Category Archives: Kansas City

I’m Okay, but I’m Not Okay

December 22, 2016 Vic Leave a comment

Lately I keep saying to myself, ‘I’m not okay, but I’m okay.” Everywhere I go people ask “how are you doing?” This is not because they read my blog or social media posts about my struggles. This is merely because as a society we have been taught that this is how you open a conversation, by showing you want to know about the other persons well-being. It is hard for me because I know if I say I am not okay, or I am shitty, that they will most likely not only want to know more but then also offer advice and ideas. My pain and struggle is really exhausting and so often it seems easier to be alone in order to not get asked this question. I always wonder if the person asking is sincere or not. I hate to tell people I am fine, or okay when in reality I am not.

Much like this Gingerbread, I wonder if they see the real me.

This is why I decided that when people ask me how I am doing I am going to tell them the positive side of things. Or, if I feel really crummy at that moment, I can simply say “I am not okay, but I am okay.” I want to be truthful. I want to be sincere in my answers and my interactions. I also do not want to be a burden on people who are just trying to be polite but not get wrapped in to the situation.

This holiday season I have taken a new spin on treatment for what ails me and have been working to find weird interesting ways to make me more okay than not. Often when people are struggling in life they wear a mask to hide the pain they are feeling. This can be in many forms. For me, it came out in costume.

It started when my team decided to “Elf” our supervisor. If you have never been “Elfed” this means that you basically got a Christmas Prank… often dealing with wrapping an entire cubical on paper as well as everything on the desk inside the cubical. When we ran to the store for decorations and paper I saw the elf hat in this photo and just had to have it. Little did I know by the time we were done wrapping the supervisors desk I would have a plan in place to dress like an elf for the big reveal. The problem is that my back has been really bad lately and keeps me from work sometimes, so I missed the big reveal. I didn’t want to skip the outfit even though I was going in late to work. I wanted to feel joyful and silly. So I showed up in costume.

What may have been a single day thing became a hot topic around the office and my team for what other costumes would be a good idea. This was just a step up from the Unicorn “onesie” (One-piece pajama) I wore on Halloween. While popping in to my local target for a red sweater (for a different costume) I found a pair of red and green striped “onesie” that had a long john look to them. I knew I had to have them for a different elf costume. My one regret is they didn’t have a butt flap like the old school ones. It was super comfortable and I never wanted to take it off. When I got home my original thought was to just wear them at my parents house for Christmas. That was before I realized I needed to get dressed for my teams Christmas party. Sometimes picking the right outfit is so hard, especially that every day since Thanksgiving my pain level has increased. So I threw on this outfit and showed up to surprise my team. They got a huge kick out of it, and it helped me forget the pain in my back, even if just for a little while.

I think some people would say it has turned in to an obsession and I may be spiraling out of control. I don’t think so though. I think this is giving me an opportunity to be the unique positive fun-spirited person I am, instead of the broken sad little girl I feel like a lot these days. You would think that I would stop there, many probably hoped, but I kept going. Monday I wore a green dress with white dots that was last years Christmas dress. I told people I was a Christmas Tree. If I had planned better I would have gotten a star for my head and maybe some garland to wrap around me. That one wasn’t special enough to take a photo in. It was more about my mindset, rather than the reactions of others.

I spent the last few weeks preparing gifts for everyone in my office. I figured I would sneak in early or late and just put a little stocking full of goodies on each desk. Then they asked me to do morning inspiration. Tuesday was supposed to be the day, so I began prepping a Santa costume (hence the red sweater from earlier). Unfortunately my pain got so back Monday night that I visited the local VA ER for assistance and swapped days for inspiration. Even though I was still in pain and feeling really crummy this outfit helped me find a new attitude so I could go to work and not just lay in bed all day. I showed up around lunch time and immediately took my Santa bag from desk to desk saying “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!” then handed them each a stocking and tried to quickly disappear. It was quite a surprise and delight for everyone, myself included.

I thought I was done, that was the last costume of the season, and I would go back to the normal day to day clothes. As I was driving home that night my pain increased again and I felt very sick. I began to worry about what the holidays would look like for me if I hurt this much. I did not want to revisit the ER, I just want to feel better. As I worked to get my mind to not spiral in the pain I started thinking about How the Grinch Stole Christmas. I have always thought it would be cool to do Cindy Lou Who hair, and have the outfit. So I went straight to the store and started hunting for the right items.

I decided that I would save Cindy for Thursday, so what would I do for Wednesday. I thought long and hard about what Christmas character I had not yet done but would be simple to pull off with normal clothes. I found my answer in reindeer antlers. Not to mention I put together a super cute chocolate brown outfit that I was very comfy in and can wear again. There is just something special about being in the season that has helped me move through the days. The funny thing is that unlike most years, I had to really hunt for reindeer antlers, finally finding them at Walgreens. That was my fifth stop. Just the shopping for the outfits was really therapeutic for me though, so I really enjoyed the challenge and the hunt.

I honestly thought that my Santa outfit was going to be shining glory, the perfect piece. Then I outshone my own ridiculousness with Cindy Lou Who.

I spent more time and effort on building this outfit than the the other five put together. I spent hours sewing the cape and time practicing the hair. It was all worth it. I woke up early this morning, which I hate, and I got ready and hit the road. I was almost late for the morning meeting I was leading and presenting my inspiration at. It would not have been okay, but I would have been okay. I wow’d the office and people on the street with my outfit bringing smiles to so many which lifted me up as well.

Dressed as Cindy Lou Who was the perfect outfit to inspire those in my workplace to choose love not hate. To inspire them to love themselves for they can better love others and begin a spiral effect of everyone loving everyone. It can make the world a better place. In How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Cindy Lou Who was able to show him love and patience while teaching him about community and celebrating. In the end his heart grew three sizes. The Grinch learned to love and Cindy Lou discovered the meaning of Christmas again. The world continues to turn and it is important to not let our emotions or struggles hold us back. This holiday season I have been reminded that life can be light and silly. That I can create my own motivations and treatments based on who I am as a person.

I got to spend a lot of time these last few weeks just really being me and working to feel accepted by who I am within my conservative “adult” community. I brought so many smiles and a lot of joy to people that I encountered, so not only was this tale of how the to help myself heal, but also to help heal other people. Be who you want to be, and nothing more. I know that though I am not okay physically right now, I am still okay. It’s about not giving up, giving in, or surrendering to the darkness.

Merry Christmas!

Original Post on Medium.

Kansas City, MO

Thankful to be a 6/10

November 29, 2016 Vic Leave a comment

I draw the pain in hopes I can release it.

We are all familiar with the question, “On a scale of 1–10, 10 being the worst pain you’ve ever felt, where is your pain right now?” It is commonly asked by health care providers, even if you’re at a 0. I live at a 3 most days, maybe a 2 if I’m lucky. If I’m unlucky I’m at a 6 or an 8, or stuck in bed or on my floor at a 10. It’s been this way since 2009, when I was in Iraq. My best guess is months of wear and tear just broke something so my shoulder doesn’t work right. There was no significant trauma, oh how I wish there had been.

I’ve been poked and prodded for 7 years. I’ve tried medication and physical therapy. I’ve had test after test. I’ve cried in offices as doctors proclaim that my tests show completely normal, and sometimes really great for someone my age. They’re tears of frustration that I feel the need to explain or apologize for. I wish they would find something wrong.

This pain interferes with my life. I want to feel better, so I spend time at the VA trying to discover what’s going on. It takes a lot out of me to go to the doctor so often. To put myself through tests over and over. To be on medication that helps me forget the pain, as well as everything else, including what I want to order at dinner, 30 seconds after making a decision.

As each specialist tells me they can’t help I look at them with tears in my eyes and ask that they keep trying. I’m only 29, I shouldn’t live in this much pain. It starts in my shoulder blade and effects my whole left arm and shoulder. It often effects my whole back. I’m amazingly strong they say, but it hurts to make the motions to prove my strength.

My pain presents in many ways, even in my imagination.

I was looking forward to Thanksgiving with my family coming to visit. I knew it would be a busy few days, but I’d cleaned and prepped and was ready. Then I woke up on Thanksgiving day to go get them at the airport and my 3 was a 6 with every movement and every breathe. It didn’t get better as the day went on, but I shouldered through (pun intended).

I thought that a good night’s sleep would help. I took my forgetting medication (gabapentin) and tried to forget and to sleep. It didn’t work, I awoke to a 10, feeling crippled. I breathed through it, took my forgetting meds, and prayed I would forget. I forgot except when I tried to check traffic as I drove. I forgot except when I tried to breathe or moved too quickly. In 7 years I’ve gotten used to breathing and moving carefully, but then the forgetting medication makes me forget to be careful.

I found that I spent too much time complaining about my pain, so I don’t mention it, as much, when my hand goes numb or it hurts to breathe. I try to not mention it when I’m having a bad day and can’t get out of bed, or I’m so distracted by it while sitting at my desk at work. I don’t want people to be absorbed with my pain scale, because I don’t want to be absorbed with my pain scale. I don’t want my physical injury to have anymore control over me than I do my mental injuries. So I try to not mention it. I still want people to care though, so I don’t feel alone in my pain, with my demons.

The reason I mention it now is because this thanksgiving, despite the pain, I am very thankful. My family is incredible, and they will listen to me complain and talk about my pain.

My TENS Unit (Electrical Stimulation) Angel.

They will discuss remedies and help me place my TENS unit that I can’t put on correctly by myself. They’ll place the lidocaine patches just so in order to provide the most help. They’ll claim sympathy pains alongside me. They rub my back and carry heavy bags. They do what they can to make me feel better.

I also think about everything I’ve learned in 7 years. I know so much about the human body that it made me a great EMT. I helped people feel better, even if my own pain is mysterious. I’ve learned to set boundaries and to care for myself to try and not cause more pain. I’ve learned it the hard way with chainsaws that cause my muscles to scream and people who now help me not feel compelled to pick up a chainsaw. Being in pain has made me lean on my friends and family for help, and I believe that has made us closer than if I were not injured. It has insisted I give more trust to doctors than I feel I should.

It helps me be grateful for the fact I’m alive. I think about selectively numbing things, if I had no pain, I’d have no pleasure. I think the medication I take to forget makes me funnier, just as much as it embarrasses me. I may be in pain when I breathe, but I’m breathing. I may lay in bed or on my floor for a while when it really hurts, but I have a bed and a floor under a roof.

I think about how when I’m in pain but wanting to still function I can pull it together for minutes at a time to keep going and enjoy my life. How I can accept the pain to feel the pleasure and to control my life instead of the pain controlling me. How I can breathe through it and be more conscious of my body when it hurts. It allows me to work harder to listen to my body.

Yes, I would prefer to live without pain, but I won’t let it control me. I have learned to deal with it, to still be functional and valuable in my disaster relief work. To be honest, open, and transparent with my capabilities and my struggles. For my weakness and my pain I become stronger. For this I am very very thankful.

We should accept our reality, our pain, and our struggle. It does not mean we give up looking for answers and solutions, but it means that we choose to win. We can make the choice to be thankful even in the roughest moments. I am thankful that I can do this, and I am thankful that I can share this with you. I hope it inspires you push through and be thankful even in the depths of pain.

Original Post on Medium.

Kansas City, MO

The Words I Don’t Speak

November 21, 2016 Vic Leave a comment

I am a woman. A woman who has lived in a mans world for my whole life. When I matured to adulthood I went straight into a field of work that did not have a long history of allowing women, and was still restricted for women in many areas. I sometimes find myself giving the military full credit for the fact that as a woman I feel that I am often under qualified, potentially less than in a crowd of people, and do not speak these words. The more I think about it, the more I realize that I need to give our society at large credit, including the military, for the words that I don’t speak.

I dare not tell you these words, because you will likely call me sensitive. I dare not speak these words because then I will be labeled a drama queen. I dare not share these words for fear of being considered a bitch.

I find that as I reconnect with my wild woman intuition, and find the me that I want to be, I still do not speak these words enough. My words are spoken in small huddles of people, mostly women, that I am close to. They are women who nod their heads, eager to also say the words that they do not speak. We look at stories from our lives to try and understand why we do not speak these words out loud in a group. Even in groups where everything else is safe to say, we do not speak these words.

Fear grips us when we think about the need to shift around a subject or a person for fear of needing to speak the words we do not speak. We speak individually of these things with men who have a special place for us, but we still have fear in our hearts that they will still label or reject us, because it happens. We also do not select just any woman to speak these words with, for as women we have been taught the danger of other women as well. It is difficult because we also know for those we are close with, that their love knows no bounds, but they have also been raised in a society that does not desire us to speak these words and so does not understand us.

I want to tell you these words that I do not speak, but I feel I need to let you in on some other things before you hear the words. I want you to understand that the words I don’t speak should be spoken. That when they are spoken, it is not meant to demean anyone, myself or the person I say them to. It is not meant to offend, cause harm, or cause emotional pain. It does not mean that I don’t like you, love you, or care for you. If it does, then you need to process it, and not put that back on me. Just as we work to teach our children boundaries, I am working to teach myself boundaries. These are words that should be said without hesitation or fear.

Before I tell you these words think back to elementary school days. I recall (and many of you may also) not being allowed to bring birthday party invitations to class, unless I was inviting everyone. I think about this story and I think about what doing that potentially teaches our children. That in group environments, everyone is expected to be just as involved as everyone else or it doesn’t happen. In group environments I am not supposed to set my boundaries with those that I am not close to, for fear of hurting their feelings. In group environments it is better to keep the waters calm, rather than speak the words I need to speak.

So there are words that I do not speak for fear of many things.

I don’t want to be touched right now. No hugs today. No hugs for you. Do not step that close to me. I do not want to talk. Stop. No. I am not interested. I do not want to sit by you. I need space. I need to be alone. I need to slow down for a minute. I need to not rush into things. I want to slow down. I want to not rush things. I know what I need. I am not fine, but I will be okay. Stop. No. I don’t want to. I am not going to. I want space. Leave me alone. I know what I am talking about. Listen to me.

There are many reasons for speaking these words and mostly they have to do with me and my boundaries. I should not fear using these words to set my boundaries. I should not fear social criticism for saying No or don’t touch me. I should not wait until I finally explode with emotion and say these words. No one, male or female, should ever have to live in fear of saying these words in a group or alone. It is not okay. I am not interested in excuses. It does not matter who the person is I am saying them to. What matters is that I am saying them, and the words I say should be honored. I may not say them to everyone in a group, but I shouldn’t be forced to treat everyone with the same level of intimacy that I treat those I am close to.

If I behave in a way that describes these words, then that should also be honored. I should not be forced to say many of these words. A lot of this has to do with not assuming things about a person. It is about respecting them. The saying is not “do unto others as you wish done unto yourself” it is “do unto others as THEY wish done unto themselves.” It is okay to ask permission before touching a person, to have direct conversations about if something is okay or not, if it makes them comfortable or not. Maybe I don’t want to be hugged today even if you hug me every other time, but I should feel that telling you that is not going to damage our relationship. The next step is to let it be, accept the answer, stop asking the questions over and over. I trust you will tell me if you need something, give the same trust to me.

There are many things I have been taught about being a woman, and though I see signs that our society is changing, I am still struggling to change. Many of these are a habit for me. A habit from living in a world where I am expected and told to have a thicker skin or not cry. A habit formed from being called a bitch instead of a leader. A habit formed from being called a prude instead of someone with good boundaries. A habit formed from being taught that kindness and smiling meant I was a whore. From a young age I was taught some things about how to act in society, but they were solidified while in the service.

It’s time we make it normal to speak the words that we do not speak. It is time for those we speak them to, to encourage our actions, and to accept the words we say without excuses. These are the words I don’t easily speak, but I am working to say them because I am important and so are my boundaries. I am not going to stay quiet anymore and I will not allow anyone to call me names. Help me stop making these words so easy to not speak.

Original Post on Medium.

Kansas City, PTSD, Veteran

This is my PTSD. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

November 7, 2016 Vic Leave a comment

The Marines have a Rifleman’s Creed that starts “This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine.” My parody is “This is my PTSD. There are many like it, but this one is mine.” I have PTSD, and it doesn’t look like yours, or yours, or yours.

2012 Navy Operational Support Center Denver receiving my second Navy and Marine Corp Achievement Medal

In training for Iraq and while in country, I learned how horrible we can be to one another in the service. I learned when there is nothing else to do, sex or talking about sex is the answer. General Order Number 1 be damned. I had a chief come on to me during training, and when something happened with another female, it turned into an investigation. I was dragged through meeting after meeting with JAG (Judge Advocate General of the Navy), missing important training, all to try and tear my story apart. His charges went nowhere. Privacy is not easy to find in the military, and neither is confidentiality as I learned during this time. It set a tone for my whole deployment.

This was the one job I sat at a desk for in Camp Bucca, Iraq, 2009

It was like living in the worst MTV high school drama you can imagine, where you are the girl that is called “the whore.” Portable toilets were used to share rumors about the females, myself included. I was approached for relationships a lot. This may seem flattering to some, but for me it was overwhelming. I was, and still am, a rule follower. I also was not the popular girl with boys back home, but here I was getting propositioned all the time. I will admit I was not a saint, and I often played along just to try and fit in. It was the world we lived in, I was just trying to survive. Those who I thought were my friends would make excuses and apologies to me for joining in the mocking and gossip about me. I compensated by just trying to play the game.

A few months into being in Iraq, I got really sick with Tonsillitis that was misdiagnosed by the clinic providers. It was a horrible experience. I sought medical treatment only to be turned away and got sicker. Finally, they couldn’t deny my symptoms. They were concerned for my airway, so I got Medevac’d to Germany to get help. During this time my command didn’t check on me, they didn’t stay in touch. A few of my shipmates reached out and told me the rumors that were circulating; I was pregnant by a detainee or local, I had given an STD to a bunch of people, I had gone crazy and pulled a gun on someone. Despite these rumors, I felt the need to prove myself and so turned down the tonsillectomy in order to go back down range with my command. I proved nothing to anyone, but was able to give them more room to create more rumors as to why I was allowed to go back. I was moved from one position to another after that, but something had broken inside of me. I started to isolate and consider how to get out of there. I did not have a good support system in my command and heard about rumors from all levels of the chain of command. There were a few core people left by the last few months of my tour who were the only reason I made it through. We drank Amp, chain-smoked cigarettes, and sang karaoke to get through. None of us could stand that we were still there, but we were fighters, strong women, and we finished the tour and made it home.

Saddam’s Palace at Victory Base in Iraq, 2009

Upon returning home I was different, I continued to isolate myself. I had a hard time trusting even those who I was close to before. Life had really changed in a year for everyone, not just me, and I didn’t know where I fit. This took all of the issues I had in Iraq and compounded them. I couldn’t trust, my health was a risk, and all men were a risk to me. I compensated for a while and through my second tour to Afghanistan, until I couldn’t compensate anymore.

The thing I learned about mental health is that our bodies are incredibly strong and work really hard to compensate and overcome, but at some point, the compensation factor fails from exhaustion. It took until 2013 to finally break down and acknowledge I had issues. I didn’t do it alone though. My civilian employers cared about me, and after my Afghanistan tour, took the time to alert me and give me a chance. I ended up leaving that job and going home to my parents, to grieve and to try to find a new start.

Continuing to serve in a new way has changed the meaning of my life. Operation Steam Wagon, Beaver Crossing, NE May 2014.

People everywhere suffer trauma’s, but together we can overcome and build a new stronger life.

I happened upon several veteran organizations during my multiple breakdowns and they have made a huge difference in my PTSD journey. Within these organizations I have met a multitude of people from different walks of life, both veteran and civilian. It is this collective of people that have provided me insight into how to best reintegrate and also how to cope and manage my PTSD. Without the volunteering opportunities I have had and the wonderful people who have supported me in my journey to good mental health, I don’t know where I would be today. Some organizations have offered me the ability to continue being of service to my community and our entire country. Others have provided me the support and lessons to set boundaries, practice holistic methods of managing symptoms, and allowed me to give myself permission to let go, heal, and move on.

I have stared the possibility of suicide in the face and been able to turn my back on it. I have heard stories of trauma from veterans and non-veterans a like. I have felt love and support in my times of struggle and when I trigger. When I fall on the floor, unable to get up, someone is always there to listen and to give me a hand up. I have learned that there are good men and women who have my back and are not a risk to me. I learned to trust again and what quality leadership looks like. I have learned how to live with a future in sight, and not just day by day.

Being a part of integrated organizations has allowed me to truly move past the labels of being a veteran with PTSD, MST, Anxiety and Panic Attacks and Depression. I can see now that trauma happens to people in all walks of life, and it is not my place to compare my own struggles and trauma with those of others. It allows for me to hold solidarity with everyone I interact with, honoring each person’s journey as unique and important. I hope that they each do the same for me, it is my hope as I share my vulnerability and my struggle with you, here. I may live with my PTSD the rest of my life, but I have found tools to help me remove triggers or manage them. I will continue to overcome with the help from my providers, my community, and those that are closer than family.

Wanderers Guide Book

Category Archives: Kansas City

I’m Okay, but I’m Not Okay

Thankful to be a 6/10

The Words I Don’t Speak

This is my PTSD. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

To Wander is the purpose.