Existing With Trauma

 I was originally going to title this post: Healing After Trauma...but that didn't "feel" right.  I don't know if we HEAL after trauma.  I think we make work through the muddled and painful chaos that makes up our "new" life...and hopefully come out the other side... alive and at least somewhat emotionally stable?

That has a question mark after it because I still don't know.  Maybe I will let you know how it turns out someday!  lol  Lots to unpack when I find a therapist. 

I am struggling so much with writing this post.  

I don't want to come off as a victim.  

I don't want to minimize those struggling with PTSD.  

I don't want to sound dramatic (we Workman's like to EMBELLISH, but I don't think we are particularly DRAMATIC).

And it just feels...yuck...saying that I know now, that my relationship with Heather was an abusive one. Not physically.  Not verbally in the sense she didn't name call or yell.  We barely argued.  How could we?  I was working full time to make her happy, to keep her happy, for her to love me, working to make sure she didn't realize I was not worthy of her love. But the grooming that happens...the ingenious "compliments" that were insults...or comments would sting and seem so cold and hurtful that I would justify by laughing and saying "oh you know Heather".  Do you know why I cleaned the house every day?  Because once Heather told me that she would be more likely to have sex with me if the house was clean.  Can't have sex in a dirty house.  And since Heather used sex as a way to manipulate and reward, and because I already have a long distorted association with sex=love,  damned if I didn't start making sure the house was clean and tidy every day.  Did I get laid more?  Sure didn't.  But did Heather come home to a clean house?  You betcha. 

Heather is a narcissist.  I didn't really understand that word, or the actual Cluster-B personality disorders, until the last year or so in our relationship.  I won't do a dissertation on narcissism here, but if you ever need someone to talk to or book recommendations on the subject, holler at your girl.

But you know the perfect match for a narcissist?  A codependent empath.  (Amy waves at you through the screen).

Timeline:

January 2016 Married

March 2017 Found out 100% about the affair

May 2017 Heather sold the house, I bought a new house...

And spent the next 12 months or so in a state of...insanity  Looking back now, it's hard to believe the person I was during that time.  I was sad.  I started therapy.  I started working on my body image, my childhood relationship with my brother, my "idea" of Heather...all good things to work on.  I kept busy.  I worked.  I worked out.  I had almost zero appetite, barely ate, and started drinking my dinner.  I got real "skinny" and got so many compliments on "I know you are sad but damn you are looking good".  I had lots of relations with lots of people.  I was trying "things on for size".  I didn't want a relationship.  I didn't want to date.  I wanted to be wanted, I wanted to be satisfied, I wanted to feel desired.  I felt like I was upfront with people during this time...with my intentions and lack of wanting anything real...but I know I was hurtful and people got hurt.

I knew that hurt people...hurt people...but I didn't think I was a hurt people.  I thought I was better than that.  I was on a moral high horse about how I was "good" and Heather and Gina were "bad" and I was never gonna be pieces of shit like them.

But over the course of that time, I had some piece of shit moments.  And I hurt people.  And you can't take that hurt back.  All I can do is try and learn and be aware of that part of me.  I think...I know...that there was a part of me that thought "if people just get to walk around and do whatever the fuck they want, why can't I"?

It turns out that it doesn't set well with my soul...trying to be soulless.  So, I had kinda stopped.  I was getting into this new groove and enjoying being by myself.  Loved not having to come home and cook if I didn't want to, or even clean...I just had to worry about my happiness when I was home.  And the fur childrens of course...but you get my drift.

Then, on December 28th, I thought I would hook up with this guy from Crossfit because even though I had slowed down on my world love tour, I still had needs.

And enter...Justin Wade Killam.

The Broken Hearts Club: The Background

 To explain where I am today, we are going to have to recap the first 12-18 months post Amy/Heather divorce.  It's hard to no what to share, or in what order...it's hard to choose the right words without sounding like a victim...so I am just going to give it a shot and see what we got.

I was married on January 16, 2016.

Growing up, I didn't dream of being a mother. I didn't dream of naming my babies and raising a family.  I dreamt about being engaged...of being a bride...of being a wife.  One of my most vivid memories is of me playing with my barbies...probably around the age of 6-7.  My mom was watching something in our 1980ish living room, blue carpet, couches made of some sort of velour with hideous floral print..and I had my barbie and ken doll, and Ken, via me of course, inserted that little plastic diamond ring into Barbies finger hole...and they lived happily ever after.

Like many of you, I grew up with the Disney idea of love.  I believed in one true soulmate.  I believed in lifetime love. My parents, although grumpy with each other after 60+ years together, are still married. And mistakenly, and codependently, I believed that I had the capacity to love someone so perfectly, that when I was lucky enough to GET married...I wouldn't "mess it up".

In a way, it makes my heart a little sad to type that.  Because I feel that version of Amy, Amy BD (before divorce) was sweeter and softer.  Amy BD was more of an optimist and believed in LOVE and people.

To be fair, and now with the last 5 years in the review mirror and with some things learned, my relationship with Heather was not a balanced one.  I worshipped her.  I thought, long after the divorce too, that she was better than me.  That she was too good for me.  That I did not deserve her and therefore...I must do everything, all the time, to go above and beyond...to put it in her words "just do better".  I think I will save the deep dive into WHY that is for another post...but for now, I feel like I've made my point. 

I was married on January 16, 2016.  And while I will never know the exact date that marks the start of the affair, my best guess is sometime in June of 2016.  I had been married 6 months and my wife was already cheating on me. 

But I didn't know it. 

I found a text message in October of 2016 that, I can laugh now at how ridiculous I was, that clearly indicated something was going on with her and Gina...but when I confronted Heather with it she 1. begged me not to send Gina's husband the text (uh...red flag anyone), but she convinced me nothing was going on and they were just friends. Within a month...I was in therapy.

Why was I in therapy (beside the fact that we all need one)?  Because as more and more happened that would indicate an affair was afoot, I was told that I had issues.  I was the crazy one. I had trust issues.  I was "losing my mind" and needed to "get help".  I remember being on the kitchen floor, in front of the sink, crying and asking her to just tell me the truth.  Instead, she told me I was the problem and needed help.

So I got it.  My first therapist was a dud.  They are out there.  Just like all professions.  She wasn't the right fit for me.  She did a lot of nodding.  A lot of "that sounds hard".  I need a more aggressive therapist.  I want homework and things to work on.  So, I saw this therapist once and found another!  And she did help.  I think of some of the things we covered almost daily.  But she was more AFTER we separated. 

So we jump to March 2017.  Heather was already sleeping in another room.  We (she) was talking divorce.  March 17, 2017 is the day I found out for sure. The jig was up.  And my life would never be the same.  That Amy would never be the same.

But it would take me almost another 8 months to really leave Heather (even though she had left me a long time before).

And several more years until I would start to resemble some version of what I had lost. 

Over The Shoulder Boulder Holders

 You know...I don't care much for clothes.  There are SOME practical purposes for cloth covering one's body I suppose...like if I was stomping through a briar bush, I'd probably want some britches on...and apparently you are supposed to wear "safe shoes" when pressure washing...

things...

but in general...

...I don't care much for clothes.

Not sure if you were busy in the early 2020's, but a little thing called Covid came, and if you were blessed with a job that could be done from home..."business casual" became some sort of clothing item on bottom for comfort (no one can see your lower layer clothing choice on a TEAMS call) and maybe some sort of top that looked workplace appropriate...but a bra? bahahah...toodleloo bugaboo.  

Then the day came where we had to return to the workforce, in person, and apparently bra's are still a thing. 

Let me back up.  I wore sports bras during Covidcation...but when I returned to work, I decided for wireless bra.  I have one in beige and one in black.  They are shameful at this point.  Tattered. Greyed.  They are tired.  

So this morning, I dug cleeeearrrr back in my boulder holder drawer and pulled out an underwire...

It might be a 38DDD...your guess is as good as mine bc I apparently cut all the tags out...but when I went to put that fresh and stiff sucker on...

I think someone shrunk the damn thing.  I got one hook hooked and the tightness of the band and the melons bulging from the too tiny titty cups...well...I ripped that sucker off and shoved it back in it's dark hole. 

Andddddd got the beige-grey sad sack out of the dryer.

I can't be part of the body acceptance movement AND the free nipple movement at the same time can I? Or are they one in the same?  I mean, we all have nipples.  We all have the boobies in some form or other.  Men boobies.  Lady boobies. Big, small, swinging like tube socks or perky like flowers finding the sunshine...Can't we all just accept the fact and let the lady lumps be free?

Probably not.  At least not at work.

But for those of you out there living the free titty life...I applaud you.  Let those niblets ring and your body sing (I really just wanted to rhyme there).

Also.  How do you spell titty? Tittie? You know what I mean.  And that's all that matters. 

Happy Hump(s) Day!  xoxo

Gracious, It's Been a Minute

 Dearest Love Muffins:

Where do the days (and years) go?  Somewhere.  No where. Here. There.  

Lord, I almost just became Dr. Suess. 

The PROBLEM with taking years off of blogging, is where does one start?  Do we pick up with the shenanigans of the day?  Or do we go back in time?  I DONT KNOW.  You tell me dear readers, what do you want to know?  What do you want to hear about?

I'm gonna make a list of things I have mentally blogged about in the last 5 years that I will cover soonish:

• How I went crazy for about 1.5 years after my divorce. 
• Subsections may include:
• How I didn't KNOW I was crazy
• Dealing with emotional abuse/trauma
• REALLY bad decisions I made during that time
• Forgiving myself and giving myself grace
• Eventually...EVENTUALLY, starting to heal?
• A State of my Health address:
• Where I am at now physically
• Where I am at now emotionally
• Things to cover with my not yet found future therapist
• My drinking and eating habits
• Things Amy thinks she knows
• How to love yourself
• How to collect stray cats
• Finding peace with your current state
• Amy finding "love"
• what love looks like for me now
• Justin 
• the future
• General going ons

There.  That makes me feel better.  Gives me a place to start.

I've missed blogging.  I feel like blogging is days of old.  Remember in 2010 when blogging was the shit?  Then...youtube channels became a thing...and I refused.  Now, in hindsight, maybe I should have started a channel.  But I love writing as well and am glad to be back at it. 

Thanks for those few of  you still out there doing the damn thing (reading blogs).  Having a blog FOR SURE helped me achieve and accomplish and feel loved during those prime 10 years.  So I think I will keep this up.

Happy Tuesday jelly beans. 

Until next time!

On Your Deathbed, Will You Ask: Can you weigh me one more time?

I've been giving lots of thought over the last several months, to the idea of the number on the scale.  This shouldn't come as a shock, as it seems that most women are obsessed with daily thoughts and comments regarding their weight.  I suppose there are cultures somewhere, where a group of women can get together and NOT say something like "I've gained 7 pounds but just LOOKING at that antelope", or "me too girl, I weigh more than ever"...

But it's not our culture.  It's not my circle of friends. 

And I guess it should not come as a surprise...because didn't this blog start as a weight loss journey blog?  Didn't I used to have that little ticker we all had on our blogs counting down the pounds until I entered ONEderland?

Of course I did.  And that was my journey at the time.  And it helped me reach my goals. But like the old adage, know better, do better...I need to start doing better. 

I have grown weary of it.  And you know how when you start to pay attention to certain things that you start to notice that certain thing EVERYWHERE?  Like when you do dry January and realize that every country song is either singing about whiskey, beer, or shots? It's honestly hard for me to remember the last time my group of ladies have gotten together and the idea of weight loss was not a topic for discussion.  So when the clock struck midnight this 2023, I decided my new year's resolution was to STOP... 

...stop talking about how I need to LOSE WEIGHT. To stop talking to other women about THEIR weight. I didn't weigh myself on January 1st. I don't intend to weigh myself this year.  

Here are my reservations and thoughts all in a jumbled mess:

I don't want to sound preachy.  I've been on this Earth for 43.5 rotations around the sun, and for probably 38 of those years, weight has been a fickle foe that has held my hand every day.  Although I have been blessed with the ability to usually be proud of myself at almost all my sizes, and I have embraced the mentality of "big girls can do all the things", the idea of this number on a scale still has a permanent place holder in my brain.  So, I don't want anyone to think that because this is MY GOAL for the year (and hopefully my life), that if y'all want to keep on talking numbers...that I think I'm better than you.  I don't.  I think I am just trying to be better for me.

Do I secretly (not so secretly hope) that if I can find freedom and ease in releasing the power of my  weight, that other's will also find that freedom, ease, and hopefully a lightening (no pun intended) of the figurative weight we have been carrying since little girlhood as well?  Of course I hope that.    

Also, do not confuse my desire for people to stop talking about their weight as a desire to not

a) myself strive to be healthier and fitter and 

b) want to support you in your fitness and health journeys

I just don't care about how much you weigh.  I don't.  And I don't care about how much I weigh.  

I DO care that my current weight or "size increasement" if you will, has started to affect how I feel when I move, how I feel about myself in pictures, how I feel about my choices, and how I currently feel about my health.  All of those things are important (maybe the picture one the least so).  But it honestly does not have to do with the fact that the number on the scale is probably 260.  

2 6 0  

Those are just numbers.  So I am going to make some better choices this year and refocus on FEELING BETTER.  On doing BETTER.  On being BETTER.  And I will use a multitude of "measurements" to gauge my success in those efforts.  None of which will be me telling you "I've lost x number of pounds this week".

It's a lot to process for me.  I think that how much we weigh is SO INGRAINED in us, that at first it seems ridiculous that one would remove that from their vocabulary.  It's so ingrained that it's almost scary to think of how you will operate on a daily basis without that being one of your central focuses. I get it. It's hard for me and I am the one wanting to make a change. 

But I'm gonna stick with it.

So I ask you.  Is the you at 176 pounds a better person than the you at 200 pounds?  Is the you at 135 a better human being than the you at 165?  I'm talking about you kindness. Your love.  Your generosity.  Your humor.  Your compassion.  If you lose 4 pounds are you more of a winner?  Is the number on the scale what makes you worthy?   

And when you are dying, with just a few breaths left on this side of life, will you whisper to those around you..."can you weigh me just one more time?  Because I really want to know what my weight is before I die".  

And if the answer is no...then why spend so many of our breaths on it now?