I will never tell you I need help.

This is an open letter to everyone - Please stop telling me I need to ask for help. If you really want to help me, just do it until I say stop.

I wish it was that simple. I wish everyone around me, including my husband and kids, would just help me like it was second nature. I wish it did not take me asking or nudging anyone to assist. I spent so many years seeing it from everyone else's perspective. And that right there is the problem. I have worried about everyone else to spite myself.

The origins of my anxiety

I grew up with abusive parents who were both addicted to drugs and alcohol. They were both self-medicating their undiagnosed mental illnesses and unaddressed childhood trauma (which I did not comprehend as a child). What did that do for me as a child, bouncing between two unstable homes after their ugly divorce when I was only 3? I was an only child who grew up self-reliant and constantly on high alert. I was worried about survival while everyone else seemed to be getting fed, loved, and tended to. I was a loner by nurture.

Parenthood and marriage have not changed that. It made it more difficult for me to assimilate to a normal adulthood life, when it became expected of me to take care of my family. I should have already learned for 25 years prior how to care for myself. But I hadn't. I was busy trying to survive each day like I was in a horror version of Groundhog day*.

My parents were violent, explosive, and had no emotional regulation skills. They bullied, belittled, and manipulated me daily because it was the only way they knew how to be. They often had blackouts or manic episodes that left them not remembering how they had been the day before. This means my mother did not even remember how many holidays she ruined, how many times she tried to take her own life, or hurt me - even fatally.

Cathy was Jekyl and Hyde in her condition. Charlie was just completely out of touch with reality and his later diagnosis of schizophrenia helped me to comprehend why he was such a child towards me instead of a parent. But their stories are for another time.

My story is riddled with "hyper" behaviors that have kept me afloat.

Hyper-sexuality and hyper-attentive towards partners to survive their neglect, abuse, assaults, and cheating, which still eventually led to discarding.

Hyper-independence and hyper-focus to get me through college as an Honors, straight A's, and scholarship recipient. I thrived with structure that allowed me to dive deep into analysis, examination, and explanation. I was led by my passion to focus for 8 hours at a time on an essay and barely feed myself or keep track of my own needs.

Relationships were always all or nothing. High or low. Ascending or crashing and burning. I was a regulator of others' needs and feelings. I am still this way, but just with self-awareness and more tools to help me cope.

But this one thing I wish everyone just knew...

I wish everyone would just already know about my trauma. I wish it was tagged on me. It would be so much easier if everyone already knew how I was been raised and burned.

I wish everyone knew that I would see myself drained and empty before I asked for an assist. I do not even know how to ask without feeling pained inside.

"You are so incapable"... "You are not an adult"... "You are so weak"... "You are embarressing"... "You cannot manage or handle anything"... My thoughts strangle me til I am gasping for air and crying. All while wearing the most unapproachable face on the outside.

I often look miserable. I frown or look spaced out daily. I have noticed it more in the last year (at 30). It is because I am always deep in my head. Stressed out and playing these words and scenarios in my head on repeat.

And I know what this comes from. I know why I do this. I have anxiety.

People who are close to me know too.

My readers and followers on socials somewhat know because I write about my mental health and trauma openly. But no one gets it. People become desensitized to it when it is just always in their faces. It gets forgotten.

"Why is Jean so distant? Quiet? Detached?" or "Why does she look so miserable?"...

I HAVE ANXIETY. All day long. All night. All of my life. It is a condition. It is a state of being. It is not an emotion that comes and goes. It is not something that I can forget or take my mind off of.

So when I am busy trying to stay afloat, it is not to make it through the week. It is not to say TGIF (Thank god it's Friday) to a coworker and laugh.

MY ONE STRESSFUL DAY plays over and over again.

The funny thing is I can handle a lot.

I am smart. I am creative. I am dedicated. I am optimistic. I am a goal-getter. I am empowered. I am excited. And all of these emotions are trapped within me. I think this way on the inside and yet it feels like I am often trapped in a body with its' own autopilot settings.

I get to watch from the control room at how my body dissassociates through mundane tasks, gets tired, gets overwhelmed, gets distracted, and detaches from others. I get to experience this duality of being really focused while not getting much of anything done at all.

Having Complex PTSD is like holding an umbrella over your head. And underneath this umbrella are all these other terms (symptoms) like anxiety, ocd, phobias, imposter syndrome, fatigue, adhd, insomnia, executive dysfunction and more. You can label the umbrella with a logo that says "CPTSD" and walk around with it daily. But people mostly just see a logo and keep walking. They have no idea what goes on underneath. After a while they barely even notice that you carry this umbrella regardless of the date, time, or weather. They eventually cease to notice the umbrella at all. - J. S.

The reason I feel so worthless when I consider asking for help is that I need help with everyday normal things that other people seemingly excel at. I am here learning how to be a human in my late 20's to early 30's while everyone who did not have a traumatic childhood learned from their parents since they were toddlers. In so many ways, I am learning alongside my toddlers, as a mom of 3 who raises them as a work-from-home parent.

The shame runs deep.

I need help remembering to feed myself at the right times and with the appropriate (healthy) types of meals. I need help cooking and getting through all the steps from start to finish, including cleaning up after (or during for those kitchen wizards).

I need help getting laundry done every other day, sorted, and neatly folded afterward. My teen daughter helps with this now and I can rely on her to assist with these steps, but not without fear she will mess up or feel overwhelmed herself. Not without feeling guilty I have her doing chores that are more time-consuming and heavy, on top of going to school and helping with other little things.

I do not feel normal when I realize I need help by having someone listen to my thoughts and organize them. When I need help keeping track of appointments and errands needing to be done. When I need help planning the big meals for everyone.

I cannot remember what is in the fridge when I am not there in front of it. I cannot remember what was done this past week and what still needs to get done. Not unless I have one project in mind that requires very straightforward steps and continuously needs to be worked on. I either thrive with pressure and a short deadline, or a casual long-term project that needs love and dedication. I have not found an in-between.

I need help regulating my feelings. I want to be hugged or hold hands multiple times a day. I want to have a heavy blanket on me or a robe. I get cold, out of breath, or overwhelmed pretty much daily. These things help me cope.

I sound crazy. I sound weak. This is what goes through my head.

And the CRAZIEST part is I am knowledgeable NOW in what all of these things mean. I now know what conditions I have because of my trauma. I now can look at my parents and understand a lot of what caused their own behaviors + addictions.

I would give someone else so much love, grace, peace of mind, and understanding if they told me this is how they were and felt in their own life. But I stay hard on myself. I emotionally abuse and gaslight myself into suffering in silence.

Mental health blogging.

If anyone ever asked me why I write about my trauma, I would have the most clear-cut answer.

I write about what I feel and experience to make it exist and be real. I validate my own human experiences and in the process, I hope to give validation to hundreds of thousands of people who suffer from the same conditions. I want others to not feel alone.

And when I write, my words become fact. I do not get to hold my own words or feelings prisoner in my own mind. I do not get to hide under that umbrella thinking that I am invisible. Allowing myself to go invisible throughout my whole life so I can continue that pattern of not having my own needs met as I felt with my parents.

Do not tell me to ask for help when I am struggling.

Do not tell me I need to speak up more and get over this notion that I have to do it all alone. It is not my mind you should be convincing. You should be talking to my nervous system.

The only way I will receive help with anything at all, is if you just help me already like it is second nature. Like you knew I needed it. Like you took time to notice. All on your own.

Do not wait for someone you love to ask for help. Just respect them if they ask you to stop.

Do not wait for someone who has been abused to tell you they are upset. Instead, tell them something positive or good they do that makes you feel loved. Or tell them something they are good at to let them know you notice them.

Do not wait for a survivor to tell you that they struggle. And do not be confused if they say they are fine even though their face says otherwise. Even though their body language is all off, unapproachable, or looks pained. What is causing that pain is long gone. What you see is a 10+ year lag.. a scar. You see what happened to people a long time ago.

I think we should all start a new habit.. a new trend even if you will.

I think we should keep a notebook at our desks and write out what we really need (as far as help).

I think we should keep a book open and in reach for our loved ones. I think we should invite our spouses, best friends, siblings, and parents to open that book when we are not looking so they can be filled in. So they can hear from an indirect source what goes on in our minds and hearts.

I think writing has a way of bridging the gap and healing our souls.

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Stay tuned for: "Here is my notebook." Pt 2