I woke up this morning with a purpose and ended up being more thoughtful and organized than I thought I could be. The kids were sleeping, husband snoring in the next room and silence. How precious is silence? For me, it’s worth more than gold. I’m currently sitting here with a cup of coffee (still hot and no interruptions) and my hair still up in a towel (yes I did, I showered and if you have depression, anxiety, C-PTSD, or even just being a mom-that’s a huge accomplishment).
Yesterday was also productive. I cooked, sketched some ideas, wrote, did the grocery shopping, forbade my son to play with a boy that fashioned his own sledge hammer out of metal and wood (yeah that was not fun for everyone involved), and started a new series. But as I was going to shut down my computer I checked the news which I haven’t done since last week sometime. It made me think. All the women that are coming forward with the #metoo and all I can think is how brave they are but some of us silently suffered and still suffering.
We don’t have popularity, we aren’t actresses and singers, we are the ‘nobody’ woman that you passed in the grocery store silently battling something inside. Our voices don’t count but I’m glad that theirs do. They are bringing awareness about sexual assault but it doesn’t just happen in the work place. Unfortunately, it happens by our husbands, family, friends and people we trust. I hope that no one ever has to experience what I did. The humiliation, embarrassment, pain and all the pleading I did with no justice. “I’m sorry ma’am, he’s your husband. You two work this out.” then being waved off as a nuisance. Now here I am, yes away from him, but still trapped in my own cell. C-PTSD sucks. I have a therapist, medications, and STILL trying to figure out how to get my service dog. But no one is around to help with any of that. So yes, #metoo but I don’t want my ex to find out. You’re probably thinking, “WTF?” but the truth is I’m still terrified. I don’t want him to be near me, know what I think, know what I say, or even know what I am wearing. Yes, we have kids together but he refuses to interact with him. Even when I tell my children to call him (feeling of nausea the whole time) they don’t want to because they remember. Something I wish they didn’t.) Those women are strong and have made name for themselves. Then there is me. I’m going to get ready to go to the grocery store then to work, all the while carrying my own secrets heavily inside me.
Here is my thought, “I’m going to have a good day.”