I’m finally sitting down to write, after procrastinating, to amend a piece I wrote yesterday. I’ve put off coming to the page, putzing and clearing clutter in an effort to avoid addressing the drama that came up last night as a result of yesterday’s writing. I wrote that piece from the heart because that is where most truths show up. But it was too raw and upsetting to those I care about. I think I knew when I was writing it, it was a piece of work that I will never publish - I needed to get shit off my chest. So instead of amending it, I’m just gonna’ start over.
I love to write. Just sitting down to this space and reading other authors’ notes and posts has brought me pleasure. A few weeks ago, I was radiant with joy at the prospects of writing, reading, blogging and continuing to learn as much as I can about the process. I felt like I was following my path - the way forward. Then we went to a financial planner for a free consultation. Holy cow, I just as well have jumped in front of a fast moving train.
I was derailed, despondent and utterly paralyzed as a result of that visit. Granted it was a free consultation but I wasn’t expecting an insinuated, “You’re screwed. Good luck with that” delivery without a few suggestions of how their services could help us get on track. Holy Mother of God.
Today is May 1st and the fated appointment was April 16th. I’m just beginning to sift through the debris of the wreckage that’s been me for the last two weeks. OK, some of you (as my husband did) may point out that I’ve been a bit of a shit-show since loosing my beloved job as a bookseller last fall. I’d agree that you have a valid point, up to the point when I began writing in earnest. Since investing time in writing, I had felt like I was beginning to find my way, to walk the talk, to do what I loved. And I felt a bit satisfied that I’d finally succeeded in getting my husband to agree to this free consultation. Seeking counsel at this point of our lives seemed prudent. I’m at a crossroads, my husband’s within 3-5 years of retirement, it seemed like a good time for some direction and guidance to take us toward full retirement.
My heart is pounding, pulse racing as I write this, so triggering was the outcome of that visit. Suffice it to say, we’d faced some financial challenges shortly after the recession of 2008 due to health issues and lay-offs. After a difficult period and an uphill climb, my husband landed the great job he currently has and I made a return appearance to the bookstore (I’d managed the store back in the late 90’s and early 2000’s) to enjoy ten more years there with a new owner. You all know I loved every minute of that time. We bought another house, our families grew, babies came, and we are loving life. But trauma from those few crisis years still lingers, as I came to realize after our unsettling consultation.
It took me two weeks to become aware of why I fell head-first down that “not enough” hole again. During that time, I was too paralyzed and frozen in fear to make any headway with anything - even unable to craft a post last week. It wasn’t until I sat to write yesterday that the floodgates opened and several “Ah ha!” moments ensued. It just goes to show that, for me at least, writing is remedy - and a path forward.
Yesterday’s pages also revealed that ancestral trauma played a part in my fight, flight, or freeze response. My mom believed for most of her life (at least for all of my known memories), that she would die a pauper. She continually feared the worst, saying she would end up in the County Home; in her mind NOT a place she wanted to be. Mom’s beliefs that there was never enough drove me to get a job as a waitress at age 14. Before that, I cleaned house for an English teacher until I was able to get my learner’s permit to drive back and forth to work at the truck stop along Interstate 80. I felt compelled to work, to help, to not be a burden. Of course, once the satisfaction of a pocketful of tips took hold, I worked hard to earn as much money as I could. It was satisfying to work hard and pocket money - an ethic I’ve carried all my life. Working gave me the knowledge that I could always provide for myself. Mom, though, never shook the fear of being penniless and destitute, despite the fact that she was an Electrolux salesperson for decades; she did well for herself. Seems I, too, may harbor that genetic inclination. Being presented with a grim picture with absolutely no way out triggered that gene. The result was so far from the guidance I was expecting to gain from a financial professional, that it’s taken me two weeks and a lot of anguish to get ahold of myself. I don’t blame the advisor; it was a free consultation. My triggers just got tripped.
“The effects of trauma can be passed down through generations, but so can the resilience and healing.” – Dr. Soma Ganesan, The MindBody Toolkit: 10 Practical Ways to Counter Stress, Trauma, and Chronic Illness (2020)
Read more at: https://www.blinkist.com/magazine/posts/10-empowering-trauma-quotes-inspire-healing-resilience?utm_source=cpp
Being aware of past trauma, and it’s triggers, can be a positive step toward healing and forgiving, I think. Knowing that I can always find answers in my writing will be key to unlock the chains that keep me stuck and help me to move forward. Writing affords me the knowledge that solutions are always available. So even (especially) after this set-back, I trust in my writing, I find joy in my writing, and I believe writing needs to be as much a part of me as any part time job I might get down the road. Certainly more soul-fulfilling, I suspect.
Thank you, dear reader, for joining me on this journey of self-realization and growth.