I'm glad you're back. It's a drag getting old in that it takes us so long to get over ourselves and our conditioning to really accept the kaleidoscope of our personalities and experiences. I've been in therapy FOREVER and in my 20s, would totally dismiss the damage of my childhood and the lack of what I needed from the people who were supposed to protect me. It was a long time ago. It's fine. I'm fine.
Then one day I just let myself mourn and cry for what happened and what didn't. Then I accepted that I'm wounded and though it scars, there is still a scab in the bubbly pink middle that I can pick at and resume the bleeding.
You're on the right road.... soon you're going to stop caring about what other people think, and just care for them... even if they're megadicks who call you a psycho bitch. The best bitches are psycho.
I grew up in a time and place where mental health and issues with it were mostly ignored, and have my own demons because of that, so I definitely understand your struggle, and will always be here with a positive attitude and support
Monica, I'm so happy to be reading your writing again! And I have to say, yours and Rebecca's cross-over/connection/mind-melding is just too tremendous! I've been reading you both for over a decade and your truths about motherhood and relationships and womanhood have inspired, resonated, and helped me feel less alone many a time. Y'all are the kind of women I want to be and want to be surrounded by! So I say, bring on the coven. And perhaps, we could all just create a village somewhere where we can speak our truths and yell our anger and lift each other up! What a dream!
Anyway, thanks, as always, for your words, because, I suspect, we're all worried that we're more fucked up than we realise. And ya know, that might be where the magic lies - in the fucked-up-ness?!
Also, I think you're going to be an incredible therapist!
I found you through the One and Only Rebecca Woolf. I have spent the last hour reading and re-reading your posts. Most of the time it felt like looking in a mirror. Oneness jumbled in an array of bold colors. I have mental illness— actually a rolodex of labels from c-PTSD, GAD, OCD hell!- now I’m wondering if I have Borderline. (I’ll need to forward this to my therapist because my go-to coping mechanism is intellectualizing the shit out of life around me. Making sense of chaos has kept me alive.) I am the nucleus of inherited chaos that I’m sifting through to break cycles and heal.
Another point of internet intersection is the notion of retuning to school in midlife to become a therapist. Interestingly, I started college as a psychology major but my Antisocial Personality Disorder sperm donor (aka abusive legal father) told me I would never make it (employing a rainbow of cruel insults and mind games.) He utilized every tool within his bloody claws to make sure I would drop out. TW: He has admitted to my brothers his goal was for me to commit suicide— presumably for sympathy. What a POS— the universe sausaged fingered me inside a wooden mother. A losing hand, indeed. Generations of misogyny ruining women in my fundamentalist family. Women donating their brains to unworthy toxic men and the handmaiden church. Under his eye.
I’m a natural isolationist because of flashbacks and trauma triggers so your paragraph on needing women both intrigues and frightens me. I have climbed the validation mountains only to have been push over cliffs or run over by Magnolia Home social climbers and backstabbers with communion wafers and red wine lingering in their gossip and spiritual bypassing tossed like coins for the unlucky. Superiority complexes are cement walls of certainty reinforced by prosperity gospel and god’s will.
These days I prefer the comfort of my bed with books, podcasts, & substacks. My risk free way of pretending deep friendships, albeit one-way and imaginary. BUT I’M SAFE DAMNIT! Anyway, I love your disorganized brain and honesty, it gives me permission to love and accept my own. Onward as Liz says. Still riding this wild life.
Reading this, I was surprised you chose a male therapist. Could you tell me more? I need a therapist desperately. I saw a male therapist when I was 18, after being assaulted and it did nothing for me. I'm 52 now and a nearly broken human being but "high functioning" and I just can't do it alone anymore. I've been continually hurt by men all my life and the thought of seeing a male therapist makes me sick but maybe a male therapist would have the inside story into why men do what they do?
Thank you for this. It hits deeply, repeatedly.
I will catch you, again and again!
I’m so proud of you, so inspired by your honesty, and selfishly blissful that you’re back again sharing with us.
I continue to be big fans of both you and Rebecca- both separately and together!
You two have been inspiring me and breaking my heart since (before) we all started having babies. 💛
Thank you for being a friend!
This post is such a gift! I especially love this mind blowing gem: "Seeking closure is a lie."
Yes, Queen, yes.
I'm glad you're back. It's a drag getting old in that it takes us so long to get over ourselves and our conditioning to really accept the kaleidoscope of our personalities and experiences. I've been in therapy FOREVER and in my 20s, would totally dismiss the damage of my childhood and the lack of what I needed from the people who were supposed to protect me. It was a long time ago. It's fine. I'm fine.
Then one day I just let myself mourn and cry for what happened and what didn't. Then I accepted that I'm wounded and though it scars, there is still a scab in the bubbly pink middle that I can pick at and resume the bleeding.
You're on the right road.... soon you're going to stop caring about what other people think, and just care for them... even if they're megadicks who call you a psycho bitch. The best bitches are psycho.
Sending you love!
Thank you for sharing your story, and struggle.
I grew up in a time and place where mental health and issues with it were mostly ignored, and have my own demons because of that, so I definitely understand your struggle, and will always be here with a positive attitude and support
Monica, I'm so happy to be reading your writing again! And I have to say, yours and Rebecca's cross-over/connection/mind-melding is just too tremendous! I've been reading you both for over a decade and your truths about motherhood and relationships and womanhood have inspired, resonated, and helped me feel less alone many a time. Y'all are the kind of women I want to be and want to be surrounded by! So I say, bring on the coven. And perhaps, we could all just create a village somewhere where we can speak our truths and yell our anger and lift each other up! What a dream!
Anyway, thanks, as always, for your words, because, I suspect, we're all worried that we're more fucked up than we realise. And ya know, that might be where the magic lies - in the fucked-up-ness?!
Also, I think you're going to be an incredible therapist!
I found you through the One and Only Rebecca Woolf. I have spent the last hour reading and re-reading your posts. Most of the time it felt like looking in a mirror. Oneness jumbled in an array of bold colors. I have mental illness— actually a rolodex of labels from c-PTSD, GAD, OCD hell!- now I’m wondering if I have Borderline. (I’ll need to forward this to my therapist because my go-to coping mechanism is intellectualizing the shit out of life around me. Making sense of chaos has kept me alive.) I am the nucleus of inherited chaos that I’m sifting through to break cycles and heal.
Another point of internet intersection is the notion of retuning to school in midlife to become a therapist. Interestingly, I started college as a psychology major but my Antisocial Personality Disorder sperm donor (aka abusive legal father) told me I would never make it (employing a rainbow of cruel insults and mind games.) He utilized every tool within his bloody claws to make sure I would drop out. TW: He has admitted to my brothers his goal was for me to commit suicide— presumably for sympathy. What a POS— the universe sausaged fingered me inside a wooden mother. A losing hand, indeed. Generations of misogyny ruining women in my fundamentalist family. Women donating their brains to unworthy toxic men and the handmaiden church. Under his eye.
I’m a natural isolationist because of flashbacks and trauma triggers so your paragraph on needing women both intrigues and frightens me. I have climbed the validation mountains only to have been push over cliffs or run over by Magnolia Home social climbers and backstabbers with communion wafers and red wine lingering in their gossip and spiritual bypassing tossed like coins for the unlucky. Superiority complexes are cement walls of certainty reinforced by prosperity gospel and god’s will.
These days I prefer the comfort of my bed with books, podcasts, & substacks. My risk free way of pretending deep friendships, albeit one-way and imaginary. BUT I’M SAFE DAMNIT! Anyway, I love your disorganized brain and honesty, it gives me permission to love and accept my own. Onward as Liz says. Still riding this wild life.
Reading this, I was surprised you chose a male therapist. Could you tell me more? I need a therapist desperately. I saw a male therapist when I was 18, after being assaulted and it did nothing for me. I'm 52 now and a nearly broken human being but "high functioning" and I just can't do it alone anymore. I've been continually hurt by men all my life and the thought of seeing a male therapist makes me sick but maybe a male therapist would have the inside story into why men do what they do?
As we are allowed to say, because we deal with it every day.... we crazy and/or coo-coo. Love to you!