No Longer Abandoning Myself
Content Guidance: This story is about trauma recovery and references disordered eating, poverty, and the alcoholism of a parent.
Photo Courtesy | Crystal James
BY CRYSTAL JAMES
“I would abandon myself out of fear that they would abandon me."
I heard these words pulsating in my mind from the moment Glennon Doyle spoke them on a podcast. As she described her experience, it struck me as profound, yet I couldn't pinpoint a time of my life when I abandoned myself. I wasn't quite sure what it even meant to do so. Initially, I realized I had when I chose to pursue a business degree rather than the arts. I knew deep down there was something bigger gnawing at me to realize that, throughout my life, I had ignored and let go of myself in pursuit of keeping people in my life.
As a child, I had grown accustomed to things like our utilities turned off from unpaid bills, major appliances left broken, and food scarcity. I still remember my mom heating our house with kerosene heaters and cracking the oven door for extra warmth. It was one of my favorite bonding times, leaning against the oven door, catching up. We would chat about nonsense because we couldn't talk about the harsh reality surrounding us. I abandoned my inner emotions and thoughts in these moments as I magnified feelings about something far less important than our living situation. There we were sipping hot tea, perched up like two gossiping birds.
The fridge was bare quite often. When my alcoholic dad wasn't incarcerated, he labeled items in the pantry as his own. We weren't allowed to eat his snacks. His beer was always there when we were out of milk, eggs, and bread. I still remember when my mom would get up to the grocery store register and had to leave a portion of the groceries behind because we didn't have enough funds to cover it all, even though she strolled through the store calculating on a piece of paper. The embarrassment I felt for my mom was so unbearable that my stomach would sink at store checkouts even into adulthood.
In elementary school, I found it challenging to make friends. So when I finally made some, I would do whatever I could to keep from feeling like an outsider again. Simply trying to fit in became my top priority. I had free hot lunches at school, which served me well for many years. My best friend had become popular by middle school, and by proxy, so was I. Hot lunches were not cool and easy to abandon since they tasted awful. One girl couldn't wait to push me out of the BFF spot, so I stopped getting in the free lunch line. Instead, I would scrounge corners of my house for a quarter. I'd dig my hand in my teenage sister's purse or my mom's savings account – a sock full of change in her drawer. At school, I'd stand in the cookie line. I'd buy a cookie as giant as my face with my stolen coin. I'd reassure my friends with a lie that I had eaten a large breakfast and wasn't hungry. My BFF would sometimes share her sandwich and almost always share her fruit roll-up. This was the beginning of my newest survival tactic: abandon my hunger so my friends wouldn't abandon me.
This habit continued in high school, where I found myself in a toxic relationship for most of high school. We didn't really know or understand each other, but that didn't stop either of us from clinging too tightly. In hindsight, I wanted the idea of a boyfriend – who he was wasn’t as important. I had gotten used to the scalding hot shower that was our relationship; the water could run cold at any moment. I would spend weekends crashing at friends' houses just to be near him. I was worried that he would run cold again if I were out of sight. Out of fear of being left behind, I would abandon myself. I would skip homework and meals just to be next to him. I went days only eating one meal. Eating one meal was comforting to me and still is. Expanding my stomach around my rib cage like it’s Thanksgiving. I was thankful because we often only had one meal: dinner. My mom always made sure of it. The problem is, growing minds and bodies need more sustenance. Once, I overheard someone say we were malnourished, which was perplexing. I thought to myself, “No way, my mom works hard to make sure we have dinner every night.” I couldn’t comprehend how drinking coffee for breakfast and skipping lunch wasn’t an acceptable way of survival. I would nibble bits of gum in the morning at school when we didn't have breakfast. When I was hungry after school, I'd sneak a handful of food. I got really good at nibbling small amounts to satisfy my screaming stomach.
I abandoned myself during that toxic relationship in many other ways, too. I quieted myself out of fear of saying the wrong thing, much like living with an alcoholic father. I was nervous the wrong thing would make him break up with me again. I’d avoid eating out of fear he'd leave me if I left his side, even for the most basic and logical necessities, a meal. I allowed terrible sex out of fear he'd find someone else, which is ironic because eventually, he did leave me for my best friend. I neglected myself so much during those critical developmental years that I stopped existing. You can't survive off quiet thoughts, bad sex, and one meal a day.
After I gave birth to my first child, these old patterns came rushing back. I had developed preeclampsia during labor. After 27 hours of hard labor, fluid in my lungs, and plummeting heart rates, it ended in a crash cesarean. I was left scared to my core. My depression and anxiety were at an all-time high during postpartum. I couldn’t look at the person I’d become, so instead, I only focused on my newborn. I was determined to figure out breastfeeding, homemade baby food, and baby signing. As an infant, she was colicky, and I’d do anything for an ounce of peace.
I held her for every nap because the instant I laid her down, her scream, along with my inner fears, pierced my mind. I can still feel my balled-up robe lodged into my neck for a pillow as I sat up all night breastfeeding her. I allowed myself to turn into a human pacifier because if I wasn’t, she wouldn’t want anything from me. I had convinced myself that my only value to her was nursing. Holding her nightly across my body meant my incision took longer to heal. I was easily influenced by what I saw other moms doing. I used cloth diapers because another mom (not to mention every mommy blog) said I should, even if it meant the extra work of cloth diapers when I wasn't getting any rest to recover. I struggled through cloth diapering because I thought it would help me keep this mom friend. I was fueled by the idea that the people I cared for would abandon me. If I wasn't careful parenting my new baby, she could ultimately leave me too. I refused to let her sleep apart from me. The idea of SIDS shook me to a delirious place. I only trusted her on my chest or my husband's. Even as she began crawling and exploring, fears of choking haunted me, so I was a hawk and never let her out of my sight. I barely showered because of these fears. I had become a shell of myself, moving through the moments, unaware of my own needs.
Perhaps all of this runs even deeper than abandonment, and I'm on the cusp of a more extensive understanding during my trauma recovery. Possibly I've been conditioned to think I’m not deserving or I'm not as important as other people. Maybe it comes from a young child trying to understand why others had plenty of food, and I concluded they were deserving. It’s possible my young mind concluded that some people are more important than I am, especially having a controlling dad that often reinforced that idea. I think back to my first blissful pregnancy when I had no qualms about eating or accepting food from others. I wasn't worried about what they would think of me or what I'd owe them, or if they would abandon me. I ate because I was hungry and I carried special cargo. I've had to unveil those negative whispers through therapy because they ran so deep within.
I am working through my abandonment issues with a specialized therapist. Becoming aware of my triggers has helped tremendously. For instance, an easy one to recognize is physical abandonment. When my husband travels for work, I resort to my old habits and codependent tendencies. I lose my appetite. At times, I even lose who I am. I have to make an effort to exist in the present. I have to consciously choose to eat food and take care of my needs. I have to make me-time when the kids are being kids. I have to remember to adjust my body when I'm uncomfortable in bed with two children on either side smooshing me. I’m learning to stop sacrificing myself. I have value and am worthy of being here. I am worth existing. I am just as important as the people in my life. Abandoning myself is no longer an option.
CRYSTAL JAMES is a mother of two young children. She is writing from Grand Rapids, Michigan. She is a writer, poet, and artist. She believes in the power of being vulnerable with an open heart. This honest approach to writing helps her heal and grow with the hope of helping others along the way. She has been published in Kindred Voice, Journal of Expressive Writing, and has upcoming publishing with Motherscope, and Women’s Writing Circle Anthology. She actively posts poetry on her Instagram account at @wordsbycrystaljames. She’s been featured on several IG poetry communities (Poetic Reveries, Streetwriters, the Writers Turf).