I M Perfect lady

Tag: trauma

  • Reflect That.

    Karma - "The total effect of a person's actions and conduct during the successive phases of the person's existence, regarded as determining the person's destiny."

    While doing yoga today, it came to me that Karma isn't about what you do for others so much as it is what you do for you. How your actions are in harmony with your truth and spirit.

    Karma is very personal…it is between your soul and how you present yourself to the world.

    Karma isn't about doing for others at the cost of your own inner peace, love and joy.

    Our lives (karma) are echoing back how we feel about ourselves…not what we do for others.

    Our destiny is decided by how we speak our feelings and how we create boundaries as we care for our self.  

    Karma is self care…self love…being one with your spirit.

    Our karmic care is lost in a multitude of ways…for me it was abuse and being raised by a woman who was selfish, but not self caring…if that makes sense.

    She wasn't able to care for her self, let alone for the 14 children she gave birth to.

    I wasn't given a good role model on how to sow a destiny of love, peace and joy for my self.

    What I hear many saying is that they are going forward with the positive, and leaving their past behind.  

    And, what I see is that they are unwilling to examine their karmic trail, to see the exact science of cause and effect, and it is how we respond that plants a new karmic seed.

    I just don't see how being 'kind' to my father served my mother.

    It left her with a husband that was incapable to love, no matter how 'loving' she was.

    This is what I mean by our karma isn't doing for others, but rather doing for our selves.

    She would have taught her daughters a completely different lesson, had she been aware of what her actions were doing to her self.

    I had always felt that she had multiple opportunities for a redo…each time he committed another act of abuse…she was given a choice to act differently, but time and time again, she failed to change her response.  She doesn't know how to begin to begin to change her karma.  She will always get what she has been getting, for she is doing what she has always done.

    There is an internal cost to loving people who hurt you.  Each time you focus on their needs and neglect your needs…you are being unloving and uncaring to your self.

    I just can't see how treating yourself poorly will grant you a karmic trail of love, peace and joy.

    You are not giving love if it is hurtful to your self…you are hurting your self and I am not sure what the other person is getting except perhaps a false message…or a message of how much you are okay hurting yourself.

    We are not responsible for the content and the destiny of each other's lives.

    We are only repsonsible for our own life. 

    Our life reviews will be feeling what we have done to others.

    If you are loving them falsely, you will feel this empty love.

    I believe that my karma path changed, my life's destiny was greatly altered when I began living from the inside out.  I went from expecting others to make me me….and instead worked on creating my own self.

    A self that had boundaries and self care rules.

    I no longer was self less and could do anything for anyone.

    I had an inner awareness of this living breathing soulful self who was affected by how I acted.

    I no longer lied to myself.

    I no longer pretended at the cost of myself.

    I became extremely aware of how each action I did was setting up my future world. For, I had experienced living a life, blind to the karmic response…and was intent on making others happy, while completely neglecting me.  And yet, I was very narcisistic.

    I just read that narcistic people can be either controlling or neglectful…and I believe that the difference between a narcistic person and one who is self loving is how they see/love themselves.

    I have been reading just a bit on narissistic people, and here is how I see it.

    They need someone else to show them themselves…they are incapable of seeing themselves by themselves.

    Meaning, I was a good mother IF my children showed me how I was.  

    I was a good friend, if a friend could show me how I was by what they said about me.

    If another person wasn't there, there was no me.  My sense of self was just a reflection.  I had no inner view of myself.

    A narsissistic person disappears without you telling them who they are.  It is a job that is endless.  My mother is only a mother if we make her one.  On her own, she is very much not a mother.  I was/am the maker of the mother daughter relationship…she couldn't be a mother without me.

    I know this will seem vaguely mental, but unless and until you can get away from the reflection of how others see you….you will not get this.

    I have deflected if you will all other's opinions, and have gained a connection with me inside.  I have literally turned inward to find out who I am.

    In doing so, my karma has changed from being narsisstic to being self loving.

    Anytime you are worried about your reflection (how others see you) you are dancing on the lip of being narsisstic.

    My mother believed, that her reflection of how she seen my father would change him…for, she loved her reflection of her self and not her self.  So, she worked on repeatedly changing his reflection by how she saw him.  And failed to see the real him.

    The world is not set up for us to change each other.  Imagine how brutal that would be, to have your image continual changed by how others seen you. Which they do and it does…but only in their eyes.

    No one can change my image of me, but me.

    I am solely responsible for my actions and my responses. It is my intention to pay attention to my inner world and the outer world will reflect that.






  • Unexpressed fear.

    Mothering for certain is where my greatest weaknesses lie, where all my scars seem to congregate and wait for one child to push a button, and all of the unexpressed emotions come charging forward, ready to spill from my mouth.

    A few sentences do, a few sharp tones and hitting remarks find their target…before I am able to gain control of myself.  Inside of me then echos and reverberates voices of fear and confusion, feelings of being put upon, used, etc.  My child self rallies forth, elbowing out of the way the mom.

    I have, and have had, a very hard time heading into conflict a mom first…leaving behind my scarred child self.  Which leaves me standing there a mom, spewing forth childish words of defense…forgetting I am supposed to be an adult.

    By the time I remember to be an adult, the child has made a mess…voiced promises she isn't going to keep, poured feelings of petty indignation and pretty much presented a 'mental' mom.

    My adult self then has to clean up and find a solution that restores us both.

    As long as my children live here and are under my care, I will have to be on guard.  Just as I don't want my child self creating my nutrition plan, I don't want my scarred child mothering.  

    She mothers out of fear, screams in fear of injustice, fails to see both sides is very much shallow and self absorbed…contents of an abusive mother.

    Knowing she exists inside of me, isn't enough to keep her silent…to keep her back and away from conflict.

    I wonder what triggers her most?  What are the tones that ring for her to enter into my world uninvited.

    They are feelings…feelings of being used.  Feelings of imbalance. Feelings that others should or should not be doing that which they are doing…so when I feel out of control, she rushes forth.

    Guess that is what they mean by Post Traumatic moments.

    Ugh.  I just get so drained being a mom sometimes.  Working to not become postal, and yet time and time I do.  Each time I climb to the upper rung by putting them down, I lose.

    Certainly, they are not the long raging moments of before, just small aftershock like spews.  Is it even possible for me to be in conflict while in control?  I get there, but not till after I have had my ugly say.

    Ugly say has to be like sweet treats, something that my scarred girl lives upon…being mute in the first few moments of any conflict will help and open up space for my adult self to arrive.

    Today, I quilted…lots.  Thankfully so.  Imagine if all I had to do was to monitor the folks who lived with me???  My child self would have a field day.

    Maybe one day I will match the lady of my quilts.  Be a lady at all times…in conflict and without.

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    Doing Bikram yoga in the Sunrise…. (perhaps doing more yoga will release the unexpressed emotions.)

    And this is my latest Kayak Lady…

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    Art Therapy…it allows me a place to escape from the trauma…a place to express beauty…instead of unexpressed fear.

     

  • Holding it all Inside.

    I didn't catch the speakers name, but heard her on Sirius radio say, "trauma is experienced in the right brain and stays there until you express it.  The left brain categorizes our experiences and it needs to be expressed or it gets left on the right with no way out."

    I had never heard trauma explained quite this way.  I had looked at trauma being felt in the body, but I hadn't considered the brain, except to note that my category lady was filing things in a haphazard way.  And actually, she was doing a fairly good job without the experiences noted of abuse.

    When you connect the trauma and file them in correct categories, you then get a complete picture of reality. 

    As a child, my trauma was not allowed to be expressed or let out of the right brain…so there was a divide between what the left brain was saying and what the right brain was holding on to.

    I believe that while the right brain is holding on to trauma, it leave little room for creative tasks, or space for love, peace or joy. The overall humming of trauma, the screaming fear muffles out the music of our souls.

    When my niece spoke up, she opened a pathway to my left brain, allowing the trauma to escape my right brain. It started as a small trickle, but a waterfall of expressions flowed forth.  In a short amount of time, my trauma which had been stuffed in my right brain for 40 years finally made connections with my left brain.

    It is quite incredible how the two sides are designed to work together and when the right side holds back expressions how frozen you become or numb and unexpressive in all areas.

    When Dr. Jill Bolte-Taylor spoke of the right and left brains, she wasn't speaking of childhood sexual abuse, so I failed to understand the meaning of what happens when traumatic emotions get lodged inside and have no way out.

    Dr. Jill did say that the duties of the left brain is to weave the most plausible story with the least amount of information.  What I hadn't considered is how a story is written minus expressed emotions.

    It was shocking to be me as the first trickles of traumatic expression flowed forth, for it was very alarming in the velocity and strength, the years seemed to have added volume and force…or perhaps it was exactly as a 6 or 7 year old would have felt it at the time of the original event.

    Incredibly horrific and wildly freeing at the same time.  Like riding a wild horse yet fully in control.  Experiencing traumatic emotions, riding their waves to freedom…expressing and releasing myself from the years of holding it all inside. 

     

     

  • Taking the same steps.

    I backed away from people who hurt me, I retreated from untruths, receded from supporting religions, I moved from co-dependency, I pulled myself back from all the places that seemed to support dysfunction and it seems I landed in a corner with my back pressed against the walls of truth, and I now am standing alone.

    Perhaps this is how we enter into Heaven, we come alone with our suitcases fully packed with our lessons, our truths spilling out, our journey’s pivotal moments all stacked up like final exams waiting to be scored.

    Did I pass? Can I fail? How will I know?

    Sometimes it seems that in separating my truth from fiction, I have backed myself right out of my life.

    It is like I am at the end of my fictional life and a toddler in my new life.

    Simultaneously dying and being born, grieving while celebrating, saying good-bye and saying hello, a stranger and a new friend all living as me.

    It is like doing your own autopsy searching for the cause of death and witnessing your birth while being born, all at once.

    My greatest challenge is to find a new place to stand without the exhaust fumes of lingering fears clouding up my new self.

    To live fearlessly after knowing great fear, and not pack too much of the past into the present, be aware but not wary.

    Just as horses where blinders to shield them from scary things, I wear blinders that seem to shield me from good things. I wear them backwards.

    These blinders of immense fear stop me from seeing other alternatives.

    A wise woman kindly suggested removing the blinders, and letting in a view from the side.

    To see if perhaps there is a way to release the high emotions and find common ground where we are looking in the same direction but with two different sets of eyes.

    Self absorbed and selfish, is wearing blinders. Even if the blinders are made out of fear, they are blinders nonetheless.

    As a horse who has traveled so long relying on just one set of eyes, I am fearful in allowing others to see…with me or maybe for me.

    And to take my eyes off my road seems careless.

    Yet this one eyed view in a relationship, renders the other blind.

    Fearlessly I will have to take my eyes off my journey and look into his.

    And then perhaps when our eyes join together we will see a perfect view.

    Like getting the perfect pair of glasses that correct the distortion in our eyesight.

    I recall reading somewhere, that if two people are exactly alike as a couple, then one of them isn’t necessary. What I need isn’t someone who sees like me, but rather someone who sees what I don’t see.

    It doesn’t mean I give up my view, but I include his, and perhaps then we can find a place where we can walk together seeing differently but taking the same steps.

  • Joined them back together.

    The way I described this past Christmas was an ugly beautiful one, where inside I was so dark and the outside so light, how mental psyche steers my world, not the decorations on the outside.

    I was clearly shown that no matter how I orchestrated and decorated and baked and made perfect the outside, it had no influence upon my inner world.

    It wasn’t even a blue Christmas it was black.

    Frozen darkness inside…is that called depression?

    Yet it was a moving depression where I was working on the outside to cheer me up inside.

    I always pictured depression as sitting in a stupor, unable to move. Is there a moving depression or a fallacy that if you can create a warm peaceful atmosphere you will have the same inside?

    What I think I thought, was that if you were dark inside you could change it up on the outside to help alleviate the feelings, yet what needs to happen is that you have to go deeper into the feelings, leaving the outside alone.

    When I started to spiral into darker feelings, I kept
    cleaning, instead I should have stopped and sat with my feelings.

    Writing and exploring why I felt the way I felt.

    I wonder if depression is repressed feelings, if denying them and focusing on changing the environment you live in, instead of investigating your feelings and relationships is the cause?

    What I feel is I was given a real life experience, situations and feelings that represented the flavor of my childhood, and then a dream to show where the seed was planted, how my mental psyche was developed.

    A main piece of the puzzle was cleared up for me.

    My father was happy and desiring me.
    And I was happy to please him.

    The sheer terror wasn’t there, perhaps too young to know…in my mind no terror.
    And my head seemed detached from my body.

    My body and head separated.
    Hence, no memory in my head, but my body held on tight to the trauma.

    I am filled with admiration for the little girl who so bravely withstood such trauma, who did her best to please in the most horrific of circumstances, all she wanted was her daddy to be happy.

    When it is over, and the child seems ‘unaffected’ it is because they no longer are one.

    The mind and the body separated.

    The body holds the truth while the mind was elsewhere.

    Bikram Yoga is about bringing the mind back to the body.

    In the 360 days that have passed, I have missed 32 days, days in which I was working so hard to reconnect my head to the rest of my body.

    To live as mind body and soul.

    Yoga is the yoke that joined them back together.

  • Boundaries are the Key to Healing!

    Putting up boundaries to keep someone out is where I still get a little shaky.  Yet it’s those times when I feel toxic energy seeping in, that I must erect a boundary in place.  It is imperative to my healing.

     

    Set up the space to keep me safe.

     

    Peter Levine says on his CD, “Sexual Healing” that boundaries are key to healing.

     

    He explains how if you have no boundaries you get stuck in that place, that trauma that abuse, the hollering, and the drama.  But if you can erect a boundary, it is the opening to which you flow into.

     

    It is the stopping power that I lost as a child that I can now use as big person, one that will restore my leaking boundaries.  

     

    Stopping them from coming into my world.  I have the power to keep people out, where as a child I had none.

     

    Who knew that trauma is about being boundary less, which is why the world seems so scary, you are unable to protect yourself.

     

    Or you have the reverse, still no boundaries and no contact with feelings, so anyone can stomp all over you, again powerless to more and more abuse.

     

    What I failed to realize is that healing is having boundaries.

     

    Actually stopping toxic people from walking on you is healing.

     

    In fact he says, having memories or not doesn’t matter, it is the process of completing the action where the healing stops.

     

    Traumatized people get left in the trauma energy, the tightness, and the constricted fear with no way out.

     

    He teaches you to flow between being comfortable and going into the tightness or stiffness of neck and places where you are stressed and then into places where you feel comfort, the ebb and flow.

     

    It is so exciting when you find that you can exit a place, a feeling, a stressful moment, a relationship, a situation, and a conversation, to be the one to ask for space.

     

    Space between you and harm. 

     

    Asking for space is the healing.

     

    When you are the one who stops the harmful interaction you are healing, you are completing the cycle of abuse.

     

    You are getting out of the way, instead of being frozen unable to move, unable to speak, to have a boundary.

     

    “Boundaries are the key to healing.” 

     

     

  • Waking

    In Matthew Sanford’s book, “Waking” he writes in the chapter called “Body Memories”.

     

    “I am in the hospital, but what am I healing?  Is it my back or is it my past?  Whatever it is, I am on fire. What should be only a three- or –four-day stay turns into seven.  I cannot sleep.  Time won’t let me; ghosts won’t let me; past trauma won’t let me. Each time I drift off toward sleep, there is a fury. Startled, twitching, jumping, screaming – not mind, but body.  I can’t see it coming.  Blindsided, hammered, bouncing, thudding, breaking.  Then I wake to quiet, to stillness, only for it to repeat when I doze again.  I am exhausted, but it won’t let me sleep; whatever has me in its clutches won’t let me sleep.  I am overwhelmed.”

     

    “I am besieged by a past that I can no longer see.  I try drugs.  All these years later, they now give a patient control of the IV morphine drip.  I press a button and bingo.  I am trying to eliminate the transition into sleep; my aim is to move straight into passed out.  It doesn’t work; nothing works.  Something deep within me has uncorked.  I am coming apart. That thirteen-year-old boy is calling me back.  I am being pulled back into what I left behind.”

     

    “Over time, it dawns on me- I am having flashbacks.  Almost all of my physical trauma has occurred between the states of wakefulness and sleep.  I was dozing in the car when we slid down the embankment.  I was in a coma during those first few gruesome days.  I was on Valium when the screws went into my head, when they broke my wrist, and on and on.  So often my trauma had come when my guard was down, when I was trusting the world, when I was taking a nap.  Whether it is being in the hospital again or having my spine manipulated, my body is making me relive my past.  It is gaining voice because I am finally strong enough to let it.  My body has been terrified, and I am grief-stricken that it has suffered silently for so long.  I can’t stop crying.”

     

    “This goes on for nearly three days. Barfing body memories is what I am doing.  It feels completely out of my control.  But the memories are helping me regain a semblance of continuity. For example, I have mentioned before that I have no memory of the day of the accident. That’s not exactly true.  I have no mental memory. But I am learning that my body has retained the memory; it has been holding pieces of my history until I was ready.”

     

    “The experience of my body memory is hard to describe.  I now know the feeling in my body when our car shot hard left as our tires hit dry pavement.  I can feel the car tumble from left front corner to end over end.  More than anything, I can feel the terror of traumatic time, the pause, the hanging, just before impact. (This feeling is still triggered when I am landing in an airplane and the brakes engage.)  I now know that the blow to my upper thorax came from the right side at a downward angle, sweeping through my torso, from right-side ribs to left hip.  I also know- from the ‘inside’ – my shallowness of breath, my struggle for air, and my drift into shock at the accident scene.  Still, twenty-five years later, if my spine moves too much or too quickly during yoga, I go into a mild version of past shock.  My spine is still letting go of echoes of trauma.”

     

    “These memories are not visual. They are not thoughts.  They are experienced, something like the inward feeling of falling into a dream, only to wake up just before rolling off the bed.  They are pauses of fright and held in the silence before breath.  They are my body bearing witness to what my mind could not.”

     

    “As I lie in that hospital bed, I am temporarily living in more than one dimension at a time.  I did not expect this level of healing.  I thought I that losing the metal in my back would be enough, that this would neatly end a twelve-year chapter of disintegration.  Healing, however, is not instantaneous.  It is earned. There is no way to step around my body’s past experience.  I am terrified.  My body has much to say, and it needs acknowledgement.  More importantly, I need to feel grateful.”

     

    “As I wake up to the horror of traumatically induced body memories, I am forced to feel death – not the end of my life, but the death of my life as a walking person.  I absorb death as I watched that young boy having screws twisted into his skull. The silence within which I found refuge was a level of dying.”

     

    “In principal, my experience is not that uncommon, only more extreme.  We all experience levels of dying throughout our lives – the process of living guarantees it. As each day passes especially in our later years, we become increasingly aware of our own mortality.  If we can see death as more than black and white, as more than on and off, there are many versions of realized death short of physically dying. The death of a loved one sets so much in motion: grief, a sense of loss, tears, anger, transcendent sense of love, an appreciation of the present moment, a desire to die, and on and on…”

     

    “What happened to me was simply more dramatic.  I absorbed an unusual dose of death at an age when I still had much living to do. Then I made it worse by working to overcome my paralyzed body.  I used my will to step over it, to step over the perceived death of two-thirds of my body.  My actions unknowingly injured me.  Now, I can’t stop crying because in this hospital I am experiencing the convulsing body of a suffering, but I am doing so as an adult…”

     

    “During the previous twelve years, I have borrowed against my body.  I have unwittingly relied upon the resounding beauty of its discipline against death.  When I “left” my body during my traumatic experiences, it was my body that kept tracking toward living.  It was my body that kept moving blood both to and from my heart.  Often, as we age and can no longer do what we once could, we say that our bodies are failing us. That is misguided.  In fact our bodies continue to carry out the processes of life and unwavering devotion.  They will always move toward living for as long as they possibly can.  My body did not as for the rupture that it experienced, but it somehow survived it.”

     

    “I am still returning to my body and will do so for the rest of my life.  I will leave this hospital with the crushing realization of my body’s commitment to my living.  I did not mean to take it for granted.”

                    Matthew Sanford

     

  • A broken Heart.

    Remnants of a long conversation linger in my head, dragging out more ideas and different slants on fear, truth and death.

     

    I wonder what some would fear most, facing their truths or facing their deaths.

     

    If you truths were real vanilla and uneventful, of course death would loom large and scary, but what if your past was scarier?

     

    What if you were being asked to look upon a past filled with trauma, then how would your death look?

     

    Death seems like an escape hatch a welcome slide into oblivion, compared to having to feel, deal and heal a wound of abnormal proportions.

     

    Today I was exploring the depths of psychosomatic symptoms in the body and this is what I read.

     

    “Yet even when a patient accepts their symptom is being caused by an emotion—an exceptionally difficult barrier to surmount—the trauma that caused the symptom in the first place is often shown to be so ugly that both patient and doctor can readily understand why the patient’s mind converted it into a physical symptom in the first place:  even the mind itself believed the emotional trauma to be easier to handle that way. 

    Physical symptoms often get better with a pill.  Emotional traumas often take years to heal—if even then.  The technology we have to heal the scars caused by some traumas—as advanced and helpful as psychology can be—still lags behind the technology we have to treat ailments with purely physical causes.

    But we shouldn’t be discouraged.  We may all experience psychosomatic symptoms to some degree, but when our symptoms are shown to be so and we accept it, that acceptance becomes the most important step toward resolving them.  After all, how can we find a contact lens we lost by looking near a lamppost when we lost it in the shadows?  The real work begins, of course, once we start looking in the right place.  Dealing with somatization only requires us to bring to the table one quality:  courage.” (Alex Lickerman)

     

    Isn’t it amazing that the mind can convert trauma into a physical symptom?

    How interesting to read and understand more how emotional trauma affects the body.

    And I love how courage is what we need to bring to the table. 

    Courage. 

    Courage to face our truths, our past and our hurts, and especially if the truth hurts the images we held of our family.

    Courage, wow, I think they forgot a broken heart.

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  • The Way You Move!

    “A long marriage is two people trying to dance a duet and two solos at the same time.”

      ~Anne Taylor Fleming

     

    My solo dance has changed and it has affected our duet, for I am a new dancing partner.

     

    In the duet I am the odd one and we both feel my differences.  In places where I used to go, he goes alone, and in my new ways I go alone.

     

    Perhaps we are both learning new solo dances.

     

    The relationship is what the dance looks and feels like when we are together.

     

    I feel that it is my fault that we keep stepping on each other’s toes, tentatively trying to learn new moves, or feeling unsure as to where to step.

     

    We are out sync and out of tune, and it leaves you feeling uneasy and unsure.

     

    It isn’t like investigating a new relationship, for we have 28 years of being together, of growing and sharing.  It seems harder to make changes within an old dance.

    How easy it would be to bail out and go solo, where you can twist and turn and not bump into someone’s feelings, put up boundaries where you are the only one affected, where my actions only matter to me.

     

    For no matter what I do there is a ripple into those within my house.

     

    I took for granted the smooth dance moves we had, the rhythms and comfort we had knowing each other so well, I wonder how long it will be for my new solo moves to seem normal within the Us.

     

    What cuts to my core is I am not doing this on purpose, upsetting our world for something to do, I am just moving the best I can under the cruelest of circumstances.

     

    I didn’t set out to disrupt our dance, to step on people’s toes, to ruin the duets; I am just a dancer in reality, where in the past I was dancing to a song in my head.

     

    Our moves are awkward at best, stilted and unrehearsed, and sadly at times, more at ease alone.

     

    I was trying to shield the impact of my world imploding and the fall out it caused, but in the end it was felt anyway.

     

    I guess this is what it looks like when a family is impacted by tragedy and when one person changes so drastically that it splashes on everyone.

     

    This is what life is, changes change the way you move!

     

  • The Girl She Was Meant To Be.

    I found myself seeing myself but with my old perception and then with my new perception could see my old self.

     

    It is like looking in a two-way mirror seeing your self on both sides. 

     

    Amazing to see such contrasts between the two.

     

    It dawned on me that I am a crazy, daring, bold lady, a woman of courage who tossed aside 46 years of rules and regulations to follow her own truth. 

     

    I am in awe of the distance between these two women, and they both are Me.

     

    The lady I used to be didn’t break rules, she followed along obediently even if she didn’t want to, people pleasing was her full time job, and choice making wasn’t her strong suit, her sense of self was gotten from the multitude of labels she covered her self with.

     

    My new lady tossed out all the rulebooks, and set out on her own, using her own body as her guide, for the first time ever.

     

    I remember stating, “It was like I was going to find myself, I didn’t know who I was or even that I was missing.”

     

    And it was the truth.

     

    I left my old me and I walked away, for the old me was a combination of other peoples ideas of me, their needs of me, their wishes of me, I was a me of their dreams, but not of my own.

     

    The old me was built up for reasons that had little or nothing to do with me.  Even if I didn’t know who I was, I knew for sure who I wasn’t.

     

    A child molester once said, “I changed who she would have been,” and he is right.

     

    A little girl who has been molested loses her way, her passions, and her spirit. 

     

    Her life is only about surviving.

     

    In this two-way mirror on my journey I see how the same courage she had to survive, she used to set herself free. 

     

    From the wide view I see a fearlessly bold lady who has taken her life back.  Who will no longer just survive, but she will live.

     

    She will live her own dreams, have her own ideas, make her own wishes and suit her own needs.

     

    Self lovingly at last, she is free to be the girl she was meant to be.

     

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