Only Child, a Child of Eight

Waking from a dream, more like a nightmare, it colored my whole day. A loneliness descended like a shroud, not an uncommon one, one lived with since age eight, since the first wrong touch. Yet in finding the core of myself, that devouring loneliness dissipated as a feeling of wholeness and connectedness to self miraculously occurred.

Loneliness again, but only a shell of the old pain which felt like a severed body part. Busyness drove it away, walking the meadow, being with others working out at the Community Center, then working in my studio.

A longing for brother Tom, felt shockingly present, the abuser who mocked me for life, now too old to know how he hurt me as his memory fades. The time for talking with hope for reconciliation came years ago, but my request was not to talk about it. Why is there longing for it now?

Yet the need to hear  words of sorrow remain. The hope that he would sincerely ask forgiveness never waned, and never happened. The hope for a brother back never came, nor any brother, as the three others who are innocent of wrong touch make a group I don’t feel part of. There is in me a need for someone to speak of the horrors, but no one will. So I remain as if an only child.

And that child is so needy sometimes. She wants to play, to be free, to have fun. What can you do to give this to her? Figure it out and provide it.

 

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PEACE

Snow frosted trees, big flakes falling. Later in the day warm March sun melted it all except patches of white in the shade of the pines. My boots sucked into the mud on the path, ducks flying off at my approach. An otter swam busily to the creek side lighting upon the log then slipping back into the cold black water. The current runs strong with the overflow from the melt.

It is a period of grace, without my squirrel brain a ’worrying, and sleep coming night after night. A time of rest, with enough energy to enjoy various outings, gatherings, and get-together’s.

My son and grand-kids came for brunch. The monthly women group of friends met Sunday for hours of cards, laughter and fun. A shopping trip to the mall and lunch with a friend satisfied a need for exercise and socialization. .

Sleep brings energy to do these things.Gratitude blossoms as this lull in anxiety yields to quiet peaceful joy. 

 

TRANSITION

photo by Patricia

As the criticizer comes crashing down, coming to a head as the joy of spring meets the depression of winter, I choose gratitude and to look upon my life as one of success; not the critic’s choice… a stain of regret and failure. What a see-saw time of emotion, which is indicative of much of my life; two opposing events, emotions, or ways of looking at things.

Love and hate. Joy and sorrow. How to make room for both in one being, and feeling them, one then the other, or both at once. I loved my mother, and hated her. Sometimes moments of appreciation occur for a life lived with persistence and hard work, but then a bat towards myself about failed relationships, regrets and what if’s.

My heart feels as if physically wrapped in barbs ready to break free or be punctured. A prayer to the universe, Please let go of the wires , Release the strictures, let my heart pump freely.  

Joy and hope burst forth when sprouts rise from the brown earth, joy that suppressed itself all through the difficult winter keeping my flagging spirit up enough to face each day. With more light comes an appetite for pleasures, wanting to do more, see more, be with others more.

The critic needs knocking down, and the soft voice of acceptance reminding me of successes wants voice, and must be given room to speak with an amplifier to hear the whispers of truth.

Yes mistakes were made, be prepared to make more, but look at all you have, and all you have done. As daylight lengthens, so does my ability to see things more beautiful. Food tastes better, scents are noticed more deeply, and stunted feelings open up to possibilities.

 

Intimate Friend

Waking in the dark, first thoughts gather in my belly as a feeling of want, a yearning for a close woman friend. A loss that has been there for a very long time. One who knows. One who has suffered deeply, yet the time spent together isn’t about the long gone past, but dealing with now. A relationship of depth.

This closeness is now found only on-line. With those I can’t hug, sit and have tea with, or go for a walk with. An emptiness yawns open with the loss of my friend who died, and the one who moved to another state. We still email occasionally, checking in on each other, but it’s not the same as sitting with her around the warm stove, or down by the creek.

Friends don’t arrive by stork. One must seek them out by going into the world, a place still found to be inhospitable. Solace is found more easily at home where a safer world opens wide at the end of my finger-tips on the keyboard to all countries.

Though grateful for that in all ways, still, a need unfilled calls out in the quiet moments before dawn dispels the shadows of want with light.

 

March

photo by Patricia

March madness, usually a term reserved for basketball but one coined for the change in my brain chemicals. More sunshine mixes them like an egg beater, with outlandish decisions made irrationally.

The sun called me out to walk in the snow, bending over a few times to pack a snowball and throw it. After the sweaty walk, the patio beckoned with the comfort of an Adirondack chair facing full, March warm sun. Off came the hat and after unzipping my coat, my body soaked in the heat and healing rays.

Oh, to unwind after the struggle through winter. The release. The feeling of living again that unfolds without force. My body and brain together as one in sync. The longing for that feeling of well-being, with bare feet on the patio cement watching flowers grow.

But first the haywire movement through March, even April, till my brain quiets and evens out. After winter’s fall to sinking depths, the chaos of coming up is yet to come, but has started, both welcomed and worried over.

 

I AM BEAUTIFUL

Afraid to write? Fear of feeling the truth of what is there? Yet it is as necessary as breathing, the quest to go down below all the garbage and see what’s there. A place kept hidden even from myself.

Fear. Anxiety. Worry. That needs to be felt before moving deeper. Tick off the problems one by one, a wise voice assigning either a solution or acceptance. Yet the stomach curdles with doubt and confusion because for much there are no answers.

Living with the flow and combination of complexities is not my forte. Is it anybody’s? The release and containment of tension, pain, pleasures, and peaceful moments exist at once. How do you make room for it all?

Wouldn’t it be luxurious to be like cat, arching her back against the chair, stretching her full length with delight and abandon? Must we be humans with all this in our heads? Or maybe it is just my head stuffed with too much.

There is so much I’m powerless to do anything about. And there it sits unfixed. So do what you can for you. Part of that today was printing up an affirmation suggested by this author’s post.

https://eclipsedwords.com/2019/01/29/a-self-love-affirmation/

When my rat brain starts up at 3 AM about unresolved problems, this affirmation was tried. Maybe eventually it will help. 

I am beautiful, smart, and kind. I am worthy of love.

Winter Fun

photo by Patricia

The break in the weather and longer days hearten me, supplying a much needed steadiness. It is good to wake seeing a light haze through the dark, not complete blackness when rising.

Donning snowshoes, the path is firm. Walking it is easier and provides a hearty work-out. Coyote footprints abound along with deer droppings. Tunnels in the snow are evidence of a squirrel digging for nuts it hid in the fall. By the creek it is silent except the boom when the ice settles. A train whistle in the distance interrupts the quiet.

Our grand-son still sleeps after spending the night. We took him to the neighborhood ice rink for his first skate. He had the entire place to himself.Since he is an experienced roller-blader, he ice-skated as if he had done it before. Around and around, countless times. The sounds of the blade etching lines in the ice brought back so many good memories of the pond, winter days, and winter fun.

After a few sips of cocoa, we headed home for some tubing down the little hill to the meadow, more snowshoeing, and playtime on the icy creek. It is good to have a break in the weather, incorporate more movement, and have some fun with William.