Full Up on Empty

On a day in a week during a semester filled with doubts, I am deciding to make another list. A list of things I know to be true.

This I am sure of:

1) I have friends who hug me when I'm sad, smile when I celebrate, and love me for all the crazy things I can be.

2) I have a life partner who helped to pay for my dead aunt's funeral.

3) I have time to make mistakes.

4) Chocolate poptarts should be microwaved for exactly 22 seconds to reach maximum tastiness.

5) My favorite poet emailed me personally two days ago.

6) Even if I never get to see it again, I watched three babies enter this world. I got to see real life magic happen in those rooms.

7) I can pull off bold lipstick.

8) I've learned something from every relationship I've been in.

9) Lists will always make me feel better, even on nights where little else can.

Lingerings

A few days ago marked the 6 year anniversary of the first time I met the man that raped me.

Time has made memories fuzzy, but the date will never leave me. The eerie knowledge that in 8 short months after that first meeting, he would change my life in ways I couldn't have previously imagined.

This post is a little different than what I typically put here, but understanding my identify as a survivor is something that has been a challenging negotiation so far in my journey towards social worker. So we're just going to go with it. It's been rolling around in my head for weeks now and my fingers are ready to let it free now.

I want to make a list. A list of the ways that 5+ years later, my rape still affects my life. I went through about 3 years of talk therapy and then 5 months of intensive EMDR to work through the trauma, and if I were writing this before the EMDR, it would look remarkably different. I'll try to explain how. Just know that treatment does change things. It improves things in miraculous ways. But it doesn't make it disappear.

What Being A Survivor Means
1) Fear. Before EMDR, this fear was one of the driving forces in my life. I often talk about how I wasn't a huge party girl in undergrad, but not often about the fact that the reason was that my fear of being around absolutely anyone I didn't know while drinking was crippling enough to keep me in my room. The fear of walking home to my apartment. The fear of seeing my rapist appear at my doorstep. The fear that someone would find out the who and where of my assault. The fear that my secret would cease to be mine. Now, after EMDR, the fear is much less intense. It's almost what I imagine phantom limb pain to be. I feel the echos of the fear that's not really there anymore. But when I hear a bar is especially crowded or I'm out without the warming comfort of my life partner, my anxiety amps up. I make polite early exits from nights out. I run to the sanctuary of my car-doors locked and windows up and sit in the safety of it all.

2) Empathy. It never leaves my mind that there is probably another survivor in the room. Even if I'm at a point now where a casual comment or mention of sexual assault doesn't trigger me, I know what it felt like when it did. It makes me sometimes a little crazy about trying to create safe spaces for survivors. It makes people tell me I'm being silly or unrealistic. But I know how it feels to hear people talk about something as innocuous as their love for Law and Order SVU and wondering if people want to consume my rape for their entertainment as well.

3) Changed. Relationships that are never the same. I don't want to go into the details of exactly which ones changed for me in a forum as public as this one, but trust that my life would be filled with very different people right now than it is if I hadn't been assaulted. It ended friendships I used to treasure. It sewed seeds for the most important relationships in my life right now.

4) Goals. My rape changed my life path. Since the first moment an LCSW hugged me at the end of my first counseling session at a free YWCA sexual assault counseling center, a little voice has told me that I need to pay the world back. That hug changed what I wanted to be. I think I knew in that moment I wouldn't follow through with medicine. I needed a career where I could move that hug forward.

5) Mental health. Can I say what my mental health would look like if it hadn't happened? Maybe not. But I also believe that trauma, especially when endured by a still developing brain, permanently alters that brains ability to process emotion and respond to serotonin and dopamine. And I know that artificially flooding my brain with serotonin makes my life more worth living.

6) Impatience. I cannot accept any movement to end violence that demands a wait and see mentality. Even one more person who goes through what I went through is too many. Every microaggression is too much. There are no small victories. Only the erasure of power-based person violence.

Over the last 5 years, I can say with certainty that I've done an enormous amount of healing and growth. From a scared 17 year old who didn't know how to process what happened, to a 23 year old putting altered beliefs into practice, I am a changed woman. I believe in the power of therapy and EMDR more than I could have otherwise. I believe in hope. I believe in healing. And I believe in ending our fucking rape culture and stopping this from ever happening again.

Time Gone By

Thanks to Hannah for reminding me that this blog is a thing and maybe I should be a bit more devoted to it.

This semester has continued to be one that challenges me and stretches me past where I thought my limits lived.

There is the crazy balance of school, work, practicum, next practicum searching/interviewing, family, and friends.

There is also the constant battle to maintain my sanity. Altering medications and whatnot. Feeling that the old familiar incapacity to get out of bed and the literally gut-wrenching anxiety caused by the thought of social interaction.

There is my maybe-dying, cancer-ridden aunt.

There is the dog next door that doesn't get enough love and that I want to take inside my heart and let her live there and give her treats all day until all she wants to do forever and ever and is lay cuddled next to me in bed.

It's funny how giving is the only thing that seems to fill the hole. How choosing work in a field that is immensely humbling-child abuse and neglect, and next year, childhood cancer is one of the only things that keeps my head above water.

This semester has so far been a constant battle between feeling like a rubber band stretched to capacity and wanting to stay curled in a very small ball in the corner of my bed, willing my body to become one with the mattress and pillows and sink into the softness of it all.

Here's to getting through.

And It Begins

I'm pretty used to being stressed somewhere beyond my limits. But this semester, I'll be working the equivalent of a full time job while also attending school full time.

Those entries written over break where I wonder about love and energy all seem a little humorous in this moment.

A day of reading case files and watching women humbly ask for diapers and food to keep their babies alive has my perspective a bit shifted this evening.

I don't think I'm comfortable discussing the details of my practicum on this public forum, but I'd be happy to talk about it more specifically (while maintaining my client's confidentiality, obviously) in person. What I will say is that it works to prevent child abuse, save babies lives, and create healthy families and communities.

Here's to a semester of long days, broken hearts, and learning a little about myself as a social worker and a lot about myself as a person.

A Few Big Leaps

Looking back on things, as this time of year is so wont to make one do, I notice a pattern in my life. Some of the most important decisions and moments in my life were the ones I made without thinking very much-that were made even when they were confusing and were more like jumping backwards off a cliff than carefully choosing which door to open.

Let me give a few examples. April 2008. Texting (future) best friend to say I'm not ok and need help. I barely knew him before that. And after that, he was sealed as my life partner.

May 2009. "I've decided to stop ignoring my urge to sleep with women." Looking back, I remember so LITTLE of my thought process. Just that I did it.

January 2010. Let me just go ahead and move to the UK for six months and see what happens. What happened was amazingly difficult lessons, beautiful friendships, and a whole lot of healing.

November 2010. I'm going to get an MSW.

January 2011. I'm going to become a doula.

November 2012. I'm going to leave someone that loves me fiercely and is never short on compliments. Leave someone who made me feel secure in being loved.

My New Year's Resolution is to "stop forcing situations to be things they aren't." I'm trying to stop wondering when the next backwards jump is coming, and let it just happen when it does.

Let things happen as they will.

Let them happen.

Just...let them.

I'm My Worst Client

Since starting my program, I play the game of "what would I tell myself if I was my client" a lot.

I've come to the conclusion I hope I never have a client like me.

I'm all about letting go of things you can't control. And in 90% of my life, I would say I excel at that philosophy.

But there are certain things. Certain texts I wish someone would send. Certain calls I wish someone would make. Certain words I wish someone would say.

And no matter how much I ask the universe for those things, I can't control them.

I know this, and yet I still have to intentionally shut down those thoughts more often than I would like.

I'm craving a little direction today. A little "here is what you should do and here is what you should feel." A little "I'm here and you didn't have to ask."

Wanting someone to be there and being unwilling to ask for it is one of my least favorite traits in a person. And yet on some days, I find that philosophy dominating my thoughts.

I try to think about whether or not it is realistic to be willing to let go of things I can't control all of the time, or if I would tell myself (as a client) that a 90% is pretty OK and it's normal to feel this way sometimes.

Where does being kind and gentle to yourself end and self-indulgence begin?

How Different?

How different can two people be and still be friends?

I've just caught up with my childhood best friend. She's a beautiful person and still someone who knows how to call me out on my bad decisions. We've seen each other grow up, though from a distance over the last 10 years. From the days we were attached at the hip in middle school, we somewhere took some drastically different paths.

I've always felt (and still do) that we each chose the kind of life that was right for us. Our differences have always been part of the strength of our friendship, but is that sustainable?

Is there a point where the queer sex-positive feminist and the youth pastor can no longer really speak the same language?

She has always served to remind me that Christians are not just those people who hate my kind of people and want us to burn in hell.

But at the same time, I've never had the courage to ask whether or not she thinks my future partner and I should be able to get married. Be able to have kids together. I've never had the courage to ask what she will tell her future children about me. Never had the courage to ask if she has or would defend me if the opportunity arose. I think I don't ask because I'm afraid to know the answer. Afraid that the crazy journey of life has led me to a place in which I lose one more important person in my life just because I'm trying to live as an authentic version of myself.

And maybe sometimes I think of her as the kind of woman with the kind of life that would make mine a lot easier. I wouldn't have to spend so much time worrying and crying about the fact that one day, my mother may very well lose her family and friends when they find out I'm a lesbian. I wouldn't have to carefully hide parts of myself and dodge questions.

I'm trying to think about what I would say as a SW to a client talking to me about the same problem. I would tell her that a friendship in which you dodge important questions maybe isn't such an authentic friendship after all. I would tell her she knows what's best, but maybe she should think about just asking her. I would tell her she isn't doing anything wrong. That the loss of people in her life is the fault of others and not her own. I would tell her its so hard and its not fair, but there are so many people in the world who want her to be happy and don't think she's defective even a little.

This post has wandered, but that's just where I am right now. A little lost.

Where Should It Go?

My focus, I mean.

Do I tell myself to keep my head in the books and my heart on a short leash?

Or do I let myself live with some sort of reckless abandon for whatever experiences may come my way?

I didn't mean to end things with N to find things with someone else.

So what does it mean if I'm developing a serious crush?

What does it mean if I don't know what I want...only what I never want to feel again?

What does it mean if I get distracted from the goals I should be pursuing in the search for my bigger and better happy?

Is there enough to go around?

If not, where should it go?

A Semester In Review

Remember how I was going to blog all about the process of moving home and starting graduate school and maintaining my sanity?

Well then the life I planned to write about actually started to happen.

And there was so much LIVING to do, and too little time and too many words to ever sit down and follow through.

But it's Christmas night now, and I have the time.

The basics? I'll remember this semester as one of new beginnings. I ended my relationship of almost two years because I decided to take the risk of finding a bigger and better happy. It had become, for me, a relationship of just barely enough. I decided I deserved a relationship that overflowed.

I met this group of friends that I feel like I've known my whole life. I remember someone telling me that college is where you meet your bridesmaids. Well, except for B.W., I can't say that was true for me. Yes, I met some absolutely amazing women and made meaningful friendships, but never in the way I thought I would. But grad school? It's been like another chance. These friendships I'm building feel like home, and I can't explain enough how much it feeds my soul.

Living with my parents? Actually pretty awesome. Home cooked food, minimal bills, and mom snuggles when I'm sick. Now that I'm back on the single scene, I feel it cramping my dating style a bit, but that's nothing a little ingenuity can't solve!

Oh, and school. That big thing I'm paying all the money for. It is what it is. Great? Maybe not. Good enough? Definitely. It's a means to an end.

I saw one more baby come into the world since the last time I wrote here. An exquisite labor with a scary birth. It was an experience that taught me a lot about myself as a person, a doula, and a social worker. I hope I never have another experience like it, but I'm thankful I got to experience it and that mom and baby are happy and healthy now.

Here's to a semester of figuring out life a bit more. And figuring out this whole keeping up with a blog thing a LOT more.

Dawn

The months of waiting turned into days at some point last week, and as of today, have become mere hours. 48 hours until I move back home. 72 hours until I start orientation for my graduate fellowship.

Almost all of my stuff has been moved home and I've done the best I can to transform the room my crib was in to something that seems appropriate for a graduate student. It's not easy.

When I sit and let myself try to soak it in-the joy of having what I called in my head "the goal" for so long become a reality in just a few short days, the sadness of no longer being able to wake up each morning next to the love of my life, the anxiety of starting somewhere new, I feel wildly overwhelmed. As if there is not enough room in my heart to accommodate so many emotions at one time, especially when each one seems more vivid than any I've ever felt before.

So many intellectual issues press on me related to babies and social work, my brain loves, but for the time being, my heart is the only thing I can hear talking.

Some Other Beginning's End

College graduate. I've got to get used to the sound of that. Along with my graduation, news of work study and grad fellowship employment have rolled in, making me feel a bit less suffocated by the amount of loans I've taken.

My friends from undergraduate are literally moving all around the world. Seattle, Germany, Chicago, New York, North Carolina, Atlanta. Seriously the list goes on and on. I'm trying to remember that moving back home isn't a failure for me, but rather a smart decision while I pursue a degree from that prestigious school of mine. It's sometimes hard to buy.

All that is between me and beginning this next step is an online statistics course, a move, and a last summer of freedom. Here's to naps and afternoon cocktails.

Coming together

Seven days until graduation.

Six weeks until my online statistics class begins.

3.5 months until my graduate education begins.

2 years until I'm an MSW.

Life is getting real.

I got a graduate fellowship at my University, which makes me feel so much better about the logistics of surviving graduate school with little income and lots of loans. Let's just hope this all ends up as well as it seems it's going.

Paying it...at all

The social worker in me loves the idea of paying it forward, but right now, that is overshadowed by something looming much larger-paying tuition.

The fancy program I'm going to has the top ranking, the bells and whistles, and probably gold-encrusted diplomas-all which comes at a high price. I received a scholarship, which is great and all, but just a drop in the bucket of the 70 grand or so it's going to take me to get my MSW.

I'm doing everything I can think of to make it more affordable. I'm applying to grad assistantships like no one's business. I actually emailed admissions and asked them to reconsider my scholarship. I'm pinching pennies and reacquainting myself with Ramen.

Here's to hoping some more moolah falls from the sky in to this poor baby social worker's hard working lap.

It's Getting Very Real

During the last week or so, I've made some serious progress in making this whole "I'm going to move back in with my parents and become a social worker" thing real.

I paid my enrollment fee to WUSTL, registered for orientation, rejected my other acceptances, did my loan counseling (for the omgz 8 million dollars of debt I'm about to put myself into), and started cleaning out my childhood bedroom so it's more suitable for grownup me to live in.

I've been taking a step back from my doula training lately. There is just so many other things happening right now and I don't feel like I could devote myself to a client the way I think is right. I missed the birth of my last client, and I hated how that felt. I don't want to put myself in that position again. I'm trying to stay immersed in the birthing community through my academic research and blog reading in my spare time, but I do miss the feeling of actually working with a family.

The next few months will be an interesting time for me as I start to make all the steps necessary to making this dream a reality. Let's hope there are more highs than lows...