The past 2 days have included some really unpleasant emotions for me. I saw a video online of a boy at a poetry slam expressing the effects of his rapist being suggested as a Facebook friend for him. He was completely eloquent. As much as I try to give a voice to victims, it is such a rescue for me when I am able to listen to someone else be a voice for me. I "shared" the video with a caption of my own explaining that some of my Facebook friends are Facebook friends with my attacker or members of his family. The moment made me feel strong. I had a platform of activism and exposure to the issue after being given the resource of this guy's words. It felt good...and then it didn't.
Within a couple hours of watching the video and sharing it on my wall with my caption, I began to feel the darkness of my trauma come back. I felt the sludgy filth start to stain my insides again. I recognized what I felt and tried to put it in the lock box I have crafted for this type of trauma, and then I forced my mind to concentrate on other things. The sludge stayed though. It was content to stay in the background of my thoughts as it laid in wait for the first moment that my mind was not distracted by other things.
It crept forward a couple steps today, but I didn't recognize it. It disguised itself as the stress I'm feeling over our impending move. The disguise was only partly effective though. As I sat today telling a friend about some really wonderful things that are happening in my life, I found that a weird angry passion had entered uninvited into my contributions to the conversation. "Why am I so angry?...I sound so angry...what is this?" I thought. Even with this internal questioning of myself, the sludge's sloppy ruse was sufficient to distract my attention from it.
It crept forward another couple of steps while I was at the grocery store. I forgot to eat until late afternoon, so I was "hangry" by the time I got to the store with my husband and another friend. I wanted a cupcake. I had even picked out the cupcake that I wanted (because that specific cupcake was going to taste noticeably better than the other ones on the ceramic tray). The girl working the bakery was taking her sweet (see what I did there? "sweet") time filling out an order form with a lady ordering a cake for the birthday party of the child standing next to her. I walked across the aisle to where my husband was standing at the deli sandwich line. I ordered my food and then made excuses to Dan for my short temper by explaining that I was just so hungry. He made a teasing comment to me. I snapped at him and said a bad word to him that he did not deserve to hear. I began to feel frustrated that I was so on edge and apologized to him nearly immediately, but the feeling of something being present that wasn't invited was starting to register. Still the sludge had not totally revealed itself until later in the evening.
My husband is a very, very tender person. He is so attentive to me. Sometimes to the point of being embarrassing to me to be treated as someone so valuable. This evening he made a tender gesture towards me, and the sludge came charging forward to the front of my being. I literally physically pushed Dan away. I didn't shove him. I moved his hand away. He was offering me love and tenderness, and I rejected all of it and walked out of the room. He had done something completely sweet, but it triggered a memory. Something about it reminded me of a different time. The moment the sludge had been waiting for came. It swallowed up the tenderness my husband was offering to me and replaced it with the memories of times that I had been stolen from. I felt the infection of it poisoning our evening together, and I felt totally helpless and really frustrated. I asked myself and I asked Dan out loud when the day would come that these things wouldn't haunt me anymore. Neither of us were able to find an answer so we spent a couple hours in different rooms.
After our sabbatical from the presence of the other, he stepped into the doorway of our bedroom and, with the same careful tenderness that he always employs asked the same careful question that he has used every time this sludge has stolen a moment from us - and there have been so many. "Do you want to talk about what happened tonight?" I am ashamed to admit that my first impulse was to continue to "protect" myself from letting someone get close to my heart and to tell him "no", but I felt my head nod in a "yes". I asked him to turn on the light so he did and then laid down on his belly next to me on the bed. Then he just looked at me...and waited.
I began to talk through how I haven't been as vigilant about continuing my healing process over the last few weeks. If you pay close attention to my blog (so...my mom), you may have noticed that there have not been as many posts during that span. (again, this is probably only my mom) I am so thankful that people have found some of my words here to be helpful, but the primary purpose of this blog is, in fact, my own catharsis. When I don't actively pursue that healing, not only does the healing not happen, but the muscles of what is left of my spirit begin to atrophy a bit.
As I was talking, the light of sense shone through to my brain. I was ready to admit something that had been fighting its own way to the front of my brain in a battle against the sludge. This is permanent. These scars and amputations of my soul are permanent, and to pretend they are not does nothing but make me look like the emperor with his "fake" adornments. Cloaking myself in the denial that there are parts of me that have been severed and stolen only leaves my spirit vulnerable in a way that is not productive.
That is a hard thing to accept. I have fought that admittance since the first experience I had with being forced to do something to which I did not consent or being treated as an object. I waged my war against this realization even more furiously each time a new event would occur. I have spent more than 10 years of my life training my brain and soul to believe that, if I fought hard enough, I could gain back the things that were irretrievably broken or that I could make the scars from the darts and knife marks of acts of hateful people just disappear. That's just not how it works, so it is no wonder that I have spent so much time confused.
They are permanent. I have to accept that, and on this day, I choose to. There are now parts of me that are gone forever, and there are now scars that I will carry on my spiritual skin for the rest of my days. So what will I do about that?
The first thing I'm going to do is stop looking around for the things that are gone. I cannot regenerate or resurrect the things that have died or been cut away. Then I will be even more vigilant about strengthening the parts of me that are left. I have found myself to be able to compensate in ways that make life more beautiful than it would have been if I had never been altered. I have come to be aware of what strength in those parts actually feels like. I know now how to train those parts of myself, so I will not let myself forget that attention needs to be given to that. I will also celebrate victories. I have admonished others to celebrate victories amidst their struggles. I will allow myself to do the same. I will also give love, and I will accept love.
My journey has been really circuitous and really bumpy, but I have learned some things along this path of mine. I have learned that doing the things I listed above will result in the ugly voice of the sludge being quieted. So, sludge, go back from whence you came. You're not welcome here. I hope you've enjoyed your stay, but it's time you found the door.
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
A brush with luck
When I was a junior in high school, a Mary Kay lady came to our health class. She brought with her wares a set of makeup brushes. "One of you is going to win this brush set!" She instructed us to write our names on scraps of paper and drop them in a basket.
I really wanted those brushes....like real bad. I didn't wear makeup, but my mom did, and it was almost Mother's Day. Our instructor spent the class period telling us how to put on various products waiting until the end of class to draw the name of the winner. I spent the whole class period casting sideways glances at the brushes standing statuesque in their lucite jar. I was totally distracted and kept thinking about how badly I wanted them for my mom but how unlikely it was that I was actually going to be taking them home to her.
And then it happened...she did indeed draw my name.
I will never forget how lucky I felt. So embarrassed. It seemed to me that any other person in my class should have been given the privilege of being acknowledged as the winner, but it WAS me! I carefully packed them into my backpack and felt all day like I was carrying around the Hope Diamond. I hid them until Mother's Day and then exulted in the joy I saw on my mom's face when she opened them. She was amazed by my gift. She loved them, and that just made me feel even more lucky.
She still has them - or at least the jar they came in. Those brushes - my brushes with luck - had a lasting impact on my mom's life. In a small way, they have changed things for my mom for the last 16 years.
Lucky. That makes me feel so lucky.
Let me tell you something else that makes me feel lucky.
Tonight a friend of mine posted on my Facebook wall that Rachel Platten's "Fight Song" reminded her of me. I had never heard it before, so I gave it a listen...and then bawled my eyes out as I sat listening to it on repeat. What my friend was effectively telling me was that, to her, my name was synonymous with the sentiments of the lyrics. I am blown away by this.
A few years ago I found myself in a position that required me to fix my resolve and push ahead past some very huge challenges. There were people depending on me. I did not have the luxury of giving way to any self doubt, so I just pushed ahead. Then more challenges came and then more and then more and then more. It became exhausting. In an effort to gain some strength, I started telling people my story. I would share about a challenge I was facing and ask people to pray on my behalf. They would do that and offer me help any way they could, and I would watch myself scale the mountains that stood in the way of my spirit and then find myself standing on top of them looking over the splendor created from overcoming struggle. This would make me so happy and feel so grateful for the encouragement I received that I would share the success in a public way so everyone could feel happy about their contributions to my success. I was highly motivated to succeed by the knowledge of the people that depended on me, but I must tell you that the constant barrage of challenges left quite a bit to be desired in my faith and inner resolve at certain points. So I would keep repeating the cycle of sharing my challenges, waiting for encouragement and then watching my obstacles disappear into my past.
Then something new started to happen. When a fresh challenge came, instead of being totally thrown for a loop, I would remember "Oh wait. I can fight past this. I have been given the tools and the knowledge that this can all be used for good. Okay. I'm gonna find a way to accept this challenge and conquer it and then store the experience to be used for good. This cannot defeat me." This, apparently, has spoken to the souls of a few people. This, apparently, has given inspiration to a few people. This, apparently has started to provide me with a more far reaching ability to provide love and rescue to the hearts of people. I do not feel worthy of this. Sometimes it actually feels like I'm watching this happen to someone else.
I have more challenges that are coming in the future. I know what some of them are, and some of them are still a mystery to me, but I know that they are coming. I can also see something else coming, though. I can feel it, actually. My platform. For whatever reason, people are reading my words (someone in Brazil reads this blog...I don't even KNOW anyone in Brazil!...So..Hey, Brazil!), and they are listening, and then they are spreading the message that I spoke to them. People are asking for my story. They are literally seeking me out. That platform about which I spoke - I can feel it being hammered together under my figurative feet. I am watching more heads turn when the sound of the voice of my spirit utters the words I want to share. That...is a lucky thing. That...is how the world begins to change. To think that I am being ANY part of that blows my mind, but it's happening.
Have you ever thought about the fact that you inspire someone? That doesn't register very easily. I'm gonna be honest, it is really hard for me to associate myself with inspiration, but if I don't acknowledge that this is happening, I waste this. I am NOT willing to do that. I am NOT going to waste this, so, at the risk of sounding like a total narcissist, I'm going to embrace it! Because you know what? Me and my army of lovers of my life HAVE survived all this crazy stuff. If that gives me the ability to change things for the good, then I would be a FOOL to be self deprecating and pretend that I did not actually survive these things.
So I'm going to do my best to inspire people. I'm going to keep telling my stories...and you can bet I'm going to keep fighting my challenges. I will remember that I will have more brushes with "luck". I will be the "small boat" of which Ms. Platten speaks knowing that my little ripples can cause some big ol' waves because it's not a set of makeup brushes anymore that hangs in the balance - it's lives and souls. I will get tired and discouraged, but I will remind myself...every...single...day...
I really wanted those brushes....like real bad. I didn't wear makeup, but my mom did, and it was almost Mother's Day. Our instructor spent the class period telling us how to put on various products waiting until the end of class to draw the name of the winner. I spent the whole class period casting sideways glances at the brushes standing statuesque in their lucite jar. I was totally distracted and kept thinking about how badly I wanted them for my mom but how unlikely it was that I was actually going to be taking them home to her.
And then it happened...she did indeed draw my name.
I will never forget how lucky I felt. So embarrassed. It seemed to me that any other person in my class should have been given the privilege of being acknowledged as the winner, but it WAS me! I carefully packed them into my backpack and felt all day like I was carrying around the Hope Diamond. I hid them until Mother's Day and then exulted in the joy I saw on my mom's face when she opened them. She was amazed by my gift. She loved them, and that just made me feel even more lucky.
She still has them - or at least the jar they came in. Those brushes - my brushes with luck - had a lasting impact on my mom's life. In a small way, they have changed things for my mom for the last 16 years.
Lucky. That makes me feel so lucky.
Let me tell you something else that makes me feel lucky.
Tonight a friend of mine posted on my Facebook wall that Rachel Platten's "Fight Song" reminded her of me. I had never heard it before, so I gave it a listen...and then bawled my eyes out as I sat listening to it on repeat. What my friend was effectively telling me was that, to her, my name was synonymous with the sentiments of the lyrics. I am blown away by this.
A few years ago I found myself in a position that required me to fix my resolve and push ahead past some very huge challenges. There were people depending on me. I did not have the luxury of giving way to any self doubt, so I just pushed ahead. Then more challenges came and then more and then more and then more. It became exhausting. In an effort to gain some strength, I started telling people my story. I would share about a challenge I was facing and ask people to pray on my behalf. They would do that and offer me help any way they could, and I would watch myself scale the mountains that stood in the way of my spirit and then find myself standing on top of them looking over the splendor created from overcoming struggle. This would make me so happy and feel so grateful for the encouragement I received that I would share the success in a public way so everyone could feel happy about their contributions to my success. I was highly motivated to succeed by the knowledge of the people that depended on me, but I must tell you that the constant barrage of challenges left quite a bit to be desired in my faith and inner resolve at certain points. So I would keep repeating the cycle of sharing my challenges, waiting for encouragement and then watching my obstacles disappear into my past.
Then something new started to happen. When a fresh challenge came, instead of being totally thrown for a loop, I would remember "Oh wait. I can fight past this. I have been given the tools and the knowledge that this can all be used for good. Okay. I'm gonna find a way to accept this challenge and conquer it and then store the experience to be used for good. This cannot defeat me." This, apparently, has spoken to the souls of a few people. This, apparently, has given inspiration to a few people. This, apparently has started to provide me with a more far reaching ability to provide love and rescue to the hearts of people. I do not feel worthy of this. Sometimes it actually feels like I'm watching this happen to someone else.
I have more challenges that are coming in the future. I know what some of them are, and some of them are still a mystery to me, but I know that they are coming. I can also see something else coming, though. I can feel it, actually. My platform. For whatever reason, people are reading my words (someone in Brazil reads this blog...I don't even KNOW anyone in Brazil!...So..Hey, Brazil!), and they are listening, and then they are spreading the message that I spoke to them. People are asking for my story. They are literally seeking me out. That platform about which I spoke - I can feel it being hammered together under my figurative feet. I am watching more heads turn when the sound of the voice of my spirit utters the words I want to share. That...is a lucky thing. That...is how the world begins to change. To think that I am being ANY part of that blows my mind, but it's happening.
Have you ever thought about the fact that you inspire someone? That doesn't register very easily. I'm gonna be honest, it is really hard for me to associate myself with inspiration, but if I don't acknowledge that this is happening, I waste this. I am NOT willing to do that. I am NOT going to waste this, so, at the risk of sounding like a total narcissist, I'm going to embrace it! Because you know what? Me and my army of lovers of my life HAVE survived all this crazy stuff. If that gives me the ability to change things for the good, then I would be a FOOL to be self deprecating and pretend that I did not actually survive these things.
So I'm going to do my best to inspire people. I'm going to keep telling my stories...and you can bet I'm going to keep fighting my challenges. I will remember that I will have more brushes with "luck". I will be the "small boat" of which Ms. Platten speaks knowing that my little ripples can cause some big ol' waves because it's not a set of makeup brushes anymore that hangs in the balance - it's lives and souls. I will get tired and discouraged, but I will remind myself...every...single...day...
"I've still got a lotta fight left in me"
And hey, after you read this, why don't you think about joining me? How about finding that "fight" in yourself and traveling with me? COME ON!!!!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LVxon65u3tA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LVxon65u3tA
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
On leaving Norman
I didn't sleep last night. Not at all. I'm literally trembling from exhaustion, but my respite from my troubles has come with the rising of the sun....it's my back yard.
We will only live in this house for 3 more weeks. I have lived here since November, and my husband has lived here for 5 years. 5 years is a long time to live anywhere for me. I don't know that I've ever lived in any house for 5 years in my whole life, but this place has been his and then ours. To be honest, I hated it when I got here. I missed the 4 bedroom house with a giant yard and fire pit that I left. I missed all my girlie everything. I was annoyed with all the natural wood everything and the fishing pole picture frames and everything being so masculine. It just wasn't my house. It was someone else's house, and, for the first 4 months, I felt like I was squatting here.
But then something started to happen. Somewhere along the way, I got "my" dresser and "my" side of the couch and the mugs I like to use for my coffee. (My favorites are the one that says "Dan" that he got from his mom and the ones that say "Baby's Coffee" from a coffee shop in the Keys) Maybe it was when we had a few days of snow and the whole place looked like something out of a movie. Maybe it was on one of our walks to the grocery store or one of my favorite boutiques. Maybe it was after "his" friends started to become "my" friends too....not sure, but I'll tell you this. I'm going to miss this place.
I'm going to miss being able to walk absolutely anywhere. I even walked to our wedding. I'm going to miss the buildings on campus. They're so much older than the ones I lived around for the 3 years before I got here. I'm going to miss the restaurants. Dan has taken me places with foods I still can't pronounce. I'm going to miss the birds. Anybody who knows me well at all knows my recent but deep connection with birds and feathers. Norman has this chubby, little grey bird variety that always seems to find me when I'm having a bad day. I'm going to miss the seasons here. I know the summers are unbearably hot, but I have so enjoyed getting to see snow again. Makes me think of my childhood in the suburbs of Chicago. I'm going to miss the one street of downtown. It's little, but it's cute. There's enough there to spend a day wandering. I'm going to miss the gazebo where we got married. I'm going to miss the walking itself. We have had so many talks and learned so many things about each other during those walks. Oh the things we've talked about. I didn't realize I could love Dan more than I already did, but I do....and a lot of that happened on those walks.
I'm going to miss the people here. I've spent my life leaving people, and that has left me with a lot of friends in a lot of different places. The leaving is always hard though. Dan spent years telling me about all his wonderful friends. Dan is nearly an eternal optimist who will see good in the ugliest of people, so I thought he was exaggerating about what his friends were really like. He wasn't. These people are gold. I've grown to truly love them. A long time ago, I had a sizable group of close friends. We spent time at each other's houses just about every weekend and always time during the week too, and then I went several years without having very many close friends at all. That was a sad, lonely time for me. I will never forget being at a barbeque about a month and half ago, and the thought struck me "Oh my gosh.....this is what it's like to have friends"....not hypothetical...not an abstract thought....me. This is what it's like for ME to have friends. I'll also never forget realizing that people here were talking with me because they just might actually enjoy my company. I got invited to things...without Dan. Just me. These people here gave something back to me that I thought was gone for me. I hope some day I'm able to express what exactly that has meant to me, so maybe this will help do the job.
And my back yard. We don't really have a back yard. We have sort of some space between the back of our duplex and the fence line of someone else's property, but when I look out there and see so much green, I just feel peace. The big trees speak to me, and those lovely birds prance around and stare at me while they cock their tiny heads to the side in silent conversation with me. I have watched the picture change from barren and cold and empty to covered with beautiful snow to burgeoning with new spring growth. It has become a view that is just for me. Somewhere along the way, it became mine.
I have not felt "at home" in a very, very, very long time. Dan and I have even talked about my frustration with this....but I'm feeling it now. This place, this town, this funny little apartment just off of campus has become home to me just in time for me to leave it.
So Norman, I love you, and I will love you forever. You made my life a more wonderful story. You gave me things and people that no other place could. For that, I am in your debt. I will carry your picture in my heart for the rest of my life, but I do have to go. There are 3 babies that have tugged on my broken heart every day that I have spent here. It's time to write the next chapter. It's time to continue this adventure of my life.....but we'll always have each other, Norman, won't we?
We will only live in this house for 3 more weeks. I have lived here since November, and my husband has lived here for 5 years. 5 years is a long time to live anywhere for me. I don't know that I've ever lived in any house for 5 years in my whole life, but this place has been his and then ours. To be honest, I hated it when I got here. I missed the 4 bedroom house with a giant yard and fire pit that I left. I missed all my girlie everything. I was annoyed with all the natural wood everything and the fishing pole picture frames and everything being so masculine. It just wasn't my house. It was someone else's house, and, for the first 4 months, I felt like I was squatting here.
But then something started to happen. Somewhere along the way, I got "my" dresser and "my" side of the couch and the mugs I like to use for my coffee. (My favorites are the one that says "Dan" that he got from his mom and the ones that say "Baby's Coffee" from a coffee shop in the Keys) Maybe it was when we had a few days of snow and the whole place looked like something out of a movie. Maybe it was on one of our walks to the grocery store or one of my favorite boutiques. Maybe it was after "his" friends started to become "my" friends too....not sure, but I'll tell you this. I'm going to miss this place.
I'm going to miss being able to walk absolutely anywhere. I even walked to our wedding. I'm going to miss the buildings on campus. They're so much older than the ones I lived around for the 3 years before I got here. I'm going to miss the restaurants. Dan has taken me places with foods I still can't pronounce. I'm going to miss the birds. Anybody who knows me well at all knows my recent but deep connection with birds and feathers. Norman has this chubby, little grey bird variety that always seems to find me when I'm having a bad day. I'm going to miss the seasons here. I know the summers are unbearably hot, but I have so enjoyed getting to see snow again. Makes me think of my childhood in the suburbs of Chicago. I'm going to miss the one street of downtown. It's little, but it's cute. There's enough there to spend a day wandering. I'm going to miss the gazebo where we got married. I'm going to miss the walking itself. We have had so many talks and learned so many things about each other during those walks. Oh the things we've talked about. I didn't realize I could love Dan more than I already did, but I do....and a lot of that happened on those walks.
I'm going to miss the people here. I've spent my life leaving people, and that has left me with a lot of friends in a lot of different places. The leaving is always hard though. Dan spent years telling me about all his wonderful friends. Dan is nearly an eternal optimist who will see good in the ugliest of people, so I thought he was exaggerating about what his friends were really like. He wasn't. These people are gold. I've grown to truly love them. A long time ago, I had a sizable group of close friends. We spent time at each other's houses just about every weekend and always time during the week too, and then I went several years without having very many close friends at all. That was a sad, lonely time for me. I will never forget being at a barbeque about a month and half ago, and the thought struck me "Oh my gosh.....this is what it's like to have friends"....not hypothetical...not an abstract thought....me. This is what it's like for ME to have friends. I'll also never forget realizing that people here were talking with me because they just might actually enjoy my company. I got invited to things...without Dan. Just me. These people here gave something back to me that I thought was gone for me. I hope some day I'm able to express what exactly that has meant to me, so maybe this will help do the job.
And my back yard. We don't really have a back yard. We have sort of some space between the back of our duplex and the fence line of someone else's property, but when I look out there and see so much green, I just feel peace. The big trees speak to me, and those lovely birds prance around and stare at me while they cock their tiny heads to the side in silent conversation with me. I have watched the picture change from barren and cold and empty to covered with beautiful snow to burgeoning with new spring growth. It has become a view that is just for me. Somewhere along the way, it became mine.
I have not felt "at home" in a very, very, very long time. Dan and I have even talked about my frustration with this....but I'm feeling it now. This place, this town, this funny little apartment just off of campus has become home to me just in time for me to leave it.
So Norman, I love you, and I will love you forever. You made my life a more wonderful story. You gave me things and people that no other place could. For that, I am in your debt. I will carry your picture in my heart for the rest of my life, but I do have to go. There are 3 babies that have tugged on my broken heart every day that I have spent here. It's time to write the next chapter. It's time to continue this adventure of my life.....but we'll always have each other, Norman, won't we?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)