A Split Second

A split second. That’s all it takes for your entire world to flip upside down. Ending flat on the ground, face down in mud. As human beings we are programmed to be pessimistic, naturally complain about the little inconveniences that happen on a daily so when you really get hit with a hardship, those little things don’t seem too important anymore. I’ve experienced a lot in my 34 years of life but I don’t think anything could’ve prepared me for that split second that shook my entire world up.

My dad made a decision to sleep upstairs instead of on the couch, something that seems so simple and minuscule but became so significant and complicated. Pops fell at the very top of the stairs backwards, rolled down 16 steps of the same curved stairway that I ran up and down everyday as a child. These steps I’ve examined and for some reason thought of the morning my dad fell. He fractured his c5/c6, directly under a previous fusion on his c4/c5 from a slip and fall in the tub back in 2005. This injury is not like his first one, he wasn’t up and about the very next day after he had his surgery. It’s been 3 weeks and my dad is unable to really do anything for himself. This is a man that I’ve watched my entire life jamming on stage for big festivals, out dance anyone at family parties and despite all of his prior health ailments, worked harder than anyone else I’ve ever known including side jobs every weekend. My super hero had fallen.

Theres a different dynamic that happens when you’re in charge of someone else’s life. By all means, I never wanted to work in the medical field or be a nurse let alone plan to help care for the day to day responsibilities of another adult. I say adult because children don’t have lawyers, financial obligations, assets to manage, etc. These are things that took me years to learn how to organize myself, I’m a free-spirit at heart, so finally being able to be on a good routine and schedule for my own responsibilities is key for my personal mental health. My finances and obligations used to drive me to horrible anxiety, uniformity and constraint literally drive me mad. Having to make huge medical decisions for a man that can speak for himself is trying, especially when he doesn’t want something but it’s needed for his recovery. Trust me, having to tell your dad that they have to put a valve through his groin ain’t fun but these are the cards that I’ve been dealt at the moment. Valve in groin or longer time in ICU? I choose valve.

Let me reiterate that I’m so thankful to still have my dad here. I’m going to love him in whatever form I’m able to have him and whatever comes along with this freak accident, I am willing to step up and cover for my pops. Still, this doesn’t mean that I’m going to be handling these things with grace and a smile. Naturally, there are things that I am mad about and that pressure of adding another schedule to mine brought out a part of me that I really don’t like. That part is very critical, dark and manic depressive. She’s an asshole, mean spirited and bossy. She tells me I’m no good and I’m not worthy. She tells me I’d be better off dead than alive.

I thought I had this part of me under control. I worked really hard to get myself to a healthy routine, picked up meditation, started practicing gratitude, going to church every Sunday and was dead center in the middle of a “Sober October.” If anything, I felt like God was preparing me for this. My intuition had been so on point the last few weeks and I was questioning everything. I literally asked my parents to start working to prepare things for me God forbid, something happened. Well something did happen and here I was in exactly the position I was trying to avoid. But I can handle this, right? Everyone telling me “be strong” or “you got this” when in all actuality, I don’t got this and I’m fucking weak. I was mad at my dad for leaving me in this position and I also felt compassion for him being in the state he is. Fighting emotions that are literally contradicting each other and I did not have the heart to tell him how I really felt.

On top of the major surgery, ten days after his fall dad catches covid in the hospital. This man avoids covid for the last 18 months, had been working essentially throughout this pandemic, and had rode the “covid express” as he called it the 26 which takes you on a direct route north up lake shore drive to the magnificent mile. Thank God he’s okay and was vaccinated, he didn’t get it as bad as some others. I haven’t seen him in two weeks, which has made things even more complicated. I’d at least see him once a week on a regular regardless, whether with the band or dado spending the night with his grand babies. The music stopped in my life, things that bring me joy were now put on the back burner because how dare I worry about anything that makes me happy.

The piled on bad news after bad news started pulling out that manic asshole. Thank God I have made my well-being a priority these past few years, mental wellness is not about being happy all the time or never being depressed, it’s about recognizing when your off and doing your due diligence to make yourself better. Step 1, call Dr. Krupica. I know it’s probably not HIPPA approved that I name my clinical therapist on a public blog but legit I owe this woman my life. I finally get a chance to speak with her and I start my long lists of what’s going wrong in my life. Detailing in tears how I have to pay my dads bills, change my lifestyle & possibly quit my job to care for my dad. Slowly but surely, as she always does, she split my ego in tiny little pieces and told me the one thing that made me feel better. “Yoshi, the worst case scenario that can happen in this situation is that your dad will have to live in a nursing home.” She was right. So brutally honest but dead fast real. I worked way too hard to let go of the best job of my entire life to just say “the hell with it” I’m taking care of my pops and doomed to struggle forever. As I continue my conversation she reminds me that complaining about the little things will only break my spirit more. I know I have to step up because nobody else will. Even as I cry that I was never supposed to be a nurse and how it scares me that I’ll have to learn how to change my dads shit bag she says, “We will leave that job to Todd, he doesn’t know it yet, but honestly I think that man would do anything you ever needed to make you happy.” (Haha) another steadfast no bullshit truth. I am in a great team and I’m not alone. How lucky am I that I even have the chance to see how amazing my man can be in such a trying, scary and unpredictable moment in my life. The same man who rushes me out the door when I got a studio session or kisses me goodbye when I tell him I need a weekend, alone, to get myself straight.

Not every man would be comfortable with their wife leaving for a weekend with friends, let alone, alone. When I explained to Doc I wanted to get away she encouraged me to go. As much as I know I need some time with my husband alone, I know I needed time with myself. When I’m mean to myself, I’m mean to others. It’s not something I like to admit but I can recognize it and I do apologize when I need to. How could I be good to anyone else when I was treating myself like dog shit? I needed time to remember the good in me, enjoy the ride and have things on my own timing for a few days.

I found Janis on Airbnb, as I searched for a space in solitude to get my business plan together and work on myself. It was either a treehouse in the middle of the forest or Janis, in the middle of the BayView neighborhood in Milwaukee. Although I’m an avid traveler and have traveled to a destination alone, I’ve never actually stayed a weekend alone anywhere, so being in a city sounded a lot more my speed than a Texas Chainsaw sequel in the middle of Michigan City, Indiana. Janis is a 1973 fully equipped GM Motor Home and let me tell you this girl has soul! Seemed so funny to make a move like this but for me and my spirit, it’s exactly what I needed. A weekend away to write, read, pray, eat and enjoy the company of my own silence. Despite what people think I’m a loner at heart. When I got my first apartment I learned to find comfort in being alone, enjoying my own space, and spending quality time solo. Solidarity scares some people but I really thrive in silence, maybe it’s the eerie macabre vibe of it all because you’re supposed to reach out to others when you need help but I have to reach into my soul and my relationship with God to give me comfort.

My relationship with God started when I was just about 18 years old after I joined a Christian Group at a local Methodist church in my old neighborhood. My time in the church helped me to know that God does live in the church but he thrives in your heart. Even though I was growing this relationship I was also on my own journey, making decisions that I knew would change the course of my life and hanging around people that I knew were shit for me. Let’s just say there were a number of early Sunday mornings where I’d fall asleep standing up and drop the mic after a hard night of partying. We aren’t meant to be perfect but from that time until now, God has never forsaken me. He has never vilified me or turned his back on me. The comfort I felt when I was tied up at gunpoint made me know that I had someone with me, even though I was alone. The decisions I made when I was at my very lowest, he forgave me and still held me tightly in his arms. I am not writing this to change anyone’s minds about Christ but he has honestly loved me whole heartedly for all of my darkest moments and all of my brightest days. My main prayer as that goof-ass 18 year old teenager was always that I wished God would use me through His will to help those around me. Little did I know, he needed me to meet my own potential before I could help anyone else. My time with Janis was me helping myself.

Fantastic meals for one while reading “Mans Search for Meaning,” writing my business plan while listening to my new album in full, meeting fabulous boss ass female attorneys that work 70 hours a week and still having to maintain a home, marriage and kids. This was so significant to me as I also work for attorneys. To find myself lucky working for a firm that pays me super well while I complain about starting back at the office my lousy 35 hours a week. Sometimes a step away is necessary to see the good fortunes you are forgetting to be thankful for. I spent 2 hours walking around Downtown Milwaukee with no plan and no direction of where I was going, something I hadn’t done in a very long time. I had a chance to write down all of the people I had made connections with over the years to help me prepare for what’s to come. Regardless of what happened to my dad, this weekend made me realize that I couldn’t lose myself over this tragedy. I have to move forward to fulfill the prayers of that 18 year old girl, my creative outlook and my talents can help others.

As I close, I want to remind everyone to be very patient with me. Im experiencing what I feel is a Spiritual Awakening which is not easy to comprehend let alone experience. I want to be the best that I can for my family, for my marriage, for my kids, for my dad, for my job but most of all for me. Everyone deserves a weekend away, to process the life God has provided us with, whether that’s in a Janis, in a basement or on a beach. Wherever your journey may take you, please know that there is an evil spirit that is hovering over all of Gods people right now. I can’t explain it but I do understand it. Remember to live in love and forgive when possible. Be good to yourself and never forget who you are and what you’re capable of. I’m still loading at the moment but that’s okay. I’m still reaching for my highest potential and I pray that you do too.

We’re all in this together.

God loves you & so do I.

-XO

Triggered.

May. The month of flowers bloom and sunshine, transitioning from beautiful spring weather into Summer’s heat. The rejuvenation of life that happens after winters hibernation and the view of beautiful greenery takes your breath away, a sight you took for granted after autumn’s leaves withered to the ground. The boost of energy you get to deep clean your home and wake up a little earlier to look cute during the day, it’s a month of revitalization, a feeling that is powerful for the soul and energy that is meant to be used.

Coincidentally this month is also Mental Health Awareness Month and every year as I am soaking in the glory of God’s green earth, I am also struggling internally from my own battles with mental illness. I’ve realized that May is a trigger for me and the anxiety I’m having approaching the 10 year anniversary of my home invasion is REAL. Honesty has to be the forefront in my journey with post traumatic stress disorder. Ignoring my mood swings and masking my anxiety will only make it worse, realizing that alone gives me control. (That’s step one. Great job, Xoch.)

Every year around this time I’m quite off, as if my energy completely transforms into someone I once knew. This girl held her pain away from the world and worked herself to a nervous breakdown a few years back. She had some horrible sh*t happen to her, instead of allowing that instance to define her she worked hard to be anything but that statistic. That one act of evil in her mind didn’t swallow her in tears but swallowed her with pressure, to be and become the perfect image of herself to get far away from her trauma. She kept quiet when she should’ve spoke. She smiled when she should’ve cried.  

As the pressure returns every year so is the reminder of who that girl was, simply because of my emotions at that very moment. I’ve worked really hard to manifest my mind to bring positive affirmations to myself every single day. Praising myself for my hard work when I see or don’t see results. Walking away from bad energies that disturb my mindset. Pushing to realize how far I’ve come and thank God every moment I feel I need to, especially the little things. The problem is it’s really hard to be proud of who you are when your mind is taking you back to who you were. That broken person who was at war with herself yet at peace with the world. I honestly have no other choice but to be positive. If I’m not consistent I fall into a deep hole that swallows me whole. Not a finger, not a leg, my entire body. 

When I started therapy I learned a lot more about PTSD and how trauma can manifest inside of you. After my home invasion I never really dealt with what happened, I built a new life with this man who protected me and I was never looking back. So ashamed of the situation I pulled myself out of the only life and neighborhood I knew because subconsciously I was blaming myself.  I didn’t want to be a victim I wanted to be above all of it, not accepting this as a moment in my past because I simply wanted it to disappear. After years of holding on it finally came to a head, the loss of one of my closest cousins in life brought the worst out of me and a rage ensued. I let the hate I had for this situation manifest in me so long that I began to hate myself.  Hated myself for my inability to hold relationships, hated myself for not being happy in what would seem to be the “perfect” marriage, hated myself for the lack of support I’d been receiving from those I’ve been helping, and HATING MYSELF FOR HATING MYSELF. My attention span was minimal, my sleep even smaller, my patience nearly gone, my anxiety crippling, and my mindset toxic. I knew I needed help but was too far into this perception that I was embarrassed of my pain. 

It took a recommendation from my boss to his go to Clinical Therapist for me to take the step forward towards making myself better. I was embarrassed to cry to my boss and tell him how badly I was hurting but I knew I needed to keep him in the loop with my depression. I hit my breaking point and I didn’t know what was wrong with me. He gave me a week paid off of work and gave me the support I needed to find myself again. That man saved my life and I’ll always remember him for the compassion he gave me when I felt I deserved none. I opened my shell to the right person, instead of having someone tell me “you’ll be fine, you’re just overreacting.” 

I wasn’t overreacting, I was suffering from trauma. I spent my first hour with my therapist blaming myself for the hatred I built in my heart.  Having a professional explain to me that my struggles had stemmed from my past struck me differently.  She explained that PTSD symptoms are not just having nightmares or flashback episodes, it can cause social anxiety through avoidance and feeling disconnected from others (check), it can cause negative mood symptoms and distorted thoughts about the trauma leading to blame on the victim (check), and it can cause alterations in arousal symptoms which included irritability, hyper-vigilance, sleep problems and self destructive behaviors (check, check, check, check). I had become so reckless that my outbursts and lack of attachment to my body had trickled down to those I loved most.  My lack of knowledge had made me hate myself for all those years and here I was, suffering for not suffering. 

She explained to me about triggers, how to recognize them and how to conquer them.  By this point I had brushed away my emotions so long I was numb to everything. I had to feel again, a task that wasn’t easy for me at that moment. How can I force myself to feel when I trained my body to ignore my pain? Time. Consistency. Vulnerability. Patience. Most of all LOVE. I had to love myself enough to recognize when I was being unbearable. I had to give love even when a situation deserved ugly. I needed to love each day as if it were my last because triggers can come and go in an instant. Love was my way out of this ugly state. Love had to be my number one priority. 

That’s what I did. I loved myself enough to realize people’s true intentions. I loved myself enough to recognize I needed to focus on me. I loved myself enough to recognize when I was being pushed in the wrong direction.  I loved myself enough to know my worth as a wife and a mother. I loved myself enough to know how valuable I am in the workplace. I loved myself enough to realize it’s all up to me to change my life, to cope with the past, and to expect the unexpected but take charge of my future. Everything may not go the way I planned but that was okay because I was going to love the journey it takes to get there.  Love was my key to understanding, I found it in the most unexpected place and therapy helped me get there.  

I know now that therapy isn’t for everyone but it was for me. I haven’t seen my therapist since September of 2016, right before I got pregnant with my second child. I’ve exuded so much love into my life that I’ve learned how to recognize my trauma and handle it properly.  I loved myself to a new position with the #1 law firm in the country, I loved myself hard enough to see how I did deserve the life I have, I loved myself to lose 65 pounds after the birth of my son, I loved myself to the point I need no validation and have cut my use of social media to less than a quarter of what I used to, I loved myself enough to feel my pain and speak on my struggles, and I loved myself enough to share my struggles with you. So thank you, to whoever you are because YOU SAVED ME TOO.   

Beyond the horizon of love will always be my struggles and recognizing my triggers will save my life. This month has been hard, between the divorce of my parents, the drama of being in a wedding party, or the jabbed shade of former friends, it’s been harder to see the love. My patience has dwindled, my anxiety has raised, my mind has been wandering, and my temper has hit its breaking point. I need to see my therapist. (There goes step two, you’re doing great Xoch.)

I write these blogs not for you but for me. If this helps you to realize you’re not alone, the scary thing I call vulnerability is worth every sense of doubt I have before starting to write. I can’t continue my journey without pinpointing my triggers and handling them accordingly. Maybe a few years from now May will be just another month but maybe it won’t. That’s okay though because I love myself enough to know that I’ll be okay.  Today, I called my therapist because I’d rather be at war with the world than at war with myself. I love me so much I know when I need help. (There goes step three, you’re a beast Xoch.) 

Love yourself, be kind to the process, be patient for results, recognize your faults and praise your accomplishments. Every single day is a blessing from God, love yourself in the moment. 

Humbly I write,

-XO

If you suffer from trauma or know someone who is please call the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration National Hotline at 1(800) 662-HELP (4357) for more information and resources on PTSD. 

How do I live without you?

There are days each year that trigger certain emotions. Birthdays are supposed to be joyous and sweet celebrations of life. A yearly reminder of how lucky you are to be alive and well, something so many of us take for granted. A chance to show off a bit and have the spotlight on you. Today should be one of those days but today’s birthday makes me somber. Today’s birthday is a yearly reminder of a life that was taken too soon. A life that meant the world to me. A life that I’ll never see again. 

On October 27, 2014 I lost my cousin to a drunk driving accident and to this day I still don’t know the specific details of his death. He was only 26 years old and had two kids under the age of 8. I think to lose any person you love is hard but when it’s unexpected and without explaination it nearly makes living impossible without pain. 

Losing my cousin was single handedly the hardest thing I’ve ever had to live through. To mourn someone so close to me and still stay strong for those I loved. Natually  feeling the duty to step up and take charge, I called in some favors for the funeral arrangements, I picked up family from the airport, I stood at my aunts beckon call from sun up to sun down and I used every excuse in the world to be numb during that time. For weeks on end I was unable to catch my breath at night, as if my lungs and heart had collapsed inside of my body. My anxiety was so high that my husband had to squeeze me to sleep every night, something so uncharacteristic for my free spirited sleeping habits. I knew from the very first night I tried to sleep after I lost him that my life would not be the same.  A thought that has haunted my existence ever since.

Grief is not a feeling, grief is a verb. An action of heartache and misery that can take your mind to the darkest place and live there for years. Mikey’s death triggered every ounce of angst that crowded my heart for years on end. The hardest part wasn’t losing him, it was living every day after without him. There was a piece of my childhood that died with him in that car that early morning, a piece of my childhood that I will never get back. I felt as if my innocence was stripped from me just as his life was stripped from him. I was pissed at the world with no remorse for my actions.  I didn’t f*cking care.

A year passed and I found myself so deep in my depression that it turned me to a nervous breakdown. I had suffered some trauma earlier in my life that had crept up behind me with no sympathy, no remorse, and no compassion at all. I turned to every vice I could to suppress my emotions but nothing could fill the empty hole in my heart. I became a horrible person, let alone wife and mom. 

It takes some serious truth and understanding to recognize when you’re severely depressed. Grief had taken me so deep underwater I was drowning without recognition. My heart had became cold and my emotions suppressed, I was completely numb. It wasn’t until my nervous breakdown in November, 2015 that my boss suggested counseling. An act of compassion that I will forever be grateful for. She diagnosed me with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) which had ultimately triggered my downward spiral. Something I lived with for years prior to Mike’s death that exploded after his passing. My mind had been accustomed to sugar coating the problems around me and I had pushed every relationship I had so far away they lost hope in me. I lost hope in me. 

As each year passes and seasons change my heart still feels empty. Every so often my emotions get the best of me and I cower into a ball in a corner, far away from society. Time doesn’t heal all wounds but time helps acceptance. I’ve accepted that I’ll never feel the same. I’ve accepted that I’ll never know how my cousin passed. I’ve accepted my childhood that is now gone. I’ve accepted my life without my cousin, as hard as that may be. 

At the end of the day all I can do is love the life he lived and love the life I had with him. Everyday isn’t easy but time has given me acceptance. It’s not easy to live with grief but it’s not impossible. I want my life now to reflect the struggles I had at that time. Raw, unexcused, emotional depression. I’m not afraid of those emotions anymore, I face them without fear.

Happy birthday my beautiful cousin. Thank you for giving me the life you did and the strength to move forward. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you, your spirit, your laugh, and your God awful jokes.   

Until we meet again, I love you.