IMPERFECT Lady

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!