Well. Today the world is a completely different place than when I last sat down and tried to write something on this blog. It's so bizarre. And when it comes down to it, what do I really have to complain about? We have food and shelter. I'm not worried about running out of toilet paper because we already occasionally use cloth wipes if we run out of TP at a time we can't afford to buy a new pack. So we're set. It's just where I'm at in my recovery journey that has nothing what-so-ever to do with the pandemic.
I'm not sure right now which parts of my life I've already typed up here and which parts I thought I should hold back. I'm a survivor of childhood abuse. It feels complicated to talk about it because I'm not the only survivor and we all have our own perspectives. Some of us don't think it was abuse. I take some efforts to make sure I only share a link to this blog with people that aren't likely to tell my parents or other relatives that I have a blog or that I've mentioned them. But I don't like the idea that my words could be used to hurt someone. Even those who have hurt me. I guess I'm still growing into the idea that my story belongs to me and that I have a right to tell it.
There are memes going around social media reminding everyone that while school is out there will be children in unsafe homes. School is their safe place and they don't know when they'll get back to it. That was me. Holidays were always the worst, the upside was knowing exactly which day it would end. Even into adulthood, I spend all the time between holidays building up a network of support and then the holidays come and most of that network retreats. I don't fault them, it's just the reality. I try to find ways to celebrate around the limitations and I'm super grateful for the friends that celebrate with me at weird times in weird ways.
This year my birthday wasn't on Spring Break. And it's a Tuesday. Tuesday is the day my Celebrate Recovery family meets. It didn't even matter if anyone knew it was my birthday, just being with my CR family doing our regular CR thing, that was what I most wanted to do. Instead I get the same social isolation of my abusive childhood. Happy Birthday to me.
For the last several months I've been working on "waking up" my feelings surrounding the ways my mother abused me. Sounds like a great idea right? My timing is impeccable too, because I managed to open a whole can of suppressed grief right before quarantine. You know what people most need when they're grieving? Hugs. Hugs and spending time with people. So that's going well.
I didn't get out of bed today. Several people did reach out to me and I answered about two of them. That's the speed I'm crawling. It seems pretty selfish. There's way worse going on in the world than reliving childhood traumas while in a completely safe place with access to many wonderful people who support me in any way they can. But that's my life today. Maybe tomorrow will be better.
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