I M Perfect lady

Category: Another’s view

  • Your Inner Spark

    Last Sunday, while walking with my granddaughter, we met a father with two little girls walking towards us – heading towards the ice cream store at the beach.  One of the girls seen the big cone and asked her dad if they were going for ice cream – to which he quickly replied, "No, remember today we are working on our spirituality."

    The little girls wanting ice cream looked young – near the 5 year old range.

     

    When we got in the car, I asked my 10 year old granddaughter what she thought Spirituality was – she didn't know. 

    I wondered how you taught a young child about spirituality and worked on it.

     

    I told my granddaughter, that often spirituality was about the spirit and did she know what that was or where it was located. She did not.

     

    I told her I felt it wasn't in our mind or bodies – or even heart – but close to it.

    The place inside of us that is our essence that feels love and joy – and is uniquely us.

    Like how each of us have something inside of us that finds joy in different things. 

     

    And she said, "Well I love ice cream and having it would bring me joy." 

     

    As we talked, we talked about different things that make our insides happy – and how it didn't seem that 'working' on our spirituality – would be work.

    And, that skipping what we love or things that brought us joy – seemed the opposite of spiritual work.

     

    I told her I felt little children come into the world with wide open spirits and they naturally gravitate to what their spirits love. And, that it would be more work to steer clear of them.  

     

    I am not suggesting that each time a child wants ice cream they should have it.  But, I was taken aback – that a child would have to work on their spirituality.

     

    I had to look up the definitions of spirituality….

    This seemed to resonate.

    "The word spirituality comes from the Latin “spiritus” which literally means “breath”, signifying Life. The most important thing we have is this gift of Life. It then follows that if we have this amazing gift of Life, then we all have a way that it is being manifested in and through us."

    If spirituality is about breath – signifying life.  Wouldn't spiritual work then be about life, living, and being present with our breath.

    In fact in our conversation, I said that often folks who were spiritual were trying to be present, in this moment of time – I guess with your breath.  And that if you can be with your ice cream, that would be spiritual work.

     

    What I know to be true for me in the past two decades is that I am drawn to things that fill me with love, peace and joy.  That my spiritual work is to be where my feet are – or my breath. 

    To be and breathe in nature and truly be with whomever I am with.

     

    Perhaps when all my old pillars crumbled, what I was left with was my spirit, the self that sat near my heart.   My spirit felt like a young child – innocent and curious and waiting to be seen and heard.

    My spiritual work from that point on was to live as truthfully and as authentic as I could – being honest with my feelings of love and joy – and being brave to step away from things that didn't align with my morals and values.

     

    My spiritual work was learning who I was and then to live from the inside out.

    I recall when my husband and I didn't know who I would be – when my past was so completely changed, that I no longer felt connected to my life – I told him, we could start simple and go and see if she still likes ice cream.

     

    What a beautiful world it would be – if spirituality was to connect to the little child within each of us – that sees delight in the simple things.  Where we go within to find what is true and loving for the child.

    I feel a child comes into the world – with their spirits lit up – and that they don't know how not to follow what brings them joy.  We as adults, we might try and dim that light, but showing them our world, instead of us learning through their eyes.

     

    My life and my views of the world are so different when I see and live through the child's eyes within me.

     

    I have a curious delightful grandson who is only 7 months. He lights up – when he sees me, and his smile is bright.  His spirit is uncovered and pure joy. 

     

    I have two grandchildren who I felt had very strong spirits and wills.  Their parents did a tremendous job in preserving their spirits – while balancing the proper training they required to be human – if that makes sense. 

     

    It is takes a parent who can see the little spirit and what it requires.  They knew when their emotions were bigger than their little bodies and helped them navigate the big world.

     

    Spiritual work – is to honor the spirit within. 

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     "In yoga, "Namaste" is often said at the end of a class as a gesture of respect and acknowledgment of the divine spark within each person. 

     

    The breath of life is to feel your inner spark.

  • Out Loud

    I have been thinking about breaking the silence ever since a group called "Voices Unmuted" was formed. A group whose Mission is to protect innocent children from sexual abuse within the Old Apostolic Lutheran Church (OALC).

     

    There is a podcast which talks about this subject – it was a few years ago, but completely applicable today.

     

    The juxtaposition between a religion and those not protecting the children is hard to wrap your head around.

    Like could there actually be grown up people within a religious organization – mute about children being in danger of sexual abuse.

    Not only grownups, but parents – and parents with large families and extended families. Adults who bear responsibility of looking out for children – and they are complacent and quiet about crimes against children.

     

    A question was asked "If you can’t believe there are many predators, ask yourself why you need so badly to believe there aren’t."

     

    This question is quite profound for the followers of these religions – who need the religion to not be tainted by abuse – especially sexual crimes against children – for then what do they believe in – or more how do they get to heaven one day.

     

    It is way more about them NOT wanting it to be true – rather than being curious about what if it is?

     

    What would happen to their lives IF they did believe there were many predators?

    What would it cost them?

     

    When there is abuse in another church, say the Catholic Church – they believe it.

    If there is abuse in a school or with a family outside of the church, they believe it.

     

    However when the unmuted voices speak about their church, their families in their world – it is different.

     

     

    If you were raised in the church and groomed to be silent – you and your past will no longer be the same.

     

    While there is a group unmuted – there is a much larger group of unbelievers – for their very being depends upon it.

     

    It has been over 20 years for me.  I know from experience the cost of believing the unbelievable.  To see your parents in a new light – and your religion. 

     

    These are big pillars in who you are.

    When they turn tarnished – there isn't much left of you.

     

    I know to the depth of my being – they know subconsciously that if the church falls – and the family's legacy is abuse – it will be the end of who they are.

     

    What they don't know, is that it is the beginning of finding your soul – the person you were born to be.  

     

    You lose all that isn't true.

    I didn't lose love – I lost dysfunction.

    I didn't lose a religion – I lost a cult that protects abusers.

    I didn't lose me – I lost the person I was to survive.

     

    When you don't want to believe something is true – usually it's because you need it to be the opposite – even when there are facts and truths in plain view.

     

    What is the saying "she protests too much".  

    "The quote "She protests too much" is a shortened version of the line "The lady doth protest too much, methinks," from Shakespeare's play Hamlet. It means that someone's excessive denials or over-the-top reactions to an accusation actually reveal their guilt or the opposite of what they claim to be true."

     

    It reveals their guilt or the opposite of who they claim to be.

     

    Imagine finding out the opposite of who you claim to be.

    Or what the church claims to be etc.

    I know this feeling.

    I was there.

     

    No matter how much I didn't want it to be true – my body couldn't lie.

     

    It does not matter how many voices are unmuted – each person will be the one to either believe it or protest too much.

     

    I believe they can feel the truth.

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    How ironic – or not – I have been working on this quilt – and it was before listening to the podcast or reading that question.   I love how my art speaks ahead of me. Feel the truth. Notice "the Answer" and "Out Loud" - 

     

     

     

  • Are you sure you are right?

     

    Do you think that most people believe that the way they were raised, the religion they were assimilated into and the beliefs they were taught, are Right.  

    How do we even know how we know we are right?

     

    I lived with right knowing for many years.

    It never occurred to me to explore the other side.

    The beliefs of my childhood – were part of being Me.

    I never ever questioned the ones who gave me the beliefs or the religion and its rules.

    They just were.

     

    The things implanted as a child and my own childhood interpretation became a file in my mind. It's pathway unquestioned – I just believed it was right.

    It is very telling that often religions are implanted into children;  an empty malleable mind.

     

    What is implanted in childhood is often hard to unwind – for it absconds with body and mind before the child gets a chance to define itself.

     

    These ideas are actually replacing the self.  A child in strict religions are made to meld into the ways of the church – but without a fully formed self – the child becomes the religion. 

     

    I don't recall having freewill – I moved as the religion would have moved. 

     

    I lived on rote.

     

    I had to look up the definition – "mechanical or unthinking routine or repetition. a joyless sense of order, rote, and commercial hustle."

     

    I had to chuckle at the joyless sense of order….in how aptly it described my early years… sadly.

     

    The rightness of the religion in my mind was partnered with sexual abuse.

    But, the sexual abuse wasn't recorded in the files.

    My body held these truths.

     

    When the sexual abuse wasn't recorded – my mind didn't see the abuse or act in accordance with it. It never existed – yet it did happen.

     

    As a child downloading the religion and at the same time experiencing childhood sexual assault by my father – my mind files were *&%$ – to put it gently.  So not right -not even close.

     

    I truly feel for my younger self living life with a messed up filing system and no real separate self.

    She believed she was right and there was no one there to challenge her thoughts or beliefs.

    In the religion, we were taught the sinful nature of our bodies.  I was never taught to honor my feelings, emotions and instincts.  

    I separated from my body in sexual abuse as well.

    I truly lived disconnected from my body and all its wisdom.

     

    I am not certain I can articulate this.

     

    Just because you believe something to be right, it doesn't mean it is.

    "A lie doesn't become truth, wrong doesn't become right, and evil doesn't become good, just because it's accepted by a majority."

     

    Knowing the cost of religion and sexual abuse upon my life and how it impacted the files in my mind, I can understand how others live this way as well.  It would be nice if we were all free thinkers and open to curiosity and wonder – but too many of us are locked behind a corrupt mind.

    I wondered if corrupt was accurate – here is one definition. "made unreliable by errors or alterations."  This is very accurate. 

    I also understand how scary it would be to know your mind is unreliable when the mind is you.  You don't want to know you are unreliable.

     

    I truly was lost when the files in my mind were discovered to be lies.  I didn't have a self standing in the wings. I was 46 years old married with 4 kids and I didn't have a clue who I was – outside of the mind's files.

     

    Yet it was the first time I was free to think and ponder and wonder and learn. 

    It was an exhilarating process to go through the files I called right – to discover the lies and see the world completely different. 

     

    I am willing to wager that there are folks on both ends of the spectrum with wrong right files.  And, they would be aghast at what they are proclaiming to be right.

     

    Mostly what I know – is that I would not have been convinced otherwise. 

    Here is a quote I love – "A man convinced against his will – is of the same opinion still " which came from the quote below.

     

    “He that complies against his will, Is of his own opinion still” from Hudibras by Samuel Butler 

    What is interesting – is that I misquoted this for years – I thought it was a MIND convinced against its will is of the same opinion still.  

     

    Any one of them works.  

     

    Knowing this and experiencing life with a closed not right mind – I don't believe we will change minds from the outside in.

    I also know the strength of some minds and the steel grip it has on them.  My voice and my convincing will fall on deaf ears. 

    "forgive them, they know not what they do" is one sentiment I can agree upon.

     

    I wrote all that to say, are you sure you are right?

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    Another quote I love is by Dr. Jill Bolte-Taylor – "that the left brain takes the least amount of information and weaves the most plausible story."

    Here is her talk – and she has a book "My Stroke of Insight".  She explains the parts of our brain and its differences. 

     

     

  • Freedom Waited for Me to Act

    With the freedom of speech 

    comes the responsibility to 

    listen

    With the freedom of belief

    comes the responsibility to 

    accept

    With the freedom from want

    comes the responsibility to 

    serve

    And with the freedom from fear

    comes the responsibility to 

    act.    

     

    (Summary of FDR's Four Freedoms by Darren Walker)

     

    I saw this on a friend's instagram –

     

    I love how each of our freedoms come with a responsibility on our part.

     

    It took me a long time to understand what listening was about – in how we can learn to understand another's journey.  Maybe it was when I learned more about my own journey, I could see the wide range of possibilities of others.

     

    And, I love how belief comes with acceptance.  In order to truly believe you have to accept the facts of what is.  Beliefs that are not grounded in reality or in facts, are beliefs of falsehoods. I became a believer in acceptance – more than my old religion was trying to teach. 

    In fact, it wasn't often about acceptance, but more about forgiving what is.

    The sins – were washed away – to change reality.

     

    Serving often relieves us of what we want.  And what we want isn't often what we need.

     

    The responsibility to act – truly takes away our fear. For most often is we don't want to act differently than we have in the past, for then we will change how others see us or engage with us.

     

    I just love that our freedoms are hinged upon a responsibility on our end.

    Freedom isn't free from the consequences of our choices.

    Freedom isn't a given – or a lazy relationship.  

    Our freedom depends upon our engagement with life and those we spend time with.

     

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    In thinking yesterday – Memorial Day – what came to me was to not squander the freedoms we have access to. To use your freedom in the small choices – and how each little choice can change your world.

     

    I am so ever grateful for my ability to act freely in all aspects of my life.

    These freedoms came with my intentions of authenticity and to live a life that reflects my truths.  It took courage to step out of the patterns I was raised in – and each time I was brave and made a new decision, another part of me was free.

    Freedom waited for me to act.

     

     

     

  • May She rest in Peace.

    There is a humming in the backdrop of my life – a ghostly echo from the past. Most often nowadays, it is barely perceptible – and then voices come in.

    Words carrying the wishes, for the lack of a better word, from my estranged mother who is actively dying.

    When my answer is different than her wants – it appears that I have turned judgmental.

     

    "Hopefully you are never judged by people who never walked in your shoes." A brother.

     

    If and unless, I do her bidding, then I am seen as judging her.

    Is it judging to want to do something opposite of her wants?

     

    Others seeing me as judging her – based on my opposite choices – has always confounded me. For I don't feel that I am in judgement – in fact, I am more concerned about how my choices affect me – inside – and how they sit right with what I know my truth and reality is.

     

    I had to google, What motivates people to judge someone, just to see what came up.

     

    "As with projection, feelings of inadequacy tend to be closely related to insecurity, as are many reasons for a judgmental mentality. If someone feels inadequate about something, they may be more likely to mock or belittle others who have a healthier—or simply different."

     

    "People judge others to avoid reckoning with potential feelings of inferiority and shame. Since judging others can never give a person what they really need, they feel like they have to keep doing it. One can choose not to perpetuate the cycle of judgment."

     

    What is interesting to me about this – is that judgment is coming from the lower place of feeling shame and inferior.  It doesn't come from the place of being healthier and more aware of yourself and self-love.  Which of course it wouldn't.

     

    After reading that I wonder who is judging who?

     

    Parents write upon the clean slate of a child.  They will either raise their self worth or lower it.  In my case my slate lowered my worth.  I was eclipsed by their needs.

     

    It has taken me many years to wipe that slate clean, to right if you will their wrongs.  I no longer carry the shame that is theirs to carry.  

    In separating out what actions are theirs and what responsibilities are mine – I began re-defining me.

    I wasn't who they wanted me to be.

     

    In my heart of hearts I do not feel I am judging.

    I am instead making choices based on what feels right for me, what actually will raise my level of integrity.  

     

    What I also know to be true, is that my choices – are not viewed as kind, loving or with a heart.

    I get it.  

    It isn't the right choice for you.

     

    As she lay dying – it doesn't change how I feel inside of me – or want me to make a new choice.  

     

    In the end of the end, I continue to honor our estrangement.  

    For us, it will be a life sentence.

    It was a choice.  A healthy response for me. I found my soul's worth on the outside.

     

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    As they hold vigil close.

    I will be outside.

     

    Two generations of women – each of us are walking our own path.

    We each carry our own legacy and the past littered with a million choices.

    We will reap what we sow and our hearts carry what we love.

     

    She is now a stranger I once knew, and her path, one I used to walk on.

    May she rest in Peace.

     

    "I don't know what's best for me or you, or the world. I don't try to impose my will on you or anyone else. I don't want to change 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.…" Byron Katie

     

     

     

  • Be Yourself

    "Every year you make a resolution to change yourself. This year make a resolution to be yourself."  Author Unknown

     

    My granddaughter and I were in the basement creating – there is a chair that is painted with a collage of words – "Be the Real you" is one of the phrases.  She asked, "Grandma what does that mean?"

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    I said, "When you feel sad – just be sad – don't pretend to be happy." She says, "Oh". 

     

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    (Here I am at my display of my art therapy quilts. Being Me.)

    I know that sounds simplistic – and I also know it isn't always easy to just be your real self. However, life is so so much more simple when you can.

    It may be my age – but the older I get the less patience I have pretending or hiding. 

     

    Making a resolution to Be Yourself – will be life changing.

    It reminds me of the year Martha Beck had – where she didn't lie.  Even the little ones – where you say you're okay, when you are not.

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    (This was posted on Instagram – capturing me on my way to a ladies camping trip.Totally winning at summer!)

     

    At first it may seem uncomfortable, especially if you are used to hiding your real self – but over time, as you become more real – your life will be more comfortable for you to be in it.

    As I look back over 2022 – looking through my photos, which are many – I had another wonderful year.  Family, Friends, Art and Adventures.  Life is good. 

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    I tried new new things and look forward to learning some more.

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    I had way too much fun –  Days of joy = a year of fun.

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    I am not one who is happy to see this year go – I will hold on to so many memories that I made.

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    And look forward to making more.  

    Exploring new rivers.

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    And Bike paths.

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    And, hiking trails.

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    Sharing my Art and finding new friends.

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    As the new year approaches, I look forward to more of what I love.

    May you have a year stuffed full of what makes you You.

     

    Thank you to all who shared your time we me this past year and I look forward to more moments that bring me smiles as I scroll through my photos.

     

    Your year will hold every choice you make – I hope you say yes to doing more of what the real you wants to do. 

    May your New Year's resolution be – Be Yourself.  

     

     

  • Sees her Child

    My annual correspondence arrives.

    "Have a birthday doing what is important to you. 

    I treasure the memories of your years with our family.

    You were a great help and I was proud of all you accomplished.

    I am your mother always and my love is forever.

    Hugs 

    Mom"

     

    She pops in every year – a ghost from my past proclaiming her title and love.

     

    Each year it is about how I affected her life, and never about how she impacted mine.  

     

    I don’t even know where to begin to begin to process this.

     

    There is always a little girl inside of me that is wanting to be seen.

     

    She holds treasured memories – of the years that wounded me.

     

    Reading her words without knowing the full story, you would think I left a loving mother behind.

     

    This is what disturbs and unsettles me and confounds my mind. Our drastically different perceptions of our relationship.

     

    Surviving my childhood created a woman who was brainwashed and lived in denial. A woman who was unable to see her own children and their needs.  A woman who sought approval and was a people pleaser.  One who went against the feelings in her body and chose to be a great help in an abusive family.

    A woman who had no idea what love was, how to love – even herself.

     

    The years she treasured – were the same amount of years I lived codependent.

    Years I lived in a cult-like religion – without a voice or a choice of my own body, mind and soul – she treasures years that I see were void of me.

     

    The past 18 years of our separation have been to undo the damage – of all those years. 

    It cost me dearly to be in her family.

    And, it cost me dearly to leave.

     

    However my journey has not been for naught.

     

    My children and grandchildren really will have years they will treasure in homes of love.

    They have parents to feel proud of  - instead of shame.  

    I love that their hearts can be bursting with love.

    It is my hope of all hopes they won't ever have to live the shame of being raised with abuse.

     

    My heart weeps that they will not have to leave their families – and live an awkward life of estrangement.

    They won't have to feel the empty spot where parental love should live.  

     

    They will instead enjoy years of sibling friendship and memories of real treasures. 

    Not memories tainted by abuse and toxic dysfunction.

     

    They will know love, real love, forever love by the actions of family who puts a child's welfare first. A treasured love from parents – that is so unfamiliar to me.

     

    A mother's and father's love protects a child; always and forever.

     

    She speaks of my help and accomplishments in the years I was with her family. She speaks nothing of my years after leaving.

     

    She was proud of me then.

     

    She actually loves a version of me that is no longer alive.

     

    Who I am today – is not someone she knows, loves, or even acknowledges. 

     

    She is a mother to the girl in her mind.

    For that girl – she is her mother always and her love is forever.

     

    But for this me, this girl.  The daughter who walked away – I am invisible to her.

    She is incapable of seeing me and the reasons I walked away.

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    What matters most is – I see Me.

     

    The older I get, the more I realize I am one of the lucky ones.

    I was able to see.  

    You cannot change what you don't acknowledge.

    I am so happy I don't have her legacy – I have my own.

    I am a mother who sees her child.

     

     

  • Truth of What Is.

    Niceness stays quiet.

    Kindness speaks up.

    Niceness is toxic.

    Kindness is healing.

    Niceness lies to keep the peace.

    Kindness knows the only way to make peace is to tell the truth.

    Niceness holds back.

    Kindness moves forward with humility, gentleness and grace.

    By Allison Vesterfelt.

     

     

    I have been trying to articulate the vast differences of words that appear so similar.

    Be kind or be nice – seems to have the same value – and yet they feel completely different.

    What I needed the most back when I discovered my denial and all that it covered up – was for someone to speak up.

    I needed kindness, not silence.

    I needed truth and those willing to be with it.

    To own it and hold it and regard it as a kindness to the legacy of our family.

     

    What I believe is that I went from a nice girl, to a kind one. And it completely changed who I was and how my life looked and felt. And even IF I fit into my family or not.  Kindness didn't live there.

     

    If we think of kindness as living your truth and niceness and denying it – you may understand this.

     

    My mother would say, "If you don't have anything nice to say, say nothing."

    At face value this sounds nice or even kind.

    However, often this sentiment is what comes back at you when you speak a truth – that they don't want to hear.

     

    Nice is often touted as being better than the truth.

     

    Is there really something better than the truth of anything.

    Are there truths you are better off not knowing?

     

    One of my gravest errors was believing that everyone wants to be on the field of truth.

    That no one would rather not know – than know.

     

    I was wrong.

     

    I was raised in an environment of niceness.

    Especially against truths that were ugly and harmful and toxic to love.

    As if niceness can change a truth.

     

    What became real apparent was that I was worse for speaking the truth of abuse – in comparison to the ones actually committing the crimes.  I was seen as unkind at best. I was unkind – not that my father did unkind things. I broke the family's rule – I was willing to shatter the peace. I was unkind for living the consequences of truth.

     

    The negative words and feelings towards me equal their aversion to the truth.

    There is a founded fear of letting truth in – for it will undo all the lies.

    One truth can begin to unravel a nice life.

     

    At least this is true in my experience.

     

    What was so shocking to me, is that many would speak the truth to me, but go on in niceness and say nothing, change nothing in their relationships. Just overlook and be silent about a truth that would upend their world. They choose niceness. To me this is a common form of denial.

     

    Being where I am now, I am appalled at how many folks chose to live a 'nice' life rather than a truthful one in kindness.

     

    What kindness feels like in comparison to being nice is shocking at first, but very empowering.

    Nice is such a victim stance – being silent or speaking lies for peace.

     

    While I may appear unkind and even evoke feelings of unkindness –  in my heart of hearts, I know that it truly is healing.

     

    I do move forward with humility gentleness and grace.

    I understand their kindness – even if I don't agree with it.

    Living life hand and hand with all truths is not for the faint of heart.

     

    What set me apart from my family – was my inability to be nice.

    They needed nice to keep their family together.

    I needed to be kind to me, my little girl and the girls(children) who followed in my footsteps.

    I had learned the hard way that being nice didn't change anything.  Being nice just kept the toxic relationships going.

     

    It is my hope that I am never nice.

     

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    May I always have the courage to see clearly into the truth of what is.

     

     

     

     

     

  • Commitment to myself

    "If abandonment is the core wound

    the disconnection from mother

    the loss of wholeness

    then the most potent of medicine 

    is the ancient commitment

    to never abandon

    yourself

    to discover wholeness in the whole-mess

    to be a loving mother

    to your insides

    to hold the broken bits 

    in warm open awareness

    and to illuminate the sore places

    with the light

    of love."  Jeff Foster.

     

    So much is being said in the words above that resonate with me and my journey.

    How I was abandoned with my wounds – unattended – and how I had to hold my broken bits with warm open awareness.  Seriously. 

    I recall feeling the task was too large. To ask a broken down person to heal thy self if you will – felt insane.

     

    To illuminate the sore places is heart wrenching and yet hold them to the light with love. To love the sadness and empty hole where a loving parent should be.

     

    Often I hear that abused children lose their innocence – they don't.

    They lose the parent who leaves us unattended.

    We lose the parent who hurts us.

    We don't lose our innocence, we are innocent.

    We are abandoned but still innocent.

    We can even be broken and innocent.

    The ones who lose their innocence IS the perpetrator. They no longer are innocent parents. That is theirs to carry. When they harmed us or left us unattended, they abandoned us.

    I am not sure I can articulate the way a parent abandons us as they abuse. For they no longer are our parents. We are left without parents.  A true loving parent will not abuse. A true loving parent walks away from those who abuse their child. 

    It seems utterly insane that this even happens.

    Yet, so many children, adult children, experience being left alone far too early.

    To not have the comfort of knowing someone is there for you.

     

    What is so tragic are the many children who are left alone with huge wounds in dysfunctional homes, who have no one that sees them or hears them. That alone feeling can only be healed when we step in and mother ourselves.

    We truly can be the mother we never had.

     

    I had to learn how to mother.

    Learn how to be strong and set boundaries while broken.

     

    I had an image of me as a young girl and she lived in me. At 46, I began making choices that would honor her and respect her and her brokenness.  Even broken I was a good mother to me.

     

    As the years have passed, I am in awe of what I achieved - maintaining a strong commitment to myself – even when challenged by my family of origin – or more abandoned by them.

    Which many of them would argue against.

     

    Yet, as a brother or sister – If you stood with the parents – you abandoned me.

    The same many would claim that it was I who abandoned my family for I am estranged.

    That it is I who walked away.

     

    As an estranged child it does appear at first glance that it was I who choose to leave.

    Many never consider the reasons I am no longer part of the family.

    Or more – see the commitment to my self and what I needed to heal.

    All they may see is family – and love it and all its brokenness.

    Neglecting the pieces that make up a family – each person.

     

    I love the words and the sentiments they hold – for they bring hope and healing and more self -love.

     

    Often we want to love only the good parts of us – and seldom is it talked about how we actually need to shine light and loving kindness on the pieces that hurt us.

     

    This is one of my greatest achievements – my commitment to myself.

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  • You be You; honestly.

    "Do you like these kind of quilts?" I heard a woman say to her friend – as they gazed at a wall where my art hung. "No" she replied.  And the first woman says, "Me neither, another thing we have in common."

     

    What they didn't know is that I was the artist, the woman who was just arranging things in the Gift Shop.

     

    They continued on browsing, visiting, commenting, and just being two women out and about.

     

    As they near the door where I was working, we struck up a conversation – just the usual customer chatter – and the more you visit, the more curious or questions you ask, in the back and forth.

     

    The first woman finally asks me, what sorta art I do.

     

    With a smile on my face and a direct look towards her I say, "The quilts on the wall over there."

     

    She knows immediately – that I know what she and her friend think of my art. They had given me their honest appraisal.

     

    Now, that she knows I am here in living color – the Artist to the Art – she tries to backpedal.

    In the backpedalling, she offers up, she is a retired Art Teacher.

    She offers up a few more things – but to me the most honest was her first response I over heard.

     

    It is funny how we want to soften up our honesty.

    Even in our liking or not liking of Art.

     

    Art is so personal and feeing invoking – that if it doesn't move you – it doesn't move.  No worries. 

     

    I am way way okay with folks not enjoying my art.

    I enjoy my art.

    I enjoy the process.

    I enjoy folks who love it enough to spend their hard earned money on it.

    I enjoy folks who want to bring it into their homes.

    And, I so understand those who feel differently.

     

    I love different art and art that moves something in me. I love when I feel joy and good energy when I see art that has somehow infused feelings inside of it.

     

    I think that there are levels of feelings in art.

    Safe ones and then those who push you to feel more.

    Even if it invokes negative ones. Your art moved them.

     

    The art teacher did offer up to me – she understood the hours of time and effort I had taken me to do what I do.

    I didn't probe their feelings as to why my art didn't move them. I just allowed them, with respect and kindness, to feel what they felt.

     

    I would prefer honesty.

    Always.

     

    She honestly felt something about my art.  

    I respect honest feelings.

     

    Just as I am not for everyone, neither is my art.

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    I love a world of color and contrast and depth the shallows and I love differences.

    I appreciate and love honesty above all.

    I love who I am and the freedom it gives me – and everyone.

    You be you; honestly.