Sliver of Light

I enjoy reading most things from Jeff Brown.  He encourages people to care for one another as well as themselves.  Society today has become one of isolation in a lot of ways, in my opinion.
When I am deeply stressed or hurting, I tend to go inward.  So many of us were taught that we have to be strong.  Being strong doesn't necessarily mean going it alone.  Being strong doesn't mean pretending there is nothing wrong, either.  Sometimes, being strong is reaching out and saying, *I can't do this anymore*, and allowing the other person to reach back and stand with you.

What Hurt You The Most?

I don't remember the name of the program that generated this message for me.  All I did was insert my first name one day last week and this is the comments/card that was generated for me.
As I read it I was a little stunned by the message because it seriously hit home with me.  Dealing with the death of my father who also was one of my abusers has really forced me to face some hard truths.
Growing up, even with the abuses and rage and alcoholism, I adored my father.  He was a lot of horrible things but I still was given those times of being Daddy's beloved little girl.  I was special to him for a lot of wrong reasons.  When I was young, I didn't understand that at all.  I defended him fiercely.  He was the parent who took care of me and showed me kindness.  He was also the monster of my nightmares.
This card that was generated seconds after I put in my name and no other information, hit my feelings on the nose.  In some ways it applies to both parents that I grew up with.  What I know is that I am a stronger person now.  I don't like what I had to go through but I know that all of it has contributed to the woman I am today.

A time of age-play

A few days ago Miss Jenn and I got together for some age-play.  It is a time that we both enjoy.  It is not scripted in any way.  Often it is simply a time of being together in the roles of parent and child.  Both of us seem to very easily slip into those roles with one another.  It is a time that is not forced and just flows.
Rarely am I spanked when I am little Crie.  That part of me may be extremely stubborn and willful yet rarely is there a need for physical discipline.  The little me is eager to please her and wants her approval and praise.  Those times in age-play are more often filled with laughter and warmth.  It is a relaxing, nurturing, healing sort of time.
This time, I was spanked.  It was needed, not so much because of me acting out though.  It was needed more as a re-connection with her.  For me, even as a little, it is a form of love and caring.  With all that has been happening in my life over these past couple of months, I needed that spanking.  It was in no way severe.  It was not long or drawn out and it brought me to the place where I let go and cried.  My tears had absolutely nothing to do with the spanking itself.  The tears had everything to do with all the emotional turmoil I had been experiencing.  Over her lap is a place where I feel safe and protected.  It was a place that I needed to be to let go of the iron grip I had on my emotions and just let them be expressed.  I was safe enough to cry.
I am so fortunate that I have Mickey and Jenn that understand and provide that safe place for me.

Survivors are Champions!

Over the years I have dealt with a lot of different things.  Not all good and not all bad either.  I use to say that many of the bad things that can happen to a person, I personally have experienced.  I know that is not true, still, I have had what feels like more than my fair share of crap to deal with and overcome.  Don't we all kinda feel like that sometimes?
I have been called *victim* far too many times.  I am not just referring to childhood, teen and adult rape.  I have been the victim of stalkers in my personal life and online.  Mickey and I have had all of our bank accounts hacked.  I have had friends pass away from murder and suicide.  I have been robbed and burglarized.  I have been held at knife point and have had the shit beat out of me.  I have died and been brought back to life.  I could go on and on, but this is not my point.
Being called a victim irritates the hell out of me!  Yes, I was. WAS.  Now, I am not.  I am a Survivor!  Survivors are Champions.  That is my opinion, any way.  Of course there are different degrees (for lack of a better word) of survival.  Some come through horrible things with little more left other than being alive.  That is still survival.  Some are so shattered that for years they may not be more than a shadow of who they were prior to the incident.  Some are forever changed.
I don't believe that any of us get through this life without facing tragedy of some sort or becoming a victim to something or someone.  I don't know what makes one person come out stronger and another come out practically destroyed.  I also don't know why the road to recovery can take months, years and decades for different people.  And, for some, recovery isn't even in the picture.  What I do know is that victimization and survival is very very personal.  As people we have learned a lot of things about how the mind works.  There are millions of self help books to be had, or thrown out ;p  We can encourage one another, but, need to understand that there is no blue-print to healing.  There is no set timetable that happens so that if you follow A-B-C, then D brings wellness.
As a Survivor, I know what has and has not worked for me in the past.  Arming myself became very important to me when I was the victim of a stalker.  I carried a weapon on me at all times.  Slept with weapons around me.  When it happened again to me online, I armed myself again.  This time by become a hacker.  It is very satisfying to make a phone call to a person who thought they were anonymous on the *web* and tell them their real name, their address and tell them that I was the one that was controlling their computer at that moment.  It is also very satisfying to have that stalking end immediately.  Taking back my power, helped my healing process.
Survivors are champions.  Each day we wake up and face another day is a win.  A Survivor of violent crime has so much courage and we use it daily just to leave our home.  Next time you catch yourself about to call someone a victim, take a moment to see if maybe you should be calling them a Champion instead.

Journey of Healing

Travelling this road of healing takes tremendous work some days.  Work, that if I am honest, at times I just don't want to do.  There are days that I want it all to just go away.  There are days that turn out just beautiful.  There are days that I look forward to the rising sun, because for me that means bedtime.
My body has adjusted itself to an odd schedule.  I spent over a year not being able to sleep for more than 2-3 hours at a time.  Pain made sleep impossible.  Even taking narcotic pain meds every 4 hours didn't help this problem.  Now, either I have adjusted to the pain, or my body screamed for sleep loud enough, that my sleep pattern changed.  Unless I have appointments early in the day, I can count on getting at least 6 hours of sleep at a time.
Some days, memories will flood over me.  Most of them unpleasant, but not all.  I have found it important to remember the good things.  To force those images to the front as well.  Not everything from the past was bad and I need to remember that.
It has been important for me to also take time off.  To give myself a break from some of the horror that I remember.  I can't imagine staying sane if I was dealing with the past, 24/7.  Life is NOW.  It isn't going to stand still for me while I deal with the past.  I find things that I enjoy and do them on a regular basis.
I have had to learn to deal with high levels of stress.  Memories can be very stressful.  Especially during the times when memories seem to be relentless.  I am fortunate to have wonderful people close to me who remind me that it is memory and not something that is happening right now.  I may be physically and emotionally experiencing the brutality of  being raped when I was seven but thank god they can reach in and grab a hold of me until the sensations stop.  It is stress-filled.  I have had to find things that help me deal with that stress.
Everyone's journey toward healing is going to be different.  And, every journey is worth it.

In the Storm

In our lives we are going to face stormy times.  There will be struggles.  We will feel and be weak.  No one is immune to this.  During those times when things are so hard, we will question why.  We will not be at our best.  I think that those times are when we need to be sure of the people we allow close to us.  I believe this because I believe that we are shaped and formed in the storms.
When I am walking, (or crawling) through a stormy period in my life, I would rather have one person sitting with me quietly than have many people with me speaking a thousand useless words.  The silent strength of one person, just being with me, offers more hope than anything 10 others could say.
I have days where it seems that everything I touch just falls apart.  I know we all can relate.  Having a day that would just be described as a bad day.
But man, when those types of days string together...
and no matter how hard we try, nothing gets better...
Then, we are in a storm.  We are battered by so many different emotions and events, none of them pleasant.  In the midst of it all, it can be impossible to see the end.  The storms of life are never as short as we would like for them to be either!  During those times, I do hear the encouraging words from others - Mostly, I cannot embrace them, not while in the storm.  If I allow someone near me then, it is simply their presence that means all the world to me.  I am not listening to their words, not in any real sense.  I am drawing from their offered strength.  Resting from the battle in the storm, if only for a few minutes.

Unconventional Paths

It seems that sometimes the path that I take is unconventional.  Others have found the choices that I make for myself, a little strange.  With most things that I choose for myself, I have stopped caring about the opinions of others outside of my inner circle.  I have enough confidence to believe in myself.  For the most part, I trust my intuition.
I have tried the conventional.  I spent about 3 years in therapy, discovering truths about myself and healing from my past.  Over the past year and a half or so, the past came up again.  So much about it seemed more intense.  I did not want to go see a therapist.  I know that talk therapy can work.  It did for me during a time when I really needed it.  This time though, I really struggled with what could I learn from therapy, how could it help me?  I did seek out a therapist and have a great relationship with her.
I also knew that it wasn't enough.  I needed something more.  I knew what I needed but I had no idea how to seek it out.  It all seemed like it was a dream that would never be a reality.  I felt stuck.  I felt like I would never be *okay*.  Heck, I felt strange for even wanting this, even when I knew deep down inside that it was exactly what I needed.  I did not know that something like therapeutic spanking existed.  I had no knowledge that Pro Disciplinarians existed.  What I was describing was a type of spanking therapy, I guess.  I was spanked in my personal life and had no reason to search the internet.  Needing someone who could interact with me coming from a more maternal side, set me on a very unconventional path.
This is how I ended up with Miss Jenn.  The time we have spent together and the sessions we have had, are changing my life.  Just like with Mickey, Jenn interacts with both the adult and child me. It isn't strange or weird.  At times, it is very intense and emotional.  At times, it is all laughter.  At times, it is just easy and comfortable.  All the time, it is helping.  It may be an unconventional path.  It is also my path and it is working for me.

Healing & Closure

Today I was little.  I spent the day with Mommy and Daddie.  I was not told that this was going to happen.  It was planned without my knowledge.  The day was perfect.  Going out treasure hunting at different stores.  All of us found something too.  I even got taken out for ice cream!  Daddie dropped Mommy and me off at the house.  I got to color some while Mommy did dishes.  Then, well, things didn't go so great.  Mommy told me it was time for a nap.  After a day of playing and being silly and having fun, taking a nap is not what I wanted!  I wasn't a good girl at all.  I didn't like being told what to do and Mommy didn't like me not obeying her either. I got angry.  All of a sudden I just sort of blew up.  Before I knew it, I had hit her with my stuffed elephant!  My elephant is softer than even a pillow but that is not the point.

This was a re-enactment session of something that happened a long time ago.  Daddie Mickey and Miss Jenn, walked me through this masterfully.  For years, hitting my mother has tormented me on multiple levels.  In the past, I was the only one that was NOT in trouble.  The horror of seeing my mother spanked because of something I had done, as well as watching her punished because she just tried to discipline me, has been excruciating.  I can't describe the guilt the grown woman has felt over this incident.  Today, I experienced that guilt from the mindset of the little me.  That little me broke down and cried over and over again while over Mommy's knee.  The scolding that has been decades in coming, broke me.  The spanking has me still not wanting to sit down.  I am red and bruised and swollen and deserved every bit of it.  I will never ever forget it.  After *Mommy* got me calmed down and tears wiped away, she informed me that I had to tell Daddie too.  Daddie came home.  As a little girl in the past, things were so messed up back then that by the time my father came home that day, I couldn't wait to get my mother in trouble.  Not this time.  I cried again trying to tell *Daddie* what I did and that I was spanked.  Then, Daddie spanked me for it too!  I was told to go apologize to my Mommy.  I know I got the words out and then I sobbed.  I have never cried like that over something from my past.  I never cried as a little girl.  It all came flooding out of me, and that WAS the point.

This is something that the 3 of us had talked about for months.  The two of them had a very clear understanding of what had happened back then.  They both knew all too well what that memory was doing to me now, the impact on my life.  They knew the places where I was stuck.  We had talked about it many many times. We went over all the *what-ifs*  Then, I put it all in their hands.  I wanted no control.  I didn't want to know when the session might happen.  I didn't want any say over any part of what was going to take place.  The two of them honored that.  My biggest fear was that I might actually slap Miss Jenn.  This was talked out over and over and over.  I would have been devastated if I had actually hit her, or anyone.  I am not like that.
Today was about healing.  Today was about closure.  Today was about a new beginning.  Today was about stepping forward unhindered from the guilt.

 Thank you Daddie & Mommy (Mickey & Miss Jenn)

Trust Yourself

A phrase ringing through my head - Trust yourself to feel everything, you can handle it.

I have a children's coloring book about feelings.  While doing age play at *Mom's* house I was asked to choose one of the pictures that described how I was feeling and color it.  I really didn't want to.  I tried to go somewhere else, but she was pretty insistent.  Looking through the book, I finally decided on bashful and shy.  When I read it, I knew that is what I was really feeling.  I started coloring while she fixed dinner.  My little head went every where.  I felt the tears starting to come to the surface.  That is a seriously dangerous place especially for the little me.  I stopped coloring and drew an eye at the bottom of the page.  I know that if I draw an eye, it means that the tears are close and threatening.  If I can draw the eye, maybe I can keep the tears inside it.  It is another form of controlling for me.
But, what wasn't I trusting myself to feel?  I know it was not about the bashfulness.  The one who is Mom, reaches right past that.  She interacts with me regardless.  She came and laid on the floor beside me and commented on my picture and the drawing.  I wanted to tell her, but I knew I would cry.  Somehow the little me found the courage to ask if I could lay beside her.  I still couldn't tell her.  And the tears came anyway.  What I was feeling was fear, specifically the fear of rejection.  From that little head space, I wanted to open up and embrace and accept.  I was afraid to trust her.  Afraid that it would be like the past.  So afraid to believe that it was real.  Snuggled together for a few minutes, the wall came down, some of the pain washed away right along with the fear.  She didn't make a big deal over the tears, she let them, and me, exist in the moment.
Trust yourself to feel everything.  I know that some things feel so horrible, intense and hurt like hell.  I know too that even when it feels like I can't handle it, when emotion is so strong it feels like 100 pounds is sitting on my chest, I can handle it.  It may be in baby steps and that is okay.
Trust yourself to feel everything - you can handle it.

The Mom in my Life

  There is a line between what is play and acting and what is healing, therapeutic and emotional.                                                            And, those lines can blur.

I was rejected, neglected and victimized as a child.  I have been going through an extremely hard time recently.  The little me is fragile and fearful and healing.  She spent tonight in the arms of the one she now recognizes as *Mom*  The gift of simply laying with her arm over me, brought the little me to tears.  (It has my eyes watering now.)  To know from a maternal figure, that I am completely safe, wanted, accepted - breaks the ice around my heart.  It lets me know that I can keep holding on.  It lets me know that I am not alone. It brings healing where healing is so needed.  She, the one who is Mom, will read this and likely have tears in her eyes as well.  The little me is her little girl too.  A relationship like this is not something that one person can distance themself from. When it is in the realm of healing there is a bonding of two hearts.  It IS emotional.  The little heart in me breaks open to receive from her and to give to her.  Mom's heart breaks from the horrors visited on a little girl.  She ends up seeing the manifestation of the impact of severe abuse and seeing the impact of care and love poured into it's place.  Together we play.  She is Mom and I am 7.  She gets to see first hand what love and discipline can do when poured into a broken heart.  She is a warm, caring woman who has been willing to step into my life when it is needed most, and make a difference.
 See, I have all of this with my Daddie.  Daddie Mickey blankets me in so much love.  She holds me when I am falling apart.  She holds me when I have let go and feel like I can't even make it through one more minute.  She knows the difference between her lover, her girl, and her little.  She understands when I don't have anything left to give.  I don't know how she does it, but she can direct me right into that littler mindset and take that little me into her lap when it is needed most.  Daddie also saw the need in the little me to spend time with and have a relationship with a *Mom*.  How blessed am I that even Daddie went looking for the *right* woman?  My Daddie is the most wonderful beautiful person I have ever known in my life.  I have never known anyone with so much capacity for love.  Daddie Mickey is female.  She also is Daddy, through and through.
It was much easier for the little me to open up to and accept a daddy figure and then embrace her totally as parent.  With the mom in my life it is different.  I have not known anything but rejection and cruelty with any type of maternal figure or authority figure.  I am responding with shyness and am tentative.  I am testing where the boundaries are and more importantly, being shown where they are.  Being shown that I can trust.  How does one say thank you for a gift like this?

Hey U.G.L.Y.

That's right... Hey UGLY!

Uniquely  Gifted  Lovable  You!

This is not an original of mine.  In fact it is an actual anti-bullying organization.  It caught my attention for a few different reasons.  Right now the best reason, to me, is that it takes a word filled with a lot of negativity and turns the meaning around.
I know it is not that simple.  See a cute phrase of an *ugly* word and suddenly the meaning totally changes for you.  When I hear the word ugly, I can get transported right back to a place that just is not very good.  Heck, I still look in the mirror at times and call myself ugly.  Those mean words we use on ourselves and to others can be so hurtful.  Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.  We may have sang that as a kid, but far too often it was not true.  Probably most of us can say that we were bullied, picked on, called names, etc.  Children of every generation have done it.  Bones heal and bruises fade, but the strikes from words that bruise and break the soul, leave wounds others can't see.
The road to healing those wounds to the soul is paved with compassion and love.  The salve of praise, truth and positive feed back needs to be applied generously.

                                         We are UGLY - uniquely gifted lovable you(s).

Shards Of Glass

A phrase keeps going through my head.... "like a child learning to walk on shards of glass."

Like most things that are out of the blue like that and stuck in my head...it is likely part of a poem or creative writing piece that is working toward being heard.
The shattered glass pieces are hard enough to spot in the light.  Finding them in the darkness? Impossible, until harm is already done.  It sounds chilling and painful.

I guess sometimes this path of healing feels like I am trying to reassemble a precious piece of art.  I have entered the stark darkness of the past.  I have had to.  It is the only way to retrieve all the pieces needed to remake, reform,  this piece of art into the beautiful piece it was always meant to be.

 Fumbling in the dark, I am pricked by sharp points of glass that draw a drop of blood from time to time.  Even moving with the utmost care, I have stepped on a few parts of the glass that have sliced my foot open. Those wounds have needed help from others, a few stitches and much more time to heal.

 Some of those same pieces have broken even more, making them unrecognizable.  That is okay.  The form these pieces of glass come together to make, will be different and unique still.  It will be beautiful and whole as it was meant to be.  Even if only briefly, when light sweeps through the area, beauty is reflected back already.

At times, I have thrown a few of those shards away.  Realizing that I no longer need them.  As the pieces come together, some of them just no longer fit in the design.  Some of the shards of glass never belonged there in the first place.

This time of gathering shards of glass in the dark, has not always been alone.  A few times, someone has come along with a flashlight and we have gathered pieces together.  They have had a hand in helping me transform this brokenness into a wonderful and forever changing, piece of art.

I recognize that although I am doing the difficult emotional work, I am not the Master designer.  The original masterpiece was never treasured.  It was thrown to the floor and shattered.  I am fortunate to have the opportunity to gather the pieces and offer them up to the light for transformation.

Look Around

When dealing with emotional issues, I can develop tunnel vision.  There are times that I can only see the bad that swirls around the dark things from the past.  I have a tendency to allow myself to be drawn in too deeply.  It isn't that I am trying to hurt myself.  For me it comes more from a stubbornness that wants to meet most things head on.  I will push myself too hard, ONCE I get started.  It is difficult at times for me to put the brakes on and take a break.
There is a need to step out of the horrors and take a look around.  Consciously notice the light that is around.  Press into the good things in my life.  The monsters in the past can and do invade the present at times.  If I have lost control of my steps, I must fight just as hard to get myself back into the present.  The present is where the love is.  The present holds the good that I desire to embrace.  There is a need to breathe.  Must allow my eyes to see the beauty that is right here,  to wash them clean from the horrors that have colored my vision.
Look around.  Notice the way the breeze makes the branches dance.  Watch as the leaf rolls and plays tag with the sidewalk.  See the ears of my puppy flap wildly as she runs across the floor.  Examine the rose petal or the blade of grass.  Embrace the living breathing things and remember that I too am a part of them.
Look around.  Plant both feet firmly on the ground.  With eyes as the window to my soul, fill them with beauty and light.  Scan the snow covered mountain.  Look for the face in the moon.  Watch as the clouds play hide and seek with the stars.  Breathe girl and let the night air stroke your face.

When I cannot do this for myself - - -  Guide me with your voice.  Take me to the beach as I sit wrapped in your arms, safe.  Build the vision of the beauty we each know is there.  Show me with a whisper, while you also push the monsters away.  Keep reminding me who you are until I can again recognize your face.  Stay with me until you are confident I have left that place.

Leave A Trail

Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail." 

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

As I have walked this journey of healing, there have been times when I have been overwhelmed by suggestions on the way I should go.  Others have spoken to me about tried and tested roads to recovery from childhood sexual abuse.  It is not a case of who is right and who is wrong.  With each new thing from my past that I face, I am also faced with choices in how to deal with it.  There are different therapies and different approaches.  I am simply *me*.  As I have fought to move from victim to victorious, the methods used has changed as I became stronger and more willing to fight for freedom from my past.  

We are each unique.  Even if our pasts are identical, the paths that we take to become more free and stronger, are unlikely to be.  What works for one, may not work for another.  Understanding that this is okay, is important.  Sharing what has and has not been beneficial may be very helpful to someone else who is struggling with the same sort of issue.  It is okay to choose your own path and leave your own trail.  

The path that I am walking right now has evolved from different things that have been suggested to me, as well as from understanding myself better.  As a victim, I didn't have the right of choice.  I had no control.  Now, I do.  

There is no *cookie-cutter* approach to healing.  It is also not a sign of failure if some part of the path that is being walked, fails to have the hoped for outcome.  As we learn, grow and change, so does the things that are beneficial in healing, growing and becoming stronger.  

When my first therapist suggested and encouraged re-parenting for me, I was not ready.  She on the other hand continued to present it to me.  Today, although none of us are calling the way that we are interacting with one another, re-parenting, what I am experiencing is exactly what that woman wanted for me years ago.  She kept pointing me to that path, let me know that it was there and was an option that might be helpful to me.  After having become a lot stronger, it took me becoming so lost and stuck,  for me to see that path again as a possibility.  And, ya know what?  We are forging a new trail and it is working for me.

Tiny Soldier

Oh tiny soldier, with your stubbornness and grit, this is not a giving up, it's just the time to quit.  You're battle worn body, wracked with scars and pain, there's nothing more for you to give and everything to gain.  Your weapons can be laid down, right here in this place.  Let us wash those blood soaked tears, from your tiny face.  Arms now wait for you, to wash the guilt and grime of war.  The fields have all grown over, the pain will be no more.  Your bravery that went unseen, now shines here in this place.  The days ahead wait for you, filled with love and grace.
**************************************************************

Something I wrote tonight.  The tiny soldier that fought for sanity in a f*cked up world.
It wasn't right.  It wasn't fair and it wasn't her fault. ( I know at least two people who will be glad I said that)
I am suppose to say, it wasn't *my* fault.  Right now, I can say that I am trying.  Actually, I am suppose to not say again, that it *is* my fault.
The blame is on me for destroying the relationship with my mother.  WHOA!! Back up.  How is that statement in any way honoring the tiny soldier?   It isn't.  It is setting blame where none should be.  That little soldier may need to answer for a couple of things now.  She did some pretty rotten things.  The thing is though, that the *answering*, correction and or punishment, isn't about the deed so much as it is about the guilt.  I guess I kind of see it as stripping her of those old filthy clothes of war and placing her in a warm bath.  Gently cleansing what is under those torn blood stained pieces of armor.  Soothing her whole body in the warmth of that water.  As the cleansing water pours over her, letting her hear those words of love, hear that she is loved, she is good, she is free, she is whole, she is wanted, she is brave, she doesn't have to fight anymore, the war is over.

Breaking Down The Wall

I have been told frequently lately that I am stronger than I know.  Grabbing a hold of that and truly believing it for myself isn't easy.  At least right now it isn't.  I want to move forward.  Sometimes, my whole being screams out that I just can't.  I can't take one more step.  I can't reach out one more time.  I can't face this. I can't, I can't, I can't.
Funny, how sometimes the answer is right there inside of me.  Just waiting for my screams to silence so I can hear it.
There is a rage in me.  I have kept it pretty safely walled up inside me.  Protected myself from it.  Sure, haven't wanted to see it let alone feel it.  Absolutely no way I have wanted anyone else to see it.  Knowing it is there does scare me.  I have visions of the rage of my father.  What if i am like him?  Is the potential to be like that in me?
There is a very angry, tantrum throwing little girl inside me.  I realized tonight that I have never acknowledged that anger.  Stuffing it down, hiding it away, walling it up.... none of those things are in any way actually dealing with it.  It is time to start breaking down the wall.  No dynamite, nothing drastic... just a few bricks at a time.  Acknowledging that the little girl me who went through all of this horror actually has every right to be enraged.

I Quit

How many times have I said that?  Or actually done it?  Just quit.  Stop.  Throw the towel in?  Given up on myself or the situation?
Sometimes I feel like I am standing at a cross-roads.  Standing, waiting, contemplating, weighing my options.  The longer I stand here, the more I want to just turn around and run back to what is known and familiar.  I am sure I am not the only one that has found them self in this sort of place.  How often do we want to run back to where, even though it might not be, it feels safer?  At least we know what to expect there.
Two very impact-full things have happened to me this month.  Both intense.  Both emotion filled.  Both have made changes in me.  Both made me cry.  That in itself is enough to scare the living hell out of me.  Crying, for me means I have lost control.  I have never seen that as a good thing for myself.  Both have opened my heart and I don't know what to do with all these new emotions.
I am afraid and I want to quit.
What if instead, I say, I surrender?  Since, I can't exactly say that I welcome what is ahead but I know that it is right for me.  Can I say, I surrender to it?  I surrender to following this hard road regardless of the fear?  Is that being brave?   For sure, fear has chipped away at my dedication.
But, surrendering sounds like giving up too...

These are the times that I have to speak peace to myself.  I have to encourage myself.  This is the sort of situation where the parent in me comes out and I try to do the right things.  Setting boundaries around myself.  Allowing myself only a certain amount of time to dwell on whatever *it* is.  Then going and doing something else completely.  Redirecting myself into something that is fun for me to do.  Doing something someone else has asked me to do.  Doing whatever it is that takes my mind away from the distressing one at hand.  This is also when I do have to grab those boot-straps and pull.  I know that deep within, I don't want to quit or run away.  I went as far today as asking two people to please not let me quit.  Setting up what I hope will be safe-guards in place if they ever become needed.
I know we all experience the fight or flight question when we face some things in our lives.  And it is much easier to encourage someone else than to encourage ourselves, a lot of the time!  I don't want to encourage myself at these points when I want to run away. I just want to quit.  I try to move away from what is troubling me, center myself, and come back to *it* later.

Medicine

"Not all medicine needs to be ingested. Some is heard, some seen, some is felt."  This is a quote from Dr.V.
That quote gets me thinking about the things that bring the most healing into our lives.  It makes me think about the things that can touch my own life with much more significance than any meds that are put into my body.  I am not knocking meds, I would likely not be alive without them.
It makes me stop and think about the things I have heard.  A piece of music that is so touching it is beyond words of explanation.  It brings a soothing into me that can calm the brewing storm that threatens to rise.  The music that moves me to the point that I can't stand still.  I have to move.  It plucks away at my mood, helping me to change it.  The music that is so familiar that I am automatically singing along to it at the top of my lungs.  All, medicine for my soul.  When my mood is *ugly* I often feel the pain in my body more intensely. For me, change the mood, change the pain level, works more often than not.
It is not only in music.  The sounds around me make a difference.  Running water in nature is a sound that can take me to another place.  I find some of the greatest peace there.  A baby giggling with all that they are, always brings a smile to my face.  It can be so contagious, regardless of my mood.  Hearing the voices of those that I know care about me, reminding me that I am loved, that I am strong, that they care.... these give me added strength.  They can be the medicine that I hear that helps me take one more step or tackle one more issue.  Those sounds, all of them, can be the medicine that means the difference between success and failure on my part.   For me they can bring healing and peace and wholeness and sometimes in ways I had in no way expected.
What have I seen that was as a medicine to me?  The face of a person I didn't know was coming to visit and I hadn't seen in years.  An elderly couple walking hand in hand.  A piece of art that played on my emotions. An elephant, almost any elephant, for some reason brings a smile to my face.  The open arms of one who loves me, beckoning me into them.  The spanking implement held in the hand of one who means to use it on me.  Eyes filled with compassion.  Books I have read that open my eyes to something different.  The success of someone I care about.  The passing from this life into death of the man I held in my arms.
What I see with all of these things are they address me, (or us) as a whole person, not just flesh and bone.  There is another quote from Dr.V. that goes something like this:  Why seek out a healer that profits from illness?  That speaks volumes to me about treating the whole person that I am.  I am much more than what can be seen easily and on x-ray.  There is medicine, in the sense that Dr.V. is using it, all around each of us.  There for the taking if we wish.

Thought in Poetry

Silence ripples through her muscles as she unlatches the gate.
Stepping past the thresh-hold, she seals her fate.
Demons rise, flaunting, taunting her pain.  Beasts of fire whisper her name.
Clouds of emotion shield her way, like a bed of nails where she is to lay.
Eyes wide aware and shockingly clear.
She steps past them, pushing through fear.


Frozen tulips, petals so fair
shattered in pieces as others just stare.
Iced ribbons stripped in two
shredded in parts, seen by few.
Solid ice around hearts grow
stopping time, screaming No!


Child within me....
Hear me as I say I know what you did.
Take my hand, together let's lift the lid.
I will protect you and love you still.
I promise to be here if only you will.
I am you and you are me.
It is time we both were free.


Take me in your arms and hold me tight.  Watch me closely as I meet this fight.
Laugh and cry as I joke around, gently guide me as I hear the sound.
Let it call to me and pull me near.  I know I must do this, I have no fear.