I’ve seen a lot of memes about how much people hate self-checkout lanes at stores. And a lot of people comment about how stupid they are or make fun of them. Recently, I’ve noticed a lot of stores shutting them down. For some of us with anxiety, self-checkout is one of the greatest things on the planet! Because for some of us with anxiety, even having to say “hi” or interact with a complete stranger in any way whatsoever is absolutely terrifying. It may sound stupid to people who have never dealt with real, diagnosed anxiety before, but it’s part of what keeps me from going out more. I’m becoming more and more of a hermit, and I’m becoming more and more okay with that, as I’m only protecting myself from a disorder I never wanted or asked for.
Now, it obviously isn’t society’s job to protect or help me with my anxiety by keeping self-checkout lanes open and available, and I’m also someone who can take a joke and laugh at myself. I simply write this because education is one of the goals of my blog. While I’ll continue to laugh at memes making fun of self-checkout lanes and be understanding of why people dislike them, I also hope this has helped others understand why some of us love them and hope they stick around.
I’m not good enough. I’ll never be good enough. Someone tells me to write.
No one will ever read my words. It doesn’t matter anyway. Someone tells me to write.
What’s the point? It won’t go anywhere. Someone tells me to write.
It hurts. It’s hard. I don’t know if I have it in me anymore.
Someone tells me to write . . .
Sometimes it’s my husband encouraging me. Sometimes I think it’s God. Or maybe it’s just my own voice in my head. But someone tells me to write. I don’t know why—if it has to do with depression or something else—but recently it has been hard to write. Even though someone is telling me to do it, I struggle. Maybe it’s because it meant so much to me when I was younger. My ultimate dream in life was to become a published author. While I’ve had a few poems published, it’s not what the dream looked like. Yet there are still so many words and stories in my soul. Sometimes it’s hard, sometimes it’s even painful, sometimes I no longer believe in myself at all. And I’m still going to write, when I can.
Some people don’t want us to tell our stories. They don’t want us to tell them because they aren’t their stories, and that offends them. I believe one of the biggest culprits of close-mindedness is thinking our story is everyone’s story or that it should be everyone else’s story. The desire for sameness rather than differences is what closes our minds and obliterates connection.
I do understand. I understand how it can be difficult to see someone else’s success when I’m still struggling. I understand how it can feel uncomfortable or frustrating to see someone else still struggling when I’ve found help and healing. And through the years, the lessons and growth I’m learning is to not only be okay with other’s stories, but to celebrate them—to find hope, inspiration, love and compassion in them. It’s all a matter of perspective.
Should the person who survived cancer not tell their story because it’s insensitive to people who have lost a loved one to cancer? Should someone who worked through a difficult marriage and stayed together not share their story because it may offend someone who got divorced? Should the person who lost someone to cancer not share their story because it may make a cancer survivor feel guilty? Should the person whose marriage didn’t work out keep quiet because it may make the couple who stayed together feel uncomfortable? Should the person who found mental/emotional healing through medication or therapy not share their story because it’s offensive to someone who still hasn’t? Should the person who is still searching for the hope of healing stay silenced because it brings down the person who has been healed? No! I say we share all these stories!
Instead of choosing to be offended or hurt that someone shared a story that isn’t ours, I believe we should look for the good and the positive in all these stories. Look for the hope in a story that’s different than yours. Look for inspiration in a story that’s different than yours. Look for healing and connection in a story that’s different than yours. Look for love and compassion in a story that’s different than yours. Break the silence. Share your story. And also embrace the silence—to be a listener of a story that’s different than yours.
If you have a story you’d like to tell, please contact me. I’d love to share it here and hope it will make a difference for somebody. That is one of the main purposes of my blog—to bring hope. You can too.
It’s been awhile. I’ve thought about writing so many times and just haven’t been able to find the motivation. I have written some poems, though, so I’ll share one.
The Good Shepherd by Tacy Gibbons
Nobody sees, nobody knows, nobody wants to know.
Unwanted. Isolation. Left alone. Judged. Condemned. Abandoned. Beaten by the side of the road.
The priest and Levite walk by and do nothing. Strangers become the good Samaritan.
I wonder— if they knew, would they walk away too?
Isolation. Left alone. Beaten by the side of the road. The Good Shepherd helps to carry my load.
Love. Peace. Inclusion. Giving as others won’t.
I fill my lamp and knock at the door, with faith He is there and will answer.
Are you the kind of person who turns the light on when you get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night? Or are you like me, feeling like you know your way well enough to get there in the dark? You may trip or stumble here or there, but you’re comfortable enough to leave the lights off.
Our lives can be like this, in a variety of ways. I have experienced it personally when dealing with mental illness. I have also seen others fall into the same trap when it comes to their mental health or when dealing with trauma. What’s the trap? Getting comfortable.
I have often compared depression to darkness. For me, it really is like being in the dark, seeing everything with a dark tinge surrounding it. It is coldness. It is hopelessness. It is despair. And yet there have been times when I’ve forgone things I know might help me because I’ve gotten comfortable in my depression. It’s like an old friend. Sure, it’s an old friend who beats me down, gossips about me, tells me lies and stabs me in the back, but I’d rather stick with the friend I know (horrible as they may be) than risk the effort it would take to find a new friend, even if that friend treats me better.
Often, it’s less scary staying depressed, remaining anxious or holding onto trauma than it is putting forth the effort to look for help or to deal with change. Change of any kind can be intimidating and terrifying. Sometimes it’s easier stumbling in the dark than it is to flip the light on, let our eyes adjust to the brightness and see what struggles or difficulties might lie in our path.
One of the purposes of my blog is to help educate. For those who have never had to go through mental illness I hope this analogy helps with understanding. It can be easy to wonder why someone is still depressed or still struggling. It can be easy to think, “Just get over it!” It’s not just that easy. It’s not something to just get over. I do believe in help and in healing. I have written about so many of the ways and things that can help and that can heal. And I also know how hard it can be. I understand the struggle of even wanting to come out of the dark because the darkness has become comfortable and familiar. I think it’s okay to give encouragement and hope. And it’s important to have patience—with others and ourselves.
You can never heal from trauma. This is one of the biggest lies anyone can tell you. It’s one of the biggest lies you can tell yourself. It’s not true. You can heal from trauma. You don’t have to suffer your whole life.
Someone recently made a statement to me that implied they believed trauma never leaves us, that it sticks with us our whole lives and comes back to haunt us; we can never heal from it. I’m here to tell you that you can. You don’t have to suffer your whole life. Help is ready and it’s real.
I had trauma from my past, from being raised by a narcissistic mom who lied to me and my siblings about each other, pitted us against each other in order to maintain control over us, manipulated us, used guilt tactics and had a martyr complex. (To learn more about covert narcissism and martyr complex see https://toxicties.com/martyr-complex-covert-narcissism/.) Well into my adulthood, even after I had cut off contact with my mother, I was still being affected by her toxicity and emotional abuse. It affected my sense of self-worth and greatly affected certain behaviors. However, I did ART (Accelerated Resolution Therapy) on this trauma, and I healed from it. I was healed from trauma. It no longer affects me.
Several years ago I was diagnosed with PTSD. My triggers immediately sent me into some of the worst panic attacks I’d ever had in my life. Within 4 session of EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) I was healed from my PTSD. It’s not that I learned how to cope with my triggers—it’s that I don’t have triggers anymore. My PTSD is gone.
ART and EMDR didn’t make me forget my trauma. It healed me from it. I can remember the trauma without having any of those old feelings resurfacing and without it affecting my behavior anymore.
If you are dealing with trauma, please know there is hope and there is help. You don’t have to suffer forever. There is a way out. Find a therapist who does ART or EMDR, or discuss other options that are available. I’ll say it again. There is hope. There is help. There is healing.
If you’d like to learn more about EMDR and ART visit the following links:
A long time ago, as a young adult—maybe not even in my twenties yet—I decided I wasn’t going to ask why anymore. Why me? Why them? Why is this happening? Instead I decided to ask what and how. As in, What can I learn from this and how can I use it to help me become a better person or use it to help others? For the past 20 or so years I have been good at doing this. It has helped stave off self-pity and has instead helped me to learn, grow and become more.
Then another bomb hit. Sometimes it feels like that’s all my life has been this past year. Explosion after explosion after explosion. Every time I feel like I’m clearing the rubble and can live a calamity-free life again, another bomb drops, another explosion goes off, and I’m left dealing with the fallout, trying to put all the pieces back together again.
The other day, as I was speaking with my husband, I told him I was having a hard time not asking, “Why?” this time. Most of the bombs dropped this past year have been the result of someone else’s choices. (Which is a great side-note: Our choices can have incredibly deep and long-lasting effects on others.) It’s hard not to ask why this has to be happening to me and my kids who are innocent in all of it. I immediately felt bad for the self-pity, then told my husband that if I were a better person I wouldn’t be feeling this way. “Christ didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. “He was perfect, but he never asked ‘why?’”
“Yes, he did,” my husband responded, then reminded me of when Christ, on the cross, cried out, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” Christ did ask, “Why?”
Now, I’m not going to use this to start questioning any time something difficult or bad happens, even when it’s the result of someone else’s choices. I have found a lot of peace and happiness in staying away from the self-pitying question. But I did find comfort, yet again, in seeing that Christ understands. He has felt everything we have—not just through His suffering in Gethsemane.
The truth is that life is hard. I think it’s hard for everyone. Some people may have more reprieve between the explosions. Some people may deal better with them. It doesn’t mean we’re wrong for struggling—ever. There are so many lessons to learn and so much growth to take place—even when we take a moment to feel sad and ask, “Why?”
Someone recently posed a question in a Facebook group I’m in. “What’s something people don’t understand until they experience it themselves?” Answers ranged from things like skydiving and total solar eclipse to parenthood and giving birth and more serious things like depression, homelessness and abuse. The answer I liked best was simple. One word. Life.
The truth is that we never truly understand anything in life until we experience it. I spent months preparing to give natural childbirth to my firstborn. I read books, spoke with my Certified Nurse Midwife, trained and did exercises in breathing and pain management. By the time I started having contractions I was ready! While I was absolutely prepared, I didn’t truly understand what it meant to give natural childbirth until the twelve hours of labor and half hour of pushing was on me. It was hard, it was painful, and it was even more amazing and beautiful than I could have imagined!
You may say it’s an obvious statement—that we can’t understand something until we’ve gone through it. Yet, how often do we make snap judgments and assumptions of people as if we have gone through it? As if we somehow understand something better than the person actually living it? I know I have. I’ve looked at others and thought, “They are so stupid,” for doing this or that, making this choice or not making another one. I may not have told people to their face, but I’ve thought it or said it to others—that someone is just downright wrong—about something I’ve never experienced. Yet somehow, I was just sure I knew what was best. I look back now and feel ashamed for being so judgmental and condemning.
On the other hand, have you ever eventually gone through something you judged someone else for and realized you were the one who was wrong? I have. In doing so, I came to understand that not everyone experiences things the same way. My depression and anxiety may look different than someone else’s. Someone else may be able to manage their mental illness without medication, but maybe I need it. Just because natural childbirth was the most amazing experience of my life doesn’t mean it was or will be for everyone who goes through it. My experience doesn’t invalidate the woman who hated it and decides on an epidural the next time she has a baby. And her experience doesn’t invalidate mine or mean I’m wrong for loving it so much that I decided to do it natural with my next one.
I have sometimes wondered how the world might be different if there was more understanding that we simply can’t truly understand something we’ve never been through. We can learn about it, hear about it—even prepare for it—but we can’t understand until we’ve stood at the gates and walked through. I also wonder how the world might be different if there was more acceptance that our experiences vary, which means the choices we make or beliefs we develop may also be different. I know this is something I am still coming to understand and am learning to be okay with. As I do, I find it easier to be compassionate and forgiving—the way I hope others would be with me in my imperfect state.
I’ve been worried lately that people may be tired of hearing about how hard this year has been for me; tired of hearing me talk about forgiveness and the peace it has brought me. I apologize if I’ve come off sounding preachy. It hasn’t been my intent. I’m a passionate person and get excited about things that mean a lot to me. You should see me when I go birding! I scream and squeal and excitedly hyperventilate, then love telling those who will let me nerd out to them all about it. What I have learned about forgiveness has been life-changing for me, and the peace it has given me has been truly instrumental in my survival—and joy—this past year, so I’ve been, perhaps overly, excited about it and wanting to share. This poem I recently wrote means a great deal to me. I hope it might mean something to someone else too.
Forgiving Judas
by Tacy Gibbons
I’d been betrayed before.
This one hurt the worst.
I wonder if Peter, James, John
and the other disciples
followed Christ’s commandment to forgive.
Did they forgive the man
who sold their teacher, their friend—
the Son of God Himself—
for thirty pieces of silver?
Have I forgiven him?
Maybe God won’t.
He doesn’t have to.
But we are commanded to forgive all.
I’d been betrayed before.
Lied to, manipulated.
I’d even been stabbed in the heart.
This time was the worst.
But I had already battled demons
and wrestled with monsters.
The flames of fire that licked at my skin
did not burn me.
They refined and rebuilt me.
More resilient than I was before.
I still love you.
I forgive you—
and Judas.
I will let the Master take care of the rest.
Wonder Woman has a great job. Top tier. Management. And she kicks ass at it!
She’s also an amazing mom—a single mom, at that. Even with work, she’s able to volunteer in her kid’s classes, go on field trips, help with homework, take them to lessons, go to performances and competitions. She’s incredibly supportive and always there for them. The rock of the family.
Wonder Woman takes care of the house, too. She cleans the bathroom, dusts the bookshelf, washes the dishes, cooks dinner, does the laundry. The house is spotless. At least, most of the time!
And the yard looks fabulous! Wonder Woman mows the huge lawn, pulls the many weeds and trims the various bushes, front, side and back.
Oh, and she even makes time for self-care. Pursues hobbies, engages in interests, relaxes here and there. She makes sure to serve and help others, too, because it makes her feel so good inside.
Wonder Woman does it all! She has it all! She is Wonder Woman.
Wonder Woman must exist. It’s who everyone builds their expectations off of, right? Maybe there is a single mom out there who is able to do absolutely everything all on her own and still be strong and happy.
I am not Wonder Woman.
So the next time you ask me if I’ve gotten a job yet (because it’s usually the first thing everyone asks), the answer is still no. My worth is not determined on my ability to solely provide for my kids. And they need me more than a job needs me. I need them more than any of us need me to have a job.
My kids help around the house, and we do our best, but most days the kitchen is dirty, dishes are piled in the sink, my bed is littered with odds and ends and there is dust settled on the bookshelf.
The next time you go past my yard and see how out of control it is don’t think it’s because I don’t care. I do. I do as much as I can before my chronic pain becomes unbearable. Sometimes I can mow the whole, big lawn. Sometimes I can only pull a few weeds. And then I stand beneath the hot water in the shower and cry—at the pain and the feeling of failing.
Every once in a while, I take time for myself. It’s not easy to find, but I have to. Not because I’m lazy, but because I know what it’s like to be trapped in the chains of depression and despair. I have to do what I can to keep my mental health strong so I can keep being there for my kids. They deserve a mom who is happy and healthy. I deserve to be happy and healthy.
Wonder Woman may be out there. Maybe there are a lot of her. I am not Wonder Woman. I am just me.
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Breaking the Silence 