Many, many, many years ago when I counseled breastfeeding mothers, we were taught to let the moms tell their birthing stories as often as they needed to. Someone realized it was the way we assimilated the experience, made it our own. I still like to share my stories occasionally. They were important, they defined me. (I also like to share your second story, where I got involved...)
So I can completely understand why you want to let people, or encourage people, to tell their trauma stories over and over, and from different perspectives, as often as they need to. Just as surrendering to, or enduring, maybe, birthing defined me, so did enduring trauma. Whatever happened certainly shaped who I am and who I continue to be. That may be why not remembering everything make thriving so hard. I am grateful to survive. Then we live with adages like: What doesn't kill me makes me stronger.
I don't know - what doesn't kill me teaches me to endure. But endurance may not be a blessing, especially when it is so out of balance. Just "thinking out loud" here.
Thank you for sharing your leading about talking to Dad. It helped me be aware that I have been getting a "message" to reach out to my former sister-in-law. Not sure why, but I'm willing. It will be easier than your assignment.
Our family giggle is definitely a nervous laugh. We all do it. I picked it up with S#4, and then realized we all do it. Maybe it is to deflect perceived threat, a feeling of potential violence ahead. But, my kids don't do it...
With the girls' family, if they are all reeling from a suicide, maybe no one can talk about it. Maybe it is still too raw. I'm grateful they realized she needed someone. Perhaps in healthy families, they are there for each other. But we're not healthy...none of us are in this country! And so she is your wonderful opportunity for connection!
I've been thinking about the swamp as I move wood. I had firewood delivered before we went to the island. I got some of it moved, but I was hoping the young people who stayed here could finish. They got some more in. Then the few warm days melted the snow, followed by a good freeze, and a lot of the wood is frozen to the ground. I go out every afternoon and knock some loose. My wheelbarrow has seen better days, and so hobbling it loaded, back to the house is not always efficient.
As I walked through melting snow to the driveway, and slipped in the top layer of mud, I wondered how many people have frozen swamps. I don't know exactly what it means. But I know we can't do swan dives without breaking our noses! And as I wheeled the loaded barrow back to the house, I thought it was a fine allegory for my life right now. I am making forward progress, but if I had decent equipment and a better manicured lawn, I could make progress. Without that, I'm still slipping around and pushing really hard...
Then I read your comments about justice. And it triggered me. A full time worker at minimum wage earns about $12,000 per year. Not a living wage. And a bigger problem is that more and more people are working part-time, which can be up to 39 hours per week in my state - the company gets to decide what is full-time and what is part-time. Part-time workers don't get any benefits - no vacation, no insurance. It's a godsend for employers who don't want to waste potential profits rightly belonging to share-holders.
Social justice would limit the distance between the highest and lowest salaries. Social justice would see that everyone had medical insurance and time off - some time to rest. They do it in Europe, and the countries are not failing...
I work part-time, available 37.5 hours/week, not counting time it takes to write reports - since my schedule is usually full or almost full, it means I often work overtime...but I only get paid for the hours I work. I made less than $18,000 last year. I feel like I am revealing a big, black secret. I feel shame. I feel like I am not of value. I do not take vacations. I never rest - because if I don't work, I don't get paid. Social justice would be welcome in my family.
Writing this - I want to cry. I should be worth more. Or things should cost less. So, maybe now, seeing that in black and white, and in public - maybe something will change...I am worth more...
I love you...
Clare
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