It’s a beautiful sunny day at my house. Cold and sparkly. The days are getting longer and winter is on its downward slide. Spring is only a few months away. It will be nice to feel warm again.
My last letter to you has been on my mind a lot lately. I was telling you my story about trigger episodes. It helped a lot, by the way, verbalizing those experiences. Noticing and recognizing them for what they are is a relatively new experience for me and now that I am facing this truth in my life I realize I have a lot to learn.
Each little step toward admitting and understanding abuse and the resulting triggers brings with it a deeper awareness of the effect this has had on my life. I’m grateful because it means I’ve moved a tiny bit closer to wellness.
My description of the trigger incidents didn’t sound all that bad, thinking about them later. They weren’t the worst I’ve experienced, by any means, but any trigger no matter how small is still uncomfortable and of significance.
I was trying to think of a word picture for what happens in my mind during these events. The scenario that popped into my head was prison lock-down. Have you ever seen action movies where this happens? Cell doors clanging. A sudden and indefinite halt in life. That’s a good picture of what happens in my mind.
On a brighter note.
I’m encouraged with the feedback I’m getting about this blog. The main motivation behind it was to support fellow travelers on this hard road in life.
It is a hard road. For more people than you might think.
I want to find a way to provide a similar type of support – as a way to give back some of what has been invested in me. I’m hearing there is a great need for something like this and it spurs me on to get this up and running.
Fourteen years ago, when in crisis, a friend introduced me to a support group for women struggling with life’s wounds. It was a turning point for me.
One significant impact the group had on my journey was teaching me the value of telling my story. I didn’t believe it could do so much good.
In the beginning I couldn’t speak up when it was my turn. Everyone was so gracious in accepting my reluctance because they understood. Eventually I felt safe enough to at least say … Hi, my name is Janette, I’m the adult child of an alcoholic. This statement speaks volumes to those who have been there, so it was enough.
That was the most difficult challenge, allowing people in to my pain. The ice was broken with the first telling, small though it was, and I could gradually add more details as the weeks went on.
I’ve told my story many times over the years and with every telling something new happens and it changes me.
I’m trying to figure out a safe way for us to share our stories and our struggles in this setting, I know there are some who would appreciate the opportunity. I’m thinking maybe moderated comments that don’t get posted might work for those not wanting to go public. Maybe one or two of my friends will do a trial run with me to see if we can find something that will do the job for us.
In the meantime, I pray that I will have something to say in these letters, something that will fill a need and speak to someone’s hurting heart .
I appreciate you taking the time to listen to me Mamie Rose. I feel a bit neglectful of you today, as sometimes my thoughts slipped into strategizing mode and you were all but forgotten. Talking to you does help me work things through, so, thank you, you are a good friend.
Talk to you again soon,