Baking Hurts. Doing Housework Hurts. I Still Do It.

After the incident on Monday, I've been quiet this week. What's done is done. Water under the bridge. It is what it is. However, there's a lingering ping. I'm not sure what to label it as. Disgust? Maybe that's the closest word related to how I'm feeling. Since I've sent my somewhat lengthy reply, there has been no response. Not even an apology. It's in my nature to take a step back. Look at the entire situation in its entirety. This time around was no different.

Am I surprised? Yes and no. 

I got over it. I did. In the long run, what bothered me the most was they had no idea. Most people don't.

Chronic pain.

I can attribute most of my "I'm not putting up with the crap anymore" decisions to that. Chronic pain.

By that, I mean I have stopped bending over backwards and running myself ragged for people who can't give me the time of day unless I'm doing something to benefit them.

I'm not sharing any of this for a pity trip. I've been living with this physical pain for over a decade now. 

Like with sleep deprivation, chronic pain is a part of my every day. Some days it's excruciating. Other days, it's minimal. Most days, it's between the two.

Some days, baking a batch of cookies or dog biscuits is painful. I see stars.

Other days, it's tolerable and feels like it would the day or two after a strenuous day at the gym.

Most days, it's a combination of the two.

I do not take prescription medicine. I refuse to. On occasion I'll take Ibuprofen. Or, once or twice a week I'll have a few glasses of wine while doing housework or other tedious household chores.

Yes, this dog mom drinks wine and swears.

Why the chronic pain?

Over a decade ago, I made a bad decision. I blame no one except for myself. She was a charmer. I was going through a rough spell, at the time, and was careless.

I moved out of state despite the many red flags.

For the next year and a half, I endured her heavy hand.

My body endured countless beatings.

My body was thrown down the stairs many times. My head smashed many framed glass pictures. I was stabbed. Beaten until unconsciousness. My tailbone was fractured and/or broken on several occasions. I begged for her to kill me at times. I wasn't allowed to seek medical attention.

That's the "in a nutshell version."

Regardless of what happened on a day-to-day basis, I was expected to clean the house, cook, and everything between.

I did. Without fail.

It took me about 3 months to plan my escape. I got to the point where I knew if I didn't escape, I probably wouldn't be alive much longer. Her rages were getting worse. Her doctor's orders were to "call the police" when an episode surfaced.

The episodes escalated. The frequency escalated. It was several times a week. I tried calling the police a few times. Each time, the phone was ripped out of my hands, the phones were disposed of and I was locked in a room.

I finally escaped.

There's so much between then and now, but what's relevant is what happened has taken its ugly toll. As each year passes, the physical pain worsens.

That's where I am now.

Some days I get out of bed and walking from one room to the next is trying.

I can't sit in a chair like most people do. I have to either sit forward or on my side.

I suffered a (possible) TBI. I deal with that on a day to day basis too.

I gave up my license years ago because of that.

Despite all, the old injuries, most of which are permanent, and the chronic pain, don't stop me from baking biscuit love or cookies or cupcakes for a special event. It may slow me down, I may need a few breaks, but it doesn't stop me.

Most days, sitting at my desk and typing is painful.

Doing housework hurts.

When we have company over for dinner, and I spend the day cooking and baking, it takes a lot of effort to prepare, present and deliver. The next day, it's painful to walk or use my left arm.

If I offer to make cupcakes for your wedding, or other festive party, that's no easy feat for me. It's painful to do all of that.

Baking biscuits is challenging at times, but I do it. It's a passion. Spreading the biscuit love is something we enjoy doing.

Up until now, I've shared this with very few people.

Now, that has changed.

I'm not hiding my messes any longer.

I'm grateful for the love and support from Lisa. She helps with biscuit baking. And, when we have company over for dinner, she jumps in to help with prep work and cleanup.

Lisa often reminds me to slow down and take it easy on days when I push myself beyond the limits. I do that a lot. I refuse to let what happened get the best of me.

The kids are always there too when it's time to stretch out. They know when Mama is in pain and will curl up on my lap or snuggle up against me. That is one of the best feelings in the world.

I'll shake off the happenings of this week.

Exhale.