It's All A Balancing Act...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

The Taste Of Fredom

“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.” 

― May Sarton, Mrs. Stevens Hears the Mermaids Singing

Doors.   Lots and lots of doors, one after another, running, tripping unsure if I'm running toward the next door or away from it.  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.  

But it's just a door.  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.   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.   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.

Opening  that door and walking through, knowing that nothing and no one can touch us now....is freedom.  It's the way through, and my path and my goal all at once.   Every single time I open that damn door and walk through I win, we win.... and they, the abusers lose, again.

I am not afraid anymore.  Right here, right now, I am free of fear and able to look through that door, step through it and let what comes, come.   The other side of that doorway is simply what has been  and not, what IS.   What IS:  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.

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.   The Truth is, I've already Survived, I've already lived the horrors and they can't touch me now.   I need only witness them, those fragments of the abuse that need to be seen and heard and felt and recognized, given  honor and gently held.  

This is a new space, uncharted territory.  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.  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.   It feels like riding a bike down a hill, when it almost feels like flying.  Feels like peace, like possibility and laughter and love.

I understand and accept that tomorrow may feel different.   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.  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.

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..... 

This Moment.. just now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May you have a blessed and beautiful day.