I M Perfect lady

Category: Examples of an Imperfect woman

  • Words of Our Friends!

    This has been a weird week for me.  I am trying to assimilate into a new normal, as we all are.  

    I am trying to be comfortable outside of my home delivering mail, and yet feel I am walking among virus germs – and being careless.  

    My goal is to not bring the virus home, and it seems like an impossible task.

    My hands are busy all day long.

    Touching, touching and touching. 

     

    My fingerprints are never wiped clean – for long.  

    Usually, after the first half an hour or so on the route I relax.  I would go crazy otherwise.

    I settle into a story with Audible.

     

    I can't imagine the health care workers or anyone in close contact with the public. It has to be even more precarious and nerve-wracking.   

    There is the pull between doing your job and being responsible and then being irresponsible for doing your job.

     

    And, the services that many are providing need to be done by humans.  And, if not I, than who?  Who would I want to put in harms way?  

     

    I want us all to make it through without tragedy. I want us all to do our best to keep others safe.  And, I want to try and understand those who travel; but it is harder for me to.  All I see are virus germs coming to our community – and more germs to try and avoid.  

     

    The less that are out there moving about, the easier we make for those who have to be outside of their homes.

     

    It seems surreal, and then very real.

    I feel the normal we all were used to, will be no more. We can never go back to before. We will all be changed in ways that we can't know today.  We don't know who will be with us when it is safe to once again be free to move and gather.

    We didn't realize how nice we had it, moving freely without risk.

    It is true, you don't know what you have, until it is gone.

     

    I guess I want others to know, that those of us who have to be out, really really appreciate those who stay home.  Those who limit their outings to just emergency ones.  It really reduces our chances of bringing home the virus.

    I can't see my future; for there is way too much unknown, and lots to get through before we are there.  

    Plans are put on shelves.

    We have no timeline that is concrete enough to plan on.

    We are fluid.

    Present

    And grateful for what we have today.

    Or, our health today and those we love.

     

    What I think, when my mind slips off to the worst case scenario is, I want this day to be full. No point in bring a disaster before the disaster (if it is to come).  

    I need to be cautious.

    I need to be aware.

    Not only of the virus, but of things being okay today.

    We have today.

    The doom of the virus looms around our lives, and we have to concentrate and practice finding a pleasant normal, in this new normal.

    Find a routine and relax our hold on what used to be.  It is gone for now. We can find new ways of living with reduced movement.

    A friends blog suggested keeping in touch in other ways.

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    Sending cards and letters would be awesome.  

    If I have to be out there, I would love to be the carrier of your cards!

    Let us help each other through this in the safest most healthy way possible. 

     

    Stay home and let the art of letter writing make a comeback.

    Then our mailboxes will hold the words of our friends!

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  • Solved a Problem

    It was so weird to see empty shelves in the grocery store and fairly crowded isles.  

    People stockpiling their cupboards for the unknown that is to come.

    And, I will admit, I too added a few extra items, to fatten up our shelves. But mostly it was my weekly shopping trip.  

     

    The over shopping was fueled by the run on toilet paper.  

     

    We are all envisioning the empty shelves increasing, and it seems there are other items that are going the way of toilet paper.

     

    I have not experienced this panic before.

    Part of me wants to prepare,

    and the other part wants to be the calm in the storm.

    To be reasonable with the unknown.

     

    We haven't lived through a pandemic, or even extreme shortages, and we haven't been asked to survive with minimal resources.

     

    I have been listening to many different podcasts on the topic of the virus, and what we can expect and/or do.

     

    The one I loved today was with Tim Ferris and Jack Kornfield "How to Find Peace Admist  COVID 19".

     

    So, we are being asked to be less social, to spend more time alone and at home.  There are many things we can do during this time that will impact our lives in a positive way.

     

    We can see it as being on retreat.  On doing things at a slower more relaxed pace.  Using this time as spare time.  Time to do things we typically have no time to do.  

    We can meditate, write, do art, and enjoy time with ourselves and those we live with.  Taking a break from social commitments and life that often flows at speeds that make us breathless.  Use this as a relaxing resting time. We now have a real reason to be alone.

     

    This may also be the time to practice letting go of control and focusing on the present moment and what we have, and how we are today.  

    Acknowledging the fear; but not giving it too much attention. 

    Rather focus on what this extra time and space is offering us.

     

    What I mostly do not want to do is be part of the panic and rush, that is emptying out the shelves to hoard items at random.

     

    This is asking each of us, do you want to be part of the panic or the calm in the storm?

    What can we do that is reasonable, and even helpful.  Who can we help and how?

    I would rather find alternative ways to replace toilet paper, than be that person who has cases – in case.

     

    We need to think outside of the box, to explore and expand the way we see things. 
    Most of us could live for weeks on what we have in our cupboards, me included. But, we may have to get inventive on what we eat and how much.

     

    I am one of the few, who would love to be told to stay home for a few weeks.  There are projects upon projects I could work on and quilts and art and things I could explore.

    We seem to panic when others panic, instead of going against the grain. 

    Let's all try and tackle this virus with calm and reason.  And, to know there are many different ways in which we can move through this challenge.  We can either be part of the problem or part of the solution.

    We can restrain the impulse to join the panic and lean towards reasonable.

     

    This whole toilet paper deal feels like a visual example of what a panic thought does. It focuses on the wrong thing, and acts in ways that don't make sense, to the reality of what is truly going on.

    The one panic thought, leads to another and it follows folks who are acting unreasonable.

    Having an excess of toilet paper will not protect you from the virus.

     

    Mostly, what we need to focus on, is what will protect us from panic.

    Being in the present and maybe even believing we will be okay; that we will know what to do when the time comes.  Trying to guess or know what is unknowable, is where the anxiety lies.

    Instead believe in you and your ability to adapt to what it will require of you.

    Calm is knowing you will be okay, no matter what.  

    Panic has never solved a problem.

     

    (I had to look up panic "sudden uncontrollable fear or anxiety, often causing wildly unthinking behavior." Hence the run on toilet paper.)

     

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  • March Forth!

    A friend of mine sent this to me this morning.

    "Today is March 4th. A day to collect our strength and boldly march forth. A day, not to forget our struggles but to accept them regardless of how they have affected us. A day to march forth. To march with compassion, understanding and determination, no matter what the past has been, March 4th!"

     

    I may have heard about March Fourth before, but I love the reminder.

    I love the image marching brings up for me, a parade.

    A colorful, magical, badass, marching parade.

     

    A parade of humanity accepting the unacceptable; knowing they don't have a choice.

    It is the route their lives have taken them down.

     

    I am so grateful that I have so many badass friends.  People who have gone through unbelievable pain and suffering, and despite it all, are living lives of integrity, courage, adventure.  Continuing to live lives of great substance!

    I can see the parade of Marching Fourth people.  We are a force to be reckoned with.

    We are fearless, for we know we can survive the unsurvivable.

    And, we need the artistry and color to bolster up our souls.

    Colorful, bright daring individuals are in my parade!

    Marching forth, not only on the 4th of March; but each day and often many times a day.

    March out into the world doing that which needs to be done.

     

    March forth with your whole self. Carrying with us and held tenderly our broken hearts and our wounded souls.  Lavishly decorating them with what brings us love, peace and joy.

     

    Thanks friend for sharing this with me.  I love the parade I am in.  I march forth with you all!  We don't have to march a straight line, or be brave all the time, we just have to keep going forward; together.  We are stronger in a parade!  March forth!

     

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  • Story Line of Becoming

    I felt like I was taking the records of my mentalness as I left Copper Country Mental Health with my quilts. I was taking them out of a safe space. A place that understands, and holds sacred, our mental being.  

    I felt sad, for Joe wasn't there for this transition. He would be so excited to know they were going on the road.  I miss his great hug of confidence. And yet his confidence walks with me.

    As I took down each one, I didn't dwell on them. But, yet each one felt like a piece of my mental breakdown, and a badge of my courage. My broken self and my healing together. Picking up pieces of my self from long ago.

     

    My Story Line quilts, and my most recent quilt, are sharing the same couch today. The history that flows through them, is mine.  Who I was, where I was, and what I was going through, is captured in fabric.

    There is a vulnerability in doing art.  It captures our beginner self.  In these quilts, I also captured my mental wellness or the lack thereof.

    These quilts feel vulnerable – an openness and yet there is tentativeness in doing so.

    I had to look up the definition of Vulnerable.

    "the quality or state of being exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally."

     

    What these quilts carry is vulnerability and courage.

    For, I truly felt completely terrified to be attacked for my openness. And so badass for being so open.

    At the time these quilts were created, I was a mess and my life shattered. 

     

    The woman herself was so small and frightened – and a stranger to me. I had no idea who I was, where I was going, or who I would become.  And, I wasn't even sure of my history.  The state of my world was terrifying and hopeful.  A messy ending and a beautiful beginning.

    The quilts are so beautiful in their artistry.  It blows my mind that someone in the state I was in, could continue to do art.

     

    There was a desperateness in my art.  Or, should I say to do art. I needed so desperately for there to be something alive and beautiful in my world at that time. And, yet it recorded my inner state of vulnerability and unknown – against the backdrop of life.

    For the next three weeks, I will look at these quilts with new eyes and re-read and perhaps re-write captions for them.

    Reconnecting with past self and the trauma she was in.

    I feel such awe in my ability to be so exposed – both artistically and emotionally.

    To share my wounds – not only of being sexually abused, but also that I didn't know who I was or what I stood for etc.  

    Like a bleeding broken self who does art.

    These quilts oddly seem more valuable today, then they did while I was making them. I feel the history and story line of becoming.

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  • Hit and Abandoned

    I was halfway through my route, when a Bright Blue Ford Pickup Truck blew a stop sign and hit the back of my jeep, swinging me sideways, almost hitting vehicles parked at the Feedmill Cafe.

    I caught the bright blue flash, as it barreled towards me, and before I could finish the thought, I was struck hard!

    When I stopped I looked around for the truck, and it was nowhere to be seen.

    This was a hit and run.

    I am okay.

    But, sadly the jeep is not.  It runs down the road, but it is wounded.

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    I felt so violated by that truck.

    Who strikes a vehicle and keeps on going, never looking back to see if I was okay.

    The debris from both our vehicles littered the intersection.

    I called the police.

    I wanted there to be a report.

    The officer, wasn't very helpful.

    I hadn't moved the strewn pieces until he arrived.  Once he surveyed the scene – I went to pick up the pieces.  I found a piece that didn't belong to me, it was from a Ford. Which is why I know it was a Ford Truck.  Part of his headlight and blinker.

    My husband came and changed my tire and looked over the jeep to see if it was okay to continue on the route – it was.

    Needless to say, my day had a punch to it.

    The main thing is I wasn't hurt – just a bit sore from the jarring whip, but okay.

    And, the jeep is drivable until it gets into the body shop.

     

    My license plate lay crumpled in the snowbank. Looking like I felt – hit and abandoned. 

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  • My Lady and I

    My Story Line quilts are heading to Marquette at the end of March. They will be on display in the Huron Mountain Club Gallery, at the Peter White Library, for two months. 

    They have been on display at Copper Country Mental Health for about 6 years.  

    I was reminded as to how long, when a memory popped up on Facebook, of me and the photojournalist who interviewed me for Call Me Mental.  

    I am excited they will have a new audience.  And, they will be there for Sexual Abuse Awareness month, and Mental Health awareness month.  

    It will be fun for me to have them home, for me to look them over, and see if the writings I have for each one needs to be updated or re-written in some way.   I had hurriedly created words for each quilt, when I knew they would be recognized at Copper Country Mental Health.  I wanted an explanation, or what the quilt's message was for me.

    I will be bringing them home next week.

    I can look over each one and see how they are holding up, and sit with each quilt and their message.  A reunion I am looking forward to.

     

    I also have to come up with six sentences about the quilts and I.

    Six lines that will encapsulate the art, and the artist.

     

    I called my show – My Lady and I, the same as the title of the book I created many years ago.

     

    My Lady and I collection – Is a fabric journal of a woman's inner journey from denial into self-awareness.  

    Denial of self, and my sexual abuse as a child; an inward journey to find love, peace, and joy, by embracing my imperfections.

    My art and I evolved together; as my self esteem grew, so did the woman in my quilts.

    I loved my lady; the freedom she had to be herself – and found out she was Me.

    My lady and I are still doing art, still growing and becoming.  When she and I are not playing, I deliver mail 6 days a week, and I am a mother of 4 and grandmother of 2, and a wife of 32 years.

     

    That sounds like a good PR Statement.

    I am excited to go on the road again with My Lady!

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    Six years ago at a reception – that Joe Freed arranged at Copper Country Mental Health.

     

  • Obey My Soul

    When writing about childhood abuse and trauma, there are two sides; the parent's and the child's.  Most often, folks rush to understand and sympathize with the parent; for it is our natural tendency to protect parents.  We have been schooled with "love, honor and obey thy mother and father." 

     

    This one commandment, and belief, often steps in front of a child's healing and self empowerment.

    And, it also leads others to first defend or explain the hows and whys of what a parent did.

     

    Alice Miller in her books – one being "The Body Never Lies", speaks of how this is so damaging.  How just that one simple, yet profound, belief, can stop one from seeing where their trauma came from. As well as seeing their parents in their true colors AND to see the causes of their abuse.

     

    Is it more loving to not see the truth of your parents – and to believe in that which isn't even true?

     

    While it was terrifyingly painful to see a parent that was abusive, it actually allowed me to see my own wounds.

    Can you see a wound, if you don't see who delivered it to you?

     

    Mostly, my intentions is to empower the child/adult child.  I am not really interested or concerned with keeping the 4th Commandment.

    I am much more interested in finding out why we are the way we are.

     

    Imagine what freedom children would have if they were not taught this commandment.  If they were allowed to see their parents clearly.  

     

    In the First Apostolic Lutheran Church, the commandment is taught. And, what is also key, is the forgiveness of sins. So, parents can remain whiter than snow and perfect. Their imperfections cannot be seen or talked about.  

    This commandment also gave my mother protection from her children. I was not allowed to see her sins or call them out.  I actually wasn't allowed anywhere near her religion. She refused to talk about it. That and her husband. I was to only speak of myself.

    How pray tell can you speak of childhood abuse, IF we leave the parents out of the equation?

     

    I dropped the commandment.

    I lowered the shield that protected my parent's and their actions.

    I allowed everything to be seen and felt by me.

    FEEL THIS, is what I often said after receiving a call or letter/card from my mother.

    I had to bring her into reality, in order to fully deal with my abuse.

     

    I had to own the fullness of having a father who is a pedophile.

    I cannot honor, love and obey a man who abuses little girls.

    Is that wrong?  

    It is more, where the commandment is wrong for us who experienced abuse at home.

     

    It is my deepest hope, that I can empower children to heal and end the cycles of abuse.

    And, I do not believe we can do this, and honor the 4th Commandment.

     

    What I want others to know, is that when you rush to feel from the parent's view, you are actually leaving the child without support. Regardless of their age.  If we can stop obeying this one commandment, children will be free to set up boundaries and learn healthy relationships.

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    Some may rush to save the commandment, and that is okay.

     I understand.

    You are free to do so.

    And, I am free to let it go, so I can honor, love and obey my soul. 

     

  • A Mother Who Loves You

    Being estranged from my family, I will not experience many of life's natural moments.  Moments that I believe hold sacred empowerment – the handing off of the torch of life – when a parent passes on.

    A moment that holds more love, than words can eloquently express.

    I am not even sure there are songs that can capture the love between a mother and child.

     

    A woman passed this week.

    Shortly before passing, she was holding her grown son's hand and saying "I love you too."

     

    I know he feels great grief and sadness to lose his first love, and the one that has loved him his whole life. The love that began as a child and saw him through his life – the good times and bad.  And, how he too has known her his whole life.  A life-long friend. And, I am sure there will be a hole where his mother's life was.

    This feels foreign to me.

    While I want to feel sorry for his loss, what I feel more is his years and years of gains.

    The love he has had feels like a mountain – to my next to nothing.

     

    It is hard to articulate what is missing, for what I am missing, I never had.

    A parent's love.

     

    The differences in our worlds where one is color and the other black and white.

     

    I am grateful I do know what love is.

    Love of self.

    Love of spouse.

    Love of my children and grandchildren.

    For that I am very grateful.

     

    Even so, I feel the absence of knowing parental love.

    And, I am moved to tears knowing what some children have.

    The comfort of a mother, like a warm quilt that energetically holds you; always.

     

    I feel the nakedness and cold where love is missing.

     

    Love is something that is odd to explain, and sometimes we feel it most when it is gone.

    Or, when it isn't there.

     

    I feel the greatest reason I left my family was to find love. Real love. Love that doesn't hurt. Love that you can see, feel and hear. Love that weaves moments and memories that will last long beyond my lifetime.

    I see this love between my daughter's and their girls.

    I see this love between my children.

    Between me and my grand children

    And my husband and I.

    And Me.

    Love that feels ouch-less.

    Love that is pure.

    Authentic

    Kind

     

    I am sorry my friend did lose his mom.

    Very sorry.

    For that kind of love will rock your world.

     

    It is interesting to me, that we all feel pain in our lifetimes.

    Pain of not having a mother's love and the pain of losing a mother who loves you.

     

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  • One with One

    What has been so affirming, in the journey of reclaiming myself and my body from a religion, IS how much the body has been used as a tool against us.  And, how the mind turned into the enemy.  It is as if I was living with two very unfriendly aspects of me – posing as friends.

    The church's teachings about the body's sins, and how it was hell bent to bring us to hell, didn't allow me to connect to its wisdom.  Body disassociation – living from the neck up; and even that wasn't good enough.  Our thoughts and imaginations were also not good.

    There wasn't a part of ourselves we could seek for refuge.  It was to live separated from the very things that made us Us.  

    Years ago, when I found out that I owned my toenails, it was shocking.

    I was separate from the large organization that ruled me.

     

    There is a member of my old church who comes to the Art shows, and her first, and sometimes only words to me, are about my hair.  "Nice dye job" – or "Interesting color" etc.

    She only sees the sins of my hair dying.

    She misses seeing me underneath the sinful hair. Just a sinful body.

    A sinner.

    An outsider.

     

    What is hard for me to articulate is that when I was part of the religion, I was not a self, yet I didn't know it. I wasn't able to own/sense/feel or be attached to my body. 

    Even that sounds weird.

     

    But, I can know how I was back then, by being with someone who is still under the trance/beliefs of the cult.  There is no body or sense of self that is separate from the religion.

    They are the religion.

    But without a body and mind.

     

    Again, I am having trouble depicting the cult and person. For the person is the cult.

    And, yet they can see others as belonging (matching) or not.

     

    When you exit a cult like religion, and have autonomy of your body/mind and soul – but you are unaware of how to engage with free will. You leave the cult and gain yourself – a body and a fucked up mind.

    Literally.

    It is to wake up to a very skewed sense of self in a more than alright world.

    Whereas prior the world was messed up and we were right. 

    Right, being a woman who doesn't have control over her own body.

     

    I have tried to talk to many women who are still within the church about how they don't own their own bodies.  They cannot see where they are powerless.

    It is odd.

    They are under the influence of the church; but unaware.

    Totally.

    Their minds are completely minds of the church.

    This isn't only in my old church; the First Apostolic Lutheran Church, but other churches as well.

    Many of these organizations claim humanity, while infringing upon the rights of others, or stating what is wrong with them – being that they are the one right path.

    Church members using god and jesus to disconnect people from their own inner truths and bodies.

     

    Moving and living dead to the fact of their own body and mind, and its natural wisdom.

    How foreign it would be to them and terrifying to own their bodies. To strike out against the church and its sins?  To leave the church and rejoin and connect their body, mind and soul.

    Horrifying at nature's dance.

    Instead feeling the comfort and peace to live disassociated.

     

    The reason I am not interested in finding a new religion, and/or going back to my dysfunctional family IS that I cannot disassociate from Me.

    And, the unwritten or even written rules warrant that I leave me behind.

     

    There were moments, that I felt that in order to make a choice that would be kind or gentle to the family and religion, I would have had to die. 

    I would have had to give up the newly found self.

    She was real.

    I could not turn away from her.

     

    I do not believe that there would be very many adult people who would give up their minds, bodies and souls to enter into a religion.   Which is why most enter in as a child.

    They lose agency over their body and mind before they are even aware.

     

    It is quite shocking to see women disassociated from their body and minds.

    Ruled by an organization; unable to move separately. Think outside of its teachings.

    I used to think there was a woman behind there.

    But, I know from experience, there is not.

     

    When I woke up I felt like a newborn. A toddler in her life.

    Unable to make a decision for myself.

    A choice with its own voice.

     

    I had to walk into my life, sorting out what was Me and what was the church or dysfunctional family.

    Each piece of my world had to be reconnected in ways that honored Me.

    It is no wonder that the body's freedom and self expression seem awkward at best.

    A wondrous vehicle of emotion, feelings, intuition, imagination, expression, passion, that I live in to be Me.

    The body isn't Me.

    And, the church doesn't own it anymore.

    Nor is it a shameful part of the abuse.  

    It happened to it.  

    So, did religion.

     

    My body and mind are tools used by the soul.

    We live together experiencing what it is like to be a woman.

     

    Oh, the years of my youth that I spent miles from my body.

    The numbness.

     

    And, yet I am lucky.

    There are many who are born into the religions and who die there.

    Unaware they have a body and a mind – unable to make a choice and use their voice for self-expression.

    I feel I have lived two lives.

    One without a body, and one with one.

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  • My Natural State

    There is something magical about art, and the multifaceted ways in which a person engages with it.  Being the artist, we are often so close to the process, we are not aware of the breadth or depth it contains.  Much like our lives.

     

    In creating a piece, I never focus on the whole piece, but am lost in each step.  Any more than I am aware of my whole line of quilts I have made in the 20 plus years I have been quilting.

     

    When the nude ladies began to hold my interest, I felt intrigued by their braveness and open acceptance.  It was odd for me to create, minus fun outfits.  

    I was then made to grapple with the woman; alone.

     

    There are so many layers to who we are, and how we present ourselves to the world.

    And, for the most part, we are guilty of 'judging a book by its cover'.

     

    It has been an interesting challenge to create nudes in their natural pose.

     

    Which leads to what is my most natural state. Who am I beneath what I wear and do?

     

    I was used to making woman doing this or that –  a skier, in the woods, and with all its trappings; but now I am challenged with nude woman.  

    How to express her?

    You don't really realize how much of you is covered up or propped up.

    Until you are asked to let them go.

     

    Working with nudes is pushing me to express in different ways – which then leads to seeing things differently – or more deeply.

     

    I am liking the challenge and feel like a beginner once again.

     

    When I began doing art, the background of each piece was where I focused, and then the clothes, and then slowly a body emerged.  

    In working with nudes, it brings the focus more deeper into who the woman is, NOT what she is doing.  And yet the props are still there, but instead I feel the vulnerability of the woman.

     

    Or bravery.

     

    Even her freedom to be seen.

     

    Unapologetically 

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    It is exciting to uncover another layer of life.

     

    Being from a religion, where the body was seen as sinful, and how we were born sinners, that we are somehow bad, in our natural state, nudes feel like sin in my mind at times.

    I also experienced men losing control because of my body.  Or, that my body was the cause of their wrongness.

    There are so many ways in which a body isn't okay.

    We were not taught of its innocence; but rather it was shameful at best.

     

    Empowering myself, and my art, to reclaim my body.

    Getting my mind right happens in Art.

    My body has been innocent all along; but my mind has been twisted in ways that have not allowed me to fully sit in my natural state.