Is Competition Humane?

I just talked with my ex for about an hour.  I wanted to ask for his help in supporting the child mentioned a few posts ago.  For some reason this conversation went deep.  And he ended up apologizing for everything he did to hurt me.  I believed him, and became very tearful.  Everyday miracles are happening.  I feel like the word is changing, but I think maybe I am changing and allowing things to be different.  He would not have been able to apologize if I had not become more vulnerable.

We are changing...it's happening!

I have continued my relationship with the Quakers in my backyard, now imagining what the world looks like from way up high.  Maybe trees offer perspective.  I wonder, if I could get way up there, if I could spot all the broken bits of myself still lying about like pieces of rubbish.  Perhaps I will work on this later.

The problem with Darwin's theory, and Darwin apparently recognized it himself, is how do we explain altruism.  There are altruistic members of every clan, the strongest, bravest, noblest who will sacrifice themselves for another.  I read some scientists trying to write it off as ways of preserving their own genetic pool.  I think scientists are missing the point.  Why do I have a dove, who has almost regrown her wing feathers, in my office?  Why did I want to save her?  It doesn't preserve my gene pool, or even my species - since the best we do is overhunt and eat them.  I do it because she is alive and I want to save her one individual life.  Each individual is important.

What happens when we find stray kittens?  We adopt them, make them part of the family.  That is not survival of the fittest.  That is love of life.  That is in us, the familial connections we have with life.  And with oddballs like me, it extends to the trees, to the water, to the Earth.  We learn that baby girls are being abandoned in China - we adopt them.  And we would lay our lives down for these daughters.  This is not survival of the fittest.  This is humane behavior.

I am back to destruction of humanity.  We all have our biases, and I think Darwin's was toward competitiveness.  It was what his class saw, how his class-gender-historical perspective defined the world.  Look at who we honor - those with power and money.  They are the ones who survive nowadays!

Maybe there are Darwinian humans and humane humans.  The Darwinians seek power in order to survive, and seem to believe there is a fixed amount of resources.  The one who is best at gathering resources for self survives, and so we honor them, try to befriend them, suck up to them, hope for the trickle down effect.  We see that in nature because that is the way we interpret everything.  What if there were more ways to see.  I have heard that the Native Americans believed the leaders, the most powerful, were the first to give.  An Indian biologist would never have seen 'survival of the fittest' behavior and  described it in white, colonial terms.  The same behavior would have been interpreted another way.  Probably they would have seen the altruism first, and recognized the love that permeates life.

Something happened to the people who use and abuse children, who see women as objects or belongings.

I may be wrong, because this is coming from heart and not brain, but maybe not...

The term white, colonial is hitting me.  I remember when I realized our background was English and Swedish, in addition to Irish.  I thought of the Vikings and the British Empire, and I was so sad.  All of our ancestors were conquerors who used violence to take the world.  When I found we were descended from two of the Mayflower families, I writhed.  Part of that Puritan ability to travel out in search of religious freedom, then torture and kill anyone who believed differently, is in us.  My brain is racing too much to go further here, but there is something in this culture that allows the behaviors that own and objectify.  Then other cultures imitate in order to survive.

Thank you for noticing my courage and pointing it out to me.  I have a hard time finding it in myself.    I am glad to see you are softening, and accepting that our sibs truly don't remember.  But I think you needed a rant to release some pressure to allow room for acceptance.  The education helped, too.  I wonder which is worse, though, B#1 who has rewritten our history, believing we were a perfect sitcom family or S#3 who knows it was bad and that her lack of memories protects her sanity.  I think S#3 is in more pain, but actually healthier.  And to have B#3 say he "deserved the ass-kicking" Dad gave him chilled me all the way to my soul.  He doesn't know he was worth more than that.  He doesn't recognize that he was tortured and abused.  He doesn't know what a precious child he was.  He thinks the way we were treated was okay. 

But none of us know.

While talking to my ex, I talked about this work we are doing.  I talked about the sexual abuse.  He asked if it happened to me, and I said I don't know, I can't remember.  But tears began, and I don't know if that was me or you or all of us.

Love and hugs back to you, my little sister!

Predators and Prey

Clare,

I just finished my paper on the trauma of human trafficking and slavery...
the ending is a paragraph with my thoughts about the human condition in 2012.
I pointed out that we have evolutionarily advanced cerebral cortices enabling us to use language and higher level thinking, despite this we still act as predator and prey.
In the face of the fear of not having enough...
people (prey) place themselves at great risk in the hope of having a better life...
and they are exploited.
Others with more power (predators) strip away their humanity and consider them as commodities to be bought, traded or stolen...a tool to be profitted from.
It is Darwin's survival of the fittest.
(I should edit this commentary out of the paper...but it is an important concept so I will leave it alone).
Why can't we, as a species, care for each other?
Why can't we be satisfied with enough?
Why are we always driven towards the aquisition of more...
more stuff, more beauty, more intelligence, more life, more youth?
At our core, we are just animals...

This morning, I heard in the back of my mind,"if you don't stop that I will send/sell you to China"...
I believe it was an idle threat that was thrown around in our house when I was young.
Now, being aware of what happens to children who are sent/sold to other countries,
the threat means so much more...
what a stupid thing to say to your kids.

I have to look at the effects of sexual abuse and infants and very young. I will get back to you on that.

Your letter to B#1 was courageous. He told you that he remembers nothing. Everything was great. He has rewritten his story.
He responded to my letter that he does remember fondeling me that one night, and is deeply sorry...but he was drunk and high, therefore not responsible for his actions.
(One problem with that is that when drunk and high it is unlikely that a man can have an erection- they are depressants)
When I asked him why, at 15 he turned to drugs and alcohol, he responded that our life was great...but that's what kids did back then.
At first his and the majority of the family's convenient amnesia angered me greatly.
I wanted to make them remember.
I wanted to be validated I guess.
Now that I am learning about the complex human reactions to trauma (CPTSD) I can accept that they really don't remember. But their actions manifest the repression of the years of traumatic, stressful experiences that we lived through. And as we both pointed out in our letters...there will be continued addictions, continued self-harm...probably suicides, continued mental health disease. It is not possible to repress this much garbage and still have the capacity for mental  and physical health.

You are courageous.
You wrote a letter to mom years ago describing your experiences and the response that you received was negative. Dad didn't talk to you for years!
You wrote a heart wrenching letter to B#1 and the response was negative, in effect, "You must be crazy".
But, when I reached out to you in the early spring you still had the courage to say yes...let's go there. That is true courage...thank you.

I love the musing on time and the trees. Time is a man-made construct. Humans had to control and harness this phenomenon and so we named it time. Now our creation controls us...we are slaves to the clock. an interesting idea...

I love you,
Maggie
P.S. I earned the nickname of stink and skunk because I sucked those two fingers constantly...even while I ate. They must have really smelled bad. I remember being determined to stop befoe an anticipated visit from uncle G...I don't know why he was so important to me that I would give up a comfort/coping mechanism.

My Letter - 'twas a bit more private than yours...

Since we're exposing letters, here is mine to the sibling who is 11 months younger than me.  It was not well received!

Hi Bro,

I have been being haunted by memories and almost-memories of our childhood lately. I don't know what to do. I thought perhaps as the two oldest, we could start a dialog.

We had it rough. There was so much violence and abuse in our home. I have been thinking and thinking about it. I wake up early and the cool morning air puts me back at Grandmom and Pop's...I have been trying to figure out where the abuse began.

Pop grabbed me and kissed me, inappropriately once. I panicked and flailed. I think he let me go at that point. Who else did he go after? Was there someone else who was resigned and accepting? What happened to Pop to damage him and make it okay to abuse the children he was supposed to protect? How far back does this abuse go?

All I know is that it is destroying us now. You know that our younger sister tried to commit suicide. She has huge lapses of memory. She is hiding from the sexual abuse that was inflicted on her. But another sister remembers – at least some of it.

I remember when you were young. You used to carry a big stick and flail it at anyone who came near you. Mom thought that was cute. But think about it...that is not normal behavior for a toddler. I have been wondering what happened to you. Who or what were you protecting yourself from?

You, and the next two boys sexually abused the girls. Why not the youngest boy? Because Dad was overseas the year he was born. It is the only thing that makes sense. We moved every year, never lived near family when we were young – so it didn't come from the uncles or grandparents. I truly believe that humans are good and kind and intelligent. But torture destroys our humanity. No one is a sexual predator, naturally. It has to be created. The only thing that makes sense is that Dad was the victim of his father and older brothers. He learned. Then we all have to have our addictive behaviors that numb us and shield us from the pain, allowing us to survive. And so he abused you and his next son, then the next son. That is why we have so much drug addiction, alcoholism, violence and sexual abuse in our family. We are all trying to escape from the pain.

I was so awful with my kids. I have great potential to be a monster, and I had my monstrous moments. Al Anon saved my life and saved my sanity. I don't know you any more – isn't it amazing how much distance we siblings have put between ourselves and Mom and Dad. So I don't know how you are coping or where you have your memories. I do know we are still trying to escape.

This has to be faced. If any one of us, or our children, has any chance at actually being alive. I am so afraid all the time. I have nightmares that jerk me awake – my heart pounding, gasping for breath, in absolute terror.

What do you remember? Do you remember what happened to you? Do you remember what you did to escape the pain? Am I a safe enough place for you to talk? Again, we don't know each other and you never liked me when we were children – I was too weird. I think you have found solace in your religion. If you remember what you did, I am sure you have been forgiven by Christ. But there is one more step. You need to be forgiven by your sisters – both to save your soul and to save theirs. If that doesn't happen, they will never be alive. They will have health problems, more suicide attempts, trying to get out of here as soon as possible.

Could we start a dialog, and perhaps invite some of the siblings to join in? Are we brave enough to do this? I am terrified that I may have hurt some of them and may have to face it now. I am so afraid all the time. But I faced myself as monster with my kids, I am willing to do it again. What do I have to lose? I am not close to my family. No one really notices me much, so I can't lose you. But maybe I could gain you and my life could be safer.

Can we do this, or shall we continue pretending we are a normal family. Please pray on this.

Love from Clare

Quaking Aspens

Hi Love,

I started to reply yesterday, but a child needed my attention.  Then another, and another.  I have interacted with or advised 4 kids and 2 daughters-in-law.  I love the contact.  I love that they reach out to me.

I had a dreamy kind of experience yesterday that I wanted to mention.  I have some towering Quaking Aspens in the back corner of my lawn.  They are my old Quakers.  One day they were rustling and I suddenly got the sense of a time shift, or a time passing, or of the trees really understanding how to exist throughout time.  It sounds silly when I try to use my words!  I suddenly understood the symbolism of using rustling trees in movies to show the passage of time...So I have been very aware of the sheer massive height and presence of these trees lately. Yesterday we had a wild thunderstorm.  I was checking the yard before the storm hit, and I looked up at the trees.  One leaf was lifted from the highest point and blown toward me.  It landed about five feet behind me.  Not bad aim for a tree!  Of course I retrieved the gift.  But it has inspired me to think about time, especially since what we have been attempting to do is time travel back to the point of initial damage.  And I was thinking about something you said in an early post...we are spiraling back through these moments, but from a better vantage point.

So, so, so...I was thinking a lot about the sexual abuse of infants.  What kinds of scars does it leave?  It seems that the effects are pervasive, watery, hard to define, more easily defined when you know what happened, and know what to look for.  I don't know what to look for.  What hit me though was reading through several websites exploring the effects of abuse of infants.  Mostly I saw the same statistics over and over.  But one site explored the history and showed generation after generation of abuse all around the world.  I had a little bit of a break down - what the hell happened to our species?  Where did we lose our humanity?  Mammals protect their young...why not humans?  I felt almost soul-dead for a few hours yesterday.  It has taken time in the garden to calm me.

I see that chameleon in me, also. I respond to many different people many different ways.  Either I am not honest, or I don't want anyone to see all of me.  But I think I am also the master of gliding silently into a corner and being calm, so much so that I am invisible.  But, I described that once to someone and the person said I had too much presence to be invisible.  People want to know me.  I think it's a lie though...just someone trying to make me feel better.

Basket question - good one.  Thanks.  The basket is upside down.  But that puts me on the Earth, in contact with the Earth.  Maybe it's almost time to stretch my legs...

Have you ever read the story of Sadako and the 1000 Cranes.  I always cry when I read that.  Maybe we should write our stories and see if we can cry for ourselves.  Of course, we could rewrite the story...become a strong, protected, protective heroine.  Interesting thought.

It was brave of you to post the letter.  It was amazing of you to write it in the first place.  You were shining brightly.  You were shining so brightly that two of our brothers responded, adding to the story, one more responded secretly, and two sisters asked you to keep it between you and your therapist.  You really shined a light on something so uncomfortable, they could not stand to see it.  But, they did get a glimpse.  I can promise you that this is in everyone's mind.  It is niggling inside each of us.  We know we are not okay.  Even those of us who have rewritten our childhood to star June and Ward Cleever know that it's not the truth.  We all have beaten, starved, ignored, neglected, bloodied selves scattered around the battlefield that was our family home.

I had a different approach.  Last year, under the influence of Grandma, I wrote a letter to B#1.  If I can find it, I will post it here, just to fill out the ways we have both reached out to family.  My letter went out between the two sibling suicide attempts.  My letter was not well received...just like my letter to Mom and Dad after your forgiveness letter.  Guess I'm just not good at this!

I was trying to remember, probably because of the aspens.  I remember you as an infant.  We were all fascinated by your dark hair.  We all thought you were so cute.  I remember you picking up food from your high chair tray and putting it on your spoon than putting it in your mouth...You sucked your two middle fingers.  The rest of us sucked our thumbs.  We all sucked our thumbs until well into childhood.  I had sort of blocked that.  I remember Mom painting my poor, raw, waterlogged left thumb with Thum - commercial hot sauce marketed for families like ours.  So, as a psychologist, what does all this thumb sucking indicate?

I was glad to read that you feel safe at home.  We all need sanctuary.

The initial letter

This is the letter, sent to our family that started this blog...hopefully if you are reading this, it will help you to understand.

3/18/12
Family,
With the recent events (B#2’s attempted suicide and need for family support) most of you have offered to support and to have an open dialogue with the rest of the family. I believe it is time for me to tell you where I am in life.
I have Major Depression, maybe Bipolar disorder. I finally conceded to take an antidepressant about a month ago and must say it has helped immensely. I had gotten to a point that the only way to push the constant, negative monologue out of my head was to stay as busy as possible. These negative thoughts were all encompassing, my marriage, my teaching, my studies, even my kids. Even the things that mean the most to me were not exempt from this negativity. This busy-ness has been a pattern all of my life. When past memories or the pain of not really having a family hit me, I just found another project to immerse myself in…it’s an addiction of sorts.
We have a pattern in our family. We hide from the truth to preserve what we cling to …the illusion of belonging to this family. But we have settled in areas that are not easy to visit, we rely on a weekly email that’s full of sunshine and happiness. The truth is that we have mental health issues and addictive behaviors that go unspoken…food, alcohol, drugs, religion,you name it. The only way that I can escape this pattern is to speak the truth.I will tell you my story…indulge me, it goes way back. This is not an attempt to call blame to any person, it is the beginning of healing for me and hopefully for some of you too.
In 1995, I had a patient who had dissociative personality disorder (multiple personalities). She was undiagnosed when I first saw her, but trusted me enough to reveal this to me and explain what it was like. She called me one Saturday morning, in her 4 year old personality’s voice, begging me to save her. She had gone home for the weekend and was being sexually and physically abused. I had the most overwhelming reaction to this phone call. I was enraged…not just angry…but to the point that I was going to rescue her and kill the family members responsible for this. Any of you that know me understand that I don’t kill bugs in my house…I set them free. I had an acute PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) reaction. Luckily, my husband calmed me down and reminded me that I had 2 children and killing might not be the best option.
After that I began having flashbacks from my childhood. At first I didn’t believe or understand them.  They were of physical and mental abuse…S#1 being so angry she dug her nails into my arms and being hit on bare skin with a brush. It was being put into a dark closet when Mom and Dad weren’t home. It was being called fat and worthless. They were of crying in the middle of the night and having no one even check on me. They were also of sexual abuse/molestation, they occurred around F-burg, mostly behind neighbor’s garage, but also in cornfields, and a tent following a pretend wedding, camping trips. There were games that were sexual in nature. There was boys tackling the neighbor and tearing open her shirt and hitting her breasts (“tittywhackers”), mine were too small…it was all very confusing and disturbing.
I don’t have clear recollection of the events which is one of the reasons I haven’t spoken about this… but it is real and it did happen. I remember putting an end to it…I was about 10 yearsold, being woken up in the middle of the night, B#1 rubbing my back and breasts asking me to come across the hall to his room…I found the courage to say no and said that if he ever touched me again I would tell Dad and that Dadwould kill him. It never happened again.
I remember, after we moved to P, Dad had some of of us in a room and asked if we had played “games” at the neighbors…I don’t know if they called or why he asked. No one admitted to the truth. I believe we were all afraid of the consequences if we told. It was as if we made a silent pact of secrecy. I remember asking a friend if her brothers played sexual games with her and she said yes…well, that normalized it for me and I was able to repress the memories. At least until this patient brought it back out into my consciousness. I have been hiding the truth for 16 or more years now.
Again, my intention with this letter is to open a dialogue and help us all to heal. People who abuse are victims themselves, it is a learned behavior.
If we could all begin to speak the truth, to share our experiences, no matter how painful they are, we can all begin to heal. The addictions and mental health issues are manifestations of years of repressing and denying the truth. I have lived with a wall built so strongly around my heart that no one can get in. When I wrote the “forgiveness”letter years ago I thought that I could break open that wall and actually love others. I have forgiven, but I have been afraid of speaking truth. I am still a victim being controlled. Afraid that no one will believe me, afraid to be rejected by a family that is at best an illusion, afraid of hurting people that I should support.
 I am so afraid…but after B#2's attempted suicide I am more afraid of keeping the secret and sinking deeper into depression and killing myself. I choose life, I choose truth, I choose to love.
I wish you Shalom,

Shalom

Where am I right now...literally or metaphorically?

I am at home- working...
on my studies, writing papers, trying to edit a paper to submit for possible publication, in my garden...
always busy.
I am at home- peaceful...
I feel at peace right now. Ok with all that I have learned from you. Ok with my self being enough.
I am resting from the past few months, gaining strength for the next wave of revelation.
It will not be long, for I feel as if God is preparing me/us for more.

You wrote about your ever changing as a young child.
I once told a therapist that I didn't mind moving so often because I could change the parts of me that I didn't like. I could create what I thought was perfect at that time and in that setting.
I taught myself to be a chameleon. I can change to fit almost any situation.
It is a strength and a weakness, a curse and a blessing...
On the one hand I can assess a situation and adapt to it...
I move from a barn to a board room with very little anxiety...because I can read people and situations. But, on the other hand...
I have never allowed the real, total me to develop and be seen. I keep my true self very close and hidden.

When you wrote about being safe in the basket; was the basket open to the top or covering and hiding you?
I am just curious if you are available or still hiding.

The concept of transparency is frightening and exhilerating simultaneously.
How much do I really want to see and be seen?
My head says accept and work towards total transparency...my heart says protect yourself.
It will take time and patience to move to that stage.
Is transparency the same as enlightenment?

Yesterday I took down 1000 origami cranes that we had folded and hung as a silent wish for peace at the Meeting House.
It was a moving experience to think about all of the levels of peace that I wish for...
World peace, family peace, inner peace...Shalom...the peace that surpasses all understanding.

I wish you Shalom,
Maggie

Stewardship

OK, So who is hurt?  Or we'll make it present continuous...who is hurting?  The answer is that we all are.  There's no way any of us could be at peace.  We don't know what happened to us, and there is a sneaking suspicion that it could just happen again.

I remember being young, elementary age, and thinking that if people knew who I really was, they wouldn't like me.  Even at that young age, I knew I had to hide how bad I was.  It took a lot of energy to maintain my facade of okay, okay enough to be acceptable.  Pretty tragic that I felt that way.  Then I found out others share the same understanding of their own inner worthlessness.

I read and reread the parable about stewardship.  All I could think of is that when I have money - I give it away.  There is something in me that assumes if I help others, others will help me.  In general it works, but if I loved myself it would work better...maybe...I think...And if I loved myself better, I would be able to help myself.  I would grow up and stop expecting help.  Except that I won't ask for help, and I don't accept it easily.  So how do we balance that with letting others help us, which is necessary if we are gong to be part of a community?  But the parable is right in that we don't take good care of our own gifts.  We curl up and protect ourselves.  Sort of the equivalent of hiding our lights under baskets, I suppose.  But it's quiet in the basket, and no one can reach in and hurt me.

I believe in the human spirit. though.  I believe we can recreate ourselves.  It's never too late, as long as we're still breathing.  I believe in miracles and in our strength.  I feel like we are trying some steps, and getting ready to dance in public, dance like everyone else is and just be accepted.  Because we are okay.

I think the answer is in transparency.  Your eyes in the meditation, casting light into the corners - you were creating transparency.  I know that once we have been able to look at the hidden, obscured truths hidden in the shadows, we will be able to speak truth to power.

I used to do a meditation in my house of casting light into every room, every corner, every drawer until the whole house glowed.  My "rule" was that only love could enter.  It seems as if you are doing the same in your mind.  I wonder if I should try that inside my mind.

I am starting to mention this blog, and to discuss some of our past with trusted friends.  So far no one has berated me.  Mostly, people offer support.

I dreamed about someone from high school who was middle aged but looked like she was still in high school.  She was going to tell me the secret of staying young.  Not sure how that ties to our work.  Your dreams are so much more poignant.  It's more fun to analyze them!

Something is percolating in me.  I need to do some reading and thinking.

Where are you right now?

P.S.

P.S.
Just a quick note since you haven't had a chance to respond to the last one...
I dreamt I was in a vast ocean last night...it was dark and the water was choppy...but I was not afraid...I was treading water and I was not afraid.

This morning I was meditating on fear...
What images are evoked when I contemplate fear?
I thought of darkness...
hidden things in the dark corners...
having things touch me and not know what it is...is it good or bad?
I felt terror.

Then I thought of what could overcome this fear...
I imagined myself with Light streaming from my eyes...
illuminating the dark corners...and the place was safe.

Maggie

The Parable of the Hard Master

I read your letter, So who gets hurt?,
I wondered why you didn't put it into the present tense,
Who's still getting hurt?

Living truely isn't possible when you are protecting the secrets.
Living the illusion or empty shell is all that you can muster.

For some reason I have been thinking about the parable of the hard master who gives 3 servants money...
2 use the money to make additional money...they are praised and given more responsibility.
The third is afraid and buries the money...returning it as it was given to them...and that person is punished.
Isn't hiding parts of ourselves away and keeping secrets to remain safe much like the buried money? Out of fear, we (individually and collectively) have buried some of our treasure for safe keeping...
but that is incredible waste of potential...
we are our own 'hard master'...
we punish ourselves with guilt and shame and self-harming behaviors...

Who would we be if we had been raised in a healthy environment?
Can we still invest ourselves and reap the benefits of this lifetime?
Is it too late to find out?

I/we, are making a valiant attempt to live outside of the secrets, to allow ourselves to experience the pain, confusion and chaos that continues to surround us...even if we are geographically spread out up and down the east coast.

Radicalization...a commitment to radical change...
The final stage (healing) of the oppression psychology theory
-speaking/writing the secrets...dissecting them one by one to unleash their hold on my spirit
-treating others with respect, no matter what they look, speak or act like.
-calling people out when they are being disrespectful or intentionally hurting someone else
-educating others about the epidemic of domestic violence and sexual abuse and other exploitations of the human spirit
-admitting that I live with mental illness (still very hard to admit)
-not letting myself get sucked back into the 'comfort' of family support...which would require compliance and secrecy.
-finally realizing that I am enough...just as I am

Is there anything else that I could be doing to heal from all of this?
I am sure there are volumes written on how to heal...I am confident that I will recognize the next step...well, maybe after God hits me with that "two by four"
for now I am going to go out and play in my garden...
make peace with the universe...at least temporarily.

I love you...
I look forward to your next letter,
Maggie

So who gets hurt?

Mom took me to school because I didn't have a place to live.  We worked out the details when we got there.  Otherwise she would have popped me on a bus...well, I used to walk to the bus stop, downtown.  But I found my own rides back and forth.  I never asked for help.

Another choice memory - I had a weekend off, and a friend was going home, so it was no trouble to drop me off.  I came home as a surprise.  Dad saw me, adopted that disgusted look he usually had when looking at me/us and asked,  "What are you doing here?"  I felt so unwelcomed.  I felt like I had been slapped.  I remember thinking I wouldn't do that again!

I like the synchronicity, the universal movement that puts us where we need to be.  You ended up where you were supposed to be.  Mom and Dad didn't do it, so the universe sent loving hands to place you where you were meant to be.  (But these stories always take me back to my basic question - who would we be if we had been raised in a healthy family???)

I remember those moments, when you were at med school and we lived close enough to be supportive, fondly.  Remember the gingerbread creations?  Ugly, but sweet.  If I remember correctly, yours never made it off the elevator.  Your fellow students picked it apart and got sugared up!

And I'm sorry about your graduation.  We should have all come to that.  Graduations are something for families to get excited about.  But not in our family.  In our family you have to slit your wrists to get any notice.  I'm not trying to be callous or to belittle anyone's reactions to their pain, I am just stating a fact of Delana life.

I have often heard of the guilt the child who was not abused feels.  They are relieved because they are not being hurt, but wonder why they are different than their sibling.  I wonder if S#5 feels that.  She knows it was not fair.

When I think of that guilt, I always go back to B#3.  Dad was brutal to him.  He treated him almost like the twins were treated in our cousin's family.  He called him names, slapped the back of his head for no apparent reason.  Criticized him frequently.  But he also beat him. Brutally.  I think he did it because this brother was much like Mom.  He had a photographic memory, and a beautiful, clear, true singing voice.  He was very talented and friendly and curious - very much like the people in Mom's family.  But he had a naivete that left him open to abuse.  I think the neighbor kids were involved in abusing him the year Dad was in Vietnam.  And it used to really frustrate me, because Dad accepted everything that B#2 did.  #2 was definitely favored when he was young.  I think that was partly because of his asthma, and partly because he was so beautiful.  Even though he was bright, and a good writer, guitar player, singer, tennis player, he made it on charm and looks for a lot of his life.  Probably because that was what saved him when young.  He was never treated brutally like the others.  I think the rest of us loved B#3, felt sympathy for him, wished we were him, were so grateful we weren't him.

When the favored son began getting in trouble, the parents protected him from the consequences.  But he lost favored child status.  He became no good like the rest of.  Luckily there were the two youngest to be sweet and cute and to be Daddy's girls.

He played the game with grandchildren, too.  He called my boys names, and praised S#3's son.  So I had the one warning rule.  Call my son a name and first time I state the rule - no calling names.  Second time - it's time to go home.  So I'm an unreasonable bitch.  Oh well!

So it's a secret that we were sexually abused.  Since no one knows, it's okay.  It's a secret that they will help some of us, but not others.  Since no one knows, it's okay.  They visit some of us, ignore others.  There is no rhyme or reason.  It's just as confusing as when we were little.  One day Dad liked us, the next he was vicious.  I'm still confused.  I still believe I have no control over my life.  My choices, my behavior mean nothing.  It's still affecting me (started to type infecting - maybe that was correct!) today, but it's a secret, so it's okay.

Secrets make it acceptable...

Ok, so if we are going to open up this subject, I will take this opportunity to have my bitch session...
I was blessed enough to be in the right place at the right time to get into college...
I was sitting in Physics class, my senior year, the guidance counselor walked in and said to me, "you want to go to med school, right?"
I was taken to a meeting with a rep from Gannon who basically applied for me.
3 days later he called and told me I was in...
I replied, "great, but I have no money"...
the next day he called and said it was taken care of...

I went to college, sight unseen.
I had never been to that city before.
Our parents didn't bother taking me there to preview it...it was only 90 minutes from our house.
In fact, they didn't even take me to school...
B#4 took me, along with my boyfriend.
Dad would tell me not to come home for weekends unless I had a ride both ways.
I remember asking a friend's parents if they would take me back to school, even though their daughter went to school 20 miles south of the city.
Sadly to say, I was able to ask other people to help, but not our parents.
And the money thing...I paid for every cent of college and med school that wasn't covered by scholarship. Dad was "reluctant" to fill out any financial aid forms to help in the process.
I worked the overnight shift at McDonalds for years...walking to the store at 10:30 for my shift.
A friend was raped on her way to work one night...it just was not safe...but I did it.
When it was time for me to graduate from college...
they went to your house that weekend because you had their first grandchildren and it was Mother's Day...
When I graduated from med school Mom asked what gift I wanted.
I told her that the only thing that I wanted was for Dad to say he was proud of me...
He did tell me that...but I always wondered if he would have if I hadn't asked for it.

All of this was acceptable to me.
I didn't question or resent it until S#5 went to the same college and they drove her and supported her financially...and she was instructed not to tell me about their assistance.
They knew they were being unfair, but it was OK because it was a secret.
Secrets make everything acceptable in our family...
Well, secretly all of this still makes me incredibly angry and resentful...

Thank God I had a wonderfully supportive boyfriend during that time. Sadly, we parted ways during med school, but his support during that time sustained me in ways that I didn't even understand.

I also had an incredible mentor who taught me that it is OK to say that you need help...not to hide weakness. She told me about her process of getting into college which paved the way for mine.

And I had you...you have supported me at various times throughout the process...

Do you remember when I finished finals for my first year of med school? You and your family came into the city and we went for dinner in Chinatown. Your kids were small, and son#1 crawled under the table and grabbed the waiter's ankles, frightening him. Your daughter dropped the small fruit kabob into her tall glss of orange juice and stuck her hand and wrist into the glass, spilling juice out of the glass. That was fantstic! And then second year when you had son#2 and I came out to experience that with you and your family...

Resilience comes from having at least one person in your life recognize and reflect your worth back to you. Thanks for being one of those mirrors in my life.

Eternal thanks,
Maggie

De-Clared Too Soon

Ah, so I was right when I noted that our family motto is blend!   We are desperately super-normal - not too shiny, not absolute failures.  If nobody notices, you can't be singled out and hurt.

You mentioned your activities.  Mom was like that. She was in the band and drama club and newspaper or yearbook,Valedictorian, voted most popular.  She was seeking approval.  Dad, on the other hand, had scarlet fever and was held back a year because he missed so much time.  His motive has been escape. Quit school, enlist in the military to escape the village where everyone knew them. He used to give Mom such a hard time about her community activities.  I guess he needed her to be like him. We are more comfortable when we have a companion who is like us.  It shows we are normal --- maybe.

The moving was difficult.  I went to eight schools before I graduated.  I learned not to bother getting involved or to expect too much.  The constant uprooting, yeah, it's isolating.  It's great for a family where abuse is rampant.  No one gets to know too much about us.  And we are all that we have.

And I also remember Dad's total lack of interest in what I did. When I was a sophomore, I made it into the annual musical.  They started with the seniors, since it was their last year, and worked their way down, so only a handful of sophomores were in.  I was pretty excited.  Upon hearing my great news dad said,  "Don't expect me to be taking you to any practices.  I am not going out at night for you."  First, I was shocked.  It had never dawned on me that he might go out of his way for me.  It never entered my mind to ask him for a ride.  I knew I would be walking.  And I did walk home in the dark after every rehearsal.  It was only a couple of miles.  And I was only a young girl alone.  It still really breaks my heart when I think about how unprotected we were, how un-cherished.  I think Mom made him come to one performance. But you grew up in the house.  You know how much complaining and blaming we had to listen to when he had to go to anything.

I desperately did not want to go to my college graduation.  I was perfectly happy to just pick up my diploma later.  Mom begged me to go through the ceremony.  She said it was really important.  So I did it. And Dad got bored halfway through the ceremony and left.  He waited outside.  Real fun, being more worried about how angry he was going to be.  I did not enjoy the day.  It was not a celebration.

Besides I had already heard the "education is wasted on her" speech.  I got it. I was not worth the time in his eyes.  I would like to point out though, that he never paid a cent for my education.  Between grants (Mom filled out paperwork for me - thanks, Mom) and a senatorial scholarship I got, and working - sometimes two part-time jobs while being a full time student - I did it.  I am proud of that!

I never knew that Mom tried to talk you out of becoming a doctor.  Maybe it was because she had so much more to offer the world than she did.  She could have been a doctor.  Maybe Dad was complaining about you...I remember when you were about 7 years you declared you were going to be a doctor.  You never wavered.  I was always so impressed.  Even now, I don't know what I want to be when I grow up!

Another memory - I remember B#1 commented once that no one from the family ever came to a single Little League game he played in when he was in fifth and sixth grade.  I didn't know we could go, or I probably would have.  I am so sorry. 

You did listen to the whispers of your heart.  You saved yourself.  Somehow, somewhere we are still inside and alive.

Dis-ease...not disease

No, Clare you do not have a personality disorder...
you have adeptly adopted adaptations and protections in your thoughts and habits that were established as a result of chronic stress and trauma.
Personality disorders are patterns of behaviors that are markedly different than the expected 'cultural' norms...people with them don't conceal them.
We try desperately to fit in...
to appear normal...
we are normal...in fact we are super-normal...we just have alot of shit buried.
I am not trying to diagnose... just simply shed some Light.

What did we lose?
The Legacy of Lost Potential...
I remember getting very involved in school activities...
newspaper, yearbook, chorus, plays, special small singing groups, singing solos at every concert-having those broadcast on the radio, swim meets...

Mom came to some of these, but Dad only came once...
Oklahoma in my senior year, only because he could bring his parents to see it and show off...
he was still trying to win their approval.

As I was about to start 9th grade...
ready to be editor of the newspaper and yearbook...
they announced, We're moving!....
I had to turn down the positions...we didn't move.

As I was about to start my senior year...
ready to be editor of the yearbook and president of several clubs...
they announced, We're moving!...and we did.

When I asked Mom,
Why now, when I have so much that I have worked for?
She told me that I was the strongest and I could handle leaving in my senior year the best.
I lost stability.
I lost that sense of extended belonging to anything, except the family.
(One of the techniques of coersion for abuse is isolation)
I lost the sense of pride in my accomplishments. I never believe the compliments people give me.

One thing I didn't lose was the ability to think for myself and choose to move out of the family norms...
I chose to be educated...
even though, as I was preparing to go to college in the accelerated pre-med/med school program, Mom sat me down and told me to be practical and be a nurse.
At least I didn't get the "education is a waste for women, just get married" speech that the younger sisters 3 &4 got...
I remember telling Mom that I couldn't be a nurse because I had to give the orders, not take them from someone else. I was led by the need to gain power and control.

I didn't lose my ability to listen to the small whispers in my heart...guiding me to my best potential...
the small whisper that told me to say no to the sexual abuse
the small whisper that told me to work hard and have goals
the small whisper that told me to reach out to you, Clare...on that First Day...when My heart broke open in Meeting

So, Clare...even though this feels like disease...it is more accurately labeled dis-ease...

Remember that all that we are experiencing is our psyche's adaptations and protections.
It all will be processed and re-examined in a different Light.

This will take time, don't try to move ahead into multiple stages of processing and healing.

Start with safety, healthy coping skills and finding self-worth.

The memories are coming, they will be there when we are ready to process them.
The first step to healing is awareness...and we are aware...

love,
Maggie

Clare Has a Personality Disorder

Oh my God!  I have a personality disorder.  I took your advice, little sister, and searched Complex PTSD.  I would say I scored about 100% on that list. (Not that I have every symptoms, but that all of my symptoms are accounted for...)  In fact I would say of the 9 of us siblings, we each scored a perfect mark.  I wonder how many perfect specimens we could find going back through the family, going forward into the younger generations, spreading laterally through extended family.  I bet there's lots of us, all just barely surviving.

I found a website called Out of the Fog.  The list of symptoms was written just for us.  We could be the poster family!  You mentioned that the first thing we need to do is find a safe place.

That hit home.  I never feel safe.  I am always waiting for something bad to happen.  I never feel like I belong or that I am wanted, and so I am always ready to go it alone.  Some of the other bits of advice - acknowledge what happened and know that it was not trivial.  I have moments of thinking that others had it worse than we did/do.  Maybe so, maybe not, but really who cares.  My goal should not be to settle for not being the worst.  Next, acknowledging the wounds and responding then making peace with self will take time.  And we need to identify what we lost and mourn.  We need support, and maybe therapy, and maybe pharmaceutical support.

So where should we start?  I think we have been and should continue identifying what happened, and perhaps consider it in terms of what we lost.  Then we mourn.  I had never considered mourning.  I fall more in the stoic Swede, suck it up camp.

You mentioned the Hmong, and said you wanted to gather your selves before you die.  Think of the rebirth...and you get to stick around and enjoy the second life!  How cool!

You mentioned the little girl rescued from the box.  She has not been delivered back to me. I think maybe I should sing to her.  If she comes back and if she can move, maybe the memories of what happened will stream back into my consciousness.

I wonder if I was sexually abused or if I heard it happen to my infant brothers.  I can't remember.  I do know that Dad had an excessively violent reaction to gay men.  It was like he was terrified of homosexuality or of gay people - we never knew, and I don't believe he has the capacity to tell us.  I think it's pure emotional response.  I don't know if all the abuse in that family was father/older brothers on younger, or if they attacked the girls too.  How closely do the generations mirror each other in these situations?

I know B#1 was violent with me from an early age.  I already mentioned being pushed down the stairs.  I also remember being hit over the head with a metal cap pistol and locked in a small storage closet for hours - so I couldn't tell on him.

Another memory -  I remember walking around base - probably the summer before you were born - leading Bs#1&2.  An officer saw us, recognized us, called Dad, who was furious at Mom for losing us - we were way across base.  But I always thought he was furious because he was humiliated.  He had the bad kids, and so I remember it was my fault, because I was the oldest, so I was going to have to "get the belt."  I can't remember if it happened or not.  My gut says yes.

I remember being around 4, and Mom used to grab my upper arm and swing me back into her hand that was swinging forward.  I used to try to put my other hand over my butt to protect myself.  She told me to stop that, because I could hurt her.  So I submitted willingly after that, because I didn't want to hurt my mommy.  I quoted that back to her once, years and years later.  I asked her how I could have hurt her.  She said she was going crazy at that time and was not surprised that she did not make any sense.  That was one of the years Dad was stationed away from the family, and it was before she learned to drive.

She didn't learn to drive until I was 7.  It was the year S#3 was born.  I remember, because Grammy would take her out to practice, and we all had to go along for the ride. Grammy had a baby blue early 60s Ford Falcon.  Even now when I see a Falcon, I feel warm and happy.  Isn't that silly?  And can you imagine having to learn to drive with 6 or 7 kids in the car?  But what sort of caught me when reminiscing, was that Mom didn't have a license.  She was fairly homebound during those years when she was having a baby every year.  Did she know what was happening to us?  How could she not know?  Am I still angry because she waited until we all left home before telling Dad she didn't like the way he treated us?  Should I be even angrier?  Or was Mom as naive as I can be sometimes?

Her side of the family tended to be more artistic/melancholy with a tendency toward alcoholism and cigarette addiction.  Only one of her sibs had a good marriage, although two had good second marriages - at least it looked good from the outside.  Who knows what was going on in the inside!

When I look back on our childhood, I see erratic rules.  I see total emotional chaos.  One day dad would come home and play with us, and be loving toward us, smile on us.  The next day, although we were doing the exact same thing, he would storm in and tell us how horrible we were, and berate us really digging at each one of us.  He knew how to hurt us.

And when we tried anything new - remember? - his first statement was that we weren't good enough.  He would tell us to not even try.  I remember B#1 went out for football in ninth grade.  He said something at the table, and Dad tore into him.  Our brother quit the next day.  I am fat, dumb and ugly and our brother is not an athlete - he could never play football.  Father Knows Best Delana style!

So what did we lose.  First question - what did we never get that we deserved?  We deserved to be adored.  We deserved to be applauded for all of the things we learned to do.  We deserved to be worth acknowledging as a miracle.  We lost out, and can never get it back.  If you compliment me today, I will immediately tell you why you are wrong...

OK, I need to go mow my lawn.  I have a large lawn.  And you are at a class.  So we will touch base later.  Enjoy class, learn lots to share with me. I love you!!  Thank you for being my sister/friend/companion!

Clare

CPTSD...it's us

Dear Halig Wynn,

No part of us died in the abuse...
we just hid our most sensitive, central parts...
we preserved them...
we disconnected...
to hopefully be able to find them and reunite at a later time...
a safer time...
the time is NOW...
that is the frozen, bloody form that you found...
remember, her eyes are open...the window to the soul are still open...
The time to reunite ourselves is now.

I read a book about the clash of the Hmong culture with the American culture...it was fascinating.
The Hmong believe that at death the soul revisits all of the past homes to gather the pieces it left behind...
I want to gather those before I die.
That's what this journey is about...reclaiming all of the bits and pieces of my soul that I left behind.
Your writing reminded me of the lyrics to one of my songs...
The Missing Piece/Peace...
"If the request is to abandon it all,
have I the courage to answer that call?
so afraid to give all that I know"...

you are right...
we were broken into pieces early in this lifetime...
I have to realize that "giving up all that I know" means leaving behind the beliefs, norms, practices of our illusional family...
I believed it was true and good...I truely bought into that notion...
but the family was broken...long ago...
despite that they did the best that they could within their brokenness...
and I do love them and accept that.

I am writing a paper for my trauma course...Human Trafficking...
it is an enormously difficult task for me to read and try to comprehend such suffering in the name of making money and providing "pleasure" to others.
In the midst of that struggle I came upon a diagnosis that I had never heard before...
it's not even in the official book of mental health diagnoses...
Complex Post Traumatic Stress disorder...
it is us...
it describes our family...
impaired emotional regulation-outbursts or flat affect,
substance abuse or self harm to control emotions,
amnesias and memory lapses,
dissociation (hiding part of ourseleves away),
guilt/shame/responsibility,
taking on the beliefs of the perpetrator,
poor interpersonal relationships-lack of trust and intimacy,
somatization- multiple medical problems,
despair, hopelessness, helplessness.
This list is in addition to the hypervigilance, re-living trauma through flashbacks and other PTSD symptoms.
I know that I need to heal and not diagnose, but this discovery is synchronicity at work.

(If you want to read about it in an journal article by Judith Herman; Complex PTSD: A Syndrome in Survivors of Prolonged and Repeated Trauma, Journal of Traumatic Stress, 5/3, 1992. or a more recent article by Christine Courtois; Complex trauma, Complex Reactions: Assessment and Treatment, Psychotherapy: Theory, Practice, Research, Training, 41/4, 2004.)

I can't remember that cousin M died...that is so weird. I read it and asked myself, do I have more than 2 cousin M's?

Who am I? I looked myself, in the eyes, this morning in the mirror, and I said,
"I love you, I forgive you, You are worthy"
I felt foolish and tried to avert my eyes...
but I forced myself to hold focus on my own eyes.
It was a good feeling after the initial discomfort faded away.

Once, several years ago at a retreat, I looked into the mirror and I saw warm, golden Light shining from my eyes, from the pupils...the Light was coming from within...even now I am deeply moved to tell you that story.
I am part of the collective, universal soul...that's who I truely am.

Maggie

Deep Roots

"I think the deepest root of the problem isn't a disconnect with each other, it's that we've disconnected from our own soul."   Thank you for this.

It is profound.  And difficult, most likely because it is true.  We have found ways to shatter each other, generation by generation, and to scatter the parts to the wind.  Sometimes I feel like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces.  Without the pieces, I don't quite make sense...I almost make sense though!!  Must be why I babble sometimes!

I don't think most people realize how splintered we each are.  And maybe that's why we're always looking for someone outside of us to complete us.  We want someone outside us to love us and prove we are of value.  We just know we are not whole...and the root of whole is the Old English halig, which  is the same word that has become healthy and holy.  Halig means intact, uninjured.  I don't think either of us, any of us, have ever been halig from the time we left Mom's body.  We entered a place that began the destruction almost immediately.  It was in the family, but it's such a part of our society.  When our cousin M died so young, I remember sobbing and thinking,  "He never had a chance."  I think that is true for all of us.

And I am not healthy.  I use food to commit slow motion suicide.  But I am healthy enough to survive.  I survived the abuse from our home of origin, the abuse I invited into my life via partnership with an alcoholic, and the abuse I inflict on myself with the words I use, the criticism I inflict, the fears I allow to control my life... I certainly don't see myself as holy!!  I am a bit more holey!!

This is the first time I have ever considered the abuse I inflict on myself.  How do I identify and stop it?  I would have to value myself too much.  Where do I find the seed of value...there's gotta be something worthwhile in me, because I only play at suicide, I see something of worth in me or in life that keeps me here, that gets me up every morning...emotions are rising in my chest...I'm onto something...Obviously I am in pain, but the pain does not outweigh the joys.  But I keep the joys away, hold them back with my big stick.  Then there are moments of such beauty, that I forget to hold my breath.  I breathe them in and remember how much I love this planet and the fleeting joys it offers.

How do we allow more joy?????????????????????  Joy is my youngest daughter's middle name because I love the word so very much.  I want it, and I want it to not be fleeting.  I want to exist in joy.  Can I stand that much pleasure?

Oh my gosh - I just checked the etymology of the word, and another Middle English version of the word is Wynn.  I named a road, once - Wynn Rd.  I must dive into this.  Obviously joy is more important to me than I ever suspected!

Have you ever seen this quote?  Your one line observation brought this quote to my mind.  The first time I read it, years ago, I almost could not catch my breath.  and deep inside, we know who we are, but we don't believe it...

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

-Marianne Williamson

I thought about this a lot.  I remember two very deep messages ingrained into my soul from our childhood.  First:  You damn kids, this is all your fault.  And second:  Fat, dumb and ugly.  That's all you are.

If I emerge, become what/who I truly am, I lose you all.  I will no longer be Dad's obedient daughter.  I will no longer be good, be what he expects of me.  This seems irrational as I write it, but the kid inside of me wants Daddy's love and approval.  Just once I want him to tell me I'm okay, I'm acceptable, I'm worth it.  But instead I remember, "When you're 18, you're out.  Don't you think I'm going to take care of you after that.  And don't you even think of bringing your kids here.  We are not going to be your babysitters."  And so I left.  And so I kept my children to myself.  And do you want to know a secret - part of my obedience to those proclamations is pure spite.  Because I know they miss us, and are sad that they don't see us and are not a part of our day-to-day life.  But abused children take their power where they will!

I am not that abused child anymore, although parts of me don't know that.  I think I also kept my kids to myself, didn't let them stay with Mom and Dad when they were little, without me there, because I knew that they were at risk of sexual abuse.  I wasn't consciously aware, but the Mama Tiger inside me knew.

About your letter to Mom.  You can not save her.  Your job is to take care of yourself, to save and heal yourself.  If talking to Mom helps you find lost Maggie, and find connections, then go for it.  If you are trying to force someone else to open and heal, don't do it.  Because, then you are right - it's a distraction.  Not remembering is like living in the eye of the storm, I think.  It seems safe, but it isn't.  But after years of torment, any calm is welcome. And as I keep bringing up, it is awful to walk through the pain.  It killed part of us to go though it the first time.  To purposely and willfully go through it again seems crazy.  What we find, though, is some of those lost selves, those poor damaged, lonely hurting, defenseless, hidden pieces of our soul.

You mentioned being held down by your shoulders.  The thought came, that if someone you trusted implicitly held you down by your shoulders, who would you scream at.  Whose name would proceed,  "Let me go!  How dare you!  Never touch me again!"  But the thought of that process makes me feel nauseous, so I don't know...

Question of the night:

Who do you think you are?  Who do you think you are?  Who do you think you are?


(I am Halig Wynn!)

Back to work

That is alot of thinking...

First I have to say that you have great insight.

The lack of empathy and connection to others really is a curse of our existence.
I remember when I was telling my wise friend about our family and she commented on the lack of connection between us. It was obvious to her from conversation.
I think the deepest root of the problem isn't a disconnect with each other, it's that we've disconnected from our own soul.
We (collective we) fail or refuse to acknowledge that at the universal level we are all still One Soul...
the Christ.
Incarnating into this body takes us away from that wholeness, by illusion.
We, as humans,through traumas and teachings create an even greater divide, one that we believe is real.
We fail to understand that we still abide in that wholeness.
Our ego wants us to believe that we are autonomous...
but we still deeply long to belong...
to return to that Christ Soul.
I crave divine intimacy...that's how it feels to me.
That's where I will fulfill that sense of belonging.

I didn't send my letter to Mom...I will explain.
While attempting to connect with her is a worthy endeavor, I realized that I was using it as a distraction.
Every time I get close to something really difficult I create a distraction.
For the past week I have been focusing on my reactions to her and not on me and my own healing...
it sounds selfish when I write it down.

I can't save Mom, or any of our siblings.
They are content in their repression...Sister #3 told me,"you make me uncomfortable with your memories. It took me a long time to come to peace with my lack of memory." So she is not at a place in her journey to remember. Neither is Mom. I need to love them in their fragmented state and put my Joan of Arc persona to work on saving the fragments of me that I am trying to avoid.

So, I need to focus back on the recollected stories, the dreams, the flashbacks and try to make sense of me.
I need to call out to the "boxed me" that was hidden away long ago, because she didn't fit into our family dynamics.
I need to continue to walk in the dark forest, even though it would be easier to take a side path out of the darkness.
I am just so thankful that you walk along beside me.

The flashback stirred something in me...
I have had a panic reaction, in the past, if I am held down at me shoulders...
I don't know about the shaking, but I definately had some previous experience being pinned down in that way.

I love you,
Maggie

Where Do WeStart?

I mowed the lawn yesterday, which is a great time to think.  As much as I hate the waste of gasoline, and the enforced conformance to neighbor's expectations, mindless walking in circles is almost hypnotic and meditative.  Plus being outside adds to the experience.  I was thinking about bipolar disorder and the tendency of such disorders to run in families.  I was thinking about similar physiologies and allergies and sensitivities and the influence of vitamin and mineral deficiencies..............

You said Mom says she doesn't remember much.  That is worrisome.  I have never heard her say that, but to me forgotten memories scream mental block of trauma.  I think lovingly inviting her to share, and expressing interest in who she is, is perfect.  My feeling is that she will respond positively.  She gets lost in grief and shame and regret and avoidance, but she does love us and she wants to be part of us.

I harp frequently on humane and inhumane, and how abuse destroys innate humanity, creating monsters.  Something that came to mind while I was mowing yesterday was that a healthy human being protects our young.  We defend our own offspring, but there is something magnificently altruistic, something so loving and accepting in humans that we will protect any young.  We protect baby turtles and baby squirrels.  We protect young humans.  It is simply a human/humane way to behave.

But if we are abused, if we become a thing, an object to someone, our humanity is compromised.  Some of us retreat into pain, and never live a full life.  Others fight back by denying the humanity of anyone else.  And so a child is just an object for pleasure.  When one has no humanity, one can recognize no humanity.  And the more children they use, the more and more children grow up seeing young children as fodder for their lust and the abuse multiplies exponentially.  More and more people need to escape from the pain of their own lost humanity.  But, understanding and compassion aside, they need to be stopped.  I believe in transparency.  If people who abuse, molest, rape children are outed, their actions made public, I think it would reignite our innate passions of being human.  People would react.

Another facet of what I think comes from reading and thinking about Dave Grossman's book, On Killing: The Psychological Cost of Learning to Kill in War and Society.  Historians researched war and found a small percentage of soldiers did most of the killing.  In general, a human will not kill our own kind.  The government found this information, and needed to create soldiers who would kill.  They created a series of psychological trainings that basically tricked men into killing.  It was first put into use in Vietnam.  This is why those vets are so lost, their souls are in such terrible pain.  They were betrayed.  Unfortunately, the same techniques are now part of most films and video games.  We are inadvertently brainwashing our kids at earlier and earlier ages.   This new way of identifying characters and reacting, casts other people as things.  We need this to survive.  Otherwise how could we stand the pain of knowing how many children we have bombed, how many have horrific birth defects because we use depleted uranium.  But as Madelaine Albright so humanely put it - we don't count collateral damage.  They  don't matter.

The same is true for sex.  Movies, video games, culture teach us that sex is just gratification.  There is no more understanding of how sex can be used to create deep connection between two people.  Threesomes, voyeurism, sex toys are common, we think because we are daring and experimental.  But it's really because we want others to see us as daring, and more importantly - because we want to avoid the intimacy of one on one intimacy and absolute vulnerability.  And colliding with this we have the conflicting message we are taught in every movie - two people have sex and now they live happily ever after.  That's how we know it is true love - we had sex.  That really clashes with the continued male stereotype of Alpha male screwing and impregnating as many women as possible, because he can.  Women don't know they're just a conquest, men don't know they have lost their humanity. Everyone just wants that momentary escape from the pain we all live in. And now we are in a culture that does not like children, does not respect mothering or parenting.  I read an article once that showed that when children are treated like children, dressed differently than adults, then childhood was valued.  When children are dressed like miniature adults, they are not valued as children.  We have Toddlers and Tiaras.  Parents are making their children into sex symbols at age 2.  There is something desperately wrong with us.  We forget that a pedophile believes that children want to be sexual.  They asked for it because they were being sexy.  This was the line fed to my friend as a young teen - she's 12, 13, 14 and sexy and so she wants it.  She's only sexy in the eyes of an adult who is afraid of a true relationship between equals, an egalitarian relationship requiring vulnerability and openness.  It's easier to declare a preteen a woman and shred her soul, destroy her life and protect ones self from the pain.

When I raged at my children, I was blindly reacting to the pain inside of me, blindly recreating what was done in our family.  We can't stop and think about it.  We can't use will ourselves to stop the pain.  We have to recognize the pain and walk back through it.  And that is scary.  Most of us fear that more than living in the half dead states we (barely) survive in.

I like your Quaker vision.  I think we need that - the idea of what the world could be like.  We can see where we are supposed to go.  The really hard part is figuring out how to get there from here.  I know the answer is baby steps, but what is the first step, and how do we assess if we are heading in the right direction?

Personal point - I had a flashback this weekend of someone holding my (?) shoulders, shaking my head around violently.  I couldn't tell if it happened to me or if I did it to someone.  I almost felt like I was going to pass out.

Creating a Culture of Respect

Clare,

I sent Mom a letter today...asking her to tell me about her life. I can not recall any stories about her family when she was growing up. She recently made a comment that she doesn't remember much. I want to know her, before she dies and I lose my opportunity. So I gathered up my courage and made the first step...simply ask a few questions. Now I wait.

I am writing a paper for my trauma course...the assignment is an in depth look at a specific type of trauma. I chose to research human trafficking...
I believe that I will narrow the focus to domestic minor sex trafficking...
the "run away and thrown away kids" in america.

I am overwhelmed with grief at the lack of respect for the miracle of life.
Throw away kids!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
How is it possible to ignore the beauty and energy that is your child?
How is it possible to exploit that in some one else's child?
Why are humans so calloused?
Why is OK for men to go to the Super bowl and pay for sex with a young girl or boy?
What basic animal instinct drives this? It is definately not higher level thinking?
Many writers call it an "abuse of power"...
The driving force for much of this is poverty on one end and greed on the other...money.
We can't forget the demand side of this...it is the "consumers" who are willing to pay for sex with young girls and boys that drive the whole machine...legally they are at the least risk as well.


How do we create a culture of respect in our world?
If each person just took one moment to recognize the divine spark that is at the core of each being the world would change.
There would be no abuse, no bullying, no exploitation, no intentional murder, rape, assault...
The Quakers say that there is "that of God within"...
from this simple belief all things fall into place...
equality...
we are all created in the image of the creator, we are each unique, but equally magnificent
peace...
we would open ourselves to hear what the other is saying...
there would be no "them and us"...
it would be we.
integrity...
there would be a safe place to say what you truely mean and mean it...
stand behind and live your words without fear of repercussions.
simplicity...
not having to acquire more and more in case there isn't enough for everyone.
Sorry this is turning into a sermon.

If our family had taken the time to really see who we were...our stories would be totally different. Too many families are blindly re-enacting what their parents did and what their grandparents did and on and on and on back through the generations.
That is what happened when we grew up...
I see it in myself and our siblings with poor marriages, alcohol and drug addictions, self destructive activities, repressed memories, mental health diseases.
And I see it in our children, neices and nephews.
How do we create a culture of respect in our own family?
Is it possible?

Maggie

Being Nice

Oh, love, I know this problem well.  My best friend from college - you know her well - and I have had a few really heartfelt talks about why we felt is was so important that we be nice...that people think we are nice.  If we are not nice, if we don't do as told/requested, then we are still the bad little girls we harbor inside.  Or we are bitches - we are controlled by names.

Not that I am good at saying no - if someone asks me, they must need me, they noticed me, they want me around - but what I learned, I learned from a wonderful older Quaker woman.  She was like velvet covered steel.  I was with her once when someone asked her to do something.  She smiled her warm, comfortable, welcoming smile and lovingly said,  "I can't do that right now."  She didn't explain.  She didn't apologize.  She simply considered, then refused.  And no one felt bad or embarrassed at all.  There are times when I have channeled my "inner-Sue."

I think the inability to say NO! is connected to my inability to ask for help.  Hearing NO! used to devastate me.  Now it unsettles me, and sometimes it makes me feel bad or sad or alone.  I guess the compassionate side of me doesn't want to devastate anyone who came to me to ask for help.

Two of my sons just popped in to help me with something.  I asked them for help, and they went out of their way for me.  "No problem, Mom, we don't mind."  And I felt so pathetically happy.  More of the same issue for us. 

We heard so much NO! from Dad.  Maybe we say yes just to not be him...

Back to work with me...

Integrity

Clare,

I am so sorry to hear about your weekend...
You are opening up to your kids...you are opening them up as well.
It can only be for good to emerge...
I will hold you all in the Light.

This is where I am at this morning;
Do you ever do things that you clearly don't want to do...just because you are asked to do it?

This past weekend I organized a baby shower...
sounds like a worthy endeavor...the issue is that I am not friends with the parents-to-be.
I teach their son in First Day School, but we exchange nothing but greetings and occasional reports of  what we attempted to teach during our Meeting.
I planned and implemented a successful baby shower...
plenty of food...
only one game (and we didn't embarass the mother-to-be during it)...
alot of presents
and a thorough clean up.
The whole process was uncomfortable for me...
secretly wishing I had never said yes to the mother-in-law's request back in December.

Why can't I say no?
It's a rather simple word...one syllable...easy to pronounce...
but damn near impossible for me to say.

When B#2 attempted suicide and S#3 and 5 decided he needed to come back east, closer to home (ironic because we don't have a "home")...
B#2's ex-wife suggested that I would be the best opportunity for him to recover.
I said yes...
even though I professionally knew he had a much better chance of recovery going into a rehab center...
I said yes...
I was ready to take a depressed, suicidal, alcoholic and one of my past-abuser/molesters into my home...
with my children.
I had serious reservations about it...
but I dutifully said yes.
Luckily, my wise and trusted friend questioned the sanity of that decision and assured me that it was not appropriate to accept B#2 and this situation into my house.
She uncovered the courage for me to say, "NO, I am sorry, but I cannot do this".

There is a part of me that only feels valuable if I am being of service to others.
Otherwise I am worthless...invisible...disposable.

Is that victim speaking?
Is that woman speaking?
Is that (ex) catholic speaking?

Why do I have difficulty just speaking the truth, my truth?
That's what integrity is all about...say what you mean and mean what you say.
So I lack integrity...wholeness.
I need to work on that...

I love you,
Maggie

What a Weekend...

God, what a weekend.  My eldest almost died in a freak accident.  The truck started backing while my child was only halfway in.  Good reflexes allowed her to pull into the fetal position and roll away. Her bent elbow was run over, and her head was missed by inches.  She has scabs in the pattern of tread on her arm.  And she is scared, and reevaluating life.

I am lost.  I want my kids to be loving and connected.  I want transparency.  I talked to two of them at length this weekend about the kind of family I want to be.  They seemed to understand being vulnerable, being available.  I talked to them about what is happening in their sibling's life, and encouraged them to be available and supportive.  I talked to all of them about this.

I don't know how to create this, but as the matriarch, I know it's my job to lead the way.  Mom and Dad never stood up for us.  And they never really reached out for us.  I think they waited for us to reach out for them.  I have adopted this - if you need me, I'll be there.  If you don't seem to need me, I won't intrude.  But this collides with my own innate need to be noticed.  Clash there, huh?  My kids need to be noticed as much as I do.

Actually things do seem to be getting more intimate in my family.  We all seem to be noticing each other more.  Maybe there's hope...

Still trying to call my child.  Still no answer.

I fell like I am all full of emotion, but all out of words...

Bystanders

During my internship at the elementary school this past year we taught about bullies, victims and bystanders.
It is amazingly difficult to watch aggresssion and violence play out right in front of you and have the courage to speak up.
This past year we taught the kids to stand with the victim and speak up. 
I wish someone had told us to stand up to the bully.

I have a sign in my house, "Because Nice Matters"...
When I tell my kids to stop picking on each other and they ask, why...I can point to that sign

We were never told to be nice to each other...
We were never protective of each other...
We still prefer to look the other way when someone is drowning...
And then say...isn't that a shame.

I pray that I will never be a bystander again.
Maggie

let me help you

I am so sorry...What can I do to help you?

We learned the lessons well from our parents and are passing them along to the next generation.
It is how we are programmed to live...one generation teaches the next...by words and actions.

Can you travel to them?
I know money is an issue...what if I paid the airfare?
Would your presence make a difference?
I believe it would...but what do you think?

They need to know that it is never too late to make things right;
to say you are sorry,
to teach compassion by showing compassion...

Our parents would have ignored the situation...
you know that hasn't worked...
It only makes us more isolated...
increases the feelings of guilt and dispair ...
makes us more likely to hurt others again.

Please let me help you to help them...
He is my godson.
Go out there and help them to sort it out.
I will hold all of you in the Light.

I love you...
Maggie

Shit Trek - the Next Generation

Strange tidbit...every time there is an eclipse, I get another piece of this, another slam of the shit this family has poured on us.  I like to read a specific astrologer each morning.  I don't base my day on his words, but I appreciate the awareness.  And ever time we have an eclipse, he promises something big. I always expect to win the lottery, but instead I get Grandma in my dreams and a deeper plunge into the slime.

Did you know there is an eclipse today?

There was a reported incident of domestic abuse in my family last night.  I have watched their relationship and seen this situation develop, and seen my part in its development.  My anger made it seem normal for a home to be full of anger.  Their situation seems to have gotten out of hand, though.  The abuse in their relationship is in the anger that is now dominating their lives.  The hitting reported may have a case of one person restraining the other.

They are both in pain, and hurting each other.  The violence is never okay.  It has to stop - before they have a chance to really get started.  They are both too valuable, too wonderful.  I have to do something.  We need to stop this here and now.  But what do I do? 

They need to come home.  They live too far away.  They have no family support.  Can I convince them to have faith and come back to us?

I have been trying to call.  No answer.  I will keep trying.  But no answer if a family tradition.

I'm drowning in the shit....Help!

Family dynamics...

 
Interesting question, very interesting.  Why did Pop obey, or cooperate, if he hated Grandma so much.  Maybe they really loved and respected each other, but were both afraid to be vulnerable.  Or maybe I am being a little romantic.  Maybe she had something to hold over his head.  Publicly, it is my impression, they were respected in the village.  They were very involved with the church, and so they had an image to protect.  But, good question!

I noticed I have a nervous laugh that I use to cover.  Then I noticed it in one of the little sisters, as well as our youngest brother.  I realized it was a family characteristic.  We laugh easily, but not authentically.

Okay, so what do I remember of our cousins...You are right.  I was always close to the sister.  She was about 4 years older than me, but there were so few girls in the family, that we made do.  I spent time with her from the time that I was about 10.  I went to their house for a week or two in the summer for three or four years.  I liked it because the parents treated me like I was special.  The kids liked it because Aunt H. behaved nicely in the presence of company,

 Mom told me once that Aunt H. both thought and hoped that had been adopted.  Her mother was so terribly abusive.  And we see the same old story, she got pregnant and married young to escape abuse, then created her own abusive family.  She dieted a lot, and I am under the impression that she screwed up her electrolytes by using one of those protein shake diets in the 70s.  That led to her death.  She was into getting her hair done, collecting pennies and wearing pearls.  And she was terribly abusive to her kids.  As soon as her daughter was old enough, the girl was responsible for all housecleaning.  Aunt H. cooked, and that was about it.  Her daughter did all the dishes and cleaned the kitchen, then cleaned everything else.  Once her mom found an unclean plate, got a belt, got her daughter out of bed, and stood there with the belt and made the girl wash every single dish in the house.  She was brutal.  The boys were not allowed in the house during the day.  She sent them out and let them know they were not welcome home until dinner. She did that at our house once, and the brothers were shocked and uncooperative.   After dinner, each of them had to tell her it was very good and thank her.  They were forced to go to bed while it was still light out, when the rest of the neighborhood kids were still outside playing - this was when they were older - into their early teens.  I think their mom just wanted them out of her hair.

I remember once, the oldest two kids and I talked late into the night about the cruelty in the family - pretty much all stories about their mom.  I understood, but I could not get them to understand how cruel they were to the twins. 

The oldest was good natured and sweet tempered, but he did order the younger boys around.  You could see that no one accepted any foolishness.  The twins were older than the last boy who was one year older than me.  But the youngest also ordered the twins around.

Suspecting what I suspect of father on son sexual abuse, I have a feeling that I understand the roots of the contempt the kids had for each other.  They were rude and mean to each other - worse than us!

But the girl, I don't know what to think.  I saw her father kiss her goodbye before going to work.  It shocked me, because it was so practiced, so marital.  My eyes almost popped out of my face.  After her dad left, she challenged me,  "Don't you ever kiss your dad?"  My response was,  "Not like that."  Rumor had it that she found young women for her dad to sleep with.  But that sounds too wild to be true.  The source may have been the neighbor girl who eventually married the  gay/bi (?) brother.  She was gay also.

But family rumor also has it that Uncle made a pass at S#4 and that B#3 was ready to go after him.  Threats were made.

They were so screwed up.  And the twins were developmentally delayed, but friendly, easy-going, just wanting desperately to please and to be liked.  But everyone in the family was constantly disgusted with them. Everyone was sharp and curt and cruel from the father down to their younger brother.

I know the boys played sexual games.  At what age?  I don't know.  But I used to think that the older cousins took advantage of the younger cousins at an elementary age, the younger being our brothers.  I don't remember my reasons for my suspicions, but I still think it happened. I think it happened in Lebanon, which may have triggered the abuse that started at the Gap. So B#4 probably didn't totally escape the family legacy, he was just older when hurt.  And they definitely interacted, sexually, during camping trips when all were just into their teens.

Their youngest brother did sexually attack our brother-in-law, absolutely freaking him out.  The wedding couple kicked the cousin  out of the wedding party - he was supposed to be an usher.  At the wedding, he said quietly to me,  "I don't know why they would not let me be in the wedding."  I commented that it was not good form to sexually assault the groom. He grinned, walked away, nothing more was ever said.

I think the only grandchild in that family was the daughter's daughter.  The twins may have had children, but they got as far away as possible and never came back.  I don't blame them.  But, I remember when the baby was born.  She was an infant, she was crying.  Her mom said, "I don't answer her  when she cries.  I pick her up when I want to.  And I don't feed her unless it's time.  I don't want her to think she is in charge." Oh, and I was shocked because she refused to give the infant a bottle.  She hated the sucking sound.  She fed her daughter formula out of a glass.  Talk about torture starting right at birth.  And Aunt H. was so proud of her granddaughter's advanced development - she could drink out of a glass at such a young age!

I didn't see them often, but I remember we were all at Mom's once.  The daughter was in the 8 - 10 year old range.  Everything was fine, when suddenly our cousin ordered her daughter into the bathroom.  We could hear her hitting her daughter.  Afterwards I quietly commented that she didn't do anything wrong.  Our cousin told me that I had good kids, so how would I know.  So we had poor Aunt H., terribly abused by her mother, victim forever, followed by her daughter who was also a seriously damaged victim.  Neither could see that they were as nauseatingly abusive as their mothers.

Something struck me, both with the spanking in the bathroom episode and with the rude, cruel way Dad treated Grammy's best friend who 'adopted' us after Grammy died.  When someone was bullying, the rest of us became silent.  We fold our hands politely and cast our eyes down.  After the abuse has stopped, we continue the conversation as if nothing happened.  It was such normal behavior, that it took me awhile to identify it.  Now I see it in myself sometimes, but also in the general public.  It is so hard to speak up and say Stop!  We all talk about that poor little girl and her nasty mama, but we are to blame too.  We didn't stand up for her.  Just like no one told me to stop when I was calling my younger siblings awful names.

One last thought...our cousin's funeral, after he died of ALS, was beautiful.  A letter he wrote to us was read, and it was like he was there.  He had planned the service, and it was so him.  It was touching and real.

Let's keep our tour of the family going...

I wonder, if Pop and Grandma didn't like each other, why did he even bother with the facade of being sober and a tea-totaller at that?
Why wouldn't he just say "I don't care what you think" and drink?
There must have been something there.

When you were talking earlier about Brother #4...
He told me that he too has a 'wall around his heart'...
he isn't unscarred, just better at supressing it.
He laughs alot...just like sister #3... and myself, especially when I am uncomfortable...
we hide behind the laughter, don't let it fool you.

The family that you eluded to has always frightened me...

The daughter always seemed to like you...accept you...but I don't remember her ever talking to me. I remember her wearing revealing outfits. Later, I remember how harsh she was on her own daughter and heard stories about her abusing her husband.

Their oldest...so big and dominating...he was his father's favorite...football player...race car driver...simple though...I don't remember much about him when I was little. I did see him, after he was diagnosed with ALS just waste away. I was in college and Med school. He was so appreciative of any kindness as he got weaker and weaker...laughed alot, even when he was too weak. I regret not going to his funeral.

The middle son...hung with our older brothers...very much like them...I have wondered if he was a part of the abuse episodes when we were camping. Then his marriage that was a facade for his homosexuality/bisexuality. He made a forceful sexual advance on Sister #3's fiance one night. I always wondered why we never heard about that incident again...

The twins...intellectually disabled...I wondered if they were born with disabilities or was it trauma/neglect. I remember they were weird, but were they dangerous or humiliating? I remember ALOT of butter on popcorn when they made it.

The parents...Dad's brother...charming... laughed alot... but I have heard that he had an interest in younger girls... I remember him once saying, "if I only had a wife like your mother".

Then our Aunt H....She got pregnant young...I think I calculated that she was about 16 and he was over 20...I may be way off on that... I got the impression that she didn't really like her own kids...she was fine with me...She died very early...she was a somatizer who doctor shopped...She dropped dead in her 60's with an abnormal potassium level...too many pills working against each other.

It's amazing how many unhappy people let their health deteriorate...
a slow suicide without the guilt or shame.

All of these memories are just impressions and vague recall. Please fill in the blanks.
Maggie