Let your heart break.

Let your heart break child.
Let your heart break.

Shattered pieces held together by tension and the glue of oppression.
This isn’t living. It’s just drifting.
Beat to beat the clenching and the breaking.
This isn’t living. You’ve been taught to tolerate.

Let your heart break child.
Let your heart break.

It was my husband who first noticed that my heart conditions were brought on by encountering, handling, wading through my trauma. They started after secondary rejection. The first time I stood up for myself with a bio parent. They started effecting my daily life after a year of trauma therapy and memories of my sexual abbuse started coming back. Epsodes would come and go and with no genetic pre-disposition and no found triggers, my trauma-informed cardiologist agreed it was trauma induced. But it was my husband who noticed during heightened periods of processing is when I’d have flare ups.

This past two weeks have been very hard. While I am open, honest, raw, real, and do my best to portray who I am on social media (I have no secret agenda. I’m not here to trick you into anything. It’s just me.). Yet behind the scenes, even amongst the adoption community, there is oppression, tone policing, cancel culture, victimization, gaslighting, projection etc. While I’ve been speaking about adoption for years, I’m fairly new to this Instagram community. I’ve put my trust in people who didn’t have my best interest at heart. People whose own hurts and trauma affect their work and relationships. All trauma is valid. But it’s not the same. And as people who work in advocacy, activism, social work, agencies, businesses, law, etc. It is our responsibility to make sure we are addressing our own traumas before we pick our lanes. We have to own our own lenses and evaluate if are helping or harming.

My trauma is my resposibility to take care of. My trauma reactions are mine to own. My heart reminds me when something has it my core. It’s a white flag waved during my internal war that means I need to address something poking and podding my trauma.

This week my very core was rocked. I was held up by some very strong, wise, more experienced members of this community. When my heart started skipping beats and racing I knew.

It was time to just let my heart break. The hypervigilence, the tension, the anger, the frustration, the hurts, the pain, the rejection, and cping skills holding the shattered pieces of my heart aren’t working anyore. So. I’m letting it all come unglued.

I’m sitting with that infant who was abandoned.
I’m sitting with that child who was sexual abused.
I’m sitting with that young woman who was gaslighted and manipulated by a narcessist.
I’m sitting with that new Mother who experienced secondary rejection moments after giving birth.
I’m sitting with the midde aged women who has been holding together a broken heart with hypervigilence.

And I’m holding her chest as I tell her to let her heart break.
She will be O.K.

I will be O.K.

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