I M Perfect lady

Tag: hatred

  • Who Believed the Worst About Herself.

    In the aftermath of reading David Hawkins, I am left with an even greater understanding or perhaps an explanation of my journey, how I arrived, what happened that covered my eyes and spirit; my innocence.

    I almost felt that I was responsible for being so irresponsible, that I had somehow fallen asleep carelessly or that perhaps I didn't care enough to save myself or was kind enough to save my sisters or any other girl who was abused after me.

    There was a part of me, a pretty large part that felt I was responsible for being so irresponsible…and that irresponsibility is my nature, my soul's fingerprint, the DNA of who I am.  

    Another huge chunk also enjoyed the haughty elitism of the FALC; the one right pathway to Heaven.  That I didn't mind all the other poor souls going to hell…I was heartless to the core…Self Rightiously superior and self absorbed.

    When my 'truths' of my first forty-six years revealed themselves to be false, I began the digging process to uncover how I had gotten so blind, backwards and confused, and who was the real me underneath it all?

    It feels like I am paleontologist of my own life, where I am trying to get to the fossil of who I am…to see me in my natural state.

    While it takes courage to be willing to want to know the truth, to search for answers to your irresponsibility, to go into your coldness, your blindness to evil within as well as out; like researching a monster called Self.

    Being a detective in your own life…your dysfunctional life.  

    Taking apart your mental mind, re-creating the pathways of beliefs that led you to act like a robot…with a mind completely closed down and emotions and feelings buried deep.  A great student of hatred in order to feel good.  

    What I recall of the First Apostolic Lutheran Church, is that they spoke of nonbelievers as being the devil, along with items they called sins; how they will slowly take away your 'faith' little by little.  When in actuality, they (preachers) were taking away our innocence bit by bit.

    Each time we believed in the sermon about nonbelievers being bad, we were taught to hate them.  Each time we relinquished our rights to our body, the preachers/church won another part of our lives.

    Its subtle and not so subtle messages slowly turned us into hating not only others but our own flesh and blood…and the weakness of self against them.

    How it would be impossible to resist the devil, so best not to dance the first step.

    Innocence and strength of spirit was not preached…but wretchedness and our inherent weakness poured into us. 

    I recall spending my first night at a non-relative nonbeliever's home…I was in grade school.  They had a TV, the parents drank beer, and I was afraid to go to sleep.  I was terrified, like sleeping in the devils home.  Fear of them…and fear of the pull and not being able to resist.  I remember we slept on the floor in the livingroom, and she fell asleep with the TV on…and I was mesmerized watching it, while knowing it was wrong, but couldn't stop.  I felt how 'evil' was stronger than I.

    The little innocent child self, curious and in wonderment, wanted to see TV, knowing it was wrong…did so and then was terrified I would die with this sin in me and go directly to hell.  Stuck in a home of nonbelievers.  A weak child against the demons.

    Looking upon this from the perspective of the program they were putting in place sickens me.  Not so much the program which is so filled with elitism, but the fact that the innocent child gulps this up without question. 

    Eroding its sense of pureness. Imagine by grade school, I was already gone.  

    Now add onto this being abused by my father.  I am weak and wretched once again.  

    And now my mother's opinion of me comes in.  Once again, no one sees my innocence.  It must be true.

    Three very influential factions in my little world all see me as no longer innocent.

    There is no way I can't turn on myself and see me as they see me.  

    See my body as they see my body.

    And if I was of stronger 'faith' or a stronger little girl, I could have saved my innocence….I believed.  I was the one who was weak and couldn't save myself.  Because I couldn't I was responsible for being irresponsible.

    I didn't pull apart the string so deeply to see the intricate pieces of how all my innocence was lost.  

    If the church still held me innocent, while I had lost it with my father, I would have then been half innocent; half good.  But, there was no one in my little life that seen me as a very innocent child whose consciousness is not devious.

    What a big burden for a child to carry, the lack of innocence and good.

    No matter how much I tried to do good, It was never enough to erase the DNA of being guilty for losing my innocence…hating my weakness against evil.  I lost and it won, always.

    To see myself and to know myself and to feel myself as being innocent/good/a joyful Spirit was taken from me…replaced with feelings of guilt, shame and weakness. 

    It is like the church/dysfunctional parent rips apart all that is natural, and of spirit; peace, love and joy…transforming the child of innocence, to reflect instead, that of the devil and hatred and fear.

    What chance does the child have?  

    No wonder I felt weak and powerless, I was.  I was weak in discernment, weak in not standing up against adults.  I was weak in not questioning…I was weak and unable to fight those who were determined to have my innocence.

    Yet I berated myself and my weakness…and grew into a girl wise beyond her years.  An old person in a young life.  I tried to control what was out of my control….and felt guilty when I couldn't.

    I knew I lost my innocence. I knew I was weak.  What I didn't know was that the strong people in my life preyed upon this.  That there was no way in hell I could have stopped this.  

    Not the rape of my body nor the rape of my innocent mind by the church…nor could I have convinced my mother.  For her love of both of them left me with no one to turn to.

    As Dr. Maya Angelou says, "Children's talent to endure stems from their ignorance of alternatives."

    What I failed to appreciate are a few things;

    The strength of the adults and the natural inherent trust of the child and its inability to discern makes it the weaker of the two.  It isn't that I was irresponsible, I was naturally over taken.  

    I didn't fight this larger system.  Which leads to another quote by Dr. Maya Angelou "…surrender in its place was as honorable as resistance, especially if one had no choice."

    I now can honor my lack of resistance, for I had no choice.

    It wasn't weakness…I surrendered in order to survive.

    I can vividly see, feel and know the weakness wasn't weakness, but the truth of being a child…it is inherently weak against an adult.

    It isn't a personal character flaw, a carelessness or calculated callousness; I was naturally being a child.

    I could weep for the natural little girl…who believed the worst about herself.

      IMG_2874

    Photograph, by Hannah Jukuri

     

     

     

  • Window in Self Love

    Sitting here this morning with a visual of a scorecard and its shocking totals are prompting me to shut a door, close a window, and separate myself from those racking up the score.

    It wouldn’t be so bad if the game was close to a tie but the numbers in the Perpetrator column are 100 and the Little Girls Zero.

    This game started with my parents and continues on to the second generation, they have taken over the scorecard and adding their marks.

    Each of us carries our own scorecard and then a collective one for those we travel with, and we write upon who we are by where our hash marks go.

    Our actions are our hash marks, no words are needed, its an actions only game of life.

    I had 40 years of filling the column up with support for the Perp and his wife, I worked, lifted, carried, toiled, struggled, adding to their columns.

    They had my full undying support, my confidence, my faith, and what I called love back then…they had all of me, and I had zero.

    Zero was all I felt and all I was worth.

    My only worth came from filling up another’s column.

    It was up to me to build them up, cheer them up, help them up, make them up, hold them up, Anything to keep them from falling down.

    I was worth something If I could keep them from falling down. Like a juggler of bad behaviors, I kept trying harder the more they fell down.

    Sadly all the beefing up of their columns couldn’t make them into what I needed them to be, and in the end they fell exactly as they were, nothing changed.

    We just can’t know that we are not our brother’s keeper, we can’t make or break their lives by our actions, our actions and our scorecard is our life.

    Each of us accumulates scores by what we do.

    My actions have drastically changed, I no longer lift a finger to add anything or take away anything from another’s scorecard, I only make marks on my own.

    Don’t worry folks, I know what you feel about me, I know the sharp edges of self righteous labels you are sticking on me, the tags of uncaring, cold, heartless, mental, unstable, distant, sickening, all the names float towards me when we communicate, I get it, I receive fully your intentions and your feelings, and this is why I am shutting the window, closing the door, for I am not willing to take it anymore.

    You won, the game is over.
    I quit.

    You can’t keep racking up the scores against me If I am no longer in the game…

    My wellness, healing, happiness, peace, love and joy falter as each time I feel these energies coming towards me, it is self-abuse to keep the window open.

    I shut the window in self love.

  • Behave my way into love.

    What I didn’t know about self love is that it wasn’t a word in the head,
    a thought in the mind or even a feeling, but rather Actions.

    The actions you have towards yourself, not how you appear in public, how you walk,
    talk or behave, but rather is is the obvious and the not so obvious.

    Self love is the food you eat, to the way you move your body, to the places you bring it, to the people you subject it to, all comprise the love you have of your self.

    Somehow I think I thought, it was a saying in my head.
    Perhaps the absence of saying, “I hate myself.”

    Yet my self hatred was exposed for all the world to see.

    It was in the food I ate and how much.
    It was in the way I didn’t exercise or even take my body out in the fresh air.
    It was in the silence instead of speaking up, hidden in the yes when I wanted to say no.

    All in all the evidence of self hatred lay literally everywhere, and no amount of positive affirmations planted on the pile of self neglect would change a thing.

    I had to act differently.

    I had to behave my way into love.

  • Sprouting Self Hatred

    As I headed to my room to do yoga with my belly unsettled, images of the laughing sisters, my demeanor glum, I wondered how yoga would be.

    The standing poses went by without a hitch, but as I lay on the floor, my focus went into the belly.

    What was going on?
    What was I feeling?
    Is the gut where you feel?

    The thought came in, “I hate your guts”…and then I thought of how in the last few weeks, while doing yoga, I have been concentrating on my belly, my hernia that has been there for a long time, and I have been mentally pulling my guts back in.

    Whether it will work or not, my focus has been on my belly.

    “I hate your guts”…I thought was coming from my sisters, that I was feeling their negative energy coming in to me.

    As I lay there rubbing my belly, asking it what it was up, what was all this about?

    Tears flowing, caressing my belly, breathing, missing poses, it finally occurred to me, “I hate My Guts!”

    My hating of my self has been with me a long long time; in fact my guts have been trying to escape!

    I hate my self for no longer being perfect, I felt like a little girl hating her body for its abuse wounds.

    During the final breathing exercises, I visualized hate blowing out, and immediately felt that I have been holding a belly full of hate for my body since my abuse.

    I hated being imperfect.

    My belly can rest now, for I will now work on loving my belly, loving more the imperfections that abuse leaves behind.

    How awful that abuse leaves hatred of self inside our bellies, how we try to escape from ourselves.

    I feel I have found the source of all my angst, the infestation of feelings that lay inside, the seed abuse left there to grow.

    Sprouting self hatred…