Tinted, like looking at the world with dark glasses. When the growth of a personality is embedded with feelings of ‘badness,’ feeling abnormal, even dirty, it separates a being from others in so many ways… emotionally, spiritually, and intimately. Closeness is feared.

Anxiety arises. Any interaction with another human makes it pop like hot mercury. Though much of that has lessened, anxiety and the customary feeling of wrongness, or badness, are still issues dealt with daily. 

Living in a bubble is not my desire, but my needs require an environment that includes a great deal of solitude that is steadily familiar. Upsets in equilibrium interfere with my health setting off a reaction that is out of my control. But outings are still pleasurable.

A friendly gathering offered a place to really talk. Later at home the harsh voice began banging, “You monopolized the conversation. Can’t you see what they have been going through?”

Then a softer voice quietly budged in, “Give yourself a break. It’s OK to share. It doesn’t mean you aren’t aware of their struggles or pain, or that you don’t care. Let yourself off the hook. Think of the supportive things that were said, like, you are a good friend. Remember that?”

Remember that.


The Child

Too easily she is tossed aside, that child in me, forgotten, abused and alone. There she hovers quietly afraid because I forget her too… don’t want to be her.

Wrapping my arms around my core, as a friend reminds me, “take care of her,” warmer feelings arise to envelope me.

Treating myself as I was treated, ignored and tortured, because to a child abused sexually it is torture committed with brutality, even if no force is used, because the cajoling, syrupy, sweet words take all that is innocent…

There she is abandoned and alone unless I accept her, and all her fears, take her to play, keep her safe, and remember she is always there needing comfort and love.



photo by Patricia

Always a need to busy my mind, because without some distraction my wayward brain likes to dwell on negatives, real or made up. While walking in the crisp air on a sunless day, a day of beauty even without the sun, thoughts go to relationships that seem doomed no matter what. Then a little bird close-by is heard, chirping a song.

Snapping back to now, now is the moment. If you’re present with where you are, instead of drifting off, then what has happened, or will happen, won’t take you away. Can thoughts be better controlled this way? The walking around, lap after lap continued, and with it more enjoyment as the present is more realized and negatives are let go of.

Down by the creek… rest. The sun came out, and though the day is thirty degrees cooler than the day before, it is a spectacular spring day; trees budding, a full out cherry tree in bloom on the hillside all alone in its glory looking much like a rising moon, and suddenly a beaver ducking under the water to make a fast get-away.

Lingering by the sparkling water a settledness takes hold, and the brace of wholeness fills me. It is this quietness each day which satisfies deeply. My environment can be controlled so that stimuli doesn’t overload my senses. Nature’s activity suits me filling the cracks and the holes with peace. .

A Soft Place to Fall

Building from the ground up, no matter that my age has become golden. My spirit, or part of it will always remain at age eight, and many other parts lag behind because growth becomes stunted when traumas held in go unprocessed.

Look at the pieces, scattered, shard-like, curved or smooth, but all badly broken. Hold them tenderly because each is a part of me, and needs gentle care. There is meaning when patience and understanding is applied doing some unraveling. Learning what lies beneath my anger, pain, and resentment offers a recipe towards freeing myself from the agony of stagnation.

Instead of floundering, instead of sinking, look at what hurts and why. Though unaccustomed to softness towards self,  work towards offering compassion, understanding and acceptance. Those are the nutrients that provide  growth, and a soft to fall inside myself.



photo by Patricia

The wild creek gardens burst forth finding their way into a flower vase. Biking the canal brought many pleasures; sparkling water touched by the sun, an embankment of white flowers with purple violets near my feet while gliding by, and trees barely budding show a slight wisp of green. A few early fruit trees are full out in blossom spotting the landscape with color.

It is impossible to believe that curbing my thoughts, or anything on my part has brought this ability to feel joy and contentment— and to be able to SLEEP. The change of seasons settles my brain chemicals. Gratitude runs deep as earth’s pleasures are once again felt deeply soaking my soul with peace. 


There Is No Place Like Home

One friend is off to the Caribbean, another leaves soon for two weeks on a European river. My son returns from the Outer Banks today. My journeys are mostly within, or looking at photos of other’s travels, though the audacity to take some shorter trips is still taken on.

And that’s OK. Walks through the meadow take me to my core, and what better place to be? A place not visited until these past few years, a place unexplored, with unimaginable delights.

There I find home. There I find sustenance found nowhere else, though my life has been spent looking everywhere else; inside other’s existence, in busyness, and doing things, worrying over things, anything but staying inside me.

But that is where wholeness resides, picking up the shattered pieces one by one, as if mirrors to see my reflection… jagged and ill-formed. Gently the shards go back together. The whole is nothing like the one that began in childhood. But it is whole, and it is solid.

Sometimes the pieces break, as they weren’t put together right. Winter breaks pieces apart with her cold sun. Warm spring comes, and with it peaceful lulls in anxiety, feelings of wholeness, and connectedness to my body. Footfalls in the meadow while little birds tweet hello on nearby branches as if following me, rest my soul lifting a smile from me.

“Hello,” I chirp back. I do not have to go away to find my splendor. Everything needed is in my own backyard. There is no place like home.


The Duality of Spring

Too easily the buzzing of spring exploding also causes a buzzing inside me and pressure on my heart. Breathe. Calm. Slow down, as my buzzing makes me mop the floors, dust the long neglected wooden surfaces, and scrub things. The fever of spring carries me to places that look manic, at least inside it feels like it might resemble mania.

Lying awake, my harsh voice attacks. Look how you managed the day, allowing too much too fast. Then the softer voice, lie there, sleep will come. And much, much later it did.

As the sun streamed in while working in the studio moments of calm rose. Samuel brought in a package for my birthday that arrived from my son, his wife, and my little two year old grand-daughter.

Pouring out the gems onto my studio bench and reading the Nana card caused a stir of excitement. My grand-daughter picked out the strings of sparkling beads all by herself, the card read. Feelings of overdrive remained the rest of the day.

Wanting to be thought of by others meets the reality of accepting it. I do these things for my children and grand-children, but when done for me, it is difficult to allow the flow of warmth in. It whirls around me where it can be kept safe. There are only rare moments when warmth feels safe to flow in.

Being a good receiver of gifts is not my forte. Suspicion rises, what are you up to, even those dearly loved. 

It’s OK. Accept what is, and the feelings, and why they are there. There is no undoing of the past when those I loved most so cruelly tricked me taking all that is precious.

The work for now as Spring explodes is finding ways to balance her exciting beauty with the need to go at my own pace.   

Slinky has a stretch…