Posts Tagged: history
*Disclaimer: This post is about abuse, including links to websites and articles that may be disturbing to some readers.*
I Would Write You a Letter…
If I knew where to send it.
How often have I walked into this lonesome place, how often have I dreamt that once I had a family of my own — my heart wouldn’t keep wavering about like a fly.
I’ve been trying to keep you off of my mind and keep everything all in line. I suppose it’s not all about the knowledge of you and who you are, or the type of blood that runs through your veins.
In being honest it’s much to do with events that wrap around those times when the darkest truths were spoken, flippantly or with anger…until it broke my heart. Acceptance and forgiveness like a maze of impossible, when it comes time. Sometimes I do okay at it, and other times it wraps around me…
Like a storm.
The one that’s always been raging inside of me.
I wonder when I’ll finally persuade myself to be at peace with it all.
All of the ugly.
All of the beauty.
All of the triggers.
Every single twist and turn in my memory.
When will it all become a sweet melody? (The answer is never, and that’s what I have to be okay with.)
I recently read a study which found that adults who have survived abuse in various forms tend to lose big chunks of their autobiographical memory.
How did I miss remembering that little tidbit I learned in school? As soon as I read it, I was immediately taken back to that prof, that lecture hall, his lips moving and my brain disconnecting. Much in the same way I did as a child. As a teen. As an adult.
Disconnect. Float away.
That’s a lot of layers to mire through even as an adult.
I remember almost losing my mind. I’m still learning and least now — my arms and heart are open.
Even though I have an anger that is soft and frayed and comes up to boil now and then. Forgiveness is a grace I can’t seem to muster. Sadness that I can’t be better at. It’s all overwhelming at times, especially in knowing it’s not just about me anymore.
It’s like you’re glowing in the distance, a light I can’t turn out.
It can’t be all about the enigma of you.
And it’s definitely not about hurting anyone else. These words, this trail.
It’s about speaking truths that in some ways I am painfully shy about; although as each tiny bit unfurls…a great release washes over me.
I’m coming on a new dawn of healing. Yet another path of self-awareness and self-work.
This is for other survivors who are afraid or ashamed. Or concerned about hurting their enablers or aggressors.
This written truth is for me. There may be more where this came from.
For once that needs to be acceptable.
I won’t be doing it here. (Digging in deep anyways.) I’ve found this place that gives abuse survivors a voice, anonymously if they so choose. I’ve thought long and hard about integrating something like a ‘Flashback Friday’ here — and every time, I balk.
Because in doing so, I would hurt others. I somehow have to find a way to stay true to the amazing support and community, the healing that I have found in sharing my experiences with the others like me.
Why on the internets?
Why not just in a personal journal?
Because in doing so, I am contributing to breaking the silence. Because reading other people’s stories, perspectives, success, and failures in continuing in life; REALLY DOES HELP. It is powerful people.
If we as a society know that gathering as a community is good; to support one another for various causes – then why is this such a hard concept for people to grasp when it comes to allowing survivors of abuse to do the same?
I understand it makes some people uncomfortable. Move along then. Our voices are not speaking for you. (Yet, in fact, they are, in a round about way — scraping at society’s disillusioned ideals of what weakness really is. Of what strength really is).
Survivors of abuse have every right to engage in public forms of community building too.
I’m not gonna lie. The mister has been gone for going on 6 days now and I am in over my head. #SendHelpNow. He’s on a tour withNathan Rogers, playing all the songs he grew up with in his dad’s studio – from Nathan’s dad, the late great Stan Rogers.
Some of you may not know who that is, so Ima going to school you. Because Stan is a Canadian folk icon and you’ll be the better for knowing. He was a legend really, a voice of and for the people. He sang of ships and hard-working people, the Great Lakes and Ontario.
I’ve noticed quite a few, “Top Posts of 2011″ and the like from writers in the blogging community.
I however have decided to choose from the much smaller collection from whence this blog began.
Why? Because I started out as an irregular, complete novice. Who still does not post everyday. However, come this year a whole lot of things are changing. The face of this site for one. Come February it’s going to be shiny and new, a hub for all that I do. More on that later.
This collection here? Is for me to share with those whom want to get to know me better, or those whom I really, really, like and want them to know me better. The awesome part about that is that it’s often a combo of the two.
It’s also a source of inspiration, for me – to come back to and meander over how I’ve evolved as a writer, found my voice and developed my mad blogging skillz. Because. Like I said. I plan on doing much more of this. In many ways. As an advocate, as a story-teller, as an ambassador and paid writer. But most importantly, for me and other women like me out there. Because the writing stuff? It heals. It empowers. It unites.
So. This curated list will be the first step into my second coming. A more frequent, constantly learning, embracing the everyday that is me. As a writer. Gone the name acronyms will be, it’s about to get straight-up – the edgy that is me, REAL in here.
Without further ado…to serve as reminder to me. Kicks in the pants to me and FYI’s for you. So pull up a chair. Pour yourself a glass of vino. (I’m publishing this in the eveing people, as I pour myself a glass). Dig in.
Life has a very strange way of crushing one at times. With love, blessed beginnings, nasty-sickness-that-just-won’t-go-away, deadlines, defeat, waves of overpowering depression, doubt, joy, never-ending-to-do-list, fear, mayhem. I’ve been indulging in escapism to ignore, y’know; the procrastinate to make it worse syndrome.
I’m told I’m too hard on myself, but – this. Is. JUST. HOW. I. FEEL. As you can tell I am pulling myself out of a wee bit of a dark hole as of late, despite the beauty (and madness) trailing out from the holidays and the bliss of my recent engagement and the most joyful news! It turns out that those doctors really were wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Baby no. 2 is on the way! I’d say that the birth of 1 and expected pregnancy of another is proof that I’m quite fertile, yes? That and the BSM has some stellar swimmers.
*UPDATE 2012: This post is a biggie. Leave it open on your browser. Come back to it often. Soak it up in all of it’s entirety. Please.*
In lieu of the upcoming holidays; there is much to be thankful for, much to discuss in love and unity, much to reconsider. I was in a debate recently over FB. Yea, Facebook. It happens. It was in response to this video being posted by a wise friend.
As promised, pics of the boys room and Heart’s new baby girl’s room. All wall art, (from drawn stencils) and pillows made by moi. Kitschy doo-dads are treasured foundlings during my thrift store escapades, of which there are many. It’s an addiction. Heart and I have been sistah’s for a long time now. I call her Heart because her last name is Harte and she has wee purple heart tat on her tummy. This is her and I back in the day.