Something happens when I look at myself.
As an Empath, a trauma survivor, and a high detailed creative ----> I feel DEEP sadness when I see the look in my own eyes.
It has taken me I suppose 29 years of life to step into self awareness.
To fully process who I have become because of TRAUMA.
I tell my stories weekly here on Facebook and also on my blog because I want to give you the puzzle pieces of what I am comprised of.
I might tell the same story a few times from different angles and analyze them in different ways ----> but my stories are important.
These pieces of who I am, when translated onto paper or screen are given life. Validity. Power.
I grew up without those things.
No power. No control. No stability.
No life of my own.
That was until I stepped up and starting making the hard choices.
And the hard choices were not always the right ones, but they were the ones I MADE HAPPEN with autonomy and bravery as I overthrew abusive situations and tyrants in my life.
The mistakes were mine to make.
The truth is I love public speaking. I love the energy of other people.
I walk around town, malls, stores, libraries, even parks just to be near other people. I am fed by the energies + moods + expressions of others.
And while it can sometimes be draining, I am still made happy by connection. So I will take little breaks and then step back in fully ready to bask in the beautiful of collective human interaction.
What I do not like and what has brought me a great deal of PAIN -----> is sitting with myself.
Gosh. I just hate my own energy.
I have felt like a wilted plant.
I can see the brokenness in my own eyes.
I can hear the fear in my throat.
I know she is deeply hurting.
And quite possibly, It all goes undetected bu everyone around me.
I wonder often if my husband fell in love with a girl with sad eyes, so he would never even know what my happiness potential looks like.
I wonder if my children mistake my expression for disinterest, even though they are my pride and joy.
I always hated selfies and made sure I was the one to take the holiday photos.
This fall season, I began to take photos of myself weekly. When I felt depressed or shitty or stressed out. When I was having a panic attack. When I felt shame.
And I would study my face. What emotions surfaced when I looked at myself in those states of emotions.
Something really beautiful began to happen.
Instead of anger or embarrassment, I would see myself and feel love for myself.
For this girl who is F*CKING BROKEN.
And yet, still getting up each day to figure it all out. To figure out who I am and love me through the process.
I walk around heavy, tired, longing.
I walk around jaded, fragile, shaky.
But each time I see myself, I also see a change.
As I SPEAK MY TRUTHS and embrace the broken parts of myself -------> I ache. But them muscle forms.
Like leg day, I share the gory and disturbing as f*ck details of what events made me.
But then I realize I am not "those stories".
And when I release my stories into the world, my eyes gain a little more sparkle each time.
J.S. Jaded Savior
Published by Jean Soto JS Jaded Savior blog: email@example.com
Jean Soto, mother of 3 and wife, is a writer + artist in the Hudson Valley, NY community.
Content mention of Rape, Abuse, Neglect, Addictions, Mental Illness, Kidnap, Molestation, Child abuse, Teen Pregnancy, Abortion, birth, body image, gender/identity dysphoria, sexuality, personal trauma, domestic violence and other extremely personal stories. Please practice caution. I am not a licensed physician or mental health professional. No medical prescribing is provided on this site, Only personal insights, experience stories, and advice; All stories published have had prior authorization. Questions? Contact Jean at: firstname.lastname@example.org
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