She flies free…
She flies free…
My daughter-in-law will deliver her third child via C-sect on Valentine’s Day. In honor of the event we had a dinner party called a Sprinkle rather than a shower… I constructed this little Baby Bootie Cake, We know that it will be a boy!
Cindy on bracelet #2
It is a relief to move away from Seth’s harsh words and rebuff over Spring and Summer. The anxiety hurt my heart sending me to the hospital via ambulance for an overnight stay to rule out a heart attack. It was an attack on the heart.
I go about things as I’ve always done— on my own. I have been able to maintain a limited relationship with three siblings because they were the only ones out of seven who hadn’t touched me abusively. Each has been helpful and kind towards me yet the interactions were restricted lacking closeness and depth.
I’ve arrived at a place where I need more and it isn’t there. Not one will go to the dark where I’ve lived. In looking for the light no one will hold my hand because to enter the light, I bring the dark. I come to the present with all of me and am not running. The failure of each to offer compassion, alliance or acknowledgment erects a barrier to my true self.
Any interaction is like pouring water over rock. Why bother? It is about their flaws and has nothing to do with me…yet everything to do with me. Their lack of profundity for the truth makes me realize my own strength for what may be the first time.
I felt I leaned on them but I have been the stalwart one all along. I wish I hadn’t been the one to carry the burden of secrets and do it all alone. There is a part of me that will always grieve ‘family,’ craving comfort and succor that never comes but from my center.
What happens in families of origin when a sexual abuse survivor comes forward seems a common theme. Don’t talk or speak of it or you’re out. It has nothing to do with the survivor yet has everything to do with her. The ‘family’ cleaves to the natural order of clan instinctually banning together no matter what.
It is about weaknesses in their character and lack of strength. Each has their own agenda. The victim is outcast if she speaks. Yet I must speak and need to belong at the same time.
So I take steps that feel like I belong then make space and go on as I always have…on my own cherishing the family I have built. The more space I have the better I feel.
At the pumpkin patch!
I’m dreaming of camping, swimming and flowers…
Winter hits hard, not so much snow and cold, but short days with dreary grass, trees, bushes and sky. I trudge the meadow path feeling bleak, no warmth inside my soul or nurturing presence…not for me, but I need it. I imagine my Mother Nature with flowing long hair in a beautiful wispy dress, hovering above showering love. Her gentleness, kindness and care guides me as I circle the muddy path. My imagery begins to offer solace and warmth. Though the grey day doesn’t change a shift inside does as arms wrap around me melting the icy insides.
If you feel you need an angel, imagine one. If you need a teddy bear or Raggedy Anne, have one. Hold it, hug it, do whatever it is that you need to feel warm and good. What would that be? I may be 63 but I am not too old to hug a teddy bear. I never will be.
Sitting under the morning full spectrum lights for twenty minutes listening to the morning headlines as usual, the local weather guy says it is 55 out even before dawn. He adds that you may want to howl at the moon. It is called a Wolf Moon.
I cannot resist going out on the porch in my bathrobe and barefooted in a hurry not to miss it before it dips below the western horizon…I resisted howling.
The winter winds howl as temperatures dip to single digits causing a snow storm to make me stay inside all day. Cabin fever begins to collect in my bones and my head feels soggy. Grocery shopping was nixed as the white-out turned to freezing rain coating everything with ice.
We had Cindy to delight our day and make me smile, an endless ball of energy with a smile just as endless with rosy cheeks and dancing eyes. Through the night temperatures jet into the 40’s with winds waking me as it rattled the porch shutters and shuffled porch furniture.
A light beamed in looking like a planet that fell from the sky all aglow lighting up the shimmery snow. Stepping out in bathrobe and slippers before 6 am, wind whipped at my skirts connecting me to the force of nature…
Childhood abuse is a life altering experience. Everything that follows is the recovery.... Sharing my experience, to show that you are not alone...
How I managed to forgive and how I moved on but will never forget
Apprentice crone, newby blogger, clinging determinedly to my sense of humour during menopause.
Healthywayz- Achievable Incremental Aims to Health
Conquering one random question at a time
I like my partners like I like my coffee: able to wake me without pissing me off.
That Exceeds Understanding
Trauma, Love, and Relationships
I am on a journey; a journey to heal through my voice - surving life after sexual abuse
when no one understands we need to help each other...
#PTSD #PTSS #Anxiety #Depression #Survivor #Healing
Faith, Love, relationships, marriage, hope
A Memoir of Abuse and It's Life Long Effects.
with each breath, day, and night.
Memoirs of a Random Girl
Finding beauty in the ashes: Notes from my journey of healing and faith
Journaling and self expression
an artist's travel log
The Whole Story
Keep Moving Forward
ENGAGING EXPRESSIVE INTUITIVE
Working through the Dark Night of the Soul to emerge as me.
ROAD TO HOPE
Surviving CSA and navigating life as a trainee Counsellor
A survivor's tale. (Trigger Warning)
ROAD OF HOPE
Creating a life without shame
An assortment of life's moments: fragmented, colorful and beautiful.
This WordPress.com site is the cat’s pajamas
Points of Inspiration
my battle against mental health; the good, the bad and the ugly
A Journey to Motherhood through Diet
The truth comes most clear in the darkness.
At the age of 38, after a lifetime of not fitting in, I was finally diagnosed as an adult female on the autism spectrum. This is my Story.
My journey from a southern-gospel tour bus to THE HELL AWAY FROM THAT THING. And beyond.
The bruises may have healed, but the soul has not.
Resources and blog about trauma and critical incidents affecting the world.
The doll with the mental health issues and sexual abuse survivor