The day my childhood bedroom turned into a crime scene.

The crime: domestic violence
The weapon: a loaded gun
The victim: me (the daughter)
The motive: unprocessed pain? uncontrolled anger?

Tempers flying was the norm. “I’m not yelling! You want to hear yelling?!” was a regular tagline. So was, “Stop it or I’ll give you something to cry about.” We had good days but man, were those bad days tough. Unbearable at best. Of all the bad days, this is when I think we hit bottom. As a family, this was my last straw. Society bottom would be pulling the trigger but this was when I had enough.

It was midweek. I want to say Tuesday night but it could have also been Wednesday. I’m not 100% certain. Mom and Dad were yelling on the phone. She was at work and he had a suitcase open on their bed. I was tiptoeing between the family room and my bedroom. My heart says to do something to make it stop. My gut says, leave the house. My mind says, you are financially able to take care of mom so just force her to pack up and move to Singapore with you.

I was on a two-week holiday. I was living in Singapore and came home for Christmas and New Years. This particular trip was difficult because we lost Grandpa Corvo. He died on Dec 14, 2009. He was my protector, my shield, my 24/7 call to fix anything. He was my escape when things like this happened. I no longer had an escape. I was in the middle of a storm without a way out.

Dad is still shouting and throws the phone across the room. He’s only seeing red. He is consumed with anger. I know this but I forgot how to act when he’s in this state.

I’m standing in the hallway just outside his bedroom. I use my voice to defend my mom, “Dad, if you want to go, then go. Don’t worry about Mom. I’ll take care of her. I made her a promise years ago that she’d never have a financial worry. As long as I have air in my lungs, she’s looked after. So just go. Stop making empty threats and if you want to go, go. No one is stopping you.”

The moment the words fell off my lips, I KNEW it was the wrong thing to say.

Dad’s nostrils were flaring. He was towering over me. Frantically throwing his arms around. He stopped. He marched to the basement. The basement bathroom has a fan. If the fan turns on, he’s either taking a shower or smoking. He used to go into the garage to smoke but I’ve noticed he’s gotten bolder and does it in the house. If the fan is on, then he could be smoking. My bedroom floor is vibrating. The fan is on. This is a good sign because smoking calms his temper. I obviously didn’t realise the true meaning (importance) of him going into the basement.

I was now trying to control my own heartbeat. My heart was racing. I couldn’t breathe. I walk into my bedroom to process my words. Now I’m back in solution mode. Does mom have a passport? Should I start packing her bag? Call the travel company. George is arriving in few days, I’ll spend new years with him then leave the country. Never look back. Is my apartment big enough for mom to feel comfortable? Am I actually making enough money to pull this off? What about Michael? Call Lemonhead and stay with him. At least tell him what is happening. A million thoughts racing through my head are quickly interrupted and come to a halt.

Dad is standing in my room.

Loaded gun in hand.

He’s shouting something. I can see his lips moving and saliva forming at the corners of his mouth but I cannot process what is happening. He’s pushed me up against an upright mattress that is leaning against my dresser. I check back in. Now I’m absorbing every single detail. I’m questioning if the blood will be absorbed by the mattress or if mom will have to bleach the curtains. My sorority cooler is the last thing that I’m looking at? No, find the picture of young Jess and Brandy (first dog). Blue metal frame. Windowsill. That’s going to be the last image I see. I refocus. Dad’s eyes are bloodshot. The coldness of the gun barrel up against my cheek is nothing compared to the coldness in the room. I already feel dead.

“Is this what you want? Want me to pull the f*cking trigger? Keep pushing! Keep pushing and see what happens!”

The tears start streaming down my face but I can’t find any words. I gently shake my head ‘no’.

Dad then turns the gun on himself. He wraps his lips around the barrel of the gun. “Or is this what you want? You want me to blow my f*cking brains out?!”

What seems like forever, is probably only a few minutes.

Dad demonstrates control. He takes a step back and then leaves my bedroom.

I call Kristen. A sorority sister. She lives in Elmhurst. Fewer questions. Dad doesn’t know her. I will be safe. “Kristen, it’s Corvo. I need your help. I cannot explain but can you please pick me up. I can’t stay here. I’m not safe.”

“Of course. I’m leaving now. I’ll be there in about 20 minutes.”

Dad storms back into my room, “Who was that? I’m going to shoot whoever comes through that door. You better call them back and tell them not to come here!”

I call Kristen back, “Kristen, please don’t come here. I’ll call you later. I’m sorry. I’ll call you later. I love you. I’m sorry. Please do not come here. I’ll call you later.”

I fall to the ground. My childhood bedroom is more of a storage place than a bedroom. I’m sitting on a bag of trinkets. The mattress is blocking the view between me and the bedroom door. I can feel Dad pacing and hear him muttering something.

Time stood still.

The last time I felt I was in danger was 2004. I called the police. I was sure they took away Dad’s guns. I don’t understand how this is possible. Dad and I were both arrested. Yeah, I called the police because I didn’t feel safe (Dad held me by the neck up against the wall. I broke free, locked myself in the bathroom and called the police). I was arrested. In Illinois, apparently, both parties get arrested for domestic violence. Both parties. The police can’t help me. They took away his guns. They searched the house. And yet, here, 5 years later, I have a gun thrust into my face. Up against my cheek was a loaded gun. A gun in the hands of my Dad. Dad’s are not supposed to put loaded guns in their daughter’s face. This is unacceptable. This is a betrayal.

I comfort myself. I tell myself that he’d never pull the trigger. He’s just trying to scare me. My body said otherwise. Trusting the wrong message could very easily get me killed. ‘Keep pushing me and see what happens’ echoes in the back of my mind. I feel that breathing is the definition of ‘keep pushing me and see what happens’…

We had the wake for Grandpa Corvo on Monday night. This situation happened the following day.

2,988 days ago is when my childhood bedroom turned into a crime scene. 2,988 days ago is when I lost my Dad. 2,988 days ago is when my heart broke into a million pieces. 2,988 days ago is when I learned the depth of the betrayal. 2,988 days ago is when my life changed forever…

I try my hardest to find gratitude in every single situation. Here is a general letter of gratitude to people that have caused me harm: Dear Mentally Unwell person, Thank you.

#WhyIwrite #MentalWellness #DomesticViolence #MentalAbuse #EmotionalAbuse #Heartbroken #Betrayal #Family #Recovery #Healing #SettingMyselfFree #Survivor #JourneyToPeace

My writing process

Recently, I’ve been asked a few times about my writing process. Well, to be clear a combination of my writing process AND my clarity of self. I take that as a GIANT compliment because my self-image and what is seen are not 100% in alignment, yet. I need to be less harsh on myself and continue to work on my self-esteem.

I am grateful for the positive affirmations. Especially on something that I’m not very confident with… writing.

So this post is going to walk you through my process. I’m slightly obsessed with finding patterns and making things increasingly efficient. Awareness Before Change is the ONLY way for survival. I’m not looking to survive, I’m on a mission to THRIVE. I have proven Thrive mode in Asia and I’m working towards Thrive mode in the USA. Again the difference is proximity to abusers. Being calm IN the storm. Increasing the number of toxic people in my space whilst maintaining sanity (I’m operational at #2 but start to unravel at #3).

My posts are not consistent and sometimes lack simplicity in a message. This is because I do not edit or have anything specific in mind for a post. Tangents are GREAT because it allows me to see where my mind wanders. Tangents give me an opportunity to increase awareness or shed light on something that I had not considered before.

The message from the Universe has been clear that I’m on course.

The topics that I cannot seem to get out of my head are the scene from Pitch Perfect. The head vocal girl had to choke down her barf and then when challenged on being a control freak, she said that she’s able to LET GO. Then released about 100 gallons of barf. That’s basically the image I have of myself with my current emotional releases. It’s messy and if you are in the way, you will get stuff on you. But the beauty is she released something that otherwise would have made her sick, tightly wound, and unable to have meaningful friendships with her singing buddies.

Another image that has been sitting with me a few days is from Good Will Hunting. The scene where Robin Williams repeats IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT. IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT. IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT. to Matt Damon until he cries.

I haven’t figured out WHY these scenes are resonating with me. I’m lying. I totally know. A few days ago, I sent a message to the Universe. I was conflicted. I was thinking about my upcoming race in Italy. I’m not physically prepared for the race and I’m seriously questioning how I’ll make it through the race. Then, I’m reminded that Ironman isn’t about physical capability, it’s about mental resilience. Emotional control. Those are manifestations in physical feats of AWESOME. So putting out vibes to the Universe, my concerns were answered.

Mental Resilience. I know that I’m mentally tough. Right now, I have moments of clarity but still struggle with questioning my value added to society. I can post supportive or inquisitive comments throughout LinkedIn, Facebook or Instagram and get multiple comments or likes. I resonate with others. I’m not alone. Cool. So Robin Williams’s scene is just another way of the Universe reinforcing my situation is NOT my FAULT. BUT It IS MY RESPONSIBILITY to come out of it. So the circle is complete, If I want to succeed in this race, then I need to step up my mental game and just put in the training. As all things, it will get harder before it gets easy.

Emotional control. I basically think I’m a basket case. Intellectually, I know that’s false. The simple fact that I was able to ‘hide’ my abuse for over 13 years is proof that I have the BEST poker face ever. I’m able to go through stuff without telling the world. My life has always appeared magical because it is. Abuse hasn’t defined me and it never will. Sharing my story doesn’t mean I’m broken. It just means I am FINALLY woke. My failure to face the music meant I nearly married a guy that represented the darkest of evil. He’s literally a monster to the world and a lesson to me. He was a distraction I happily (and ignorantly) accepted because I was too weak to deal with processing my family abuse. Grateful I didn’t get pregnant or catch a VD. Not everyone is as lucky…

How do I close the circle of thinking? How do I find the words to share? Well, I’m a ball of emotions so these two things are sitting with me and I’m being asked about my writing process so that’s what this post is about.

Pitch Perfect scene of barfing 100 gallons is representative of my current release. Releasing my emotions doesn’t make me sick. It does NOT make me a basket case. It makes me HUMAN. It reinforces that I have an incredible sense of self and I know my soul requires moments to release. I might not understand why and that’s OK. I’m still trusting my intuition and for now, it says WRITE. Good Will Hunting, “it’s not your fault,” although true, abuse was not my fault, it’s my responsibility to heal. This healing calls for a deep dive and the best way I can think of is emotional (unedited and unplanned) writing. Eventually, my writing will transition from 1k word purges to 6-word poetry. Poetry is interesting because it allows people to convey an emotion without explanation. That’s one of a few goals that I have. Sharing without explanation. To me, it’s more empowering.

So writing is what I will do. A poet is what I will become, maybe.

* * *

Today is the 1 year anniversary of sharing my abuse related writing with the world. I’m still conflicted on sharing my story but more from a how can I empower others? Every person has a story and I’m still trying to find mine. I currently think my TedTalk story is SUICIDE TO IRONMAN. Suicide is relatable but Ironman isn’t. My purpose is to bridge the gap of understanding/grace between people whom have never been abused with those whom have been abused. I’m the connector… so I continue to test material to see how best to connect these worlds. If and when I’m able to find the secret to connecting, then my TedTalk will be the goop during the process of caterpillar to butterfly…

Check out my breaking the silence article. Happy Anniversary to me! The writing journey continues… my voice is getting stronger.

#WhyIwrite #MentalWellness #HappyAnniversary #JourneyToPeace

I do not negotiate with terrorists.

I’ve been pouring my heart and soul into my writing these last few weeks. Most of the words are not public… I reached some new territory for my processing and needed to give myself some personal space. I have found that writing makes me vulnerable and I maintain balance by sharing, observing, sharing, observing, sharing…

It’s easier to understand the lessons by taking a step back.

February in numbers: (I LOVE Grammarly)

  • Jan 29-Feb 4 (27,507 words)
  • Feb 5-11 (6,418 words)
  • Feb 12-18 (44,891 words)
  • Feb 19-25 (29,410 words)

One of the things I’m still struggling with is the guilt of letting go of biological family members. I’ve gone back and forth with compassion (to understand that they are not well). Filling up my cup of love (to increase both patience and tolerance). Trying to help ease the pain of their suffering (so they will stop harming themselves and others). Reinforce kinks in my armor (so the abuse doesn’t affect me). You name it, I’ve tried to wrap my heart around it. I would say head but dealing with a matter of the heart is not logical. There is no reason or understanding when it comes to emotions. It’s just love. Pure love. Love that doesn’t judge, control, or belittle. This month’s struggle is to let go of people who define love as harming me.

The fact of the matter is I love everyone. This specific case is loving someone who hurts me. I need to redefine love in my head, letting go of someone does not mean that I love them less. It just means I’m no longer able to accept abusive behaviour. It’s admitting to myself I’m not perfect and I have boundaries. Boundaries are necessary for my well-being. I cannot be value added to the world if I allow abusive people into my personal space.

So what happens when the person hurting me claims I am the reason for his anger? If I remove myself then the problem is solved right? No. Removing myself is fine for a short-term solution. But then when others ask “How is your family?” The words I hear are “How is your abuser?” When others say I’m intolerant, I get defensive and ask if my life needs to be ruined for others to see the truth. The abuser will tell me I’m the reason for all problems and then behind my back try to get information about me. Each time information is shared with him, I’m at risk. (There is a VALID reason why people go into hiding. Abusers escalate behaviour. It’s not right but it happens). Just because someone is related to me, does not mean I’m obligated to allow them into my life. Family means the world to me and the one thing my mother’s elder brother was right about is I define family by LOVE, LOYALTY & RESPECT. Nowhere in there do I mention DNA. So people cheering for my success and helping soften my failures are family. My family.

Healing is not linear. Sometimes the battle is muted. I feel like I’m miles away from the front line. Then other days, I feel like I’m standing in the line of fire. Nothing in the physical world has changed so maybe that does, in fact, make me crazy. Or does it just mean my love is so strong I actually still have faith others will wake up and make efforts to be less harmful?

I’m not sure.

My goal is to process this pain so I no longer have emotional responses to certain things, mostly scenes where dad’s are stoic and protecting their daughters. Or Father’s Day. Or weddings. Yes, I get very sad at the thought of even getting married. Who is going to walk

Screen Shot 2018-02-28 at 10.16.12 AM

me down the aisle? If it’s dad, then what will he do to turn my day into his? If it’s not dad, then what will be the pushback for being ‘disrespectful to my own father?’ Do I prepare drugs to make sure his temper is in check? Do I allow him to bring his girlfriend (aka the homewrecker)? Do I have a local ceremony so I cannot be blamed for being a financial inconvenience? I’m super talented in Crisis Management… this experience is one of the reasons WHY I’m successful at completing events for Fortune 500 companies around the world. Plan for the worst, hope for the best. (Thanks dad for providing this training ground). I digress. I hated the space that my mind went when confronted with anything to do with fathers. Not a pleasant space to be in and every.single.thought is based off something that actually happened. I was an inconvenience to be picked up at the airport after a 16-hour flight. I’m detached from reality for expecting people to have direct conversations rather than talk behind backs. I’m living in the past because I believe that apologies are only sincere if behaviour is also modified. Accountability is non-existent when dealing with a web of narcissists (My expectations are too high). I’m the scapegoat. I have been conditioned to accept terrible behaviour and keep my mouth shut about it. My head knows it’s wrong but my heart says ‘it doesn’t matter, just let them have their way’. Gamification of this process made it manageable…

So I eventually got tired of the games. I was no longer going to hide my pain. I had to do the hard thing. Process abuse. Process pain. Learn how to set boundaries with people I share DNA. Be strong to ignore manipulations from people claiming to love me. Allow lower spectrum narcissists into my world as combat partners. Maintain such a strong sense of self whilst being in ground zero. I know who I am when I’m galavanting around the world. I know who I am when I’m allowed to be me. I fall apart when I’m in physical proximity to people I share DNA. My threshold for abusive people… mentally and emotionally abusive people is THREE. I can maintain sanity if it’s 1 or 2 but once I hit #3, I start to unravel. I question myself. I start to believe the words of the masses rather than the voice from within…

A dear friend commented that anyone can be peaceful if they are off-grid and hugging trees. It’s a true test of character to maintain equanimity IN the chaos. Professionally, I have proven the ability to swim in a sea of toxic but biological family is a different beast. I drown in this sea. The storm has been too great and so I needed to develop new skills… for survival. When I can be in the storm and not have it affect me, I can literally do anything.

I’ve struggled to check my progress. I opt to share a movie clip from “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner.” This was a nice reminder of love. The love between parents and child. The love between man and woman. The love of self. So many demonstrations of love. A few months ago, I’d be in tears during scenes where dads are stoic in protecting their daughters. I would have a hole in my heart asking myself why my dad couldn’t protect me. Control and protect are two very different things. The father in Armageddon (Bruce Willis). The father in this movie clip. They both brought me to tears. Now, they just give me hope. I might have lost my biological father but in his absence, I’ve gained a heck of a lot more. I have some phenomenal father-figures in my life that make me feel like my existence matters. They know who they are and how much I love them. We reconnected at the perfect time, I softened my rough bits and accepted what real love is. Family love.

The Universe affirmed the lesson by connecting me with these kind souls.

I am forever grateful.

Philippines

Most of my trips to the Philippines have been to the islands. My favourite trip was a roadtrip from Manila to Subic. My mom was able to meet her team and we all shared laughter during lunch in a treehouse overlooking an active volcano…

Chocolate Hills
Wishing Well
Tarsiers
Dragonboating
Bohol
Organised dancing in the mall
Wedding crashers
The Crew
Tagaytay Volcano
Lunch in a treehouse
roadside fruit
Public buses, Jeepneys
Suckling pork rolls
Fancy Cash

 

#Travel #GlobalNomad #Philippines #Manila #Tagaytay #Subic #Bohol #ChocolateHills #Tarsiers #Volcanos #Roadtrip

Cambodia

There are so many words to share about my time in Cambodia… but I think the pictures convey the magic, the heartbreak, the corruption, the beauty… and the resilience of the people.

She could speak 7 languages, very impressive and sad
Roadside massages
Climbing the ruins
Supporting family
Headed to school
Fish Spa
Immigration
Weekend Driver
Breakfast
Guest House
Ridiculous

#Travel #GlobalNomad #Cambodia #SiemRiep #AnkorWat

Thailand

Whether I was based in Hong Kong or Singapore, weekend trips to Thailand were a treat! Some trips were in the hustle and bustle of overpopulated cities and other trips were visiting secluded islands to swim with tropical fish or find hidden waterfalls!

Thailand offers an array of cultural experiences.

Mistaken Thai Chili for green beans (Kao Lak)

Lighting paper lanterns during a national festival (Bangkok)

Swimming with tropical fish (Phi Phi Island)

Getting hustled in Connect Four by some of the most beautiful and strong women I’ve ever met (Phuket)

Riding midget horses on the beach (Hua Hin)

Motorbike rides to hidden waterfalls (Koh Samui)

Ping Pong shows (Bangkok)

Temples / Museums (Bangkok)

Watching the world turn from the coastlines of Thailand is something spectacular!!!

My experiences will make you laugh and convince you the ONLY way to live life is with the essentials: passport, bathing suit, sundress, flip-flops and a huge smile

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#Travel #GlobalNomad #Thailand #Bangkok #Phuket #PhiPhiIsland #HuaHin #KaoLak #KohSamui

Saudi Arabia

Working for a company with a global footprint has a number of perks, business trips being at the top of the list and exotic experiences being a strong #2!

In 2009, I had the privilege to visit our petrochemical plant in Saudi Arabia. My role was to maintain operational simplification, manage the annual trade show, and produce weekly reports to support our sales team. I had been working with this team for a year and this trip was our chance to visit the plant and bond with our teammates.

Being the only female on the trip was an amazing experience! I was treated with extra care. For instance, dining in public, our group was able to eat in the family section. We were very lucky restaurants allowed us to dine in the family section as I wasn’t related or married to anyone in our group. The food was simple and delicious. People smoked sheesha from 4ft hookahs. Another example of special treatment, our local partners rented out space at a hotel so we could enjoy a meal near the pool. The prawns were the size of my hands! Aside from dining experience, the team made some special arrangements for our trip to the production plant in Yanbu. It was a multi-hour drive through the desert. Once we reached the plant, we had a tour and I had to use the bathroom. Since females were not working at the plant, part of the plant was evacuated just so I could use the bathroom. I ended up using the President’s personal office to relieve myself. Very memorable experience.

Another giant THANK YOU to the team for all their efforts to keep me safe and feel a part of the team!

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#SaudiArabia #Travel #GlobalNomad #WorkTrip #Petrochemicals #PlantVisit

Taiwan

Taiwan is known to be the heart of Asia because of the warmth of the people.

My first trip to Taiwan was 2004 (study abroad in university) and this particular trip was in 2013 (mother-daughter bonding). I was based in Hong Kong and brought my mom to Asia for a month. Taiwan was a weekend getaway for us to be indulgent. I wanted to inspire mom and she ended up inspiring me. It’s virtually impossible to ignore the little things when your travel buddies are experiencing something for the first time! Magic is an understatement!

We stayed at a business hotel near the city center. Mom really enjoyed the mobile phone (provided by the hotel) and the bathroom. The toilet had about 10 different buttons (similar to Japanese toilets). The bathtub was also a sunk-in bathtub (felt like a spa).

The plan was to walk around and just get lost in the hustle and bustle of the city. We had some of the best food in our neighborhood walks. We learned Taiwan history at the Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial. We spent an afternoon at a spa (it was a lunch and pamper session after all that walking). Most importantly, we laughed… we laughed A LOT.

We made friends with Chinese tourists on a gondola ride THEN experienced a fancy tea ceremony in the mountains. Indulging in street meat (sausages) was a must whilst we made our way back down the mountain.

The night markets were busier than the day markets. The air smelled of stinky tofu and suckling pig. Vendors were selling just about anything you can think of! A friend from Australia was visiting his family in Taiwan and made time to meet us at the market.

Mom still talks about her mango monster shaved ice dessert. I’m pretty sure it was the highlight of her trip. This dessert was at least a foot tall. Shaved ice with various forms of mango! Fresh, crushed, syrup. It was delicious and well deserving of the moniker MONSTER MANGO!

 

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#Taiwan #Taipei #ChiangKaiShekMemorial #Travel #Family

Day 13: Is suicide selfish or does humanity lack empathy?

***I wrote this on November 13th, 2017. It was part of my NaNoWriMo challenge. I shared my waking thoughts for 30 days as an effort to embrace ALL emotions. I’ve been conditioned not to share anything other than smiles and laughter. So I guess I didn’t think I should have shared this as it could easily be interpreted as being judgemental rather than reflective. However, today, I can see with a clear lens that no judgment was intended. It’s a simple ramble on something that was bothering me. And in recent furry of irresponsible emotions of the masses, I thought it was appropriate to shift this entry from “draft” to “published”.***

Day 13. Freewriting. Feeling slightly unstable. Mostly irritated with humanity. I’m pleased that I still have emotions in general – the presence of apathy is a spiritual killer. So being irritated is OK… for today.

A few weeks ago, I was in Chicago brushing up on my HTML / CSS coding skills at a General Assembly intro course. The class had about 15 students. The [new] friend I sat next to was a very talented graphic designer from NYC. Her first 8 months in Chicago were spent as a BNSF commuter, the last year as a local in the loop.

I am currently a BNSF commuter…

We bantered about the commuter life. I laughed at getting stuck inside Union Station during rush hour because all escalators were going down and I needed to go up. I giggled at the speed walkers whilst trying my best to stay out of the fast lane. I felt sad for the grumpy people because of their loooong facial expressions (it was 430pm and they were at the train station rather than an office – I think that constitutes winning at life but the FML look on their faces told a different story). On the opposite side of the spectrum, my NYC coding buddy commented how happy she was to be [finally] living in the city. Her main bragging point was that her commute was not interrupted. ‘Not interrupted?! I asked for clarification.

She elaborated, “When I first moved to the midwest, I was living in Aurora. It was so annoying to take the train. About 6 people over 8 months had committed suicide by jumping on the tracks. I was late to work. They interrupted my commute. They were selfish and caused so many delays!”

I told her that was probably the coldest response I’ve ever heard and my profession is to talk to people!

Sadly, the EXACT SAME sentiments were echoed a few weeks later from an athlete friend (suicide on the tracks being an inconvenience to others).

QUESTION: Based on today’s standards in society, who is branded as being mentally unwell? The person committing suicide OR the people who view the act as an inconvenience to others.

***

I still apologise when I cry. I keep catching myself and quickly covering the apology with a compliment to myself. ‘Jess, you are a pretty crier.’ My tears are authentic. They are true. It’s perfectly OK to show emotions. I admire my abilities to share my softer side with more ease.

I cannot remember a time when I was allowed to have my own emotions. I was left at the airport due to my volunter “driver” prioritizing getting high over picking me up. Heaven forbid, if I showed anything other than gratitude, I was ridiculed for having impossible expectations. During the adjustment process of my parents’ divorce, I was clearing out some boxes. I was so overwhelmed with emotions. I vocalised I couldn’t do anymore. If space needed to be cleared, then I accept my things would get thrown in the trash. No problem. If space was not needed, then I’ll come back and clear everything in a week or so. No problem. I was told I’m counterproductive, controlling, and causing trouble. Navigating impossible situations is a talent. Forcing a poker face was a skill.

During the re-wiring process, there are plenty of situations I review in my head. The intention is to see if I had acted in a different way, how I could have changed the outcome. Other times, it’s to check myself on whether I’m making the same ‘mistakes’. Re-wiring after narcissistic abuse is not an easy feat. I still question my perception of reality. Journaling helps keep things straight and allows me to let go. My issue of letting go is the need to process.

Failure to process certain things results in continued anxiety. I’m not torturing myself. I’m still struggling with convincing myself intentions are not malicious. Sure, others think I’m the reason for the problem. And perhaps they are correct. I represent missed opportunities. I’m a manifestation of all the things they wanted but didn’t accomplish. I get why my existence would cause anger. My unwillingness to accept poor behavior makes me difficult. My need to heal…

#WhyIWrite #MentalWellness #Survivor #SuicidePrevention #DomesticViolence #LoveConquersAll #MakeLoveNotWar #SpreadLove #FaceofDepression #Empathy #NatNoWriMo

Healing starts with​ “No Contact”

I knew that sharing my story was a double-edged sword. The tougher the challenge, the sweeter the reward. I believe that with all my heart!

My deep dive into my pain did other things that I hadn’t planned. Perhaps it’s because of the same emotion? Perhaps it just proves that the secret to a happy life is a short memory? (I hadn’t thought of people that surfaced during this process in YEARS and then all of the sudden there they were… loud and proud).

The guys that tried to sleep with me. The girls that slept with my boyfriend. A girl that bleached my hair and charged me high-end salon rates. The friend that decided I wasn’t holy enough. The friend that owes me money. The other friend that bailed when I asked for help. The friends that lied. The friend that copied everything growing up. The friend that pretended to be a friend to gain my trust then tried making me feel like a $2 hooker (no offense to $2 hookers). The friend that asked me to be the maid of honor but when I told her that I had some family stuff that took priority she bailed (the irony is that she stonewalled me for 2 years prior to needing my help). This flood of memories just came crashing non-stop. This wave seemed to last for weeks. I couldn’t figure it out. There wasn’t any consistency in triggering these waves.

It was absurd. I didn’t want to stop it because I knew the more I resisted, the more harm for me. So I allowed it to flow. I did my best to observe. I started deleting people on social media. I tried to remember to cut chords (spiritual people will understand this one).

The lies. The anger. The name calling. The pain. It was all various levels of abusive behaviours.

The only thing these people had in common, they all walked away when I said “no”. I didn’t even give them a lesson, publicly out them, or call their parents. Well, a few parents were contacted but for the most part, I just said the heck with it and went back to my tropical island and lived a happy life.

When I called out friends for using me, they didn’t like it. (I guess I understand the offense they took).

I was no longer an ATM.

I was no longer the girl they could play with.

I was no longer the secret friend or the girl they emailed the night before their wedding day.

I stopped being a fountain of positivity.

I was no longer entertaining their questionable behaviour.

None of them were marriage material and very few had credentials to be a lover. It wasn’t sad. It was honest. When I came home, it was to be with family. The limited people I saw outside of family had to be simple and make me laugh. The moment things were complicated, I was out. No time for nonsense. I used to be very quiet about family abuse so time ‘home’ needed to be as simple as possible.

And yet, 21 years of memories came flooding into my heart space at once.

Do you know what it’s like to turn to a trusted Uncle asking about dad’s drug usage? I wasn’t trying to spoil the party but I needed to know if the party drugs advanced from weed to coke. Considering dad had/has anger issues, one drug increased my chances of survival and the other didn’t (respectively). I asked questions out of necessity, not general interest. I forgive you for not protecting me from your best friend.

Do you know what it’s like to open up about abuse to a friend and then within minutes, they are misinterpreting my tears and thinking that shoving a penis in my personal space is meant to make me feel better? But that’s cool to be objectified by an alleged magical penis. I forgive you for being completely unacceptable.

Do you know what it’s like to literally have every single family member (except Grandfathers/Auntie, RIP 2009, RIP 2012, RIP 2017), think that I’m the reason for all troubles and yet, they pretend to the outside world that everything is OK? Michael estranges himself from me in 2012 (his choice, not mine) and yet his BEST FRIEND contacted me in 2016 asking that I send my brother a birthday greetings. His best friend. My heart had a moment of ‘heyyyyy he finally came around and this is an olive branch. I get my brother back! *happy dance* maybe he’ll come to Ironman next month! this is super exciting!’ and quickly turned into a ‘WHY did I get my hopes up? Why do I allow others to set me up?’ then a firm email telling his best friend that was harsh and extremely inappropriate to insist that I reach out to someone who has made it perfectly clear that he wants zero to do with me. I forgive you for re-victimizing me and subjecting me to unnecessary family abuse.

* * *

My younger life is riddled with some of the most dysfunctional people that I’ve ever met. On a good day, I can thank them because their games helped me navigate a sea of morally compromised individuals in my adult life. Familiar waters… Good thing I am basically a master swimmer. You know I completed Ironman in 12 hours, right? (fairly easy google search and you’ll find my name in IM Texas 2016 – race results).

I understand that I can view this as a circus or complete dysfunction. A trained therapist would also be able to correctly label the players as the narcissist, flying monkey, scapegoat… and I’d admit to having a codependency or perhaps a cortisol addiction. Thriving when running on adrenaline is not easy but it’s great for those 70hour work weeks. You know I was a corporate monkey that had responsibilities for 38 businesses across 73 countries, right? (Fairly easy google search and you’ll find my name on the boilerplate of numerous press releases).

But I’m barely managing at life? I’m broken? I haven’t added value? and my favourite… I’m lost?

Naw, I am fully aware of the consequences of this current chapter (processing pain). It could break me or it could make me into one of the strongest people ever. My money is on the latter… but I’m just going based on a fairly extensive track record of accomplishments. No ego. All truth. I haven’t even scratched the surface of my potential, I’m just getting started. As far as I’m concerned, everything up to this point was preparing me for this exact moment.

I’m exactly where I need to be. I am surrounded by the people that are meant to teach me something. My heart should be in time out but really, it hurts because it’s expanding. I’m growing. I’m getting stronger.

Healing only really starts after going “No Contact”. This is when I stopped needing my rose colored lens for survival and I started seeing people for what they were. I love everyone but if the love is not returned, then what makes you think you deserve space in my world?

I embrace these waves with love. I congratulate myself. The longer I go ‘No Contact’, the clearer the world becomes.

#WhyIWrite #MentalWellness #DomesticViolence #EmotionalAbuse #Healing #Purging #Boundaries #NoMeansNo #JourneyToPeace