Tag: denial

  • Upon His Knee.

    It would be nice if it were all lies, just a made up story, a figment of my imagination, as an email suggests.

     

    you are FEEDING your anger with LIES. Just to carry on the hated/evil.’

     

    The lie I told was that my mother stayed in the same house as my father while in Texas, I guess I was wrong.  She was in the same neighborhood, just not the same house.

     

    I don’t know if she spent time with him or seen him or anything, all I knew is her destination was the same as his.  Okay, I get it ….  I was wrong.

     

    I was wrong about that.

     

    Yet what they fail to realize is that I am not looking to be fed, nor am I creating lies to fuel an evil to carry it on, the evil is being carried along by them, not me.

     

    The wonderful technology of Facebook reveals to me in pictures that don’t lie.

     

    My father is posing with his granddaughter, grandson and newest little great granddaughter, with captions of ‘grandpa’.

     

    The sender of the email is standing at his side.

     

    What they fail to notice is that THEY are the ones who allow another little girl in his presence.

     

    I am not the one who is allowing this, but the one who is trying to tell them not to trust this old grandpa man.

     

    I sent an email to the lady of the house where my father lives, informing her that I will be contacting the Family Independence Agency in their town letting them know, a child is in danger.

     

    The family can’t see the danger and while they are blind to it, the danger continues on to another generation, the third. 

     

    I thought they knew who they had in their homes, the picture tells me they have no idea.

     

    They think I am the one, who keeps this sordid tale alive, that I am the creator of this sad little tune, but little do they know; they are the ones who sing the chorus line.

     

    They think I drum up new little lies to keep their world a mess, while they are looking at me, HE is looking at his newest littlest victim, waiting for her to ripen to the perfect little age.

     

    My anger, my hate, my evil they believe I carry is the opposite.  I care enough to try and wake them up.

     

    Hate me, be angry with me, and lose your respect for me that is fine, I will do my best to keep his hands off another little girl.

     

    The picture is the picture of denial.

    Denial is seeing a grandpa where a pedophile stands.

     

    He looks the same.

    Harmless.

    Old.

    Familiar.

    Himself.

     

    What I needed the most way back when, was someone to alert the family, someone to protect me from this man.  I can now be that person to the newest little girl to join our family tree.

     

    I will be the one who tries to stop the spread of his disease from touching her.

     

    Perhaps her grandmother will now take heed, pay attention when it is her first grandchild who sits upon HIS knee.

     

  • The Key

    “Dostoevsky wrote that the best way to keep a prisoner from escaping is to make sure he never knows he’s in prison. Many of us live this way, not even knowing how desperately we are trapped by the stories we tell to make sense or our experience.  Once these stories are in place, we choose, modify, and twist new experiences to fit our expectations.  What we think of as the “truth” is actually an elaborate and deliberate fiction composed by our minds.  Realizing that our story is really arbitrary, that there are infinite other stories that may be every bit as accurate, opens the prison door of your belief system, allowing you to walk out if you so choose.” 

     Martha Beck, The Joy Diet

     

    What I find so intriguing about denial, the mind and the way our beliefs hold us prisoner in our own lives, is that we don’t know we are in prison, so we don’t try to escape!

     

    This failing to escape keeps us held prisoner.

    Failing to try to climb the prison walls, to challenge our unchanging lives, our unexplored and untried experiences, we sit in our lives never attempting to push out the walls.

     

    I see this as another way to look at denial, when you can’t tell if you’re in the jail or outside.

    As I go about my days, the more choices I have to say yes and to say no is a huge indicator of being in jail or out.

     

    I am astounded that so many believe they are free when they are not.

     

    The ultimate denial is in the fabric of your being; the upbringing and being raised in a belief system that holds you prisoner and you don’t even know it.

     

    Denying you are a prisoner is the key.

     

    The key that locks your life away from you.

     

     

     

  • Awareness of Self

    It is interesting to me that when you see someone in denial you automatically think that they just need to see reality.

     

    What is a much deeper problem is the ways in which they have lived to ‘not see reality’.

     

    And it is from there that you begin.

     

    You don’t need to see what is in reality; you need to see what you are doing to cover up reality.

     

    It is the cover up that needs to be explored.

     

    The cover-ups can be dismantled by doing as Martha Beck suggested, begin telling the truth no matter what.

     

    Instead of ‘hiding’ the fact that your eating is out of control, face the fact that it is.  Name it to claim it, is a term Dr. Phil has used.

     

    As I explored the affects that sweets had on my body, and how I overindulged them, and how they left me empty of the very thing I thought I was getting, love, I knew I was on to something.

     

    I loved sweet treats.  I felt good eating them, yet the final out come was not love or good.  I had an overweight body that was sluggish and one that I didn’t like.

     

    My life style of indulging in sweets and looking for opportunities to ‘treat’ myself, and them giving me something wonderful, really gave me the opposite.

     

    Denial is not recognizing what the affects of ‘treating’ your self is actually doing.

     

    You somehow just have a thirst for sweets, and feel you deserve the treat, but never look at the actual almost scientific reading of the outcome.

     

    Denial is a twisting rope that never allows you to see all sides at once.  You can either see the thirst or the bloated body….

     

    Once I decide to stay awake for both parts, to watch the sweets going in and I didn’t tell myself a limit, I ate as many as I could, but I also had to monitor myself during and after.

     

    Denial seems be cured by being truthful on all sides, there is no side that will slip away.

     

    It is refreshing to be honest, to expose the secrets of understanding how you operate and why, it allows you to be free of the unexplored agendas that you have somehow overlooked.

     

    Once I understood that the sweets didn’t really bring me good feelings, I was able to sit with what they really were.  What they were comprised of and what they really did to the body.

     

    Denial is the doorway that will lead you to full awareness of self.

     

     

     

     

  • Alive but unaware!

    What an incredible ride, what an awe-inspiring journey, I feel an immense amount of gratitude to be given the opportunity to live beyond the bubble, to find a life outside of denial.

     

    Unless and until you have been totally snowed under by a false belief, where you and reality are an ocean apart, you will not understand the enormity of dissolving denial.

     

    First of all you are the one standing neck deep in denial, and it is from there that you have to dig yourself out, not knowing what is real; your denial or reality. 

     

    When I began this journey, when my bubble burst, I thought my reality changed, when in actuality it was my denial that had sprung a leak or collapsed, leaving me without protection.

     

    My husband said that I was like a scared rabbit, and I was.  I had no place to hide, to run to or escape, all I saw was the harsh reality in front of me.

     

    Actions that I had previously denied stood enormously obvious!  I had no choice now but to see and to feel what each action felt like.

     

    Living with all your nerves exposed, with no shield to protect you, a turtle without its shell.

     

    What I believe is while you are in denial; you deny your emotions a life.  You can’t feel them.  They don’t exist in the bubble, for that is why we built the bubble to escape feelings; they were far to terrifying to feel.

     

    Emotionally immature is how we get left. 

     

    We left our emotions behind and our bodies grew. 

     

    Emotionally stunted we live awkwardly in this world.

     

    The picture I now have, the overview and the application of denial, the land that we build and live in, leaves me in utter disbelief.

     

    Abuse while hurtful to the physical body, is nothing compared to being sentenced into the land of denial.

     

    What I am now seeing is that some get a life sentence and some 40 plus years. 

     

    I do not know what makes the denial bubble burst, how some have a stronger bubble than others, but denial is built from the inside out and I am thinking that it is the only way out.

     

    The one who built it is the one who takes it down.

     

    I sit in awe, I sit in gratitude, I sit in reality bubble-less.

     

    The definition of denial, refusal to acknowledge existence of something: a refusal to believe in something or admit that something exists.

     

    What we have to admit to is the bubble we live in and not the reality that has always been there.

     

    What we ultimately deny is our self.

     

    Alive but unaware, that is denial!

     

  • Balloon of Dreams!

    “Walking against the dream…” came to me in yoga, that why it has been such a struggle, I am walking the opposite of my dreams.

     

    The dream was born with abuse, and what we cling to with our lives is the dream.

     

    A dream that is opposite of reality, a dream of denial, a dream of illusion, a dream, a figment of our imagination.

     

    My dream began as a very young girl, I lived in that dream, that dream was more than my reality.  It was warm and cozy, loving and caring, a blanket that kept out the ugly truths.

     

    What I failed to realize is that walking in reality wasn’t as hard as destroying the dream.

     

    The dream was more precious to me than reality.

     

    The dream was where I was loved, where I was good enough, where I mattered, ‘to them’.

     

    I worked hard to keep that dream alive and now in the past five years I was working hard to destroy my lovingly safe place.

     

    It is shocking to know this, and incredible to realize that denial is the dream.

     

    The word denial being a dream land didn’t penetrate into me, that the application of this is to be living in and breathing in, a space that is loving cozy and warm while interacting in real life with the opposite.

     

    Denial is a balloon, a bubble that floats above reality.  I was a bubble girl!

     

    What I realized in yoga as I thought of the quilt I made with the little girl and her balloon, is that on the quilt there are beads running up into the balloon, and now I know those beads are tears.

     

    When you shed enough tears, the balloon breaks like a water balloon bursts.

     

    It leaves you naked, no blanky to cover with, nothing to hide under, you are left with a broken balloon of dreams.

     

    IMG_3322

  • The Cost of my Peace!

    I finally figured out what I can’t accept in having to accept.

     

    I can’t accept that someone can’t change.

     

    And I guess that is not the meaning of acceptance.  I want acceptance with a clause.

     

    I want to accept who you are, but that you can change.

     

    This is incredibly insane. 

    This isn’t acceptance it’s conditional acceptance.

     

    It seems to be hopeless to accept others as they are.

    I am not sure if you can follow this, but in my head it makes sense as to why I am forever waiting and hoping, for I believe to the depth of my being that changes are possible.

     

    Even if the other person has yet to make one step, I am of thinking, ‘they can’.

     

    Yet can they?

     

    It almost seems like I have to become a pessimist or at very least, a realist and see who they are, not their potential with change.

     

    Imagine, “their potential with change” that is so not accepting who they are in this moment, but dreaming and believing that who they are isn’t who they want to be.

     

    Instead who they are ISN’T who I want them to be.

     

    I want them to be different.

    I want them to change to satisfy my ideas of what would make them a better this or a better that.

     

    This is an ongoing problem with me living in the land of potential changes, instead of being real right now.

     

    It is what it is.  I had said a million times.  But what I felt is, ‘it is what it is, until it isn’t’!

     

    Living in a hopeful state that someone will change, leaves you feeling hopeless.

     

    Somehow I have to work on accepting others not ever changing, and by seeing it is I with the problem, not them. 

     

    They are quite happy being as they are.

    As Byron Katie says, “who are you to ruin a good buzz, they are happy drinking!”

     

    I am the one that struggles with accepting that they are okay where they are, that they have no thoughts of changing, and have told me so repeatedly in words, thoughts and deeds!

     

    UGH.

     

    This will sit with me today.

    I accept who they are, but that they can change.

    Which is totally counterintuitive!

     

    I will only accept what is if what is changes!

     

    It would be funny if it wasn’t such a tragedy and if it hadn’t cost me so much peace.

     

    Believing in changes at the cost of my peace!

     

     

  • Wrong Places.

    "Love is the ability and willingness to allow those that you care for to be what they choose for themselves without any insistence that they satisfy you" Dr. Wayne W. Dyer

     

     

    What I want to know is what will satisfy me as far as my mother goes?

     

    Funny, I thought I would be satisfied if she were to show all who she is, now today, and who she was all those years ago.  For her to show her insanity.

     

    She can’t be more visible, yet unseen! 

     

    What I failed to appreciate is that what I call insanity some see as sane! 

     

    Her actions are typical for her, so they see that their world hasn’t changed, they see their normal mom. 

     

    They find comfort in her unchanging ways.

     

    What leaves me breathless is that no one seems to care that she is staying in the same house with my father, the pedophile.  That this choice of hers isn’t insane.

     

    Their fabulous mother is simply stopping off in Dallas for a spell.  A normal event in their lives.

     

    How can your really overlook, look pass and around the fact that her husband wounded so many little girls?

     

    How is she not seen as insane or incredibly blind and disconnected for being able to be in the same space as him? 

     

    Two birds of the same feathers…

     

    My inability to shed a glimmer of light to show how off base her actions are leave me voiceless.

     

    How in the hell can I utter one word that will outshine her very own actions?

     

    Sadly being satisfied that your mother is insane doesn’t feel good, knowing that she is okay with the man who raped you leaves you reeling in thoughts and feelings.

     

    I wonder if us kids of incest are forever seeking to be satisfied in a way that is impossible to have?

     

    Is our own sanity jepordized by the fact that we still want something from our insane parents?

     

    Isn’t insanity trying to fix a problem at the same level at which it was created? (Einstien)

     

    If my satisfaction will only come when my insane parents make sane moves, I will be forever waiting.

     

    Accepting their insanity has been the hardest thing to do.

     

    Or is accepting that no loves lives there…

     

    Perhaps we are always on the look out for that little drop of love, just one little tiny dot.

     

    And all we see is more and more reasons how they don’t.

     

    How sad we subconsciously are waiting in hope.

     

    “Looking for love in all the wrong places….”

     IMG_2602

  • Will they walk on by, again.

    My brother and I began our blogs together on Easter Sunday, just a few months back.

     

    Immediately it grew into a space that became sacred.  It held our secrets, our truths and our fears with respect and dignity. 

     

    Our words lie here innocently, linked together, holding each other, intertwined together wrapping themselves with emotions of fear, love, triumph and failure, tangled with questions and mental thoughts, messy and unwinding until breaking free in understanding.

     

    I knew it wasn’t a locked place, or one that wasn’t open to anyone’s eyes, in fact I thought perhaps just one person could better understand themselves by reading about me, yet open means anyone can wander in.

     

    Yesterday my brother shares with me, he sent one of my sisters to his blog.  In his blog, and my blog is mentioned, so in fact he shared ‘our’ blogs with her.

     

    He opened the door of our sacred place, beckoning them inside to gaze about, into the rooms of our souls.

     

    Part of me welcomes them in, and a bigger part of me has me ducking in the back, hoping they come and leave quickly.

     

    My last encounter with this sister, was a four-page letter she wrote to me, dated February 19, 2007. 

     

    In the letter she accurately states that it had been 5 years since we seen each other and two since we had spoken.  We can now add another 2 ½ years to those numbers. 

     

    She is finally breaking her silence to pretty much tell me off.  “I was quiet long enough.  You have had many opportunities to inflict your pain on others and I HAVE HAD ENOUGH,” she writes.

     

    She sees me as the one inflicting pain.  Her screams come through the pages, the direct hits are slaps and her defense is for the rest of the family.

     

    Granted this letter was written two and a half years ago, so time could have softened her stance against me, yet what I recall most of that letter was the volume of anger, the intense hatred towards me and the loving defense for my father and mother.

     

    This is why most children never speak of the crimes against them.  I became a bigger monster than he!

     

    In this letter she claims she is not in denial for she has my father in her home. (below is an excerpt)

     

      “I have dealt with his probation officer and counselor.  He resides in my home.  He leaves the yard 4 times a month; his name/picture and my address are on the offenders list for protection of ALL others.  My son knows the truth, and my husband knows the truth, as well as his family and my friends.  DO NOT EVER dare say that I am in denial.  I care for him DESPITE all the horrific offenses he has committed in his lifetime.  He will die with me and you NEVER have to see him again.  I chose to forgive for MY SAKE and yet you judge…….What accountability do you take as a daughter?  How come you didn’t know the truth?  Why as one of the oldest did you not protect us?  Why JUST blame mom?  Why when I told you all about my friend did you not tell me she was right?  Why would you want me to continue to be a victim all those years of carrying that pain?  Who are you to tell mom that everything she did/gave in her life was “nothing”?  Sister, if you can truthfully answer all of these questions than you and I would have something to talk about. 

    I am NOT blaming you for anything but the constant drive to tear our family down and apart.  I know that we are not perfect and that we ALL have dysfunctions and so do all other families.  What point are you making that we don’t already know?  Who are you to say what is right or wrong for others?  You have every right to disagree, but why the toxic/hateful approach?  You ACTUALLY believe that not acknowledging our family makes you a BIGGER person?

    If our brother is really suicidal and you are the CLOSEST person to him, why can’t you help him?  Why can’t you heal the wounds of others if you have the knowledge to do so?  Why are you so determined to persuade others of your rightness…….

     

    And so the letter goes.

     

    So how do I welcome her in?  Who is she today?  What changes have occurred in her life, is she the same? 

     

    I do know that she and my mother are still in a relationship, for my mother’s last return address came from her town. 

     

    Isn’t it odd that I just write about denial and in pops my sister?  She believes that loving, dealing and being with a pedophile is not denial.  She calls that love and forgiveness.

     

    It almost seems absurd to not see what she is doing wrong, yet it is near impossible.

     

    I am blamed for tearing down and apart our family, and for not protecting the children that came behind me.  I am to blame.

     

    I am to blame for it all.

     

    Isn’t it wild how easy it is to blame the wrong one.

     

    The child gets blame, shamed and guilt for all things.

     

    Did she write her father a letter blaming him for destroying the lives of many?  Did she write her mother a letter blaming her for being in denial?  Did she?

     

    Instead I felt like I was the whipping pole that all used for the cause of our families troubles.  I was the cause, the problem and the reason, just me.

     

    And now she will walk into the blog and read my view?  Will she see it as excuses, flimsy reasons, delusional mutterings, and mental ramblings of a crazy sister?

     

    The juxtaposition between the two of us is incredible.

    If I had to have someone from the ‘other side’ read my blog, it would be her. 

     

    Imagine that she feels victimized by me, that I have inflicted my pain on others.

     

    My pain literally did affect others, my pain did drive me to take the stand I took, my pain did lead me away from a family of my childhood, my pain was the impetus in all my actions! 

     

    My pain in my early years blinded me, and for that reason alone, I was unable to stop a monster.

     

    She blames me for no action in the past and then the actions of today.  There is no winning spot with her.

     

    She is the voice of that side, the anger of that side, she is the one who labeled what I felt from them.

     

    Their energy wasn’t warm, it wasn’t fuzzy and there was no sign of understanding, empathy or caring.

     

    If they can’t see me, they can’t see one other little girl who was molested by him.  Maybe their denial is in whether they can see the damaged girl.

     

    Will my blog open eyes, will it shatter the denial of me, what will the response be.

     

    I am almost flinching from the second blow to come, to feel once again the rage and hatred to me.  Will it hurt as much this time?  Will I be stronger and better equipped?  What will this stir up? 

     

    Maybe a greater part of me fears they will not read.

    They will not bother.  Will that hurt more?

    My soul lays open, will they walk on by, again. 

     

  • Look the other way.

    “There are two ways to be fooled.  One is to believe what isn’t true; the other is to refuse to believe what is true.”

     Soren Kierkagaard

     

     

    What is denial?

     

    Of course I had to look it up.

     

    Denial.

    -disavowal: a statement saying that something is not true or not correct

    -refusal to allow somebody something: a refusal to grant something desired or believed to be a right

    – refusal to acknowledge existence of something: a refusal to believe in something or admit that something exists

    The refusal to acknowledge existence of something: refusal to believe something or admit that something exists.

     

    I am wondering the difference between women who stand by an alcoholic husband compared to one who stands by a husband who is accused of being a pedophile.

     

    What seems to be easier to see is the alcoholic, for he comes home with the evidence written all over him, he smells like a drunk, walks like a drunk yet that woman is not condemned for standing by him.  Why?  Why is this one ok? 

     

    Now in the case of a woman whose husband is accused of being a pedophile, the only evidence is the child.  What did the child say?   More often than not, the man isn’t found with his pants down by his ankles, so the woman then has to believe the child over the man.  And the child has to be the one to speak up, to bring up this bit of information. 

     

    The man himself takes great care in covering up his evidence, he is actually a smooth operator, a con artist, a master manipulator, and we expect the woman to scout this out. 

     

    When he comes home you do not see his evidence.

     

    Instead you have to find his evidence on the children within range of him.

     

    People look at him and instead they need to look for evidence among the children.

     

    The question comes to me, more often than not, “where was your mother in all of this, what did she know, or how could she not know.”

     

    Now I am not defending her, but instead trying to sort out how it is that grown ladies seem to act so “stupid” it seems when it comes to the man they love.

     

    I am not certain what happened with my mother, it could have been a combination of many things.  One that she never experienced him as a pedophile, she never was a victim of him.  Second she never caught him in action.  Third, she had to believe a small child speaking.  Her day-to-day evidence didn’t support the allegations.

     

    When I suggested to her, that she danced with a monster whether she knew it or not, her comment was, “I don’t dance”.

     

    She couldn’t see him as a monster.  Yet in my case my body knew he was.  So I had evidence of this in my body.

     

    Do you have any idea of what the cost is to seeing someone different?  Do you know what it takes to replace a rosy picture with a nasty one?  Do you know what will be expected of you if you ‘change’ your mind?

     

    I do.

     

    My whole world flipped around, all my family lay in a discarded mess off to one side.

     

    What you are asking of these women is huge.

     

    I have no experience of living under the influence of a woman whose husband is an alcoholic, but I can tell you what happens to grow up in a family of a woman who couldn’t change her mind.

     

    Somehow I think that in the ‘old days’ it was admirable to stand by your man, and in fact doesn’t the traditional wedding vows claim, “in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad…” so a woman is made to be better if they stick around even when times get rough.

     

    What I am now beginning to understand it is much more admirable to step out, to walk away, to stop being victimized by someone who is lost behind a disease, to divorce your mind from the rosy image.

     

    What is the difference between my mother not being able to see her husband in a bad light, and a mother who refuses to see her child addicted to drugs?  They both want to keep the innocent image, to not have to deal, to not change their minds.

     

    What is it that keeps us so mentally dysfunctional when it comes to those we love?  What has us blinded so that we can’t picture them in another light?

     

    Is it more about us than it is even about that other person?  Was my mother’s story and self more at risk than anything else? What was she to lose? 

     

    What was the cost inside of her?  What would she be required to feel?  What pain would she have to endure?

     

    To live painless is to not deal, not see, not be aware of what is wrong, instead work like hell to make what is not working work.

     

    Become very good at putting on a social face of normal, while underneath the truths get pushed to the back and out of the day to day running of life.

     

    Is that denial in its application?  Isn’t that what it means  “The refusal to acknowledge existence of something: refusal to believe something or admit that something exists.”

     

    It almost seems like such a gentle word, “she was in denial” like she was lying on the couch.  Yet that one little word allowed a man to continue on doing what he did, continue to be a monster in our presents, because she failed to acknowledge the existence of a monster, she refused to believe.

     

    Each monster needs a woman in denial to operate.

    Each addict needs a woman to co-operate to work.

     

    The application of not seeing works to the benefit of the disease, to the benefit of the addiction, to the detriment of the children in the house, even to the person locked behind the addiction.

     

    You are not helping your loved one by blinking this away; instead you are helping the disease.

     

    Imagine the shock and horror each ‘caring and loving’ mother/wife would be in, if they knew that by not seeing the disease they were actually abusing the child/husband and loving the disease.

     

    Who could know that your love slips onto the disease!

     

    Just by denying the disease doesn’t make it disappear, even if you want to hold on to the image of pureness, the disease lays over the top.

     

    My mother’s biggest crime was not seeing him as a monster, period.

     

    She failed to acknowledge its existence.

     

    How many ladies are out there that fail to acknowledge the existence of alcoholism, or drug abuse, they simply want to retain the innocent image.

     

    That is their crime, or fault, they are incapable of seeing something change for the worse, to crumble and fall, they fail to see the pain in another to see one they love in a different light.

     

    My mother isn’t that unusual.  I am witnessing the application of denial and it comes in all shapes and sizes, it doesn’t discriminate, it is an equal opportunity for all.

     

    Denial is the legacy my mother gave us, and oddly enough my father told his truth.  He was the monster; she just could not see it.  He walked, talked, and breathed who he was.  He did is part well. 

     

    Who is more authentic in their case? 

     

    I can see why each of my parents did what they did.

    My father was abused as a child and he went forth and replicated what he felt love was.

    My mother was abused a child and she went forth and replicated what love was.

     

    Both were the perfect match to undo this wrong.

    Neither one could begin to unhinge the wrong.

    All it takes is one person to see.

    One person to stop this pretend dance, one person to acknowledge the existence of what is.

    It takes just one.

     

    To me they failed to see their life lesson, they failed to heal their childhood wounds.  They became ‘adult children’ of abuse; they literally failed to right a wrong that was done to them!

     

    The legacy of denial, the legacy of abuse, maybe the legacy of denying abuse exists.

     

    All it takes for evil to win, is for us to look the other way.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • Reality

    Names.  What does a name mean?  You call someone by their name, or even by their title.  What does that mean?  What does that really tell you about a person, and what does it cover up?

    A name covers things up? That seems weird?  Can you hide behind a name?  Can you use it as a mask?  What does a Mask cover?  How do you know there is a mask, can you ask, can you peek, will they tell you? Do other adults warn you?

    In the Native American way, they name people, such as Run Fast.

    And you could pretty much know what that person was Know for.  They don’t have names like Slow Walker for someone who runs fast.  And I wonder if they ever name the baby wrong and have a new renaming ceremony.

    When my son was little, he and his cousin seen a huge man trying to wiggle into a booth at Burger King….and they both were amazed and said “do you think he will fit?” of course in a voice that carried far and wide!  As a mom, my first instinct is to protect the Man and tell the boys, you don’t say that, and in fact I did. I also remember these big brown eyes look at me and say plainly, Why?  It seemed goofy to them?

    Think of how we go around and label things correctly for them.

    A tree.  The sun. A house.  The easy and plain things, but get us into an area we feel uncomfortable in….and we start to disguise, twist, sortakinda name it.  Hoping that they will not discover our lies.

    Now bring this into abuse? 

    What I would like to see is the opposite happening and teach all children to be ok with proper naming of actions….sorta like the Native Americans.  Or see all adults being true.

    Maybe in one day a person gets many names.

    In the past four years, I began noticing I no longer called or seen myself as just one role, mom.

    I would say “cooker girl”…when cooking.

    I called myself by what I was doing, not who I was.

    It sounded almost childlike, but I couldn’t stop myself.

    If you go to www.messyguru.typepad.com you can see what I mean.

    However, I will warn you right now, this is a dialogue between an abused boy and what he calls his editor.

    The editor is the one who refused to see what is, now and back then.

    Maybe you could also call him, Mr. Denial.

    It is with the greatest respect that I enter his site. 

    He and I are very much the opposites. While he remembered everything, my mind forgot it all. 

    I was literally blasted into reality with a mind full of wrong information.  It seemed a Mental Lady in reality for so much I had wrong.

    Abuse lives in the mind.

    The body holds the truth, but the mind controls our lives.

    An abused mind is the hardest thing to make right.

    I had said, “It is literally like being lost, trying to find yourself and you don’t even know your missing, or what in the Hell you look like. “   Where do you begin?

    The courage it takes to willingly go into a mental mind and sort things out, is an adventure I wouldn’t wish on a soul. 

    The greatest tool an abused person has is REALITY, Period.

    Without reality we are lost forever.

    We must go back to the seed of the abuse to see where we got it wrong and speak to denial to get it right, to argue to challenge to use our grownup big words this time.  For when the initial abuse happened, you can be sure we were left alone in our minds without adult supervision.

    Reality what a Blessed place to be!

    Reality or Denial, Pick one.

     IMG_2416