Here's Some Truth...

I made a vow to myself that if I was going to write a blog I was going to show up authentic.

I was going to be real, and messy, and take you along a journey of truth with me.

And then I had these thoughts of "But when will that truth come back to bite me in the ass later?"

Not very authentic thoughts, huh?

So here it is. In all its messy glory.

Today I had a panic attack.

It wasn't my first one. Probably somewhere in the hundreds or even thousands of many.

But it was the first time that I had a witness there to watch me unravel from start to finish.

And it was yucky.

I felt exposed and raw and vulnerable.

I said things outloud like "Okay...so the doctor said when I feel it to move my body. It's a surge of fight or flight hormones, and all that adrenaline has to have an outlet."

Like I had to excuse my rawness.

In front of my husband of twenty years.

So I shoveled shit. Literally. Pushed a wheelbarrow. Started frantically cleaning.

And unravelled anyway.

Into a shaking sobbing wild woman.

At first he walked away thinking maybe I needed space when I sobbed "I'm so embarrassed!" And melted into a puddle.

You see, they've happened for 21 years, but I was always alone or with strangers or running away to be alone from the strangers, or hiding in nooks and crannies so I didn't have to BE SEEN in my vulnerability.

But not today.

And he first thought I needed space and obliged, but 20 years of being married to me the instinct kicked in and he came back and just held me. Comforted me. Said all the right things. He stayed with me while all of the hot left my body and I could breathe again.

Loved me.

The real messy me.

It wasn't fun.

I was especially not having a good time.

But here I am, claiming my mess while I heal.

I had to check out.

I had to avoid exposure.

And threats.

And being honest about what was really going on.

This year has been hard on so many of us.

Mentally.

Emotionally.

Physically.

Financially.

It's been a hell of a ride.

I'm currently healing through PTSD.

Something I believed was reserved for others.

Although I'm not ready or willing to discuss the events or triggers, I am willing to tell you it sucks.

Like buckets of suck.

I am willing to share with you that it's hard to process, and exist, and contribute and heal all at the same time.

I'm doing my very best.

And I'm so proud of the me that is digging in and getting messy.

It took a lot of self-convincing to be able to tell you that I have an injury to my brain that I'm working on healing.

It was literally a hard pill to swallow when the doctor prescribed medication.

Do you know it's been YEARS since I took a pill? I prided myself on finding natural remedies, but I needed help beyond the scope of what I could grow or forage myself.

You guys, I'm hanging in. And some days just hanging on.

But I'm trying.

And I'm confident there has to be a bigger lesson or purpose to this season.

It's tough.

But I'm resilient.

And I'm fascinated by how the brain works so I've become such a student lately, reading and studying.

Then absorbing. Softening. Allowing what I'm learning to settle in.

I'm here. Sometimes just barely.

But I'm here.

And I know I'm not alone.

So if this year has been a shit show for you too, know that you are not alone either.

We will be stronger in truth.

We will be better than we were.

So let's toast to our willingness to show up when we'd rather crawl under a rock.

And let's pat ourselves on the back when we transition through surviving back into thriving.

And let's not forget to cheer each other on. Because we need each other.

And one day we'll hug and acknowledge the warriors in each other. The ones who kept getting back up. Even when it looked impossible.

Namaste.

With love, always,

Angela

XO