I’m the problem. I’m the oldest of six. I was aware of that from an early age, and I accepted it. Don’t ask for help, there isn’t any, figure it out. They’re busy. Sounds right?

I’m a GenXer who went to therapy. Had to. Was put into trafficking at 19, got out at 21. Was

homeless for several months to avoid going back, staying off the grid. Was rescued by another Xer, found my people, got married. Ignored everything that happened, pulled up my bootstraps and went to work.

Marriage failed, got married again, to a younger man who sent me to therapy. I’m still with that dude; 20 years and counting. Cuz he sent me to therapy and taught me to communicate.

Over the last 20 years, we’ve worked through pretty severe PTSD, anxiety, depression, flashbacks, shame, abandonment issues, fear of leaving anything behind, all of it.

During that 20 years, I became a photographer. I liked showing people they were beautiful. But I was also healing myself. I needed to see that women could be sexy without repercussions. I was pretty good; had four photos go international, three hung in the Louvre. I was obsessed with seeing the souls of people, and showing them who they were instead of who they were told they were.

Then I got covid, and it lit up several chronic illnesses, taking my body out of photography. I worked in studios, and those get really hot, so I had to retire. That led to a midlife crisis. What the fuck do I do now? I knew two things: photography and therapy.

I went backwards in my progress, becoming nonverbal frequently again. Things that had been gone for years were coming back, and I couldn’t communicate with my partner anymore. I was completely lost.

I started leaving notes, but when I’m in a flashback or panic attack, I can’t read, so that only kind of helped. My partner was getting frustrated. I was incredibly frustrated, and getting angry because I wasn’t getting help. I was also officially in perimenopause, and the brain fog that comes with it is no joke.

My short term memory was gone. I’d forget where I was going while I was going there. There were notes everywhere.

I’m AuDHD. I’m not okay with notes everywhere. I would paint huge pictures to hang over my bed, reminding me that I’m okay. We would hang memes all over the house for dopamine. I needed to combine the two... suddenly, I was talking to one of the models I hung in the Louvre, who had become an amazing artist in Manhattan, for pictures to combine the two. If I can’t read when I need them, then I need different pictures for each card. I’ll recognize the art, and know what that gains me. He can read the card, and know what I need. Then we can check the journal I was using for notes to see what I need. That became the planner.

And suddenly I was being heard, and helped. And it was less stressful for my partner, because the guessing game was finally over. He could just check to see what we do when I’m like this. I started crawling out of my hole, because it was safe to do so. Someone could hear me again. For me, kinda for the first time.

Now I want to help other people be heard. I’m a caregiver by nature. I want to heal the world, and all that hippie crap. But GenX won’t do it themselves, when it’s for themselves. We’ll help anyone but ourselves, because there was always someone who needed help. We never got to ourselves. So, I tried to do it for you. If you’re given these cards, it’s because someone wants to communicate with you. Safely.

For both of you. It’s time we were heard.

- Nykki