I M Perfect lady

Author: bjukuri

  • Trajectory of my life.

    Going to sleep last night with tears drying on my cheeks, after feeling the feelings of being a child with no one at your back, to feel the absence of protection of safety, and feeling the feeling of free falling with screams and no landing, I awoke to wondering who has my back now.

    I understood that most of my over dramatic ways is due to the fact that I have been unhealed, and that I have been healing as I walk with my daughter in what I call abuse, and how as I watch others respond, I am again plunged back 45 years and get to see and feel the dynamics of my own childhood.

    The present day actions are bringing forth my unexpressed feelings and giving me the chance to voice them now, letting my little girl say what she needed to say, feel what she needed to feel.

    Yet, my thought as I went to sleep last night, was who has my back now?

    Who is supporting me, who is standing with me and walking my walk?

    Am I living with people who are for me or against me?

    Frightened I felt alone again, almost childlike yet with adult options.

    I can flee; I can go where no one can hurt me.

    Confused about leaving or staying, I fell asleep.

    This morning I began writing and became more confused, so I went to my room with the heater running for yoga, and was hit directly that here, this is the warm caring I need, and then quickly felt that, I am the one I am waiting for.

    I am the one who cares for me, who will bring me to places that I need to be, allow me to speak when I need to speak…

    I am my own mother, I love and care for me.

    I have my back.

    While inside I felt the desperate need of wanting to be cared for, it would actually be relying on others for my needs, wanting them to take care of me, to be a child again.

    Wanting to feel like a child being taken care of is going backwards, reverting to childhood…

    It is my job to heal me, to feel and separate the emotions from childhood and those from today, to not mix my anger towards my mother with my husband, to keep the plays in their own era.

    The degree of separation is huge.

    Knowing that I can set the stage, make my life comfortable, that I am strong enough to watch my own back, and have the courage to speak my words, always, is huge. That I can withstand deep sadness, grief and sorrow, that I can still find my inner balance and core, that I can muddle through until clarity can be found, that I am healing and dealing and being who I am coming from whence I came.

    A woman whose childhood left scars she now has to deal with along with the raising her children, even when they dovetail, and I am asked to flow between child and mother, the wounded and the healer, the caretaker and the needy, I make it, I deal, I survive the ride down the rapids of emotions and character changes.

    What a dance, to be playing all parts, and feeling their psychological damage and or healing, repairing as I go…while growing new emotional strength leaves me exhausted and exhilarated.

    My inner body feels like it has been churned up and shot through with huge holes, bruised and achy in the feelings that run through me.

    I feel inside like I ran back-to-back marathons and carried my daughters and generations with me, that I was solving the puzzles and correcting movements, re-writing my life’s script.

    And in doing so, will change the trajectory of my life.

  • Orphaned with parents.

    The view I have on my childhood home, is that my father sits and does nothing and my mother runs around busy busy.

    And yet how much further from the truth that actually was.

    My father sat, after he abused.
    My mother did nothing about the abuse.

    Their opposing actions are what twist the mind of a child.
    We look for signs, and see the opposite of our experiences, we think we are nuts, we have a problem in our head.

    There he sits and does nothing, there she goes busy again.

    As we speak, she is in another land, rocking orphaned babies. It is ironic or not that she is rocking her own children…for we were left on our own in our own home.

    Orphaned but not homeless. Orphaned with parents.

    (I am not for sure for sure, IF she is gone to the orphanage as planned, this is an assumption of mine.) I may hear of my false info, so wanted to be upfront, the plans may have changed, it could already have happened, her where abouts is unknown to me.)

  • Matter to someone.

    What came to me yesterday was the moment in the diner this summer, when I saw my mother for the first time after a 5-year separation, and how my body responded. How before I could put on my social cloak, I was riveted in fear.

    My body had reacted perfectly and yet I didn’t have all the puzzle pieces, but now I do.

    The reason I feared her isn’t because of what she would do to me, but what she had been unable to do in my past.

    How she was unable to get me/us away from a pedophile, that in fact she did the opposite, she tried to make their union normal, while he abused us.

    How she forgave his sins, and rallied harder to make their marriage work, to keep him so we had a father. She put all her efforts in keeping something that wasn’t true. She focused harder on him, and never once treated our wounds.

    As a child you see how invisible you are, how unhearing she is, how unresponsive to your pain.

    I now feel better about the way I feared her, for at the time it almost felt like I had self empowerment leakage, where even as a 51 year old woman, my 80 year old mother could send me into a fit of terror.

    My body recalls her and responds in its truth.
    I love my body and its meters.

    And how true to form she has remained after all these years.

    What stands out the most of the days, weeks, months after my father being arrested for molesting his granddaughter, is the absence of my mother.

    She actually was sequestered and not taking our calls. She went on vacation to Australia and Hawaii, she stayed in the warm climate for months, and only arrived here around the time my father was driven home in chains.

    I do not recall one action that would bring comfort to a child who was abused by that man, not one. She was so busy caring for her needs and his, that she overlooked the dozens of girls, by this time, who stood around with their underwear down, bottoms exposed, abuse clearly showing, and did what she needed to do.

    When I sat in her home, four months after the fact, I saw her shed tears about what was going to happen to her, I saw her strength arise in defense of him and her religion, I saw her blank and defensive when I confronted her on her actions as a mother.

    Not a tear fell as I told her about my experience with her husband, it was like the doors were all closed, I was talking to nothing.

    Isn’t it incredible yet again, that we can fear actions of nothing.

    Nothing. To do nothing is extremely painful to endure.

    My mother sent cards and made personal visits to all the girls she knew who had been molested by her husband, neighbor girls, but she did not give me her daughter the same courtesy. She apologized in a letter saying how sorry she was, that she didn’t believe this young neighbor girl and was sad that it took years to do so.

    The detective handed me that letter, and I crumpled it up and threw it on the floor, like a child enraged, and I was.

    My own mother at the time was sequestered and not taking my calls, was unable to hear of my childhood abuse, and she was penning letters to other hurt little girls.

    How telling, how cruel, how insane…how dare she dismiss me that easily.

    Again what I feared from her was nothing.

    Nothing again.

    I am worth nothing again.

    Nothing.

    What she gives me is nothing, a void. Space, silence, a void.

    I just looked at the two words together. A Void.

    I didn’t know that avoiding was nothing.

    A void.

    When you avoid someone you give them nothing and doing nothing creates a void

    A void isn’t love, it is space, silent, open, and alone.

    Imagine feeling this energy from a mother while you have wounds from your father?

    Instead of being able to find comfort and shelter, we encounter a void, space, emptiness, where no one is coming, nothing will happen…

    A void is who my mother is to me.

    Running from my father I fell into a void.

    It is no wonder my mind couldn’t comprehend or compute, there was no safety anywhere.

    Who is there to catch you when you fall?

    My last line in my letter to Mr. Detective man was, “Every little girl should matter to someone.”

  • Fearfully love.

    “He who cares the least has the most power.” Is a quote that I heard, but have no idea who is the author, but I agree with it.

    Did you know that it is possible to care so much you are frozen to act, to speak, to do, that it will literally freeze you?

    Who would think that inside of ‘caring’ you would find fear?

    But here is the deal, if you care or love a person so much, what you are afraid of is losing something for you. It no longer becomes about them, it becomes about you.

    Who knew there was selfish caring, self absorbed caring?

    You and your feelings of the fear of losing overwhelm the situation and you freeze in fear and fear is all they feel.

    Instead of feeling caring they feel fear, isn’t that incredible?

    They think you FEAR them, not care for them.

    Sitting as a mother who has been gripped in fear of ‘losing’ her daughter, I was also cognizant of the fact that it was more about her.

    Pushing back fear and my loss, I have to keep the focus on how my daughter can regain her sense of self. Sure I slipped and fear fell out and hollering ensued, but awkwardly and in starts and stops, we are dealing together.

    I didn’t know how palatable this feeling of fear was or how it freezes you until I have witnessed so many who know and love my daughter do nothing.

    I couldn’t figure out what the deal was, why are they not actively coming in with words of encouragement, cheers and goodwill, why most are pressed back and motionless and silent, absent, vacant, not here.

    Again, “it isn’t the words of our enemies we remember, but the silence of our friends.”

    What I get now, is that the fear of losing, keeps them out of the game, and in doing that action alone, they lose.

    They lose what they love out of fear of losing what they love.

    It leaves me breathless!

    Love to me is being afraid and going in anyway.
    Being willing to lose what you don’t want to lose, being willing to let go for their sake.

    Isn’t being fearless, being in fear and acting anyway?

    What I know to the depth of my being is that a child who has been abused, feels fear coming at him, not caring. For the parent fears that they lost something precious to Them.

    The child feels fear and so they stop talking about what happened, for it puts ‘fear’ into the parent.

    They don’t want to make their parents afraid.

    I now see where love lost to fear, how it flips so unnaturally and how parents become lost in their own fears and not see the child fall away.

    They go away and go silent as well, for they don’t feel caring they feel fear. And since they are the ones who ‘changed’ due to abuse, they feel that their abuse is something others fear.

    Isn’t it incredible that the fear the parent has of losing a child is the key component to losing a child.

    Their fear is what sends the child away.

    And guess where this child feels most at home, among others who are not afraid of them, other abused people who people fear.

    It saddens me that the abused child gets pushed away because of fear and then owns and becomes that response as who they are. This becomes a new definition of self after abuse.

    And are left knowing, If I speak my truth, if I own my abuse, people will fear me, become silent and shun me.

    This is their experience when they first told.

    We either get to be not who we are with those who love us, or we can become ourselves with those who abused us.

    This new abused wound still fits with those who abuse, they do not fear us, they want us, they need us, they ‘care’ about us.

    Isn’t this a twisted circle?

    The ones who can ‘save’ us are frozen in fear and this leaves us going back to the ones who abuse us.

    I am amazed in knowing the success of abuse is fear in ‘good’ people and how the abusers must be clapping and singing halleluiah each time the abused child returns for more attention and acceptance.

    All we wanted was to feel accepted and loved.
    And it seemed that those who abused us did a better job.

    I recall telling my Aunt, my dad’s sister, that I always felt accepted by him, not judged like I did with my mother, that he loved me unconditionally.

    Imagine a pedophile loved me without conditions. He loved me innocent and he loved me abused, even if the abuse was by his hands.

    We can love or we can fear, but we can’t fearfully love.

  • My mind now knows it.

    My feelings are like energy magnets and they seem to either be drawn to someone or pushed back, I am unable to steer my feelings, they have a life of their own.

    I can be friends with someone, and then they do something that changes who they are, and I don’t even have to wonder what to do, inside of me the desire to be with them changes and I move away.

    Some will say the friendship or love began to cool, and what I believe happens is new information comes in and it changes the ingredients of their energy system. And then we act differently, it isn’t a conscious thought, but unconsciously our body is leading us.

    I am now very astute as far as my body’s signals are, even a slight change sends a ripple across the water inside of me.

    In the past I believe my insides were very choppy waters so I couldn’t tell if an outside stress was stressing me, for the insides were already such a mess, it is like looking for ripples on 8ft waves.

    Each time a new ripple comes in I stay with it, I discern where it is coming from, what is going on in my world, and who is carrying it?

    My body doesn’t lie; it knows when something in my world is off kilter, when peace has been disturbed, when an untruth has walked into my space.

    Hints to my dis-ease float to me, unannounced and land like odd objects in an otherwise normal world, beckoning me to notice. If I miss one, a second one appears like messengers relentlessly waking me up.

    Once you notice these mess enders, the mess in my understanding clears up, and I see clearly.

    What I see isn’t always what I want, but what I need to see.

    I used to dismiss these signals and over sedate my body so I didn’t feel their uncomfortable truths, now I know if I don’t get the first message the problem doesn’t go away, I am just wanting to play in denial.

    The land of denial is only a temporary home, a respite on a journey towards the truth, and it seems the longer you put it off, the more you have to face in the end.

    I now prefer to face things one at time and as they happen, and to see the nuances and changes in people’s personalities and stay recent with the affects of their behaviors, so that we are not familiar strangers.

    My daughter’s face is familiar but everything else is getting stranger and stranger, my body no longer is comfortable with the ‘truth’ that she presents, it seems to be a token or crumb tossed my way to chew on, and bit by bit I am being fed a book full of lies to deflect me away from who she really is.

    To be honest, I wish my body believed what my ears are hearing, it would be so much easier, but they disagree and there is dis ease inside of me.

    My body is a lie detector and my mind now knows it…

  • Save yourself.

    While thinking back upon my journey out of sexual abuse/incest, I wondered what was the one thing that made a difference, what one major item was my cure?

    Cancer has drug treatments and therapies and it seems the body has lots of help to eradicate the diseased cells and again, I wondered about how abuse is similar but completely different.

    It is like we the abused child are the cancerous cells, and we have to leave the tumor.

    There is no treatment for us; it is up to us to save ourselves.

    What other diseases are healed by the sick cell?

    It seem preposterous to know that we are the ones we are counting on and in order to be healed of incest, you must leave the family where it originated, your family of origin.

    So, in order to heal you must go against and away from your family and most often friends.

    We leave the ones who others use to help in times of sickness, they are no available to use, for it is from them that our healing lies.

    I just found this very odd that we the dysfunctional, the broken down and confused are the ones to lead the charge, the ones put in control of our wellness.

    And we have to go against family and friends to achieve this task, the ones who have used and abused us are now there to holler and insult as we make our way away.

    Heading into an unknown land hoping for a new start a new self, a place where we can undo the dysfunction and make us function.

    We need to function to handle our dysfunction.

    Incredible…this self healing healing stuff!

    Which is why the rate of success is so very small. I wish I had the numbers, but I don’t. In my family of 16, including me, two of us so far have managed to stay away from the tumor.

    Two of us are seen as outcasts…and we are, we had to cast ourselves out of the disease, no one but your self can save your self. It is as if you are on fire and you are the fireman.

    This just boggles my mind and I am in complete awe that one as upside down and twisted was able to get myself free.

    I do recall in the beginning how the pull was to go back, to make the tumor benign to make the family whole so that I could be with them….but it soon shown me I was all I could save, each cell is on its own.

    No one is coming to save you, you have to save yourself.

  • A good NO.

    There are two small words that I feel are crucial to every relationship and most important to the one between you and you, and they are Yes and No.

    If you haven’t found the inner power to use these words freely, than you are at risk of being abused or most likely have been.

    I think back on the terrible twos my kids went through, and mostly what they were doing was activating their power to use these words and most parents are not happy about this, this opposing powerhouse in a tiny body.

    I do believe that we come with the natural ability to say yes and say no, to speak of our feelings, but during our ‘upbringing’ they are slowly eroded away.

    We are much easier to handle without this freedom.

    In fact I believe my childhood religion thrived on stealing away most of my power, which was the perfect partner for abuse, I had been removed of my tools to fight the enemy.

    When I see very submissive children being so obedient, I shudder now, for I see them being helpless and easy targets.

    My children came with much self -knowledge and I wasn’t able to remove all of it and it is unimaginable what we call raising; for it seems it is more like erasing.

    Erasing their natural abilities to survive in this world.

    I had mentioned to my brother that we would have been better off being raised by wolves, he laughed but then agreed.

    I would raise my children completely different if I had the chance, and perhaps I have been able to reset their buttons in the past six years as I reset my own.

    In fact I believe if we all sat back and followed a child, we could relearn how to be a full and happy adult.

    Who we grow up to be begins in childhood, and in order to change who we are now, we have to head back and see what rules we were taught and what things inside of us were squelched due to the fear of reprisals from our parents and or church.

    We have to learn how to say yes and for stand solid in the word no, become a stubborn two- year old!

    We need to reclaim our freedom that was stolen in our terrible twos!

    I love that we can begin to act like a two- year old and find our power, but how cool, we are two- year olds who are the head of the house and can drive…I say No parents allowed!

    It is time we reclaim our lives, our yes and our no.

    I am not sure, but I feel depression is when we lose the power inside, when we are stuck powerless, without a choice. And brainwashing has to be removing the flexibility to say yes or no that is against what the other wants.

    They brainwash away the free will to say yes or say no…

    These two little words and your freedom to use them will set your free and you will begin to see life as a child full of wonder and delight, for you have the power to steer clear of what you don’t like.

    There is nothing like the power of a good NO.

    Again, as Bryon Katie says, “Saying no to you is a yes to me!”

  • With your loving support.

    My old definition of marriage was the joining of two people of like minds, and perhaps friendship held this too, but that you both viewed life from the same space and often responded to life with the same footsteps.

    Your histories and life pathways joined together for you shared similarities.

    I now find myself yoked to a man who hasn’t lived life as I have, hasn’t had to walk the same footsteps I have had to take, and we are dissimilar in the way we now respond to life as it happens.

    The yoke that held us close together didn’t matter, for we were the heading in the same direction, speaking in the same language and doing the same response.

    Now it feels odd, like our yoke is gone, and we are two separated individuals doing our own thing.

    Great freedom to be who you are, doing what you love, honoring your differences etc…all good and well, until your differences become a weak spot when combined.

    I have zero tolerance for abuse and he hasn’t been affected by it like I have so, he truly doesn’t grasp the affects, nor will he; his loving trusting belief in others is a weakness when you are dealing with abuse.

    Abuse and its manipulators can get away with what they do, for they bank on your trust and your kind nature and that you won’t hold them accountable for what they do.

    They rely on you seeing their behavior as an anomaly in their otherwise normal world.

    What we fail to appreciate is that the anomaly is the truth and all the ‘normal’ behavior is a shield to hide it.

    What I trust now, is what do they do when they are asked to stand with or against abuse, no matter who it is that is doing the abusing, be it a friend, a spouse, a father, mother, sister, brother, is who they are.

    I see who you are by who you support.

    The greatest weakness and hole that a perpetrator, or even an abusive man hurting a woman, uses is that we trust and believe that they are more good than bad.

    We want to believe that they just had a moment of confusion, a slip of control, a ‘moment of weakness’ but that all in all, they are good people.

    If we all stopped and cut our old opinions up the moment abuse entered the picture, we would save a lot of little children and even young adults who find themselves in a relationship that is detrimental to their well being.

    It is the stopping and not continuing that is the key.

    When people show you who they are, believe them. Damn it, Believe them.

    It seems so easy, so simple and yet time and time again, abuse slips by attached to the one you love.

    Attached to the one you trust.

    Attached to the old relationship, the kind man, the loving brother, abuse is attached to them, and you just refuse to see it.

    Oh, yeah…sometimes you see it but you will not toss out the old relationship for one little act of abuse.

    Or for one little moment of supporting abuse…we overlook the supporting for they too may be someone we love and trust.

    It is this blind trusting faith in a person who has abuse attached to them that keeps this cycle going, the legacy of abuse is mostly to blame on the ones who love and trust the ones with abuse attached to them.

    I never knew that abuse thrived more because of the love and trust than it did because of the driving desire of the perpetrator.

    In my one experience with abuse, if you don’t see the abuse attached to your loved one, and you continue to have relationships with him, then abuse gets attached to you.

    You are now the carrier, the supporter and the accomplice.

    The ‘love, trust and belief’ that my family had in my father has allowed him to be a free man.

    Each one of them who didn’t not see the abuse attached to him, now are carrying his legacy forward, in love, trust and faith in a man who gives abuse back.

    So, each time I am faced with a similar type event in my world, where abuse is attached. I see abuse and let the rest fall away.

    Again, the greatest supporter of abuse is love, trust and faith.

    Imagine?

    And yet the schools are teaching, good touch bad touch.
    Stop.

    They need to teach that we have the right to revoke friendship, love and trust, we can withdraw it at any time.

    So, my loving trusting and believing husband and I are on the opposite sides of this and my behavior seems harsh and so narrow minded. And it is.

    What I needed the most as a little girl was for someone to see the abuse, to act with the abuse and to see me and not see the man who clothed and fed 14 children, a lumberman, a hardworking, not asking for anything man.

    I needed one eye to see me, one ear to hear me, one hand to hold me, and to let him go. Instead all eyes, ears and hands reached out to him and they let me go.

    Me the abused child.

    Refusing to let his image of goodness die, instead they let me fade away, the one ‘insane’ voice against many.

    The majority wins; abuse will prevail…with your loving support.

    (What happens when in one home you have opposing voices?)

  • Hide what isn’t there.

    “Speech as opposed to telepathy used by the animals…and the silence of muktas arose due to a need to be untruthful, and have a deeper involvement in material.” Tony O’Clery

    Speech arose due to the need to be untruthful is what I get from this quote, that we use language to deflect the true meaning of our actions or to excuse behavior.

    Immediately I thought of dogs and how we learn who they are by how they behave. A friendly dog acts friendly and an unfriendly dog acts unfriendly.

    What we miss is the excuse or reason an unfriendly dog is unfriendly, we take it as it is for they don’t have the luxury of words to sway us to believe otherwise.

    And we don’t have unfriendly dogs trying to be friendly, by speaking nicely over feelings of unfriendliness.

    Dr. Maya Angelou quote, “People show you who they are, Believe them.”

    Yet time and time again, we will take the words above the action.

    “I love you” will override the abusive action.

    “I am sorry or please forgive me,” is a way to deflect away from the behavior.

    What if we all stood with how we acted each time?

    What if we address immediately the action?

    What if words were used to just speak of actions?

    How often are your words used to get the other person to not believe your actions?

    Owning our actions seems like a really simple thing, but often times our actions alone are untruthful, we go places we don’t want to go, we do things we don’t feel right doing, we go along to get along.

    We get lost to what our own standards are for we get used to doing things for peace and to not be a stick in the mud, to be seen as okay, or a million other reasons.

    Due to this speech thing, we can tell ourselves we are doing something for a good reason, even when the behavior is bad for us and for others, we will find an ulterior motive that makes it okay.

    It is like the Picketers at funerals of soldiers, they feel that their message overrides all events taking place.

    What they fail to see is that their behavior is actually screaming above the signs, their true nature is showing, their hatred and fear arises long before a sign of love.

    They say they are warning us of God’s wrath, what they are displaying is their own wrath.

    The visual of picketers is what I often times feel of people who tell you one thing but do another. That we are supposed to keep our eyes focused on the sign and not see where they are walking and over who they tromp, just focus on the words, like a mad hypnotist of lies they bend us to believe opposite of what is truly going on.

    If you look at the world through the eyes of babies or animals, you would see things differently.

    “Out of the mouths of babes” comes truth, for they have not learned the power of words to hide what isn’t there.

  • I write so I can listen.

    In the Little White church on Finlandia’s campus a poet spoke, his words didn’t rhyme but instead they took us on mini tours into the complex moments on his personal journey. (Randy Freisinger)

    He described his style as narrative and was introduced as an accessible poet, and it didn’t seem it required nothing of us.

    All we had to do was sit back and listen to his tales of youthful freedoms turning naiveté into knowing or be an eavesdropper watching life speed out of control, to the silent wisdom of aging it’s secret never told, into viewing prejudice from where we were grown.

    These wonderful narratives were well written and easy to follow and I guess accessible, but what he didn’t tell us is that we would either feel an affinity with his desire to know or the screaming fear of not wanting to go where he’s been.

    It is one thing to be a silent observer into another’s life, but do you have the courage to openly and loudly explore your own?

    Can you tell a narrative of your life, the troubled spots and not just give us details of the sunny days?

    Will you give to me the places that brought you to your knees and then how you managed to stand back up?

    How deep does your narrative go?

    How much of yourself do you know?

    I felt affirmed as I listened to him.

    I understood that writing doesn’t rhyme in my narrative either, it has its own unique style and it’s own individual way of speaking to me. I write and I listen, I ask and am told.

    I have an intimate relationship with writing and I believe that it trusts me as well, that I will write what needs to be written and I will tell my tale no matter how uncomfortable or scared I am, I will put words to paper and my truths will be known.

    Writing has been my most honest friend; it has given me the courage to face what I didn’t want to face, to speak the unspeakable and to know more than I needed to know.

    It is the oddest thing; it brings me where I don’t want to go yet I am eager to arrive. It tells me things I don’t want to hear yet I am an eager listener.

    I left that little church once again knowing that I am a writer, that I have a narrative to tell.

    I write so I can listen.