unlovable by Erica Kathleen

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You know that whole, “You’ll never find someone to love you, until you love yourself, and are whole all by yourself.” ??
For the record... is total and complete horse shit.
For 2,310 days, this man has loved me. UNCONDITIONALLY.
I am yet to “be whole”.
I am yet to “love myself.”
And not for one minute of one of those 2,310 days, has he wavered.
Not one minute.
My therapist told me, “He’s your biggest trigger.”
Which, at first, I was pissed, and like “No fucking way.”
Then it seeped in.
Of course he is.
He IS the physical manifestation of everything that challenges me.
Do you see?
Just by existing.
Just by loving me.
I have, what we call in therapy, “core negative beliefs” about myself.
These aren’t in my head, and can’t be “fixed” by talking or thinking therapies (Complex PTSD).
These beliefs are in my body, my bones, my cells.
They can only be healed by going into my body and FEELING them.
I believe “I am unlovable.”
... for 2,310 days, this man has shown me, unequivocally, that he loves me.
I believe “I am broken.”
... for 2,310 days, he has shown me, that I am amazing, always, and never once made me feel damaged or broken.
So... do you see?
His presence in my life, PROVES that my beliefs are not true.
So, yes, when I’m feeling broken and unlovable, and he’s by my side, loving the shit out of me, with stars in his eyes... it triggers my stuff.
I also believe that this is the only way I could find my way to healing.
So the next time someone tells you, “You’ll never find someone until you love yourself” ... PLEASE remember this. 💛

xo, EK

you are the medicine. by Erica Kathleen

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so, this whole, healing thing. it’s pretty amazing.

my last doctor appointment, my blood doctor said, “I’m so happy for you! I’m so proud of you! Not many people would willingly do this work. They’d rather keep going from doctor to doctor.” Now, I don’t know if that’s true or not. I for sure, went to a shit-ton of doctors. Specialist after specialist. I wanted an answer. I wanted a reason for the pain. I wanted an explanation for why I felt like I was dying. I told him, “I just wanted to know why! And now that I know, and I know that I have the power to change it, I’m going to do everything in my power to fix it!” He smiled. He hugged me. Again, he said, “I’m really proud of you.”

I still have my blood disorder. It’s genetic. So I’ll always be dealing with that. But it’s not taking center stage anymore. It’s not getting the limelight.

Eventually, I did get my answer. I got my reason. I got my explanation. Complex PTSD.

You may think, like I did, that this is a mental thing. You may think, like I did, that it’s “all in your head.”

I was wrong. VERRRY wrong.

Complex PTSD (C-PTSD) is a disregulation of the nervous system. Meaning, your nervous system is out of whack.

Your nervous system is a pretty important thing. It’s in charge of healthy digestion, sleep, immune system functioning, heart rate, blood pressure, breathing, relaxation, digestion, regeneration and SO MUCH MORE.

Do you even know what C-PTSD can do to your body?

Medically unexplained physical symptoms . . .

chronic pain

sleep difficulties


poor concentration




irritable bowel syndrome

nonulcer dyspepsia


chronic fatigue syndrome

autoimmune diseases

rheumatoid arthritis


insulin-dependent diabetes

thyroid diseases

and a TON more

You starting to get the idea? Your nervous system is in charge of a LOT of important stuff. So, when your nervous system is messed up . . . it can wreak havoc on your body.

I could go on & on, but at the risk of sounding like a biology teacher. I’ll leave it at that. If you' wanna know more, THIS book has a LOT of scientific stuff on C-PTSD, which personally, I find fascinating ;)

Anywhooo . . . one thing that I find absolutely LIBERATING . . . is that I’m in charge here. I’m responsible for my healing.

No doctor, no needle, no pill, no infusion, no surgery, no procedure . . . no, me laying there & having someone else responsible for fixing me.


Yes, there are people who are helping me on this journey. Yes, I am seeing a therapist. Yes, I am taking a class. Yes, I am reading books.

But do you see? Without my effort. Without my determination. Without my willingness to DO this hard work, nothing would change.

and so, I offer you my newest art piece.

“I am the medicine.”

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I’m pretty sure I’m gonna get this tattooed on my bod somewhere . . . maybe above my port or the iliac crest of my pelvis? not sure yet ;)


it’s true.


and my friends,

YOU are the medicine.

You are YOUR medicine.

We got this.

We can do this.

We are doing it.

We are healing.

and I’m so fucking proud of us.

xo, EK

ps. “I am the medicine” is an 11x17” (BIG!) original mixed media painting, on mat board & is up for a 24 hour LIVE Auction over on Instagram HERE. If you don’t have an IG account & want to bid on it, shoot me an email HERE & let me know your highest bid. I’ll bid for you ;)

retiring the boxing gloves by Erica Kathleen

"Tribal Magic" available  HERE.

"Tribal Magic" available HERE.

"FIGHTER" is tattooed on my inner left wrist. 

I fought because I had to. I fought for my life & my freedom & my kids & a new life.

I fought for years to get away from emotional abuse & narcissism, controlling & crazy making.

I fought in court. I fought the ugliest battles I would never wish on my worst enemies.

In a 20 year relationship, I fought every day for my sanity, my self esteem,  . . . everything, was a fight.

I've been free from that fight for about 5 years now

And only now am I beginning to realize that I don't know how NOT to fight.

It's like that's my body's default mode. It just is. That's what it knows.

And now that I don't NEED to fight, I can feel the poison of the fight built up in my bones. I can feel it in my tensed shoulders and the knots in my stomach & the muscles in my hips that are strung so tight, if I was a guitar, and you plucked me . . . I'd break. 

Even though my brain KNOWS that I am safe & loved . . . my body is still in fight or flight & it's done. It's done fighting. It's done flinching, tensing, waiting to be punched. It is SO fucking done.

Most of you know I have been pretty sick for the last year. I'm still trying to figure out what "it" is & I think it's turning out to be many things. 

I've been pretty obsessed with figuring it out. I want to be better. I want to feel better. I want to feel healthy. I want to be ok.

But even in figuring out the illness, it's almost like I've been fighting.

Fighting with my muscles. Fighting with the doctors. Fighting with the test results. Fighting.

I'm soon tired of fighting.

I am tired of fighting with MYSELF.

In a moment of complete & utter breakdown the other night, when an ultrasound was read wrong & I was convinced I was going to die, soon, I fell to my knees in tears, sobbing, breathing . . .

and in that moment, all there was, was LOVE.

In that moment, all I wanted to do was LOVE this body.

I didn't want to fight the sickness anymore.

I didn't want to fight with the doctors or my muscles, or this beautiful body who has carried me through so much.

I just wanted to LOVE this body.

Wholly, completely, as it is, in this moment.

So, I am going to do my very best to leave the boxing gloves on the shelf, and LOVE this body with everything I've got.

Real food = LOVE.

Gentle movement = LOVE.

Sweet rest = LOVE.

Relaxing baths = LOVE


The focus has shifted from "what's wrong with me?" to "what can I do in this moment to LOVE & honor my body?"

That's it.

That's where it's at for me.

It's a novel concept.

Wish me luck.

xo, EK

ps. I am off Facebook again. It's just too much. So, If you have a friend or loved one who might benefit from this post, please share. 

too much. by Erica Kathleen

"If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." Right?

Hence, my silence.

Who wants to hear about my laundry list of physical ailments? Who wants to read about pain & suffering? Who wants to hear . . . blah, blah, blah.

And then I remember, If I am not REAL, who am I? If I am not HONEST, who am I? If I am not a TRUTH-teller, who am I?

So, here is my truth . . . it's all gotten to be TOO MUCH. I went off social media over a month ago. Too much noise, too much chatter, too bright, too loud, to scratchy, TOO MUCH.

I find myself on this "healing journey" . . . has a nice kind of romantic ring to it, doesn't it? Emotional healing. Physical healing. Body, mind & Spirit. Romantic.

Until, it all gets to be too fucking much. I used to subscribe to the idea that, "everything happens for a reason", and "physical ailments have emotional roots" . . . It sure makes the tough times a lot easier to swallow, when you have these beliefs.

But last week, I was sitting, having a conversation with my love & I said, "What if it's all fucking bullshit? What if there is no "reason" for my fibromyalgia or my gallstones or my sick liver? What if it just fucking happened & there is no deeper meaning? Because, if it WAS caused by traumas, & to 'heal the physical ailment, you have to heal what caused it'.....I have done NOTHING but work on healing these traumas . . . I have dug so fucking deep, my entire world as I know it has fallen completely fucking apart because NOTHING is what I thought it was . . . I have worked SO FUCKING HARD at healing these traumas . . . every single day, my sole focus is healing . . . and my body is falling apart. I feel like I'm dying. What if I do die? Does that mean I didn't work hard enough at healing? FUCK THAT."

I told you I didn't have anything nice to say, but this is where I'm at, LOST on this "journey". Even that word . . . JOURNEY, makes me want to fucking vomit.

It doesn't feel like a journey. It feels like death.

Oh yes, I've always been fond of the "caterpillar in the cocoon, turning into a butterfly" idea . . . another romantic notion to help us make it through hard times . . . which, also, at this point, brings an instant gag reflex to my whole body. 

To describe what it feels like, when I close my eyes . . . there is No "journey". No caterpillars & cocoons. No steps on a path, leading me to a better place. No healing light. No one guiding me. No amazing metamorphosis. . .

What it is, is this . . .

dark. pitch black. no evidence of light, anywhere. it doesn't exist here.

cold. bone-chilling cold. cold that can never be warmed & never goes away. 

aches. in the very core of my bones. feeling that my body has been beaten & smashed by a hammer, from the inside out. 

muscles that are so weak I can barely move, yet are so tight, they burn like I've been weight lifting for hours.

a head that is so heavy, it feels like it's made of lead & my body can barely hold it up.

sleep, that is so elusive & hard to find, even when I am so exhausted I can't move. muscles that won't relax, nerves that don't shut 'off' . . . waking up feeling like I was run over by a semi truck.

that's just for starters.

so, you see. I'm having a really difficult time finding the "reason". I'm having a hard time with the "caterpillar & the cocoon" deal. 

I don't write this to complain. I don't write this for pity. I write this for the reason I share anything personal . . . in the HOPES that it will help someone else. Personally, I find great comfort in knowing I'm not alone in my struggles.

Please share this if you feel it might help someone. Please let me know if it touched you, or helped you.

Because maybe, the whole idea of "sharing my pain to help other people" is just another romantic notion that needs to go.

I don't know.

Frankly, I don't know what the fuck I know anymore.

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