I’ve been downloading statements lately. Loan statements, bank statements, assets and liabilities. Which is better than last year this time when I was collecting up another kind of statement altogether, statements scribbled on the backs on envelopes and typed furiously into emails and texts. Statements that showed someone’s state of mind and fitness to guide sweet little souls through this fallen world and raise them up to be joyful and kind and all the other things we ought to want for our children, for all children. Phase 1: high conflict custody battle Phase 2: high conflict divorce.

You have to wait a year in Pennsylvania before you can divorce your husband if he doesn’t you to. It used to be two years but somewhere along the way someone decided you really only ought to be trapped in an unwanted marriage for 12 months instead of 24. Why not 15 or 6.5? Who knows. Who knows if the moon’s a balloon. Anyway, our one year was up in late September. I had filed the papers shortly before our family trip to Disney World (interesting way to experience Disney). We did not physically separate until November 22nd. But September is our official date of separation nonetheless.

The last step before the divorce is final is something called Equitable Distribution. Sounds kind of socialist, no? It’s actually quite capitalist, as it turns out. You have to figure out everything you as a couple had when you separated and everything you owed. You have to determine how much of your medical practice’s value is you and therefore not able to be allocated to both parties (beyond desks and computers and office kitchen microwaves, you must determine how much another doctor would pay to purchase your patient list. See? I told you this was all very capitalist). And then you have to figure out how to divide it up. We have a lot more debt than assets. Like, a lot. So it’s mainly seeing how much debt each of us pays off. We have a house that either one of has to buy off the other or we have to sell it. It’s not all that complicated for us. Not in the logistics anyway.

In other ways, it’s very complicated.

You may recall, dear reader, when I discussed the concept of a psychosocially complex patient (in this entry). My soon-to-be-ex-husband and I are having what I’d term a psychosocially complex divorce. High conflict divorce makes it sound like we’re screaming at each other across one of those long boardroom tables like an episode of LA Law where I’m a sketchy plastic surgeon who’s made a fortune selling a fat melting cream on infomercials and he’s the scorned husband fighting to get my fortune even though we all know what he really wants is his old wife back, the one who paid attention to him before she became big time news. That is not at all what our divorce is like.

Here is how it will go: my lawyer and I will gather my documents and come up with what we think is a fair proposal. The soon-to-be-ex-husband will counter with a nasty email to my lawyer and series of texts to me telling me divorcing him makes me a bad Christian, pleading with me to work this all out without involving lawyers, casually suggesting we just put this off 6 months before we finalize it, and a series of messages that alternate between contained rage covered with fake kindness and messages that are just openly rageful. As a bonus, there will likely be screaming eruptions in front of the kids at drop off and pick up. Oh, and let us not forget threats by him to take me for alimony. Because, ya know, it’s 1957. Maybe our divorce really would fit in on LA Law.

I’d like the divorce over with. It’s time. The kids and I had a return of our long haul COVID symptoms in October but have since recovered (I kind of discovered a cure for long haul COVID, but that’s another post altogether). I am finally feeling physically good for the first time in a very long time (I realize I’ve said that before but I really mean it this time). My practice was on the brink of collapse thanks to the whole worst-economic-downturn-since-the-Great-Depression thing but I got notice I’m getting a second PPP loan yesterday which means my practice will have a cushion to survive the next 6 months or so. My house is clean. My kids are doing chores and drinking water at dinner and taking showers without arguing with me. My laundry is kept up on. My office files are finally alphabetized. I’m reading novels and binge watching Hulu. Yeah, I’m feeling *that* good, guys. I’m starting a reasonable post-COVID exercise routine and eating healthy. I’m planning out running The Beast on the Bay in September and section hiking the Appalachian Trail (slowly. like, it will likely take me 20 years to complete kind of slowly). I’m volunteering with an Appalachian advocacy group working to bring green jobs to Appalachia.

I know, I know, I’ve said this before. And maybe it will all come crashing down again. But I’m hopeful. I’m finally standing on my own two feet and running my own home and my own practice. Taking care of my physical and mental health. Adulting like a champ. I feel like I will finally get to do some of the things I should have been doing in my twenties, the things well adjusted people do in their twenties. When you should be on your own for the first time like I am now. When you leave the nest and have some time to be yourself on your own before you get married and have kids and a consuming career and all that. And, no, I don’t mean I’m ditching my kids, quitting medicine and running off to work in a coffee shop near campus where I can pick up 21 year old guys and smoke weed and talk about … whatever Generation Z talks about. I mean I’m going to work on my house and take up hobbies and meet people within those various hobbies (hopefully), and do some solo traveling once the world opens back up. I’m going to settle into me. And enjoy me.

My bedroom is finally clutter free for the first time since we moved in. And for the first time in my life, actually. I have the furniture and the bedspread I picked out. There is a TV on the wall and a Peleton in the closet. A sealed fireplace with candles in it. Novels on my nightstand. Windows with a view of my oak tree lined All American street. I do not allow my soon-to-be-ex-husband to pick the kids up or drop them off here. It is our space and he is not allowed, not even on the street in front I see so clearly from my bedroom window. It makes him so damn angry. Angry because this is his way: to get an inch from you and stretch it into a mile. But I will hold the line, airtight boundaries. There is just too much to lose. Because there is nothing equitable about divorcing a narcissist. And if you think there is, you, my darling, will never get away and find your way to a beautiful bed in a wonderful old house in a quaint neighborhood in a state that knows we all need 12 months to be sure we’ve had a glimpse of the wonderful life that awaits us when we are finally divorced.

who knows if the moon’s
a balloon,coming out of a keen city
in the sky–filled with pretty people?
( and if you and I shouldget into it,if they
should take me and take you into their balloon,
why then
we’d go up higher with all the pretty peoplethan houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody’s ever visited,wherealways
it’s
Spring)and everyone’s
in love and flowers pick themselves.

-EE Cummings

So this is love, mmm 
So this is love 
So this is what makes life divine 
I’m all aglow, mmm 
And now I know (and now I know) 
The key to all heaven is mine My heart has wings, mmm 
And I can fly 
I’ll touch every star in the sky 
So this is the miracle 
That I’ve been dreaming of 
Mmm, mmm 
So this is love

The Third Law of Thermodynamics states that entropy is always increasing. That means the world tends toward chaos and you have to apply energy to the system to straighten it back out. The way my chemistry explained it is this: your house is always getting messy unless you intervene and clean it up.

Chaos runs counter to flow. This is why, for instance, a cluttered and messy room has a negative effect on our mood and a clean and tidy room feels good. It’s why it’s so important to give kids a consistent routine. It’s why part of healing from addiction and mental health problems and abuse involves calming down the drama. It’s why narcissists love causing chaos.

Creativity consists of taking something seemingly chaotic and making sense of it. So, sometimes we induce a little chaos in the creative process. And that’s okay. In the end, we are reducing the level of entropy in the system.

Trauma is chaos and requires a helluva lotta energy to be applied to return the system to balance.

The Judeo-Christian story of Adam and Eve (as well as the similar versions of it we see cross culturally) about the Fall of Man, is about the introduction of chaos into the world. The garden of Eden was perfect. It was in perfect balance, perfect flow, perfect order. The Laws of Thermodynamics were not necessary. Adam and Eve couldn’t even conceive of entropy. Until they ate that damn apple. Boom. Cosmic chaos. Before that, they were in a state of perfect harmony with God, a constant state of being in the flow.

This onset of chaos and disconnection from flow was the Original Sin. And that is what all sin is: separation from the flow due to induction of chaos. It can come both from causing chaos but also from failing to apply the necessary energy to the system or blocking someone else from doing so. It disconnects both the person committing the act and anyone it ends up affecting.

Disconnection from flow is not only the effect of sin, it is also the cause. Entropy is always increasing. It is easy, therefore, for individuals and larger groups to get into a downward spiral of separation from flow. When we speak of an individual hitting rock bottom, it is often the only way to break this spiral and gain the strength to rally and begin to apply the massive energy needed at that point to return order. Luckily, there is also an upward spiral. With each act drawing us closer to the flow we receive greater strength and hunger for flow.

We see this not only in choices people make, such as battling addiction or all the other self destructive things we do as humans. We also see it in medicine when restoring homeostasis to the body. An upward spiral is always my goal in treating patients. Energy must be applied to keep the upward movement going but it gets easier over time unless another strong element of chaos is introduced again (which is of course common).

For instance, a patient with autoimmune disorders commonly develop severe fatigue and pain. This leads to them being less physically active, doing less of the things they love, getting out less, seeing other people less. All of this then contributes to a greater likelihood of relying on unhealthy coping mechanisms, depression, negative thoughts, and disconnection and loneliness, a sense of isolation. They also often have negative, traumatic experiences with the medical community and others. You’ve now got a whole new set of problems. Once you are able to start effectively treating the body and reduce the core symptoms, you can then reverse the spiral and begin to work on the other effects.

This brings us, naturally, to the topic of Ghostbusters. Ghostbusters 2 specifically. Remember that one? In it, negative energy has created a river of pink slime under the city of New York powered by negative emotions. It threatens to ruin New York. The answer? They must get New Yorkers to stop being angry and come together in love. (to accomplish this they animate the Statue of Liberty to walk through the city and everyone holds hands and sings along to the song they’re blasting from loud speakers “Put a Little Love in Your heart. It works).

That’s what we need now. Our country has spun out into such a state of entropy and separation from flow, only a massive amount of energy in the form of love will save us. Not, in the words of Martin Luther King, “a sentimental something that we talk about… not merely an emotional something.” The love that is flow. The oneness that we are all connected by. The all encompassing perfect love so many of us don’t feel we deserve, that so many are afraid of, that so many of us violently reject. The ultimate vulnerability, the ultimate act of bravery for so many us who have fallen away from the flow.

We are all born so completely in touch with the flow. It comes from the womb. From our mother’s womb, from Mother Earth too. The power the earth holds, then, is the ultimate power. And this is why Sir Francis Bacon decided he needed to take her in hand and conquer her. And this is why patriarchy takes women in hand to conquer us. And why imperialists and racists take people of color in hand. So great is their fear of their mother’s love, of their need for it, of the fact they feel they will never have it.

There is a reason we joke about therapy and the phrase “Tell me about your mother.” Violent men almost universally feel, true or not, unloved by their mothers. This is true too on a global, historic scale. They seek to conquer and destroy the womb. The source of life, the source of flow.

Can we accept the love our mother has for us? Can we wrap our arms around one another before it’s too late? Step on the serpent’s head once and for all and come home?

There is a fine line between madness and genius, or at least that’s what they say. If you look at history, a fairly large share of artists and thinkers have been thought to have had what we now call Bipolar Disorder. And if you’ve ever been manic, then you know. You are tapped into the oneness of the universe, the spirit, the magic, the flow. And the music and writing or painting you do comes from the flow. It is from you but it is from something bigger too. One reason it can be hard to get patients with Bipolar Disorder to take their medication is that being overmedicated can take away not only the mania, but the access to the flow as well. And that, my friend, is an awful feeling. Like being somewhere between alive and not. Because it is this flow that is at the core of every religion the world has ever seen. At the core of art and philosophy. It is the meaning of life.

Plenty of people who do not suffer mental illness tap into the flow too. But we, as a society, have fewer and fewer people able to. And that is dangerous. It is at the core of what is happening in our country now. And what has been happening in this world since 1492, the advent of the Modern Era. People far from the flow grow bitter and unloving and resentful of those still in touch with it. People far from the flow are not quite alive.

In the flow you see connections. You see that everything and everyone is connected. You see that everything is one. And you see that we are all loved. You see that you love everyone. And that everyone loves you; you are lovable. And that can be terrifying. But when you’re in the flow, in that moment and place, it’s not.

There are people in recent times so clearly in the flow so much. Cornell West, the late Howard Zinn, Martin Luther King, Malcom X (El Haj Malik El Shabbaz), Bernie, AOC, Robert Benigni, Victor Frankl, Audre Lorde, Allen Ginsburg, . I clearly follow social justice a lot more than art or music. If you’ve ever gotten a chance to be around these people so much in the flow, you felt it. I felt it when I met Howard Zinnia’s on my birthday in 2003. An energy coming from him, a calm and a peace that came over you in his presence. A feeling of being loved.

If you yourself have not been in the flow, or not recently, I imagine you would not pick up on it. Or you would, but it would be too much to take and you’d block it out. And block them and what they create out. You might ignore it, you might hate it. I tend to think the most destructive people in our society are the ones that have a sense of the flow moreso than those who are just indifferent. There is a knowing somewhere inside of them that they are being denied the flow. But the only one denying it is they themselves. As I said, it can be terrifying.

If you look at the extraordinary cure rate of guided psychedelic therapy with MDMA for conditions like PTSD and depression, you see it is because psychedelics tap you into the flow. But when you hear about someone who was not with a guide, that’s when you hear horror stories of bad trips. And so when we refer to these past few years as a bad dream, a bad trip, we’re exactly right. Our society is being run by people on a bad trip that never ends and they are projecting that out onto us.

What else explains a group of people perpetuating global warming at full steam when it clearly will mean the end of humanity?

While mental illness like Bipolar Disorder can bring you closer to the flow, other forms of mental illness are a sign of alienation from it. The most obvious being narcissism. If you’ve lived with a narcissist, you know what gaslighting is. If you are living in Trump’s America you know too (whether you know to call it that or not). Gaslighting seeks to throw you into a chaos far from the flow. Narcissists seek to make you feel unlovable. Because they are convince that they are. And if you try to prove to them they are loved and lovable, you will regret it.

PTSD at its core is removal from the flow. Trauma is the experience of having been abandoned but everyone in your life, by God, by yourself, by the universe. It is the ultimate disconnection and sense of being unlovable, and of the world being a place devoid of love. It is a world between life and death. The only way out is to face your ineffaceable trauma memories. And to accept that you aren’t alone. That you are connected and loved. And that is why psychedelics cure PTSD. And that is why people traumatize one another. People far from the flow and resentful and angry about it, seek to punish those in it and to pull them out to be in that same in between chaotic world they reside in. And that is why healing and thriving and being joyful and loving enrages them more than anything. To see you’re back in the flow is something they cannot stand. They cannot get back to the flow and they don’t realize it is only them keeping them from it.

We are all born in touch with the flow. You see it clearly in kids. You see the lack of it so clearly in kids who’ve been badly abused. Even if you can’t describe it, you feel it. So many of us are in the flow less and less and less as we get older. And if we are not loved and nurtured the way we deserve to be, we go so much further away from it. And some of us are aware of it enough to get depressed or addicted or tuned out on social media. And some of us get angry. We know that there must be a meaning to life but it always seems out of reach for us.

When people live in survival mode, they are rarely in the flow. Only in moments of respite, which some get and some just don’t. And if you do get those moments, it may strengthen you or it may make the times of survival unbearable.

Those in power seek to take us from flow by putting us in survival mode though poverty, addiction, rape and sexual violence, racism, war, consumerism, and constant fear. They do all they can to keep us from taking in the things people make in the flow, to keep us from creation and focused on consumption, to divide us from one another with the construct of scarcity and otherness, they do evil in the name of God to keep us from that something higher. They keep us uneducated and afraid and traumatized. And they gaslight us. It’s what narcissists in relationships do and it’s what Trump and all those he is the culmination of do on a much larger scale.

Someone cut off from the flow cannot begin to address their privilege and the systems of oppression that are affecting other people or even themselves. Karen is far from the flow. So terrified to face not only her own racism but all the ways she is oppressed too. Because she is afraid of love, of the vulnerability that comes when you are in the flow. To hide outside, to hide in her own shame and do all she can to create shame in others is what is comfortable to her.

And someone not in the flow cannot begin to admit what we have done to our Mother Earth and accept the love she for us and feel the love we have for her. We cannot bear to admit we need her nurturing, cannot bear to accept that we deserve it and she is offering it. After everything we’ve done to her, her arms are still open wide. There is no choice but to destroy her.

The Modern Era began in 1492 and was driven by imperialism, colonialism, slavery, conquest, genocide. But that is not what started it. And if you look at where it started you realize it is not only those institutions we now are beginning to admit are reprehensible, but the ones we still hold in high esteem, that are at the core of us. I am referring to other institutions created at that time such as modern medicine, science and the university system. And don’t forget democracy, capitalism and Protestantism.

You see, it all started with this idea the people would come to be known as scientists came up with. A group of European men who were clearly not in the flow and very, very pissed off about it. They pulled off the greatest act of narcissism in human history. They said, hey the earth isn’t an organic being. It’s a machine that Man can come to full understand and fully conquer. That simple, seemingly harmless idea, is how we wound up where we are today. That is where Donald Trump was born.

They began deep mining for the first time. Before that, it was taboo because it was essentially penetrating your mother. Who would be okay with that? But now, anything was fair game.

Do you think there were no healers before modern medicine? That people just languished and died. That is what modern medicine would have us believe. In truth, there were healers (largely female) and midwives (all female) who were trusted and valued by their communities. The idea of a man coming in and delivering babies was insane. And they were not cool with that. Just as the rest of the world was colonized through violence and conquest, so too was medicine. They called in the witch hunts and it killed a million European women.

The early, small scale witch hunts in Europe were carried out by the Catholic Church during the Inquisition. That’s probably the extent of what you were taught (just forget about the Salem witch trials for now, that’s a whole other thing. We can go into that in another blog post). The vast majority of the witch hunts occurred a couple hundred years later and it was carried out by the Protestants. Women’s knowledge of healing became denigrated as “old wives tales” and one by one they disappeared or went into hiding.

Protestantism itself took Europeans further from nature and their way of connecting to the flow through traditional beliefs. Catholicism, as my evangelical friends in the Bible Belt growing up liked to point out to me, had retained a lot of the old beliefs at the time and still does to a small extent today. The Celts had simply turned Goddess Brigid into St. Brigid. The underlying idea seen across pre-Modern spirituality of the importance of both female and male energy brought devotion to Mary. The title of Theotokos in Orthodox Christianity, God bearer. The recognition of the power of her womb, of all women’s wombs, of creation, paralleling the mother of all of us, Mother Earth. The recognition of the power of ritual and the elements and senses. The mysteries you accept, knowing you can never truly understand. The transubstantiation of the bread and wine into the literal body and blood. His body up on the crucifix reminding us of our oneness with him. The elite hierarchy of the Church that developed once it was transformed from a communal, radical religious group into the religion of the Holy Roman Empire was never of the flow, but the people took that imposed religion and made it theirs, returned it to what it was in its beginnings. A religion of loving everyone and everything and acknowledging the oneness, even with the Judeo-Christian God himself. A religion where, at the very core, was the idea that God loves all of us no matter what awful things we do. And He wants us to do the same.

But I digress.

Science is the dogma of our times. And Sir Francis Bacon is its messiah. Do you know how Bacon explained the exalted Scientific Method he came up with? Hypothesis, experiment, conclusion. The man made, systematic creation of objective knowledge. He was inspired by his time spent as an inquisitor of witches. He said we must torture the earth as we do a witch to extract her secrets. That, my friends, is the heart of the institution of science. He could not have been further from the flow. Using violence and trauma to try to separate us all from it, to try to destroy it.

The consumption of indigenous bodies, African bodies, female European bodies. Imperialism, slavery, science.

And so we have arrived at the only possible conclusion to this era. We stand at the rpecidpice: either those of us in touch with flow will be able to usher in a new, better era, or the narcissists will succeed and destroy us all. But they won’t destroy the flow. They can’t. They will simply return us all to it and it will manifest in another way.

The flow speaks to us; we speak to ourselves. One thing traditional healers know that modern medicine denies is that illness has a message for us. And that message is always a return to the flow. A signpost to us that we have taken a wrong turn in our choices, whether they be personal or societal. We see today a tremendous surge in autoimmune disorders in both adults and in our kids. On the literal level, it is due to the choices we have made that have altered our immune systems and our very DNA: avoiding germs, no longer living in contact with animals, an unnatural diet, the use of pesticides and a million chemicals, coal power plant emissions, and living stressed and disconnected lives. It is our bodies crying out to save our souls. If only we would listen. Modern medicine fights this idea with every ounce of its being. Healers and patients who know this truth have to fight to make even small progress for its acceptance into mainstream medicine. This denial by modern medicine not only inhibits patients’ ability to heal, it traumatizes them. It drives them to avoid getting care, it drives them from the flow. People with autoimmune disorders and their families go from thriving to surviving. Further and further from the flow.

I have long sought to figure out what the autism epidemic is telling us. I have autism as do my two oldest kids. I have seen the ugliness of autism and the beauty. Those of us who have, oftentimes struggle to explain this to a culture that more and more presents the bogus idea of embracing autism as a form of neurodiversity. We do celebrate our kids with autism (and our selves if we are on the spectrum) and the good we see in it, but we cannot deny the bad: anxiety, obsessions, violent meltdowns, sensory issues, not to mention all the GI, immune and other neuralgic issues found in those with autism, and their higher risk for certain immune conditions and neurodegenerative diseases as we get older. Mainstream medicine, incredibly, has denied the existence of the autism epidemic. They have denied the immune, GI and neurologic causes of it and only are beginning to recognize it now after decades of physicians and parents fighting. What is autism telling us? Sensuality, our senses, are part of how we access the flow. That is why you see the elimination of the sensual aspects of Christian worship by the Protestants. That is why you see sexuality repressed and controlled so much with the advent of the modern era. A core feature of autism is sensory dysregulation. And so it is when you have autism you are at times so much more in the flow the most and at other times so far away it is excruciating. Hour by hour, minute by minute. Social disconnection is another feature. Part of the disconnection is this fluctuation with flow but part of it is the message we are sending ourselves with this disorder. We need to be more connected. And so, we show ourselves the ultimate disconnection. (So too with the coronavirus). We see clearly in autism too what is true of all disease, that it is the interaction of the all the body systems the create it. And that all the things we have changed about our world that cause the dysregulation of the body that manifests this way.

We are crying out. If only we would listen.

The trauma and suffering so many are going through now, have gone through for centuries, is not okay. But Victor Frankl taught us human suffering can be transformed if we can bring meaning to it, choose to bring something good from it. And so, in the end, no matter what happens, the flow will go on, and we with it. I just sure as hell hope that form is a better world with all of us still in it. Just spending a lot more time in the flow in between our time in our bodies with all their senses and sadness and joy. With one another. Alive.

There were scars before my scars
Love written on the hands that hung the stars

I have a routine for my medical marijuana appointments. A bit of a script. My receptionist-slash-friend I’m sure gets sick of hearing a muffled version of it through the door a dozen times a day. I was back in the office today for the first time in two weeks and I fell right back into it. It concludes with a brief education on the different forms of marijuana offered at the dispensary (… the third form is a tincture. It’s a liquid form that sprays or drops into your mouth under your tongue and absorbs in through the inside lining of your mouth. It takes fifteen minutes to kick in and lasts about 3-4 hours. It’s a discrete form to use if you’re in a situation where you wouldn’t want to be vaping and it’s easy to get small, tightly controlled doses…). There are visual aids. I am very attached to them. As I was going through them today I noticed with embarrassment that my nails are covered in sloppy, chipped pink nail polish. I tried to kind of fold in the top of my finger at the knuckle but it looked awkward so I told myself patients really aren’t focused on nail cosmetics in such a moment and I moved on.

I let my daughter paint my nails New Year’s Eve after I finished painting hers. I offered to paint hers to help her calm down. I don’t remember what she was upset about but painting her nails did the trick. Letting her paint mine took her from okay to happy. She’s in a flare of her autoimmune condition right now, so it was a gift to see her smile.

I’m in a time of transition right now and life is not easy. Transition isn’t supposed to be easy. I’m kind of sick of recurrent transitions at this point to be honest with you, but it is what it is.

I find myself in a situation I have never been in in the forty years I’ve been alive: I am not living with anyone who is constantly gaslighting me. Stop and consider that. I am not walking on eggshells and neither are my kids. Which means I’m not walking on eggshells to keep the gaslighter happy but I’m also not walking on eggshells trying to protect my kids from the gaslighter. There’s no eggs, folks. Just hardwood and recently installed shag carpeting that is really quite nice and soft. We all walk around the house, run even, and there isn’t a yolk in sight. No little bits of shell sticking to the side of the bowl or hiding in our scrambled eggs. Nada.

We are light. We are safe. Even when we are tired and stressed and hangry, we are free. Free to feel whatever it is we’re feeling and talk about it and draw about it and write about it. Safe in knowing we can lose our temper and then feel bad and apologize and we will forgive each other and talk about it and things will be okay. We will still love each other. We can be vulnerable. We can say what it is we want and know we won’t be shamed for it. (We might not get it, but we won’t be judged for wanting it and asking for it). We can try out different looks and hobbies and foods and goals and dreams and then change our minds and no one gets upset. We have privacy and boundaries.

I have never had this and neither have my kids and that’s incredibly fucked up. Period. I literally didn’t realize it was possible to live this way. For forty years. It’s like being trapped in a one woman cult. At least in a cult you have someone with you.

The center of our family is no longer a gaslighter that we must keep balanced. We are the center of our family, all of us. Each of us gets to be our own person.

I need to tell you the difference this has made.

Our immune systems function better. Our anxiety has plummeted. The picky eaters are much less picky. The anger levels are down. We sleep better. All four of the kids have noticeably matured. Things flow like they’ve never flowed.

We have people back in our lives we couldn’t have before. Good people. We are not an isolated cult anymore.

I’ve found myself listening to the same music I did ten years ago, during the time I met my most recent gaslighter. During our courtship. Songs about being broken. Songs about love saving you. About struggling ultimately making you better. It reminds me of who I was then. I was sad and struggling to hold myself together enough to graduate medical school. Surviving. Two sons with a horrible disorder no one was diagnosing or treating correctly. Me with my own severe PTSD no one was diagnosing or treating correctly. Living with my original gaslighter, the source of me. Wanting so badly to get away but so afraid to at the same time. So ashamed of myself. Wanting redemption so badly. To be saved in some many ways. Into the lion’s den she went. A decade she survived.

And I have emerged, my children in tow. Blinking back the bright sun.

I’m glad my kids didn’t have to wait forty years for this. I’m glad I did this. It was hard. It is hard. But most things worth doing are.

That’s one of those things I always tell my kids.  And it is not a script.