The Glue

This morning I found a note card from a therapy session I had been to years ago. It says, "My inner child is bonded to the energy of neglect; I can teach her to expect better." I kept this card, hidden away in some unimportant forgotten place. I held onto it but I didn't read it. Maybe it didn't mean as much to me at the time it was written...I'm not quite sure. But I know that it means so much to me now. 

A long time ago I was broken. That's been one of the most difficult things for me to admit, as I try to be an example of strength and perseverance. Through all my struggles, all my heartache, all the sand traps and downfalls, I did allow myself to break. There were different levels of breaking. Different ages, different stages of my life. Pieces of me that never got the chance to form properly. I didn't know this at the time it was happening but I have come to know it now. Some might say I never really had a fair chance. A few might say that I should buck up and stop being so sensitive. The "tough" ones are my favorite because usually they have no earthly idea what true strength is. 

I do. 

I know the strength it takes to uncover the past, in all its wretched, ugly, secret, thieving truth. And what it takes to tell my brain that I choose to remember the things even it thinks I shouldn't. I know how it feels to look at myself in the mirror and see all the scars, visible and invisible, and blame myself for having them. I know the strength it takes to survive in an abusive day-to-day living hell, listening to all the ways I'm a piece of shit, a bitch, a failure, forgotten, damaged goods, useless, stupid, a mistake. And what it takes to go out into the world and not scream and run and cry and beg for help, out of pure fear, freedom within reach but choosing to stay in terror because I had given up on myself a long time ago. I know how it feels to walk away after having lost so much, cutting my countless losses, with whatever shred of dignity and grace I could possibly muster...all with an infant to care for, as my life imploded around me. 

Strength? Ha! I've got it covered. 

That is survival. But how about the strength to rebuild? Not everybody is blessed to make it that far, and for that gift I am truly grateful.

Later this morning I was driving my car to a friend's house. We were headed to a Buddhist temple, as I have found spiritual reward in connecting through meditation and devotion. My left hand hung out the open window as I drove, wearing five very special bracelets that are dear to my heart for one reason or another. My long hair was whipping in the wind as I listened to Back to the Earth by Rusted Root, jamming out to the drum trip and smiling. I was wearing a floor length brown flowing dress made of cheesecloth, the kind I used to wear every day in high school. The air was warm and the sun was shining. I felt, in that moment, so connected to myself. An image came to mind of Humpty Dumpty. Remember that story? I could see myself as shattered pieces, having fallen and broken. I could feel the love I had been using as a glue. The funny thing is that I give this love, light, forgiveness and compassion to all those who are suffering around me but failed to give it to myself. Today I did just that. I have the glue; it's love. I know what to do with the pieces. 

To Little Girl Sarah: It's not your fault. You did your best and it still amazes me. I know you need hugs sometimes when you're scared and you can count on me. I love you so much and I'm so proud of you! 
To Teenage Sarah: You didn't know what was happening, I know. You did as much as you could have done and helped those around you while you were suffering in silence. It's not your fault. I love you. 
To Abused 20's Sarah: I'm sorry. You were so lost and afraid, confused and alone. You didn't deserve that, not any of it. I promise to never give up on you or let you be abused again. I'm glad you made it out alive. I love you. 
To Me, Myself Today: You have fought so hard to get to where you are. You refuse to leave those suffering behind and I respect you for that. I see how hard you work to heal, grow, learn and rebuild. Who knew how hard THAT would be? Lol! But hey, I'm here. Don't forget to take care of yourself and rest, enjoy life and be happy. 
Oh, and one more thing, I love you! 

Thanks for reading! 
As Always, Love Light & Blessings
~ Sarah Gallardo
sarahspeaksup.org

The Silver Lining of a Jelly Doughnut

Lately people have asked me what is the silver lining after surviving domestic violence. I wish I had better news for them. I wish I could tell them that there's a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, that you get a parade and a certificate with a magic wand that solves all your problems from that day forward. I wish I could say that everyone comes out unscathed, that all the storms in your life will henceforth be sunshine and lollipops. I can't.

What I can say is that whatever life looks like after leaving, it's better than what it was. It's better than walking on eggshells every day with a knot in the pit of your stomach, fearful for your life. It's better than being convinced that you are worthless and that nobody cares about you. It's better than believing that you deserve to be treated like an animal or worse. It's better than being told that what's happening is your fault, that you'll lose your job and your children. It's better than having all the things you love and hold dear used against you to try and make you stay. It’s better than control and manipulation. It's better than beatings. It's better than rape.

So maybe there's not a pot of gold waiting for you at the end of the rainbow. But I do believe you'll get a jelly doughnut. (You think I’m crazy. It’s ok. Stay with me.)

At first it's just a pile of dough. What you do with it is your choice. You can leave it there as it is...but who really wants to eat a pile of dough? You can fry it, but then you'll just have bread. So choose a flavor of jelly, any kind you want. Fill up the bread and now we're talkin! And don't tell me you're going to stop there. No way! You go get that powdered sugar and you cover it up, roll it all around until you've got the perfect jelly doughnut. Look at that! YOU did that!

I know you're not really a pile of dough. But in a way, you are. Recovering from abuse is a process. There are steps, layers of healing and growth. You get to choose what your life looks like, moving forward. You get to choose if you stay stuck believing that you will always be a victim or not. Or you can choose to go to group counseling, one on one therapy, Church, yoga, self-defense class, the gym, travel, back to school, learn something new, teach something new, be creative; write, paint, sing, dance, act, sculpt, draw, create! Maybe even try at love again. You get to choose. Therein lies your power!

So I'm sorry that I can't promise a pot of gold. I wish I could. (Trust me, I want one too.) I can only promise you a pile of dough. And don't think I haven't taken into account those of you who don't like jelly donuts. (If you fancy yourself a Boston cream, the analogy still works.) That's not really the point of this, but it's a lot better than the flaming pile of shit that is abuse. And THAT much I know to be true.

As always, thanks for reading!

Love Light & Blessings

~Sarah Gallardo

sarahspeaksup.org

And Then She Sang

I was given an opportunity last night. 

I sang at the Coram Deo fundraiser, a local non-profit that supports women in recovery from addiction. Thank you to Christine Petit for inviting me. Thank you to Erik Schubert and Christine for taking the lovely photos of the event. And thank you to Derek Monahan for playing guitar that evening. I didn't tell this story last night, out of respect for the event, not to dilute the message, but I will tell it here. 

After high school I went to Berklee College of Music for vocal performance. I had wanted to be a singer for as long as I could remember. Once I got there, I began to remember my childhood trauma. Something so traumatic that it changed the course of my life. I became depressed and was unable to finish school. 

Fast forward to meeting the man who is now my ex-husband, the man who abused me for 10 years. I tried to join a choir while we were together and because it was something of my very own, something that reminded me of who I always wanted to be, something that gave me joy and made me feel empowered, he ended the first night of choir practice by strangling me saying, "You're never gonna sing again." 

My voice was forever changed. 

And so I didn't sing anywhere but in the car and the shower. Even after our divorce was over.

Last night I sang in front of 600 people at the Aquaturf. My first time back singing in over 15 years. To me, it didn't matter how I sounded (I'm forever critical of myself). It mattered that I got up there and did it. 

In my mind, I could see my ex's face up close to mine as he told me I'd never sing again. Every step I took leading up to that microphone was a silent middle finger. A defiant bit of triumph over the fear that had been planted in my mind so many years ago. Nobody could see this but I knew it. I knew what a big deal it was for me. Just another severed tie, taking back a slice of freedom and holding my head high. 

Yes, my voice is different now but it is no less beautiful for all the wear. More importantly, I still have one. I'm still here. Wether speaking up or singing out, I will not be silenced. 

As always, 

Thanks for reading! 

Love, Light & Blessings! 

~Sarah Gallardo

sarahspeaksup.org

Serving Our Community; Planning the Veterans for Victims Program

What an exciting morning I've had! 

I just finished a conversation with the Treasurer of Sarah Speaks Up. We've been discussing the projected 5 year budget for the Veterans For Victims Program. This, paired with the Planning Committee's ongoing meetings and creation of protocols, has had us all very busy. It might sound pretty boring, but when you're blessed with the opportunity to witness your vision come to life with such a talented group of people, it's nothing short of a miracle. The bigger picture is most definitely in sight and we are moving forward with determination and purpose!

The goal of the program is simple. We want to effect a positive change in both the domestic violence survivor's community and the Veterans community. 

Veterans For Victims Mission Statement:

To encourage, empower, strengthen and support domestic violence survivors to Speak Up by connecting them with a military veteran, escorting them to and from court when facing their abuser.

What's so exciting to me about this program is that we are creating something that helps two communities at once. Both groups of people combined have the highest rate of PTSD in our society. They both understand trauma and survival. Love is a common theme for all, whether it be love of country or love of a significant other. And unfortunately, both DV Victims and Veterans have paid the ultimate price for that love.

One of my favorite takeaways from today's conversation was that we could potentially create upwards of 3,000 per diem jobs for veterans in our community while supporting roughly 900 survivors in their time of need. Talk about a win win! 

How can you help? Well, it's simple. Participate in the fundraisers, donate your time or money, share this post and others from Sarah Speaks Up, and talk to friends, family members and coworkers about this program. Anything to create awareness! 

Our next fundraiser is March 29 from 5 PM to 9 PM at Moe's Southwest Grill, 3145 Berlin Turnpike, Newington, CT. 15% of sales from that evening will be donated to Sarah Speaks Up. In order to receive that percentage all customers must show the coupon attached to this post. Please come join us for some good food to support a great cause!

As always, thanks for your love and support!

Love, Light & Blessings,

~Sarah Gallardo

The Decision To Feel After A Lifetime Of Disassociation

I woke up from another nightmare this morning. Before the alarm clock. Just close enough for me to not be able to fall back asleep, not that I'd want to, for fear of seeing this night's "bad guy" waiting behind my eyelids. 

I'm exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that comes from spinning your emotional wheels and re-experiencing trauma after trauma until you wake up to shaking hands and a racing heart. The kind where naps aren't even comforting any more because day-mares are now a thing.  But just like every night I lay my head down, I take that gamble because I have no choice. 

The decision to feel after a lifetime of disassociation. I made it myself. I did it for a beautiful reason but it doesn't take from the absolute agony I feel every day. Sometimes I talk about it, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I fall asleep after being on the phone and crying to the point where I scream but make no sound so the person on the other end doesn't know. Sometimes I wake up screaming in the middle of the night. Sometimes my alarm goes off and I do scream...into my pillow, and cry, hands shaking and heart racing. 

Applying eyeliner in the morning with tears in your eyes is impossible and yet I do it more often than not. I have to because my face must be brave when I wake up the 9 year old girl who sleeps across the hall, unaware of what her mom is going through behind her own door. I have to smile and pretend I'm listening when she tells me things about books and friends and school and the charge on her computer. I have to turn my head when a rogue tear escapes, overflow from what's waiting when I come back inside after putting her on the bus. 

I want to crawl out of my skin and cry and scream. I want to be hugged but I don't want to be touched. I want to curl up on my couch under a soft blanket and stay there until I feel safe again. I want my cat to sleep on me like she used to, purring and sharing each other's warmth. I miss her. I miss Nancy. And frankly, I miss who I could have been if none of this ever happened and my brain wasn't riddled with PTSD & triggers. I would love nothing more than to stop this day-to-day horror show funhouse I feel like I'm walking through. 

The decision to feel after a lifetime of disassociation. I made it myself. And I have to stand by it now. So I sit down at the dining room table, I finish my coffee through what I hope is the end of the tears for now, wrap up this bit of writing and get on to work. I'll listen to an audiobook or some music I love as I get through this day. I'll try to refocus, reframe and readjust. And if the tears come again, unlike steeling myself and stifling them as I used to do in the past, I'll let them flow, dry my face and keep going. I will get through this. I won't give up. 

As always, 

Love Light & Blessings

~Sarah Gallardo

Valentines Day 2017

Valentines Day 2017

To be soft.

In a world that is hard.

In a world that will shake you to your core and leave you a shell of a person, in tatters.

For someone who has survived severe trauma this sounds like an impossible task. It feels like exposing every major artery after almost bleeding out, once before. I never fully understood the gravity of this, the sheer ridiculous faith one must have in order to wholeheartedly try at love again, until now.

But before I continue, let me clarify the use of the word "soft". I don't mean "to be weak". For so long that's what I thought it meant. I believed I needed to be hard to keep myself safe. This is a trap. If we all went through life with our shields up, how would we ever really see or get close to one another? By "soft" I mean open, trusting, vulnerable. I mean not to fight for a "safe distance" in a relationship while simultaneously wanting to feel close to someone. It's like a porcupine. Sure, they've got a back side full of needles, but their tummies are so soft and warm. There is no feat of bravery in showing your quills. Courage is rolling over and showing your soft side to the one you love.

And so I have taken the leap and tried at love again. Truth be told, at first I was waiting for disaster, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for yet another disappointment. My life experiences trained me to expect this. After leaving my abusive ex husband, I had had other tries before. They ended in heartbreak, like the slow removal of a bandaid that never had the chance to heal anything at all. In fact, I learned more about what I don't want from a partner than what I do want. What I didn't realize at the time but I do now, is that I wasn't showing up in those relationships 100%. It didn't matter what the other person did or didn't do (not to dismiss their bad behavior), I wasn't being my authentic self. I didn't even know who that was. I had become so attached to my armor that I became it. I was a "take me or leave me" girl, and I set it up so that I'd be unfazed if they left. That is not love for anyone involved.

Now I realize the importance of give and take, compromise, communication, trust, honesty and vulnerability. I have taken the leap. I showed my soft side to the most amazing man I've ever met. This after four years of attending a weekly domestic violence support group, becoming a trained counselor and still going to one on one therapy every week, to this day. So yes, I put in the work to learn about choosing to surround myself with healthier people. I'll always still be learning. But I know this, I have a wonderful friend and partner by my side. He taught me what it feels like to truly be loved. He's my person. He's someone I can learn with, grow with and tell the truth to without being judged. And the most beautiful feeling of all; I can trust him with my soft side knowing he'd never intentionally hurt me. It's not easy. We make mistakes, we fumble, we flounder at times. It takes work. We're not perfect and we both know it. But I think we've grown to love that about each other, and in the process I think we've grown to love that about ourselves.

There is no such thing as fantastic reward without fantastic effort and fantastic faith. To me, the most real, down to earth, splendidly simple kind of love that I have found is the most fantastic reward of all. 

As always, thanks for reading!

Love, Light & Blessings

~Sarah Gallardo

To S.B. 

You Are Enough

There I was, at a dinner like any other. Something we had done so many times before. Sitting in a daze of the phrase, "You are enough".

Maybe it was the way that he held my hands and looked into my eyes when he said it. Maybe it was the fact that I know he never minces words, that he means what he says in serious conversations always. Maybe it was the fact that I so desperately needed to hear it, and more so believe it. Whatever the reason, there it was. Said. Out of his mouth and lingering in the air between us, waiting for me to pluck it from its orbit and soak it into my soul. But no part of me wanted to do that. Walls, barriers, barricades, crocodile motes, pitchforks, fire and brimstone... All the training throughout my life began to kick in. "You have to do more. Be more. Give more. You have to prove yourself." And all the lessons people had taught me about love. “I'll give you this if you give me that. Sacrifice yourself for no return. I will love you if you give me... (Oh my God is this really what I think?)... I will love you if you...”

I had to stop. In that moment I had to put my head in my hands and hold onto it for fear that it might explode, rustling my long straight hair as if to close the curtain around my face so I had something to hide behind. There was really no point. I know the look on my face gave me away. But as hard as I tried to avert his gaze, I couldn't. He held me there and refused to let me go, making me hear it, making me see myself the way he did. There were a few times I could recall being trapped in his eyes before and seeing, really seeing each other. But never like this.

He had asked me how I was feeling. Something we agreed to check in with one another about more often. I talked about how I've been struggling lately. A particular event that happened in my personal life recently, was affecting me so much more than I wanted people to know about. So much more than I wanted to know about. He was there when it happened, a reminder of horrible things from my childhood, and he's been there ever since. No judgment, just understanding. Only, I've been there too. Judging myself the whole time. Holding myself accountable for offenses that had been done to me in a time when I was powerless to stop them. Telling myself I should be stronger. I should be better. I should be over this by now.

I'm not.

And I can't pretend to be anymore. That masquerade does me no good. It wasn't my fault. I didn't do this to me but, I can't forgive myself. Yet…

But here's the good news... I'm not alone. I haven't always chosen the best people to surround myself with but I think I've got it right this time. They love me. They want to protect me. They forgive me when I can't. And my dinner date, the one whose eyes can hold me in a moment and calm me in a panic. The one who has stood up to protect me when I couldn't do it myself. The one who held onto me when I let go of myself. Well, he's enough too. He's more than enough. We both are.