Tag: pain

Confession

I have been physically, emotionally, verbally and mentally abused.

I, then, went out into the world and physically, emotionally, verbally and mentally abused others.

I hate that I became what I hated the most. I emulated what I witnessed because I was taught that was empowerment. That was the way you showed other people dominance. Bullying, mean comments. It meant you were tough.

However…

I have NEVER embraced these behaviors as something that people would have to just “take or leave”

I knew that although these behaviors felt impulsive, that they were wrong. The whole “impulse” thing was not an excuse. That did not make it okay.

I have never sat here for one second and thought I have no faults.

To the best of my abilities, I’ve always tried to correct the behaviors I inherited that were hurting both me and others.

Even as a child, I knew something was wrong. Even if I didn’t quite understand what exactly that was.

I’ve gone to therapy for years. It’s helped tremendously but it wasn’t foul proof. I didn’t become who I was overnight, so it took a long time to literally reprogram who I was entirely as a person.

But I tried.

Fuck, did I try.

I didn’t just go to therapy so some woman could sit there and hear me bitch about my life and play victim. I had to face a lot of truths.

Show me one person who likes to sit there and be told they have fucked up, time and time again? That shit is far from fun. It’s embarrassing and it’s painful.

I slowly incorporated what I was taught into my life. I did the exercises. I did the coping mechanisms. It was a loooooong process and my ass is far from done.

I’m sure that process was unbearable for anyone who had to deal with me at the time. I honestly didn’t know how to help myself. I had issues with emotional regulation and impulse control. I would cling to anyone who had ears to hear me vent and cry.

I understand now that that was toxic and I’m sorry if I put you in that situation. I’m pretty sure it was draining. Believe it or not, I was doing the best I could, at the time anyways.

I was expecting others to fix me, but I needed to do that.

I did learn. I’m in a healthier place. I’m happier and I’m emotionally more independent.

There is a part of me that empathizes with those who have hurt others. They are lost souls.

You know what I can’t take?

People who think they do no wrong. People who cannot apologize. People who REFUSE to apologize. People who do not self reflect. People who have no interest in empathizing with another person.

Don’t fool yourself, because about 90 percent of the time, these people know what they are doing. They know they are hurting you.

You wanna know how I know that? Because these are the same people who will flip the fuck out at the drop of a hat when they feel disrespected and boy is it a spectacle when they do!

They know they are hurting you. They just don’t give a fuck. People like that live in misery, so hurting you makes them feel better. Your happiness irks the shit out of them. I can’t respect that.

I’m done with dealing with people that behave this way. I’ve learned I leave with more pain than I do relief because these people literally do not give a fuck how much they’ve hurt you.

They would rather lose a relationship with you and never see you again than to admit the possibility that they might have hurt you and maybe, just MAYBE, they might have fucked up.

Everyone is very much “Love And Hip Hop” when it comes to confrontation. “Bitch, if you had a problem with me, why didn’t you say anything?!”

I’m sorry, but what in the fuck do you gain calling or meeting up with someone on a beautiful day to tell them how they made you feel and how they hurt you, only to be met with condescension, sarcasm, mockery, yelling, denial, invalidation, disrespect and insults?

What’s more important? Looking “tough” and being deemed as worthy by a person who could literally give two shits about your feelings, the quality of your relationship and well being OR you actually investing your time in people and activities that bring you joy and happiness?

Stop fucking with these people. Don’t waste your time worrying about their opinions, because they never cared about yours to begin with.

Focus on you, the inner work. Forgive yourself for your sins, because there is no going back. You decide who you are from this point forward.

If this does incite anger in you, ask yourself why? Is there a part of you that identifies with what I said? If this pissed you off, you have to have identified with it on some level.

There’s a great analogy YouTuber Nu Mindframe made (She’s awesome by the way, check her out)

I KNOW I’m not quoting this verbatim, but I thought the analogy was brilliant.

I am an average height, tanned, Hispanic woman.

If a stranger came up to me and said “You giant, pale Chinese bitch!!”, irate and foaming at the mouth…

I would laugh and think to myself, “This woman is insane”

Why?

Because my ass clearly is not Chinese, pale and far from being a giant.

What this person said is literally nonsense. It doesn’t apply to me. It doesn’t relate to me in the slightest. Why would it bother me?

But if it bothered you, why? Dig a little deeper. You may find the answer has way more to do with you and the way you feel about yourself subconsciously than this blog post.

Some of you may read this and feel less dirty, less alone, empowered.

Some of you may read this and really hate the fuck out of me, think I’m a hypocrite, I’m crazy

blah blah blah…

However,

I’m the one brave enough to own my fuckups, my shortcomings.

I’m the one brave enough to share them on a platform visible to the entire world.

While some of you will never look deeper than the bathroom mirror.

I’ll take my authenticity, filthy and flawed over the picture perfect shield you’ve created for yourself there any day of the week.

That’s all folks, until next time ✌🏽

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How To Heal From Your Emotional Wounds

I usually try to structure and edit my blogs really well. I usually try to keep things interesting, my language creative and colorful. I try my best to write my feelings down using the most precise and appropriate words but today’s blog post is a little different…

I was on Facebook and someone expressed on a post that they were suppressing and struggling with healing from childhood/emotional/inner child wounds. This is something I’ve been working on lately.

There’s really little to no editing on this. I just figured that the message and the point are far more important here than diction and wit.

This has helped me release so much emotionally and has provided me with a fresh start, feeling better than ever. I hope it may have the same effect on you.

So… ready to dive in? Let’s go.

How to heal the emotional wound?

The only way you can release it is to confront it.

Writing is an excellent tool when it comes to healing. Do free association writing, basically writing every thought that comes to your mind.

Self empathy. I’ve been practicing emotional self healing. I do this through writing.

Pick a time you are completely alone and free at home. A day where you are relaxed and undisturbed.

Beginning with a meditation may help. Do whatever helps you get into that state best. Music is helpful. I listen to singing bowls, nature sounds, spa/meditation music. You can find them on YouTube as well if you don’t have a streaming service membership. You can also light a candle. Exercise before hand. That may help you relax before you start the meditation.

Then… I call on that memory intentionally and try to relive it.

It’s scary, yes.

But in order to heal, you’re going to need an open mind and you have to be willing to try things that may seem hard at first, but are for your higher good.

The moment I feel any emotion, I freeze and label it. That emotion is the wounded child speaking to you. It’s tugging at your sleeve. It wants your attention.

Validate it.

Tell them that they have every right to feel the way they do. Tell them that you love them, are not here to judge, how it is that you can help?

If you can’t remember the memory, that’s okay. Keep writing. You’ll be surprised what you might reveal to yourself.

Vent from the emotion the inner child is feeling. Let yourself feel that emotion and write down how everything in that moment.

Allow yourself to get mad. Being angry doesn’t make you a bad person. It’s normal and a human emotion you cannot help. The problem is what you choose to do with that anger, how you choose to express yourself.

Allow yourself to break down, allow yourself to cry. It’s not a bad thing. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Crying is a normal, human experience and is just as natural as going to the bathroom. Matter of fact, anyone who knows me well knows that I refer to it as “Taking an emotional shit”. It just needs to get done.

The problem is what you were conditioned to think crying was and meant. You were raise to think crying was something to be ashamed of, a sign of weakness or something to mock.

Never let anyone make you feel that way. What’s easy is pretending your pain doesn’t exist. It takes way more strength to acknowledge your pain exists and to move on from it. Anyone who has gone through that process knows that.

Crying is healing. You are flushing out the emotional waste. You’re purging the trauma and cleansing.

Tell the inner child that you are sorry that that experience happened to them, that there was no one there to protect them. That you love them. That you’re here to protect them. You need to validate that inner child. It’s so important.

After that, ask what it is at that moment, you can do to make that inner child happy, and allow only healthy coping mechanisms as an option.

Sing, dance, go for a walk, maybe to the park. Exercise, write, read. Watch something funny. Something that’s going to make you feel good.

Guarantee that after you do this, you’ll feel better. You took the power away from that memory and it will never have that sort of effect on you from that point on.

I’m sorry for the novel. This is the way I have been processing and moving on from the trauma I’ve experienced and worked wonders for me.

Candace Van Dell is an amazing youtuber. Watch her videos on emotional healing and validating the inner child, how to control your emotions. She helped me so much.

If you try it out, and it doesn’t work out, that’s okay. Not everything works for everyone.

If you’re committed to your healing process, but feel you are not in a space to go that deep yet, don’t feel bad or be hard on yourself.

This sort of thing is called a process for a reason. It takes time. As long as you commit to loving yourself to the best of your abilities, you will find the best healing mechanism that works for you.

Meditate on it, you might find it may come to you ❤️

Have a wonderful day, until next time 💫

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Abuelito

I remember you. I remember your buttoned, short sleeved shirts. You wore them in all colors. Pink was your favorite. I guess you were really comfortable with your masculinity. I remember you grabbing me up in your arms. I remember us running down the stairs of our building, you holding me football style. I felt like a super hero gliding through the air. You were so strong. I was never afraid you’d drop me. My sister and I spent every weekend with you, no matter what. You made sure of it. 

I remember the beige station wagon you drove. God, I loved that thing. This was the early nineties, before anyone gave a fuck about seat belts. You’d let me sit in the huge space in the back. I remember our drives. How I’d stick half of my small body outside the car window. Breeze weaving through my curls, listening to my favorite song, “La Lambada” over and over again. You knew it was my favorite. 

I remember our adventures. You’d buy me ALL the snacks I wanted. You always bought me a coquito from the stand by our home. In the flavor cherry, of course. You knew my mother never allowed it because I would stain myself. I always came home with my upper lip dyed in bright red. By the end of the day, my white shirt was a splattered painting. Each and every color, the evidence of all the delicious crap I’d eaten with you. 

I remember the way you dressed your hotdogs. Ketchup and those orange, saucy onions on the top. I was so intrigued, eyes widening. It looked mouth watering. I asked for a bite and was so elated. It was delicious! I shouted “Abuelito, when I grow up, I wanna be a hot dog man!!!” To which you responded “Que!?! Hug dug meng!? Estas loca!?!” Till this day, I’ve eaten my hotdogs just like you ever since. 

I remember sitting on your lap as you watched tv. Remote always in your hand. I remember laying my small head on your chest, listening to your heart beat. Sniffing in that musky cologne you always wore. I always felt so safe and protected. Those moments meant the world to me. 

Then, things changed. I remember our adventures occurred less and less. Your hearty personality now replaced with a new found quietness, a silent sadness about you. I remember the adults whispering, and not being allowed to listen. 

I remember your wide stature narrow before my eyes. You became so thin. I remember sleeping over and waking up to the sound of you retching in a bucket while Abuelita comforted you. I remembered your eyes were different. Once white, now tinged in yellow. I remember how frail you’d become. I remember the large gash you’d gotten from the hospital. Stretching across your entire belly. Silver staples binding your wounded brown skin together. 

I remember hearing “The tumor was the size of a grapefruit.” I wasn’t sure what that meant at the time. I remember hearing you fight with Abuelita. You were angry. You were hurting. You shouted “I AM GOING TO DIE”. I heard it from the other room. I was bewildered and petrified; I didn’t understand. I ran into the living room, eyes welled up in tears. Looking up at you bawling, asking you if it was true. Your face, full of anguish at the sight of my sorrow. You held me and said “No mijita, I’m not going to die.”

I remember you were home less and less. I would visit you at the hospital. The plethora of tubes that connected to your body. You were their tree and they were your branches. 

I remember the day my mother took me by the hand and led me to the bathroom. She shut and locked the door. She knelt in front of me; unsure of what to say as she tucked away her own pain to keep her composure “Kristin, Abuelito is dead.” 

I remember my little heart crumbling like some useless piece of paper at the mere age of 7. My chest ached in agony. I sobbed as I said, “This is the worst day of my life.” I remember crying for what felt like forever. No more adventures, no more car rides, no running down the stairs with you “super man style.” I would never hear your heart beat again. What was colorful, now felt bleak. 

 
You were not a perfect man, but in my eyes, you were my hero. Even though you’re not with me. Even though simply thinking and speaking of you still pains me. I still remember. I will always remember. I will always remember how much you loved me. I will always feel your warmth, living in me eternally. I will never, not, miss you. Everything about you. I love you Abuelito. 

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