Birthday Weekend Wrap Up

I would like to share with everyone and remind myself that I can/do embrace what is good and right in life even in the midst of pain. 

Thankfully, I was able to step outside the terrible funk I have been in for months to enjoy my birthday.  Here is the top 10 of my birthday weekend...

1.  The weather.  Friday was a cold, rainy day, so you might be wondering why it would make the top 10.  Wellllll....the weather prevented the young man who was working on our bathroom from doing his regular job, thereby giving him the day to finish his job here.  It may have taken us 15 years, but we now have a beautiful bathroom.

 2.  A relaxing day.  Thanks to a friend, Friday started with a visit to Latteland for a Basket-of-Apples Latte and some time with gardening magazines.  After strolling through some of my favorite stores like Nell Hills, Urban Crafts and Land of Paws, we had lunch at the Cafe.  They serve a coconut crusted chicken salad that is delectable and I was able to try their meatloaf soup.

3.  Happy Birthdays!  Between facebook, email and text message, I received dozens of well wishes from friends.  Since I have spent a good deal of the past four months in isolation, it was a great reminder that I do have friends. 

4.  Dinner with friends.  When I made plans with another couple last week, I had no idea the day we chose was my birthday.  It worked out so perfectly though because I can't imagine having it any other way.  An evening visiting, laughing and eating, how could it not be perfect.  It was a treat to celebrate my birthday was such good friends.

5.  Dinner.  This was deserving of a place all of it's own.  We traveled about 45 minutes north of here to a place called Justus Drugstore.  It was food unlike I have ever tasted and I definitely pushed outside my normal food comfort zone.  While we waited for our table, I had an old-fashioned lemon-lime soda.  It was the best soda I have ever tasted and was just the start of something special.  The pictures do not do justice to the meal we had.

 While we waited for our appetizer, we each got a small, one bite complimentary starter.  It was a piece of sausage on a crustini, covered in a raspberry foam with pine needles.  Our appetizer was called the Farmer's Platter.  Clockwise, goose, pork tongue and beef carpaccio, persimmon seed spiced rabbit terrine, herbed cheese with celery and sauteed onions, crispy lattice potato chips, pickled onions and green beans, crustini with sauteed kale and herbs with roasted marrow, sauteed mushrooms, sausage and asparagus wrapped in bacon. Everything but the rabbit was very flavorful.

I ordered the Nestled Egg salad.  It is curled endive leaves sprinkled with carrot caviar and chunks of fried pork tongue dressed with honey Dijon and a lightly crusted parboiled egg.  Each course came with instructions, where I was told to cut up the egg and mix into the salad.  It was amazing.  The flavors worked so well together.  My husband had the Maytag Blue cheese salad that came with a blue cheese, black pepper ice cream.  It was equally interesting.

The top picture is mine.  I had the short ribs.  There were several pieces of melt-in-your-mouth short ribs laying on a bed of smoked honey sweet potato puree and a mix of pear chunks, pickled brussel sprout leaves, orange pickled cherries and broccoli rabe. A M A Z I N G!  The lower picture is what my husband had, Pork 2 ways.  It was also delicious.

Since I love rice pudding, I chose the green tea Jasmine rice pudding for dessert.  The warm pudding was coated in a mildly sweet crispy coating and served on a pear puree with pears, crispy rice and lemongrass ice cream.  Absolutely perfect!  My husband had carrot cake beignets with candied walnuts and carrot caviar.  Before leaving, we received a palate cleanser toast glass of a sparkling ginger mint drink. 

I highly recommend this place if you are wanting to be adventurous and are celebrating a special occasion.  The outside looks like a dive, but the inside is quite unique.  It seats only 40 people in the dining room and the kitchen area is completely open.

6.  Relaxing day with the husband.  Saturday I got to spend the entire day just relaxing with my husband.  We don't get a lot of days like that.  The rain made it a perfect day to stroll through some stores and take a long afternoon nap.  It was the perfect post birthday celebration.

7.  Gift from the husband.  My husband does an awesome job with gifts.  He does his absolute best to get exactly what I want.  He didn't disappoint at all.  I had asked for a potato ricer, odd request I know.  He had such a hard time find the one I wanted and we happened upon one while strolling through stores Saturday.  This bad boy is going to help me get super gourmet in the kitchen now.

8.  Pie.  I told my husband Saturday that I just couldn't end my birthday weekend without having cake or ice cream.  Much to my surprise, he took me out late Saturday evening for dessert.  We had pie.  Lots of yummy chocolate cream pie.  No pictures because I had my fork in it the minute the plate hit the table.

9.  Lunch with friends.  Today I had brunch with three of the most fabulous young ladies I know.  I have been so fortunate to get to know each of them a little better over the past two years by planning events with them.  I have such respect for each of them and cherish their friendship.  I'm thankful to have wrapped up my birthday celebrations with them.

 10.  Projects.  Despite my exhaustion, I found some energy and time to work on some projects.  The big one right now is making over an old card table that was given to me.  It has been so much fun and is going to be super cute when I have it all done.

There you have it, my birthday weekend wrap up.  I had a very blessed three days full of friends, food and rest. 

Strengthened Faith in the most unlikely way

So, so easily during this time of year my thinking sways quickly to "I wish I'd never been born."  "Why was I born?"  "The world and the people in it would have been so much better off had I never been born." 

Sad, but true.  Fairly so, I blame my parents.  Through many conversations with my mom (and not during any heat of the moment arguing), she very frankly let me know she never wanted me.  She, on multiple occasions, told me that she was forced to have children so that my dad would be able to "do what he wanted" to them. 

I spent years and years angry about my birth.  I think that's why it is so easy to slip into that same thinking now.  That paired with the fact my family doesn't care makes it even more difficult.

The depression; the birthday...I'm going to make an educated guess that I don't need to go into much detail about the long, sleepless nights filled with suicidal thinking.  You get it, it's a BAD time right now.

Talking through this with someone yesterday, I realized something.  In a very real, profound way, being incredibly suicidal has increased my faith.  It maybe an obscure thought for some of you, but it is true.

What I am about to say maybe disturbing, but I have to be honest for anyone to understand.  Mostly, I have to be honest for myself.  So that when I look back at this, I can see exactly what God has done.

Nights are bad.  Lately, I haven't been sleeping more than 1-2 hours a night.  I had gotten my average up to 5-6.  Depression and sleep deprivation do not mix well.  In fact, they feed off each other and become cyclical. 

Many, many nights the depression leads to suicidal thinking.  Sadly, the internet is a dangerous place for anyone who is suicidal.  There is an endless supply of deadly directions and recipes made with everyday household items.  I know.  I've been there.  Searched.  Planned.  Attempted.

During that process, there comes a pivotal point.  It is that moment when I know to go one step further is going to have permanent consequences.  Many of those moments are spent sitting in bed next to my husband as he sleeps. 

I look at him, knowing that next step is ultimately going to break his heart.  In that moment, it is nearly impossible to rationalize anything.  I think his pain would be temporary, until he learns he is better off.  I think my pain is far too much to go on, not believing it will ever get any better.  At that moment I can't entertain the idea that my pain is temporary and his would last forever. 

There is a profound reality in that moment.  At that moment, I have absolutely no ability to control my actions.  I have lost ability to reason through it or think in any other way.  In that moment, my life is literally not in my hands.

Many nights end like this.  At least 4-5 nights a week and sometimes every night in a given week.  It is a chronic problem.  But, sitting her typing this out you obviously know I have made it through each and every one of them. 

For each night that has ended with that moment, there has been a morning I have woke up knowing I survived my own self-destruction. 

Each one of those mornings, I know it was ONLY God who saved me from myself.  I can be sure of that.  I can be sure that in those final moments when I have lost control, God has not. 

Honestly, I am not sure what happens after that last moment and those last thoughts.  I only know that I wake up the next morning. 

Please don't think that I live these nights to test God's faithfulness, I don't.  I honestly do wake up thankful, knowing I have been spared from myself.  If I had the ability to not go through this cycle, I would stop it immediately.  I would much rather be learning the attributes of God through a much safer, controlled means. 

I do try my best to remember in the darkest moments that I was saved from the last darkest moment...it's just not always that easy.  So, I have to allow my faith in God to grow with this.  As odd as it seems, this is the way my faith is being strengthened right now.

Birthday Breakdown

The week of my birthday always makes me think of my grandparents and this year is no different.  It is such a mix of emotions for me. 

When thinking back on experiences with this particular set of grandparents, I cannot deny that I do have some fond memories.  I always have to mention that they were still highly dysfunctional.  There was a long list of terrible things which happened in their house, including molestation.  As terrible as they were, they were the best of what I had.

Birthdays were celebrated by my grandparents, especially my grandma.  You can read about some of that in a post from last year by clicking here.

I think it is a healthy desire to want to be celebrated on your birthday.  It is a monumental day.  The day you took your first breath.  The day your life began.  (yea, yea I know life starts at conception but this day is just as important to the continuation of life)  It is a day each year to remember you came into existence because it was meant to be. 

Since my grandma died in 1998, nobody in my family has celebrated my birthday.  I used to get an occasional card from my mom, but that stopped as soon as I started going to church.  You would think that after all this time, it wouldn't be so painful but that just isn't the case. 

It is such a mixed bag to try to hold onto what was good when the bad clouded it all.  I am positive before the end of the week, I will have a full blown, crying breakdown where I miss my grandma.  She was awful.  She was a foul-mouthed (you know it's bad when I point that finger), granny who loved pornography, immorality and causing great turmoil within her family.  But, I'll remember the birthday cakes, gifts, celebration of my life and it'll knock me down into a puddle of grief.

My goodness, it would probably be equally as painful to actually have contact with my family on my birthday after this long and I would be very suspect of it anyway.  As I always do, I will wonder if they even think about it.  I would have to guess not...

Aging with Humor and Love

It has been a while since I've shared my experiences with my favorite senior couple. 

The funk I have been in has caused me to neglect them a bit, which I hate.  That is pure selfishness on my part too.  I hate it because I always feel better after spending time with them.  Not because of anything I do for them, but for what they do for me.

In case you have missed my posts before, I love this couple dearly.  It is the closest thing I have ever experienced that could ever be comparable to having a healthy relationship with family and I am incredibly thankful for it.

Tonight we were privileged to celebrate "Mama's" birthday with the family.  We celebrated her husband's birthday a couple months ago, which was equally as wonderful.

As we sat around the table listening to the stories of travels, teaching and life, I found myself in the middle of a big belly laugh...only one of the first in months. 

This reminded me of one of the very first things I learned from this couple and had obviously forgotten the past few months.  With love, there is nothing that is insurmountable and humor keeps life in a healthy balance. 

It was refreshing for me to be among a family who shares so much love for one another, reminding me what a healthy family looks like. 

Probably the bigger thing I was reminded of was the love I have for this couple and the love they offer in return.  I have never, EVER, been treated like "just one of the family" in the way this couple treats me.  I never thought I would ever feel that. 

Anyone who knows me would tell you that I'm not much of a hugger.  However, a couple sweet hugs from such a wonderful woman tonight did so much to soothe my aching heart. 

Time Flies

We have passed the middle of April already.  How did that happen?  I'm not really ready.

I know once Easter hits, then I have my birthday and mother's day and father's day and so on.  Like any other year, I try to not think about it and I usually fail.  But this year, it snuck up on me.

As I looked at the calendar to make dinner plans with another couple, I realized it's next week.  Ugh!  The dreaded day is next week. 

The past few years haven't been so bad.  I don't have family to celebrate my birthday, obviously.  But, for the past 3-4 years, I've had groups of friends gather for dinner or coffee.  It has helped to ease the birthday blow. 

Sadly, I don't have that this year.  Living for several months in seclusion and not being active on social media has left me with such a teeny, tiny social circle.

My husband, as much as I love him, is missing the creative birthday celebration gene. 

So, my goal is to just get through the next nine days with as little wishing-I'd-never-been-born as possible.  When next Friday comes, I will do my absolute best to not focus on the fact that nobody in my family acknowledges the day my life began.  It will be hard, but I will try.

I can't promise this is the last I will have to say about it either.  I have spent the past several months in a depression like I've never known.  The lack of family, absent love from family....it all has potential to make life even more difficult to face. 

It is far too easy to ask the same question every year.  Why am I not worth being loved by the very people who created me?

I know who I am...

....but not many people do.  In fact, only 2-3 people do know me.

Over the past several months, that has become painfully clear to me. 

While there are several reasons why I have chosen to isolate myself, one of the most prevalent is that I am in hiding.

As a general rule, the general population doesn't really know me or what my life is like.  Even those who know me better than most, really don't know what my life is like.  I am not overlooking the fact that everyone has struggles.  Struggling is not unique to just me.  However, I do have a fairly uncommon diagnosis which makes my like very different from everyone around me. 

My particular illness (not how I like to think of it, but medically speaking is an illness) is suspected to be found in less than 1% of the world's entire population.  Statistics vary from .0001% to .999999%, with a majority of those going completely undiagnosed.  It is safe to say that not very many people would have any clue what it is like to have or live with someone with my illness.

In fact, it is so uncommon that even those who know find it difficult to understand.   Honestly, my husband struggles to understand and adapt.  So of course there is fear that openly sharing with the general population could create some backlash of misunderstanding and ignorance. 

But how much pain is it creating in me to keep who I am so hidden?

To know me, understand me and even walk through any of life with me, you really need to have some knowledge of my diagnosis and life.  I have tried to have deeper relationships with people without them knowing, but it never works.

As cliche as it may sound, my diagnosis does not define me.  However, it must be respected and accepted just as any other characteristic which makes me who I am.  To purposely overlook this particular area of my life is to minimize my strength, intelligence and perseverance.  These are things I have had to learn over the past three years to do within myself. 

I know those close to me are fearful of me being hurt by the misunderstanding and ignorance.  Yes, I know that can and will happen.  But will it hurt more than the isolation?

It took me over 32 years to finally admit that I had been abused.  It has taken even longer and very small, baby steps for me to share with anyone that I was not just abused as a child but the abuse lasted well into my 30's.  I still cannot be positive that it has completely stopped.

The golden rule of abuse is to keep it hidden, locked away from the world.  It is a rule instilled so deeply in you and enforced by even more abuse.  A rule so steadfast within you that to finally break it even in the safest place possible feels like a shameful violation of everything you believe. 

Right now, I am living by that same rule only in a very different way.  I have no choice but to keep hidden who I am and what my life is like because of fear.  There is a different reason for the fear, but it is fear just the same. 

It is so frustrating to have to hide something so big in my life and often reduces me to abuse flashbacks. 

This is one of my stumbling blocks for church too.  My condition/illness/diagnosis (whatever you want to call it) causes me to act in somewhat obscure ways in large groups of people and especially in church. 

For instance, I cannot go to an evening bible study or choir practice or most events where I would sit for extended periods of time.  Why?  Because the later the day gets, the harder it is for me to suppress the symptoms.  Why is that a problem?  Because the people sitting around me do not know what is happening and do not understand why I do not know who they are or why I disappear half way through. 

That is just one example of many.  All in a place where everyone should be able to come just as they are.  Broken.  Sick.  A church should be a safe place to be who you are.  I am sure that is true....for everybody but me.  That is a painful reality that I live.  I have to stay home when there might be a chance that others could see the real me. 

This is just simply unfair to me! 

Each time someone says to me they are praying for me because of my depression, I graciously thank them.  Inside, I'm crying..."It's not just everyday depression!"  It's not.  It isn't JUST depression.  It isn't JUST anxiety.  It isn't JUST PTSD.  It's not bipolar.  I just want to say what IT is.  I just want people to understand and accept me regardless of IT. 

I want to be able to not live such an isolated life when IT is the driving force in all facets of my life. 

I don't want to live ashamed of who I am any more.  I want to be released from the golden rule.  I want be free from fear.  I need help. 

Pictures from Home

Facebook is a bittersweet place for me these days.  I don't get on any social media much right now.  I'm too tender for anything that comes across as judgemental or hateful or happy for that matter.  There is something painful in seeing others happy while you are uncontrollably miserable.

I do follow one brother, sister-in-law, nephew, niece, a couple aunts and cousins on facebook.  For the most part, it is my only connection to any of them.  We don't talk on the phone, don't text or email.  Honestly, we don't do much more than coexist in cyberspace with each other. 

While I choose to lay out the good, bad and ugly of life on my blog, some of my family chooses to put it on facebook.  Most of the ugly is a digressed pool of name-calling, public bawling-out mess with whomever they are upset with at the moment. 

Occasionally, I catch a photo of one of my parents.  That usually stirs up a much deserved negative response in me, naturally.  Over the past month, I have caught several pictures of my dad holding/firing guns. 

Wow.  Even typing that out gives me chills. 

That is an image that I just don't need to see or think about at all.  Every time I have been near my dad with a gun in his hand, it has been pointed and fired at me. 

More times than I can count or probably remember, I have had a gun pointed at me, held to my head, fired at me or been threatened and tortured.  It absolutely leaves me breathless (and not in a good way) to see him holding. 

A few weeks ago, I saw him standing over my niece with one in his hands.  He was teaching her how to shoot, but the image was startling.  As innocent as it must have looked to 99.99999% of the general population, it was disturbing. 

To think, when I was my niece's age, I already had a healthy respect for guns used as weapons against me and would have not ever thought of shooting one for fun.  By the time I was her age, I had a scar from a bullet grazing past my leg during a torture session. 

As people debate the rights of gun owners, I find myself falling on both sides of the argument.  As someone with a mental illness, I can tell you that I should not be allowed to own a gun.  But, I want my husband, as my protector, to be able to own a gun. 

The problem with every single law that could ever be passed is that people like my dad would legally be able to own a gun.  Someone who shot at his own daughter.  Someone who held a gun to a small child's head in order to force whatever kind of abuse on them.  That is someone who should never be able to own a gun legally, but who would slip through every kind of law except a full ban (which I do not support).

I love being able to see pictures of my niece and nephew, but days like today leave me feeling sick, stuck and make my PTSD more real than I'd like.

Deep Conversations

Most days go by without me craving much human interaction.  I know, day after day after day of that would probably drive most normal people crazy.  While they are extremely few, I do accept most every invitation to go out for lunch or grocery shopping.  If I didn't have that interaction, I'd have none.

Today is a little different though.  Since I woke up, I have been craving conversation.  Like an overnight case of indigestion, it might pass....but maybe not.  Maybe it is an stirring deep inside me that has felt dead for the past several months....but maybe not.

It is very unusual for me to crave conversation and to desire anything more than surface conversation at that.  But, I am now.  I want and need to have deep, thoughtful conversation.  The kind where you sit down and talk about hard things for an hour.  The kind that is thought-provoking and understanding.  The kind that pushes you to want to put the darkness aside inside of grasp hold of it for dear life.

The phone rang earlier.  It rarely does.  Elbow deep in painting didn't stop me from answering.  The content is irrelevant to this topic, but I realized something about myself.  I can't have good conversation on the phone.  Not that I didn't know that about myself, I did.  This was a didn't perspective for me. 

During my first week at the eye clinic many years ago, one of the doctors told me that I had a wonderful phone voice.  He said that it was soft, calming and welcoming.  (Not sure all of that was complimentary, looking back at it now.)  He told me that if I would make a conscious effort to smile the minute I answered the phone, there wouldn't be anything I couldn't accomplish over the phone. 

His theory was right.  It didn't matter if it was business  or personal, I found that smiling while I talked on the phone made me a more pleasant person even in the most difficult conversations.  I cannot tell you how many times a hopeless situation was resolved and for really no obvious reason except my demeanor stayed positive and calm, which I blame on the smile.  There was definitely truth in the smiling phone call being the happy phone call.

The problem is that it has become habit.  I can literally be planted in the deepest, darkest emotional hole and answer the phone with a smile.  A smile and happy voice doesn't ever lead to honest conversation for me.  It's so hard for me to divulge any details of my own messiness anyway.  With the happy, calm voice, the person on the other end would never have a clue of the despair I was feeling at that moment.

I think it is safe to say I am not craving a phone conversation.  It is definitely a more personal conversation. 

It is very hard for me to admit that I am craving that deep kind of conversation, especially one where I share anything personal about myself.  So many times those kind of conversations lead to painful conclusions for me. 

Let's face it, us humans...well we take a Bob the Builder approach to everything and want to fix all that we can.  That is not what I want or need, but often what I get.  So often I get books, suggestions that worked for someone else, scripture, or various other quick fixes for all my burdens.  Don't get me wrong, every suggestion is worthy of consideration. 

The problem is that most people want to throw whatever solution at the problem and run.  I don't think I have ever had anyone bring a sincere suggestion to me and offer to wade through the mess with me.  Some people don't even throw a solution at me, they just run.  I don't blame them, I probably would too.  My mess is massive most of the time.  I get why I go it alone a lot.

Go it alone, I do.  I do have a very persistent counselor who does her best.  But right now, I'm craving a different set of ears.  I'm craving a different perspective.

You would think that I could probably have that deep conversation with my husband, but you would be wrong.  I am going to get painfully honest right now.  I have said before, my husband works three jobs.  He is not home much, rarely available physically.  By the time he gets home at night, he is exhausted.

What I haven't shared with you is that on top of everything else right now, we are floundering as a couple too.  That's just honest.  I am not pointing a finger at him either.

My husband has his own issues and is obviously overworked.  Most days I feel as though we are two single people who just live with each other.  There is no conversation, deep or otherwise.  Just because we don't have kids doesn't mean that we are any closer than any other couple. 

We don't do "date" nights.  Occasionally, we go to dinner.  That is usually a time of sitting face to face, surfing on the cell phones, unable to have conversations because they all lead to arguments.  Again, not pointing a finger at all but explaining that deep conversation isn't plentiful in this house.

I would seriously wish this craving away, except it is the only normal thing I've felt in months.  It is the only healthy desire I've had.  But, I am sure the hopelessness will soon wash it away as quickly as it came. 

Are YOU part of the problem or the solution?

“You know all that sympathy that you feel for an abused child who suffers without a good mom or dad to love and care for them? Well, they don't stay children forever. No one magically becomes an adult the day they turn eighteen. Some people grow up sooner, many grow up later. Some never really do. But just remember that some people in this world are older versions of those same kids we cry for.”
― Ashly Lorenzana

This isn't meant to be a post about abuse as much as informative thoughts and very specifically about expectations. 

To be absolutely clear, I'm not sharing this for empathy but so that anyone who would like to know more can.  I have found that it is difficult for those who did not grow up in abusive homes to understand some of the quirks of those who did. 

If you could, think for a moment about a blind person.  Having met a few blind people, I know that most of them do not want to be seen for their blindness but for who they are.  However, their blindness does come with some merit and attention.  To understand them, befriend them, you must have some knowledge of how they have adapted to the blindness.  I would ask that you try to look at the following information as a better understanding of the adapting.

The quote above is so incredibly true, so true it hurts.  There are things that happen in an abusive home which take years and years and years to change.  For me, growing up only meant I had more years of challenges to overcome as my abuse continued far into my adult years.

There is a vast pool of issues or quirks I could pick apart and try to explain.  Expectations seem to be one that keeps coming up for me.  More specifically, unmet expectations continue to knock me over.

In my childhood, there were two kinds of expectations and neither were good.  There was the known.  I knew I was going to be abused.  I would be tortured.  I would be hungry and tired.  I would not be loved.

Then there was the unknown.  This is where glimpses of hope were dashed by unmet expectations.  The excitement over a birthday or holiday, which ended in abuse.  A promise of a gift or reprieve, only to be later tortured and humiliated.  An idea that someone, teacher, social worker, police officer, would somehow read the obvious signs, something that never happened.

It was the unknown, unmet expectations that hurt the worst.  When you are a kid having adults not follow through on what they should or could do solidifies an entire set of beliefs.  You are not worth caring for.  You are not worth protecting.  You have no value.  You deserve the worst.   Nobody loves you.  You are not wanted.

Those are strong messages.  They are messages which will stay with you for years to come.  I am convinced change only occurs when these messages are balanced with positive ones and a progression of met expectations (realistic of course).  I would also like to point out that you do not have to be from a highly dysfunctional home for this to be true. 

As an adult, I do believe there is a greater ability to offer grace and forgiveness in unmet expectations.  But, have you ever considered how your actions may effect those who have not overcome those messages?

While this is not a jab at anyone in particular, I must say that I deal with this a lot.  I will admit, it usually comes in small ways and most often when I am hurting or incredibly sensitive. 

It comes in the form of someone saying they will call to check on me, but doesn't; says they will email me with information or to see how I'm doing, but doesn't; makes a promise to get more involved, but doesn't; says they will visit or help with basic things, but doesn't; makes a plan to be somewhere at a specific time, but cancels or is late.

Do you ever do those things?  I do.  Life gets busy or desire wanes and I fail to do what I have said I would.  I do my best not to because I know the other side of it.  When I do those things, I am usually apologetic.  When you do those things, do you apologize?  Do you ever consider how those things will be taken by the person on the other side?  Do you do it so often that you don't consider the other person?  Those are all questions to ponder, knowing we all do it.  We do it by choice and by circumstance.

These things happen to me nearly everyday.  I have matured enough to give grace where needed, but it is a struggle.  I am being completely honest here.  A couple people doing this in one day will kick up those old messages and send me straight into a spiral. 

I have noticed the older I get, the less people are apologetic about anything.  A friend once told me that if something happens completely out of your control, then you owe nobody an apology.  I simply think this is false.  When other people are involved, I think it is common courtesy to offer an apology.  In these small things, I would offer another idea to consider.  Circumstances may prevent you from following through with the small things in life, you and the next person and the next person.  I would offer you the idea that perhaps you are just one of many people who've had to let the person down.  Abusive background or not, I would always err on the side of common courtesy.

Maybe you know the person's background, maybe you don't.  Maybe you know the messages the person is getting with a missed phone call or broken promise or canceled lunch, but maybe you don't. 

I can tell you this is an area of difficulty for anyone from a dysfunctional home or abusive past.  I am not asking you to change circumstances.  I'm not the apology police here.  What I am asking is for you to consider some of the people in your life (close and surface).   Do you have an understanding of how they have adapted to what they learned as a child?  What messages are you reinforcing in them with your actions or lack of? 

The ability to change those messages lies in each one us.  I challenge you to examine yourself.  Do you reinforce the "You are loved" or "You are unwanted" in those around you?