When Your Lot In Life Is To Play "That Bitch"

There's an amazing monologue in the movie "Mean Girls" where Tina Fey starts talking about this "Burn book," where all of the girls in it are called names and she says "Well, I don't know who wrote this book, but you all have got to stop calling each other sluts and whores. It just makes it okay for guys to call you sluts and whores." "Bitches" is in that same category. And yet, "Bitch" has now become slang and as women we kind of took it back as our own.

This isn't really a feminist rant thing but while I wish we could take these common words out of our vernacular and especially out of the mouths of men, I will admit that ever since I was about 12 I realized that even though "bitch" is technically a "swear" or bad word, that if you own it as a strong title of being unafraid or even brave, it seemingly loses it's negative connotation. 

My first experience being "that bitch," was facing off with my mom. I had to stand my ground and there was no room for weakness. This is something I learned with anyone with addiction or substance abuse issues as they can prey on you and attack if you cannot muster the energy to be "that bitch" in most scenarios with them. At least that way my personal experience with it.

Ironically, when you really know me, even when you first meet me, you probably wouldn't get the "bitch" vibe from me. Nor do I try and carry around with me any type of feeling of "If you cross me, you'll be sorry." Regardless, I am often cast the starring role in all productions of being "That bitch."

Sometimes this can serve well, and sometimes it really takes it's toll on me mentally.

I've learned with my mom to accept that with any situation that she disagrees with when it comes to me, it's because I'm "that bitch" in her eyes. There have been a few employers who have brought out that role in me because I'd been backed into a corner and refused to compromise myself or in some cases, my marriage, just because they wanted me to better play the role of "quiet, compliant and does what she's told with a plastic smile."

This whole secondary persona that has followed me, is often quite haunting. Being the "controlling" one, the "planner" the "arranger" and the "mess cleaner upper" aren't "fun" things to do. You win no favors or affections doing these things. Sometimes I wish I could be the person who doesn't care. I wish I could not pay bills without a care or worry. I wish I could just arrive at work late and leave early with no consideration for anyone else. I wish I could go buy what I want, when I want to, but alas, I have other responsibilities.

So wait, has responsibility and adulthood just morphed me into "that bitch?" I was violently shoved into growing up before I was ready, so did that bring me in to my "that bitch" ways? Interesting thoughts on this thoughtful Thursday.

I've said in therapy and owned it over and over that I truly believe I will just always be "that bitch" in the eyes of many close to me. I wish that I wasn't painted into that but:

  

I think what makes me sad sometimes is I feel I rarely have the chance to prove myself otherwise. When you're cast in role early you get typecast, no? Won't Elijah Wood always be Frodo and Matthew Perry will never not be Chandler Bing? Thus, just call me "that Bitch."

I'm not so sure if you screamed that name on the street I'd turn around, but there is a large part of me that owns the fact that part of me is just engraved within my core. I think the people who have known me the longest know it's under there, but have rarely awakened it. There are definitely a few things that bring it out immediately.

When I was a nanny, anyone that was about to harm the kiddos in my care, in any way, shape or form, saw me as "that bitch." I was not putting it out there that I was nice. Sometimes they had friends that I didn't like and with those friends, I was very much "that bitch." When it comes to my friends being hurt or taken advantage of, I will come out swinging if necessary and most recently you can see me do an award-winning performance when it comes to my daughter. I will be your worst enemy if you mistreat her or do anything around the realm of harming her.

There are some things I'm extremely rigid about, but in other ways I think I'm just a big softy. My recent brush with depression and anxiety just reminded me though, that in some villainizing ways, I will always be "that bitch." If it comes to a good cop bad cop thing, I will always be the bad cop.

I'm the "ruiner;" the one that squashes the fun. I'm the rule-keeper and the one with all the budgets, schedules and plans ready to enforce! Some days of this are better than others. I like to think maybe I'm kind of similar to Deadpool, that not-so-super hero comic character. He's lovable but rude, sarcastic and kind of a mess. He is well-intentioned and ultimately saves people but in a very unorthodox and unattractive way more often than not. 

While there is a part of me, and especially after my mental relapse, that wishes the obverse was true, my ability to handle all of the things, plan, create rules, goals and be "that bitch," ultimately serves everyone around me, whether they like it or not. While I know how my controlling tendencies drive my husband insane, I also keep us out of major debt and in good standing with all of the bills we pay on time.

Because of my rigidity with routines and my stick-to-itive-ness on schedules, my daughter seems to be thriving more with the new school year, even if she complains when I take things away and make her do homework and chores. 

And lastly, my being "that bitch," was the beginning of my mother's "rock bottom" that inevitably got her sober so it's hard for me to have regrets. Mostly, right now, I regret the fact that I step into that roll so well and so easily. I regret that the shoe fits, so I wear it.

I've found myself wondering if I had the opportunity to be a little more relaxed and free, who could that be? What would that even be like? For this thoughtful Thursday, while owning my lot in life as "that bitch," a girl can also dream that one day the world would soften her and make her "that fun friend," or that "sweet soul," or even that "big ol' softie." It could come with growth, with age, or just with exhaustion but maybe one day I can retire that roll and master a new one!

The Definition Of Relapse

Relapse, by definition is "a deterioration in someone's state of health after a temporary improvement." When you grow up with an addict, the word relapse pertains directly to using drugs or drinking alcohol again. In mental health, a relapse could be anything from engaging in behavior you felt you had control over once again, having a bad day of anxiety, or a weekend of depression. Okay, that is my mental health definition of a relapse, and also, an interesting segue into this post.

I have said that things were going good, going well and calm. I was feeling pretty okay with the flow of things in general. I wanted to blame my anxiety on the drama of the whole Hurricane Dorian watch. I wanted to say it was induced by the bad moods and general hysteria of the people around me in the world. Now that I have my head above water again, I can call it what it is: "a relapse."

My relapse was born of many triggers. Triggers are so strange. Some of them make sense when you look into them. Some of them blindside you and seemingly come out of nowhere. While the hurricane stuff did push my anxiety high, I had something come up in life on top of it all that felt as though the rug was pulled from under me and I fell down hard, left to get up with no help. This unplanned thing, this new information, sent me spinning with no focal point or way to stop from spinning out. 

I tried to stay calm and use that internal dialogue to talk myself down, but the thing about talking to yourself is, it can be kind of one-sided. With other circumstances overruling schedules, I was left alone with myself, with no one really to talk to besides my six year old and I started to shrivel. My six year old is fantastic company, but these forces made feel sad and shrinkable. You know that scene in The Little Mermaid where Ursula shows you the weird shriveled plant people? Yeah that was me, the poor, unfortunate soul. 

I reached out to some people as a sounding board but I had to be selective on who could handle my situation. In my upset I wondered how much of this internal uproar was my anxiety, how much was a bout of depression, and how much was me just overreacting. I needed someone to check me a bit and give me a real answer. There was validation the response that I got, which was my feelings were not only valid, but what I was going through was really unfair. This validation victory was short lived.

The thing about relapse, is it's familiar. When you're healing and focused on progression and you're pushing towards your goals, it's easy to look back at where you were when you were in a less great place and be like, "I hope I don't go back there. I hope I don't feel that way again. Things are so much better now, I'm not going back." When the relapse happens then you get this cloud of "How did I get here?," above you; a fog if you will.

That fog left me disoriented. Maybe it was the hurricane's fault because much like Dorian, over the weekend I just churned slowly wreaking internal havoc mentally. It came out in random crying jags, and often. I'd be in the kitchen thinking I should eat something and just think about the situation and be crying into the sink. I couldn't focus my eyes when talking to my daughter or her playdates from time to time. I felt so damned blah.

I let my daughter see me through this, though. She asked about it and I said, "Mommy is having a hard time." The one time this weekend I lost my temper, the one time I became so unhinged wasn't even at my daughter, but rather in proximity to being pushed to my max. I immediately felt like shit because I scared her when I let out a yell about being done with things and how much I just tried and kept feeling like I failed. When we both calmed down and started to re-tell the events and how mommy lost it, my daughter said, "Turns out Labor Day is a bust." Somehow this just made everything in my heart light again. Not only was it completely accurate but she made it fun and sweet.

Yesterday I was half lifted out of things. I felt a baby step forward but was still not far enough out of everything to call it, "moving on, moving up." Today, though, I feel like I'm starting to process everything more constructively. Full on steps are happening for Wednesday.

Depression and anxiety are beastly. You can go for months using your coping mechanisms, therapies, tools for self care and everything else properly and then boom, something trips you up. It's the same with drug and alcohol recovery to where you can be sober for days, months, years, and experience something that just triggers you or throws you from your cadence, and before you know it you're using again. 

It shows me how delicate the balance is. It shows me just how careful you have to be with everything. It was difficult for me to reach out and to explain the whole scenario and talk about it. It still is, honestly. It feels multi-faceted and filled with back story; overly-complicated much like Shrek with onions having layers. 

I feel as though the past 5 days for me have just been the epitome of a relapse. In my personal therapy quest my therapist reminds me that this is okay and it will happen from time to time. This is all part of the growth process and recovery from trauma, but also just a part of life in general. Not being hard on myself is a struggle. I have to admit though, this particular relapse just completely wrecked me for a couple days there.

Everything felt futile and I felt extremely alone. I started feeling slightly insane as though I had made something into a "bigger deal" than it was in reality. That's a jarring feeling, in my humble opinion. It made me feel out of control, which is something I don't do well.

There are times when your patience and "go with the flow" abilities are essential. It is all you can do. There are other times when taking control, when gripping the wheel and getting back on course is essential. This is another delicate balance.

I don't like feeling as though I have no say in things and life just happens upon me. I no longer want to be just a viewer watching my life go by. I strive to be an active participant. I no longer just succumb to the whims of "not having a choice," or feeling like I can't have an opinion, a plan, goals and even dreams. I stayed quiet too long so now I feel like, "I'm very much allowed to say what I want to say!," at least in situations in my home and personal life.

While I feel as though this trip up in my mental health was really sucky and unfair, today I feel less wobbly about labeling it as an important learning experience. This relapse took me down for close to a week from beginning to end. Only last night did I start to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I felt as though I had been staying so positive that I was bound to feel a bounce at some point. After all, it is only fair because what goes up must come down.

Relapses are rough! I don't care who you are or what your definition of relapse is but any recurring flair of uncertainty and uncomfortable-ness is less than desirable. I don't pretend to be immune. As for this particular bout, I had a pretty good run beforehand. I have some more work to do now, some "extra" added on. This is my time to really plant my roots firm and push on the growth because it is situations like this one than can make those better days sweeter when the bitter days are overly sour. 

We easily take things for granted, whether we know it or not. The bad days put the good ones in perspective so I want to give myself that win. For anyone reading this who wants to reach out and talk, I hope you do. I may have felt super alone in my down time but I know that in reality, I'm not, and neither are you. 

Thanks to my readers for being patient with me for all of this and I'm so glad I was able to share. On this September Wednesday morning, I'm grateful we have just a couple more days to the weekend! We got this!

The Friend Fade

I've gone on about ghosting and such before, but a long time ago I did a personal journal about what I like to ominously call "The Fade." It is something that used to wear on me heavily and make my heart hurt, but now, recently in fact, I have healed enough to talk about what it all really means.

If you get on Pinterest you can find a million memes and articles about friends drifting apart and ghosting and outgrowing each other and everything to trigger you back to whatever social stuff you went through that makes you a little more attuned to things now. I've gotten sucked into the Pinterest quote and notes and have mixed feelings about whether or not it is helpful, but you can find some wisdom for sure.

I'll share my experience then, and what I have learned from it and how I use it now, and hopefully it can help some others feel less alone.

Before I had my daughter I had a tight knit group of amazing co-workers and befriended someone physically, spiritually and mentally beautiful. She and her family got my pregnant self, my husband and my newborn and infant through our first year as a family and I will forever feel grateful for them and miss them like crazy. Just typing this I'm welling up. They were the best ever.

I think being around them was our first taste of a second family home in Florida and we loved it. I considered her parents to be my daughters grandparents that were close by and considered her and her sister all aunties. They were our second family in my opinion.

Parenthood was rough on my husband and I. There were so many really uncomfortable and unfavorable things at play during that first year as parents and I struggled as a mother to balance everything. Looking back now, I wish I had been more open with my best friend about what was really going on but I can tell you, my family is still healing from some of the pain and trauma from that time period.

By the time my daughter was three my gorgeous Tampa best friend and I were barely speaking much. She hosted my child's first birthday party and was my greatest help and she was gone from my life, just a name on a friends list, a person in the background. At the time it felt painful, awkward and anxious but after a lot of reflection I now understand how and why we grew apart.

Between my friend getting her own adult life with her wonderful boyfriend together, getting away from parental units and getting into school, and with my being a fresh mom with a workaholic husband and no fun money or availability for much of a social life, the shift started easily, although perhaps I was too tired to call it out for what it was. She did so much for me and I miss her daily.

When I was starting to get into my worst, darkest stages, when I was very lost and beginning my year long struggle with job changes, weight loss and adulting stuff, that was when the fade began. I didn't feel abandoned in a time of need, I felt like I needed to let her grow and thrive because she was considerably younger than me and very much allowed to go and have fun and be young without my old self getting in the way.

The fade started with simply changing a lot of plans often, and things coming up. If it wasn't one of us, it was both of us having a hard time scheduling and committing. As I became less available due to family circumstances, it made it easier for her to step back more and more. The tagging on social media posts stopped. The liking of the pictures and statuses became few and far between. The texts went from daily to every other day to once a week to once every couple weeks to maybe once a month to nothing. 

After a few months of almost no contact I scraped together money for Christmas gifts for her and her sister because she'd at least touch base to say thank you, or so I thought. I figured then I could check in and try and talk to her. I messaged her mom to confirm they received them and she sweetly said her sister loved them. I didn't hear anything from best friend about it. Ever. We didn't speak for 6 month after I sent the gifts, until the car accident.

She messaged me and apologized for the lapse in communication. She said she wanted to come bring us lunch. The day of the plans she fell ill and couldn't come. We did the whole, "another time," song and dance well with each other. I may have messaged her some well wishes about having no malice that we just didn't fit in each other's lives anymore. The cancelled lunch plans, however, that was the last I ever heard from her 3 years ago.

We're still on each other's social media but I check on her and she seemingly doesn't check on me. The people who knew us as besties say they are surprised that we don't talk anymore. I sent her messages just saying, "I hope you know I think the world of you and wish you well," and such for awhile but then just wanted to let her be.

Sometimes I wish I could write her a letter and tell her about how messed up things were and how I wish I had been more aware, awake and engaged with her to be a better friend. I wish I could say I understand how and why she outgrew me but all I want is good things for her and wish we could check in from time to time. I wish I could apologize for not being more present for her issues while wrapped in my own. But I realize that things turned out how they should, whether I like it or not.

About a year after we stopped speaking I realized how badly her exit had messed me up. I spiraled into a very dark, self-hating, world-hating, negative place. It was a learning experience I needed to have. I needed to make the mistakes I made to get me to where I am now, but it still was shitty. I found the wrong kinds of friends on the "rebound" from losing her, which somehow made it all even worse.

Sometimes I think she knew it all. I think she saw me kind of starting to wither and maybe she just couldn't do it so she just politely excused herself from the table and never returned to dinner. I often find myself wishing I could tell her that I'm okay now; I'm better and still working on my growth.

I cry typing right now because I hate that my daughter only has small memories of all that my wonderful ex-bestie and her family did for us. I hung onto so many silly things from her just because I liked remembering when we were good and close and happy. I talk to my daughter about her on occasion. I like to remind my daughter that she has always been surrounded by good people and love, even when we had rough times. 

The friend fade is rough though. She's not the only person it has happened with but I feel like with the rest of the situations, people have moved onto new cities, bigger opportunities and different horizons but we still do that check in on social media or text where we just say, "Hey I'm so glad you are doing this," or "Congrats." Her and I don't even have the check in. We don't have anything anymore, and that still breaks my heart a little.

If she reads my blog, which I highly doubt, then now she knows all this stuff. If not, the hippie part of me just wanted to put this into the universe because it's part of the healing and growing process.

I've experienced other versions of the fade as well, some with a friend return, and others with a complete ghosting effect but none of it is an easy thing. I don't think I'll ever stop wishing we could feel closure with things. I will always want that kind of resolution, but I'm smart enough to realize that's just not how life works. 

My other sad musing is that, we lose out and experience the fade because we hit rough phases of life that we are so engulfed in that we can't adequately share and reach out to those we need the most during such trials. Maybe it is age but I feel like, we often have these friends that we just hold close that we claim are our "everything" and "always," those people that we will never picture our life not having around, and then they move on and we look back fondly but realize that we can actually live without them, perhaps we just enjoyed things more when we had them by our sides.

I lost a lot of good people that I was very close to during my family trauma. I'm just now owning most of it, and finding my way to talk about it with everyone that survived all of my whims and flakiness in the midst of it all. There's been so much shame and regret to work through but I can now have some real conversations about it. 

I still hold hope she'll message me one day. I've seen it happen with other friends and I will always hold hope, even if we're 80, that we can reconnect. I've made peace with the fact we probably won't. To quote Pam Beasley on The Office, "And it only took 3 years to summon the courage."

Losing my previous Tampa bestie has made it easier for me to endure the whims of other friendships and learn how to balance the positive and negative aspects of those relationships too. I've learned that I have to walk away peacefully knowing that, I put the good vibes out there for a friend but they must return and reciprocate by their own free will. I can't make them be the "kind" of friend I want or need in that moment, that day or that situation. 

Losing her has made me appreciate the longevity of other friendships like my Oregon friends from college and my two oldest friends that have known me since Kindergarten and 3rd grade from Pennsylvania. We still talk regularly. Losing her has made me grateful that I had someone like her to call a friend at all. Sometimes it is more bittersweet than other times.

I've seen some sappy articles about this on social media but this one is from the heart. Some of you will know exactly who I wrote this about, and those of you who have never heard me mention her, now you know why. 

I will always be grateful for the role she had in my life. I feel blessed that I knew her when I did. I feel blessed I can still see her on Facebook and Instagram and know that she is doing okay, thriving even. If you have ever lost someone like this, it can trigger many different reactions and emotions. It happens to more people than we can imagine, and it's often a tough tale to tell, but for today I'm glad I shared mine. 

The Wonderful Thing About Triggers

No, TRIGGERS, not Tiggers! But what a wonderful alliteration, no? So here we begin for a Monday.

Being "Triggered," is now almost a trendy thing, and there are all forms of it. Some things can bring flashbacks, some can spark anxiety or prey on depression, some can make you want to eat all things, but triggers are real, and often tough to navigate.

In my early experiences for depression and anxiety therapy, they advocate you identify your triggers. This has been a new journey in all walks of my person life and it is both awakening and exhausting simultaneously.

Side comments and sarcasm can trigger. Sometimes things hit a nerve right? For me, I get triggered when I have someone who is extremely drunk or clearly high on pills/meth/cocaine bombard my bubble when I'm not expecting this. See, if I go to a bar or an establishment where alcoholics and addicts just are, I can adjust my expectations properly. If I am anywhere in broad daylight, especially around children, it always takes me aback, not that a parent might have wine or a beer near kiddos, but that someone could be unabashedly wasted around the smaller youth. These are triggers for me.

I know they are triggers for others as well and they can really mess with you at times. When I get triggered I either have a shorter fuse for patience, or I just sink a bit mentally. I feel like I have to mentally talk myself out of the funk until I can handle the situation at hand. It often feels uncomfortable and exhausting.

We don't like to talk about our feelings do we? This is the very foundation of the world of therapy and its profits because we pay to have someone draw it out of us. Navigating all of this stuff often makes us feel like we are in the woods with no compass and no signal for GPS. 

Triggers can come out of nowhere too, which can feel like a metaphorical throat punch that knocks the wind out of you, depending on the situation. I'd recently experienced a trigger where my husband was playfully poking fun at me about being a mean grouch but it took me back "Stranger Things" style to the black-back-rounded, wet floor vignette of watching an older alcohol-fueled argument of being yelled at for being "mean, mean, mean," and other not nice words and it just stopped me in my tracks. I kind of had to sit down and close my eyes and remind myself that's not where we are.

My husband explained a trigger to me where he gets uncomfortable with class birthday parties at people's homes serving alcohol. He said, "If you throw a BBQ for your friends with kids and serve alcohol, no biggie, you know everyone on that list and are offering food and refreshments. If you have a family and friends birthday party for your kid where you personally know all the parents, and you have alcohol available, whatever. But when you invite strangers into your house, people you don't know well, you invite and entire classroom and their parents to accompany them, and you have beer next to the Capri Sun, I think that's a little weird." I keyed into this and saw what he was talking about and I for one don't drink around people I just don't know well. Knowing the triggers, we find our way to deal.

Admitting triggers is tough, especially in a world where mental health awareness is still becoming mainstream. I think so many people just take it as another form of "sensitivity," to life but mental health matters are real and deserve some patience and respect.

I get very triggered amidst the disregard and disrespect for mental health as well. It isn't as intensive as some other instances, but triggered, nonetheless. I feel like some people get the idea to test the boundaries and I'd like to ask, please don't!

 

I've been on this planet 34 years and my mother JUST NOW has started acknowledging my anxiety, depression and related issues as more than just "a hard time," or "over-sensitivity." This is a whole new thing for us and sometimes it gets weird.

This isn't some PSA about walking on eggshells, either. I've lived that way. It's incredibly not worth it. This is about the general respect and awareness that everyone handles their lives and their struggles in completely different ways so generally be patient, be kind, and give them a little space on things.

I've had to use my patience and kindness dutifully lately and as of last night, I had to learn to respect the space as I have also needed my space respected. The wonderful thing about triggers though, is they are a gateway to better connection, and better understanding. A simple, "What triggered you?," can go a long way and getting an explanation can help you be more communicative and mindful for future interactions. This is a PROCESS, people! It is a process that takes time and energy. It's also not a "fix," but it can still mend broken fences, if you will. 

So to kick off a week I suggest you share and ask about triggers with those you know have heaviness in their minds. Try it and report back!