Dear Rapist, I forgive you.

Dear Rapist,

Today is your lucky day. Today my heart is full and I’m focused on sharing an experience to help others rather than tear your world apart. Today you are lucky because I can make the decision to hold you accountable in public but I won’t utter your name. You are lucky because I can decide to stoop to your level but I refuse to treat you with the same disrespect you offered me.

Today you are lucky I view you as a hurting person who uses other people to deal with your own demons. Today you are lucky I am searching for the lesson in the situation. Today you are lucky because I choose, my choice, is to focus on moving forward.

Your presence was larger than life and your teammates called you the Showman. I acknowledged the flags but thought consensual sex would be a fun way to celebrate my first race of the season. Besides, sex with athletes is something I’m quite fond of. Most of the men I allow into my physical space tend to be athletes as they [typically] hold themselves to a higher standard than the average man.

You played me well. You showed respect for boundaries by asking if my travel buddy was a boyfriend. You showed consideration by offering bottled water when my travel buddy mentioned a need to stop at the grocery shop. You showed community with invites to meals with your team and most importantly, you showed self-control on Saturday night when I said, “No”. You showed respect when I said, “You need a condom” and you agreed to pick up some for the following night.

All of these things indicated you were an adult. A man. A respectful person capable of consensual sex. We were adults who had a conversation to outline the expectations for as you say, a ride. These things were taken into consideration before I decided to meet you on Sunday night. I thought you had class. I thought you had morals. I thought you understood respect.

I was wrong.

Sunday night, was a reminder that monsters exist. A reminder, only in a normal world, does ‘NO’ mean ‘NO’. In the world of monsters, ‘NO’ means something else. You were a difficult reminder on how I need to stop using a rose-colored lens for everyone. You reminded me how some people really do not think rules apply to them. You taught me not all athletes have integrity.

Was I willing to have sex? Yes. I was actually quite excited about having sex. My experience with men has been positive in a sexual context. I’ve had lovers, flings, relationships… healthy interactions where the common thread has always been mutual respect. Condoms are typically used before requested and the few times I had to speak up, my request was honoured. Other instances where I did not want to have sex, my “NO” was heard. Consensual sex is a beautiful thing. Non-consensual sex is difficult to process.

I was clear on the need for condoms. You acknowledged and agreed but lied. Just after your performance, you acknowledged I was upset. Days later, you even admitted via text message you did something wrong. Perhaps it’s your admission that makes me think you genuinely got caught up in the moment. Then I have to remind myself how I actually said ‘NO’ many times. I said ‘NO’ when you tried to enter me without a condom. I said “NO’ each time you tried to flip around my body. I said ‘NO’ when you grabbed onto my hips. I asked you to stop a number of times in between. Did I want to have sex with you, Yes. I was willing to have SAFE sex with you. Sex with a condom. The sex you offered was not safe. It was not with a condom. What happened between us was not what we discussed or agreed.

You knew this and understood clearly. You even had some ridiculous comments throughout your mission to overpower me. When I said ‘You need a condom” You said, “It’s ok. I’m not sick.” When I said ‘Please stop, please do not finish” You said, “I won’t cum inside. I’m not stupid.”

To add insult to injury, you invited me to stay for a cuddle after you were finished. You went on some tangent about having a good life of owning a gym, being near the sea and wanting to start a family [not with me of course]. I was not paying attention to the rest of your words. This was my first [and hopefully last] experience of non-consensual sex so excuse me for not understanding proper protocol on how to behave. I was busy evaluating in my mind each threshold of what I could have done to prevent this situation. I was negotiating in my heart how I agreed to have sex with a condom, not sex without. I was being mindful of how women are accused of being a cock-tease or emotionally unstable so I tried to embrace the situation rationally as opposed to emotionally. Part of me was already burying the incident in my heart in hopes to pretend it didn’t happen. Admitting I was raped means I have to accept a few truths. Truth: I was reckless. Truth: I was naive. Truth: I trusted the wrong person. Perhaps even a Truth: I am still an easy target with ‘daddy issues.’

Despite being able to enjoy safe, consensual, sex for about 20 years. This was the first time my ‘NO’ was ignored. The first time. First. Time.

I have not been able to find the gratitude in the situation. I have not been able to find the silver lining. I have not entirely resolved in my heart the full weight of what happened. I know I have a lot of work to do to rebuild trust. Trust in my decision making. Trust in my faith in humanity. Trust in others. I’m asking for the grace of the Universe to put respectful men on my path to reinforce the kindness of humanity. I’m asking for the compassion of the Universe for the warm embraces of decent people as I continue to harness the magic. I’m asking for my heart to accept you are not the norm, you are a monster who slipped through the cracks. You are the exception to the rule and I have 20 years of [respectful] sexual encounters to prove there are more respectful men than men like you.

Your decision to ignore my request will come back around to haunt you. I have full faith that this is a job for karma. Until then, I forgive you for causing me harm. I forgive you for not showing me the respect I deserve. I forgive you for turning what was supposed to be a beautiful moment of consensual safe sex into a difficult experience of non consensual sex.

#MeToo

Does time heal everything?! (No, consistency does)!

I’m presented with an interesting challenge. At this exact moment, there is another wave of people from my past that are resurfacing. There is a moderate chance it’s because I have been blasting my social media with living large (back to my globetrotting ways). My experience is that harmful people come out to play when they think that I’m at peace. Their only mission is to disrupt my peace, if anything to see if they can extract an emotional reaction from me. Many times, I’ve been told that I’m adorable when my nostrils are flaring. *eyeroll*

I [mostly] stopped reacting. I respond. The past few weeks have been enormous for me to flex my “NO” muscle. Sounds strange but the first few times, I had all sorts of negotiations in my mind when people from the past resurface. Do they qualify to be in my life? Am I being harsh? Will I hurt their feelings by saying ‘no’? “YES” is how to experience magic, or have some fantastic growth opportunities. “NO” is living in fear. Maybe this person has changed? I owe it to them to give them a chance? wait, I owe others NOTHING. I owe it to myself to acknowledge that zebras cannot change their stripes. When people reveal their true nature, believe them. Actions over words. There is a lot to think about. I’m not 100% sure about my intuition when it comes to people of my past because as much as I’d hate to admit, there is an emotional connection. If anything, nostalgia.I’m well aware that my intuition is clouded when emotions are involved. My clear messaging is that narcissists are OK as long as they are not in my heart space. The operative concept being NOT IN MY HEART SPACE.

So does this bother me? Bother isn’t the right word. Disrupt my peace? Not really. It gives me pause to reflect. Observe my body. Is there a change? Is my heart rate elevated? Are my nostrils flaring? My mind isn’t thinking about the harm they once caused, to remember, I have to dig into my archives to read my notes. Everyone has notes. If I remove someone, it means that I gave them a series of chances to be worthy. Worthy of sharing my space. Worthy of my time. Everyone has notes because I refuse to keep these insignificant memories in any part of my being. As a matter of fact, my entire writing journey has been to actively extract the hidden memories in the depths of my heart and soul.

So a high school friend made a few insensitive remarks. He was removed earlier this year. I was kind on the first round AND the second round. His failure to acknowledge his insensitivity or follow simple instructions resulted in my removing the rose colored lens and telling him that he isn’t worthy of having a direct conversation about my abuse. Read the blog. I’m actively removing the insensitive people from my life, and his expectation is that he’s good enough to make the cut? Interesting. Unfiltered push back. I should have just wished him well and blocked him but thought, since he asked (multiple times, why not share what’s in my heart). For me, this was a fail. I need to learn that no response is the most powerful response.

A different high school friend actively caused harm during my downward tailspin. In 2014, I was in a bad place for the first time in my life. I had overcome family abuse but was blindsided by abuse from friends. My downfall was because of my inability to know who to turn to during a moment of need. Admittedly, I’m not one to reach out because of this exact reason. But in my world, if someone asks for help, then it’s my duty as a friend to show kindness and my duty as a human being to show dignity. I was offered neither. When I sought clarification on the matter, I was told some pretty harsh things.

A high school boyfriend has done the same. He’s just a piece of shit though. I fail to see any good in this sad excuse of a human being. Knowing that I still find the humanity in an abusive father, this sentence carries a LOT of weight. There is nothing generous about this person other than the ability to give out heartache and trouble. Nothing positive.

I’ve accepted a trend. It appears to be common in my world; someone will cause me harm then wait me out. Knowing that I have a volcano within, they will step back to allow me to cool off. Then when they think I’ve forgotten the wrong caused, they will hoover and sneak back into my space. I’ve found the power in “NO” to help remind me of their true colors. Or stripes. So far, when I tell someone ‘NO’ they do not know how to respond. If I’ve only ever told them ‘yes’ or ‘no problem’ or ‘sure, why not’ then I’ve just changed the dynamic of the interaction. I’ve taken my power back. I’ve put myself in a position to acknowledge that they represent fuckery and I’m no longer willing to accept it.

I will not be abused. I will not accept abusive people. I will continue to live and let live… but people that step into my lane will be used as content in my blog. My only decision if whether to add the full name of someone causing me harm. Or trying to at least. Still a worthwhile decision… to name or not to name?

My life is pretty freaking amazing and this next wave is going to test my emotional kung fu. I know what is happening. I feel all the feels. I know I have something they want. Am I willing to give it to them? My acceptance reinforces they are decent human beings. Am I willing to help them hold up a mask to fool others? Have they actually been able to change their stripes or am I just a tool to make them appear normal?

Today, I’m not an enabler. I’m a fighter. I’m a writer. I’m a person that doesn’t give two shits about other people that come into my space. My love is reserved for me before others. And I’ve earned that right to not only stand up for myself but to defend all the hard work of purifying my space on so many levels.

Does an apology carry weight? No. Words are useless. I can only hear actions. Yes. I can only hear actions.

Does time heal everything? Yes. Time allows me to breathe. It allows me space to see if stripes have changed. If they have, then I will see consistency of amazing. Consistency of awe. I do not claim to have that much patience but the reality is that if I can wait 13 years for my biological father to change his stripes before giving up, or if I can work for 6 years before making a professional goal a reality… then I actually have more patience than I give myself credit. It’s now a matter of having a clear lens as opposed to a rose coloured one. And for that, people that have harmed me will have to do a considerable amount of work to get back into my good graces. I applaud that I have standards. Finally.

As for the people that simply cannot be their best version, I encourage them to read Dear Mentally Unwell person, Thank you.

#WhyIWrite #MentalWellness #DomesticViolence #Abuse #Recovery #WhyITri #IamWorthy #SelfCare #JourneyToPeace

A drop that turns into a flowing river…

I know that my power is ridiculously strong. I do my best to purify my heart so that I am a constant flow of love. Some days are better than others but the point is that I’m always trying. Trying. Progress is perfection.

Every.single.day. I strive to be my best version.

That said, I have plenty of soft spots. I get upset when people lie to me. I get really short tempered when men touch me after I say “NO”. I lose my shit when people make me feel like an object. I feel like I’m justified to get upset but feel guilty for expressing my dissatisfaction. During these moments, I really struggle to remember the humanity. I try but most of the time, my nostrils will start flaring and I can feel the internal volcano want to erupt. It’s never pretty. I specify the word internal because from the outside, you cannot tell that I’m about to blow! When I’m nervous, I smile. When I’m angry, I smile. When I’m offended, I grit my teeth and smile. But on the inside, there is a volcano that is ready to erupt. 95% of the time, I am able to prevent an explosion. Most of the time.

Every so often, I meet people that my soul needs. I meet people that whisper that it’s OK to have rough edges. It’s ok to be scared. It’s ok to feel broken. Most importantly, they encourage my constantly evolving forms of self-love. These people are angels on Earth. They remind me of the magic of humanity. They are my kindred spirits.

A high school friend and I recently reconnected. I’m not 100% certain how this happened, I think it was via LinkedIn (professional network). I started posting some stuff on domestic violence and since my unveiling, he’s been one of my constant supporters. Supportive to a point that I can bat ideas back and forth. He also handled me during a panic attack like a pro (there are maybe 3 people in the world that have successfully helped me through one). The most magical part is this person was not prepped or anything. he knew how to bring me back to the present most likely because he had experienced the same at some point. Long story short, we were meant to spend the weekend together in Venice and I changed plans last minute. I couldn’t stomach a big city for a moment longer. I needed to recharge near the sea. I needed to watch both sunrises and sunsets. I needed to be around people that understand the joy of hearing children laugh. The little things. I needed a break from the commercially addicted side of humanity. You know, the ones that have their noses buried in their phone… NO shame, I just needed to balance out before I exploded. I hate breaking plans. My word is typically good. I write things on a paper calendar. My biggest annoyance is crossing something out. As a matter of fact, I even bought a Chicago snow globe as a ‘dose of home’ for my friend. If anything because I know how living in a foreign country can be lonely and it’s easy to get homesick. But the magical part is this friend insisted that I bail on our plans in Venice. He even shared some ‘fun facts’ to ensure I’d head to the beach instead. He knew I was feeling super guilty and he helped me put myself first. To me, this is the best gift ever. A friend that puts my needs over his wants. Of course, he was interested to spend the weekend exploring a new city. But he knew that I needed some mother nature to balance me out.

I’ve been removing a lot of people in my space and during the quiet, these Earth Angels seem to get louder. Their support seems to jump out. Their messages seem to reach my heart center.

I’m still in a funky space where I need to extract the pain in order to heal. Talking about painful things attracts more pain. I’m well aware. But sometimes you have to do the hard things before you can get back to the good. And even though this chapter makes me feel like I’m 1000% broken, I remind myself that life is actually pretty decent. I’m purging what’s in my heart whilst watching the sunset behind Amalfi, Italy. I spent the day with someone that does not speak English and despite my pretending, I still do not speak Italian. I have a dish of fresh seafood and a bottle of fizzy water next to me. I can count the people that keep me in their hearts and I know that today was a success because I made someone go from feeling alone (or invisible) to feel like a part of humanity. Life is perfect. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Sometimes writing makes me feel otherwise but I know that life, my life, is pretty magical.

#WhyIWrite #MentalWellness #DomesticViolence #Healing #ManifestLove #LOA #ProgressIsPerfection #EarthAngels #Love #Italy #Salerno #Blessed #TooBlessedToBeStressed #SelfLove #IamWorthy

Challenge Roma Triathlon (70.3) – race recap

This is my 3rd restart for writing… I have so many things in my heart that need to come out but I’m struggling to articulate what needs to be said. It’s not a matter of what I want to say. It’s embracing the frustration of wanting to say something and experiencing a disconnect between my heart, mind, and fingers.

I started off with 600 words on a piece titled “Intimacy.Sex.Love.” and I’m pleased with the words but not ready to hit publish. It’s not the right time because one of the parts is not resolved in my heart.

Ironically my entire blog is about unresolved concepts in my heart and this piece gives me pause?!

The message that is in my heart is a heavy one.. It’s my final acceptance and now starting a grieving process. Sunday was the first time that I uttered some words that I didn’t think would ever slip from my lips. I assumed that I would feel guilty but instead, I felt as if a weight was lifted off my shoulders.

“This race was to honor the death of my biological father and biological brother.”

When I expected a wave of emotions, I was actually greeted with a wave of calm. It was unexpected but appreciated. I had finally accepted the death of 2 people that once meant so much to me. They are still in the physical world but their power over me is somehow less. I am no longer a tool to make them feel normal. I am no longer a toy they can play with. I am no longer connected to them in any way, physically, mentally, spiritually… or emotionally. I’m kind of lying about the emotional part but today, I’m completely detached.

Is it cold to utter such words?

Perhaps. Yes. If this was a normal situation then my words would be harsh. My family is anything but normal. My biological father was abusing me for over a decade. I’m not willing to do the inner child work to explore if the abuse was earlier than that. I’m comfortable accepting the terror that I’ve acknowledged and just give credit to my mommabear for doing her best to shield me from the abuse growing up. I am not at liberty to share her story as it’s well, HER STORY. I will comment that abusers do not just wake up one morning and change behaviour. It is abusive from the start. The only thing that changes is the target. It’s conditioning and breaking you down to a point where you question your value to the world. It’s deceitful, heartbreaking and causes you to accept behaviour [from others] that you shouldn’t but in my head, that’s all I’m worthy of because it’s what my father taught me to accept.

I was never a daughter. I was a tool. According to him, others viewed me as property. Others would value the space between my legs before valuing the space between my ears. I’m oversimplifying a massively complex topic… It’s a hard concept to accept. It’s heartbreaking that the messaging comes from a parent. Someone that was 50% responsible for creating me. It’s not acceptable. So are my words harsh? Absolutely NOT. They are justifiable. They are raw. They are honest. They are heartbreaking. They are empowering.

The battles in my head during my race in Italy were letting go of family. Freeing myself. It was emotional on so many levels. It was causing low vibrations and making the race so much harder than it needed to be. When I wanted to just hold my breath and sink into a swell (open water swim), I powered through. I used the cold water to bring me into the present moment. When I was on the bike and my speed dropped from 32 kph to 28 kph to 26 kph.. to 22 kph… I had to reach to the depth of my soul to snap back into the present moment. I wanted to jump off course and just belt out an ugly cry but I masked my pain with a smile and greeted fellow cyclists with a ray of light. When I finally reached the run… this is where the real battle began. With every left turn, my body would tell my mind that I was on a track. This meant that Dad was there. I had to remind my heart that I was no longer 18 years old. I didn’t need to search for Dad’s voice yelling “Dig in Jess” or “Don’t let the bastard win” or “Empty the tank” !!! Growing up, Dad was usually on the field shouting (and taking pictures) during a race. I was a sprinter with special talents in the 200m and 400m. I was honored with the position to anchor the 4×400 relay in both high school and college. My inner strength [power] came from the cheers from the crowd and a fear of disappointing Dad. This race (in Italy) was me pushing through 12 years of this concept. It was convincing myself that Dad isn’t real. He was supporting me because I was an extension of him. It wasn’t because he loved me as a daughter, it was because I made him look like a good father.

b073c225-661f-4cdf-8de1-9c91244e1251I nearly broke down during the last 7km. I hit my threshold of holding myself together. Physically, I was unscathed. Mentally, I was holding on. Emotionally, I was a trainwreck. I know that my guardian angels were with me. They even presented me with an Earth Angel. An Italian woman that I ran with (bib 340). At 7km left, she caught me looking at a boat in the marina and (in Italian) told me to focus on the road in front of me. Hand gestures were my best friend at this exact moment. She continued this messaging until 4km left and then said that we can hug at the finish line. Bless her heart. She was the message that my heart needed to hear. She was the angel whispering magic back into my existence.

“This race was to honor the death of my biological father and biological brother.”

I redefined family. During those last few KM, I had accepted that it was time to honor the death of people that had been causing me harm for so many years. When they could choose to be anyone in the world, they chose to be abusive to me. They choose to be monsters rather than family. They chose to be hurtful. They chose to be that way. Their choice. THEIR choice!

My responsibility is to accept this decision and let go. Once and for all, I needed to accept the reality of who they are as opposed to who I hoped they would be.

I was honoring the death of my biological father.

I was honoring the death of my biological brother.

I was honoring my strength and my internal messaging that I am worthy. I am worthy of love. I am worthy of being loved. I am worthy of existing. Not just existing but thriving. I am worthy of being celebrated.

The family that I let go made space for family that I needed. Family that my soul needed. Family that my heart longed for. The only thing missing was my mommabear at the finish line. I guess I’ll just have to kidnap her for my next race. She has no idea how much strength I draw from her love for me. She’s absolutely magical.

Crossing the finish line at Challenge Roma 70.3 triathlon was the pinnacle of being an abused family member to being a healing person. It doesn’t make sense but it does at the same time. All things are possible with love. Love for self. Love for others. Love for life.

My Ironman journey started as a way to make someone else feel better. Check out the background here: Why Ironman? (#WhyITri)

#WhyIWrite #DomesticViolence #MentalWellness #JourneyToPeace #WhyITri #SelfLove #IamWorthy #RaceRecap #ChallengeRoma #Italy #Family

Mindfulness without Cynicism​

I’ve been having a number of conversations with people these last few weeks. Perhaps this is a testament to being back in the flow…

Mindfulness. Attachment. Expectations. Cups of Love. Give mode. Projections.

One of the conversations I would like to share has been my desire to be mindful without being cynical. To see things as they are. To accept people in their current state. To not have expectations, even when my only ask is for human decency. Zero expectations. But also not assuming that people will take advantage. Can someone actually take advantage if my cup is full? If they take something from me, then perhaps it’s just the Universe teaching me about attachment.

Nothing is permanent. Don’t get attached. Connectedness without attachment.

I struggle to apply this to people. I rarely attach happiness to people because I find people to be inconsistent. I am happy when I see others experiencing joy but I do not connect my happiness to another being. If that makes sense.

I do not understand why people say “You make me happy”. That’s recipe for mismanaged expectations right there. So much expectation. I actually pull away when I hear those words. Am I sabotaging myself? Perhaps. I want to be responsible for my happiness and I hope that others can be responsible for theirs without putting that pressure on my shoulders.

Growing up with a family that is basically self-serving, it’s amazing to me that I continue to view things through a rose-coloured lens. This lens was my secret weapon for survival for many years. It served me well as I danced around the world and conditioned my mind to find the silver lining in all situations. My approach is the same but the words have changed slightly.

Good and Bad are now Well-Wisher and Teacher. Light and Dark are now Joy and Healing. Fingers that pointed inward are now hands holding up firm boundaries.

The most beautiful part of life is that moment when boundaries are not needed. Everyone in your space understands the requirement of humanity. To mind themselves and be a vessel for love, only love. Personal responsibility to project kindness. Be someone that creates value and leaves the world a better place. When people are in this mindset, boundaries are not needed.

I accept that, at this moment, my world is not in that space. I’m still surrounded by teachers. I’m still healing. It feels as if the healing chapter is taking longer than previously because I’m experiencing tremendous growth.

Yes, growth.

I do not assume that people that have previously abused me will continue to abuse me. Part of the prolonged healing is because of my faith that they have changed. If they continue to cause harm, my heart breaks that they are failing at managing their own pain. If they have healed themselves, then my heart beats harder in support that they have taken personal responsibility to be better people.

Until these people reach the point of personal responsibility, then boundaries are necessary. No judgments. Just observation.

Enforcing boundaries is not assuming they will cause harm. It’s hoping they will not whilst being in a position to remember self-care. Part of self-care is not allowing others to cause harm to me.

The last decade, people have changed roles from family to abusers, friends to abusers, and givers to takers. I honestly think they have changed. I need to believe that they changed. The alternative is that my eyes have opened. I’ve become mindful and only now seeing them for what they are. My heart breaks to think they were never family, friends or givers. To think they were always abusers or takers is a truth that I’m not ready to accept.

Did it takes years for them to change or did it take years for me to see?

Last night, someone said that I need to fight fire with fire. I understand this but do not completely agree. I tried to treat people the same way they treated me and I hated myself. I couldn’t sleep. I was breaking out like a teenager. I was sick to my stomach at the thought I was causing harm to someone. So I stopped giving people a dose of their own medicine. I just removed myself from the situation.

Today, I struggle with the idea that setting boundaries is fighting fire with fire. Confronting abusive behaviour is fighting fire with fire. It’s not (rationally) but it feels like it (emotionally).

If the intention is to educate others, then it’s pure. If the secret hope is that behaviour changes so I don’t even have any lessons to share, then it’s hopeful.

Hoping for the best whilst expecting the worst. Public sharing is a form of enforcing boundaries. Expecting people to be decent human beings is still an expectation. But why is expecting human decency so incredibly difficult for some to achieve?

People are suffering. It took years to change roles. It wasn’t overnight. And to change back will also take time. My sharing is not intended to bully an abuser. I am not fighting fire with fire.

My intention is to protect myself.

My intention is to increase awareness.

My intention is to break the silence on domestic violence.

The brighter the light the darker the dark.

My eyes are open to this current storm. One of the abusers just started his games.

I don’t want to know what it will take for them to open their eyes. At this point, it’s a conscious decision to cause harm. I have tried to address abusive behaviour for over a decade (behind closed doors). Why would I expect things to change now? It’s all part of the game.

Hurt people are NOT allowed to hurt me or people I care about. The selected target (mom) needs to be reconsidered. I promised a single warning shot on facebook but my next example will outline the entire control cycle. I’m going off nearly 2 decades of abusive behaviour so I find it VERY difficult to accept that this person has in fact changed. Abused Jess hesitates. Woke Jess realised that it’s just another game being played. My next post will break my mom’s heart because once I hit publish, she will be forced to accept that 2 people are not only abusing me but they are also abusing her.

Mindfulness without Cynicism… Holding myself Accountable… Emotionally Detached to Monsters… Being bullied into silence…

When the abuse is directed to me, I have ZERO hesitation. When it’s directed at someone I care about, I have to question if it’s my story to expose. It is indirectly affecting me so it would be useful to show the depth of [family] manipulation. For those that do not understand narcissism, this will highlight the depth of the evil. Narcissists do not have souls. This abuser is banking on me naming him so he can play the victim. Again, part of the game. Do I continue with my plan of exposing the manipulations as they crop up OR do I step back as doing so plays into the game? Perhaps the game in itself is to remain emotionally detached, completely.

MIndfulness without Cynicism. Seeing things as they are. It’s not cynical, it’s honest. It’s brutal. It’s exposing Corvo cruelty.

Rest assured, this isn’t me softening to abusers. This is me being mindful of the consequences one I hit publish. Mom is already in a fog of hope. So there is a good chance that I lose her support if I choose to hit publish.

Decisions. Decisions. I’m going to sleep on it. The article is written, it’s just a matter of do I hit publish?!

#WhyIWrite #MentalWellness #Family #FamilyAbuse #DomesticViolence #Narcissism #NarcissisticAbuse #EmotionalAbuse #MentalAbuse #PsychologicalWarfare #Boundaries #ToxicPeople #Dysfunctional #Mindfulness #Cynicism #Faith #SilverLining #Anicha #Equanimity #ExposeTheToxic #JourneyToPeace

 

Difference between toxic and abuse

There is a subtle, yet important difference between toxic people and abusive people. At least in my world, they are different, not interchangeable.

A toxic person is someone that is blissfully unaware of their garbage. Putting others down is their way of life and it doesn’t stop. They don’t necessarily approach you. They are just a constantly flowing river of muck. The phrase ‘misery loves company’ comes to mind when thinking about toxic people.

An abusive person, on the other hand, is aggressive and targeted. Despite being made aware of their terrible behaviour, they refuse to change behaviour (accept me as I am) OR they blame you for ‘making them treat you like this’ (zero accountability or concern for hurting others). Their behaviour is aggressive (and habitually) toxic.

I know both camps of people. I have forgiven them. Forgiveness does not excuse their behaviour, forgiveness sets me free. Forgiveness does not mean they are allowed in my space, it’s a way for me to let go. Forgiveness is completely for my wellness.

Looking at my followers on Facebook, I have a guy that sent me a dick pick. I have an ex-boyfriend that cheated on me multiple times then called me a whore. A guy that tried to fake a friendship to get close enough to make sexual advances on me. Another guy that verbally assaulted me after telling me I could turn to him if I needed anything. When I first realised they were following me, I was hopeful they were concerned about my wellness. I was thinking they were wanting to apologise for causing me harm and just too scared to reach out or acknowledge their terrible behaviour. Then I found my backbone. I told myself this is NOT ok. I wasn’t going to confront them so I simply blocked them.

Are these guys abusive, I would say meh. I would classify mr dick pic and mr fake friend as toxic. I would classify the ex-boyfriend and verbally abusive person as abusive. Why? Because of how they reacted once I told them they were hurting me. If they stopped, they were toxic. If they continued, they were abusive. Currently, they are not bothering me or getting in the way of my progress so they shall remain nameless. They know they did wrong by me and their existence is neither good or bad. The ironic thing is they will read this post and think that I still care because they do not understand that this is nothing more than an observation. And validation that I’m worthy of following. And, perhaps, an acknowledgment that they taught me something.

Then there are the friends on my Facebook list that are silently watching without engaging. I know they read my posts and my blog. I know this because I can see who is watching my Instagram stories and each time I share a link to my blog about abuse, my readership triples. BIG love to my readers!!! YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME. Thanks for sharing this journey with me. I feel humbled and honored to catch your eyeballs! I hope that sharing my journey somehow helps you with yours…

* * *

I started out the year with close to 3k connections on Facebook. I created my writing page purely to test a few things. I invited all my connections (I was curious to see who was actually supportive of my latest chapter). I wanted to see metrics (only the fan pages/business pages offer the insights of readers). I wanted a clean slate space to share a combination of light-hearted and emotionally fueled words. (Notice I didn’t say positive vs negative. That was intentional). Curious to know how many accepted the invitation to follow? 10%. To me, that means that I have A LOT of dead weight. I have a lot of people that slow clap when I accomplish a goal and toast with wine and nibble on popcorn when they THINK I’m struggling. The comical part is this group of people think that sharing a story of family abuse means that I’m struggling. They fail to see how it’s empowering. 2014 boke me to a point where I was suicidal. I was delusional about people. I didn’t understand the difference between toxic and abusive. I couldn’t accept that people wanted to hurt me. I exceeded my abuse number (3). Lesson learned. Reality accepted. This time around, I offered ample amounts of opportunity to test actions. I needed to remind myself that ‘words reveal who a person wants to be, actions reveal who they are.’

After being abused, my cycle went from “Why Me” to “Fu*k You” to “What can I fix” to “Screw You” to “They are in pain” to “Grow the Fu*k up and be a decent human being”. Healing is NOT linear. There are a million steps in the healing process. Abusers in my heart space took extra time to scrub out because the heart is not rational. It’s not supposed to be rational. It’s just pure give mode. The mind is the part that sets boundaries and says, ‘ok, you can stay as long as you act right. once you start acting up, you will be notified and IF the behaviour continues, then you are g-o-n-e.’ The head is basically the protector of the heart. They are a perfect team. Usually.

The exception is when dealing with psychological warfare. Mental and emotional abuse causes one to question what they define as acceptable treatment. Mental and emotional abuse conditions one to not question certain behaviour. It’s subtle and slow. It’s keeping people in a state of emotion so they cannot rationalise what is happening. It’s simple comments like “Jess, you are being harsh” rather than “Jess, I’m proud of you for having standards”. I’ve started removing the toxic people from my space. I’ve been talking about abuse for a year in subtle ways. I started getting bold during the #MeToo frenzy. Since then, I’ve just kind of thrown a bunch of stuff out there. I told myself to focus on my healing and not name my abusers. Later I decided that rules do NOT need to be followed because it’s my journey and well, if people wanted me to speak nicely about them, then they should have treated me better. I’m not lying or exaggerating. I’m giving examples and doing my best to share a learning with the purge but, sometimes it’s just flat out “FU*K YOU”. I forgive my rants. My rants are typically funny. At least I know I’m laughing. Crying was during the drama and laughter is when I have the courage to share it with the world. They didn’t break me! They made me stronger!

It’s just a matter of cracking my rose colored lens to see toxic people for what they are. Sometimes my kindness is over the top and toxic people are really abusive people that I mislabeled.

Progress Check: December post (The day I said Good-bye to Fuckwits). I second-guessed my intuition and shared a few nuggets of wisdom shortly after completing a month-long writing challenge.

Breaking the Trauma Bond (Domestic Violence)

I’ve been digesting so much information. The information is useless to my heart. The heart wants what the heart wants. The head can digest the information but the heart doesn’t think, it only feels.

The heart is taught that family is there no matter what. The heart says that everyone deserves love. The heart says the people who are abusive are hurting themselves and need extra love. The heart says the best way to help yourself is to help others. The heart is soft. The heart is why I was trauma bonded for so long.

I had an interesting exchange with a supposed therapist. I fully question her capabilities as her words indicate she comes from theory, not experience. Dealing with mental unwell people (specifically narcissists, psychopaths, sociopaths), general rules do not apply. The damage caused is not always seen with the eyes so there is a different need when addressing healing. I personally think this therapist is causing more harm than good. She challenged people to stay with their abuser because it was human purpose to unconditionally love others and the easy thing is to walk away.

Since these words caused a rather intense WTF is wrong with you response within my being. I had to stop, breathe, and ask myself WHY these words were bothering me.

So I do what I do best and ask myself at least 5 times. The short of the long is that I am still breaking my trauma bond with my biological father. Whilst breaking this trauma bond, it’s VERY important to note that any advice/comments are taken with a bit more weight than normal. That’s the double edge sword of healing. Reaching inward for answers but reach out out for validation. Reaching inward for answers and reaching out for validation. The reason for reaching out is because I know that my intuition cannot be [fully] trusted. Scratch that, it’s not my intuition, it’s my heart. My heart cannot be trusted. My heart needs to be put in time-out. My intuition needs to be recalibrated. My head needs rewiring on what is appropriate vs what is not.

Abuse is not appropriate. Ever.

Looking inward, what I concluded is that each time that I refer to someone hurting me as a family member, I’m confronting an entire lifetime’s worth of ‘truths’. When I refer to someone hurting me as an abuser, I’m in alignment with my truth and detached from society truth. It’s OK these are different. Society truths are based on people being decent human beings. Abuse is based on people NOT being decent human beings.

Accepting the concept that a family member is causing harm is not easy to wrap your head around. Healing is a multilayer process. Support groups are essential. When seeking validation on behaviour as being good for you or bad for you, it’s important to hear “it’s not your fault” or “abuse is their fault, healing is your responsibility” or “what happened to you was unacceptable”. Anything short of that is counterproductive. As far as I’m concerned anyway.

Trauma bonding takes time to undo. It takes LOTS of inner work. It’s breaking so many truths that you were fed. It’s going against what you were taught at the core. Breaking this bond is difficult enough (being rational with your heart, *eye roll*). Rewiring your being after abuse is not easy (inner monologue: ‘he didn’t mean it. he loves me. it was a mistake…’). Staying the course when ‘professionals’ are more concerned with building a business than helping you is heartbreaking (inner monologue: ‘if my thinking is in the minority and theirs in the majority, then maybe I AM the problem. Maybe I’m just being too sensitive. I deserved this abuse. I wasn’t good enough. I should not have angered my abuser. It’s my fault…’).

Look inward for answers. Reach outward for validation. To me, validation was a huge obstacle. I stopped doing this but it took a long while to even understand that’s what I was doing.

I would like to start a Better Business Bureau of sorts for therapists. A large warehouse of therapists that are graded on value added. Each person is different and on a different part of their healing journey. Acknowledging abuse is hard. Asking for help is hard. Knowing if you are picking a therapist that will help is hard. What can I do to help make it simple?

Maybe I’ll call the app QUACK ATTACK.

My awareness is higher than some and less than others. I know that my healing journey is progressing because I was fortunate enough to seek out the right help. I leveraged the value-added resources. But is everyone else coming out of the fog just as fortunate?

Domestic Violence is a messed up evil! Breaking the trauma bond with a loved one is acknowledging that they are no longer family when they abuse you. Once they start abusing you, they are an abuser, not family.

Abusers are NOT family. Family does NOT abuse.

If they are abusing you, they are not family. Simple sentence. Rational sentence. VERY difficult concept for the heart to accept. Impossible for some. Rational sentences are useless with emotional beings. It’s a blessing to have love for others. That love can be unconditional just as long as the love of self is unconditional. First and foremost, self-love must be unconditional. And allowing people to abuse you is not being unconditional with yourself.

Abusers are not family. Family does not abuse. (my mantra for the day)

Have a look at Please stop breaking me. Love, Heart It’s a conversation I was having with myself. Rational. Emotional. Rational. Emotional. And everything in between.

#WhyIWrite #MentalWellness #JourneyToPeace #DomesticViolence #DomesticViolenceAwareness #Family #TraumaBond #BreakingTheCycle #BreakingTheSilence #FreeMyself #AwarenessBeforeChange

Letter of Gratitude: M

Dear M,

Gosh, I haven’t spoken your name in years. The few times you cropped up, you were referred to as The Terrorist (no offence). I’m not sure if I needed to use a moniker because I still kept space for you in my heart or if I subconsciously deleted those 14 months of my life and couldn’t remember your *actual* name. Either way, you have surfaced a few times and so it’s time to write you a letter…

You offered me a handful of lessons; To focus on just one is a bit of a challenge. I knew better. You knew better. You couldn’t help yourself. You embraced my honesty as a challenge. I knew before I knew but I allowed it to happen anyways. My rookie move was giving you my heart after acknowledging you were incapable of handling it.

We met during a transition. You were a lesson to focus inward. I was supposed to focus on me. My USA road trip was my chance to get lost in my world. Be present and observe my emotions. Make sure my cup of love was filled so I could be of maximum support to my mommabear through her transition. Half of my family is completely insane so you were a welcomed distraction. I really needed to be an adult but I wanted to continue galavanting around the world. Being an adult (to me) is confronting my family ‘stuff’ head-on. Everyone thinks I’m confrontational but really, I do my best to avoid certain situations at all cost. My 2014 breakdown was because you were essentially the same evil as my father. I’m not blaming you as it was the Universe telling me to do the hard thing. The hard thing is to focus inward. Stop helping others and help myself.

I ignored the messages from the Universe and leaned into my emotions. I should have been observing them. Before I knew it I fell in love with you. I’m not sure if that’s a compliment to your ‘suaveness’ or a compliment to my ability to love unconditionally. Most likely it was an addiction to cortisol and a trauma bond (just being honest).

Either way, I owe you a massive thank you. I don’t hold any ill will towards you. I actually forgave you years ago. I think forgiveness remains my secret weapon for letting go. Forgiveness and space. (Thank you for respecting my hard boundary for requiring space. My promise still stands, so please, stay in your lane). It wasn’t until recently I was able to fully appreciate the significance of our time together. I knew before I knew but I didn’t know. Ya know?!

The lesson was the inward focus. The tool to translate was Vipassana. I credit you for jump-starting my journey with Vipassana. Due to the chaos in your world, I was forced to find new tools to maintain my peace. You planted a seed to understand a deeper version of myself. I lived my life by blindly following my intuition and now I understand it better. Vipassana helped me reach that understanding. Vipassana is pure. It’s observing the body and mastering the mind. Usually, I’m too busy to get swept into other people’s chaos but being in Be Mode, I have ample time for distractions.  I struggle with BE mode. This is where the work of Vipassana really pays off. Be Mode. Accepting that other people’s chaos is not my chaos. I kept attracting other people’s chaos because of my unwillingness to acknowledge [and process] my own. Process, not ignore. Process. You tried to teach me this lesson by being a mirror but my ego was too big. I thought everything was fine in my world. I thought wrong.

Funny enough, because of my ego, I ended up meeting a slightly older version of you last year. Same lesson. *eye roll* So this time, I ended up doing the difficult thing. I decided to acknowledge and process over a decade of family abuse. Daddy-issue type abuse. And a huge foundational piece of this chapter has been Vipassana. And my Vipassana journey started because of you. Full Circle.

So thank you. Thank you for being a person who wiggled into my heart space, flipped things upside down, and forced me to look inward and address my pain. Properly address old wounds. If comparing my 2014 attempt to my 2017 attempt at dealing with teachers, I’m improving… Fewer tears, less intense outbursts, zero flights to remote parts of the world, and fewer *coping* distractions. I did the difficult thing. I stayed the course.

I know myself, mentally. I know myself, physically. And now I understand myself, emotionally.

You knew my heart was pure and I’m just starting to believe it. So thank you. Thank you for planting a seed to get me to focus inward. Thank you for getting me to appreciate the depth & the beauty of my soul.

Thank you for being a teacher.

With love and gratitude,
Jess

PS: I hope you don’t mind, I used your apology letter as an example of emotional abuse (manipulation). I still have faith in your ability to be a phenomenal human being. Stay the course. Sending you light & love on your journey.

IMG_2014

#WhyIWrite #MentalWellness #JourneyToPeace #GrowthThroughGratitude #LetterToHeal #LifeLessons #Teachers #Gratitude #FocusInward

Vietnam

Each visit to Vietnam offers something special. I have family members that fought in the Vietnam War so I took personal interest to learn about the war from the Vietnamese perspective. I support soldiers but I do not support war. I think that war is a lose-lose situation for all involved and civilians are often the ones that pay the biggest price. One of the best lessons that I’ve learned through my travels around South East Asia is that people with less often give more. There is something extremely peaceful about simple living. I’d disappear to life on a plantation (or off grid) in a hot minute… these are some of my beautiful moments in Vietnam.

In 2007, four of us spent a long weekend in Ho Chi Minh City. Lots of city walks, street food, motorbike rides, and a side road trip to visit the Cu Chi Tunnels. I’m not sure what I expected but the museums were heartwrenching and the entry fees were based on your passport. I didn’t realise the magnitude of damage caused by Agent Orange… Very powerful and humbling… When we negotiated prices with the motorbike guys, we ended up getting a 2 for 1 (father/son) combo. My friends thought I was better suited with the father (older people tend to drive safer). My driver was HILARIOUS. He kept flexing his arms and asking me to touch his toned tummy. He was built like an endurance athlete! He kept his promise to drive safe… extra bonus as he kept me laughing!

In 2010, I returned to Ho Chi Minh with a dear friend. We enjoyed city walks, War Museum and a beautiful boat ride down the Me Kong River. I enjoy being in nature and my favourite part was watching the vendors selling their produce on the river. We were also able to see families doing laundry (and bathe) in the river. Pretty sure they mentioned the presence of alligators. Very brave people indeed! I was able to take a medicinal shot of snakes blood and learn how to make local sweets (rice wrap). We spent time at the Reunification Palace and sipped tea whilst people watching in backpackers alley.

In 2013, a small group of us went to Hanoi. I’m a walker so lots of time spent getting lost in various neighborhoods, motorbike racing, street food, parks, massages, and museums. A road trip to Ha Long Bay was a beautiful way to unwind. In Ha Long Bay, we enjoyed sitting top deck on a local junk boat. We spent time marveling karsts and had a few hours checking out caves! I’m more of an open-air traveler but the caves were an interesting add-on. The trip took an unexpected turn when someone in the group suffered a panic attack. We had to coordinate getting him to the hospital. The hotel was super helpful to assist us in extending our stay – they even treated us to some special honey!

I’m very fortunate because I tend to meet some of the most beautiful people and have the most magical experiences during my travels around the world!

Cu Chi Tunnels
Booby-trap
Rest stop
Boy learning about Agent Orange
Girl connecting rubber bands
HMC – downtown
Street art
Fruit vendor
Prayer Coils
Seafood Market
Shoe Market
Pet Shop
Temples
Reunification Horse
Vinh (my motorbike driver)
Family
…for captives
Lychee
boat rides
Afternoon tea & fruit
Snake Wine
Making Rice Wraps
Simple Living
Floating Village
Fix-It Guy
Junkboat
HaLong Bay Sunset

#GlobalNomad #Travel #Vietnam #HoChiMinh #Hanoi #HaLongBay #MeKongRiver

Reflections: The Abused Dog

I started writing about Mindfulness without Cynicism. The words were easy to write but not the message that my heart wanted to share. I could not hit publish.

This is my restart. I’m forcing myself to share these words. But rather than a purge, I’m sharing a story of an abused dog. Something relatable.

***

Dogs are present. Dogs are love bugs. Dogs are unconditional. They remember things but have an ability to only hold onto the good. (They know that sit or give paw results in a treat).

But what happens with abused dogs? How long is the conditioning process? At what point does their spirit break and they bite back rather than beg for anything that resembles love?

Please understand, I’m not encouraging animal cruelty. I’m drawing a comparison because it seems as if people love animals more than people. So please stay with me.

A dog comes into your world with hopes of belly rubs, being called a ‘good boy/girl’, food, and time to run around outside. Nothing more or less. Just being present is the best gift a dog could ever ask for.

Some people think that this is asking too much.

They hit a dog for jumping on the couch.

They yell at a dog for grabbing food off a table.

They complain about having to rush home to let the dog outside.

They keep the dog locked in a cage all day whilst they are at work.

(Many consider this ‘normal’ treatment for a dog. My opinion, this is not normal, it’s dysfunctional and harmful. This is forcing an animal to live in fear, not in love. To me, this is conditioning).

So how many years pass and the dog is still greeting you at the door? Tail wagging and just tickled that you showed up?

What happens when the above become daily habits? Everything is wrong. The dog pooped in the living room rather than outside (but who was home to let him outside?). The dog jumped on the couch to play (but who took him to the doggy park to release all his energy?). The dog grabbed food off the table (but when was the last time he was fed?).

How many ‘hits’ does the dog endure before it bites back? What exactly was the expectation of the dog? Has the dog shown forgiveness? Proven himself to be unconditional? Hopeful? What boundaries has the dog enforced? Most dogs spend their entire life trying to please their ‘owner’… and some have the misfortune of trying to please ‘owners’ that are dead inside.

***

I do not think it’s humane to treat an animal in such a manner and yet we often treat people much worse. I’ve been that abused dog, grateful for the smallest hint of anything that resembled love. I endured a lot of consistent terrible behaviour that was not my fault (not.my.fault). I’ve trained my mind to focus on the silver lining. I’ve done massive inner work to ensure that my heart was pure despite harsh treatment of others.

My goal was to always be a dog that wags it’s tail rather than bite back (be love).

My goal was to never learn the threshold needed to warrant a bite back (be tolerant).

My only question to the interwebs, what type of ‘owner’ are you?

#WhyIWrite #MentalWellness #Reflections #Perceptions #Reality #Abuse #AbuseRecovery #AbuseAwareness #FamilyAbuse #DomesticViolence #NarcissisticAbuse #TakeResponsibility #BeADecentHuman #Humanity #BeBetter #AbusedDogs #JourneyToPeace