Shadow Work Sunday: Journal Entry 13

 

Greetings to all. The Unleashed One here. How is everyone doing? In my neck of the woods, it appears that summer is attempting to sneak in early all this week. Yeah, it's better than it being extra cold but I wasn't in a hurry for extra hot either.

Originally I was going to post my midway results on a thirty-day eating theme that I'm trying, but I realized that I didn't have any proper visuals. In other words, I hadn't been taking any pictures of the meals, and I know when it comes to food, humans are very visual creatures, so I'm going to wait until the end to post my observations.

With that idea nipped in the bud, I decided to circle back to some Shadow Work. For a while, I had been working off the cusp as opposed to answering the prompts, but now there is a prompt that I am ready to address, so without further delay, let's start exploring.

What emotion do you try to avoid (sadness, jealousy, anger…). Why are you afraid of letting yourself feel that way?

Honestly, there is more than one which fits into this category, so I will start with most prevalent to least prevalent.

You can already tell by the Bitmoji the first one I wish to speak on, but in case you haven't guessed, it's anger. There is a reason why people say they seldom see me angry but when I do, watch out!

The reason why I don't like to feel anger is because in the past, I've had a difficult time reigning that wild cat in. I legit blackout. The period of time between the moment I feel it and the moment I react is lost. Other people have to tell me about what I did. In a physical altercation, I don't even hear reason or any cues to stop what I'm doing.

It really is the loss of control.

In the rare fights I've had in life, I've won them, but I don't ever want to go back to that dark space. That's why it's better for me to walk away to get myself calm and rational.

I get annoyed at people who are like, "You look so cute when you're mad" or "It turns me on when you're feisty". If you had any idea of what disturbing images are in my head when I'm at the pinnacle of pissed you'd be doing this ....

Another emotion that I avoid altogether is jealousy.

It's more from a place of not actually feeling such and my theory behind jealousy. My belief is that jealousy stems from insecurity but not all insecurity stems from jealousy. However, I was told by someone I was romantically involved with that it bothered them that I didn't act "jealous" over them. I wasn't quite sure what to make of the statement. I couldn't wrap my head around the statement. How can the failure of acting "jealous over them" trump showing love, devotion, and faithfulness to a relationship? Yet, in that person's eyes, because I wasn't overly checking in on his whereabouts (ie, texting, calling, and popping up), he believed I didn't care and sought attention elsewhere.

In addition, I equate jealousy, in its most extreme form, being controlling and over-possessive. Since I've been in a relationship where a person tried to use an iron fist to keep me with him, I have a rebellious streak when it pertains to anyone acting jealous over me to the point of constantly wanting me to report in or track my whereabouts.

Note: When in a committed relationship, I have no issue letting someone know where I'm going, if I've made it safely, and when I'm on my way back.

What prickles my last nerve is blowing up my phone (unless it is an actual emergency) or popping up to confirm I am where I say I am. I'm not that woman who does that because if you are truly committed to me, you are supposed to be trustworthy. The moment I feel like I have to get out of character to start playing CSI, then just know I'm already planning to make my exit.

I have read somewhere that every emotion possesses both positive and negative components. In my experiences with people, I have not encountered an instance where jealousy manifests itself positively. Yes, you wanted people to know that you love and care for their well-being. I just don't believe that jealousy is the proper vehicle in which to do so.

One emotion I avoided, but not so much anymore, is sadness. 

The pulse of sadness was similar to the pulse of anger. Sadness, unlike anger, usually plunged me into an ocean of idleness and overthinking, which is dangerous territory. Mainly because the debris of negative thoughts would be in the waters.

What has helped me not to avoid boils down to not just one step but multiple steps. Since my sadness mainly stemmed from it being suppressed, I had to find a method by which to express this emotion. For me, it helps to see it on paper or on a screen, for by seeing it, I can get to the root cause and how to take action, if any. If any of the actions involved having to talk to someone, then some more questions would pop up to decide how to best tackle the situation. I have to feel comfortable enough with a person to be vulnerable with him/her. If I am not, it can deter me from coming forward with how I am feeling.

In moments where I hit a roadblock with working through the sadness, conversing with someone through therapy has worked wonders.

Because my sadness hasn't wreaked havoc on my mental and emotional status as it had previously, I have put this in the "non-avoidance" category, but just thought to bring it up, since it had in the past.

Okay, I believe that covers this round of Shadow Work.

Until next time,

Soul Cleanse 39: The Way Forward

 

Greetings everyone! The Unleashed One here. Before I continue, I want to wish all the Mothers out there a Happy Mother's Day. I also want to send healing energy to those who have lost their mothers and how difficult this period of time can be and is for them.

For those of you who know me personally, you know that I was raised by my grandparents —my maternal grandparents to be exact. I rarely talked about my mother because we did not communicate a whole lot. Also, there were situations that arose which caused tons of upset ... that's putting it mildly. It would be safe to say that my relationship with my birth mother was not on the best of terms.

When Mother's Day would approach, one would see me speak about my grandmother. Being thankful that she raised me. Feeling blessed to be around some much love, care, wisdom, and life lessons. The honor and reverence I have for her (as well as my late grandfather) will never change.

This year is the first time I've ever posted a picture of my mother. I'm not sure she's aware that I have this picture. When I moved from my previous residence to the one I am in currently, this picture was packed away with other items in my attic.

Earlier this year, I went to the attic to search for one of my photo albums and stumbled upon the picture. For the first time, when looking at the picture, instead of the lingering question ("why"), it was "what's her story?".

One of the lessons I've learned since doing my own Shadow Work and by going to therapy is that one has to step outside of the hurt to ask questions ... to inquire about the other person's story.

In my early years, I let my emotions about events serve as a shield and did not entertain or care about what my mother had to say (if anything) about her decision-making or about what happened in her life to make her who she is. I recognize that not only is it not fair to her but serves as a deterrent to further advance in my healing.

Her perception deserves to be heard and I'm now at the stage where I am open. It's not about whether I agree but more so to facilitate dialogue. Maybe it will answer some unspoken questions or lead to more. I hope to get a further understanding of who my mother is. Perhaps she has her own wounds that have never scabbed over that need to be addressed.

This isn't necessarily about closure. For that would indicate that I have not forgiven, which is not the case. This is me taking a look ... for me to become better. For us to foster a bond, not from ashes of the past but from a foundation of the present and future.

All one can do is wait and see.

Okay, I'm off. Other exciting events await.

Until next time,

The Writing Project Whisper That Became a Word

 

Greetings everyone! The Unleashed One here. 

The title has probably thrown some of you off because I typically talk about writing projects on the Author Queen of Spades website or on the All Authors Publishing House website.

There is something different about this ... so much so, that I only let a handful of people know that I was working on this particular endeavor. It wasn't something that was planned but started off as a whisper that I debated back and forth on whether it would become a word.

I have been quite candid that some changes had come about since traveling on this Highway to Healthy, but what I did not anticipate was that the effects would be more than just physical. I discovered that there wasn't just physical weight that was being shed but other types that had not been tackled.

Now more confusion has been thrown into the fray ... isn't that who Queen, my writing pseudonym, represents? 

In my life, Queen of Spades represented more than a creative outlet. Truly, from the start, she was the enhanced personification of the type of woman I wanted to become. She was my vocal cords in my early years when I was speechless. She was the amplifier to all my emotions once I was comfortable and able enough to process them.

For a long time, we operated separately. Nothing about our demeanor was that much alike. However, over these past few years, there has been cohesion between us, and I noticed it with the last three works Queen wrote. Sure, it was her design and rhythm, but I stayed present throughout, which rarely happens.

There was anticipation as to when Queen was coming out with her next project. Would it be a collection of short stories, more poetry, or just more works to put in anthologies? 

It wasn't that my pseudonym had no desire to do any writing. It was just whatever was on paper did not sound anything like her. 

And ... why would it?

All of the changes occurring had everything to do with me.

The work I was doing on me.

Once it dawned on me that this next publication would be sans Queen, I was taken aback.

Somewhat anxious. Highly nervous.

I'd never published a book as myself. I know this may sound silly (and would perhaps only make sense to other writers who use pseudonyms) but what if I wasn't as readworthy and relatable as Queen?

Yet, the whisper, "Don't worry. Just write," kept me going. Soon, they became words. Enough words to match the numerology with just enough time to meet the date I was given for it to be released.

The Weight of Weight

Blurb

People tend to focus on the starting and ending points of a journey but never on the rest stops along the way.

The Weight of Weight is the author’s lyrical representation of each essential stop: to not only maintain her current mileage of progress but also tackle the detours of impalpable masses that needed examination or upheaval.

I cannot say for sure whether this will be the only book I put out under my name. I do know this DOES NOT mean that Queen is retiring. Now that The Weight of Weight has concluded, this has freed up the creative space for Queen's future works to continue.

Like Queen, I never come into expectations of a reader's response. I'd appreciate the support on the release. I even thought to have it available in Paperback and Hardcover, for those who are more traditional and don't like or have reading devices. It would be wonderful to get feedback from those who have purchased it and read it, regardless of ranking. In the end, I put it out for myself, and now that the weight has been transferred, I have opened a door and cannot go backward.

Here's to not looking back and daring greatly.

P.S. Special thanks to the following people:

To Y. Correa, for her insight as it pertained to working through the anxiety and for unexpectedly providing the foreword to the work.

To Teianna (Pooh Bear), for being highly supportive and acquiring the book "hot off the presses".

To Andrew Boyd, for his continued support of my writing endeavors.

Delving Deeper: Children and Motherhood

 

Hello everyone! The Unleashed One here. I hope that everyone has been doing well. As for me, there has been some transition, but I am convinced when it comes to me, the process of transition is ongoing.

A few weeks back, I relocated to a new workstation. This was to put me in closer proximity to the new job responsibilities that I am taking on. I confess to traveling light because I'd been accustomed to not being in one spot for a long period of time. Chalk it up to the period of time when I was a long-term temp. Besides, there would be less clean-up and things to pack. Because this type of work is ongoing and doesn't have an end date, this space feels more permanent.

I took the liberty of bringing along a companion (nickname Mildred the Fitness Mascot) along with my newly acquired Keurig K-Mini. Yeah, I got one just for my office space.

However, I'll expand more of #WorkingLife in a separate entry.

Another transition I hinted at was whether I was going to resume going to therapy. When I did the initial reach out, there was a huge amount of miscommunication which led (1) to a delay and (2) being matched with a person/organization that, although nice, wasn't exactly the best fit for me.

I ended up doing my own research for the subject I wanted assistance with and went through with the intake process. Unlike before, someone got back in touch with me right away. Although I do prefer to do therapy in person, the way things are set up is virtual. That has taken some adjustment, but I've been willing to battle with my awkwardness and dislike of being on video to get the assistance I require.

I knew that there were deeper layers connected to the dysmorphia, and this is part of the work I must do ... to dissect the bigger issues. One of the topics that surfaced involves the teeter-totter as it relates to my stance on children and motherhood. It is one that I would brush over every so often, but not really do a deep dive into the subject. 

Hmmm ... guess that is coming to an end today.

Source: Timeline.com

Does anyone out there know a girl that knew from the moment she held a doll that she wanted to be a mom? Or grew up, seeing her mom do activities for her siblings, and wanted to do that for her own little girl or boy someday? 

I remember the very first Cabbage Patch Doll I ever received. It was dark brown and had no hair. I decided to name her Bernice. When the Cabbage Patch Dolls came out with real hair, my grandparents bought me one as a gift. I named her Pauline. I'm willing to bet that both of them are still in my grandma's house somewhere. Pauline is probably still wearing the red jogging set.

I had fun playing with both of them, especially Pauline, since I could come up with multiple ways to style her hair. Yet, nothing akin to wanting to be a mother, spoke to me back then.

I even played with a host of Barbie dolls. There was no discrimination in my squad. I had white Barbies, including those who didn't look like the typical Barbie. One of them had flat feet. The other always had issues with her arm staying on, but I just pushed it back in and kept playing. I had some black Barbies, including the one that moved when you flipped the switch in the middle of her back. Even makeshift Ken dolls were part of the fun. 

That level of play didn't sound the motherhood horn, either.

As I got older, I became more invested in books and activities that engaged my mind. Playing with dolls decreased and eventually put away.

I was so invested in my studies that my "relationships" felt secondary, like an afterthought. Something that I did to fit in with others my age. Yes, I was top of the class intellectually, but looking back at my life, there were ways where my emotional growth was stunted. It has nothing to do with blame, but more so with the inaccessibility of tools.

For one, there was a generation gap (being raised by grandparents vs the familiar structure of mother and father), which made it tough to discuss adolescent topics. There wasn't that level of rapport where I could come to my mother and talk to her, and I had little to no knowledge about the guy who was supposedly my father. I didn't know how or where to start in the scheme of romantic relationships. I mainly observed and duplicated to the best of my ability.

Sad to say but highly accurate.

In my younger years, when anything related to pregnancy was brought up, it frightened me. My mom had gotten pregnant at a very young age. When I was growing up, it was frowned upon to have children before one got her education. It was drilled into me how important education was, so having children before I graduated from high school or college was definitely out of the question. Getting good grades, graduating, having a degree, and a career were goals, not being someone's wife or someone's mother.

The only moment I ever shifted into considering kids was when I was in a relationship of long-standing. Or if my significant other mentioned kids. Even then, it was after I'd accomplished "tasks A, B, and C".

When I entered my thirties, that's when the typical gossip starts. You know, the whole, "You're in your thirties and you aren't married yet" conversation. The whole, "You don't have any kids yet" conversation and "when are you going to give me some grandbabies" conversation. Funny enough, the people who raised me weren't the ones firing off the questions. 

I was in my mid-thirties when I tied the knot. However, because one major checkbox was still vacant, I was hesitant to begin the process. I didn't want to bring a child into a world where both parents weren't financially stable. I witnessed the struggle my grandparents went through to provide for me and wanted to do what I could to prevent a repeat. My then-husband didn't share my sentiment and said that we would figure it out when the time came. Plus, I was getting older, and it is rumored that the chances of fertility decrease with age.

At that time, I also had my own set of health issues that made pregnancy high risk, but would there ever be a "perfect" time.

Eventually, we did try but were not successful. He didn't express his disappointment in me, but he confided in other people, telling them that I wasn't fertile. I was unaware of this until one person expressed her sympathy about "our situation". I am a highly private person, and needless to say, I was pissed and hurt when it came to light.

As my marriage fell apart, I went from being sad about my supposed "infertility" (as it turned out, my reproductive system was fine) to being grateful that he and I didn't have children. I was saved from being yoked to him for life after our divorce.

I placed having children on the shelf.

When I ventured out into the dating world, I was not ready to answer the "would you be willing to have children" question. Truthfully, I wanted to actually experience dating, not be in a situation where I'd have to commit to a relationship right away. 

If I knew then what I knew now, then I would have seen the obvious red flags as it pertained to the person I dated after my ex-husband. Yet, to this guy's credit, he made me happier than I had been in a while, so to that, he served his purpose.

Although he expressed interest in wanting more children, it concerned me that he wasn't devoting as much time as he could in regards to spending time with them. On one end, he pushed to get put on child support, but this was more to do with not wanting to be in conflict with his ex than anything. No matter how much he made it seem that it would be different if with the right woman, I wasn't ready to go in that direction, much less rush toward marriage number two.

Since he made his exit, I haven't given another thought to having children. It isn't a situation where I was feeling like this guy was my last hope. I had gone through other changes. Mainly, significant changes with my health. Physical appearance. Revamped old routines and got rid of activities that weren't of benefit to me. Included enjoyable activities that became part of a new routine, along with doing deeper introspection.

Motherhood, was that really supposed to be my path?

It appears at this stage, there are other plans.

I know that having that stirring, that yearning to nurture, is innate. There's rarely, if any, a moment when it isn't there. The many women I know who are mothers felt it in their bones. They may have doubted timing, even circumstances, but not whether they really wanted children.

Through my life, I constantly questioned. It was never made mandatory in any part of my life, no matter what other changes happened. 

Even when I considered motherhood, there were other driving forces:

To solidify proof of womanhood

To prove that I could do this better than my mother

To check it off as an achievement

Because the other person wanted a child

Because it is expected when you've been with the person for a long period of time/married

Because it is expected when you get to a certain age and stage in life

I realize that if the top reason doesn't involve me wanting to, then the whole endeavor is set up for failure. Also, at this stage of my life, the cons outweigh the pros. I like my flexibility. I am pleased with the strides I've made healthwise and fitness wise, and I don't want to introduce elements that would provide a setback. Sure, I'm missing out on the extra income that would come in with having a child come income tax time, but that is small pennies to the amount of investment it takes to raise a child. Plus, I'm still old-fashioned, believing that a child has more of a fighting chance of balance and stability in a two-parent household than one.

Okay, deep dive over. Time to come up for air.

31 Days of Journaling: Days 12 & 13

Hello everyone! The Unleashed One here. I don't really have a fancy introduction to walk you through the next couple of entries. I suppose we should get down to the meat and potatoes of everything, shall we?

Day 12

Today was a nice day to be out. The sun was out and the weather did not feel as cold. Rarely do I wear pink but I decided to do so.

One, to try something out of my norm. Two, because I was not in the mood to wear a jacket and hoped the fuzzy pink pullover would work as a great substitute. It wasn’t planned but Jazz was also wearing pink. I thought it was pretty cool that she noticed it first before I commented on the similarity.

As I accompanied Jazz on her side hustle, the best way to describe how events played out was a role reversal.

Usually, it would be her with the funny comments and I’d chime in every now and then, being content with the silence. This time, I was the quippy one, desiring joyous noises while her energy seemed preoccupied and scattered. Even the music, which would be a cool compliment on drives when energy was upbeat or when we didn’t have much to talk about, was off, downright annoying.

She does tell me to switch the station if and when I don’t like the music, but I’ve never been one to touch another’s radio unless asking. Heck, I don’t let anyone touch the sound system in Finesse when I’m driving. 

I did other activities to preoccupy myself but it was one of those rare moments when I’d rather be talking. I rediscovered how much I liked playing Hearts electronically since installing the game on my phone, slightly more than Gin Rummy.

I didn’t want to hear any sad music. I didn’t want to feel any sad vibes. But I know better than anyone that just because you switch the radio station, it doesn’t always trickle down to emotions or mentality.

When one is in the clutches of depression … in the cage of the hamster wheel where anxiety and disappointment keep the bars rusty … it’s not that simple.

When you are in a situation where one is dialed into the darkness and the other is finding one’s way out, the one that just got a sprinkle of happiness and hope doesn’t want to be in a position to get sucked back in. At the same time, that person wonders if shining in happiness will put the other person deeper in despair.

All I can do is be there. As much as I can anyway. To delve too much into trying to proactively heal and save is what got my empath unhealthy in the first place. Just like I am doing my own work and having my own process, I have to sit back and let her find her way. 

An egotistical thought creeps in for a millisecond: For decades, I did not have this consistent support when I was going through the chaos. Key word is consistent because most bailed, didn’t really care and only wanted me to be there for them, or wanted me to circle back when I was more positive. That applies to those I dared to be transparent with. Oftentimes, I battled the madness, lonely and alone. How fortunate she is to have so many who really see her light and try to help her, consistent people in her corner, like me.

Then, I realized how scathing, mean, and unrelated the thought was and cast it aside. I then dared to go beyond the dismissal and get to the details behind my Shadow’s appearance. By Shadow, I refer to the element of my Ego that can be hypercritical and displacingly selfish.

In the past, I did feel let down by people who gave me a different reaction when I showed them my vulnerability.

From those experiences, I am learning that I cannot measure people’s reactions based on what I would have done.

I cannot assume that others have levels of empathy and sympathy.

I cannot surmise that everyone has common sense or walks around with knowledge of unspoken rules of etiquette. They have a right to not want to be around me when I am not that calm, objective person they know me to be that can listen with compassion and give them an answer on the spot. They have a right to use the question, “How are you feeling?” just as a lead-in to get their dump on. 

I also have a right to decide whether based on those responses how they rank in my life or if they need to remain in my life at all. That is why, over the years, the number of people has shrunk. I wasn’t angry; I just knew they weren’t in alignment with being lifetime members.

I do believe that there can be divergence in how one sees life, perceives the world. I even believe that some differences can provide learning and growth.

But that is different from having people in your life that balk at having to navigate through conflict, confrontation, and struggle.

I confess that for my core friends, the individuals I refer to as family, the ability to navigate through conflict, confrontation, and struggle without having the quick response to clap back defensively (without truly hearing what’s being said) and activate elimination is important to me. You can’t be at my core if you get cold the moment something I say, do, or don’t say or do causes you to get hot.

However, if I don’t speak to all of the emotions that I have, even the not-so-pleasant ones, I do a disservice to myself because I don’t want to have to wear the masks around the people I want to fully trust. Also, I don’t do anything half-ass with people I want to have as lifetime people.

The best relationships aren’t those that never have conflict. The best ones are those people who can recognize each other’s emotional language and express maturity to do what is needed to work through it with conviction and compassion. In those connections is where the greatest love flourishes, and even when the temperature of love changes, the ability to do the former marks sustainability.

I thought about the Christmas movie I looked at on Netflix a few weeks ago. It didn’t make me feel sad, probably because it was more a comedy than anything. Honestly, I haven’t watched any romantic movies that weren’t comedy-based in many years. I wish so many holidays weren’t marketed to couples. It makes people wish they were in one, sad they aren’t in one, or bring back the times they were in one.

There are some series that I’ve been watching but not from the lens of finding romance, per se. With Love at First Sight, it was the concept. With The Circle, it was about the strategy to get the money and that question if one can really be as popular or more popular representing yourself. Love Island is for research purposes.

Perhaps I’ll challenge myself to engage in one sappy romantic movie this year. Not Sleepless in Seattle or You’ve Got Mail because I’ve seen those already and absolutely love those. But maybe a modern-day one, just to see if I can get through it without “trauma” feels.

Day 13

In retrospect, I should have ordered a smaller size in this colorful blazer I’m wearing. I tend to order my jackets a size bigger to allow for layering and increased arm definition. Yet, this item was on final sale, and I didn’t want to take the chance of ordering the Medium from Shein, and it ended up being too small. On the website, it can be hit or miss. I also prefer trying on my clothing.

I do like how everything came together. Even the headwrap, which I originally wasn’t going to wear, but I had a perceived hairdo fail, which led to the coverup. I have to go work out later anyway, so perhaps it was for the best.

One of the places that I was looking at for 2022 fell through. Sure, I could have asked if he was willing to negotiate, but I want to see what else is out there. Also, there may be some requirements that may have to end up being electives if there isn't any place that fits the price range and the criteria. I am hopeful that more selections will be presented at the start of the year.

This new search has dug up some Treasure Chest Trauma. That is the name that I've given stuff that I haven't given myself the chance to process, grieve, or tackle. In most cases, it had nothing to do with avoidance, just being so busy with surviving that processing emotional stuff seemed trivial.

I reflected on how much I missed the semblance of home and ambiance of community at the first place I resided when I first moved to New Jersey. At the second location, although pleased at having the spot for myself (at least for a brief while before my relationship with my ex-husband), I always perceived it as a space of transition ... to make due until I got to where I really wanted to be. 

It didn't feel like almost nine years from that place to the current one. The current one should have served as what I deemed the final move. And now ... which I'll discuss once everything is said and done ... it isn't the final move, just another transition.

What it all boils down to is that I've attempted to recreate the physical manifestation of what I was forced to leave behind in 2008 ... and have yet to find it. 

I believe my body is still fighting the effects of the booster. I stayed determined to go to the gym but I couldn't produce as much output as I would have liked. I gave myself credit for what I could do and drove home to finish up at the house. Today was the day I would have done my fast, but my body wasn't in that space, so I did break it to eat something when I got the shakes.

Jazz had me try some of the protein brownie bites she'd made. They were rather good. They weren't very dense at all.

I am going to call it a night and see if I can have a better go at the gym tomorrow, preferably in the morning instead of going after work.

Wish me luck.

Peace.

Shadow Work Sunday: Journal Entry 12

 

Hello everyone. I hope all is going well. Originally, I was going to continue "The Layers of Chronic Illness", but a line came to me the other day as I took my Power Nap.

Power Naps are a new activity for me. I learned it as part of this program I signed up for a few months ago. It's funny how you're taught to have naps at a young age but as you get older, you begin to lose the ability.

I'll explain.

When I was younger, the kids were encouraged to have nap time. There were these orange pads out for us to rest on. The slumber wasn't long, but I do remember most of us were ready to tackle the day some more after nap time was over. As I got older, I lost the ability to nap. Once I was up, I was up. When I felt the afternoon slump, I would just wait for it to pass instead of taking time to close my eyes and reset. I had forgotten that one did not have to sleep during the nap.

In one module of the program, a sleep expert was saying how the majority of people did not get enough sleep nor did they get quality sleep. Then, he went into detail about the importance of naps. Once I heard his take on "Power Naps", I decided to give them a try.

Although I'm not always able to take one, the times I have done so have left me refreshed and do not mess with my normal sleep pattern. The normal length is either 10 or 20 minutes. On rare occasions, I do 90 minutes.

It was during one of my 20-minute naps that this thought came to me. Initially, I believed it was meant for a story or a line for a poem, but it didn't seem to gel for either.

We should think of ourselves as houses not cars.

Like I have mentioned before, I've never viewed myself as normal, although I tried many times to blend in and be accepted. Usually, those attempts produced teasing, laughter, bullying. This amplified my quiet tendency and increased my social withdrawal. Writing gave me solace and gave me an outlet.

One of my favorite activities was writing in a journal. Before it was an assignment in my writing classes, I was doing this independently. When scribing about my struggles, it was in the present, but when talking about joy, it was mostly in the future.

In my future, I always described the specifications of my dream abode more so than what type of car I drove.

When I got older, I realized that my desires ran contradictory to others' aspirations. It was focused on the type of cars, the specs on the cars, and the brand of cars. The house was thrown in, almost as an afterthought.

This approach, to this day, rings strange to me, but it is very applicable as it pertains to individuals and trauma.

When one comes into the world, she is at her highest value. There is no one that dictates her worth. Her very existence is magic that is unmatched. Her growth should be exponential.

What can get in the way of her growth are external factors.

People can question her beauty, her intelligence, and her character, even those whose jobs are to uplift her. Those who she trusted have betrayed her. Economic circumstances prevent some dreams from becoming reality.

The list goes on and on.

Suddenly, she becomes unsure of her value. She becomes unsure of her worth. She starts questioning her magic. Her growth is stunted.

She is transformed from a house to a car.

See, a house has the potential to retain or increase its value. One can redecorate. Perform renovations. With the proper care, consideration, and commitment to that house, it appreciates in value.

With a car, one can negotiate the price of the vehicle. All parties involved have to agree. The moment the car is driven off the lot, it depreciates in value, no matter what brand it is. Sometimes, the amount of maintenance to keep the car going exceeds what one has financially. Or, one has to upgrade to a new car to keep up appearances. Whatever the case, the initial worth and value of the vehicle cannot be recaptured, even if one attempts to sell the car for what she paid for it.

There is no existence without challenges. The key is how a person navigates through them and how to use the lessons to press forward.

There is no interaction without individuals that will challenge one's self-esteem. When a person refuses to accept their perception as truth, power is retained. Worth is restored.

Too many get beaten down to the point where it's difficult to see the value. They have accepted their depreciation in the world and that's just how things are. That's not what the Universe desires, not for any member of humanity.

Being a house involves more work than maintaining a car. The question lies in the zest to put in the work to ensure one's appreciation in the world.

There were moments when I fell into others' narratives of me. I was not beautiful. I was too dark. I was too fat. I didn't deserve love. No one could ever want me. There were events that happened in my life that made me question if those insults were reality.

Once I invested in working on myself and reconnected with my untainted Self, I see myself with new eyes. To be honest, it was the eyes I should have continued to use instead of letting them be covered by eyeglasses with scratched-up lenses.

I may not be beautiful to everyone, but as long as I believe I'm frigging gorgeous, what the world thinks is irrelevant.

My body may be too fat, too skinny, or too muscular, but as long as it's the one I want, what others believe is nonsense.

Just like everyone else, I am deserving of love. 

I know the work I'm doing on myself is important. I am dedicated to doing that, so I won't perceive dipping my big toe into dating waters as a daunting undertaking.

That's all I got everyone. Be love, be light, but most of all, be peace.

Shadow Work Sunday: Journal Entry 9

 

Hello everyone! The Unleashed One here. Not for nothing, I sure wish I was somewhere warm right about now. Just the other day on Facebook, I got a memory notification about the time I went to Florida about two years ago. Those were fun times, and I hope that I will soon be able to venture out and go there again. 

#CurrentStatus

While I take a break from shoveling snow, let's delve into another Shadow Work Sunday.

How often do you lie to yourself? In what ways are you in denial?

Hmmm ... lie is a pretty strong word. The strength of that particular word can definitely stir up some different emotions.

But, if I am honest with myself, I lie to myself more than I would like, and usually, it's about the level in which certain situations bother me.

For example, although I tell myself often that I am content with the select individuals I can talk to about otherworldly topics, the truth is I do miss having others who are not the same gender as me to speak about these topics with.

Maybe it's because it took me a long time to develop those types of dependable bonds with women. Maybe it's the fact that one of the guys I could have those conversations with died many years ago. Perhaps it's also coupled with the fact that I've run into men out here who don't believe that men and women can be friends without sexual benefits attached. Either way, I miss having the male perspective ... the divergence, if you will.

By topics, I don't mean weather, food, the wellness of slumber, and work. I mean deeper things, like humanity, how one sees his/her future, wellness of mind, body, and spirit, etc. The latter is lacking in my life.

Another subject is my health journey. I don't like calling it "weight loss" journey because that signifies that "weight loss" and "becoming healthier" go hand-in-hand, and I don't believe that is necessarily so (expansion on that in another blog post). For me, weight loss symbolizes the by-product of the actions I'm doing to achieve health.

I am the person that will still do my thing, even if others who promised or said they would do something with me don't. I often tell myself it doesn't bother me, but it does to a certain extent. More so people who are close to me than anything. Not just with those who said they'd journey with me but also support in the family.

I do possess a lot of will power, determination, and grit, but it is always helpful and more inspiring if those in your corner are along for the ride.

I don't expect for a person to work out as often as me or do the same routine as me, but it is challenging to do a home workout and the person you would like to do it with you is just looking at you.

I don't require a person to eat in the same way as me, but it is challenging to have food around me that I used to eat frequently or are "trigger foods". On top of that, to eat them around me.

I don't even expect a person to understand, but for someone to chime in with opinions whether I haven't lost enough or lost too much is aggravating. Particularly if that person isn't the poster child of health himself. 

To have a tribe of encouragement or a tribe to do my journey with would be terrific. I do have days where the drive isn't as strong or moments when I'm not as confident with what I'm doing. Being part of this program (which I'll explain further along with my exercise entries) is a good start, but since it's not localized, it currently doesn't possess the same oomph.

Okay, one last "lie" before I close out this entry.

I lie about how comfortable I am as it pertains to some of the doctor's explanations of certain ailments going on with me. 

In the past, I have covered the ongoing cough I've had since 2018.

Although many tests have been done, including sleep tests, there is still no concrete solution as to why this is still continuing. I've been diagnosed with acute asthma and acute sleep apnea, but according to the specialists, it's not significant enough to fully contribute to the cough's continuation.

There is also a situation happening as it pertains to my blood glucose levels. That I will also delve into as a separate blog topic. But, to sum it up, over the past month, it has become more difficult to keep my levels stable. My endocrinologist thinks its one thing; I am not confident that his analysis is an accurate one.

This does battle in how I perceive the medical field. I was brought up to believe that most doctors actually have a sense of empathy, listen to their patients, and try to do what they can to find causes and solutions that makes sense. However, that has not always been my reality. I don't like when medication gets thrown at a symptom without concrete proof that it's what's going on with me. Also, because there are several medicines that affect me adversely, I have to be extra careful with what I'm taking.

As far as denial, I'm not one that stays in that space. To be in denial is the unwillingness to admit something's wrong or an issue. I operate on a high level of self-awareness to where denial with certain things is really nonexistent. But the frequency of untruths to myself, I'm not sure I can place a number on them. I just know they exist, and the fact that I can speak on them in something, right?

Thanks for joining me for another Shadow Work Sunday.

Take care and stay safe.

 

Shadow Work Sunday: Journal Entry 5

 

Hello everyone! The Unleashed One here. The Bitmoji is actually way more enthusiastic than what I feel. Before we enter into the next episode of Shadow Work Sunday, I want to fill you in on what's been occurring in the backdrop.

I have taken a pledge to be more proactive as it pertains to my health. In the past, I would chalk up to not having certain maladies addressed due to not really having the time (due to being overworked, life,  or not having sick pay or vacation pay) or having crappy insurance. Those reasons were not a lie, but it gave justification to put things off that over time would need to be taken care of.

I recognize that I use my hands quite frequently. Not just in the normal scheme of things, but my "9 to 5" is hand intensive, and my passion is hand intensive. Although my carpal tunnel was initially classified as mild, the medication regiment the hand specialist put me on was not highly effective. We graduated to the next step, which was attempting the injections. I have had two rounds of injections put in my knee joints to counter the arthritis that has developed. However, I never had shots in my wrists before.

It is not as much the shots that are painful as when the lidocaine wears off. He did warn me that it would come, but I underestimated how debilitating the day after would be. My fingers were still okay, but trying to do anything which involved wrist movement was horrendous. As some would say, this is the worst part before it gets better, right?

We shall see. Even getting this journal entry together is a challenge, because the usual placement of my wrists I cannot do because it causes discomfort. So, functional wise, I am about seventy percent, give or take. I haven't fully tested my ability to do any lifting (weights or whatnot). The doctor says it's best to give it a few more days and see what happens.

If I opt for the carpal tunnel surgery, it won't be until next year. One wrist gets operated on at a time, and then I have to allow for two-three weeks recovery. I have to factor in how that will impact workflow as well as having the proper amount of sick time allotted for such. 

In any event, I would like to thank those who checked up on me or tried to keep me in good spirits to keep my mind off the pain. I don't fuss about pain much, but this mess was a son of a gun. I'd also like to thank some of the anti-inflammatories, despite not liking how they throw off my natural rhythm or routine.

Now that I've covered everything, on with the Shadow Work.

Have you ever badly hurt someone unintentionally? Could you have been more responsible/compassionate to them?

The Unleashed One

I had to give this question a lot of thought, for I always do my best to not hurt people with my thoughts or actions. Over time, I have learned there are situations where it is unavoidable, no matter how carefully I word statements or how proactive I am to get ahead of disaster before disaster strikes.

I made quite a few errors in life when I was younger. One had to do with being in a relationship that my grandma was against. I was struggling with a few things emotionally, primarily the hurt regarding my tumultuous situations with my mother and seeing my peers having experiences that shaped them into becoming adults. I had a perception that I was missing out because my grandparents, particularly my grandma, was so protective of me. At the time, I was feeling trapped, and this person I was entangled with gave off enough "bad boy" vibes to cause lots of alarm. Not just to my grandma, but to other people who were invested in my educational success. 

I did not mean to hurt my grandma. She has been there for me consistently, no matter what. There is something to be said about what can happen if one doesn't know one's family history or narrative. Had I known my family's narrative, I would have recognized what trauma was being re-activated by my actions and would have made smarter choices.

During my time at college, I went through events that catapulted me in an emotionally dark place. Although I was still highly functional academically, I was on autopilot with everything else. I had this hunger to feel good, by any means necessary. That perhaps finding the right person could heal the bruises that were in my heart and soul.

There was this man who was slightly older than me who entered my life at about the start of my junior year in college. For the most part, the relationship was long-distance and began online. He had the perfect ingredients for what I sought in a companion. A great listener. A sense of humor. Articulate. Great at planning our meetings. Chivalrous. Overall, he just had wonderful energy. He was a light that was missing in all the other experiences I'd went through. But, unfortunately, there were other discoveries I was making about myself that clashed with some of his beliefs.

Once I came to terms with this, I made the difficult decision to end the romance. Yes, it was one of the few that was positive. But, I believed that I was doing him a disservice if I was to remain in the relationship, knowing that I wouldn't be able to fully compromise on one of his requests. Maybe, in hindsight, I should have let him make that decision. I honestly thought I was doing what was the best thing, the responsible thing.

Many years later, I was finally able to have a conversation with him and apologize. I am thankful that he was understanding but I do wonder what impact that breakup had/has on how he perceives women.

It took many years for me to realize that it does no good to get into a relationship when one is "walking wounded". What I mean is that going into another romantic relationship is pointless if one doesn't take time to heal what occurred in the previous one.

There was a blip of time where there were only a few months between one relationship and the next, so whoever says that the best way to get over one person is to immediately get with another ... it's bullshit. All I was doing was putting gauze over a wound that would scab and bust open repeatedly.

Some of the bonds I didn't really classify as relationships because of their brevity. I believe some may call those "situationships". I admit, some of those situationships I vaguely remember because they occurred when I was pretty toxic and careless with feelings, particularly theirs. Like, if the person were to cross my path, I would know him right away. But it's not a topic that would be up for discussion.

I did have a heartless, careless era. But it's an era I don't ever want to go back to. It makes me feel detached and icky. Besides, my darkness can be scary. But, I suppose without the darkness, one cannot have the building blocks to fortify and maintain one's light.

Now ... onto Mini Truth.

Mini Truth

I’d like to think that throughout my life I’ve done my best to treat people with kindness and respect. And, although for the most part I have, I do admit that I am not perfect. Nor, do I pretend to be.

I did, at one point in my life, live a reckless lifestyle. During that time, I am sure that I hurt many people intentionally, albeit superficially by practicing petty-payback.

I’ve long since made amends with that time in my life, but there was a time when I hurt someone I love very much unintentionally. However, it’s a long story to tell. I’ll do my best to tell it in the shortest and most efficient way possible.

Family dysfunction can do things to an individual that causes unwanted character alterations in that person’s personality. Such was my reality at the time.

Most of you already know me well enough to know a little bit about what my life has been like; the ups, downs and all arounds of it.

Suffice it to say, that in my younger adult years I held on to pain. A lot of it. Since I had no effective tools to help me deal with the pain, I used anger to translate it. Specifically aimed towards my mother. While I was angry at my dad, the anger towards my mom was three-fold. I loved her, yes, but I also hated her. It was that enigma that bewildered me daily. How could I love someone so much and hate them to pieces at the same time?

Thus, in time I found myself unintentionally causing her undue pain in the attempts to protect myself. The folly in it all was that I told myself I was trying to keep myself out of harm’s way but in actuality, there was a part of me that liked seeing her hurt. Why? Because then she would understand my pain.

This eventually turned into intentionally causing her pain.

It all started with the decision to detach myself from her completely. One day, in the most opportune of moments, I packed my shit and my kids and disappeared.

We did not speak to each other for three years. They were the longest three years of my life. And, of hers, I’m sure.

I know my disappearance hurt her deeply. Why? Because she was attached to me at the hip. I was her world, and although her behavioral patterns were toxic and she was intensely mentally disturbed, it was me and my kids’ presence in her life that gave her stability. No matter how terrible it was. And I can assure you that it was terrible.

After those three years I wrote her a letter. It was long. In that letter I delineated all of the things she’d done during my existence that had broken me. I explained how much hate I held towards her for that. How she failed as a mother. How she was the devil dressed as an angel. How she was a monster, cloaked in the garb of a saint. That, maybe her church friends believed she was good, but I knew the real her. I went on to say that I hoped she died because her death and the knowledge that she would never be able to hurt me and my kids again, would give me peace. I concluded the letter by saying, “You will never hear from us or see us again.”

At the time, I truly meant it.

I was tired of the pain, but what was worse was how I felt during the separation. You see, while part of me believed every word there was a part of me that didn’t. There was a part of me that wanted my mommy. A part that deeply wanted to be held by my mom in a loving way. A part of me that needed to hear her voice and the words, “I love you.” There was a little girl inside of me that yearned to be accepted unconditionally by her mommy; wanted to feel pampered in a way that only a mom can do. No one could give me that … no one BUT her.

After two years of holding true to my promise, I broke down. I couldn’t take it anymore. I reached out to her.

It took a loooong time for us to be where we are now. A long time, apologies, conversations, lots and lots of work, and growth on my behalf.

I learned something … my mother could only do as good as she was capable of doing. I was the one that needed to supersede the chaos.

This isn’t to say that I am perfect. I still get mad sometimes about certain things but I have learned a lot. More than anything, I have learned to not impose pain on someone in response to my own pain.

This concludes another installment of Shadow Work Sunday. If you missed out on any previous entries, please click here to get caught up.

Later. 😊

Shadow Work Sunday: Journal Entry 4

 

Hello everyone! The Unleashed One here. It is hard to believe that September is on its way out. So many people I know had a birthday this month, myself included. Although this year didn't involve any travel or going out due to what's going on in the world, I was still pretty happy with how I spent my birthday.

Now I bring to you another Shadow Work Sunday. If you have missed any of the past entries, you can find the links to all of them on this page.

Do you hold grudges against others, that could possibly be let go? What is your motive for holding on to them?

The Unleashed One

If I were asked this question many years ago, the answer would be yes, and my motive would be in order to justify actions to get back at the person for what was done to me.

For example, back in the seventh grade, someone who was supposed to be my best friend was telling other people stuff I said in confidence. It wasn't derogatory statements about other people but events that were going on in my personal life. Things that were causing me pain. When I confronted her about it, she not only did not apologize for doing it, she called me the "n" word.

Now, I'm not one who usually fights. I felt myself get angry, and when I am, it's best for me to walk away. But then, she got bold enough to put her hands on me, and then, all bets were off.

I felt no apology for what I did to her. I didn't even feel bad for her having to transfer to another school after everything happened. I mean, you don't betray someone's trust and insult their ethnicity and let that ride. It just wasn't in me to do so.

Going back even further was an incident I had in the sixth grade with one of my cousins. It felt as if she and I were in competition with each other, even though I had no interest in the things she wanted to compete about. What occurred in the sixth grade was the culmination of the toxic interactions we'd had with each other, dating back to the third grade.

In the third grade, there was this guy who liked me, and we had a relationship. She wanted to be in a relationship too but decided it had to be with the guy I was with. I found out about it and broke up with him. Once he tried to remain with her, she dumped him. So, she was doing that just to get at me.

In the sixth grade, there was this guy who became friends with me. Usually, I'd be that person sitting by myself on the bus. I'd gotten used to that since back in those times, I was rather awkward looking and got picked on a lot. This guy was one of the few people who didn't see the extra weight, the ugly eyeglasses, and the braces. He treated me like a person, and we even had some things in common.

We were just friends, but my cousin started rumors that this guy and I were a couple. What bothered me was that it wasn't true, not because I was black and he was white. Despite the other kids staring, the guy didn't stop sitting with me on the bus. He didn't stop calling me or interacting with me, even when others (kids and adults) starting giving him a hard time.

I hoped that if she and I talked, then the rumors would stop since she had started them in the first place. Instead, she resorted to doing the same antics the bullies did. Her last act was knocking my eyeglasses off of my face, which stirred up my fury. We fought soon after.

Although she apologized, I didn't accept her apology. I held on to the hurt and anger throughout the remainder of my school years, and it wasn't until well into adulthood that I was open to interacting with her again.

But, like I said, that was back then.

Now, I realize that holding grudges does not really serve a benefit. It's a waste of energy that could be transformed into something positive.

Yes, one can use the failures, betrayals, and disappointments to teach one what not to do and what to look for, but when the lessons turn into fuel for vengeance (which is what a grudge is), then it becomes unhealthy on a spiritual, mental, emotional, and physical scale. Holding a grudge gives another person power over one's actions, and when I came to realize that, I made moves differently.

Any grudge I had against anybody I released when I received that breakthrough. However, that doesn't mean that I shouldn't tailor my interactions accordingly. I don't view a clean slate as the wiping away of egregious actions but the opportunity to establish something new. That something new doesn't always translate into a person still having a role in my life or that person holding the same place as he or she did before. Whether that individual feels a certain way about that I cannot control. I can only control my emotions and actions.

That's all I have. Now I hand the floor over to Mini Truth.

Mini Truth

Before writing my thoughts, the first thing that occurred to me was that the grudge I'd been holding on to the longest, I'd recently let go in a very spirit-filled moment of spiritual reconstruction and growth.

It was the grudge I held against my ex-husband and all the things therein. I won't get into the meat of that, as that, in some terms, is old news. Most of the people that know something about my story, know about that part of my testimony.

What a lot of people don't know is the pain and trauma I recently endured at the hands of abusive employers.

Honestly, the fact that employers could also be abusive was something that never really occurred to me throughout my life. Therefore, looking at employment as one would a personal relationship was that last thing I thought of.

Now, in retrospect, I see that they go hand-in-hand. Unfortunately, at this time I was ignorant to these details. I paid the price severely—in the form of deep-seated trauma.

It all started about five years ago.

Having recently moved to New Jersey to live with my sister and her husband, and having freshly weathered some truly trying circumstances with my sister, in the attempts to rebuild the fabric of our family unit I needed to find a job. Stat.

I won't go into those details either. I'll just stay with the pertinent facts.

So, I started job seeking; went through a few different interviews. Finally, I came across an organization in the Special Needs field that was looking for an Administrator. The Special Needs field is something that is near and dear to my heart so I went for it.

In to time at all, I'd scored the job. I was more excited than I could say. Not only would I be able to do my job financially within my family unit, but I'd also be working in a field that meant the world to me. It seemed like a win-win. I had struck gold.

Or so I thought.

Long story short, this place put me through hell thrice-over, and back. When I say that I went through sooooo much shit at this place, I really mean that. No exaggerations whatsoever. I damn near gave everything I had (and then some) for this job, but they continuously treated me like a dried up, nasty shit stain on marble floors. I even endured seeing my own son and other special needs kids get abused at the hands of some of the employees in this place. Something I reported and stressed to the higher-ups repeatedly. Nothing was done.

Finally, after going through the worst of the worst, I was let go under the pretense that the company was going under. Only to later find out that they had started some sort of rumor and scandal about me and accused me of doing things I had never done. Never, not once. 

That broke me to damn near the point of oblivion. Had it not been for the support of my sister, I think I would have ended up in a mental institution. And I don't say that lightly. Only she can attest to how much this marred me. I mean, it was bad.

The end of that employment position paved the way to three more employers that were no better. This too is no exaggeration. You can't make this shit up. My sister, who was there the whole time, can testify to the entire story.

FOUR VERY abusive employers. It changed me entirely as it pertained to getting a job and the understanding I had of it. Like, in an abject and extreme way.

Suffice it to say, I hold a grudge. A really, really big one.

This same grudge is made worse by the fact that I also have PTSD; something I got years ago due to the other abuses I'd faced in life.

Nowadays, I find myself at the most random of times having nightmares about this place. In the nightmares, I relive the torture but always retaliate with immense hate. I find myself attacking my attackers, doing them massive damage. Then I wake up startled, flummoxed and agitated.

I also, at the most inopportune moments, find myself reliving the things I went through here and at the other three locations. My mind will wander and I am suddenly distressingly disturbed. I can be driving, the car is silent, the roads are open and lovely ... then unexpectedly, I am back there. At those places, with those people, going through it all over again.

It's a horrific way to live.

Here is the problem ... I don't know how to let it go. I have no clue what I can do or how I can get past this chronic anger.

I am open to suggestions.

Thanks for joining Mini Truth and me for this week's Shadow Work. Stay tuned for the next installment. 

Seek peace and be peace.