I M Perfect lady

Category: Examples of an Imperfect woman

  • Ahead of time.

    It has been 10 days since my brother and I shared any communication, no emails, no texts, and certainly not a phone call, in silence our relationship is on pause since our last phone conversation.

     

    The silence isn’t pregnant, or full of potential hurtfulness, but rather a soft silence, a silence that is healing and one that we both respect and participate in, but I still miss him.

     

    While he has been sitting in silence, meditating, and being still, as well as doing selfishly for others, I am doing the opposite.

     

    I am working more, crunching more and more into the space of a day, instead of keeping spaces of stillness and peace.

     

    I miss the quiet times, the space allowed to sit and stare at the fire in the fireplace, the pondering of fabrics, colors and design, I miss just doing as I feel, instead of feeling forced into moving.

     

    Delivering mail we are always fighting with time.  This is the first job ever that I had where I feel time is fleeting and the job too large to squeeze in.

     

    I have been doing two routes this past week, one allows us a ride in the country, so at least I get to view nature and find breathing space, the other in town feels really confusing.

     

    I wonder how it feels for him to step out of the time/space continuum and just be.

     

    I know now that I prefer the slower pace, the Artist way.

     

    Tomorrow he will call when his silence has broken, I am wondering if he broke the spell his mind has had on him, did he break through to be more present, settling down the racing mind.

     

    While he experienced the racing mind, I have been racing time and reality.  My slower meditative, contemplative mind is slammed into a hurry up reality.

     

    How will he like being back in his life again?  To once again join the human race.

     

    Isn’t it funny we call it the human race?

     

    What are us humans racing for?

    Is there a prize?  Is there a goal?

    Will those who race faster win this one?

    What is the purpose of this race?

    Who gets to decide how fast we run, where we run, and if we run?

     

    What if we just sit?

    What if we take ourselves out of the race and walk?

    What if we slow down and enjoy the scenery along the way?

     

    My whole life used to be living to get somewhere, now I am somewhere living.

     

    I am here now.

    I am sitting by my fireplace typing, I hear the fire crackling, and have a slight focus on time, but for now I sip my tea and put my thoughts on paper.

     

    Time is always present, but I am too.  We both jostle each other to grab this moment, more and more I win.

    I am ahead of time.

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  • Our time together

    Twenty-seven years ago today, my husband and I began dating.  We had talked to each other almost daily on the phone for 6 months, before we went on a date.

     

    We began talking, sharing and enjoying each other’s differences. In some things we have gotten more alike and in others more different, and through it all maintain our sense of separateness as well as togetherness.

     

    The phrase, “you complete me” doesn’t apply to us, for we are each standing strong alone.  He is not a man who is lacking something that I need to carry, nor does he have a part of me.

     

    In the beginning I was much more lost then him, and I served him always before myself. 

     

    The past five years has been about recovering me, about finding a sense of self that I never had before.

     

    I had told him often in the first years of my recovery that he would be getting a new lady but with the same lady if that makes sense to you.

     

    He didn’t have to leave his marriage, but he is now with a totally different lady.

     

    It took him a while and he grieved for the Me he first fell in love with, but over time and with patience and courage, we both fell in love with the new me.

     

    Our relationship is special and neither of us takes it for granted.

     

    A love that allowed me to be me, a love that flourishes in the good times and in the bad, one that can withstand the changes of life no matter how they appear.

     

    When I think back to the early days of discovering who my father was, to see his picture in the papers, on the radio and on TV, my husband never once considered me too soiled to be with.  He never once dropped my hand.

     

    He never once considered leaving me behind.

     

    I held his hand while I had to do the bulk of the work inside.

    His hand gave me the strength I needed to walk alone.

    Like a good set of training wheels!

     

    As I look back on our journey together, it is one that has allowed us to become more of our selves. 

     

    Neither of us is lost in the relationship, instead we bring our full selves to the relationship called Us.

     

    We are complete alone, but enjoy our time together.

     

  • Powerful in being me.

    For the past year or more, while delivering mail it has occurred to me that I am just the middleman, but many act like I am the one who decides what they receive in their mailbox.

     

    They are thrilled when I deliver a package they ordered, but in a few weeks when I drop off the bill, they seem disappointed and even sometimes angry.

     

    How quickly they forget the thrill of the package and what ever it contained, I guess by the time the bill comes the happiness has waned.

     

    There is a definite similarity between being a mailman and being the Universe.

     

    All we are is the system or the one bringing you what you asked for, or the consequence to a behavior.  I am not certain you can understand this.  But I felt a kinship to the Universe in being held responsible for things that others are doing to themselves.

     

    I have literally no control over what comes in the mail and what goes out, they seem to lose sight of themselves and their actions that are directing the kind of mail that arrives.

     

    We, the mail people are powerless.  The power lies with the box holder, the owner of the box!

     

    In my life the more I watched how my actions or non-actions precipitated a certain result, the more and more I became watchful.  What we do in this step today, will bring something in the future.

     

    It is like we are always ordering from the Universe, always requesting something, we just have to watch what comes and then walk backwards to see when you ordered that.

     

    There isn’t an unkind Universe for some and then a kind Universe for others, it is just like a Big Mail man, and your life is your mailbox.

     

    As I am tentatively contemplating whether to begin a new relationship with my sister, I am in the middle of the action.

    How I approach this action today will decide what the future will be.

     

    I could ignore all my inner instincts and she could too, and we could hop into our old pattern. 

     

    But the Universe would not be to blame for how it turns out, we are.

     

    We are literally the ones we are waiting for.  As Ghandi says, “Be the change you want to see in the world.”

     

    I have to be the change. I have to be the one to speak up, to request what I need, to be the voice, I can’t just sit back and hope that things will iron out eventually.  I have to be the one to do the ironing!

     

    The Universe and I are a team.  I understand that I have just as big of a part as the Universe. 

     

    It is like blaming the mirror for you looking the way you do, for not combing your hair.  It can only change if you are willing to do the work, or be the change, or walk the walk.

     

    The mirror is only telling you what it is you are doing.

    It didn’t messy up your hair.

     

    If you look around your life, who is there and what do they look like, act like, be like? 

     

    They are there because you said it was ok for them to be there. You said it, or maybe you didn’t say that it was not okay.

     

    I love that I am the ‘change’ I see in the world, that it is up to me to be a full participant, and I love how the Universe just abundantly and lovingly gives me whatever it is I ask for.

     

    What I also love is that I am now learning what hurts and what doesn’t, what love is and what it isn’t.  I am finally learning I am powerful in being me.

     

     

  • Heading in the right direction.

    Today I was on a new mail route, new to me mail route.  I have done this route a few weeks back, but today it seemed brand new, again.

     

    It took me longer to find the slot for the letters to go, it was not a natural second nature type tossing, instead it was a hunt and hunt and then hunt some more, trying to remember where their slot was.

     

    After 3 ½ hours of hunting, I finally completed three trays of letter, roughly 300 in each.  It is then time to sort packages and try to put them in the order that they will appear as I drive along the route.

     

    When I had it all the mail in order of delivery, I went outside to get my car, and saw a flat tire. 

     

    I was so grateful I was still in town at the Post Office.  An hour later, with a new tire in place I was ready to begin to find these people in the real world.

     

    Oh my gosh, it is such a riot.  In town it is harder than the country, but we can back track easier.  I never found three mailboxes, but am hopeful that I will tomorrow.

     

    The house faces the street, but the box can be on a side street, so you are driving on street A, and the address on the mail in your hand is for street B, and the boxes are not all marked, so I rode around some blocks twice and had the mailboxes on the wrong side of the street. 

     

    One box I opened today, unbeknownst to me, held a hornet’s nest, I guess that box isn’t used for mail!  My car had a few flying around as I am driving around!

     

    When I arrived at a section on the route where there are 9 cluster boxes, the folks gathered around and we all played, ‘find the right slot’…..it became like a game.  I loved how they wanted me to succeed.

     

    I was so happy to finally after 4 hours, and only 20 miles, make it back to the post office, and even happier to arrive back home. 

     

    As I entered the house, my daughter points out my car is in the driveway “bubble light” is still flashing, going around and around.  This is the second night in a row that I traveled home 20 miles with the light flashing.


    I guess it is now a common site, a caddy riding down the road, me looking so thrilled to be heading home, tired but pleased, my car is empty and heading in the right direction!

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • Willing to try.

    We agree to disagree.  What does that mean?  And can you use that same phrase or sentiment when talking about huge issues?

     

    My sister eloquently wrote about the time that she “flipped my switch to OFF”

     

    Yet they too don’t understand that they hold half the responsibility, that I didn’t just flip the switch unprovoked.

     

    And it wasn’t done lightly or with out pain.

     

    Switching the father to off was done a long time ago, and by him, it just took me 40 years to catch up.  Switching the mother off happened at the same time, or maybe on and off over the years.

     

    Switching the switches of brothers and sisters was much more painful.  And sometimes I am tempted to let them come in even in their disheveled state, but know that it would not serve either of us well.

     

    My switch from having a family to not having a family was not an easy or desired switch, but one I had to make in order to heal myself.

     

    It is odd that I get a whole self and a fragmented family. 

     

    What we are trying to do is to get back together, but how can my sister and I join up again without unflipping the switch.

     

    I will not flip back around, it is not that simple.

    And I am not certain she wants to flip either.

    To join back in the stance of “agree to disagree” seems near impossible.

    How do two sisters do that?  Especially one who embraces the father and the other runs in terror, who will flip?

     

    She comments on ‘having to agree’ in order to have a relationship, and sometimes I do understand that you can get along without agreeing, but on this???

     

    I am an open-minded person, but not that open-minded.

    What she seems to be asking is for no boundaries on my part.

     

    This saga will continue.

     

    I am standing in total befuddlement as to how to mend this broken fence. 

     

    I stand in awe that she is willing to try. 

     

     

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  • We failed to start.

    “Out beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right-doing
    there is a field. I'll meet you there.”

                  Rumi

     

    When I look at my siblings, especially the ones that I haven’t spoken to, seen or interacted with in many years, I wonder if there is an opening, a new beginning, a place for us to meet, where we can begin to forge a new relationship.

     

    My sister is attempting to walk back in, yet I feel we both have ‘standards’ that we won’t compromise.  We both are holding onto ‘beliefs’ either old or new, that we clutch desperately to ourselves.

     

    What will it take for us to meet and begin anew? 

     

    To meet is to introduce our selves to each other. To open the dialogue and exchange information with integrity or honesty as we know it.

     

    I put out a few questions that remain unanswered, so then what.  Do I just meet her as a ‘surface sister’ one who only can skate along the surface of life, the trivial and vanilla subjects, to not glance back or delve to deeply, just comment like pleasant strangers?

     

    What would our field beyond the right and wrong be?  What place could we meet?

     

    Is there a way that I can begin and she could follow, or do I follow her?  Where is she going?  How can I know, if she doesn’t bring me in to confidence?

     

    A thought came to me yesterday, “would we be friends if my father was out of the picture?”   Let’s just keep this between two ladies and take out the others, to drop the people that cloud the issues.  What then would we have in common?  Is there a place we would meet then?

     

    Since I have been absent in her life the past 5 years or more, there is much I don’t know, so I am back to where I started. 

     

    Introduce me to yourself, and I will share me with you, and then we will see if we still want to play together in this field called life.

     

    When I spoke to a Therapist, she stated the levels of human interaction, ‘social niceties’ was on the top, and I believe intimacy was on the bottom.

     

    Looking backwards into my family exchanges, we were mostly up near social niceties; we never seemed to talk about the things we should be talking about.

     

    There was an elephant in the room or the uncomfortable feeling in the midst of a conversation.

     

    It seemed we were always stopped before we could shed our façade and just be ourselves.  We had to pretend to be something we were not, like fake being comfortable, fake being ok, fake being pleasant, to be accepted.

     

    I am no longer willing to fake anything or suppress a feeling or thought; I want to express openly who I am.

     

    Our initial conversation reveals that she is not willing to even read the blog, for it is all about me, then who is she wanting in her field to play with?

     

    When Rumi says, ‘I will meet you there,’ I guess I was picturing two people meeting, not just one.

     

    I looked up the meaning of relationship;

    noun. the quality or state of being related; connection; connection by blood, marriage, etc.; kinship; a particular instance of being related; a continuing attachment.

     

    When I read ‘kinship’ I now understand.  I want them to be related to abuse, to connect with the abuse, when in their minds it is absent. 

     

    There is no meeting of the minds, and can you have a relationship with some one you feel no kinship?

     

    Kinship, are we sisters of the same cloth? 

    We were both draped with the cloth of abuse.

     

    And I am asking her to disrobe, to take off what she has been using to cover it up.  She is clutching that tightly, and is it up to me to tear it off?

     

    And I feel she is asking me to cover up, to not show all my ‘dirty laundry.’

     

    We are sisters of the same cloth, but differently displayed. 

     

    What field than can we go in?  Where can we both stand?  I see us yet to begin.

    We haven’t started to start.

    We failed to start.

     

     

     

  • I know you can.

    My brother is at a ten-day silent Vipassana retreat.  This is his second time there, and this time he is a volunteer and will help with the food preparation and clean up as well as meditate for three hours a day.

     

    This meditation practice is called the ‘insight meditation.’  I hope his blog www.messyguru.typepad.com will have entries about it upon his return.

     

    His first time was almost a year ago, around Thanksgiving time he was an attendee and they meditated all day long.

    He had a wild ride; with emotions, crazy thoughts and beliefs all celebrating the fact that he stopped doing to just sit with them awhile.

     

    I applaud his courage to just sit.  He is facing full on all that is upside down and backwards, to sit in silence and encourage thoughts that most run away from. 

     

    The busyness of life can camouflage all the roots of anxiety, making it near impossible to figure out why you run.

     

    Imagine stopping everything.  Like every little thing, and have someone taking care of you, so all you have to do is be with your self awhile, ok for TEN days. 

     

    For many many months I had my own semi-vipassana here.

    I didn’t know such a fancy word, but I sat and sat and then I sat.

     

    I watched birds, and my mind was churning and cranking and spitting and sputtering, whirling around and around, trying to make sense of the nonsensical. 

     

    Just had to look up the meaning of nonsensical.

    noun: words or language having little or no sense or meaning. conduct, action, etc., that is senseless, foolish, or absurd: to have tolerated enough nonsense.

     

    Boy is that the truth.  I was trying to figure out ‘words or language having little or no sense or meaning.’  Wow.

     

    And those words held meanings such as love, family, caring, or faith of my childhood, and they now became nonsensical.

     

    I recall almost feeling the daily flush of embarassment, to be such a gulible believahead in light of reality crashing upon it.

     

    It is like you have built up your own fairytale world, but wholeheartedly believing it and walking around unknowing it is a huge mistake, yet in full confidence and even arrogance.

     

    The ‘Bliss of Ignorance of Abuse” is horrifying to realize. 

     

    I was shocked motionless, which is kinda like a ‘forced vipassana,’ and I literally just wanted to get inside my head and see what was up, where I had it so wrong.

     

    How nice to have a place that is safe and where folks will take care of you as you encounter the thoughts/beliefs of your mind.

     

    As I sat here day by day, I also had to try and maintain some semblence of normal, to cook, clean, and engage with my kids and husband.  The overlay of vipassana and normal life I would not recommend.  However, I do know you can do it.

     

    I also was Blessed with a caring husband, a working caring husband, and my children were old enough to take care of their needs, as long as I still took part in some of the mothering.  But even that I was replused from, for what kind of a mother was I, if I believed in nonsensical things? 

     

    My job was one day a week.  So I literally had all day long to vipassana, and then to quickly put together a meal, straighten up the house, and put on my ‘volunteer’ sticker and after that fall into bed.

     

    It was such a juxtaposition to do the vipassana all day and then be a normal mother/wife when they popped back in.

     

    But I do now believe that the ‘normal’ life added with vipassana kept me from going insane.

     

    My husband always always believed that I was strong enough to handle all of this, he never wavered not once.

     

    My life was perfectly set up to do this at home vipassana insight meditation, and it didn’t matter how I breathed or sat, but that I was intent on not being distracted.  In fact my daily distractions were what kept me with one hand on reality.

     

    I know that as he sits with nonsensical things floating around in his head, nonsensical things that terrorize his body, bring up huge amounts of anxiety, he is one brave soul.  And I am so grateful that he too will have the opportunity to be distracted taking care of somebody.  It gives you a purpose, it helps you begin to build up a new image, a new you.

     

    His heart is open wide, his intent is beyond reapproach, and is willingness of spirit brings admiration. 

     

    I am cheering you on….I know you can!

  • My words.

    Sometimes the ears we want to hear are not open. Sometimes the words we have to speak get stuck in our throats, sometimes we have to speak no matter what and sometimes become silent in knowing.

     

    I heard Oprah say that during Integration in the South, it was easier to overcome, because it was ignorance that directed the actions of the white, not hatred.

     

    Isn’t that interesting.

     

    I too feel the same way.  I guess if you are the one who feels the unfounded fears coming your way, you know the truth beyond their fears.  You know yourself.

     

    My family isn’t taking actions against me in hatred, but rather in ignorance.  They truly don’t know better.

     

    “Forgive them they know not what they do,” is a line that has kept me balanced. 

     

    It is so much easier to forgive ignorance.

     

    The forgiving is the easy part.  The desire to teach them, to open their eyes is like a thirst I can’t seem to quench.  I want so bad to stop the ignorance and all the suffering that tags along.

     

    They say, “Ignorance is bliss’ but not in this case.  It isn’t blissful to walk along amidst abuse, with a body and mind at battle, absent from your natural state.

     

    If I felt they were all rolling around in giggles with peace love and joy, I could walk away and let them be.   But even if they don’t outwardly show it, inside there is little peace.

    Peace is sometimes gotten from distractions, but it doesn’t tarry very long.  Love is something to grasp from another, not an item securely locked inside.  Joy comes in fleeting moments soon to slip away yet again. 

     

    Abused ignorance is not bliss.  It is hell we are taught to believe it isn’t. 

     

    How to reach them, teach them, nudge them into knowing, how to dispel years and years of fixed beliefs, how to rid them of anxiety that grows with leaps and bounds, how to save them from themselves?

     

    How to teach an unwilling student about a subject that all systems are programmed to run from, like turning around a magnet the resistance is so huge.

     

    Something within me desires to speak, to share my words, to continue to write about this, to make aware things they are unaware of, to continue to write in hopes that one day even one will have an ah ha moment.

     

    Words falling on deaf ears….does that make the words less truthful, less meaning full, less relevant?

     

    No wonder I could relate to Susan Boyle as being her opposite.  She opened her mouth and all took in her beautiful voice….It may be my words.

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  • Silence of our family.

    While pondering how my family didn’t like what they saw in me at the time of our discovery of my father being a pedophile, they didn’t seem to have the same adverse reaction to him.

     

    While I reacted viscerally to him and this new news, they seemed unaffected, meaning they treated him as before. 

     

    Yet they began to treat me differently.

     

    My father and I, it seems stood in the truth of who we were.  His role and then mine, and it seemed for some reason, they were not able to handle mine, but his.

     

    Isn’t it odd that they were able to bring him to counsel, to visit him in jail, to pay his defense fees, to give him a lighter sentence, to make sure his every need was taken care of in this new Light.

     

    But when it came to seeing me in a new light, no one even tried.  And here we are four and a half years later and ‘I can’t read your blog.’

     

    I am not asking them to escort me, to pay any money, to excuse my behavior, to take one step for me, but it is not something they want to do.  More repulsed by me!

     

    I just find this fascinating, how it reveals and sheds light on why abuse is able to prevail, for the families stand arm and arm with the perpetrator and let the victim walk alone.

     

    My mind has a hard time understanding how this works in their world.

     

    What I had felt at the time of his arrest, trial etc, was that way more attention is paid to the pedophile, and very little to the victim.  I know that I am not a victim of that trial, that I was too old, too many years have passed, I had nothing to contribute to his trial, but from my prospective the system is only catering to one side.

     

    Off balance in society and in families.

     

    I am not surprised that little children are silently suffering alone.  I am not surprised, for they too felt it viscerally to the depth of their beings; they were being left behind, because they were now changed.

     

    Two people are changed at the time the child speaks, two people are turned into something different, and in my experience, the child/victim is to blame, feels the responsibility in turning a so called normal man into a monster.

     

    In fact it is up to the child to ‘prove it’ they have to be strong enough to stand against a team of people that are daring you to expose the unthinkable.

     

    Even at my big age and size, it is daunting to sit in a place where they don’t want to hear your experience, and the hurt they project that we caused.

     

    Again, two people changed that day, and I was the worse of the two, I was one who they didn’t want to hear. 

     

    I know they will say, that I did not try, but I recall the phone calls where it seems I was going against the power of the Universe to convince them our father was a monster.

     

    Impossible task, and what I was really stating, I was not going to be the usual sister, I wasn’t going to be the usual daughter, the usual victim, and it was easier to assume his new change than mine.

     

    This will ride along with me today as I once again toss mail.

     

    I am harder to deal with than a pedophile, wow.

     

    We both turned and he was easier to be with……incredible!

     

    “In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”   

               Martin Luther King.

  • A sad, but kinder me.

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    My facebook had a message today, my sister responded.

    She will not be reading my blog, ‘because that is your truth/your feelings and it is not about me.”

     

    She is correct.  Yet I find it interesting she is unwilling to read it.

     

    I am not sure what that means for our ‘broken’ relationship.

    How can we come together if one side will not listen to the other? 

     

    What I recall most from all my siblings is their defense, and maybe that is what they remember of me.

     

    It seemed that we were two teams.  I was a team of one.

     

    And maybe we all are supposed to be teams of one.

     

    It doesn’t seem like they are teams of one, but one big team standing together in agreement.

     

    Funny, I had thought they would be interested in reading why I walked away, that they would want to know.

     

    I wondered what would hurt more, them not reading or reading and not believing. 

     

    It is odd to be so visible, yet so hidden.

    To be so open, yet closed off.

     

    This just leaves me sitting in a weird spot.

     

    She says, “You havent wanted any contact with me, not the other way around.”  Yet she doesn’t see that when I invite her to my blog, to hear my view etc, she walks away.

    She doesn’t see her own actions, she doesn’t see herself turn away from me.  Just that I am doing something she doesn’t want to see.

     

    Interesting to see the two sides.

     

    She walks away and blames me.

    Incredible.

     

    No wonder I replied, “I have no words, none that you care to hear.” 

     

    The only way she would come back is if I were to change my words.

     

    I can’t.

     

    My authentic truthful self is one that makes them turn away.

     

    I knew this, but hadn’t put it in writing.

     

    My sister gave me that opportunity to know that it was not I who walked away, I simply faced them with my truth and they turned away.

     

    Wow, this is new knowledge to me, for I always held myself responsible for tossing aside a family.  I just didn’t see that they tossed me aside.  I felt it, I felt the undeniable abandonment, but it did seem like I was the one to blame.

     

    It seemed like a self inflicted wound.

     

    For four years I have held myself responsible for me walking away.  When all I was guilty of was speaking my truth, a truth that had them walking away.  I feel better in a odd way, that it wasn’t me that left them, they left me.

     

    Somehow I feel kinder about myself.

    A sad, but kinder me.

     

    “There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth; not going all the way, and not starting.”

               Buddha