emhawkerblog

The blog about reading, writing, singing, familying and verbing.

The glass

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Image source: used with permission

I’ve had a really rough start to 2017. Really rough.

I’ve avoided posting here. I’ve still been writing: I’ve written poems, prose and scribble. I’ve written pages, paragraphs and post-it notes. But I’ve not shared them here (with the exception of Broken Mirror). I didn’t want to turn emhawkerblog into emohawkerblog.

Something I thought would never happen to me – certainly not at the hands of the people who did it – happened to me. And to my children.

I’m not going to go into the details of what happened. But I’ve learnt that one of the hardest parts of dealing with trauma is allowing yourself to define it as ‘trauma’ in the first place. It’s deciding not to worry that people will defend the perpetrators as ‘good people’ who did what they did out of ‘love’, that people will ask if what happened was ‘really that bad’, or that people will point at your actions, or your non-actions, or even your children (?!) and suggest that you somehow brought it on yourselves. That the perpetrators are in fact, somehow, the real victims of the situation.

I’ve retreated into myself this year. It wasn’t a conscious decision. I think my mind decided to protect me without seeking my permission.

It’s tried to protect my children, too. I’ve consoled them, cried with them, tried to make them laugh. But laugh at other things, not laugh this off. Never laugh this off.

How do you teach your children that some things are just inexplicable? That you know that they don’t understand why or how something happened? That it’s good that they don’t understand why or how something happened, because there is no acceptable excuse for what was done?

That you’ll do all you can to keep them safe, but sometimes mum and dad just can’t protect them? That we’re just as shocked at what happened as they are, and that sometimes you just can’t see things coming?

It is so difficult to walk the tightrope, trying to make things seem okay in your kids’ worlds without glossing over awful things. Trying to ensure they understand that something was every kind of wrong without belabouring the point every time they ask about it.

Not to mention constantly worrying that your anxiety is feeding into theirs.

I don’t feel like me at the moment. I feel more like me than I did some months ago, but I’m still not ‘me’. Sometimes I don’t recognise myself at all. I feel permanently anxious. I’m jumpy. The sound of the doorbell still makes me panic. I constantly check my surroundings, peering out my front window before leaving my house, scanning number plates in the street and examining faces in crowds.

And I’m devastated. I’m angry and I’m scared and I’m anxious and I’m jumpy and I’m gut-wrenchingly, soul-crushingly devastated.

I used to think of myself as an optimist. The glass wasn’t just always half full; there was clearly more water in it than not.

But not so much these days. And that’s okay. I’m not aiming for optimism anymore. I’m aiming for feeling safe. I’m aiming for more laughter. I’m aiming for control. I’m aiming for balance.

I’m aiming to see that the glass is neither half full nor half empty. The glass has some water in it up to a certain point, and then some air, and that’s just how it is.

Life is what it is. Life will bring what it will bring.

And I will feel safe in it again.

 

I wrote much of this post some weeks ago. I’m feeling safer these days. Not safe. Not yet. But safer.

I have missed this space, but haven’t wanted to ‘infect’ it. So this is my wordy purge of icky feelings to make way for the positive. PUUUUUUUURGE. It’s helped. It really has.

And now, let’s get back to regular scheduled emhawkerblog programming.

What form should that take? What would you like to see around here? I’m all ears! And by ears, I mean comments section.

Comments

  2. If it’s not too difficult, I’d love to hear more about giving permission to ourselves to feel how we feel & to not know the answers to things. We are so accustomed to knowing how to respond to situations & how to help our children navigate the scary stuff. How we manage our own trauma around our children is learned only by living it. Wishing you strength and brighter days.

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  6. I don’t know that there are any good words to respond to what you’ve shared. But thank you for sharing it. My prayer for you is that you will indeed be safe, and feel safe, and that you and your children will flourish again. A bit like the damage a bush fire does, where everything is black and seems dead, but then surprisingly green peaks through and things grow again. They flourish and thrive and new life comes out of the ashes.

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  9. Hey Em,
    It’s great to see you back in blogging land.
    So sorry to hear things have been so tough for so long though.
    I’m sending you (and all your gorgeous clan) lots of love
    xoxox

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  11. I wish peace of mind for you and your family Em! It sounds like you’ve had an extremely bumpy road to get to this point. I’m happy to read anything you wish to write. I hope that writing here again brings some joy for you. Xx

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  13. I’m so sorry that something has happened to you and your family, Em. Your words are just heart-wrenching to read and it feels very PTSD. I think you should have a chat to a professional to rule that out. You know we are all here for you and love you to bits. x

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  14. I’m always happy to see you back on this blog, even when you are being emo. Big love to you and yours and may the rest of the year drag itself out of the gutter to be something a lot more spectacular x

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  15. I had to come see when I saw you blogged…and I am both sad and glad I did. Oh Em, what a tough time and what a horror stretch its been when it didn’t need to be. But no what others have brought into your lives is not to be explained away easily. I am just glad you could write. I’ve missed you too …Denyse xx

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    • Thank you, Denyse. Writing has helped. Sharing much of it wouldn’t have. This has, though. Thinking of you this week x

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  18. Em, I’m so sorry this happened to you and yours. I’m glad you’ve found a foothold on a path back to yourself and a better space.

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    • Thank you so much. I like the foothold/path description. We’ve still got quite a way to walk, but we know the direction. x

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    • Belated thanks! Not sure how I missed this comment first time around – thank you so much for leaving it.

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  20. Wishing you all the peace and happiness in the world Em. I’m sorry to hear things have not been going well. It’s good to see you back on the horse xxx

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    • Things are better than they were but we’re still getting used to what feels like a different world that we now live in. No idiocy here – only lovely, caring feelings. Thank you so much.

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  22. Em
    How are you all doing another year on? I know that for our family there is a lot of apprehension about an upcoming drive we need to make. We haven’t been there since Christmas 2011 and so much has happened since then including the “event” if you will that rocked our world.
    7yrs ago my kids were too young to understand the events that took place that set in motion a chain reaction that leads us to here. Now my kids are of an age when they are starting to ask questions. Partly, the answers are not mine to give and my husband is not ready to give the answers to the questions they have.
    Hope you are all in a much better place than you were.
    Sending you lots of love and wrapping you in a large warm hug.

    Reply

    • Thank you so much for checking in. Have you made the drive yet? I hope it went okay and/or that the apprehension was the worst of it.
      We are doing a whole lot better, though still working through a lot of feelings. Hugs back xx

      Reply

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