There’s a change. There is hope in my heart, a surge of life bursting forth with the coming of spring. Yes it is January, but the days grow long, a minute a day. After 5pm there is still light. The sun moving back our way casts crimson clouds on the horizon swimming in maroons, pinks, and turquoise.
No wonder since September each month became harder, November drowning me in sleeplessness and negativity, December, a time for celebration but having to put on the power switch to see it through. Then, slowly, relief.
Dec. 21st was the shortest day. It makes sense the struggle to stay afloat began to lift in the weeks after. An uplift. Hope. A happy feeling powering me to join an exercise class for those my age, then going!
Brain chemicals adjust to the longer days, starving for the light, soaking it in. Consistent use of full spectrum lights may have helped somewhat, but not like this. A feeling of well-being craved during the shorter days begins to fill me with a wholeness that satisfies grounding my being.
photo by Patricia
Do better, be better. And, or, allow for my humanness which provides softening in one’s soul, a soothing that all is OK even when it’s not. Because it never is all alright. There is a pull of tension then the relief of satisfying peace. This ebb and flow is a part of life. Acceptance rather than fighting offers the peace you seek.
Why does one relationship drill me to the bone causing pain that keeps me awake in the night, even nightmares that ring in my brain days later? Is it the other person, or is it my reaction to them? It is only my reaction under my control, yet the same old reactions occur year after year causing the inevitable feeling of failure that I am not in control of at least myself.
If it’s me and only me that I control, then why can’t I do better? Why can’t I go with the flow and let the silliness of what’s going on fall off me like shedding water? This dilemma doesn’t seem to soften or improve. Or if there are improvements, I’m not noticing them. Maybe this tension filled relationship is just here to stay. Lighten up. You’re not alone. We all have those who we learn the most about ourselves from.
It is not easy. It is often painful. But the work needing to be done is the same work everyone works on, to grow oneself. To expand, dig deep, and do better.
The undercurrent throbbing almost below consciousness runs the same, a feeling of being bad or wrong ingrained into my psyche since childhood due to the sexual attacks by loved ones. Maybe more damaging was that the traumatic experiences were never allowed expression… that meant no love, support or medical attention offered to process and work through it.
There it sat solidifying within me. As a child alone with such traumas the only way through was to blame myself, otherwise it is the family that is bad. The family was all I had, so I blamed myself. How could I not? .
The message that I’m bad became central, the core of my personality. My fear is that threads of it will forever stay. The work continues. Progress has been made, yet when winter pulls me under, the wish to sleep till spring like a bear takes hold. Each day must be faced with the goal that by day’s end there will be a feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment.
Nearing evening the boxes are checked, and too often failing in some. That some is a word used in that sentence is a step forward. Rather than seeing it all as failures, there is room for all that is achieved. That is progress. The harsh voice is softened.
photo by Patricia
What is the fear erupting each day crackling just below the surface- ruminating, festering, and growing instead of abating? Talk yourself out of it. Calm the anxiety even if it can’t be named.
Carrying it with me, because there is no ridding myself of it, the sharp buzz lessons with familiarity. The fear sometimes rises, sometimes diminishes, but is always there.
If only it could be named. When standing at the cusp of change, a shift in growth can cause unease. Dare to put one foot forward. But what if I fall? Perhaps, just perhaps, let deep whispers flow, and quiet the mind. The directives rising from the source defy logic authenticating my being. Listen. Pay attention. And trust it.
photo by son Cory
Coming out of a month of illness makes me impatient for full health to return. It is a slow process, able to walk the meadow one day, then terrifically tired the next. Listen to your body, a soft voice whispers… so I rest.
Sleep too is returning. It is understandable now to see why sleep was so drastically interfered with. It is too bad that soft voice couldn’t whisper support when up nights staring blankly at the TV, my heart working harder due to the increased difficulty of breathing. My harsh voice was at it blaming myself for not sleeping, for not quieting thoughts, or whatever reason the blame came for.
It is understandable now, but not while going through it. Adding blame to sickness made it so much harder. As strength returns so do feelings of connecting with self, and the wholeness once found blossoms, with it the belief that what I need is reliable, available and always there inside me. Yes you can.
photo by Patricia
The feeling of differentness so acute as a child suffering sexual attacks by my siblings arises sharply at times. Many feelings from then still linger, stabbing into my present life. Unprocessed traumas and all the feelings with them didn’t dissipate but grew with me.
Yet no gentleness exists. It is a habit to beat myself up when today’s issues erupt emotion from childhood wounds. There is no conscious link to them. That is changing. There are reasons sleep is interrupted. Wounds untended in childhood along with a stolen voice caused an inseparable rift within; deep wounds and no way to them. I am mute to the world and mute to my soul.
Wounds fester and when touched with present hurts the pain expands exponentially. It is like placing an already burnt arm on a hot stove. The present slides away as the psyche escapes elsewhere. If a person is talking, what is said is not heard.
Self-loathing because the feeling of differentness is so acute is not what the wounded child needs. And she exists within me and will always be there. She needs what you did not receive then. Since there was only one urgent unspoken rule to not speak of it, there is no one to emulate a pattern of how to be gentle with myself.
It is a new road with little to go on except the times my mother extended gentleness in adulthood. There were moments when she tried, maybe to make up for the past.
photo by Patricia
The path to the core becomes tangled, blocked by memories, though the soul goes there to hide. So one resides in a place that can’t be found. No way in, no way out.
She peeks out at times. Maybe there is someone to trust, who takes her hand and guides her. Even so, the world is tough and into hiding she goes.
It may never be safe to come fully out. Maybe only in solitude does she find her soul, a safe haven to breathe, connect and become who she was meant to be.
It is these roots that save her. The very place she runs from, the memories which are a part of her history locked deep below. The same place where she hides.
Coming out she looks below and runs. Yet that is where the strength comes from and has kept her here all along. It is in what she suffered that makes her strong and who she is. It is her history that makes her beautiful.