Snake on My Mind

Acrylic on organic cotton canvas, glass and plastic beads.

'Snake on My Mind' detail 1

'Snake on My Mind' detail 2

Hello friends, welcome back! In my last, very personal blog post I revealed that I was a victim of physical and emotional abuse as a child, which I suggest you read before this one. It took me 32 years to share that part of me, and in today’s post I want to explain why it took so long and what has happened to me as a result. I made the above painting as a response to how I’ve been feeling lately. I recently read about an ancient creation story where the universe was contained inside an egg until a snake wrapped around it so tightly that it shattered, causing the universe to explode out in all directions. Before sharing my story my brain was feeling like that egg, so constricted and like there was so much inside that it was just going to burst! I knew I wanted to share, but it was such a struggle to finally get to the point that I could break free and let it all out. But what do ya know, I have now and it feels incredible! My hope is that in sharing my experience I can help others feel less alone in their own struggles, and help them summon the courage to one day share their stories as well. For a long time I was paralyzed by the fear of what would happen if I told, but now I believe that my staying silent would only help perpetuate the toxic systems of abuse and oppression that affect so many in our country. I am so proud of my own strength and ability to go through this transformation, but please know that I don’t think any less of you if you aren’t able or don't want to share your own story. It is definitely not easy and being kind to yourself is the most important thing of all!

Reader be warned, this article contains mention of abuse and sexual assault.

Growing up I constantly felt the burden of my “big secret.” I didn’t want anyone to find out what I (wrongly) thought about myself, which was that I was a worthless, bad kid with bad posture, overly emotional, a quitter, and I was going to end up like [insert name of weed smoking cousin or unmarried aunt here] if I continued acting like I did, whatever that meant. I also definitely didn’t deserve to have a good, happy life like the other kids at my school, because I was different from them. My parents told me all of these things daily and beat me up for the littlest things, so I really thought I was an awful and defective person. When Titanic came out I remember thinking that I wouldn’t have made it because I’d be trapped well below deck in steerage. At school the weight of my secrets made me feel inferior to my wealthy, “first class” classmates. I envied how sure of themselves they were and how spontaneous they could be. When called on by the teacher they could get an answer wrong and just move on like it was nothing, whereas I was too afraid of my own very cruel inner critic to even raise my hand. They were confident and could talk openly and laugh in groups, and I’d be standing in the circle in silence, waiting for a pause so I could interject, which of course never came. I felt like the dirty kid, not worthy of their company, afraid of saying something that might expose that I was fucked up, which I considered to be my true nature.

At one point in middle school I did gain the courage to show two close friends some bruises on my arm, but it backfired on me. To this day I don’t know who told, but the next weekend a police car came up our driveway. I watched excitedly from a window, thinking this was going to be my big break. After just a couple of minutes my father and the man were laughing and shook hands. The officer left and my father came back into the house, his smile gone, he was furious. He told my mother what happened and they ridiculed me for thinking I could get help and chased me around the house torturing me. I remember my mother scoffing at me, “What were you thinking, no one in our family wants you, and a foster home would be a hell of a lot worse than this house.” It pains me that my mom was probably right about foster care, the stories I hear about the system anger me endlessly, but that’s another blog post. My plans of running away never panned out either, how could I carry enough food to take my 100 lb dog with me? And where would I go? It would take me over an hour to walk to the pharmacy in the next town, and then what? So I was stuck with them.

Even after I left their house I felt I had to hide my truth. I had to put on a facade in order to be trusted with responsibilities at work or considered “good” enough to be a friend. Who would trust a babysitter who had been abused? As they say, “Hurt people hurt people” and I took that to heart. Because I knew how to fight and had a lot of anger inside of me, I was afraid of what might happen if I was provoked, kind of like a rescue pit bull. It felt like if I told someone about my abuse I would be admitting that I was damaged and dangerous. I also thought that no one would want me to bring down the mood with a sad story about my abuse. In my late teens and early twenties I still struggled to talk in groups, and I felt I had to let my friends walk all over me in order to secure my place, because what else did I have? When I was raped by someone I considered a close friend, the girls I was friends with told me not to say anything, “for the sake of the friend group,” and I went along with it. I felt even more broken and invisible, but still lucky to at least have some “friends” whose apartments I could stay at when I was on breaks from college. But I couldn't hold up that fragile facade forever.

It wasn’t until the universe orchestrated a magical intervention and I moved in with my current best friends/chosen siblings Jason and Terri that I felt like I truly belonged somewhere. They were the first people who made me feel like I had value and I love them to death for that. It was 2014 and as I was driving down to Philly in my little car packed full of my possessions and a mattress tied to the roof, one of my old “best friends” called, apologizing for not calling me earlier for my birthday. I, of course, said it was fine and acted like I didn’t care. Little did I know my life was about to change forever, for the best.

Over the years Jason and Terri have supported the shit out of me. I’ll save the details for another post dedicated just to them, but just know that they are the most special people in the world. They and the majority of our friends are LGBTQ+, and while I do identify as bisexual, I think the reason I feel so at home with them is because we have all struggled in one way or another with our identity. We know what it feels like to feel different, so we don’t judge, we celebrate. Come as you are. I often think about the similarities between coming out as a queer person and an abused person. Both are scary AF and have the potential to alienate a person from their family, but it’s a bummer that there is no Pride Parade or visible “out” community to look up to for abused people. Trying to change that a little with this blog :)

As for my bio family, I stopped talking to my parents in 2018 after my older sister got married. My grandparents had all passed by then and I was never particularly close to any of my other relatives. I felt like the wedding was the last “required” event. Since high school my parents had continued to treat me like a second class citizen no matter how hard I tried or how much love I gave. There had even been a physical fight between my mother and I on the Christmas before the wedding, after which I said I would only speak to her if she went to therapy. She claimed she was seeing someone but my intuition told me otherwise. When I caught her in her lie I was done. After the wedding I was going to be off the hook. I worried endlessly about what my extended family was going to say, whose side they would take, and I even felt bad about tarnishing the image they had of their beloved siblings/cousins/aunt and uncle. I wish I hadn’t worried so much, because in the 4 years since I stopped speaking to my parents, only a couple second cousins have ever reached out to ask me about my side of the story. I guess the rest of them must believe what my parents’ fabricated, which is that I have borderline personality disorder. In a letter my mother told me they started attending Family Connections, “a course for family members with a relative with BPD.” In case you’re wondering, I have seen multiple therapists and coaches who all agree that I have Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and nothing else. (no shade to anyone with BPD, I just don’t have it, love you)

I didn’t realize that once I was no longer going to my parent’s house, I would no longer have a reason to go to the area where I grew up which hurt some other relationships too. I had already drifted away from the families I babysat for (especially one <3), neighbors I popped in on, and friends whose parents treated me like their own families. Now the distance grew even more. I had gotten comfortable sharing my story with new people, but was still too ashamed to tell these very special people from my past about why I wasn’t around to crash holidays or spend late summer nights with them anymore. These people made me feel loved and welcome and gave me a place to be when I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t realize it growing up, but they were my original chosen family. Recently when they would reach out and ask when I would be home next, I would regretfully come up with a lame excuse about why I wouldn't be home for a while. It was SO HARD.

But now all of that has changed!!!!

I finally shared my story on this blog two weeks ago and it truly feels like the greatest accomplishment of my life. I went from beating myself over my past up on the daily to feeling like I am on top of the world. Everything is out in the open and I can finally be myself. I was blown away by the response to my post. I expected maybe 40 people to read it, but I can see that over 270 people from 18 countries have taken the time to read my story! I have talked to people from all stages of my life thanking me for sharing and saying they are inspired by me. I have never felt so loved and I am so grateful for each and every message and comment.

It’s just SO nice that everybody knows now! I feel like everyone understands me now and that my life and choices are making a bit more sense to people on the outside looking in. It’s also a big relief when it comes to dating, I’m very single and live in Upstate New York, heyyy! I don’t feel like I’m hiding this looming secret anymore that a potential partner might find out a few months and scare them away. They can just read about it on my blog if they want to!

The only group of people I have not heard much from is my biological family. I am incredibly grateful for the one second cousin who sent me the most amazing message and a “like” from someone else on the Shrek instagram post, so it actually went a little better than I expected. At this point I’ve been preparing myself for the possibility of this for years, and while it would be lovely to have a flood of messages from aunts, uncles and cousins coming in saying they had no idea and were so sorry, I get it. I’m the one who decided that living my truth is more important than surface level relationships and I understand that reaching out to me requires a lot of looking inward for them, something I don’t want anyone to rush.

But let me set the record straight for y'all. Sharing my story was the BEST thing I ever did. I used to think about my abusive past throughout the day, sending me into spirals over whether or not I should share, whether or not I was a “bad kid,” and agonizing over the fact that I was in my 30s and was STILL struggling because of things that happened to me 20+ years ago. I had so many people, even therapists, questioning why I would even want to write out my story, let alone share it, what good would it do? But I kept going back to wanting to write it out, and like magic my brain now feels so light and bright. I have nothing to hide anymore and its so freeing. The next day I kept saying to myself “This is the first time I’m ________ and everybody knows my secret.” The first time I’m letting my dog out to pee in the morning, the first time I’m making breakfast, the first time I’m taking a shower. Everything is fresh and for the first time ever I feel like ME, just me. I’ve been waking up each morning excited for a new day with more energy than ever. I have been so productive, making phone calls, responding to messages in a timely fashion and working on projects that used to seem impossible. Another major change is I can even take photos of myself that I like, without seeing the pain of an abused person behind my eyes. I even went to a networking event and felt bubbly AF and got connected with two new stores to sell the cat toys I make!

If you’re reading this and can relate to my story, please know that change is possible! Based on my personal experience as a freshly ‘out of the closet’ abused person, I highly recommend doing the very hard inner work it takes to heal from trauma and eventually become an empowered badass human. I am so motivated by my transformation and feel it is a part of my life’s purpose to help others along on their own journeys. For the past 5 months I have training to become a certified Life Coach and am so excited to be launching my new business. If you or anyone you know might benefit from coaching please share this post or direct them to my coaching page. My focus is on helping people work through their fears and shadows to eventually feel creatively empowered, but it is certainly not limited to career artists. We all deserve to express ourselves freely and create the life of our dreams!

Why I Kept My Secret for So Long, And How It's Been Since I Let it Out!