Category Archives: Personal Recovery

conspiracy, Emotions, Personal Recovery, Politics, QAnon and others, Secular Wings, The Unknown Journey, Trauma Talk

The Staircase

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You are on the never-ending staircase of this is true, but not quite true, it’s partially true and it could be “fully true” if only you would see that I am right and you are wrong.

QAnon and conspiracy theories.

That is a comment I left on Bruce’s blog directed to one of his commenters. When I wrote it I personally immediately identified with it and had an extended member of my family in mind. In addition, I had my mind in mind.

Extended Member 2 (EM2) is now wondering if Extended Member 1 (EM1) might have been right about “The Clinton’s.” No specifics were given and I did not respond. Truth be told, I had a visceral reaction and reached for a barf bucket. I did not barf, though my body tried. Apologies for the bluntness of this insanity.

What step am I on, on this crazy staircase? I was triggered and trust me, I have spent several days/nights asking myself, why? Have I not worked through this stuff these past years? How do I respond to that? I’m tired. Really really tired. The wave of nausea has ceased. How hopeless it all feels sometimes.

In the fall of 2024 I bought and started to read, The Quiet Damage: QAnon and the Destruction of the American Family, by Jesselyn Cook. I read through the first three chapters and hit a wall. I couldn’t stomach any more of it. I was triggered again, by the sense of hopelessness, and these stories seemed worse than mine. I learned in therapy that I minimize my own stuff. A coping strategy I absorbed at an early age. Though those QAnon stories seemed worse than mine, it didn’t mean that mine weren’t worthy of despair in and of themself. But I had learned to measure my despair. My paternal grandmother reminded me that those starving children in Africa would love to eat the food on my plate that I either didn’t want to eat or was finished eating. My despair couldn’t possibly ever match the despair of a starving belly. And I guess, as a six year old child, I was suppose to figure out the difference between a starving belly and mine.

Blogging, Healing, Personal Recovery, Salvation Seasons, Secular Wings, The Unknown Journey, Trauma Talk

Streak # 8

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WordPress is telling me I’m on a 7 day posting streak. LOL! I should let them know not to get too excited. I’m basically not on search engines and it is up to the search engines to honour my request.

I come and go. I think this blog is about 15 years old. They sent me an anniversary note in 2025 I think. Before that, I was here, on my ACS blog for quite some time.

When up to it, I am still reviewing old posts. I enjoy the comments on them too. This really is a long history of all sorts of Zoe stuff. I owe Zoe a lot. She came into my life at a pivotal moment of addressing trauma. A part of me that gave me freedom to get in touch without fear, of my truth. Of my story. I don’t have multiple personality disorder. I purposely chose the name because it meant “Life” in Greek and way back when I needed to separate myself from the trauma of my given name, until I healed in that regard.

I was sharing with someone recently, that writing is lonely. I tried to explain myself. It is lonely if you consider that those who might benefit from reading it, don’t. But then I remember, when I first started all this, way back before WordPress, it was about me and if it helped one other person along the way, it was worth it.

Gardens, Healing, Personal Memoirs, Personal Recovery, The Unknown Journey, Trauma Talk

Sandy Bumps

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I can feel the sandbar beneath my young feet. An unexpected moment this morning as I sit here before the sun rises or the snow continues. I allow myself to just remember that feeling. Of my curiosity as to how that happens and what is a sandbar and how is it way out here so far from shore. Is this safe?

It’s a fleeting moment really. But a happy one full of wonder. I felt safe probably because I was far from shore. If only I could stay here and not go back.

I was around 60 years of age when it suddenly occurred to me that I had to embrace me, despite the trauma, in spite of my pain and fake it until I make it as I use to teach in aerobics. For my birthday, we went shopping for a rose bush. I needed something that spoke to me and to help me remember this moment. I found it in the Love and Peace rose. Almost ten years later, it continues to give life, love, peace and remembrance.

A few years later, my therapist helped me understand that I am safe. It wasn’t an easy “get” to tell you the truth. She didn’t say: Look Zoe, you are safe. It didn’t happen like that. She let me come to it on my own. She allowed me to realize, OMG, I’m safe! I’m safe and have been safe but my mind, my body, my heart didn’t know it. I had been waiting for the people back on shore to find their own safety, believing if they could just get there, then I’d finally be safe too. All those years of waiting.

Personal Recovery, Salvation Seasons, Secular Wings, The Unknown Journey, Trauma Talk

Still Here

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I found out recently via social media posts that today is Rapture day. I’m still here. Not a surprise.

Biker Dude didn’t know either. He’s still here. Not a surprise.

I wondered as we sipped our morning tea what the Rapture believers were thinking when they were still here too. Not a surprise either.

I suspect they won’t be around their social media sites for a bit as it sinks in that they didn’t go and their preacher is still here too.

Then eventually, they will rise, so-to-speak with an explanation as they all sort out what went wrong.

Memory lane – Years of praying that I would be alive for the Rapture. As I look back, I’ve moved passed the idea of being embarrassed. I think most of my shame has been shorn. There is regret that is accompanied by a mature understanding. I simply didn’t know what I know now. Knowing is a journey.

Today may be the day that some believers decide to research the Rapture. Perhaps they will learn things they never knew about it. Is it in the Bible? If not, who came up with the idea? Who is this Darby guy? Who is Margaret MacDonald? It’s a start. But, it’s a start that most of us never had when it came to Sunday School, church, youth clubs and dinner tables.

I no longer have the fear that once floated about in my world of spiritual anxiety. Will my family be saved? Will they be among the Raptured? Countless believers are awake and still here today. They are probably confused and scared. It is not an easy journey and usually, not a peaceful one.

Blogging, Healing, Life, Personal Recovery, Salvation Seasons, Secular Wings, Spiritual Abuse, The Unknown Journey, Trauma Talk

Community

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Though I am not blogging much as a rule, I do spend some time writing here at home. I use my search option here on this blog to look up certain words and phrases to see what I’ve written about over the years. Some of those posts I put into *private* mode. Others are *pass-word protected.*

I am grateful for my readers over the years. A community that gathered here that I found very supportive. When you change your beliefs and leave churches, all your former social interactions, end, period. They have too. You aren’t considered a heretic. You are an apostate. Doesn’t matter the reason for leaving. You left. You are no longer part of “them.” As adults you lose your friendships and your children lose their playmates. People cross the street to avoid you and if they can’t avoid you, they nearly walk past you brushing up against your arm, and pretend they don’t see you. I laugh now when I look back. I wish when they crossed the street I had done the same thing. I wish when they walked past me I had willingly run into them and said: oh hello. How you doing? as I continued on my way.

I was too traumatized to do so.

I’m glad I found my way to blogging. It was a way to vent, to process, to think, to consider, to interact, to listen and to learn. It gave me other humans who related to my journey. A place where I too made a difference as others were changing their minds about belief. We use to call it deconversion. The popular term now is deconstruction. Spiritual abuse was not really talked about when I started and now it’s a very popular topic. Trauma became a term people were talking about and before long, help was being offered online. The list goes on and on.

I miss the community in many ways, but as life moves forward, we all go with it. A lot of healing and recovery took place in this place. I’m not saying good-bye, I’m just saying . . . thanks. <3

Personal Memoirs, Personal Recovery, Secular Wings, Trauma Talk

Eat Stay Love

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Written in August 2010. (I have been reviewing a great deal of my writing, not just here but also in other blogs that are not active. I have changed blog url’s a time or two in I think the 20-ish years I’ve been blogging. I am deeply moved at where I’ve been and where I was going and a sense of having arrived to the understanding I always sought and the peace I always yearned to feel. From my elderly arms I’d like to hug the girl who waded through deep water with a purpose. The intent to determine if it really was all her fault or just what life handed her beyond her control and her desperate desire that it stop with her in order to save the next generation, even if in part.). (Comments from that time will also be included.) *BTW, the Psychologist I am referring to here is the one from my recent bible college memoir posts and in the comments you will see that I did write about it at one point. :)

Eat Stay Love

I’ve been hit by a Mac truck.  No wait, I’ve been run over by a steam-roller.  Nah, how about an elephant accidentally found its way into my back yard, didn’t see me under the sunflowers and stomped me by accident,  into Pancake City?

I am recovering.  I am numb.  I am sore.  I am human, though barely does it seem so. Have I ever felt so low before?  Oh I’ve been low, way low.  But this, this is like an out-of-body experience.  I’d like to be out of this body.  Literally.  I want relief in my brain.  I don’t want this life.  My brain hurts, my heart aches, my body thinks it is a joke. I ruminate, so I’ve been told.  Well, tell me something I don’t already know. 

I know I ruminate.  Is ruminating bad?  Depends.  If it’s cloaked in our culture’s soft pillows of meditating, sure it’s good I suppose.  “Smile…all the way into your liver” said the guru to Julia Roberts in the movie Eat, Pray, Love.  (That might not be an exact quote but it’s close.)  So, I am trying to smile all the way into my liver.  Shit, I’ve been trying to do that my whole life.  You see, anger likes to live in the liver.  It’s the organ that stands on the corner in the highways of our guts and calls out to emotion … ‘I’ll take your anger.  Dump it here.  I’ll filter it for you before it gets to your kidneys and you get pissed.’  😆  Hey, that made me laugh.

Eat, Pray, Love … all I can think is, Eat, Stay, Love.  Every mitochondria in my cells is working, telling me, don’t run, stay.  It’s not that I want to run, it’s that it seems the only way for me to survive without feeling like I drag my world down with me.  Of course, running away isn’t right but it seems the lesser of two evils.  Staying only hurts and brings more hurt.  I don’t want to hurt anymore.  I don’t want to be hurt.  I don’t want to hurt others. If I could shut off the negative ruminating I would.  I’ve spent enough money to educate four first year university students just trying to help myself.  Don’t even ask me what I’ve spent on books.  No, I haven’t put us in a financial hole.  We are very comfortable that way.  I have no need for money.  That’s not the point.  I am explaining the self-effort I’ve put into “being well” whatever that means.

Years ago, while still a Christian, I sought counsel with a Christian Psychologist.  Shortly after starting my sessions with me I learned he was leaving.  “My fault?” I asked.  He laughed.  Apparently his leaving had been in the works, unbeknownst to me.  I’m sitting there thinking, ‘Well of course you are leaving!  I finally break down and seek help for my past brainwashing and off you go to teach pastors how to be better counsellors.  Cheerio!’I ask him to refer me to someone, anyone.  Don’t leave me hanging here.  He’s silent.  He’s thinking?  What’s he doing?  Then he tells me he doesn’t know who to send me too.  What do you mean?  I ask.  There’s countless therapists in the city.  Well, that’s true but he didn’t know one that knew as much about the Bible as I did or one who knew as much about Psychology as I did.  I’m sitting there thinking, ‘What the (well I couldn’t think hell, being a Christian and all.)’  🙄

You can’t be serious I asked.  Please, you can’t leave me like this.  But, he did do just that.  He told me I’m too intelligent and that I’ve done a great job counselling myself all these years and too keep up the good work.  And then I walked out into the sunlight thinking, “I’m too intelligent?”  If I hear that one more time I’ll spit.  What?  Intelligent people can’t have problems?  Intelligent people can overcome PTSD on their own?  Intelligent people can’t be brainwashed in a church?  Hello, Jonestown ring a bell?  Intelligent people are capable of . . . [edited out a list of traumatic and triggering personal history.]

I developed in the fear of it and yes my intelligence helped me reason my way out of it all understanding why it was there in the first place…but don’t leave me here dangling like a participle because I’m “intelligent.”And what does “intelligent” mean anyway?  I don’t feel intelligent.  I’ve never considered myself intelligent.  And trust me, living in chronic emotional and physical pain doesn’t make for an intelligent person.  I blew all my circuits a long time ago.  Add in the old post-menopausal brain and geesh, a jelly-fish is more intelligent than me.  I hear from my current Psychiatrist about how “intelligent” I am.  I told him I don’t feel intelligent.  He told me that’s what all the “intelligent” people think.  I want to scream, ‘Stop with this intelligence stuff.  It’s getting in the way of you seeing that I’m deeply disturbed at the core of my being.  Help!’  But, because I’m intelligent, bathed and dressed appropriately, I couldn’t be mentally ill?I had an another pastor tell me that he understood why men don’t like me.  I’m too intelligent.  I know the Bible really well.  I am articulate.  Eee gaads!  Satan’s spawn for sure.  Another Eve … wicked wicked girl that she is.

Others think I’m too smart to let negative ruminating go on in my head.  You can stop it.  Shit, if I could stop it would I be here?  Who in their right mind wants to sit down and anonymously write that they feel like shit in a blog with people who know them better than the people in their immediate lives.  How reasonable is that?  And if anything could drive me nuts it’s when people say unreasonable things.  Like, ‘Well that’s my excuse, but you can’t use it too.’  Oh I see, I must rise above it all.  I don’t get to be human.

Sometimes I wish I had not bent-over-backwards in gym class … oops, another post; apologizing for those things I needed to apologize for.  We all make mistakes and I’m right there with the mistakes I’ve made … but has anyone noticed the work that has been put into dealing with my mistakes and the mistakes of others? And the energy I’ve put into trying not to ruminate.  Is it any wonder I am chronically fatigued?   And I’ve put so much energy into not being me because who the hell is me anyway?  And when I was me, how’d that work for me?  Truth-tellers aren’t well liked.  I wasn’t born depressed.  I was born into a genetic tendency for it and after so many years of episodic/situational depression, periods of dysthymia and dark periods of wanting the pain to end … this so called “intelligent” person, who should “know better” and be able to “solve the ruminating riddles of her painful mind and body” just wants to run away.  But, instead I will Eat, Stay, Love.

Blogging, Leaving Christianity, Personal Recovery, The Unknown Journey, Trauma Talk

Fear

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carmen… Zoe ~

EXACTLY, Zoe. The fact that you talk about it, as I see it, is so that others who may ‘lurk’ and be feeling uncertain/bewildered/confused can have a ‘bird’s eye view’ of what it’s like to leave the faith. . and see that you are human beings – just like the rest of us – who are trying to contribute something of great value to people. Every person brings a unique perspective to a very broad topic; one never knows what explicit comment another person might identify with. It’s all about connections. . . I, for one, think it’s nothing less than HEROIC that you actually put yourselves out there and share your innermost thoughts. I know you don’t see yourselves as such but I think you ought to.

It’s about damned time.

I came across this comment by Carmen back in April 2016.  It was in the comment section of a post I titled, Fear.  We all enjoyed a very long conversation in the comment section of that post.  :)

Almost nine years ago, I was still trudging through a life-time of hurt.  Of acknowledging where the hurt originated and how the belief system I embraced felt normal, though itself was full of hurt.  There was progress in awareness but the heart was broken.  Intellectually I understood.  Emotionally, I did not.  However, I would later realize that intellectually there was more to learn and understand that would help me out emotionally.