I often leave comments and afterwards notice that what I’ve said, I also need to hear. I munch on it throughout the day. That is the case thanks to Jessica at the Counter Stool. I pulled up a chair at her counter on a prettily colored woven stool and had a chat. And wouldn’t it be lovely if she lived right around the corner along with other friends I have met on-line.
Peeling layers off an onion, shedding skin like a snake, or other ways of digging deep, then letting go….? Onion layers cause tears and it often felt like that. My new outlook? Unwrapping extra candy wrappers to reach the goodness inside. Until I cradle all that I endured, I am not accepting myself and all that I have suffered and gone through.
Those are the places to honor, cherish, exult and rock with a gentleness from the core love of all mothers, now and through the ages. This child who suffered, struggled and survived, and fought through against horrendous traumas rocking her world then, and for years to come.
Yet she grew. I am here now. I have a right to admire all the qualities that kept me here. And there are many that went underground with the truth of what was survived. It is time to get to know those qualities, to shine a light in the dark and uncover the gems, gold, crystals, silver, diamonds, rubies, emeralds…so much more to uncover that hasn’t been mined. Because it had to be hidden with all the rest to protect ‘family.’
It wasn’t until I owned all that happened to me that I truly came into myself, not taking on the crimes of others, but that I did indeed suffer them. I had been running. There are many ways to run and who hasn’t chosen one at times. I don’t need to name them, too much or too little of just about anything could be running. Balance was just a word. Living a full, NORMAL life, where I counted and was as important as the next person, was a wish that never would come true.
And why would I want to remember and feel all that happened. I didn’t. It caught up with me, I couldn’t run fast enough. All the years in therapy were not about my childhood, but rather making my life work at the time; career, kids, marriage, friends, all the day to day stuff. I needed it to manage and survive…yes survive. Being critically injured, and repeatedly, carrying all that black blood inside, only rotted, never healing. Healing was also just a word.
Healing is a journey not a finished product.
A very large cavern existed inside, unexplored, unwelcome, empty. The soul of me. I existed as an empty shell, doing, acting as if, pasting a smile on in all the right places or trying to. Not until I went there, to all the scary places and felt what I felt wholly, completely, not until then did a smile become a real one.
I carried a sadness for a long time after that for I had lost much and had much to grieve. And that was OK, because I felt authentic for the very first time. The dirt and grime I waded through was not mine, was not me.
As I felt what had been packed away, each betrayal, each body memory of revulsion, every moment that had branded on my memory but had never spoken and instead swallowed, was finally expressed, then shared with another human being. As the chapters came up along with the tears, I began to feel lighter. I began to appreciate all that I had suffered, and a new appreciation grew of a woman whose strength was there right on the pages along with her tears.
I am not what happened to me. Yet I am. By disregarding huge portions of myself, those parts that survived what was not survivable, I reject the very best in me that fought to survive and won.
I went deep a layer at a time, layer upon layer of defenses, ways to run, each layer a candy wrapper of ingenuity, a wrapper brilliant at survival to take pride in for its protection when it was needed. I unwrapped as I could when the time was right, instinctively, not forced, as if time had unfolded the contents, not me.
I am liking what I find at the center.