It’s been three weeks since I spoke on the phone with my brother, Kevin – the brother who physically, emotionally, psychologically, and sexually abused me for years as a child and teenager. It was the first time we have spoken in twenty-seven years. He called my folks on Christmas day. My mother, who has Alzheimer’s… Continue reading Beneath the Surface
photo by Patricia
Price tag? One life.
Thinking back on my life, and looking at it now, the wonder is how this place was achieved with so much trauma and anxiety ruling each day. The power of one individual makes me take stock, but with a sense of sadness at what was stolen.
My life is worth admiration. Yet I’m not in it enough to appreciate that fact. There it is beside me as if I’m living that life apart from the real body and being. Retreating to my safe place is where I still go.
Though work occurs now to be present in the moment, it is work. At least now there is awareness that I go elsewhere.
A therapist once said, “Just show up.”
What did that mean? Years later, after the book, and delving into the community of women survivors of childhood sexual abuse blogging on-line, I…
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The healing power of perseverance…
Eight years of muscle straining, oxygen deprived, mind exploding, grief-laden work to manage the grip of the skeleton hands of the past.
The rocky terrain and deep crevasses that held the traps of programmed words ready to pull me down into oblivion were navigated at a snail’s pace of impatient mindfulness.
Deafening winds and echoes of the past kept knocking me down, pushing me sideways, making it hard to grip the rope.
After every storm passed
I took the time to rest in the snow caves of acceptance.
So many times, wanting to give up, give in to the beast of symptoms.
But trusting, knowing, that my Sherpa would guide me through the sharpest peaks and deepest valleys.
Summiting many times, thinking there were no more hidden mountains.
Then catching glimpse of the last, gnarly climb looming just around the bend.
Everything inside me screams, “No, leave it!”
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I went to my mother and stepfather’s over the Christmas holiday, to bring my mother to my oldest brother’s house to spend Christmas with our family – sans my abusive brother, Kevin. While visiting with my parents, Kevin called to wish them Merry Christmas. As he spoke with my mother, I heard him ask how… Continue reading Phone Call with My Brother
I haven’t been posting much lately because I’ve felt like I have nothing to write about. Nothing much has been happening in my life these past few months – other than my abusive brother contacting me, that is, which I just wrote about. Then there’s the publication of my book and the two readings I… Continue reading Stability is a Good Thing
For those of you who have been following my blog, you know that I was sexually, physically, and psychologically abused by one of my older brothers for years. I’ve written about my resulting PTSD and the personal challenges I have faced in learning to live with the effects of trauma. I’ve written about my healing… Continue reading My Brother Made Contact
Living a reclusive life doesn’t mean no opportunity for growth. No matter how I hide it comes knocking, and knocking me down. Those closest offer the greatest opportunity at overcoming long standing behaviors that keep me from my best self.
Instead of pouting, turning off and away with coldness from loved ones who hurt me, the pain and tears come. And come some more. Old wounds not healed, (can they ever be?) are easily made to open causing today’s hurt to compound into pain that doubles me over.
So this is healing. Tears, pain, then more of both. The damage done was that much.
And after the tears, though more leak out over time, there is a lightness and forgiveness for those whose insensitivities caused so much pain. Pain that did not match the circumstances. Pain that went much deeper.
Why does this affect me so? Going there, opening the…
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