Inside the ACE’s: Part I

Well, I got real deep with this one. I’m going to have to split it into two parts or you all will be bored out of your mind and stop reading or go crying in the corner. I spent a lot of time writing this one, writing like I was running out of time on childhood trauma (yep stole that from Hamilton), and it also has a lot more education points than some of my last posts, so if anything I’ve written has touched your heart and mind, please ask and I can share my resources with you!

Part I

Do you think someone could go through so much trauma, but not even realize it? Could that even be called trauma?  That’s how I feel. I knew situations in my childhood were not ideal, but it must be a built in protective factor that you either ignore them, not think it’s that bad, forget, I’m not sure what else it could be. But then you open pandoras box, and it can’t be undone. The monsters are released.

For me at least, you have a realization, an epiphany, or as my hero Oprah says, an “ah ha moment”, and it’s not positive. The “ah ha moment” brings feelings of pain, stress, and memories that didn’t seem to be there before. I tell my therapist all the time, please undo this. Bring me back to when I was blissfully ignorant. But she reminds me my life was not full of bliss. And all that pain and anxiety was always in there, being bottled up and steaming over and shooting out in different ways. Which makes sense. For me, it came out in anger. Misdirected anger. If Kylie dared to act or say some of the things I said when I was younger, I would be appalled. Sometimes, I have no clue how Travis and my relationship survived our younger years because I could be a petty and a mean bitch. But I still think I would rather feel like that all the time instead of  how I have felt the past three years. That was what I had always known, it felt comfortable…until it didn’t. 

2018

So let me bring you back to 2018. I was listening to one of my favorite podcasts of the time, Empathy & Eyebrows, and the topic of the day was ACE scores. The host of that show and the author of the book by the same name, was then known as Danni Starr. She is a well known radio personality that has a habit of oversharing. That episode, she had on her best friend, who is a pediatric nurse practitioner, to help explain that the research shows that high levels of toxic stress before the age of 18 actually effects your genetics and puts you at increased risk of health problems that last well into adulthood. Danni, or as she know goes by, Ms. Danielle, is an amazing human. She puts a lot of herself out there to the world, but does it to bring awareness and light to issues that are not often discussed. I am very thankful for her. She is an inspiration for this very website and blog. Her sharing her struggles helped me feel not so alone with my similar struggles and gave me permission to seek help.

That is exactly my goal in all of this, my goal for MentalMommyNurse: to share my tales and fails within mental health and motherhood, and use my education from being a nurse to help others that read and relate. 

Ok, back to it. It’s easy to associate adverse childhood experiences with increased rates of mental illness, that makes perfect sense right? Or even increasing in high risk behaviors that can cause physical harm, such as smoking and drinking alcohol in excess. But the research shows that people with higher ACE scores have higher rates of heart disease, diabetes, autoimmune disorders, even lung cancer, and earlier deaths, even when you take out those high risk behaviors. And those statistics are found across race and socioeconomic status. In fact, the first official study conducted on ACE scores by a group of doctors and researchers from Kaiser Permanente in partnership with the CDC, was conducted in San Diego with middle class, college educated adults WITH health insurance. 

Adverse Childhood Experiences- ACE Score

For each “yes” answer, add 1. The total number at the end is your cumulative number of ACEs.
Before your 18th birthday:

1. Did a parent or other adult in the household often or very often… Swear at you, insult you, put you down, or humiliate you? or Act in a way that made you afraid that you might be physically hurt?
2. Did a parent or other adult in the household often or very often… Push, grab, slap, or throw something at you? or Ever hit you so hard that you had marks or were injured?
3. Did an adult or person at least 5 years older than you ever… Touch or fondle you or have you touch their body in a sexual way? or Attempt or actually have oral, anal, or vaginal intercourse with you?
4. Did you often or very often feel that … No one in your family loved you or thought you were important or special? or Your family didn’t look out for each other, feel close to each other, or support each other?
5. Did you often or very often feel that … You didn’t have enough to eat, had to wear dirty clothes, and had no one to protect you? or Your parents were too drunk or high to take care of you or take you to the doctor if you needed it?
6. Were your parents ever separated or divorced?
7. Was your mother or stepmother: Often or very often pushed, grabbed, slapped, or had something thrown at her? or Sometimes, often, or very often kicked, bitten, hit with a fist, or hit with something hard? or Ever repeatedly hit over at least a few minutes or threatened with a gun or knife?
8. Did you live with anyone who was a problem drinker or alcoholic, or who used street drugs?
9. Was a household member depressed or mentally ill, or did a household member attempt suicide?
10. Did a household member go to prison?

The Nervous System Cannot Always Be Fighting and Flying

Your ACE score is just a predictor, a guide if you will. It doesn’t account for a child’s positive experiences, buffering forces, or repairing factors in adulthood. That said, it also doesn’t account for many other negative factors and kinds of traumas in many communities. Things like witnessing repetitive crime, systemic racism, exposure to natural disaster, surviving a traumatic accident, and bullying. We do know that toxic levels of stress changes the functions AND structure of a developing brain. 

The best explanation I have heard is from Nadine Burke-Harris, MD. The fight, flight, or freeze stress response and increase in cortisol and adrenaline is necessary and natural is certain situations, such as a bear attack. The changes and rushes of different biochemicals and neurotransmitters dilate the pupils for better eyesight, rush the most oxygen to your muscles so you run faster, survival stuff. That’s super useful and great for when you’re hunting in the woods a few times a year. But what happens when the bear lives at home? You are in a constant state of survival. Your hormones and neurotransmitters get all out of whack and your brain doesn’t know when to turn it off and turn it on.

Like me for example, when my anxiety got to it’s worse, my doctor explained to me that when my baseline stress level is at 70%, then I have very little wiggle room to get up to 100. Something like Kylie spilling her juice on the couch, something that would annoy anyone and bring them from 10% to 40% for example, would set me way over the limit. 

Now that I think about it, I guess that’s why some of my memories were totally blacked out until I bust the door wide open and asked for them to come back. As a protective factor, I think your brain can rewire itself to hide some traumatic memories from you. It’s all very fascinating if you ask me. 

Toxic Stress

That phrase has always stuck with me: toxic stress. I feel that in my soul. Stress is a word I use all the time, before I realized I was suffering from anxiety, or at least admitting it to myself, I used the word stress in place of anxiety. I would definitely concur that I had high levels of toxic stress. I grew up with A LOT of toxicity around me. 

Trauma at any age obviously has negative effects. But trauma in childhood effects a developing brain and nervous system. Our good fortune, or rotten luck, is “written into our biology,”—wired into synapses and coiled within strands of DNA—where it exerts a stealthy and persistent influence on our bodies and minds, for better or worse, says Nadine Burke-Harris, the former and first surgeon general of California and author of the book “The Deepest Well” written all about her further investigation of the ACE score study done by Kaiser and what do we do with this information.

Pandora’s Box

Ok, so back to 2018. I listened to this podcast and counted along as Danni Starr read the list of ACE’s. Over half of American’s have 1 out of the 10. Anything more than 4 is a dangerous risk, with 12 times higher rates of suicide. I have 7. Maybe 8 depending on how I am feeling, how much my memory is blacked out, and if I am willing to admit if things that happened to me can be classified as the question is asked. I was mind blown. That was what unlocked pandoras box. I got home, I started to google ACE scores and came across Nadine Burke-Harris’ work and podcast episodes that she was featured on. I kept reading and listening to the same things, hoping I would feel different. So what did I do next? I asked Travis to look at the list and how many “points” he had. Zero. (Although now after further conversations, I’m pretty sure he’s got 1-2). But still, not bad. I texted my friend Cristina asking the same. Zero. Neither of their lives were perfect of course, but none of these questions applied. That’s what really hit me. Oh, so you mean things that happened to and around me aren’t very typical? And in comes the anxiety spiral. I looked at my parents and my life in a whole different light, a dark and dim light and that made me very angry. 

Also, around this time, Kylie was about 5 years old. And I think that is about the age when I am able to think of and start to see my memories with some accuracy and clarity. It hit me over the head when I thought, I would NEVER be ok with the same things that happened to and around me, happening to Kylie. I know we all want better for our children, but this was different. A lack of a mother is huge factor in my upbringing and assortment of issues and anxiety, so being a mother and realizing how fucked up mine had to have been to do the things she did really is a major mind-fuck. 

So I finally admitted that these feelings and problems were now effecting my entire life and therefore, going to effect Kylie. I was crying a lot, I was super irritable and short tempered, overwhelmed, and harder on Kylie than she deserved. So I got myself into therapy and into see a psychiatrist. My issues were beyond self-help. What I have learned through therapy is that the major theme to how my childhood has effected me to my core is my feelings of worthiness, do I feel I am worthy of love? If you don’t feel love from either parents, people who are biologically wired to love you, then how could you ever expect to believe you are worthy of love from yourself or anyone else?

TRIGGER WARNING: I’ll get real personal and discuss what has happened to me, mentioning neglect, abuse, mental illness, substance use, etc. 

From the beginning, I’m pretty sure my parents met out partying or maybe even an AA meeting, probably before they went partying. At the time, I think my mom was 20 years old with a newborn premie baby, that honestly might have still been in the NICU. My dad, 36 and already divorced twice. Match made in heaven right? But according to my dad, he felt sparks right away. He said my mom just had “it”, she was something special. A few months later my mom was pregnant with me and my parents got married. I don’t know that the marriage even lasted two years. Shocking right?

I have zero memories of ever living with both my mom and my dad. I don’t know where this happened on the timeline, but at some point they went to court for custody as many divorced families do. My sister was already placed with her dad and step mom, so I’m sure it wasn’t a good sign for my mom. My dad told me it was easy though, my mom didn’t fight for custody, it was my grandparents that were there. Later, I found out my dad wasn’t even 100% I was his, just knowing my mom, but because they were married when I was born and he was on the birth certificate no DNA test needed and he said he didn’t want to risk it in case he wasn’t and then where would I go. So, hey, 1 point for Bob.

Side note: he bought me a 23 and Me kit to test it a year or so ago, and congrats Bob, the DNA test determined, you ARE the father. So that’s how two siblings end up living with their fathers and never together. We saw each other “every other weekend” when we had visitation with my mom. I say every other in quotes because there were many a time that she didn’t show. These visits were supervised, often by my Aunt Donna, my dads sister. Thank God for her. More on her later. So there’s your picture painted of the beginning of this story.

So I did the same thing with this blog post that I have done with a few others: wrote frantically many details of many examples and experiences I have suffered though. But, that’s pretty TMI. No one wants all that, it would be too depressing, less informative. So let’s get to the edit. 

Believe it or Not, This is the Edited Version

I hit the jackpot, both parents were alcoholics and drug addicts, or a better term I’ve learned being a nurse, they suffered from substance use disorder. I’ve spent a lot of time in church basements while people smoked cigarettes, drank crappy coffee out of white styrofoam cups, talking about how alcohol and drugs ruined their lives. I knew the serenity prayer like Catholics pray the rosary. I’ve had to go to “celebrations”, for example, when my mom got a 1 year chip from NA (narcotics anonymous), and I was supposed to be happy? That shit is fucking uncomfortable to a kid, especially at that point I think I was an angsty pre-teen. 

**BTW, I am not hating on AA or NA. I know those programs help so many people. Like I said, in a previous post, I recite the Serenity Prayer all the time. It just might not be the best environment for a child or a teen to appreciate**

Ginny and Bob were Very Different Kinds of Addicts and VERY Different Parents

My mom, Ginny, was young. It is actually pretty wild when I think about her being in her 20’s through my childhood. I was 26 years old when Kylie was born, but I have always been quite mature and independent. I suppose you kind of have to when you’re taking care of yourself pretty young. So there you have it, off the jump, young and dumb. Her father died by suicide when she was around 13 years old and after that she dropped out of school. Her siblings seemed to fair ok, but she was one of the youngest, and this was the late 70’s, I don’t think therapy was a thing yet. And this friends, leads us to generational trauma. 

So she was young, wild, and diagnosed with bipolar disorder. She had two daughters way too young and it didn’t seem to help… imagine that. I didn’t understand so much of this until recently. There were so many times when she was supposed to take me for the weekend and never showed up. And my dad wasn’t mature enough to make up some lie or distraction, so what I “knew” was the fact that she sucked and didn’t want to be with me. There was a time when I didn’t see her for a longer time because she was in jail after leading police on a high speed chase in Florida. In a box in my attic, I am pretty sure I still have a letter she wrote me from jail on a yellow legal pad with a picture of a ninja turtle painted with food dye from M&M’s that someone did for her. Cute right? 

I did not witness much violence against my mom, because I didn’t witness her much at all. But all I heard was negative things about her and what a horrible person she was. Also, for some reason my mom thought I was at an appropriate age to tell me that the reason she needed multiple knee surgeries was because it got kicked by a man when he was raping her. She died right before my 15th birthday, so I don’t remember how old I was when I first heard that, but I was obviously young. I think hearing stories like these, often with an air of causal conversation, must have contributed to why I was not very conscious to the fact that so much of my life was drenched in trauma. 

Bob

Now Bob, on the other hand, wasn’t a young parent. When my mom was 20 years old, my dad was 36… I’ll leave my feelings on that alone right now. I think my dad may have had good intentions, I’m sure he felt he was getting older and wanted a family. He was certainly more responsible than my mom so I am thankful for that. I’ve heard that it’s pretty common for the child of divorced parents to be harder on the primary parent. So I will add the disclaimer that I am thankful that my dad did at least keep a roof over my head, he was around, and now, he does try to be a grandparent to Kylie. That said, you can’t help but to “learn” a lot about life and what you think of yourself and be influenced by those that are around more. Bob never had much of a career, he survived off random jobs mostly, and sharing responsibility and expenses with my Aunt Donna and grandmother when we lived with them from time to time. 

Memories from these times in my life fit into the category that I never felt were “that bad” and didn’t realize the effect they had on my childhood, until I had a child of my own.  I was home alone all the time, at least starting around 8 or 9 years old. And even before that, my “supervision” was my grandmother with Alzheimers that could hardly walk and almost burned down the house with the stove. So I was probably safer alone. I ate a lot of Ramen noodles, cooked in the microwave in a country crock butter bowl. We lived in an apartment building where the washer and dryer was for the whole building down on the bottom floor of the building; the kind you had to use quarters to run. I was going down to that dusty basement alone before I was big enough that I could reach the bottom of the washer machine. When I first lived in a place that had its own washer and dryer and I needed specific clothes clean, I could just wash them with no quarters or no bathtub hand wash, my life changed.

Now thinking back, I really need to be #grateful for all I have. When I am being a spoiled brat or wanting more and more and bigger and bigger, remember that feeling, ashley. When I just wanted a bigger and better home, one Kylie can be proud of, be proud of myself for all I have accomplished and all I have given her. Not only do I have my own washer and dryer, you guys… I have a garage! And not just that, I have a refrigerator in my garage! Now that my friends, when I was a kid, was a sign of wealth. 

Back to Bob

He was an alcoholic and he used pretty hard drugs from what I hear. I don’t remember ever seeing a lot of the drug use, I think he was pretty good of hiding things and he’s a pretty quiet person at baseline. He wasn’t getting drunk and high and getting loud, erratic, and wild. But he was mean. He still is a little mean. So I learned quick so just not engage. 

Here’s a memory that is burned into my brain. I was young, maybe 9 or so years old, and it was my very best friend Emily’s birthday sleepover party. I was waiting and waiting for my dad to get up and drive me over there, asking over and over was it time to go. He said he wasn’t taking me and stop asking. I had no clue why, I was just devastated. I loved going to Emily’s house, which I learned later, it was a safe place and inside I knew that without having the language to say that. Well, I called Emily’s house phone, definitely well after the party began, crying telling her mom that I had no way to get there. She very quickly said it was no problem and she would come get me. Looking back, how amazing is that? Leaving her house where her daughters birthday party was going on to come get her best friend. I am very thankful for my friendship with Emily and the time I spent at her house and with her family. I am quite positive that exposure to a mom and a dad in the same house, and all the safety and resources that she had, showed me that that life is possible. Much later when I was telling my Aunt Donna that memory, she very quickly said, oh your dad was drunk. That’s why he couldn’t take you places. Well I suppose, that’s another point to Bob, at least he didn’t drive me drunk. 

Roles Reversed

Bob would like to think he is a recovered alcoholic and drug addict. My therapist would disagree. She says he is a “dry drunk”: someone who doesn’t drink alcohol anymore, but didn’t really put in the work to understand their addiction and heal from that, and understand the damage they have done. So now, Bob is addicted to spending money. QVC, Amazon, HSN, whatever has a good gadget or good sale he can type in his credit card number to buy. And remember when I mentioned he has never had a real career? He doesn’t have the money to pay for these credit card bills. So what does an older man do when he never had a 401k, he blew the only pension he got on a trip to Florida, drugs, and stuff, and started taking his social security early because he got fed up with the longest job he ever had? Well, you move into your daughters house of course. 

My dad moved in with us right around the time of this traumatic revelation about my life. Wanna talk about traumatic: the person who you see as the cause of a lot of your toxic stress and who could never seem to get their finances and shit together, now moving into your house that you built after you worked very hard to get your shit together despite having no example of such when you were younger. That’s fucking stressful. **Another point to Bob, and an explanation to you all thinking ‘how do you not kick him out?’, he has come in quite handy during the pandemic and at home virtual school, I have no clue how Travis and I would have worked without him at home.**

Check Back for Part II

Well, I think that’s enough of a shit show for one blog post that I don’t mean to brag, but might be read by tens and tens of people 💁🏼‍♀️

Did any of this spark interest? Any parts of this research that maybe I didn’t explain enough? I would love feedback of what you may want to learn more of (or less of) for part II.

ACEs Too High is a Great Resource to Learn More While you Wait!