coping
Life presents variables; learning how to cope in order to master, minimize, or tolerate what has come to pass.
A Letter to Grief
Dear Grief, The process of you is different for everyone. I like to call you a journey, a pathway to a healing of the mind and soul. Each day I awake and my heart is still broken and my mind is still shattered, but each day it seems to heal a small amount because I allow you to come. I need to feel the pain, sadness and depression so that I can heal. I know you never truly go away but they say as the time passes you lesson. I’m not sure that’s true. I have faced you many time in my life and each time my soul is broken. Each time you’ve come my heart is torn in two and my mind is shattered beyond repair. The first time I can remember this happening was 34 years ago when death came for my brother Troy. You took control of my and didn’t let me go and almost took me too. Through the years that pain has dimmed but I’ve still never gotten over it. In 2006 you came 3 times to me. Those time were for my cats, but the pain was still real. You made me cry and broke my heart again. In the end though you left because I learned to love again. Then in January of 2020 you tore my world apart. On January 8th death came for my mom and you came for me again. You came for me as my beloved mother gained her spirit form and tore me apart. I HATE YOU GRIEF!!!! I hate you for what you’ve done to me. My heart is completely broken with no way for it mend. My mind is shattered in million pieces, and yet somehow I am slowly healing. It has been 6 months and 12 days since my mom went into the spirit realm. You follow me everywhere I go. I don’t know when or if I’ll rid of you. I have my good days where I’m not sad and I laugh and enjoy life but then I have my bad days where all I do is cry and hurt all over. That pain is soul deep and intense. It’s on those days I let you take over and allow myself to feel the pain and let my emotions play out. I ache when it’s over and I’m drained but I feel cleansed because you washed through me because I need it. You take and you take until I have nothing more to give. I need to feel you in order to heal and get stronger. Each day that passes I learn to move forward and understand you. Yes, you hurt me but in order to heal I must feel the pain. I have learned that it’s okay to not be okay. So come and let me feel you, grief. Let me heal through the pain you have caused. Let me move forward and learn to love again. I want to thank you , grief. Because of you I have learned to move forward and live again.
By Dawn Hiner6 years ago in Psyche
Love Yourself
There are so many reasons each day to feel badly, not including physical ailments. As someone who has been contending with Bipolar Disorder for the past 18 years, I feel I am pretty experienced when it comes to dealing with emotions and emotional breakdowns. It's a strange phenomena and it happens to everyone, even if you are not diagnosed with a mental illness. It could be a perfectly good day, sun shining, bills paid, no problems confronting you, yet you feel awful and you don't know why. You have a voice in your head telling you that you're not good enough or that something you usually love about yourself is invalid. This is when women start whining and saying "I'm too fat," or "I'm too stupid," or "I'm too whatever," and they feed their depression because they have lost the will to battle. They just want to surrender and relax. They don't want to win anymore. It's not just women, it happens with men too, but stereotypically women are better at expressing their emotions than men.
By Shanon Angermeyer Norman6 years ago in Psyche
Quarantine Update
God damn. It’s exhausting living in America. Okay so when this quarantine started in America, I started working from home. When I did, I had to keep a daily journal about what I worked on and how far I got and any emails or phone calls I made. I always added a little note at the end about what I was feeling and what I thought about working from home.
By Mae McCreery6 years ago in Psyche
Trust & Unconditional Love — Mindset Shifts that Serve Your Authentic Self
Going to therapy was my most time- and energy- consuming extracurricular activity in college. As an efficient learner, I had excelled both in academics and in believing that I was not enough for this world (unless I really “toned it down”).
By Eve Berkovich6 years ago in Psyche
Cherry's Darkness
Something I have never talked about publicly, even though I know many go through this as well. I was the oldest sibling of 4, my mother was a single parent. As the oldest sibling I went through the same stress my mother went through, this caused me to have no confidence, mental health problems. I never realized this until now. Growing up my mother put a lot of pressure on me since I was her right hand, I helped her care for my other siblings, care for our home. You could call me her assistant well that's what I felt like, even though I know my mother meant well. Being a single parent now I understand a lot of what my mother went through. Of course no child should ever have to go through any stress, a child barely understands our world. We as parents are supposed to help them understand this world, make it easier and raise them right after all they are the future. I don't blame my mother fully for my mental health issues even though she kinda is the source of it. She did her best I don't hold a grudge against her, although growing up I did often think I was the source of her problems which really messed me up emotionally.
By Vibing Milf🍒6 years ago in Psyche
Bodily Truth
“Papa!”, “Malish?”. I miss his voice, I miss him. I missed my chance to get the answers, even though there were times I had asked for them. I had questions about things that had happened, that he said I was too young to know the answers too. He would tell me one day as papas do. That day would never come. But I realize the answers I am looking for live within me, and I can still discover them if I try to piece together the puzzle between body and mind. This is a hope for healing, and for the acknowledgment of truth.
By Alissa Varchaver6 years ago in Psyche
The ghosts of my past
SEBRING FLORIDA 2011 Eleven year old Autumn Raine (that is me) and my mother and two sisters moved to this little four bedroom house on Kerry Dr in Sebring, Florida.We were new to the area and our neighbor (Scott Wilkie) came over to welcome us and invite us to his church down the road, Sparta Road Baptist. He was very approachable and nice, so we decided to give it a try. My mother was pregnant with my little brother Gavin. We have no extended family, so we didn't see the harm in finding a family at church. Soon after my little brother was born, my mother and Scott started dating. Since we lived right next door, my mother and Scott decided it would be smarter financially to move in together. So, that is what we did. Everything was going great up until about two or three months of living there. Then, Scotts true colors came out.
By Autumn Raine Moulton-Pierce6 years ago in Psyche
Healing my Heart and Body
I’m finding that as I am getting older life is beginning to be more complicated. You have to deal with relationships, friendships, illnesses, death of loved ones and self esteem issues. I have been thinking about my life and where I am at this point. At the age of 41 I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis and last year I finally divorced from a marriage that felt like I was in a Tyler Perry movie.
By Letitia Robertson 6 years ago in Psyche
Crowning Glory
My story isn’t a happy one, but it’s something I’d like to get off my chest. I’m hoping by sharing it will help me heal and move on. I’m a woman and I have bald spots on my head because I suffer from trichotillomania. If you don’t know, trichotillomania is a disorder that creates an irresistible urge to pull out one’s body hair. Some pull eyebrows or eyelashes, many, like myself, pull from the scalp. As a woman, I feel my hair is strongly connected to my beauty. I’ve been told since I was a young girl that long hair is beautiful. Men like long hair. I had long, thick hair that my mother did not know what to do with. She frequently told me how hard my hair was for her to deal with. I began to dislike my hair. Every day seemed like a battle between my mother and my hair. She wanted my hair to be silky straight, and it just wasn’t. She was not shy in expressing her disdain. When I was 5, my mother got married. Benny, her new husband, my stepfather, was nice to me at first. When my mother became pregnant with my little brother, Benny took on a new interest in me. It began with me sitting on his lap and feeling his hands down my pants or under my dress. I didn’t like this and tried to avoid him, for which I was punished. Punishment came in the form of a beating with a belt. When my mother asked what I did, she was told that I had lied about something. Benny would come into my room at night to “tuck me in,” which involved fondling and kissing my neck using his tongue. I started to wet the bed. Every morning I woke up with wet sheets was a morning I would get a beating. My mom didn’t question it, she just took Benny’s word for it. I was, “...too lazy to go to the bathroom.” My brother was born and the abuse continued. One day, Benny commented on my hairstyle. He liked it. I don’t remember the exact moment that my fingers found my scalp, but the sensation of plucking a single strand out was one of relief from the anxiety I didn’t understand. When I was 6, my mother took me to a salon to have my hair relaxed. My scalp felt like it was on fire. I cried and squirmed. I was threatened with, “If you don’t stop, I’m telling your father when we get home.” I let it burn as tears ran down my cheeks. My hair was straight and my mom loved it. My scalp was tender for a week afterwards. I was now in a vicious cycle of “touch-ups” every 6 weeks. It burned every time. My hair started to break off. Now, it wasn’t long and beautiful anymore, which meant I was ugly. My mother took me to get my hair braided with extensions. The stylist pulled my hair so tight, it hurt. I cried and squirmed. “Do you want me to tell your father?” Absolutely not. I sat and cried. Even with my hair separated into skinny braids, sections pulled impossibly taut, I still managed to pluck out strands. At one point, I tried to tell my mother what Benny was doing to me, which by age 10 escalated to him having me in my parent’s bedroom naked, so he could look at my body and touch me anywhere he wanted while my mother was at work. I was punished for lying. This continued until I hit puberty. When I became interested in boys, and they became interested in me, that was another reason for Benny to beat me. I left home at 18. I wore weaves to disguise the 3-inch bald spot at the nape of my neck. Ironically, I went to cosmetology school. I graduated and worked in a salon for two years. One of the stylists suggested I try a cute, short hairstyle to give my scalp a chance to breathe. I was nervous, but let her do it. I instantly regretted it. I felt the entire world knew my secrets and thought I was hideous. Fast forward 10 years, I had my son, and became a single mom. I started caring for my hair. I bought creams, oils, conditioners to help it grow, to help me love my hair and myself. Men found me attractive, but I lived with the fear that the ones I dated would eventually discover my secret. My relationships never lasted. I’m now 43, with a handsome, brilliant, almost 16 year old son. I wear my hair in twists with extensions that I do myself. I cannot bear the thought of going to a salon. I oil and massage my scalp every morning and night. I have a goal to grow my hair out and wear it in its natural glory. My fingers still find my scalp sometimes. That familiar, comforting feeling of plucking each strand still calls me. I’m much more aware of it now and am learning to find other ways to keep my mind and hands busy. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, but the tunnel is long. I’ve set a goal to have full head of healthy, thick, lush hair by age 50. I am learning to see my beauty, bald spots and all. I’m single, but by choice. I cannot be in a relationship and expect to be loved, if I cannot fully love myself. Every day, I lift and separate my twists in the mirror to remind myself of my goal. Each day is different. Some are better than others, but every day, the struggle is real. Thanks for listening to my story.
By Amanda Perkins6 years ago in Psyche
