Happy Birthday You're a Mess

Today I celebrate my life. Fifty nine years ago my mother Donna arrived at Mercy hospital in a taxi. No husband or insurance. No prenatal care and apparently no plan. Maybe I started living in survival mode the day I was born. I had a mother with no plan and a father who was nowhere in the picture. Reflecting back it’s no surprise I became a fighter. 

Each year on this date I take time to reflect on where I’ve been and pause to consider where I am headed. I manifest, set intentions and remind myself that it is never too late. It’s my new year celebration when I say congratulations you beautiful survivor, you made it through another year. Now what? 

This birthday feels significant. Things are shifting like the ground before an earthquake when below the surface rock breaks and energy releases seismic waves. My life is changing and it’s not just what’s in the mirror. It’s what lies within my aging body that can’t be seen but is felt every day. I’ve gotten to know myself over the last few decades and I’ve worked really hard to improve my health, my attitude and my approach to life. I’ve made a lot of progress and I should be happy. But the truth is happiness does not come easily to me. This might shock you and frankly it scares the hell out of me, but it’s true.

I’m a master at surviving. I’ve taken decades of struggle and turned into gold. Fake it until you make it got me this far and I thought I won the race. Don’t stop. Don’t give up. Don’t be a victim. That mantra has served me well but recently my mind and my body have taken me hostage and are telling me you can’t run anymore. There's no place left to hide. It’s time to deal with it. I’ve spent most of my years grinding through this life and I’m tired. 

Did you know that trauma can be held in the body leading to physical symptoms years later? It may appear as headaches, anxiety, depression, anger or chronic pain? Some research suggests that trauma such as abuse and violence can be passed from one generation to another by leaving a chemical mark on a person’s genes. My trauma has been tucked snuggly away like boxes of photos in the attic. Out of sight, out of mind (or so I believed) but the body never forgets. It stores ugly remnants deep within. The lovely amygdala captures it all like fragments of glass, ready to fracture my fictitious calm I use as my armor protecting me from the world.

Over the years I’ve used every coping trick in the book to get me through. I’ve tried everything from drugs, alcohol, yoga, sex, and medication. I was a workaholic and that seemed innocent enough but now my life is shifting away from work as my primary passion and it leaves a void. I heard an expert address PTSD recently and she referenced retirement as a time when demons start to rise. It makes sense that once you slow down long enough to hear the voices in your head that you may notice that something isn’t right. 

Hidden but lurking memories make my muscles coil and organs flare. I fight the fire with all my might. Don’t give up. Don’t give in. It’s a battle many of us struggle with but seldom discuss. Especially me. I’m very good at packing things away and placing them in the back of a closet When I peek inside the fire blasts my heart. Anguishing my body trying to destroy my spirit. It’s time to unpack the boxes because they are smoldering, intending to destroy me if I don’t. One by one I will start unpacking the shit that weighs me down starting with my chaotic childhood and the lies that imploded when I found out who my real father was (How I Met My Father). This clearly had an impact on my relationships because I spent years in damaging and disasterous relationships ending with one that nearly destroyed me by sucking the literal life right out of my vibrant body. Asshole. And just when I felt I was on the path to happiness beginning a new life with Pablo I’m faced with the murder suicide of my Donna (Mom) and John (Stepdad). I wrote about it in my blog  Finding Dr. Laura but otherwise I’ve never talked about it. I don’t want to talk about it but I do need to process that trauma and I intend to do that.That’s the big box and I will unpack it with some guidance and support. I will heal. 

I am on this journey now at fifty-nine because I see clear signs that I am not ok. I have surrendered to anxiety which has my full attention. I know it’s not normal to feel exhausted and drained by simple daily interactions with others. It’s not normal to have muscles so tight that even my massage therapist is baffled by my tension. It’s not normal to faint for no reason and to be overwhelmed daily by your senses attacking your sanity. Noises and lights bombard me making it uncomfortable and frightening to be in public. I can’t filter distractions out and it leaves me drained, agitated and desperate. For years I’ve dismissed these behaviors as the way that I am wired but I can’t lie to myself anymore. I am in full blown anxiety mode every waking hour and sleep only comes after two stiff vodkas and an Ambien. That’s when I get a break. Eight hours of respite from myself. How sad is that? I don’t have to live like this. 

As a younger woman I battled my way through this life and survived. I was convinced that I had conquered and I had won. At fifty-nine I am rudely reminded each time I feel the panic rise, the anxiety threatening my breath that my work is not done.  If I don’t address this now I may not live long enough to enjoy the life I have earned. I thought I had healed and done all the work I needed. I found joy. I allowed myself to love and be loved but beneath it all there is darkness that I now recognize as anxiety and it is severely disrupting my health and my happiness. It’s time to deal with it. 

Thank you universe for nudging towards Mel Robbins. Instead of my daily dose of Megyn Kelly I ended up listening to the Mel Robbins podcast, The Toolkit for Healing Anxiety. She hosted the program with Dr. Russell Kennedy, a respected medical expert on anxiety. I started to sob and I’ve been crying every day since then. Emotions were unleashed and damn if I couldn't put them back in their box. Happy birthday to me. Not the gift I expected.

As a gerontologist I discuss the beauty of growing older and encourage others to embrace their age. As an aging woman I am realizing first hand the nuances of shifting towards a new decade where significant changes are happening. I am no longer just discussing the topic of aging, I am living it. I am grateful for these lessons and the teachers that are here to guide me. I am grateful for the maturity to recognize the deep pain that is destroying my spirit and taking over my body. I am grateful for my fighting spirit that has raised her hand to say stop. Enough is enough. Slow down, take a deep breath and let’s figure this shit out. Together. 

Resources that have helped me

Mel Robbins Podcast- The Toolkit for Healing Anxiety

The Body Remembers: How Your Body is Storing Past Trauma