tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20799138038821392882024-02-18T17:46:08.209-08:00This Moment, And The NextAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-22210172633099908922013-05-23T11:00:00.002-07:002013-05-23T11:00:46.476-07:00Miracle<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It's a miracle we're alive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I survived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite living
through, witnessing, being part of things that are beyond anything any human
mind should have to hold, any heart should have to bear... somehow.. we
survived.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It's truly remarkable that I'm here, just in this space,
typing these words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was not meant to
become an adult, I wasn't born to be.. a human.. I was reminded constantly I
was born to be nothing more than useable, a sex toy, distraction, tool... but
never... a person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, here I sit,
typing, writing down the unspeakable, the things meant to be secret forever...
living a life... learning who I am beyond all I was taught... beyond everything
that was "planned" for me... </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did
whatever I had to do.. in each moment to survive, and I did survive, and it
amazes me very single day, that I'm still here, still breathing, still
striving, still loving... despite, well - everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm not dead, I'm not locked up somewhere,
I'm not an abusive person, I chose differently, I broke an abusive cycle that
went back generations.. It stopped with me, it's done.. the reality
changed..<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a new pattern, shiny and
bright in it's place.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Each moment I'm here, I win.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Each breath I take, I win.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Each time I choose love, not hate or harm, I win.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every time I step more fully into the light, I win.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I win, and the abusers, they are dead and gone and they lose
more every damn moment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hold this close, tenderly cradle the knowledge that I'm
still here, that I won, in my darkest moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just here, just now, when I'm fighting such a brutal, gut wrenching
battle, when I'm working so, so hard to not resist the memories, even though my
worst fear is so close I feel like I'm going to scream, I remember that I won,
I tug that little treasure out of my pocket and smile softly, tucking<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>it away before picking up my weapons, and
going back into battle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's the balm that soothes my wounds, the water that slakes my thirst, the light when I'm not able to see for the darkness.. and it makes everything okay, it makes it all worth it, those two little words...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I won.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-79556087170640534182013-05-20T09:02:00.000-07:002013-05-20T09:02:55.271-07:00A letter to my child self....<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<![endif]-->Little one:
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wish I were there to hold your hand, for you to look into
my eyes and know everything will be okay....you are so very brave, even when
you feel there is no hope... you go on, you survive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want you to know you did nothing wrong,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>not ever... you did just what you had to do
to go on, to survive.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I want you to know good things are coming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That the world waits for you, that beyond
this horror show of childhood you've had to endure is a beautiful life, just
waiting for you to reach it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please hear me: you did nothing wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You came into this world a being of light
and love, and no amount of darkness and torture could possibly touch that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They tried, over and over to break you, to break us.... and you never gave up and you never gave in, you will grow up to be a woman still filled with light and love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They will not win, they didn't win.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When things got dark and seemed impossible you became a tiny
warrior, you did everything and anything you could to not lose your love, to not
hurt anyone, to keep going.. despite the insanity and cruelty around you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I need you to know that it's not your fault, that nothing
they did was your fault, that you did only what you had to survive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know you hold enormous guilt for the
things you were forced to do, but you are only a child, too little to fight
them... and if you had fought them, you wouldn't have survived... we wouldn't
be grown now, we wouldn't be having a life, we wouldn't be having the sweet
moments of joy we get glimpses of now.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sweet girl, I know you think you should have died, that you
don't deserve to live, that the others - the ones that didn't survive should be
here and not you....but the Universe makes no mistakes, you do deserve to
live.. you deserve all good things, and when you grow up you will do your best
to help others in every moment, you will love all beings, you will be proof
that love and light cannot be killed, that no matter where you come from you
can be a light in the world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am so grateful to you, for every moment you lived, for
every memory you held onto until we were strong enough to work through
them....for the years you were strong and steadfast and a warrior and no matter
what they did to you, with you..... you did not let them snuff you out, snuff
us out, because here we are, and they are dead and gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you, for showing me what being a warrior is, what being a survivor is, for giving us the chance to have this beautiful life... I promise we will cherish every sweet moment, that we will finish this sorting of memories, and then we will play.. we will dance and sing, we will run on the beach with the wind in our hair, we will laugh too loud and dance in the rain.... we will play and do all the things we longed for when we were little.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Come, take my hand sweet girl, know your job is done,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>you can<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>rest now, and just be happy to be alive, I will do the hard work now, I
will finish the warrior work, and soon we will be free of it all, we will be
joyful and savor every moment of this sweet life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Come little one, take my hand, let me hold you, let me rock
you and make you feel safe, the work is mine now, rest, and know I love you.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-85918937436770200612013-04-09T08:29:00.000-07:002013-04-09T08:29:01.897-07:00Where I'm From...<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where I'm from is dark and death stained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The memory's scent is copper pennies and sulphur,
burned out candles and sweat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
born to be nothing, to stay nothing and go back to nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yet, here I am, still living and
learning to thrive rather than simply survive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to wonder if what was born from darkness into darkness could ever be anything but that same black void but now I know the answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know the answer
because I am standing in my own light and I shed light on those around me and
out into the world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know the answer because I am that light, that light that I
dove into.... deep inside myself when things were not safe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The deep well of love that I found at my
center, the hours I spent there in hiding from the dark world into which I was
born, those hours saved me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned to
not be the dark thing I was being groomed to be, I learned that just there, in
that safe inner space where love and light lived no one and nothing could touch
me, not really.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where I'm from is rage filled and pain drenched, it was
beyond comprehension, though I've spent many hours trying to understand... I
know now it is beyond understanding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
know now that what matters is where I am now and where I'm going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I understand now that the people who rained such darkness over me are dead and gone and I'm still breathing,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>still here and able to see light now, able to
see and feel and express love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know
now it doesn't really matter where I'm from, what matters is where I'm going
and what I do with my life in the Now.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today I know that I have not only survived, but that I have
moved through that blackness and transcended it, I am beyond the reach of those
that brought me into this world and those that wished to take me from the
world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I take each new breath with a
sense of ease, with the knowledge that I can make it through anything, that I'm
stronger than any mountain and braver than any warrior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It's a new day and a new life and I am grateful to be alive, grateful to be healing, even grateful to the memories as they arise and I accept them, hold them with tenderness and honor them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am grateful, to be in the light now and to
know that the light is where I'm from now.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-16523268851533454502013-03-05T13:37:00.001-08:002013-03-05T13:38:11.865-08:00It's All A Balancing Act...<div class="_38 direction_ltr">
This healing process is like a
rollercoaster, sweeping up, higher and higher and higher until I feel
like I can fly and then plunging down, so fast it feels like I'm going
to be sick and wondering all the while why I got on the ride in the
first place. Except I don't. Well, maybe, sometimes I do.<br />
<br />
I've been doing a lot of self care, battling my own inner critics and the old tapes from the abusers saying: "you don't take care of you, you take care of others" or "you can shower all you want and you still won't be clean" or "no matter what you do, you don't deserve to love, no one will ever love you, you are simply a toy to be used." But, there's a difference now, a small voice that speaks up, whispering that none of those words matter, that those words don't belong to me, they belong to long dead abusers and I won't honor them anymore. A voice that whispers that it doesn't matter if I don't deserve love, because I'm learning to love myself. A whisper that my only real job right now IS to take care of me.<br />
<br />
I'm so full of gratitude for those tiny voices
from deep inside that are speaking up and helping to combat the ancient
tapes of the past, of the abusers. I'm grateful for the circle of
support I have in family, friends, my therapist, my support group.
I've reclaimed my meditation practice, changed the way I eat (mostly),
reclaimed my bathroom and kitchen and I'm slowly making my living space
someplace to feel at peace.<br />
<br />
But there are still days like today,
where night terrors plague me all night long, and there is a depression
that threatens to drown me, and exhaustion seems so thick that I cannot
breathe. I'm learning to stay present even to this space that holds
sadness and depression. I'm learning to not question why or how, but
simply to be aware of it, hold it almost as tenderly as I do the moments
full of joy. This week I ate things I shouldn't have, and I'm feeling
guilty and knowing I will feel worse because of it. But even with
that, I am trying to simply be aware of it, not judge it, not beat
myself up over it, but simply to recognize it and let it go.<br />
<br />
I am
still learning the balancing act between black and white. Between
doing nothing and over doing so much that I am beyond exhausted.
Learning and teaching myself that it's not only okay for me to set time
aside for art and writing, but it's imperative, it's what I'm on this
planet to do and that it's just as important, more important than doing
the laundry or washing the floor. Writing still feels selfish, like
I'm doing something frivolous, that any moment I will be caught, that
I'm doing something wrong. Old tapes, again, rising up to poison the
present moment.... so, taking baby steps to remind myself to be aware of
those old ideas, those old brain washed thoughts, and to soften into
allowing myself the room to express myself in paint and collage and
words.<br />
<br />
I am 44 going on 19, learning what works for me and what
doesn't, what I truly want and need versus what I was taught. Learning
how to be a friend, or a sister, or simply me. I'm enough, and I
deserve to do what makes my heart happy, I deserve to take good care of
myself, I deserve to follow my heart's desire and write. I deserve to
play and laugh and feel joy with no guilt.<br />
<br />
So, today I am being
kind to myself, simply being aware of the sadness and the fact that I
ate wrong, and trying very hard not to judge myself. Learning to give
myself the same compassion I would give to everyone else. Compassion,
that's my lesson for today.<br />
<br />
Be kind to yourself, show yourself the same compassion you show anyone else, thank you for your work, your healing, your words and your presence to my own words... May this day be a blessed and beautiful one for you. <3 </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-86606029161498146272013-02-18T09:33:00.001-08:002013-02-18T09:36:56.585-08:00The Taste Of Fredom<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<![endif]-->“Love opens the doors into everything, as far as I can see,
including and perhaps most of all, the door into one's own secret, and often
terrible and frightening, real self.”
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
― May Sarton, Mrs. Stevens Hears the Mermaids Singing</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Doors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lots and lots
of doors, one after another, running, tripping unsure if I'm running toward the
next door or away from it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A crazy mixed
up maze of door after door, all of them the same, that particular color of
rust...the door knob looks menacing and I expect the thing to come to life and
grab my hand, dragging me in, snapping it's teeth, drool dripping from its
gaping jaw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But it's just a door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A door from my past, not here and now, but from the way back time when I
was little and lost and unable to protect myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm not that tiny girl anymore, I have her
by the hand, Me.... the grown up version, the kick ass version, me NOW.. who
would never let ANY child be hurt, not even herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so, I grab the door knob and look once more into little, tiny me's eyes, and reach out, grabbing that damn door handle, which after all, IS just a door knob and yank open the door, smiling because even me, the NOW me, thought perhaps behind that door was death, but.....it's just an open door, a surrender, an acceptance of what was, and not what IS.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Opening<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that door and
walking through, knowing that nothing and no one can touch us now....is
freedom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's the way through, and my
path and my goal all at once.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every
single time I open that damn door and walk through I win, we win.... and they,
the abusers lose, again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am not afraid anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Right here, right now, I am free of fear and able to look through that
door, step through it and let what comes, come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other side of that doorway is simply <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>what has been<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></u></i>and not, what IS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What IS:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am 44, a writer, a Survivor and learning to be a woman who thrives,
not just exists, not just goes on, not just fights for this moment and the
next, but who revels in it, in this life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Truth is, every moment is a gift, every moment that I am
still here and doing the healing work is a victory and I am learning to feel
the joy that is present in every moment, unhindered or bound by fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Truth is, I've already Survived, I've already lived the horrors and they can't touch me now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need only witness them, those fragments of
the abuse that need to be seen and heard and felt and recognized, given<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>honor and gently held.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is a new space, uncharted territory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This space where I hold and respect and honor
the memories, where I give them the time and love and space to be, and to be
done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This space of light and joy and
this sense of wonder at it all, this process, the Survival, the awareness that
each new moment is a gift if I only recognize it... feels like freedom.. like
running down a deserted beach, feet splashing through the waves, sun on my face
and wind in my hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It feels like
riding a bike down a hill, when it almost feels like flying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Feels like peace, like possibility and
laughter and love.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I understand and accept that tomorrow may feel
different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That this process is
ever-changing, and tomorrow or the next day or the day after that may bring
back fear, terror, but I also KNOW that this space, just here, will forever be
part of the core of me now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
certainty that I can do this, that I am on the right path, that I need only
take the next step and trust in this process, it will not fail me, I will not
fail me.. we have already won, and we win every single moment that we are alive.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank you for the work you are doing, for the steps you take
on your healing path, thank you for being a Survivor and lighting the path
ahead for me, take a few minutes today, try to honor and cherish yourself, you
Survived, you won, be good to you.....<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-25414957432167473272013-02-05T09:40:00.001-08:002013-02-05T09:40:35.140-08:00I'm a Survivor<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'm afraid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afraid
of what comes next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afraid of what lies
behind that damn door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The door that has
been haunting me for years now, or maybe taunting me is a better word, or both
at the same time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Huge, rusted metal,
looming bigger and bigger as though I am Alice
and have taken a sip and now I'm tiny, insignificant in the face of this huge,
big FEAR.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Red light seeping out from
around the edges of the door the scent of smoke and something darker, dirtier,
nastier that makes me want to cover my face and run as hard and as fast as I
can in the opposite direction.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The thing is, I already know some of what's behind that damn
door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The thing is, I wish I
didn't.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would be so much easier to
never know, to leave those nasty bits of memory where they are, lost, buried,
forgotten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Easier, nicer, safer,
better.... but in truth, I know it would be none of those things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because in the disassociation of those
memories, in the burial and forgetting of them, comes dis-ease.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life without peace,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>without safety, without joy and
laughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yet, there is the FEAR.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'm softening, easing all my walls down bit by bit, doing it
so softly and slowly that the movement isn't easily seen or recognized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hoping, I can get past the FEAR if it doesn't
notice that I'm doing anything at all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Blood, gore, fear, smoke, candles, hoods, darkness,
flickering, a low thrum of mumbled chanting, terror, pain and the fear that if
I ease those walls down too much, if I really look, listen and be the witness
to what is behind that damn door, it will kill me, I will cease to exist at
all, or be so uncomfortable in my own skin that I cannot go on.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I want white wash, I want an eraser that works on my past,
making it clean and wholesome and good and .... a fantasy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's ironic that before my memories started
leaking through, I felt guilty that I had the "perfect"
childhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That irony tastes like blood
and sour like vinegar and like ashes from a funeral pyre.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want joy, I want freedom, I want big
bravery that lets me say "BRING IT, bring your worst, I can take it, I can
hear it all, remember it all right now, so I dare you.. Fucking.. Bring... IT."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, I'm not in that space, in fact I don't know how to find
my bravery just now, it seems to have gone on sabbatical leaving me empty and
scared and bound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Acceptance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right, okay, no problem. Except it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Except I don't know how to do it this acceptance thing, this softening thing, this allowing what comes next thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For now, I'm accepting a new version of me who deserves to
have a clean kitchen, to not be afraid of her own bathroom, who deserves a
clean welcoming bedroom to sleep in at night, who deserves enough self care to
get well and stay well.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And inside the old voices clamor and grow angry that I think I deserve anything at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Old VHS
tapes of negative commentary on me, how I look, how I clean or don't, on what I
deserve.. nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eject.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I yearn to tape over the fucking things with
positive input, positive imagery, positive thoughts and feelings and desires.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do deserve good things, whole things, light-filled things,
joy, happiness and laughter... a clean house and good food and good people who
support and care for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe, just
maybe, I don't need the BIG Brave, but just a little bit of brave.. just enough
to crack that door and let a little bit through,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe that's enough?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just maybe I can take it in in small doses,
small bites, and one small bite at a time, one after another will not only be
enough but is the key to getting through this fire of healing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is that acceptance?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It's a kind of reclaiming, learning how to do things in small bits and
letting that be enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe, I can see, feel, hear, know that what's behind that damn door can't hurt me now, not really.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a Survivor, and I have
lived it already.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a Survivor and I
am strong and brave, a Warrior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a
Survivor and I can do this, I can reclaim every bit of memory and let it be
fertilizer that makes me grow stronger, taller, thriving with life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a Survivor and whatever IS behind that door, can't touch that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm a Survivor
and every single fucking moment that I'm alive and doing the work, I WIN, and
they lose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm a Survivor, yes, yes I
am.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-60845323813878397572013-01-30T08:57:00.003-08:002013-01-30T09:00:13.073-08:00Cultivating the Garden of Compassion<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I've been fighting the urge to shut down, resist, run away
from what comes next in my healing process for a very long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The door to what comes next looms in front
of me and I feel clearly my body and mind and heart as terror washes over me
and every muscle, every fiber of my being shouts: NO!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I've been working hard trying to figure out
how to stop fighting, stop resisting, to let what comes, come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yet, still I found myself running the
opposite direction.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All along I've known, the only way out is through, but
knowing that and being able to go through are two separate things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The internal terror from years of brain
washing are fierce - flashing red lights, an ear-wrenching alarm sounding and
screams of STOP, GO BACK, RUN, DEATH AHEAD are overwhelming.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Memories are knocking at the door, kinesthetic body memories
sneaking through the cracks, sliding under it, making my body spasm and cramp
and hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And still, I've been
resisting.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perhaps I've been looking at the whole thing in the wrong
way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could it be it's as simple as
being more compassionate, more tender....having a little mercy for myself and
whatever comes next?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I don't
have to face it all with a fierce "Come and get me!" attitude, but
rather a softening, a gentleness and understanding for it all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'm going to cultivate compassion, for myself, for this
healing journey, for the memories to come, for the child I was and for the
woman I will be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's strange that I
have limitless compassion for all beings on this planet, except....myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm going to tend my inner garden, sowing
seeds of compassion, tenderness, love....selfishly this time, all for me, who I
am, who I was and who I will be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the end it seems, it's not about fighting or resisting or
even silent acceptance.... it's about becoming as tender hearted toward myself
as I am toward others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's about softness and opening up, trusting that as my petals open the sun will be there to help me grow, that the world won't end because I see my history or tell my story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those fears are old, like old
VHS tapes, and it's time to record over them with a different story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A story of survival, yes, but also a story of
learning to thrive, grow, reach, be free and find joy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, there is still fear here, but also,
tentatively....hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The truth is those that hurt me are dead, and those that aren't, well, they can't touch me now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These memories, that damn door to
what comes next, these body memories are asking me to simply be present to what
WAS, not what is, or what will be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
will honor them, and the strength of who I was to have survived it all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today I will begin gardening, kneel in the rich soil of my
heart and begin turning the soil, making it ready for these seeds of
compassion, tenderness, understanding, acceptance and love for myself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes the answer we search for with such determination,
is closer than our breath, if we only stop, listen, feel and be present, no
matter how hard it seems.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is a softness today,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>in my body, mind, heart...and this is new and magical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, today I will whisper softly: "Come,
come out, it's okay, I'm here and able and willing to listen and hear and see,
we are safe now, but I will be your witness and we will be fine, more than
fine, we will be whole."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Thank you for your work, your compassion...for yourself and
others... and for the light you shine on this healing path for me... I am
grateful</i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-82728083665781448302013-01-20T10:25:00.001-08:002013-01-20T10:25:54.545-08:00Holidays and Being a Survivor...<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thankfully it's the new year and the holidays are over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holidays are such a different thing to a
Survivor and more so to a Ritual Abuse Survivor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fraught with triggers and unwelcome
anniversaries they are a bit like walking through a mine field, eyes ever
watchful for your next step and thankful in each moment to have survived the
last.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I got lost a bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Isolating and hunkering down, the body sick and the mind running, ever
running from the truths that still wait to be seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Depression threatened to drown me in sorrow
and no matter how hard I tried to swim to the surface a fierce undertow of
grief and terror would drag me further down.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My house became a disaster area, and I had no energy to
clean, it seemed I had barely enough energy to breathe. Overwhelmed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Overwhelmed by the house as it fell apart,
by the holidays, by the memories leaking through even though I was fighting
them tooth and nail, overwhelmed by my body's inability to stay well and by the
insomnia I battled each night.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the end, simple things brought me up and out of that
space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thankfully the holidays
passed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My pup Bella and her never
ending joy at being alive and her unconditional love for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Music that can change everything in an
instant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My determination to survive.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning as I walked Bella the world outside was frozen,
everything covered in a fine, brittle coat of ice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Silent and still except for the sound of her
paws and my feet as we walked through the grass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel like my mind is like that.... frozen
over pond, and I am walking on it, tentative with each step, terrified I might
misstep and break through the ice and sure of my immanent death upon doing
so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are memories waiting to be
seen, validated and accepted and I am so filled with terror and all I hear is
the shouting of DEATH, BEWARE, GO BACK.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I can't go back, I won't, and I won't let the abusers win. I have to find that space where I am no longer fighting the process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe not welcoming what comes next, but
simply opening up, accepting and not running the other direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm still unsure how to do it, but I have to,
I know that much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There's no way out but through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning in the freezing cold, the grass crunching
beneath my shoes and waiting impatiently for the pup to finish her
business.....I paused, knelt down and looked at the grass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each blade of grass was coated in a fine
powder of ice crystals and at the tip a droplet, frozen solid... it was beautiful
and took my breath away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps when I
find a way to open up and stop fighting the process, instead of terror beyond
it, I will find beauty, joy, peace?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
hope so, and in the meantime I am learning to stop resisting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Listening to my body as it grows sick and
throbs with pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Listen, it's saying,
please Listen and hear me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has a
story to tell, and I must be it's witness.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I will do my best to stop resisting, stop running away
and simply be present.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will listen and
hear and bear witness to what must be heard.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank you, for surviving, for fighting each day to be
present and honor your path, for all the hard work you do... I am grateful for
the way you light the path ahead of me.....</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-49211114385206094752013-01-18T03:50:00.002-08:002013-01-18T03:53:11.701-08:00From The Beginning....<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">From the very
beginning she knew she was</i>....broken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Fractured down deep where no one could see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perfect. Slut. Dirty. How could she be all
the things she was labeled at once?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
couldn't, wasn't and knew it, so what did that leave her, this small
child/woman/baby/crone?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A liar.... she
knew that much, for she wasn't perfect, could never be that unobtainable word,
so she always knew she had to hide herself, the REAL her, hide herself buried
so deep in the mountain of her body and soul that no one would see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hide, under the covers, behind the door, in the closet, down
deep inside at her very core, she always knew if she could hide well enough, no
one could touch her......not really.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
became the absence of herself, the void, the empty shell, watching from far
away as the abusers did their worst, and worse still, trading, selling, using,
torturing....and she was the great emptiness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She learned how to smile, or not to smile, how to look the right way in
every moment. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though often she guessed
it wrong. Tossing on the wrong costume at the wrong moment and knew the moment
she had by the glint in the abusers eye or the color of their face.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Becoming, with each misstep, a better chameleon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A better charlatan,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>salesman of lies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had to you see, to survive.. and to
survive was all that mattered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well,
not all that mattered, for in her search, her diving deep into the center of
herself to hide, she found a mystery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Down deep in her very heart, soul, self, there lie a beautiful
waterfall, pouring into a breath taking body of water... she spent most of her
time there, bathing in the pool, lying on it's banks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She found the treasure that the abusers
could never touch, never rip from her, never destroy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She found she could be whole, when she dove
into the waters of love, floating in that sweet, sacred pool, she found joy and
unconditional love and knew she was THAT, and nothing and no one could take
that from her.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-4344158087811519242012-12-06T17:23:00.002-08:002012-12-06T17:24:27.673-08:00On Fear and Trust and Tears<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rage is an odd thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A foreign thing, at least my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I'm too familiar with outside rage, abusers rage, rage that most people
have, but rarely recognize as such.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All
anger makes me panic, even my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There's all
this room for me to move and space for me to discover and grow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is wonder at the magic of some things
about me and fear at some parts I find as well.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel a bit as I did on the beginning of this healing
journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Terrified and yet in awe of all
that I see, all that I can be and all that I am leaving behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, I'm not the "Perfect" girl
that the abusers labeled me, and that I knew always was a lie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I'm also not the "dirty" girl
or the "slut" or any other label they chose to beat me down
with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So what does that leave, or more importantly
WHO does that leave?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday, in my Women's Mindfulness Group, I came
undone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Surrounded by these
intelligent, caring, beautiful, inspiring and strong women, I opened my mouth
and heart and told them my deepest fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told them my deepest fear, of
that god forsaken door and what may lay behind it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The abusers were good at what they did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They worked very hard to create an abuser.. in me, of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brainwashing, hours of fear and terror,
darkness and pain, threats and torture.... all to make sure I would become one
of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That I would be complicit in
their abuse and torture.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if they succeeded?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I know, already, that I was forced to do things, that haunt me every day
of my life, every hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if there is more behind that damn door?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if I accept what's behind the door,
open it and find, that I am just like the abusers?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That I have conned myself and everyone else.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Who</i> they saw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is who I strive to be, who I hope I
am... and I am forever changed by seeing that reflected in their eyes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today I gave myself permission to have a slow morning, and
then I reclaimed my Yoga and Mediation practice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the first time in ten years, I truly
reclaimed my spiritual practice, what feels most like home to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cannot express what this means to me, or
how hard I've fought to get it back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trusting that in this too I win, and they,
well they have lost, forever.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am still tired and soul weary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am still scared and trying to sort out my
way to acceptance of what comes next on this journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I am hopeful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am blessed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And too, I am blessed by all of you who are survivors, or
friends of survivors or loved ones of survivors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you for reading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you for walking your path.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you for inspiring me in moments I feel
I can't go on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
May this be a blessed and beautiful day for you~</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-45657258270757764362012-12-05T08:23:00.004-08:002012-12-05T08:35:46.757-08:00This Body....<!--[if gte mso 10]>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">Question</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">BY MAY SWENSON</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">Body my house</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">my horse my hound<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">what will I do</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">when you are fallen</span></span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">Where will I sleep<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">How will I ride<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">What will I hunt</span></span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">Where can I go</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">without my mount<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">all eager and quick<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">How will I know<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">in thicket ahead</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">is danger or treasure<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">when Body my good<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">bright dog is dead</span></span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">How will it be</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">to lie in the sky</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">without roof or door<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">and wind for an eye</span></span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">With cloud for shift<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="msgtext">how will I hide?</span></span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My body. This body, just here, just now, that I mistreat in
so many ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not that I mean to
mistreat it, at least not consciously.. but I do nonetheless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm not sure the "whys" of
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though there are many that are
fairly clear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fear of the bathroom, shower,
bathtub.. Fear of the Kitchen, the Bedroom.. fear of fear of fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a time before PTSD that I showered twice a day,
every day, without fail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was beyond
compulsive about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hesitate, do I really need to shower
today?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I really need to brush my
teeth? Comb my hair? Use the toilet?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>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?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Isn't it more amazing that I ever actually do step inside?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am 43 years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was never meant to be here, alive and at this age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was never "Their"
intention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some days, I feel as though I have no right
to be here, well, most days right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But there are moments, moments where I know I'm meant to be here, that I
have something important to give.. to offer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>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.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This body of mine has been through SO much, so much, I wish
I could be more kind to it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish I
could love it, accept it, be grateful and take better care of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do try, and I have gotten better at
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>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."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, it works, so let the neighbors think I'm
crazy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I want peace... I yearn for a time when this healing process
is not so in my face every moment of every damn day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So the question becomes.. how to care for
this<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How to feel the
body memories and not take them out on the body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How to feel the aches and pains, spasms and
cramps.. and not blame this poor body as it tells it's story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
May this day be a blessed one for you.... </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-80812535543445915772012-12-04T09:51:00.003-08:002012-12-04T09:56:42.535-08:00......this Moment<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt;">I've been
sick for the last week, or two?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think at a certain point the body takes
over, getting it's rest in whatever way it has to.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt;">I'm tired
of being sick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I'm tired of flashbacks, body memories, anxiety, panic, sorrow, loss, pain, fear.... </span>I would like a bit of
"normalcy" for a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is that
asking too much?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm not asking to be
done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though I've been demanding that
ever since I first got diagnosed with PTSD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But, please could I have a little more peace, joy, breathing room?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is this urge to scream at the
Universe, the Divine Spirit, God, Goddess - cut me a tiny bit of slack?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt;">Even as I'm
typing these words, I'm hearing this internal debate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How I can ask that, when I know so long as I
resist, these things will persist and with a vengeance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And still here I sit, feeling like a tightly
closed fist... feeling, knowing, believing... to open my fingers even the
tiniest bit, means Death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt;">What memory
awaits behind that blasted door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
door that has haunted and plagued me for as long as I<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>can remember in this healing process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Knowing something terrifying or heartbreaking
or both lays just on the other side of that god forsaken door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think it's better, it at
the very least makes me feel a little less crazy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt;">So, how to
stop fighting the process?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How do I
relax or release into whatever must come next when everything inside me is
screaming at me to run?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadly I don't
have the answer just yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will take
this question into therapy this week.....<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I will sit to meditate today, for in reclaiming that space.. and my
right to have that space, I will find peace, quiet, joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will write today,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will remember to breathe, leave room for
laughter, music... all things that I know will help push the darkness back a
bit.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZr9kVeHDFCmZ-NHYepaJn0X96RkUvLZiz8h_0phbSQ3SHxrhb2fOOhsyFVmwi64PgmzCdmpDmYyJOwd3r7YEH3MejvtUuISx5_X0QkON_kmb0sXBFQq6WjhOFW3lvi53fAnX5xfE8_CM/s1600/home-river-whitewater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZr9kVeHDFCmZ-NHYepaJn0X96RkUvLZiz8h_0phbSQ3SHxrhb2fOOhsyFVmwi64PgmzCdmpDmYyJOwd3r7YEH3MejvtUuISx5_X0QkON_kmb0sXBFQq6WjhOFW3lvi53fAnX5xfE8_CM/s320/home-river-whitewater.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt;"> 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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's an odd
combination.. keep working.. and at the same time.. relax, lie back and go with
the river's current.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt;">I will find
my way through to my most whole self.. I deserve it, I really do.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt;">Thank you
for reading, thank you for your own hard work.... I hope this day is a blessed
and beautiful one for you~<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.0pt;"></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-67895517795374229712012-11-16T08:59:00.004-08:002012-11-16T09:00:54.774-08:00On Tears and Fear<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I've been crying for days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm tired, not body tired, but heart and
soul tired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This battle for healing,
for becoming the most whole version of me I can be feels never-ending just
here, just now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't want to hear
how the journey is a spiral and it only "feels" like I'm back at the
beginning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to know it, know it
from deep down in my soul that this path is nearing completion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This space, just here is exhausting and feels unending.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>moment that lasts for an eternity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I'm tired of the darkness the abusers left behind, tired of questioning
my own right to be here, alive, breathing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I yearn to know peace...<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's a battle between heart and mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mind argues,
knowing that lives have been lost in my story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why did I
survive?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why me, here on this path, and
not those that were lost along the way?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have always felt I was a lie,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew I wasn't perfect, that fucking word
that they tattooed on<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>me from
birth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Somehow I have to stop resisting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am closed down like a fist, fingers
wrapped tightly around thumb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But to not resist?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>To open to what comes next, feels like death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Because to break the rules, any<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>of them, always meant death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was no other thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you
remember you die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you tell you die.
And yet here I am, putting word to paper, I am here and they are dead and
gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mostly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Except when their not, in dream and night
terror.. flashback and body memory.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, where does that leave me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>rhythms of impending doom may sound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>mind and just
be, present.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hear you body, I hear and I will do my best to listen, to
feel, to see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today that will be enough.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-84623456294203234042012-10-19T08:34:00.000-07:002012-10-19T08:35:39.464-07:00Fear, PTSD and the LightI 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." <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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...<br />
<br />
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?"<br />
<br />
I am reminded of a quote my therapist shared with me from Mother Theresa:<br />
<br />
<span class="st"> “I know <i>God</i> will not give me anything I can't handle. I just <i>wish</i> that He <i>didn't trust me so much</i>.” ~Blessed <i>Mother Teresa</i></span><br />
<br />
<b><span class="st"><i>Right? Hey God, Universe, Divine Spirit could you cut me some slack here? Could you NOT trust me so damn much? </i></span> </b><br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>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></b><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I wish each of you a beautiful and blessed day</i><b><i>~</i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-18047804121625640072012-10-15T15:52:00.003-07:002012-10-15T16:03:50.124-07:00And The Rain Pours Down<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
And yet....<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
And so here I am.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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."<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-79937610995202560182012-10-08T08:47:00.001-07:002012-10-15T15:53:45.724-07:00The Wonder of it All<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
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May your day be filled with light and love and wonder.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-28585097063287489912012-10-06T11:54:00.001-07:002012-10-06T14:21:16.708-07:00GratitudeYesterday 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I was left with a deep sense of Gratitude.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
May you have a blessed day, filled with light and love and peace.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-10706916303661049392012-10-04T10:55:00.000-07:002012-10-06T14:20:14.968-07:00FearThere 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 <b><i>Supposed</i></b> to do, rather than some stolen, hidden secret that I dare not imagine?<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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May your day be filled with love and light.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-21060905178113314482012-10-03T10:24:00.002-07:002012-10-06T14:19:11.812-07:00Reclamation<div class="Headserp" id="Headserp">
<b>RECLAMATION</b><br />
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<a class="examsent" href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/reclamation#useinasentence" title="See Example Sentences">Use <b>Reclamation</b> in a sentence</a>
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rec·la·ma·tion</div>
<span class="pronset"><span class="show_spellpr" style="display: inline;"><span class="prondelim">[</span><span class="pron">rek-l<span class="ital-inline">uh</span>-<span class="boldface">mey</span>-sh<span class="ital-inline">uh</span><span class="luna-thinspace"></span>n</span><span class="prondelim">]</span> <span class="pron_toggle" style="display: inline;"><a alt="Toggle for IPA" class="pronlink" href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2079913803882139288" title="Click to show IPA">Show IPA</a></span></span></span><span class="pg"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword"> noun</span> </span></span></div>
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<span class="dnindex"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default;">1. </span></span></span><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">the</span> </span><a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/reclaim" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">reclaiming</a> <span id="hotword"> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">of</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default;">desert,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default;">marshy,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">or</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">submerged</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">areas</span><span id="hotword" name="hotword"></span> </span></div>
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<span class="dnindex"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">2. </span></span></span><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">the</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">act</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">or</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">process</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">of</span> </span><a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/reclaim" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">reclaiming</a><span id="hotword">. </span></div>
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<span class="dnindex"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">3. </span></span></span><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">the</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">state</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">of</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">being</span> </span><a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/reclaim" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">reclaimed</a><span id="hotword">. </span><br />
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<span id="hotword">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.</span> 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."<br />
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<span id="hotword">There is power in those words.</span><br />
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<span id="hotword">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..... </span><br />
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<span id="hotword">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.</span><br />
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<span id="hotword">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.</span><br />
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<span id="hotword">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.</span><br />
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<span id="hotword">May you have a blessed and beautiful day today, find something, anything to reclaim, and whisper.. or shout it from rooftops!</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2079913803882139288.post-50097056142344792962012-10-01T12:46:00.000-07:002012-10-01T12:46:07.666-07:00This Moment.. just nowI 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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This Moment. And this Moment. It's enough, for today.<br />
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May you have a blessed and beautiful day. <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637302007850787613noreply@blogger.com0