Into Me You See

Trauma.  Pronounced as trau·ma noun: trauma; plural noun: traumata; plural noun: traumas 1. A deeply distressing or disturbing experience. ie: "a personal trauma like the death of a child"  Yes, that's the definition of trauma in my book, and the aftermath of living with said trauma has left me feeling emotionally taxed this past week.   For those that don't know, I am the mommy of an angel. Almost 10 years ago, on 5/5/2012, I held my 3 1/2 year old daughter in my arms, as she took her last breath, on the 8th floor of 7th West Pavillion at Yale New Haven Children's Hospital. Yes, I said almost 10 years, yet the grief has not lessened; I have just learned how to live with it. Many said that time heals all wounds, that the sadness gradually goes away as time passes. But what many failed to tell me is that the littlest thing is able to trigger the traumas of yesterday. I mean, I should know better because at work I'm educating others about trauma, it's c...

There is not a moment in time that I don’t remember myself as being overweight. As a kid, I was always the biggest of my siblings, the biggest in my classes, and the biggest in my circle of friends. As you can imagine, I’ve always struggled with my weight. My earliest memory of realizing how much more I weighed than the other girls in my circle was in the 6th grade. It was June 1993 to be more specific. We were getting ready for my 6th grade commencement, so we had to go clothes shopping, especially because I was giving a speech as 6th grade valedictorian. I can recall not being able to shop in the regular girl/juniors sections. I had to head over the “old people” section as I used to call it because it was older women who shopped in that area. There was nothing CUTE in that section. I had to settle for something that fit, rather something I actually wanted to wear – not a very good feeling. That’s when it all started.   I remember that summer going to my annual physical and d...

As you already know,  there is no Happy in 5 de Mayo for me.  This date has a whirlwind of emotions for me, but that’s okay. I know it’s okay to not be okay as long as I don’t drown in it.  I woke up this morning with a heavy heart as expected.  Heavy not for me though, but for my oldest.  Yesterday, he told me he was going to isolate himself and not speak to anyone.  I get it. I really do.  {I would love to hide under a rock at times and not have to deal with the world, but I don’t have the privilege to do that because I have to show up for my boys.} He didn’t want to wake up and covered himself from head to toe. (For those that don’t know, he has had it rough emotionally and mentally. He struggles with anxiety, anger and depression due to what life has dealt him at such a young age.) I laid next to him and just hugged him, telling him that I love him. Telling him it’s okay to be sad and angry, but not okay to drown ourselves in it. We stood like that...

In just a couple of hours, it would mark 8 LONG years since I heard your last breath. They say time eases the heartache and heals all wounds. But as wounds may heal and pain may lessen, the heartache will always remain. It may not be as profound as it initially was, but it's still there. Reminders of you are everywhere - Pictures on the wall, sporadic pieces of clothing still intertwined with mine. Your voice in my head, and your smile once I close my eyes . I remember looking back at you in the car that day, and Bob Marley's song came on the radio. You looked at me and said "mommy, no worry, is gonna be alwight". At just three years old, you were assuring me that no matter what happened, everything was going to be alright.  Yes, it's been 8 years since I last held you, but you are with me every day. I carry you in everything I do and everything I say you are my reason, you are my why you are the burst of energy that recharges my drive. I missed...

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              ...

  I look away  but not before stealing a glimpse of the reflection staring back  Sad brown eyes full of pain and sorrow  lies of yesterday  and worries of tomorrow unanswered questions prancer in my head like ballerina dancers pirouetting in never ending circles challenging  who I was then  and who I am now at one point  young and naive  so quick to believe  and so easy to deceive falling for everything  and yet now everything is falling apart. a part of then  still lingers within and mingles with  what has become and no one knows  what it really is things aren't always  what they seem to be too caught up to really see  the turmoil inside of me. 

Journals: who here still has their old ones? Who here still writes in one? Just came across one of my old journals dated 4/2001-4/2003 ... Reading through it, recognizing how much I've grown, yet also seeing how some things just don't change. Here's an old piece: Emotionally naked I stand before you As I unveil Piece by piece Every layer of insecurity that conceal the self I like to call me. Shameful thoughts Mixed emotions Secret desires Flowing through my ocean Waves clashing Voices asking Why am I still standing before you as my world begins unmasking? Intentionally used Mentally abused Falsely accused. Not guilty I plead As my soul is being imprisoned. I stand before you Slowly exposing The mental illustration Hiding in disguise Underneath this coverup image. The sincere smile The untainted look The high level of self confidence That along with my innocence you took. Feeling like a hit and run Helpless and deserted. Banking in and cas...