Tag: #untamed

I’m a writer.

January 6th, 2023

As I wake up and shake off the dust, I’m finding myself again. I’m remembering who I am.

I’m finding my light.

I’ve written a lot about why I am the way I am, or, the way I was. Or, who I’m unbecoming. I do this because I never did. Write about it, that is. Or talk about it for that matter.

One of my core upsets is feeling misunderstood or unheard.

Silence has tortured me so much of my life. You want to punish me? Just stop talking to me. Pretend like I don’t exist. Anyone else feel this?

Ironically, God gave me an exhusband who stonewalled me for the majority of 15 years, a father who didn’t talk to me for ten years, family that never asks meaningful questions or listens deeply, friends who thought I was fine when I definitely wasn’t fine, a friend of 30 years who didn’t speak to me for the last two, and a Love, my twin…who didn’t speak to me for five long horrible years.

That’s a LOT of fucking silence.

(And Contrast… (Another blog post coming soon…))

Thanks to the mirror exercise, I now understand why everyone is silent. I now understand why I’ve suffered SO MUCH.

Because…. for most of my life… I didn’t listen to myself. I didn’t hear myself. I didn’t talk to myself. I didn’t understand myself.

I didn’t listen to myself when my insides screamed “run away!” and I laid there, paralyzed. I didn’t listen to myself when my soul wanted to end my marriage ten years ago but I chose to listen to everyone else, my mind, my fear, my ego instead. I didn’t listen to myself…the part of me who was SO IN LOVE with another man…I didn’t listen to her. I silenced her. I denied her. I tried to forget her. I tried to kill her in my mind. I tried to kill my soul.

I didn’t understand myself when I was a silenced kid carrying the weight of the world and didn’t know what to do with it or understand why. Why. Why. I didn’t hear myself crying out for help after every flashback and every nightmare. I didn’t understand myself and why I wanted to die…I didn’t listen to myself. I kept misunderstanding myself. I kept running from myself. I stonewalled myself.

So OF COURSE I would attract more and more situations and people who would keep misunderstanding me. OF COURSE I would keep trying to get people OUTSIDE of me to listen to me… But FAIL and FLAIL because I wasn’t listening to MYSELF.

This feeling of being misunderstood grew and grew especially over the past 5 years or so. God is good and I finally understand why. Because I continued to bury my heart, my truth, my self deeper and deeper. Every day for five years I denied her. I shut her up and I shut her down.

But, she still cried out, “See me, hear me!!!”.

But I buried myself alive.

I could blame everyone else. I want to. I have. You’ve read it. I’ve tried. But no one has shown up on my doorstep and apologized. Even if they did, I’m not even sure it would heal me at the depths of which I feel that pain.

So I write. Because I can. Because I know I’m not the only one. And because I NEED to.

I have 39 years of jumbled up thoughts and pain. Ten years of completely denying myself. A lifetime of completely denying myself of good, of Love.

It’s all coming out now. At first, it wasn’t pretty. I was full of anxiety and panic and desperation. Imagine being buried alive and then one day God takes a shovel and breaks the ground and says “wake up! Come out!”

Writing this now makes me realize that I had my Lazarus moment…. “Lazarus! Come forth!”

“Keturah! Wake up!!!!”

So there she is, my soul, buried six feet under. For the first time in ten years she’s seeing day light again.

My rescue felt like clawing my way out from six feet of packed in dirt. Like tens of thousands of feet had walked on me. It wasn’t pretty. He said I was flailing. Well….I think you might flail too if you realized you were buried alive.

So, I write. I write because I never spoke. Did I say words? Of course I did. Anyone who knows me knows that I have the tendency to be verbose. Especially when I’m anxious. Or when I’m flailing. Or when I’m trying to just survive.

My life is interesting in that the very thing that sets me free is the very thing that hurt me.

My dad is a writer. And an artist. He’s very talented, one of those starving artist and tortured types… Alone, poor, full of dreams but little manifestation. I refused to let that be me. So in my dead days (buried alive) I lost all interest in creating. I didn’t paint. I didn’t draw. I lost my spark. I became lackluster. I never wrote ever, so this is a new creative endeavor for me. And this is why…

All I remember of my dad from my childhood are his aspirations to be an author. He wrote prolifically. He drew pictures to accompany his writing. He was devoted, I’ll give him that. But if you read my earlier posts, you’ll remember that my dad was less than kind to me. And often, that abuse involved his writing.

And because of that, I refuse to become my dad. I refused to write.

The problem is, if I don’t create, I still become him… Full of dreams and no manifestation.

So, when I woke up, I chose to heal it instead continuing to be a victim to it. I healed it by just choosing to do it. For me. To become ME. I don’t expect anyone to read this. I don’t care if anyone reads it. I love hearing from people who do read it! But, because I felt forced to stay silent, and then forced myself to stay silent, my noise is now SO LOUD. My healing victory is claiming this for myself and trusting that God will put it in the path of those who need to read it.

When I decided to start a blog, I was terrified. I knew I had a secret and I knew I was supposed to tell it. Torn between doing what’s best for me and what everyone else wants, I was brought to my knees. God said to my soul… They need to hear it. They will read it.

Who is they? I’m still finding out. People come out.of.the.woods. to tell me how much this resonates. How they read me telling their story. Good. I’m glad ❤️. Thankfully, I don’t need validation anymore. I don’t need anyone to tell me I’m good or that I’m okay or that I’m making good decisions. I just CHOOSE to believe the God in me who says, “you’re perfect. It’s perfect. Your heart is beautiful. Shine your light baby girl. Say what you need to say”. So, if you’re reading and it helps you, Thank God. Because he told me to. I just listened. Thankfully, it helps me too ❤️‍🔥

So I guess I’m a writer. This is part of who I am now. This is how I choose to heal. And I’ll keep healing. I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep digging up the dirt, keep digging out of my grave, until I find all my light, all my good, and all my treasure. ❤️‍🔥

Honest. Kind. Shine. XxOoXXo.
Thirty-Nine.

September 10th, 2022

Listening to Landslide by Judah and the Lion (a Fleetwood Mac remake- better imo 😬) and contemplating the last 39 years of my life. If you take a listen I think you’ll get a window into my life, as it is and as it’s been.

The lyrics are just… almost too much to bear without filling a bucket of tears.

Took my love and I took it down
I climbed a mountain, then I turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills
‘Til the landslide brought me down

Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’
‘Cause I’ve built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
Well, I’m getting older too…

10 years ago I made a commitment to someone I love that I would climb ‘our mountain’…. and then I turned around….and then the landslide brought me down.

I’ve always struggled with my relationships with men. It’s a bit dark? deep? to talk about this on my birthday but it’s what’s on my heart…

I’ve shared here and there that I have a complex relationship with my father. Come this December it will be 10 years since we’ve had any interaction.

About ten years ago, someone close to me contacted me- she was very concerned. She shared that my dad had messaged one of her daughters in the middle of the night (she was a very young teenager at the time) and the message made her feel really uncomfortable. This person close to me was aware of my dad’s history (I’ll share below) and asked me to talk to my dad about his behavior. She wanted to call the police. The interaction was obviously concerning and compelled me to address my dad. I had just turned 29 when I had to have this conversation with my DAD.

What is your relationship with your dad like? Does he respect the boundaries and innocence of you, your friends, others? Does he call you on your birthday? Does he allow you to have your own special moments?

Bryce has allowed me to witness what a good father looks like. I’m grateful.

My father was not a good father.

Don’t get me wrong, we had some good moments.

My dad was the fun parent. He was like us kids, loved to play video games, listen to music, be silly. My dad is an artist, an author- he’s very very talented. He loves psychology, science, and philosophy. He’s incredibly intelligent. Emotional. Deep. Pensive. Creative. Expressive…

Sound familiar?

I haven’t wanted to be but the truth is…I am so much like my dad.

I have wanted to deny this, run from it, not admit it. Because I was afraid. Afraid if I expressed myself fully I would turn into him, or even worse- be accused of things he’s done. My dad doesn’t live by the “rules”. Even to this day the way he lives is life is outside of what’s considered “normal”. He’s not a productive member of society.

My dad was never held accountable for what he did to me. He was never held accountable for the many many ways he made so many of my friends uncomfortable by making me/them the object of his sick desires.

The fucking hard thing is…I love my dad. I miss him. I want to have a relationship with a father. And I don’t. I can’t. He’s toxic and dangerous. I must protect myself and my daughter. He will never ever have any kind of access to her because he’s an abuser.

This is very hard to write.

I have been conditioned to “respect my mother and father” and I think they and most people would prefer if I didn’t air my dirty laundry (and the alternative is???? let it stink up my house???)

Childhood abuse makes people uncomfortable. No one wants to admit that their own father was both the object of their love and also their destruction.

How awful and confusing that is. I was just a little girl. I had no voice. I had no one to protect me. No one knew. I didn’t talk about it for TEN YEARS.

Apparently I’m good at keeping secrets for a decade 😦

My mom didn’t know. No one knew. No one knew what he did to me. And I’m not going to write it here because it’s just….awful.

But I will say this…. because of who he is, how he objectified me and every little girl he had access to, he made me not trust myself. He made me detach my mind from my brain. He traumatized me. He robbed me of my innocence.

He refuses to take ownership and be held accountable for his actions which is why I have severed him from my life. I’m not happy about it. I’m not over here celebrating the fact that my dad is a pedophile. It is the worst family secret that could ever exist. Imagine having to hold that in your heart and mind your whole life.

I was never given a space to talk about it, to heal. I can’t even count how many people have said, “it make you stronger”, “he did his best”, “maybe if you…”, “you need to forgive”… I don’t think people understand how hurtful statements like this are. So many people have implied that it was somehow my fault, my responsibility. If you’ve EVER thought anything like this about a victim of childhood abuse (or any abuse, for that matter) YOU are part of the problem and have blood on your hands.

It wasn’t my fault.

The 1990s weren’t trauma informed or kid-positive so my brain just did it’s best to figure out how to deal.

As a result I have ongoing trauma triggers, flashbacks, unwanted memories, and I’ve had LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS of confusion and heartache around parenting, love, sex, my body, and MEN.

My mom never dated or remarried so I virtually had no positive male role models in my life, especially before I was 16. I had a grandfather and a few uncles, but we weren’t close in a way that I needed. It’s not their fault. In today’s other post I share how much I crave intimacy- being seen, known, and loved. For at least 10 years (probably 10-20 years old) the darkest and most devastating part of my life was unseen and unknown by anyone but me…and him. Secrets are intimate. These kind of secrets are killers. Killers of mind, body, and soul. It’s a freaking miracle that my life has gone the way it has. Someone must have really been praying for me, looking out for me. Apparently her name was Elaine ❤

The landslide lyrics are tough to hear but also so healing.

I have built my life around four different men, trying to find love, trying to find wholeness and healing. Some people get lucky and do find healing in their relationships. I actually think that’s how it’s supposed to be. We are built for community. Finding your tribe is a real and necessary thing– consider yourself incredibly blessed if you feel like your tribe- whoever you decide that to be- gets you–all of you.

Time has made me bolder. I’m writing- something I’ve been scared to do for so many reasons but a significant one is because I don’t want to be my dad. I love to write. But it’s suuuuperrrrr triggering. I remember days, weeks, years of my dad pouring all of his energy into his books, into his art, and into his love for little girls. Even as I type this I could just scream. Or barf. Or both, at the same time.

It is the worst feeling ever to love someone who destroyed you.

So here it is, my 39th birthday. I won’t get a call from him, I won’t get a card. I won’t hear ‘I love you’ or ‘I’m proud of you’. As far as I know, I’m dead to him. All because I spoke the truth and set a very very firm boundary.

Lots of people don’t have a dad. Lots of people were physically, sexually, emotionally abused by their fathers. Lots of people cut off contact with their dad (or mom) for their own protection and mental health.

I don’t think many people have a dad like mine though. So gifted, so wounded, so deep and profound, but also so… dangerous.

Usually I’m okay. I can find joy in watching Bryce parent Anna. I find peace in knowing that we’re protecting her body, mind, and soul. I am able to love myself, parent myself in ways I wasn’t. I’ve worked really hard to not be triggered and in my trauma unconsciously. Because it’s UGLY and crazy when it shows up. It makes me mean. It makes me misunderstand nearly everyone’s intentions, especially men.

I don’t see men as dangerous. That’s not how it shows up for me. I see men as indifferent towards me. There are a few men I cherish and they are the one’s that get the brunt of my trauma projections. You didn’t call on my birthday? Must mean you don’t love me. You forgot about me, didn’t celebrate me, didn’t notice or give me special moments? Must mean I’m unlovable…trash…unworthy.

My abuse taught me that I am unworthy of the basic human right to bodily autonomy. To be protected, safe, and loved as a little girl. He robbed me.

So, thirty-nine is the year that I am taking my life back, out of his hands, out of any man’s hands that I’ve surrendered my self-worth to. I’m taking my life back, I’m taking my heart back. I’m taking my body back. I’m taking my mind back. It’s all mine now and I’m not going to let anyone anywhere implicitly or explicitly define my worth.

I’m also going to fight like hell for the things I want, for the love I deserve.

It’s taken me thirty nine years but I finally know what I want. I finally know what I deserve. I won’t settle for anything less. I would rather be alone.

If you can’t grow or change to become what I want and need, then you’re not right for me. You may be a decent human. You may be everything someone else wants or needs. But if you like the person I am- deep, passionate, loving, expressive, full of light and love- then you might have to work on your shit. You might have to grow. You’ll probably be stretched and made uncomfortable.

Go out on a limb– that’s where the fruit is 🙂

Not everyone is able or willing to let go of their patterns that hold then back or hold them in sick places, like pedophilia for my dad…

Newsflash though…the universe will continue to present you with opportunities to confront your demons. Don’t think you can escape it. There’s no better motivator than love. I hope you choose love.

We outgrow people who won’t grow with us.

Most people just want to stay safe…but as they do they stay in their pain, in their lies, in all the things that hold them captive. I know because I’ve been there.

I’m giving myself the gift of freedom.

Freedom from lies. Freedom from captivity. Freedom from triggers. Freedom from dogma. Freedom from judgement. Freedom from death. Freedom from smallness. Freedom from scarcity. Freedom from him.

I’m willing to burn for you.

Honest. Kind. Shine.
Pearls Before Swine.

August 12th, 2022
Third post in and I’m going to actually start, I think.

As a therapist, I am always paying attention to how my clients set up their story. Do they dive right in? Or does it take them a few sessions to open up? Everyone is different and while I want to be a safe space where my clients can just ‘spill the tea’, everyone has a different process and that’s okay.

Me? I am a hedger. I tiptoe. Especially with people I don’t know if I can trust. I have always had difficulty being direct. Obviously, this is obvious lol. Three posts in and I’ve barely said anything of substance. With my husband and my friends I’m not usually this way… but I’m writing this for the world. I’m writing it for you. YOU you (iykyk) but also you- the one who has a hard time hearing hard stuff. I know, this is frustrating. To both me and the listener.

JUST GET TO THE POINT, KITTY! Ugh, if I had a nickel…

Well, sorry folks, but I’m still growing. And maybe at blog post #3297 I’ll just be able to SPIT IT OUT, but not today. This is my process and I’m allowing myself to have it. Kudos to those out there who can just blurt things out and deal with the consequences (or not). I’ve tried different styles of sharing and well, this one is just what works best for me. (A little insider tip for those who don’t care for tiptoeing or hedging, just skip the first 2 paragraphs or so until I get better at spilling the tea, lol)

Remember, Post #one I shared that I’ve kept a secret for TEN YEARS. I’m not just going to blurt it out. Frame it however you want. Am I stringing you along or am I setting the groundwork? I believe good foundations make it possible to build good houses. So this is me, setting the foundation. Despite what some may think, I don’t usually go around just dropping bombs. I try not to anyway.

In one of my first posts I shared that writing is difficult for me. Not because I don’t like writing (I DO!), but because writing, sharing my thoughts, my heart and soul, has a strong trauma attachment and trigger. I will share more about that in a future post, but “pearls before swine” is a part of that trauma story.

I’ve always been a vulnerable person. I have no problem sharing my heart, my feelings, and my thoughts. Someday I’ll dive much deeper into this, but for now, we’ll just say it’s a super fun combo of personality + trauma + attachment + coping styles that makes me this way. I truly don’t mind laying it all out there for people to see. Unfortunately, people don’t always like or understand what they see or what they hear. And because of filters and programming, people seem to have lots of opinions. For the majority of my life, this equation: my heart + people’s opinions, has not worked out well for me. I’ve had to do all kinds of healing to get to a place where I can be me and not want to die. That’s heavy, I know. I’ll circle back.

People mean well. I know they do. But man, the TRUTH IS… “people” have hurt me, misunderstood me, invalidated me, and trampled on my heart (my thoughts, feelings, needs, experiences) with the things that they’ve said while trying to figure out what to do with my big ol messy heart.

Here’s an incomplete list of the shit people say/the beliefs I’ve developed as a result of the shit people say:
- Guard your heart
- Don’t throw your pearls at swine
- Don’t air your dirty laundry
- You’re exhausting
- No one wants to hear that
- TMI
- You’re flooding
- You’re oversharing
- This is too much
- You’re too much
- I don’t have time for this
- I can’t be part of your process
- You’re being dramatic
- Just stop thinking/feeling that way
- You’re not allowed to think/feel that
- Not everyone deserves to see your heart
- And on and on and on it goes….
Let me make one thing very very clear…. I’m not saying they’re wrong. I agree with or understand most of these statements, especially the biblical ones……….in principle. The problem is, like with most quippy saying and stupid things people say, is that if you say them to a CHILD or if you say them to someone who has been TRAUMATIZED and forced to keep a secret all their childhood… well, folks, you are then the ‘swine’. In trying to “help” me, my “friends”, family, therapists, pastors, etc etc etc have actually taken my pearls and trampled all over them. In trying to “help” me they actually hurt me. Just more reasons to keep it all stuffed in.

IYKYK, am I right?

Chances are, if you’re an unempathetic or unsafe person you probably won’t end up here so I can just be straight without worrying about “their” feelings. Because that’s what us big hearted people do. We care. We care so much about everyone else that we forsake ourselves and spend decades ruminating on what they say, and thus proving that no one will want to or be able to hear our heart.

I really only have two choices. I can continue doing some version of what I’ve done my whole life– keeping it all locked up for the most part and sharing bits and pieces with a select few “culturally approved” listeners or…… I can do what I’m doing right here right now and love myself HARD aaaaand bare it all for the world to see.

It’s what I want to do. It’s what my life thus far has set me up to do. I’ve worked through and I’m committed to being okay even if others are not okay with me. I believe it all will be for the GOOD of mankind. My prayer is that it glorifies God.

So, my friends, you have a choice. You can be safe or you can be swine. Maybe someday, when I get up on my therapist’s soap box, I’ll do a little lesson on how to hold space. Until then, just know that when someone cracks open and shares their heart with you, the last thing they need is comments or implications like those above. We are all responsible for our own feelings and how we filter information coming in. Which is why I’m doing this. I’m choosing to blog because people can choose to come here and read it. You can stop reading whenever you want and you can come back whenever you want. You can also ignore it and carry on.

I’ve spent too much of my life begging, pleading, and teaching those who “love” me how to listen. I’ve spent too much of my life begging and waiting around for someone to give me the basic human right to take up space. I have a voice and I’m going to use it. You don’t have to listen. I don’t need anyone or everyone to listen. I just need to put it all out there because I know that there has to be someone, someone just like me, who’s been silenced and caged and tamed and who wants to be set free but doesn’t know how to make it happen.

I’m going to be a part of the ‘Glennon Doyle movement’ in this world- untamed and brave, empowering, authentic, and free. ❤

Here are my pearls. Here is my heart. Ready or not, let’s ride.

Honest. Kind. Shine.

Tag: #untamed

I’m a writer.

Thirty-Nine.

Pearls Before Swine.