My Blog

Life has had its share of twists and turns. For years, people have spoken for me, as if I don’t have any thoughts of my own—only the ones others put in my head. When I try to express this, I get an eye roll and an “Oh, come on.” I’ve always been told I need to listen to others, but I was too afraid to ask for help, and I’m just now realizing where that reluctance comes from.  me, my mom and dad once moved my box spring and mattress without asking for help, simply because my mom didn’t want others to see my messy house. If people don't like my messy house, they can shut their eyes!  Doesn't people with anxiety care about everything but their house?   Yet during the three years I lived in my apartment, I kept it clean, even though it never truly felt like mine—it felt like Mom was paying the rent. People often say Jason repeats things I tell my “safe” people, but others warn me not to listen to him, calling him an asshole. It makes me wonder why people so often blame o...

Yes!  I shouldn't have developed selective mutism.  I don't think things be any different than if I didn't have selective mutism.  Things would still be the same.  I would have the anxiety but I wouldn't be mute if I didn't have selective mutism.  

1. Music (especially music by NKOTB) My favorite song, Hangin Tough and Whisper.  Whisper their song kind of reminds me of selective mutism as people with SM whisper at first.  Hangin' Tough always got me through the rough times in my life. 2. Watching podcasts on YouTube. 3. Playing with Nicki Rose. I am prediabetes again.  I am being hard and strick on myself.  I have to cut back on salt, fat, sugar and carbs.  My doctor triggered a panic attack.  It has been two years since my last colonoscopy.  Two years really flew by!  I gotta get a colonoscopy in September.  Get this over with so I can get under my weighted blanket.  I'm a wussy.  Then in October, I have to get an MRI done on my breasts.  The last time I got dizzy and then I had a panic attack.  After I had drank that awful fruity drink, I got nauseous and threw up everything I drank.  ugh!   

Yes, I look amazing! I see the difference in my body from the weight loss and all the hard work I put in. I’m so proud of myself for not giving up. I love my body just the way it is! I literally love my butt, and I’m starting to love my abs again once I look past the belly fat!

Hello August!  I missed you since last year.   Being kind to myself is something I want to work on, but I’m so used to people being mean that it’s become my norm. It’s time to change that habit! I tend to think I’m naturally an asshole, and maybe it’s just that assholes gravitate toward other assholes—it happens. But does practicing self-compassion automatically make us assholes because we’re not prioritizing being nice to someone else?

One of my favorite memories comes from when I was about 2 or 3 years old. I remember running out to my grandmother’s car and shouting, “I’ll drive, Granmaw!” She thought it was adorable and funny. It also makes me think of the times I was quiet and the rare moments I’d speak up, like asking my Uncle Max, “Are you comfortable?” My mom always said I didn’t talk much. The memory that brings me the most joy is one Granmaw told me over and over. I vividly recall her driving up to our house on Broadmoor and giving me a doll I named Babyblue, though I’m not sure why. I also remember my dad giving me a red teddy bear I named Reddi, which I took everywhere—even to Granmaw’s house for sleepovers. One day, while she was putting on boots with her foot propped up on the table, I copied her to put my shoes on and ended up falling over.  hummm.... The time that dad gave me that red teddy bear.  Was it before or after I was diagnosed with selective mutism?