are you sure?"

Sigh.

Anyway, by the time I finally got a hold of my doctor and she gave me the thumbs up to get to the hospital, my husband was taking a shower. I joke around about how upset this made me, but realistically, considering I was in labor for 26 hours, it isn't a huge deal anymore.

When I was finally settled in to a Labor and Delivery room I still remember the first thing I said to the nurse, "You know what this means?"

"You're having a baby?"

"Well duh, but, ya know...I can drink again!"

It took me a while to realize how those 9 months without alcohol were incredibly difficult for me. For a long time I have used alcohol to numb my memories and get me through to the next day. I wasn't dependent on it, but if I had a rough day, a beer or glass of wine was the way I self-medicated.

When I was managing a high-volume retail store, Sundays were usually the worst day of the week. In order to keep my mind from thinking negatively, my employees and I created the "Friday's Sunday" tradition where we would drown our day full of declined sales pitches in a few pints.

Over the past couple of months, in dealing with PTSD, I may not have been resorting to some other self-harm behaviors, at least not as often as earlier years, but I was replacing them with alcohol abuse. It is hard to admit, but it is sadly true. I was making a habit of going out to the bar at least once a week not to mention drinking at home nearly every night. 

As stubborn as I am, it is no surprise that despite the pressure from my therapist, I chose to ignore the issue. When I busted my head, even though I hadn't drank that much the night in question, I knew I had to stop.

So I am 10 days sober and counting. I now realize how desperate I was to hide my vulnerability and I will not do that anymore. It is difficult, I am not going to lie; however, with my son turning one, I feel it is a symbol of turning a new leaf and really committing to controlling my fears. 

Shut Up Warrior...

So remember a week ago when I mentioned that I was being controlled by The Warrior and The Elder voices? How I had to let The Victim come out of her corner in order to heal?

Well...she did...and she was loud.

The very same day I typed those words of empowerment, I was banished to a room brimming with all the nightmares and realizations I have been locking away for two weeks.

You see, I had believed, and honestly still believe, that I'm fine. I just needed to have a couple of frail moments seep out of my system then, "Voila!" I am fine. Totally fine.

Hah!

So, that same night, I went out with a friend, with every intention of celebrating my new found strength: my ability to kick my Victim down with wise words and properly placed anger. I was entirely too cocky and ended up being vulnerable to stupidity. What started off as a night of fun, ended with my friend (and honestly should say bosom buddy) holding pressure to a head wound while letting me sob into her arms. Of course, I already felt like an idiot because a random girl in the bathroom inspected my head explaining that it was bad, but "hadn't gone through all seven layers of skin" (Thanks by the way, whoever you are!) I was letting The Victim out, I was vulnerable, and I hated it.

"I'm not crying because I'm bleeding profusely, you know that right?"

"Yea, sweetie, I know. It's okay...let it out." (God bless you girl, I love you).

"My therapist was right..."

"They usually are."

So here I am, a week later, and I have completely changed my view on things. I have just enough of my Elder voice to formulate intelligent conversation from whatever my Victim is spouting at the top of her lungs. What she is saying is annoying, but sadly true:

"Pay attention to me! I was hurt, I AM hurt. I want you to see me and realize I'm not going to be okay just like that! It takes time, a LONG time. Why are so many people in my life afraid of my pain?"

Reading the words I just wrote immediately bring forth the fear of rejection and lecturing from those around me that don't understand that coping doesn't mean burying your tears and anguish. I did that for 18 years. I can no longer stomach the silence and I won't.

I am grateful to those who have listened and supported me through this healing process and I urge you to be patient. This will not go away overnight. Remember that just because I appear to be strong doesn't mean I'm okay. That is a repeated misinterpretation that delayed the inevitable for many years.

The Three Voices

Hey guys.

So I have been gone for a bit, I do apologize.

I felt it was unnecessary to continue a trend of posting about my weekly struggles with heavy burdens. I kept saying, "It doesn't matter, because no one cares, and who am I to force them to take off their rose-tinted glasses?"

These past couple of weeks, I have become aware of the three inner voices that dictate how I decide to handle each situation. I have to give credit to an author known as Matt Atkinson for naming these voices, because until I started reading some of his work, I couldn't separate them.

Everyone has these voices I believe; The Warrior, The Victim, and The Elder. When a person is well-balanced, all three of these voices work together giving each other high fives with every victory and holding hands when a threat is nearby.

I have realized that at the moment, I am not a rounded individual when it comes to these three voices. Those of you who hang out with me on a regular basis see more of The Warrior and The Elder.

The Warrior is strong and doesn't accept help from anybody, even when forced upon her. She is incredibly stubborn. She can be rather angry at times and spit fire when necessary.

The Elder is wise and can utilize life experience to an advantage. She steps back and analyzes a situation, talks The Warrior down, and speaks with intelligence and philosophy.

In the past two weeks I have been cycling heavily between The Warrior and The Elder. Honestly, that has kind of been my strategy for 18 years.

I rarely let The Victim open her mouth. Not to say I haven't been somewhat vulnerable at times, but I usually don't let it last. One of my best friends, Betsy, pointed out that when I had left her a voicemail clearly layered with tears, by the end of it, I had sucked them back in and said sternly, "Okay, yeah, call me."

I don't know if it is because I am Cuban or what, but I just don't like to appear weak. You all know that. All I ever hear from my own husband is, "You are the strongest person I know! Go GET EM TIGER!" Every time I hear words like these, it reinstates The Warrior back to first place. "I can't let them see my weakness, they are depending on me to be strong!"

 The Victim is alive, but she is cowering in the corner and afraid to speak up. The problem is if I keep pushing her away, I will never heal. I have to be vulnerable.

Does that mean I let her control me? No. It just means that I have to let her talk. She needs to say "I've been wronged, I am hurt, I am crying." The Warrior and The Elder need to comfort her but not silence her.

NO MORE SILENCE.

(Thank you again to Matt Atkinson for providing me with inspiration).