A Morning Stroll

A walk before the heat index reaches 100. The gifts of summer are many, though summer didn’t seem to arrive until yesterday. And with it the joy of swimming, flowers in their splendor, and garden goodies. 

While floating round and round in the pool looking up into azure cloudless skies, thoughts of the child so often spoke of. Where is ‘she’ most of the time? Is there anything left of child I was? Maybe. But most of her died off. The child who took on so much all on her own aged in ways I wouldn’t have, and fast. Very fast, almost instantaneously.

But there is still a part that loves summer, remembering the love of water and running my horses. The abandon of all things serious for pleasure and fun. When someone says ‘Have a nice day,’ it is really, ‘Make a nice day.’ Because so much can be done to make it so if the effort is put forth, and it is work. 

Talking to myself with kindness, acceptance, and understanding. Asking, what brings joy, and do it. And for me they are simple pleasures— walking in the fields, picking strawberries from Samuel’s garden, and his roses.

Roses and roses, including baskets upon baskets of petals plucked each morning… the scent intoxicating, brought indoors to dry. permeating the whole room with a delicious appeal. They make very special sachets.

Arranging bouquets is particularly pleasing especially coming from the abundant blossoms all around seeded and planted by my own hands. Watching creek-side while a raccoon takes a quick dip, shakes off, then scurries up the bank and away as a huge bull-frog splashes in. 

Ahh summer, you are finally here…

Naughty (curious) kitty, get down!

Fresh picked spinach and strawberry salad…

Rage and Dissociation

Making brittle knowing an overweight body should not be consuming a cup of sugar, I made it anyway. This morning the rest was thrown out. The day begins with a super moon setting in the west, unable to capture it on the camera without electric lines through the shot. What a beautiful orb to wake to.

Going to sleep with the birds, means waking with them too. Sleep wondrously came despite consuming the toxic sugar. These blips off the path of health are not positive ones, but one must keep trying, and today is a new day.

Keeping connected is another anomaly searched for, tried for, and not at all 100%, but much more than years ago when coming to the present was a goal to have. It began with a therapist saying, “Just show up!”

My take on his words were that pulling myself out of the dissociative mist was enough. I was enough. At the time dissociation wasn’t a familiar word, but I spent a lot of time there, off in Patricia la la land.

It wasn’t until blogging when other survivors talked about it that I learned my disconnection from the present had a name. When learning how to meditate 20 years ago, staying present and feeling safe began to occur. From there it began.

It is in the present that Mother Nature heals me, daily walks in the meadow topped off with meditative time spent creek-side. The respite brightens my mood which on some days of late falls into a depressive state where anger flares into rage over political persons who have become something else besides human. Tamping down feelings adds to the sadness. Expressing feelings brings equanimity back once again.

“Samuel, for decades I lived with rage. It fizzled out during the years lived here. But I feel it again punching at the television with rage,” I said as he bent over the gardens pulling weeds.

“Mike said that too,” Samuel said, adding, “He wishes Trump would get the virus.”

“I do too,” I answered emphatically. “I wish he would get it and drop dead this minute!” Samuel nods his head accepting how his wife and friend feels, but a man too gentle to wish that.

There, it was said. Wishing a person dead doesn’t cause them to die. It is a place for rage to go. Not a real wish, but a fire to burn it in, the smoke trailing up taking my rage with it. I may need more of these fires…


Care and Love

photo by Patricia

So easily the ‘self’ is lost in the fray. Going robotic happens quickly. Then the letdown, the loss of sleep, anxiety consuming like a hungry bear.

Moment to moment, be there. Slow down. Slow way down, catching the inner workings as they happens, not going on as if all is wonderful, but as it is. Not so wonderful. Not when the world suffers, and fear gurgles in the quiet moments.

Only in being there can it be soothed. And it is OK, more so, necessary to be there deep inside where my being hides and resides, even from myself.

Playing old roles when interacting with the origin group, the pull of the role that makes others comfortable. Losing all growth in an instant, becoming clay molded unrecognizable.

Come back home inside, moment to moment. Take care of the precious soul finally found; spiritually, physically, emotionally, and wholly.


My younger brother invited me to a zoom coffee clutch with his wife, two other siblings and their wives. Not wanting to disappoint him, the invitation was accepted. That was over a week ago.

Taking part in the gathering seemed like fun yet caused my head to fill up thinking of them afterwards in ways that also moved my growth backwards into the rejected one though seemingly accepted.

The pull for a tribe won’t go away for life, yet taking part in it, even in these troubling times when wondering how they are doing, is unhealthy for me. The secrecy, and tricks employed to keep me down continue in such ways they go undetected until days later.

The cravings for closeness go unsatisfied, the arcing need poignantly unresolved clamoring for truths never voiced. Me wanting to but kept at arm’s length no matter what method it takes.

The burn will heal again. The temptation to partake will continue. Hopefully the memory of what is taken will remind me not to. My life goes on so much better without the origin family and their pretenses.

On this day of my birth 67 years ago, when no package, flowers, or card arrives, it doesn’t matter. I live. I am not gasping for breath like too many others, dying alone in pain.

I have life. I have my own soul to pet, discover, and learn to know. I have one very special friend who I’ve never met. She is always there no matter what, meeting her through this blog though she is countries away. 

I have happy sons with families of their own, and a husband that is thoughtful, maybe not when it comes to birthday’s or other celebrations, but in oh so many other ways.

I will use this day to work at providing kind voices inside me that accept all of me as I am right now. The whole earth is opening her splendor as spring explodes, and I am grateful. 


The doofus in power using it to control, lie, manipulate, and corrupt, even fooled the evening news anchor into saying he was using his power to order factories to produce ventilators. He hasn’t (and won’t until it is too late.)

The facts are hard to find out of a mouth of a liar, but my experience with liars goes deeper than Lester Holt’s. My upbringing was in a group of liars all making sure that the truth of my deepest traumas remain locked inside of my little girl body even as it grew into womanhood… even now.

Lie to keep others comfortable even if it means being untrue to myself, never knowing myself which would allow for self-compassion and self-love.

It has taken decades to begin that miracle, one that would usually thrive from a nurturing childhood. The two eldest siblings expect as much, abhorred when or if the truth is ever spoken.

My interaction with both, though they live in the city nearby, is nil. Comfort is not found in liars. And when Trumpy opens his mouth he is lying. Like a teenager, as Dr. Phil said.

“Do you know when a teenager is lying?” he asks, adding, “When they open their mouths.

He is so good at it even Lester got it wrong.

Cuomo says that we are in a war and that ventilators are our missiles. Yet the doofus Trumpy lacks the character to do what needs to be done. We need them in masses with a direct order to produce them,  and then using that power to direct where they go. Yet he doesn’t bother, choosing instead to let companies do it voluntarily.

Lies, lies, lies. He gives the impression that tens of thousands are on their way. They are not. He washes his hands of anything that might interfere with his businesses once he is no longer president. His needs, his money, his everything. 

The Donald scathingly rips up the best reporters when they ask a question he does not like. This is America. Did anyone tell him that?

Please god get rid of this dangerous doofus.

The Abyss

Settling in for a cup of freshly brewed coffee, my internal world relaxes. Upon waking my body is revved on guard as if living in a hut with vicious animals that want to devour me. My teeth are still clenched from the nightly demons who visit, and every sinew is taught.

But the heat from the fire begins its magic. Muscles unfurl, like the silly cat next to me who also melts like a wax blob, one half twisted out, the other half curled over the other, looking like a braided pretzel stick.

The onslaught for volumes of food after a week or more of scrupulously counting calories tells a story begun at age 8- I am unlovable, incapable. Love came at the end of a spoon, a form of escape fed by denial.

The sweetness of life drips like honey when staying in my body mastering emotions by being there when they ebb and flow. Because they do flow out eventually. Running into an escape, whether shopping, alcohol, drugs, or my rabbit hole- food, means leaving my body and its cues of physical hunger and satiation.

The craving for emotional satiation is only temporarily satisfied by external things. What can be counted on is emotional maturity fortified with emotional discipline. STAY. Sit, stay, and be there. I’m OK.



A post this morning mentioned the word ‘contentment.’ That is good word for my feelings lately. I feel my body and am able to stay there in ways not experienced before. Though things swirl around me, or out in the world, my inner world is content. 

A brother who’s second adult child is in danger after already losing the first one. I call with no words to say hearing raw pain in his voice going to my core.

A president who changes the sentencing of a friend using his power for personal gain again and again- corrupt and evil bringing out the worst of everyone in the country, a little Hitler in the making. His sickness like a pesticide, toxic, poisonous, and spread by his cowardly, bullying tweets. Why does half the country vote for him?

Inner contentment remains, a peace precious to remember during chaos because it will come as all things are impermanent.

Where Life Flows

Decisions are hard to impossible if one lives life separated from their being. That also makes life barely worth living. And how can a being make a decision if disconnected from oneself?

Decisions made were often catastrophic. Made without knowing, because the knowing needed is touching one’s center because the soul knows. But that also is the place that felt the hurt so overwhelmingly I left it, only returning in late life with gratitude for living long enough to discover the oasis called home inside of me.

Decisions don’t need to be made in haste, or exclusively in the mind. Much better is letting go to the other world, the soul, the vaporous, seemingly non-existent place you cannot put your hand on, only trust that it is there.

From there, the center of my being, answers flow. But often they take time. Time to calm the excited, ever busy mind. Time to breathe into it, for every muscle, sinew, and joint to relax. For the heart to ease, the blood to calm like sunset waters…the answers come; small ones, big ones, they do come.

Where once life was lived in angst for questions without answers, for answers that elevated the angst because they were the wrong ones, the soft place to fall welcomes me, my center where love flows.


photo by Patricia- SUN DOG in the early morn Jan. 29, 2020

Eat away pain, eat away anxiety. It is a tool to handle unwanted emotions that overwhelm. Tracking my intake goes well for a few days, then the disconnect of my psyche to my body takes place, more common than connecting.

Though the food eaten was plotted in my journal, it was too much causing pain all afternoon into the evening. This familiar physical pain began after the bizarre stomach stapling I just had to have in 1985.

The pain of my psych began long before that, at age eight, after the first attack. Further attacks by other siblings made the fissure complete. Wholeness is a gift from birth but being connected to my body became impossible after that. The split was not a conscious decision. Regaining title to my own property remains elusive. 

It takes a spaceship launching deep into the many layers of resistance before landing in my core, to what is really there. Much of life was lived zipping around it like busy electrons, not nestled inside attached to my soul in wholeness.

Writing each morning helps to swim deeper below the surface, diving down unafraid, or afraid yet taking the plunge anyway. Staying there is harder, using the breath to slow down the pace to remain present. Each moment present takes work and is tiring, and sometimes so difficult it is impossible. But when achieved so worthwhile.   

Cause pain that’s familiar, or dare to feel what is there? Listen to your body, but first you must be connected to it. This great divide occurred long ago, living that way because it is how it was and I knew no different. One day out of three going awry doesn’t mean giving up, and the count is in my favor. Keep at it. Keep working on connection to my body. 

It is only in my ‘golden years’ that another way of being is discovered that others unshattered have lived all their lives— with wholeness, and connection to their core. That takes moment to moment work, being whole, feeling whole, and welcoming what is really there. The fissures are painted and glued back together whole with warmth, softness, acceptance, kindness, and courage. 

Holding my Own Key to Happiness

Forever at the root of my core resided the belief of being bad, wrong, and always the one at fault. That is the feeling turned fact at age eight, growing every year becoming rock solid.

And that belief did solidify. How could it not with no one to tell me differently? No one to hold me, rock me, tell me that what they did was wrong, that they would be punished, that it wouldn’t happen again.

Because it did keep happening, and happening, and happening.

This is a time of peace, a time when that belief has been chipped at, questioned, and challenged. A crack has evolved where warmth seeps in, or oozes outward. Ever so slowly, bits of comfort float up where once only animosity to self had been. It is a change that could have occurred fifty years ago.

If only someone had the courage to hold my hand and take a stand. No one did. But I do now… tentatively, fearfully as if I’m doing something wrong in liking myself, for showing acceptance towards my own being, like the axe will fall for doing so.

No axe falls. Taking that step towards kindness and self-love after so long is freeing. The origin family collectively used subtle tactics to sustain low esteem to keep me silent. But my true nature includes persistence.

Baby- steps, tiny fissures are pried open wider using words of encouragement and uplift rather than harsh criticism. Treasures are found never enjoyed before: peace, openness, self-acceptance, joy.

Freedom is savored, the freedom to choose to (learn) to love myself. And each day a reminder to embrace gratefulness for making it through the hazards and treachery of all the years past. Where self-hate ruled in a mixing bowl of adrenaline pumped anxiety, confusion, self-doubt, and a total inability to connect with my own soul. 

To come to a place others never lost, is now found for me. A delectable experience not to be contaminated by bitterness towards what was. My choice is to enjoy the miraculous now.