• mud and hurricane
    Houston,  Hurricane Harvey,  Loss

    Of Hurricanes, Houston, and Loss: Reflections on a Rough Week

    I live just outside Houston. I moved here eight months ago and fell in love with my neighborhood in Katy, and with the big city itself. Houston is where sophistication wears cowboy boots, and food snobs drive around in big trucks. And now Houston is the focus of national attention for all the wrong reasons. Hurricane Harvey left his water calling card, and now thousands are homeless. My home is untouched. A little water down the fireplace and a lot of tree branches is the extent of our damage. One mile away, across the swollen creek, homes are standing in three feet of water, and neighbors gather to watch the…

  • Good memories

    Good Memories and Mental Health: Filling in the Gaps

    Trauma is not only the product of bad memories but the absence of good ones as well. Extended abuse or trauma summons up visions of verbal and physical violence, but as damaging are the years barren of good memories. I faced this upon the dissolution of my first marriage, knowing that I needed to rehabilitate Christmas and birthdays. But equally as daunting, I confronted the reality of knowing I needed to create enough sense of safety that the everyday norm could begin to generate good feelings, interactions, and memories. When I married my current and wonderful husband, I did not realize I would need to rehabilitate such everyday interactions as…

  • dissociation
    dissociation

    Dissociation: The Curious Case of the Missing Heart

    Dissociation is a bit deceptive. Most of my adult life people praised me for being incredibly patient and calm in the face of difficulty. What they didn’t know was I mostly just dissociated from my emotions. Some level of dissociation is common for those who suffer from trauma or any level of PTSD, making it difficult to delve into painful memories and emotions. For me, head and heart lived in separate rooms with the door kept locked. I figured I was just easygoing. In my life, dissociation meant that if someone offended me, I was the last to know! I registered the offence mentally, but then, two or three weeks…