Trauma and Mental Health | It's Me Laura Lee - Part 2

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Trauma and Mental Health

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color joy

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stop glorifying ocd

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rose milk bath bombs
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Laura Lee, 53, with invisible wounds and scars. I've learned to embrace PTSD and depression because if I don't own them, they'll own me.  I don't want to simply survive, but to thrive.  I hope you'll join me on my journey.  It's sure to be a bumpy road.

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Do you have three children or four?  The answer is – I have four.  But it is a question that almost always needs an explanation.  I imagine that it must be similar to how a mother whose child has died must explain herself.  And, yet, my daughter hasn’t died.

I was in deep.  And, I was falling deeper.  I was Alice – falling down the rabbit hole and watching everything as it passed me by.  Except, my rabbit hole wasn’t fanciful, it was dark.  The dong of the clock bellowed and echoed between my ears.  The mirror reflected back to me an image I did not recognize, and yet it cried when I cried.  It was angry when I was angry.  Falling through the center of the earth was something I longed for.  It was a way out without having to be the one responsible for the path.

He opened the door to the office and in his hand was a plate of food.  My food.  I thanked him and put it down beside me – right of my laptop.  It looked so good and smelled even better.  I kept typing away, answering emails, rat-a-tat-tat on the keyboard and without missing a beat I typed with only my left hand and grabbed a fork full of tilapia with my right.  My glaze never leaving the computer screen.

I cringe when I hear or see people say things akin to, “I’m sooo OCD!”  When did OCD become a social norm, or something to strive for?  I find myself having to justify my OCD diagnosis by saying things like, “I TRULY have OCD,” or “I LEGITIMATELY have OCD.”  As in, I take medication for it and it disrupts my life.

“Do this race with me,” she said.“ It will be fun,” she said.“ We can bond over it,” she said. I said, “You’re NUTS!”  And, then I signed up.I signed up for a 500K race.  That’s not a typo. 

I opened my eyes, sleepily.  Looked straight ahead.  Down the hall.  Confused. “Who’s the mom?” That’s the first thing that came to my mind.  My mind.  Mine.
Everything looked somewhat familiar, but I couldn’t place anything.  I had the sense of belonging, but I didn’t know how I belonged.  What was my role?  Who was I?

03

I was a victim advocate, and i was raped

02

he tickled me

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POPcorn almost Destroyed my marriage
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Laura Lee, 52, with invisible wounds and scars.  I've learned to embrace PTSD and depression because if I don't own them, they'll own me.  I don't want to simply survive, but to thrive.  I hope you'll join me on my journey.  It's sure to be a bumpy road.

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This is the ultimate no judgment zone with lots of tools and tips.  I do however, reserve bragging rights when it comes to my children, grandsons, and my service dogs.  And, my husband, too!

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