Voices

One.

My third quarter has been a mountain climb. And I don’t hike.

Hitting 50 brought with it the realization that I have lived since my first memories with a steady stream of other people’s voices blaring through my brain. This past September I hit the end of the proverbial road. My brain hit it’s capacity. I could no longer absorb another voice into my mind. My body began hurting in new places. I now wake up every morning with pain in my chest, across my collarbone. My entire right hand aches all day. My hips throb if I sit for any longer than five minutes.

September 24, 2024. I finally found my voice. I was able to speak for myself…speak louder than the voices. I was able to muster the courage to ask for what I needed…even with the voices shouting that I didn’t deserve to do so. And then it was time to begin destroying each voice. This is the work I am doing now. Every day. The voices are no longer welcome in my brain.

But to destroy them, I have to face them. I have to decipher what they are communicating. I have to identify their source. I have to pull them out of my physical body. Then I have to erase them – not shove them down, but watch them disintegrate. They have taken up so much space inside of me that I was never able to store any truth; they distorted my truth and twisted it into more lies that I have always believed. Why are the lies easier to believe? Because the voices are powerful. But on September 24’th I realized that their power came from me, the very thing that they were feeding on. My mind and my body are the host. Now I am doing the slow and tedious work of removing their sustenance. I am determined to stop being their nourishment.

I have begun somatic therapy. Next to childbirth, this is the most intense physical and mental process I have ever experienced. Beyond the somatic work I go through in my sessions, and the daily “homework” I am given by the incredible woman who is navigating me through them, my only other weapon is my writing. This is why I’m back, blogging. I am drawn almost daily to express all of the “things” that are slowly oozing out of me (yes, I said oozing, because that’s exactly what it feels like…thick tar oozing from every pore). I believe so strongly in this work and the somatic process that I am currently reading everything I can about it, along with experiencing it first hand. I know I will get to the other side of all of this healing. Once I do, I’ll be immersing myself in becoming a trained practitioner. Because of this goal, and to coincide with my personal journey, I want to document all of it – every heavy, ugly, but beautiful step – in hopes that someday my journey will be able to provide encouragement and support to another person in desperate need of extracting the terribly painful voices from their soul and finding a way to peace.

The first step? Expose what the voices have been saying.

I’m a list maker. When I have 100 tasks to complete, it creates stress. I find that if I write everything out on a small whiteboard, I can relax because I no longer need to remember everything. It is written out. I can, then, tackle one task at a time and simply wipe it away with my finger. My instinct is telling me to write out a list of the messages these terrible voices have been sending me for 50 years. So, as I sit here, alone at my sister’s kitchen table, surrounded by scented candles, my iced vanilla latte, gentle music playing, and a cold & cloudy day outside (my favorite), I will begin. I will brainstorm and pull this shit out of my mind…one voice at a time…in no particular order.

(Insert separate WORD document here…the exact words will stay with me)

The messages these voices communicated:

~ I am a burden ~

~ I am a brat ~

~ My chronic illness is an inconvenience ~

~ I am a financial liability ~

~ My contribution is replaceable ~

~ My existence makes other’s lives difficult ~

~ Without someone to provide for me, I would have nothing ~

~ What brings me joy causes frustration for others ~

~ I think too much ~

~ I feel too much ~

~ I’m too sensitive ~

~ I have nothing based on my own efforts ~

~ I cannot lead ~

~ I won’t be led ~

~ If I died, it wouldn’t matter to some ~

~ If I died, life would be easier for some ~

~ I’m selfish ~

~ As a child of divorce, I remind the separate families of the ex, which needs to stop because it’s “bad”. I’m too much like him. I’m too much like her. ~

~ How I manage time is wrong ~

~ I am never satisfied with anything ~

~ How I do yard work is wrong ~

~ I am too stubborn ~

~ How I run a household is wrong ~

~ I am mentally and emotionally weak ~

~ I have too many emotions ~

~ I am too big physically ~

~ I am mentally unstable~

~ I push too hard and take on too much ~

~ My decisions make life harder for others ~

~ I am not a rock for my kids ~

~ My emotions make people uncomfortable ~

~ I am ungrateful ~

~ I am rude ~

~ I am disrespectful ~

At this point, I need to stop.

Even as I’m writing out these very clear statements from the very loud voices in my head, my body is reacting. I’m feeling the tightness in my gut and my heart rate is rising. Shame is building and I feel sick to my stomach. The familiar sense of worthlessness and burden is flaring. Having all of this right in front of me – the 3 pages of statements now located in my laptop file – I’ve gathered the “data” all in one place. This does not feel good. If all of these statements were true about me, what type of person must I be? A selfish, spoiled, fat, weak, unsatisfied, snotty, emotionally unstable, overthinking, scared, frustrating, irresponsible, nuisance who could die and it wouldn’t be a problem. But, I’m not. (Well, I could lose a little weight and I do have a stubborn streak) I’m anything but perfect. I have made mistakes. I jump headfirst into projects that I’m passionate about. I’m easily overwhelmed. I am a deep feeler – an empath. I love hard. I laugh loud. I get excited…or, at least, I used to. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt excited about anything. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything other than sadness and confusion.

But, what I have learned so far is that these voices have created an unhealthy coping mechanism in me. My process has been that I need to change all of these things that were said because I believed them. I need to change them, and change me, so that the person who said it would accept me. I need to be better. I need to do better. So that they would love me. So that I would be good enough, but not too much. I need to be obedient. I need to stop thinking so much, but be sure to consider what others need from me. I need to stop feeling so much, it makes others uncomfortable. I need to be strong, but not stubborn. I need to keep my mouth shut, until I am having an emotion. Then I need to warn them so they can be prepared. After over 50 years of this juggling act, I feel so completely mixed up and twisted that it’s simply easier to shut it all off…to shove it all deep down.

And so here I am. Chronically ill. Jammed up nervous system. Walking on egg shells every day. Terrified of others’ reactions. Battling the massively strong desire to give up and let them win. Finding comfort in nourishing, loving, and providing healing to my clients who are just as ill and jammed up, because it’s exactly what I have needed all these years. If I can’t get it, I’ll give it. But no more. Now, I will get it, too…from myself.

My instinct is to delete this or make it private. As it is, I didn’t share the actual words. They’re in that private word document. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to rock the boat. But I’m so sick and tired of putting myself aside to be sure others aren’t bothered by me or my voice. These things that were said to me over the years were vomited out of their mouths and etched into my brain. The person who said them probably doesn’t even remember it. But they are loud and clear in my mind. Every damn day!! And they have destroyed my spirit, one statement at a time. I want these voices out! Get out!! I am not this person. I am loving and kind and good and loyal. I am creative and compassionate and fun and try every day to be a better person than I was the day before.

So, if I am to eliminate all of this garbage, it must be stated. It must be acknowledged. It sucks. Some of it was said out of anger or frustration. Some of it was said out of cruelty or hatefulness. And, at times, I responded in kind. I am not innocent of allowing sharp and harmful statements escape my mouth. This is the danger of using words as weapons, of not thinking before we speak. But these are the cuts that I am working to heal. These are my wounds. Once the person let the statement leave their mouth, it became mine. This is my healing process. This is my platform to share. I’ve ripped open the scab and now the poison can drip out.

Please, drip out.