How Coconut Oil Traumatized Me
Wow. It’s been a hectic past two weeks. We moved our whole family and farm to a quiet spot near Springfield, MO. It was stressful trying to coordinate it all and it took three, 18-hour days of intense loading and unloading as we took millions of trips back and forth. It was exhausting but I’ll tell you what, my family is made up of the most incredible humans ever. Nate, Jennifer, and my two girls put every ounce into being the absolute best team. For this, I am SO grateful. It took a hell of a lot of work, but we fucking did it.
Of course, there are still boxes and totes everywhere and so much to figure out, but we are doing our best to keep chipping away at it. Sadly, Nate went off for a week to do an out-of-town job since it will be a while until he has enough work in our area. I am grateful for the financial opportunity but it does feel extra overwhelming without his help. Jenna got an excellent job in Springfield so that’s shit cool and I am so happy for her. However, as always, that leaves me at home with my girls to manage the mayhem everywhere and attempt to avoid going insane. Some days I succeed; other days not so much.
Like today. This morning was a “not so much” day. I just wanted to make some breakfast. Is that too much to ask? I would reheat some quinoa/squash blend in a pan on the stove and have a quick but healthy source of protein and veggies - or so I thought. I reached to grab the large jar of coconut oil and as I lifted it near the pan, it slipped out of my grasp and fell over onto the stove. Oil gushed out and went E.V.E.R.Y.W.H.E.R.E.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Instant anger filled me. This was no little spill.
I had yanked the oil container back up to stop it from completely spilling the contents, but I couldn’t stop the barrage of negativity happening inside my brain. I mopped the floor at least 5 times but could never fully get the slimy oil feeling off the tile. I finally had to quit and just move on.
I still made my breakfast except instead of enjoying it, I sat at our kitchen table and sobbed as I choked down my breakfast. There was so much frustration that all I could do was surrender to the torrent of tears.
I often wonder why things like this upset me so much. I wish I were one of those people who saw the positive side of everything. It’s like, no matter how hard I try, all I can see are the mistakes and failures. The voices in my head scream “Idiot!”. I want to run away and hide from it all. Instead, I focus on cleaning up my messes and try to keep the self-hatred contained within my brain. Being kind to myself feels 100% out of reach for me in these moments.
“There is no reason to cry over spilled milk.” sounds reasonable until it’s me. Somehow, I can’t allow myself to drop things, forget things, burn things, break things, lose things, or anything else that feels careless. Why? I don’t know.
My mom was a clean freak. With nine kids maybe that’s the only way she could manage a sense of control. When it came to cleaning, she learned from the professionals, bought the best products, and then spent her time and energy making sure we all became capable cleaners. However, she failed to teach us that it’s okay to make mistakes. We learned how to get in every nook and cranny. We were not allowed to miss even a spot. She would inspect it when we were done and if my mom found even one speck of dirt or dust, it was a lecture and more cleaning. One of my jobs was picking up my dog's poop in our ¾ acre every week. My mom would check over the yard and if she found a missed pile of poop, it was an immediate spanking. I fucking hated this part of my life. I lived in constant terror of not being good enough. She was no wimp and her spankings were intense and severe. I quickly learned to be hyper-vigilant. Mistakes were met with painful consequences. Our strict religion was the foundation of it all. Proverbs 13:24 reads, “Whoever spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is diligent to discipline him.”
“I do this because I love you.” my mom would say right before she wailed on my backside.
Anything that wasn’t work, was foolishness.
Proverbs 10:26 “Go to the ant, you sluggard; consider its ways and be wise!” was a scripture my mom quoted to us daily. I never dared to question anything because that would only result in swift punishment. I took the beatings and learned as fast as I could.
I will be 41 next month. I sit here typing in a new coffee shop. My life is completely different than it was those many years ago as a child but somehow part of me is stuck in that toxic belief that mistakes are not allowed. I am a grown-ass adult. I don’t live anywhere near my mom and I rarely talk to her anymore. Instead of my mom beating me up, now it’s me beating the crap out of myself. I can’t seem to get away from the punishment. This critical part is always there, watching me, hoping I don’t mess up, terrified of even the simplest mistakes. When I do, it rushes in with so much fear that I feel like I am being pushed over the edge. “Why? Why? Why?” it screams. “When will you learn that it’s not safe to mess up?”
I have always seen this part of me as a horrendous monster coming to beat me up. I am just now realizing that the truth is, that it’s scared to death. This part is stuck as a child; afraid of what punishment awaits so it tries to protect me with fearful warnings and reminders to make no mistakes.
Wow. I feel so sad for this part. I want to hold it. I need to hold it. I need to release it from its job. I’m sure it’s long overdue for some rest.
You guys; trauma is a fucker. It hides within us but can be easily triggered by sometimes the dumbest things, like slippery coconut oil.
I wish I had answers for all this. I wish there was a “path to success” that could permanently lead us away from the bullshit.
But that’s not how life works. Healing is hard, confusing, frustrating, and sometimes downright hopeless feeling.
Today I am trying to peel back the layers so that I can learn why I feel the way I feel. Whenever I make time to dig deep I understand myself better. It takes a lot of energy and guts which is why I set aside Thursdays, otherwise I will always have a million reasons not to make time for healing.
Behind all those screaming, negative messages is a small child just trying to protect me. I don’t imagine they enjoy their job. I’ll bet they are hurting quite a bit. I think it’s high time I relieve them and help them learn self-love instead. How? I don’t know. But I believe that if I ask this part of me, they can tell me what they need.
I don’t want to spend the rest of my life hating on myself and I certainly don’t want that for you either. We all deserve healing.
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