Updated: Mar 28, 2021
Covidtime Log Day 03212021
How uncomfortable do you need to become to finally realize that you need to change something?
A year ago I was a complete and utter mess. In a hazy fog of failure, sadness, grief, hopelessness, and depression. I feel like that the Universe knows when you're not really feeling great and decides to teach you a frightening lesson in resilience. It's amazing how much one can experience heartbreak before one actually feels like physically dying. I was suicidal for months and I can talk about it now because it's no longer part of my existence, today. I did not speak of it or discuss it with anyone because I don't want to be a burden to others. I did have a few friends who checked-in on me regularly cause they knew something was wrong. Maybe it was the tone in my voice or my lack of enthusiasm for anything, but they knew I was not doing okay.
The funny thing is that people who don't truly know me probably won't believe me when I say, "no, I'm not doing okay." If you did know me even a little bit you'd understand if I'm at the point of admitting that I'm not okay, I'm probably on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Which I was going through at this time last year. Everyone's breakdown or how I view it now breakthrough is different. This goes into what I want to discuss today.
I'm not really sure how to start this so I'll just begin by saying, I am and should be a statistic. There are many times I've wanted to kill myself. And, before you say anything listen to my story before you try to give me words of comfort and support. That's not why I'm writing this. Disclaimer: I go to therapy and take meds regularly.
Jane Elliot (a well-known antiracist) would go into towns and give talks about race and white privilege. She'd go into farm towns and non-BIPOC town folks would say, "We grew up poor. We worked hard on our farms and were able to go to college and make something of ourselves." And, she would tell them (paraphrasing) that she wasn't saying that their lives weren't hard compared to Black folks, but think about what it was like growing up with the struggles that they had, but imagine what it would have been like if they were also Black. Some people would say, "it would have been the same." Really, really would it have been? Because when she asks non-Black folks to stand up if they would like to be treated the same way Black people in America are treated, no one stands up. Because we ALL know Black people in America are not treated the same way as non-Black people or First Nation people (because First Nation is different from Intuits or Indigenous Peoples from Canada). American racism is very different from racism in other countries because there's still racism outside of America and we can blame that on colonization. Let's focus on the United States. I needed to give you a bit of background in order for y'all to have context for those who are not BIPOC. So, the stories I'm about to tell will be more impactful.
I've had three close friends die in the past ten years, two of them died by suicide the third died because of poverty (poor healthcare). The four of us all have something in common we are all non-binary, queer, cis-females of color. Asal was 36 when she killed herself, she was a Persian immigrant, and just a brilliant and dynamic person. Robin was 47 and a beautiful Black woman who was such a kind human being, smart, funny, misunderstood and very well-accomplished. Cris (AKA Chicken) was 44 and half Filipino, they could have been a Doctor. Should have been a Doctor/Veterinarian, but was still a caring hardworking person who saved humans and animals alike. Loved by so very many. Friends and family and close strangers. I do not give them the level of honor they deserve to try and define them in single sentences and basic descriptive words. You would have to of known them to truly experience the amazing light that shown so brightly in all of them.
We all struggled with identity. We all struggled to have long-term loving relationships. We all struggled to find a place in the world where we felt we fit it. I have outlived all of them. The amount of time I've had on my hands because of the pandemic has given me the opportunity to stare off into the distance basking and pondering. Privileges that my three friends no longer take advantage of. However, I feel they no longer struggle and suffer or are in pain. I guess I take some cold comfort from knowing that.
We all struggled with being able not to use the public restroom without being told, "you're in the wrong bathroom!" No, bathroom police this is the right bathroom, please wash your hands and move along.
We all did not come from wealthy families -- we were either working class or middle class.
With every death that enters my life, my own mortality comes into question. Why them and not me? Why am I still around and these amazing and beautiful people are no longer with us?
I supposed at an existential level the Universe isn't done with me, yet. I know that it's not my fault they are dead. But, for some reason, I feel compelled to try to live my life as boldly and as out loud as possible. Also, as I get closer to 50 I'm starting to really have no more f#cks to give.
If you think you know me, you don't. You know the person I allow you to see. The persona of Vangie. I barely even show people the surface. I am much vaster and deeper than one can imagine. My experiences are multi-leveled and I've lived many different lives and I've reinvented myself over and over again.
When people ask what my year has been like and I say: after having to deal with a breakup; learning my mother was dying and coping with the grief of her death; coming back to a half-empty townhome I had to pack up and move out of; while trying to negotiate finances with an ex who was telling me she "hated me and regretted the last two years;" being let go from my job (which was fine cause I really couldn't focus on work); then being told we were going into self-quarantine because of a global pandemic, and that was just the first three months. Other than all that, I'm fine.
But, I really wasn't fine. It wasn't about me just telling people I wasn't fine, I needed to accept that I truly wasn't fine. When I finally admitted to myself that I needed help, and if I didn't do something soon, I would be dead. When one has to reimagine their life from what it was or what they knew it to of been to what they think it is or can become is nearly impossible. Especially, when you can't even see past the grief.
We have lots of limiting beliefs about ourselves. There is a belief in our society that our relationships, careers, friend groups, and affinity group associations give us value. That things and stuff can heal emotional pain. All of that is garbage. When you are at the end of your rope and nothing seems to matter anymore, what happens is that clinging to those thoughts and ideas only made me more depressed and hopeless. I needed to break free from what other people thought about me because I needed to care about what I thought about myself. The most important relationship that should have mattered was the one with myself. That was probably the relationship I worked on the least.
This past year I decided to heal. Heal all the hurt and harm that I'd experienced over my lifetime that I had not addressed and dealt with. I cried, a lot. I grieved for months. I allowed myself the opportunity to figure out what works for me to self-soothe to find a healthy way to deal with uncomfortable feelings. I went to therapy and tried to find a sense of normalcy and routine. I did this alone. Every night when I went to bed I didn't have someone there to comfort me, hold me, and tell me everything is going to be okay. I had myself to comfort me, hold myself, and tell me that everything was going to be okay. In the beginning, I might not have believed, that everything was going to be okay, but I knew eventually I would. Because I've gotten through bad things in the past, I can get through this. I had to. I had to become best friends with myself. I needed to stop the self-hatred and focus on self-love. When I say I had to learn to fall in love with myself I say this in a deeply spiritual way. When we talk about being happy the greatest gift we can give to ourselves is self-happiness and joy. It does not come easily, but when you do figure it out it feels like nothing is impossible.
Self-exploration is frightening, but I knew if I didn't do it I'd probably kill myself. If I didn't start healing I'd continue to keep hurting to the point I couldn't take it anymore. I think that's maybe what makes me different from my friends. That I was willing to do the hard work. Not saying that they weren't capable of doing the work, but I know that at some point you become exhausted. On top of that, the work is scary. You have to go through you can't go around or over or under. We need to ask the hard question and hear the answers we don't want to hear. Who we truly are deep down inside. Especially, when you're already feeling crappy about yourself. Right!?
I finally admitted to everyone that I was really not okay. And, I had to stop caring what people thought about me because shame kills. The two biggest lessons that I learned this past year are forgiveness and grace. Two things I was willing to give to others but rarely gave to myself.
You are not who other people think you are. You are the only one who knows who you truly are. At the end of the day, and for some reason if you don't like who you are just ask the hard question. Why?
You will become what you think you are. That's it. That's the message. At the minimum, we must like ourselves. If we don't it will either kill us or we will make other people's lives miserable from our own self-loathing. I am grateful and thankful that I am still here.
I am still here.
There memories will always be a blessing.
If you or someone you know is having suicidal ideation please reach out to a safe person, professional, and/ or contact the Suicide Prevention lifeline 1-800-273-TALK (8255) www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org
Suicide prevention resources: https://afsp.org/suicide-prevention-resources
Covidtime Log Day 03192021
"We realize the importance of our voice when we are silenced." - Malala Yousafzai
"I spoke out publicly on behalf of girls and our right to learn. And this made me a target.
In October 2012, on my way home from school, a masked gunman boarded my school bus and asked, “Who is Malala?” He shot me on the left side of my head.
I woke up 10 days later in a hospital in Birmingham, England. The doctors and nurses told me about the attack — and that people around the world were praying for my recovery." (Source: https://malala.org/malalas-story)
"Malala Yousafzai is a Pakistani education advocate who, at the age of 17 in 2014, became the youngest person to win the Nobel Peace Prize after surviving an assassination attempt by the Taliban. Yousafzai became an advocate for girls' education when she herself was still a child, which resulted in the Taliban issuing a death threat against her. On October 9, 2012, a gunman shot Yousafzai when she was traveling home from school. She survived and has continued to speak out on the importance of education. In 2013, she gave a speech to the United Nations and published her first book, I Am Malala." (Source: https://www.biography.com/activist/malala-yousafzai)
I don't think one understands how important their voice is until it's taken away. March is Women's History Month, and as generations come and go there may be a time -- in the future -- when women and girls won't understand what mansplaining is or that there was a time they didn't have the right to vote, their own credit card, or autonomy over their bodies.
In light of current events in the Atlanta, GA area where there was a mass shooting at 3 different Spas, 8 people dead, and 6 were women of Asian descent, it's important to address the silencing of female Asian voices. During the press conference the officer said the shooter told them he was "…pretty much fed up and kind of at the end of his rope. And yesterday was a really bad day for him and this is what he did," Capt. Jay Baker said. The shooter had blamed the Massage businesses as temptations to his "sex addiction" and wanted to eliminate it for himself and others. As some news articles have pointed out, Baker had humanized the shooter and blamed the victims for their own murders. This narrative needs to end. It needs to end with us. White supremacy is killing us and misogamy is inherently intertwined with white supremacy.
Women are not responsible for men's violence; and BIPOC women are not responsible for white men's violent misygony.
#Covidtimes Log Day: 03062021
“Do what you feel in your heart to be right – for you’ll be criticized anyway.” ― Eleanor Roosevelt
"Eleanor Roosevelt (1884 -1962) is commonly hailed as one of the most influential American women of the 20th century. In addition to serving as the First Lady of the United States from 1933-1945, she was a newspaper columnist, an author, a diplomat and a seasoned politician. She was also a formative leader of the League of Women Voters.
Deeply involved in social justice work, Eleanor Roosevelt believed strongly that women deserved a place at the table when it came to politics. Prior to her husband’s presidency, she worked with and helped lead a number of women’s groups, including the International Congress of Working Women, the Woman's Trade Union League and the Women's International League of Peace and Freedom. After the League of Women Voters was founded in 1920 – the same year that Franklin D. Roosevelt ran for Vice President – she helped establish its policy agenda." (Source: https://www.lwv.org/eleanor-roosevelt-first-lady-league-leader-pioneer)
I've listened to too many people in my life give me bad advice. I'm realizing it's not based on my ability to do things or accomplish goals, it's based off of other people's own fears and limitations. The times in my life I've been most successful is when I took my own advice and listened to what was in my heart to be right, for me.
We need to stop giving people bad advice and telling people, unsolicited, how to live their life. No one learns how to be a strong independent person when all you ever do is disapprove of the choices people make. Those poor choices are just lessons, hopefully, the person will learn from. If they don't well, they will just keep making the same mistakes over and over again, and bring other people down with them who choose to be in their lives. Only if you allow them to.
Don't let other people's poor choices bring you down. They want to ruin their lives, they want to be complete douche canoes, let them. Remove yourself from other people's self-destructive behavior. Let them deal with the consequences of their choices, cause you know what if you don't let them they will always make poor choices thinking you're going to bail them out. You're not anyone's savior and if you think you are you need to check yourself and figure out what your unhealed wounds are cause your just trying to solve other people's trauma so you can avoid your own.
My biggest advice to people, therapy works. If you're willing to heal the unhealed parts of yourself and go to the dark recesses of your mind and do the work to figure out what your hurts and harms and wounds are. You can then begin the healing process. It works. But, it's not easy it's actually really hard, frightening, and exhausting.
For the past year and a half I've been struggling emotionally and mentally, but on the outside I've tried to keep it all together. Except the times I've revealed to y'all my struggle. I do it for myself and for my friends, and family. I've dealt with the burden of knowing when people see me falling apart then shit must really be falling apart. Reality check, things are constantly falling apart around us. It's an illusion that we have any control of what is going on around us. We are just physical bodies experiencing a spiritual journey on this planet. We can go around and live this one life like complete dipshits or we can expand, grow, and be bigger than we believe we truly are. Enjoy the ride. It's taken me a year and a half to come back to myself, to feel whole and complete, to feel enough. With all the cracks, and scabs and brokenness.
I was talking with a friend and I had an epiphany that I've been trying to heal one big wound, when the heart of the matter is that I have several wounds that needed healing. When you have three significant people die in less then five years and two of them killed themselves it does something to your brain and heart. I was so broken on the inside I tried really hard to keep up the appearances because "you fake it till you make it." Keep smiling on the outside than maybe you'll start feeling good on the inside. Maybe if I work harder, do more, accomplish more, succeed at my profession, build a bigger network, get more stuff, be in a happy relationship, grow my friend circle, volunteer more, get more degrees, more, more, more…maybe I can make all that pain go away. Fill that void inside of me with things and stuff. It works for a short period of time, but eventually the weight and burden of it all begins to come crashing down on a person. It became all to real and apparent when all of the things I thought I wanted started falling away. The happy relationship and home, the good job with a public presence in the community, a strong friend network, financial stability, and my mental health. It all just fell away.
My mom died and a pandemic hit. The compound interests of grief and trauma finally came seeking a pay out. All my tricks and tips to avoid having to deal with my unhealed wounds wasn't going to work this time around. It was all too much. For any person just one of those things would break them, but as an immigrant, and survivor of poverty and abuse you just keep pushing on, you keep moving through. That's all you know. That's what we do. You don't feel the feelings you just accept tragedy and loss as part of life. It is what it is. When people talk about generational trauma this is what it looks like. This is what it looks like to finally end the cycle and heal those wounds of hundreds of years of colonization and discrimination and alienation. Non-BIPOC people will never understand what it means for BIPOC people to heal trauma. What it looks like. What it takes. The amount of introspection and breakthroughs it takes for one to finally realize, THIS ISN'T MY TRAUMA TO HEAL. Both my parents are dead and for ten years I was still trying to fix the sins of my father. It took almost losing everything for me to finally realize that's not my sin to heal. It was my mother's choice to stay in an abusive and controlling relationship. That's not mine to heal.
I needed to start parenting myself the way I needed as a child, now. You will fuck up your child when you pretend that nothing is wrong and in reality is everything is wrong. Protecting them from the world that they will eventually have to deal with on their own. Not giving them the skills they need to navigate a judgmental and cruel world will only create unprepared adults who will fuck up and feel crappy about themselves for fucking up. Children don't stop loving their parents/caregivers they start hating themselves. This is all too real. Love your children, but hold them accountable. Teach them to accept rejection and that they aren't going to be the best at everything. Don't just give them awards for showing up, but teach them why people's time is important and valuable. We want these silver bullets to fix mental health when there's still stigma around people seeking mental health support. It's going to take all of us to fix our mental health systems. Public schools and socialization isn't going to fix children's mental health when that all starts at home.
It took 46 years and breaking myself wide open that I could finally start healing wounds from my childhood. Think about that.
Be well. Take care. Stay safe.