Author: bjukuri

What I have granted, due to my own need for freedom, is for others to be free. 

This sounds simple and even healthy, and more, very natural.

However, coming from dysfunctional homes where choice isn't an option….allowing choice is hard to navigate.  It isn't a learned behavior that I easily fell into.  I had to give up control to suite my needs and allow.

Simply allow another to pick and choose.

Everything then becomes fluid and out of control.  

What I believe we mostly are impressed upon is that family has the right to attend each and every function.  

They are indelible.  

And, WE don't have a choice there.

With this belief most major life celebrations come laced with emotional land minds.

The restrictive boundaries are broken down and all manner of dysfunction swirls around mixing with party decorations.

Each party and gathering doesn't have just joy and celebration; but the anxiety undertones of abuse.

I am not sure those who have been raised without choices, understands the stark difference between a party of kindness and one where all manner of behavior is welcomed in…hoping it doesn't display itself in public.

I can't even adequately articulate the festivities that have monsters hidden behind common faces of Relatives…and the energies of fear and anxiety they ignite.

Tranquility spiked with jolts of negative emotions.

I didn't know this, until I had a life celebration event where the guest list was void of undertones.

The unspoken or unseen differences that appear in party wear…were absent.

It seems even odd for me, that it has taken 56 years before I was able to have a life celebration without feeling PTSD throughout the whole party.

To me, this has to be the flavor of my childhood.

Where no matter the event, the undertow carried the energy feel for the party.

The cake and candles couldn't be festive enough to minimize or equalize the negative emotions and feelings of trauma…that was the steady background noise.

Part of me feels the sadness for the endless events that were overshadowed by the negative energies some guests carried with them; undoing the painstaking attention to the carefully planned details.  The party never had a chance to be just a party.

I also know, if you yourself haven't given yourself the luxury of freedom to choose guest, based up personal interaction of respect and commonality or friendship…you have never experienced a party as pure joy.

My body wasn't bracing, just enjoying.

This to me is the fallout from my walking away.

Where the pattern is literally felt to be different.

That there is opportunity for choices.

I know I can withstand and endure parties where the underlying feelings oppose the party theme.  But, what I really, really, really know now is the beauty of parties of love.

Where folks who arrive carry only love…and friendship.

Their energy matches the party scene… where love was put into the details.

What I also know to be true, is that these parties often were believed to be healers or fixers of broken family. That somehow if you had the right and perfect party, then the family would bond deeper etc.

And, what I now know, is that a family where there is no undertow….then, no undertow appears at the party.

It is just happy people celebrating with a party.  Period.

As Dr. Jill Bolte-Taylor said. "You are responsible for the energy you bring into the room."

And in this case, you are responsible for who you invite.

Isn't it funny, but we feel we must invite family, even if they bring in energy that will zap the party's good vibes.

I sat with feelings of complete awe and gratitude to be in a space where a party had center stage!  For even when silent the unspoken, unexpressed emotions would eclipse the joy.

I am always amazed in the ability of negative energies to steal the spotlight.

Which is why I have put up such high boundaries against it these past 10 years.

What a great pattern to hand down to my children.

The possibility for a new story to be written…."Once upon a time…"

What's remarkable, is the people we grow up to be, isn't often who we are…but rather who we had to be in order to survive, or for there to be some semblance of peace, and to be accepted.

Life molds and shapes us…but that doesn't mean it is us.

This may be kinda confusing, even to yourself.  If you have never sat and thought about who you are and why.

Why you are the way you are.

Survival skills are often masquerading as You.

They were set in place for you to cover up true emotions or feelings from showing.

Living a wholesome life, doesn't mean eating proper food or living correctly with the environment.  It means to be aligned with your heart and soul.  To feel connected to you.

Most cling to the self that was molded via their life experiences and not even realize there is a self beyond that.

The molded self makes you feel like you can't change….or the world will end.

You have lived so long for what the outside world needs, you have lost contact with who you are and what you would love….if no one cared.

We wait for permission to stop living as this molded self.

We wait for the outer world to release us from the mold they put us in.

It won't happen.

Do you ever stop to think about why you were set in a role and what it meant?

Those who will be affected the most NEEDED you to act a certain way for their benefit….usually a life that was presented to the world, to cover up a true mess.

We were molded for appearances.

And, when I smashed my mold….and let all the mess show, I was the one with negative traits and actions.  No one still wants to see the reality of what our survival selves had to cover up.

I threaten the perfect life…and family.

I am the ruiner.

What continues to blow my mind is how they are not particularly interested in me finding my whole self, my connection to my soul, my living authentically.  The individual successes matter not a wit, compared to the whole image of the family.

A family that retains the image EVEN after abuse comes in, time and time again.

Pose.

Be.

Smile.

Show that all is well with Thee.

This is the mold.

Not the truth beneath it.

We then grow up unable to show our truths.

We focus on the positive.

AND believe if we do, we will show a positive family.

We mostly see molded people…displaying a face to the world that has little to do with reality.

Those of us, who are reclaiming the face beneath the facade…are threats to the illusional life we were trained to present.

At 46 years old, when the truth shattered my mold.  I had not a clue who I was.

I lived so long pretending, I didn't know me.

Smile when you feel like shouting.

Go when you feel like staying.

Doing when you feel like not doing.

I didn't know how to literally match my actions to my feelings.

And, when I did, my family shattered…into pieces.

It didn't hold up to the sniff test.

All I was left with were facades….

They would not agree with me.  I get this too.

The molded and the unveiled have no language to meet on.

The voices and actions are unmatched.

Which is why so many dispute me.

They would.

No matter what they say, they can't shatter the real me.

I know me.

I love me.

I am me.

In recovering from Sexual Abuse, we go back to our past to heal, feel, and to understand what we didn't see or record…We don't go back to "Fix" or "Change the Past".  It is a journey to reclaim our power and right our abused mind.

It is not wallowing in the past, in a wishful state or lamenting about things and wanting them different.  It is the complete opposite of what you may believe.

It is to go and revisit our past childhood wounds, but with an adult mind.

To feel the emotions that were beyond what a child could express.

Bringing words and wisdom…as well as eyes that now have the courage to see.

We are stripping our layers of denial and subterfuge…willing to walk naked in the truth, in order to reclaim our birthright; peace, love and joy!

It is messy and soul wrenching.

Tragically beautiful.

I do not know a more beautiful journey than to going back in time to restore my wounded child.

To hold her hand and open my heart to all her sorrow.

In denial I was a woman who did not have access to all the wild beats of my heart, nor was I connected to my authentic self.

The journey of time….the past 10 years and counting, have been the most beautiful and sorrowful, magical and synchronistic,  heartbreaking and heart healing, an incredible birthing of Me.

Words can't describe it adequately.

It is the complete opposite of what those who haven't journeyed here believe.

I am not sitting with the wounded one, "in hopes of a different childhood" or for that matter a different life.

I am sitting with her learn to be a different me.

The wounded self was a survival child, she and her body did what it had to do to survive an incestuous home.

Who we have become is a woman who will no longer set aside her truth for the comfort of others.

We, my child and I, walk together in search of aspects of myself that I gave away.

Bits and pieces of me that for a multitude of reasons…we weren't truthful about.

Not truthful to me….and not truthful with others.

Each reclaiming part has created a stronger more empowered self.

Ten years and counting to re-build and re-claim what was damaged.

I am willing to do another 10, if that's what it takes.

I am unwilling to leave any part of me behind.

I want to be fully myself.

The journey inward isn't all for naught.

It isn't to change things….it is to un-change.

It is to undo denial.

Undo the self that didn't see.

Undo the self that didn't hear.

Undo the self that didn't feel.

Undo the self that didn't express.

Undo the self that didn't speak.

It is to unlock and engage the child, who gets stuck and frozen with abuse…and slowly get her to say and do and feel and express…Her truth.

To take a child too afraid to talk about her abuse….and get her to share.

To take a child too afraid to feel the depths of sorrow….and let her feel.

It's a sacred journey of the soul.

It wasn't to change or fix the PAST, it is to change and fix Me.

I can feel.

I can see.

I can hear….all the truths of me.

I can feel the emotions of joy and sorrow, of terror and love, and I am willing to be with all of me.  I don't push away the dark emotions, for they are signals in my life. 

Without going back to my past…I would not have recovered Me.

I would still be that adult child too afraid to talk and share and feel All of Me.

By going back I unlocked myself to be myself.

I am free to be me.

To make different choices and have a new voice.

I went back to have a different future and to leave a different legacy.

My limb on the family tree appears different.

How grateful am I!

I am not airing the dirty laundry of the past…I am airing out the Art of Me.

Here I am…

On full display….the dark and the light.

There is no part of me, I am not willing to see.

Or feel 

or hear.

I am now and forever, willing to go back to my past to reclaim another part of me.  

"One of the most courageous decisions you'll ever make is to finally let go of what is hurting your heart and soul"  Brigitte Nicole

I was stunned when I discovered that it appears that I am stuck, since I have written about sexual abuse for 10 years, that I have not moved on.  I have flopped around and wallowed or waded into the very center of being sexually abused by my father.  I have felt and prodded myself deeper and into each and every crevice of darkness and feelings of utter terror.  I have been excavating my wound for unexpressed emotions…and sought out thoughts that insulted my soul.  

I have bent and twisted myself while learning new ways to respond to life.  I have said words to family members that broke my heart, in order to change the inbred patterns of abuse.

I have lost family and friends to stand against abuse.

I have dissected my childhood religion and its practices and separated from that.

I died as one person and grieved her…as I struggled to find a new pathway that honored my soul…simultaneously.

The breath and depth of my accomplishments blow my mind and thrill my soul.

I walked away from family.

Just sit with that awhile, please!

I have disengaged from their lives in order to honor a truth I felt deep inside. I made a vow to myself to stand with my wounded child; and have never left her side.

EVEN when it meant I would be shunned and ridiculed and demeaned…when distanced and left alone with my pain.  Or worse when family added to it.

Try doing this…even once.

Perhaps this is my third deep wound.  And, I suppose I could drop "Perhaps".

My father abused me.

I told my mother and nothing happened.

I spoke the truth to my family and they turned away.

1, 2, 3….

My words, my feelings, my endless exploring and re-visiting the consequences of being abused…didn't interest them.  They 'moved on'.

Moved where?

They are still doing that which they were doing when the news hit…but, perhaps more of it.

Nothing changed. 

They still turn a blind eye and deaf ear to abuse.

Abuse that is Me.

Not abused, but abuse.

It is as if I am responsible for the abuse.

I can't think of another tragedy that would turn family against you.

This is where the deepest hurts live.

Where you are asked to let go of what hurts your heart and soul….and it is your heart and soul; family.

Leave them behind in order to save yourself.

And while you are trying to save yourself, the family will rip you apart.

I know, they say I am cold, bitter, and unforgiving. That I have wallowed in the past, refusing to let go.

Really?

Who let go?

Have you walked away from our parents….or have you stood by their side and spoken for them…even upon their death, what have you done?

How can being with them, be letting go and moving on.  No, you haven't budged…but have drawn closer.  

Oh, I guess you have let go.

You let go of me.

I felt it.

I felt each and every eye that turned away.

Every hand that let go.

Every voice that is silent.

My little girl inside has felt it all.  She has withstood the volume and depth of what she lost.  Those she cared for…in her time of need….were standing next to the ones who hurt her.  And, in turn that hurt….again.

I get it.

I also get…why you can't let go.

I used to be there too. Holding on to what, I then thought, was love.

Also, about forgiving and forgetting.

It has been hard.  I have forgiven, in the sense of accepting that the past can be no different….accepting that each of you can't be different.  Accepting that I had to let go….or die.

The little girl inside of me….was barely there, when the truth arrived.  A small weak, unsure, unsteady voice…"It is true….dad abused me too."

That one belief….expressed out loud, changed my world.

Regardless of your support or the lack thereof….my little girl grew with me by her side. 

Yes, I let go.  I let go of your needs and your wishes and grabbed on to mine.

I know many have seen me as selfish and self serving and trying to lap up attention by being so outspoken….etc.  

What they can't see is me loving me.

Me finding me broken and accepting her as she was.

Me walking with her in stilted and unsure ways.

Me daring to speak out loud in public about my wounds and saying how I left those who hurt me.  How I lived in denial for 46 years and the things I did there.  I have shared all of me….

And I am finding folks who don't turn away…

or turn a blind eye

or deaf ear

They see me, my wounds and all.

Some may think I left the family for the 'spotlight'.

No, the family left me…when I shown the light.

As I shine the light…family moves away.  Away from Me.

This is the true marker of an abusive family.

Ignoring the wounded child.

As the saying goes. "Hurt people, hurt people".

The only way you can end abuse, is to move away from folks who hurt your heart and soul.

"Forgive them, they know not what they do…"  

I was afraid of you.

I was afraid of what you would do.

I was torn between wanting to be with you and being terrified of being alone with you.

I wanted your protection and instead I needed protection from you.

I wanted your love; but not the way you love.

I wanted to play the games, but not be hurt.

I wanted the attention but was afraid of it.

The pull of my mind and the fear in my body confused me.

The natural tendencies of a child fought with the experiences of abuse.

When I didn't remember why I feared you….I thought the fear was mine.

I made it up.

I couldn't love.

It wasn't fun being a little girl who couldn't love.

I tried to love; but was so afraid.

I was afraid of love.

A child broken who can't love.

A broken child who doesn't trust.

A child unable to find the love in joy in the world.

What kind of a child is empty of joy and love?

Yet, I felt love for my siblings; each new baby that entered our home.

I cared for.

I watched.

But wasn't vigilant enough…they each got hurt.

I tried to love them enough to fill the gaps…but I was too small, just a kid.

I wasn't their mother…yet I mothered.

I then wasn't their sister, but a substitute mother who wasn't the mother.

It is to be set upon a stage without the proper place to be.

Not a child for adults were doing adult things with her.

Not an adult; but a child.

Living in dysfunction and being made to act like it wasn't there.

Where do you stand when you don't fit into either place?

It wasn't love, so I couldn't stand there.

And no one acknowledge abuse, so we can't stand there.

Hard to find yourself when you have no place to be.

Creating a self in an illusionary land.

The shifting scenes mask all the bad…while you know it's there.

To be you…is impossible.

A little girl who can't love for those she loved hurt her…

She feels unlovable, for there is no love inside.

She does things to be more lovable hoping they will see her love.

But the fear, I believe is stronger, than anything she could do.

At 46 years of age, the little girl found out, her body didn't lie. She can love.

She had just been trying to love the wrong way.

I used to love those I feared.

Now, I fear those I fear.

I don't try and override my body's signals and emotions.

As a child I had no choice.

I had no voice.

I had to pretend to pretend all was well with thee…to love and honor thy father and thy mother…

Or go to hell.

I didn't know I was already there.

Hell is my childhood masquerading as a loving family.

I dropped my mask of love and replaced it with the raw emotions of fear.

I felt the vulnerability when I fell out of denial and really saw how twisted my parents were…and how in order to survive, how twisted I was.

I had to twist myself to match the insane reality…to make it right.

After seeing the truth, I unraveled.

I then became the child I was born to be…

Nature does loving families well!  They protect the little ones who can't protect themselves! 

When I re-read what I wrote and ended with "Part Bad and Part Good"….I wondered about my parents value; what part do I see in them?

What part are children allowed to talk about?

Do parents have 'good parts and bad parts'?

Do people?

Are we made up of good things and bad.  Is there a combination like "They are great people who have poor behaviors?

Is it possible that as children we are not allowed to address the bad parts so we are only left with acting as if it is good….since Good is all we are allowed to acknowledge.

So, is that what denial is?  Speaking only of the good. And, you are BAD if you speak of the bad.

Very interesting to find myself viewing the actions of my parents…or their values.

I have accepted the invitation to go back to my childhood as an adult but to see my child there.

To see the landscape and to feel the energy and the flow of our relationship(s).

On the family stage how are we all acting and being ourselves; what is our character doing, being and is it true?

Whose feelings are the main spotlight and what are the costs to thee other cast members?

When we ask children to only acknowledge the good, we are setting them up on a stage for them to act out of character.  To have bad things done, but to pretend only 'good' has happened.

Given that this was the rule, "we can only act upon the good things….and we have to pretend to pretend, that the bad didn't happen" how do you feel you would navigate this world.

It is to be with bad behaviors and ACT like they are not happening.

What an actress I became.

Volcano's of terror inside and the outside moving about as if nothing is wrong.

Holding on to terror while being a child…

In fact, as I pondered what I would feel last night, I thought of my night terrors would be an adequate depiction of my feelings as a child.

Frozen in Terror unable to move….

But, it is actually worse. 

Frozen in Terror but having to put on a happy face. Being with folks WHO created this terror, but acting like they were warm and fuzzy.

And, knowing if you didn't pull it off, you would be punished, neglected, banished….etc.

This has been my experience. That when I began to address and speak out loud about the behaviors we were not supposed to talk about, I am no longer part of that family.

As a child, I was between a rock and a hard place.

Not wanting to be with the terror, but there was nowhere to go.

Wanting parents. 

Wanting parents who didn't have this underlying bad behavior that was a juxtaposition from their social facade.

It created in me….the pretender…Denial.

So on the stage in my childhood are all manner of bad behaviors of parents and a child pretending they are good parents.

Pull that off and not have a twisted mind.

I am amazed I was able to do and be with any semblance of function….coming from whence I came.