Category: Trauma Recovery

Why No One Can Cheer You Up (And Why You Don’t Want Them To)

Why No One Can Cheer You Up (And Why You Don’t Want Them To)

It’s not that you can’t feel better…it’s that you don’t trust better.

When you’re upset, it feels like nothing can touch you. Friends try to cheer you up, but their words bounce right off. You shut it down with,

“You don’t understand,” or “I can’t help the way I feel.”

Here’s the thing: you’re not wrong for wanting to sit in your feelings. Pain can feel safer than pretending everything’s okay. But sometimes, without realizing it, you hold on to that pain like proof. Proof that you were hurt, evidence that your feelings are real, proof that you’re not invisible.

And letting it go? That feels scary. Because misery, as heavy as it is, can start to feel familiar. Almost like home.

You’re not broken for feeling this way. You’ve just learned to live with despair for so long that happiness feels foreign. But here’s the truth: you deserve more than the familiar depression. You deserve peace, even if it feels uncomfortable at first.

Such was I. I lived in an abusive marriage for 24 years. When I finally dared to leave, I started reflecting and asked myself,

“Why had I stayed so long?”

In the future, I knew I didn’t want to make the same mistake. I didn’t want to end up in another abusive marriage. So I looked back at my past relationships, and they were all the same. Abusive.

Wow. Who am I? And why am I choosing this path?

That’s when I realized I had an addiction problem. I was addicted to pain—the pain and the drama of the chaos. I was stuck in a cycle, like a revolving door. So I constantly had to remind myself why I was leaving. I had to remind myself that I deserved better and that I should look for someone who was the complete opposite.

And that’s precisely what I did. Today, I stand on the other side of abuse. Stronger, freer, and committed to helping others find their own path out.

Need help?
If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction, emotional distress, or abuse, support is available 24/7:

  • Addiction Recovery: Call 866-606-0182 or visit our treatment center directory
  • Suicide & Crisis Lifeline: Dial 988 (free, confidential, 24/7)
  • Domestic Violence Hotline: Call 800-799-7233 or text START to 88788
  • Sexual Assault Hotline (RAINN): Call 800-656-4673 or visit online.rainn.org

You are not alone. There is help. There is hope. And you are worth the healing.

Not All Storms Are Destructive

Not All Storms Are Destructive

“The wise man in the storm prays God not for safety from danger but for deliverance from fear. It is the storm within which endangers him, not the storm without.” –  Ralph Waldo Emerson

It was black outside, dark as night.  The wind was blowing so hard that the tops of the trees were bowed, touching the ground. Our trailer shook from the wind’s fury.  Alvarado was rural in those days, with no audible tornado sirens.  It would not have mattered. We did not have a storm shelter and did not know where one was located.  I grabbed my son and we sat in the middle of the living room floor. I held him tight, rocking back and forth. “What time I am afraid I will trust in thee. When I am afraid, I will trust in thee. What time I am afraid I will trust in thee.” I quoted repeatedly. Praying, “Please, God, protect us. Please do not let anything happen. What time I am afraid I will trust in thee.”  I was shivering, not from cold but from fear. The wind whipped around the trailer.  I am sure there was thunder, but I only remember the wind and the feeling that I could be transported into the heavens at any moment. 

People have often asked me, “What is worse, a tornado or an earthquake?” I used to answer, “Earthquake, because you can predict a tornado.”  But living in the infamous “Tornado Alley” has caused me to change that answer.

I have heard Preachers say, “You’re either entering a storm, in a storm, or coming out of a storm.” Although this statement might be true, it is such a pessimistic philosophy.

Bear with me while I give you some statistics.  In 2022, 1,329 tornadoes were reported in the US. 160 of them were in Texas. Only one of them hit Houston, the biggest city in Texas. Harris County (Houston) has the most tornadoes reported in the state. From 1950 to 2022, 246 tornadoes were reported.  That averages to 3 a year. If Houston is only seeing three tornadoes a year, then what is Houston doing during the other 362 days of the year?  Are they stressing about the next approaching storm? Are they talking about how horrible they have it because they go through so many storms?

The only thing affected by the storm that day was my faith. There was no damage to any of the surrounding homes.

“I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship.” – Louisa May Alcott.

You cannot or should not live each day worrying about the next storm of life headed your way, nor should you fixate on the one that just passed.  Not all storms are destructive.  Most are just a sideshow, a distraction. Enjoy the days in between the storms. Don’t worry yourself sick about the things you cannot control.  It usually isn’t as bad as you imagined.

Question Everything

Question Everything

“Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.  The important thing is not to stop questioning.” – Albert Einstein

Have you ever asked God, “Why?”

Have you ever questioned His existence?

Have you ever screamed out in agony, wondering why YOU even exist?

Have you ever wondered how a “loving God” could allow such pain and suffering?

Have you ever sat in a puddle of your own tears and felt you couldn’t go on?

Have you ever felt the hatred burning in your bones?

Have you ever tried to wake up, hoping it was just a nightmare?

Have you ever sought answers but found none?

Have you ever wondered, “Why me?”

Have you ever put on a fake smile so that you didn’t have to talk about it?

Have you ever wanted to start all over?

Have you ever wanted to give up? Everyday?

Have you ever wondered why you couldn’t get on the good side of life?

Have you ever felt cursed?

Have you ever felt depressed and regretted so much of your life?

I have.

“The power to question is the basis of all human progress.” – Indira Gandhi

How many times have you been told that you should never question God? I lost count of the times I was told that.  But guess what? He understands.  We were born questioning everything around us.  That is how we learn and grow.  The only ignorant question is the one that is never asked.  Asking questions clears confusion, gives us a better understanding of any given situation, and helps us find answers.  Questions help solve problems.  It is absolutely fine to question our life; it shows that we do not accept our current position or status and that we are willing to improve.

That day

That day.

I remember exactly where I was standing. 

The time of day, the lighting in the house. 

It was evening, so, the sun was lowering in the sky casting shadows in that kitchen. 

I stood by the enormous stainless Steel fridge. 

I was wiping the microwave when I asked her, “so you saw it?” 

She shook her head “yes”.

 I said, “ewww… Gross! That must have been scarring! Those things are ugly!” (Referring to her oldest brothers penis). 

Right then I knew I had to ask the next question, even though I didn’t want to know the answer. 

“So, did he try to stick it in? In you?” 

Her eyes never looked up at me, as she said, “yeah, I told him to stop because it hurt but he said he was ‘almost there’. ”

I know my facial expressions changed. 

I now had information that could put my son away in prison for years.

I am in shock. 

She still isn’t making eye contact with me, but she trusted me enough to tell me the truth. I couldn’t let her down.  I didn’t.

I asked her where and when and got more details. 

One thing is for sure, I will never forget that day. The place, the time nor the time of year. 

That day. The beginning of many that would send me and my family down an emotional roller coaster of a journey. 

That day. That knowledge. We will never forget.

That day.

It finally happened 

It finally happened 

I’ve been bottled up for quite some time. I was beginning to wonder if I had lost my tears

Or if I’d forgotten how to cry
My daughter said today, “You used to be so happy.”

But I couldn’t tell her half the reasons why I lost my smile

She’d feel guilty and regret her confessions.
So I pawned it off on her two brothers, who can’t seem to stay off of drugs or out of trouble … Yeah, them… They’re the reason I stay exhausted and emotionless
But the truth is due to a combination of things…
This week, I sifted through my son’s belongings… The one in prison… I wasn’t prepared for that walk down memory lane.

This evening I called the sheriff on my 2  sons for smoking pot out back….
I have so many goals … So many dreams… This is not how my family was supposed to turn out…

I still have more goals and dreams, but I am finding it harder and harder to see how they can or will be accomplished.
So tonight … It happened…
I cried
Everything bottled up started to ooze out… Just enough to tighten the seal back up.

So
Here I sit.

Emotionless again.

Agelast

Sitting in a 10×10 room. There are 7 of us. 4 chairs and a table with 2 magazines.
Everyone around me is giggling and laughing tying to make light of a very heavy situation.
I’m sitting on the floor. I feel as though I’m just a fly on the wall. Their antics are not funny to me. Their mirth just irritates me.
I have tunnel vision. It’s as if they are just a fog surrounding me.
My son has just confessed to every crime he has been accused of.
I am numb. I can barely breathe much less smile. The defense attorneys summon me outside the 10×10 box.
They ask me, “would you like an opportunity to talk to your son? You do understand he will be going away for a very long time”.
Emotionless I gaze into their eyes and answer, “yes. Please.”
They lead me into a room where I see my son sobbing on the other side of the glass. His head in his arms.
I place my hand on the glass hoping he would reach out. I sit and watch him cry, tears streaming down my face. He looks up and repeatedly says, “I’m sorry Mom, I’m sorry Mom, I’m sorry mom…” And puts his head back down. I said, “son. Look at me.”
My hand still on the glass. He looks up.
I said, “son, I forgive you.”
He shakes his head as more tears stream down his face.
Then his hand rests on the glass against where mine is.
We keep our hands there in an attempt to feel a hug. This is our goodbye.
I reminded him that I love him, as I walk out of the room sobbing through my tunnel that I can barely see a few feet in front of me. Back into the room of mirth where I sit quietly, agelast.
Agelast – Forget your faith

I hope

I hope

As I sit upon the witness chair
At the judge I’m supposed to stare
Give my story, my heart I’ll bare
Beg for a sentence long and fair

Explain how hard it’s been to cope
May confess how I’ve turned to dope
Through words of emotion I will grope
Hold myself together, is my hope

I’ll tell of memories I hold dear
Then tell of what I now most fear
All his charges I dread to hear
When it’s over I’ll seek a beer.

I walk in numbness, dread and pain
The thought of seeing him again
Is nothing more than a mental strain
My love for him I need to explain

I just want to hold him one last time
Regardless of the type of his crime
My soul and heart aches and pines
knowing he may be away for a lifetime

Will they let me see him?
I hope
Will they let me hug him?
I hope.
Will he want to see me?
I hope.
I hope.
I hope.

A living hell

“Youre making my life a living hell!” He said as he turned to walk up the stairs.Two weeks ago, I petitioned for a court-ordered family intervention, in an attempt for him to get clean and go back to therapy. He now has to succumb to random drug testing and pass before he can get his driver’s license.

Yesterday, I sold his brother’s Camry, which has sat in our driveway for 2 years. TWO YEARS! Flat tires, a dead battery, and in desperate need of brake work. So he was also angry about that. Mad that it wasn’t given to him. He said a few other things, then told me I was obligated to buy him alcohol, and if I didn’t, he would drink mine.

“I make YOUR life a living hell??” “You call THIS hell? I provide you with food, a nice bed and bedroom to sleep in, I take you wherever you want to go whenever you want to go there. You call this hell?”

I tell you what a “living hell” is! Living hell is having a different son who is a child molester. Living hell is being subpoenaed to watch his trial and sentencing. Living hell is wondering what will be the next thing to set you, YOU, child of complaints, off. Will you try to kill yourself again to escape “YOUR living hell”? “Living hell” is wondering whether you will have the initiative to graduate from high school. Do you want me to continue? I can.

I have other complaints, other hells. Living hell is remembering the day my ex-husband held my 22-year-old son up against the wall by the throat and screamed in His face, “I hate you!! NEVER call me dad again!!” Because he wasn’t his biological father, even though he raised him from 6mths old. “Living hell” is remembering the time he threw my 3rd born son against the house, grabbing and twisting his shirt so tight a button flew off. “Living hell” was that day he threw the 5th born up against the fridge, suspending him in the air, holding him by the neck. “Living hell” is my life every time I have one of those memories…. It’s like reliving them all over again.

So, son, go ahead and explain to me HOW your life is a living hell.

May 15, 2015

May 15, 2015

I’M TIRED

Accustomed to doing things by myself and for myself. My ex husband wasn’t much of an emotional support. He did help around the house. And he would occasionally offer an arm for a hug. He was a human. Most humans do that. But…

I’ve had to be so strong for so many years, through all the abuse. 
But now I am tired. I am weary. I am lonely. 
I can understand why women jump back into other unhealthy relationships. 
Being 100% responsible for the financial and emotional support of a large family is hard! I wish I had a body to come home to at the end of the day to hold me, not just a voice. I wish I had someone to share the responsibility with me, not just financially but also the upkeep of the house, car maintenance and all those things women just aren’t so good at doing.  Don’t get me wrong, I am thankful for what I DO have, but I’m tired. I’m tired of having to be the strong one. It would be nice if someone else could sub in for me for a day or two. Or better yet, help me with it everyday. 
Today just isn’t that day, so, I wipe away the tears… Go wake up the kids for school… Present myself strong for another day… Until I’m am by myself again.

  
But I’ll be ok in the end

May 10, 2015

I have found myself saying, “the hardest thing I’ve had to do”, over and over again. But here goes another time: the hardest thing I’ve had to do is let go of trying to keep my son alive.

He has attempted suicide twice, talked about it numerous times. 
His 13yr old sister looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, “Mom, you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”
She is so right.
He is in a “treatment center” and they’re putting him in antidepressants… I told them he would just try to take the whole damn bottle. They told me that since he is a minor I am responsible to administer them to him. 
Oh great! Now I have to buy a safe? A lock? Wtf? Where am I supposed to hide these? The last bottle of pills he took … He took them right out of my purse! 
He is almost 17, I’ve not treated him as a child, but now they want me to administer medicine to him as if he’s a baby.  
I told the therapist who is supposed to be “helping” him, “I do not want to just treat his symptoms. Suicide and Major Depressive Disorder are only symptoms of something else going on inside of him. Can we please try to deal with the cause?” 
Oh… ((Insert big sigh here))… This is another one of those “hardest things I’ve had to do” this past year.