I M Perfect lady

Tag: broken

  • A broken Heart can open you up to you.

    I made it to the yoga mat today, the third time in a week.  I was surprised that my yoga was waiting for me, that my poses were pretty much where I left them.  

    I was a little stiff, and a bit wobbly in locking my knee, and my middle had bulked out some, which didn't make that much of a difference.

    Today, when I went into the first floor exercise, and lifted my left leg, the pain in my hip or joint area was very intense.  As in the past, I began asking it what was its source…and when I said the word guilty, immediately I began to sob.

    It felt like I was left feeling guilty for being abused, that I was carrying the guilt and it constricted me, made me curl into myself.  I began doing what David Hawkins suggested, to cancel the guilt beliefs about myself, and breathed in the knowing of innocence.

    As I do the floor exercises my belly button hernia sometimes bothers me, so I was rubbing that and wondering what belief or what message the body was delivering with this bulging of my guts. How did this develop… I asked was it that I was "spilling my guts" and nothing happened.  I then pondered if I hated my guts, if I as disgusted with myself, and again immediately an emotional response.  I acknowledge this wrong belief, feeling the innocent me getting this wrong…and then did the cancelling breathing and adding that I recieved the message from my body, that my belly no longer has to gain my attention.  I will continue to do this in yoga now and see how things improve and change.  

    It is so telling that as children in our innocence we believe things due to the lack of adult supervision and correcting our distorted beliefs, and it becomes something we re-inforce as we unconsciously don't fully embrace ourselves.

    We have to see where our innocence left and then make a correction in order to make changes in our minds.  Our Spirit can recognize the place where we veered off the path of innocence and it too can bring us back.

    What a very healing yoga session…working my body and correcting my mind.

    Then, I went to do a Valentine Quilt, but what came to me was to work on the one Lady Quilt that was a work in progress.

    My Valentine Lady is much more pensive than what I had pictured…perhaps I had to get this one out of the way, and then do one that represents a very much in love with herself Lady.

    IMG_7317
    The Hearts say, "Broken – Open" and  "Self – No one" and the bottom one says, "Self Love". 

    I see her as trying to protect herself from heartbreak, and yet her hearts break.  

    IMG_7314
    By feeling the loss you can become whole.  Very interesting to me how this lady turned out.  A broken heart can open you up to you. 

     

  • Shattering Dream

    While commenting back and forth with Lynn C. Tolson, the Author of "Beyond the Tears", on facebook, it came to me why folks support the Coach and the Organization and not the abused boys…they don't want to lose that which they are a part of.

    Whether it is to be a fan of a winning football team and coach, or whether it be a family and father, no one wants to let go of that which they have looked up to, aspired towards, cheered on and been part of.   

    By looking at the abused child, you will see that your hero is a monster.

    It isn't the pain of the child, it IS the pain of the dream dying.

    Lynn asked on facebook, "Why is it so painful to support the abused children? Why, why, why (not expecting an answer). The topic of child sex abuse is so uncomfortable yet the victims live their entire lives in a world of hurt."

    It isn't the child's pain we fear, but our own pain as our family dies, our team isn't as grand as we thought, or that the icon coach is just a normal man, who didn't want to turn in a friend, or who didn't want the public to know that it is as vulnerable to abuse as any other organization.

    We fear our own losses so much that we will hold on to a false dream rather than feel it actually die.

    In walkng face first into my greatest fear, I was able to then see the abused child.  It seems we all have a choice in either holding up a dream or letting it die to save a child.

    What very few can do is let go of their own lives in order to save a life of a child, to spare them the shame, guilt and blame of 'wrecking' the dream.

    What hurt me the most, wasn't the rape of my father, nor even the image of him changing from dad to monster, but what hurt even more was being blamed for killing the family.  

    I wasn't rioting for his reputation…so it was seen as I was out to tear our family apart, when in fact all I was doing was standing by the abused children…the long list of girls who suffered under his hands.

    I wasn't able to stand in a picket line supporting those who knew and said nothing, and I was seen as a traitor to our 'family'.  

    It wasn't my pain that they couldn't bear feeling, but they didn't want to feel the pain of losing a family.

    We wonder why more folks are not lining up to give up the details of their abuse, it is to give evidence and facts that will tear apart their dream of family…

    It isn't that we don't support abuse, we don't want to support the tearing apart families, religions and organizations. But if abuse is within, your organization is decaying from the inside out, and eventually, there will be no good there to hold it up.

    Penn State has shown us it isn't the abuse that we can't bear to see, but the shattering dream.

     

     

  • My grasp on Reality.

    “People Show you who they are, Believe them,” is a quote by Maya Angelou.

    I thought this was what my daughter needed to hear, when in fact I was talking to myself.

    I awoke to an eerie phone glow coming from the top bunk in the early morning hours, a signature sign that she is still engaged in ‘other woman’ activities.

    “They show you…” screamed out loud in my head.

    I have been twisting and turning this around and around like a rubics cube, trying to get her in one color.

    Who is being betrayed, who is cheating, who is getting lied to and who is doing the lying, what is reality and what is not, and why am I even involved again?

    Whose business is this, whose lesson, what is mine to see and be with and what is hers?

    The intricacies of this are not just plain white, there is a path, a beginning a middle and a predicted future (end).

    What am I failing to see?

    There still seems to be a juxtaposition between ‘other woman and girl in top bunk, but I have to go with reality, so other woman she now is.

    Failing to see this is to go against what is.

    No matter how she arrived at this job, she is fully working it.

    My mother’s greatest failings was not seeing my innocence fade, not seeing the changes that took place in my world, not walking with me as I stumbled affected on the other side.

    While my daughter has been pleading for me to see her an equal, I failed.

    I failed to see her dancing step-to-step, cheek-to-cheek and ear-to-ear, she is now his equal.

    My mother didn’t see my innocence in the act of abuse, but she also didn’t see the affects the abuse had on me.

    It is like she missed the whole thing, like it never happened.

    I wondered who my daughter has been truthful to all along, who she did not have to lie to, hide from or sneak out with, and it is him.

    Her and him have always been wide open, with each other, she has only changed in her previous relations.

    They still are together while she lies.

    Lies to me, in a letter that she wants to change. It is a lie.

    Here I somehow had this flipped around that she was lying to her self, making her self lower etc, when in fact what she is really changing is our relationship.

    She brought in lies, she lowered the level between us.

    It is now up to me to believe or not believe, to see or not see, to hear or not hear, to learn who she is.

    I can see now why parents feel betrayed, for the child lies.

    Why do they have to lie?

    Who are they trying to not hurt and why?

    Why does there have to be hurt and lying?

    I get so confused in this.

    When do people lie and why?

    Why can’t we just do what it is we are doing?

    Why must we stoop to keep it a secret?

    What are secrets and what is there purpose?

    Are there good secrets and bad?

    If we have a secret is it a lie about ourselves?

    Are we with holding a part of ourselves?

    And from whom?

    Is it possible that we are many people to many, or are we just one to all?

    My view of my daughter isn’t sitting at peace in reality.

    She lied to me and is now changing within our relationship? We started out as one thing and now it is turning different from the abuse.

    She is no longer the girl she was.

    She is different.

    When she changes do I have to?

    What do I do with her changing within our relationship, with her lies and odd behaviors?

    What is my response to this?

    I am not able to forbid it, but what do I do with it in my hands?

    In my hands is a daughter that lies.

    Yet what is the lie?

    Is she lying or am I?

    Did I lie to myself believing her words?

    Did I lie to myself when I didn’t want to fully embrace her new role with a married man? Did I lie to myself that she was innocent? When did I start lying too?

    It seems like this affair has us all liars.

    He lies to his wife, she lies to us, we lie to ourselves, why?

    To make it seem okay?

    To agree?

    To support?

    I want to know why I am lying?

    Maybe it feels better to lie, I feel in control, I feel less pain; it feels better to lie than it does to feel the relationship being changed.

    Lies are misleading statements.

    Liar is a deceiver.

    I still do not get why our relationship, the one between her and I has to change with this, I don’t get it.

    Why does she lie to me?

    Why does she try hard to act the same while acting different? Isn’t that what I am doing. Acting like nothing changed between us when it did.

    When I was lost before, when I couldn’t seem to find my way, I clung to reality, clung to actions, and they always showed me who they were, where their minds were, what their thoughts were thinking…

    What I can safely say today, is that her mind, thoughts, feelings and actions are with him.

    And the girl I knew is gone, my images, my view, my experience, my feelings of her have all changed.

    She lied…she wasn’t with him, but now she is, so is she still lying or am I?

    Am I lying that she doesn’t want to be there?

    Is lying a deal breaker?

    Is that her only offense?

    If our hearts and home are open, shouldn’t he be allowed in, can’t we get them out of the cell phones and into reality?

    Open house, open mind, open heart, open door; bring him in to the house in the light of day.

    Can I do this? Can he? Can she? Can We?
    Do we slowly pull this into reality, making it okay.

    What isn’t okay?

    Married man and single girl, I just can’t make that okay, it seems there is a law and morals and values in-between, and do I overlook that?

    How does this fit in our lifestyle within our home?

    Can we bring in this in and become accustomed to it?

    Over time does it fade and blend and not stick out so bad?

    Who will have to change to bring this in?

    Her or my husband and I?

    What an interesting social experiment, I just wish it wasn’t my daughter’s life and mine and my husbands.

    I can see the dynamics, the way the rubics cube works, trying to make one color, one family, one value, one moral, one reality and how it is impossible to fit.

    One of us will lose, the one not in reality.

    Reality wins only but 100% of the time.
    In my experience, there is a bunch of folks living in a land one step removed from reality, and it is I, the lover of reality, the seeker of the truth, that gets left off to one side… me and reality.

    I either gain the world or lose my grasp on reality…

  • Supporting only what exists.

    Yesterday I was left with the line, “believing in something that doesn’t exist,” and it showed me the other person in the lie.

    We tend to blame the liars, but fail to point out the person who is holding it up, who is believing it, and in doing so denying the truth as well.

    I can now see the liar and the lie holder and the lie.

    It takes more than one to lie.

    The lie is a cover-up to a truth that came in that will shatter the relationship.

    Usually the one bringing in the lie is the one that has damaged the relationship.

    The one holding up the lie wants the relationship more than the truth so she will willingly carry what ever needs to be carried in order to save a relationship.

    Isn’t it funny how we become lie carriers, how we carry the lie further for the sake of a relationship.

    She is the disaster team coming in and saving the day. Little does she know all she is saving is the lie.

    All her work from that day forward is to maintain the lie.

    Her main focus is to keep the lie alive, hence believing in something that doesn’t exist.

    I can see how my mother began this game and then eventually include us, how we too learned it was more important to have relationships than seeing truth in behaviors.

    We too believed in something that didn’t exist.

    What is so tragic to me is that we can live a lifetime lost in lies.

    That we will deny our feelings, what our bodies are saying, how we are feeling all to keep a lie alive.

    Six years ago I felt that my pretend to pretend button broke, that I lost the ability to go along with the lies, that something changed, I could not knowingly support lies.

    What is so odd is that when you are born into a family of pretenders, pretending is a way of life, we rarely if ever speak our truth or we have to do so on the side and in hiding.

    Speaking about them behind their backs, saying the truths secretly.

    I am not sure where social niceties begin and lying starts, but the lines get kind of fuzzy.

    I heard Oprah speak to a man on stage stating, “go ahead speak your truth it will open the door for others to do the same.”

    Isn’t it odd that we rarely see someone stand exposing their truths, but rather we live outwardly pretending a life based on lies?

    This double life is what screws with people’s heads and the cause of much disease.

    My body feels so at peace now and when it isn’t I look at what I am lying about.

    What am I pretending?

    Where am I outside of reality?

    Am I the liar or am I believing in a lie.

    Getting my life back from the pretend world hasn’t been easy, I lost a lot of pretend relationships that I loved and supported, but in doing so I began a new relationship with myself.

    Supporting only what exists.

  • A new you emerges…

    “When patterns are broken, new worlds emerge.” ~Tuli Kupferberg

    Somehow this quote paints a scene of great Art, of stepping out of the box and being presented with a wondrous new world.

    In my experience breaking an old pattern requires stamina, fearlessness, standing out and being different, walking away from familiar and entering into the unknown, which I guess is where the new world emerges.

    Even if the new world is much healthier, happier and more peaceful, there is sorrow as the old pattern dies.

    It is a piece of your personality or a fragment of you that is being disposed of.

    If I were to pile up all the old patterns that I broke, you would see a whole person standing there.

    Her pattern had shades and tones of abuse and dysfunction, faint colors of washed out places of low self-esteem, heavy dark corridors of unawareness and brainwashing along with righteously wrong values.

    She was an enigma, a very confusing mystery to unravel, a body of truth and a head of fiction.

    The breaking of the pattern was all headwork, my patterns of thoughts and beliefs that didn’t match reality and I had to work to reconfigure them in my head.

    It was going backwards in time and reworking or removing the patterns I had set in my head.

    Patterns of me that were formed by childhood, patterns that reflect those who raised me, those who cared for me, doing the best they knew how.

    It was their pattern that I was living by, not mine.

    I was a designed for their use not mine.

    When patterns are broken, a new you emerges….

  • “With Love always mom”

    As I began my workday yesterday morning, I am in high spirits using all my efforts to stay positive with the large volume of mail, willing myself not to get weighed down by the load.

    I am happy to start sorting letters, the tray is filled with colorful envelopes, and a gold one sits in front.

    As I pick it up, my eyes focus in on the familiar name, mine, and the handwriting is hers.

    My high spirits escape in one breath.

    The restraining letter meant nothing to her.

    The weight of the mail meant nothing compared to the heavy heart of disappointment.

    She did not honor me.

    I tossed it into my home slot, and continued on for a minute or two, and then the not knowing was too much of a distraction, so I stopped, opened it up and read.

    “Noel” is printed in fancy letters on the front, and inside the card’s message, “Wishing you peace, love and joy this Holiday Season,” and her added line, “With love always, Mom and Gramma.”

    It is ironic that what I need for peace, love and joy is for her to honor me, and yet she stomps down upon the restraining letter I sent and sends her usual card.

    Her love always is one that disregards my needs, my wishes, and me.

    I am not seen at all, as she continues on, her stride unbroken by my restraining letter to her.

    My last written words to her, my first in 6 years, was a plea for space, for her to honor and respect our silence…

    My last line was, “If you fail to honor our separation as it is, you are deliberately seeking to disrespect and hurt me; I will take it as such.”

    Her love comes in with disrespect and hurt.

    I felt it as I stood there in a mountain of mail holding a card that yet again doesn’t see me.

    Feeling abused on the inside, my feelings tore up, I tossed it back in my slot, and tried to gather myself back together to continue on.

    Her failure of honoring my words should not be a surprise, yet I guess I am the ultimate believer.

    Believing that one day she will see me, even as sit behind a wall of restraining words, that she will hear them and see me.

    See me telling her, you hurt and disrespect me.

    My words to her fall upon deaf ears.

    It’s like my needs were never written.

    Like a bad energizer bunny she keeps going and going and going.

    Her blind bullheadedness is abuse.

    She is bullying me.

    With words of love.

    Love that knows no boundaries.

    Love that doesn’t hear.

    Love of a bully.

    A one-sided affair.

    Being bullied by words of peace, love and joy.

    The juxtaposition, a card of noel, a Christmas song…carrying the tune she has always sung.

    Actions of hurt and disrespect signed, “with love always mom.

  • A Cracked Lady that is Imperfectly Me.

    I am trying to lay on paper the picture I present to the world; how I am learning about a life I lived unknowingly to me, mourning that life, while living this life today.

    The combination is insane at times.

    Finding parts of myself that were missing, living them, and then releasing them and mourning their loss, at the same time I am living in the present building a life and feeling this life, a combination of present and past, mourning and living, dying and being born.

    My broken past revealing itself and its corrections laid back into the foundation, rebuilding me and who I am.

    Like building a new foundation on a fully built house, taking out one brick at a time, without moving the whole structure, yet the whole structure eventually changes.

    Being a caterpillar while making a butterfly without a cocoon.

    Living naked in the midst of change.

    Each broken brick creates a past I tentatively embrace, knowing it changes who I am and how I live today.

    Like picking up pieces of a puzzle wondering what the final picture will reveal.

    Perhaps the whole change is who I am, that I am the combination of a life of denial, a life of destructing that and rebuilding.

    I am the pot, the crack, the broken pot, and the glued backed together one.

    A cracked lady that is imperfectly me.

  • Reality shows a hole.

    As I walked down the driveway to get our mail, my foot slipped on the ice and I did an impromptu triangle pose, stretching further than my muscles actually stretch, it was as if the ground shifted beneath my feet and caught me way off guard.

    You find your self in a position of surprise and pain, slipping out of control, trying to restore balance.

    That is exactly what happened when my mother’s request came in, it caught me unaware and it took me awhile to gather myself back into control, for it felt like she had snagged my life for a few hours, upending my plans by sidetracking my emotions and me.

    One minute you are walking along with a firm ground underneath you and zip its gone, replaced with rolling upsetting thoughts and emotions, going from a placid empty space to a state of turmoil.

    It is amazing that she still can tromp in and trash my space with just a few uttered words and make me feel that she has tampered with my child.

    The request is secondary to the position she inadvertently put my daughter in, playing monkey in the middle in a game of insanity, where it is impossible for my daughter to win.
    It’s the price paid for allowing my children to define their own relationship with my family, I knew it would leave them vulnerable and open to being a conduit for information about me.

    I just hoped it would never be used, or my children would be used.

    Being used is exactly how I feel my daughter was treated, my mother didn’t see the girl who she was asking to perform this act, she just wanted the picture and took the route easiest traveled, she didn’t want to ask me directly.

    I have tried hard to not use this access myself; I have tried to maintain a neutral stance as I witness their involvement with my family, allowing them to leave or stay as life unfolds.

    A phone call wouldn’t suffice, for she has hung up on me before when the words coming at her were not what she wanted to hear, so I will write a letter.

    A restraining letter.

    A letter that requests her silence between her and I, letting her know that my kids are not to be an open line for her to Use.

    This behavior of hers going to the second generation really boils me, asking others to do her dirty work.

    She knows without a shadow of doubt that if she asked me the path would be unfruitful, she wants what she wants and it matters not how the mission is accomplished, who she steps on and mistreats along the way, what she wants most is a complete set of daughter pictures.

    She wants no holes or vacant spots and she is using my children to patch the hole.

    My glaring open hole in our family will remain that way.

    She isn’t interested in knowing my life; she just wants my photograph to fill the hole in hers.

    The simple thing would be to fill the spot.

    That is what she has wanted all along, for me to get back in line, to rejoin the family, to not be standing out here alone, making her family look shattered, she wants to paint a pretty picture of all her children, to see them all unaffected and looking no worse for the wear, it will soothe her conscience, and make her feel like a whole mother.

    My refusal to slide back into position leaves her with a broken family.

    It is amazing that she wants a picture of the one who ran away.

    The striking juxtaposition of asking for a picture, when she has yet to ask in all these years, “How are you?”

    How are you feeling and dealing, how is your life going, how is it being abused my husband, how has that affected your life? How are you…?

    Nothing, silence…she doesn’t want to know or hear or wonder how I am, she just wants a pretty picture to fill her spot.

    The one sidedness of her world blows me sideways.

    Once again, she doesn’t see me or see my daughter, she sees us both as fulfilling a request.

    A request from a very selfish woman, who is so self- absorbed she is unable to see beyond the end of her nose.

    She doesn’t see the lives behind the pictures, just the pretty pictures; we have no life beyond what we can give to her.

    She doesn’t see the lives beyond the hands doing her dirty work, we have no purpose but what we can do for her.

    My giving days are over; I was done giving to this mad charity a long time ago.

    By keeping focus on the picture, you don’t see the madness orchestrating the life in denial.

    The picture completes a perfect set of six.
    Reality shows the hole.

  • In Me

    “Once you know, you can’t not know”, is a quote I read, it’s the knowing that changes you forever.

    Knowing is different from hoping, wishing, dreaming or wondering, knowing trumps it all.

    I know what they wanted the most is for their lives to remain unaffected, to not let one shadow to cloud their whole lives, to be so strong as to not let it change who they are, and it didn’t.

    I have seen the evidence, but refused to see it, I have heard the silence and refused to hear it. I have felt the absence and wouldn’t feel it.

    Blindly not accepting what is.

    What I wanted the most was for the family to implode, for it to feel what I felt, the loss.

    Loss of love.

    Loss of trust.

    Loss of faith.

    The betrayal within the family.

    None of that happened, a bomb went off without flicking a hair or altering a stance, it was dealt with like a bad review, ignored.

    One bad review will not stop the many who are cheering and clapping as life goes on.

    It does play with the mind to see pictures of normal, am I nuts? Did I make this whole thing Up?

    What I see displayed around me today, all the unchanges, it has to be the same reaction repeating itself again.

    I can just see the tiny girl, speaking the unspeakable and nothing happens. Nothing. Life goes on without a hitch.

    You are left to deal and heal alone, unsupported.

    Unsupported you drop, you fall, you lose your way, your mind, your knowing, your trust and your faith, stripped naked of all you counted on…you begin again alone.

    ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’…oh I am strong.

    Also something that has been broken and glued back is stronger in its broken spots.

    My heart is stronger.
    My faith is stronger.
    My trust is stronger.

    In me.

  • Pick Up the Broken Piece.

    What a slow learner I am, how incredibly naïve and blindly stupid…I am surprised that I am just now catching on. How has it taken me this long, almost six years to figure this out?

    The pain I have gone through, the mental anguish and all the soul searching, and still I didn’t know.

    My family didn’t break apart, wasn’t destroyed and didn’t crumble under the weight of abuse, it wasn’t shattered, or flung upside right or mentally broken, only I was.

    I broke.

    In my head I had them all broken up like me, but they remain intact, a full family, minus a few.

    No worse for the wear, unscathed and unbroken, they are holding up strong as the same family unit, while I am broken.

    My brokenness is sharp, loud, and unwanted, a jagged point that doesn’t fit into the familiar routine.

    A routine I can’t remember, forgetting the lines and missing the steps, characters changing before my eyes, my script no longer matches theirs.

    When they laugh I cry, what they love I fear, when they gather I flee…I shout at their silences, say wrong words that jumble up the play.

    I am the heckler or a bad actor playing on the wrong set and ruining the show.

    When I am gone and silent the show returns to its familiar dialogue.

    I see the picture clearer now…I see me trying to direct a play in progress, wanting to hand out new scripts, change characters and lines, make it a horror movie instead of a comedy…

    What I have been trying so hard to do is change a play in progress.

    I have been wanting them to change so the broken me fits in…while they want me to return to the stage unbroken, healed, once again the old me.

    The spot is open, the stage is there unchanged all I have to do is not be broken and rejoin the chorus line.

    What I know to be true of all people who are abused within the family, it is not so much the first betrayal, but the second one.
    The second betrayal is that once you expose yourself and speak your words is that nothing changes, except that you are now alone and exposed.

    Kicked off the stage of your childhood home.

    I sit here dumbfounded at my naiveté how I foolishly believed that a child, even an adult child that was broke, would break the whole family, but my family marched on, again.

    No one stopped to pick up the broken piece.