I M Perfect lady

Author: bjukuri

  • What I see

    A friend posted a beautiful video about giving up Shame for Lent.  

    It got me to thinking what was shame.  Where did it live, how did it get there and is it more a mental idea or a physical feeling or both?  

    I went back into my life and searched out shameful behaviors or feelings I had and what I did or didn't do that prompted shame to arrive.

     

    What I recall more, is the feelings of shame leaving me.

    Shame was a feeling about myself – that was untrue.

    For when my father's sexual abuse came to light, my innocence was returned.

    Shame and innocence don't go together.

     

    In reconciling my truth, my past, my behaviors, my thoughts, my beliefs and even my so called 'sins'. – I understood one thing.  That given the choices I had at the time or the beliefs I held, my wrongful behavior was not conscious.  

     

    I recall sobbing and walking down our road – in shock and awe of the journey I had been on – and how denial and a cult like religion – gave choices no one in their right mind would choose. I was disconnected; but from me and my truth. It seemed I wasn't even present in my own world. 

     

    I wasn't ashamed at who I had been.

    It all made sense coming from whence I came.

    Given the upbringing and all its factors, there simply wasn't another choice, until I was able to be free from denial.

     

    I also recalled being ashamed of my truth – in the early days.

    I was ashamed at being abused.

    Ashamed of my family's legacy.

    Ashamed I lived behind the newspaper and TV headlines – the residual affect of my father's behavior. And then ashamed of the religion I had been a part of. Ashamed that my religion forgave his sins and allowed abuse to continue.  Ashamed of how I had supported folks who supported him.

     

    It took a lot of writing, walking, reading, sobbing and distance and time to feel comfortable with my past.  A past I was born into – schooled and groomed into. A past that wasn't my design – though I lived it completely.

     

    When I understood that so much of who I was – was built upon the ideals of my parents and not me – shame slipped away. It wasn't as my nephew used to say, "Not my Poor Choice."  

    When I understood that I wasn't my religion – but that religion was a bunch of beliefs in my mind – I found compassion for me and how I walked.

     

    The more years now that I have lived a very conscious life, a life that reflects my own beliefs, emotions and feelings – I don't recall shame.  Perhaps an uncomfortable feeling of going against family and church.

     

    I feel that often victims of childhood abuse carry forward Shame.  Shame in somehow believing that the past was their making. That the abuse was something They did wrong – instead of what wrongdoing was done to them.  

     

    There is a definition of Forgiveness – "Giving up all hope of having had a different past."

    It was in accepting all facets of my childhood and past – I was able to sit in the emotion of forgiveness. I didn't need it to be anything else.  I think shame comes in – when you fail to produce a good childhood – when you have had a bad one.

     

    Back to Lent and what I feel I need to give up.  

    I had to go and look at why folks did this – what is the objective – in order to see if I was willing to play along.

    "The main purpose of "giving up" things in Lent is to bring us closer to God; to prioritize God; to put God in the center of our minds and lives; to make God the focal point."

    "Purpose of Lent is the preparation of the believer for Easter through prayer, mortifying the flesh, repentance of sins, almsgiving, simple living and self-denial."

     
     
    It appears that I don't need the practice of Lent.
     
    Finding my innocence and forgiving that the past could have been any different – has brought me to a place where love, truth, peace and joy live.  The emotions of God.
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    I am not sure where God is not.
    Or, that you can get closer.
    Heaven on earth is more of what I see.
     
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  • Unfazed

    Aging is an adventure and I know I am privileged to experience it – and it looks to be an interesting ride.

     

    In my experience, you only age outside – I still feel the same inside, the me that I know -isn't aging.  However when I catch myself in the mirror – oh my she has changed.

     

    I want to be the one who ages gracefully who appears delighted with the lines and wrinkles, who is unfazed by all the aging markers – who lives and loves and dreams in youthful ways.

     

    What is interesting is that I lived most of my life separated from my body – in my mind.

    I was schooled to believe that the body was sinful – it would lead me astray.

    Yet it was through my body I found reality and truth and Me.

    My body led me back to my authentic self.

     

    My body is an instrument that is finely tuned – when I paid attention to its subtle and often not so subtle messages, it lead me to inner love and peace.  The mind – well – for now my mind is at rest.

     

    As I witness the aging body and how it starts to limit some activities or perhaps the speed of which I used to move – and again how shockingly unlike me it looks – it feels like I am entering a new phase.  One where I now have to get used to this new me. The Old Me.

     

    Old me – has been arriving for a few years now.  

    I want to feel comfortable with old me – and I guess with time I will be.

    Age feels like you become a different self.

    Not bad – but not your old younger self.

    Letting go of who you used to be.

     

    If you live long enough you will go through many life transformations.

    This old version so far has been interesting.

    I am grateful that for the most part I am healthy and I can do what I love – just slower.

    Going slow is not a bad thing.

    I feel like I can be more present – and patience is my friend.

     

    I am hoping for a good long adventure into aging and that I can gracefully accept the changes, I can't change.

     

    Mostly, aging is an opportunity to love longer and share life with those you love.

    How the body changes is the least interesting thing about age. What is more is how we navigate the change and how we find ways to live that make living the wild journey that it is. 

    The phrase, "Live like you are dying" means more now. I feel the sand disappearing down the hourglass. But mostly I feel that I want to live in this moment in time and not let it slip away by being unaware.

     

    The body as it ages, it can and most likely will change the way I live. I am hopeful that I will adapt and accept its limits. Live within the limits and stretch them as far as they will go.  And to love the image in my mirror.

     

    I know many who love changing into the image of their moms. Seeing me lean into her image startles me.  I don't like seeing her in me.  We are not twins; but there are enough similarities to bring her to mind.

    It is harder to accept the image that looks like her.

    Acting differently than her, loving differently than her, living differently than her – I am different in all the ways that count. This will help me to accept our image.

     

    Embracing my old image and learning to be come familiar with her.

    What I want most is to play as the old lady. To be her and move through this old age phase unfazed.  

     

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    Oh and remember when you were little and you used to say, "I can't wait until I grow up and I will be able to do whatever I want."  Well, I am thinking the years after 65 are those years. Our mothering duties are done, we are free from employment, the world, as they say, is our oyster.  Time to play in my old lady years!

     

  • A Legacy she can be Proud of.

    In my old body lives a young girl.

    Brokenhearted and at peace.

    I feel her most on my left side snuggled under my ribs.

    At times she is the lump in my throat.

     

    She is my past and very present. 

     

    My heart weeps for her brokenness.

    Broken relationships she cannot alone fix.

    Her heart craving what is gone.

    And loving her present.

     

    I see her pure intentions as a child manipulated and twisted. Her forgiving heart blocking out the reality of horrors. Her innocence used and managed.  Lost in the intersections of abuse and cult-like religion – her childhood lost.

     

    A child lost in the sea of adults failing.

    She tried to fix their wrongs.

    To be a good girl; to want less – feel less – be less – speak less- to disappear and grow small.

    And yet to be more.

    More kind, more forgiving, more good, more responsible, more helpful.

    It was never enough.

     

    I see and feel her trying to achieve the unachievable. For no matter what she did, reality remained the same.

     

    Her failings back then are my goals today.

     

    I am grateful for the tug on my heart of sorrow and empty – for it reminds me to truly live.

    She will always feel the brokenness of estrangement, the longing for that family and I am okay with it – and she is overwhelmed with gratitude for the love her heart feels to those she loves today.

     

    I feel the separation and the union of her and I.

    We know what love is not.

    We know what love is.

     

    We can't fix the past – nor the brokenhearted.

    Somehow I feel her broken-heart is the wall between my past and present.

    My heart had to break and I had to break up with my family of origin, in order to course correct and to have the love I have today.

     

    This brokenhearted girl rides with me.

     

    I think I thought over time, she would disappear and the new self would take over and she would be but a small blip on my journey.

    But my heart tells me different. 

    It beats differently – separated from those I was raised with.

     

    My sorrow and broken heart is part of who I am.

    It rides shotgun and is my constant.

     

    She is part of my heart and love.

    Together, this old body, my broken heart and I – we live a great life.

    Each of us carry a piece that is needed to feel fully alive.

    She fuels my courage to dare and hope and dream and achieve.

    It is my intention to live a life with a legacy she can be proud of.

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  • Play

    What if January was the month of acceptance.  The month we made an accounting of all that is – a month of looking deeply into who we are and why.

     

    Often we want changes on the outside – to make the inside happy. Instead of sitting where you are, we want something different.

     

    If I look at my life it is completely on the mark.

    Nothing goes unnoticed.

    And nothing is out of line.

     

    The sugar I eat adds pounds – as it should.

    The miles I walk and bike – add muscle

    Peace often follows difficult discussions – clarity feels like peace to me.

    Accepting what is – is a restful place to be – for the mind isn't tasked to build 'what ifs'.

    Being estranged brings peace and sorrow.

    Living with grief – has brought me deep compassion.

    Loving myself – with full acceptance, allows me to love others the same.

     

    My only desire is to be me – even when that is hard.

    I want to be brave and have courage to always speak what is true for me.

    I want to share feelings – especially the negative ones.

    I love love and am so grateful my heart feels the freedom of love.

    May I continue to live as me, as honestly as I can – even when it hurts others.

     

    Perhaps especially then.

    My own happiness, love, joy and peace has to be first. It is from there I can give the same freedom to others.

     

    This quote came to mind from Byron Katie.

    "I don't know what's best for me, you or the world. I don't try to impose my will on you or anyone else. I don't want to change you or improve you or convert you or help you or heal you. I just welcome things as they come and go. That's true love. The best way of leading people is to let them find their own way."

     

    It may be that my hourglass is now on the side of running low – but I am way more content to be me – and love doing what I love, and being with those I love and find joy and peace with. 

     

    January starts a new year of being you.

    I hope you too can find the courage to be more of yourself, to speak your truths and to make choices that reflect the deepest part of you.

    Have courage to live your joys and do things that make you happy.  Some of us were not taught to play and live a life of joy. Maybe this will be my word of the year Play.

     

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    "Do not wish to be anything but what you are." Saint Francis de Sales

     

  • Not for Naught.

    In a podcast I learned a deeper understanding of Emotionally Immature Parents.  

    You can read or listen more at https://momastery.com/blog/we-can-do-hard-things-ep-263/

    There are two back to back episodes. 

     

    I have lived this – on both sides.

    I have had parents who were emotionally immature, and I was a parent who was emotionally immature.

     

    My mother used to say, I was mature beyond my years – and I used to think this was a good thing. What it really meant, was that I had learned to care for others emotions.  Not mine – others.

     

    And, I wasn't born an old soul. I was a child – who was put in charge of things way beyond my years.

    What this does is, while tending to others – I neglected me.

    I lost Me.

    I stopped growing and being with my own emotions.

     

    My own emotions were stunted and left unattended – which probably made me an easier target for abuse.

     

    I had to tend to my mother's emotional needs. 

     

    What is so odd about this all – is that we don't know we are doing this or that our mother is emotionally immature –  yet we feel this dance.  The ironclad bond of being attached to our mother's happiness or equilibrium.

    I am not even sure I can adequately articulate this.  

    Yet this is so clear and runs deep into my DNA.

     

    This is a legacy that has crippled my family of origin.

     

    Emotional immaturity has others in control of your emotions.

    You are powerless – and need to control others – for they hold the buttons that engage your emotions.

     

    And, they define who you are.  You see yourself through them. They have the power to make you a good mom, a good wife, a good friend.  Without them – you seem to disappear – for you haven't tended you.  The you inside of you is barely there.

     

    I recall the feelings of having no me – as much as I recall stopping to tend to my mother and her emotions.

     

    There was a pivotal moment where my childhood wounds and their emotions – needed me to tend to them – and that my mother and her world had messes so beyond my scope to handle.  A one two punch that landed me facing my own immature emotions -as a woman of 46.

     

    There are moments on my journey of growing my emotional intelligence – that stand out so clear – where it was jaw dropping in how much I had neglected and how much I had failed to even be aware of.

     

    As a child, even a grown child – it was earth shattering to see that the woman I had tended to – was so small in inner substance.  How terrifying this would have been to see as a child.  

     

    There didn't appear to be any adult who was emotionally mature enough to face reality.

     

    And I was her mirror.

     

    Emotional immature people need a reality that sits at their level emotions.

    My mother's emotions couldn't handle the weight of the reality of the abuse in her home and in her church.

    She still can't.

     

    I don't know what made me different. 

    I don't know why I was able to see reality.

    To see Me not there.

    To see her and her denial.

    To see how abusive our legacy is.

    And I don't know how I had the strength and wherewithal to dare change. To stop tending to her emotions and even more to start tending to mine.

     

    I had to begin with my broken child self – that I had left unattended on so many levels.

    A broken me fixing me and disappointing a mother I had tended to for so so many years.

    The strains and pulls upon me were tied deeply into generations of women who lived without a self.

     

    What I know to be true, any woman who has a good grasp on themselves and is emotionally matured would never look away from a child who was abused.

     

    Only those who cannot see themselves – cannot see a child.

     

    When I focused on me and growing my self – I broke this legacy on my limb of our family tree.

     

    I know I appear different – and that I appear heartless to no longer be tending to my mother's emotional needs. 

     

    In one of the episodes, they speak of feeling like an allergic reaction when in the presence of emotionally immature people. I get it.  Something inside of me pushes me away from them.

     

    Perhaps I know, to be with them – I will leave me unattended.

     

    It was good to listen to the description of what I went through way back then.

    If my only legacy is emotional maturity – my life mattered and my pain was not for naught.

     

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  • Celebrate my Badassery.

    It is the eve of 19 years.

    Nineteen years of leaving behind the only life I had known to dare dream of changing the legacy I was born into.

     

    This wasn't a dream of mine.

    The truth fell into me – and once you know – you can't not know.

     

    The woman who began this legacy changing journey was only a seed of an idea.

    I had no role models or anyone to help guide me along.

    My body and I felt our way forward.

     

    We didn't blink or make pretty all the what is – there are in life.

    No matter how the truth presented itself, we accepted it.

     

    Loving what is – as Byron Katie says.

     

    I had to love the shocking, heartbreaking, and the betrayals – from family and friends – and embrace reality.

     

    In the early years this was hard – for I wasn't used to standing shoulder to shoulder with my truths and how reality was.

     

    Coming from a family of child sexual abuse, there are so many truths that are unspoken and unaddressed – and I was now the one speaking the unspeakable.

     

    I would not have dreamed that 19 years later I would still be standing alone outside my family of origin – 13 siblings and one parent are alive and well – and continuing to spin the old family legacy – repeating and repeating.

     

    Like an endless mad musical – barely missing a beat.

     

    I remember in years of past December 4th was a hard date.

    Breaking my heart as I still stood alone.

     

    My heart isn't as exposed or bare – and maybe more love and peace and joy have surrounded it and hold it up.  

     

    I feel grateful.

    Deeply grateful for my journey today. I would not trade it for anything.

     

    I am in awe of where I walked, how long and how alone – and yet fully supported by others – non family that feel like family.

     

    My vision was for the generations behind me – not those who I started walking with. In the early days I could feel the weight of having others step in my footprints.

    Those foot prints had to matter.

    They had to be clear, honest and bold.

     

    My intentions were to stand against abuse. 

    Against those who supported abuse.

    The line to me was clearly seen.

     

    The only way was to walk differently.

    To respond differently.

    To love differently.

    To eagerly welcome all truths and respond in kind.

     

    This woman who sits here today is in awe and has such enormous gratitude to the younger me who set out on this journey, alone, broken and so laid bare. I had no way of knowing I would get to here.

     

    Here being a fuller version of me.

     

    A legacy changer.  A woman who will stand up to family and authority and to lead herself where others feared to go. 

     

    I had to give up the life I had – in order to get the life I could be proud of.

     

    The younger me who sat with the detective – only knew she would stand beside the little girl inside of her. The wounded Me.  It appeared at that time, she was the only one who would.

     

    Those first weeks, months and years were some of my hardest lived.  Yet they also carried with them empowering strength building. 

     

    In denial we deny what is, the truth, and even how we feel or what we want.

    Living a truthful life it is the opposite. 

    Nothing can be denied.

    For to deny is to deny who you are.

     

    On this eve 19 years later, I am who I am there is no denying.

    I am comfortable with the new me and the changes I have made.

    I am curious of where my family is, what they think and how they feel.

    Mostly though, these 19 years later – I think of them less and less.

    My life has filled the holes where they used to be.

     

    I could sit with what I lost – Or I can celebrate what I have gained.

     

    I will celebrate tomorrow. 

    Me

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    And the journey.

    I will celebrate being the woman I needed way back then.

    I will celebrate my badassery.

     

     

  • Skip It

    This is one of the first holidays I can remember – skipping – more or less.  I am cooking a dinner for my husband and myself; but there is not the houseful of family gathering this year. 

     

    In the past I have heard others speak of 'skipping' a holiday – of just treating it like a regular day.  And, at the time I thought, that even if you didn't participate, you would still feel the holiday.  

     

    Today however, without company coming over and us just being here, doing what we typically do – there was no holiday.

     

    This can be helpful for those who are set back during the holidays – due to family complications or death and grief etc.  You truly can skip it.

     

    In the years since I met my husband, we have not missed a holiday. Even when my first born was 6 days old, we traveled to attend Thanksgiving with family.  And we have never had one holiday alone – this feels different – but not in a bad way.

     

    I am okay with family being here and I love that we are okay with them not being here.

     

    I believe you are the creator of the holiday. You can make it big or very small – or skip it all together.  I love that you can skip it.  

     

    What I thought when I was out for my walk. The holiday is all in our heads and traditions and perhaps memories. But today, was a day.  Just a day. We added the 'special' to it.

     

    And often that "special meaning" adds lots of angst.  For with it comes family.  The pasts, those passed and even the quandary of those estranged. But a normal day where you do what you love, take a nap, do more of what you love, go for a walk and make dinner – it seemed like I was more present in my day.

     

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    If you find the holidays are for the birds, you can skip it!

     

  • It’s called Artist

    Art as therapy is something that is an interesting adventure.  The piles of things I make often represent the outcome of channeling my anxiety or perhaps waylaying it.

     

    Art in itself is odd.

    Being called an artist odder still.

     

    I am drawn to doing things with my hands – but it mostly feels like my body and soul need to make things.  

     

    Not just things; but things that carry energies of joy and feelings of love.

     

    When I was unpacking for the Art Show – I said over and over "Oh I love this one." It was like I wasn't there when I made it.   

     

    Expressing my feelings in art – is perhaps getting in touch with the feelings I had long been detached from.  It is like my body now craves being surprised by the things my hands create.

     

    When I am working, I decide things by feelings.  The colors and the designs in the fabric that seem to dance together are what I love.  There is magic in pairing certain colors together. 

    I still feel like a beginner and I have been sewing art quilts for over 20 years.

     

    It mostly feels like I am selling my lessons or what I am practicing on – and that I am working towards a goal I cannot see.  Mostly I am present with my art and where it is at this time.

     

    As my art continues to weave and change – so do I.

     

    The energy that comes forth in my art – refuels me.

    I am grateful to make art.

    I am grateful it makes my body feel joy and it tickles me.

    And grateful that others see what I feel and even more take my art home with them.

    Being an artist is more of a feeling than a label.

     

    Second to doing art, is enjoying the art of others. I love when I am surprised and made to feel something when seeing what others do with their hands.

     

    Art carries a feeling – a message from a soul.

    I looked up the definition of "Artist". 

    "a person who creates art (such as painting, sculpture, music, or writing) using conscious skill and creative imagination."

    I agree the combination of skill and imagination is what make the magic.

    There is a quote about "Worry is a poor way to use your imagination."  Doing art give my mind a better way to be used.

     

    Often instead of thread of worry, I have piles of un-made pieces I can't wait to do.

    My aunt whose sewing machine I inherited when she passed away – used to worry that she would die before creating all the ideas she had.  I get this.  And the more you do, the more ideas grow out of nowhere.

     

    Art is a therapy for me, it keeps my wandering mind entertained. 

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    And maybe I am creating images that bring me love, peace and joy.

     

    Artist isn't about me – it is about what comes when I follow my imagination.

    I am inspired by others and use their ideas and make them my own.

     

    I don't take being an artist seriously; but I do making art.

    My life is better when I find the time to do things that bring me joy and excites my imagination.

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    I feel that my soul speaks through my art.

    In looking at my art, I love my soul.

    I love the playful colorful joy it expresses.

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    Perhaps my soul has a name – it's called artist.

     

    ( I have been going through old pictures – deleting them to make room on my devices. It is fun to see the older ones.)

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • It is a Holiday.

    Holidays look a lot like your relationship with your family. Those of us who are standing outside of our family of origin, we see the holidays as fractured.  The lineage is broken – and the extended parts no longer work.  We are starting from square one. The traditions – if you decide to have them – begin here.

     

    The holidays bring to mind family, and if yours is broken – it brings that up too. 

    They come to mind and your heart feels old wounds. Our child self feels out of sorts. There is an odd tug of war between the past and the present.

    The holiday cheer loses its tone – for we can't just think of our own family – we think of our past family.

     

    I lost the sacredness of the holidays – when the sacredness of my family disappeared.

    For there is no way to separate family from the holidays.

    So my holidays appear more like a day.

     

    Just a day – maybe with a bigger meal and some fancy things – perhaps a decorated home – but a day.

     

    What I do find sacred is my relationships with my husband and children.

    I find my truth and my integrity with them IS more than any holiday. 

    More than the past these holidays commemorate.

     

    Where I used to focus on the holiday – my attention now is on the relationships I have with family.  

     

    I am grateful not just on Thanksgiving. I am grateful so many times on so many normal days for so many ordinary things.  

     

    Perhaps because my family of origin fell apart for me – I celebrate family.

    I know what it is not – and more importantly – I know what is important. And attending a holiday dinner is not that important.  

     

    Truth, freedom, authenticity, love, respect, friendship – to name a few – these are important.   

     

    I love when my family is together and I love them when they are not.

     

    Holidays mean less to me – because my holidays won't make my family better or less.  

    My family and the holidays truly are separate.  Each time we are together it is a family holiday.

     

    When these holidays come I focus on my present family – the best I can.  

     

    I feel for so many whose families are broken. It sucks this time of year.  Some how holidays show all our cracks.

     

    I think my way of dealing with them is to lessen their importance – to not give them the power or sacredness above the present.

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    Each day I am alive and living life with love and integrity – it is a holiday.

     

  • Without the truths.

    I used to believe that we all knew what truth was and that some of us just chose to not live by it.

     

    I now believe it is rare to be raised with truth as the core component in the relationship between parent and child. That many parents feel they can spare the child by leaving them in the dark about some truths.

     

    Often these truths are life shaping ones.  Ones that would feel like holes you intuitively feel; but can't put a finger on its content.

     

    I just assumed everyone knew their own truths – and the generational truths of their families.

     

    Yet, I was 46 before I was hit in the face by truths that shaped my life – or more how my life was crippled by their concealment.

     

    It was hard for me to speak truthfully about my feelings or stand up to truths that appeared when abuse was exposed.  

     

    And it seems a backwards way to live, where lies are easier to speak.

     

    I am not sure if you can know the truth – when it is normal to have relationships built upon pretend and cowardly steering away from truths. 

     

    Truths that would color a person differently.

     

    Often others will speak of my truths – but not their truths.

    I find this interesting.  I have bravely sat with ugly truths. Learning how they feel shocking and horrid and yet so comforting and regulating.

    They allow me to see the world without holes where lies live.

     

    Some may find it confusing to think of lies as holes. But, if you keep important things away from a child, you are creating a world that crucial pieces are missing.

     

    Folks don't typically lie about mundane things, they will often lie about things that matter and are character defining.

     

    Giving a child a false picture of their world. They live in this make-believe space calling it real.  Calling it even truth.

     

    When truth is really fake, they don't know what truth is – if that makes sense.

     

    Just because you call it a truth, it doesn't make it so. Or just because you leave out the truths, it doesn't make them disappear.

     

    Again, while abuse and being raised in a cult like religion had a great impact on forming who I was, how I saw myself and the world.  The bigger missing piece was simple hard truth.

     

    Just becoming familiar with truth – in all its facets.

     

    Folks pretending to be someone they are not is far more normal than we'd like to believe.

     

    Sometimes we hide small things. Seemingly inconsequential things. But more often than not what is hidden are ugly truths.  Sick behaviors and/or bad things that happened to us. Or moments of poor choices and things we wish we hadn't done.

     

    There are folks who do bad things and then there are those who refuse to see them in the truth of who they are.

     

    My truthful feeling about my father, Fear – was not reflected in how my mother engaged with him. She acted and treated him like he didn't have this predilection to abuse children.

    Living in her house, you would not be able to tell by her actions anything was amiss. Her truth was missing in her actions.

     

    There were odd events that now make sense; but life didn't change.

    It was like the truth made a brief appearance – and then false narration covered it back up.

     

    Even when my father was in the Houghton County Jail. My mother stated in a letter to the family, that He was on trial by the state of Michigan; but not by our family.  

     

    Like the state pursued the truth – but we would not judge him by these sexual abuse truths. It felt to me, like we would continue to call him dad and treat him as such.

     

    This truth fearing way of living, makes for crazy making.

    But it assures that family is family – no matter what truth appears – that could tear it apart.

     

    I am sure there are many examples in many dysfunctional homes who will water down and make nice things that need to be exposed.

     

    I believe when the truth is kept away, we keep away from our own truths.

    When you keep a distance from your self – you can't be you.

     

    You don't know who you are.

     

    I recall feeling this huge sense of relief when the worst of the worst was exposed about my family. I made sense.  I didn't make sense with the truth hidden. Or worse I felt something was wrong with me.  

     

    Bottom line, when we keep truths from our children – we raise them in a world where they don't know what truth is – they never met it.

     

    I wonder what it does to our minds and the files in our heads – when we label things incorrectly.

     

    Labeling each incident and experience as it is – is not common place.

    For some reason we fear the truth and it being exposed.

    We learn to live in the complicated space of holes and false information.

     

    Like having a map that leads to nowhere – but believing it has a real destination.

    Or a map of fake towns and destinations.

     

    I am very skeptical that there can be love amidst the lies.

    Or can love even co-exist with lies.

    Does love need the truth in order to grow and evolve and love yourself?

    And, in the end do you just love the lies.

     

    What is life if truth is left out?

     

    In my experience the absence of truth is directly correlated with the absence of the sense of self.

     

    I was 46 when the truth crashed in and I didn't know who I was – for I had never lived with truth before.  To live with it, to speak of it, to view your world without holes and no silence – changes your life completely.

     

    There was no part of me that hadn't been created with this false narrative.

    I was a pretend person. Built in a land that feared what the truth would do to our family.

     

    What I find so shocking – is the truth came in, it sat in the Houghton County Jail – and so many didn't see it.

     

    I believe when you are raised to look around and over truths, it becomes a way of life.

     

    It has to be denial.

     

    Denial must feel like a kinder place to be – where nothing is required of you – are there even consequences in the land of denial?

     

    It feels like it is a happy family – when I look at them from here.

     

    They get a family – without the truths.

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