Tag Archives: living

Living and Leaving an Abusive Relationship

July 30, 2014 Anonymous Leave a comment

Living and Leaving an Abusive Relationship

Everyone wonders why the abusee stays. I wondered for several years after the conclusion of my relationship… why did I stay those 3 years, my college years? The simple answer may sound banal: I loved him. The convoluted answer is that love was worth fighting for, no matter the costs.

I thought that I could fix him, that I was the only one who could or would understand him. And for a long time, that made me feel special and important. But sometime between the belittling insults, the punching and shoving, the time he spit in my face, the time he dragged me across the carpet and threw me out the door in the middle of the night, and the time he cancelled my cross-country airline ticket home without my knowledge, leaving me stranded, penniless, and hopeless in the JFK Airport, I stopped feeling special.

The end started at that exact ticket counter. Andrew and I had spent four painful days in Manhattan visiting his sister, an NYU sophomore at the time. Our return flight to California was scheduled to leave early Tuesday morning. After nearly a week of yelling at each other, we both figured it was finally over, but despite my better judgment, I agreed to share a cab with Andrew to the airport. We hopped into a cab at 4 am with the plan of beating early rush-hour traffic and checking in early for our flight. The cab ride was particularly painful because after four days of fighting, we couldn’t even make eye contact. All I wanted to do was get home and away from him. Something in me told me that this was it: all I needed to was to get home and then I would be safe, with my family and friends there to help me through whatever storm was brewing.

We arrived at the airport with several hours to spare before we were allowed to check our baggage and print our boarding passes. I piled my suitcase, backpack, and purse into a makeshift cushion and tried my best to nap after the exhausting previous days. I was so close. I didn’t even need to sit next to Andrew on the flight. I could make it home on my own, without him, as long as I had my belongings and my plane ticket. I slipped into a light sleep for an hour or so before it was finally time to drag myself and my things to the ticket counter.

The airline employee at the ticket and baggage check-in counter asked for our ticket confirmation number and our IDs. He typed in our information, checked and double-checked his computer screen, handed Andrew his printed boarding pass, and looked up at me sympathetically, “I have one flight reservation for Andrew, but it appears the other ticket on the reservation, the one for you, miss, has been cancelled.” My knees buckled, my mouth dropped open, and tears immediately flooded my eyes. I looked at Andrew, pleading for an explanation, for his help. Andrew had booked our tickets, and sometime in the previous few days, he had intentionally cancelled mine. After days of arguing and fighting, he was exerting his final act of control over me, this time financially.

Andrew stared expressionless at the airline employee, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t cancel that ticket.” I looked him straight in the eyes and whispered, “You motherfucker.” The one-way, last minute ticket from NYC back home was $800, and I was a broke college student. The employee said, “Sir, it states right here that only her ticket has been cancelled. You cancelled it.” Andrew shrugged his shoulders and grabbed his boarding pass and his baggage. “Well, I better make it through security,” he smirked at me. “Good luck.” And he walked off toward the TSA security line.

I ran after him, not even bothering with my things still parked at the ticket counter. Grabbing his arm, I pleaded, “What are you doing? You’re leaving me here?! How am I going to get home?! Andrew, I need to get home.” I started to beg, my voice shaking, along with my hands. He had complete control over me and my ability to get home. “Andrew, please. I can’t pay for that ticket. My credit card can’t even accept that charge. Please.” The passengers waiting in line to pass through security stared at me and whispered to each other. I looked delusional and crazed. I was panicked, and Andrew was smiling. He was enjoying this. He loved the manipulation.

By this time, I was on my knees sobbing. He looked down at me condescendingly and replied with a smile, “You have that Coach purse I gave you for Valentine’s. Sell that. It’s gotta be worth three to four hundred dollars, easy. You’re half-way there already.” He shook me from his arm and headed off again in the direction of the security line.

Looking back, why didn’t I call my family back at home for help? There was a way to get out of this: all I had to do was use my phone. But that’s the scary thing about abuse. I was so afraid and so wrapped up in Andrew’s manipulative game that I felt completely isolated. He was my one and only confidant. You’re supposed to be able to rely on your partner when things get rough, right? But what the fuck do you do when the person you love is the person who will openly humiliate you in public, just to see you suffer?

Somehow ignoring the surrounding crowd, I picked myself off the floor and walked back to the ticket counter and back to my belongings. The airline employee was fully aware of my pleading attempt get Andrew to help me. I looked at the employee, hoping that there was some magic button on his computer that would reverse Andrew’s manipulative trick and restore my reservation on that flight home. “Please, sir. I have no money. He cancelled my flight. I need to get home.” And this man somehow knew that I was telling the truth and that I was hopeless. That I was forced to stand in front of an audience of airline passengers and employees, pleading for help on my knees to a guy that was getting a rise out of the whole dramatic scene. And somehow that airline employee knew something was wrong. He sighed, “Okay, miss. I can restore your seat.” He typed some commands into his machine and printed my boarding ticket with a concerned expression.

I inhaled deeply and thanked him repeatedly. I wanted to hug him. To this day, I wish I had recorded his name in my memory. He was a stranger who might have risked his job by taking a chance on a young woman who, in that moment, clearly could not help herself.

It took another three months after this incident in the airport to finally leave Andrew.

Revisiting the entries of my journal from those last few months, I now realize how I omitted all the specific events involving physical, emotional, or mental abuse. Maybe writing them down forced me to face them, made the feelings real. What I did write was, “When am I going to be enough? When am I going to be worthy of me?” It took three years to lose my self-confidence and my self-worth, and it’s taken me just as long to gain it back. Now, I know that I am worth more.

Photo by Sara Slattery

Health

Being Busy and Taking Care of Yourself

April 2, 2014 Lily Henderson Leave a comment

My first semester of grad school was really awful, and it was mostly my fault. I was taking classes in DC, and working and living on a university campus in Baltimore. I got up early and started work immediately. I would dive into my job and not look up until it was time to head to class. It was an hour each way, and a particularly arduous commute. Classes were long and I had little chance to transition between one task to the next. At home, I’d only face another avalanche of work, and then realize that I was starving. In my infinite wisdom, and more often than I would like to admit, I would grab a candy bar from the vending machine below my apartment and keep going. In the zingy sugar glow, I would work until I couldn’t anymore, and then at some point late in the evening, I would collapse, fully clothed, into bed. I felt like I was drowning. Please, please, please don’t do this.

Clearly, this was not a sustainable model. During the winter break after my first semester, I faced the fact that I had to make some changes. Today, I’m still not an expert at making sure that I am taking care of myself, but there are a few key things I’ve found necessary to avoid completely burning out.

Body

When I’m busy, I can get in this weird mindset where I convince myself its okay to put my physical self last. I have to consciously work to reframe taking care of my body as not being selfish or as putting off “real work,” but rather as taking care of the equipment I need to get the work done. If my brain doesn’t function well, I can’t write, read, respond to emails, or help others. If I think of it that way, it’s easier to justify treating myself with kindness and compassion.

Physical exercise. I do yoga, I dance, I run, I sometimes swim when I get super motivated, but no matter what I do something intense, regularly.
Enough and consistent sleep. Lots of studies will tell you about why this is important, but seriously, it is so important. I just remind myself that sleep deprivation actually kills people [trigger warning: violence, animal studies]. Work with your chronotype, because it actually makes a difference to your happiness: if you are a late riser, don’t force yourself up every day, or if you’re an early riser like me, go to bed early enough. As would be expected, there’s an app (or two hundred) for that.
No sugar (or whatever is your escape drug of choice). Personal but huge for me. What do you do that makes things short term better but long term worse? Is it caffeine? Alcohol? Other drugs? Not-so-wonderful relationships? I am super sensitive to sweet things. The sugar high only gets me so far, and when its over I’m just moody, groggy, fat, and nothing about my situation has changed. Treat yourself, but not with things that harm you.

Mind

There are definitely good ways and bad ways to approach what you have to get done. The following are the things that I need in order to not feel like I’m being crushed when my to-do list expands. This may not seem like self-care, but really, what could be more caring than respecting your own time and worth?

Have a plan. Let me tell you about the Planner Pad. I geek out about it on the regular because it is so perfect for when you are busy. It has space to divide your tasks by category or type, then a section for daily lists, and lastly a section for appointments during each day. When I can look at a single page and get a snapshot of what is going on for the entire week, I do not feel buried. I also take a few minutes at the beginning of each day to figure out what my priorities are. I do the same at the beginning of the week, month, and quarter. I think about my goals and my progress and adjust accordingly. Having that time set aside means that I consistently update my plan and can handle curve balls with way more grace.
Pomodoros! It may be geeky to keep a timer running in the background of your computer, but it keeps me from burning out. I love the Pomodoro Technique mostly because of the five minute breaks—just enough time to watch a music video or send a text or two to a friend, and keep myself from fizzling during a marathon work sesh.
Know when you’ve done enough. What is the bare minimum you need to get done during the day to keep on track? Once I’ve passed this line, I congratulate myself, and decide whether or not I need to keep going. Thinking of working more as a bonus round keeps me from getting caught in the never-ending to-do list.
Change what you can change. In my second year of my grad program, I got a different job without a commute and life got significantly better. I think overall it freed up another twelve hours per week to get other things done. Twelve whole hours. It was unreal.
Write yourself a mission statement: Why are you doing what you do? Sometimes when I felt my worst, I would stand in the shower and pretend I was in a job interview. The (imaginary) person across the (imaginary) table would say, “Why are you in grad school?” I would have three minutes to explain, out loud to myself, exactly why I was studying what I studied. This distilled my purpose, and cemented my desire to get things done. If I couldn’t say why I was doing something, then I knew it was probably time to figure out how to not do it anymore.

Spirit

Remember to take care of the other aspects of your being.

Schedule time for yourself. Again, you are just taking care of the equipment that you need to get the job done. It’s like putting gas in your car. I save this time for reading and sewing and not working on my to-do list. I put this right in my calendar, because I am a geek and otherwise I wouldn’t do it.
Have a support network. Who can you call to get away? Who can you call if you’ve got to cry? Who always finds the best parties/concerts/adventures? To whom can you speak your biggest fears out loud, and know that they will have your back? These people are magic and I keep mine on speed dial. If this is a professional, like a therapist or a mentor at work, even better.
Don’t let the important things drop. My biggest regret from the busiest time in my life so far was not being part of a choir. This was the first time since 4th grade that I was not part of some sort of singing ensemble, and I could feel it. I would have been way happier if I had taken the couple hours a week or month to join some sort of group.
Remind yourself of your power. Chances are, if you are doing a lot now, you probably did a lot to get to where you are. I have a good friend will simply reread his resume whenever he feels like he’s not doing enough. “Hah!” he tells the universe, “You think I can’t conquer this? Look at everything I’ve conquered in the past!”

When I’m at my busiest but make sure to take care of myself, I have this wonderful, bare bones, stripped down feeling. Treating myself kindly feels like flying. I am doing exactly what needs to get done, working at my most efficient, and making steady progress towards my goals. The days go quickly, and I can think and work hard. I love having a lot going on, but if I’m not treating myself with care, I can’t enjoy it.

Want more suggestions? Peruse these 55 gentle ways to take care of yourself.

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Home

My Journey to Happy Cohabitation

March 7, 2014 Ryn Muat Leave a comment

Finding the right living situation can feel like an endless Goldilocks and the Three Bears tale—there are a million ways a place can be a bad fit. On the path to my current peaceful shared living arrangement, I landed in a few of those not-so-great spots.

Living with my Landlord’s Daughter

In my first experience renting a room after moving out of my hometown, one of my two housemates was the landlord’s daughter. My lady housemates were awesome, and I was excited to be living in Oakland, but I attuned to the local housing rates and, as I got to know some folks in town, they let me know my rent was a ripoff. The situation grew tense as I realized what a shoddy deal I was getting. It was time to move. Before too long, I found a much cheaper place just one street over with two bedrooms available. My best friend, who was also looking for a place, jumped on board.

Living with my Best Friend

I scoured the Internet for advice about whether or not moving in with a best friend would work. All the articles advised against it, but we forged ahead with our plans. We were both 22 and single, what could go wrong?

Then, two weeks before our move in date, my best friend met the man of her dreams (they’re now engaged). At our new place, our bedrooms shared two paper-thin walls and she didn’t like staying at his place. A few months down the line, he wound up moving in. This was not what I’d signed up for! It didn’t help that her new boyfriend and I weren’t politically aligned. It didn’t help that the two of them were better friends with our fourth housemate than I was. It didn’t help that I was renting the dinky shoebox sized room, while everyone else had more space. It didn’t help that her two cats bullied my cat so badly I eventually kept her in my room. It took our friendship some time to recover, and that was after the two of them moved out. But things have gotten better! After that, I lived alone—well, sort of.

Living at my Work

My boss, a small business owner, had rented an apartment to use as an office and was planning on renting the bedroom out to someone as a personal office. When I needed to move, she offered it to me. For a year, my housemates were my co-workers. I enjoyed the quiet evenings with the apartment to myself—a hint of the freedom of having my own place. Still, I found myself frequently escaping to my boyfriend’s place in the city. The long evening hours alone, though meditative, felt claustrophobic to me—far too easy to get lost in endless existential omphaloskepsis. The other challenge was the location of the apartment: Telegraph Avenue in Oakland, with a second story street-facing bedroom window. Outside my window there was a bench, a bus stop, and a restaurant that stayed open ‘til 2 am. As much as I love cities, I do not love the noise. And it was heartbreaking to live so intimately close to people living on the streets, some struggling with addiction and mental health issues. It wasn’t a situation I could, or would want to, get used to. After just shy of a year on Telegraph, I let my boss know I was planning to move out.

Living on Couches

My boyfriend and I moved out of our respective rooms thinking we’d move in together, and then decided not to take the plunge quite yet. He wound up moving back home with his parents to figure things out and I wound up searching for the perfect shared living situation, all the while cat sitting and couch surfing. Even though I enjoyed hanging out with peoples’ pets and seeing friends, those four months living out of a suitcase were stressful. It was humbling realizing just how far from being homeless I actually am.

Living in a Home with New Friends

After two and half months of combing Craigslist, synchronicity came to the rescue. A friend of mine from work let me know that a room in the five bedroom house she lived in (dubbed the Harmony Home), would be available in six weeks. I went and looked at the place and I felt like we clicked. I’d never lived with this many people, and the last time I’d lived with a group, it went terribly sour. But by this point I was sick of hopscotching around the Bay: it was time to take a risk.

There are many ways to co-habit, ranging from minimal contact to familial. In previous shared living situations, we shared space, but we didn’t share a vision for the home. When I see others fully at ease, being themselves, I feel more comfortable. At Harmony Home we all want to live in a low-key, warm, and lively space. I cherish the cooking projects, the many guests, and the challenge of navigating conflict skillfully when it arises. I cherish the richness added by each housemate’s interests, humor, music, and conversation. I feel a part of something bigger than myself and my own bubble. As an added bonus, because there are so many of us we’re able to tackle big projects like planting a garden and setting up a grey water system.

I’m starting to feel at peace with the living situation challenges I’ve dealt with in the past. At Harmony Home, we do run into friction, but we’re all invested enough in co-creating a safe, positive space that we work through our conflicts swiftly. This home, with its all of its house plants, two cats, resident tarantula, and Mother Earth swag everywhere on everything, is where it’s at for me.

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Relationships

She’s not Dead, She’s Sleeping (And Other New Mom Lessons)

February 10, 2014 Jenny Butler 3 Comments

I always knew I wanted to be a mother, I just never really thought it would happen as soon as it did. When I graduated from college, my boyfriend and I decided that in a year and a half, when I turned 25, we would start seriously talking about having a baby. Who would have thought that a year and a half later, and ten days before my twenty-fifth birthday, we would welcome our daughter M.

My boyfriend is a little bit older than I am (only sixteen little years), grew up around babies at his mother’s in-home daycare, and helped raise his ex-wife’s daughter (long story). I, on the other hand, am an only child who never babysat an actual baby, but always had an overwhelming maternal instinct and a love of children. When we found out we were expecting, the unwarranted advice started rolling in. People will give you tons of advice when you’re pregnant and a new parent (look, I’m doing it right now, and you’re probably not even pregnant). They mean well, but you will never truly understand what it is like to be a parent until that little bundle of joy comes barreling into your life and changes it forever.

As a new parent, it is almost impossible not to constantly worry. The small foreign creature you brought home from the hospital appears so fragile and delicate and every cough, rash, and change in bowel movement seems like the end of the world. But let me tell you, babies are quite resilient. I remember M’s first diaper rash and thinking it was so horrible that I started Googling images of diaper rashes and immediately concluded that she needed antibiotics and to see the doctor ASAP. I consulted my boyfriend who recommended we put some rash ointment on it and check on it in the morning. I begrudgingly agreed, but if it was still there we were headed straight to the pediatrician! The next morning it was practically gone and I vowed never to Google images of any ailment or disease I self-diagnosed my daughter with. Although, I did slip recently and thought she had hepatitis or aluminum poisoning because her poop was clay colored. The pediatrician did not agree with my diagnosis.

Another thing I found myself worrying about was her growth and milestones, compared to what is considered “normal” for babies her age. Pediatricians tend to freak out if your baby loses too much weight initially and M has always been much smaller than her peers and not-at-all comparable to the giant baby I was. I consulted websites describing the week-by-week progress for infants to research what she should be doing, when she should be doing it, and what to expect her to do next. Heaven forbid she started rolling over a few weeks late or not start solids at the appropriate time! After a while, I forced myself to stop the worrying and had to trust that she was developing at the speed that was right for her. I needed to stop thinking she was dead if her nap went a little longer than usual, and just enjoy the unexpected extra alone time that day.

Alone time. How I miss it. Solitary confinement is vital to one’s sanity when it comes to being a parent. I miss going to the bathroom by myself. Now I have to keep the door open so she can come in and close the door herself (one of her favorite past times) or else she sits outside the door and whines until I come out. My non-parent readers, enjoy your silent potty time while you still have it because soon a little person will want to watch you while you do your business and you will call it “potty training.” (And don’t even get me started on how intimately I know my own child’s butthole.) Once you become a parent, your life and the world doesn’t revolve around you anymore, it is all about the little one. I treat myself to a monthly massage and try to pawn the baby off on daddy for a girl’s night whenever I can. While taking care of yourself is important, it is mutually beneficial to make time for your partner (especially sexy time). Intimacy after childbirth is another article in itself.

And while we are on the subject of bedroom activities: You never truly realize how important sleep is until you’re not getting it. When M turned four months old, we decided enough was enough, she was going to sleep through the night in her own bed, whether she wanted to or not. We chose to do sleep training, and it was not easy. There are many different approaches and techniques for conducting sleep training, but most fall in to two different strategies: non-crying and cry-it-out. We chose the latter because sometimes babies just need to cry and learn to get over it. Sleep training is not necessarily the right choice for everyone. I recommend it, but not all parents, doctors, psychologists or babies agree on the best way to go about it or if one should subject their child to it. What I can say is that it took less than a week to get M sleeping through the night, and she goes to bed at roughly eight o’clock and wakes up around seven in the morning. She does have the occasional late night wake up when she’s sick, but those are few and far between.

Being a parent has its challenges, but there are special moments in between that make it all worthwhile; like first words and steps, tickle sessions that make you both roll in laughter, and snuggles that make you not want to ever let go. In the end, it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t crawl until she is ten months old, or that you haven’t had a good night sleep in who knows how long… what matters is that she is a healthy and happy baby who waves and smiles at everyone, loves books, and gives you kisses in the morning.

Photo by Jenny Butler

Health

Scientific Proof That Daydreaming Is Awesome For Your Health

November 13, 2013 Liz Kerin Leave a comment

Okay, fine. You got me. I am not, in fact, in an academic position to offer actual “scientific proof” about anything. But, as a person who has spent a lifetime working on a formula for a gentler daily grind, I defend my right to call myself an authority on this particular topic.

Daydreaming is great. And it’s great for you. It isn’t useless or silly. It isn’t only something 13-year-old girls do when they have a huge crush on someone they would never dare exchange a word with. I don’t know about you, but I am fairly certain that there is a WAR ON DAYDREAMING. As you venture further into the world of adult-people, do you feel pressured to engage with yourself in a super sensible way instead of letting your imagination run wild? I mean, it’s obviously important to grasp the reality of whatever situation you’re in. But I’ve found that allowing yourself a little time in Brain-Narnia, no matter what age you are, can be incredibly healthy.

Daydreaming gives you perspective. It allows you to view your obstacles in a different way… to apply them to places you’ve never been to before and people who aren’t you. It doesn’t matter if you don’t consider yourself a “creative person” and you don’t think you’ll “use” the lessons your inner monologue is trying to teach you. That little movie theater that lives inside your head is a powerful weapon against the crappy, unexpected blows of the real world.

Case in point: Enduring a particularly wrath-inducing breakup? Wishing you could assert yourself in front of that co-worker who seriously will not stop treating you like you haven’t even hit puberty yet no matter how many SAT words you use in daily conversation? I suggest to you the following: Get the soundtrack to Kill Bill bumping (either volume is superb, though I gravitate towards Vol. 1 for this exercise), go run, bike, or just walk with mad purpose for a few miles, and imagine the source of all your fury meeting the pointy end of your katana. You feel better, right? YES, YOU DO. You identify with this character, this person who obviously isn’t you but might have some feelings mirroring your own, and you’re able to explore how you really feel. Did the daydreaming directly solve the issue at hand? Not so much. But the important thing is that you gave yourself a safe place to work out your “ish”, as they say. It keeps you from wanting to chase after your skeezy ex with a real katana.

And if you do happen to be the type who uses their daydreams as creative fuel, there’s an added bonus. Your inner platform 9 ¾ is a stage upon which you can watch your wildest concepts come to life, and there is nobody but you (!) in the audience. You can observe characters, places, and images from a safe distance as you attempt to flesh them out and discover more about them. As a kid, I personally used to adore jumping on the trampoline in my parents’ backyard with my boombox blaring, thinking of what I was going to turn in for creative writing class that week. I’d spend hours out there. The neighbors probably asked my parents if I was “okay” (possible perceived evidence of the War on Daydreaming!). Nowadays, I’m more of a long-walks-on-the-beach kinda gal. But it’s the same idea. It’s my artsy fartsy zen time.

However, there’s one caveat to that particular practice, something I’ve had to work to wrap my head around over the years: Just because an image intrigues you when its dancing around in your own brain, it will not necessarily be intriguing, or even good, when it materializes on paper, onscreen, or on a canvas. Some things you dream up will work as you intended. But it can be hard to tell which product of your dreamscape is the golden egg and which is the dud, because both excited you. This is when real-world-brain has to take the reins and learn to let go of the things that didn’t work, things you thought would be eye-opening and thrilling but in the end just wound up looking cheesy as hell. There’s a time and a place for creative daydreaming. Lose yourself in it. Go nuts. But accept the fact that maybe only 25% of the things you conjured up while you were walking the coastline listening to the Lord of the Rings soundtrack will actually make it into your final product. Accepting that takes time and maturity. And that’s why you need real-world-brain in addition to Narnia-brain. They work together and they each serve a unique purpose.

So, next time somebody tells you to get your head out of the clouds, take it with a grain of salt. You need to stick your head in said clouds from time to time to get some fresh air. It doesn’t mean you’re delusional. It doesn’t mean you can’t confront yourself. It means you’ve given yourself license to not always be so self-deprecating. It’s like taking a mental health day in short little bursts. As long as it’s not hurting anyone and your life/work/relationships aren’t suffering because of it, have a ball. Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t have a rich inner life. It’s a coping skill. It’s a creative breeding ground. So get out there, go find some clouds, and promptly stick your head in them. I’ll wait here.

Originally published by Thought Catalog at www.thoughtcatalog.com.