IMPERFECT Lady

Where she used to stand.

I often wondered how I would find out - who would be tasked with "telling" me.  

Social media is the informer.

I never considered - I would not be told.

She passed.

 

I can't know their reasons, I can guess - they feel my estrangement doesn't require social graces.  

 

My journey with her, isn't theirs.

My interactions or the lack there of - and why - is not theirs.

My grief a long while ago - is now theirs.

I am sorry they lost a mom.

I lost a ghost, who I used to call Mom.

 

I feel peace in the space where she used to stand.

 

 

May She rest in Peace.

There is a humming in the backdrop of my life - a ghostly echo from the past. Most often nowadays, it is barely perceptible - and then voices come in.

Words carrying the wishes, for the lack of a better word, from my estranged mother who is actively dying.

When my answer is different than her wants - it appears that I have turned judgmental.

 

"Hopefully you are never judged by people who never walked in your shoes." A brother.

 

If and unless, I do her bidding, then I am seen as judging her.

Is it judging to want to do something opposite of her wants?

 

Others seeing me as judging her - based on my opposite choices - has always confounded me. For I don't feel that I am in judgement - in fact, I am more concerned about how my choices affect me - inside - and how they sit right with what I know my truth and reality is.

 

I had to google, What motivates people to judge someone, just to see what came up.

 

"As with projection, feelings of inadequacy tend to be closely related to insecurity, as are many reasons for a judgmental mentality. If someone feels inadequate about something, they may be more likely to mock or belittle others who have a healthier—or simply different."

 

"People judge others to avoid reckoning with potential feelings of inferiority and shame. Since judging others can never give a person what they really need, they feel like they have to keep doing it. One can choose not to perpetuate the cycle of judgment."

 

What is interesting to me about this - is that judgment is coming from the lower place of feeling shame and inferior.  It doesn't come from the place of being healthier and more aware of yourself and self-love.  Which of course it wouldn't.

 

After reading that I wonder who is judging who?

 

Parents write upon the clean slate of a child.  They will either raise their self worth or lower it.  In my case my slate lowered my worth.  I was eclipsed by their needs.

 

It has taken me many years to wipe that slate clean, to right if you will their wrongs.  I no longer carry the shame that is theirs to carry.  

In separating out what actions are theirs and what responsibilities are mine - I began re-defining me.

I wasn't who they wanted me to be.

 

In my heart of hearts I do not feel I am judging.

I am instead making choices based on what feels right for me, what actually will raise my level of integrity.  

 

What I also know to be true, is that my choices - are not viewed as kind, loving or with a heart.

I get it.  

It isn't the right choice for you.

 

As she lay dying - it doesn't change how I feel inside of me - or want me to make a new choice.  

 

In the end of the end, I continue to honor our estrangement.  

For us, it will be a life sentence.

It was a choice.  A healthy response for me. I found my soul's worth on the outside.

 

As they hold vigil close.

I will be outside.

 

Two generations of women - each of us are walking our own path.

We each carry our own legacy and the past littered with a million choices.

We will reap what we sow and our hearts carry what we love.

 

She is now a stranger I once knew, and her path, one I used to walk on.

May she rest in Peace.

 

"I don't know what's best for me or you, or the world. I don't try to impose my will on you or anyone else. I don't want to change or improve you or convert you or help you or heal you.  I just welcome things as they come and go. That's true love...." Byron Katie

 

 

 

Strings

"Oh the Heartstrings of Reality" was in a message from a soul sister friend.  

There are feelings that tug on our heart strings, stirring up memories and crushing dreams - both loving and not so loving.

 

I wondered about the content of my heart - and the memories it holds. 

I often say, "I hold you in my heart" as if it is a sacred place to keep cherished beings.

 

It feels different than "I will keep you in my thoughts".

 

I also wondered if having feelings means you are suffering.  

 My brother commented that "Emptiness and loss is a state of suffering in my experience."

But is it?

Do we suffer with feelings or do we simply express them?

I wondered how many feelings we have and how they land on the scale.

"Plutchick believed that humans can experience over 34,000 unique emotions but, ordinarily, they experience eight primary emotions. These primary emotions include anger, fear, sadness, joy, disgust, surprise, trust, and anticipation. These emotions are arranged as opposites on the wheel: Sadness and Joy."

I love that there is an emotional wheel - kind of like the color wheel 

 

What surprised me was the imbalance if you will between what we'd call positive over negative.  

Yet are they?  

It seems more they are just messengers about our reality as well as a way for us to communicate what we feel inside. 

 

I have been pondering his words and my world and my experiences - with emotions.

In my early life, I repressed emotions - and neglected my feelings or even allowed myself to feel.  Let alone feel and speak how I felt. Then I believe I suffered. 

Suffering feels restrained and tight.

 

Feeling the emotions of estrangement - is just that - feeling what its content is.

Perhaps IF I stood in the estrangement space all day - I would be in suffering. But, it is a place that I visit; but I don't live there.

 

I live in the wider space - for the relationships or non-relationships I have with my family of origin - only pop up from time to time.

Almost two decades have passed by, my world has been filling up with new relationships and shared memories, they are not a part of.

They are a heartstring from long ago.

New strings grow and old ones fade and get tattered.

There are fanciful ones and sorrowful ones, like a heart of many colors.  If you look at the color wheel, we can only hope our heart carry more sunshine colors.

Our heartstrings are personal and carry the language of our journey.

I was inspired to do a heartstring heart.  And I was waiting to add words after I blogged. 

I am thinking now my heartstring heart would carry more color.  I will see where today's art takes me. 

My heartstrings, today are not suffering.

I love the content of my heart and all its strings.

 

Heaven on Earth

"As long as you think that the cause of your problem is “out there”—as long as you think that anyone or anything is responsible for your suffering—the situation is hopeless. It means that you are forever in the role of victim, that you’re suffering in paradise."  
Byron Katie, Loving What Is: Four Questions That Can Change Your Life - another comment from my brother.

 

My recollection of doing the Work of Byron Katie, is you only do the work on things that are causing you suffering.  And her work is to bring you back to reality.  

I love her quote "When you argue with reality, you lose, but only 100% of the time.

 

My brother who is commenting now, is the one who introduced me to her books and work and many other authors. She however, was one that really helped me in the beginning as I was awakening to the realization of my brainwashing, and how skewed I was in seeing the world, my life, my self, and others around me.  My mind was fickle at best and a liar most of the time. 

I used to trust my thoughts and how I saw the world - until my world imploded - and I was shown how off the mark I was.

 

There are hardly words to describe the terrifying moment, when you realize you have been living a lie, you are a lie, and the world you created, was created by a you  - you don't really know.

 

I had said, "It was like I was lost, and I had to go find me, and I didn't know who I was or that I was missing."  The fear that arose felt immobilizing.

 

Byron Katie's simplicity - made this so much easier.  

Her phrase "I am a lover of what is, not because I'm a spiritual person, but because it hurts when I argue with reality."

 

Reality became my religion. My only task was to not argue with it.

No matter what appeared or what action someone made etc, it was my job to accept it.

There is peace in this method, for no matter what is in reality, it is.

The mind doesn't get to play and distort it. 

 

What some may fail to appreciate, is that accepting reality is not always kind things.

I was being asked to accept a father that was a pedophile.

I was being asked to accept that family members were going to support him on various scales.

I was being asked to accept the volume of things that unfolded into reality of there being sexual abuse within our family - for generations.

 

Suffering wasn't  in my mind.  

Reality was displaying things that blew my mind.

 

Even Byron Katie would agree - a pedophile does what a pedophile does. He abuses children.

 

Having this information allowed me to make new choices.

I also had new labels.

I no longer expected father type behavior from a pedophile.

This actually brings peace to your body and mind.

I would suffer - IF I believed he should act fatherly.

I didn't.

And I was free from being his daughter. 

 

So while my brother comments and believes that I am suffering. I am not.

I am processing the aspects of being estranged at the time my mother is actively dying.

I am processing the emotions that it brings up.

I am not suffering.

I am living with the reality of my orientation with my family of origin. 

 

 

I know that Byron Katie's methods work. For each and every time - I was brought to reality, peace arrived with it.  

 

I am open to suffering. For when I suffer and I seek to find what thoughts are upside down and backwards, I am brought back to reality.

Reality is for me, Heaven on Earth.

 

 

 

Rest in Peace is for the living.

"Being an active participant in your family of origin in the dying and grieving process brings many profound gifts. Choosing not to be part of it is your choice. Estrangement is a choice and not a life sentence. My experience of this is so different than your last blog. I wrote about it as well."  (a comment from my brother on my last post.)

 

Isn't it always easier to tell someone else what to do - than to just do your thing and let others be.

His words boggle my mind. For he and I shared thousands of hours talking endlessly about abuse and the effects it had on us, our lives, our well being - or the lack thereof.

To insinuate now that I can change my choices seems like insanity talking.

 

Who are you now?

 

My gifts were delivered to me when a small girl stood up in our family and spoke the truth about the sexual abuse. It changed my choices then - and it changed me. 

 

That truth, as ugly as it is, allowed me to see who I was, how I came to be, and why.

That little voice changed who my parents were that day.

I was given a reason to make a new choice - and I did.

There hasn't been a reason to undo that choice.

Even as she lay dying, nothing between us changed.

Her physical body is failing.

 

The voice of truth that dares speak out - allows others to speak theirs. It is that little voice that broke into my brainwashed mind and allowed me to see a reality - I cannot not see. She changed the lens and how I see and how I engage in the world - in how I see me.  

Her gift gave me love.  

I found profound gifts in the truth of sexual abuse.

 

My active participation in her family was for 46 years. I was one who helped keep the truth hidden by not listening to my body,  to keep the family appearances up and to help her uphold her pretend world.  Once I knew what I was participating in, I stopped.

Our last conversation, 19 plus years ago - she directed what was off limits to speak about - her husband and her religion.  That didn't leave much room for the truth to be aired.

I left her home, knowing her and I would never see eye to eye on reality, life and family.

 

Estrangement doesn't have to be a life sentence, if both parties are able to communicate truthfully and be allowed to speak and address the wounds that severed the relationship.

I am unwilling to leave truths at the doorway - in order to be in her presence. 

 

We all have choices to make - and you can change your mind - at any time - for any reason.

And, as they say, you are free to make choices, but not free from their consequences.

 

I am at peace with my estrangement - for the reason are still very valid.

And with estrangement comes emptiness and feelings of separation - that is normal. And I do miss the family moments, even those in death.  

That is the cost of my choice.  

 

Yet the gains are far more.  

To name just a few - Love, peace and joy.

 

I will know when to change my choice.

My heart, body and mind will see a new truth - I will feel the seismic change in the universe - and the choice will be made for me - I follow truth, no matter where it leads.

Thank you for prompting me to examine my choices - to find they still stand.

Rest in peace is for the living.

 

 

 

Love will be Mourned.

There are many moments in estrangement from family that are hard to navigate and one being the death of a family member.

Word reached me last week that my mother is on comfort care for a failing heart. My only comment back was "May she rest in Peace."

 

I knew the day would come and I wondered how I would feel.  

What is in my heart of hearts?

Would I want to reach out etc?

Would I feel regret for the lost years?

How do you reconcile the estrangement at death?

Isn't estrangement death of sorts?

 

My heart wrenching grief began 19 years ago.  My loss happened then. She wasn't the woman I thought she was.

Our Irreconcilable differences were so vast - our relationship broke - and our contact. 

The mother and daughter bond was severed.

A death came then. 

I was motherless.

 

 

I know some will feel it is Sacrilegious to bring up parts of her life - now.  But when I see our relationship, all that stands up is why it broke.

 

Being estranged at death is complicated at best.

Folks don't even know what to say - "You have my sympathies" - seems not to fit.

There are no rules for the Estranged, or protocols we follow.  Typically we are out and out.

Persona non grata.  I had to look up that definition.  

"they become unwelcome or unacceptable because of something they have said or done."

That tracks.  

 

Mostly what I feel is the expanse and emptiness of estrangement. I feel the loss compounded. I feel the aloneness. That is what estrangement feels like - and I don't think death feels that way - when you love someone or have been loved by them.

 

Estrangement and death then are different.

Love is felt at death.

Lack of love in estrangement.

I don't know what a mother's love feels like.

To be seen and heard and valued as a child - a foreign concept.

 

I had to be the mother she wasn't, to my self - to heal the wounds she inflicted - along with my father.

 

There aren't the warm memories of the past - nor the loss of the future.

A void is there - has been there.

Can you grieve a void?

 

Mostly I guess I am sad. 

Sad for what wasn't.

And sad for what I had to lose in order to change the legacy of her life.

Yet the loss has great meaning.

Love lives where it never lived before.

 

An estranged daughter still feels the lack of love.

Nothing to grieve, nothing to miss, nothing to mourn.

Sadness in missing love of a parent.

Perhaps cheated on the grief in that loss.

Or being proud of the person they were.

 

There simply isn't a role for a child who is estranged.

Her feelings don't matter.

Her presence not needed.

Love doesn't draw her there.

And love doesn't go where it isn't valued.

The path of love is built on truth.

I want to live a life where love will be mourned.

My Life in Slow Motion.

As I lay on my bed, before being rolled into surgery, I acknowledge my hip and its service for 65 years.  As I put my attention to what it had done for me for so many years, I got a lump in my throat.

Mostly in awe of its strength and durability.

The thought that first came in was all the years of holding a baby on my hip - jutted out and one arm around the child. This began before I was much over 5 years old.

A lot of little ones were carried by me, soothed and clung to me for care.

As well as my own children.  This is just what mom's do.  Nowadays mom have those neat little wrap things that hold the child to their torso.  I am feeling it is much better on the mother.

 

My hip has been through a lot. 

Its history is mine - knowing the body keeps the score.

In acknowledging it - and feeling gratitude and release - I then opened space to welcome a new part. 

 

What has been interesting to me, is how in the painful moments of recovery, and broken sleep and odd dreams - it feels as if sorrow has been disturbed.  Awakened old wounds and feelings of missing- a longing - and even deep loneliness comes up.

 

A dream about a child and them not understanding my absence - or me longing to be part of something I no longer can be.  An Aunt who isn't one. 

 

My history and caring of family seems to have been stirred up - in the worn out body part.

Emotions pumping through me carry voices of the past in my dreams.

 

It could be that in moments of suffering - other sufferings arrive.

 

These surgeries - or more the first few weeks of recovery - slow down time and your life.

My world evolved around rest, ice, medicine and basic life care. You become very self - centered - for taking care of your own needs IS all you can handle.

 

Little things become big ones.

Getting dressed, making it to the bathroom on time, getting in bed and getting out of bed, getting comfortable in bed, putting clothes on and taking them off - all while not bending much - giving the hip time to heal.  Stepping into the shower with care and stepping out.

My Walker has a makeshift basket on it - it rocks.

I can bring tea to the living room, a wonderful warmy (heating bag) and my ice packs, my yarn, my treats, my water, etc. It  gave me hands - that the walker took away.

Taking care of my body - where so often in the past, my body was used to care for others. I now was tasked to care for it - handicapped. 

I am grateful for my activeness prior to surgery, it has helped when parts of me are strong. I can see how important it is to keep physically active and how other parts of your life are made easier because of it.

I have help.

Good and caring help - patient and understanding loving help. I am beyond grateful.

I wasn't alone.  I have a good partner; in sickness - and in health.

 

Being temporarily handicapped makes you appreciate health, strength, endurance resilience and the active nature that is usually my life - and options.

To appreciate the freedom of life, the plans and the open door to adventures.

However there is something to be said of this down time too.

The smallness and simplicity of the world inside my house and mainly in a few rooms.

To focus on projects that require mostly hand and eyes. 

During the painful days, it gave me something else to focus my attention on.

Art Therapy for me is to keep my mind happy dwelling on constructive things. Left alone it tends to ruminate on false narratives and lies.

Doing art engages my soul and the childlike sense of self.  And man, time flies when you are having fun.

 

Life at a slower pace isn't bad, you can still find things that delight your soul.

I do miss being outside though - and I am excited for my ride tomorrow to see how my hip is coming along.

 

I am so ever grateful there is a surgery that can take out an overused part and replace it with a new one. This new hip will allow me to live through more adventures - my world will be open once again.  Until then I am caring for me - in my life in slow motion.

 

 

 

 

What I see

A friend posted a beautiful video about giving up Shame for Lent.  

It got me to thinking what was shame.  Where did it live, how did it get there and is it more a mental idea or a physical feeling or both?  

I went back into my life and searched out shameful behaviors or feelings I had and what I did or didn't do that prompted shame to arrive.

 

What I recall more, is the feelings of shame leaving me.

Shame was a feeling about myself - that was untrue.

For when my father's sexual abuse came to light, my innocence was returned.

Shame and innocence don't go together.

 

In reconciling my truth, my past, my behaviors, my thoughts, my beliefs and even my so called 'sins'. - I understood one thing.  That given the choices I had at the time or the beliefs I held, my wrongful behavior was not conscious.  

 

I recall sobbing and walking down our road - in shock and awe of the journey I had been on - and how denial and a cult like religion - gave choices no one in their right mind would choose. I was disconnected; but from me and my truth. It seemed I wasn't even present in my own world. 

 

I wasn't ashamed at who I had been.

It all made sense coming from whence I came.

Given the upbringing and all its factors, there simply wasn't another choice, until I was able to be free from denial.

 

I also recalled being ashamed of my truth - in the early days.

I was ashamed at being abused.

Ashamed of my family's legacy.

Ashamed I lived behind the newspaper and TV headlines - the residual affect of my father's behavior. And then ashamed of the religion I had been a part of. Ashamed that my religion forgave his sins and allowed abuse to continue.  Ashamed of how I had supported folks who supported him.

 

It took a lot of writing, walking, reading, sobbing and distance and time to feel comfortable with my past.  A past I was born into - schooled and groomed into. A past that wasn't my design - though I lived it completely.

 

When I understood that so much of who I was - was built upon the ideals of my parents and not me - shame slipped away. It wasn't as my nephew used to say, "Not my Poor Choice."  

When I understood that I wasn't my religion - but that religion was a bunch of beliefs in my mind - I found compassion for me and how I walked.

 

The more years now that I have lived a very conscious life, a life that reflects my own beliefs, emotions and feelings - I don't recall shame.  Perhaps an uncomfortable feeling of going against family and church.

 

I feel that often victims of childhood abuse carry forward Shame.  Shame in somehow believing that the past was their making. That the abuse was something They did wrong - instead of what wrongdoing was done to them.  

 

There is a definition of Forgiveness - "Giving up all hope of having had a different past."

It was in accepting all facets of my childhood and past - I was able to sit in the emotion of forgiveness. I didn't need it to be anything else.  I think shame comes in - when you fail to produce a good childhood - when you have had a bad one.

 

Back to Lent and what I feel I need to give up.  

I had to go and look at why folks did this - what is the objective - in order to see if I was willing to play along.

"The main purpose of "giving up" things in Lent is to bring us closer to God; to prioritize God; to put God in the center of our minds and lives; to make God the focal point."

"Purpose of Lent is the preparation of the believer for Easter through prayer, mortifying the flesh, repentance of sins, almsgiving, simple living and self-denial."

 

 

It appears that I don't need the practice of Lent.

 

Finding my innocence and forgiving that the past could have been any different - has brought me to a place where love, truth, peace and joy live.  The emotions of God.

I am not sure where God is not.

Or, that you can get closer.

Heaven on earth is more of what I see.

 

 

I hope my friend's lent works, so she can see what I see.

 

 

Unfazed

Aging is an adventure and I know I am privileged to experience it - and it looks to be an interesting ride.

 

In my experience, you only age outside - I still feel the same inside, the me that I know -isn't aging.  However when I catch myself in the mirror - oh my she has changed.

 

I want to be the one who ages gracefully who appears delighted with the lines and wrinkles, who is unfazed by all the aging markers - who lives and loves and dreams in youthful ways.

 

What is interesting is that I lived most of my life separated from my body - in my mind.

I was schooled to believe that the body was sinful - it would lead me astray.

Yet it was through my body I found reality and truth and Me.

My body led me back to my authentic self.

 

My body is an instrument that is finely tuned - when I paid attention to its subtle and often not so subtle messages, it lead me to inner love and peace.  The mind - well - for now my mind is at rest.

 

As I witness the aging body and how it starts to limit some activities or perhaps the speed of which I used to move - and again how shockingly unlike me it looks - it feels like I am entering a new phase.  One where I now have to get used to this new me. The Old Me.

 

Old me - has been arriving for a few years now.  

I want to feel comfortable with old me - and I guess with time I will be.

Age feels like you become a different self.

Not bad - but not your old younger self.

Letting go of who you used to be.

 

If you live long enough you will go through many life transformations.

This old version so far has been interesting.

I am grateful that for the most part I am healthy and I can do what I love - just slower.

Going slow is not a bad thing.

I feel like I can be more present - and patience is my friend.

 

I am hoping for a good long adventure into aging and that I can gracefully accept the changes, I can't change.

 

Mostly, aging is an opportunity to love longer and share life with those you love.

How the body changes is the least interesting thing about age. What is more is how we navigate the change and how we find ways to live that make living the wild journey that it is. 

The phrase, "Live like you are dying" means more now. I feel the sand disappearing down the hourglass. But mostly I feel that I want to live in this moment in time and not let it slip away by being unaware.

 

The body as it ages, it can and most likely will change the way I live. I am hopeful that I will adapt and accept its limits. Live within the limits and stretch them as far as they will go.  And to love the image in my mirror.

 

I know many who love changing into the image of their moms. Seeing me lean into her image startles me.  I don't like seeing her in me.  We are not twins; but there are enough similarities to bring her to mind.

It is harder to accept the image that looks like her.

Acting differently than her, loving differently than her, living differently than her - I am different in all the ways that count. This will help me to accept our image.

 

Embracing my old image and learning to be come familiar with her.

What I want most is to play as the old lady. To be her and move through this old age phase unfazed.  

 

Oh and remember when you were little and you used to say, "I can't wait until I grow up and I will be able to do whatever I want."  Well, I am thinking the years after 65 are those years. Our mothering duties are done, we are free from employment, the world, as they say, is our oyster.  Time to play in my old lady years!

 

A Legacy she can be Proud of.

In my old body lives a young girl.

Brokenhearted and at peace.

I feel her most on my left side snuggled under my ribs.

At times she is the lump in my throat.

 

She is my past and very present. 

 

My heart weeps for her brokenness.

Broken relationships she cannot alone fix.

Her heart craving what is gone.

And loving her present.

 

I see her pure intentions as a child manipulated and twisted. Her forgiving heart blocking out the reality of horrors. Her innocence used and managed.  Lost in the intersections of abuse and cult-like religion - her childhood lost.

 

A child lost in the sea of adults failing.

She tried to fix their wrongs.

To be a good girl; to want less - feel less - be less - speak less- to disappear and grow small.

And yet to be more.

More kind, more forgiving, more good, more responsible, more helpful.

It was never enough.

 

I see and feel her trying to achieve the unachievable. For no matter what she did, reality remained the same.

 

Her failings back then are my goals today.

 

I am grateful for the tug on my heart of sorrow and empty - for it reminds me to truly live.

She will always feel the brokenness of estrangement, the longing for that family and I am okay with it - and she is overwhelmed with gratitude for the love her heart feels to those she loves today.

 

I feel the separation and the union of her and I.

We know what love is not.

We know what love is.

 

We can't fix the past - nor the brokenhearted.

Somehow I feel her broken-heart is the wall between my past and present.

My heart had to break and I had to break up with my family of origin, in order to course correct and to have the love I have today.

 

This brokenhearted girl rides with me.

 

I think I thought over time, she would disappear and the new self would take over and she would be but a small blip on my journey.

But my heart tells me different. 

It beats differently - separated from those I was raised with.

 

My sorrow and broken heart is part of who I am.

It rides shotgun and is my constant.

 

She is part of my heart and love.

Together, this old body, my broken heart and I - we live a great life.

Each of us carry a piece that is needed to feel fully alive.

She fuels my courage to dare and hope and dream and achieve.

It is my intention to live a life with a legacy she can be proud of.