Flow State

As I type this, my children and I are currently in one. That’s not the technical term, so allow me to elucidate:

All I wanted before, during, and after my marriage was peace.

I remember sending my best friend a video after my divorce on the gram, it was a reel with this song in the background crooning "Nothing Hurts Anymore, and I feel kinda free... I’m still the girl I used to beeeeee" or at least that’s what I heard, and it slapped, so there it shall stay. All the while a girl frolicked in a field, arms outstretched to the sun, as it bathed her in all her glory. I wanted it so badly that I could almost smell it, but not taste it, yet.

After being married to the fuzz for 12 years, IVF, the foster system, opening my own business, adopting, divorcing, and losing my grandma, peace wasn’t even a tangible thing. I was standing there like a Fraggle, struck by lightning. The burnout was real. I had felt peace a few times in my life, and I was determined to restore it and provide that for my boys.

So, enter the Flow State. Imagine you are cooking dinner, but genuinely enjoying it, with music that has your hips swaying, one child contentedly coloring, or the current fav, for my youngest, playing with kinetic sand. The kid gets a brain and body break, and the house isn’t shaking on its foundation with how quickly he moves. The oldest is sprawled out on a velvet couch, toe tapping to the beat of a Stick Figure record playing in the living room. My weaner dog is somehow magically silent, a true testament to the flow state.

And we just vibe.

Usually, I’ll plate dinner in baskets with biodegradable wax paper because I’m an efficiency person, and there are only so many hours in a day. We chat, sometimes by candlelight, because life deserves to be romanticized. Sometimes we go outside and jump on the trampoline in the rain, sometimes we have a fire in the chiminea, sometimes we watch TV, but I cannot do it for long. Being still is not in my design.

Sometimes these flow states last 15 minutes or an hour; this summer, we even experienced them for a few hours. Bliss. But alas, how did we get here?

_____________________________

I’m sitting on the couch of my second try at a personal therapist. I’m not holding out for a hero. I’m so dissociated from life right now, I don’t think anyone will be able to reach me.
I’m like a crusty NAM vet lighting a cigarette at 30 knots in a rainstorm, striking the match on my stubbled, scarred face.

Or at least that’s how I feel.

On the outside, I am who the world sees me as. A somewhat frazzled woman getting taken out by life. So, there I sat, staring at her, and I said, “I’ve already gone to therapy for my 'daddy wasn’t there to take me to the fair’ shit, so honestly, I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.”
And this woman looked me dead in my ocular sprockets and said, "Ok, then tell me about your mother."

CANNON MOMENT.

Now I’m not going to sit here and trauma dump; the most challenging part of healing is seeing the people who hurt you, for the experience they themselves had in life. Not to say some people aren’t just assholes. However, my overall study, and I’ve been studying people my whole life, has shown me that most people who cause harm to others were themselves harmed and just not strong enough to undergo their own healing.
It’s soul-searing. I get it.
But that hellfire got me to my flow states. Worth it.

It’s tough growing up with a mom who sees you as competition in a game you never asked to play or wanted to be part of. There is a saying to the effect of, "No siblings are raised by the same parents.” It’s a profound concept to explore, but I had never felt more validated in my life than when I first heard it.

My childhood had beautiful moments—a lot of them, but my teenage years were brutal. Home was neither peaceful nor relaxing. I did a lot of my younger brother’s raising while both parents worked. The house was stacked full of who knows what: mail, trash, dishes, and papers on top of toys on the couch.

To this day, I am anxious about my house getting too messy. My mind has to be clear for the home to be chaotic, and if my mind is overwhelmed, the home must be spotless. I desire to keep my mind in a peaceful place as much as possible. My kids deserve to be kids, not to manage my emotions. I am determined to do things differently.

A lot of my self-worth and self-esteem issues got brought up in there. I felt so much shame for existing. I felt like love had to be earned, and if I did enough and kept giving more of myself, I would eventually receive it.

I also had this horrible reaction anytime the boys pulled on my clothes to get my attention. My throat would close, and my nervous system would go on high alert. It breaks me to say this, but it took all my strength not to react and push them away.

Newsflash: that’s not a normal response to having a beautiful set of baby blues gazing up at you with a sloppy grin; a toddly wobbler of slobbery perfection staring up at you like you are his whole world.
I’d wanted this my entire life.

I used to feel a great deal of shame about this. I contemplated not sharing. My boys will one day read this, and I still don’t know how I feel about it. However, if my story helps one person speak up, then to me, it’s worth it.

In high school, at a party, I was very intoxicated.
In high school, at that same party, I was raped.

HEAR ME WHEN I SHOUT THIS: They are two separate events.

For decades, I blamed myself. I slut shamed myself and only told two people around the time it happened.

But here’s the truth—you cannot run from it.

After, I left traditional high school and enrolled in an online program to graduate faster. Looking back, I was obviously running away from that town as quickly as I could, a town I was forced to return to between my sophomore and junior years after my parents’ divorce. Most importantly, it was a town an entire state away from my Paseo boys. The boys from next door had kept me grounded and protected. They soothed my soul with the balm of music and mended my spirit with laughter.

So yes, I was running away from something terrible and running towards what my 16-year-old little heart wanted most: safety and a scrappy Italian boy who had stuck by my side, being my anchor through all of it.

I fled the trauma I had endured at the hands of someone whose face I still can’t remember.
I blocked it ALL out. I blocked it all out so well that it only resurfaced 20 years later and had manifested into a trauma response anytime my babies tugged on my clothes to get my attention.

There I sat in my therapist’s office, throat on fire as I gagged out the reality of what had been done to me. Then I spent months in talk therapy and EMDR. I now understand that what was done to me was in no way my fault.
I didn’t deserve it for being drunk or being at a party.
I was harmed in the worst way.
It happened, and it didn’t break me.
I no longer have that response, and I haven’t for years.
I am much more physically affectionate with my boys and my friends now.

Moments I’ve experienced BECAUSE I healed.
Healing looked like hugging my bestie. It was at the airport. She froze, as if I were a puff of vapor, and movement would vanish me. Then she cried. I was flummoxed until she told me I’d never done that before. We were only about 7, 8 years into this friendship at this point, mind you.

It also looks like snuggling on the couch in a puppy pile with the boys and learning to hug other people—I’m not joking I used to pat my clients on the back if they tried.

There’s more, but the point I’m driving home is that I would’ve missed all that LOVE and connection had I not faced my shadows. And somehow in doing so, I also began to heal that mother wound. As I healed and learned to value myself, love myself, own who I was, and what I wanted, my circle got smaller and smaller.

I’d lose someone who was draining me and be gifted with a starry-eyed, beautiful soul who connects hers to mine through music and life. I’d release another tie I was fighting to hold onto and a golden ray of sunlight appeared. Another tie released, a tatted-up baddie who bought me my first pair of DOCs arrived. There are so many more; my tribe is truly elite, but the thing is, I never would have had them or all they do to support my flow state if I hadn’t let go of the ties I was fighting so hard to hold on to.

My proverbial hands were bleeding raw and showing bone. Then something magical happened in the release. In letting go, they were also laid open.