fearfearFearFear FEARFEAR....

Fear can be natural and good.  We instinctively fear heights or fire.  Somehow that protective instinct is thwarted and we fear...we fear everything.  Everything becomes a cliffside, and we are always afraid of falling off.  I remember walking in the woods with a friend who is a bit of a jokester.  He let me walk forward in a creek until a booming rush of water crashing alerted me - I was almost on the edge of a waterfall.  My heart almost stopped.  I froze looking down a long drop..  And I have never considered this before, but I did not walk off the edge of the waterfall - which was quite deep.  There is something in me which preserves my safety.  Maybe I can trust myself more than I think I can...So some fear is the path of self love and self protection.  The pervasive fears that keep us from functioning much in life are the unnatural fears we need to first identify, then deal with.

I don't know if I believe fear is our measly creation.  It is created in us at a time when we are totally dependent. When we are tiny and helpless, we learn that the world is safe when we are tended - when we are fed because we are hungry, bathed and changed because we are wet, rocked and soothed just because we need to be, because we are precious and worth rocking.  I think we go on to create our fears, learn our fears, from early emotions of terror. The terror of being hungry, the terror of being alone and unprotected.  The ingenious ways we twist these fears as we mature and experience the world is a testament to human intelligence. Those are the measly fears we create.  But the source is real to the infant who is crying and no one answers.  And those feelings are still real inside of us, and controlling us.  Add to that the pain of being molested - of learning your body belongs to someone else who will do whatever they want, that you have no purpose except to be a thing for this person.  I understand the fear, and I know it is not easily dismissed, nor is it measly.

I know the answer is love.  I know it.  I know our generation's job is to climb into our heart chakras and find faith, live in faith.  But we are so damaged.  It seems so hard.  And be willing to hide nothing???  God, all I do is hide.  I am hidden under so many layers, it's a miracle anyone can find me. Reading your words, thinking about this, trying to respond - I am in tears.

One of my children has a good friend.  This young woman is one of my non-bio children, a child of my heart.  She was born to two very self absorbed people who divorced and each married someone who does not welcome their daughter.  She was molested by a member of a babysitter's family, and again by a member of a step-family.  No one protected her.  Now she is being inundated by sexual advances from an unwelcome source and she does not know how to say NO!  She threatens, but predators can identify their marks easily, and recognize empty threats.  I want to teach her what I do not know how to do.  What do I do?  How do I help!

You are right.  This is an epidemic.  What is the proper medicine.  How do we re-humanize the soul of a predator? Is it possible?  How do we strengthen the heart of a victim, so they can love themselves, protect themselves.  And maybe - how do we stop looking for validation from the outside.  If we never heard any messages of  "You're okay.  You are worthy."  how to we even begin to find it now?

I love your image of spiraling forward.  I see the truth, I recognize this.  And you're right - we're not moving into a time of fear and loneliness.  But we're seeing it over and over, still emotionally attached to it.  I think the release will have to be emotional, not just logical.

You mentioned being on a journey back through our various homes and retrieving yourself, retrieving memories.  What have you found?

Never Alone

We are not alone...despite the deafening silence from around us. I am here, will be here for you whenever you need me.

I am not convinced that you need to fear though. As once stated,"The only thing we have to fear, is fear itself."

I read in A Course in Miracles this morning that fear is the opposite of love and that love is All. So fear only exists in our minds, it is our measly creation. We cling to the belief that our perceived darkness is in fact hiding the feared object or incident...The second part of this though is to be willing to hide nothing, when you hide nothing you escape fear.
Further, by recognizing that we are Love and Light , we conquer fear.

As a victim, we are taught to trust no one, especially not ourself...hide the secrets...pretend to be normal...deny the pain and confusion. Finding our voice in that fearful climate was the beginning. Living Out Loud, in the Light is the only way to conquer fear.

I have the expectation that we are moving forward, not back to the time of pain and loneliness. I expect that some others will join us on our journey.They are always welcome. I trust that Truth will pervail.

Thomas Merton wrote about the spiralling jouney of our lives. We move ahead, but in a spiralling pattern. Each time we traverse the spiral we revisit themes in our lives. but we percieve them differently because we hopefully have newly acquired insights and spiritual maturity. I have spiralled around childhood sexual abuse many times over my lifespan. Each time I am stronger and more able to understand and process the events. I am still a LONG way from finished, but I am distant enough from the physical pain to trust moving forward.
Trust Truth,
Maggie

Orphans?

I never thought about being an orphan.  It is interesting to sort of reconsider us in this light.  But when I think about it, we are all orphans.  A bit of family history - Mom had nine kids in ten years.  I am the oldest.  The youngest is ten years, two months and one week younger than me.  The oldest of the boys was born before my first birthday.  For eleven days each year we are the same age, and so we have always told people we are twins - just for these days.  But think about a one year old baby.  Most do not walk  Mine were still very needy and dependent.  I was this little and vulnerable when I had to give up Mom and make room for another.  And Mom will tell you I was a good baby.  I rarely cried, just waited patiently to be noticed.  One of the most important things I remember is hearing,  "Not now.  Just wait and I'll get to you."  I think I'm still waiting.  No, I know I am still waiting...waiting for someone to notice me and invite me into life.  And I don't blame Mom.  She did a great job of taking care of us.  It was just too much for one person to handle.  And I was too young to be of any help, and so we didn't learn to take care of each other.  She didn't have time to teach us.  A friend referred to her kids as feral, and I've sort of adopted that tag for us.  We were feral children!  We were all sort of on our own.  We were raised in the "cry it out" generation of baby rearing wisdom.  Even at an early age we had to take care of ourselves.  We knew we were alone.  It may be why we can go years without seeing each other or even talking much.  We don't know how to be there for each other.  I feel like I don't do enough for my kids.  I do what I can, but sometimes I just don't know what to do - because I never learned.

I homeschooled and I thought a lot about experiential learning.  You talk about buying into the family patterns/family secrets.  Honey, you lived them.  It has nothing to do with buying into or believing the unspoken truths of our family.  Talk about experiential learning!  And I don't know why it happens, why some of us avoided repeating the patterns...I know  that people who abuse were abused.  But there are other people who were abused who would never, ever treat another the way they were treated.  Why does this happen?  Where does that morality, that understanding, that humanity come from?  Does it have to do with the level of abuse?  The age when it occurred?  The length of time?  The presence of others in our lives that acknowledge that we are okay?

Your last line - the light permeates even the darkest corners scares the crap out of me.  I know this is what we are doing.  But I forget that we are going to find things in the corners of our memories, intentionally shoved in boxes and slammed shut because we couldn't handle it.  I am afraid, please remind me that I am not alone.  When we find the broken, bloody parts of ourselves that we won't be alone...I won't be alone.  I will have my sister.

Love from Clare

missing Peace

Yes, an older sister will do  and I love and appreciate your love and support.

When I wrote The Missing Peace my arranger and friend said, "this is so sad, are you sure you want to sing this?" She was struck by the opening...

Like an orphan standing all alone
There has always been a loneliness.
Somethings missing, Oh there's something wrong
Left with a sense of helplessness...

I believe that becoming the orphan has saved me and my children from this legacy.
Being an orphan freed me from "buying" into the family secrets and patterns.
It has taken me a long time to break the silence, but it has been my intention to do so for an even longer long time.
I do understand that I walk (we walk) forward. I trust that the others are silently growing. I just have little patience.

The end of The Missing Peace says...

If the request is to abandon it all
Have I courage to answer that call
So afraid to give all that I know...

Trust will be the key.

God is working...the Light permeates even the darkest corners. I need to trust.
Maggie

Scream

I expect you to find your voice and I expect to hear you scream.  I expect to hear it at my house!  I hope you rant and rave and tell them all off...all of the thems that silence you.  All who continue to silence you.

I don't have too much hope for either of our parents being able to talk to you about this.  I don't think they can, because it had to have happened to them.  That is the only way it could have slipped into our generation with such viciousness.  They had to have been victims, and now they have a big canyon in their souls, a darkness they can't or won't access.  And so they panic about anything sexual - think about it, about the messages we received about sex as we were growing up.

Mom can't talk to you, but will an older sibling do?  There were times when I certainly felt like your mother!  I remember a beautiful baby, a dark-haired girl with intelligence and humor.  I have vivid memories of you in your high chair.  You were precious.  And you were not protected.  You did not deserve to be abused.  You did not deserve to be treated like a thing.  You deserved to be treasured.  It was not fair, and it was not your fault.  Not only are you worthy, you are valuable.  I am in awe of your strength, of the gifts you bring.

It was the fault of the one who sexually abused your brothers and turned them to abuse to discharge their shame.  It was the fault of the one who refused to see the abuse going on in our own home.  It was the fault of the one who abused the abusers and on and on and on back into our family tree...Everyone deserves a home, a place where we belong and are safe.  We really didn't have a home.  I have that ongoing issue - I never feel safe.

I question the process of replacing the negative with the positive.  I think it's important to remember the positive.  Those moments of family joy and togetherness are invaluable because it reminds us that we were children and we were childlike. The abuse didn't steal everything, but it tainted a lot.  I think we need to remember the abuse side by side with the fun things.  I am willing to help you remember what I can. 

I knew someone once who liked to say,  "The sheep are many, the warriors few."  Think about human nature.  We all want to be strong and confident and to lead the way...as long as someone else goes first.  Maybe it is unreasonable to move forward with our siblings, but as we move forward, with love and compassion, the others may come into the Light.  We may recover as a whole, but not simultaneously. I think we all have such a deep desire to be seen, to be accepted, to be loved...it will happen.

Finding my voice

My thoughts...they are rapid and scattered.
I feel such incredible compassion for you and your trauma(s).
I feel angry that you feel (felt) as if you deserved or asked to be violently attacked.
I feel sadness and rage that this happens too often.
I am grateful that you have the courage to write about it.

One in 3 girls and 1 in 6 boys are sexually abused by the time they are 18...that's an epidemic.
The subject is taboo and so we can't talk about it, acknowlege it in polite company.
That makes me furious.

I want to speak out...I am afraid...but I refuse to let fear silence me.
Before I speak out though I need to find my voice. I need to recover the pieces of my soul that I left behind before I was 10 years old, when I was being molested. I was advised to go back to our family homes and look for the beauty there. Replace the negative with positive...recover the pieces that I left there. I want to do that. I need to do that.

I am so saddened by the silence from the remainder of our family. I am losing hope that we can recover from this as a whole. I am beginning to see the reality of healing individually.
I do long for at least one of our parents to just simply say...you didn't deserve to be treated like garbage...you didn't do anything wrong...you are worthy. Is that asking too much? 

Maggie

I retract normal, and offer healthy

Okay, I retract normal and offer healthy - but I wish healthy was the norm! 

I have never been to a Take Back the Night or any other survivors events.  I am of the group that didn't report a rape because I thought it was my fault.  I went over and over in my brain trying to identify what I did to deserve it.  This was after I moved out of our family home.  What I did realize was that I didn't know how to protect myself.  I learned victim behavior in our home.  Even later I started to think that in our home, one was bully or victim.  I decided to join the victims by rape -a family rite of passage? Maybe.  I had expressed my bully when I was younger and left to watch my siblings.  Perhaps I was rejecting that part of me.

All I know for sure is I had the classic response - fill the tub with hot water, and try to scald the shame and the filth out of me.

We are silent because we know it is our fault.  Women are evil temptresses and men are helpless to resist us.  Therefore it is our fault.  I remember once, when I was in my mid teens, I ran from the bathroom to my bedroom (15 feet?) in my underwear.  No one was upstairs, except Mom.  She had a serious talk with me about modesty.  My brothers could not be allowed to see me like this.  So she knew.  She knew there was something wrong with us.  She knew it was not safe in our family.

And so it had to be my fault.  It was raped because my hair was long.  I cut it.  It was my fault because I looked like a woman.  I gained weight.

No one knew what happened to me for years.  When I finally told my mom, she told my dad and was very nervous that he should still accept me.  Not sympathy, but was I still acceptable in my sullied, unfixable state?  I know her nervousness came from fear.  Women are not good enough.

And we wonder why we are silent.  I think it takes courage to get out on the street. And it may be a way to find others to lean on, to talk to, to reassure each other that we aren't damaged goods.

I am really curious about your ideas.

living out loud

Thinking about what you wrote, I reject normal. I think that it would be fair to say that I long to be unique. In contrast to that statement is my history of trying to control and project perfection. I hope that my future is one that embraces the challenge of showing my "true colors".

I went to a Take Back the Night event last week. It was very powerful in that over 100 people gathered, walked and spoke about abuse and personal violence. What struck me most though was the silence. No survivors felt safe enough to speak out. I want to believe that was because it was a public place full of strangers, not a safe space to open up. Contrary to that, I feel that it was a resounding statement of the silence and secrecy that shame imposes on survivors.

I want to make a statement about the huge impact that sexual and physical abuse has on our society. I want to make people pay attention to this epidemic. I am brainstorming ideas, ways to do this. I am excited and frightened to move ahead. I want to find my voice in all of this. I want to live out loud...

I remember when I was just beginning to learn about dysfunctional families.  I saw a statistic that said 96% of families were dysfunctional.   I wanted to see that 4%.  I really longed to see normal, to have some idea of what we should look like after we do the work. 

What strikes me about overeating versus fasting is that overeating is out of control.  Perhaps we are the people who roll with whatever happens to us.  We accept the chaos, the abuse, we just get through life and cope with whatever happens.  Fasting is the utmost expression of absolute control.  Some of us respond to chaos by trying to control every detail of every situation.  I wonder how we end up on the get tossed around versus control everything divide?

I don't feel in control of anything.  I wait to see what will happen.  I wait to be asked.  I rarely tell others what to do and I rarely direct situations.

Does normal exist?  I suppose it does if we get to define or identify normal.  I want healthy, vibrant, alive, fun, connected, joyful...no normal for me!

-C.

Does 'normal' exist?

The bike dream is intriguing. I have heard that vehicle dreams are symbolic for life transitions...your dream bodes for hopeful life transitions. The attempting and accomplishing of a previously unattainable goal is incredibly optimistic. The fact that you had the couarge and stamina to even attempt is wonderful. The ending, when it gets easier, enjoyable...gives me great hope.

I listened to multiple research reports by fellow MSW candidates this past week. I was amazed by the magnitude and scope of the problem of abuse (physical, mental and sexual). I was reminded of some of the consequences for the survivors of childhood abuse; depression and other affective disorders, eating disorders, suicide, addiction.

You talk of the eating to numb. Food is addicting...fasting is addicting. Anorexics control their intake, attempting to make themselves as small and un-noticable as possible. Overeaters attempt to make their bodies as unattractive as possible to ensure that no one will pay attention (at least positive attention). The body fat 'insulates' them from the pain of the world. Appetites are traitorous...giving in to hunger makes you weak. In reality it is just food, nourishment, a necessity for life.

I am left wondering, after hearing so many staggering statistics this week, does 'normal' exist? One of my most successful personality traits is that I can adapt. I am a chameleon. When I enter a situation I quickly scan and assess, then I can present my strongest, most appropriate persona for that situation. It is me, but an adaptation of me. The real me remains hidden, silent, lonely. I am curious how many people are truely who they project. I am wondering what that world would look like if we all were just honestly, openly ourselves.
Maggie

And another dream

I dreamed last night that I was riding bicycle.  I was riding up a steep hill that I know very well in waking life.  I can not ride my bike up this hill, although I walk up somewhat regularly.  In the dream I could feel how hard it was the pedal, oh-so-slowly, to pulse forward slowly as thigh muscles strained.  And I made it.  Once I crested, riding in general became easy and I was smiling.  I felt happy.

One major problem/block I have always had in my life is that I am not in my body.  I don't recognize it, don't associate with it, don't honor it, and I definitely don't take care of it.  I realized once, in my thirties, that I sort of hover above my body, barely attached to it.  Mom used to say that I was the most unaffected person she knew - mostly because I didn't care what I was wearing.  I dress in the morning and forget.  I have no idea what I look like.  I see photos later, when I allow a photo to be taken, and am shocked.  And usually I am disgusted.  I just found a few photos from last summer - and they're not too bad.  But when they were taken I hated them.

I have struggled with weight gain ever since I got married.  I know people who are overweight use food to numb.  And a piece of buttered toast is a great numbing agent.  I have had a chance to really talk to a few young girls, friends of my daughter's, who also struggle with weight and body issues.  Each one was sexually or physically abused.  It led me to consider the current problems we have with childhood obesity.  We blame fast food and television - and they are a problem - but maybe we need to look deeper at the violence that permeates our culture.

Earlier this month I had a series of three dreams which indicated that if I don't get my act together, especially nutritionally, I will not be here much longer.  So I have begun trying to maintain a primarily whole grain, beans and vegetables diet.  After a few good days, I start to feel better, but damn, I start to feel.  Then I began to prowl and I don't know what I am looking for.  But chocolate always turns the feelings off. And so I am at war within myself.

Did you ever notice, cheap food is numbing food?

Being overweight means I am not noticed.  There is safety in invisibility.  I was shocked once, again in my mid-thirties, when I heard a news report about a mother, about my age, who was raped.  My immediate, unguarded thought was, "That will never happen to me again - not with this weight on me."  Invisible is safe, but it's also very lonely.  I want to be safe, but I want it to come from personal strength...not sure how to do this...

-Clare

The question...

Hey Sweetie,

I think you are bolder and braver than I am.  I think you always have been.  You say you don't think you have ever loved anyone.  I am still in victim/martyr role, and wondering if I will ever be loved.  Which sort of translates to - will I ever allow anyone to love me?  There is something so needy and greedy in me, I am waiting to be taken care of.  You have always been more self-sufficient, and known how to move forward in ways that are more secure.  I think.

I'm not sure what I want from this journey.  I do want answers.  I want to be courageous.  I want to own who I am, because who I am is pretty interesting and daring, if only I weren't so retiring and afraid.  OK, I think I want to not feel afraid all of the time.

Sharing your secrets with your children is tricky.  I haven't talked to my kids about a lot of what I remember.  I have shared some broad brush strokes, giving them the impression that things were not always easy in our family.  Maybe I am afraid of repeated patterns or of destroying respect they have for some relatives.  One big mistake I did make was making my oldest my confidante for a time.  In Al Anon that is labeled emotional incest.  I was supposed to be taking care of her, and I was hoping she would help me.  I am sorry and I have apologized to her.  I really don't think she understands how wrong it was though.  Or else I am playing martyr again...

And your dream...the big question of the day, for you my little sister, is:  Do you really want to go to this party?  Maybe being turned away from what's going on in the dark, underground, is a gift.  But then there is also the obvious level, you are being rejected by one of your abusers because you are talking.  And the family survived because we were silent and presented only our lovely faces to the public.  Nothing was wrong at our house, you know?  So what happens if you turn away and walk up the stairs?  What if you walk into the light?  I have a feeling the glare will hurt our eyes, but we'll adjust, then see things more clearly.

I think you have been dreaming because family dramas highlight situations, and it's interesting who needs/demands/earns/gets attention.  And by comparison, who gets...not much of anything...gets to sit quietly on the sidelines.

Maybe the dream also brings the understanding that we can be kicked out or turned away from the family for breaking the who-knows-how-many-generations-deep  blood oath signed with our pain.  But, what is there to lose?  It has been pointed out that we are sort of a collection of strangers with shared genetics, some shared memories and experiences.  Is it a coincidence that we mostly live far apart?  That we go years without seeing each other or even talking?

I can assure you that I am not at the party.  I am on the outside.  Come find me, and you won't be alone.

Love you forever,

C.

A Dream

Clare,

What does it feel like when the wall is breaking down???

It is too new to have a good perspective or description yet. I will say this though; I am examining all of my relationships and am coming to the cold truth that I have never truely loved anyone. That is because I have never really trusted anyone, never allowed myself to be vulnerable to another human. Sadly enough I realize that I love my horses, dogs and cats better than my family. The closest I have come with humans is my children, but I have hid my life secrets from them until recently as well. I am afraid that I am incapable of real trust and love...but I am hopeful that this journey will allow me to live wholeheartedly and learn to love and trust deeply.

I have had a dream for the past two nights...
I come to a door, a basement door and I hear a party going on behind the door. I knock, no one comes. I start to open the door and suddenly brother #2 blocks my entrance, simply stating, "You can't come in...you talk too much." And the dream ends or at least I end it there. I've woken up both nights at that point. What do you think of that?

Maggie

Maggie,

I do love the image of breaking bread, and sharing.  I am always open to a miracle!

I saw a quote this week, something to the effect that when there's wind some build walls, some build windmills. That gives me an image to play with.  You said you are taking down the walls.  What does that mean?  What is different now?

-Clare

The miracle of the loaves and fishes

Clare,

You speak of being broken hearted...it made me think of the miracle of the loaves and fishes.

When Jesus was confronted by the crowds of hungry people he took simple loaves of bread and fish.
The miracle was not in that bread...it was in the breaking of the bread...it was in the trust that there would be enough to nourish...it was the intention of abundance...it was in a state of vulnerability.

When the argument of circumcision was brought to Jesus...whether his followers had to be circumcized...he said that what was necessary was a circumcision of the heart...a breaking open of the heart that would make them whole. Perhaps this heart break is a blessing.

The wall that has encolsed my heart is falling away...no longer necessary to protect me from the world. I choose to be vulnerable in a world that is closed hearted. I will continue to expose those raw places that my psyche has tried unsuccessfully to protect.

I believe that you and I are resilient, we are walking a journey of truth. By breaking open our "loaf"  perhaps a miracle will follow. Only time will tell.
Maggie

Maggie mentioned TED's Brene Brown lecture about shame. I have watched it over and over.  I have cried because of it.  I am not whole-hearted.  In fact, I think I am broken-hearted.  I think I have been broken-hearted all of my life.  I think that's what comes of growing up in the midst of chaos and violence.  My sister said she was just grateful that we allowed her to survive among us.  I feel that too.  All of my life I have felt that if people know how terrible I really am, I would be rejected.  And so I stay quiet and hide.

I remember thinking, as a child, that it was like a rule. That your parents have to love you.  It's a given.  The next thought was that if my dad did not love me, there had to be something terribly wrong with me.  I had to have some blackness or slime within that made me unloveable.  Adult logic says my dad was wounded, and because of that he could not show love.  But that little kid deep inside still knows the truth...I am not worthy of love.  My brain wars with my gut a lot, and unfortunately my gut usually wins. Even when my brain is touting logic, I am eating chocolate or engaging in some other addictive, numbing behavior to soothe the child.  The child is so afraid of feeling...

And what's left out of this war is my poor broken heart.  I have been thinking about my heart a lot, trying to find ways to mend it.  But the more I get into my heart, the more I feel, the more I panic, the more I go back and remember. 

I was trying to be heartful (as opposed to mindful) and about a year ago I went through a rough period where I felt I was being haunted by my paternal grandmother.  Early morning sounds took me back to their homestead on the hill.  I remembered my grandfather's vegetable garden, his small flock of chickens.  I remembered my grandmother's rock garden, just outside the back door.  She knew the name of every flower.  I thought maybe someday I would be as cool as her, and know the names of the flowers too.  I dreamed of her.  I found an old letter from her.  One of my dad's cousins sent me an old family photo.  In the picture she was about 13 and looked as invisible as I have always felt.  There was a kinship as I remembered the way she waited on us, then ate when we were finished.  She ran everything quietly but efficiently, waiting for someone to notice her.  I feel like that too, although I am not nearly as organized and neat. I thought about the violence, the sexually inappropriate behaviors, wondering what happened and I realized it happened in her family too. 

I truly believe people are good and kind and intelligent.  Something violent must happen to destroy that innate humanity.  No one is born an abuser.  We abuse because we were abused.  We learn the behaviors, then inflict them on others as we try to numb ourselves.  Neither the inter nor intra generational sexual abuse simply appeared.  It came from the generation before.  Suddenly I saw my whole family in a different light...

-Clare

Resilience.  I don't know if I am resilient.  I don't know if I ever bounce back.  You mention an adult that helped you see the world differently.  For me that would have been a high school English teacher.  We had to keep those dreaded journals.  I was very honest and open in mine.  I quoted Dad and talked about things that were going on in our home.  She made a few comments that let me know that maybe Dad wasn't...right.  Maybe he didn't have the right to talk to us the way he did.  And in fact, maybe he was wrong in his appraisal of us.

Mom did the same for me years later.  I talked to her about how hard certain episodes of our life had been.  Instead of telling me I just didn't understand what was happening, or that my memories were flawed, she apologized.  It was good to get the affirmation that perhaps I was not crazy.

I actually looked up resiliency.  What grabbed my attention was "hidden resiliency" when people don't conform to what is expected of them.  I have always suffered from/gloried in nonconformity.  That really bothered Dad.  I was thinking about his reactions to my thoughts and opinions, and to some of my behaviors.  You know, he complained when I made honor roll. Most parents would be proud.  But not at our house.   Then I would hear criticism that began with,  "For someone who's supposed to be so smart..."  I started to realize that our family motto was "Blend."  Don't do anything to stand out.  Don't do anything to draw attention to yourself.  The ideal Delana would get B's and C's.  Smart enough to do something with one's life, but not smart enough to draw undue attention.

Sometimes I thought he was jealous.  Then I would I think that he learned to be invisible in order to protect himself, and wanted us to be the same.  So what happened to him?

I have a friend who is a social worker.  She thinks perhaps he wanted us to blend so no one would know what went on in our house.  I had never thought of that...

I think resilience comes from the forest.  I think I find solace and wisdom in the trees.  I go to the forest to think, to cry, to be alone, to be in the magic of echoing woodpeckers and breezes rustling the tree tops.  I went to the woods after I finished work today.  I sat in the moss next to a tree and noticed how different the land looks when my eye level is almost ground level.   I thought that maybe this is what we are doing here.  Instead of walking through our lives and seeing the rolling landscape rush by, we are kneeling and getting a different perspective.

-Clare

Resilience

Dear Clare,

So, I have been thinking about resiliency; What is it? Who has it? How do you get it? Is it a blessing, an innate character trait, or something that you develop through process? I don't have the answers..I'm just wondering.

I can identify role models that I have met in my life. Is that where I got my resilience? The one who comes to mind was my CCD teacher when I was in 10th grade. She was young, fairly radical, and she taught me that the circumstances of your childhood have helped to create who you are today...but the present is your responsibility, yours to create and mold.

So where did you find your resiliency? Who or what influenced you to journey in truth?

-Maggie

It is Easter Monday.  This is a wonderful time of year to begin struggling with myself - looking for a new life.  Not only is the idea of resurrection with me, but I am trying to understand doves.  On Saturday, my grandson and I were in my vegetable garden.  There was a furious fluttering - a wounded dove inside the walls.  It was panicking, and it was not bleeding, so we went inside. A few hours later, we went back out to check.  The dove was still there, so we captured it.  We found that all of the primary feathers of its right wing were missing.  It had to have survived an attack of some sort.  Luckily, it landed in a small walled garden, but as last year's raid on my beans and squash proved - the walls are not secure.

Doves seem to be an important symbol in many cultures.  To the ancient Greeks, doves were renewal of life.  In the Christian tradition doves represent the soul or Holy Spirit.  And upon checking  for the new age definition, I found that doves ask us to go within and release emotional discord.  They will assist in releasing trauma stored in cellular memory.

Promise?

And this dove is a mourning dove.  I feel as if I have been in mourning for much of my life.  I am the oldest child in a large family wracked by alcoholism and violence.  But as a fish in a fish bowl, we thought everyone was swimming in the same dirty water.  As I got older I began to suspect maybe that wasn't true.  When I was in my mid-thirties I began attending Al-Anon meetings.  By that time I had been married to an alcoholic for years, and we had subjected our children to yet another generation of alcoholic chaos.

One of my assignments for Al-Anon was to make a family tree, to begin identifying patterns.  I had already learned a little about dry drunks - those who no longer drink, but because they have not had any therapy, they have not faced the demons and walked through the pain, they still live the chaos - and about binge alcoholics.  They may not be drunk all the time, or even often, but when they are it is awful.  So I looked at my tree and noted that one of my grandfathers was the town drunk.  Neighbors often found him passed out.  My other grandfather was a dry drunk.  He presented himself as a good, God-fearing, well-behaved young man while courting my grandmother, and she had the strength of will to force him to live that for the rest of his life.  They told anyone who listened though, that marriage was the worst thing they had ever done.  They did not love, nor even like each other.  My father was a binge alcoholic.  Some of the binges lasted for quite long periods and were very damaging.

But there was also something deeper, dirtier - probably the reason so many have retreated into the numbness of alcohol.  There is a pattern of intergenerational and intragenerational sexual abuse.  We don't know where it started, but we are willing to look at it, although writing this is making me nauseous.

I have nightmares.  I have read that if you dream of a house, it represents your psyche.  I am a brick Victorian.  If you come in from one side, the right maybe, it is a library.  If you come in from the left, it is a hospital.  I have come in the front door and found political events going on.  I have found abandoned floors, and new rooms at various times.  But there is one place I get drawn to, a dark place, and when I jerk back into consciousness trying to escape, my heart is racing, I am hyperventilating and I feel nothing but panic.

My sister and I are going to explore this together, partly searching our souls and our memories, party through dialog.

The mourning dove is in my office.  I have read that the primary feathers will begin to regenerate in about 10 days, and should be regrown in 30 days.  So I have a month to be one with the wounded dove.

-Clare

Over this past year, I have been on an amazing journey. I have had to confront many silenced issues in my life. Many of which I can barely bring myself to claim. I have companions on this journey, to whom I will forever be grateful. They are showing me that I can trust, I can even love and allow myself to be vulnerable.

This past summer I was shown a TED talk video of Brene Brown entitled Vulnerability. I was drawn to watch it several times over, deeply feeling and understanding the concept of vulnerability that she spoke of. This fall I was given a reading assignment about Oppression Psychology by Frantz Falcon. It spoke of the internalization of negative self-images from repeated exposure to oppression. Oppression was defined as; violations of one’s space, time, energy, mobility, bonding and identity. This results in alienation from one’s self, significant others, general others, culture and creativity…it creates shame. This is the story of my life.

Shame is all about secrecy, silence and self-judgment (Brene Brown, TED talk on Shame).  This shame has defined my life and my relationships with people. According to this Oppression theory people respond with one of three defense mechanisms…identification with the oppressor (secrecy), revitalization or running away to join a very different lifestyle, and radicalization or committing to radical change.

I have lived through the identification stage, keeping family secrets to be a good daughter, sister, niece, granddaughter. This had been the persistent pattern of my life, to protect the family of origin from exposure and shame. I hid my true self because I believed that my life was a mistake, that I was not worthy of love and acceptance, that I was lucky that this family tolerated my presence.

I have lived through revitalization. I took a path of education and professional life to distance myself from the patterns I had grown up with. A wise woman told me that I pursued a career in the medical field to be close to healers, probably an attempt to heal myself through osmosis without ever having to feel shame, to expose my true nature, to be vulnerable.

And now I am journeying on the path of radicalization. I have spoken and written the secrets. I have faced the giants from my childhood and the giants are tumbling down. The wall around my heart that has protected me is breaking down. I have come to realize that the very same wall was separating me from an authentic life. I want to live and love authentically.

This dialogue with my sister will be an important part of this continuing journey,

Maggie

We Speak

We are sisters who grew up in a family full of fear and shame and secrets.  We want to be brave and vulnerable, and so we offer our hearts' voices.