There’s Only So Much The Girl Would Take

Hurt. Betrayed. Confused. Angry. Loss. Empowered. Exhausted. Selflove. Strength.

In the last week I lost a dear friend. No, not to death or tragedy, at least not on the scale that we are accustomed to. Rather, I lost my dear one (that’s what we will call them) to the stealthy hands of time and change, the sneaky ways of growing up and growing into ourselves. It wasn’t a loss that I saw coming, and it’s arrival was shocking and hurtful to me.

My initial response was nearly catatonic shock. Reversion to the kinda of place that I have been able to stay away from since I was in high school. The scary, dark, Heidi-hating place. I didn’t know how to respond. The anger and hurt that was directed at me was so extreme, and so unexpected, that my only response was hysteria and apology.

It was a rough few days, but thanks to the incredible love that is shown to me by my family and friends, I made it through. Once the shock wore off, rage set in. Huge, self-righteous and unapologetic rage. I will be the first to admit that the rage felt a lot better than the apologies, or the numb self hatred. But, it still didn’t feel good. I didn’t like living with this turmoil in me, especially when it was directed at someone I had loved (and will continue to love) so much. I needed to let it go, and hopefully work out the areas of grief that existed in what had once been a joyous connection.

After a lot of working out, and calm thinking moments, I thought I was ready. Well, perhaps more than thought, I WANTED to be ready. I wanted to bigger, to be kinder, to be more enlightened. I wanted to reach out, to talk, and to mend. I still didn’t understand what had gone wrong, or why the dear one felt so betrayed and hurt by me. I believed that I needed to understand, and that if I did I would be able to deal with my own hurt and sorrow at the accusations thrown at me, and then to heal the hurt that this dear one seemed to be feeling.

Funny though, how every time you plan on being enlightened the universe has its little ways of showing you that you really aren’t there yet…

This time, the universe demonstrated its magnificent teaching power by testing my own ability to cope, and to be kind (when kind is not what I want to be!). After reaching out the dear one, I was quickly and succinctly shot down.  It seemed that while I desperately wanted to make time for the dear one in my life once more, they weren’t ready to do the same for me.

While this truly hurt, I was able to move beyond it. I knew that it wouldn’t be healthy or wise for me to reach out once more, but at least I had the personal closure of knowing that I had tried. It seemed that this friendship was indeed over, but not for a lack of trying on my part. And perhaps the dear one would have time, who am I to know how busy they may be?

However, the universe wasn’t quite done teaching me just how much further I have to go to enlightenment, and decided to throw me a curveball. While the dear one was too busy to work with me to mend a lost love, they weren’t too busy to spend time with the someone else who I love. This hurt. I wanted to be a part of that. I wanted to be their support. And I really really really didn’t want to succumb to the insecure and terrified part of Heidi who suspected ulterior motives. So, I am not. I am being ok with the rage, with the jealousy, with the insecurity. I am being ok with the pain and the loss. BUT! I am not being ok with being blown off. With being accused without evidence. With being blamed for being Heidi. And most importantly, I am not going to allow myself to be stepped on again, and again, and again. I will always love this dear one, but it seems that now it is time for my own dear self to move onward with my life, and to no longer allow the insecurities and angers of others to derail the path that I have picked.

After all this, I think that the most important thing that I have learned is that sometimes, you just need to give up. Not accept defeat, just acknowledge that if you keep trying, if you keep accepting the shit that gets thrown at you, you will die. That is what I have spent much of my life doing, and I am done now. There is only so much a girl will take.

So, while I am filled with sorrow at the loss of this dear one, I have to laugh at the gift that the universe has given me in helping me to understand that sometimes, enough really can be enough. You don’t have to keep throwing a drowning man a rope, if it means that they are just going to use it to hang you later. You can toss them a life preserver, offer to pull it in, and when they decline, row off (ok, horrible analogy but it’s 1 am!)

And that incohesive and peculiar thing up there is my ramblings. I feel much better now, don’t you?

Love love love,

The Girl Who Was Ready to Save Herself

Do I Get To Be Done?

As many of you may know, I plan on entering the police force, at least for a while, after graduation. What you may not know is that I hope to work in the sex crimes division. If you have read my blog, it shouldn’t be a mystery to you why that is important to me. Because of these career goals, I have declared a second major, this one in criminology, and as such, am taking (you guessed it) crim classes.

One of my classes this quarter is called “The Female Offender”, and is shaping up to be a really fascinating class. However, a discussion of my course load is not what this blog is for, at least not right now. But, you did need that much introduction to understand what I am going to share. Today, we watched a film about trafficked and exploited girls. They aren’t prostitutes, despite what our criminal justice system says. They are just young women, who have been hurt. And for me, that elicited a far more personal response that I expected.

During and after the documentary (it’s called Very Young Girls, if you want to watch it) I was overcome with such a strong emotional response that I was nauseous. The type of response that I haven’t felt in 6 years. A response that I thought I had recovered from, and that I would never have to feel again, because I am done being a victim. I want being a survivor to mean that I don’t have to feel hurt, afraid and vulnerable. I want it to mean that I no longer have to feel powerless, used and unclean.

It has been 15 years since I was sexually abused by my father. Isn’t that enough time to heal? Can’t I not have fear and dysfunction towards men?

It has been 6 years since I was raped. Could the nightmares and relationship insecurities end?

It has been a year since I forcibly stopped yet another man from taking advantage of me. Why can’t I feel safe going where I want to go, on my own?

It has been 6 months that I have been in a safe, healthy and loving relationship. Why do I still question my worthiness and self sabotaging behavior?

I want to be done. I thought that by getting my story out, by no longer being afraid or ashamed of who I am and the things that have shaped me I would be able to move on. I don’t want to define myself by these events, and I don’t want them to be triggers for me. But a decade and a half later, I can’t watch a beer ad without having to throw up. Hearing the young women in the film talk about how they believe that the abuse they suffer is their own fault, and that their abuser loves them rings so true with me that I lose all rational thought, and revert to a place of self loathing, even after 6 years.

I am working every day to grow and change and love myself. I am blessed beyond doubt to have a family and friends who are patient, loving and kind to me. It is a wonderful joy to have a man in my life who respects and loves me in a healthy, real way. But still, I want to be done. I don’t want to be a victim, and I don’t want to be a survivor. I just want to be done.

Just sitting here writing this, in the safety of my own home I am struggling to overcome the unnamed, animal instinct in me that demands that I shut down, and shut out everything.

There is no deeper insight here, and no wise words. This is just a scared young woman, trying to come to terms with the fact that no matter how fabulous and magnificent she is, she will still have to face the fact that she is a survivor, and that sometimes surviving isn’t as easy as it seems.

 

Love love love,

The Girl Who Wasn’t Ever Done

 

The guy in my life, who lets me glitter him…

Artism: The Diagnosis I Was Jealous Of

As I unwind in the least lazy way I can think of, watching documentaries on Netflix, I am drawn to several regarding mental illness. The first follows a newly married couple with Downs Syndrome, and moves me to tears. How wonderful the human soul is.

After that, Netflix recommends that I watch some related films. The first is a documentary called “Loving Lampposts” and was created by the father of an autistic boy. I am skeptical at first, as the film seems to be based on the idea that autism is an ailment that must be cured. I stick with it though, and am rewarded 30 minutes in when the true message becomes clear: there is no fixing to be done, only understanding, and appreciation for those who are capable of viewing the world from a different perspective than the one that most of us are stuck in.

2 hours later I am happy-the film was well made, and the desire of the parents to create a paradigm where difference is celebrated, was inspiring-but I still need to unwind. Next up: a film about two adult men who travel around the world promoting autism awareness. It is called: “Wretches and Jabberers”.  These are men who grew up in a time when there was no acceptance at all for autism, and no hope of a “cure”. Institutionalization and resignation were the only options. Now, they are able to communicate and educate, helping us all to be bigger thinkers.

What got this blog going though was the statement from one man (an artist) that he likes when people buy his art because then they “appreciate his artistic-ness, not his autistic-ness”. This brought back my own memories of autism, and oddly enough, jealousy, from long ago.

Here is the story.

When I was 3 years old, my life was changed in the most incredible way. My new baby sister, Leda, was finally born. I had been waiting for ages to see her, and I was thrilled. Our relationship almost didn’t flourish, as at one of our first encounters, only a few days after her birth, she snagged a large handful of hair (a considerable feat considering I didn’t have much hair anyway) and yanked it out, giving me a jaunty bald spot. I was deeply hurt, and couldn’t understand how someone who I adored so deeply could be so cruel. But a few days later, I decided to give her another chance. She was so silky-smooth, after all!

After that, there was no looking back. While Leda and I had some of the most impressive and rage filled arguments, we also shared an incredible love. To this day, we will sleep together, just for the sake of snuggling. Our mother will come in to wake us up, only to find a massive heap of sisters, unidentifiably intertwined.

Leda was always different, but in my understanding of the universe, everyone was different, so that wasn’t really anything special. Sure, she didn’t really talk, threw a tantrum if a stranger spoke to her and couldn’t get dressed unless there were no lumps. But Mikey had to wear band-aids all the time so he couldn’t pick his nose. And I still wet the bed. And Finnley wouldn’t be anything other than a fox, no matter what game we played. So I didn’t see it as an issue.

As I got older, I noticed Leda’s Leda-ness even less. She was Leda. I was Heidi. She was good with animals and art. I was good at talking. What else could you say? At some point though, (I think I was somewhere between 8 and 10), my mother informed me that Leda had been tested, and that she was “artistic”. My initial response to was to marvel once more at the thick-ness of grown-ups. Obviously she was artistic. Had she seen Leda’s art? But cool. I am glad that we now know for certain she is.

My secondary response was jealousy. How come Leda got to be artistic? I took art class. I tried. I really wanted to express emotion and thought and self the way she could. I  could draw and paint, but not the way she could. My skill was socially, empathetically. I knew what people felt, and I knew how to relate. But expressing my self through paint and poetry and creation? I was at a loss. So how come she got to be tested for this? Why didn’t I get to be artistic? And why did everyone seem so bothered by her artistic-ness? I thought it was great!

I spent several years knowing that the only difference between Leda and I was that she was artistic, and apparently I wasn’t. Although… I was never tested, so who knows…Eventually I realized that what my mom was trying to tell me was that she was autistic. When that finally got through to me I was slightly surprised. Autistic? What did that have to do with Leda? Did it change who she was, or how she interacted, or how I saw her? No. Not a bit. It was just a another title, like when people told me I was bossy and loud. Whatever. I preferred artistic anyways. It made a lot more sense.

To this day, it is hard for me to label her as autistic. I don’t notice it, and neither do other people. They do notice that she is artistic, so really, I think that’s the label that matters. I still adore her, just as much as I did the first time I met her. We have our differences, but that is what makes her one of my best friends. She understands me in a way I don’t understand me, and I like to think that I understand her too.

It makes me sad and angry to see how easily we still label people, in an age of purported acceptance. Those of you who know Leda know that she, and the people who can see the world like she does, are the next step in human evolution. She is the visionary, the healer, the artist, the inventor, who will create a new world. I find joy though in knowing Leda, and in knowing that little by little, we are changing our perception of normal. Maybe someday we will accept that the true normal is not normal at all, that there is no such thing.

Anyway, there is my story of artism, the “disability”  that  I was jealous of!

Love love love,

The Girl Who Wanted To Be Artistic

She doesn’t pull my hair any more…

2012-I did that

Ok. I know that I haven’t been very good about writing this year (only 9 posts? Yikes!) but I promise to try and be better about that this year (try being key here). However, in the spirit of the year ending I think I will  talk a little about my accomplishments, my failures, and my joys from this year. And my hopes dreams and fears for next year. So, here goes!

Accomplishments:

I lost 15 pounds, which is quite an accomplishment for me, considering that I haven’t been that light since before highschool. Don’t worry though, I am still at a very healthy weight, and am quite fit.

I am an officer for my club frisbee team, which is pretty exciting for me-frisbee is one of my favorite things!

I was an orientation leader, which was not only really fun, but also a great expereince for me.

I had a really excellent internship this summer, which it seems will continue in the new year!

I turned 21!

And I voted-yay for democracy!

I declared a second major for myself in criminology!

I scored my first layout point in a frisbee game. A-mah-zing!

I began to really be honest with myself, about my fears, my past, my dysfunction…it’s an accomplishment, but also terrifying.

Joys:

I am in a healthy, happy and excellent relationship. This is a first for me, and even though it’s really scary for me, it’s one of the happiest things that has ever happened to me.

I got to attend my first ever presidential debate, live!

The University of Denver is creating a rowing club, which I will hopefully get to be a coxswain for!

My friendships have grown and strengthened, and I have friends who are so dear to me.

I am healthy and well, and my family is as well!

I started playing guitar again, lands how I missed that!

I am finally getting to the point in my studies where I get to learn about the things that REALLY give me joy.

And I have such great professors!

Arabic is beginning to make sense, and it is a joy when that happens!

Failures:

Arabic. Yikes that language really gives me a hard time. I feel so stupid most of the time, and it would seem that my grades for that agree…

Honesty is still a challenge to me, it is scary and new, and I don’t know how to do it all the time.

I am not so good at the money management part of my life, though I am getting better!

Depression…the struggle continues! Though I haven’t fallen back into it, I battle not to every day. I guess it should be a joy though, since my head is still above the water!

Dreams (my version of a resolution):

To be more honest with myself, and my loved ones.

To manage my money more wisely.

I lose 6 more pounds.

To get good grades!

To make my arabic teacher proud.

To cox a boat.

To see myself as good and worthy. Always.

And that my dears is all for now! There are a million, a billion, a TRILLION more things that I regret, that give me joy, that I have done…but they are not here right now. So, that is all!

Much love to you all in the coming year!

Love love love,

The G

Learning To Be Pretty

I don’t know when it started, but one day, I just quit believing people when they said nice things to me. For the longest time I was great at getting compliments. I don’t mean that in a cocky way, I just had that childish ability to accept them with total confidence, knowing that what I was being told was indeed true. I was clever, or pretty, or smart or funny. I didn’t question it, and I didn’t feel awkward, or like I had to reciprocate the verbal gift I had been given.

 

About 2 years ago I started to realize that while I still received compliments, I no longer believed them. I was always shocked and unsure when I received them, and left feeling that I had to return the compliment in some way. I couldn’t just accept it, and I certainly couldn’t believe that the giver really meant it. Even when my family told me nice things, I tried to turn them around, to tell them that they were nicer, prettier, smarter. I was uncomfortable with being told nice things. I don’t really know when it happened (somewhere between 8 and 15 I would imagine), but happen it did, it’s been a long road back.

 

I am sure there are a million reasons for this, but instead I will focus on two, the two that played the biggest role in creating my fear of nice words.

First, let’s look at the easy one. Culture and media! My two favorite bearers of bad things! While there are a lot of good things to come out of our culture, and a few good things to come out of the media, I feel like there is so much negative! In our western culture, we are not encouraged to take things at face value. There must always be some ulterior motive, some higher reason. A compliment can’t just be a compliment, it has to be because someone wants something, or they did something, or they will do something. At least that is what we seem to learn (I can’t remember anyone ever telling me this, but it is certainly what I began to do).

And the media, well yeesh! Girls (and boys, but I am a girl so that’s what we’re focusing on) are always portrayed as downplaying compliments. “Oh no, I am not THAT pretty”, “ha ha stop lying, I look horrible/did horrible/am horrible”. We aren’t taught to just accept them. And honestly, in the media, women being complimented usually means that something is expected in return: sex, forgiveness, a job, etc. And that brings me to the other reason…

 

At some point, I became that girl: the girl who gets complimented because people wanted things. Not by everyone, by any means! In fact, I think that most the people in my life who said nice things to me really meant them. But there were enough that I forgot how to accept nice words. Boys told me I was pretty in order to get something from me (more to come on this later, but I need time). Bosses told me I was the best so that I wouldn’t resent working insane hours. “Friends” told me no one understood them like I did so that I would put up with their crap.

And eventually, it sank in. I realized I was being used, and I quit accepting any type of compliment. Especially ones about my looks. I knew I was smart, because I got good grades. I knew I was a good worker because I got great tips. I knew I was funny, because people always laughed. But I never knew I was pretty. Sure, I knew that when guys wanted to sleep with me, that’s what they told me. And when they wanted me to quit whatever I was doing that was annoying them they told me I was a b**ch. But I didn’t believe either of them. Well, I guess it was a good thing that I never believed I was a b**ch.

 

After a while though, not thinking I was pretty started to take it’s toll. Sure, my low self esteem mantra had something about me being attractive in it, but even when I said it, it felt like a lie. And forget about anyone (love interest, male, female, family), telling me that I was attractive. Not only did I not believe them, but I actually felt uncomfortable! I rushed to return the compliment, to get the attention off of me! “No, don’t tell me I am pretty, that just means you want something that will hurt me to give! Stop it!” The worst part for me was that I couldn’t accept it from anyone.

 

Once I realized that I was doing this, I began to change my ways. I could believe that I was smart and funny and competent. I knew that those things were true, and I knew when I was being used. I ignored people when they were using me, and tried to accept their kindness when they really meant it. But I still really struggled to take compliments regarding my looks.

 

A while ago, that all changed. If you remember, I wrote a post about a guy who really couldn’t compliment me (Rolly Polly Represent). And it was at that point that I realized that while I was terrified of compliments, I still wanted them. And yet I had gotten so good at dodging them, people didn’t even bother to try. So, I turned it around. It was scary, and I was unsure, and sometimes I felt like people were being too nice. But bit by bit, I started to feel ok with people telling me nice things. I didn’t feel like I had to shift the attention, and I didn’t feel like I had to reciprocate (though usually I did, I know how nice it is to get a compliment!). When someone said something nice to me that clearly had an ulterior motive that wasn’t so nice, I called them on it. Sure, I got (and still do get) a lot of strange looks for responding to “Girl, you are so hot. I think you’re the prettiest girl I have ever seen. Wanna makeout?” with “Stop kissing up and get a life”, but it was worth it. And you know what, about time! I like nice things to be said to me, especially when they are meant. I know I am no super model, but I have my own kind of pretty, and I am proud of it. If you happen to notice it (or something else you like about me), feel free to tell me. And I will try and accept it, because I am learning again. Learning to trust in my own capability and in the kindness of humans.

 

Love love love,

 

The Girl Who Was Pretty

 

P.S. I don’t know if this is my best-actually, I do. It isn’t. But I needed to write something (Thanks for the nudge Linda!) and this is what was on my mind!

‘Cause Momma I’m a Big Girl Now!

I am pretty sure that my momma already knows that I am a big girl, in fact I think she figured that out about 9 years ago when I insisted she carry me in from the car and I was as tall as she was… But it’s a catchy song and I thought it fit.

Yesterday I turned 21. Yes, I am now all the way legal and according to some people have had “My last fun birthday” (I would disagree though, since I look forward to acting like a 2 year old until I die). Instead of writing about my wild bar crawl, or my crazy party (I can’t even if I wanted to, since neither of those happened) I just thought I would boast a little bit!

My fabulous birthday started with a really sweet early morning Skype call with my 4 favorite people-my momma, my Leda, my Julia and my Wade-while I opened my totally gigantic birthday box. Inside? Cooking things (muffin tins and Julia Child!), awesome shoes, a beautiful grown-up bracelet and the best purse a girl named me could want. There was also a lot of chocolate and other fun things!

Then I got to wear a tiara all day long (thank you Cassidy for making the Birthday Princess), which didn’t seem to surprise many people, since one of my professors remarked “Oh, I didn’t even notice. I just thought that was another of your fashion things”. Oh. I guess I really am that girl. Wonderful! I worked my Princess magic!

And before I forget, I got made a Baroness! One of the best (and most creative) gifts I have ever received was a Baroness-ship (of Sealand, thank you very much!). You can all call me “Your Excellency” now. And you can curtsy.

The ever charming Kyran waited in the rain-snow to give me the most epic wine glasses ever (18 some ounces!) that I have been drinking everything from (grapefruit juice is divine, but yogurt didn’t work so well).

And instead of going raging, I got to spend a really lovely evening with 3 incredible people, cooking, laughing and playing in the snow (there is still a snowman in my freezer). And I got to snuggle! Oh, I also played hide and seek by myself, in all the tissue paper. I found me almost every time.

I think the best part for me though was realizing that while I can now legally drink my wine and I COULD go crazy, the person I have grown up to be doesn’t have to. It may make me sound like an old lady or a very small child, but I would really rather spend time with people who really like me, laughing and being silly that out, forgetting what I did by the next morning. A year ago, I couldn’t wait to turn 21, and not have to worry about getting caught if I drank. While I am pleased that I no longer have to worry about that, it wasn’t the best part of my birthday. In fact, it was pretty secondary. I love going out, and I love having fun. But I think what the big girl me has learned is that this girl can have a lot of fun just being herself.

So momma, you don’t have to worry about this 21 year old. I’m a big girl now.

Love love love,

The Girl Who Was a Baroness

P.S. I also got my birthday spankings, so no worries y’all! 

Figurin’

Well Lordy y’all, it’s been a long time! I think that I just got a little caught up in life, and was too busy life-ing to write about it! Here I am though, and while I have lots of clever, fun things to say, I think I am just going to give y’all a little update on what my life has been!

I spent my summer in Denver, my first real grown-up experience. It was scary and liberating and fun and frustrating and let’s face it, really confusing! I lived with 3 other girls, and I had to do my own grocery shopping, pay the bills and get to work on time. For the first time in my life I actually felt like the grown up people keep saying I am.

I worked 2 jobs-one as an intern to a really great and incredible lawyer, and the other in a Malaysian cafe. All together, I worked between 50 and 65 hours a week, over 6 or 7 days. All summer. It was exhausting. The upside? I learned to juggle things, and to still find time for me. I also realized that for someone as out there and bouncy as me, being a lawyer may not be the best career choice. Plus, law school grads aren’t having an easy time getting employed in this economy. I also got to work in a cafe, which while exhausting was a great ego booster for me-being the best girl at everything is kind of nice for a change!

I spent the summer also working through a lot of personal things from my past, that were messing up the person that I wanted to be in the present. And wow…if that wasn’t intense I don’t know what is, but it is starting to pay off! I am the person I want to be, with the people I want around me and I feel safe and strong and so good. And that hasn’t happened in a long time!

At the end of the summer I moved out of my house, and into an apartment by myself on campus. And let’s just say that it is incredible! I have the BIGGEST CLOSET EVER (really, it is. I take naps in it. My shoes like the company) and a kitchen and a living room and a whole bathroom to myself (I have never had that before!). I have shiny pots (thanks Mum!) and great art (thanks sister!) and it really feels like my home.

I got to be an orientation leader for incoming transfer students here, which was also great. Not only did I work with some really great people, I also got to experience what it would be like to come to DU as a new student, which is something I missed out on.

Now I am in school, and really loving my classes. I have made the decision to go abroad next fall, and to finish my majors (for the most part) this year, which is really exciting and also means I get to stay in my apartment. Wheeee! I am still working at the cafe, though thankfully not as many hours. And I am volunteering. And I am an officer for my club frisbee team (super exciting for me!). Life is going well.

And today my dears, it just got so much better. The things I have worked on paid off, and really good things are starting to happen in my life! I feel happy, and lucky and powerful. And I got picked to go see the first Presidential Debate tomorrow. Live. At my school. Pretty cool!

Overall dear ones, life is good! A whole year of changing how I look at the world, and it has worked. Crap happens to me. And it always will. But I got it all on lock. I can do this! And good days like this happen a lot!

That’s all for now folks!

Love love love,

The Girl