Last night I dreamed about trees all night long. Deciduous trees in full leaf growing out of the kitchen counter, growing from my bookcase shelves, growing out of my chakras.
What could this mean?
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Friday, June 29, 2012
It wasn't rhetorical
It wasn't a rhetorical question, and I already know the answer. I was feeling emotional and challenging myself. I was trying to feel the despair, or whatever emotion it is that I keep so controlled in my heart. And it was working. I was feeling for a little while last night.
I always go back to: only the two people in a marriage know what is going on. We can have impressions from the outside, but not much more. I think many women stay in hard relationships because they/we are afraid to be alone. It's the Irish philosophy -better the devil you know than the devil you don't know. Then of course there is the Catholic guilt of having promised to stay in the marriage forever. My ultimate rationale was that I did stay until death did us part. In our case, it was the death of the marriage rather than the participants. I remember, as I struggled with my decision, telling Spirit that I would rather be alone than in as much pain as the marriage was causing. I don't think that was a wise thing to say, now!
I remember an older woman friend whose husband raped their daughter. She divorced him and eventually became engaged to a man who was mean to her children. So she broke that off. There was never another relationship. She said if she had known that, she wouldn't have broken off with him. I would have - and I never would have looked back.
I understand the freeze reflexes. I think it stems from the impulse to save self vying with the sometimes physically violent conditioning we undergo that trains us to obedience. In my case, a man in his early 20 passed me on the street and grabbed at my crotch. I guess because I didn't scream, he came back and put his hand down my shirt and felt me up. He said he wanted to show me the shortcut to the store. I quoted Mom and said there was nothing shorter than a straight line. He kept cajoling...so I bit him. I really bit him. So he took his hand out of my shirt and walked away. So I continued walking to the store, got what Mom put on the list, went home and told Mom what happened.
Long day at work, and I'll be back at it agin tomorrow...must get away from this desk!
Have a wonderful weekend!!
I always go back to: only the two people in a marriage know what is going on. We can have impressions from the outside, but not much more. I think many women stay in hard relationships because they/we are afraid to be alone. It's the Irish philosophy -better the devil you know than the devil you don't know. Then of course there is the Catholic guilt of having promised to stay in the marriage forever. My ultimate rationale was that I did stay until death did us part. In our case, it was the death of the marriage rather than the participants. I remember, as I struggled with my decision, telling Spirit that I would rather be alone than in as much pain as the marriage was causing. I don't think that was a wise thing to say, now!
I remember an older woman friend whose husband raped their daughter. She divorced him and eventually became engaged to a man who was mean to her children. So she broke that off. There was never another relationship. She said if she had known that, she wouldn't have broken off with him. I would have - and I never would have looked back.
I understand the freeze reflexes. I think it stems from the impulse to save self vying with the sometimes physically violent conditioning we undergo that trains us to obedience. In my case, a man in his early 20 passed me on the street and grabbed at my crotch. I guess because I didn't scream, he came back and put his hand down my shirt and felt me up. He said he wanted to show me the shortcut to the store. I quoted Mom and said there was nothing shorter than a straight line. He kept cajoling...so I bit him. I really bit him. So he took his hand out of my shirt and walked away. So I continued walking to the store, got what Mom put on the list, went home and told Mom what happened.
Long day at work, and I'll be back at it agin tomorrow...must get away from this desk!
Have a wonderful weekend!!
A quick post
I hope that your question about finding someone who loves you no matter what wasn't rhetorical...
I have to answer that I have heard you say that you push anyone who is interested away.
How can someone love you if you won't let them see you and know you?
I hate to say it sister, but you will have to open yourself to the possibility of love and worthiness before it can happen.
When I was separated I asked Mom how she stayed married for so long...
she said she couldn't imagine not being married to Dad...
Really...a highly intelligent woman like her couldn't imagine an alternative?
Most people stay in difficult relationships because they somehow feel as if they deserve them...(not to mention being Catholic)
I can't possibly know what went on in their marriage...how much love and support there was...
I can imagine a different life though.
I can imagine one where we actually talk and listen to each other.
One where respect and kindness are the driving principles.
I am finished with my trauma course. It was a really good experience...
I felt as if all that I learned normalized my/our experiences.
I understand my thoughts and reactions better now, and can accept them as typical reactions that a person would have under the circumstances.
It's funny that you assume that I am going to be a counselor. I am trying to stay away from counseling. But you, and my wise friend both have said that I am a healer. Thank you for that.
I trust that I will end up doing what I am meant to do...I can trust that.
Ah yes the near abdustion- I was walking alone, in front of the community pool and a car pulled over. A middle aged man asked for directions. I gave him the directions that he asked for and he acted very confused. He kept asking questions, jumbling up the directions. He was trying to get me to get into his car. Our neighbor, the one between us and the little church, pulled up behind him and stayed there. He kept checking his rearview mirror and finally gave up and left. I believe she reported it to the police, but I never heard of it again.
It was scarey...but I didn't have the mindset to run away.
I stayed there, at the car, even though it felt dangerous.
I guess I don't have fight or flight reflexes...I have freeze reflexes.
I am off to a baseball game and then a play
...have a great evening,
Maggie
I have to answer that I have heard you say that you push anyone who is interested away.
How can someone love you if you won't let them see you and know you?
I hate to say it sister, but you will have to open yourself to the possibility of love and worthiness before it can happen.
When I was separated I asked Mom how she stayed married for so long...
she said she couldn't imagine not being married to Dad...
Really...a highly intelligent woman like her couldn't imagine an alternative?
Most people stay in difficult relationships because they somehow feel as if they deserve them...(not to mention being Catholic)
I can't possibly know what went on in their marriage...how much love and support there was...
I can imagine a different life though.
I can imagine one where we actually talk and listen to each other.
One where respect and kindness are the driving principles.
I am finished with my trauma course. It was a really good experience...
I felt as if all that I learned normalized my/our experiences.
I understand my thoughts and reactions better now, and can accept them as typical reactions that a person would have under the circumstances.
It's funny that you assume that I am going to be a counselor. I am trying to stay away from counseling. But you, and my wise friend both have said that I am a healer. Thank you for that.
I trust that I will end up doing what I am meant to do...I can trust that.
Ah yes the near abdustion- I was walking alone, in front of the community pool and a car pulled over. A middle aged man asked for directions. I gave him the directions that he asked for and he acted very confused. He kept asking questions, jumbling up the directions. He was trying to get me to get into his car. Our neighbor, the one between us and the little church, pulled up behind him and stayed there. He kept checking his rearview mirror and finally gave up and left. I believe she reported it to the police, but I never heard of it again.
It was scarey...but I didn't have the mindset to run away.
I stayed there, at the car, even though it felt dangerous.
I guess I don't have fight or flight reflexes...I have freeze reflexes.
I am off to a baseball game and then a play
...have a great evening,
Maggie
Thursday, June 28, 2012
I am here. You are not alone.
Being overwhelmed with emotion is a good thing. Let the emotions wave over you. Feel all of these things that have happened to you. It's the only way you get to have a weekend of tears! You are blessed. You have led such a rich life. I have not have had such intense experiences, because I did not go into medicine. I have lived a bit more vicariously, as a writer and reporter. I have a similar experience of being a sounding board for people who need to talk about their pain. I make people cry - I allow people to cry - I make it safe for people to cry. I think it's because we have been through enough, and acknowledged that we have been through it, to be both understanding and nonjudgmental. I know you are going to be a fabulous counselor. I met a Quaker man who is a healer and he found he was taking on the pain of the people he worked with. He learned to consciously let it all go every time he washed his hands. Maybe you could do a similar ritual. And you can tell me about it.
This energy comes to you because you are an incredibly compassionate healer. You are strong enough to handle it, and Spirit is seasoning you!
I did not know about the near-abduction. What were the circumstances? I was grabbed by a man on the street while walking to the store with B#4. I was 8 or 9. When the police thought they found him, and asked me to come i.d. him, Mom and Dad were busy, so we didn't go. Predators have a radar for kids who are not protected.
Ah, the baby stories...you delivered one of mine, and I remember you were crying and you said that if you cried like that every time, you were going to be a wreck! And my favorite birth story is your second delivery, where you cursed at me from the delivery table. And I wasn't even there!
I read through your list of experiences, tried to let it all rush past and get a feel for it, and I thought about all the pain we have experienced. And I know that feeling pain is part of being fully alive. But what came to my mind is that some pain is avoidable. When we are protected from that, we have the flexibility to withstand the unavoidable kind. Maybe the job we have taken on is having the ability to point at the avoidable kind and tell ourselves and our fellow humane beings to just stop and think. And stop it! Be there for each other, use kind words, support others so no one is so overwhelmed that they lash out at weaker beings, speak up for those who have no voice or who have lost their voice.
Still playing with images. The vision of my heart is that it was punched or punctured, and so there are flaps that need to be rejoined. I am trying to gold them back together, like the image of the Japanese bowl.
I saw all of the characteristic in Dad that you mentioned, but it felt like he was furious with the world, as opposed to depressed. To me, depression is heavy and quiet. But I suppose depression wears many faces. I listened to Taylor Swift's song Mean today. She pretty much nailed it, the behaviors, then asks "Why do you have to be so mean?" I imagined singing it to Dad. But she says someday she'll be living in a big ol' city, and all he's gonna be is mean. If living in a city is a symbol of success, why doesn't it work that way? I am living alone, and feeling alone. I work a lot but don't seem to get ahead. And Dad married someone who devotedly stuck by him, no matter what. There is someone lost inside of me asking why no one has ever seen that kind of value in me. Why not me? Am I really so damaged that I can't let anyone near, and yet people like Dad find someone who love them no matter what. It really breaks my heart...and I'm just getting it golded back together...but this isn't really breaking my heart. It's softening it! The tears are softening the hardened soil of my being so something new can blossom in me. (I hope....Oh god I hope this is leading me somewhere new. I can't live here in this pain anymore)
And now I feel like a self centered brat complaining about my life and my problems. Who am I to complain?
As you feel the pain of your experiences, feel my love. I am here. You are not alone.
This energy comes to you because you are an incredibly compassionate healer. You are strong enough to handle it, and Spirit is seasoning you!
I did not know about the near-abduction. What were the circumstances? I was grabbed by a man on the street while walking to the store with B#4. I was 8 or 9. When the police thought they found him, and asked me to come i.d. him, Mom and Dad were busy, so we didn't go. Predators have a radar for kids who are not protected.
Ah, the baby stories...you delivered one of mine, and I remember you were crying and you said that if you cried like that every time, you were going to be a wreck! And my favorite birth story is your second delivery, where you cursed at me from the delivery table. And I wasn't even there!
I read through your list of experiences, tried to let it all rush past and get a feel for it, and I thought about all the pain we have experienced. And I know that feeling pain is part of being fully alive. But what came to my mind is that some pain is avoidable. When we are protected from that, we have the flexibility to withstand the unavoidable kind. Maybe the job we have taken on is having the ability to point at the avoidable kind and tell ourselves and our fellow humane beings to just stop and think. And stop it! Be there for each other, use kind words, support others so no one is so overwhelmed that they lash out at weaker beings, speak up for those who have no voice or who have lost their voice.
Still playing with images. The vision of my heart is that it was punched or punctured, and so there are flaps that need to be rejoined. I am trying to gold them back together, like the image of the Japanese bowl.
I saw all of the characteristic in Dad that you mentioned, but it felt like he was furious with the world, as opposed to depressed. To me, depression is heavy and quiet. But I suppose depression wears many faces. I listened to Taylor Swift's song Mean today. She pretty much nailed it, the behaviors, then asks "Why do you have to be so mean?" I imagined singing it to Dad. But she says someday she'll be living in a big ol' city, and all he's gonna be is mean. If living in a city is a symbol of success, why doesn't it work that way? I am living alone, and feeling alone. I work a lot but don't seem to get ahead. And Dad married someone who devotedly stuck by him, no matter what. There is someone lost inside of me asking why no one has ever seen that kind of value in me. Why not me? Am I really so damaged that I can't let anyone near, and yet people like Dad find someone who love them no matter what. It really breaks my heart...and I'm just getting it golded back together...but this isn't really breaking my heart. It's softening it! The tears are softening the hardened soil of my being so something new can blossom in me. (I hope....Oh god I hope this is leading me somewhere new. I can't live here in this pain anymore)
And now I feel like a self centered brat complaining about my life and my problems. Who am I to complain?
As you feel the pain of your experiences, feel my love. I am here. You are not alone.
More questions for the Universe
Clare,
I guess I can accept that depression and CPTSD are an expected reaction to my life's events...I have trouble seeing it as a healthy survival type reaction instead of a weakness though. I feel as if, when I verbally own it, I have to explain myself and justify the cause...I'm still getting comfortable with all of this.
In reference to dad, I suppose his volatility was a manifestation of CPTSD as well...with depressive symptoms, and self-medication (alcohol). I just remember him wanting to be left alone alot of the time. If he was interrupted he was rude and mean. His name calling and prejudices were a way to make himself more powerful...rather than admitting that others were equal.
I have been thinking of all of the other "traumas" in my life...
A near abduction when I was in middle school...
Two incidents of men exposing themselves to me...
I told my son about the day my friends and I were swimming and rocking a floating dock. One of us fell in and was hit on the head by the dock and went under. After what seemed like forever she finally surfaced, seemingly OK, and we left. On the way home she stopped breathing...I did mouth to mouth as my friend drove to the hospital...she survived.
I have seen many things in the hospitals...
the death of a 13 year old on an ATV...and the hour of trying to resuscitate him, cracking his chest...doing everything you see on TV...only to hear the wailing of his family when we told them he was dead.
A group of college students caught in the woods by a sudden thunderstorm...struck by lightning...bodies brought in the back of a pick up truck...one dead, many injured.
A woman who "fileted" herself open, arms, legs, abdomen, to release the demons...
SIDS babies...still borns...cancer...suicide.
A schizophrenic prostitute with AIDS who had to be made to understand the danger of her actions...
The multiple personality student who triggered all of these memories for me.
People around me telling me, "get used to it, this is medicine."
No wonder I cry for animals...that is a safe place to release my emotions.
For years women have trusted me with their abuse stories...they tell me their tales of suffering and victimization...
I am blessed and cursed...
What is it about my life that attracts this energy? Or am I attracted to this energy?
I have also had incredible opportunity to experience life at its fullest...
Birth
death
joy and heartbreak...
personally and vicariously.
I have never felt closer to lifting the veil than when I was delivering a baby or helping a family allow their loved one to die...what a gift all of this is to me.
But why? After all of this experience...why?
How does it come together and make sense?
I have been shown many sides of humanity, what am I to do with all of this?
(Universe questions...don't feel obligated to answer)
My mind is too full to make sense right now...
until tomorrow,
Maggie
I guess I can accept that depression and CPTSD are an expected reaction to my life's events...I have trouble seeing it as a healthy survival type reaction instead of a weakness though. I feel as if, when I verbally own it, I have to explain myself and justify the cause...I'm still getting comfortable with all of this.
In reference to dad, I suppose his volatility was a manifestation of CPTSD as well...with depressive symptoms, and self-medication (alcohol). I just remember him wanting to be left alone alot of the time. If he was interrupted he was rude and mean. His name calling and prejudices were a way to make himself more powerful...rather than admitting that others were equal.
I have been thinking of all of the other "traumas" in my life...
A near abduction when I was in middle school...
Two incidents of men exposing themselves to me...
I told my son about the day my friends and I were swimming and rocking a floating dock. One of us fell in and was hit on the head by the dock and went under. After what seemed like forever she finally surfaced, seemingly OK, and we left. On the way home she stopped breathing...I did mouth to mouth as my friend drove to the hospital...she survived.
I have seen many things in the hospitals...
the death of a 13 year old on an ATV...and the hour of trying to resuscitate him, cracking his chest...doing everything you see on TV...only to hear the wailing of his family when we told them he was dead.
A group of college students caught in the woods by a sudden thunderstorm...struck by lightning...bodies brought in the back of a pick up truck...one dead, many injured.
A woman who "fileted" herself open, arms, legs, abdomen, to release the demons...
SIDS babies...still borns...cancer...suicide.
A schizophrenic prostitute with AIDS who had to be made to understand the danger of her actions...
The multiple personality student who triggered all of these memories for me.
People around me telling me, "get used to it, this is medicine."
No wonder I cry for animals...that is a safe place to release my emotions.
For years women have trusted me with their abuse stories...they tell me their tales of suffering and victimization...
I am blessed and cursed...
What is it about my life that attracts this energy? Or am I attracted to this energy?
I have also had incredible opportunity to experience life at its fullest...
Birth
death
joy and heartbreak...
personally and vicariously.
I have never felt closer to lifting the veil than when I was delivering a baby or helping a family allow their loved one to die...what a gift all of this is to me.
But why? After all of this experience...why?
How does it come together and make sense?
I have been shown many sides of humanity, what am I to do with all of this?
(Universe questions...don't feel obligated to answer)
My mind is too full to make sense right now...
until tomorrow,
Maggie
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
A Healthy Depresson
Hey Maggie,
Glad you found that moment of peace. Sometimes that is enough to get us through the day. Just like finding one compassionate person can be enough to get us through a lifetime...
You're right when you say our suffering isn't a contest. I am the one who needs to remember that. I have a habit of imagining others who are in more pain than I am, and so I minimalize my suffering.. There's something in my psyche that says if I don't have it the worst of all, then it's not my turn to be soothed and nurtured and noticed and fed. I always let someone else go first. I need to remember that what we went through was real, and it did affect who we are and our ability to get through each day today. I need to remember one of my key triggers is mom's voice telling me to be good, she will take care of me when she gets done taking care of the baby(s). I need to stop waiting to take care of me. Still, though, I am a bit clueless...
Rejection is painful, so painful that I don't take risks. Not being seen hurts, but it's bearable because it is so familiar. Being noticed, being celebrated, being the center of attention is almost as bad as rejection, probably because I have been so deeply filled with "I am not worthy." This is probably part of the reason I didn't want to go to graduation, I settled for not having a wedding, I hate surprise parties that are for me. I am enough is what I need to internalize. Because I am enough, and in fact sometimes I am too much, but that's okay too! There was a spark...will it catch and stay lit? Will I begin burning and yearning for me??
It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society. -Jiddu Krishnamurti
Glad you found that moment of peace. Sometimes that is enough to get us through the day. Just like finding one compassionate person can be enough to get us through a lifetime...
You're right when you say our suffering isn't a contest. I am the one who needs to remember that. I have a habit of imagining others who are in more pain than I am, and so I minimalize my suffering.. There's something in my psyche that says if I don't have it the worst of all, then it's not my turn to be soothed and nurtured and noticed and fed. I always let someone else go first. I need to remember that what we went through was real, and it did affect who we are and our ability to get through each day today. I need to remember one of my key triggers is mom's voice telling me to be good, she will take care of me when she gets done taking care of the baby(s). I need to stop waiting to take care of me. Still, though, I am a bit clueless...
Rejection is painful, so painful that I don't take risks. Not being seen hurts, but it's bearable because it is so familiar. Being noticed, being celebrated, being the center of attention is almost as bad as rejection, probably because I have been so deeply filled with "I am not worthy." This is probably part of the reason I didn't want to go to graduation, I settled for not having a wedding, I hate surprise parties that are for me. I am enough is what I need to internalize. Because I am enough, and in fact sometimes I am too much, but that's okay too! There was a spark...will it catch and stay lit? Will I begin burning and yearning for me??
It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society. -Jiddu Krishnamurti
I am enough
I have a routine to start my day...
I get up and let the dogs out
I do yoga
I meditate
I sit down here to write to you.
This morning, despite my screaming responsibilities, I was able to get to a deep silence and peace...
it was a surprise and it felt good.
But as soon as I noticed it, acknowledged it...I lost it...but there is a lingering calm.
I will mindfully notice joy today.
I keep telling my kids, "next week we will...."
but there really is no reason that I can't enjoy this day as well.
Thanks for the wake-up call.
It does take one person...or a series of people who come in and out of our lives...to affirm our worth...who say,"me too"...who just see us, really see us and accept us lovingly.
I didn't mean to imply that pain experiences should be a contest to see who has suffered the most. It was just my inner voice reminding me that I/we are not alone, even if I isolate myself.
Again I am thinking of communion/community.
It is so damned scarey to reach out to someone...
to expose yourself to their scrutiny, judgement and possible rejection...
but even more devastating for me is if they don't see me at all.
It is what I have known in my earliest years.
It is what I expect even now...when I have proven that to be wrong many times over.
I still don't trust that I am enough.
I sat with a mentor yesterday, she is in her late 70's or 80's, she directs the MSW program that I am in. We talked about what sparks our interest and how to translate those ideas into research.
I realized that we both comfortably shared areas of strength and weaknesses.
It was easy to say to her, I don't know about that, please tell me...and she did likewise.
I am enough.
The first Brene Brown talk I saw had a picture of a woman with "I am enough" written across her chest...that image has stayed with me for over a year...it is powerful.
Anyway, back to the mentor discussion...
she shared data on social workers with >70% having personal trauma histories...I acknowledged that...yes, I understand.
Then she shared that >25% have a mental health diagnosis...I froze...I couldn't acknowledge that...I couldn't show that card...not if I wanted to still be respected...
This morning I am saddened by my response...
I have nothing to hide...depression is not a weakness...it just is...
and the mania that I have experienced has been a gift of great creativity and joy...
I feel more when I am not depressed...even more emotions when I have had the creative mania...
it is a gift and I need to accept it and acknowledge it.
I actually said to my friend who was seeing Miss Saigon with me...I wonder if any of the BuiDoi are my siblings...interesting that you should have the same thought.
But there is so much of our father's life that we will never know.
When I think about how impenetrable I have made my walls...
I have difficulty imaging the fortress he has built around himself.
I know the outward signs...the mood swings...the volatile anger...and then his ability to be charming, when it suited him. I believe that he is bipolar/major depression and PTSD...
What would life had been like if he just sought help?
For that matter, what would our family look like if we all sought help?
Instead we suppress, ignore, carry on like good soldiers...all the while dying and crying inside.
Sorry, enough dark thoughts...I am seeking joy today.
I love you,
Maggie
P.S. I imagine the spiral staircase goes up and down...
I believe that we are meant to seek both inner enlightenment and belong to the world, simultaneously.
I get up and let the dogs out
I do yoga
I meditate
I sit down here to write to you.
This morning, despite my screaming responsibilities, I was able to get to a deep silence and peace...
it was a surprise and it felt good.
But as soon as I noticed it, acknowledged it...I lost it...but there is a lingering calm.
I will mindfully notice joy today.
I keep telling my kids, "next week we will...."
but there really is no reason that I can't enjoy this day as well.
Thanks for the wake-up call.
It does take one person...or a series of people who come in and out of our lives...to affirm our worth...who say,"me too"...who just see us, really see us and accept us lovingly.
I didn't mean to imply that pain experiences should be a contest to see who has suffered the most. It was just my inner voice reminding me that I/we are not alone, even if I isolate myself.
Again I am thinking of communion/community.
It is so damned scarey to reach out to someone...
to expose yourself to their scrutiny, judgement and possible rejection...
but even more devastating for me is if they don't see me at all.
It is what I have known in my earliest years.
It is what I expect even now...when I have proven that to be wrong many times over.
I still don't trust that I am enough.
I sat with a mentor yesterday, she is in her late 70's or 80's, she directs the MSW program that I am in. We talked about what sparks our interest and how to translate those ideas into research.
I realized that we both comfortably shared areas of strength and weaknesses.
It was easy to say to her, I don't know about that, please tell me...and she did likewise.
I am enough.
The first Brene Brown talk I saw had a picture of a woman with "I am enough" written across her chest...that image has stayed with me for over a year...it is powerful.
Anyway, back to the mentor discussion...
she shared data on social workers with >70% having personal trauma histories...I acknowledged that...yes, I understand.
Then she shared that >25% have a mental health diagnosis...I froze...I couldn't acknowledge that...I couldn't show that card...not if I wanted to still be respected...
This morning I am saddened by my response...
I have nothing to hide...depression is not a weakness...it just is...
and the mania that I have experienced has been a gift of great creativity and joy...
I feel more when I am not depressed...even more emotions when I have had the creative mania...
it is a gift and I need to accept it and acknowledge it.
I actually said to my friend who was seeing Miss Saigon with me...I wonder if any of the BuiDoi are my siblings...interesting that you should have the same thought.
But there is so much of our father's life that we will never know.
When I think about how impenetrable I have made my walls...
I have difficulty imaging the fortress he has built around himself.
I know the outward signs...the mood swings...the volatile anger...and then his ability to be charming, when it suited him. I believe that he is bipolar/major depression and PTSD...
What would life had been like if he just sought help?
For that matter, what would our family look like if we all sought help?
Instead we suppress, ignore, carry on like good soldiers...all the while dying and crying inside.
Sorry, enough dark thoughts...I am seeking joy today.
I love you,
Maggie
P.S. I imagine the spiral staircase goes up and down...
I believe that we are meant to seek both inner enlightenment and belong to the world, simultaneously.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
The Bossy One Speaks (as if that were something new!)
As the oldest, I have long been known as, and probably am, the bossy one. And as the bossy one, I want you to slow down and breathe. Just for 30 seconds. I want you to feel the joy of breathing in. I forget to do this, I forget to look for joy even though it is everywhere. We can't spend all of our time looking at the swamp, you know.
And time well spent is not time wasted!
You will make it through this week. I have had weeks just like it. But things are quiet here with children grown and mostly gone, and so I have the luxury of really missing those over-scheduled days and weeks.
I really appreciated your observation that when we step into the swamp, and pause there, we discover a whole other life community. Too often I expect, and find, darkness which makes me hyperventilate, like in the nightmare. I was also inspired to wonder, what happens if we dive into the swamp? What would we find down in the deep? I think I have to mend my broken heart before I take it diving into the slime.
I completely agree with your observation that to live is to survive pain. It's part of the game of life. That is the source of lessons. But if someone holds you and comforts you immediately, you develop empathy - learn how to reach out or speak up immediately. If that doesn't happen, if you are alone, you suffer until that first person who understands and listens shows up in your life. And I remain grateful for the grace of those who have shown up for me. I think they are the answer to one of your very first questions - who taught me resiliency. The answer is the people who acknowledged and validated me, and let me vent and let me cry.
I wonder if Buddha was truly alive before he opened his eyes to the world around him. Can isolation in a place where you know no pain, although it is happening all around you, really defined as being alive? Perhaps the awareness of the duality brought him to life. And perhaps enlightenment simply means actually being alive.
I didn't know the term Bui Doi, but I have wondered if we are related to any of them. How would we know? How would they know? And I have learned the stories of the indigenous children being taken from their families. I do know that we are not the only ones who have suffered, and that our suffering has not been the worst. But it doesn't matter who is the most damaged. It only matters that someone proves the swamp can be traversed. We can climb out and clean up and be joyful. And there will be pain, but we will have each other, so it won't be like suffering alone. We can be tender with each other so our hearts can not only heal, but grow.
I was shocked when you said the spiral staircase is going down. I thought I was going up. It was good to be reminded that we can go either way, as necessary!
I have been thinking about crying. I learned not to cry, not to show any vulnerability, both at home and at school. The new kid is always a target - I know from years of experience. If I failed to react, they left me alone. Being alone isn't great, but at least no one is hurting me. I started crying when I went to Al Anon. I cried for what I did, what I missed. I cried because Dad never understood what a great kid I was. His loss. Then I got involved with Reevaluation Counseling, where crying was a healthy release, and when I cried, my peer was simply present with me, acknowledging me. I learned to release. And now it is easier to cry. What I was thinking about is that in the past, feelings like I had last weekend overwhelmed me until I shut down. My depressions have always been silent, emotionless, facing a great void with no answers, no relief. Now I feel the pain, so it's not depression. Depression just is. It doesn't move, it doesn't change - it just is and I am dead in the center of it. Now I am active - actively feeling pain and sadness and frustration. Maybe answers will come soon...here's praying!
And again, take a second to feel joy. I will be waiting for the report! Lovingly waiting...
And time well spent is not time wasted!
You will make it through this week. I have had weeks just like it. But things are quiet here with children grown and mostly gone, and so I have the luxury of really missing those over-scheduled days and weeks.
I really appreciated your observation that when we step into the swamp, and pause there, we discover a whole other life community. Too often I expect, and find, darkness which makes me hyperventilate, like in the nightmare. I was also inspired to wonder, what happens if we dive into the swamp? What would we find down in the deep? I think I have to mend my broken heart before I take it diving into the slime.
I completely agree with your observation that to live is to survive pain. It's part of the game of life. That is the source of lessons. But if someone holds you and comforts you immediately, you develop empathy - learn how to reach out or speak up immediately. If that doesn't happen, if you are alone, you suffer until that first person who understands and listens shows up in your life. And I remain grateful for the grace of those who have shown up for me. I think they are the answer to one of your very first questions - who taught me resiliency. The answer is the people who acknowledged and validated me, and let me vent and let me cry.
I wonder if Buddha was truly alive before he opened his eyes to the world around him. Can isolation in a place where you know no pain, although it is happening all around you, really defined as being alive? Perhaps the awareness of the duality brought him to life. And perhaps enlightenment simply means actually being alive.
I didn't know the term Bui Doi, but I have wondered if we are related to any of them. How would we know? How would they know? And I have learned the stories of the indigenous children being taken from their families. I do know that we are not the only ones who have suffered, and that our suffering has not been the worst. But it doesn't matter who is the most damaged. It only matters that someone proves the swamp can be traversed. We can climb out and clean up and be joyful. And there will be pain, but we will have each other, so it won't be like suffering alone. We can be tender with each other so our hearts can not only heal, but grow.
I was shocked when you said the spiral staircase is going down. I thought I was going up. It was good to be reminded that we can go either way, as necessary!
I have been thinking about crying. I learned not to cry, not to show any vulnerability, both at home and at school. The new kid is always a target - I know from years of experience. If I failed to react, they left me alone. Being alone isn't great, but at least no one is hurting me. I started crying when I went to Al Anon. I cried for what I did, what I missed. I cried because Dad never understood what a great kid I was. His loss. Then I got involved with Reevaluation Counseling, where crying was a healthy release, and when I cried, my peer was simply present with me, acknowledging me. I learned to release. And now it is easier to cry. What I was thinking about is that in the past, feelings like I had last weekend overwhelmed me until I shut down. My depressions have always been silent, emotionless, facing a great void with no answers, no relief. Now I feel the pain, so it's not depression. Depression just is. It doesn't move, it doesn't change - it just is and I am dead in the center of it. Now I am active - actively feeling pain and sadness and frustration. Maybe answers will come soon...here's praying!
And again, take a second to feel joy. I will be waiting for the report! Lovingly waiting...
Wanted: one compassionate listener
Clare,
I have to say that I did not feel joy yesterday...
I am in a crunch week...
last week of class with a final on Thursday...
daughter #2's play is being performed this week...
the boys have baseball everyday...
worry about S#3's family...
daughter #1 returns this weekend...
I am judging a science fair...but really want to go to a Friend's Quaker wedding instead...
I am overwhelmed this week...
but I am hopeful that next week will be a new experience...so for now I am pushing forward...
I got a call from the Obama campaign yesterday asking me to volunteer...I actually said that I am overextended and can't commit to any more at this time...life is crazy...yeah me for finally saying no.
I am consumed in the busy-ness of my life.
I sat yesterday and watched several of the Brene Brown TED talks as well...
mad at myself for wasting 40 minutes...but it was worth it.
Vulnerability is pure courage.
Think about what it takes to put your foot into a murky swamp...
think about all of the things that might be there...unknown...unseen...unwelcome touches...
but if you take the first step...and then another...soon you see that you are surrounded by a community of animals and plants...with its own beauty and rhythm.
So we are wading, sometimes treading water, sometimes almost drowning in the swampland of our souls...
but there is pure courage in this...
pure intentional energy driving this...
the rest of our family is paralyzed
and we are swimming...
even if we get cramps and scratches and bumps along the way...
we are swimming and gaining strength.
This morning I was meditating on what I have learned about trauma.
There are two things that stand out to me as vital to understanding trauma...
First, trauma is universal. If you are alive you will experience trauma.
Second is that the key to surviving, understanding and developing resilience is simply one caring, compassionate, nonjudgmental human being who says...
me too... it wasn't your fault...tell me your story, when you are ready.
The first point...trauma is universal...everyone is hurt, many times throughout their lifetime.
I thought of the Buddha, he was sheltered in his palace from all sadness, death, dying, suffering...
he had a perfect life...he was protected...
and yet he still glimpsed suffering and had to explore it...to get to know it personally.
There truly is growth through suffering if we choose to look it in the face rather than hide behind our palace gates. Experiencing the pain and suffering of the world opened him to his spirituality, allowed him to fully discover and express his Buddha nature...to become fully human and alive.
So many people run and hide from their traumas and wounds...
making it impossible to fully realize their true nature and potential.
What we are doing?
Wading through the wounds, lancing the boils, draining the purulent memories,
is allowing us to move forward, towards the realization of ourself...
our true, whole, healthy, joyful self.
I wish I could have a weekend of tears...
I am so blocked that if I well up with tears it is amazing.
I have really cried only a handful of times in my life and each time has been incredibly cleansing for my soul.
Daughter #2 is in the show Miss Saigon right now...she plays a prostitute.
The second act of the show begins with a powerful, all male, multiple layered harmonic song about Bui Doi...the dust of life. The children of Viet Nam who were fathered by American GI's and left behind.
During the song they show pictures of these children in orphanages, left there by their mothers who would be stigmatized by having a Bui Doi child.
My heart cried for those images...
they are in their 30's now...I wonder what their lives are like now...
growing up rejected...not belonging anywhere...rarely touched...probably abused...
no better than the dust of life...did they find one compassionate person to listen to their story?
I have read about the boarding schools that Native American children were mandated to attend in the late 1800 - mid 1900s...taken away from their families by force...beaten if they spoke their native language...physically and sexually abused by their keepers...all in the hopes of wiping out the Native American culture.
There are so many examples of horrendous abuse in the name of teaching lessons and maintaining status quo.
It is heartbreaking.
What we experienced was terrible, but unfortunately we are one of many...too many.
So what do we do?
How do we break the cycle of abuse?
Can one individual do anything to make a difference in this abuse?
I hate to say this, but one individual did make a difference recently...Sandusky and all of his pedophilic crimes has brought this to the forefront of society's conscience...will attitudes change or will the disgusting images just fade away to make life once again more comfortable?
You and I are telling our story...we are each other's compassionate, listening person...
We are vulnerable to each other.
Even in this forum disclosure takes courage and is uncomfortable. We can support each other until we find the strength to be vulnerable outside of this forum. And then I hope we still support each other along the remainder of our journeys here.
I feel as if I am getting stronger and more alive everyday. It is a process, a spiraling staircase that goes deeper and deeper, but offers new perspectives...
I have a friend who was so full of life and now is drained of energy.
I saw S#3 this weekend...drained of her energy.
I am so saddened by this.
Off to study more trauma...I hate to wish time away, but I can't wait for next week!
I love you,
Maggie
I have to say that I did not feel joy yesterday...
I am in a crunch week...
last week of class with a final on Thursday...
daughter #2's play is being performed this week...
the boys have baseball everyday...
worry about S#3's family...
daughter #1 returns this weekend...
I am judging a science fair...but really want to go to a Friend's Quaker wedding instead...
I am overwhelmed this week...
but I am hopeful that next week will be a new experience...so for now I am pushing forward...
I got a call from the Obama campaign yesterday asking me to volunteer...I actually said that I am overextended and can't commit to any more at this time...life is crazy...yeah me for finally saying no.
I am consumed in the busy-ness of my life.
I sat yesterday and watched several of the Brene Brown TED talks as well...
mad at myself for wasting 40 minutes...but it was worth it.
Vulnerability is pure courage.
Think about what it takes to put your foot into a murky swamp...
think about all of the things that might be there...unknown...unseen...unwelcome touches...
but if you take the first step...and then another...soon you see that you are surrounded by a community of animals and plants...with its own beauty and rhythm.
So we are wading, sometimes treading water, sometimes almost drowning in the swampland of our souls...
but there is pure courage in this...
pure intentional energy driving this...
the rest of our family is paralyzed
and we are swimming...
even if we get cramps and scratches and bumps along the way...
we are swimming and gaining strength.
This morning I was meditating on what I have learned about trauma.
There are two things that stand out to me as vital to understanding trauma...
First, trauma is universal. If you are alive you will experience trauma.
Second is that the key to surviving, understanding and developing resilience is simply one caring, compassionate, nonjudgmental human being who says...
me too... it wasn't your fault...tell me your story, when you are ready.
The first point...trauma is universal...everyone is hurt, many times throughout their lifetime.
I thought of the Buddha, he was sheltered in his palace from all sadness, death, dying, suffering...
he had a perfect life...he was protected...
and yet he still glimpsed suffering and had to explore it...to get to know it personally.
There truly is growth through suffering if we choose to look it in the face rather than hide behind our palace gates. Experiencing the pain and suffering of the world opened him to his spirituality, allowed him to fully discover and express his Buddha nature...to become fully human and alive.
So many people run and hide from their traumas and wounds...
making it impossible to fully realize their true nature and potential.
What we are doing?
Wading through the wounds, lancing the boils, draining the purulent memories,
is allowing us to move forward, towards the realization of ourself...
our true, whole, healthy, joyful self.
I wish I could have a weekend of tears...
I am so blocked that if I well up with tears it is amazing.
I have really cried only a handful of times in my life and each time has been incredibly cleansing for my soul.
Daughter #2 is in the show Miss Saigon right now...she plays a prostitute.
The second act of the show begins with a powerful, all male, multiple layered harmonic song about Bui Doi...the dust of life. The children of Viet Nam who were fathered by American GI's and left behind.
During the song they show pictures of these children in orphanages, left there by their mothers who would be stigmatized by having a Bui Doi child.
My heart cried for those images...
they are in their 30's now...I wonder what their lives are like now...
growing up rejected...not belonging anywhere...rarely touched...probably abused...
no better than the dust of life...did they find one compassionate person to listen to their story?
I have read about the boarding schools that Native American children were mandated to attend in the late 1800 - mid 1900s...taken away from their families by force...beaten if they spoke their native language...physically and sexually abused by their keepers...all in the hopes of wiping out the Native American culture.
There are so many examples of horrendous abuse in the name of teaching lessons and maintaining status quo.
It is heartbreaking.
What we experienced was terrible, but unfortunately we are one of many...too many.
So what do we do?
How do we break the cycle of abuse?
Can one individual do anything to make a difference in this abuse?
I hate to say this, but one individual did make a difference recently...Sandusky and all of his pedophilic crimes has brought this to the forefront of society's conscience...will attitudes change or will the disgusting images just fade away to make life once again more comfortable?
You and I are telling our story...we are each other's compassionate, listening person...
We are vulnerable to each other.
Even in this forum disclosure takes courage and is uncomfortable. We can support each other until we find the strength to be vulnerable outside of this forum. And then I hope we still support each other along the remainder of our journeys here.
I feel as if I am getting stronger and more alive everyday. It is a process, a spiraling staircase that goes deeper and deeper, but offers new perspectives...
I have a friend who was so full of life and now is drained of energy.
I saw S#3 this weekend...drained of her energy.
I am so saddened by this.
Off to study more trauma...I hate to wish time away, but I can't wait for next week!
I love you,
Maggie
Monday, June 25, 2012
Selective Vulnerability
From Wikipedia: Vulnerability refers to the inability to withstand the effects of a hostile environment.
From Merriam-Webster: the quality or state of having little resistance to some outside agent <vulnerability to infection>
From your post via Wikipedia: Pain motivates the individual to withdraw from damaging situations, to protect a damaged body part while it heals, and to avoid similar experiences in the future.
I had a bad weekend. I cried a lot, thinking that life should not be this hard. I should be able to make progress. I should be seeing signs of progress. But no matter how hard I work, nothing seems to change. It made me so sad, and so overwhelmed with life.
So, because you reminded me, I watched the two Brene Brown lectures on TED, and I took notes! I wanted to be able to think straight about the language we are exploring and using.
She is redefining vulnerability. I am in awe of the power of language. I love uncovering the true roots and meanings of words. Vulnerable comes from the Latin - to wound. The protoype of the word wound, wen, has also morphed into wean, and win.
According to Brene, vulnerability is not weakness. It is pure courage. It is the most accurate measurement of courage. It is also the birthplace of shame, the always present awareness that I am not good enough.
What comes to mind is the question - when are we most vulnerable? The obvious answer is when we are infants. If we are neglected as infants, we learn that we are not worth mothering. We are not worth anyone's time or attention. We are a bother, a burden, a load to be dragged around until we can legally be dumped and kicked out. That is bad enough. But what happens to the infant who is physically or sexually abused? What happens when we feel pain at the hands of our beloved, God-like parents, the source of our life, our sustenance, the air that we breathe? No matter what quality of care we get, if we are kept alive, we accept it as enough. So what happens the first time we feel the shock of physical abuse in or on our tiny bodies. The shock has to be soul shattering and heart breaking. How can we possibly ever let down our guard again? Other pains come and go, reinforcing that initial betrayal. But how can we judge what is normal and what is not? We lost before the game even began. I think that initial pain defines us, unless we find a way to tease it out of infant memory. Is that possible? And if the pain provides time and space for us to protect a wounded body part until it heals, how can we heal what we can't quite identify. So the pain stays with us forever. It does define us. Perhaps the earliness of the initial pain is what makes our PTSD so Complex!
According to Brene, Shame is the gremlin..."You're not good enough." If we were good enough, we would have been protected, not abused. Logical Clare can explain around this, but Emotional Clare can't get past this.
Before Brene, before family suicide attempts, I was working with the issues of transparency and vulnerability. I think they are closely tied. I finally decided that vulnerability was having an open heart chakra - open to love and be loved, and to being transparent. It takes a great fearlessness to open the heart. I didn't realize how broken hearted I was/am, though. That makes this work a little more difficult. I was thinking - duct tape, but then I saw a Japanese bowl that cracked, and the cracks were filled with gold, making it even more beautiful because of what it survived. I think I will meditate on this for a few days. And I am playing with idea of selective vulnerability - can't wander around with heart flapping open all the time, can we?
Brene says shame is I am bad, as opposed to I did something bad, guilt. Shame has led me to do bad things, but apologizing and forgiveness changes that. She says the antidote to shame is empathy. I listen, accept and say, "Me, too." And I know she is right, because healing began at my first Al Anon meeting where I heard people tell my story - Me, too, you're not alone...it was such a relief to learn that I am not a monster...So why do I always feel so alone? Why do I isolate myself? Do I really need to explore this in such depth? What will it take to kick me out of this "swampland of the soul"? (Brene's words)
The other sentence that hit me once again from the Shame lectures - we don't numb pain. We numb vulnerability. Analyze that one, please!
And finally Shame needs three things to survive. It needs secrecy, silence and judgment. We are standing here, together, hand-in-hand, hearts glowing with true love for family and for each other saying I will not be silent, and we will not keep toxic secrets any more. I need to work on judgment, though, especially of self.
So, little sister, what brought you joy today? For what are you grateful today?
I went outside after an early morning rain, with the sun sparkling on the grass, and I felt such joy in this planet. We live in a such a gloriously beautiful place.
And I am grateful that I am still in such pain, because it means I can feel. I am alive. I am here.
And I love you...remember that!!
PS - upon rereading your post. I don't want to pick scabs. I want to lance the boils and let the pus drain from my soul! Then I want to see shiny, new, healthy scars.
From Merriam-Webster: the quality or state of having little resistance to some outside agent <vulnerability to infection>
Synonyms defenselessness, weakness
From your post via Wikipedia: Pain motivates the individual to withdraw from damaging situations, to protect a damaged body part while it heals, and to avoid similar experiences in the future.
I had a bad weekend. I cried a lot, thinking that life should not be this hard. I should be able to make progress. I should be seeing signs of progress. But no matter how hard I work, nothing seems to change. It made me so sad, and so overwhelmed with life.
So, because you reminded me, I watched the two Brene Brown lectures on TED, and I took notes! I wanted to be able to think straight about the language we are exploring and using.
She is redefining vulnerability. I am in awe of the power of language. I love uncovering the true roots and meanings of words. Vulnerable comes from the Latin - to wound. The protoype of the word wound, wen, has also morphed into wean, and win.
According to Brene, vulnerability is not weakness. It is pure courage. It is the most accurate measurement of courage. It is also the birthplace of shame, the always present awareness that I am not good enough.
What comes to mind is the question - when are we most vulnerable? The obvious answer is when we are infants. If we are neglected as infants, we learn that we are not worth mothering. We are not worth anyone's time or attention. We are a bother, a burden, a load to be dragged around until we can legally be dumped and kicked out. That is bad enough. But what happens to the infant who is physically or sexually abused? What happens when we feel pain at the hands of our beloved, God-like parents, the source of our life, our sustenance, the air that we breathe? No matter what quality of care we get, if we are kept alive, we accept it as enough. So what happens the first time we feel the shock of physical abuse in or on our tiny bodies. The shock has to be soul shattering and heart breaking. How can we possibly ever let down our guard again? Other pains come and go, reinforcing that initial betrayal. But how can we judge what is normal and what is not? We lost before the game even began. I think that initial pain defines us, unless we find a way to tease it out of infant memory. Is that possible? And if the pain provides time and space for us to protect a wounded body part until it heals, how can we heal what we can't quite identify. So the pain stays with us forever. It does define us. Perhaps the earliness of the initial pain is what makes our PTSD so Complex!
According to Brene, Shame is the gremlin..."You're not good enough." If we were good enough, we would have been protected, not abused. Logical Clare can explain around this, but Emotional Clare can't get past this.
Before Brene, before family suicide attempts, I was working with the issues of transparency and vulnerability. I think they are closely tied. I finally decided that vulnerability was having an open heart chakra - open to love and be loved, and to being transparent. It takes a great fearlessness to open the heart. I didn't realize how broken hearted I was/am, though. That makes this work a little more difficult. I was thinking - duct tape, but then I saw a Japanese bowl that cracked, and the cracks were filled with gold, making it even more beautiful because of what it survived. I think I will meditate on this for a few days. And I am playing with idea of selective vulnerability - can't wander around with heart flapping open all the time, can we?
Brene says shame is I am bad, as opposed to I did something bad, guilt. Shame has led me to do bad things, but apologizing and forgiveness changes that. She says the antidote to shame is empathy. I listen, accept and say, "Me, too." And I know she is right, because healing began at my first Al Anon meeting where I heard people tell my story - Me, too, you're not alone...it was such a relief to learn that I am not a monster...So why do I always feel so alone? Why do I isolate myself? Do I really need to explore this in such depth? What will it take to kick me out of this "swampland of the soul"? (Brene's words)
The other sentence that hit me once again from the Shame lectures - we don't numb pain. We numb vulnerability. Analyze that one, please!
And finally Shame needs three things to survive. It needs secrecy, silence and judgment. We are standing here, together, hand-in-hand, hearts glowing with true love for family and for each other saying I will not be silent, and we will not keep toxic secrets any more. I need to work on judgment, though, especially of self.
So, little sister, what brought you joy today? For what are you grateful today?
I went outside after an early morning rain, with the sun sparkling on the grass, and I felt such joy in this planet. We live in a such a gloriously beautiful place.
And I am grateful that I am still in such pain, because it means I can feel. I am alive. I am here.
And I love you...remember that!!
PS - upon rereading your post. I don't want to pick scabs. I want to lance the boils and let the pus drain from my soul! Then I want to see shiny, new, healthy scars.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
pain and shame
What is there besides pain?
What an incredibly sad question.
What an incredibly thought provoking question.
What is the nature of pain?
From Wikipedia..."Pain is an unpleasant sensory and emotional experience associated with actual or potential tissue damage, or described in terms of such damage...
Pain motivates the individual to withdraw from damaging situations, to protect a damaged body part while it heals, and to avoid similar experiences in the future."
Nonphysical pain is called psychalgia...caused by harm or threat to social connection; bereavement, embarrassment, shame and hurt feelings are subtypes of social pain.
So pain is protective, instinctual, natural...a part of being alive.
What is about this history of abuse that still, 40 years later, binds us with physical and nonphysical pain?
It probably has something to do with the hyperarousal and hypervigilance of PTSD...never allowing us to be taken by surprise again.
It probably has to do with festering wounds.
I have to say that my goal of this healing is to heal those wounds, not continue to pick at the scabs.
I will find the place in my soul and psyche that allow me to release all of this...
not forget it, but forgive it and move on...with integrity and shalom.
I imagine that my life will still have pain in it...I am not naive...
but the pain will be appropriate and temporary.
It will be intermingled with joy and contentment....
and also with disappointments and tragedies.
I will be open to experience love and trust in that love.
And the shame will be gone...
that word shame is intertwined throughout our writing...
the history and experience of child abuse is steeped in shame...
What a simple word for such a complicated experience.
I need to watch the Brene Brown you tube on shame again...see if I can glean some insight or inspiration from that...
I know that I am healing, and feel as if you are too from your words...
I sense that we are nearing wholeness and comprehension of this lifelong quest to escape the effects/affects of childhood sexual and other abuses.
I am once again circling around the topic of shame...
from a different vantage point...
any insight from your perspective.
I love you,
Maggie
What an incredibly sad question.
What an incredibly thought provoking question.
What is the nature of pain?
From Wikipedia..."Pain is an unpleasant sensory and emotional experience associated with actual or potential tissue damage, or described in terms of such damage...
Pain motivates the individual to withdraw from damaging situations, to protect a damaged body part while it heals, and to avoid similar experiences in the future."
Nonphysical pain is called psychalgia...caused by harm or threat to social connection; bereavement, embarrassment, shame and hurt feelings are subtypes of social pain.
So pain is protective, instinctual, natural...a part of being alive.
What is about this history of abuse that still, 40 years later, binds us with physical and nonphysical pain?
It probably has something to do with the hyperarousal and hypervigilance of PTSD...never allowing us to be taken by surprise again.
It probably has to do with festering wounds.
I have to say that my goal of this healing is to heal those wounds, not continue to pick at the scabs.
I will find the place in my soul and psyche that allow me to release all of this...
not forget it, but forgive it and move on...with integrity and shalom.
I imagine that my life will still have pain in it...I am not naive...
but the pain will be appropriate and temporary.
It will be intermingled with joy and contentment....
and also with disappointments and tragedies.
I will be open to experience love and trust in that love.
And the shame will be gone...
that word shame is intertwined throughout our writing...
the history and experience of child abuse is steeped in shame...
What a simple word for such a complicated experience.
I need to watch the Brene Brown you tube on shame again...see if I can glean some insight or inspiration from that...
I know that I am healing, and feel as if you are too from your words...
I sense that we are nearing wholeness and comprehension of this lifelong quest to escape the effects/affects of childhood sexual and other abuses.
I am once again circling around the topic of shame...
from a different vantage point...
any insight from your perspective.
I love you,
Maggie
Saturday, June 23, 2012
CommaCommaCommaChameleon
Just for fun, I tried to identify the Faduly Wynn Wings...wyngs?...and they seem to be a Comma Butterfly. Very odd coincidence for a writer to have punctuation marks on her wings. How close is irony to coincidence? Sometimes it seems like the universe is pulling our leg!
Horses are freedom and fleeing. And I have heard that dreams of flying are classic escape fantasies of abused children. Want to know how I flew? I would start taking longer and longer steps, adding a bit of bounce to each one until each step sent me soaring. I saw this displayed in the film Hidden Tiger Crouching Dragon, and started crying. I suddenly knew I wasn't alone! There are others like me.
And I could astral project. When we lived in F-burg, I could relax and escape my body and I would bounce around on the ceiling. It's nice to get out once in awhile!
The TMI comment was supposed to be funny. Got lost in over-explanation, I guess.
You asked why we hurt each other. Because we have been hurt and we want to lash out to release the pain, or to no longer be the low man on the totem pole. I just read about the Penn State/Sandusky child abuse trial. The article said that child abusers are imprisoned separately because of the violence that occurs from the other prisoners. I was quiet for a moment, and then it hit me. Most of the people in prison were probably abused as children, and want to strike out and hurt an abuser. So, we damage children, then punish them to feed the system.
We hurt each other because our own pain is so real, that it outweighs everything else. Only my pain is real. In trying to conquer, I lash out and have no idea I am causing pain, because only my pain is real. And only my pain makes me real. What else is there, besides pain?
We are so screwed.....
Horses are freedom and fleeing. And I have heard that dreams of flying are classic escape fantasies of abused children. Want to know how I flew? I would start taking longer and longer steps, adding a bit of bounce to each one until each step sent me soaring. I saw this displayed in the film Hidden Tiger Crouching Dragon, and started crying. I suddenly knew I wasn't alone! There are others like me.
And I could astral project. When we lived in F-burg, I could relax and escape my body and I would bounce around on the ceiling. It's nice to get out once in awhile!
The TMI comment was supposed to be funny. Got lost in over-explanation, I guess.
You asked why we hurt each other. Because we have been hurt and we want to lash out to release the pain, or to no longer be the low man on the totem pole. I just read about the Penn State/Sandusky child abuse trial. The article said that child abusers are imprisoned separately because of the violence that occurs from the other prisoners. I was quiet for a moment, and then it hit me. Most of the people in prison were probably abused as children, and want to strike out and hurt an abuser. So, we damage children, then punish them to feed the system.
We hurt each other because our own pain is so real, that it outweighs everything else. Only my pain is real. In trying to conquer, I lash out and have no idea I am causing pain, because only my pain is real. And only my pain makes me real. What else is there, besides pain?
We are so screwed.....
Quick post
I didn't think there was anything TMI in this discussion...
I love that ugly is flying with great wings and hopefully joy...Maybe we can call them Wynn Faduly.
I love that the frozen child-like form is free and a fairy.
When I was little, I used to have incredible daydreams...
I remember beginning to have them at the Gap...very early memories.
I dreamed that I was escaping on a horse and there was always a baby...I imagined that a horse and a baby would allow me to be free...
Funny how I have 4 of each now...a little insurance never hurts.
I also daydreamed of flying...I would run as fast as my legs would carry me and then just magically lift off...I remember it felt so real...it was my secret that I could fly.
Now I see that those daydreams may have been dissociation...leaving the body for periods of time to escape pain...I don't care what it is called I loved those daydreams.
I was telling my wise friend about the chicken slaughter race...
the contest to see who's ran the furthest decapitated...
she laughed heartily and said, "what a great allegory for your family, running through life without your heads attached."
Sorry I have a houseful of visitors...I can't concentrate...
I love you,
Maggie
I love that ugly is flying with great wings and hopefully joy...Maybe we can call them Wynn Faduly.
I love that the frozen child-like form is free and a fairy.
When I was little, I used to have incredible daydreams...
I remember beginning to have them at the Gap...very early memories.
I dreamed that I was escaping on a horse and there was always a baby...I imagined that a horse and a baby would allow me to be free...
Funny how I have 4 of each now...a little insurance never hurts.
I also daydreamed of flying...I would run as fast as my legs would carry me and then just magically lift off...I remember it felt so real...it was my secret that I could fly.
Now I see that those daydreams may have been dissociation...leaving the body for periods of time to escape pain...I don't care what it is called I loved those daydreams.
I was telling my wise friend about the chicken slaughter race...
the contest to see who's ran the furthest decapitated...
she laughed heartily and said, "what a great allegory for your family, running through life without your heads attached."
Sorry I have a houseful of visitors...I can't concentrate...
I love you,
Maggie
Friday, June 22, 2012
TMI
It's always interesting how passing thoughts relate. I had been thinking about the Umb family ever since my google-stroll through F-burg. I was wondering how they all were.
I think it is wonderful that you solved the mystery of the pain in your hips and legs. I am sorry that you suffered on your way to the answer. It makes perfect sense. I always think the first step is to name the monster and then, once it has a name, we can battle with it, and eventually overcome. But, you know, I don't like the word battle. I am trying to remove violence from my words and thought patterns. We can struggle and negotiate and analyze and ultimately disempower. All of my tension is in my jaw. I clench all the time. In fact I clench my teeth so hard, that I broke one. So I am learning to release, since I am not willing to have that happen again. Whenever I clench I (think I) immediately notice and relax. I think healing happens in more than one way. If I overcome my demons and feel safe, I would probably stop clenching my jaw. But maybe this conscious decision not to clench is allowing healing to slip in unnoticed.
And I think damage is done to our body on a spiritual plane. Your hips may have looked okay on an x-ray, but on a different level, they were damaged and never allowed to heal. What do you think would happen if you relaxed your hips. Sometimes I think that if I unclenched my jaws I would start howling and not be able to stop. Those words must be true, because the thought is making me cry.
Mom decided to explain menstruation to me when I was too young to care. She drew a picture of the uterus and Fallopian tubes, which looked like a Martian to me. She let me go after that comment. I was interested a few years later, but she didn't want to talk about it any more. I think at least portions of our society are screwed up about sex, but the dysfunction goes deep into our family. There is something almost predatory, stalking family members, fearing anything sexual. Those of us lacking predator mentality, we become prey. And if you aren't safe with your family, you simply are not safe. I remember B#1 loudly berating nieces who were pretending to be cheerleaders in the yard during a family gathering at the cabin. They were not sexy, but he perceived sexuality and it scared him enough to try to silence their childish exuberance. I remember thinking, "Afraid you're going to attack them, too?"
Sex and sexuality are such a gift. The connection and union it affords with another person makes life a higher experience. And our gift has been shredded through the generations. The abuse destroys our pleasure and the joy we could possibly find with another. It makes pleasure the source of pain and shame. That is the function of rape. It rips sex and love apart, and teaches us that our feelings are inconsequential. We are just here to serve another. Our feelings simply don't exist. We are not that important. We are lesser, worth-less, than the predator's needs to vent their pain.
So I think it's very appropriate to become riled when we talk about sex. I think it's important to become riled. It is the source family torture. So rant and mourn and be furious.
The interesting night meditations continue. When I was young, I could see fairies. That's the kind of child I was. I loved getting up really early on summer mornings and being outside, alone in the silence. Magical. And the fairies were about. I told Mom, and she told the neighbor, and they thought I was so cute, snicker, snicker - roll of the eyes. So I grew up, conformed, and shut my eyes to the magic of this Earth.
The part of Faduly that used to called Ugly spread wings last night...like a giant beautiful moth, maybe. Perhaps a hummingbird moth. I'm wondering if there was a caterpillar to moth metamorphosis. Maybe I will start to change, outwardly, too. And then the little girl from the box came back. She is a fairy child. Long legged and elven, although all night I was corrected - not an elf, a fairy! And she is dancing. I can't tell exactly who she is or why she was in the box. I think she may be part me, and part the story of our family, so part of all of us. But she's dancing, and enjoying her freedom.
I never heard Mom say she would rather die than lose a breast. What I remember is that when she chose mastectomy over lumpectomy, she said she would rather lose a breast than fear having cancer in her body. We all think we know what we'll do, but when faced with reality, it's different than we imagined. Life is more precious than anything else. Why do we cling so tightly to this life?
One last thought about sex. Only our generation has sex. I tried to talk to my youngest about something sexual once, and he put his fingers in his ears and sang, "I don't want to hear this from my mother..." I told him what I needed to say, speaking over his song, then left him alone. Our children don't have sex. Our parents and grandparents don't have sex...it's just our generation! The rest of the humans spontaneously generated! So Dad and his Viagra...TMI! Although I hope to be sexual when I am 80!
Smile, Love!!
I think it is wonderful that you solved the mystery of the pain in your hips and legs. I am sorry that you suffered on your way to the answer. It makes perfect sense. I always think the first step is to name the monster and then, once it has a name, we can battle with it, and eventually overcome. But, you know, I don't like the word battle. I am trying to remove violence from my words and thought patterns. We can struggle and negotiate and analyze and ultimately disempower. All of my tension is in my jaw. I clench all the time. In fact I clench my teeth so hard, that I broke one. So I am learning to release, since I am not willing to have that happen again. Whenever I clench I (think I) immediately notice and relax. I think healing happens in more than one way. If I overcome my demons and feel safe, I would probably stop clenching my jaw. But maybe this conscious decision not to clench is allowing healing to slip in unnoticed.
And I think damage is done to our body on a spiritual plane. Your hips may have looked okay on an x-ray, but on a different level, they were damaged and never allowed to heal. What do you think would happen if you relaxed your hips. Sometimes I think that if I unclenched my jaws I would start howling and not be able to stop. Those words must be true, because the thought is making me cry.
Mom decided to explain menstruation to me when I was too young to care. She drew a picture of the uterus and Fallopian tubes, which looked like a Martian to me. She let me go after that comment. I was interested a few years later, but she didn't want to talk about it any more. I think at least portions of our society are screwed up about sex, but the dysfunction goes deep into our family. There is something almost predatory, stalking family members, fearing anything sexual. Those of us lacking predator mentality, we become prey. And if you aren't safe with your family, you simply are not safe. I remember B#1 loudly berating nieces who were pretending to be cheerleaders in the yard during a family gathering at the cabin. They were not sexy, but he perceived sexuality and it scared him enough to try to silence their childish exuberance. I remember thinking, "Afraid you're going to attack them, too?"
Sex and sexuality are such a gift. The connection and union it affords with another person makes life a higher experience. And our gift has been shredded through the generations. The abuse destroys our pleasure and the joy we could possibly find with another. It makes pleasure the source of pain and shame. That is the function of rape. It rips sex and love apart, and teaches us that our feelings are inconsequential. We are just here to serve another. Our feelings simply don't exist. We are not that important. We are lesser, worth-less, than the predator's needs to vent their pain.
So I think it's very appropriate to become riled when we talk about sex. I think it's important to become riled. It is the source family torture. So rant and mourn and be furious.
The interesting night meditations continue. When I was young, I could see fairies. That's the kind of child I was. I loved getting up really early on summer mornings and being outside, alone in the silence. Magical. And the fairies were about. I told Mom, and she told the neighbor, and they thought I was so cute, snicker, snicker - roll of the eyes. So I grew up, conformed, and shut my eyes to the magic of this Earth.
The part of Faduly that used to called Ugly spread wings last night...like a giant beautiful moth, maybe. Perhaps a hummingbird moth. I'm wondering if there was a caterpillar to moth metamorphosis. Maybe I will start to change, outwardly, too. And then the little girl from the box came back. She is a fairy child. Long legged and elven, although all night I was corrected - not an elf, a fairy! And she is dancing. I can't tell exactly who she is or why she was in the box. I think she may be part me, and part the story of our family, so part of all of us. But she's dancing, and enjoying her freedom.
I never heard Mom say she would rather die than lose a breast. What I remember is that when she chose mastectomy over lumpectomy, she said she would rather lose a breast than fear having cancer in her body. We all think we know what we'll do, but when faced with reality, it's different than we imagined. Life is more precious than anything else. Why do we cling so tightly to this life?
One last thought about sex. Only our generation has sex. I tried to talk to my youngest about something sexual once, and he put his fingers in his ears and sang, "I don't want to hear this from my mother..." I told him what I needed to say, speaking over his song, then left him alone. Our children don't have sex. Our parents and grandparents don't have sex...it's just our generation! The rest of the humans spontaneously generated! So Dad and his Viagra...TMI! Although I hope to be sexual when I am 80!
Smile, Love!!
Sex...it's just a three letter word
Clare,
I saw that turtle picture on facebook and was so sad. How tangled his inner organs must be...
but he lives on...just as we all live on despite our inner confusion and conflicts.
Last night I was thinking about dumb...
and my mind settled on the F-burg neighbor lady's name D. Umb....
it was just a passing thought.
A while back you said something about you and cousin L hiding your breasts if you should ever be seen...I can understand that.
Do you remember that when I was young I had terrible leg/hip pain, especially at night?
I would lie awake with pain, sometimes crying. I used to imagine that I had hip problems like S#3, or a tumor, or something equally bad.
When I am stressed or feel threatened now, as an adult, my instinctual bodily reaction is to clamp my legs together as tightly as possible. This can be triggered by any kind of stress.
On those days and nights I have that same leg/hip pain. It is intense and unrelenting.
I have found that it is caused by spasm of my iliopsoas muscle group which is a main flexor of the hip and thigh. I and my husband have learned to release it through pressure point work...
all those years of pain...and it was all about keeping my thighs together.
So I think my answer to your question would be both...hands to cover breasts, thighs to cover my genitalia.
So was the fear of sex a cultural thing or was it from the Delana bones and traditions?
In the 60's people of all ages were experimenting with sex.
I don't remember Mom ever talking with me about sex or my periods.
I did get "modesty" talks, especially when B#1 had a few navy buddies home and I was in a T shirt watching TV...Dad called Mom into the kitchen and he left and Mom called me in.
I remember that I teased Mom on the morning after my wedding that she hadn't had the sex talk with me...she told me that she assumed that I knew more about it than she did anyway.
S#4 told me that her sex talk consisted of Mom describing that afterwards it feels like egg whites in your crotch...like you sat on raw eggs was the way she phrased it I believe.
When I was having trouble conceiving my first child Mom told me that they used reverse rhythm method to get pregnant...that could only have been your conception because 8 more in 9 years is too much rhythm...
The 4 little girls bought Mom a negligee once for her birthday...she thought it was funny...she said that she was glad that we still saw her like that...still young and vibrant enough to be sexy.
I remember Mom saying that she would rather die than have a breast removed...but then faced with her own breast cancer she opted to lose the breast, not her life.
In the more recent past I have to say how incredibly hurt I was when Mom and Dad would come to within and hour of my house (closer to S#3 and B#4) and not stop in or meet up with us...they had to pick up his Viagra from the VA...God forbid you stop in and see the products of your sex...just rush home to have more.
Sorry for my rant...I should focus on things more central to my spirit and healing...
This morning I journaled a series of questions...
universal questions about how and why humans hurt each other...
why power over others is so damned seductive...
enough to make us unconscious to the fact that we are abusing another human...body and spirit.
I was doing an exercise called tonglen...
I breathe in sorrow...I breathe out peace
I breathe in disrespect...I breathe out true vision
I breathe in pain...I breathe out compassion
Our normal human reaction to is take in the good and exhale the bad...
but intentionally doing the opposite is really opening...
I just have to remind myself that I am not taking on the problems of the world...because I like to take on everyone else's problems so that I don't have to see my own.
I love you,
Maggie
P.S. S#3 is having a difficult time right now...please hold her in the Light.
I saw that turtle picture on facebook and was so sad. How tangled his inner organs must be...
but he lives on...just as we all live on despite our inner confusion and conflicts.
Last night I was thinking about dumb...
and my mind settled on the F-burg neighbor lady's name D. Umb....
it was just a passing thought.
A while back you said something about you and cousin L hiding your breasts if you should ever be seen...I can understand that.
Do you remember that when I was young I had terrible leg/hip pain, especially at night?
I would lie awake with pain, sometimes crying. I used to imagine that I had hip problems like S#3, or a tumor, or something equally bad.
When I am stressed or feel threatened now, as an adult, my instinctual bodily reaction is to clamp my legs together as tightly as possible. This can be triggered by any kind of stress.
On those days and nights I have that same leg/hip pain. It is intense and unrelenting.
I have found that it is caused by spasm of my iliopsoas muscle group which is a main flexor of the hip and thigh. I and my husband have learned to release it through pressure point work...
all those years of pain...and it was all about keeping my thighs together.
So I think my answer to your question would be both...hands to cover breasts, thighs to cover my genitalia.
So was the fear of sex a cultural thing or was it from the Delana bones and traditions?
In the 60's people of all ages were experimenting with sex.
I don't remember Mom ever talking with me about sex or my periods.
I did get "modesty" talks, especially when B#1 had a few navy buddies home and I was in a T shirt watching TV...Dad called Mom into the kitchen and he left and Mom called me in.
I remember that I teased Mom on the morning after my wedding that she hadn't had the sex talk with me...she told me that she assumed that I knew more about it than she did anyway.
S#4 told me that her sex talk consisted of Mom describing that afterwards it feels like egg whites in your crotch...like you sat on raw eggs was the way she phrased it I believe.
When I was having trouble conceiving my first child Mom told me that they used reverse rhythm method to get pregnant...that could only have been your conception because 8 more in 9 years is too much rhythm...
The 4 little girls bought Mom a negligee once for her birthday...she thought it was funny...she said that she was glad that we still saw her like that...still young and vibrant enough to be sexy.
I remember Mom saying that she would rather die than have a breast removed...but then faced with her own breast cancer she opted to lose the breast, not her life.
In the more recent past I have to say how incredibly hurt I was when Mom and Dad would come to within and hour of my house (closer to S#3 and B#4) and not stop in or meet up with us...they had to pick up his Viagra from the VA...God forbid you stop in and see the products of your sex...just rush home to have more.
Sorry for my rant...I should focus on things more central to my spirit and healing...
This morning I journaled a series of questions...
universal questions about how and why humans hurt each other...
why power over others is so damned seductive...
enough to make us unconscious to the fact that we are abusing another human...body and spirit.
I was doing an exercise called tonglen...
I breathe in sorrow...I breathe out peace
I breathe in disrespect...I breathe out true vision
I breathe in pain...I breathe out compassion
Our normal human reaction to is take in the good and exhale the bad...
but intentionally doing the opposite is really opening...
I just have to remind myself that I am not taking on the problems of the world...because I like to take on everyone else's problems so that I don't have to see my own.
I love you,
Maggie
P.S. S#3 is having a difficult time right now...please hold her in the Light.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Back to Turtles!
Have you ever seen the terrible photo of the turtle who got caught inside the plastic rings that hold six packs together? Being bound in the Delana web of pain and sorrow, dragging the bones along behind me has done this to my spirit. I have unleashed some of the strands. Maybe that was why there was room for Faduly to rejoin who we are...
And I am back to turtles...........
Faduly
Of course they have negative, derogatory names. Dad named them. I was told that I was Fat, Dumb and Ugly so many times when I was young, that the words have been drilled into my core. I wasn't the only one so named. But I remember one day I realized I was trying to live up to his expectation of me, and he still didn't especially like me, much less love or respect me. So the trio has been in my consciousness ever since. I have been trying to find the positive aspect of each, and of the union, and to embrace it. Fat is actually soft and round and sexy. As I thought about that, I remembered Mom nagging me about my weight when I was a teenager. I was 5'8" about 145 pounds, and never over 150 pounds. Definitely not overweight. Yet she bought me diet diaries, and talked to me about how bad she felt for me. I think she was in a panic, because I was so curvy. My breasts were bigger than hers. That had to bother her, but also panic her, because it meant that I might be a sexual creature. She was definitely in the sex is bad, and only for marriage camp. So I was not fat, I was sexy. And in our family that was evil!
I found an article today that said women with big breasts have higher IQs! It discussed the myth of the dumb blond, mentioning that people who actually knew Marilyn Monroe or Jayne Mansfield knew they were very bright. But if we are sexual we must be of no other value.
Dumb is silly, goofy. Back to the dumb blond stereotype, although I was not blond past about 10 or 11 years old....Last night I let Fat, Dumb and Ugly rejoin, become one entity. Ugly is not about being ugly, but about not being seen. I still don't completely understand Ugly, but I appreciate your insight. I encouraged them to rejoin, then invited them into our being. I got flashes on my skeletal tarred little self. She seemed healthier. Maybe now, during solstice, she will rejoin me/us/me. I feel like I am putting a puzzle together, but I don't know what it's supposed to look like. Who or what am I?
I have been calling the new entity Faduly. I created a name with no meaning so I could avoid expectations. I have been singing Faduly, waiting for the next bit of info.
Isolation not only protects ego, it protects body and psyche when one is living with abuse. It can be necessary and self-protective. The problem is that after the abuser is gone, we don't know that it's safe to come out. And you are right. We are a tribal species. We are meant to live in community, with peers and multigenerational interaction. Now we don't even have nuclear family. That is mostly shattered. If we all lived in community, I doubt that we would consider your weaknesses. We would allow each person's strengths to shine, and find that we each have a necessary strength, we are each valuable to the whole. Now we are expected to do everything, and we beat ourselves up over the things we don't so well. And sometimes I think we punish self or others by asking them to do what they don't do well. Is this making sense, or am I blathering?
So, yeah, I remember the names Dad called people, especially young men who were interested in us. It had nothing to do with our value to him or to the family. It had everything to do with humiliating us and reminding us that we were not loveable, because if any of these males loved us, we might become sexual. Over and over I think of the panic both Mom and Dad felt about sex. Dad almost beat B#3 to death, in my memory, because a neighbor said he exposed himself. That was not normal. That was absolutely not normal. Where did all the anger and fear come from? Mom was embarrassed and furious when I asked about sex. They simply are not normal. Which is probably why they had so many children.
Had a long talk with my oldest yesterday. There was so much compassion. I apologized again for my anger when they were young. I was told that they have their talks, like you and I are doing, and they remember, but they also discuss the tremendous pressure I was under. And they are all in awe of what I did for them, with them. I have to make sure I don't fall into the Mom Mea culpa routine, which immediately shuts down all communication. And as agonizing as it might be, accept that maybe I was a good mother. I did have fun when they were little......
Commendations on facing your fears and traveling through F-burg. We will have to do it together and on foot, see if we can trigger anything.
I'd hug you, but it's soooo hot, so just love for today!!
I found an article today that said women with big breasts have higher IQs! It discussed the myth of the dumb blond, mentioning that people who actually knew Marilyn Monroe or Jayne Mansfield knew they were very bright. But if we are sexual we must be of no other value.
Dumb is silly, goofy. Back to the dumb blond stereotype, although I was not blond past about 10 or 11 years old....Last night I let Fat, Dumb and Ugly rejoin, become one entity. Ugly is not about being ugly, but about not being seen. I still don't completely understand Ugly, but I appreciate your insight. I encouraged them to rejoin, then invited them into our being. I got flashes on my skeletal tarred little self. She seemed healthier. Maybe now, during solstice, she will rejoin me/us/me. I feel like I am putting a puzzle together, but I don't know what it's supposed to look like. Who or what am I?
I have been calling the new entity Faduly. I created a name with no meaning so I could avoid expectations. I have been singing Faduly, waiting for the next bit of info.
Isolation not only protects ego, it protects body and psyche when one is living with abuse. It can be necessary and self-protective. The problem is that after the abuser is gone, we don't know that it's safe to come out. And you are right. We are a tribal species. We are meant to live in community, with peers and multigenerational interaction. Now we don't even have nuclear family. That is mostly shattered. If we all lived in community, I doubt that we would consider your weaknesses. We would allow each person's strengths to shine, and find that we each have a necessary strength, we are each valuable to the whole. Now we are expected to do everything, and we beat ourselves up over the things we don't so well. And sometimes I think we punish self or others by asking them to do what they don't do well. Is this making sense, or am I blathering?
So, yeah, I remember the names Dad called people, especially young men who were interested in us. It had nothing to do with our value to him or to the family. It had everything to do with humiliating us and reminding us that we were not loveable, because if any of these males loved us, we might become sexual. Over and over I think of the panic both Mom and Dad felt about sex. Dad almost beat B#3 to death, in my memory, because a neighbor said he exposed himself. That was not normal. That was absolutely not normal. Where did all the anger and fear come from? Mom was embarrassed and furious when I asked about sex. They simply are not normal. Which is probably why they had so many children.
Had a long talk with my oldest yesterday. There was so much compassion. I apologized again for my anger when they were young. I was told that they have their talks, like you and I are doing, and they remember, but they also discuss the tremendous pressure I was under. And they are all in awe of what I did for them, with them. I have to make sure I don't fall into the Mom Mea culpa routine, which immediately shuts down all communication. And as agonizing as it might be, accept that maybe I was a good mother. I did have fun when they were little......
Commendations on facing your fears and traveling through F-burg. We will have to do it together and on foot, see if we can trigger anything.
I'd hug you, but it's soooo hot, so just love for today!!
What's in a name?
Clare,
Isolation is protective...but it protects our ego...not our inner Light.
Our real, inner self requires communion...
I really believe this...but find it so hard to practice.
To truly live in communion/community would mean allowing others to know me...
my strengths (no problem)...
and my weaknesses (big problem).
We were raised to be ruggedly independent...the Teddy Roosevelt mindset.
But, if I could find the means to let down my guard...
to allow others to see me and to help me where I am weak...
what a wonderful symbiotic life that would be...
like you said, two Lights shine brighter than one.
Am I able to do that?
The picture of Fburg's house didn't bother me at all.
There was no emotion. I once drove there, and slowly drove around the house, through the alley, by the elementary school and into the main street...and I felt nothing.
No rush of memories, no pain, but I felt nothing good either.
I was confused by that.
I drove to that town with trepidation and a nauseous feeling...then nothing when I got there.
That's why I asked if you would go along the next time, maybe with both of us I would remember or process something.
The ugly character...I would love to know how you do this "location of the image process"
My initial thoughts from your description...
maybe there is blindness because the heart doesn't see..it intuitively knows things...
perhaps, like a blind person, this character has a heightened perception from the other senses...
able to determine good/bad, safe/dangerous, trustworthy/or not....
all without the prejudice that sight allows.
The other two characters are located away from the heart, the center...they are also in the vicinity of the cleansing organs...perhaps they filter the material first...then send it on to this ugly character.
The one thing that keeps going through my mind is that first they are all named very negative, derogatory names...and their true purpose is skewed because of the prejudicial names...definitely a trait that came from our family of origin...
Think about all of the names Dad used to give our boyfriends (and some friends)...
mean, prejudicial names...
meant to embarrass them and us and make us feel as if we were dating someone less than worthy...
like we were ever valued and prized in our family...
we were tolerated and sent on our way at 18.
Perhaps you should embrace these three characters and rename them...
or ask them to reveal their true names and nature to you.
Just some ideas...
I love you,
Maggie
Isolation is protective...but it protects our ego...not our inner Light.
Our real, inner self requires communion...
I really believe this...but find it so hard to practice.
To truly live in communion/community would mean allowing others to know me...
my strengths (no problem)...
and my weaknesses (big problem).
We were raised to be ruggedly independent...the Teddy Roosevelt mindset.
But, if I could find the means to let down my guard...
to allow others to see me and to help me where I am weak...
what a wonderful symbiotic life that would be...
like you said, two Lights shine brighter than one.
Am I able to do that?
The picture of Fburg's house didn't bother me at all.
There was no emotion. I once drove there, and slowly drove around the house, through the alley, by the elementary school and into the main street...and I felt nothing.
No rush of memories, no pain, but I felt nothing good either.
I was confused by that.
I drove to that town with trepidation and a nauseous feeling...then nothing when I got there.
That's why I asked if you would go along the next time, maybe with both of us I would remember or process something.
The ugly character...I would love to know how you do this "location of the image process"
My initial thoughts from your description...
maybe there is blindness because the heart doesn't see..it intuitively knows things...
perhaps, like a blind person, this character has a heightened perception from the other senses...
able to determine good/bad, safe/dangerous, trustworthy/or not....
all without the prejudice that sight allows.
The other two characters are located away from the heart, the center...they are also in the vicinity of the cleansing organs...perhaps they filter the material first...then send it on to this ugly character.
The one thing that keeps going through my mind is that first they are all named very negative, derogatory names...and their true purpose is skewed because of the prejudicial names...definitely a trait that came from our family of origin...
Think about all of the names Dad used to give our boyfriends (and some friends)...
mean, prejudicial names...
meant to embarrass them and us and make us feel as if we were dating someone less than worthy...
like we were ever valued and prized in our family...
we were tolerated and sent on our way at 18.
Perhaps you should embrace these three characters and rename them...
or ask them to reveal their true names and nature to you.
Just some ideas...
I love you,
Maggie
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Solitary Confinement
It is hot today. So far today I worked. I was falling asleep at work, so I tried to lie down under the fan. And if it's 93 degrees, with a heat index of 104, cuddling is logical...for a cat. I laid down and immediately had a furry, purry drape!
Isolation is a big issue. I have long understood that I have an incredible capacity for being alone, and I also have infinite capacity to be silent. We use isolation to insulate ourselves, yet it ensures the private space to allow abuse to occur. And then there is solitary confinement, among the cruelest of punishments. I inflict it on myself. And as we have been discovering, we have thrown off bits of ourselves - I'm still not sure if it was discarding or protecting - all isolated one from the other and from our core, aware self. It's our friend, our saving grace, our oasis of sanity, yet our enemy, the source of greatest pain.
I was talking to one of my offspring yesterday and mentioned that you and I have been working together a lot. The comment was that: Yeah, Aunt S#2 and Aunt S#3 were always the most in tune with me/our family. You mentioned the consistency throughout your life with me and S#3, and that is what I have felt, too. I know she does not want to remember what happened, and I can't blame her, but sometimes I think what she would have to add to this body of writing would be invaluable. Eventually we'll create the circle that draws her in.
What did I feel when I explored F-burg? First a question for you: Did you have any reaction to the photo of the church/old neighborhood? I felt curiosity, a lot of questioning of myself, what was right, what was true memory, why would I remember obscure names and facts...? I thought of some of the characters in the neighborhood, some funny, some frightening. Somehow the front part of the house - both of our bedroom windows are along that face that barely shows - wasn't as frightening as I thought it would be. I remembered being sick there, I remember contemplating suicide there, I remembered a bedroom wall covered by teen heart-throb pictures. I remembered when the old plaster ceiling collapsed on the little girls' bed. I remembered the hole the older two boys drilled, or scraped into the bathroom wall, so they could watch everyone bathe. I used to fill the hole with soft soap, but they always cleared it back out. I wondered about the willow trees, and the grape vines that cut the yard in half, and the old, old pear tree. More wondering, less feeling...not very emotional. I wonder what it would be like to walk through the streets. I wonder if things are so different now that it wouldn't trigger the visceral memories. From the aerial map, it looked like a lot of the old buildings along the alley were gone. If I have a chance to get down to you, we can consider the walking tour. It will definitely get stories flowing!
So, I sought Ugly last night and found it in my heart. My heart physically reacted as I encouraged it to come out. Ugly is definitely has a chameleon quality. It takes on the absolute color and texture of anything it is on. I almost didn't see the creature, I just saw movement - unless it looked at me. It is about the size of my hand - no, a bit smaller - round, with insect type legs. And it took some doing, but Ugly has black eyes - like dark circles from kidney weakness, like bruised from being hit and like extremely dilated pupils. And Ugly can not see. Ugly was using my heart to see. ( I am feeling very strange, weird, vulnerable to be writing this. Why does my psyche have to be so far out there with the symbolism??) Ugly likes to keep eyes averted all the time.
Do I store ugliness in my heart. Is Ugly there to help or to hide? I have said many times that I have a broken heart. Why there? Maybe it is absorbing all the Ugly, so my heart could keep beating, so I could remain basically kind and humane.
I keep returning to isolation. It can be so soothing. I wonder if that is why Dad always gets mean after we've been there for more than a day...or really he can't seem to handle overnights. He needs to be soothed by isolation - no one looking at him, no one touching him, no one making demands of him...It is soothing, yet so sterile...we survive, yet we don't live...we are waiting to be noticed and loved, yet we don't want anyone to disrupt our lonely sanctuary...
Isolation is a big issue. I have long understood that I have an incredible capacity for being alone, and I also have infinite capacity to be silent. We use isolation to insulate ourselves, yet it ensures the private space to allow abuse to occur. And then there is solitary confinement, among the cruelest of punishments. I inflict it on myself. And as we have been discovering, we have thrown off bits of ourselves - I'm still not sure if it was discarding or protecting - all isolated one from the other and from our core, aware self. It's our friend, our saving grace, our oasis of sanity, yet our enemy, the source of greatest pain.
I was talking to one of my offspring yesterday and mentioned that you and I have been working together a lot. The comment was that: Yeah, Aunt S#2 and Aunt S#3 were always the most in tune with me/our family. You mentioned the consistency throughout your life with me and S#3, and that is what I have felt, too. I know she does not want to remember what happened, and I can't blame her, but sometimes I think what she would have to add to this body of writing would be invaluable. Eventually we'll create the circle that draws her in.
What did I feel when I explored F-burg? First a question for you: Did you have any reaction to the photo of the church/old neighborhood? I felt curiosity, a lot of questioning of myself, what was right, what was true memory, why would I remember obscure names and facts...? I thought of some of the characters in the neighborhood, some funny, some frightening. Somehow the front part of the house - both of our bedroom windows are along that face that barely shows - wasn't as frightening as I thought it would be. I remembered being sick there, I remember contemplating suicide there, I remembered a bedroom wall covered by teen heart-throb pictures. I remembered when the old plaster ceiling collapsed on the little girls' bed. I remembered the hole the older two boys drilled, or scraped into the bathroom wall, so they could watch everyone bathe. I used to fill the hole with soft soap, but they always cleared it back out. I wondered about the willow trees, and the grape vines that cut the yard in half, and the old, old pear tree. More wondering, less feeling...not very emotional. I wonder what it would be like to walk through the streets. I wonder if things are so different now that it wouldn't trigger the visceral memories. From the aerial map, it looked like a lot of the old buildings along the alley were gone. If I have a chance to get down to you, we can consider the walking tour. It will definitely get stories flowing!
So, I sought Ugly last night and found it in my heart. My heart physically reacted as I encouraged it to come out. Ugly is definitely has a chameleon quality. It takes on the absolute color and texture of anything it is on. I almost didn't see the creature, I just saw movement - unless it looked at me. It is about the size of my hand - no, a bit smaller - round, with insect type legs. And it took some doing, but Ugly has black eyes - like dark circles from kidney weakness, like bruised from being hit and like extremely dilated pupils. And Ugly can not see. Ugly was using my heart to see. ( I am feeling very strange, weird, vulnerable to be writing this. Why does my psyche have to be so far out there with the symbolism??) Ugly likes to keep eyes averted all the time.
Do I store ugliness in my heart. Is Ugly there to help or to hide? I have said many times that I have a broken heart. Why there? Maybe it is absorbing all the Ugly, so my heart could keep beating, so I could remain basically kind and humane.
I keep returning to isolation. It can be so soothing. I wonder if that is why Dad always gets mean after we've been there for more than a day...or really he can't seem to handle overnights. He needs to be soothed by isolation - no one looking at him, no one touching him, no one making demands of him...It is soothing, yet so sterile...we survive, yet we don't live...we are waiting to be noticed and loved, yet we don't want anyone to disrupt our lonely sanctuary...
isolation
Clare,
It is hot...
So far this morning I have talked with my wise friend...
and walked 4 miles...
contemplating the words of my wise friend.
We talked alot about isolation...
as a set up for abuse...
as a protective mechanism after abuse...
as a box that is keeping me from moving forward...
I can analyze all of this as much as I am able to...
but in isolation it means much less than if it is shared.
That's why this dialogue/blog is so important...
we are sharing...connecting...listening respectfully to each other.
we have created a community (of 2).
You may have been on and off in my life...
but you are the closest thing I have to real consistency in our family of origin...
S#3 also, although she is not a part of this dialogue.
I told my wise friend about my dreams...
she felt that the open, flail chest was a sign that I am opening...the wall around my heart is breaking away.
So what feelings did you have as you explored Fburg?
Do you want to come visit and we can explore it together...on foot?
I still haven't had the inner motivation to go back...but it might bring insight.
So the physician in me is identifying underlying organs for your dumb and fat...
lower left ribs...spleen and kidney...cleansing and protecting organs
right shoulder...pain referred to the right shoulder is liver or gallbladder...again liver is cleansing and protecting...gall bladder is helpful for digestion.
Maybe they were protecting you and your heart...not blocking, but purifying and detoxifying the materials that eventually made their way to your heart...maybe?
I feel at peace this morning...sorry afternoon.
Thanks,
Maggie
It is hot...
So far this morning I have talked with my wise friend...
and walked 4 miles...
contemplating the words of my wise friend.
We talked alot about isolation...
as a set up for abuse...
as a protective mechanism after abuse...
as a box that is keeping me from moving forward...
I can analyze all of this as much as I am able to...
but in isolation it means much less than if it is shared.
That's why this dialogue/blog is so important...
we are sharing...connecting...listening respectfully to each other.
we have created a community (of 2).
You may have been on and off in my life...
but you are the closest thing I have to real consistency in our family of origin...
S#3 also, although she is not a part of this dialogue.
I told my wise friend about my dreams...
she felt that the open, flail chest was a sign that I am opening...the wall around my heart is breaking away.
So what feelings did you have as you explored Fburg?
Do you want to come visit and we can explore it together...on foot?
I still haven't had the inner motivation to go back...but it might bring insight.
So the physician in me is identifying underlying organs for your dumb and fat...
lower left ribs...spleen and kidney...cleansing and protecting organs
right shoulder...pain referred to the right shoulder is liver or gallbladder...again liver is cleansing and protecting...gall bladder is helpful for digestion.
Maybe they were protecting you and your heart...not blocking, but purifying and detoxifying the materials that eventually made their way to your heart...maybe?
I feel at peace this morning...sorry afternoon.
Thanks,
Maggie
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
An Isand of Misfits
You want the equivalent of the Island of Misfit toys for beautiful, charming, intelligent women who don't recognize their own worth.
I did a strange thing last night. I used google maps (I love google maps...I can waste stupendous amounts of time examining the bridges of Florence, for instance. Or circling San Surplice.) to explore F-burg. Unfortunately the little man couldn't walk the streets, so I couldn't get a street level view, but it triggered memories. I remembered who lived in the various houses. Names from the past sprang into my memory. If stuff like that is stored in my mind, why can't I remember Spanish?
Then I found a photo of the abandoned church next door. It was bought by a congregation and is now an active church. If you look beyond the church, you can see the front porch of our house. I am going to try and post it here. It looks like the weeping willows are gone. I loved those trees. Perhaps it will trigger memories for you. My memories were both bad and good...
We did find a noose in the attic. It had been cut down, so just the loop end was lying on the floor. In my memory, the top part was still there on a rafter too. I never thought about the house being haunted, I was always more aware of the old graveyard next door. I thought all the spookiness came from there. What a place for kids to play! And yes, we did have seances there. We were very much under the spell of Dark Shadows. We used to watch that show after school each day. Since I was in charge, everyone got to park in front of the television for a little while. I don't remember ever making anyone go out and play. But there was something cold and creepy in the corner at the top of the stairs. Freaked me out every single night! I hated going to bed! And there was a stenciled message on the attic wall - the name of a painter, a year 1792 - and the town he lived in. I googled the name/town/year, but the only person who came up died before the late 1780's. The doorway to the attic was in the room Bs 3 and 4 shared. I think the closet you are remembering was in the adjacent room, on the wall shared with their room.
There were two doors to that house. The back door was in the center of a long back porch. When you came through that door, you were in the kitchen. After walking across the kitchen, if you looked left, you were looking into the TV room. The cellar door was on the wall, to the left, as you walked into the TV room. The cellar was very dark, and there was an old coal furnace right in the middle. And there was a coal bin on the alley side. It was dark and creepy down there - old with dirt walls maybe, or possibly stacked stone.
I did another strange thing. I worked with Fat, Dumb and Ugly. Fat is connected to my lower left ribs for some reason. Locating Fat caused pain there. I don't know why. I can't think of a reason. But I moved her. She was roly-poly, soft and squishy and sweet. Then I found Dumb on my right shoulder. Dumb seems to be more silly, goofy that stupid. Interestingly, she lives where a tiny Catholic nun shows up occasionally to tell me how bad I am. Did my inner-Catholic silence my silly self? I have learned to ignore the nun's voice. (The Catholic Church says - give us a child until they are 7, and we have them for life!) After a movement, I realized that the Fat and Dumb connection has been blocking my heart. Blocking or protecting - I wonder...I can't find Ugly. Ugly keeps her eyes down and won't look at anyone. I will find her and love her, though. And I didn't have time to check on my skeletal little tar baby self. Instead, I fell asleep.
All night I dreamed of wandering the streets of F-burg, I couldn't tell if I was awake or asleep.
As for the Skeleton Woman,. I don't think I have untangled the bones. I think I learned that if I move slowly, she just drags. The bones no longer fly around and give the appearance of chasing me. Maybe I have some unknotting to do!
I am getting quite the list here. 1. Find Ugly. 2. Check on my healing little girl self. 3. Untangle my bones from the net of pain and sorrow.
Big sisterly advice - Don't push your husband away. Just set your boundaries and ask for respect. Anything resembling pushing may panic him, because he was pushed out once. I have so much respect for you for being willing to reconcile. It took a lot of strength to end the marriage, but even more to say you'd be willing to try again.
I don't feel like I have been a constant presence for anyone in the family. There were years of no contact with much of anyone. We all do it...this may be the strongest pattern we are trying to overcome - to believe we matter to someone, to believe we are not alone, to believe we can reach out and someone will be there...But thank you for seeing me that way.
And, if I am not a complete technofool, the photo. Did it - not exactly as planned...but I did it!
I did a strange thing last night. I used google maps (I love google maps...I can waste stupendous amounts of time examining the bridges of Florence, for instance. Or circling San Surplice.) to explore F-burg. Unfortunately the little man couldn't walk the streets, so I couldn't get a street level view, but it triggered memories. I remembered who lived in the various houses. Names from the past sprang into my memory. If stuff like that is stored in my mind, why can't I remember Spanish?
Then I found a photo of the abandoned church next door. It was bought by a congregation and is now an active church. If you look beyond the church, you can see the front porch of our house. I am going to try and post it here. It looks like the weeping willows are gone. I loved those trees. Perhaps it will trigger memories for you. My memories were both bad and good...
We did find a noose in the attic. It had been cut down, so just the loop end was lying on the floor. In my memory, the top part was still there on a rafter too. I never thought about the house being haunted, I was always more aware of the old graveyard next door. I thought all the spookiness came from there. What a place for kids to play! And yes, we did have seances there. We were very much under the spell of Dark Shadows. We used to watch that show after school each day. Since I was in charge, everyone got to park in front of the television for a little while. I don't remember ever making anyone go out and play. But there was something cold and creepy in the corner at the top of the stairs. Freaked me out every single night! I hated going to bed! And there was a stenciled message on the attic wall - the name of a painter, a year 1792 - and the town he lived in. I googled the name/town/year, but the only person who came up died before the late 1780's. The doorway to the attic was in the room Bs 3 and 4 shared. I think the closet you are remembering was in the adjacent room, on the wall shared with their room.
There were two doors to that house. The back door was in the center of a long back porch. When you came through that door, you were in the kitchen. After walking across the kitchen, if you looked left, you were looking into the TV room. The cellar door was on the wall, to the left, as you walked into the TV room. The cellar was very dark, and there was an old coal furnace right in the middle. And there was a coal bin on the alley side. It was dark and creepy down there - old with dirt walls maybe, or possibly stacked stone.
I did another strange thing. I worked with Fat, Dumb and Ugly. Fat is connected to my lower left ribs for some reason. Locating Fat caused pain there. I don't know why. I can't think of a reason. But I moved her. She was roly-poly, soft and squishy and sweet. Then I found Dumb on my right shoulder. Dumb seems to be more silly, goofy that stupid. Interestingly, she lives where a tiny Catholic nun shows up occasionally to tell me how bad I am. Did my inner-Catholic silence my silly self? I have learned to ignore the nun's voice. (The Catholic Church says - give us a child until they are 7, and we have them for life!) After a movement, I realized that the Fat and Dumb connection has been blocking my heart. Blocking or protecting - I wonder...I can't find Ugly. Ugly keeps her eyes down and won't look at anyone. I will find her and love her, though. And I didn't have time to check on my skeletal little tar baby self. Instead, I fell asleep.
All night I dreamed of wandering the streets of F-burg, I couldn't tell if I was awake or asleep.
As for the Skeleton Woman,. I don't think I have untangled the bones. I think I learned that if I move slowly, she just drags. The bones no longer fly around and give the appearance of chasing me. Maybe I have some unknotting to do!
I am getting quite the list here. 1. Find Ugly. 2. Check on my healing little girl self. 3. Untangle my bones from the net of pain and sorrow.
Big sisterly advice - Don't push your husband away. Just set your boundaries and ask for respect. Anything resembling pushing may panic him, because he was pushed out once. I have so much respect for you for being willing to reconcile. It took a lot of strength to end the marriage, but even more to say you'd be willing to try again.
I don't feel like I have been a constant presence for anyone in the family. There were years of no contact with much of anyone. We all do it...this may be the strongest pattern we are trying to overcome - to believe we matter to someone, to believe we are not alone, to believe we can reach out and someone will be there...But thank you for seeing me that way.
Ugly Duckling...or Swan?
I am uncomfortable with your assessment of me.
Since I am using stories to explain...
I am like the ugly duckling who has been repeatedly told I am ugly, wrong or unacceptable
too many times at too early an age to believe that it will be different.
Someday, hopefully, I will meet others like myself and eventually recognize that I fit.
It's funny, as I write that I realize that I have found my niche in social work...
I feel as if I really do fit there and can be myself. That's probably becasue studies have shown that over 85% of social workers have a personal history of trauma.
I can't remember the basement in Fburg...
I remember the big grate on the floor in that central room where the heat came up...
probably because I remember S#4 accidentally peeing into it once and the smell was bad.
Where were the basement steps?
Was that house really haunted?
Did you guys really find a noose in the attic?
I hated being closed into that dark closet...it was near the attic steps.
Do you remember the seances in the graveyard across the alley?
Those scared the living daylights out of me...
what a strange phrase, "Scared the living daylights out of me"...I wonder where that came from.
I find it interesting that you turned the Skeleton Woman story to tie you to others.
I saw it as tying me to my lost parts.
The story was told to describe the development of a true, loving relationship with another.
So, in your relationship(s) have you seen that pattern?
Have you stopped to really untangle the bones from the line?
I see some of my actions clearly in this story...
I separated from my husband and he continued to quietly pursue...
he was always nearby...sometimes acting like a jerk...sometimes a friend...
I ran away and he stayed close enough.
I think I am still pushing him away...but it is for a different reason now...
Before I pushed him away because I was trying to run from all of this family garbage...the Delana slime as you put it.
I knew that I was getting close to the pain and needed an escape route.
I created the chaos in my life to avoid all of this garbage and I ended up in a relationship that was a copy of my marriage...same issues with different names.
Now, I believe that I am pushing him back to make space for this work...he wants to work on solidifying us and I am digging for my own bones...trying to recompose me.
I need a dynamic, fluid mileu to work all of this in...I am creating and insisting on my own space ...does that make sense?
I agree with you that we walk forward sometimes together, sometimes diverging...
this has been our pattern for all of our lives...thanks for being a constant presence for me.
Blessings,
Maggie
Since I am using stories to explain...
I am like the ugly duckling who has been repeatedly told I am ugly, wrong or unacceptable
too many times at too early an age to believe that it will be different.
Someday, hopefully, I will meet others like myself and eventually recognize that I fit.
It's funny, as I write that I realize that I have found my niche in social work...
I feel as if I really do fit there and can be myself. That's probably becasue studies have shown that over 85% of social workers have a personal history of trauma.
I can't remember the basement in Fburg...
I remember the big grate on the floor in that central room where the heat came up...
probably because I remember S#4 accidentally peeing into it once and the smell was bad.
Where were the basement steps?
Was that house really haunted?
Did you guys really find a noose in the attic?
I hated being closed into that dark closet...it was near the attic steps.
Do you remember the seances in the graveyard across the alley?
Those scared the living daylights out of me...
what a strange phrase, "Scared the living daylights out of me"...I wonder where that came from.
I find it interesting that you turned the Skeleton Woman story to tie you to others.
I saw it as tying me to my lost parts.
The story was told to describe the development of a true, loving relationship with another.
So, in your relationship(s) have you seen that pattern?
Have you stopped to really untangle the bones from the line?
I see some of my actions clearly in this story...
I separated from my husband and he continued to quietly pursue...
he was always nearby...sometimes acting like a jerk...sometimes a friend...
I ran away and he stayed close enough.
I think I am still pushing him away...but it is for a different reason now...
Before I pushed him away because I was trying to run from all of this family garbage...the Delana slime as you put it.
I knew that I was getting close to the pain and needed an escape route.
I created the chaos in my life to avoid all of this garbage and I ended up in a relationship that was a copy of my marriage...same issues with different names.
Now, I believe that I am pushing him back to make space for this work...he wants to work on solidifying us and I am digging for my own bones...trying to recompose me.
I need a dynamic, fluid mileu to work all of this in...I am creating and insisting on my own space ...does that make sense?
I agree with you that we walk forward sometimes together, sometimes diverging...
this has been our pattern for all of our lives...thanks for being a constant presence for me.
Blessings,
Maggie
Monday, June 18, 2012
Synchronized Heartbeats
People do notice you. First of all, you have a very easy and natural laugh. People are always drawn to happiness, because they don't know it's part facade. And you always seem to know what you are doing, and so people look to you to give direction. (Not directions, mind you.) And you are a very attractive woman who takes the time to listen to people. Why wouldn't people be drawn to you??? Lots of heartfelt compliments - now bear the agony and writhe until you can say "Thank you!"
I think my confrontation is gentle. A quiet, "It seems like you are having a bad day?" or "Do you really believe that?" can stop and make people think for a minute. It's kind of like when we open our mouths and garbage from our childhood plops out like a big, old cowpie. Sometimes we need someone to look at it and say Peeee-yewwwww! Talking to the kid is also a good idea. I know the few times I received positive feedback, it felt good - like I was real, like I was worth noticing
The Skeleton Woman story is wonderful. The image of trying to run away from something we are still bound to screams at me. We can't escape if we can't disentangle and cut ourselves away from those strands. To me, those connections are the voices and beliefs - "Fat, dumb and ugly." "You can't do anything right." Those words connect me to...Dad, maybe? A part of me I want to abandon, maybe? If it's part of me, then I need a rescue. If it's Delana slime, then good riddance!
Maybe I should embrace, and possibly come to love fat, dumb and ugly since they haunt me so much of the time. Interesting idea. I will work on that and let you know.
The other part that really hit me was Skeleton Woman feeling someone else's heart beat to teach her own to heal again. We need each other. We work best together. Humans are meant to be together, and so many of us are suffering in our isolation. This made me feel hopeful - that there is a solution - we lead each other.
Synchronicity of our heartbeats...magical!
And water often symbolizes emotions. To be cast into the sea, to be lying at the bottom means being so covered, surrounded by emotions that we drown and can no longer function. Sort of describes me, sometimes. Your retelling made me wonder how my little self in the box is doing. I haven't had any word/feelings/messages. I will look for her, I think, and see if we are healing.
Where are we? I think sometimes we are holding hands - Tinya between the two beds, feelings when Dad came home from Viet Nam. (And this is weird - I got an image of the coal bin in the basement of the old house in F-burg. Why would we hold hands there? I know the basement creeped me out - but a lot of that house did. I really hated the front upstairs hall at night. I used to have to get my nerve up, wait a moment to compose myself, then race down that hall to my room, turn on the light as fast as possible, then crouch on the bed until I felt safe.) Other times we are wandering near each other - close enough to call, far enough away to explore some of the things that have happened after we stopped living in the same home. Marveling because we have made some of the same discoveries independently.
Silly note to end on...I remembered a compliment that delighted me. I have been involved in environmental activism. One time, at the end of some adventure I asked a friend if he was ready for the revolution. He sort of blinked and sputtered a little. A few days later, he answered the questions. If I were in charge, he was ready!!
I love you!!
I think my confrontation is gentle. A quiet, "It seems like you are having a bad day?" or "Do you really believe that?" can stop and make people think for a minute. It's kind of like when we open our mouths and garbage from our childhood plops out like a big, old cowpie. Sometimes we need someone to look at it and say Peeee-yewwwww! Talking to the kid is also a good idea. I know the few times I received positive feedback, it felt good - like I was real, like I was worth noticing
The Skeleton Woman story is wonderful. The image of trying to run away from something we are still bound to screams at me. We can't escape if we can't disentangle and cut ourselves away from those strands. To me, those connections are the voices and beliefs - "Fat, dumb and ugly." "You can't do anything right." Those words connect me to...Dad, maybe? A part of me I want to abandon, maybe? If it's part of me, then I need a rescue. If it's Delana slime, then good riddance!
Maybe I should embrace, and possibly come to love fat, dumb and ugly since they haunt me so much of the time. Interesting idea. I will work on that and let you know.
The other part that really hit me was Skeleton Woman feeling someone else's heart beat to teach her own to heal again. We need each other. We work best together. Humans are meant to be together, and so many of us are suffering in our isolation. This made me feel hopeful - that there is a solution - we lead each other.
Synchronicity of our heartbeats...magical!
And water often symbolizes emotions. To be cast into the sea, to be lying at the bottom means being so covered, surrounded by emotions that we drown and can no longer function. Sort of describes me, sometimes. Your retelling made me wonder how my little self in the box is doing. I haven't had any word/feelings/messages. I will look for her, I think, and see if we are healing.
Where are we? I think sometimes we are holding hands - Tinya between the two beds, feelings when Dad came home from Viet Nam. (And this is weird - I got an image of the coal bin in the basement of the old house in F-burg. Why would we hold hands there? I know the basement creeped me out - but a lot of that house did. I really hated the front upstairs hall at night. I used to have to get my nerve up, wait a moment to compose myself, then race down that hall to my room, turn on the light as fast as possible, then crouch on the bed until I felt safe.) Other times we are wandering near each other - close enough to call, far enough away to explore some of the things that have happened after we stopped living in the same home. Marveling because we have made some of the same discoveries independently.
Silly note to end on...I remembered a compliment that delighted me. I have been involved in environmental activism. One time, at the end of some adventure I asked a friend if he was ready for the revolution. He sort of blinked and sputtered a little. A few days later, he answered the questions. If I were in charge, he was ready!!
I love you!!
Skeleton Woman
The feathered turtle...leave your shell and fly...what a great concept.
I do not accept or receive compliments...
I, too, deflect them...explain why the person is mistaken...and move on without believing them.
I was talking with my wise friend once about feeling insignificant and invisible...
and she told me that people can't help but notice me...
that I draw attention when I am around...
that still stops me in my tracks...how do I handle that kind of pressure?...
Oh yeah...I just ignore it and pretend it doesn't exist...same old patterns.
As for the mother and child interaction...when you are able to speak up, you will.
I think I would find myself saying something comforting to the childred in that type of situation...
something like..."You do alot of things right", or "she's having a bad day, it's not your fault".
It only takes one person being supportive to reduce the sting, to decrease the traumatic effects of words and actions.
So maybe instead of considering confrontation, consider supporting...loving kindness.
I am continuing to read the Wolves book...
She is now telling the story of the Skeleton Woman...very appropriate for this journey:
A young girl is thrown off a cliff by her father for some unknown discretion...
left to drown and to be the food of fish and underwater creatures...
many years later, all that is left is her bones, submerged deep in the water.
Well, an unknowing fisherman rows onto this water and casts his line in this cove.
He catches something very heavy...
and fantasizes his prize catch...
How great he will be in his village...
How he will feed the whole village by this one catch.
After great struggle, he reels in a skeleton.
Afraid he starts rowing toward shore...
he is chased by the skeleton because, in his fear he has forgotten to cut the line...
the skeleton pursues him...all the way back to his hut.
In the dark he breathes a sigh of relief and lights the lamp.
There,in the corner, is the skeleton...a tangled mass of bones and fishing line...
and he is once again terrified.
Overcome by pity and curiosity, he slowly moves towards it and begins to untangle the mass of bones and string.
After touching the skeleton, he relaxes and becomes comfortable and intent on his goal of putting it in order.
When he is finishes the task he lies down to sleep, no longer afraid.
Sometime in the night he cries a tear...the skeleton, whose thirst is great slowly moves to him and drinks the tear. This tear nourishes her back to flesh. She then reaches into his chest and takes his heart in her hand, the rhythmic beating brings her heart back to life. She replaces his heart, crawls under his blankets and the two become one.
I read this as my journey thus far and my future.
Part of me was thrown away...
bits and pieces picked away by bottom dwellers...
but survived submerged...
I have rediscovered the bones...
faced the ugliness...
felt the terror...
tried to run and hide...
fantasized about healing/feeding the whole village...
I am becoming comfortable with the process of putting this in order...
and I am crying tears to reawaken/reflesh that part of me.
So the journey continues...as does the dream sequence...the flail chest...
I need allow access to my heart and permit it to bring that part of myself back to life...
then hopefully peace and integrity will follow.
So my Helig Wyn...my feathered turtle...my soul sister...
Do you see this too?
Where are you in this process?
Do you lead? Do you follow? Or are we walking hand in hand?
Love and blessings,
Maggie
P.S. Synchronicity is an amazing grace. Thank you Universe and Light.
I do not accept or receive compliments...
I, too, deflect them...explain why the person is mistaken...and move on without believing them.
I was talking with my wise friend once about feeling insignificant and invisible...
and she told me that people can't help but notice me...
that I draw attention when I am around...
that still stops me in my tracks...how do I handle that kind of pressure?...
Oh yeah...I just ignore it and pretend it doesn't exist...same old patterns.
As for the mother and child interaction...when you are able to speak up, you will.
I think I would find myself saying something comforting to the childred in that type of situation...
something like..."You do alot of things right", or "she's having a bad day, it's not your fault".
It only takes one person being supportive to reduce the sting, to decrease the traumatic effects of words and actions.
So maybe instead of considering confrontation, consider supporting...loving kindness.
I am continuing to read the Wolves book...
She is now telling the story of the Skeleton Woman...very appropriate for this journey:
A young girl is thrown off a cliff by her father for some unknown discretion...
left to drown and to be the food of fish and underwater creatures...
many years later, all that is left is her bones, submerged deep in the water.
Well, an unknowing fisherman rows onto this water and casts his line in this cove.
He catches something very heavy...
and fantasizes his prize catch...
How great he will be in his village...
How he will feed the whole village by this one catch.
After great struggle, he reels in a skeleton.
Afraid he starts rowing toward shore...
he is chased by the skeleton because, in his fear he has forgotten to cut the line...
the skeleton pursues him...all the way back to his hut.
In the dark he breathes a sigh of relief and lights the lamp.
There,in the corner, is the skeleton...a tangled mass of bones and fishing line...
and he is once again terrified.
Overcome by pity and curiosity, he slowly moves towards it and begins to untangle the mass of bones and string.
After touching the skeleton, he relaxes and becomes comfortable and intent on his goal of putting it in order.
When he is finishes the task he lies down to sleep, no longer afraid.
Sometime in the night he cries a tear...the skeleton, whose thirst is great slowly moves to him and drinks the tear. This tear nourishes her back to flesh. She then reaches into his chest and takes his heart in her hand, the rhythmic beating brings her heart back to life. She replaces his heart, crawls under his blankets and the two become one.
I read this as my journey thus far and my future.
Part of me was thrown away...
bits and pieces picked away by bottom dwellers...
but survived submerged...
I have rediscovered the bones...
faced the ugliness...
felt the terror...
tried to run and hide...
fantasized about healing/feeding the whole village...
I am becoming comfortable with the process of putting this in order...
and I am crying tears to reawaken/reflesh that part of me.
So the journey continues...as does the dream sequence...the flail chest...
I need allow access to my heart and permit it to bring that part of myself back to life...
then hopefully peace and integrity will follow.
So my Helig Wyn...my feathered turtle...my soul sister...
Do you see this too?
Where are you in this process?
Do you lead? Do you follow? Or are we walking hand in hand?
Love and blessings,
Maggie
P.S. Synchronicity is an amazing grace. Thank you Universe and Light.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Pretty Skunks and Turtles
I went to a softball game this afternoon/evening. We have a town league and two of my kids play. I go along to tag team the toddler with his mama - as well as to watch my kids play. I came home with a neighbor, and we stopped to allow a mama skunk and six babies to cross the road. At first it was hard to tell what was happening - they looked sort of like an enormous caterpillar. Then they were just stinking cute.
We were talking about what animals have to teach us, and my neighbor said - it's like the the turtle with feathers. Time to come out of your shell and fly. I told her that you and I were just discussing the turtle dream, and that our brother just happened to recommend Trampled by Turtles. She laughed and said she loved when the world did this to us.
So I came home to read about turtles - who are special because they live both on land and in water. Then I thought - with feathers, we can also live in the sky...three in one!!
At the park, chasing a two year old, I heard a mother across the park berate her son for not listening. She said, "And that's why you never get anything right." I wasn't right there - she was loud. What do we do in this kind of case? Do I have an obligation to go out of my way to confront the mom? I feel like I'm being tested.
So two people told me I looked good today - I look summery. Part of me felt flattered. but more of me felt like they were lying, or just being nice. I realized that I have never felt beautiful in my life. And it's so weird, because I think you, my four sisters are each so beautiful. And I know I resemble you all, but I am not attractive. That also attaches to my complete inability to take a compliment. When complimented, I explain why I am not the one to be complimented.
Do you have this pattern also?
Long weekend, and now onto the beginning of another long week!
Oh - an maybe you didn't have the next dream, because you understand, therefore you don't need it. Or perhaps your heart has not been reconstituted yet.
Love you, g'night and sweet dreams...
We were talking about what animals have to teach us, and my neighbor said - it's like the the turtle with feathers. Time to come out of your shell and fly. I told her that you and I were just discussing the turtle dream, and that our brother just happened to recommend Trampled by Turtles. She laughed and said she loved when the world did this to us.
So I came home to read about turtles - who are special because they live both on land and in water. Then I thought - with feathers, we can also live in the sky...three in one!!
At the park, chasing a two year old, I heard a mother across the park berate her son for not listening. She said, "And that's why you never get anything right." I wasn't right there - she was loud. What do we do in this kind of case? Do I have an obligation to go out of my way to confront the mom? I feel like I'm being tested.
So two people told me I looked good today - I look summery. Part of me felt flattered. but more of me felt like they were lying, or just being nice. I realized that I have never felt beautiful in my life. And it's so weird, because I think you, my four sisters are each so beautiful. And I know I resemble you all, but I am not attractive. That also attaches to my complete inability to take a compliment. When complimented, I explain why I am not the one to be complimented.
Do you have this pattern also?
Long weekend, and now onto the beginning of another long week!
Oh - an maybe you didn't have the next dream, because you understand, therefore you don't need it. Or perhaps your heart has not been reconstituted yet.
Love you, g'night and sweet dreams...
Bits and pieces of memories
The dream hasn't returned...I was afraid that would happen if I wrote it down. It will return when or if I need it again.
It is funny that you say I might have more perspective about Mom's family, even though I lived there for a few years (mostly at college) there wasn't alot of visiting.
I remember Great Aunts U and M...they reminded me of storks...long necks and legs...
my most vivid memory of them was at Grammy's funeral...
they climbed up, almost into the coffin to hug her...
right then and there I declared I would be cremated...no one was going to touch me after I was dead.
I remember Great Uncle P vaguely...
I remember Aunt R...very childlike.
I remember Uncle J had a house in the woods when he was dating or first married for the second time. I liked his second wife very much...she was kind and laughed...she also had long fingernails...longer than any one's I had ever seen...she said Uncle J liked them like that.
I remember her more than I do him.
Uncle J came to my wedding...I hadn't seen him in over 10 years and I didn't recognize him...
I assumed he was from my husband's side of the family...how embarrassing.
I didn't realize that he and his first wife were so unstable. I often wondered about their custody arrangement...the kids were split up.
Uncle G has always been a favorite...because he laughed and hugged all the time...of course he always had a drink and cigarette in his hands at the time.
He does have a close knit family... something that has intrigued me...so different from our own. I wonder what lies behind all of that....is everyone as content as they seem.
I believe that G and C had a short separation while I was living in that area. I remember hearing that C went back home. I think they reconciled pretty quickly though.
He once asked me to come to his house and we could start a business...he would castrate the animals and I would do vasectomies on the men.
I do find it funny that he passes himself off as Dr.G and talks to people about alternative health treatments...he is too smart for his own good.
I see alot of myself in him.
I remember how most of Mom's family were gathered when Aunt S was terminal. They were there for several weeks before she died. Uncle J came to the house and asked if we had a bible or prayer book and I gave him one that I had...he was so thankful for that book.
I need to take a night to catch fireflies...and look to the heavens for shooting stars.
Thanks for the inspiration...
Maggie
It is funny that you say I might have more perspective about Mom's family, even though I lived there for a few years (mostly at college) there wasn't alot of visiting.
I remember Great Aunts U and M...they reminded me of storks...long necks and legs...
my most vivid memory of them was at Grammy's funeral...
they climbed up, almost into the coffin to hug her...
right then and there I declared I would be cremated...no one was going to touch me after I was dead.
I remember Great Uncle P vaguely...
I remember Aunt R...very childlike.
I remember Uncle J had a house in the woods when he was dating or first married for the second time. I liked his second wife very much...she was kind and laughed...she also had long fingernails...longer than any one's I had ever seen...she said Uncle J liked them like that.
I remember her more than I do him.
Uncle J came to my wedding...I hadn't seen him in over 10 years and I didn't recognize him...
I assumed he was from my husband's side of the family...how embarrassing.
I didn't realize that he and his first wife were so unstable. I often wondered about their custody arrangement...the kids were split up.
Uncle G has always been a favorite...because he laughed and hugged all the time...of course he always had a drink and cigarette in his hands at the time.
He does have a close knit family... something that has intrigued me...so different from our own. I wonder what lies behind all of that....is everyone as content as they seem.
I believe that G and C had a short separation while I was living in that area. I remember hearing that C went back home. I think they reconciled pretty quickly though.
He once asked me to come to his house and we could start a business...he would castrate the animals and I would do vasectomies on the men.
I do find it funny that he passes himself off as Dr.G and talks to people about alternative health treatments...he is too smart for his own good.
I see alot of myself in him.
I remember how most of Mom's family were gathered when Aunt S was terminal. They were there for several weeks before she died. Uncle J came to the house and asked if we had a bible or prayer book and I gave him one that I had...he was so thankful for that book.
I need to take a night to catch fireflies...and look to the heavens for shooting stars.
Thanks for the inspiration...
Maggie
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Shooting Stars Kind of Night
Ah, quiet...I worked today, then got groceries, and then...grandchildren. It is lovely to have them with me. When the younger one went to sleep, the older one and I went out to watch lightning bugs. Tonight is a magical night. I think I saw a shooting star, and we found the Big Dipper and the Milky Way.
I didn't think you were judging me for finding a home for Tinya. I just wanted to stop the harshness of your response, that part where we really beat ourselves up. I think animals understand the big picture and are here to teach us. I think we have both learned to value our four legged companions - and the feathered ones too! I was thinking about how I felt when I had to take the cat away and leave her in that barn. The best description is hollow. I felt hollow, like I had no insides and no feelings. Are these the moments that dampen our sparks - or in Pennsylvania Dutch - outen our light? The pain is so much that we simply stop feeling?
Fern came from a healthy home with good role models. I remember going to a chicken dinner at the church once, I had to be about 9. I saw a lady using her knife and fork to eat hers, and so I tried to do the same. My plate slipped. Neither Mom nor Dad said a word, no one stopped to help me. Finally one of the kitchen volunteers came and helped me clean the plate, then I sat there, ashamed, for the rest of the meal, and had nothing to eat. We didn't know it was possible to speak up. How could you possibly learn to stand between the ax and the pig, when we can't even handle a public mishap and ask for a plate to share food with a child. I'm sure that what happened was Dad blustered in the privacy of our home, that, "We can't take those damn kids anywhere."
I never thought about turtles spending so much of their lives alone. What I do think of is that they are ancient, and the most ancient of plants and insects and creatures fascinate me. Turtles have shells with 13 plastrons - one story for each of the full moons of the year, according to native tradition - who also say we live on Turtle Island. And I just read that the internal organs of an old turtle are indistinguishable from a young one, and so they are being studied in reference to longevity. Have you ever read Elizabeth Marshall Thomas? She wrote the Hidden Life of Dogs, the Tribe of Tiger for cats. She analyzed their social structure and points out that cats have an intricate social structure. We just don't see it because it is different. It makes me wonder how turtles organize their social structure. They live so long and so slowly, we probably can't recognize it with our human short-sightedness.
B#4 sent me a recommendation to listen to a band called Trampled by Turtles last evening. Coincidence? One of my favorite quotes is: Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous.
Depression and dreams did not get in the way...they just showed us the path we were supposed to explore!
Mom's brothers. I don't remember a lot. The older had a troubled first marriage. I think they married young, and she left him a lot. It was strange. They would be around, they would disappear, and I never understood what was happening. His second wife was older, possibly more motherly. That was a long and stable union. He raised the oldest child, the younger two were with their mom. That family was so split. And apparently there have been some problems with him accepting his youngest's homosexuality. More estrangement. I have a lot of respect for the youngest brother because of the unity and connection he and his wife have with their children,. But since they live so far away, I have absolutely no idea of the dynamics. He was often judgmental and I was never quite good enough.
I did put the youngest in a tough position once. I told him that I was living with a boyfriend. I figured if he accepted it easily, I would tell Mom. I didn't tell Mom! I think she still does not know...Grammy's family was not very connected. One brother died in WWII. Another disappeared for years, came back to the family home region not too long before he died. Grammy married an alcoholic. These are signs of having come from a dysfunctional, probably alcoholic, home. Her sister was normal until age 7 when she got one of the childhood diseases. A very high fever damaged her brain, and she never matured past 7 years old. According to the stories, she lived with Mom's family when Mom was young, but she became increasingly violent. Mom said she was schizophrenic. The story is that she grabbed a knife and tried to attack someone, possibly Uncle J, at a birthday party. After that she was admitted to the state hospital where she lived until the hospitals were closed. Then she moved in to a group home. The last time I saw her was when she was in the hospital for some kind of routine surgery. I must have been in college. She recognized me immediately. When I was about 7 we lived near her, and Grammy occasionally brought her to our house for day visits. We were good friends at that time. I wrote to her for years - maybe once or twice a year. I remember going to the state hospital when I was very young. I must have been with Grammy. I don't know if we visited her there, or if we were getting her for the day...it happened more than once, though.
Grampa Smoke's family...hmmmm. There were a lot of them. I don't know where he was in the roll of kids. I know his mother was Irish Catholic, and she founded the Catholic Daughters chapter in their region. There were the twins - Ursula and Catherine, Great Aunt C was the family historian and I have copies of a lot of her research. Several never married. I remember Uncle Pete, which was not his real name. What I remember was that he was very religiously judgmental. He was not very nice! There was also an Aunt Essie, who lived alone in a corner house. I used to stop and visit her when we lived in that town. She wrote hymns. I can still sing one of them -- or at least some of it. It seems like I was quite the little busy-body!! What really stands out for me is that the siblings lived close, but did not interact a lot.
You lived closer later, so your perspective is different than mine. What do you remember?
Did you finish the dream sequence?
Yawns and Love,
Clare
I didn't think you were judging me for finding a home for Tinya. I just wanted to stop the harshness of your response, that part where we really beat ourselves up. I think animals understand the big picture and are here to teach us. I think we have both learned to value our four legged companions - and the feathered ones too! I was thinking about how I felt when I had to take the cat away and leave her in that barn. The best description is hollow. I felt hollow, like I had no insides and no feelings. Are these the moments that dampen our sparks - or in Pennsylvania Dutch - outen our light? The pain is so much that we simply stop feeling?
Fern came from a healthy home with good role models. I remember going to a chicken dinner at the church once, I had to be about 9. I saw a lady using her knife and fork to eat hers, and so I tried to do the same. My plate slipped. Neither Mom nor Dad said a word, no one stopped to help me. Finally one of the kitchen volunteers came and helped me clean the plate, then I sat there, ashamed, for the rest of the meal, and had nothing to eat. We didn't know it was possible to speak up. How could you possibly learn to stand between the ax and the pig, when we can't even handle a public mishap and ask for a plate to share food with a child. I'm sure that what happened was Dad blustered in the privacy of our home, that, "We can't take those damn kids anywhere."
I never thought about turtles spending so much of their lives alone. What I do think of is that they are ancient, and the most ancient of plants and insects and creatures fascinate me. Turtles have shells with 13 plastrons - one story for each of the full moons of the year, according to native tradition - who also say we live on Turtle Island. And I just read that the internal organs of an old turtle are indistinguishable from a young one, and so they are being studied in reference to longevity. Have you ever read Elizabeth Marshall Thomas? She wrote the Hidden Life of Dogs, the Tribe of Tiger for cats. She analyzed their social structure and points out that cats have an intricate social structure. We just don't see it because it is different. It makes me wonder how turtles organize their social structure. They live so long and so slowly, we probably can't recognize it with our human short-sightedness.
B#4 sent me a recommendation to listen to a band called Trampled by Turtles last evening. Coincidence? One of my favorite quotes is: Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous.
Depression and dreams did not get in the way...they just showed us the path we were supposed to explore!
Mom's brothers. I don't remember a lot. The older had a troubled first marriage. I think they married young, and she left him a lot. It was strange. They would be around, they would disappear, and I never understood what was happening. His second wife was older, possibly more motherly. That was a long and stable union. He raised the oldest child, the younger two were with their mom. That family was so split. And apparently there have been some problems with him accepting his youngest's homosexuality. More estrangement. I have a lot of respect for the youngest brother because of the unity and connection he and his wife have with their children,. But since they live so far away, I have absolutely no idea of the dynamics. He was often judgmental and I was never quite good enough.
I did put the youngest in a tough position once. I told him that I was living with a boyfriend. I figured if he accepted it easily, I would tell Mom. I didn't tell Mom! I think she still does not know...Grammy's family was not very connected. One brother died in WWII. Another disappeared for years, came back to the family home region not too long before he died. Grammy married an alcoholic. These are signs of having come from a dysfunctional, probably alcoholic, home. Her sister was normal until age 7 when she got one of the childhood diseases. A very high fever damaged her brain, and she never matured past 7 years old. According to the stories, she lived with Mom's family when Mom was young, but she became increasingly violent. Mom said she was schizophrenic. The story is that she grabbed a knife and tried to attack someone, possibly Uncle J, at a birthday party. After that she was admitted to the state hospital where she lived until the hospitals were closed. Then she moved in to a group home. The last time I saw her was when she was in the hospital for some kind of routine surgery. I must have been in college. She recognized me immediately. When I was about 7 we lived near her, and Grammy occasionally brought her to our house for day visits. We were good friends at that time. I wrote to her for years - maybe once or twice a year. I remember going to the state hospital when I was very young. I must have been with Grammy. I don't know if we visited her there, or if we were getting her for the day...it happened more than once, though.
Grampa Smoke's family...hmmmm. There were a lot of them. I don't know where he was in the roll of kids. I know his mother was Irish Catholic, and she founded the Catholic Daughters chapter in their region. There were the twins - Ursula and Catherine, Great Aunt C was the family historian and I have copies of a lot of her research. Several never married. I remember Uncle Pete, which was not his real name. What I remember was that he was very religiously judgmental. He was not very nice! There was also an Aunt Essie, who lived alone in a corner house. I used to stop and visit her when we lived in that town. She wrote hymns. I can still sing one of them -- or at least some of it. It seems like I was quite the little busy-body!! What really stands out for me is that the siblings lived close, but did not interact a lot.
You lived closer later, so your perspective is different than mine. What do you remember?
Did you finish the dream sequence?
Yawns and Love,
Clare
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