017: The Pace of Healing
Or, look therapist! I did it!
Hi friends,
I’ve been trying to start this for days, only to have my brain almost seize up with all the things I want to write every time I sit down. There’s so! much! I! want! to! talk! about! and my brain wants to do it all at once, damn the incoherent consequences. I’m like this in real life too, lately. I can’t seem to get my brain to focus on a sentence because it’s already skipping ahead to the next sentence, topic, conversation. Conversations with me must feel like a particularly confusing escape room right now. There are clues to where I’m going, and maybe it’ll all come together in time, but maybe not.
There’s an old therapist I want to email. I want to tell her that things got better, like she promised. That with time and work and practice, I got better. I don’t know what the bounds of professionalism are though, so I haven’t. Instead, I’ve been sitting quietly on the revelation that I’m doing better than I was six years ago.
I knew this already, to be fair. I’m no longer suicidally depressed, and so by even the most meager measuring stick, I’m doing dramatically better than I was six years ago. I no longer think I’m worthless garbage, so I’m doing dramatically better than I was six years ago. (It does help me, to articulate these things.)
Suicidal thoughts don’t just appear wholly formed from nowhere. (Except if you’re using Accutane, apparently.) There were steps that got me there. Increasingly worse depression that went untreated, increasingly worse relationships with family and friends, increasingly toxic romantic relationships. Together they became a negative feedback cycle, inching me closer to a cliff face until I finally grabbed a rope for safety (therapy).
Interestingly, when I look back I feel like getting better was a feedback cycle too, but a positive one this time. Using medication lifted my mood enough to do the work. Doing one small piece of the work (applying to grad school) gave me increased confidence in my abilities. Going away to grad school not only got me physically out of several toxic spaces, but it also gave me somewhere to focus my brain, a goal to attain again. Progressing through school gave me more confidence in my ability to do hard things, which gave me the confidence to do more of the work healing. Every accomplished goal, no matter how small, gave me the confidence to try to get to the next.
There were setbacks, sure. Moving back to the States with no job, no money, and no idea what I would do next sent me spiraling back toward the darkness. But by then I had the medicine and the confidence that I can do hard things, including starting over.
I was in and out of therapy during these years. I had first tried therapy during my last semester in college but lost it when I graduated. I started again as a last-ditch effort when I was 24, when I kind of thought, “Well, suicide feels like the right option. But I guess I could try this one thing that kind of worked once before first.”
(I’m not super proud of this, and it feels a little strange to talk about it so frankly, but it is what it is.)
When I went to grad school, my program was in its second year of offering free therapy to all the students. I used it happily, and I kept in touch with my therapist back in Dallas for good measure. Things were looking up, but graduation again came at the expense of therapy and I moved back to the States without much of a safety net except six months’ worth of medication.
But I was able to use the tools I had learned from the years that I was in therapy. It was difficult, but the positive feedback loop eventually resumed. I deepened and improved relationships with loved ones, I became more confident, I started to recognize red flags and run from them.
It was only recently though that I finally started doing something that all my therapists encouraged me to try for years.
I started telling people exactly what I thought, what I felt, what I needed.
It’s something I’ve long had trouble with. Throughout my childhood, teens, and early twenties, telling people that I was upset was answered with punishment, with withholding love or affection, with anger. I learned that there were very few people I was safe expressing anything real to, and even with them I avoided it. People left me because I was honest about my feelings, people told me that if I didn’t repress myself or get over myself, no one would ever love me.
Being upfront with people resulted in being alone and being hurt, so I stopped doing it for a long period of my life. If I was upset, I bit my tongue. If I thought someone was treating me poorly, I quietly let them. If I thought something was wrong—morally, professionally, academically—I said nothing. I learned to sit quietly because speaking up was punished swiftly and without mercy.
Silence was a trauma response. Silence also became the source of so much of my pain. My ‘too much-ness,’ my strong moral compass, and my soft heart were treated like problems so I hid them, but hiding so much of myself hurt. It allowed other people to come in and hurt me too. Repeatedly staying silent when people treated me poorly let them think it was okay, so they continued to do it. And I continued to hurt. Staying silent in the face of a problem was something I had to actively work to undo in therapy.
Recently, something someone did hurt me. They didn’t mean to, and in the end it wasn’t a big deal (spoiler!). But I said something. 24-year-old Valorie would have allowed that hurtful action to slide by, opening up the possibility of ongoing bad behavior and increasing pain.
But after years of therapy, I recognized that moment as a) a red flag and b) an opportunity to set a boundary. So I did so—as politely as I could while also indicating that I wouldn’t accept being treated that way again in the future.
Let me tell you: It still wasn’t easy. Years and years of being explicitly taught to accept cruel or careless behavior from others still reared its head. There was still a part of me that wanted to let it slide, that was terrified that saying something would result in that friendship ending. My heart raced. I heard my blood rushing in my ears. I felt lightheaded.
But there was a bigger, stronger, newer part of me that said very clearly, “If this friendship ends over this, that’s great.”
It’s great because I’d rather feel like I’ve got my own back.
It’s great because I know I won’t let myself down again.
It’s great because I know this means I won’t let just anyone walk into my life and treat me however they want.
It’s great because the hurt over a brief friendship ending is a lot less than the hurt of being treated badly by someone I care about.
Chances like this have appeared repeatedly lately. I don’t know if I’m noticing them more, or if this a Universe thing, but I seem to constantly find myself in situations where I have to choose between speaking up or staying silent. My boss regularly flips out on us then gaslights us by denying she was ever mad; I called her on it. Someone at work was spreading misinformation about how viruses were spread; I corrected them on the spot. The leader of an Instagram group I was a part of said we weren’t good members if we weren’t donating to specifically the funds they wanted us to; I pushed back and asked further questions.
Every time I had those same physical symptoms: Rising heart rate, lightheadedness, breathlessness. But I pushed through anyway.
It hasn’t always ended well. My friendship is intact (and stronger), but the coworker didn’t listen about how contagions work. My boss has agreed to watching the way she speaks to us (we’ll see), but I got kicked out of the Instagram group.
But you know what? It’s all okay. I survived the times that speaking up didn’t get the results I wanted. Now I know to not stand within ten feet of that coworker. Now the next time that group leader publishes a fund members “have to” donate to, I won’t have to wrestle with the choice to do so or not.
It took six years of work. Maybe some people think that’s too slow. Maybe it was still harder than it should be (I did, after all, show symptoms of nearly fainting each dang time). Maybe it would have happened sooner and been easier if I’d had affordable access to therapy after I moved back to the States (ahem).
It was hard, but I learned to do it. That’s okay. In fact, it’s great.
Things I Read and Loved Lately
Usually, I publish a bunch of links here (when I remember), but today I just want to highlight one Instagram post. My friend Jonathan owns a coffee shop in New Orleans called Mammoth. Last week, an employee was accidentally exposed to COVID-19, the shop closed immediately, and now Jonathan has tested positive for COVID-19. The way they’re handling it is the kind of leadership we need right now. If we can’t have social safety nets, then we need more leaders like Jonathan.
We have received a positive test for COVID-19, and have extended our closure of Mammoth. We’ll release details about a re-opening date after we’ve had a chance to isolate, retest remaining staff and roll out a few critical next steps.
Our contact tracing is underway. We mentioned this previously, but it should be noted again that the exposure came from outside of our shop and not from staff-to-staff or customer-to-staff transmission. I still believe in the safety protocols that we have in place, including mandatory mask wearing and barriers between staff and guests.
If you have any concerns please don’t hesitate to reach us. Send an email to info@mammothespresso.com and we’ll be prompt and forthright in our response.
In the interest of transparency I also want to acknowledge that the positive test came from me, Jonathan, co-owner of Mammoth. I believe in transparency and truthfulness, and in looking to do the next right thing amid a moment of crisis.
Our staff will receive their standard wages for the duration the shop is closed, but they also rely on earned tips through their service at the shop. If you would like to send a virtual tip to our staff, you can do that by visiting the link in our bio and selecting “virtual tip” in the top left corner. 100% of tips will be split between our staff (owners excluded).
Stay safe and be well. ❤️
So many baristas have lost their jobs since March. The industry is hurting desperately. Average unemployment in the US in October was 6.6%. In the hospitality/service industry, it was 16.3%. (Source.)
If you can (no IG group leader bullying here! Only if! you are! financially! secure!), please consider (!) giving to Mammoth’s tip jar supporting their baristas that can’t work and so won’t receive their tips for a couple of weeks.
If you don’t want to donate to a coffee shop in New Orleans, pick one from your city! We’ve got a list of them on Go Fund Bean.
And take Jonathan’s message with you—just do the next right thing.
If you liked this and think your friends might too, feel free to forward it on.
I keep these newsletters free by not worrying too much about typos and flow. But if you want to you can tip me, as a treat.
Want to read more of my writing? Well, I’m focusing most of the energy I used to focus on freelance writing on my Patreon researching Sherlock Holmes and the emergence of homosexual stereotypes in Victorian England! You can support my research for three months for less than the cost of one cocktail! All donors get access to my research, and higher-level donors get access to book reviews, behind-the-scenes stuff, and sweet exclusive merch.
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Until next time,
Valorie