The Hole

Help from others in the past brought solace. Leaning on others when the empty hole yawned like an endless cavern threatening to devour my sanity eased me through difficulty. It did not sustain adequately as the empty hole to run from remained. Others were asked for input on how I felt and what I thought because connection internally had not occurred. I was perpetually lost.

How to find that place when trauma kept me from it, when resting in the nectar of the soul is impossible because it is on fire not freshly swelling with honey? The lessons learned in childhood were that I was unlovable, unworthy and not capable. I yearned to belong and fit in. Help from the origin family came with conditions. Eventually those conditions were not possible. 

The pull to the clan is a basic instinct. To be rejected from the tribe means sure death. Once connections began within myself the origin family became poison. They are poisonous still. 

Everything that I knew as a child was stripped away, shattered and stolen. When sexually attacked by those I loved and trusted much was taken, much was lost— trust, innocence, the ownership of my own body, the feeling of belonging, the feeling I even had a right to be here, a sense of self, my sexuality…the list goes on. Challenges intensified as years passed and life’s responsibilities increased.     

The child that was disappeared. Who she became changed. Sadness permeated my being once the running stopped and acceptance came for what was done. The craving for acceptance into the fold kept me returning repeatedly with hope. There comes a time to stop looking for what will never come.

There are many paths to that place within that is home. Fleeing from it throughout life was the norm. With spirit, determination, and a dogged persistence it becomes possible to stay with what is. Instead of a dark scary place the hole became a bright lively room with doors to more rooms. Eventually the rooms open to each other. With excitement the exploration goes on.  

At times panic sets in but a voice, perhaps god speaks. She says, “You have everything that you need.” 

The panic abates. Peace soothes as answers come. It is imperative to connect to ones being. Yet it is only late in life that this miracle has opened up such possibilities. Expansion occurs each new day. The gaping painful hole became home. 

 

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The Silence That Shatters

Part of the trauma of childhood sexual abuse is the silence. Be quiet. Keep all that in on tiny shoulders. Love the ones who attack you. It is more traumatizing that the attacks themselves.

Attacks are typically soft, quiet and manipulative, as violent in nature as brute force due to the destruction caused to the child’s psyche. Each one is an attack on a little body taking a bit of the child each time. Each attempt at telling, often ignored, destroys her confidence until little is left of the child but a shell. 

Ingrained into a child at the time of abuse— be quiet, take it in as yours. The only thing that matters is the comfort of others. Victimization, feeling ostracized, muzzled and afraid follows her throughout life. Talking out loud about childhood sexual abuse makes others uncomfortable, especially those in relationships with the abuser(s).

Even now in my 60’s talking to those left in the group of people I was born into with my authentic self is not allowed. They cling together, ostracizing me, grasping at the hope for some semblance of ‘family.’ My presence disrupts the fantasy.

But that is not a family and never was. The freedom from wanting what never was unfolds with endless possibilities of discovery.

Lock Ness

Forgive: When a person decides to satisfy their lust using a child’s body, their actions are not forgivable. If one does not forgive the unforgivable how do you move on? By unclenching the clawed, hairy fist of the beast from my heart, squeezing it so tight I could hardly breathe or function. Rage, hate and anxiety ruled my life.

It took years to release the grip of each finger, blood flowing smoother until each sticky claw was off. The beast slipped back into the murky black depths of the scum topped lake. My precious heart was free and once again able to gently pump blood to the extremities, pure, clear and at peace.

Yet the beast rears it’s ugly head at times. In present day scenarios hurts occur. Some run deep reminiscent of wounds unhealed that never will. My heart becomes grasped by hate, anger and resentment.

Help me to forgive. Release me from this. The call to the source within that universally connects us all to each other helps set me on the path to peace. So easily my heart is disrupted needing to be soothed.

Compassion and kindness erupt while walking the yellowy meadow. Tears fall for the child held down, the child despised by the adult me.. 

FREEDOM

photos by Patricia

Freedom is an odd word. My thoughts are a powerful prison. Negative thoughts flow like an endless march. The taste of freedom when positivity arises makes me yearn for more. It does not come naturally.

Bounded by invisible chains of silence that protects the family unit caged me. Separating from the family of origin did not release the cement block of silence which stifled my being gagging all parts except hate, bitterness, revenge and rage.

Freedom from repetitive negative thoughts about myself began to occur once my truth was spoken. Freedom, that’s freedom. Childhood beliefs about my core badness were questioned deep down where it counts. The judge and jury ruled that harshness was to be overruled and the innocent shall go free with kindness and compassion.

The binding chains of my childhood wrapped my thoughts about life, living, being and who I am into twisted rope that I hung myself on. There was no way out. Attempts to flee were discouraged. The horrors were unleashed one by one because once tasting freedom, real freedom, I wanted more. The origin family rejects the truth discarding me with it.

Pulling up courage like armor strong yet warm, moments of extraordinary peace settled in my core radiating outward. Freedom, to breath, to be in the moment…safe. To allow myself the freedom to belong just as everyone else does. Others take this human right for granted. There are those who never had it.

Buried in concrete my shame became me. Freedom to speak allowed escape into a life worth living, a real person who had a right to be here with special traits, talents, thoughts and feelings. The path to my heart, body and soul was illuminated.

No one holds me hostage now.

ZONE QUEEN

Molly

‘Zone out’ is another word for ‘dissociation.’ The realization that this occurred and is different from how others exist occurred in my 60’s while blogging and others used the word frequently. It has been my way of existing since the age of eight when being in my body was not safe.  

Meditation has slowly taught me that it can be safe inhabiting my own body. Being in the Now feeling the cool breeze or warm sun is a pleasure. Easily overwhelmed due to life-long struggles with undiagnosed PTSD, my tendency to stare off into space has been my normal. Refuge and safety were found in that other place. 

Meditation brings me ‘home.’ Staying in the ‘now’ can be draining, life spins too fast. Home-life with nature where stimulus can be controlled helps. While meditating and noticing the breath a feeling of fullness occurs, all of me in me. It was fleeting at first, but over time happened more, the parts drawn to my center as if a magnet pulls them together. And there they stay as the realization that safety and being in the body can miraculously happen. 

The meditative half hour extends into the day, sitting by the creek, or on the patio in the sun as little birds swoop and hop nearby, unaware of my presence. Hummingbirds sip at the feeder nearby as my toes curl up feeling the warm, rough cement beneath them. Nestling my face in the cat’s fur while she purrs awakens my ability to love which is usually closely guarded and locked deep within. Safety is a constant issue.

Cooking, working in the studio, breathing in the scent of pine, watching photos upload to the computer surprising me with delights I didn’t know were there, are some of the simple pleasures that bring me back to the present and into my body. But continued meditation is the tool most helpful to feelings of wholeness…

KNOW THYSELF

photos by patricia

I pick fights when what I really need is compassion and support.

It takes work to understand my own motives. Is it a knee jerk reaction tainted with jealousy or is the response coming from a place that I feel good about? When my head hits the pillow sleep needs to come but living in a way that is contrary to my character and beliefs will interfere with peace. 

Looking deeply for true motives is not easy nor comfortable. 

It takes time for true insight, sometimes years. Enlightenment occurs and surprise, “Wow! I’ll go to great lengths to push someone away!” Or, “That is immature and not who I want to be.”

In tying a new path look with curiosity,  notice, be open and don’t judge.

When applying gentleness to human foilbles with an accepting, interested nature the possibility for growth and improvement increases greatly. And the opportunity to receive what is needed rather than push it away ripens like warm fruit from the tree. 

 

It Is OK to Cry

I might not even know why. But if I settle into myself, sometimes tears fall. I let them. Better out than in. Tears wash. Saline solution is used to cleanse wounds. I used to hold them in, without knowing I did or why. Maybe I spun too fast to cry, away from myself.

But sometimes now when I feel the most settled, tears come. That’s ok. Maybe it’s because of what I gave up to move on. Or maybe it’s because life continues to offer new challenges.

A fellow writer told me once there was a sadness about me. That’s ok too. It’s ok to be however I am. Joy and love cause me to cry. The beauty is slowing the whirl to settle into me; the center, the soul, the spirit.

And whatever I find, I am just glad to be there, in me, the pieces together, even if the edges are rough, and where the pieces healed, bumpy.

Yes, I’m sad to have given up the pretense of ‘family’, those people born from the same mother as me. But I had to. I survived. And in the process, found me…

I’ve looked for a very long time-

Note: post from first month of blogging- August 2014