An Uncomfortable Existence: One Woman's Journey Through Childhood Sexual Trauma. (CHAPTER 1)

When you've been up and close and personal with the brutal hits of trauma before you've even learned to ride a bicycle, your life's trajectory is tuned in to a particular form of madness -a madness that I am just now understanding after four decades of being alive and functioning on this Earth. Although, to be fair, functioning might be closer to hyperbole depending on who you ask.

I've been sitting on this blog for weeks trying to decide what sort of content I want to thrust upon the blank screen and, more importantly, how I want to present it. I've blogged, off and on, for more than a decade and feel pretty well-versed on what sells and what doesn't. The thing is, 'what sells' honestly doesn't matter much to me anymore. It mattered in my 20's and 30's when Webby Awards mattered and viewership and shares mattered. But getting paid beer money to write candidly about my sex life, military life, and being an unconventional mom only took me so far before the unyielding pressures of performative content became too much. When my life got real damn serious real damn quick, keeping up with the pressures of 'what sells' turned me off of writing for the public and I unceremoniously bowed out altogether. I'm not about to go back down that road. At this point, I just need to purge the incessant chatter in my head because I fear that if I do not, madness and neurosis will become bedfellows in sealing my fate as that crazy lady down the street who talks to herself while pushing an empty baby stroller down the road and hurling insults at passerby's. I ain't going out like that...at least not if I can help it. So, I've decided to alleviate those internal struggles by explicitly writing about my journey through the one thing that continues to rattle my sanity every single night: childhood sexual trauma.

Whoa. Heavy, right? I know.
WARNING, WARNING, WARNING! UNCOMFORTABLE, POSSIBLY TRIGGERING CONTENT BELOW AND IN THE FUTURE!!!!

Now, before anyone's sphincter immediately tightens in anticipation that this will be another #MeToo uncomfortable feminist rant about the evil patriarchal empire (and/or my desire to burn it to the ground), ease your anuses. This isn't the place for that. At least not right now. Instead, I simply want to share one woman's extremely complicated journey with childhood sexual trauma and its impact on my entire life. In so many ways, my story is a perfect blueprint representing the psychological norms and outcomes of childhood abuse and neglect. In other ways, I am a defiant outlier to those norms. It's a tremendous juxtaposition that I am both emboldened and perplexed by. So, this will be my space to work through all that fuckery and maybe, in that process, educate or enlighten others about an incredibly arduous reality. Certainly it will be uncomfortable for some. For others, perhaps it'll echo their own journey and bring some semblance of comfort in knowing they're not alone.

I write with extreme honesty and vulnerability. It's how I heal. It's also how I strip power from my abusers. I will not stay silent nor will I candy coat my truths because it's difficult or uncomfortable for others. Fuck that noise. I also use humor, often inappropriately, because it's the one survivor skill I've fully nailed down. So, if you decide to join me here, I ask that you continue with compassion and an open-mind. I'm tough as nails, but my ego is still stunted and I don't want some asshole comment to keep me up at night. Trust me, my anxiety doesn't need anymore fodder. If this subject matter isn't for you, there's this cool little back arrow at the top of your screen. Go ahead, look for it now. If you click on it, you can mosey on out and be away from this drivel post haste! You're welcome.

For those of you that choose to stick around, hey! Nice to meet you. Welcome to the most intimate and personal details of my life. If it gets to be too much, your safe word is pineapple.