I M Perfect lady

Category: Examples of an Imperfect woman

  • Without your truths.

    I sat with my old self yesterday and caught a glimpse of how I used to be, how if it weren’t for the truth exploding into our family, where I too would be caught.

     

    I saw her living in two worlds, locking up her truth before entering each side, so a part of her was always in the closet.

     

    And to me the part that gets locked away is the truth, for there will be a price to pay to let it out.  And the price is very large…huge in some cases, your whole family is on the line, if the truth slips out of the closet.

     

    She continues to walk into a church she no longer believes in, to keep her family believing she is there. And her family needs her to arrive so they too can pretend she is still the same girl.

     

    She knows if she doesn’t arrive, if she speaks her truth, her whole world will change.

     

    As I left her yesterday, a song was playing on the radio, and the words filled my jeep, “I am not ready to say good-bye…”

     

    In life we are often asked to pick between staying and not being truthful or leaving with the truth and all it curtails.

     

    When you are raised and believe in a religion that is based on pretending and false facts, and your whole world is comprised of this, you will lose your whole world.

     

    While greeting the truth, you have to say good-bye to your pretend family.  I say pretend, for you will know them by how they respond to your truth, until then, it is all pretend.

     

    In my family of origin, it was built primarily on false facts, the façade and truth hid in the closet.  All then acted, pretending there was no such storage for all the sins she blessed away.

     

    It wasn’t until one sin fell out that the rest came tumbling after and I was overrun with truth.

     

    I am not certain how the rest could just push it all back in and go on pretending, but they did and have.  Their capacity for hiding is much larger than mine. 

     

    While it may seem that they have once again locked the door, I believe that we all get to face our truths some day.

     

    I can’ t know when, nor can I force you to open your door and let them out, to live with them in harmony.

     

    Our truths don’t disappear, just because we fail to look upon them, instead what happens is you live a life without them, a pretend life.

     

    You get to have a pretend father and mother.

    You can have pretend sisters and brothers.

    You then get pretend security of being surrounded by folks who care.

     

    As I found out, if you open your closet of truth, your pretend family disappears.

     

    Most are not willing to say good-bye to pretend…while I thought they did not want to face the truth.  It isn’t the truth they fear, but the façade of pretend. They truly don’t want to know it is made of up fakeness.

     

    It is better to live in the comfort of fakeness than to live alone with your truth.

    Yet who are you without your truths?

     Smug mug pics 602

    “Every exit is an entrance somewhere else. “

    ~Tom Stoppard

  • Wearing a Tag, “Family”.

    My daughter waved her hand above her head in a crazy type way in explanation to who I am… Nuts.

    Yep, nuts…over zealous about abuse, that I will give up family for it, that I will sever relationships for it.  I am WAAAY out there… 

    Yep, that’s me.

    I felt she had me pegged completely; there was no argument there.

    While perhaps I would not categorize myself as insane, when it comes to dealing ‘rationally’ with abuse, I guess I am nuts.

    I will not tolerate it at all.  No matter from whom and especially when it comes to my kids.  I am overboard certifiably nuts.

    I tried to explain to her my viewpoint, but it is near impossible to explain, it is the old adage, you had to be there. 

    While I do believe we had a reasonable conversation, I felt she tried to come over to my side… it was impossible for her, and I am grateful.

    In order to see abuse like I see abuse, you would have to have been abused like me…she never tasted abuse like I have…her abuse was delivered to her by me.

    I told her the only abuse she has ever had came from me.

    I was irrational, unreasonable, and way more nuts when they were young compared to how I am today. 

    She said I am okay now, unless it comes to abuse, then I go nuts.  So, I have changed.

    In the past I was okay with abuse and went Nuts in the normal day-to-day living.  I love this.

    Do you get it?  I am seen as being nuts for going insane about abuse, by talking of it, warning others of it, writing my way free of it, seeing it when it appears, I am focused and relentless when it comes to abuse. 

    She said, you go way out there and am unreasonable about abuse, and I smiled and said, “yes that is me, I do do that!”

    I tried to explain to her that her grandmother was ‘reasonable’ with abuse. She didn’t want to lose her family so she was kind and ‘rational’ with abuse. 

    That I am okay being nuts when it comes to abuse. 

    I truly don’t mind the name calling and the finger pointing, the shunning and anger that is directed toward me as I staunchly remain unreasonable with abuse.

    I told her it matters not how they see me. What matters the most is that my children see a mother who will not sit down and be friendly with abuse.  I want them to see how to treat abuse by watching me.

    Abuse is not my friend.  

    I will lose relationships to step away from abuse.  I will not put ‘family’ above it.

    Meaning that just because my father was family, I should over look his abuse. Just because my mother is family, I should overlook the years she overlooked abuse.  Just because my brother is family, I should overlook his supporting abuse.

    To see family first …is what abuse is relying on.

    For if you see the family first, abuse slips by unnoticed.

    I am nuts about this, I refuse to let abuse slip by even wearing a tag “Family”.

     

  • 100 Proof.

    When I hear people so vehemently defending their religion, it almost seems like they are taking it personally, perhaps too personal, like there isn’t a self left standing, that the self and the religion are one.

     

    In my experience within the FALC, that the stamp of the church infected each one of my roles.

     

    In fact as a child, you were first taught what a sin was.  That you could or could not do this, not by what was kind or good for humanity, but rather what is good for being a First Apostolic. 

     

    So, instilled within us was the foundation of the FALC, before we even knew who we were, we identified ourselves as First Apostolic, and it ruled our lives from the time we were very little.

     

    Not only that, but the adults in our lives, the ones we depended upon for food and shelter, also lived by this formation. The FALC controlled them, not reasonable thought or what was good for their own family, but what was seen as good within the church.

     

    If you look at how we were indoctrinated from the time we were just babies, it is easy to see how any comment that is shining a light or seemingly smearing the church, it is actually feeling personal, for there is very little about the self that isn’t created by the FALC.

     

    And while deeply invested and entwined within the confines of the religion, there is very little self exposed, so any comment will feel like a direct hit.

     

    Otherwise, if this weren’t so, the reactions would not be so rabid…there could be two people having a discussion.

     

    Yet as far as my experience goes, having a dialogue with someone who is 100 proof of religion or abuse, all you talk to is the religion or the abuse.

     

    You can’t get to the individual or self, for each role and thing they do is seen first through the lens of abuse or religion.

     

    There is no separation…or awareness, it is one solid piece and no matter what words you use or what tone of voice or what research you have found, what the truth literally is, IF it something being said about the 100% make up of who they are, they will react and not respond.

     

    Their reactions will be from fear and understandably so.

     

    I have very little recollection of my years in the FALC, for I was missing.  There was no self there.  I moved through life following the group more or less or feeling shame and guilt if I didn’t.

     

    Mostly I would say shame and guilt for not being a good member.

     

    I didn’t marry within the religion, and I feel that was the first weakening of the hold the religion had on me.  And they do preach that the devil is out there waiting to pull you out.  And it does, but I don’t see it as a devil.

     

    I seen myself from the view of the church or the view of how my family saw me…or the view of how my husband saw me, or the view of how my friends saw me. But never a view of how I saw my self.

     

    If you took all the views away…or without them giving me value, I disappeared.

     

    And in fact, when my family’s abuse came into view, I lost a huge part of my self, for I lived for them.  Then when I discovered that the church knew of my abusive father and that he was blessed repeatedly, even for the latest little girl BY her father, I lost another huge chunk of who I was.

     

    In a few short days, I stood alone.

     

    It was then that I knew I had no me.

    All I had was a person who had been built up by what was needed by the religion and family too. But I had built very little of me and I was 46 years old.

     

    Oh, I suppose I had 25% me.  My art…well maybe not that high, I guess it was more like 5%. 

     

    That 5% was pure me.  And it was from that small beginning I began adding more and more of me into me…and each time I discover another vein of religious or abusive beliefs or thoughts…I know it is another percentage of me coming forth to be brought upright.

     

    So, as I read the comments of those who feel so viscerally attacked, I understand.  For there is very little of you that isn’t made up of FALC ingredients, you may be 100 proof.   

  • One Person to say his name.

    Julia Cameron asks at the end of last chapter, “Did you do your artist date this week?  Did you use it to take any risks? What did you do?  How did it feel?”

    So, I thought what do I fear the most…what do I feel is a risk?

    And what came was looking into the File of My father’s at the Houghton County Courthouse.

    I had pictured this file filled with evidence, victim’s stories, horrific re-counting of their interactions with my father.  A box filled with the demons of his life, an ugly box heaped with things I truly didn’t want to know, his secret life was tucked inside…all the dirt the detective had dug up.  How he traveled from Texas to here, the he said, she said type stuff. 

    I thought I would come face to face with secrets finally brought to the open by my little friends…I would read about, my sisters and their friends, and the truth would be laid bare for me.

    I had to take the risk that I was strong enough.

    This morning when I read that sentence, I decided after work, I would go…stepping through my fear and open that file/box and sort through and face the demons of my childhood.

    I called ahead, so it would be waiting for me.   A file for one. 

    As I parked in front and walked up the steps, I held the railing I knew my father held as he walked down a free man …one of the last things he touched in his hometown before he left for Texas in May of 2005.

    I shook my head to keep me in the present…and kept following my moving feet, bringing me closer to what I had feared these last six years…all the stories of the little girls who suffered because of this one man, my father.

    I entered a room with two smiling normal looking ladies… and asked to see my father’s file. 

    There on the table sat this bright yellow file folder, thin, wimpy, absent of all horrific stories, folder.  It held legal documents and signatures, formalities that had odd titles.

    The paper my brother signed when he paid his bail, the check for most of it being refunded back…he didn't lose too much.

    I asked is this it? 

    And they asked, “what are you looking for?”

    I told them, six years ago when he was being tried, our stories, the victim’s stories were being passed around. The defense attorney had them, the prosecutor had them, and my brother had them, my mother had them…and now I wanted to see them. 

    I explained, at the time, I was too weak to take them in, but now I am feeling braver and want to see what they all read and knew about us victims. Where is the evidence, the story about why he was in court,  and that these papers didn't say too much? It was the glossy version.

    The kind ladies tried to show me the pertinent documents, what he was convicted on, what the plea bargain was, etc. 

     I said this file doesn’t hold the evidence… just the papers for the court.

    As I was leaving, feeling like I had gotten to just read the footnotes of his story, I bumped into the secretary of the prosecutor…a girl I know. 

    She said that perhaps the next time she is in the attic, she would look and see if there is more to his story in their files…but it was a long time ago.  Not that long I said, only six years.  To me it could have been yesterday.  She too was kind and seemed like she wanted to help…but didn't have what I was looking for. 

    She also suggested I go next door to the sheriff’s office and see the detective, perhaps he can find the file with the victims stories…the evidence. 

    So, I made the short walk and asked to see the detective.   He was out on the road, so I could leave my name and number and the reason I needed to see him.

    I told the sheriff, I wanted to see my father’s file, the evidence of his pedophile ways, to read about what they found in order to bring him to trial.  He too asked, why?

    I said I wanted to read the stories that were passed around like a newspapers back then, but I had been too afraid to read, that I was braver today.

    He smiled.  What none of them know, is that in the 'evidence' is a story of my rape, recounted by my childhood friend.  A memory, that I failed to record…that I was feeling brave enough to read about. 

    It was my victim story I wanted to see…Now that I am brave enough, made the trip, walked up the steps, opened the door…maybe I will not ever get to see that story, but what I did was face my ultimate fear. 

    We chatted, about how the system is so backwards, how families are able to sentence the pedophiles, and how their charges are reduced due to parents not wanting their children on the stand facing the man who hurt them….  We both agreed that it is so backwards that a child has to be the strong one, to stand against not only the one who hurt them, but the folks who all are connected to him.

    I stood on one side of the counter and him on the other, both of us on the same side of this issue, neither one of us able to make a difference. 

    I said I would like to talk to the detective, to give him names that I have heard, of other guys like my father, but that I didn’t have much more than that, just names that keep coming up, folks keep talking about them, but nothing seems to happen. 

    I said I wanted to give him them names so I didn’t have to carry them.

    I said to leave lots of time, for I am long winded when it comes to talks of this nature.

    He seemed kind and listened and took my name.  I will see if the detective will be willing to talk to one of the girls whose letter is in the illusive evidence file…

    I feel I could work with them and shed light from this side of the counter, the family side…the little girl side, the victim side.

    I faced my fears, I took a risk and I feel that I am stronger because of it.

    It wasn’t a usual Artist Date, but one that brought me confidence and empowerment.

    It opened the doorway to a full circle moment.  I can be the ‘stranger’ that reported ‘something’ isn’t right in that family….  I can be the one who spoke up, who brought it to the attention of the authorities…to allow some one like me who is waiting for someone to notice, someone to care enough, to be brave and step out and take a risk, point a finger at the source of so many rumors. 

    I can’t know if my speaking will begin to shake the family tree, but I can know that my silence will keep their secrets secret.

    What I don’t want to have happen is for me to be one of the folks who knew and did nothing. 

    I have had these names of the guys, but I thought I needed the names of a child who is appearing to act like they have suffered abuse. But now I know, you can report the names of guys/girls who you have heard part take in abusive behavior, you don’t need a child to start the ball rolling, a child is waiting for you to push it down the hill…

    I also believe a child will intuitively feel that real help has arrived, that they are safe to share their story.

    But, we…the adults in the world have to brave enough to speak their names out loud and to the authorities.

    If you have names, but are not brave enough, share them with me, I will take the names from you so you too no longer have to carry them.

    Carrying their names is carrying their secret.

    And while carrying their secret a child suffers alone waiting. 

    Waiting for some one to notice.

    Someone to see the monster they have experienced. 

    All it takes is one…one person to say his name.

     

     

  • With me.

    In Chapter 8, Recovering a Sense of Strength (in The Artist’s Way, by Julia Cameron), she writes.

     

    “One of the most difficult tasks an artist must face is the primal one; Artistic Survival. All artist must learn the art of surviving loss; loss of hope, loss of face, loss of money, loss of self- belief.  In addition to our many gains, we inevitably suffer these losses in an artistic career.  They are the hazards of the road and, in many ways, its signposts.  Artistic losses can be turned into artistic gains and strengths – but not in the isolation of the beleaguered artist’s brain.”

     

    “ As mental-health experts are quick to point out, in order to move through loss and beyond it, we must acknowledge it and share it.  Because artistic losses are seldom openly acknowledged or mourned, they become artistic scar tissue that blocks artistic growth.  Deemed too painful, too silly, too humiliating, to share and so to heal, they become , instead, secret losses.”

     

    “If artistic creations are our brainchild, artistic losses are our miscarriages. Women often suffer terribly, and privately from losing a child who doesn’t come to full term. And as artist we suffer terrible losses when the book doesn’t sell, the film doesn’t get picked up, the juried show doesn’t take our paintings, the best pot shatters, the poems are not accepted, the ankle injury sidelines us for an entire dance season.”

     

    “We must remember that our artist is a child and that what we can handle intellectually far outstrips what we can handle emotionally.  We must be alert to flag and mourn our losses.”    Julia Cameron

     

    What I love about this first page of the chapter is how we have to learn how to survive loss.

     

    In life it seems we are so focused on other things, no one teaches us how to mourn the little things, so when the huge ones arrive, we too can use the same techniques.

     

    And I love how what we don’t mourn becomes our scar tissue, the bumps and bruises we did not sit with and honor their presence in our lives….don’t really disappear, but ride along gathering a thick skin…scar tissue.

     

    It will literally feel like we are tearing off the scab to now deal with loss from long past. To even sit with a self that was robbed of being so…all the little ways I failed to hold on to me.

     

    I now am gathering to me all the parts that I gave away, and bringing them back to my center, my attention and my awareness.

     

    I love that loss must be acknowledged and shared…for that is how we can not only see our wound but let other see it, so we all can acknowledge it, honor it…and it will then fade away.

     

    Who knew that it was the ‘hiding’ and keeping our hurts secret that we suffer the most?  It seems airing our loss is where our strengths will be found.

     

    I know that this blog has been a great show and tell for me and I am grateful and humbled by those who read and witness it with me.  This sacred place is more healing where two or more are gathered in truth. Thanks for being here with me.

     

  • Rob me of being Me.

    Doesn’t it seem like people lose their senses when it comes to love and religion, that they leave their common sense and critical eyes behind, and blindly follow?

     

    How is it that matters of the heart and soul are often sold to snake oil salesmen speaking of a promise land, someday?

     

    The seemingly intelligent folks who fall victim to the fairy tale most religions spin is utterly amazing to me, that we will give up the very insides of us for their cause.

     

    We will give up the right to our bodies, our minds, our hearts and our souls…until all that is left is a shell.

     

    A useless shell, for there is no heart, no soul, and no mind.  We become members along their narrow pathway leading to the promise land.

     

    We sell all our todays, all our feelings within our hearts, all the stirrings of our souls, for Heaven after we die.

     

    What they fail to tell us is we are the walking dead.  That we of our own free will and ourselves is dead.

     

    We have no I.

    We have no me.

    We have no self that is free to live, as it wants.

     

    And grown women give up the rights of their bodies, minds and souls and call this a spiritual experience with God?  How???

     

    It sounds like a very dysfunctional love affair.  Where one has all the power and the other is stripped of all sense of self.

     

    That was my old relationship with God…it was self less.

    Without common sense or my eyes, my ears, my feelings, my intuition, my gut, my instincts, my heart and my soul, my passion, my gratitude.  I was absent; I disappeared in order to love that god.

     

    And that god as far as I can tell is the devil who wanted my soul…a destroyer god, one who stole my free will.

     

    In my experience the God that I now know, the one who orchestrates the stars, the moon, and is intimate with each blade of grass, wants for me more than I can dream myself.

     

    He isn’t here to rob me of being Me.

     

  • An Old Friend I outgrew.

    I went and did yoga this morning, and it felt sooo good.  My body yearns to be stretched, my neck and jaw are so tight, that I could stay much longer in the postures that are pulling on those muscles.  My arms also are sorely in need of being put in awkward positions as to stretch the bunched up overworked muscles always going in one direction.

     As I work sorting mail my left arm is bent to hold a pile of mail, this arm was painfully stretched out and that felt so good.

    Towards the end of my hour and a half routine, it came to me that my programmed self needs a body that is sluggish and asleep, in order to pull a quick one on me time and time again. 

    So, there has been a struggle within me, as my awareness becomes more aware, the odd twist between my ‘treats’ and how they feel are coming to light, and their gig is up. 

    I believe that the more brainwashed you are and the more confused you are about what feels good and what is bad…the more you need to have a shut down body.

    Perhaps a clear mind starts to crave foods that will help the body be a clear signal reader too. 

    I just feel that the mindset I had matched the shutdown foods that I ate.  They swayed in harmony together, holding each other up. 

    Yoga is a health food in my day; and I don’t like the way my body feels when it misses this.

    It also came to me while mowing the grass…We never ‘miss’ a sweet treat, or short ourselves on chocolate, or cheat and only eat a half a candy, but when doing yoga, I am tempted to stop early or doing anything that is truly good, we tend to slough off…but the old reliable bad stuff we are faithful to.

    Just interesting to notice where we cut corners and when we take more than our fair share.

    Perhaps soon I will be a yoga hog and glutton when it comes to fresh fruits and veggies and my old sweet treats will become an old friend I outgrew.

     

  • Programmed self.

    Sometimes I sit here aghast at the programming that runs within me and wondering how much of it is left running, when will I uproot the last thread.

     

    It is hard to believe that each and every thing we do is for a reason, it has a belief attached to it, an ironclad will that has been laced through the middle…and we have to destroy it or it will destroy us.

     

    It is like having an enemy’s mind living in our cells.

     

    I have been putting off having a sweet treat for a few hours to regain control of my craving button.  Usually, the button goes off and I run to find what it craves. 

     

    I am coming to learn that I will not die or go crazy without it, and that the whining subsides and the mind goes on to something else.  It is talking back to the control or putting it on pause that I believe will eventually give me back my power.

     

    This programmed system that has been running my life is more than the abuse and the church, for both also imprinted on me that bad was good and good was bad, that self loving was bad, and neglect was good, that feeling wretched was good and feeling good was bad.

     

    Which is why it is so hard to get one clear precise belief on any one thing, for my major CPU reads bad good and good bad.

     

    Even if my mind knows best, my operating system discerns the opposite. 

    Just as foreign as I seem to my family, which is what a veggie treat feels like to my body.  Or my actions of yoga compared to actions of co-dependency my family of origin is used to. They want to feed upon me, not have me be my own self.

     

    I am not certain I can articulate this correctly, but me doing good for me feels bad for them.  And me doing good for me feels bad for my programmed old self.

     

    What is good for my programmed self will destroy my real self.

     

    What is bad for the programmed self is good for me.

     

    I am getting the twist and seeing that it is normal to feel the angst and stress and force it takes to wrestle back our rightful feelings, to unhook and rehook them onto the right feelings.

     

    I was programmed to feel bad when I should have felt good and visa versa.

     

    Incredible that the feelings are in sync with messed up mind.

     

    I knew it wasn’t just that there was a belief that was running along un-questioned, but that the feelings were messed up too.

     

    My body was programmed feel the opposite.

     

    Programmed feelings instead of having natural ones.

    My programmed self loves sweet treats, I feel like I am getting something good, when I am really feeding myself something that has no value.

     

    Imagine, my treats are getting something of no value.

     

    Very interesting to watch what your programmed to like and do and to explore deeper and see what is going on behind the façade.

     

    Within my childhood religion, the same dynamics were going on.  The sins were for the programmed person, not the real self, in fact what is a sin for the programmed person most likely was good for me.

     

    To take back ownership of my body.

    To not bless away others actions.

    To question all things and not just follow submissively.

    To seek my own relationship with God.

     

    Interesting to see what is programmed into you and then learn how to de-program it.  Mostly by doing the opposite of your childhood…you will find your way out of the programmed self.

     

  • All the wrong reasons…

    It is so very curious to me why I slip back into the sluggish life of no yoga, to allow my joints to become painful, my muscles slack, my hips to stiffen up so I waddle?

     

    How is it that when I know what to do to keep my body feeling ache free, I don’t do it?  Why do I have to wait until I hurt to do something good for me?  Why can’t I serve this good portion of life to me each day and eagerly and selfishly take it?

     

    The good things in life are not something I thirst for, instead I feel like it is ‘better’ to skip it, to just snuggle longer or not put my body through that routine.  Like I am getting away with something, that I am being rewarded for Not doing it, when the opposite is true.  I am hurting myself by not taking care of myself. 

     

    There is a long held belief that by not doing something I am cheating something or somebody, but not myself.  How is this possible?  Like I am getting away with something, but what?

     

    All I am getting away with is a ouchy body…I am not stealing healthy or fitness, I am stealing lazy.

     

    Just as with yoga I am the same with sugar or sweet treats.  I think I am sneaking in this ‘goodness’ but what I am stealing is bad for me.

     

    Isn’t it odd that I feel I am gaining something good, when in fact I am serving me poorly?

     

    And when I was doing yoga daily, taking care of my self, it felt like I was going against the grain, swimming against the currents, pushing hard instead of going with the flow.

     

    It is like I am programmed to swim in the wrong direction, that it is easier for me to not care.

     

    To re-program myself, I will have to do what doesn’t come natural, until I forge a new natural.

     

    It just seems so counter intuitive to want to treat your self poorly…that doesn’t make sense.  To WANT what isn’t good and force yourself to do what is, like taking medicine swallowing it reluctantly.

     

    You would think that we would crave that which makes us feel best, the greatest of natural foods and then movement that will make our bodies operate at their optimum…instead it seems we are hell bent on wrecking it.

     

    Wrecking our bodies, our spirits, our minds, our relationships…like we have a wrecking gene we need to destroy before it destroys us.

     

    I just get so befuddled by this, how unnatural us human beings are.  We are living for all the wrong reasons.

     

     

  • Save your soul.

    The biggest hurdle in stopping abuse is stopping being a part of the family it is within. How easy to report abuse in another family but where it actually counts is when you see it and respond in kind within your own.

     

    To stop treating a father as a dad and see his actions of being a pedophile and putting him away and out of reach of other little girls.  My family failed at this big time.

     

    The authorities brought him to court, but the family set him free.

     

    I wish this was an anomaly but sadly, most will defend the father and not even let it get as far as ours did.

     

    There is this thing called, “Unconditional Love” that keeps this from happening, and another thing called, “Forgiveness of Sins” that does as well.

     

    We all think that the biggest thing we can do is report pedophiles to the authorities, but that is only a small portion of the job.

     

    The biggest deal is to take a family and rip it apart seeing who really does what, what are they doing, bringing and being, to bring in consciousness where before blindness lived.

     

    The key components a pedophile needs the most is your undying faith in them, your unconditional love and your willingness to continue to bless away his bad behaviors…for you to be relentless in this and NEVER changing.

     

    What most fail to realize it aren’t the authorities that are to blame but the families of these perpetrators.  Well, I believe the law of the land needs a big wake up call and to see that they are allowing dysfunctional families to call the shots…

     

    For as it stands now they are asking blind people to see and act clearly.

     

    Most often, and in my case it is true, that I wasn’t the first one abused, but rather just one of a long line of generations worth.

     

    This was normal behavior.  A mother who was unable to discern abuse for she herself never healed from her own abuse.  Her abused self worth and image attracted a man who operated at the same level.

     

    I am finding out that my brother and I are very much changelings within our family’s heritage, that every now and then one comes along and switches the family traditions, but in order to do so, you leave the family.

     

    What most want is to stop abuse, but what few will do is stop being part of a family.

     

    You will have to go against generations of folks, relatives in order to stop abuse.

     

    It isn’t a simple task, for 99% of the abuse is from someone you know and trust and of the 99%, 50% is from someone who is your blood relative.

     

    It is like turning against your own self…and is.

    You will have to take all you have ever known and begin yet again.

     

    I get so incensed with folks who tell me…I would never or I don’t stand with abuse, while they are still having relationships with people who abuse.

     

    It is insanity.  You are being just as abusive to the child by having a relationship with the person who hurts little children.  The child sees who you are aligned with and KNOWS you are not a safe person or one to help them.

     

    This matter is far more complex than it appears.

     

    Abuse is an infection that has spread through generations of families and will continue on unless you walk away. 

     

    You have to leave the infection called abuse… IT will not leave you.

     

    It will not one day change from hurtful abuse to wonderful love, stop pretending time will heal and change things.

     

    You have to leave it in order to be free of it…and then you have separated your self or isolated the infection to just you and then the real work starts.

     

    You have to see it in all your thoughts and beliefs and have to start working on each one to right it.

     

    To change your old definition of unconditional love to love that is free of abusive effects.

     

    You have to change your mind about a million things.

    You have to be willing to not know your self or those you ‘loved’.

     

    You have to be willing to walk a walk against family and ‘loved’ ones.

     

    I walked this walk…and while it was extremely tough, it is well worth the effort. 

     

    You will not walk alone; you will have the guidance of the Universe if you are a seeker of the truth.

     

    You will be changing your very DNA and the legacy you were born into.

     

    I will help anyone who has been chosen to walk this walk.

     

    So, go ahead and report, but mostly start the dialogue in how far would you go to stop abuse, would you go the whole way, would you forsake the world to save your soul?