Living As All of Me

[Papa Coco]

Hannah1,

Nicely written. I can feel your struggle and your contentment combined. You succeeded to create a handful of children who can handle this world. Not everyone can say that. On the other side of the coin, you became a loving, caring, compassionate person because of every single thing you've ever been through. And you're pretty amazing, so...there's that.

But as the children wander off these next few years, I hope your day in the sun comes, and your passport becomes so full of travels that you can barely squeeze all the stamps into it.

Sometimes I like to listen to the song by Tom Petty; You Belong Among The Wildflowers. It fits people like us. The song says, "You belong somewhere you feel free." You'll get there. And you have a lot to be proud of around where you've been up to now, and where you are right now.

I believe in you!

[HannahOne]

PapaCoco, thank you for reading and commenting. I am thrilled, because that is one of my favorite songs! I fell in love with it in high school and chose my stereo based on how that song sounded on the speakers. Then it spoke to me of what I one day hoped would be true. Now it just rings true. Thank you for getting it. There is both struggle and contentment. Content with the majority of the Herculean task reasonably well done, struggle to let it go, struggle that yes, it doesn't ever end, contentment with that reality.

[HannahOne]

I parented in such an intense way. Because I had to, for myself, I wanted it to be me and to give All of Me to the task. Because my partner could not. And because one of my kids had a lot of extra needs. In the last five years, I gave up everything to care for that child, 24-7 for months, and then on end for years through crises. I had to do a yearslong legal battle to get what was needed for schools. And my partner had a crisis during the pandemic as well. The pandemic itself was a crisis for our family with deaths and unemployment. The last five years were *.

I don't regret what I did, but I do regret some of the losses. Like lost time with friends, not going to see them the last five years. That all the stress ended me in bed so depressed and chronically exhausted, the toll that being so flattened took on my health, not exercising, not eating well, not seeing doctors. I have a lot of cleanup work to do on my health. I have two specialists left to see and hoping I can repair some of the damage. Thank goodness I got my screenings when I did.

Progress report from February 20 goals:

Hire the PT to do personal training once PT runs out. DONE. I joined the gym, it's only 50$ per month! When I finish PT he will work with me till surgery, and then help post surgery. I'm so thrilled with my progress. Exercise is changing how I feel in my body. How I walk. How I move. How I sleep. How I eat. I do PT twice a week and twice a week I go and workout on my own. It's a kind of community, too.

Go to new art studio and see what happens. Studio located, haven't attended yet.

Continue "Swedish death cleaning" to take charge of my space and so that we can relocate once kid graduates. IN PROGRESS

Find a mentor to continue painting training. I reached out to someone online. Unsure if I actually want to keep painting. It was a social activity, not sure I like doing it by myself.

Find a context in person to be with other people at least weekly. DONE. I will be reading poetry at an open mic coming up, and joined a hiking group to try. I was curious that I'm no longer interested in spirituality. I used to attend every yoga, meditation, or New Age class I could. For now, I seem to be done with that quest. I like this change for me. I feel more rooted, more free, more grounded and focused. I'm no longer seeking, in that sense, and that feels good after a fifty year quest. What interested me was nature, books, animals, and art. I also applied to go to a camp this summer for breast cancer folks.

Find a volunteer opportunity in person. DONE I am volunteering at an animal rescue farm. This is a new farm, not the one where Frank was found. I'm really excited about it. they want to also start programs for special needs kids to come to the farm and that's right up my alley. We'll see what comes of it.

Figure out what to do with my small business and find a new career goal if I want to close it. Partly done: Redid the budget and I've decided to stop taking new clients for now. I have to focus on my health for the next foreseeable months. The work was making my stomach hurt, I'm just not happy in it. Being so detail oriented was requiring me to hyper focus for hours on end for days. I no longer want to operate on that kind of adrenaline and cortisol.

I am working my way through the medical appointments. The pathologist review does not agree on my exact situation, apparently there's a fine line, but surgery will resolve it either way. And further scans and tests show two new problems, both of which rule out the medication route for treatment, which confirms surgery is the plan. Clarity is helpful. The new problems can improve with exercise, perfect. And diet, which is a new goal. I eat very well but I would like to spend a little more energy making meals and have more regular meals. I tend to eat randomly throughout the day and I need more of a schedule. I don't like to eat at a table, I do it with the kids but it's hard. I would like to overcome this trauma trigger and am thinking about creative ways to make eating at a table, and eating regularly, more pleasant.

Additional new goal: travel to see all my far-flung friends this year. I am going to see one special friend in June depending on surgery schedule, and I have at least one and maybe two other friends I need to make travel plans to see. Before 2020 I traveled to them yearly. It's been five years, and I deeply regret that gap. I couldn't leave my kid at the time. But I need to go see them now.

Final new goal for now: Consider the possibility that self-hatred is no longer needed. "To love someone else is easy, but to love what you are, the thing that is yourself, is just as if you were embracing a glowing red-hot iron; it burns into you and that is very painful. Therefore, to love somebody else in the first place is always an escape which we all hope for, and we all enjoy it while we are capable of it. But in the long run, it comes back on us. You cannot stay away from yourself forever, you have to return, have to come to that experiment to know whether you really can love. That is the question---whether you can love yourself, and that will be the test." Carl Jung. The idea that loving others can be a kind of escape rings true. And yet, I cannot stay away from myself. I am returning. I have to experiment to know if I can really love---which means loving myself. What does that look like, through illness, through recovery. What does it look like not to despise my life, my experience? What does it look like not to experience my life as a punishment? I would like to find out.

[sanmagic7]

holey schmoley, hannah1, soooo much!  congrats to you for either beginning things, finishing things, or having a direction to go to for more things to do.  very impressive!  best to you with all of this.  i think it's amazing!  love and hugs

[HannahOne]

SanMagic7, I say to myself "get busy living, or get busy dying!" I have to make a life worth living, now. Or I won't have the motivation to do what I have to do. A little fire under my butt at the moment! Thank you for the support.

[TheBigBlue]

 

[NarcKiddo]

Hannah, if you do Facebook I can, if you are interested, link you to a very supportive private art community page. It has just been set up by 2 tutors from an online site that I totally loved. The site owners overreached themselves and have gone bust which is a big shame as there were loads of wonderful tutorials on there that have gone to waste. But the tutors were supportive and responsive and the community is lovely. The tutors are not teaching on there, but they are offering feedback on work. Anyway, you could join and take a look even if you decide it's not for you and never share anything on there. Drop me a PM if that appeals and I will link you to the page.

I think you are doing really well with your goals.   

[HannahOne]

NarcKiddo, thank you! I will PM here and you can send me the link to the page, I will check it out.

[HannahOne]

Today I am signed up to tutor adults in reading. I'm excited to try this out.

Today I also went to the gym and did the elliptical! HOORAY!!! haha. I feel a bit pathetic. Compared to me earlier life of struggle and poverty, I am living the DREAM, going to a gym, so hoity toity of me! My past self would be shocked at the luxury. Why can't I just walk around the block? The PT said the elliptical is better for my knee for now. The whole thing is kinda silly.

But it's kind of a big deal. I got myself to get up, dress, leave the house, work out. That's huge progress. My cholesterol and other blood numbers were very bad, which is weird as I'm a healthy weight and don't eat meat or fried foods. Sometimes some chicken. They say maybe it's hereditary. Anyway, gotta get moving. And I have just a few weeks left before hiking so have to get stronger!

And, today I went to the animal rescue farm for my first day of work. All the animals were very happy and well cared for. The horses and rabbit see the dentist, the horses get their feet trimmed. There's a very large rooster commanding the place. Pigs, goats, donkeys. The main task at the time of day I go will be filling water buckets, checking welfare, and some poop picking. Luckily all the watering stations have a hose right there, so no lugging buckets which is good, as my back wouldn't allow it. I am scheduled for two hours once a week to start. It feels so good to be around animals that are physically and mentally well, there's a vibe in the air, like a rolling energy wave. Each animal made eye contact. They were curious and interested in me as a being. Each greeted my outstretched fist with a nose bump.

Each an individual. You could feel the difference in each one. This one moody, this one extraverted and curious and not too deep, this one a deep well. This one jumps in front of me and demands attention, this one leans on the fence and watches the scene. This one has to always be next to that one... When we see them as individuals, they become such. When we don't see it, we deprive them of their individuality, we make them just "a pig." But it's not just "a pig," it's Homer, and he has a life, a story, a unique personality, a unique way of connecting.

As kids we with CPTSD weren't seen and valued as individuals. We were just "a kid," a body, a problem. It's inhumane to treat a human as a thing. And it's not even mammalian to treat other animals as things. Sure, a pig can also be lunch. But it's still Homer, an individual pig. Happily, Homer will never become anyone's lunch. Animals at the farm stay for life, after years of being passed around, dumped, abandoned, left tied to a tree or on the side of the road. Each one has a story. I am looking forward to learning each animal. It will make me more of a human to do so.

I gave a poetry reading this weekend. I have to admit, it did not light my fire. Maybe that's another thing I'll retire along with spirituality/religion. I  was amused though--I arrived very early, and as people trickled in, some stared at me. I checked myself: brown pin striped men's dress pants cuffed, blue button down, snakeskin Mary Janes. Was my hair sticking up? Finally someone said, "Are you the poet?" "Yeah, I'm the poet." "Oh, you look like a poet!" Mission accomplished, I guess? I was surprised I wasn't more into it. But that's what I'm trying to figure out. What's going to light my fire, what's going to keep me warm for the next few years, what's going to make me want to get out of bed? What's going to make life worth living? Not reading poetry, apparently. K. Noted.

What I did love was that the reading took place in an art gallery. I spent a lot of time looking at everything, and bought a painting of a dog on a path, in a forest, all rusty oranges and browns. A midlife dog looking down a path in orange fog. I mean, it's a metaphor.

There were many people working in individual studios in the gallery. I found myself longing to be one of them. I don't want to continue to paint religious icons as I've been doing. It's a very rigid art form and I've been doing it more than seven years yet still often feel paralyzed with perfectionism or scrupulosity. I'm not even religious anymore so technically I dont' have a priest's blessing to paint them anymore, either. I'm over it.

A new idea occurred to me. I would like to start painting animals. I'm going to use the same skills, egg tempera, gesso board, and make animal paintings. I can't rent a studio but I could work at home. And, I could sign up for a drawing class. I am looking at them, the timing doesn't quite work but if not this spring then this fall I'm going to take a drawing class. Visual art is more interesting than writing at the moment (as I write, LOL).... You have a physical object at the end of it. And I like the making of it. I'm gonna try it. Worst that happens is I can't translate the skill into drawings of animals and I end up with a bunch of ruined gesso boards. What's the point of a gesso board that stays blank, HannahOne? I have a little rigid efficiency monitor in my head, constantly demanding a reckoning, and account. You've wasted a gesso board! You've wasted a day! You've wasted your life!

It never shuts up. It's exhausting. Get a job! Get a better job! Get another job! Why aren't you working? when I'm parenting. Why aren't you parenting? when I'm working. What was the point of all of that suffering? Why are you still even here?

I can't answer those questions. They are the wrong questions. I can't justify what I went through. I can only get busy now. Get busy living, get busy living. Get busy, HannahOne. Life is worth living. I can make it worth it. I can let it be worth it. It's allowed to be worth it. I can accept what it took to get here. I can accept that I paid the cost. I can not hate myself for that. I don't have to punish myself and keep myself locked in a prison of misery for thirty years for the crime of escaping, surviving, fighting my way to get here. I can say that while the losses were terrible and the sacrifices inhumane, yet, they were worth it, because life is good. Overall. If not good, still worth it.

In struggling with the decision to have surgery I am thinking the same way. I'm lucky to have a choice even though all the choices suck. I'm sure I'll have regrets and wonder if it was worth it. I'm sure it won't be worth it, how could it be? It's my childhood all over again, I have to cut off part of me to survive. And, it will be worth it. Of course it will be. I had a choice then, and it led me here. I have a choice now. I can choose. Choose life, HannahOne. Choose life. 

[HannahOne]

Frustrated because I can't sleep lately. I'm wired at bed time. I get nervous around 7 pm and it's like I'm sundowning or something, I'm physically nervous, can't cope with demands. Feel restless. Wide awake till 3 am.

I worked out for over an hour today I should be tired. And I ate pretty well. Daylight savings may not be helping.

Frank is wide awake at this time. He's crepuscular, dawn and dusk his active times. Around 11pm he tends to get the zoomies, zipping around his room. I often hear him literally bouncing off the walls, he leaps up and pushes off the walls with his back feet. Sometimes he throws things around, his bowls, his cardboard boxes. Sometimes he pulls things down, or things crash, as he leaps up to try to steal his dried flower mix treat. Sometimes I hear him ripping up his rug, destructo-bun. RRIP!!! Int he middle of the day, he's on his side stretched out sound asleep. I go let him know I can't sleep. He seems pleased with my shift in schedule. Much safer to be awake dawn and dusk! In his opinion, my insistence on moving around in broad daylight is less than ideal, predators can see me!

I'd like to snuggle him and see if it makes me sleepy but he's in no mood at this time of day. Zip! zip! hop hop hop Hop Hop HOP HOP! and descending as he moves away from me, HOP HOP Hop Hop hop hop hop. Not helping my heart rate to chill, Franklin D. Roosevelt. He pirouettes away.

The worst is of course imagining how tired I'll be tomorrow, I have two kids'a appointments, PT, and an evening client meeting. Ugh.

Trying to stay in the present. It's hard at night. I try to stay off the blue light devices at night but then my mind runs off with me. Audio book didn't work. I will watch some ballet videos. Very interested in ballet right now. Music, with movement. Something to live for.

[HannahOne]

Well, I slept about an hour.

Kid one drove self to appointment, giving me small reprieve.

I'm back to wanting to stay in bed. I'm not even tired. It's just bed feels safer.

It can feel impossible to find the gearshift inside. I know once I'm out I'll feel good. Yet part of me perversely wants to watch the day go by and just pretend I don't exist.

It's so strange because this is a new behavior of the last 3-4 years. I never did this.

I know it's pointless to try to figure it out, that's just another way to avoid getting up and doing.

I'm trying to create some accountability here. It seems impossible to admit to anyone "I'm stuck in bed." There's no one I can call and say, "I haven't fallen, but I can't get up."

Part of me just doesn't want to go on with anything. Valid. It was a brutal five years. And before that wasn't easy. Before that, I was doing all of this, so that I wouldn't have a brutal five years. The brutal five years was a blow to the ego, the part of me that thought if I worked nonstop, did all the healing things, was a "good person," I would suffer less. I would succeed, ish. Somewhat succeed. Those I loved most would be safe. Nope.

So now that part of me, that did all the things, just won't do. Because the deal got broken.

I have other parts that will do. Want to do. Want to return a sweater, go to PT, pet Frank. Frank is winding down for the day, circling on his carpet to make a nest to flop into. In an hour, he'll be deep asleep, one eye on the carpet, one eye staring at the ceiling. He mostly sleeps with his eyes partly open. It's freaky. But he's so trusting now that even when I tiptoe by, he may roll his eye toward me, but immediately he goes blank again, back to sleep. He no longer jumps up as soon as my toe touches the floor from three rooms away.

I need to regain my trust, too. Somehow. Trust not to go to sleep, but trust to get up. Get out. Live.

I'm so frustrated to keep ending up back in this emotional space. I keep wondering if it could be some kind of flashback. Feeling like I'm the only person alive on the planet, feeling surreal. Wanting time to go by, pretending I'm not here. Enjoying noticing time passing, gleefully noticing the day is almost gone and I've not existed. Refusal to participate in life, a protest of sorts, a last stand. But I dunno. I can't find any time in the past that's like this. It must just be a part, an emotional state, like a freeze or a submit state. I guess it's submit. I never did submit, LOL. So, it's new. I ran out of fight, and there was nowhere to run to in the pandemic. I was the parent. I had to stay. I had to fight. And then, I just ran out of all of it.

Submit is vaguely pleasant and alluring. So easy to just sink into it. I have to find my fight again. Or find some other way to move forward that isn't fight. I'm trying to find a way to move that's love, want, desire. I am trying to find things to want, to make life worth living, to overcome this submit state. I desire brown wool trousers. I desire to roll the cuffs. I want snakeskin shoes. I want to paint in a light filled place. I deeply desire to sit next to a pig on a cloudy day. I want to feel my muscles. I want to pay $100 to learn to workout on a Pilates reformer machine that I saw online. I want to wear a man's blazer. It seems frivolous, it seems too light, airy. These wants are unnecessary, self-centered, pointless. What difference does it make if I roll my cuffs or sit with a pig? But I have no fight left. I have to make the wants bigger than the failure of fight/flight, bigger than the freeze/submit. I have to make my wants substantial, so they hold me up when I walk on them, walk across them to the world of things. I don't know what else to do.

It would help if I had community. If I were a nun in a cell, and everyone was in chapel, would I lie in bed? maybe. Maybe I'm kidding myself. I do think body doubling helps. Entraining off another's energy, the energy of two or three is bigger than the energy of one, the sum is greater than the parts. If everyone is going to Pilates class, it's easier to go. It's easier to do Pilates in a room full of people doing Pilates than to lie on my floor by myself and do Pilates. I want to continue to find communities. People to paint with, people to do Pilates with, going to the gym and nodding at the gym bro, sitting with the pig in his pig field. I need Pilates, I need people, I need pigs.

I did my life alone. I need not to be alone now. Maybe wanting is enough. Frank goes about his little routine with deep seriousness. He never lies in bed. If it's time to sleep, he sleeps, but when it's time to wake, he's washing his ears, his big hind foot, he's studiously ripping up the carpet when it's carpet ripping time and when it's time to eat hay he devotes himself to the task. He wants to wash. He wants to rip. He wants to eat. And he does. Maybe wanting is the instinctual drive to live, and I just have to keep cultivating it. The drive to live is different than the drive to survive. Maybe I just have to learn to live. Frank, help me. Frank guide me on the way. Frank forgive me. Frank give me my daily dose of desire, and hop with me on the way.

[sanmagic7]

hey, hannah1, truthfully, i was exhausted reading your posts.  just a thought - are you racing to 'do' things? it felt frantic.  maybe it's just me, cuz i tend to be slow-ish about doing things.  if that doesn't fit, please ignore.  i do like the idea of drawing animals, tho. that sounds both productive and somehow restful at the same time.

reading is what helps me go to sleep at night.  i do my screen stuff, sure, but when it's time to sleep the screen goes black and i find a nice, not gory nor too intense, book to read.  a fun, light book.  something by wodehouse or maeve binchy maybe.  just a thought.

i hope you find a balance that fits for you like frank has his own balance.  he is a good role model.  love and hugs

[HannahOne]

SanMagic7, there may be some frantic energy for sure. I am definitely moving hard and fast to set things up to do. The doing themselves doesn't seem hurried. But yes there is a strong energy to put things on the calendar.

It could be unhelpful if I am over-doing, being busy to avoid.

On the other hand, if I don't have something planned every day, I become one with my mattress and don't leave the bed. And I have to interrupt that pattern, for my physical and mental health.

I am conscious that I am creating a life worth living because part of me is feeling hopeless despair. Part of me is wrestling with mortality, the end of some things, aging, being sick, general midlife blahs, and trauma hangover. And other parts of me are afraid of that, and want to compensate. Again there's a balance, on one hand, I don't want to be afraid of the idea of death, or of being sick, or of change and loss, I want to work through that and face it. On the other hand I'm aware that I don't have "enough" to counterbalance it, I'm still feeling a little too close to deep depression, and in order to fully feel those feelings, I need a strong network of a life to support me in feeling it. I need a solid container for my grief, and I have to make the container, find the community connections and activities that will give it context. A context that isn't "Of course, more trauma!" or "Yes, this is my punishment!" or whatever negative storytelling I'm prone to do.

Balance is falling and getting back up again. At least, that's how I balance. I hope to find a little more balance a little more middle ground. Right now it's still the case that I"m often either out and about, or flattened in bed. Out and about is better than in bed. So I may be doing a little too much. I've started sitting on the couch instead of in bed as much as possible when I'm home. The couch is at least upright

 I am considering trying to learn to knit. I need something I can DO while sitting, otherwise I space out or sink into depression. I can't really read anymore and that's what I've always done. I may try basic knitting or crocheting as a baby step toward feeling "ok" while home alone.

[HannahOne]

TW some talk about gender, please forgive any offense and don't read if the topic is sensitive for you.

I'm going to a yoga/Pilates class today for the first time. I'm nervous. But excited to try it. The teacher is a man. I hope it will be ok. I am trying to be around men. I can't go into the world if I can't be around men. The last decade of stay at home motherhood I existed entirely in a world of women. I could go days never interacting with a man. Other than my partner, but somehow he doesn't count.

There's a man in my house. I keep noticing. Oh yeah, my husband. LOL. There's a man in my house! What am I going to do with him? What is he thinking? Where is he going, to the kitchen? Footsteps, footsteps. There's a man in my house. Oh yeah, my husband! LOL.

Today there's a man teaching my yoga class. I signed up for his class on purpose. Will he touch me? Will he ask first? How will he look at me? What will I say, how will I act? Will I smile? Not smile? Shake his hand? Keep my hands at my side?

There's a man as my PT. I've known him for almost twenty years. Hadn't seen him in five years. He was surprised at my appearance. "So....what happened?" Um. I laid in bed for a few years? Last he saw me I was all muscle, working with horses, running miles a day. He helped me overcome two pregnancies, a knee injury, a bad back, torn tendons, a broken thumb, a hernia, overcome inertia so I could work horses. We worked so hard for years on end. Worked from holding myself up against a wall for 15 seconds to 15, 20, 50 pushups. And then.... plllfffttt. Here I am again. Starting over. Holding myself up against the wall, arms shaking. So discouraged. Starting over.

I know this man. But the same thoughts. Will he touch me? Will he ask? What will I say? Will I smile, not smile? He puts a strap around my legs for stability. "So you can't run away," he says, as I'm dissociating. His comment springs me back and I laugh. He pokes me in the shoulder, "Hello! Do you want to take the strap off, or should I?" I spring back, "I'll take it off." Balancing on one foot as he adjusts my ankle weight, I start to wobble. "Touch my shoulder," he says, kneeling in front of me, "so you don't fall." Right right, I snap back into myself, I can grab his shoulder rather than fall over. "Hold this," he says, handing me a weight. "Hold it out from your body like this." "I can't" I say. "You can," he says. Will I hurt myself? He's never hurt me. I hold it. Tired. "Turn over," he says as I'm on the table, like he's talking to a dog. He must do this all day, tell people to do this, do that, half bored. There's no edge to it, just a clear expectation that I obey. I bristle. And why not turn over? Am I against turning over? Is turning over a violation of the Geneva Convention? I want to tell him off with a choice curse word. I turn over. Is this ok? "Yes," says the therapist in my head.

"Squeeze your butt cheek," he says, poking my butt. Butt cheek? What butt cheek? I don't have a butt cheek. "HannahOne!" He pokes my shoulder hard. "Sit up." I sit up. "Go get some water." I go get water. "Lie down." I lie down. ""Squeeze this butt cheek." I squeeze it. "Give me your leg." What? "Relax this leg, let me move it." He asks me, "Is this ok?" Yes. "Is this ok?" Yes. "Still too tight in the hamstring," he says. "Go stretch against the wall for two minutes." He sits down to type notes. What is he typing? Will he call the police? "Client still too tight in hamstring," I tell myself. Why would he call the police? I am tired and want to go home. I stretch and tell him, "I'm tired." "You worked hard today," he says. Today? He taps me on the shoulder. "You ok to drive?" Yes. He knows me, I remind myself. It's fine if I'm in and out. This is the system we created, poke me in the shoulder, tell me to go get water. And he's never hurt me, I've only ever made progress. Besides, there's seven other people in this room. I count them. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5--- "We're on for Tuesday?" he says. Tuesday? "Why don't you sit for ten minutes?" he says, handing me a towel. "Just sit. Then drive." I bristle. I want to tell him off. He can tell. Sitting is against the Geneva Convention. He smirks at me. "Sit, HannahOne." I sit. Minutes go by and I'm snapping back. I can feel the water I'm drinking, I can feel my butt cheeks on the hard floor. "I'm heading out," I say, as he tells the client on the table, "Turn over." He nods over his shoulder, "Are you ok?" Yes. "See you Tuesday." Yes. I want to try again.

I hired a man to fix my sink. I'm home alone. Same thoughts. Will he touch me? Will he ask? Will I smile? or not smile? Shake his hand? I smile and shake his hand, holding the dog with the other hand. "She's a nice dog," I say, semi-reassuringly, with an edge. I hold back so he goes upstairs first. To the kitchen, to the sink. What will I say? There's a man in my house.  "Here's the sink!" I say stupidly as we both look at the sink. "I'll be in the other room, holler if you need me," I say, and run to my room and shut the door. Should I lock it? Will he come in anyway? Will he ask first? He calls from the kitchen, "M'am?" M'am!? I'm a m'am. right, right, I'm a middle aged m'am. I come back to the kitchen and look at him for the first time. He looks like a baby. He must be twenty years old. "All set," he says. "Cash, check or credit?" right, right, I have money now. I'll pay with credit so he doesn't have my address. He already has my address, he's standing in my house. I drop the credit card. We both go to pick it up. I let him pick it up so we don't crash heads. He hands it to me and his fingers touch my palm. Is that ok? "Yes," says the therapist inside my head. Ok. He goes downstairs, turns to shake my hand. Is that ok? "Yes," says the therapist inside my head. "Bye, doggie," he says, to the dog I'm still gripping. I shut the door behind him, too hard, lock it.

I hired a man to cut my hair. I don't look him in the eye. He asks me what I want for a haircut. I tell him I need time to think. I can't think. We go to the sink. I lean back carefully. He adjusts the towel. "How's the water?" The water? "Ok." Is it? He massages my head for minutes on end and I don't dissociate. He's not chatting. Is that ok? It occurs to me I am not feeling a wave of energy come my way. Is he gay? I don't feel the usual vibe. Then again, I'm middle-aged, so I don't feel it half the time now anyway. I can't tell what's going on. He towels my head and follows me to the chair. Should I worry he's behind me? I look him in the eye in the mirror. "So what are we doing today?" he asks, flipping my damp hair around and letting it fall through his fingers. I should make a decision, be assertive. "I don't know, what should I do?" "How about two inches off, about this much? And a few more layers for the waves? Where do you like the bangs to fall?" I have choices, I can choose. "An inch. Yes layers. At my nose." He goes to work. Is this ok? Yes. "Ok, girl!" he says after the dryer. I flip my hair. He laughs, I laugh. He sees me for what I am, a middle-aged woman, and someone not for him. He is not into women, or at least not into me. I book another appointment. I want to try again.

I hired a man for massage. My sibling can't believe it. "I'm trying to get used to men," I say. "You're on a mission!" my sibling says. I guess. It doesn't seem to be working, I am not habituating. I remember a therapist yelling at me, baffled, "Why don't you habituate?!" Exposure therapy just doesn't work on me. Maybe All of Me is never getting the therapy. Therapy Me does the therapy and the rest of me checks out. So, I'm an awesome therapy client, but I never habituate. LOL. Here I am at the massage. Same thoughts. Will he touch me? Um, yes, HannahOne. Will he ask? probably not. What will I do, will I smile? I'll be face down, so it doesn't matter. He is very tall and very strong. I like him right away. He's cautious at first. Not much eye contact on arrival, business-like. He's afraid of me, too, I think. He's afraid of my fear. Or afraid of how I'l see him, treat him. Will I leave a terrible review? I'm a white woman, he's a black man. We are both aware. But I relax, and he does. Tells me he's from Chicago. He doesn't poke me when I dissociate. I'm face down, so maybe he can't tell. What's the difference between dissociating and relaxing? Did I fall asleep, or space out? Both? Did I feel safe, or unsafe? Both? I book another appointment. I want to try again.

I sit with Frank. "You're a man," I tell him. He takes offense. "I mean, you're male." He smells like a skunk. "You could neuter him, and he'd smell better," the vet told me. I looked at Frank. "no thanks," I said. He's already six years old. He gets anesthesia for his dental treatments, but it's risky every time. Without dental care he can't survive, but he's ok intact. I don't want to put him through it. I don't mind that he's skunky. "I smell like flowers," I tell him. He begs to differ, the chemistry of my scented soaps unlike the warm sweet of dandelion and wild mint. We sit together, skunky Frank and over-scented me. A woman and a male. He won't touch me, he has no hands. He can't decipher a smile. He doesn't understand my words, I've no need to say anything. "Thanks, buddy," I say. We wait for my partner to come home, so there will be another man in the house. My partner passes by Frank's room, his weekly end of workweek beer in hand. "It's just you and me, Frank," says the man in my house wearily, surrounded by women and female dogs and daughters. It's hard for him too. He must wonder, should he touch me? Should he ask? Will I dissociate, smile? Not smile? "Want to walk the dogs together?" he asks. "Sure." I say. I want to try again.