There are no open rooms.
The doors are closed,
the rooms are dusty,
because you were not there.
Like a fist shut tight, or a bud unwilling to open to the elements, my heart is a cavern to explore, but when hurting boulders are in the way. Holding in feelings stresses the heart as surely as medical conditions do. More tears were needed, the wound was not fully washed, let them flow.
Resistance to this is incredibly high. I don’t see Samuel cry, except once or twice in his life. Others, if they do cry, hide it. Avoiding tears comes first bringing with it a closed heart putting my health at risk due to the grasp clenched around it. I need to own my feelings, and let them out. Only then can reaching out to others feel full and authentic.
This morning while stroking my cat, after an evening prior with grand-kids at an outdoor Christmas festival, the warmth of love opened. After the long shut-down, the glimmer was brief— but real. Those children love me as they wrapped their arms around me saying, “Na Na, Na Na.” The ice that made me cold began to melt.
Loving openly does come easily, if at all, but more readily with children and animals. The lesson learned very early was to protect what was left, because if that was taken too there would nothing left, nothing to live for, no meaning in life… no me.
I accept that I am like this, very cold unless feeling safe. Others may not, nor understand, but there are those who do stick by me through it all, and those are the ones safe to love… sometimes. The love is always there, but too risky to feel except in some moments. I treasure those moments, they make it all worthwhile.
photo by Patricia
A new journey opens, connection to my body. In moments, then longer, wholeness and connection. Once tasting how it feels to be in my body, and to feel safe, more of it is wanted and needed. Like daring to dip a toe in the water, so to it is for someone disconnected from her body since age 8.
It is unaccustomed, unusual, and new territory. Feeling that wholeness comes over time, and small ways then bigger, the body speaking as one. Actions arise from below, not the mind. And are integrated with all other parts.
Moving healthfully becomes more natural than previous ways of survival which blocked all else. A relaxed ease helps guide the path in ways that coax the best from each day by choosing that which helps the body, mind and spirit thrive.
today’s photos by Patricia
The hummer buzzes close by sipping nectar. Bluebirds have taken residence in the wooden house on the split rail fence. The mockingbird proudly sits at the apex of the roof chittering happily every song it knows, which is many.
Springtime splendors overwhelm my senses with such joy; a basket of lilacs to fill the house with intoxicating aroma, lilies of the valley next in line for picking, an herb garden, new this year awaiting a good watering so that basil and parsley can germinate. A four pack called Scarborough Fair also awaits planting once any danger of frost has passed; parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Simple earthy pleasures abound along with my blossoming spirit soaking up blooms, deer prancing in the meadow, and sunshine as wisps of clouds evaporate and heat radiates from clear blue skies. The dew wets my sneakers as meadow rounds are walked, bare feel inside them feeling the cool moisture.
Mosaic butterflies hanging on the trees by the creek glow with a sparkle that shimmers, even the one I hated has now become a favorite. The other two in front glitter and sway on the branches as if alive.
Each day new pleasures await with an internal calmness that allows my being to enjoy them.
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.
photo by Patricia
My mother died almost 9 years ago. After her death the book erupted from deep within. Protecting her vision of a happy family was no longer needed. Freedom to grow and become complete occurred. It took that long. I was 56.
As the words gurgled up about what they had done it was committed to paper then strewn to the universe where it belonged. It did not belong deep down in me, or kept on that little girl’s shoulders anymore. I felt lighter.
Along with the details no child should live with, came events that brought joy. The tears falling down my cheeks each week were capsules of joy with the pain. I looked forward to mornings writing while sipping coffee, and the hours ticked by satisfyingly.
A book emerged without much planning. Each chapter fell into place as if written before writing and just waiting. Once committed to book form and available to the world a need existed for further voice. A blog, start a blog. The voice blotted for decades began to sing.
The one rule is, be honest. Be who you are, or who you know yourself to be at the time of writing. Going deep beneath the layers of who should I be, the pleaser, the sweet person, and all the other personas worn and learned over time to ride the waves without hitting a rock, dissolved. What was left?…the journey inside, no longer fearful to learn about who was there, discovering her, and speaking for her for the very first time.
photo by Patricia
Cocooning myself against the threats in the world was crucial to survival. Every living being posed a threat. This type of cocooning lead to decay, not growth, but I knew no other way.
Reaching out for help from the black hole took great courage and persistence. One starts where one can. The local Mental Health Clinic took on clients based on income so my fee was very low. With only Samuel working at minimum wage we scraped by each week. My babysitting, crafts and frugal spending habits kept us afloat.
Those steps outward were so terrifying. What will they think about me? The urge to blurt forth what brothers had done had become too much to contain, yet along with it was great fear of how badly I’d look. The dirt by others dirtied me and in my mind must be my fault.
Yet there remained one glittering speck of instinct knowing all that was not true. And that speck grew and grew with the help of therapists throughout the years, even ones that behaved badly. Perhaps those spurred me on even more.
Reaching out for friends and outside activities brought anxiety and was scary yet the need for connection grew greater. Always a part of school chorale my love of singing drew me to the local chorale. That became a healthy opportunity for growth in many ways for years. With shaking knees at concerts, friends held me up with their kind support. Each concert became easier and rehearsals less scary and fun.
Friends have remained and due to taking risks and asking others, a group was formed that has met monthly for over 15 years. We rotate at each other’s houses for crafts, cards, snacks then a dessert. The comfort and camaraderie of other women became a base like earth to grow from.
The need to cocoon myself from too much stimulation remains. Many should’s arise in my mind, yet one rational voice whispers my truth, It’ OK, do what you need to for you…