On Fear and Trust and Tears

Rage is an odd thing.  A foreign thing, at least my own.  I'm too familiar with outside rage, abusers rage, rage that most people have, but rarely recognize as such.   All anger makes me panic, even my own.   Stretching into who I am, when I strip away all that I was told I was, taught I was, brainwashed to believe I was....is a bit like trying on clothing that is two sizes too big.  There's all this room for me to move and space for me to discover and grow.  There is wonder at the magic of some things about me and fear at some parts I find as well.

I feel a bit as I did on the beginning of this healing journey.  Terrified and yet in awe of all that I see, all that I can be and all that I am leaving behind.   No, I'm not the "Perfect" girl that the abusers labeled me, and that I knew always was a lie.   But I'm also not the "dirty" girl or the "slut" or any other label they chose to beat me down with.   So what does that leave, or more importantly WHO does that leave?

Yesterday, in my Women's Mindfulness Group, I came undone.   Surrounded by these intelligent, caring, beautiful, inspiring and strong women, I opened my mouth and heart and told them my deepest fear.  I bared my soul, crying and terrified, telling them how stuck I feel just now, that I am busy rejecting and running away from what comes next on this healing path... and that it feels like no matter what I do I can't seem to STOP rejecting and fighting it, even though I know the only way out.. is through.  I told them my deepest fear, of that god forsaken door and what may lay behind it. 

The abusers were good at what they did.  All of them.   They worked very hard to create an abuser.. in me, of me.   Brainwashing, hours of fear and terror, darkness and pain, threats and torture.... all to make sure I would become one of them.  That I would be complicit in their abuse and torture.

What if they succeeded?   I know, already, that I was forced to do things, that haunt me every day of my life, every hour.   Things I will never forget and have yet to forgive myself for... despite the fact I was forced to do them, both physically and in every other way.   What if there is more behind that damn door?   What if I accept what's behind the door, open it and find, that I am just like the abusers?  That I have conned myself and everyone else.

As I cried my way through telling my Group, one member tip-toed over and sat behind me, rocking with me and holding me, and as I looked to each of these remarkable women - all that I saw, ALL I saw, was love, acceptance and support....and reflected back to me, Who they saw.  They do not see an evil person, a dark person, an abusive person at all when they look at me... What they see is a woman who is a survivor and who is strong and is fighting to heal and who radiates light and love.  That is who I strive to be, who I hope I am... and I am forever changed by seeing that reflected in their eyes.

Today I gave myself permission to have a slow morning, and then I reclaimed my Yoga and Mediation practice.   For the first time in ten years, I truly reclaimed my spiritual practice, what feels most like home to me.   I cannot express what this means to me, or how hard I've fought to get it back.   I continued the day taking care of myself, seeking balance and trying to trust that I am NOT who the abusers tried so hard to create.  Trusting that in this too I win, and they, well they have lost, forever.

I am still tired and soul weary.   I am still scared and trying to sort out my way to acceptance of what comes next on this journey.  But I am hopeful.  I am blessed to have the support I do, in my sister, in my sisters of my Women's group, in my therapist - who has held my hand on this healing journey for almost 9 years now, in good friends.  I am blessed.

And too, I am blessed by all of you who are survivors, or friends of survivors or loved ones of survivors.  Thank you for reading.   Thank you for walking your path.  Thank you for inspiring me in moments I feel I can't go on.  Thank you.

May this be a blessed and beautiful day for you~

This Body....

Question
BY MAY SWENSON
Body my house
my horse my hound  
what will I do
when you are fallen

Where will I sleep  
How will I ride  
What will I hunt

Where can I go
without my mount  
all eager and quick  
How will I know  
in thicket ahead
is danger or treasure  
when Body my good  
bright dog is dead

How will it be
to lie in the sky
without roof or door  
and wind for an eye

With cloud for shift  
how will I hide?

My body. This body, just here, just now, that I mistreat in so many ways.  Not that I mean to mistreat it, at least not consciously.. but I do nonetheless.   I'm not sure the "whys" of it.   Though there are many that are fairly clear.   Fear of the bathroom, shower, bathtub.. Fear of the Kitchen, the Bedroom.. fear of fear of fear.    So I will make mad dashes into the kitchen to grab something, anything to eat.. anything that won't take time and effort, anything that won't keep me in the kitchen for more than five minutes before I dash back out to safety.

There was a time before PTSD that I showered twice a day, every day, without fail.  I was beyond compulsive about it.  Now though, when I step into the bathroom, or really before I do actually step inside, I pause just at the doorway my toes just at the edge of the carpet as though I were about to jump off some unimaginably high cliff into shark infested waters.   I hesitate, do I really need to shower today?   Do I really need to brush my teeth? Comb my hair? Use the toilet?   When I stare into my apartments plain little bathroom, that has seen no horror show, no abuse, nothing that should instill this utter terror... superimposed are scenes from my history, different bathrooms, different showers, different colored tiles and linoleum.. shimmering as though it were an oily imprint hovering over the present.  I hear shouted words, gasping breaths and muffled tears, I feel the bodies memories of broken ribs, cuts and skin scrubbed raw, is it any wonder I feel the urge to run away from that space?  Isn't it more amazing that I ever actually do step inside?

I am 43 years old.  I was never meant to be here, alive and at this age.  That was never "Their" intention.   Some days I feel like an imposter or like I've somehow conned my way to this age and at any moment it will be taken away from me, this life... before I ever get to truly live.  Some days, I feel as though I have no right to be here, well, most days right now.   But there are moments, moments where I know I'm meant to be here, that I have something important to give.. to offer.  That there must be some reason I lived through all I have, have fought as hard as I have and that I'm still here, breathing, being.

This body of mine has been through SO much, so much, I wish I could be more kind to it.  I wish I could love it, accept it, be grateful and take better care of it.   I do try, and I have gotten better at it.   Some days it's a vocal thing, stepping off that carpet in the doorway and onto the bathroom linoleum, all the while, saying aloud "this is MY bathroom.  This is my Sink, This is my Shower, This is my bathtub, and YOU, you are dead and gone and you don't get to have this space."  The days that the ghosts of dead abusers lurk around every corner, it helps, sometimes I repeat it over and over, sometimes shouting it, and I wonder what my neighbors must think.   But, it works, so let the neighbors think I'm crazy.

I want peace... I yearn for a time when this healing process is not so in my face every moment of every damn day.   So the question becomes.. how to care for this  body and keep it well enough to enjoy when I do get there, when I am able to truly be free from this constant battle.   How to learn to care about this body, care for this body, give it some love and attention.. rather than hating it and mistreating it.   How to feel the body memories and not take them out on the body.  How to feel the aches and pains, spasms and cramps.. and not blame this poor body as it tells it's story.   It's a puzzle, that I'm still sorting into little piles, trying to put it together in both my heart and mind, and yes.. body.

May this day be a blessed one for you....

......this Moment

I've been sick for the last week, or two?   It's all sort of blurred together with apartment inspections and trying to just do the daily mandatory stuff that we all have to do.   It's sort of typical for me to get really ill after a period of lack of sleep due to night terrors or anxiety or flashbacks or all of the above as it's been for the last month or so.   I think at a certain point the body takes over, getting it's rest in whatever way it has to.

I'm tired of being sick. I'm tired of flashbacks, body memories, anxiety, panic, sorrow, loss, pain, fear.... I would like a bit of "normalcy" for a time.  Is that asking too much?   I'm not asking to be done.  Though I've been demanding that ever since I first got diagnosed with PTSD.  But, please could I have a little more peace, joy, breathing room?   There is this urge to scream at the Universe, the Divine Spirit, God, Goddess - cut me a tiny bit of slack?

Even as I'm typing these words, I'm hearing this internal debate.  How I can ask that, when I know so long as I resist, these things will persist and with a vengeance.   And still here I sit, feeling like a tightly closed fist... feeling, knowing, believing... to open my fingers even the tiniest bit, means Death.  This enormous wave of terror washes over me even at the mere thought, my breath catches in my throat, my chest seizes up, hands beginning to shake, sweat beginning to bead my brow - all at merely considering trying to relax into whatever must come next.

What memory awaits behind that blasted door.  The door that has haunted and plagued me for as long as I  can remember in this healing process.  Knowing something terrifying or heartbreaking or both lays just on the other side of that god forsaken door.  I'm not sure if it's better knowing it's not an imaginary door, but rather a door that did exist and that did hold terror behind it.  I think it's better, it at the very least makes me feel a little less crazy.

So, how to stop fighting the process?   How do I relax or release into whatever must come next when everything inside me is screaming at me to run?  Sadly I don't have the answer just yet.   I will take this question into therapy this week.....   I will sit to meditate today, for in reclaiming that space.. and my right to have that space, I will find peace, quiet, joy.   I will walk my pup today and find joy in the rain, trees, grass and the joy that Bella has when we are out together.   I will write today,  another chapter in the true stories, the deep down, black and white and red, agony and tears truth of my history - because it's what needs to be done, no matter how terror-filled I am as I do it.   I will remember to breathe, leave room for laughter, music... all things that I know will help push the darkness back a bit.

 I will try to remember that so long as I'm trying to fight the river, trying to swim against the current, I will make no progress... and to be my most whole self.... I have to keep working, keep pushing through the memories, allowing them in and through.  It's an odd combination.. keep working.. and at the same time.. relax, lie back and go with the river's current. 

I will find my way through to my most whole self.. I deserve it, I really do.

Thank you for reading, thank you for your own hard work.... I hope this day is a blessed and beautiful one for you~ 

On Tears and Fear

I've been crying for days.   Crying at sappy commercials, TV shows with emotional story lines, the written word by writers I admire and in the cracks between all that, for love lost, years of my life lost and this strange space I'm in right now.    I'm tired, not body tired, but heart and soul tired.   This battle for healing, for becoming the most whole version of me I can be feels never-ending just here, just now.   I don't want to hear how the journey is a spiral and it only "feels" like I'm back at the beginning.  I want to know it, know it from deep down in my soul that this path is nearing completion.  I want to feel the sun, the light deep down, so deep inside that it illuminates all the darkness, burns it away leaving nothing but joy and love and light.

This space, just here is exhausting and feels unending.   A  moment that lasts for an eternity.   I'm tired of the darkness the abusers left behind, tired of questioning my own right to be here, alive, breathing.   I yearn to know peace...  To know that I deserve to be here, that I have a right to be here, that I don't have to apologize for the space I take up in this world.

In truth I feel as though I am false, that I somehow create a negative space, a black hole, that I shouldn't be here.   It's a battle between heart and mind.  My heart feels, knows that I have something to give to this world, that I want and can make a difference, even if it's in some infinitesimal way.  My mind argues, knowing that lives have been lost in my story.    That the abusers did damage far beyond what they did to me.. that there are empty places in this world where others should be doing their own healing.   Why did I survive?   Why me, here on this path, and not those that were lost along the way?

Perfect.   The label I was branded with so deeply, far more deeply than any physical brand could do, a branding of my heart and mind, of that unobtainable thing, perfection.   I have always felt I was a lie,  I knew I wasn't perfect, that fucking word that they tattooed on  me from birth.  

Somehow I have to stop resisting.   I am closed down like a fist, fingers wrapped tightly around thumb.   I want to scream to the universe that I cannot take another moment, another memory, any more knowledge of what I've survived, can it be enough that I did... survive?    But my body and mind are beating their drums, waiting to tell their story, and I know... I know, that so long as I resist, their war drums will grown louder, kinesthetic memories will continue and I will continue to feel like I'm drowning.

But to not resist?   To open to what comes next, feels like death.  I hear the sound of those damn hospital monitors, the sound of flat line, no breath, no beating heart, no brain waves, hear the wail of sirens, and terror rises up like water, choking me.  Death.   Because to break the rules, any  of them, always meant death.  There was no other thing.  If you remember you die.  If you tell you die. And yet here I am, putting word to paper, I am here and they are dead and gone.  Mostly.   Except when their not, in dream and night terror.. flashback and body memory.

There are stories I need to know, my body is reminding me that it needs me to listen with every panic, sweat filled night terror, every kinesthetic pain and spasm.

So, where does that leave me?   Still trying to sort out how to open that clenched fist, how to open my body and heart and mind to the truth, still trying to stop resisting no matter how loud those drum  rhythms of impending doom may sound.   In the face of terror how do I open, soften and simply be with what comes next? That is the piece I need to figure out just now.  And so here I am, putting word to page and fighting the screaming fear that is raging through me.... Today I will try to soften, just the littlest bit, instead of fighting the fear I will fight to unclench my hands, my  mind and just be, present.

I hear you body, I hear and I will do my best to listen, to feel, to see.  Today that will be enough.

Fear, PTSD and the Light

I remember when I was first diagnosed with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) thinking, "Well, okay, I can handle this, and I won't be one of those people that has it for ten years or the rest of their lives, I'll be "done" soon."  I also remember asking my first therapist over and over at every session, "When will I be, like, you know, DONE." 

The first month or so was a nightmare, though looking back now I see the humor in it, the absolute chaos of it.  I was cold or hot, needed to be inside, no OUTSIDE, crying or laughing, laying down, no sitting UP, and if I misplaced something, my lighter for instance, the panic that would rush over me, Oh My God, WHERE IS MY LIGHTER?  Everything was a ten on a scale of one to ten.. there was no middle ground....It was all panic and fear and tears.  Flashbacks and horror, the world upside down and inside out.

This year marks ten years, ten years from the moment I had my first flashback, ten years of fighting my way through all the flashbacks, fear, night terrors, panic attacks, kinesthetic body memories and agoraphobia.

This year has been transformative for me, I have conquered the agoraphobia and am no longer bound to my home.   I have seen the light, tasted it, felt it run through my finger tips and bathed in it.  I have felt pure joy and abandon for the first time in my life.

And, now.. just when I felt my most whole, closer to freedom than I ever have, when I felt nothing on earth could stop me from doing anything I want, that I had won...

The rug beneath me was yanked out again, and I am lost in the sea of PTSD again, flashback, body memory, panic attack, sorrow and grief and yearning to scream out to the Universe: "This is NOT fair, I'm too tired, soul weary, I have fought too hard to be lost again, how strong am I expected to be?"

I am reminded of a quote my therapist shared with me from Mother Theresa:

“I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish that He didn't trust me so much.” ~Blessed Mother Teresa

Right? Hey God, Universe, Divine Spirit could you cut me some slack here? Could you NOT trust me so damn much? 

Despite feeling impossibly low and exhausted and empty, I went to both my group therapy and regular therapy this week.   I went after letting my Therapist know that I was on empty, that I had nothing to give, that I was a mess.

The women in my group amaze me, every single time we meet, I am in awe of their caring, support, unconditional love and acceptance.  I am blessed to know each of them, and learn from each of them every time we meet.  I learn how to be more whole, I learn that it's okay to simply be, me.

I went to group this week feeling I could not take the next step, I could not deal with this moment, let alone contemplate the next.  I went even though I was deep in mourning for the light, and terrified I would never see it again.

This amazing group of women held me safe, both literally and metaphorically.  They listened, and held each word I spilled out on the floor safe, without judgement, with compassion and love.  I looked in each of their eyes and saw the light reflected  back to me, felt the power of unconditional love and acceptance and  realized how very blessed I am.  I knew in those moments, and even now as i type this, that if I was not strong enough, they would be my strength, if I could not see the light, they would guide me, and that no matter how dark and impossible the next step might feel, they would help me find the way.

Today I feel so Graced, so Blessed. I have my sister who knows my history because it's her history too, who loves me and is a beacon of light on the path ahead. I have a Therapist who understands what I'm going through and always shines a light so I can find my next step, a group of women who I consider sisters who care about me unconditionally and support me on my path.  I have my best friend, who knows how hard this work is, who has been there and who loves and supports me in every moment.

I am blessed to still be on this planet, that alone is a Victory. Each step I take is a Victory.  Each moment I'm walking this healing path, I win.   I will take this next step toward the light, and the next step, and the next and the next and the one after that.


To all of you that are Survivors, I say thank you.  Thank you for surviving, thank you for doing the hard work of healing. Thank you for lighting the path ahead for all who may follow.  Thank you for being the brave Warrior that you are.

I wish each of you a beautiful and blessed day~

And The Rain Pours Down

This afternoon the rain is pouring down outside, and inside too, I feel tears needing to be born....though I'm not at all sure why.  I feel this inner urge to yell, scream, bellow at the top of my lungs.   I want to hit things, not something soft but rather a wall or the ground, pounding it with my fist.

I want to run with the storm, race the lightning.... my hair whipped by the wind,  my bare feet splashing through rain puddles, my toes digging into the mud, the earth until I cannot move another inch and collapse into a heap on the rain soaked ground.   I want the thunder to roll over me, through me, I want to open my mouth wide and birth that window shaking sound, that crack of thunder that feels like it could tear apart mountains.

Sometimes, the words that say what I'm going through and where I am in my healing don't  feel big enough, or clear enough or loud enough.  Flashbacks.  Night Terrors. Kinesthetic Body Memories.  My weekend, was filled to overflowing with all three.   I felt as though I were drowning... as though I had somehow after ten years of fighting to heal, been dropped back in time to the first few months of PTSD.

I'm tired....exhausted and soul-deep weary.   I can't fathom processing another memory, dealing with another body memory or fighting for peaceful sleep.

And yet....

This place, just here.....I know too, and I know it will ease and I will feel strong again.  But, just now?  I am filled to overflowing with sorrow, and the tears are coming and finding their way down my face one at a time.

There is this enormous hill ahead of me, almost a mountain, and it holds the most treacherous and difficult part of my healing journey.  It holds the darkest memories and the hardest pieces of my history to acknowledge and accept and I want to run, run like the wind, though I know the only way out is through.  Up and over that mountain is the only way to the light I seek, the light I know is beckoning me to come, urging me up and over and into it's arms.

I wasn't going to post today.  My instinct to only put here what is inspiring and light filled, only what may help someone reading it to take the next step, or be able to be present and in the moment and know they aren't alone.     But, sometimes, it's good to just know you aren't alone....to know that there's another soul out there fighting depression, or yearning to scream or beyond exhausted and THAT can be the inspiration.

And so here I am.

My words tumbled out of my heart and soul and mind, not perfect, but messy and authentic and true and here on this page.   This is one of those hard moments on the healing path that is horrendously steep and rocky and I keep tripping and falling and yearning to just sit it out for awhile.  Instead I keep picking my battered and bruised and bloody self up and stumbling forward and into the next moment, hoping, praying that it will be easier, softer, more light filled around the bend in the road just ahead.

I remember once, speaking with someone I looked up to growing up, and a moment when he smiled at me, and pointing at the cloudy skies above us one evening, he said: "You know, just because the clouds prevent us from seeing them, doesn't mean that the moon and stars aren't there."

So, today I hold him to that.   I feel cloudy and my skies feel dark and ominous and I cannot see the stars or moon....but I do know they are there... and I do know the light is there too... I just can't see it right now.   Perhaps I will see it tomorrow, or in the next moment, or the moment after that.  For today, that knowledge will be enough.

I  thank each of you for surviving, for continuing to heal, for the light you shed in the world, for the light you shed on my path, on all our paths.  May you have a blessed and beautiful evening.

The Wonder of it All

Yesterday I got to "run away."  The sun was shining and it was 72 degrees as though Summer and Fall had decided to cohabitate for a bit.  My friends and I (and my pup Bella) loaded into the car around 1 pm and headed toward the beach.   It's about an hour and 15 minute drive from my home to the beach, through  the Oregon Coast Range mountains,  where the Fall colors are out in fierce golds, orange and fiery red leaves.

The drive alone, along the winding mountain road, the hilltops deep green with fir and pine trees the light coming through the branches painting with shadow and light on the pavement of the road was worth the trip.  Here and there Autumn shouted out it's presence in trees still bushy with brightly colored leaves, and just a few leaves dancing on the breeze and swirling down to hit the highway.

There was much laughter along the way, and Bella, my pup was like a small child, so excited to be going, to be in the car and on her way somewhere, anywhere.  I felt much the same, to be free of my agoraphobia is such an amazing gift!   Everything is new, like I'm seeing it for the first time and I am so filled with a sense of grace, an awareness that I am so lucky to be alive and to be seeing through new eyes.

It's as though I am 43 and 5 and 18 all at once, the sky is more blue, the light more golden and brilliant, the forest a wonder filled with possibilities and I am in awe of it all, and what the next moment or curve in the road may bring.

When we reached the beach at last, and settled our things near a huge piece of driftwood, Bella and I raced for the water's edge.   There is something about getting my feet into the ocean about feeling the undertow such at my toes and then the waves crashing against my feet and calves that soothes me like  nothing else on the planet.   Bella is so well trained now that I was able to let her off leash, and she bounded around me, running with me through the surf, and I saw my own joy and sense of freedom in her big brown eyes and felt tears streaming down my cheeks though I was smiling.

In that moment of her own first real freedom and my own, we were both filled with joy and ran through the surf together, racing and playing, splashing and I found I was both crying and giggling.

 I realized in those moments, that every single moment of hard work, every flashback, every body memory, every night terror was worth it.  And, more than that, that I wouldn't change a thing about my life for anything in the world because it made me who I am here, today, and I like me... in fact I love the whole, sum total of me....   That is an amazing thing, a miracle.

It's a miracle I Survived, it's a miracle I'm alive, it's a miracle I'm not in a mental institution somewhere, it's a miracle that I can like myself and more, it's a miracle that I can love myself, just as I am.

The trip left me both physically exhausted (it's hard to keep up with a 3 year old pup at 43!) and emotionally renewed.   Today I am feeling so graced and so grateful to be alive, and ready to continue the work, all of it.  I know now I can finish this healing process, that in fact, nothing will stop me because it can only get better from here, yes.....the hardest of hard work is what's ahead, but I will go through it and come out the other side and into the light, and I will fly, soar and be able then to reach back and help others in their own healing path, which is my dream.

So I leave you with this today, no matter how hard or impossible your healing may feel, no matter how dark and alone you may feel, no matter what.... You CAN do it, you will do it, and you will succeed because you are a Survivor and we Survivors are Warriors, fierce and strong and nothing can stop us.

And when the battle seems it's hardest, there will be days filled with mountains and sunshine and an ocean so huge it can take and hold safely all the pain, tears and fear.   There will be moments of such joy it seems too huge to hold and there will be tears and there will be laughter and the realization that, we already won.   We won, we Survived.

May your day be filled with light and love and wonder.

Gratitude

Yesterday I conquered the fear.  I not only conquered it, I stomped it into the ground, wrote out the fierce, dark, slick and oozing terror filled memory onto the page and left it there.  There were flashbacks, kinesthetic memories and crying, screaming at the universe, thoughts of: "why me? how could they? why would anyone? how could anyone?" Shame, fear, tears, sorrow, regret, guilt and the thought of never writing another word.....and then, finishing the story, the truth....closing the page and walking away.

As a Survivor, and I capitalize that word on purpose by the way....a Survivor to me is a Warrior, strong, fierce, determined, purified by the flames of suffering and pain.... a Survivor shines with an inner light that radiates outward like a beacon, saying: "Yes, I'm here, still here, I'm here and fighting for my life, for my right to be here, for ME."   As a Survivor, I have fought so many battles, conquered so many demons, done so much work, walked a billion steps on this healing path....and none have seemed as terrifying, exhausting and impossible as this work just here, where I see the light on the other side of the doorway, where it's so close I can sometimes touch it.

After I left the page, the tears and flashbacks and body memories....I got myself up and into a shower with the intention of washing it all away.  With the intention set, in my mind and heart and soul to let the water wash over me, the whole of me, and let it take with it, as it found it's way down the drain the fear, shame, guilt, sorrow and shame.

I was left with a deep sense of Gratitude.

Grateful to have survived, grateful to be alive, grateful for this moment, just here, when I know I have won, and those that abused me have lost.  each breath I take , each step I take on this path, each moment that I'm alive is a victory.  I am looking with new eyes today, it feels like I'm seeing everything for the very first time.  The sky is a brilliant blue and the scent of Autumn is carried on a soft breeze that feels like a warm embrace.

I am strong, stronger than any prize fighter, braver than any warrior on a battlefield and more determined to finish this healing than ever.  I am in awe this morning of every Survivor on the planet, every woman that wakes up each day to continue her fight to BE a Survivor.   I am ready for whatever the next moment will bring me, ready to write the next piece of the story that I'm terrified of, ready to face whatever challenge I am given to overcome.

This sense of Gratitude with a capital "G" is overwhelming, and I am grateful to each of you who may read this, for reading it, for continuing on your healing path, no matter how rocky or indescribably terrifying it may be.  I am grateful for this moment, and the next and next... because I am a Survivor and because I am learning to thrive, to truly live, to have moments of absolute joy, to revel in moments of peace and I want to shout from the rooftops that it CAN be done, that we can win in every single moment, that in our act of living, in each and every single moment we DO win.  And nothing.. no one.... can take that away, ever.

Thank you, for surviving, for taking each step, for living each moment no matter how scary it may be... thank you for lighting the path for those that follow, and thank you to those that have lit it before us.... I am grateful.

May you have a blessed day, filled with light and love and peace.

Fear

There is something about showing up to this page, to any page, that sends fear ricocheting through my body, head to toe, hands shaking, heart racing, that old too-familiar panic showing it's face.  Then I am forced to take a step back, and I wonder to myself, "Why?"   Why panic, fear, anxiety at this writing, the thing I love most in the world to do, why.. now that I know... that I dare to dream of writing as something I'm Supposed to do, rather than some stolen, hidden secret that I dare not imagine?

The "Why" is in the act itself.   The "why" is in daring to break the radio silence that is so ingrained, so trained into me, it feels closer than my own breath.  Don't tell.  Don't talk. Don't write. Don't even think about it.   Those dire warnings still carry the chemical, body remembered follow up of: ... Or Die.   I wonder is the anxiety and terror in part the bodies reaction to that dire warning, that follow up fact of death?  "Oh yes! If I talk/write/tell/whisper.. death."  says the body as my pen hits the paper or my fingers hit the keys.

And I'm full circle almost, and I feel as though I'm getting repetitive. Reclamation!   Even here, chest tight, breath fast, sweat beading on my brow, hands shaking as the letters appear on my screen... This space, this moment, these words... all MINE.   I claim them again and again every time a letter appears on this screen on this stark white terrifying background, each letter, each word, each phrase is a victory and is my own. Mine.

There is more work to be done today, more writing, probably the dark, scary writing that feels too oily black, thick and dark and tainted to ever see the light of day.   And I am scared.  Terrified. The urge to run, to NOT write it, to not put it on the page is strong and fierce like an undertow of the ocean, grasping at me, threatening to take me under.

That too, that terror, I claim as my own, the urge to run but the decision to NOT run, to let the fear be present but write the words anyway, I claim. Mine.  I wonder if the fear, the terror will ever fade completely one day?   I wonder too, will letting those dark, scary, fear-filled words hit the page, despite the terror, will that begin to shed light where no light has reached before?   Will surrendering to the process, accepting it all, fear, shame, anxiety and words written despite it all.. transform the words into something entirely different than I could have ever imagined?  Perhaps so, perhaps not... but either way, they will be MY words, written by me, claimed by me, owned by me.  Mine.

May your day be filled with love and light.

Reclamation

RECLAMATION
  Use Reclamation in a sentence

rec·la·ma·tion

[rek-luh-mey-shuhn] Show IPA noun

1. the reclaiming  of desert, marshy, or submerged areas

2. the act or process of reclaiming.

3. the state of being reclaimed. 

I'm not sure why this word has captured my attention so strongly just now. Reclamation.   Perhaps it's because I DO feel as if I'm reclaiming my life, my heart, my soul, my body, my mind.... and even things like my apartment, my kitchen, my bathroom.   I notice all the "My's" in the sentence above and the inner urge is to erase them. But, I won't.  Mine.  Each day as I wake up, there is this moment before the world starts, before the pup needs to be taken out, the cats cry to be fed, the phone rings .. where I lay in bed and think: "Today is Mine."

There is power in those words.

As a survivor we learn quickly that nothing, not even ourselves, can we claim.  We certainly can't claim a home, or safety, or our bodies, or our minds.... that's all ripped away, or violated or claimed by an abuser or, or, or.....   

To this day, 43 years old, I still cannot say: "My desire is...."   Just typing half that sentence causes anxiety for me, my old familiar panic rushing up, heart racing, the urge to run washing over me.  Run where?  I've never known, but the urge is there nonetheless.   So, there is much work still ahead for me, clearly.   This path of healing is long, hard, exhausting and often terrifying.  But today, just here, just now.  I don't have to conquer THAT particular piece.

For today.. This Moment right here, I reclaim my right to a wonderful life.  I reclaim my body, the whole of it, mine.  I reclaim my mind, and heart and soul.   I reclaim my kitchen, my bathroom, my living room... all mine.. no others.

This Moment... reclamation is my goal, and more than that, it is my present.  Even if it means repeating to myself inwardly or outwardly, whispered or shouted.... This is MINE.. mine alone.  Nobody and nothing can take that away.

May you have a blessed and beautiful day today, find something, anything to reclaim, and whisper.. or shout it from rooftops!

This Moment.. just now

I have always loved Fall.   There is something in the way light falls, at least here in the North West, it takes on this golden, buttery, soft, rich, full hue, something in the very quality of the light itself seems to shift.... I always have this sense that at this time of  year, if I just reach out, just a bit farther, I can grasp the light itself, and hold it for my own.  Or perhaps it's that I feel held, cradled in that sweet golden light, and that I can rest at last.

Then too, there is the dance of the leaves at this time of year.   The way they slip from their moorings and begin a slow spiraling dance down to the ground, whispering softly their secrets that I can never quite hear.   Watching them scatter off the toes of my shoes as I walk, every movement a dance, an offering up, a surrender.. and it makes me want to run, or  perhaps dance with them, falling to the ground, laying on my back amongst them, one of them.. surrendering myself as I stare at the sky above and ponder what comes next.

This Moment, And The Next.  The beginning of this blog was somehow scarier and harder and more anxiety filled than I thought it would be.   I see it as a reclamation.  A beginning, statement of what and who I am, where I want to be, where I'm going, where I've been, and hopefully along the way it will all become clear and cohesive and maybe, just maybe, some word, or turn of phrase will ease someone elses way on their path.

So, I begin this on the first day of my favorite month, as the sun streams in my window and the breeze seems to be calling me outside to play.  I had a bout of fierce anxiety and had to stop for a bit, reach out and ask for help. (Something that is still fiercely hard for me to do and seems still, fraught with danger.)  I had to step away from the page and the ink that hits the page and makes solid and real what I sometimes still wish were a dream or made up.. or untrue.

The first "This Moment" came unexpectedly and snuck in quietly unannounced on a day very similar to this one.. filled with the scent of apples and burning wood, the light golden and soft and the leaves beginning to abandon their branches.   I still see the first "Moment" clearly in my mind's eye like a snapshot... except with taste and scent and touch.... a nearly perfectly kept memory, something I have very few of.

I feel myself grasping for this to be so much clearer than it feels.  I feel as though I need to fill this page with back story, history for it to be understood, felt, accepted. But perhaps today, just here is enough, feeling the Fall breeze play across my skin as it did ten years ago, when I began to truly live.  On a sweet September afternoon, when a simple question.. an innocent question, began to let the light in.   The light of the truth, the light of knowledge and of more questions.  That was the first day of my life I could truly claim as my own.  The day I realized, I am a Survivor.   The day I committed to healing, to finding my way along my path of healing to the end, no matter what.  

That was the first day I realized the only way to continue, to go through something so hard, and exhausting, terrifying and overwhelming is one step at a time.   This Moment, and the next, and the next.  That's all I had to worry about.   And it still holds true to this day. 

This Moment.   And this Moment.  It's enough, for today.

May you have a blessed and beautiful day.