Affirmations.

a cure for what ails you, ptsd, three hopeful thoughts

Last summer, I met a wonderful woman completely by chance. I was heading home from a nearby gas station after a cancer run and wished her a good afternoon. I wandered over to her patio, noticed she was reading a book called “Fuck It Therapy,” and struck up a conversation.

Over the next few weeks, I continued to drop by for chats, and she revealed that she’s been journaling about her life for several decades—no small feat! I was particularly impressed because I’m notorious for purchasing pretty journals in hopes of actually sticking with the one-entry-a-day plan, only to give up after a week or two. She invited me to leaf through them, and I happened upon an entry where she’d written a list of affirmations.

They resonated with me because she’d managed to put to paper the types of things I tell myself when I’m feeling particularly low—things I’m good at, things I like about myself, and so on. But her entry contained one vital piece that my own thoughts were lacking (disclaimer: I’m paraphrasing here) : I am worthy of being loved not because of who I am or what I’ve done, but because I am human.

I’ve been even more introspective than usual over the last few weeks (if that’s even possible) and have been ruminating about what’s behind these words. It occurred to me that while I may tell myself these things, I’ve never stopped to digest what they mean, particularly in the context of my life.

It’s an important thing to consider, but it’s been particularly helpful recently because I’ve been feeling pretty low and down on myself. I’ve been having nightmares about the rapes almost every night and on top of it, the formerly repressed and still-patchy memory of possible molestation that I’ve been carrying around since I was five years old is starting to come into focus.

My ex-husband is seeing someone new; this person is wonderful, but I’ve been comparing myself to vim a lot, and as a result, my self-worth and self-esteem have been taking a huge hit. Combined with my brain “thawing out” and the defense mechanisms lowering a bit, life hasn’t exactly been easy lately. We had a good chat this afternoon, the first discussion we’ve had since we split in September that’s left me feeling loved and cared-for. I’d been seeing myself as a failure, something not meant to be happy or loved because I’ve been through too much. I am spiky and emotionally cagey and, as of the last few months, unable to handle physical touch from anyone outside my family without having a mini panic attack and dissociating even more. (It’s worth noting that I still consider D. family, and vice-versa; you can’t go through what we’ve been through and not remain close to the other person, even if you’re no longer romantically involved.)

But I have bright spots most days, even if they don’t last that long. I’m starting to see my worth as a person, totally independent of the J. who survived decades of abuse and plays the piano well and is bilingual and a writer and applying to grad school to become a therapist, the J. who is pretty and funny and interesting and outgoing, even if the “outgoing” part is often affected.

Humans deserve to be loved. We need love. We need affection. Every person on this earth, no matter how objectively terrible they may be, is worthy of love and care.

This revelation makes me feel better about my decision to become a therapist, as “misanthrope” and “counselor” are a somewhat unusual pairing. But I’ve been capable of stashing my inner life away in favor of objectivity for most of my life, so I’m hopeful that my ability to compartmentalize will help me in the long run. The fact that I can think of literally every person other than myself in such a positive light seems laughable, but I guess we’re all our own worst critics.

Baby steps, baby steps. Where are you in your journey to loving yourself?

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Self-objectification

explanations, ptsd, therapy

I never thought I was one of those girls who uses sex to get love. When I slept around, it was because I was being a sexually liberated woman, asserting my agency over my desires and my body. I spent two years in a relationship where I was told how to dress and act, who to speak to and who to avoid at all costs. In the bedroom, I was allowed to do only a small number of things my partner deemed acceptable, and if I expressed desires of my own, I was shamed for them.

“Why are you so sexual?” he’d ask time after time. In response, I’d always cry and feel like a damaged human being for having preferences and needs.

After that relationship ended, I went out into the world on shaky legs, determined to reassert control over my body. I was going to act how men acted—doing whatever I damn well pleased with whoever I wanted without regrets or feeling the need to conceal my activities. It wasn’t born of any need for love or acceptance, even after I got my feelings bruised again and again when, despite my efforts to be the flavor of the week’s dream girl, the person in question ghosted on me. I didn’t get it–I was charming, easy to talk to, funny, pretty. Good in bed. They all said so…why wasn’t it working? Why couldn’t I hold onto anyone?

Years later, D. told me he wished I’d treat my body as more sacred. The turn of phrase seemed unusual, given that we’re both atheists.

“I’m not saying you’re easy,” he said gently, stroking my back as I cried. “But maybe you need to look at your motivations.”

He was right. Every damn time, all I wanted was to be somebody’s baby, to have someone care about me. Thankfully, my relationship with D. (which started as a hookup) panned out and he decided, for whatever reason, that I was worth keeping around. I got spooked, naturally, but his sweetness, the way he looked at me, was different. I decided it was my only chance at happiness with another human being, so I stayed. Over time, desperation and fear turned to love.

I’ve done a lot of thinking about how I relate to others, the types of people I typically become attached to (and then have trouble letting go of). It seems to come down to a lack of affection when I was very young—my family is not cold at all, but it was impossible for them, for anyone, to give enough love to cancel out all the bullshit I was getting from other sources. Bullying and outright harassment about my family situation at school, emotional manipulation from my mother’s end. And then, the abusive relationship in my teens. I gravitated toward that particular person because he was handsome and funny, and by the time I realized what a mess I was in, I was too terrified of being alone to let go. But I finally realized I deserved better and found the strength to leave…only to repeat my patterns of self-objectification over and over and over.

You can’t really harass or pressure a girl who’s willing to sleep with you right away, after all. It always started with attraction, naturally—”So and so is good-looking, so why not?” But then, inevitably, I became attached to the person I’d allowed to use my body and got my poor little heart trampled when I was inevitably cast aside within a few weeks.

I can’t say I really blame any of them. I know I’m sometimes difficult to be around, and I have enough emotional baggage to fill an airplane’s cargo hold by myself. (Side note: Does anyone else hate the word “baggage”?) And I realize that not everyone is equipped to deal with that. To this day, I can’t figure out how D. does it…deals with my moods, my depressions, the threat of my extinction. But he does, and I’m so grateful for that unconditional love.

I’m not completely healed yet. I haven’t really dealt with any of the abuse in therapy, and I’m still working on correcting my belief that because of my emotional problems, my body is compensation—the only thing of worth I have to offer anyone. However, the first step, as they say, is realizing you have a problem, and now that I’ve identified the unhealthy thought patterns that lead to the unhealthy behaviors, I can work on correcting them and dealing with the issues that got me here in the first place.