Anger? That feeling I never let myself feel for long before slapping a happy face sticker on it and sweeping it under a rug? What was it doing at work?
I am not my mind
My mind committed numerous sins against my body throughout adolescence and early adulthood.
I verbally abused her. I shamed her and ridiculed her and starved her. I lectured her and patronized her and treated her with general contempt. I traded her away to avoid disappointing others just to end up disappointing myself.
I ignored her, denied her, silenced her, disassociated from her.
But my mind was wrong.
My mind was wrong.
I’m a mom with no maternal instinct
At one point, I remember googling “help i am a mom with no maternal instinct what do i do”
I felt a lot of shame about this. I really, truly believed I wasn’t a good mom because it was so hard for me and none of it felt natural.
But I’m thinking differently now.
My Divorce Fantasy
The problem with flight is that eventually you have to land, and when I did, I crashed right into my therapist’s office. I wasn’t hibernating anymore. I was jarred awake, grappling with the reality that my coping mechanisms of denial and repression had me in a perpetual state of survival mode and escape. I couldn’t stand to be present in my own home.
In the safety of my therapist’s office, I experimented, attempting validation and acceptance instead. I admitted aloud that at gut level, I believed my marriage was destined for divorce. That terrible truth, that secret shame, was exposed to the light of day for the first time.
We are done “should”ing
Do I even want to be married? To have kids? To teach? What else have I been “should”ing? These roles I’ve built my entire identity around – do I actually even want them?
Panic.
A good woman shouldn’t ask herself these questions, I thought.
But maybe I’m done being a good woman.
Anxious. Excited. anxiousexcited
I perform a LOT.
Even something as simple as meeting someone new brings up those same uncomfortable physical sensations. My body gets hijacked, my extrovert self takes center stage, we “fake it till we make it,” and… showtime.
“a little bit gay”
It’s time ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🖤🤎🤍
emperor penguin parenting
recovery friends 05.22.23
Drove down to Sheboygan today with a crisis center friend to visit another at his sober living. Lighthouse walks, beach talks, bird watching, rock snatching, and crab rangoons.
independence 05.21.23
I discharged from the crisis center two days ago and got the keys to my new apartment. I’m learning new skills and so proud of this little space in the world I’m making for me and my kiddos ♥️
My un-diagnosis
While institutionalized at Winnebago Mental Health, I did not have a doctor, let alone a psychiatrist, assigned as part of my care team. The bipolar diagnosis came from two court appointed evaluators who sat down with me for forty minutes and drew their conclusion.
My Separation Reality
In four days, my divorce fantasy becomes my separation reality. I get the keys to my own small, lovingly curated apartment. I answer only to myself. I prioritize making my own dreams a reality and bad vibes are checked at the door. I have consistent solitude to prioritize my mental, spiritual, and physical health, and I parent with patience, instilling the values and boundaries I find most important, without compromise. After separation, I never find my “other half” because I’m already whole. I don’t ask permission to have needs – they live inside me guilt-free.
freedom ride 05.10.23
Channeling wicked witch of the West on a too-small bike vibes, I found some treasures while cycling through Winnebago County Park.
“loyalty” – a slam poetry piece
You can now find me tik tokkin’.
BEAUTY in crisis 05.07.23
With the right presence and eye, true, wild beauty can be found in your own neighborhood. Here are some iPhone snaps of my first solo nature walk on 05.07.23 now that I have liberty to leave the crisis center grounds.
My shiny, new diagnosis
Hi, my name is Bobbi. And I’m bipolar. Yikes, even typing that sentence has me feeling like I’m wearing giant clown shoes or spilling out of a bra two cup sizes too small. The diagnosis doesn’t resonate or fit, but according to the court-appointed psychiatrist and psychologist for my involuntary commitment, it’s mine. Disclaimer: I’veContinue reading “My shiny, new diagnosis”