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traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors · 1 year

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Hi!! I’m a freshly 19 year old non-binary individual who suffers with OCD and a few other mental health issues. I’m really scared of aging and growing too old to live with my parents ? I feel like most of my friends/peers are growing independent while I still need my parents to help ground me when I have OCD episodes and panic attacks. It scares me a lot and I’m not sure if that’s okay because of my age. Do you think the e future will turn out okay and am I still young enough to figure out how to deal with this stuff? And I think finally.. I’d ask how you felt when you all started young adulthood and what helps stay in the moment rather than freak out over the future?

Hi anon,

I understand that you're feeling scared and uncertain about the future. It's important to remind yourself that the future is for future you to worry about. While it's certainly easier said than done, instead of expending energy on what-ifs and hypothetical situations, try to focus on enjoying your life in the present moment.

While it may not necessarily feel like it, you are still rather young, and there is plenty of time to figure things out and develop strategies to deal with your concerns. It's okay to take things one step at a time and prioritize your well-being.

I can certainly understand how you feel like needing your parents for mental health support makes you feel dependent when comparing yourself to your peers. But I think it's worth considering that having parents that help you with your mental health a privilege that many envy. Support from your parents during OCD episodes and panic attacks is a valid and healthy way to cope. They can provide grounding and support when you need it the most.

When I think about my experience navigating the uncertainties of young adulthood, the main thing that stands out to me is that I struggle with Existential OCD, which means I often think about my mortality in various ways, often to the point of distress.

It's helped me to realize that I shouldn't be wasting my life worrying about something I cannot change, and instead enjoy the time I have here, and try not to worry about how much I can accomplish (a source of anxiety). I tell myself that I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. By staying present and engaged with what is happening in your life right now, you can fully enjoy the experiences and opportunities that are right in front of you. It's about finding a balance between acknowledging your concerns and focusing on the present moment.

It may also be helpful to explore mindfulness techniques. You can train your mind to let go of worries about the future and instead focus on the here and now. It's a valuable tool for reducing anxiety and finding peace within yourself.

Please know that you are not alone in navigating young adulthood and managing mental health challenges. Seeking therapy or counseling can provide you with additional guidance and support as you develop strategies to cope with your concerns, if you can access and afford it. A therapist can help you gain valuable insights, tools, and coping mechanisms to navigate your experiences.

Try to remember that the future will come in due time, and when it does, you'll be better equipped to face it. I hope I could help, and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

#mod bun #trauma talks

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cyndavilachase · 4 years

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I’m Looking Forward Now 💖Thank you and good bye

So, it’s been a little over a week since Steven Universe Future ended…

I’ve been hesitant to write this, honestly, but I’m tired of holding myself back from properly expressing myself in fear of appearing overly invested in the media I consume, even in private. Writing helps me organize my thoughts and feelings, and I feel like these thoughts in particular may resonate with many, so I want to share them. I want to talk about what Steven Universe has done for me personally, both as an artist, and as a person.

I’ve been around since the day the first episode of the original series aired. I actually remember when Steven Universe was just a logo on Wikipedia’s “List of Upcoming Cartoon Network Shows” list, back when I was a freshman in high school. It piqued my interest, but when commercials finally dropped for it, I thought it was going to be bad because of the way marketing handled introducing Steven as a likeable character. There was still something about it that made me want to give it a chance though, so I went online and watched the pilot before the first episode's release. I was hooked immediately. I knew I was going to love it, and I did. I fell so absolutely in love with Steven as a character, and the world that he and the gems lived in. I became obsessed. I was always so excited for new episodes to come out. Little did I know what else it would do for me as I went through my adolescence alongside it.

As the show progressed, it was evident that what I wanted out of a western animated childrens’ cartoon was finally coming into fruition: this show was becoming serialized. There was continuity, there was plot, there was character development-- it was getting deep. It was pushing the groundwork that Adventure Time laid out even further (thank you, Adventure Time).

I will give credit where credit is due: earlier western childrens’ cartoons I grew up with like Hey Arnold, and Rugrats, among others, also touched on heavy topics, but Steven Universe was able to take similar ideas (and even more complex ones, concerning mental health and relationships) and expand on them outside of contained episodes and/or short arcs. These themes, which were a part of the show’s overarching story, spanned across its entirety. Continuity was rampant.

What did this mean? It meant kids cartoons didn’t have to be silly and fun all the time and characters weren’t just actors playing a part in 11-minute skits. Steven and the gems would remember things that happened to them, and it affected them and how they would function and play a part in their story. This was a huge deal to me as a teenager. I always wanted the cartoons I grew up with featuring kid characters to feel more. In my own work, I often felt discouraged when combining a fun, cutesy western art style with themes as dark or layered as anime would cover. I always thought it had to be one or the other because an audience wouldn’t take a combination of the two seriously enough, based on discussions I had with classmates, friends, and online analysis I read at the time. Steven Universe proved to me otherwise. This show was opening the door for future cartoons exploring in-depth, adult concepts. I felt so seen as a kid, and was inspired to stick with what I love doing.

I was actually very worried about the show’s survival. It was in fact immensely underrated and the fandom was miniscule. Then in 2014, JailBreak dropped, and it’s popularity exploded. Part of it was because of the complex plot and the themes it was covering like I mentioned, but also because of its representation.

I remember when fandom theorized that Garnet was a fusion due to grand, tragic reasons. Turns out, she’s simply a metaphor for a very loving w|w relationship. This was huge. I cannot stress how important it is that we continue to normalize healthy canon queer relationships in childens’ media, and Steven Universe finally was the first to do that proper. Introducing these themes offers the chance for a kid to sit there and ask themselves, “Why is this demonized by so many people?” I asked myself exactly that. Ruby and Sapphire were my cartoon LGBT rep. They were the first LGBT couple I ever ecstatically drew fanart of. I was dealing with a lot of internalized homophobia at the time, and they showed me that I was allowed to love women and feel normal about it. The process of overcoming this was a long one, but they played a part in my very first steps into becoming comfortable with my sexuality. I could go on and on about it’s representation in general-- how it breaks the mold when it comes to showcasing a diverse set of characters in design, in casting, and in breaking gender roles. It’s focus on love and empathy. Steven himself is a big boy, but he's the protagonist, and the show never once makes fun of his weight, or any other bigger characters for that matter. It wasn’t hard to see why the fandom had grown so large.

Fandom was always a joy for me. It was a hobby I picked up when I was in middle school, like many of us here did. I would always cater my experience to fun, and fun only. I only started getting more deeply involved in SU’s fandom when I had just turned into an adult. During the summer of 2016, between my first and second year of college, I drew for the show almost every day non-stop when the Summer of Steven event was going on and posted them online. This was a form of practice for me in order to become not just more comfortable with experimenting with my art, but also to meet new artists, make new friends, and learn to interact with strangers without fear. I dealt with a ton of anxiety when I was in high school. When I was a senior applying to art school for animation, I decided I was going to overcome that anxiety. I made plans to take baby steps to improve myself over the course of my 4 years of college. Joining the fandom, while unforeseen, was definitely a part of that process. I started feeling more confident in sharing my ideas, even if they were fan-made. I fell in love with storyboarding after that summer, when I took my first storyboarding class, and genuinely felt like I was actually getting somewhere with all of this. I remember finally coming to a point in my classes where I could pitch and not feel hopelessly insecure about it. I was opening up more to my friends and peers.

But this process, unfortunately, came to a screeching halt.

My life completely, utterly crumbled under me in the Fall of 2017 due to a series of blows in my personal life that happened in the span of just a couple weeks. My mental health and sense of identity were completely destroyed. All of that confidence I had worked for-- completely ruined. I was alone. I nearly died. My stay at college was extended to 4 and half years, instead of the 4 I had intended. I lost my love for animation-- making it, and watching it. I could no longer watch Steven Universe with the same love I had for it beforehand. It’s a terrible thing, trying to give your attention to something you don’t love anymore, and wanting so desperately to love again. I dropped so many things I loved in my life, including the fandom.

Healing was a long and complicated road. I continued to watch the show all the way up until Change Your Mind aired in the beginning of 2019, and while I still felt empty, that was definitely a turning point for me with it’s encapsulation of self-love. I was hoping James Baxter would get to work on Steven Universe since he guest-animated on Adventure Time, and it was incredible seeing that wish actually come true. The movie came out and while I enjoyed it and thought highly of it, I was still having issues letting myself genuinely love things again, old and new. It was especially difficult because cartoons were my solace as a kid, when things got rough at home. I remember feeling sad because the show ended, and not getting the chance to love it again like I used to while it was still going.

By the time Steven Universe Future was announced, I was finally coming around. I was genuinely starting to feel excitement for art and animation again. I wasn’t expecting there to be a whole new epilogue series, but happily ever after, there we were! Prickly Pear aired, and the implications it left in terms of where the story was going did it. I was finally ready to let myself take the dive back into fandom in January of this year. My art blew up, something I wasn’t expecting considering my 2-year hiatus. Following this, I was invited into a discord server containing some of the biggest writers, artists, editors, and analysts in the fandom. I had no idea there were so many talented people in the fandom, some already with degrees, some getting their degrees-- creating stuff for it on the side just for fun. The amount of passion and productivity level here is insane, and so is the amount of discussion that has come out of it.

I didn’t realize it at first, but it was actually helping me gain back the courage to share ideas. I lost my confidence in pitching while I was taking the time to heal, and graduating meant there would no longer be a classroom setting I could practice in. This group helped immensely.

I have made so many friends through this wonderful series, and I have so many fond memories talking to like-minded creatives, getting feedback and a myriad of sources for inspiration, as well as all of the memes and jokes and weekly theorizations that came about as we all waited on the edges of our seats for episodes to air. I needed this so badly, I needed to get back in touch with my roots, when I would go absolutely hog-wild over a cartoon I loved with people who loved it as much I did. Future has been a blessing for me in this way. I graduated feeling like I was back at square-one, but now I feel like I’m on my way again.

It’s 2020 and while I’m doing great right now, I am honestly still recovering from the total exhaustion that followed after graduating a few months ago, and finally leaving the campus where my life fell apart behind. Needless to say, watching Future was like looking into a mirror. Watching one of my favorite characters of all time-- one that grew up with me-- go through so many of the same things I went through not too long ago was absolutely insane to watch unfold. It’s such an important thing too, to show a character go through the process of breaking down over trauma and all the nasty things that come with it, and to have them go on the road to healing. Steven got that therapy. He wasn’t blamed. The gems were called out. The finale was everything I could have ever hoped for. The catharsis I experienced watching it was out of this world.

As I continue my own healing journey, I will always look up to the storyboard artists, revisionists, and designers that I have been following over these past 7 years, as well as the new ones introduced in Future. It's been such a joy watching these artists release their promo art for episodes, talk about their experiences working on the show, and post the work they've done for it alongside episodes airing.

Thank you Rebecca Sugar, the Crewniverse, and the fans, for making this such a truly wonderful and unique experience. Thank you for reminding me that I am, and always will be, an artist, a cartoonist, and a fan. Thank you, my followers, for the overwhelmingly positive response to my artwork. I have had so much fun interacting and discussing the show with you all again over these past few months. Steven Universe and it’s fandom will always have a special place in my heart, and it will always be a classic that I will return to for comfort and inspiration for decades to come. I am sad that the cartoon renaissance is over, but so many doors have been opened thanks to this show. I am so, so excited to see what this show will inspire in the future, and I hope one day I get the opportunity to be a part of that.

Goodbye Steven, thank you for everything. I wish you healing, and I wish Rebecca and the team a well-deserved rest. ♥️

-Cynthia D.

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dysphxtric · 3 years

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Mental Illness - My Mental Health Story

TW: Depression, Anxiety, Self harm, Suicide, Sexual Harassment

“You should smile more.”

“It could be worse.”

“Just don’t think about it.”

These were the phrases I heard throughout all of my elementary and high school years. There was never a time when my peers and teachers, would not mention some bizarre, ignorant statement revolving around mental health. Not to mention, my family also contributed heavily to the stigmatization of mental health issues. Essentially, my family approached the subject of mental health with extreme hesitation, they refused to talk about how it affects people of all age, gender, ethical background (etc.) Every time I would say “I’m feeling lost” my family would automatically dismiss my frantic worries and it was not any different when I went to school. My peers would continuously remind me that my pain was not valid and that I need to stop being so sensitive. My primary parental figures, my mother and brother did not have the adequate knowledge or tools to be able to hold space for me. I would frequently hear my mom say, “I could understand someone suffering from PTSD feeling upset or sad but you’re so young and healthy honey, you have nothing to worry about” or the old classic “Someone else has it worse than you”. Whether I was at home or at school, I heard the same ignorant statements spewing out from what felt like everyone. And I could never comprehend what was the point of these falsely “encouraging” statements and why profusely use them? These kinds of statements do not uplift, nor do they empower those struggling with mental health issues, if anything it makes it extremely debilitating when your emotions are not acknowledged nor validated. One cannot expect to simply brush away another person’s emotion, thought or feeling as though it means nothing.

With that being said, growing up, I lived in a dysfunctional household alongside my mother, my older brother, and my grandmother. My mother would always be juggling work, schooling, and her dating life. My brother was very reluctant about staying home so he would always vanish after school, hang out with friends, party hard and engage with various street substances. Now my grandmother? It was not long after she immigrated that she began to immerse herself within the Jehovah’s Witnesses ideology and “religiously” strayed away from us as my mother likes to say. My mother was never fond of religious practices that were not “orthodox”. My grandmother wanted to indoctrinate my mom, brother, and I into joining her religious little club but failed which resulted in countless fights, yelling matches, and multiple dents left in our walls. The back and forth with the yelling was what scared me most in my childhood even if it was over something as small as not closing the cabinet door. I think it was around this time period I experienced violence/ trauma at home and truth be told I was extremely stressed and anxious all the time as a kid. My mother would cover the punched indents by taking magazines and sticking pages onto the indent. Often times my stomach would turn as I looked at the pages covering the area where my brother punched the wall with brutal force. Moreover, I felt impending sadness because all I ever wanted was for everyone in my family to be able coexist and not argue. I was trying to keep the peace between everyone, yet I was always the one that got caught in the middle of everything whether I liked it or not. I would get blamed a lot for trying to mend things for everyone. Even though all I wanted was the best for all my family members.

Fast forward to my pre-teen/ teenage years. By this point, my brother and grandmother were no longer living under the same roof as my mother and I. My brother was living with his ex-girlfriend while working as a security guard meanwhile my grandmother was living in her own little subsidized apartment preaching the word of Jehovah. At that particular time, my mother and I lived in a marvellous urban semi-detached house in a peaceful neighbourhood. My mother’s boyfriend had moved in with us and for the most part I was really happy because at least it was not just me and her.

My mother’s boyfriend lived with us while I was going to school. He was a really nice, caring and warm-hearted individual although I could never understand why my mother argued with him so much. I once told him “You should propose to her, I can see you two together forever” to which he replied with a welcoming smile.

But eventually just like with all good things, there comes an end. The inevitable breakup my mom went through was very bitter and I had to be there for her. Afterall, I was technically the only child that was around to emotionally comfort her. Ironically, the breakup occurred during the time I was being bullied in school. And it was difficult to be fully present for my mother while dealing with a lot of negativity at school. I had been experiencing cyber bullying on MSN by a bunch of peers calling me “weird”, “ugly” and “different”. To make matters worse, the group of kids that bullied me online ended up following me everywhere I went for recess which posed as a big obstacle for my well being. I had to eat inside the portables when teachers weren’t around or inside the girl’s bathroom stall just to avoid being teased. I never felt like I had a safe space to myself where I could be vulnerable and open up. Not to mention, it was a difficult time and there was practically no one I could confide in. I didn’t have a social circle of supportive friends, after all I was an antisocial person. Fear washed over me as I worried about disclosing my unpleasant experience to my mother because she was already dealing with so much, the heartbreak, the bills, work problems (etc.), it was then and there that I decided to lie instead of telling the truth. Ultimately, lying became my cooping mechanism to deal with the ongoing pain.

I kept up the lying for a long time in order to make it seem like everything was okay. I lied to everyone from family members to school peers to the teaching staff to principals to counselors.

For the longest time, lying sheltered me from all sorts of unnecessary questions. No one could really tell whether I was truthful or disloyal because I was able to make it sound believable. When I was a teenager, I continued to go down the same destructive path by being dishonest with myself and others. Many times, the thought of suicide crossed my mind and when I started to think about it and plan/coordinate the intricate details it did not hit me that something was very wrong, and I needed urgent help. A big part of the problem was that I was so used to downplaying my pain, given my family circumstance and stigmatization I experienced growing up with. There is no denying that I would engage in negative self talk convincing myself that I deserved the pain and suffering for not being likeable enough or for not being smart enough.

Sometimes I think that is the thing… people do not understand that I lied because that was what I was required to do in order to survive my childhood. I, myself do not tolerate lying and I think it is a form of betrayal and if I were to be completely honest, I would have NEVER lied to my mom had it been safe for me to express myself authentically in my household.

I did not live in a household where it was safe to speak my mind freely and disagree with my mother. Disagreeing was always the last thing I wanted to do, disagreeing meant I got the belt, my devices would get confiscated or that I was going to get grounded. They say, “Honesty is the best policy” and I do not disagree however, it is not as black and white as one may think. In my situation, lying was not only an adaptive coping mechanism but it became a survival mechanism to keep me safe from harm/threat.

I did not have very much individuality growing up. I felt as though having an opinion of my own was bad. In order to perpetuate this fixated mindset that I had, my mother constantly deemed certain attributed behaviours or thoughts as “good” or “bad”. So, say you were upset about a recent breakup with your partner, my mother would scoff and say, “You know life isn’t just about love right?” and play it like it means nothing to the person affected by the situation.

The first time I ever felt depressed was when I was 13. At that age I did not understand why I was feeling what I was feeling. All I knew was that there was something wrong with me. It did not help when I was being picked on by my classmates telling me “Go die”, “You belong in a ditch ugly bitch.”

The moment when things started getting out of hand was when I was first started my Art and Family Studies class in the same semester. In both classes I was placed into groups amongst other students. In Family Studies I had to be in a collaborative group that would divide responsibilities and tasks accordingly. When it came to cooking, my group consisted of four snobby, rich yet immature peers who were unwilling to help and contribute in any shape or form, I had to become the bigger person and sure enough I took all the responsibilities on myself. Though, it was not a smart move. But I was super shy and felt anxious to do anything different least to say speak up and advocate for myself, so I did what I had to do which was prepare meals, clean, and wash the dishes. At the end of the day, none of my peers thanked me, the only thank you I got was getting groped while washing the dishes and getting laughed at.

After what happened I ran to my best friend in tears to tell her what happened just to find her say “It’s not that bad, you’ll be fine” I felt like my blood was going to boil and I was about to start fuming. I stood thinking “Huh, that is so weird, is this how you comfort a person after being sexually harassed?”

Not to sound all grim but that experience showed me that no one really cared about me. No one cared that I got groped or how I felt in that moment. Let alone not even my “best friend” who was supposed to fulfill her role and be there for me. All I wanted was comfort and to be heard out. I could not even tell my mother about this experience until I turned 21 because of how ashamed I felt carrying around that experience and not having the ability to open up and mourn what happened that day and to be able to heal that damaged part of myself. I carried that incident with me for 7 years in silence because I was scared of being honest.

That specific experience was very detrimental to my mental health. Everything began to spiral out of control, I sprawled into a dark depressive state. I began to have intense panic attacks, insomnia, forgetfulness (etc.) After a certain duration of time, I had thoughts of suicide lingering at the back of my head. I questioned my worth, my identity, my culture, my everything.

The bullying and name calling persisted and became so intense that I ended up missing weeks of school time. Some of the boys in my Art class found it funny to make fun of my last name and call me “Prostitute”.

One day in the early springtime, my Art teacher noticed the marks on my wrists as I was painting and had not said anything until I made it to my last period class. I was called down to the guidance counselors office and was interrogated with questions.

“It has come to our concern that one of the staff members noticed cuts on your arms.”

I sat in silence trying hard to contain my anxiety.

“Are you struggling with depression or low mood? Is everything okay at home?”

It came to the point when I got so tired of lying about my pain that I admitted “Yes, I am struggling, I need help”. I dived into the bullying occurrences, the cat calling, my low grades, my self-esteem, the groping, my home situation (etc). After that, I was told that my mother would have to be called down to the school for “safety” reasons even though my counselor promised not to disclose any personal information to my mother. My greatest fear was that I did not want my mom to know that something was wrong.

Of course, my mom came to my school. She was told everything that had happened. I met her at the counselor’s office just to find her wailing in distress “You are such an embarrassment” and “Your counselor told me what you did, how could you do this?”. When the counselor gave us resources for help, my mother grabbed the papers and shoved them into the trash, got up and yanked me out the office.

The next three days that followed, my mother withdrew into her room not saying a word to me. I felt really uneasy and upset. She had her right to be alone but locking herself away from me and avoiding communication altogether? Didn’t make much sense.

I felt extremely guilty for not opening up to my mother sooner. But instead of choosing to be compassionate and caring she chose to resort to anger. She furiously blamed me for being “quiet” and “not trustful” which all landed on my shoulders again. It was “my” fault I thought.

Bottling this up resulted in a full-blown mental breakdown. I could not focus or concentrate because of everything building up. It came to the point where my mom had to choose between living in a toxic community or starting fresh elsewhere.

And even though my mother kept subjecting me to her harmful stigmatizations, the transition from my old school to my new one helped me greatly. When we moved away, I gradually started to feel better emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. Very quickly, I ended up adapting to my new high school where I finally made friends.

One thing I cannot deny is that there definitely was a silver lining to all of this. Although I went through severe bullying and torment at school and home, I managed to reclaim my power and through that I discovered my inner peace after being extracted from my toxic high school. The new school that I ended up attending completely changed me and inspired me to become a more authentic version of myself. It was almost as though I did a complete 180°

My new peers and teachers were enthusiastic, open-minded and caring. The new community I was surrounding myself in was a very positive one that broke down stigmas and encouraged deep understanding and acceptance. My mind was blown when I found that it was easier to conversate with girls and guys at my new school, I was gradually becoming confident and more vocal, and I liked the feeling of not hiding myself away from the world. It felt rejuvenating to finally be heard and seen by others.

Slowly but surely, I began to partake in various activities at my school. I joined the Poetry Club which I would have never considered joining had I stayed back in my old school due to fear of how I was perceived. Ultimately, I started caring and nurturing myself more. My new friends supported me, and teachers began to openly listen to my stories and encouraged me to write. When I started writing, I realized that I could use this medium to cope with my depression and anxiety. The acknowledgment made a major difference in my life like never before.

If it were not for the transition from my old high school, I would have not made progress in developing into the woman I am today. I know that I am not my pain, I am not my mistakes.

Do I still struggle and have bad days? Yes, of course. Just like any human being I have my days when I am not feeling the greatest however, I am more open to learning about how to engage with my mind, body and soul in order to soothe myself during turbulent times. I still have that inner critic however, I have been engaging with activities such as bike riding, painting, drawing, and reading to help occupy my mind which as a result has reduced the time that I spend ruminating. Occupying myself has worked magic, I am now able to reduce and control how much time I spend self-loathing, criticizing, and judging myself. Rather than judging every thought, I’ve learned to slow down and observe.

If you stuck along until the end of my story, I want to thank you for reading through my experience. My hope is that my story can shed some light on the myths and stigmas surrounding mental health, especially within the Eastern European community. I want you all to know that you are ALL valid and I wanted to be able to share my story so that my readers know that they are not alone.

#mental health #mental health awareness #depression #mdd #mood disorder #anxiety #gad #my story #hope #bullying #narcissistic parent #end the stigma #recovery #fyp

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shhhhsh · 3 years

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About Tim’s New Story….

I just really hope they address Tim’s mental health. Like, DC just been ditching really good plot lines in favor of being “woke” or pandering. Just look at all the live action shows.

Now I’m not saying they can’t make Tim queer/bi/gay, but (as someone pointed out to me) Tim’s previous story writer was bi and he still chose to write Tim as straight & in a healthy romantic relationship with Stephanie Brown. I’ve seen several people who identify as queer/bi say that to have Tim go “ ooooh I’ve fooled myself into thinking I was straight, but now I’m freeeee” sends the message that Tim’s previous relationship failed b/c he was with a woman and not because of Tim’s poor mental and emotional health.

To go back to my previous statement; by him not writing Tim as bi tells me that he didn’t want or care for Tim to be bi, but instead saw Tim as, or preferred him to be, straight. The writer had free control to write Tim how ever he wanted and yet he chose to keep Tim straight. And he actually liked & wanted Tim/Steph. Again, I’m not saying Tim can’t be queer/bi, I’m just saying I find the motivations for this possible change very fishy. Almost as if the new writer is trying to get brownie points for pandering to a portion of the fans.

I think this way b/c in every other media where a character is revealed to be LGBTQ they just did it. They didn’t beat around the bush or do any queer coding/baiting. They either announced it, just made the character that way right out the gate, or just dropped the bomb w/out warning (as seen in Netflix’s Voltron, Amazon Prime’s Invincible, and Nickelodeon’s Legend of Korra respectfully).

DC currently has a bad habit changing things to be “woke” and bragging about it or shoving it in our faces. DC is becoming the “pick me girl” of superhero media. If you want to do it, just do it. Again I just get the “look at me, look at me” & “carrot on the stick” vibes from them now. If you truly feel in your heart to do something you would just do it without the need for recognition or to be so dramatic about it.

Now what I much rather see & think it’s a natural progression for Tim:

I personally believe that if Jason, Dick, & Damian can get a story that attempts to give them character development beyond romantic relationships (romance was more of a B-plot to the character driven A-plot anyway) I think they can give it to Tim as well.

I know that the Bat-Family all struggle with some form of mental health problems (most commonly paranoia and PTSD). However, I would like to point out that trauma is was what brought the others into the vigilante lifestyle, while Tim & Barbara became traumatized because of the vigilante lifestyle. Yet, Barbara was shown overcoming her trauma and using it as motivation to get better. Tim is yet to have this moment.

We all know that Tim struggles with depression, self-esteem, and suicidal tendencies. I mean heck, him becoming Red Robin only happens because of Tim’s degrading mental health. I hate to say it, but Tim is very psychologically broken and has been show to get so depressed that he can’t even get out of bed some times. To my knowledge, Tim is the only one in the Bat-Fam that struggles in his head with the idea of not being needed, useful, or forgotten when in reality that is furthest from the truth (Steph, Jason, & Damian also feel like the black sheep periodically, but that is because they have been presented with real evidence that would lead them to logically believe this. I.e being actually forgotten or dismissed for past mistakes despite great efforts to better themselves).

While yes, Dick did Tim dirty by replacing him without having a proper conversation first, the motivation was because he saw Tim as his equal and not Damian. He thought highly of Tim, but Tim couldn’t see that over his offense. Tim is so beat down by life that he see’s everything with negative lenses. Everyone came to check on Tim’s mental health but Tim took it as an insult instead.

And even though now Tim has reached some form of “peace” in his life, that only happens because the people he lost came back (Bruce, Conner, Bart, Cassie, etc). Tim never fully learned to handle grief, to handle his emotions, instead he represses them. Again in the Red Robin run, the main reason he doesn’t believe in any form of God is because he can’t logically justify the pain he has gone through. He is hurting and doesn’t know how to deal with that. In his original Robin run, when he tried talking someone out of committing suicide……the words and comfort he gave….that wasn’t something that was just inside Tim, this is something that was told to Tim. This is followed by him calling Dick to get the same pep-talk he just regurgitated to someone else.

In short: Tim is hurting. Deeply. And having been someone who’s emotional & mental sanity was pushed to the brink and attempted to jump off several times, I think it’s really sad that DC just ignores it. Now as someone who’s gotten the help they needed & now helps other people who struggle with the same issues as myself & Tim, I think that they’re going to say a lot of Tim’s problems come from him not being “aware” of his own sexuality, which is just sad.

In the story in question, Barbara talks about Tim not having a solid identity. People are more than their sexuality. People are capable of making future decisions for themselves without it hindering on their sexuality. If Tim was real, I would brake down his struggle as so:

Tim refuses to go to college and do something more with his life because he cannot see anything beyond his current circumstance. And the only reason why Tim cannot see anything beyond his circumstance is because he has no internal sense of purpose, identity, and acceptance beyond the cape & cowl. And when Tim finally found that in being Robin, Tim held onto it as a lifeline. There’s a reason why everyone says Tim is basically Bruce 2.0: it’s because he is Robin/Red Robin/Drake & Tim is the mask. At a young age, he did not grow up having these things instilled into him due to his parents neglecting him at a very important age in his development. Tim raised himself, and for a lack of better terms; an idiot cannot teach themselves to be smarter, an idiot becomes smarter by learning from the intelligent. A child can’t teach themselves to be an adult, they have to learn from others to grow & better themselves.

Now a parent doesn’t necessarily have to sit down and give a lesson about how to be an individual, but children learn how to live life by watching their parents. A good example of this is the rest of the Bat-Fam; they all grew up with some form of parental figures that taught them how to behave (for better or worse). Of course children have their own personalities, which is why two kids can go through the same type of trauma but come out differently, but it is a battle of nature vs nurture. Steph, Jason, Cass, & Damian grew up in abusive/unstable homes, while Dick, Barbara, & Bruce grew up in loving homes, but their personalities & character dictated how they responded to trauma. They took what life gave them and decided what to leave or take.

Tim had nothing to work with & is basically playing catch-up with the rest of his peers.

In a weird sense, Tim is like Zuko from The Last Airbender: only living to serve their father’s purpose. Anything outside of that they don’t know what to do. They’ve been trained to be something externally without been given a chance to figure out who they are internally.

Again you are not your sexuality, your sexuality does not determine who you are as a person. When a person struggles through life, it is due to the conditions of thier soul. Everything starts internally and shows it’s self externally.

I want to make that very clear because I am truly scared that in DC’s attempt to claim “clout” they are missing the bigger picture. Tim doesn’t have identity problems simply because he “doesn’t know” he likes boys, but because DC never gave him is own identity to begin with. Robin was never his own identity, Red Robin was never his, & Drake was his first attempt to make his own but he quickly gave it up so that he can be Robin once again. What is Tim going to do once Damian gets back? Is Damian going to get his own identity before Tim? Or is Tim just going to go back to one of his old identities?

I would like for Tim to personally move on from being a vigilante and rejoin civilian society for a while. Go to college, do something for himself and only for himself. Give Tim the self-discovery story, let him heal, and grown to be his own person. Besides you can never have a functional romantic relationship if you are not a functional individual. Self love > romantic love.

#red robin #batman #dc comics #tim drake #batman and robin #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #damian al ghul #damian wayne #stephanie brown #batgirl #cassandra cain #batfam #robin #I just want a good and meaningful story that doesn’t have some secret agenda #just do right by Tim #beware the pandering #not everything has to be about romance

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honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

Take me Home, Country Roads

A Writer Wednesday Story

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels/GN! Reader

Word Count: 2,313

Warnings: Mentions of Jack’s late wife, but this is entirely fluff

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

You and Jack had never had an easy relationship, but it all seems to be coming together now. Especially after you and him decided to have a kid via surrogate. The only issue? Your daughter is nine hours away. I guess this calls for a road trip.

The prompt for this week’s Writer Wednesday was given, as always, by the lovely @autumnleaves1991-blog.

“Baby,” Jack shook your shoulder, making you groan and roll over in bed. “Baby.”

“What?” You said slowly, sufficiently cranky after having been woken up before the sun rose. The clock over Jack’s shoulder read 2:37, and you really wanted to hit him. Why the hell were you awake?

Jack kissed you, and you had half a mind to bite him for waking you up so damn early. “Daniels,” you said against his lips. “You aren’t winning yourself any points with me right now.”

“Mhm,” Jack hummed. “C’mon. We have to go.”

“Go?” You sat up, rubbing your eyes. “Go where?”

One of Jack’s old shirts was tossed in your direction, and he smiled. “We’re picking Frankie up today.”

Immediately, you felt giddiness fill your stomach as you jumped up, suddenly very eager. You passed Jack, the both of you going about your morning routines in a very rushed way. Today was the day you and Jack were going to drive from your house in Texas all the way out to the middle of New Mexico to pick up your newborn daughter, Marie Francesca Daniels.

It was nearly three in the morning by the time you were ready to go. Jack yawned, filling a travel mug with coffee and handing you your own travel mug. “Do we have everything?”

You nodded. “Car seat is in the car already,” you said, checking the items off your fingers as you went. “Diaper bag was packed yesterday, I have that audiobook downloaded, you have the address in your phone, and I just packed snacks.”

Jack smiled, kissing your forehead. “Are you ready?”

“No,” you admitted. “But at the same time, yes. I can’t wait to have her here.”

“I can’t either,” Jack reassured. “C’mon, we have to hit the road.”

Despite the early hour, you didn’t sleep at all in the car, opting to instead listen to the audiobook you had picked and relax, watching night darkened landmarks pass you by. Exhilaration kept your eyes as open as they’d get until breakfast, and you paid half attention to the book while Jack drove beside you.

Nine and a half months ago, you and Jack had sat down to have a very serious discussion. Did you want kids or not? Jack had, obviously, said yes, but after the catastrophe that was his late wife, he was hesitant. You were in a similar boat. Kids would’ve been nice, especially considering your ranch house was built for a family, but the process of having kids was something you could never see yourself doing. So after much discussion and a few angry nights, you and Jack found a surrogate. She wasn’t that far away, and she was super sweet. The three of you had met once, to confirm the pregnancy, and all of you had cried. Since then, her health had been well and steady, and last week she’d given birth to your baby girl. She was named after two of Jack’s great grandmothers, one from his mom’s side and one from his dad’s.

The sun rose earlier than you expected, peering over the hills as Jack continued westward. The hospital in New Mexico was nearly nine hours away, meaning you wouldn’t even reach it until a bit past noon, and you wouldn’t be returning home until well after nine pm. But you didn’t mind, not for this.

Nearly four hours into the trip, at 7 in the morning, Jack found a relatively healthy place to stop for breakfast. He walked in and got two bagels while you sat in the car, texting the surrogate. She had just woken up, and was almost as excited as you and Jack were for today.

“Whatcha doing?” Jack asked, getting back into the car and handing you a paper bag with your bagels in it.

“Texting Jackie,” you said. “She says Frankie is doing a-ok, and is eager to come home with us.”

Jack smiled. “Still can’t believe you let me name her Francesca.” He handed you your bagel, and you grinned.

“We made a deal,” you said. “You could name her Francesa as long as it wasn’t her first name. No matter what, I knew we’d be calling her Frankie.”

“We can call her Marie when she’s in trouble,” Jack said, leaning in close and giving you a kiss. “Thank you.”

“For what?” You asked, laughing as Jack trailed his kisses down, tickling your skin with his facial hair.

Jack smiled, humming against your skin. “For letting us have a baby.”

“Oh Jack,” you murmured, abandoning your breakfast so you could turn your full attention to your cowboy husband. “I wasn’t ever going to stop you from raising a family. Ever.”

“I know,” Jack reassured. “What do you think about having another one? That house has room for three or four.”

That brought a huge smile to your face. “Jack,” you said seriously, humor tinting your voice. “Let’s focus on one for now. We can revisit this conversation in two years.”

Jack pouted, but accepted, leaning back so he could eat his bagel and get back on the road. You ate slower than Jack, absorbing the audiobook you’d started playing again and enjoying seeing all the passing land outside the car.

A few more hours into your trip, and you were bored out of your mind. The book was super good, and you kept trying to focus your attention on that, but nothing could kill the boredom that was building in your chest.

“What time is it?”

Jack sighed. “Ten minutes since the last time you asked,” he said, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles. “It’s about ten thirty.”

You groaned. “Fuck,” you said, dragging the word out. “I’m so damn bored.”

Jack chuckled. “My laptop is in the back if you want to screw around with that solitaire program.”

It was better than doing a whole load of nothing, so you grabbed Jack’s laptop and set it up on top of your thighs. “Am I even allowed to use this?”

“Why wouldn’t you be allowed to use it?” Jack asked.

“What if I uncover some big Statesman secrets,” you said, logging in regardless. “What if I destroy the world?”

Jack smiled. “You cannot destroy the world from my laptop,” he reassured. “Not that one, at least.”

“This one?” You looked up, surprised. “You mean to tell me you can destroy the world from a laptop you own?”

Now Jack was full on laughing. “Yeah!” He said. “My work laptop. It stays at work though.”

You made a face. “Well that’s boring,” you decided, clicking on a solitaire game. “When do you want to grab lunch?”

Jack shrugged. “According to the GPS, we’ll get there a little after noon, so what do you say to eleven thirty? That way we have time to eat and stuff, plus the car won’t smell.”

It seemed reasonable to you, so you nodded. “Sounds good,” you said, sliding down in your seat and beginning a forty five minute long solitaire tournament with yourself.

“Babe,” Jack said softly after you finished the tenth game, nudging you. “Take a look at this.”

You shut the laptop off and looked up, immediately feeling yourself gasp. Outside the car was a sight you wished you could experience forever. The road stretched on as far as you could see, empty except for you and Jack. The sky was a beautiful picturesque blue with only the barest clouds, none of which dared block the sun. The earth was a gorgeous orange dirt, striped in various shades. Ahead of you stood a few mesas, breaking up the flat expanse of land. It was perfection, and you couldn’t help but pull out your phone to snap a picture.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed softly. “Absolutely beautiful.”

Jack smiled. “There’s a small town ten minutes from here,” he said. “We can stop to grab lunch, and then it’s only another half hour until we’re there.”

You looked at Jack, surprised. “Was I really playing solitaire for that long?”

“Yes you were.”

Lunch ended up being from a food truck, considering that was all you could find in the middle of nowhere, New Mexico. When you got out of the car, you immediately groaned, stretching your legs out and feeling your back pop.

Jack smiled, grabbing his hat. “Feeling okay over there?”

You shrugged. “I’ve been through worse,” you decided, looking around. “This place is so cool.”

“Reminds me of where I grew up,” Jack said, putting his arm around you. “Although my hometown had more grass and less sand.”

While you two ate at a small picnic table, you texted Jackie, telling her you were only half an hour away. She responded with enthusiasm, and you sent her the picture you took of the landscape.

The final leg of your trip was very quiet. The audiobook had finished, and neither of you wanted to break the delicate silence in the car. Well, silence was relative, considering Jack was humming John Denver while he drove, but you didn’t mind.

When you finally pulled into the hospital parking lot, you had trouble getting out of the car. Inside that building was your baby, your little girl. When you looked over at Jack, he looked just as nervous as you. “Ready cowboy?”

“Ready,” Jack confirmed, taking your hand. “Let’s do this.”

Finding the room wasn’t hard. A very sweet nurse led you to Jackie’s room, and you stared at the door for a solid minute before knocking.

“You’re here!” Jackie said, smiling as Jack opened the door. “She’s been an angel for me all morning.”

You nodded, unable to speak. Wrapped in a soft blanket in Jackie’s arms was your baby. You and Jack had both seen photos, but it seemed nothing would compare to the real thing. Jackie stood, still holding Frankie. “Do you want to hold her?”

Jack stepped forward, and Jackie put Frankie down in his arms. Jack smiled, cradling Frankie close to his body. “Hey baby,” he said softly. “It’s me, your daddy.”

Jackie stepped back, towards you. “He’s a natural,” she whispered to you.

You nodded. “Thank you so much,” you said. “I don’t ever think I’ll be able to thank you enough for what you’ve given us.”

Jackie smiled. “I’m just glad I was able to help you two.”

After nearly half an hour of sitting and waiting, you and Jack both holding Frankie, a doctor came around to release her. He checked your daughter over and deemed her okay to leave, and the four of you all walked out together. Jackie waved and smiled from her car as she drove away, rolling her window down to give you one final goodbye.

You got into the driver’s seat, looking back at Jack, who was settling Frankie into her car seat. “How goes it back there cowboy?”

“Got it!” Jack said triumphantly, smiling and kissing Frankie’s head. “Sleep tight baby girl.” He closed the backseat door and got into the passenger seat. “Still can’t believe she’s ours.”

You smiled, taking his hand. “We have a daughter.”

Jack nodded, his eyes watering. “A daughter,” he said softly.

By the time you were half an hour away from the hospital, it began to feel more real. Every so often, Jack would check the backseat, finding Frankie asleep every time. She slept soundly, and you almost recommended Jack do the same. He’d been up since really early, and you could tell he needed rest.

Two hours towards home, you realized that would’ve been disastrous.

Frankie started to cry, and almost immediately, Jack looked at you. “What’s going on?” He asked, eyes wide. “Is she okay?”

You nodded. “She’s probably hungry,” you said, carefully pulling over and putting the car in park. “Her bottle is in the diaper bag.”

Jack took a breath and nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I got this.”

He got out of the car and picked Frankie up, carrying her to the front seat with him. “That’s it,” he said softly, grabbing the bottle and beginning to feed her.

You smiled, grabbing your phone to take a picture and send it to every single one of Jack’s coworkers who you had contact with.

“What are you doing?” Jack asked, barely looking up at you.

“Giving Tequila sufficient blackmail,” you said with a smile. “And showing Ginger her new niece.”

Jack made a face, laughing when he looked back at Frankie and found her copying his scrunched up face. “Aren’t you just a little troublemaker?” He said. “I know my mama can’t wait to meet you, bumblebee. How’s that sound? Wanna get spoiled by your abuelita?”

You couldn’t help but smile at that. “Jack,” you said. “Put Frankie back in her car seat, I have to keep driving.”

“Can I hold her for a bit?” Jack asked, looking up at you with his pleading puppy eyes. “Please?”

Taking a deep breath, you sighed. “Fine,” you said. “But only for a little bit.”

Jack smiled, twisting a bit so he could get himself buckled back in. As he did so, you turned the radio on, dialing the volume down a bit.

You drove like that for a bit, with Jack cradling Frankie in the front seat. He hummed along to the radio, rocking Frankie as he hummed. Finally, the cursed song began to play, and Jack lit up.

“Almost heaven, West Virginia. Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River. Life is old there, older than the trees. Younger than the mountains, growin' like a breeze,” he sang along softly with John Denver, and you smiled, turning the radio up a bit. Jack continued to sing, putting a gentle lull over the car as you continued your drive home, your tiny family of three comfortable and together at last.

“Country roads, take me home, to the place I belong. West Virginia, mountain mama. Take me home, country roads.”

#Kingsman #kingsman the golden circle #agent whiskey #jack 'whiskey' daniels #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing #writer wednesday

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traumatized-motherfuckers · 3 years

Text

CPTSD and Core Beliefs (Your lens, built on traumatic fuckery)

Alright, so you know I have this Patreon thing that I try to make worth your while in return for your economical help. One of the benefits is the good ole’ monthly ask me anything. And I love it. Because the questions are great. And they push me to dig into topics that I was procrastinating. This month’s AMA is a particularly good one! A question that needs to be addressed, anyways. So it’s perfect. Let’s aim for two birds with one stone.

Our good friend Cassie - you know her by now - asks, how do you identify core beliefs and start to change them? Which is a very simple and very complicated question.

So, to take a step backwards, what she talkin’ bout?

Well, one of the internal issues that complex trauma sufferers have to rectify is their belief system. Between our core beliefs and our inner critic, we have a lot going on in between our ears to keep us downtrodden and destitute.

We’re talking about what I call Fucked Up Core Beliefs here… which are your trauma-born core beliefs. Again, called FUCBs because when you discover them, you’ll likely whisper to yourself, “wow, that’s actually really fucked up.” These sentiments are like the lenses that you surgically stitched onto your face several decades ago in response to your upbringing, as your little mammal brain tried to understand its place in the global hierarchy and how to be chill about it.

The framework you built from your early development and beyond, that all information still filters through today - both on the way in and on the way out of your head. The words that stream through your brain consciously or subconsciously to shape the ways you appraise… everything. Yourself, your life, your past, your future, other people, and everything that happens in between.

So, essentially, talking about the ways you interpret your existence and the collected pool of knowledge from where you make decisions, and therefore the ways you act. If this is starting to sound like a big deal - it is!

But it don’t come with a big flashing sign. The Challenge

These beliefs are challenging to figure out because:

One, they were adapted early on in your life in an effort to understand the circumstances around you or directly downloaded from the sentiments expressed in your environment. When you were first establishing your perspective of the universe and trying to figure out how to navigate it based on the clues presented.

Plus, the harder part is… because of the early adoption, you’ve already accepted the idea for so long that it doesn’t even seem like a “belief” to you - you’re not choosing it and it’s probably not apparent to you - it’s just the secret narrative running in your head that corrupts all later data. Not cognitive thoughts that you’re directing on purpose. You probably don’t have recollections of the time before you believed such and such to question what you believe - these ideas are solidified in your head with as much certainty as the alphabet.

So, you might believe you’re a worthless piece of shit as a function of the neglect and abuse you experienced, a way to explain the mistreatment to yourself from a young age… OR you might believe you’re a worthless piece of shit because mom, dad, sister, and society directly told you so. But either way, many years down the line, it’s difficult to pinpoint either of these originating factors as memories fade or to even question the validity of the thought… or to even notice the thought.

Two, if your family of origin was always repeating the same sort of thoughts and you later associate with people who make you comfortable to be around (i.e. probably have some similar views of the world), you have nothing to compare your beliefs to.

Your environment teaches you what’s normal. There’s no reference for what is and isn’t healthy, fair, or functional if everyone is drinking the same kool aid. And, unfortunately, in traumatic environments, folks seem to congregate around the fucked up beliefs to protect them with a mutual unspoken agreement. Accept the accepted narrative of the group or be outcast. The same story is replayed on repeat from all ends of your social circle, so why would you even begin to think there’s another way to look at things?

So, if mom, dad, cousin, uncle, grandma, neighbor, peer, teacher, and media are all telling you the same reality exists, how would you ever even begin to have the wherewithal to think otherwise? The thought probably never crosses your mind. The sky is blue, grass is green, and the world is a miserable place where everyone is trying to take advantage of you.

Three, again, I cannot over-express how insidious, subtle, and generalized these things can be. Fucked up core beliefs affect how you see and process everything. Again, like lenses or an instagram filter permanently applied to your corneas. So, there’s not necessarily one life-effect linked to one-FUCB for easy detection or one event that will cause a clear-as-day defined belief to come shooting to the top of the pile. More like, you very slowly realize you have an unhealthy view or twenty about yourself and the world that have sorrrrrtof impacted every single area of your life now that you spend years considering it.

Thinking you’re a worthless piece of shit, for instance, has led to you taking low-level jobs with chaotic schedules, living with an abusive partner, and settling for living in the same environment with the same behavioral patterns that you’ve known your entire life. It’s also allowed you to give up exercise, eating right, staying sober, and trying to make any life-improvements. Why bother spit polishing shit? And here you are, wondering why you feel awful about yourself and don’t enjoy anything you’ve created in your life.

But. It’s not that simple to sort out, or else we would have done it already. You probably haven’t ever purposely considered how commonly this impression is operating below the surface of your actions. Realizing that the belief “I’m a worthless piece of shit who deserves nothing” and trying to change it would be like pulling out the wrong Janga block - everything it has been supporting suddenly comes tumbling down and you’re left with a real fucking mess to rebuild from the bottom up. And, to top it all off, no one ever even taught you how to create a sturdier structure in the first place.

Fourthly, from some of my own learnings, I’ve come to the conclusion that the core belief, itself, doesn’t even have to present itself at any point to be making a difference in your life. They are so deeply ingrained in my brain that my thought center just naturally uses them as a jumping off point, without even directly touching on the words that might ping my brain as unusual. Just like we can subtly detect risks in our environment that set off our warning bells without ever creating a conscious thought to go with the arousal, I feel like I can apply a core belief to my world without ever noticing the accompanying stream of consciousness.

Sometimes I feel like fucked up core beliefs have become so accepted over time that they’re feelings more than cognitions. As if they’ve become so reflexive through repetition that you have muscle memory - an intuitive response that bypasses your logical brain recognition threshold and jumpstarts shittily-related thoughts… and those will actually register on your thinking scale. But at that point, you accept the novel-feeling thought and never note that it was actually spawned by a very old recording.

Which is to say, you might have to work on identifying your fucked up core feelings before you can get to the thought deeply buried underneath. Taking a meta break from the episode to tell you, I’ve never thought about that so thoroughly before. But Fucked Up Core Feelings definitely sounds like a solid description of my world. I guess we also have FUCFs to go with our FUCBs from now on. Anyways.

With all of this in mind, I’m sure you can start to see why these fucked up core beliefs are a big problem. Hell, if you’ve listened to this podcast for more than a few episodes, you’ve definitely heard that I’m still challenged by my own. Like, when I say that I’m freaking out because no one should listen to me and I feel like an imposter - I believe that I’m not good enough to share information with people. That I’m too flawed to even express myself. This is a problem for, say, podcasting. Or, living. And I have to fight it all the time.

Long story short.

Your core beliefs are sneaky, they can be comprehensive, and they are hardwired into your brain as your default system for analyzing everything on the planet. Again, kind of like looking for goggles strapped to your face, but in reality you had lasik surgery about 30 years ago.

So, if you aren’t constantly on the lookout for core beliefs and actively working against your pre-programmed ways of assessing yourself and the world around you… they will get out of control, cause a fair amount of avoidance and defeat, and set you back several steps in your mental health management… plus, potentially your entire life, if you make any big decisions out of this unhealthy mindset. Which you will, because that’s how the brain works. I’m almost certain that you have some experience with this already.

If you ever think things like: The world is a dangerous placePeople are cruelI’m not good enough I’m not smart enoughI’m not enoughI’m brokenOther people don’t like meThere’s something wrong with my personalityI’m not allowed to… (live like others, have nice things, be happy)I’m not one of those people who… (has money, has good luck, gets what they want)Shit is just harder for meNothing ever works outLife is always hardI can’t.

Then you’ve had some fucked up core beliefs floating around in your head.

These are some super broad ones for the sake of demonstration, so don’t disregard highly specific beliefs that might relate to your particular circumstances or upbringing.

If you haven’t ever noticed yourself thinking these big shitty picture things… check again in all your deepest nooks and crannies. I think a lot of us TMFRs operate from some version of the narratives above - plus, much worse. Like I keep saying, these beliefs might not be in your conscious thoughts, so much as they’re directing the show from behind the curtain.

How do we pull it back? Discover the beliefs ........

Keep reading or listen up at t-mfrs.com

https://www.t-mfrs.com/podcast/episode/532f2b1c/core-beliefs

#cptsd #complex ptsd #complex trauma #complextraumarecovery #healingcomplextrauma #complextrauma #complexptsd #cptsd problems #cpstd #just cptsd things #actually CPTSD #cptsdsurvivor

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outerbonks · 4 years

Text

selfish - rafe cameron

i posted this yesterday but it formatted all weird and annoyed me so i took it down but here it is again. please enjoy and lemme know what you think!

based on selfish by madison beer

summary; your relationship with Rafe isn’t healthy, you both know it, but you don’t know how to let the boy go.

word count: 1.8k

warning(s): swearing, mentions of drugs, toxic relationship

masterlist ♡

Boy, you're such a lost cause, now your name is crossed off

How you gonna fix this? You can't even fix yourself

Each day it got harder and harder to give yourself reasons to stand by your boyfriend, Rafe.

He was out of control, if he wasn't coked up and out of his mind he was blowing his top on pogues who did nothing to deserve his rage.

You loved him so much, you truly did but you couldn't watch as he destroyed himself and took you down with him any longer.

He'd been warned by you months ago that you just couldn't do it anymore. You were sick of the constant arguing, sick of his absolute lack of regard for anyone other than himself but more than anything you were sick of the disregard he showed towards you.

Rafe always begged you to stay, claiming that he needed you, that he'd get clean and fix himself up for you.

Months went by and nothing changed, yet the boy still promised you time and time again that he'd fix the mess he'd made of himself and the love that you shared.

It was almost two years, that I chose to spend here

All alone on New Years, thinking what the hell?

Your relationship with Rafe began when you were seventeen and he was eighteen and it was absolutely wonderful, it had been at first at least.

Now you were nearing your nineteenth birthday and the man who called himself your boyfriend hadn't returned any of your calls or texts in almost three days.

On a massive coke bender with his impressionable friends, you imagined, not that it was anything new.

He always did this, disappeared for days without a word and then reappeared when he overdid himself in a mess of tears and weightless apologies.

Sobs filled with "baby, I love you."s and "I'm so sorry"s and "please don't leave me. I need you."s

And they got you every time.

He'd miss dates, events that were important to you and you'd get mad and shout a: "What the hell is the point anymore?" He would break down and hold you like you were the most important thing to him in the whole world and you'd believe him when he told you just that, despite how he'd proved on more than one occasion that you weren't even more important than a bump of coke with Topper or Kelce.

I don't wanna break your thread and needle tryna stitch you, but I can't, I refuse

Every time he came to you undone you tried with everything you had to put him back together again, even if that meant tearing yourself apart to do so.

As it began happening more and more often you couldn't even remember the last time he'd kissed you just because he thought you looked pretty and not because he wanted to make sure you were still real and beside him.

You weren't his girlfriend anymore, you were his therapist.

Enough was enough, you had to put yourself first, if you didn't soon enough you'd have no more of yourself to give. Everything would be gone. He'd have wrung you dry.

Shouldn't love you but I couldn't help it

Had a feeling that you never felt it

I always knew that you were too damn selfish

It wasn't healthy and you both knew it. You shouldn't have stayed for as long as you have, he was bad for you but you were hooked. He was your drug and the damage he was causing proved that he was just as bad for your health. Yet you ignored it time and time again.

It's not to say that Rafe didn't love you because he did, he does. But he loved you in his own twisted way. He wouldn't move mountains for you and he wouldn't drop anything to help you but he'd just about die without you.

His love for you was selfish. It benefits him but never you. He could see the effect it had on you but how could he let you go when he needed you? Letting you go wasn't in the cards, you made him feel love and if you got hurt in the process then that was all the more reason why he couldn't give you up.

The knowledge that you loved him so much that you were willing to endure so much pain to make him happy fueled him.

Don't know why I looked the other way, I wanted you to change

Shouldn't love you but I couldn't help it, I always knew that you were too damn selfish

It was partially your fault. You saw right from the moment he first kissed you that he was doing it for the wrong reasons. Ignoring red flags had become a daily occurrence for you.

Giving up on him was something you didn't want to do, not in the slightest. You figured that he'd change, that he'd get better, that he'd treat you better.

He never did, never even tried.

But still, how could you just ignore all the good in favour of highlighting all of the bad?

His smile, the gentle touches he gives you when he thinks nobody else is looking, the way he kisses you like his life depends on it- you couldn't abandon all of it, you didn't want to.

And maybe that made you the selfish one, but you couldn't fool yourself anymore.

I bet you thought you gave me real love, but we spent it all in nightclubs

All you ever wanna do is lie, why you always such a Gemini?

Rafe's idea of a romantic date was dragging you to a kook party on figure eight, leaving you alone to deal Barry's content and then finding you hours later high as balls and begging to you fuck him in some random bedroom.

He genuinely believed he was some kind of king when it came to the way he treated you. He brought you to parties, made you popular, heightened your social status among the other kooks, but that was all he thought mattered. Getting everyone else's approval.

You allowed him to reflect his warped sense of love onto you, he gave you what he thought was real love when really it was just the approval of your peers.

He thought real love equaled approval. It was as simple as that.

That wasn't what you wanted though, you wanted trust and tender moments, things Rafe didn't give to you unless it played in his favor.

Trust was an issue, he didn't trust you to know where he was going and to keep your mouth shut about it so he'd lie, lie, lie and lie some more.

Calling him out on it never helped either.

"Y/n why can't you just trust me for once?" He'd ask, throwing his arms around angrily.

"Because all you do is fucking lie to me Rafe! How can you expect me to trust you?" You'd scream back, tears threatening to spill from your eyes out of frustration from having the same fight over and over again.

He'd see your tears and he'd ease up, "Baby, don't cry." He’d say softly and then he'd pull you into him, "I don't ever want to make you cry." Then he'd look at you with those pretty eyes and kiss you softly and just like that you were back in his trap, as if nothing was wrong to begin with.

Baby, who you tryna run from? Me or all your problems?

You know you will never solve 'em, you don't even know yourself

Every now and then he'd push you away, tell you that he didn't need you anymore, that he'd be perfectly fine on his own.

And so you'd leave and he'd go MIA for a while but ultimately end you right back where he started, at your doorstep begging you to take him back. You always did, he knew you'd never turn him away.

"Why do you do that?" You'd ask quietly, your head resting on his chest as he twirled a strand of your hair with his fingers.

He'd look at you confused, "Why do I do what, baby?"

You'd furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head up to look at him with a saddened expression, before you'd answer him pathetically, "Run away from me."

And then he'd sigh but wrap his arms around you tightly, "I just needed to figure myself out. You know I always come back." He'd try to reassure you but the statement only caused your blood to run cold at the thought of reliving the situation again and again.

"And did you? Figure yourself out, I mean." You'd question as softly as possible, always hoping the answer would be yes.

But he'd only shrug and pull you up to be face to face with him, he'd bring his hand to your cheek so tenderly and stare at you with an affection neither of you knew he was capable and he'd whisper out, "I don't know. But I just know that my head doesn't spin so much when I'm with you."

But it's not possible

Plus I'm not responsible for your self-made obstacles

Put my heart in the hospital

"I can't do this with you anymore, ok Rafe? I've had enough." You told him, swallowing the lump in your throat as he shook his head in refusal.

"What do you mean? What did I do?" He asked, tone demanding an answer as he took a step towards you.

Letting out a sigh of distress at his oblivious nature you frantically motioned between the two of you with your shaking hand, "This! This isn't healthy! All we do is fight and make up! I can't do it anymore."

Your voice was weak but absolute, he wasn't going to charm his way out of this one, you wouldn't let him.

"Baby, I-" he said softer, attempting to pull you in, but you took a step back and shook your head.

"Don't. I don't want to be your emotional support dog anymore, Rafe." His eyes widened and his jaw clenched, this wasn't happening.

"I'm trying to fix it! We've been over this!" He was shouting now and it brought up an anger in you, that excuse was old and you were sick of it.

"It's been two fucking years, Rafe! You haven't even tried! I can't possibly give any more of myself to you and yet you give me nothing." You yelled at first, but your voice lowered in volume at the end as you looked into his tear filled eyes.

"But I need you." Rafe choked out, voice cracking along with your heart, you couldn't stand this.

"I love you. But you're selfish and it hurts too much being used by you, so I can't let you anymore." Tears were falling down your face rapidly and you had to bite your lip to contain a sob.

"I'm sorry." Was all he could say, he couldn't deny what you said, it was true and you were right but he couldn't let you go. You were all he knew.

"We can figure this out, baby. We always do." He added, attempting to grab a hold of you again, nerves taking over.

But you shook your head, "Not this time."

Shouldn't love you but I couldn't help it.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #obx rafe #outer banks #outer banks x reader

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theratopia · 3 years

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No time to cry

Dear Therapals,

The problem with passion projects is that sometimes they are forced into a hiatus while I take care of… other passion projects.

There is a bit of time travel involved in this one considering my first draft is many weeks old. For the sake of story-telling and good personal anecdotes, I will ignore date accuracy. In fairness, I reckon none of you cares about this.

Episode 187 reminded me of the ambivalence of our resilience. We are strong because surrender is never an option for those who count themselves lucky to get this far.

“I would think about how I would kill myself if I could…”

I cried ugly with this episode twice now. When our friend from Zimbabwe talked about having a better life than most people from their country just because they have food, shelter, enough money, and access to higher education I broke down hard. They look around themselves and see other people in dire situations and they feel like they should be more grateful, they feel like those few “luxuries” suffice to a happy life.

When we consider the vast majority of PodTherapy’s listeners, I’m confident to say that I am a type of diversity just from being not American. Yet, I am completely aware that I’m still a white, middle-class person. Behind my many complaints about the country I live in, there is a very conscious appreciation for the level of privilege I have within this particular reality. So, hearing from someone who I would consider less privileged than me that they sometimes think they should just be grateful because other people around them have even less was heartbreaking. I can relate, and I know how much it hurts.

The idea that you are ungrateful for wanting more than the bare minimum is something that I battle with sometimes too. We have these voices in our minds judging us at every display of dissatisfaction, badgering us for daring to be so spoiled as to want more. We tell ourselves that we could be in a worse situation and we think about that all the time because the worse situation is not far away in another “third world country”, it’s right there outside the window. For people who care about others, there’s almost shame of being ambitious. Or being different. Or wanting something else. It’s survivor’s guilt, but an entire lifetime of it.

One of my usual criticisms about the show is the general American-centrist approach, but I don’t exactly expect this to change because it would be silly of me to do so. Not that I don’t believe people can change their perspective, I just can’t expect this from three American guys who never had to deal with anything other than average white America. Their entire reality is fundamentally different from mine and will probably always be since we grew up in vastly different situations. It’s okay, and it is why I decided to write to them and to eventually create this space where I can speak freely on how I see things. By now I have learnt to appreciate those disparities and communicate them as much as I can. The bottom line is, Americans will hardly ever really understand how we Brazilians - or you Zimbabweans - think about community and how we position ourselves as individuals. The same goes the other way around - I don’t get at all the constant need for competition. We can recognize those contrasts and share our experiences to broaden everyone’s perspectives. Seeing things from multiple angles can be a powerful tool to better solve the problems we are faced with. For the record, I am not comparing Brazil and Zimbabwe, I can perfectly recognize that Brazil has a lot of advantages in comparison, and I also know very little about Zimbabwe to make any further judgment. My point here is to clearly put these two countries in a separated group from the US.

Nick said that the listener seemed to have developed healthy coping mechanisms. Speaking from this part of the world that gets described as “third world” I feel like I need to point to the cruelty involved in that process. Living through historic events is exhausting and we have to do it with a grace that is rarely shown to us.

What our beloved American friends seem to fundamentally miss is that we just don’t have the time and the resources to even consider mental illnesses as part of the conversation.

What I mean is that we don’t recognize the impact of our mental health when we are too busy surviving. Throughout this entire pandemic, Brazil is putting its grief on an imaginary credit card that will probably never be charged, or it will snowball into a bigger catastrophe. We simply don’t have the time to cry for every single person that we lose to a preventable disease while we are already burdened with other worries about our own survival. I don’t have time to be depressed and not go to work because I have to feed my family. I don’t have time to contemplate the death of another thousand because I would just be doing that every day. Maybe as a defense mechanism, we become very numb to otherwise tragic situations. Death, loss and suffering are not an anomaly in our reality, they are somewhat the expectation. Considering this, emotional resources are rationed wisely. I cried when one of my favorite comedians died, but nothing changed for me after the passing of the neighbor who almost destroyed my family. To be honest, we will catch ourselves smiling when we hear some famous person died from old age, at least they expired at their terms.

During the days leading to my first shot of the Covid-19 vaccine, my sister and my partner warned me about the pain that would follow the desired jab. They told me to expect a lot of soreness, a sick feeling, real exhaustion. I was prepared to take the rest of the week off to enjoy the beating of immunization.

The issue is this: none of that happened. My arm was hurting for less than 24 hours. In fact, two days after the shot I gave myself two hard slaps in the arm just to show dominance. Pain is not a stranger to me, it’s a character trait. You can’t be soft in a battle.

That said, it’s not cute that we are survivors. Only a few of us are privileged enough to contemplate what it actually means to live, to have the ability to desire for more than the bare minimum. And it hurts us to know that the majority is just surviving.

Now, one thing we can always do is look for peers. The internet made it possible for people to create borderless communities, so we should take advantage of that for our benefit. (Please, Darwin, let me not go on a tangent about destructive communities that can only thrive and expand because of the internet. Thank you.) So, if you can’t find a friend in your village to talk about your struggles with mental health, reach out to a friend in Brazil. Or Poland. Or Australia. We exist, we are here. We are other real people with real problems and a lot of us are open to help those who feel lost and alone. I promise you will find someone who understands your pain, or at least is willing to try.

If you need to hide your care from your family, and can, do it. Just get treated, get help. Worry about yourself first. Nobody needs to know about your health but your doctor or health care team. We love ourselves first, then we ration our energy to help others.

We deserve what we want, friend. We deserve more, we deserve better.

As the official Mayor of Theratopia, fan number #1, and president of the Brazilian Chapter, I hereby dub thee president of the Zimbabwean Chapter. Rejoice!

Triple hug.

The Mayor

#resilience #therapy #podtherapy

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oh-mother-of-darkness · 4 years

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hello this isnt abt batfam or batman but i saw your age and was wondering how do i survive till 23? i am 18 now and 5 more years is very hard to survive please help

Interesting question. I turn 24 in ten days, and sometimes even I’m not sure. I guess I’ll talk about how I personally stayed alive this long before I try to give advice.

The very first thing I would say is that I am religious, and that worldview makes a difference. I don’t mean that in a “everything happens for a reason” kind of way, and as a matter of fact, I very much dislike that line of thinking. It does a lot of damage, and I’m aware that it rightly puts a lot of people off from religion in general.

I hold two beliefs that I think are helpful in terms of survival. First, I believe that humans are by nature bad. Counterintuitive in this conversation? Stick with me. Every day, but especially at my lowest moments, I hate the things that I am. In a metaphorical sense, my mind whispers to me that I am selfish, that I am cowardly, that I think bad things and I am capable of worse. I’m hateful, I’m terrifying, and I am absolutely broken. At my core, there is something fundamentally wrong, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t fix it.

I am disgusting. I’m several thousand evil things in a trench-coat pretending to be anything but myself, and I’m not fooling anyone.

Well, yeah. Yeah, I’m all those things and more: manipulative, lying, self-obsessed, angry, unforgiving, and judgmental. I could, of course, go on.

Here’s the thing-- everybody is. I am no better and no worse than any other person in the universe, and though I am ever abhorrent thing, I am. I have the same dignity, the same worth, and the same life as any human anywhere. The dark things are part and parcel of my humanity, but although I am not good, I do good.

I will never be perfect because that just isn’t possible, but I can be kind. I can be loving, I can be strong, and I can be wise.

Shit, doesn’t that set me free?

There’s a lot more to this conversation, and the rest goes, in brief, like this: at the bottom of the darkness that is every soul, we have one great fear-- if I am truly evil, no one will ever love me. Good news on that front, there is a God who does. If that’s something you want to talk about, hey hit me up. I’ll evangelize on my own time.

Back to it. My second belief is a kind of understanding about the passage of time, and it’s sort of hard to boil down into a few sentences, but I’ll try my best. I believe in a grand struggle between good and evil. I know the beginning of that struggle. I know the end of that struggle: that good will win. I am a part of the middle.

I see my role in the universe as extraordinary small but absolutely necessary. I have a two-fold purpose-- love God, love humans. I interpret both as a call to help others in any way I can, and I think in the way my life has worked out so far, that’s really the most important thing keeping me alive.

I see all of this through the frame of my religion, but I would argue that everything I’ve said so far is applicable outside of that frame, because a lot of folks get to the same place from a fully secular point of view. I cannot be perfect. I should care about and fight for other people. That’s really all we’re working from here.

A few years back, when people asked me this question-- how do you stay alive?-- I used to answer “spite,” and that’s not untrue. I am a very angry person, and the grand majority of that anger is directed at what I perceive as unjust acts. I have a deep-seated hatred of establishments (including the established church), and you’d be shocked at how much of a motivator that can be.

I grew up in an environment that was very intentional in teaching me to identify injustice. Though I have radically departed from many of the teachings of my childhood, the part about fighting for others was something I learned at day one, and that bit has stuck around. For the most part, I grew up in an environment where everyone was on the same page about it.

And theeeeeeen I went to undergrad. Hello, Texas A&M. I hit campus as an 18 year old fully incapacitated by anxiety. I was the kind of person who didn’t-- in fact couldn’t-- speak in front of others. I had always lived my life in a way that minimized myself, because if I never spoke, if I never disagreed, if I never drew attention, I would never make anyone angry. I knew from experience that angry people hurt me, and I was afraid of pain.

Then I experienced the absolute shenaniganry of conservative Texans. The culture shock sent me to space and back, and on the return trip I decided that I couldn’t be quiet anymore.

I learned to speak my freshman year so that I could scream FUCK YOU. It was incredibly painful, and I can’t tell you exactly how I managed it other than I was angry, and I didn’t want to lose.

I fought a similar battle on my homefront against parents that didn’t know how to deal with a daughter that disagreed, or even worse, a daughter that wasn’t okay. I wasn’t a perfect child anymore. I knew I had anxiety, I knew I was depressed, and we all knew who I blamed for that. They hadn’t been the perfect parents they thought they were.

I found myself growing, little by little, into a person that could write and argue and hold her ground. That’s personal growth for sure, but it didn’t necessarily help my mental health. As a matter of fact, my health declined all through undergrad, and in my third and final year, I cracked.

I was desperate. I was isolated. I was flooded by fear and despair, and I was falling apart. I don’t remember huge chunks of undergrad because I was so depressed that the memories didn’t stick, but I do remember my tipping point.

It was something small. The ceiling fan in my bedroom was broken. The lighting chain worked fine, but if anyone pulled the fan chain, the whole thing would stop working. I mixed up which chain was which, pulled the wrong cord, and broke it for the fourth time.

For some reason, that was it. I lay down on my floor and cried for an hour, and while I did, my mind went to, as the kids say, a dark place. Finally, I called my mom and begged for psychiatric medication, something I had always been afraid to ask for. At the time, my parents believed that antidepressants were overprescribed, and they mocked parents that let their children take them.

At around the same time, I was deciding what to do with my life. I was about to graduate, and I had always wanted to be a kindergarten teacher. Instead, everyone in my life pushed me towards law school. I didn’t know what to do, but I began fantasizing, not about going to law school exactly, but about being the kind of person that could go to law school.

I knew that law school would be entail public speaking and constant conflict and the kind of work that would be hard for a person who sometimes couldn’t leave her bed. I wanted to be someone who could do all of that, but I didn’t believe I was.

Enter Donald Trump. Post-November 2016, I struggled to understand how something like that could happen, and I watched everyone else deal with it too. I began confused, moved to distraught, then returned to what I always am: angry.

January 2017 was the inauguration and shortly afterwards, the “Muslim ban.” I read the news on my bedroom floor, and there was one specific part that stuck out to me. There were pictures of lawyers flooding the airports. There was a court case headed for SCOTUS.

I suddenly realized that one group-- one very select group-- was doing what I was powerless to accomplish. I hated establishments, and there was one group that could challenge and change them. Some people could fight in the way I wanted to, and those people were lawyers.

I have a very distinct memory of looking into the bathroom mirror of my third-year apartment and thinking, “I will be miserable for the rest of my life, no matter what I do or what career I pick. I might as well be a miserable lawyer.”

So I took my antidepressants and I went to law school. I’m not going to rehash everything that happened there in this particular post, because in this topic, I don’t think it matters. The relevant part is that I went, and I had my reason why.

Sure as hell can tell you that law school wasn’t good for my health. The last three years have been, in terms of sheer stress and despair, the worst of my life. I picked up a self-harm habit, endured consistent humiliation, cycled through six different antidepressants, had horrible relationships, and developed a psychotic disorder. Don’t get me wrong, there were good things too. I met people that are important me, and beyond that, I grew.

I know that 18 year old me would be absolutely flabbergasted by the woman I am now, cracks and flaws included. I wouldn’t say I’m healthy or okay, but I am more healthy and more okay. I’m coming out of this mess with the institutional power I wanted, and now I get to decide what to do with it.

I was wrong three years ago when I looked in that bathroom mirror. I know now that I won’t be miserable for the rest of my life. I’m going to be happy someday, and to the parts of me that say otherwise: fuck you. I’ve learned to say it now.

I graduated law school this week, and this month, I’ve felt better than I ever have before. I’m singing again, I dropped two medications, and suddenly, everything is so, so funny. I’ve been laughing so hard my face hurts the day after.

This is a huge turning point in my life, so I’ve been meditating on my past. I’ve come to the conclusion that in most of the ways that matter, I won. My family has been forced to accept what I am. I became the person I wanted to be, even though I thought I wasn’t capable of that.

I know for sure that there will be times in my life where I hit rock bottom again, and that’s not gonna be fun. It’s likely that with my mental health issues, I will always have to work harder than my peers to get the same results. That’s unfair.

I also know that high points exist, and I will have them. I am having them, and I will again.

I guess in recap, I know that I have deep flaws and ugly parts, but I am at peace with that. I know that I must help others, and in pursuit of that goal, I became a person I like more than the girl I used to be.

You have exactly the same potential. I want you to know that whatever you are now, that’s not your forever. Circumstances change, and you will change too. We’re human, you and I, and that’s an exciting thing to be.

Your worth comes from your humanity itself, both evil and good, not the things you do or the fights you win. You never have to compare yourself to others because you are exactly the same as everybody else-- no better, but certainly no worse. You’re a person. That’s enough.

I’m telling you all those things, and as advice, I’ll say this: get angry and fight. Fight for others. You can help them, and you should. Fight for yourself. You are worthy of respect, and everyone else should give it to you. Fight yourself. Any part of you that preaches despair is wrong.

Find the thing that makes you angry and use it. Things are fucked up! There’s a lot to be angry about. I put it this way to my classmates, now my attorney peers: you get one hill to die on. What’s your hill? Go and defend it.

Here’s an interesting thing, anon. Your hill can be yourself. There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re right. Five years is a lot, and all the years beyond that are more. Take your antidepressants and go.

#anyway here's a fucking autobiography I guess #let's see what to tag what to tag #religion #christianity #suicide #suicidal thoughts #suicidal ideation #asks #personal i guess #wait I thought of more #self harm #american politics #if the read more on this post doesn't work again I'm rioting #been having that glitch lately

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queenlawrenceskingdom · 6 years

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The Hunger Games: The Tributes

I recently returned to Tumblr, and with that decision came a thirst to return to the roots of the fandom that got me here in the first place. So here I am doing a reread of the entire thg series, along with some analysis, quotes, and questions along the way! I’ve decided to make posts for each of the three sections of each book, so here goes the first one.

The Tributes

At the beginning of this book, I think it’s only right that we start with Katniss talking about Prim. The entire series always comes back to it, because Katniss time and time again is working to protect her. Whether it be from bad dreams before her first reaping or the horrors later on, Katniss’ central motivator is her little sister. At times she seems to be a little too overprotective at great cost to herself, obviously by volunteering but also by refusing to let her take out tesserae. We meet Gale, and I’ve always wondered how he learned to snare and when he started going into the woods. Were their fathers friends, or did take their children to the woods separately? Did they ever intend to work together, or did they without the kids knowing?

The word “rebellion” is first stated on page 5, which is no accident on Suzanne Collins’ part. In the first 80 pages alone it’s mentioned 6 times, which is more than the rest of the book. She talks about the punishments of rebellion, the rebellion 74 years prior, and her thoughts when Haymitch remarks about how her at Peeta holding hands on the chariot could be seen as rebellious. From the start of the series, Katniss has been instigating rebellion even when she doesn’t mean to. Poaching, refusing children, volunteering for her sister (instead of the “honor”), shooting at the Gamemakers, showing solidarity with Peeta. I’m sure President Snow approves of none of that.

Before Katniss ever goes into the Games, I already have a sense of some mental health issues with her. It would be an easy diagnosis for her, a sudden death of her father, the sequential “loss” of her mother, and the responsibility of head of the household being thrust on her small 11-year-old shoulders. She is very doubtful of people who want to help her and finds it hard to understand how people can be kind and not expect anything in return. With this, she has a soft spot for kindness so maybe that’s why she doesn’t care for it much. I’m not an expert on mental health, but it wasn’t easy for her to take this in such a short amount of time, and there’s obviously some residual trauma she has to deal with. She talks about nightmares of her father’s death, is constantly worrying about anything and everything, and describes herself in negative ways. Some quotes to support my thoughts:

"Gale says I never smile except in the woods.”

“I learned to hold my tongue and to turn my features into an indifferent mask so that no one could ever read my thoughts”

“I’m not the forgiving type.”

“[Peeta] gives my hand hat I think is meant to be a reassuring squeeze. Maybe it’s just a nervous spasm.”

“A kind Peeta Mellark is far more dangerous to me than an unkind one. Kind people have a way of working their way inside me and rooting there”

“He gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me. A warning bell goes off in my head. Don’t be so stupid... He is luring you in to make you easy prey. The more likable he is, the more deadly he is.”

She has closed herself off so much and never seemed to have found healthy coping mechanisms. Sure she feels better out in the woods where she used to spend time with her father, but inside the fence she hasn’t found a way to be happy in her day-to-day life. This will only exaggerate after the Games.

Katniss’ friendship with Madge has always been strange to me. As the mayor’s daughter you’d think Madge would have been a part of the popular group in school, but she “keeps to herself... [and] neither of us really has a group of friends”. They eat lunch and partner in gym class in relative silence, which just seems awkward even if they are shy people. Madge is originally wearing the mockingjay pin when Katniss and Gale go to sell strawberries which to me marked her as an important character for the rest of the series. Madge’s absence in the films was a bummer because she has such an interesting and complex connection to the story that was lost when they removed her. When she goes to visit Katniss in the Justice Building, we knows she gives Katniss the pin but we’re not entirely sure why. “There’s an urgency in her tone” when she gives it to Katniss, and doesn’t really take no for an answer when she pins it to her dress. It also may just be me wanting to find something, but I’ve always had an underlying thought that Madge has a crush on Katniss. The kiss on the cheek, the silent (nervous?) presence around Katniss, not being part of the “popular” crowd, maybe she was outcast by her peers for this reason. I would be 100% supportive of a bisexual Madge. This was a pretty short scene on paper, but there’s a lot of meaning with the pin that we’ll discuss as we get further into the books.

The reaping itself gave me a lot of questions about how the Games came to be. We learn about the Dark Days and the Capitol extinguishing a rebellion that started the Games, but what were the districts rebelling against in the Dark Days? What was going so wrong that they wanted to rebel, and how much worse did it get with the implementation of the Games and other district punishments? District 12 has a population of 8,000, but we know this is the smallest district by far. Katniss thinks about this on her Victory Tour, but how do they host reapings with larger districts that may have 8,000 kids or more? Is there a protocol if the chosen child wasn’t at the reaping due to sudden severe illness, death, or they had run off across district boundaries like Gale wanted to do? I’ve also always wondered what happens if someone volunteers but the original tribute wants to go in the Games (like in 1 or 2), who decides?

When Katniss takes the stage, this is how I see the rebellion beginning. The silence of the crowd, the district gesture, a solidarity throughout the entire district. The rebels lost the original rebellion because they could not communicate and were fighting 13 individual wars, so President Snow is probably pretty weary of any sort of unification that doesn’t outright support the Capitol. I also love the juxtaposition that she can see the hills of the woods from the platform in the square. As she’s saying goodbye to her freedom, she is also saying goodbye to her freedom in the woods and her relatively safe existence. On a fun note, when Katniss gets to the train station and overanalyzes Peeta’s appearance in front of the cameras, we get our first description of Johanna Mason and her tactics in her Games.

Throughout the train ride and the initial prep, we learn a lot about the differences between how the Capitol and districts see the Games. Effie and Katniss’ prep team are so detached from the actual horrors of the Games the same way Nazis had no issue with seeing Jewish people as less. It’s not their fault, it’s how they were raised being in the Capitol and all they know. They may not realize it, but they see the tributes as subhuman and because Katniss has never experienced this before, she immediately doesn’t like any of them. She already feels like just a piece in the Games even though she won’t realize it for a while. Cinna is her saving grace, because he actually seems to understand how terrible the Games really are. Right away I suspect he is most likely part of the underground rebellion in the Capitol, if he thinks like that yet still wants to work with tributes and subsequently their mentors. When Katniss first meets him he says “I asked for District Twelve” and just keeps going as if it were common to request working with the “least desirable district”. We never get his full story, but I can only imagine what lead him to this life path.

Finally we start to see the beginnings of Everlark!! Katniss knows more about Peeta than she realizes and if they hadn’t been reaped I want to believe they’d still find each other. I could never actually Katniss making it in the mines and they have such history going back to their parents. We get our first flirty feeling from Katniss, even if she doesn’t know what that means. When Peeta complements her after the parade and smiles “unexpected warmth rushes through me”. I’ve always laughed at that remark because she’s so unused to desire and pleasure she has no understanding of what’s happening. They train together, they talk each other up, they have no clue of what’s to come. Katniss barely has a grip on the past when she realizes “I have kept track of the boy with the bread”. Her coldness throughout their training makes sense given her history of distancing herself from pleasure, such as when Prim had to “drag [her] over to admire [the cakes at the bakery]”. If it wasn’t functional she didn’t need it, so having frivolous things for enjoyment (boys) isn’t an option. Only later does she realize she can allow herself these things without harm.

As Effie tries to sell Katniss and Peeta, it’s an interesting slip-up that she says “if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls”, especially when we know the significance of the pearl in the future. Another quote that pops out to me is when she talks about Lavinia, and says “you don’t forget the face of the person who was your last hope”. She doesn’t know it now, but Katniss will be again be the face of hope for people who have nothing else to hope for. While training we see the parallels between Rue and Prim, who are both named after yellow flowers and resemble the same person to Katniss. Someone to protect.

When the interviews come, as much as she tries, Katniss isn’t going to get over her self-doubts just because Haymitch yelled at her so she isn’t very giving. She tried giving herself up, but it’s impossible when you’re talking to someone you don’t trust. When Peeta drops his bomb, we start to understand what his weapon is. While Katniss is lethal with a bow and has hunter instincts, Peeta can read people and moves a crowd with words. In his case, the pen really is more powerful than the sword.

Sassniss and other funny/interesting quotes

“District 12. Where you can starve to death in safety”

Exactly how am I supposed to work in a thank-you in there? Somehow it just won’t seem sincere if I’m trying to slit his throat.

So yes, I can handle a fork and knife. But I hate Effie’s comment so much I make a point of eating the rest of my meal with my fingers.

“Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior”. Peeta unexpectedly laughs. “He was drunk,” says Peeta. “He’s drunk every year.” “Every day,” I add.

“Up, up up! It’s going to be a big, big, big day!” I try and imagine, for a moment, what it must be like inside that woman’s head.

One time, my mother told me that I always eat like I’ll never see food again. And I said “I won’t unless I bring it home.” That shut her up.

“Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?” - Haymitch

It’s hard to hate my prep team. They’re such total idiots.

“With all that alcohol in him, it’s probably not advisable to have him around an open flame.”

Delly Cartwright is a pasty-faced, lumpy girl with yellowish hair who looks about as much like our server as a beetle does a butterfly.

You get the feeling that the knot-tying class is not the Hunger Games hot spot.

“If only you could frost someone to death”

I try and animate my face as I recall the event, a true story, in which I’d foolishly challenged a black bear over the rights to a beehive.

“Thank you for your consideration,” I say. Then I give a slight bow and walk straight toward the exit without being dismissed.

I avoid looking at anyone as I take tiny spoonfuls of fish soup. The saltiness reminds me of my tears.

“Well, Catnip, stealing’s punishable by death, or hadn’t you heard?” he says... Gale’s eyes fastened on the bow. “Can I see that?” I hand it over. “Just remember, stealing’s punishable by death.”

“See, like this. I’m smiling at you even though you’re aggravating me.” “Yes, it feels very convincing.”

#lets have some activity with the discussion questions!#thgreread #the hunger games #everlark #sassniss #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #haymitch #effie #cinna #madge #this turned out a lot longer than i thought itd be sorry #backtopanem

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spookilyfingergunsoutofexistence · 5 years

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How do you measure power?

Chapter 3 of ?

Read on ao3 here

Previous chapter Next chapter

Tw: Breif mentions of past explosion, therapy, mentions of blood, mentions of death and decay, mentions of PTSD. (Let me know if I missed anything.)

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~

“So Patton. Let’s go over that day again, ok?” Emile leaned forward in their seat, eyes peering over their glasses as they watched the formally known to be bubbly man fidget on the couch, “Now remember. It’s ok to talk about the past. Confrontation can be hard but if Anna would have never confronted her sister Elsa then Elsa would have shut the castle doors after coronation day and everyone would have been miserable!” Patton looked up at the doctor with a light smile. The first smile that had graced his lips in the week since he had woken up from his coma. Dr Picani was good at finding silly links between problems and cartoons which confused a lot of patients but had always made Patton feel safe. By referring to a problem and linking it to something from Patton’s childhood such as a cartoon it made issues easier to deal with.

“W-Well it started just before I’d fully woken up… I had a dream.”

Darkness pooled around Patton. His eyes were closed but he could feel a hand on top of his own. The hand felt limp as though the person was sleeping... Possibly dead. Where was he? The last thing he could remember was the explosion. A crash so loud that his ears were still ringing. He could feel freezing cold air beating against his face as his stiff, aching muscles finally started to respond. He intertwined his fingers with the hand in search of warmth and squeezed. He felt calmed by the hand. He slowly opened his eyes and screamed. He sat up and tried to push himself away but came crashing into a wall. Where was he? He wasn’t in the hospital. He was in some sort of bunker. The walls were a icy, coal grey concrete. All the walls were lined with shelves that were filled to the brim with empty food cans. The place looked prepared. The room had a thick layer of dust covering every single object. There were cabinets and boxes filled to the brim with used supplies. The bunker looked as though it had already been used. As though an apocalypse had already happened. Across from Patton there was a woman’s decaying body laying against a bed. Her skin was grey, her lips a pale pink. From inspection she must have been pretty in her time but now she was simply a corpse. Bundles of blond hair lay straggled atop her scalp; bald patches separated each clump of greasy fibre. She was sat up on her own bed that looked almost identical to Patton’s. Her skin was torn and bloody. Patton looked away quickly from the girl. He instead focused down on himself. He was in a gasmask and had on a hazmat suit. The suit had a name stitched onto the sleeve, ‘Luke Jenkins’. Upon further inspection of himself, he too was decaying. Parts of the suit and his skin had decomposed leaving only bone in its place. Patton, feeling confused and scared whispered his fate to the lone unrelenting bunker. A bunker he could not remember. The words left his lips as solid fact, “I’m dead.”

“And then you woke up?” Dr Picani inquired. Patton nodded, pulling his sweater over his hands to make sweater paws and stared at the floor. “I woke up. And my husband was there. He was wearing the suit.” Dr Picani nodded and scribbled down some notes. The room felt silent except the soft scratching of a pen against paper. It was a sound that brought Patton a great deal of comfort- it reminded it of long winter nights with his husband in which they would both be sat in a relaxed silence. Patton would be reading and Logan would be busy marking books. “So you told me in our last session you were going to research Luke Jenkins. Did you find anything?” Patton once again nodded his head. He had in fact researched Luke Jenkins. Mr Jenkins was a short man standing at only 4’9. He had long straight ginger hair that he often wore in a man bun and he had a BMI of around 19 making him a healthy weight for a man of his height. This was all irrelevant knowledge. Luke was married to a young woman in her twenties called Gina Jenkins. She was quite a tall woman at 5’8 and she had short blond hair bobbed to her shoulders. Mr Jenkins was a hypochondriac and as well as being constantly paranoid about his health he was also constantly paranoid about the earth ending. Because of this, Sunnyside resident Mr Jenkins ended up building a bunker in his back yard. Ten years later when his house was resold due to Mr Jenkins never paying rent the young couple that had ended up moving in found the bunker and inside found Mr Jenkins and his wife dead. Rotting away inside the very thing made to keep them alive. Patton explained all this to Picani in detail.

“Patton, here is my analysis. I think you remembered an article you read and you simply dreamt you were Mr Jenkins. Don’t worry. This sort of thing is very common. I’m going to prescribe you some clonidine as I believe that the explosion has triggered some form of post traumatic stress disorder and you are having nightmares because of it. I would like to see you on a weekly basis so I may check up on your well being and hopefully we can get your life back on track. Is that ok?” Again, Patton simply nodded in response before saying his goodbyes and leaving the doctor’s home. He braced himself on his crutches he now had to use as a result of breaking his leg in the impact of the explosion and pulled out his phone calling Logan.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Voicemail.

Patton sighed and tried again. Since he woke up that day everything had been different. He’d barely spoken a word to Logan- to anyone except from Dr Picani. Logan felt it was as though Patton was a ghost in the shell of their old home. He simply drifted from room to room, not speaking and hardly eating. The trauma of the event that still haunted the entire town had started to die down for most until it was just a nightmare. Not for Patton. Most people had been given months to recover. Many people hadn’t but life in Sunnyside was becoming normal once more. Buildings that had been damaged were being rebuilt and work places were reopening. People had started getting back into their routines and the once very thick and gloomy atmosphere had seemed to finally be lifted. Kids could be seen dancing and laughing as they skipped by open shops and streets bustling with people. Life went on. Logan had started working again now that Patton was awake and said to be well. Patton was not well. Sure, he was physically well. Aside from a broken bone in his leg he was in perfect health now that the radiation poisoning had worn away. His head had collided with the floor in the crash but had only caused minor head injuries. Mentally though Patton was a wreck. He couldn’t focus. Memories of that day kept him awake at night. Memories of his dream aided his lack of sleep. Patton found himself feeling much colder then before. Touching certain objects caused him to have daydreams. Some daydreams were of cute memories- some were his own memories but others were like an out of body experience. Other objects gave him nightmares that left him a shaking, sobbing mess. Patton was rarely seen now without gloves or hoodies, sweaters and jumpers so long that the sleeves covered his hands. Dr Picani had ordered Logan to keep track of these dreams. Logan spent a lot of time watching over Patton in case his ocean eyes would drain of colour to that blank white. He’d make sure to be there for his husband when those white eyes would overflow like a dam and blue would spill out, colouring the empty page. What Picani believed to be PTSD, Logan believed to be a superhuman ability. It wasn’t a secret that certain people in the town had been given superhuman abilities due to the explosion. In fact, people spent a lot of time after the first few months trying to find out if they had received abilities. Logan had always been a man of facts and the fact was that pure white eyes and the ability to relive memories that didn’t belong to you were not symptoms of PTSD. Logan just wished he could be there for his husband and discuss his hypothesis but Patton had become so distant since he had woken up. It was as though sleeping beauty had lost himself over the last few months and Logan feared Patton had fallen out of love with Logan.

Or maybe he was just over-reacting. Patton had only been awake for a week. Logan should give him time to properly heal.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Voicemail.

Patton slumped against the red brick walls of Dr Picani’s home. Clearly Logan was busy. Next, he tried Virgil who answered almost instantly. It wasn’t long before he was being picked up in a taxi with his best friend in the back seat. He got in the car and fastened his seat belt making sure to avoid eye contact with his friend. He would have called a taxi and travelled home alone if he knew the number to the local taxi company. Virgil sighed as he sat back in his seat. He had hoped maybe today would be the day Patton spoke outside of therapy. He shouldn’t have got his hopes up based on the call he had got this morning in which Logan Berry was actually crying on the other end. Logan doesn’t often cry. To Virgil’s knowledge, the only person Logan has ever cried in front of is Patton. Virgil thought it was fitting that the only other person that has heard him cry heard him crying over Patton. Logan had dropped Patton off at therapy this morning and spent twenty minutes parked outside on the phone to Virgil in tears because Patton still hadn’t spoke to him. The only words any of them had heard since Patton had woken up was the phrase, “I’m dead.” The only explanation they ever received for that phrase was from Dr Picani who told them all Patton was simply dreaming. After seeing a person who had received superhuman abilities as a cause of the radiation, Virgil along with Logan wholeheartedly believed that this dream was instead a power. A superpower. Part of Virgil believes that the only reason he thinks this is because he’s always been a massive superhero nerd. His collection of comic books is that large that there is an entire closet dedicated to them.

Most superheroes gain their powers after tragedy strikes. The true showcase on whether a person is a hero or not is how they use their powers. Virgil has always seen his friend as a superhero. The guy literally spends his days helping those who are sick or in need. Virgil might not have any super hero abilities as far as he’s concerned but he could still save his friend, “Patton? Is everything ok?” Virgil slowly reached over and placed his hand over Patton’s bare hand as a sign of comfort and as a sign that he is there. Patton’s eyes quickly faded to that dreaded colour once more and his friend turned to him, eerily slow. His lips parted and he uttered the first words Virgil had heard him say all week.

“You have powers too.”

Taglist: @sandersfandersblog

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dcnativegal · 5 years

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In which I change jobs and listen to the people of Lakeview

Back in August, (it’s now early March, 2019) my boss called me up in my office in Christmas Valley and asked if I’d consider moving my work to Lakeview and joining the Lake District Clinics’ staff as a therapist. I pretty much said, you bet, when do I start? It’s not that I haven’t loved the people I work with as colleagues and as clients in Christmas Valley. It’s more that I have spent most of my 30+ years as a social worker basically embedded in medical teams, working on the psychological and practical issues that come up for people who are medically ill. The prospect of going back into a busy clinic at a bustling, though tiny, hospital, excited me. And so it was that I said goodbye to my clients, and to my work buddies Hayley, Jama, and Geri, and started driving south instead of north from Paisley, in late September.

It's now been 5 months, and the metaphor I use is that we are building this airplane while flying the thing, since this is the first time this hospital has had such a role: ‘Behavioral Health Consultant.’

Behavioral Health Consultants are culturally competent* generalists who provide treatment for a wide variety of mental health, psychosocial, motivational, and medical concerns, including management of anxiety, depression, substance abuse, smoking cessation, sleep hygiene, and diabetes among others. (definition brought to you by https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Primary_Care_Behavioral_health)

*The better term than culturally competent is ‘culturally agile’, but the idea is the same: to be agile is to establish rapport with anybody, including people from the ethnicity called “white” and the culture of “taciturn cowboy.”

The new job has an aspiration: “Primary Care/Behavioral Health Integration” whereby “mental health” is not taken care of in some other place, complete with another building, parking lot, and stigma (because when the town’s population is 2,300, everyone knows your rig.) If a patient comes to their primary care person for high blood pressure, or a miscarriage, or very high blood sugars, and the primary care person hears that your marriage is disintegrating, or you have nightmares, or your child killed her/himself, then there’s an immediate referral to me. If I’m busy with another patient, a referral gets made electronically, a receptionist calls this person, and boom, they are on my schedule. If I’m not busy, I’m brought in to meet them right then. Perhaps this person is crying, and I sit and listen, and maybe it’s just a bad day, or a sad anniversary, and what I do is provide compassionate listening. And my card. Perhaps we start a conversation and they schedule for a longer session because they hadn’t figured on being gone from work so long. See you soon, I say.

Behavioral Health Integration is new to much of the country, and yet it makes so much sense. Mind and body are connected. The trauma someone experienced as a child contributes to both his anxiety now and his high blood pressure. Her alcoholism might be worsened by her spouse’s infidelity: however, her liver is for sure. Let’s get this addressed, mind/body/spirit. Teamwork, people.

There are two other populations I get referrals to see. The folks who are taking an addictive substance that really isn’t good for them long term: either benzodiazepines like valium, or opioids.

The second group are the frequent flyers: folks who use the emergency department a great deal. There’s a team of people who try to help them. Are they anxious? Anxiety causes a lot of emergency department visits. So does a life that is very disorganized. Who can keep track of the day of the week, let alone an appointment in a clinic? There’s a meeting of people from many disciplines who meet weekly to brainstorm about how to create a supportive, educational web of services so that this person doesn’t use the most expensive health care resource available, (the emergency department) or bounce back into the hospital because being at home wasn’t safe.

I’ve had some interesting encounters. I meet people who are so much pain that they rock back and forth while they talk to me. I hear about a family where every single member has a serious disability but only one member will come in to talk to me. I finally went out with them to meet another relative waiting in the car and basically said, Hi, I don’t bite, come in to see me sometime, okay? It took 3 months but it worked.

A child came and sat at my table, proceeding to play with my wooden robots, then the magnet marble sculpture thing, and then color a mandala. All the while, a biological parent tells the story of their predicament, and the child corrects and fills in, holding the memory of all that has happened to this family. I find myself wishing multiple times a day, “if only the adults would adult.”

Another child is having panic attacks. Perhaps the addicted parent and the chaos at home are factors? You decide.

There is a funny thing that happens as I work in the arena of mental health while in a small town, and it will keep on happening. I assess one member of a social network, which may or may not be related to one or four of my other clients. The jigsaw puzzle of the situation becomes clearer and more recognizable while I listen to the stories. I can’t reveal that I already heard that story from someone else, with significantly different plot points and antagonists. I simply make note. Later that same day, the client has become the guy or gal behind a counter: well hello! And then I see the client’s mother in town: she peered at me through narrowed eyes, told me she was glad to know who was talking to her son. Sounded like I passed muster.

pass muster

be accepted as adequate or satisfactory.

synonyms:

be good enough, come up to standard, come up to scratch, measure up, be acceptable/adequate, be sufficient, fill/fit the bill, do, qualify

I met with a rather desperate patient, in chronic pain, and super pissed off about everything. That patient died unexpectedly and sadly a few days later. On the same day I learned of this death, two of my other clients came in, separately, and cried about the sudden loss of this person. Used up all of my tissues. We are part of a tightly woven web.

And I can’t talk about any of it except to clinical supervisors or my therapist. Which is fine. Thank goodness I can take notes. My brain gets very full.

I no longer have the Roarks, Hayley the amazing therapist and her husband Tom the amazing police deputy, who could give me the back story and the full list of felonies for most of North County. I exaggerate only slightly. I do get perspective at the team meetings where we talk about the frequent flyers: everyone has a piece of the patient’s history. And everyone knows everyone else, and what they did last summer. I will never have that deep knowledge of this community that natives of Lake County do. There is a chaplain who seems to have the same deep, back stories of everyone in Lakeview. The primary care providers know a great deal, too. Perhaps my fresh perspective has a benefit: at least three clients have told me they are glad I’m not from here. They have a chance, a clean slate, instead of me having assumptions based on last name, what side of town they live on, etc. And I try so hard not to judge. I sit and listen, always humbled and amazed at the stories that are shared.

I can’t share specifics, but I certainly see themes.

Let’s talk for a minute about step families. There are an awful lot of step families and second and third marriages and many times, live-in sweeties who act like step parents, all of which is very confusing to children. There are a couple of rules that I thought everyone knew, but apparently not. Such as:

· Do not, under any circumstances, tell a child, ‘you are so much like your Mom/Dad’ if those qualities you are calling out are negative. Please, please. You are not getting back at the miscreant, who is a conniving/cheating/meth-dealing/flake. You are hurting your child. (See, self-fulfilling prophecy. See, shitty legacy.) STOP IT.

· Grownups need to do the adulting. Children are not go-betweens. Period, end of sentence. Also, children best not play one parent against another: the only way to make sure THAT isn’t happening is to …

· Co-parent. If your kid has left your home to live with grandma, or step-father, or aunt, whomever, guess what? You are now co-parenting with your mother or step-father or sibling. You are coordinating school meetings with teachers, immunizations, and team schedules. You are consulting with the ‘other parent’ on whether the kid gets a smart phone, or can date, and whether they need condoms. Circle the wagons and parent the kid, whatever the old painful history. For the kids’ sake.

Right?

How about grief. People feel grief about all kinds of things, and especially the loss of other people. One grief hooks up with all the other losses, and sometimes, the heart just breaks and the mind stops and the tears flow. My all-time favorite quote about grief is this one:

People, usually, the conscientious ones, have very high expectations of themselves. They will plod on, and keep it all up, until the tears overflow, and they are horrified when they cry at work. Perhaps the long-dead person was the only one who ever stood by them, which explains why the ‘little’ loss that happened just the other day flowed into this biggest loss, and they are overcome.

I do some ‘grief education’. That it comes in waves. That patience with oneself is critical, and kind: if you can’t stop crying, then you need to cry, and go ahead, take the rest of the day off. You are not a slacker, or a malingerer. You are giving your mind and aching heart a break, and that is a healthy thing to do. We talk about options like writing a letter to the one you miss, so that you can tell them what you’ve been wanting to share. Who knows, maybe they are listening. Whatever the metaphysics of the matter, they exist in your experience. In psychoanalytic terms, that’s called an “introject.” Write freely, as if they will hear your words.

Or maybe write a song, or draw a picture, in their memory, in their honor. What would they have told you to do, if they knew they were about to leave this mortal coil? Go forth and find another lover? Get back to playing that guitar and never mind how bad it sounds at first? Go dancing. Go bowling. Have a beer, or stay sober, in my name.

And know that you cannot push through grief, there is no shortcut:

It is an alteration of self that we would not choose, and it is excruciating. We are altered without anesthetic. I’m sorry. I have been so altered.

Let’s talk about social isolation. I found this quote in the New York Times and had it made into a canvas hanging in my office: (via EasyCanvasPrints.com)

Most of the clients I see are deeply disconnected from people, especially the men. Maybe there is a wife who connects him to the rest of the family, or a mother. But no one else. He doesn’t speak to his children. He’s estranged from a sister or a brother. No cousins, lost track of them. Don’t care to reconnect. Old pain, betrayals, lots of good reasons to stay mad. Except for the loneliness.

I encourage clients to call up an old friend and say, I was thinking about you, what the heck, I thought I’d call, tell me what’s going on, if this is a good time. Once the person gets over their shock, the content of what your old co-worker/ cousin/ younger sister tells you is refreshing. At least it isn’t the same old thoughts going around like a trapped gerbil in your mind. And then you’ve strengthened an old bond. Why not? Doesn’t cost anything.

I know it feels awkward. I called up my first cousin, out of the blue, after texting her to make sure I still had the right number, and in my text, I said, could you chat? She called me right away thinking something was wrong. We hadn’t spoken on the phone since I moved to Paisley. I didn’t mean to scare her. But I didn’t do our usual calendar/Christmas thing this year, and she’s my first cousin. We’re friends on Facebook, but we don’t share the whole truth on Facebook. We were candid. Life is imperfect. And I renewed that bond with this bright, hardworking woman with whom I share DNA.

I also hand-wrote several letters to old friends. I got lovely texts or emails back saying a letter will come in reply but give them time. I’m totally fine with that. And even if nothing comes back, I sent forth a bit of love, and story, to distract them from their mind-gerbils. There was a woman at St. Stephen’s, whom I got to know when I worked as the Parish Secretary and she was a volunteer. She would send a lovely note or postcard to someone and stamp it with “GUILT FREE MAIL.” How wonderful is that. Edith Eder, you were a gift to the world. She would wait to give baby blankets to newborns, and I think she waited because she’d had a stillbirth at one time, and knew the pain of having no baby for all the cute clothes and rattles that had been gifted.

*****

Ultimately, for the anxious and depressed, I hope I can convey some information, some strategies and tricks, a wee tincture of wisdom that they can hold onto, when they hit a bad patch. I have my own therapist, in Bend, 3 hours away, whom I see once a month. I take my anti-depressant dutifully and gratefully. I approach my very own bad patches and slip and fall, like I did over thanksgiving. I try to spot the bad patches, like drivers look for black ice this time of year, but sometimes the slipping can’t be helped. And kerplunk, we are in the ditch and need a tow. Best to minimize the damage, do what needs to be done and chalk it up to ‘When Bad Things Happen to Good People’, which is the book I recommend most to clients.

There’s the awesome quotation by Anais Nin about the blossom:

I see entering into psychotherapy this way: it is a risk, because the familiar misery feels safer, at first, than the bright new possibilities of change, which are scary, but then, occasionally, breathtakingly glorious. And in any case, patience is required. With ourselves. Again, Anais Nin, who is an incest survivor by the way:

Amen

#depression anxiety psychotherapy

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soapboxmomma-blog · 5 years

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My Weight Loss Confession

Enough already! For the sake of possibly helping just one person, I’m going to be super vulnerable and honest right now. I think I am recovering from disordered eating. That’s the first time I admitted that aloud (or on paper), and it feels scary and cathartic, all at once.

The crazy thing is, I didn’t encounter this type of behavior in myself until I hit 30. What started out as a goal to bring down my cholesterol levels, turned into a beast, in its own right. I first got motivated when my Doctor told me I had cholesterol levels of 60 year old, when I was just 30 years old. Being only at the high end of normal weight, this was shocking news to me. But high cholesterol runs in my family, and I felt behooved to work hard to make changes, to get in into a healthier range. I started counting calories and working out more. The first 10 lbs came off pretty quickly and the labs proved I had improved my cholesterol into a healthy zone. So I should have stopped there, right? But during this weight loss “journey” (I really despise that word in this context, but in this case it’s to make a point) something else started happening in my life that had never happened before- friends started praising my new body and noticing how “thin” and “great” I looked. It felt great to get these types of accolades. I also started becoming obsessed with the scale and how my clothes now all fit. I liked feeling thin and in control. Perhaps since other things in my life were way out of my control (my son got a devastating diagnosis of muscular dystrophy around this time), this was something I could tackle and achieve, in spite of everything going on around me.

I’m not sure if others in my generation had a similar experience growing up, but I never really had body image issues as a teen. I attribute this to my mom and my sister always praising being beautiful, curvy Jewish women. Being an active kid and teen meant I was always moving and never took a moment to consider my size and calorie intake. The ironic thing is, recently a friend pointed out how when she saw an old photo of me in my teens I looked bigger then I did now (she meant this as a compliment, but we can leave the whole “complimenting weight loss” for another time). And you know what, she was absolutely right. But, I felt amazing then. I was a carefree teen, I had tons of friends, I was too busy enjoying my youth to notice the “extra” weight I was carrying around. I felt very good in my body, and I had all the confidence in the world.

One very important factor, in this teenage healthy body image equation, is the fact that social media was non-existent back then. We didn’t even text when I was a teen (I spent hours gabbing on my personal landline, which was super awesome and cool in 1999). There was no comparison “live feed” happening on my phone, as a constant reminder of what I am not. Nobody was selling me their diet or flashing before and after photos or themselves and others. I could live in my blissful unawareness of what I “should” look like. Beauty magazines never appealed to me. I was more into classic rock and journaling. My friends were all shapes and sizes too, and we were a close knit group that never body shamed each other. We were a group dealing with more important real life dramas (two friends lost parents, two friends parents were going through divorces), and we had grown up and were beyond the trappings of what some of our peers were focused on.

All in all, I never battled with the voice inside telling me I needed to shrink until I was an adult. But after I lost those initial pounds, I was addicted. I liked watching the scale go down, and everyone around me praising me for my accomplishments. I joined Weight Watchers and started to track everything that went in my mouth. Different foods had different values and I was the sum of this value. My daily life was based around this number and if I was “good” or “bad” that day. As hard as I tried though, I could never get to my final “goal”, that was really not a healthy goal and not a necessary place to be, as I had already reached my health goal of lowering my cholesterol. Luckily, things changed. Because of another medical situation going on (I’m totally fine, thank G-d), I had to give up on my weight obsession for a while. This has given me time to pause and reflect and my eyes have been opened to all the weight obsession going on around me. Whether it is a particular diet, product, pill or fitness program, it seems like every other person I know on social media is selling “thin”. Possibly one of the most triggering of posts is those before and after photos. The message: your life will be so much better after you turn into the person you SHOULD be, and so long as you stay the way you are, you aren’t your best self, you aren’t reaching your potential. Translation: your size is your worth. This is what they are selling, regardless of the “health” they may be promoting.

What kind of message is this for our young women? Don’t we live in the time of women standing up to bullies? Truthfully, we may be our own biggest bullies. It’s so true, that you really can become your own worst enemy. And if you truly have a health risk and need to lose weight, then moderation should be the goal, not emaciation. Yes, I know there are some people who may then take this too far, and think I’m normalizing and accepting obesity, but trust me, this is not the case. In fact, I think this whole obsession may be at the center of the “obesity epidemic”, and in the struggle of trying to achieve perfection one gives up completely and therefore we end up with the very dangerous yo-yo dieting that causes so much harm to the body.

Let’s strive for moderation. Let’s each salads but enjoy a piece of chocolate. Let’s focus on foods that make us feel good, not just look good. I recently cut out gluten and soy, for thyroid management purposes, and I have noticed I actually feel better off of these foods. I’m listening to my body, and not someone else’s definition of beauty and worth. If I am able to turn this around I think others can to. I invite all women to join together, and think about ways we can combat this battle. Social media moves at lightning speed, so in some ways it feels like an uphill battle, but I do think there is hope. I have seen women and communities come together against hate, and it’s inspiring to witness the changes that have been made and will continue to be made. We have called out the male bullies in our midsts and now it’s time to call ourselves out and demand a better direction. It’s only our physical, mental and emotional health at risk. I think it’s worth it.

My mom and I back in my teen, carefree, slightly heavier days.

#healthybodyandmind #weightlossreality #strongnotskinny

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cunyappliedtheatreblog · 5 years

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Countdown Profile: Week 5 Antonio David Lyons (’13)

Antonio David Lyons (’13) is an actor, musician, and activist. Antonio produces work with the Oregon Shakespeare Festival and is founder of We Are Here, an initiative to address masculinity with boys and men from New York to Capetown, through theatre. Interview by Michael Wilson (’11).

What are you up to in the world today, Mr. Antonio Lyons?

At the moment I am getting ready to head to South Africa tomorrow, for a bit of respite, and to check in with my organization, We are Here, and the people on the ground there...and also shoot a music video for a song I recorded the last time I was in South Africa.

And yesterday was quite a whirlwind day: I finished guest starring on an episode of a TV series here, called Seal Team, playing a Congolese general…very interesting storyline dealing with the complications of war.

Then also, I accepted an offer from the Oregon Shakespeare Festival for a nine-month contract with them, starting in January, to produce a version of Comedy of Errors...it’s part of a larger envisioning by Lue Douthit, called Play On!, where she commissioned a series of playwrights who were people of color, had different gender identities, sexualities, to reimagine works of William Shakespeare. One: to make the work more accessible, and, two: to move the conversation that Shakespeare started in his work further. It will be a touring show that engages communities in a very meaningful kind of way…[without the] elitist component that often comes with Shakespeare.

Sure, everyone thinks it’s just…it is from the white, European canon. And it has this history of consolidating white culture and white power.

Exactly. Exactly. I think it will elevate the work.

And I know also that you’ve been involved with the Oregon Shakespeare Festival for years. Do you remember the year that you started with them?

The first time I went must have been 2013 or 2014…it was like right after we graduated, this opportunity came up, to go as a producing fellow.

How does the experience you had at the MA [in Applied Theatre] inform the work you do at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival?

You know, I’ve been really fortunate, because every time I’ve gone to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, it’s been to do work that absolutely uses artistic practices to engage community in meaningful ways. The first time I went was as a producing fellow, and I really learned a lot about the organization, about how a major institution like that produces theatre. One of the things that attracted me to it was that the artistic director is and was at the time Bill Rauch, who had come from Cornerstone Theatre. I was really interested in getting a handle on how he brought those sensibilities from Cornerstone as a community-based theatre really focused on helping people tell their stories, and helping people use theatre to address issues that were impacting their communities.

I’m interested in this craft and challenge of using old English plays to work in equity—what’s a moment or story of how that’s worked for you?

The process of commissioning. This work of William Shakespeare is always treated very preciously, as if it can’t be touched, it can’t be adapted, it can’t be updated, it can’t be expanded…and what Play On! does, is it challenges these notions of white supremacy inherent in language and culture: that it [Shakespeare's language] can only fit in certain bodies. Play On! Challenges all of that. It challenges marginalized bodies, and allows them to take this work, find themselves in the work, and see what it looks like in their skin, from their world view, which I think is very much about what it means to be an applied theatre practitioner.

Moving on, to help readers understand the multi-interested, multi-talented person you are: describe your music.

Oh my god. It’s my heart. Laughs. My music is my heart. It allows me, in a visceral kind of way, to say things that I don’t often get to say, to express things that I’m thinking, to address issues that are meaningful to me, and to use words and sound to move people…put that together and my music is a…heart movement. My music is a heart movement!

I’m sad this is only a written piece…the way you said “heart movement” was a song right there!

Laughs. Yeah. It uses the fullness of who I am, in terms of my Caribbean-ness, the African-inspired-ness, particularly of South Africa, with me having lived there for so long. It incorporates my poetry…and when I’m performing, it incorporates my dance.

And where can people find it?

Antoniodavidlyons.com and it’s also on Spotify and iTunes and Amazon.

Let’s jump over to We Are Here, because this would not be a complete conversation without talking about your project. Would you describe it?

We Are Here, it started as a one-person show, then it moved into this social activism campaign. Now it’s grown into a non-profit to addresses the core issues of identity, masculinity, and gender-based violence. In 2016, 2017, we were able to expand the work as we expanded the organization, to also include addressing issues of sexual and reproductive health and HIV/AIDS prevention. Part of what we really were aware of is that same sort of negative behaviors that can lead to gender-based violence can lead to exposure to HIV/AIDS and other STIs. The risky behavior is the same.

And over the course of the years, it was amazing to grow from the show, post workshop discussions, some workshops here and there, to having a new five-day curriculum, that went into community and strategically worked with populations of men and boys that ranged from 12 to about 30. We went from it being primarily two people and a part-time volunteer-ish person, to now having three kind of full-time people and five facilitators to do that work.

That’s amazing. I didn’t know that was happening.

Yeah. It was part of the US Government, through PEPFAR and Johnson and Johnson—they launched an initiative called DREAMS. The DREAMS initiative was all over the continent, and it was a search for best practices in addressing HIV and AIDS, with primarily women and girls, and also rolling out a preventative tool called PrEP. We were approached by a female-led organization out of Atlanta, called Sister Love, to be partners with them in applying for the DREAMS initiative grant, to do work in south Africa. We said yes, because part of the grant provided opportunities to do programming for male partners of their primary target population.

And so that happened, and it was a really amazing opportunity. The organization grew, we learned a great deal. We were able to have what I felt was a really great impact with some of the young men and boys we engaged with.

What were the biggest obstacles to healthy relationships that you worked with, with these men and boys?

You know, this idea of masculinity. One moment that comes to mind is this deep-dive conversation we were having, in the relationship module. [The men were] having conversations about how women are not able to be your friend—that they’re sexual objects. A great many of them were absolutely full-on committed to this idea. And what else came out of that moment was the thing that applied theatre does, right? Use theatre-based approaches to have conversations, and, if it’s well scaffolded, to create opportunities where people are easing into thinking and changes, and, before they know it, they’re having these epiphanies. One of the young men, in the midst of the conversation with his other friends, said, "I didn’t know you guys thought that way.” And he was like, “I don’t agree.” And it was a really difficult moment, challenging his friends and his peers on their behaviors. And challenging himself. We did the difficult work of holding space for that conversation.

What was the hardest part about it?

I think the hardest part was where I didn’t know where it was going to go. I was like, “oh my god, oh my god, we done opened up something here.” Because you want to hold space where people can have difficult conversations and not walk away wounded to the point of not being able to find healing. Or to [not be able to] come back to themselves.

Would you say more about how you used theatre in those projects?

In terms of the activities…they did some role playing. We did a lot of physical stuff, because we realized that, for men and boys, moving was really important. We used assessment tools, like human barometer. We used opportunities for collaging and visioning. We used an opportunity for them to do, in role playing, hotseating.

Did you use the piece, the poetry that was the basis for your solo show?

From that, I developed processes where we used the text. They would read from the text, and then there would be an opportunity to create the text embodied, then transform whatever that story was, and make it applicable to their own lives.

How much did you share from your own story: hey, this is me, Antonio, I’m a facilitator, I got into this work because…

I didn’t share that in that way, but, at points within processes, challenging dangerous ideas required a fine line between being a facilitator and being a mentor. Because there’s this…I think, at least for the community that I engaged with, as a facilitator there’s this unrealistic expectation that you would be neutral, in a way. And I think it’s problematic and unnecessary and dangerous, because what you’re asking of participants is to be open, honest, and vulnerable. Then in this neutral, semi-therapeutic role, you’re not [being open, honest, and vulnerable, yourself]. When you open up and reveal a part of yourself and your perspective…you break down that sense of hierarchy, you know.

What’s a point where you stepped in with that mentor side?

That conversation around women as friends. Because while they were able to challenge each other to a particular point, there was a hard disruption that had to happen, in terms of what it does to a community and a society, and to women themselves, when you cannot humanize women. When you cannot humanize other people.

What about men who have sex with men and, you know, I’ve never been to South Africa, but I would not be surprised if that was one of these invisible things—it happens but no one talks about it.

No, that’s real. There are lots of organizations that specifically and openly deal with men and MSM communities. There aren’t a lot of organizations that incorporate that in terms of the bridge between heterosexuals and MSMS, in terms of building relationships and understanding—

—but what about these boys, because masculinity—

Well with us—

How did you deal with that?

—with us what we did not do was ask anybody about their sexual identity. Or how they engage sexually. And it’s always a hard line for me, because I never want any other identified person to feel marginalized or spotlighted. I don’t allow certain languages that may be derogatory to pass by. Because there was one point where that came up. The term that was used for a gay man was a “half man.” [I said] “Okay, let’s deal with that. Let’s get all the way in that right now.” So we did. The people who identified as gay in the room quickly understood, “okay...”

“…he’s got our back.”

All the facilitators in the room got our back. And those who use that language understood, this is going to be challenged, and that’s not okay in this space. And they’re able to engage with these other people who were clear about who they were, and walk away with a different perspective.

Thank you. No surprise, we’re coming up on 40 minutes here, and I feel like we’re just getting started…what would you want someone who is thinking about building a life in theatre and education and social justice to know, what gift would you give them?

Lean into your passion, and that it’s all possible.

We were talking years ago and you’d wanted to have this kind of thing come to fruition, from the growth of We Are Here to landing acting gigs of the profile that you were just shooting recently. So it’s possible indeed.

Yeah, I’m really excited. I’m really excited to see where it goes next. I’m looking at putting together a tour of We Are Here in the US next year, so working with my managers on crafting that, doing a guest star recurring on Bosch, and I’ll be back on that series in the new year. Yeah, you know, now we’re in the hard part of trying to identify funding sources in South Africa. Because that project was for a limited time, in terms of that funding source. It ended up being a very challenging experience, but we learned, and we move forward.

You learn and you move forward.

That’s the skinny my friend.

Thank you so much. Travel safe tomorrow.

Thank you. Ah. I’m so excited. I’m exhausted and excited at the same time.

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ccphotomedia · 6 years

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You’ve probably seen reports in the media about obesity and overweight statistics, and it’s true – the numbers and prevalence of these conditions are definitely increasing. And, we can see the effects in real life… Have you noticed, for instance, when walking down the street, taking the subway/bus, shopping in a store, working at the office, attending public events, or eating at a restaurant, that more and more people seem to be larger and larger and taking up more and more space? I know I definitely have.

The numbers are startling. According to the CDC, about 70% of adults 20 or older are considered overweight or obese… that’s more than 2 out of every 3 people who are facing a higher risk for a variety of diseases and early death. And, even worse, about 1 in 5 teens, about 1 in 6 kids aged 6-11, and about 1 in ten toddlers and kids up to 5 years old are considered obese. What was that old adage how about how our kids are our future? If that’s true, what do these statistics tell us about our future?

Here’s the thing, there are a lot of people that say that it’s totally fine to be overweight. That it’s “normal” and to quit the “fat shaming”… but… to deny that this is a problem is to not live in reality.

This issue of obesity and overweight is certainly complex, and not attributable to one simple cause, and, yes, I agree, people still deserve dignity, but this issue definitively has a huge impact on us, both on an individual level and society at large.

Again, to deny the health impacts on individuals who are overweight is to deny reality. For instance, overweight and obese people pay, on average, $1,429 more per year in health care costs, according to a 2009 study by Finkelstein, Trogdon, Cohen and Dietz published on Health Affairs. And this is not institutional/systemic bias against “people with larger bodies,” it is a sign that there is a clear correlation between weight and impacts on health, regardless of whether you believe any data from the CDC or scientific studies on the correlations of overweight/obesity on the risk for diabetes, heart disease and other conditions, for instance.

“But, I’m healthy, why should I care,” you might think? Well, because, as I mentioned above, it’s not just about the individual, his/her costs and his/her increased risks of pre-mature death. There is a cost to society as a whole, both financially and progress-wise.

The Finkelstein study above estimated that total annual costs of health care related to obesity came in at about $147 billion dollars for 2008. (Yes, I realize this is 10 years ago… so imagine what that number is now.) If you divvied that up among our current population, to reduce the impact, that works out to be about $451 per person per year.

Don’t think that you foot the bill for any of this? Do you pay taxes?

According to the Center for Budget and Policy Priorities, in 2016, health programs including Medicare, Medicaid, Children’s Health Insurance Program and Affordable Care Act made up about 26% of the annual budget. And, according to an article on financial expert Dave Ramsey’s website, a “sample 2011 tax receipt provided by whitehouse.gov shows the total tax bill for a married couple with two kids making $80,000 was just over $9,000″ total, and of that, about 21% was designated to health care related programs. And, in that Finkelstein study, they determined that 8.5% and 11.5% of Medicare and Medicaid spending, respectively, are directly related to obesity/overweight. That means, about $1,800 (or more) of this sample family’s income taxes are going to medical programs in general, and about $360 obesity related care directly. How much of your money do you want to spend on obesity care for society, or on yourself, for that matter?

And, to top it off, this isn’t even taking into account the cost of lost productivity… based on time out of work due to health issues connected to obesity, obesity-related disabilities, and so on, which I don’t have numbers for at the moment.

So, why am I so passionate about this? It’s not really about the money, for me. I personally grew up over weight and out of shape, and not for a lack of exercise, as I was pretty active doing soccer and dance throughout my childhood. I later realized that the food I was eating, and I don’t blame my parents, but the food I was eating was not properly fueling my body. In addition to eating too much processed food and sugary foods, I also ate a lot of refined carbs and not a lot of nutritious veggies/etc. I am partially to blame/responsible for this, having been a picky eater for most of my youth, and busy/on the go a lot… And it wasn’t until I was in my early twenties that I decided I would do something about it. So, I set about to learning about food, nutrition and going down the rabbit hole of attempting to figure out “the truth” about healthy eating.

I got so passionate about this area that I decided to devote some of my professional work in photography to this area – particularly through food photography – but also started a podcast exploring topics around food, health, food systems, food entrepreneurship, nutrition and more with entrepreneurs, game changers and experts.

This all, ultimately, led to my attending the International Association of Culinary Professionals conference, this past February, where I met a woman named Sophie who works in the Culinary Institute of America’s strategic department. When I mentioned my podcast, Put a Fork In It, and how I’m on a mission to create a healthier, wealthier and happier world, she told me about a conference she was working on through the CIA – the Menus of Change.

I didn’t know what it was at that time, but she mentioned to follow up and she could connect me with the right people to get a press pass, on behalf of the podcast and my blogging.

Being the diligent person I am, I did just that, and with that deal of networking, a few weeks ago, I had the amazing opportunity to attend this 2.5 day leadership summit at the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, NY (not too far from where I live).

This conference was founded several years back as a way to include the food service and food consumer packaged goods industries in the good fight: helping to shape these industries to influence healthier options/choices for consumers and adapting our current food system to a healthier and more sustainable version that prioritizes personal and environmental health and, ultimately, delicious food.

It was truly a great opportunity to be among the CEOs of large food companies, chefs and culinary/nutrition directors, scientists, and more who are all on the cutting edge of this work.

My eyes were opened to the fact that the food industry and agriculture are one of the leadings contributors of climate change. Something I realized while at the conference, since I really try to be apolitical and not polarizing, and try to find the middle ground on these types of things, is that whether you believe in human caused climate change or not, there are definitely measurable and important impacts on the environment from our current behaviors in the food/ag industries, and we can always improve. In retrospect, that should of been pretty obvious, considering that we use land to grow our food, both plants and animals, which certainly has impacts on the soil, and, how about erosion of soil from replanting crops annually, or methane coming from livestock, or waste and pollutants of all sorts from shipping materials, or pollutants from herbicides, or decreasing bee populations, or getting rid of “sub par” produce, or packaging from processed goods (or otherwise), and so on.

If you want more specific information, here are a few resources to get you started:

Environmental Effects of the US Food System, a report on the National Center for Biotechnology Information’s website, and

Environmental Impacts of Food Production and Consumption, a report from the UNESCO- Encyclopedia of Life Support Systems, which catalogs “state-of-the-art, high quality, peer reviewed, thematically organized archival content in many traditional disciplines and interdisciplinary subjects with including the coverage of transdisciplinary pathways”.

Or, if you prefer something a little simpler to follow, check out the this Vice piece about the impacts of Climate Change on the wine industry.

Another interesting show is Rotten, on Netflix.

So, similar to above, regarding denial of health impacts of obesity, to deny that our actions in the food/ag industry has an environmental impact, is to deny reality. So, again, whether we believe in climate change or if we do believe it exists, but aren’t sure that we could really do anything about it, the fact is that we are currently doing things that impact the environment and, again, if we believe in our kids being our future, it’s really in our best interests to take care of the environment, to do a better job, and create a sustainable world where our kids can grow up and raise kids of their own.

This event, the Menus of Change, really opened my eyes to this. And while, at first, I did have some resistance and skepticism to what was being said, since environmental issues are often a politicized and therefore polarizing and propagandized issues with a lot of buzz words designed to make us feel guilty and shameful (from both sides of the spectrum), I’ve opened my mind back up to this topic and it’s true importance, because it’s critical to recognize that our actions, individually, as as people and businesses, as well as in the collective industry and society at large do really matter for the long term success of our species and life on earth. And, if we don’t take care of our environment and resources, we all lose out in the end regardless of whether you’re on the left, on the right, believe that humans have caused climate change, or that we can’t do anything to prevent or reverse climate change.

So, as you might expect, the conference included presentations from industry leaders in various sectors of the culinary and food system, entrepreneurs, scientists, chefs and so on, as well as networking opportunities. But, what was unique was really how deeply the concepts and values were actually applied. What I mean is… they actually practiced what they were preaching about plant-forward menus, the “protein flip” and the “Mediterranean diet”/using unique ingredients and local sourcing. It wasn’t just a load of preaching or trying to “inspire” or “educate” or propagandize to make change, there was actually a full-reaching application of the principles during their own meal times. They sampled some of the dishes that were discussed or shown during cooking demos, and even provided the recipes for the foods that were served, through the conference app. It was certainly a refreshing change to be at an event that actually served delicious AND nutritious foods – a pet-peeve and big weakness for me.

This really is exciting and makes me grateful to have been a part of it and to meet so many people that also want to improve the food system and public health. It’s very encouraging and, even if there are certain things that may be polarizing or pique my skepticism or critical side, it really comes back to one of my favorite guiding principles, from Ghandi himself, to the CIA: “Be the change you wish to see in the world” and, therefore, lead by example.

It was really wonderful to be a part of that experience and be able to be a part of something that embodies this philosophy – it’s one of the reasons that I do what I do and pursue the goals that I pursue, in spite of challenges and naysayers. I really believe that if you want to change the world, you have to start with your self and act in accordance with your values, first, and if you do that in your own life, the more people around you will see that it’s possible and be inspired to try it too. And to me, this is the greatest approach we can take to create the positive changes we wish to see. One small act and one person or organization at a time.

Here are some of my photos:

Pork Tsukune and Shishito Skewer, tare glaze over warm lentil salad

Kozy Shack Rice Pudding with slow roasted strawberries and crispy citrus pistachios

Illy coffee rubbed blended mushroom and beef slider with coffee barbecue sauce

Improved Nature Mini Bites Creamy Pistachio Pesto Pizza

Wonderful Pistachio and Almond Orange Energy Bite

Menus of Change: a summit aimed at making a healthier world through the food industry You've probably seen reports in the media about obesity and overweight statistics, and it's true - the numbers and prevalence of these conditions are definitely increasing.

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