Perfectly Incomplete

Perfectly Incomplete

I’m perfectly incomplete
I’m still working on my masterpiece and I
I wanna hang with the greatest gotta
Way to go, but it’s worth the wait, no
You haven’t seen the best of me
I’m still working on my masterpiece

Read more: Jessie J – Masterpiece Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Somewhere along the way I got it in my head that in order to help, inspire, encourage, guide, and/or give advice to others who have been or are going through what I’ve been through, I couldn’t still be suffering and struggling with my day to day. I thought I had to be through the worst of the worst of it. Some, who haven’t suffered abuse, might think that the worst of the worst is the actual abuse itself, but that’s not the case; at least it isn’t for me.

Processing it, feeling it and I mean really feeling it, facing it, owning it, accepting it, coming to terms with the horrible things you’ve lived through and knowing that there is not a Goddamn thing that you or anyone else will ever be able to do to change what happened. That is the worst of the worst of it. That’s the bitch of it. It’s easy to pretend like nothing ever happened. It’s easy to just stuff it all down, justify it, normalize it, and make it ok, or at the very least make it something manageable that can be lived with.

I’ve been a victim of many various types of abuse and I survived all of it. Maybe from the outside I seem like I’ve got my shit together, and sometimes I actually do. I have good days, where life seems normal (whatever the hell that even means). I have days where I can live out the advice I give to others. Even on the days I can’t live out my own advice, I still wholeheartedly believe that the advice I give is sound. I just can’t bring myself to follow it sometimes.

I’ve thought myself a fraud because I still have terrible days filled with depression, codependency, insecurities, feeling worthless, insignificant, unwanted, unloved, not good enough, not smart enough, inept, and the list could go on forever.

I’m still easily triggered. My emotions are still on high alert, probably even more so now with really delving into the processing part of all of my past abuse. I can still be very reactive and quick to respond. I take some things very personally when I shouldn’t. I’m often filled with doubt. I often let my insecurities and old emotional patterns/habits get the best of me.

I know mindfulness (meditation, being in the present moment), exercise (yoga, run/walk), eating a well balanced diet, and attending support groups/meetings will do wonders for my healing process. I suggest doing these things to everyone I give advice to. It works, I know because I’ve done these things before and I felt much better. But these aren’t things you just wake up one morning and decide you’re going to do. Not when you’ve been emotionally stunted for so many years. Not when you can’t get yourself out of bed just to move to the next room to watch tv all day. Not when you’ve thought yourself worthless for so long. Not when you’ve failed at so many other things, why set yourself up for failure again? Making these kinds of positive changes in your life take time. It’s not just a decision, it takes time and energy and focus and courage and strength and a strong will and an ability to set and hold a boundary. Many of us survivors of abuse either completely lack or are very deficient in all of those areas.

If healing from abuse were easy everyone would be doing it. But it’s not and we aren’t all doing it. Some of us are still very stuck and afraid to seek the help we need and deserve. The fear is warranted, the healing process is fucking ugly! It hurts like hell, the memories, the images, the emotions…it’s like a living hell, but it is a very necessary hell that we must go through in order to go on living a happy and healthy life.

I’ve come so far in the last couple of years in therapy. I am not the same person I was when I started therapy, I can say that without a doubt. I’ve grown, I’ve transformed, my mind has opened to new things, I’m more awake in my own life. Yes sometimes that’s hard, but sometimes it’s pretty damn amazing too.

I’ve got a lot of work to do in my healing process and I can’t keep forcing what’s not ready to happen yet. It’s making me feel shitty. Healing is going to happen in it’s time, but I need to be an active part in the process.

So, I’m not ready yet. I’m not ready to give myself an authoritative label on the recovery and healing process from abuse. I can give hope, inspiration, and encouragement through my healing journey, but that’s all I can offer at this time. I’m not ready to give more of myself than I even have to give. I still have so much healing to do. My wounds are incredibly deep. I’m not a victim anymore, that I know. I am a survivor, I know that too. But I am not thriving in my life. I am not Living Daily. I want to be, I aim to be, I will be, I’m just not today.

I’m going to take the time I need, I’m going to reinvent myself, I’m going to heal; and when I’m ready, I will come back with an arsenal of advice, guidance, suggestions, empowering stories, and I will be ready to help others fight their way through the healing process.

Until then I have no idea how often I will post, I have no idea what the subject matter will be when I do post.

Danielle Curtis, just a girl trying to make it


Healing: It’s painful work

Healing: It’s painful work

I don’t like to cry. I never have. For one, I am not one of those people who can cry elegantly. I am a total damn mess and it’s not a pretty sight. Second I struggle to talk when I cry. I’m not sure if it’s the tears that keep the words from coming out or if it’s the emotion that caused the tears that keep the words from coming out. I do just about anything I can to prevent myself from crying.

I’ve shed a few tears here and there in therapy, but nothing too out of control. I’ve always seemed to have this protective barrier/shield up. Not a wall, but a protective filter that allows me to detach just enough to prevent me from having to deeply feel anything painful that would cause me to cry.

In my most recent session something happened. Something I’m not sure I really saw coming. My protect barrier/shield/filter was lifted. I allowed myself to feel. I forced myself to talk about what I was truly feeling (that was so incredibly hard).

See, just a couple of days prior to my session, I had experienced a “trigger”. I don’t think at the time I even realized it was a trigger, at least not as huge of a trigger as it turned out to be.

We traced it back to my very first memory of being violated, of being a victim of abuse and it is a terrible terrible TERRIBLE memory. I had written about it in the past to my therapist, in as much detail as I could. I had to write it because I can’t say the words. The thought of having to say the words out loud makes my skin crawl. Luckily I had written about it in the past because I was able to give enough implications for my therapist to know what I was talking about. She said the word and it made my skin crawl. It is not something I am comfortable talking about. In fact I think I’ve only told my therapist about it with as much detail as I could recall (in the letter).

I couldn’t hold back the tears. I tried but after a bit I gave up the fight and let them flow. The amount of shame I felt was overwhelming. Not because I was crying (it was embarrassment I felt for crying), but because of how I viewed myself and what I thought of myself in that moment. I couldn’t even make eye contact with my therapist. I managed to briefly at one point, but it didn’t last long before I had to look away.

My therapist asked what the worst part was, I couldn’t speak, the words would not come out. She asked about the emotions I was feeling, again, I couldn’t speak. It wasn’t for the lack of words or that I had nothing to say. I had A LOT to say. I had so many things I wanted to say. I could’ve said a million words about anything else in that moment, but not one of the million words that I wanted to say describing the worst part or describing my emotions would come out. It was like someone had stolen my ability to speak. I tried several times to speak. I just wanted to say three words, just three words. And I couldn’t get them out. It felt like we sat that waiting for those three words for hours. It felt like I was never going to get them out. After many attempts I finally said it, I finally let myself say the words. “I didn’t matter”.

At the age of 3/4 years old I didn’t feel like a person, I was nothing more than an object. “I didn’t matter”. I was insignificant. It seemed no one cared what was happening to me. I didn’t tell anyone, not until years after that abuse (sexual) stopped. After 9 years of this happening, how did no one suspect anything? How had no one caught on? It was happening right under their noses.

I struggle to believe that no one suspected anything. I believe they had an idea that something either was happening or had happened, and rather than having to deal with it, they just turned a blind eye. Leaving me to feel even more insignificant, like “I didn’t matter”. No one seemed to have any regard for my feelings, for what I was going through. No one gave me any consideration. My feelings were overlooked because to acknowledge them would mean that they would also have to acknowledge the abuse. So let “him” keep doing what he pleases, while I continue to feel like “I don’t matter” so that you can pretend everything is fine in the world.

This one memory, the first memory I have of being victimized when I was 3/4 years old; this is where it all started. This is where I began to feel like “I didn’t matter”. I still have days when I struggle to believe that I do matter. I still have days (too many) when I struggle to feel significant, worthy, lovable, accepted, heard, understood, respected, acknowledged. These feelings are the result of the abuse that I’ve endured. After more than two years of therapy I am finally learning that how I was made to feel and how I was taught to see myself is absolute and utter BULLSHIT!

My most recent therapy session was hard. It was by far the hardest session I’ve had in the two plus years I’ve been seeing her. But I also think it was my biggest step towards healing thus far.

This is what I know…the abuse is over. I can no longer be abused and that is wonderful. But the damage has still been done. The pain and suffering was endured and it still lives inside of me. I am still easily triggered. I still have days when I think very little of myself and my ability to succeed, at anything. The abuse may be over, I survived it. I am a survivor. As proud as I am of myself for surviving, for having the strength to still stand after everything I’ve been through, I want more. I want to thrive in life and in order to do that I have to go through the ugly and painful process of healing. In order to heal, I have to go through many more sessions in therapy that look very similar to my most recent session. I have to feel my way through the healing process. It is necessary. It is how the process works. To keep hiding behind that protective barrier/shield/filter is doing the complete opposite of protecting me. It’s hurting me, it’s holding me back, it’s making me miserable. I need to feel, process, and heal. Even if it means I look like a complete mess of tears.

It’s time to dive in.

With Loving-kindness ♥