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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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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This poem deeply resonated with me.
you know you are
but you don’t feel
those are the hardest
Nothing is wrong
are the hardest
to just breathe.
Just be what?
How in the present moment
when there is nothing wrong
I exist in a state
Because those days happen!
Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph
I had a great time at my new book’s reading/book signing at the Enfield Public Library! Great turnout by friends and the general public – many who are survivors or know people who are survivors. It was a wonderful group of supportive and inquisitive people who were interested in me telling my story and learning… Continue reading Great Night at the Enfield Public Library Reading/Book Signing!
When we want to give up on something, we hopefully weigh our options. We ask ourselves why we want to give up, and what would the cost and benefit be if we gave up.
“Why live?” is a familiar question to this blog, so I wanted to think on the question of “Why heal?” Why go to therapy? Why read these books and articles about my ailments? Why try being healthy? Why take time to think of things that hurt so much to even recall, and had so little justice or affirmation?
I always told myself that I do these things because I don’t want to end up like my parents, whose refusal to heal turned them into the horribly broken and abusive people I know them to be. I would also remember how I want to be a wife (and maybe a mother) someday; a woman who’s…
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