The Journey

Feeling bones, my body thinner, scared, a few pounds easily were put back on. Feeling safer, it is easier to control my eating. Becoming smaller comes with threats of success and a great urge to numb out with food.

Of course there is a link, but I haven’t figured it out yet, or all the way through. The urge to eat when not hungry, a typical day for me since age 8, fades when a softer, kinder voice is heard and felt.

Though happening for periods of time creating success with weight loss as a secondary plus, sustaining kind thoughts of myself takes primary focus. That is the goal, food and weight are symptoms of the self-hate developing in childhood falling in-line only when kindness to self steps in.

The voice whispers positive things about myself that are allowed into me. That is challenging to sustain after living most of my life otherwise. Much of that grew as I grew pleasing the origin family, living by implied rules if wanting to remain a part of it… toxic as it was and still is- what’s left of it.

What grew with the ugliness of repeated sexual attacks by supposed loving brothers with nowhere to talk about it, and no one to help or stop it, was a life of unprocessed trauma, chronic, embedded, PTSD, with a critic inside me louder than anything else—a life of punishing myself for having been abused.

Hate myself, blame myself, eat, eat, eat, both to numb out the hate and to comfort myself from the internal nasty word beatings, that voice in my head that came from ‘family’, but became mine. No, it was not spoken aloud, but the messages were imprinted into my soul because no one talked of the tragedies that befell me, nor stopped it. The imposed silence, and the implications of blame I felt entombed me.

A miracle occurs when a more honest view of myself is heard, one that can look at mistakes and flaws kindlier, but much harder, and more importantly, looks at the positive qualities, feels them, believes them, and taking them in as my own.

When that miracle happens, the overpowering urge to eat when not hungry dissipates because my soul is being filled, finally filled.

FEARS

Samuel’s photo of last night’s lunar eclipse

Fear walks with me, even in a life insulated from too much stimulation protecting my worn-out system after a life of debilitating anxiety depleting my adrenal glands. Fear is with me at all times, though the gauge wanders from extreme to lower levels, it rides with me always, my periscope scanning the perimeter unless zoning out. (my term for dissociation)

Constantly on the ready during nature walks for disaster- though my blood curdling screams over snakes has diminished, if startled by one a yelp erupts as well as a flutter of my heart, probably not good for a heart to jolt with too many of those.

Then there are tick checks after finding one on my back one day. Out in the early morn, the fog as thick as the dew, using the spreader, a great amount of insect repellant granules are dispersed all along the 2-acre path. That ought to keep them off, along with tick spray on my socks and pants.

Now, keep the mockingbirds away from my walking area and patio, as one summer they continually attacked once their babies broke free from the eggs… torpedoing my head ready to peck out my eyes. That was terrorizing lasting too many weeks into precious summer time.

Too often forgetting how my system is on auto-ready for terror, and how much a drain that is, it is kinder and more compassionate to accept how it is, and why, then be gentle with myself acknowledging the reality of my existence.

There is damage left behind by those professing to love me. Comparing myself to others who breeze through life is not helpful either. PTSD unprocessed does damage that for me is lifelong. Learning as a child that home is not safe, what, where, and who is?

Joy outweighs it all …

MIRACLES

Many times a post is written in the early morning well intended then later in the day the intentions fall and goals washed away with the buzzing in my body coming from years of separation from it.

But yesterday the intent stayed, and so too did my mind, body, psyche, emotions, and spirit. It took repeated focus, remember, go slow, breathe, stay.

Push, push, push, and by some afternoons a sickness in my aging body that cannot cope with too much. My evil brain attacks telling other systems to do more, otherwise you are not worthwhile.

Yet the truth is that slowing down, letting all aspects of my being have the time to come along meshing as one, is of worth, is caring, loving, and respectful.

Since sexual attacks to my being in childhood, the shattering meant that parts were locked in cells separately, other than in my body. Being in my body was too dangerous, so too being in the present moment.

It has taken years to be present. First for relished moments while meditating, then longer as years go by. Then, even more challenging, being in my body, a work in progress, but wondrous when succeeding and feeling safe at the same time.

A miracle still exploring. Is it safe?

Thank you mother earth for this morning’s miracle, a morning walk before the sun rises yielding thick wisps of fog off the creek creating a curtain with shadows of trees behind the mysterious shimmering wall decorated with sunbeams….

DON’T COME CHEAP

Pay the price of rejection or disapproval for being real. It may hurt, especially during very vulnerable time of which there are many. Go forward with truth and work at believing in yourself.

Not a new concept. One that’s been worked on since my life shattered, but more so in middle age when one begins to see that what you believe of yourself has more worth than what anyone else believes. You need you.

This is not easy. This feels treacherous, like a gnarly path that trips with roots pulling me down in a crash. Get up, breathe, pick off the moss and keep going.

Yes, others will be shocked at your quiet yet changed demeanor, one that exudes autonomy and self-reliance, trying to retrieve that person they could more easily mold to their liking and wants.

Yet, how does that turn out, doing what others want, not meeting your own needs which have heightened significantly with age and deterioration? As wisdom and feelings of self-worth deepen, expand, and grow, this body requires more care.

When filling the wants of others, my own self does not thrive. And we each must look out for ourselves first because if not, there’s not much left useful to anyone especially me.

If caring for self means the inability to care for others, it has to be, because it is. Acceptance, and with acceptance comes peace, that is, if you truly do follow through with meeting your needs.

Cocooning myself on our little plot of land often makes me wonder about my life. Is it odd, or finally a life that is self-caring? Self-caring of course, and no wonder that feels odd.

Taught that even tragedy, repeated traumas, and pain were to be kept secret within my child’s body, mind, and psyche, it feels wrong and unfamiliar to take care of myself.

But do so. Rebel by learning all about self-love. Rise up and be free.

Harder Days

Everything about me is a secret, unless you are one of the rare few who know me well, or unless you are a blogger where the freedom to be real is relished. Going to my center uncensored has given the gift of growth, acceptance, and the beginning kernels of self-love.

All the gunk interwoven in my belly, so much of it knotted in rejection of self, going against my own at every turn. Thoughts beating me down.

A common thread woven in childhood when those so close and trusted attacked. A thread of self-blame turning into a noose, a rope becoming so thick can it ever be unraveled?

Some days it is hard to get out of bed to greet the day, pushing myself up with that hardened serious feeling that took hold at age 8 in order to survive. Burdens of self-brutality too much to face.

Needing love, yet not finding any within, looking for it from mother long dead now, though she loved her other 7 sons too and that fact made her love for me tainted, poisonous, and twisted with deadly consequences.  

It is within where love needs planting, where needed the most. As the earth softens for growth, so too does my internal world. When making mistakes, which humans tend to do, let that old hatred for self go when raising its monstrous head.

Add the rich loamy soil of love, warmth, and tenderness instead and see what sprouts. It is hard, sometimes laborious work, just like meeting the day when not wanting to. But it will be OK, and so are you.

HOME

And so, the bone-tired weariness begins to wane, so too the anxious lonely missing of Cory because leaving sooner than he’d hoped caused a feeling of great failure as a mother.

But home. Sleep comes. No drugs. Kitty and I patter out to porch coffee in hand, lighting a rose scented candle as a golden quarter orb rises over the horizon. First thinking it was a house light at the edge of the forest on the hill, a crescent moon shone her happy orange-yellow glow.

The male daddy bird chirped from the birdhouse in the dark, much earlier than the other birds, announcing his ownership of the castle with his wife inside on her nest. The peepers in harmony in the distance entering my core soothing like a purring cat upon a lap.

My core, remember that? Touching base with it only momentarily for way too long, anxiety’s roiling keeping me away from it.

Now I know I needed to be home, even if all the other people around me didn’t. Even if it means being a bad mother. Even if letting others down.

It is so extremely uncomfortable advocating for my own needs. My husband and son did not debate my needs. I did. I did for two days after coming home.

But now I know that home is where I need to be. Dreams continue as if still there, working through the unfinished business. Others that met me wondering about my differentness, not knowing of my shattered past.

So naïve to trauma and life’s harsh cruelty, and what it does to someone, making blithe comments that I take home to heal over until realizing they just don’t know.

And hopefully never will. It is not wished upon them. But I know. It is only my own internal self that needs to know and love me though their ignorance. But so hard when in their environment, not mine where mother is nature loving me.

But home. The unusual warm two days, yesterday by the creek in reverie bringing me back into my internal home. Slowly strength and health return.

CONFIDENCE VS ANXIETY

Learning to love myself with all my spots and beauty also means moving away from another loved and close to in order to protect my being. Interactions that felt loving are feeling more harmful than helpful or loving.

It may be no fault to either parties, but just is.

It is imperative to protect my internal peace and when there is upset due to certain interactions that are necessary but can be limited if by choice, then I must choose limiting the interactions.

This step forward advocating for my own needs feels like foreign territory, unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Me? Take care of me? Even if it means closing down some interactions that till now occurred daily?

Is that really the right choice, or is it one more irrational choice that seems right but is oh so wrong? The lack of confidence in running my own life causes anxiety to erupt. Will you run it for me?

TAKE HOLD

Control the beast. The beast takes many forms; doubt, fear, insecurity, ungroundedness, an inability to trust or love, and the roots of self-criticism grown in childhood tangled so deeply it cannot be cut out only confronted daily.

Is it that simple, that all this time the adult just needed to take the reins not allowing the troubled willful child to have her will? But no, each path has many signs leading to the wrong places, maybe because fully feeling how wrong something is one learns what is right.

I won’t live long enough to get it all right. But the biggest secret hidden from myself all this time is that when others have said through the years, ‘you’re too hard on yourself,’ that it is a truth unrevealed to me. My head heard it, thought about it, but the critic kept on banging.

But when taking hold of the beasts causing worry, disruption, and chaos- choking them not by asphyxiation but with love, gentleness, kindness, and warmth… a soft place inside, an oasis opens inviting me in. The gnarly roots of self-criticism disintegrate making room for new growth of another kind.

HEALTH

When my body changes and unwellness sets in, fear come with it. Even a slight change causes concern making me fearful. So that voice of comfort was needed. It’s ok, it’s ok. Probably just one day of side effects, a feeling of a 24-hour bug after the fourth Covid shot; slight headache through the night and the next day body aches, even a loss of appetite, not a common occurrence for someone who eats their feelings.

Why not after the first three vaccines? It could be that in facing all that lies inside with equanimity and compassion, my parts, spirit, mind, emotions, and psyche, have come together as one. There’s more awareness of bodily workings. In touch, like most others around me whose connections come naturally not having trauma tear them away from it.

The rip came at age 8. The repeated smashing shatterings making it about impossible to ever reclaim what is mine. The incessant craving haranguing ever since to come back inside me, yet the flurry of me remained suspended above and about spinning, always spinning.

A relief this morning waking to the feeling that my body is back to status quo. Good health is the number one of riches. But when health faulters, the other comparable wealth is the voice of reason, comfort, and compassion.

Dark Night of the SOUL

Maybe those dark night weren’t for naught. Maybe in those hard hours of wakefulness came resolve. Yes, resolve. Reining in those willful parts; the child, pre-teen, teen, taking control with the adult part.

Or integrating all the parts to one with the adult leading, gently guiding the others with love, patience, and gentleness. Offering a listening ear to the hurt that no one else would hear.