CHERISH THE MOMENT

Reminders of a past repressed fade as time passes. Though submerged, it awaits remembering like a lingering nightmare. Rather than running my life, we coexist, accepting my past yet flourishing.

Sweet soft rain on a balmy morning, coat coming off, strolling round and round the meadow filled with buttercups. Each day wonders occur as if nothing was noticed yesterday… but it was.

Honeysuckle bushes along the hedgerow are gloriously blooming, the scent filling me with ethereal pleasure. The enormous snowball bushes given to me as tiny plants from a friend are towering over me, cutting some for a bountiful bouquet.

After such a difficult, restless night due to the nightmare, the next morning was spent on the patio. Stripping down to as much bare skin that can be exposed without being naked, the warmth soothed my ragged spirit along with great mugs of strong coffee.

Pleasure with pain. Rather than sinking into sadness over my past, accepting both then and now, but focusing on present wonders makes me smile.

With all the difficulties there is still joy. With all the horrific events in the world so unimaginable, moments must be treasured. While still honoring and caring for my own struggles, I am reminded to be grateful for every moment.

FULLY BEING

Awake, even the birds are still sleeping. Yet it’s been a restful night, so padding out to the kitchen, hitting the coffee grinder switch, the twinkle lights turn on just in time. After the loud pulse of fresh beans being ground, errant bird chirpings are heard.

Must be the newborns that wake earlier than their parents. A frog deeply croaks in the distance signaling time for them to finally come out of the mud from winter’s hibernation. The moon, though waning, brightly lights up the back porch, and outdoor fairy garden solar lighting is still aglow.

The cat stretches out beside me, her head popping up occasionally when she hears a rustle nearby. Restless just sitting still, it takes focus to breathe and just be present and in my body.

Much of my days are like that, slowing down to be present in the moment and in my body. Fractured pieces pull me away or try to. Living, now that the kids are raised, the jobs are done, and there’s nowhere to go because my body can’t take it anyway, is living in the moment and being OK with just that.

The Journey

Feeling bones, my body thinner, scared, a few pounds easily were put back on. Feeling safer, it is easier to control my eating. Becoming smaller comes with threats of success and a great urge to numb out with food.

Of course there is a link, but I haven’t figured it out yet, or all the way through. The urge to eat when not hungry, a typical day for me since age 8, fades when a softer, kinder voice is heard and felt.

Though happening for periods of time creating success with weight loss as a secondary plus, sustaining kind thoughts of myself takes primary focus. That is the goal, food and weight are symptoms of the self-hate developing in childhood falling in-line only when kindness to self steps in.

The voice whispers positive things about myself that are allowed into me. That is challenging to sustain after living most of my life otherwise. Much of that grew as I grew pleasing the origin family, living by implied rules if wanting to remain a part of it… toxic as it was and still is- what’s left of it.

What grew with the ugliness of repeated sexual attacks by supposed loving brothers with nowhere to talk about it, and no one to help or stop it, was a life of unprocessed trauma, chronic, embedded, PTSD, with a critic inside me louder than anything else—a life of punishing myself for having been abused.

Hate myself, blame myself, eat, eat, eat, both to numb out the hate and to comfort myself from the internal nasty word beatings, that voice in my head that came from ‘family’, but became mine. No, it was not spoken aloud, but the messages were imprinted into my soul because no one talked of the tragedies that befell me, nor stopped it. The imposed silence, and the implications of blame I felt entombed me.

A miracle occurs when a more honest view of myself is heard, one that can look at mistakes and flaws kindlier, but much harder, and more importantly, looks at the positive qualities, feels them, believes them, and taking them in as my own.

When that miracle happens, the overpowering urge to eat when not hungry dissipates because my soul is being filled, finally filled.

FEARS

Samuel’s photo of last night’s lunar eclipse

Fear walks with me, even in a life insulated from too much stimulation protecting my worn-out system after a life of debilitating anxiety depleting my adrenal glands. Fear is with me at all times, though the gauge wanders from extreme to lower levels, it rides with me always, my periscope scanning the perimeter unless zoning out. (my term for dissociation)

Constantly on the ready during nature walks for disaster- though my blood curdling screams over snakes has diminished, if startled by one a yelp erupts as well as a flutter of my heart, probably not good for a heart to jolt with too many of those.

Then there are tick checks after finding one on my back one day. Out in the early morn, the fog as thick as the dew, using the spreader, a great amount of insect repellant granules are dispersed all along the 2-acre path. That ought to keep them off, along with tick spray on my socks and pants.

Now, keep the mockingbirds away from my walking area and patio, as one summer they continually attacked once their babies broke free from the eggs… torpedoing my head ready to peck out my eyes. That was terrorizing lasting too many weeks into precious summer time.

Too often forgetting how my system is on auto-ready for terror, and how much a drain that is, it is kinder and more compassionate to accept how it is, and why, then be gentle with myself acknowledging the reality of my existence.

There is damage left behind by those professing to love me. Comparing myself to others who breeze through life is not helpful either. PTSD unprocessed does damage that for me is lifelong. Learning as a child that home is not safe, what, where, and who is?

Joy outweighs it all …

MIRACLES

Many times a post is written in the early morning well intended then later in the day the intentions fall and goals washed away with the buzzing in my body coming from years of separation from it.

But yesterday the intent stayed, and so too did my mind, body, psyche, emotions, and spirit. It took repeated focus, remember, go slow, breathe, stay.

Push, push, push, and by some afternoons a sickness in my aging body that cannot cope with too much. My evil brain attacks telling other systems to do more, otherwise you are not worthwhile.

Yet the truth is that slowing down, letting all aspects of my being have the time to come along meshing as one, is of worth, is caring, loving, and respectful.

Since sexual attacks to my being in childhood, the shattering meant that parts were locked in cells separately, other than in my body. Being in my body was too dangerous, so too being in the present moment.

It has taken years to be present. First for relished moments while meditating, then longer as years go by. Then, even more challenging, being in my body, a work in progress, but wondrous when succeeding and feeling safe at the same time.

A miracle still exploring. Is it safe?

Thank you mother earth for this morning’s miracle, a morning walk before the sun rises yielding thick wisps of fog off the creek creating a curtain with shadows of trees behind the mysterious shimmering wall decorated with sunbeams….

Living or Dying?

Fear grabs hold tightening my chest, chasing me throughout the day like a shadow invading my body. Fear of aging, of bad things happening as they are around the world, but even in one’s own life a horror can happen in a millisecond.

Fears compile, the boulder gaining speed tumbling down the hill of thoughts speeding into nowhere but doom. Pull yourself up, rustle up courage, and stop the spread.

Everyone dies, every single person. You are not alone in that. When aging, dying comes closer in thoughts. Losing both a father at age 8, and a brother by suicide at age 21, brought thoughts of death closer earlier than what might be usual for most.

But in these past years, looking at Samuel as he limps, or the lines in his face as they deepen, thoughts of dying, or who goes first, invade many precious moments. And maybe that’s not all bad.

Thinking of coping if I were alone is one thing, worrying about it is another and wasteful. I might go first. Thinking about dying might help me live better, if the worrying boulder of fear is kept from rocketing off.

To guard every moment of a limited amount of them is using the fear wisely, not letting it curdle them. Guard each moment, live it fully.  I don’t have to save the world, just myself.

Make every moment precious.

I’M OK

A new day, the usual challenges of persuading mind, body, psyche, and emotions to be as one like it was intended to be. It takes a bit of focus, work for a brain that flits around often landing in danger zones of negativity about self.

But when breaking habits, its daily focus and work that leads to change, growth like burgeoning flowers during this glorious spring.

You can be alright. You can live fully, and yes, you do deserve to live that way, not as if Satan has invaded your body, that you’re evil, and every thought, word, and gesture needs analyzing or is wrong.

Wow, I’m OK? Peace doesn’t just arrive to a person shattered in childhood. It takes a life if one is lucky enough to live long enough, work at it, go deep, and stay there more than a fleeting moment.

Because when in touch with one’s soul, then all you do is in alignment with it. This satisfaction, the simplicity of being, and being OK is all I need and worth more than all the riches in the world.

Naomi Judd

Thoughts dwell on Naomi Judd. We lost one of us, one of the little girls sexually abused. Though she came forward in an interview with Robin Roberts, did people still shun her as they seem to do because hearing about such things is repugnant to them?

I could sense her anxiety watching the interview, the wringing of hands that shook though she tried to hide them, the maddening back and forth of the smile we are forced to portray then the real wrenching pain of unhealed parts ripped to shreds as a child… and no one comes.

Back and forth, the smile, the paralyzing agony depressing her being so much she took her own life. That could be me.

My body does not cope with the decades of hypervigilance- daily adrenalin rushes with cortisol bursts over a tiny insignificant sound, or someone coming up behind me, even my child or husband. That happens even now.

We lost one of our own, and the sorrow cannot be wiped away. Someone needs to talk about it. People need to listen. This is happening to our little girls. Boys too, but little girls far more, we just hear about boys more.

Do a TED talk? Do a youtube? People don’t want to listen, but they must. Isn’t it time to protect our children? Who protected Naomi? She seemed so happy through the years with that smile.

Performing. There is so much performing, as families insist on keeping it quiet, and the child performs. But a body can’t hold out forever and the agony must be released be it too much eating, shopping, drinking, drugging, marrying someone to beat you, or dying.

It is hard road, and I am saddened that this woman has died because her sadness caused it to be so.  

Harder Days

Everything about me is a secret, unless you are one of the rare few who know me well, or unless you are a blogger where the freedom to be real is relished. Going to my center uncensored has given the gift of growth, acceptance, and the beginning kernels of self-love.

All the gunk interwoven in my belly, so much of it knotted in rejection of self, going against my own at every turn. Thoughts beating me down.

A common thread woven in childhood when those so close and trusted attacked. A thread of self-blame turning into a noose, a rope becoming so thick can it ever be unraveled?

Some days it is hard to get out of bed to greet the day, pushing myself up with that hardened serious feeling that took hold at age 8 in order to survive. Burdens of self-brutality too much to face.

Needing love, yet not finding any within, looking for it from mother long dead now, though she loved her other 7 sons too and that fact made her love for me tainted, poisonous, and twisted with deadly consequences.  

It is within where love needs planting, where needed the most. As the earth softens for growth, so too does my internal world. When making mistakes, which humans tend to do, let that old hatred for self go when raising its monstrous head.

Add the rich loamy soil of love, warmth, and tenderness instead and see what sprouts. It is hard, sometimes laborious work, just like meeting the day when not wanting to. But it will be OK, and so are you.

THE PRESENT/PRESENTS

Photo by son, Cory

My boots crunch the frosty grass, crisp, lush, and growing fast, the sun barely peeping over the hill. Round and round, then respite waterside. Get out of your head!

In my head, legs crossed, sitting on a stool in the empty, dim room, with open eyes that don’t see. Brains are necessary, but too much time there squashes the present. Come, awake, experience miracles right there in front of you!

Out of my head into the present. Diamonds sparkling golden orange on dew dropped tips of glistening grass. Dancing ghosts swirling by upon the water, the mist mesmerizing as it glides.

Again, and again the reminder needs repeating, get out of your head into now! Thinking this, or that, when what is right before me delights, enlightens, and is miraculously enthralling.  

Earth, mother loving me with all her gifts.