Being Pathetic
and what’s required to gtfo of that

Back in 2018, I suffered what’s called adult-onset trauma. Essentially close family members, people who’d told me they loved me unconditionally, collectively turned on me. But it didn’t end there. They used their power, time, and attention to turn every other family member against me as well. It was war, everyone against me. It was an emotionally devasting bloodbath. The effect this had on my body, life, and living can’t be underestimated. I suffered profoundly for over 2 years.

Relentless insomnia, anxiety, depression, an exaggerated startle response and so much more. I was diagnosed with PTSD and C-PTSD. I didn’t put together, till much later, that all of the physical symptoms were my body’s awareness of their plotting and planning against me. Awareness of the truckload of lies they were spreading about me. It would come in waves that seemed to track with the “family meetings” they had to discuss the problem of Emily. Being an empath, under these extreme circumstances, with my sensate, spherical, somatic awareness, was both a gift and largely a curse.

What had I done that was so evil, mean, and vicious as to be compared to Hitler and the killers of Matthew Shepard? Yeah, they went there. To compare intergenerational family trauma to geopolitical insanity and lethal rage for queer folks seemed a tad over the top within the context of our family therapy session. And the fact that our “therapist” did nothing to reign their abuse in further solidified what I knew to be true. That everyone had collectively lost their fucking minds, the therapist included.

So, I staggered forward. I managed and not very well if I’m honest. I was profoundly pathetic. I tried negotiating with them for a while. But I could no longer be controlled. They could not stomach not controlling me. So, we were collectively done. I, for the first time, chose me, and I have not ever looked back.

From there I settled into a deep hurt. But I also blossomed which gratefully confirmed I’d made the right choice. One day, after I had declared that I was no longer in the fight, a family member who was still under the collective familial delusion, reached out. A sweet and manipulative email, attempting to draw me back into the fight.

My response? To FINALLY get angry. Finally, after years of abuse, I had access to my rage. I didn’t need to let it all out, I just needed to express the top notes. The fragrance of my rage was enough.

And that was it. After a lifetime of being nice. A lifetime of being conditioned to turn the other cheek. A lifetime of feeling wrong in the midst of their rightness. All of it came to its natural conclusion. I was right for me and I no longer needed anyone’s validation. My anger healed me profoundly. My body was less reactive. I began to sleep better. I stood taller. Hell, I even made more money. Such is the power of choosing to confront lies with your righteous anger.

So, can you let a little bit out? Can you finally get fucking angry? I hope so. You, the real you is waiting on the other side of it. As always, I’m here to hold your hand if need be.