One of my new staff members casually mentioned that he and his wife had been considering why a mind such as mine had not achieved greater success.

It was an innocent unveiling, not meant to be cruel or judgy, but thats what happened.

For the next week, I dissolved into the downward spiral of my old chronic depression patterns, thoughts of hopelessness really blurred my vitality as I attended the doctors appointments of my almost due pregnant oldest.

Its called PTSD. That’s what I work with, in myself and others. Im an expert. Ive been an expert since I was 6 years old pulling my raging father off of my tormented younger 4 siblings. Those scenes flash along my hindbrain in constant sequence and I pull myself forward and out into the world to perform, instead. Thats what I mean about working with PTSD. All of the time.

This is not a rant. Its a description. Its an introduction…to the parts of me and probably millions of other folks who mask this situation of their interiority with whatever… coctails, food, fancy… cars, success, wealth, confidence…homelessness? Yes. And sometimes, you lose traction against all of the odds that somehow are stacked against you on one fine spring day, and you fall backwards onto the spiky glares of past social creatures, into the pit of despair, food stamps, anxiety, family patterns and silenced partners.

It can all disappear in one moment, and yet, almost all of us act as if, that, that ‘homelessness’ can only happen to the other with a particular social profile, skin color, or family lineage.

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