Working On My Fitness: No Breaks

Pinned from here . . .  and of course, there's a Pinterest board for that!

Happy holidays and all that.

The holidays are weird.  Do we celebrate them so much as we endure them?  Just me?  Okay.

The thing that I have learned this holiday season is that if I slack off anywhere, it should not be on my gym schedule.  I took a break from working out the week of Thanksgiving because of traveling and weird work schedules and that break stretched into about three weeks-almost without my notice.

There were no physical changes to snap me back to my senses.  Instead, I noticed a steady slump into depression.  Not working out regularly is a little too taxing on my mental and emotional health.

Here's the thing. . . I don't LOVE working out.  I am mortally embarrassed by the people at the gym who like to make love to themselves in the mirrors with their eyes while working out.  I am a little put off by the manic sounding fitness updates of some of my more committed facebook/pinterest/internet friends.  I can't imagine myself ever looking forward to just sweating.  If I ever post a selfie from the gym I have probably been coerced in some way.  Like-it might actually be a proof of life thing because I've been kidnapped.  Seriously-call someone.

But, I have come to realize that I NEED  to work out. 

I need to go out and do things that are really hard for me because focusing on doing those things makes it possible to just be quiet in my mind.  I guess working out is a kind of meditation space for me.

I need to work out because I need to stick to a schedule that is just mine.  Every other part of my day feels like it has been taken up by things I need to do for other people.  I work to make money for myself, sure, but my schedule is still dictated.  My fitness schedule is really the only one that I have complete control over.

This wild impulse to commit some holiday martyrdom over Thanksgiving meant I relinquished my schedule in favor of other things. . .  and it did not go well.  I felt more stressed, more rushed, and more unhappy than I have felt in a while.

So I will be heading back to the gym-along with everyone else this month.  

Right Now I'm Reading . . . .

This post contains affiliate links.

I read multiple books at a time.  I generally have anywhere from 15-30 books checked out from my library at a time.  My husband is a little amazed by that.  He likes to focus on one or maybe two books at a time.  I like a little variety-especially if some of my books are nonfiction works.  Right now I am reading, slowly for me, Buddhism For Beginners by Thubten Chodron.

I am reading this book slowly-maybe a chapter a day.  It is almost dialogue style.  Essentially, Chodron has collected many common questions about various aspects of Buddhism and answers them in a clear, accessible fashion.

"Buddhism talks about accepting our suffering and also about feeing ourselves from suffering.  Are these contradictory? 

No.  Accepting our difficulties doesn't mean becoming apathetic and resigned to suffering.  Rather, our experience at a particular moment--whatever it is--is the reality of that moment.  When we refuse to accept this, we find ourselves in conflict with reality.  On the other hand, we can accept our present unhappiness and still work to free ourselves from future unsatisfactory experiences.  For example, if we accept the transient nature of our world, we will cease trying to control things that, by their nature are out of our control.  We will be at peace with whatever life presents and simultaneously work to benefit others with an altruistic aspiration that appreciates every being's potential to transcend suffering and become enlightened."

Chodron, 42-43

What Am I Doing? What Are We Doing?

I started this blog as a writing exercise and a creative outlet.  I also really enjoyed reading blogs.  I had this sense that they were letting me into hundreds of individual realities and hence, providing an authentic look at multiple lives as they are lived by real people.  This despite the plethora of Pinterest ready homes, recipes, DIY projects, and obsession with Anthropologie.  Behind all of that was real motivation and human action.  There has to be something behind this really specific, softly lit nostalgia right?

The thing is . . . even though I was into that whole deal, my life, my real life interfered. My real life looked nothing like what I scrolled across in my news feed.  At times, the Davis execution and the Zimmerman trial specifically, the disconnect is jarring.  How is the whole world not thinking or talking about this? Why is there nothing . . . not one mention in comments even, about Trayvon Martin on my favorite parenting blog?  The comforting community of Pinterest addicts and lovers of glossy white trim began to feel a little less welcoming.  A little less congenial.  A little less relevant. 

Then it hit me, maybe I'm just too black for this life.

Sometimes the assumed universality of my favorite sites is just too much to bear.  It's nothing major.  (No, we don't all want to laugh at Sweet Brown.  Your use of hip hop slang for comedic effect is more than just incredibly whack, although I really can't stress enough how whack . . . .)  It's not overtly racist, but the absence of any sort of cultural awareness of any kind has me instinctively bracing for impact.  (Because not really racist and not overtly racist still hold potential for violence.)  Especially when the world at large has seemingly become more hostile than usual.

Maybe I just don't fit in here.

I haven't been posting.  

I haven't been posting because I can't write.  More to the point I can't write the way I assume blogs should be written.  I can't write the way the popular bloggers I follow do.  I can't write in ways that either unconsciously or conscientiously avoid controversy.  I can't write that way, even though I would like to write that way and have that soft focus, beautiful life-at least in print.  

My writing can't assume universality because my blackness and my femaleness and my general poor-ness get in the way.  I can't write about aspirational furniture, or DIY projects when I have all this blackness in the way.  I can't write about being married without all my blackness, and accompanying respectability politics, getting in the way.  I can't write about step-parenting because my husband's blackness gets in the way and makes it less about parenting and more about how men, allegedly, don't stay with or take care of their children.  I can't write about feminism because my blackness and my insistence on being included, get in the way.  I can't write about beauty, especially hair, without including my blackness.  I can't write about politics because my blackness makes me predisposed to high blood pressure and other stress-related diseases.  

I can't classify my blog as one thing or another because I am not one thing or another.  My whole world is not about blackness . . .  but, come on now, my whole world is about blackness.

My whole world is also about gender, about socioeconomics, about misrepresentation, about misrecognition, about advocacy, about shame, and about silence . . .  crushing silence.

I have felt silenced by the overwhelming representation of ordinary life.

So I haven't been writing.

I have been working, and teaching, and struggling towards making some kind of life and having some kind of family.  Trying to make a dollar out of fifteen cents.  Trying to not go gray in vain (!).  Trying to keep a handle on my sanity and my sense of self in a world that feels, at times, like it's going mad.  

I haven't been writing, but I have not been idle.  I can't write . . . but I'm going to write anyway.

Emotional Justice: Standing Up

The end in the beginning-I packed my things and let Wes know I had to get out.  He packed a bag too and came with me.

Source: cuntfetti.tumblr.com via Aunt on Pinterest

I like conversation.  Sure we can talk about it.  We can both take turns and say what we think and how we feel.  We can listen to each other.  We can agree to disagree.  We can do all of those things at normal volumes and without theatrics or an audience.

I don't like confrontation.  To clarify, I don't like ugly, unnecessary confrontation.  What I like is dealing with issues as directly and as calmly as possible.  Why do we have to get loud, call each other names, belittle, and attempt to publicly shame one another?  Why do we have to be so ugly and disrespectful? 

In my last post in what has become a series, I wrote about a situation where I felt the need to exercise emotional justice for myself in response to a gaslighting attempt.

First, AFFIRM YOURSELF.  I am not crazy.  This is what happened.  This is why it is wrong.  This is why it makes me feel this way. 

Let it marinate.  I digested the conversation for a day or so.  I did this for myself but also because I knew I wanted to talk to my husband about it. 

Talk about it.  I was able to express what happened and how it made me feel.  Taking the time to process and think helped me clearly articulate my thoughts.  By the time we talked I was also calm enough to listen which meant Wes and I could have a real discussion.  If you do want to talk about it, talk about it with someone you trust or find an impartial party. 

Assess your options.  Think about what you want to happen-how can you proceed to meet those ends?  Maybe you can limit contact with this person.  Maybe you can choose to alter how you engage with them.  Our choices are limited right now and in a very real sense, the best we can do if we want to remain together is to wait it out and move as soon as possible. 

Decide on coping strategies.  If you can't escape your situation completely, think about how you want to cope.  Waiting it out sucks, but in the meantime we are adapting by ensuring that we both spend as little time in the house as possible and we do our best to keep separate meal times.  Additionally, I no longer engage in conversation with him.   

My coping strategy of disengagement became the lever that caused the situation to escalate.  My decision to no longer engage in conversation with one individual was noticed and disapproved of.  I should clarify and add that beyond saying "good morning", "good bye", or "good night", I generally had nothing to say to my husband's father.  He was not content with leaving it there.  He insisted that we have a "family conversation" involving himself, me, my husband, and my husband's mother as the so-called mediator.  This "conversation" quickly escalated into a confrontation that only he participated in.  During this confrontation, he refused to let me speak or complete a sentence without intervention from his wife and he responded with anger whenever I pointed out flaws in his logic.  He lied, he accused, he called me names, he tried to yell, he made angry gestures in my direction, and he insulted me, my upbringing, and my family.  He repeatedly addressed my husband instead of me and when Wes made it clear that he was on my side, refused to allow him to speak either. 

During this theater piece, the "moderator" repeatedly stated that "we just all have to get along."  She also insisted that I spend more time in the house and stop going into the city with my husband everyday.  Additionally, she insisted that I not spend all the time in the house in my husband's room.  She and her husband insisted on family mealtimes as well.

Essentially, my safety nets were being removed.  

These things were said in the face of my assertions that no, I was not happy living with them and no, I was not going to pretend to be.  I'm not happy because it is not a situation where I should be happy. I'm an adult-I don't want to live with my own parents, let alone anyone else's.  No, I will not abide by those demands.  When his father called me childish and a spoiled brat, I pointed out that he was the only one calling anyone names.  When he tried to lecture me on how families deal with problems, I pointed out that the entire exercise was pointless because he was the only one talking and that it would have been better for him to say what he had to say to just me and that audiences were unnecessary.

In short, I stood up for myself.  

It wasn't easy.  As I said, I don't like confrontation.  Besides all the ugliness, I always have the sense that the person forcing the issue is doing so for their own benefit and enjoyment and I hate playing those kinds of games.  It was masturbatory for him, he really enjoyed it and in fact, was downright giddy the next morning.  Added to that, I got the very real impression that he was trying to frighten me. It seemed that what he really wanted was for me to feel afraid, threatened, and chastised.  

In that sense, he succeeded.  I did feel threatened.  I never felt safe or at ease in that household and that confrontation ensured that I never would.  During the confrontation, I took his pounding on the table, raised voice, and pointed fingers for what they were-and I was afraid.  I didn't think he would hurt me physically, but I knew he was trying to hurt me mentally.  I knew he was trying to shame me and make me believe things about myself and about what happened that weren't true.  I knew I was under attack.  

Wes stood up for me and I stood up for myself.  It wasn't easy for either of us.  We were afraid and angry and sick.  

I was shaking and i wanted to cry.  

I didn't.  We didn't.

We stood our ground.

Whatever else happens, we have that moment.

Emotional Justice: Gaslighting

30Before30: Prioritize Mental Health

I had the most fucked-up conversation I have ever had as an adult with my husband's father a couple of weeks ago.  If I were to write a textbook on what gaslighting is and its use in mentally and emotionally abusive relationships I could use a transcript of this conversation and its aftermath as an example.  For your reference, this feministe post draws out a fuller explanation.

Source

Essentially, my points and comments were met with phrases like, "Well, I think anyone who thinks like that has something wrong with them," "You're not understanding what I'm saying," and "I think you are imagining things that are not there," and "Now I don't want you to get upset/you don't have to get upset."

These statements aren't so bad on their own, right?  Well, it gets weird when I put them in context.  Whenever I disagreed with his points, providing evidence and reasoning, he would say "people" who think like that have something "wrong" with them or he would imply that I misunderstood him when I hadn't.  When those tactics didn't work, he resorted to saying I was imagining things because I was upset or angry.

All of these tactics are designed to make me doubt the validity of my own thoughts and feelings and even my own experience of the conversation in real time.  Systematic and repeated exposure to this type of behavior is a form of abuse.  As this article points out, over time, gaslighting can weaken a victim by compromising their confidence and essentially endangering their sense of self.

Source

So how do you know if it is happening to you?

Dr. Robin Stern, a licensed practicing psychoanalyst and author of The Gaslight Effect: How to Spot and Survive the Hidden Manipulation Others Use to Control Your Life, identified some signs that might help you identify whether you are being gaslighted.  

1. You are constantly second-guessing yourself

2. You ask yourself, "Am I too sensitive?" a dozen times a day.

3. You often feel confused and even crazy at work.  

4. You're always apologizing to your mother, father, boyfriend,, boss.

5. You can't understand why, with so many apparently good things in your life, you aren't happier.

6. You frequently make excuses for your partner's behavior to friends and family.

7. You find yourself withholding information from friends and family so you don't have to explain or make excuses.

8. You know something is terribly wrong, but you can never quite express what it is, even to yourself.

9. You start lying to avoid the put downs and reality twists. 

10. You have trouble making simple decisions.

11. You have the sense that you used to be a very different person - more confident, more fun-loving, more relaxed.

12. You feel hopeless and joyless.

13. You feel as though you can't do anything right.

14. You wonder if you are a "good enough" girlfriend/ wife/employee/ friend; daughter.

Emphasis added is mine.  Source.

Now the question: How do you practice self-care in this situation?

First, an important part of prioritizing mental health for me has been recognizing when I need to practice self care and believing that it is alright to do so.  This seems like a very basic stance but I think a lot of women, myself included, are brought up to do the exact opposite.  Girls tend to be socialized as nurturers and care-givers but the emphasis of all that care is always supposed to be focused outward.  Focusing inward can seem selfish and wrong.  

Swallowing all that hurt and anger and bitterness is no way to live.  I can, and will, tell you stories.

Here is what I did, however, I recommend that you always research and inform yourself as much as possible.  The links and references I have provided are a good start.  

Additionally, if you have access to counseling services use them.  There is NOTHING WRONG with reaching out for help-when we bitch to our friends we are essentially doing the same thing for free feedback of questionable quality.

First, AFFIRM YOURSELF.  I am not crazy.  This is what happened.  This is why it is wrong.  This is why it makes me feel this way.

Let it marinate.  I digested the conversation for a day or so.  I did this for myself but also because I knew I wanted to talk to my husband about it.

Talk about it.  I was able to express what happened and how it made me feel.  Taking the time to process and think helped me clearly articulate my thoughts.  By the time we talked I was also calm enough to listen which meant Wes and I could have a real discussion.  If you do want to talk about it, talk about it with someone you trust or find an impartial party.

Assess your options.  Think about what you want to happen-how can you proceed to meet those ends?  Maybe you can limit contact with this person.  Maybe you can choose to alter how you engage with them.  Our choices are limited right now and in a very real sense, the best we can do if we want to remain together is to wait it out and move as soon as possible.

Decide on coping strategies.  If you can't escape your situation completely, think about how you want to cope.  Waiting it out sucks, but in the meantime we are adapting by ensuring that we both spend as little time in the house as possible and we do our best to keep separate meal times.  Additionally, I no longer engage in conversation with him.  

It's not ideal, but it's the best we have right now.

Emotional Justice: Introduction

Source: crunkfeministcollective.wordpress.com via Abby on Pinterest

Sometimes I lurk on Christian or Mormon wifely websites.  Have you seen these?  These aren't shelter blogs or family/design/fashion/housewifery things-although I love those too.  These are blogs that are straight up with the big guns-words like "submission"and phrases like "joyful service" or "yielded heart" . . . . the kind of talk that would drive me out of a church pew like the hounds of hell were behind me.

When I cruise through these sites I look at the families, the smiles, the sparkle . . . and I marvel at how seductive it all is.  The message seems to be "if you just let go, you can have all of this too".  You can have peace of mind.  You can have security.  You can have a life that looks like this one-bright, shiny, (mostly white), bookended with scripture and made for Pinterest.

The fantasy falls apart for me when I start to read the posts.  *These might be triggers for anyone who is dealing with or who has ever struggled with mental or emotional abuse.*  A lot of posts about marriage deal with the issue of biblical submission within a marriage, husband as spiritual and literal head of the household and so on.  Women share their experiences and their struggles and provide encouragement for one another.

What bothers me most is when the posts sound like this:

(The context: a disagreement between husband and wife and husband retreats to pray about the situation.  This is the wife's response.)

     Everything in me melted at that very moment---all my anger, my fear, my willfulness. How could I’ve been so stupid? Why had I been such a stubborn, silly, self-willed girl?     It was a sobering revelation for a new bride.  To think that I was willing to defy my husband and the Lord who put us together for the mere sake of getting my own way.     Can you guess why? Well, you're right. It’s because I had more confidence in myself than in him. It’s because I’d rather fight for what I wanted than to give in to another.

From "Perfect Stranger"by Lisa Jacobsen found here.  Emphasis added is mine. 

This post struck a chord.  They reminded me of that loop of negative and hurtful self-talk I engaged in when I fell victim to mental and emotional manipulation.  I bore the burden of my own emotions, but I also bore shame for having them in the first place.  How stupid, how silly of me to be so upset and so on.

Can we talk about emotional justice?

There is nothing stupid or wrong about feeling anger or fear in the presence of something that makes you angry or fearful.  I often think that one of the ways we are most brutal to one another is when we deny, or attempt to deny, others access to their own emotions without shame.  

Consider what Yolo Akili has to say about this kind of oppression of the spirit.

Oppression is trauma. Every form of inequity has a traumatic impact on the psychology, emotionality and spirituality of the oppressed. The impact of oppressive trauma creates cultural and individual wounding. This wounding produces what many have called a  “pain body”, a psychic energy that is not tangible but can be sensed, that becomes an impediment to the individual and collective’s ability to transform and negotiate their conditions.Emotional justice is about working with this wounding. It is about inviting us into our feelings and our bodies, and finding ways to transform our collective and individual pains into power. Emotional justice requires that we find the feeling behind the theories. It calls on us to not just speak to why something is problematic, but to speak to the emotional texture of how it impact us; how it hurts, or how it brings us joy or nourishment. Emotional Justice is very difficult for many activists, because historically most activist spaces have privileged the intellect and logic over feeling and intuition. This is directly connected to sexism and misogyny, because feeling and intuition are culturally and psychologically linked to the construct of “woman”, a construct that we have all been taught to invalidate and silence. So by extension we invalidate and silence the parts that we link to “woman” in ourselves: our feelings, our intuition, and our irrationality.

Emphasis added is mine.

I get angry.  Sometimes I cry in rage or frustration.  I become quiet and withdrawn.  I escalate my use of the word fuck exponentially.  I become brutal in my deployment of logic.  I plot.  I create revenge fantasies in my head. . . . In short, I have feelings and occasionally, I feel them.

I am within my rights to do so and so are you.  

If anyone attempts to suggest otherwise they are attempting to invalidate and silence you-don't do the same to yourself.

Building a Life: Thirty Before Thirty

Source: wp.me via Danielle on Pinterest

I have read a lot of African American biography in my academic lifetime.  Nothing has ever been so thrilling, so inspiring, so thought provoking, or so awe-inspiring than reading about the lives of women who came of age in difficult times.  Women who survived and even thrived under incredible pressure.  Whatever your politics or personal views, I challenge anyone to read about women like Ida B. Wells-Barnett, Dorothy Height, or Anna Julia Cooper without being deeply impressed by their grit, their determination, their constant striving.

Source

That said, nothing has ever made me feel like more of a slacker in my life than Open Wide the Freedom Gates: A Memoir by Dorothy Height.  Of course I would recommend it-just be forewarned.  Ms. Height had accomplished more as a teenager than many of us will in a lifetime.  I read it in my early twenties and it made me a little melancholy. 

I wanted a life.  Of course I have a life or I wouldn't be writing or blathering about my tiny little problems on the internet.  I don't even mean to say I want a life like Dorothy Height's.  I suppose it would be most accurate to say I want a LIFE.  Italicized and underlined.

What does that mean?  At the end of my life-when I'm cramming for that exit exam and get all lame and religious-I want to look back on my life and have moments that are cause for real concern.  That line was mostly for giggles.  Really, I want to look back on my life and have moments, moments that are just mine and precious to me because they meant that I was there.  

I was a witness.  

I lived.

I have been working hard on rebuilding the life I had and recovering myself.  Now it is time to focus on moving forward.  My thirty before thirty list is about completing the work of recovery and beginning the work of moving forward.

• Prioritize mental health

• Establish a meditation practice

• Write a short fiction story

• Write a short non-fiction story

• Join a book club

• Write a poem

• Take a writing class

• Volunteer

• Learn an Olympic lift

• Paint a watercolor art piece.

• Post three times a week here

• Certify in another teaching field

• Be a poll worker in a presidential election

• Establish a research project

• Get a Maine Coon cat*

• Paint and decorate a room in my home

• Reconnect with

• My mother

• My brother

• My grandmother

• My aunt Shawna

• My big little sister

• My little little sister

• My aunt Flora

• Make a new friend

• Take a day vacation

• Get a massage

• Get my hair done at a salon

• Create a new family tradition

• Clean out my closets

• Get a tattoo

If I had to break this list into categories it would roughly section into: unfinished business, reclaiming the past, focusing on the future, and making home and family.

I will probably write more about each of these as I accomplish them.

*No this is not code for baby.  This is code for handsome cat.

Source: bit.ly via Nathalie on Pinterest

Coping Strategies: Pinteresting

I can bitch and complain about living in my husband's childhood bedroom-and believe you me, I have plenty to write about.  Or, I can catalogue the various avoidance coping strategies I've been using in attempts to deal with my ridiculous situation.

Source: thebeautydepartment.com via Meaghan on Pinterest

I love Pinterest as much as the next girl.  I like to sink into it, sometimes for hours at a time, just to get away from my own jacked up life for a little while.  It makes sense when you think about it.  Pinterest is where we can gather all the images and ideas into collections that can best represent to the rest of the world who we would like to be-not who we are.

Source: guitarcentercoupon.net via Melesa on Pinterest

It's like how Facebook used to be before too many people who knew you in real life friended you.

I can waste hours on Pinterest.  I put that strategy to the test and went several days in a row cruising through boards making up stories about the real lives of the curators.  That's right, I took my mindless web surfing up a notch.

Source: hex.io via Leonard on Pinterest

Here are my boards.

And these are some of my favorites: From PoC-Love of Learning

Source: thomerama.tumblr.com via Aunt on Pinterest

Aunt Ruth is the Truth.  Follow everything of hers.  I almost decided to take up knitting-before I came to my senses.

And I am addicted to Nerd boards: From Gettin' My Geek On

Source: teenormous.com via Laurel on Pinterest

Then there's this . . .

Source: feministe.us via Andrea on Pinterest



So clearly my time hasn't been totally wasted.

Coping Strategies

I can bitch and complain about living in my husband's childhood bedroom-and believe you me, I have plenty to write about.  Or, I can catalogue the various avoidance coping strategies I've been using in attempts to deal with my ridiculous situation.

See more on Know Your Meme

My coping strategies of choice in the past included:

• Soaking in some sun-actually leaving the house to get some fresh air
• Taking a break from people, situations, places that are stressing me out.
• Read a book.
• Listen to music.
• Talk to a friend.
• Take a nap.
• Clean or organize something.
• Create a routine.
• Research my issue, problem, the unknown, whatever to make sure I feel informed.

These have been great so far this year.  However, these strategies were not designed to stand up to the stress of being stranded in a house with one's retired in-laws for roughly ten hours a day.  They are also based on the good old days when I had access to some wheels.  We are currently living in a part of South Carolina that is merciless to those without cars.

I need some suggestions with more juice.  Any ideas?

Which Way is Up?

I think I have reached the point where making good choices is no longer an option because all of the choices available suck.

I feel pretty squeezed these days.  I am under all kinds of trendy pressure right now.  Unemployment, poor job market, aging and ill parent requiring care, student loans looming . . . .  I'm tempted to leave it at that because it feels so lame to stress or complain about the same issues that everyone is struggling with these days.  I do want to write about it though, particularly because it is so difficult to talk about how I feel. Added to that, feeling silenced--feeling like I don't deserve to speak or that no one will listen--makes the sense of isolation worse.

We have been busy these last few weeks attending orientations, interviews, and looking for apartments.  Yesterday, I was very upset to discover that I actually wasted quite a bit of time and money on those things because my husband thinks it would be better for us to live with his parents for a month or so to save money before we sign a lease.  And by "better" he means "we pretty much have to."  And I know what "a month" means but this "or so" business is ominous to say the least.

I was, am, devastated.  And that word is actually not dramatic enough to really express how I feel.

That said, I do understand that this situation is probably not what anyone involved has been dreaming about/hoping for/longing for.  I get that it pretty much sucks for everyone.  But . . . .

I don't think I can do it.

Aside from just not wanting to, I am not in a place where I have the necessary mental or emotional fortitude.  One thing I have discovered this year is that my physical health depends much more strongly on the general health and well-being of those two factors than anything else I might do.  This puts me in the position of wondering if a month "or so" of discomfort, turmoil, and general unhappiness will set me back for the rest of my life.

Again, I think the words I've chosen are probably not dramatic enough. 

• I feel backed into a corner without viable choices.  These are triggers.

• This move would be isolating, and in this situation, only isolating for me.  This is a trigger.

• I would not have the privacy that I am used to or basic control over my environment.  More triggers.

• I would have no physical outlet or escape.  This is the overwhelming panic button.

Those are broad strokes of how powerless and alone this decision makes me feel.  Just typing and looking at the words is enough to make my chest feel tight, to make my breath short.  

I don't think I can do it--but I don't know what else to do.