Please be gentle with hurting souls as they make their way through the holiday season this year.
Buddy & Zoey
Hurting hearts are walking among us, quiet and unseen. Their smiles seem bright. Their laugh sounds real. They show up for others. All while silently carrying the, often unbearable, weight of grief.
Some will set the table with one less place setting this year. Others will hold a recipe card in their grandmother’s handwriting and feel the ache of her absence all over again.
There will be moments of real joy – followed by the sharp sting of an arrow to the heart when they realize that these new memories being made don’t include the one they really wish was still here.
It’s a strange thing, being human. How joy and grief are forever intertwined.
So if you see a grieving heart, don’t look away. Lean in. Cry with them. Sit with them in silence, if that’s all they can manage. Let your love be louder than their silence.
No, love can’t fix grief. But it reminds us we’re not alone in it. And that’s what matters most.
🐾🎄 My little Buddy 🎄🐾
That is the best gift you can give someone this holiday season – your presence.
Sometimes the deepest feelings are the ones I can’t name. They’re too heavy, too tangled. Its like trying to hold water in your hand, impossible to get a grip.
Are you struggling to find the perfect words to accurately describe the weight of your experience? I want to tell you something that I wish someone had told me a long time ago:
Your silence does not make your experience any less real or valid.
If you’re carrying something that feels too big to share, please remember that your worth and strength aren’t defined by words, but by the resilience you show as you carry the weight of your truth. Some wounds may never be spoken of, but you can still heal, and you can still find peace, in your own time and in your own way.
We don’t always get to choose who we get to love or who it is we’re going to lose, or what breaks our hearts in two … but ya know, no one really dies if the love remains, because nothing that dies really goes away.
Grief is just like glitter. It’s hard to brush away. In the light, it still shimmers, just like it was yesterday. It falls like confetti. All of the memories explode like a hand grenade. It’s sweet, and it’s bitter. So you see, grief, it’s like glitter. And oh, what a mess it makes.
All the hurt and the rage, the what ifs and the prayers on the hardest days. You accept what you can’t change. Some people leave life early, and there are others who get to stay. And our hearts, they burst just like fireworks at the end of the parade.
Grief is definitely like glitter. It’s so friggin’ hard to brush away. Sometimes, like today, it still shimmers like it was yesterday … falling all around me, just like confetti …
And what a mess it makes.
What I wouldn’t give to hug you just one more time …
Well, the comfort I was receiving from the hot water bottle was wonderful. Except, it was short-lived. Through no fault of its own though! That hot water bottle was / STILL IS an incredible tool in my Skills Box.
A lot has happened lately. Maybe a slight percentage has been a genuine response to trauma and/or illness, and not something I had complete control over …. but when you choose to do something, YOU are the reason it happens. So whatever happens is your fault, isn’t it?
I’ve put my body through absolute torture these past 2 weeks and its going to take a while to settle from it all. Unless you deal with it on your own personal level, absolutely no one will ever comprehend what its like to live with a brain that wants me dead.
I can’t help but feel a little jealous … I’m actually more than a little jealous, but I digress … of the ppl I hear and read about who also deal with depression, PTSD, eating disorders, BPD, dissociation, and so on who have found ways to still live productive lives and can maintain a level of stability that is acceptable in other ppl’s eyes. I’ve been dealing with this stuff for several decades … and I have yet to discover what ‘stable’ looks and feels like.
I don’t get angry very often but right now I feel absolutely PISSED – at everyone and everything. All I want is to be able to eat, drink, sleep, and socialize with other ppl the way other stable, functional human beings do every single day. It really isn’t that much to ask, is it?
I want to live … and experience things outside of survival. That’s all I want. I’ve totally got the survival part figured out. Now, I just want to live.
I slept with a hot water bottle on my chest last night.
The ache in my heart was more than the heaviness from everything life has thrown at me recently. It was physical. Last night my heart was raw. Broken. And it hurt. No pain could ever compare to that of an injured heart … And that’s a big statement coming from me.
I’m no stranger to physical pain. My body has endured a great deal of trauma over the years and I’ve grown quite accustomed to high levels of pain. From cuts and bruises, burns, and broken bones to having body parts ripped and torn, crushed, and even amputated. Yes, you read that right. Amputated. I lost my left arm in a car accident in 2010. So I know what it’s like to feel pain. But I would go through everything all over again if I knew it would cure my injured heart.
Staying positive is a necessity Getting some fresh air outside the hospital Buddy comforting me after I had a seizure“I got your back, Mom” — Zoey Living hurts sometimes.
I think most of us have had our hearts injured at some point in life – maybe even regularly – and injuries need to recover and heal. If you’ve ever been injured physically, you know that warmth and gentleness are requirements for healthy recovery. We need that warmth. We need gentleness.
Sometimes you can get those things from other people, but sometimes you have to find a way to give them to yourself. And last night I found a great deal of comfort in sleeping with a hot water bottle on my chest.
To feel that presence of warmth, was something I had no idea I needed and as I lay there in the dark, something shifted inside of me. Though reluctantly at first, I allowed myself to lean into the warmth, and then tears began to fall.
It was like giving myself a gift – which I’m not that great at doing. But I really do want ‘Danielle’ to be okay. I want her to always know that a warm presence is available, no matter who is or isn’t around.
I think one of the most incredible gifts we have been given as humans is the ability to comfort ourselves. The best tool I’ve learned in my journey with CPTSD is self-soothing. I still have a long way to go, but I’ve come so far from when drugs, food, and self-harm were the only tools I had.
For me, this deep ache of sadness in my heart is the scariest emotion of all. It’s the one I run from time after time, afraid that if it catches me, it will swallow me whole. I always seem to forget that not once has that ever happened.
Sometimes it will feel like our heart has been shattered, beyond the point of being able to ever experience any sort of joy or peace again. Just remember, feelings are not always facts!
And you can always sleep with a hot water bottle! That helps too.
Breathe … Remember that you’ve been in this place before. You’ve been this depressed and uncomfortable and anxious and scared, and you survived.
Breathe … You can survive this too. These feelings can’t break you. They’re excruciating, I know. But honey, you can sit with them and eventually, they will pass. I promise! It might not be right away, but soon, they are going to fade and it won’t feel as awful as it does right now.
Breathe … You can do this. And when these crushing feelings do pass, you’ll look back at this moment and wonder why you ever doubted your own resilience. I know it feels unbearable right now, but keep breathing … again and again.
This will pass. I promise it will pass. Just breathe.
I see you. I see how much it hurts. The pain just keeps multiplying and spreading. And yes! How right you are in thinking that the saying “Time heals all wounds” is a big old dirty pile of poo-poo.
You’re right! No one understands. How could they?! It’s frustrating, I know, sweetheart. But it’s not their fault. Nobody else on God’s great earth has walked in your exact footsteps.
So no, they don’t understand the kind of pain that bends you over and brings you to your knees like you were punched in the gut … but 10x worse than that. They don’t understand the kind of pain that hurts so much it’s wordless and that itself makes it hurt even more because you can’t say it out loud.
Beautiful Soul, I see you. I’ve heard every single time you’ve laughed and I’ve held you every time you’ve cried. How do you think you’ve made it this far?
Repeat after me: I am going to be ok.
I know you feel safe in the bathroom so stand in front of that mirror. Say it – again and again and again. That tear-stained face being reflected at you … tell her …
She’s going to be ok.
I am going to be ok.
I AM going to be ok!
Honey, I need you to hear me. LISTEN TO MY WORDS … ! I know it’s scary to trust what anyone says but you and I, we are the same! We are in this together. I am that little whisper you sometimes hear. You told Dr. Jeff about me. You told him that you wish you could hear from me more often and that I would be louder.
Well, here I am! I will become louder the moment you start to listen and trust that I, your true Self, want nothing but the best for you! I’ve got you.
I know it’s been a horror beyond words. Betrayal doesn’t cover it. Neither does violation. Neither does grief or heartache. No word exists for this kind of thing.
Sometimes it splits you, opens you, and spreads you apart. You find yourself trying desperately to hold together the pieces that are left. It hurts, to not know who you could have been, had things been different.
Except, it wasn’t.
Its time to accept the person you’ve become, and stop trying to be a version of you that only exists in your imagination. Pay attention to the person staring back at you. Love her!
That girl came through a crucible of fire to be standing here today. That girl is a beautiful soul.
… to finally admit to herself that the little girl living inside of her has been taking care of everyone else and always tiptoeing around everyone’s feelings, living in survival mode so she can make sure everyone’s heart is patched up.
But that’s not her job. At least it never should’ve been. She was just a child, her own heart in pieces.
How devastating it has been to realize that the world has been withholding a big secret from her – that she’s allowed to have needs.
So through streams of tears, she cleared her throat and said the hardest thing she’s ever had to say –
Draw on your reservoir of faith and resilience! Don’t allow fear or uncertainty to hold you back. For the LORD your God will blaze the trail ahead of you. He will stand by you unwaveringly, now and forever. 《《Deuteronomy 31:6》》
(Pictures taken February 27th, prior to going in to prep for surgery)
Like stones thrown into a lake, trauma creates ripples in the water that change not only its still, glassy surface but reverberate all the way through its flourishing ecosystems underneath. These microscopic quivers are often invisible, but present nonetheless—settling into the bones, minds, and memories of every survivor who’s known them.
When these ripples are born from multiple traumatic experiences, they can collide into chaos or build upon each other in strength – powerfully reshaping the ways a survivor sees themselves and the world around them. They can shift how one experiences their body, pain, touch, and even comfort; how they interpret and respond to danger, intense emotions, relationships, sensory input, and subtle reminders of that trauma; and how they’re seen by others. It can be difficult to disentangle the natural ebb and flow of the water’s currents from the ripples made from a downpour of stones.
Despite all the waves and wreckage, just as a lake remains beautiful, inviting, and a calm respite to all who wish to visit, survivors retain their beauty and resilience in spite of their trauma. Their healing isn’t about how quickly they can return to serene stillness after all that rocky hail, but in recognizing the unseen tremblings underneath, and finding ways to create harmony in concert with their movement. To those on the water’s edge, just as we respect nature’s quiet endurance, we should offer the same respect to those who’ve experienced trauma—tossing fewer stones and perhaps adding a few more reeds to ease a quivering shoreline.
I became an amputee in 2010, after losing my left arm in a motor vehicle accident. Recently I injured my right hand and wrist. I’m currently in the hospital, recovering from a second emergency surgery, so as you can see, I’m quite limited right now.
But where there’s a will, there’s a way! I’ve discovered that a little faith and determination can go a long way. Some days your biggest accomplishment will be something big and spectacular, while other days it will be simply moisturizing your face.
In the words of Martin Luther King Jr. : “If you can’t fly then run, if you can’t run then walk, if you can’t walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward.”
Sometimes it’s a dog that fills the void. The room feels so different when she isn’t in it.
People come and go and they will repeatedly let you down. They make promises they can’t keep, love you – but with conditions, and leave when things get hard. But a dog? A dog just stays. No questions, no demands. She’s just there, filling the empty spaces you didn’t even realize you had growing inside you.
It’s strange, isn’t it? How something so small can take up so much room in your life?
Well no, not strange. It’s just … rare. The kind of love that doesn’t ask for anything but still gives you everything in return. The kind that’s always there when you need it most, and somehow, without a single word, it reminds you that you are worthy of being loved.
Zoey, my 9-year-old yellow lab, is lying beside me in my hotel room tonight. She’s bringing a desperately needed sense of calm to my anxious nervous system. I have been in and out of fight, flight and freeze all week. We traveled 5 hrs today and checked in to a hotel for the night. In the morning I have an appointment for a special medical test that can only be done in this particular hospital.
I am an amputee. I lost my left arm in a car accident 10 yrs ago so I have been living with just one hand. Last week I seriously injured that hand and it has had devastating consequences. Life changing. I am looking at partial to full loss of use of the full hand and wrist, which would strip me of most of my independence.
I’m scared. This test tomorrow will determine which type of surgery they will be performing and whether or not it can be repaired. There are a lot of unknowns and the fear is trying to strangle the life out of me.
But as I lay here with my girl beside me, listening to her deep relaxed breathing I am reminded to take a deep breath of my own. I realize that there’s nothing I can do tonight other than rest. Worrying is only causing more suffering. Tomorrow will come and I will face each challenge as it comes. So for now, I’m going to pause and appreciate the presence of my beautiful furry companion.
I’m going to reclaim my peace tonight as I allow the love of my dog to calm the fear and anxiety within me. With no questions or demands, I know Zoey will bring comfort to my hurting soul.
When I was in recovery, that’s what I missed most – the relief. The escape from everything I was feeling.
And its still the thing I continuously go back to when life gets hard. I’m either bingeing and purging several times a day or I’m avoiding food entirely. I’ve lost all sense of balance and my body is struggling desperately to keep up.
Every time I sense rejection, or unworthiness, and every time my sadness grabs at my throat, I numb it frantically with food. Then, instead of sadness, I feel fullness, which is even more unbearable. So I purge it all out.
This new, fresh emptiness is much better because it is a clean, hard-earned, exhausted emptiness. Now I’m too tired, too sore, and too weak to feel anything else.
So, I feel nothing. That feeling of ‘nothing’ brings such a tremendous amount of relief.
They say I’m strong, they see me smile, “A beacon of grace,” they said for a while. They nod, they cheer, “You’re doing so well,” But inside, I’m trapped in my own private hell.
The world keeps spinning, I play my part, But grief carves scars deep in my heart. My laughter sounds hollow, my words feel fake, Each breath I take in is a chore to make.
They see the mask I’ve carefully drawn, A veil of strength to greet the dawn. But behind the facade, the truth resides, There’s a storm of sorrow I cannot hide.
The nights are lonely, my tears run free, I speak to shadows no one can see. My whispers are silent, filled with words I can’t say, Its a weight I carry every single day.
I wish they knew, I wish they’d see, This pain that’s silently drowning me. To share my truth, though, it feels far too stark, So I’ll just wear my mask and sit in the dark.
Strong, they call me, but thats definitely not true, I’m just surviving, like all people do. One day, perhaps, the mask will fade, if I could just find peace in the life that’s remade.
Her Complex Musings 
You must be logged in to post a comment.