I almost feel bad using the word “trauma,” because I still don’t think such a strong word applies to my situation. Thesaurus.com offers 37 options for synonyms for “trauma,” and a few of them hit the mark for me: wound, upheaval, and damage being the top contenders.
From hereonout, I’m going to refer to my “trauma” as “damage,” because there is no doubt that damage has been irrevocably done. And I know that any functioning adult who has heard 1/10 of the “damage” done in regards to the situation would tell me that the word “trauma” is being correctly used. I just can’t bring myself to use it–it makes the traumas that I consider “traumas” pale in comparison.
I digress.
I’ve spent a long, long time simmering over these words in my own head. Occasionally I’ve texted one of my close friends about it when I’m having a particularly bad day. But most of the time, I prefer to swallow the feelings and just move forward. After all, I have more than enough on my plate to keep me preoccupied and busy on a daily basis. But that’s not me. I’m not someone to suffer in silence when what is happening in my life could mirror someone else’s journey, and if just one person benefits from reading about my “damage,” then it will have done its purpose.
The biggest reason I haven’t spoken about this is yet is due to the other parties involved. I don’t want anyone saying I’m bashing someone, or that my experience isn’t how others perceive it. This post, my feelings, my experience–it’s mine. I don’t have to be right to know my feelings are valid, my experiences are valid, because I am the one living them.
I cut off communication with two of the most important people in my life just over 3 months ago due to their addictions, and it sucks.
There isn’t a single part of it that feels good, or right. It hurts every single day in different ways, but mostly when it comes to my kids. I wasn’t able to text them a photo of Jaxon on his first day of kindergarten, or on Liam’s first day of preschool. I am someone who thrives on family, on community, on having a village of people who love my kids as much as I do and would do anything for them. So to voluntarily choose to remove two of those people was not a decision I came to lightly. It wasn’t some big blow-up or fight that brought me to my breaking point: it was so many little things. And the farther I’ve gotten from the toxicity–because it is toxic, to have a relationship of any kind with anyone and be treated the way I’ve been treated, and yet keep coming back to it–the more I see that the relationship has been broken for a lot longer than I thought. Time and distance give the opportunity for clarity, and I see the situation with clear eyes. It doesn’t make it hurt any less, it doesn’t make me worry for them any less–but clarity has brought me to the conclusion that it’s not my fault, and that I can’t fix it for them.
So many stupid cliches come to mind, but the “you can lead a horse to water, but can’t force it to drink” one is what hits truest.
I don’t mean to be coy–I want to respect the privacy and struggles of the other parties, because struggle, they do. I spent years–years–trying to fix everything for everyone–not just them. And at 36, as a mom of 5, I’ve finally accepted that I cannot fix everyone, or everything. I am a bleeding heart by nature, I want to help every person, every animal with a sad story, anyone who needs help. But as my therapist so eloquently reminds me (weekly, if I’m honest)–it’s the oxygen mask rule. You can’t save the helpless people on the plane without putting your own mask on first.
This distance, this “break,” is me putting on my oxygen mask. I’m breathing deeply for the first time in years, and although it hurts and feels wrong, although it goes against every grain of my being not to continue to drop everything to help them–I’ve forced myself to shift my focus entirely on the little humans that actually do require my full attention, and need me.
This raw of a post isn’t what I meant to share after a year-long hiatus (because let’s be real, #momlife happens). But it is what I needed to get out. I’ve been portrayed as a cold-hearted B who gave up on these people. I’ve been told I “owe them” my help, that because of the familial relation, I should be willing to endure whatever might be thrown at me, despite how much that hurts.
And I’m here to tell you, friends–that that is complete and utter bullshit.
I don’t care who you are, who “they” are, what their relationship is to you, what their circumstances are. You do not owe anyone who mistreats you or takes advantage of you a damn thing.