It’s time to change the face of PTSD. Here’s your chance to help! #FacesOfPTSD
There is a misconception in our culture about who suffers with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and what they look like. A quick Google search will lead you to believe that the majority of those living with PTSD are men in uniform. The reality is that women are twice as likely to develop PTSD than men, and not all wars take place on the battlefield.
We have seen great progress in the last few years in mental health awareness related to PTSD among veterans. We would like to expand on that progress to include all who suffer with PTSD. It’s time to accurately represent the thousands of women and men of all colors, ethnicities, ages and socioeconomic background living day to day, while doing the best they can to manage flashbacks, constant triggers and the debilitating medical and mental health effects of this disorder. It’s time to change the face of…
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If you put that flower in the ground, it’ll never grow.
Because it doesn’t have a root ball.
Huh? Oranges? No, not a fruit ball. A root ball. That’s how plants get their nutrients from the soil.
Nutrients are…well, it just won’t grow. Believe me.
No, I’m not a hater. We can go to the plant store and then you can grow some things in the yard.
No, not right now. Maybe next weekend.
Sweetheart, it hurts the plant when you pick the leaves off.
Stop picking the leaves off the plant.
Stop. Stop. STOP picking the leaves off the plant.
Yes, that hole is deep enough.
Those leaves look lovely.
Do I think they’ll grow? Well…we’ll see!
Wait! Stop! That’s a really big branch!
Ok…yes…dig a bigger hole. Very nice.
Well, this isn’t really how you plant things.
Yes, like daddy says, you can’t chop your arm off and grow a new person.
No one would want to chop your arm off.
Don’t worry about it.
Just keep planting.
You’re doing fine.
Yes, maybe they will grow. We’ll see, ok?
Daughter takes me to a fully grown plant that was already growing in the yard.
Look mommy! This completely different plant grew from what I planted yesterday. See? You were wrong. I was right. Don’t tell me what I can’t do. I’m 15 years old and I make my own rules! Well, almost 6 is close enough. I’ll be 15 in well…let me check…well, this year, then one year, then 2 year, then 5 year, then 6 year…wait…this year, then 6 year, then……………..don’t rush me!
Getting our taxes done used to be my least favorite thing until I discovered buying a house. What was supposed to be a fairly straightforward process turned into a stressful nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from. It’s certainly not life threatening, but it’s not nothing either. When all of your belongings are packed into a moving truck and you have no idea when or where it’ll be unpacked, it’s emotional.
The hardest part for me was the uncertainty. I felt like I was lost in the wilderness and I couldn’t get the right perspective to see the situation as a whole – the forest for the trees. I remember vividly wishing that a grown up would come and save us. And then I realized that we were the grown ups. Oh shit. Read More
Hellllloooo? Is anyone out there? I’ve been away for so long that I hope you all haven’t forgotten me. We are finally in our new house and I plan to start posting again soon. In the meantime, I’m honored to be a part of Kelsey Munger’s thought provoking series on self-care with a piece that I wrote last year. I have a feeling that this is going to be a lifelong lesson for me. Join me over at Kelsey’s and tell me what you think – http://kelseymunger.com/2016/03/25/being-here
To make it even more special, today is my 21st wedding anniversary! Here’s a sunrise shot to celebrate. xxoo
His hand in mine feels so small and perfect. We’re walking and he’s telling me about the strong evidence that Jar Jar Binks is really a Sith Lord and he’s promising to show me all the YouTube videos that prove it. I’m barely paying attention (huh? that goofy Gungan a Sith Lord?) because all I can think about is how he looks the same as he did when he was a baby, minus the chubby cheeks and Michelin man legs. I can’t remember the last time I hugged this kid. Not cuddle on the couch while I’m distracted by Downton Abbey but totally embraced him and felt his spirit reach my heart. And now he’s looking up at me with his Abercrombie model face arguing Star Wars conspiracy theories. It’s the shot in the arm I need to be present in this exact moment because for a brief second I have the terrifying thought where have I been for the past 7 years? Read More
I discovered David Bowie in my dad’s record collection in 1982 when I was 12 years old. I was mesmerized by Ziggy Stardust and listened to that record incessantly. In my daily life I was trying hard to suppress overwhelming feelings but when I heard those songs, I could cry and lament because it wasn’t me – it was the music. It allowed me to express feelings that scared me in a way that felt safe.
David Bowie belonged to me. He was a good secret, not like the big, scary secrets that I was carrying. I introduced him to friends and was pleased when they didn’t love him as much as I did. Loving David Bowie made me feel special and unique. I felt cool and like I knew something that no one else did.
Then, Let’s Dance came out and he belonged to the whole world. Suddenly everyone loved him but I made sure people knew that I was the original fan. I knew him before. I loved him before. My David Bowie mania increased because I had so much to prove. It never occurred to me that countless people before me felt the exact same way. After all, I discovered him in my dad’s record collection. Read More
I keep checking in with myself. “Am I ok?” Then I pause and wait for some sign or feeling that I’m not ok and it hasn’t come. This feeling of stability is wonderful, especially with the craziness that I’ve taken on.
In the last month I’ve tackled Thanksgiving, end-of-year preparations for our business, Christmas shopping, holiday parties, a tax audit, dentist/doctor appointments and oh, guess what? We’re putting our home of 19 years on the market January 1. Decluttering, painting, cleaning, obsessing and a partridge in a pear tree.
It’s a lot but it’s something I’ve said YES to and that makes all the difference. I can start to feel resentful of all that is asked of me when I’m wishy-washy about saying YES. Burdens are born of maybe and if I have to and I guess so.
I’ve even made time to read some books! Here are some of the books (for grownups and kids) that have helped keep me centered, take care of myself and embrace this new adventure: Read More
When I come across a picture of myself as a child, I fight against what I see. I see her smiling face but most of the time, I don’t remember being her. In my childhood memories, I’m not really a child at all but something other. I’ve been in recovery for awhile now and I still struggle with explaining what that means, what it means to have never really felt like a child. Having children of my own has helped me to see that I was as once as innocent as my kids are now.
Today marks the release of Trigger Points Anthology, a collection of writing by 21 parents who are survivors of childhood abuse. One-third of American children experience childhood abuse, and yet the question is never asked: what happens when those children grow up and have families of their own? Read More
Update: This post was Freshly Pressed November 7, 2015.
I’m so excited to be over at Lipstick and Laundry today with a post about family history, with a twist. I deconstructed the classic linear timeline, allowing the hidden connections, common struggles, pivotal moments and everyday choices to shine through. Hop on over and check it out!
While you’re there, check out this post. Michelle is not only talented, beautiful and exuberant, she’s one of the most generous people I know and she has opened up her space to guest writers. This is not a “blogger only” forum. If you have a story to tell, she wants to hear from you!
Comments are closed here but I hope to see you at Michelle’s. ❤
It begins as a thought. A sarcastic musing when I read an email or a mean spirited brood over a status on Facebook. An uncharitable opinion, a negative view, a snarky jab. This isn’t who I am but this is exactly who I am when I don’t pay attention to what I’m doing.
It’s embarrassing to catch myself having these thoughts. They say that I think you are not good enough, smart enough, worthy enough. You are not enough. And if you follow the rule of ‘you spot it, you got it’, then I am not enough.
I tell myself that these are just thoughts. Harmless thoughts that go through my mind as I see something. But they feed off each other and it doesn’t take long for these thoughts to grow into actions. A snap at my kids when they ask for my time, an eye roll at my husband when he speaks, a curse word at the driver in front of me. Read More