IMPERFECT Lady

Moment of Time

How would you live life if there wasn't the application of forgiveness?

If all your actions were accountable and traveled with you?

Are there choices you would no longer make?

 

My views on forgiveness have changed completely.  I used to believe it was kind of me to wipe away sins from others- to forgive and move on as if that sin didn't happen.  This was kindness to me.

 

When applying forgiveness - it never occurred to me that - it was a mind game.

It was a thought process - and usually left me feeling resentful.

 

I was taught to forgive.

That it was MY way to heaven.

And it wasn't my business to care or judge the sins of others.  My 'job' was to act and feel that the 'sin' had been removed.

 

Forgiveness was the magic eraser - and we all then had to believe IT was gone.

It was a mind shuffle at best.

 

My mind was conditioned to do this magical exercise - and it didn't allow for my feelings or emotions or even the reality of what happened.  I was made to live in pretend land.

 

This land of pretend - often overlooks the hurt that is done - for I guess we don't forgive what is right. Only the wrong things.

 

When you are made to live denying hurtful behavior - you are only seeing one side of a person - the dark side isn't to be mentioned.  We live with the potential - but not the real.

 

This may seem like madness to those not raised on the forgiveness of sins.  It was the way of heaven.  In order to arrive in heaven one day - you must forgive and be forgiven.

Forgiven of sins.

 

Each church and religion have their own set of what a sin is.  

 

This tool often means you don't really really really have to change, you can repeat the behavior that is wrong - because there is this application to wipe clean what you did.

 

It boggles my mind now - that I lived believing in this. 

 

When you no longer have this tool - your choices matter more.

Again, what if your sins truly don't go anywhere, but those choices live upon your heart?

 

It was an interesting and horrifying visual to see the sins of my father being repeated for decades.  The sins (choices) were repeated upon new victims.   Forgiveness didn't change my father - rather it allowed him to sin again.

 

In my old religion (First Apostolic Lutheran Church) the focus only glanced briefly at the sinner - but we were made to feel worse than the criminal IF we didn't forgive.

 

The onus was on the victim to keep the reputation and character of the sinner in good standings.

It is a co-dependent relationship at best - but one where it is impossible to leave the victim position. And the sinner never appears to have to wear their sins.  They are often hidden by forgiveness.

 

Is it truly unkind to make others wear their choices?  

Living without forgiveness for almost 20 years has made me much more accountable to myself. I know the steps I take will be recorder upon my spirit.  

 

Perfection is not what I am aiming for - nor do I feel that it is up to others to maintain my character.  

 

No one comes in with all the answers or the right choices to make in life.  Each time life presents us with a choice, we will live with the consequences of that choice. It lives with us.

 

We are composed of our life's choices.

 

The poor choices I made while under the influence of a brain washed mind - live inside of me. The years of denial and blindness accumulated a burden of consequences that overwhelmed me when I understood that all I forgave - was for naught.

 

Forgiveness now feels like a swear word to me.

And kindness a cloak of blindness.

 

There is a meaning of forgiveness that resonates with me - "Forgiveness is giving up the hope that the past could have been any different, but we cannot move forward if we're still holding onto the pain of that past and wishing it was something else."

 

In giving up hope that the past could have been any different - it set me free.

I was made to sit with what is.

It is interesting how the pain did eventually subside once I sat with the lost hope.

 

Who knew that giving up hope for things to be different could be so life changing.

Without the hope of things being different - I could sit in what was - and I could feel the angst of the reality of the sins that lay at my feet - mine, theirs and how these choices create a pretend reality.

 

It seems insane that a life without forgiveness is so kind.

 

And, I am not even sure I use Hope anymore.  Not the hope that is like a prayer for things to change.

 

I just live with what is - and I am okay with the sins I carry - for I when I knew better - I did better. 

 

My heart's content holds all my life's choices - I carry the weight of my heart.

Without the hope that my past could be any different - I feel peace today.

And my future lives in the reality of this moment of time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

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.

 

It's called Artist

Art as therapy is something that is an interesting adventure.  The piles of things I make often represent the outcome of channeling my anxiety or perhaps waylaying it.

 

Art in itself is odd.

Being called an artist odder still.

 

I am drawn to doing things with my hands - but it mostly feels like my body and soul need to make things.  

 

Not just things; but things that carry energies of joy and feelings of love.

 

When I was unpacking for the Art Show - I said over and over "Oh I love this one." It was like I wasn't there when I made it.   

 

Expressing my feelings in art - is perhaps getting in touch with the feelings I had long been detached from.  It is like my body now craves being surprised by the things my hands create.

 

When I am working, I decide things by feelings.  The colors and the designs in the fabric that seem to dance together are what I love.  There is magic in pairing certain colors together. 

I still feel like a beginner and I have been sewing art quilts for over 20 years.

 

It mostly feels like I am selling my lessons or what I am practicing on - and that I am working towards a goal I cannot see.  Mostly I am present with my art and where it is at this time.

 

As my art continues to weave and change - so do I.

 

The energy that comes forth in my art - refuels me.

I am grateful to make art.

I am grateful it makes my body feel joy and it tickles me.

And grateful that others see what I feel and even more take my art home with them.

Being an artist is more of a feeling than a label.

 

Second to doing art, is enjoying the art of others. I love when I am surprised and made to feel something when seeing what others do with their hands.

 

Art carries a feeling - a message from a soul.

I looked up the definition of "Artist". 

"a person who creates art (such as painting, sculpture, music, or writing) using conscious skill and creative imagination."

I agree the combination of skill and imagination is what make the magic.

There is a quote about "Worry is a poor way to use your imagination."  Doing art give my mind a better way to be used.

 

Often instead of thread of worry, I have piles of un-made pieces I can't wait to do.

My aunt whose sewing machine I inherited when she passed away - used to worry that she would die before creating all the ideas she had.  I get this.  And the more you do, the more ideas grow out of nowhere.

 

Art is a therapy for me, it keeps my wandering mind entertained. 

And maybe I am creating images that bring me love, peace and joy.

 

Artist isn't about me - it is about what comes when I follow my imagination.

I am inspired by others and use their ideas and make them my own.

 

I don't take being an artist seriously; but I do making art.

My life is better when I find the time to do things that bring me joy and excites my imagination.

I feel that my soul speaks through my art.

In looking at my art, I love my soul.

I love the playful colorful joy it expresses.

Perhaps my soul has a name - it's called artist.

 

( I have been going through old pictures - deleting them to make room on my devices. It is fun to see the older ones.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Perceive

Almost 19 years later and I am still wrestling with things in my mind - trying to understand the things that can't be understood. 

I am not sure if folks who were not abused look so deeply into life and people and their actions or intentions; but I am stuck here trying to figure me out.

 

Not only myself, my traits, my beliefs, my mind - but also humanity at large.

What makes a person good or evil?

What makes a person unforgivable - and often this is me.

I am unforgivable - yet my mother is forgiven - yet what did I do?

 

How bad am I?

 

How are we constructed into being a good person, and how much does it take for us to slide off the scale of good into bad.

Are we as good as our worst behavior or action?

Is there a spectrum of good and evil?

 

In my old church the evil was forgiven and sins tossed into a sea called grace.

Folks who did bad things, could return to their goodness - evil never stuck.

 

My mind is having a hard time trying to come up with a clear definition or concept of good and evil - and if there can be good people who do bad things.

 

My mind wants this to be cut and dried - good OR evil - not good with a smidgen of bad.

 

Once my brainwashed mind cracked and I saw truth and reality - I also became more discerning about actions - words grew faint.

 

I watched how people moved and who they stood by and what they championed.  I colored them by their own behaviors; while questioning my harsh judgements.

I kinda felt pangs of guilt using the word "judgement" like who does she think she is....

 

So, I looked up the definition of Judgment to see if that is something to be shameful for.

"The ability to make considered decisions or come to sensible conclusions." 

Nothing to be ashamed of.

 

The church was forever preaching against judging - and that God would be the Judge someday - that we were not to judge.  An old guilt system arose as I saw myself judging.

 

What is interesting that I question my judgment - almost more than their actions.

This I feel becomes a smoke screen for the evil folks - where they want us looking inward and not outward at what they are doing.

Especially folks who are behaving poorly.

 

My head hurts trying to figure out what's more true that there are good people who do bad things - or are there just good and bad folks.  That there are some bad actions that can sit in harmony with good.

What else stirs my mind into crazy thinking are the people who can switch sides. 

It is like they don't have their own standard - but can flow from side to side.

 

What does that mean?

 

Is it possible to not sit on a side?

Can you flow detached - and is that being neutral?

 

Is there a place to stand against evil and be with evil all at once?

Where is it and how is this achieved?

 

Oh and the other thing that comes into my thoughts, is how we see people how they treat us.  

 

My husband said about a person that I no longer want to speak with - is that he's always been kind to me.

 

I get this.

I am not expecting him to follow my lead.

But, what I feel is that folks can be kind to one person and then completely evil to another. And, that often we don't see the evil until they turn on us.

So is this person good as my husband's experience - or a not so good person -like I feel he is?

It leaves me to believe we can be good and evil - it all depends upon our perception and our experiences - and how others see and experience us.

"A common saying is "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," which means beauty doesn't exist on its own but is created by observers. That famous quote can help you remember that a beholder is someone who sees or otherwise experiences things, becoming aware of them. To be a beholder, you have to pay attention."

 

I like the fact that beholders have to pay attention.

I am a beholder - now.  

It cost me too much to not pay attention.

 

So goodness is in the eye of the beholder - but does that mean they are good?

It could also mean the beholder isn't paying close attention.

 

I feel that many people don't really want to be a beholder, they instead have a lazy relationship with reality and feel they are kinder if they see only good in others.

 

This part can really get my mind going.

What is kindness?

I believe kindness is often misdiagnosed.

Kindness -"Kindness is a type of behavior marked by acts of generosity, consideration, rendering assistance or concern for others, without expecting praise or reward ..."

 

Many times when folks are asking us to be kind, what they really are asking is for us to be beholders that overlook the poor actions of others.

 

Be kind, you don't know what battles the person is dealing with.  Withhold your judgment...  

 

I am not sure that is what kindness does.

To me, kindness stands and faces the truth.

If a person is doing bad - acting poorly, and if they were someone I was close to - it seems like it would be more kind to pay attention.  Kindness to me faces reality no matter what reality is revealing.

 

The lesson from this writing for me - is that I am a beholder that pays attention.  I see the wrongdoings of others and that directs my interactions - or distance based on what I see.

Even hear.

 

I trust my friends, if they tell me a person was mean or treated them poorly - that person is someone I want distance from.  If someone treated my child poorly, I will act like that was done to me - and keep my distance.  I don't know if this is normal or healthy. 

I just can't pretend to pretend to pretend - that I don't have information about their character. I am just not good at fake friendships. Nor do I want to be close to or spend time with someone I know who can hurt others.

 

Just interesting about being a beholder.  I am a beholder who pays attention to the actions of others - and move accordingly.

 

This piece reminded me how the beholders see one person- each see something different.

 

There are beholders who will never see clearly - if they don't want to know the truth.

I am learning life is all about what you perceive. 

 

Who Feel Like Home

I was challenged today about not trusting christians.  I promised to write it out.

 

This is my third draft and I think I figured a few things out.

 

First I will be using my abusive childhood to help illustrate for it shows the dramatic changes of heart.

 

My last conversation with my mother was her telling me, that we had two different perceptions of my father.

 

I recall hollering back to her, there is only one - he’s in an orange jumpsuit in the Houghton County Jail.  Meaning he no longer is a father - he changed my perception to an abuser.

 

 

Is it really possible to see the same thing so drastically different?

 

At first I thought those who are defending religion were like my mother - defending - her views against mine.  

 

But, then I realized they were more like me, or like I used to be.  

 

I was sold on family and religion. I believed in both - and looking back - I don’t know how I didn’t know.

 

I also thought that I was the loving one - that I brought love to my family.  But that isn’t true. I didn’t know love.  I only knew what love wasn’t.

 

Did my family and religion change?

Or did I.

 

What I believe to be more true is that I discovered love. I learned to love me.  I learned about boundaries and what my own truths were - I questioned my own values and perceptions - I watched my own actions how much I lived my own truths and spoke them out loud.

 

I believe that my definition of love changed. 

My family and my religion did not.

 

I changed my perceptions.

About love and about my self.

 

In my world, and in my heart of hearts - I feel I am one with reality.

 

 

As for not trusting christians.  I am still doubtful.

 

I would change it to being skeptical of most.

 

 

I am grateful for those who shared their words, their faith, and love of religion. You have added a gradation to my painting a wide sweep - there are tones. So not all the same.

 

I see myself in you.

 

I also see my old habits of black and white, with us or against us - sentiments showing.

 

A bad habit of mine.

 

For I do see the world more nuanced.

 

With a heap of skepticism on religions.

Perhaps our definitions of love are in various tones as well.  We all decide what love is.

 

 

I still feel the uncomfortable space that opens up when I am asked about God and Religion.

 

Equally when I asked about family.  Being estranged isn't the common path.

 

Many who have not left church or family will not be as sensitive to the phrases, questions of others.  How a simple statement - excludes you.

 

Do I trigger doubts in them or do they trigger doubts in Me?

 

I didn’t try to change my childhood family - instead I began changing my own legacy within my home.  By loving me - it is my hope that love will be passed down.  

 

I am redefining what love is - to me.

How love feels and how it engages with others.

I vowed not to let the legacy of abuse define me. What it actually was was a vow to find love - be love.  My greatest legacy to pass to my children is love.  

A love that is accepting, kind, peaceful, joyful, allowing - natural love without constraints of any sort.

 

I believe my childhood family believes in their definition of love and they find it there.

 

As for religion - I have zero desire to find a new religion.

It isn’t a place of love for me.

 

My church is where love is.

 

While the sentiments of my previous post is about religion and christians - What I believe the source of both is - is love.

Each person and the church they follow - has a definition of love - a sentiment that has standards and morals.  Your love matches.

The old adage, "Birds of the feather flock together" has relevance.  The flock is what they called parishioners in the past.  Who you fly with matters.  

My flock is small - misfits - who find themselves outside of what is called normal - the imperfect souls.

The tagline of this blog "I M Perfect and it is impossible not to be.

We fly with those who feel like home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Covering Up?

I think people think, that the hardest part of speaking up about sexual abuse is the speaking up. The harder part is not being believed.

My voice and my words appear powerless, and the benefit of the doubt goes to the pedophile or person doing red flag behaviors, and even to the silent ones who know.

And those who speak of it - somehow - are made to be the ones insane.

Our character, motives, opinions etc are questioned - not why the others are silent or the actions of the abuser.

 

My speaking up is worse than the actual person doing the abusing.  

I am seen as slandering the family. I am the one wrecking the image of the family.  Not the ones who are actually abusing children and the ones who are silent about it.  It is so backwards, it is insane. I am the problem, not that there is a problem.

 

This dance has been going on for generation upon generation.

The pedophiles do not act alone.

Those who are silent form an impenetrable wall around the abuser. 

They are silent to protect his innocence.

Silence is golden for the abuser, and dangerous for innocent children.

And, if you speak up about the abuse - people move away from you.

You become isolated - while the abuser is kept within the tight circle of family.

 

 

In order for abuse to continue it needs a few key participants.

Or maybe just one.

Silence.

 

What is the Ellie Wiesel's quote,

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."

And, another one that is applicable.

"We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor; never the tormented."

 

In the dynamics of families who have abusers in the mix, everyone picks a side.

The only innocent bystander is a child - an innocent child who believes that the adults in her/his world will keep them safe. That they are safe with family.

 

You can either stand on the side of the abuser or his victims.

There is no in-between space to be.

You are either speaking out or being silent.

 

Silence is a crucial and key part of the dysfunctional family.

 

I have lived on both sides now.

And, I don't even know how to articulate the vast differences in both lands.

I have rightly been accused of being silent for 46 years.

I was part of the problem.

I denied my denial.

I denied my own abuse.

I had to look up denied. "State that one refuses to admit the truth or existence of"

Yes I refused to admit my own truths and the existence of abuse within our family.

 

Keeping up the image of our family being a good one, was hard.  Speaking about abuse is harder.

I was seen as a good daughter and sister in my silence.

And, the opposite for speaking out.

 

And, many would love to see me go silent again.

To stop talking.

Stop writing.

Stop being.

Just stop, so we can have our loving image of family.  

 

Will my silence make it so?

 

It is interesting the team of silence keepers compared to the tiny crew of those speaking up.

When they say silence is deafening, it truly is. It drowns out the screams of abuse.

 

I had thought that one person could matter. That one voice could break the trance of denial. That one eye who saw the truth, would be enough.  I was wrong.  I didn't calculate the strength of silence.  The sheer volume of those unspeaking.

 

The chorus of silence is overpowering -creating a false innocence. And the lone voices speaking up are seen to be insane, family haters, slanderers, folks who don't care....- feel free to toss in your own opinion of me.

 

Perhaps it is easier to disown me and my voice - than it is to disown their own family.

I had to look up "disown".

"Refuse to acknowledge or maintain any connection with."

 

I totally feel disowned - due to me speaking up.  And, it isn't me personally; but the truth I speak of.  They don't want to acknowledge it - so it is easier to refuse to acknowledge me. They want to maintain a connection with family and it is easier to disconnect from me.

 

In the past 17 years I have been speaking out, my biggest hurdle is the strong silent army of silence.

And, sadly they don't realize that their silence is the very thing that a child believes is free of danger.

The child believes that silence means nothing is there.

How could a child know that underneath the silence is an abuser.

They innately look up to adults and believe they have their best interests at heart.

The silence of the adults in my world  - allowed me to be abused by my father. 

The silence of the adults allowed many little girls to be abused.

The silence became my way of life too - until it wasn't.

 

My silence cost children their innocence.

My speaking up is trying to rectify that.

I was, and am damned on both sides now.

 

Standing up for abuse, I am finding, is endless.

You don't just get to speak up once.

Each time another generation comes along, so do new abusers.

That is the only logical way abuse flows from generation to generation.

There is through line.

An orchestrated dance of doing exactly what the generation before you did.

You will get the same results.

 

Abusing and silence are the dance partners for generational abuse. One simply wouldn't survive without the cloak of silence. 

You know what is weird - you would think in the war or battle against abuse, you would be battling the abusers.  Instead who your greatest opponents are, are the silent ones.

What is the silence covering up?

 

Echoes of My Own Words

When raised in a co-dependent household, we learn behaviors that take a lifetime to undo - We learned that we were responsible for others. That it was up to us to make them happy, keep them safe, make sure they make the right choices, the list is long and endless.

We were taught that we had the power and influence - that would supersede the person's own free will.

We were taught that our decisions and choices always had to feel good to others.

How dare we live in a way that was not what the majority approved of?

 

My focus for the first 46 years was how my life affected others.  

And, for the past 16 years I am trying to detach from this responsibility of other.

I am trying to give that responsibility back.

 

And, I fail when my children choose to be with my estranged family.

 

It feels like I am responsible but not in control.

 

But am I responsible for their choices as an adult?

When does my responsibility end, and theirs start?

Who will ultimately be accountable for their actions?

 

My rational brain can know - their choice and their consequence.

While my worry and control - or co-dependency - has me twisted in knots trying to sway their behaviors.

 

My choices when they were children - was to be part of the family.

I allowed and helped them form relationships - that they now have the liberty to continue with. Just as I have the liberty to stay away.

It will be now on their watch - if and when something happens.

I have shared that abuse flows within my family, the legacy is many generations long - and growing.

They are not going in dumb.

 

Their reasons for going in can boggle my mind.

 

Perhaps I want to spare them the feelings of knowing you were part of the abuse circle.

That my inability to step away, to listen to my body ended up contributing to the climate that abuse thrives in.

 

So the bottom line is what is my responsibility now?

Whose life do I have influence over and what do I actually control?

 

What is odd too, is that I am in angst and tied up in knots - when I believe I can control others and can't.

 

If I just go by how my body feels and what brings my mind to rest - is being with my business and my life.

To do my own life.

To be in my own life.

To look around and see what is and what is not my responsibility.

 

What I know for sure living outside of co-dependency is much simpler and feels like a peace calm sea.

And, when I am trying to sway another, I feel like I am in a riptide.

 

My Co-dependent mind had me believing it was my responsibility to wrestle control away from my children. Again.

When my focus, attention, feelings and emotions come back into my world - I am present and with my body in my life - there I have peace.

It doesn't take long to slide back into the role I was given as a child - to be responsible for things I didn't control.

 

Being responsible is perhaps my biggest weakness - or more being Care Less a strange place to live.

 

I wasn't allowed to care less - I was put in charge of caring more - of caring for those who could care less.

Caring when others were careless.

 

The zone of caring less - leaves the space open for all kinds of monsters to invade, and they do.

 

Another part of being abused is feeling like you were somehow responsible. The abuser and the supporters seem to go free - and the victims are made to be responsible. Didn't you know, couldn't you tell, who didn't you protect???

At one point or another - most of my siblings blamed me for not telling - for not warning - and perhaps this is why I can't let it go.  I took on too much responsibility - even by feeling guilty - that I didn't spare anyone from my father.  Being I was one of the earlier victims.

This blog was a place where I could warn others, to speak up and to share and to not be one of who knew and did nothing. Who kept silent etc.

Maybe my only responsibility is to keep speaking out.

But if feels like I am talking into an empty tank, that all I ever hear back is the echoes of my own words.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He Acts Like a Dad.

Love and fear.  Everything the father of a family says must inspire one or the other. 

  ~Joseph Joubert

 

Today is Father’s Day and kids of all ages will think of their dads and of the many ways he influenced their lives. 

 

As I look at my father, I feel that he missed the mark of being a dad and in doing so made our lives that much more difficult to navigate.

 

We are taught by what we see in our home and from the way we are treated.

 

We learn to love from how we are loved.

We learn respect from how we are respected.

We learn about our self by how others treat us.

We learn how to feel about ourselves by the way others feel about us.

 

We are simply taught by the actions others give us.  And in my childhood home we were given a backwards kind of love, one that mixed love with fear.

 

Love and fear do not go together, ever.

 

They are not the ingredients to make a child grow.

 

I am so grateful that my children do not fear their dad.

 

My mother said at one time that what she wanted most was for her kids to have a dad; she didn’t want to deprive us of that.

 

Yet the man she hung on to was not dad material.

 

You can have a man in the home, but only his actions can make him a dad.

 

My husband has surpassed my wildest dreams of being a dad.  He has spent endless hours engaged with our kids on all levels.

 

He acts like a dad. 

 

 

my hand is reaching.....always.

When I seen the date today, I felt the need to explore where I stand with the brother whose birthday it is today.  He is the oldest in our family with me coming in a year and a half later.

 

We were different in so many ways, where I felt responsible and took care of the siblings, he seemed to rebel and go his own way. 

 

His life was separate, often in his own room, drawing Art that was very intricate in detail but in a twisting and mixed up sort of way, black lights and posters of darkness.  He seemed to stand alone and aside from our family in a defiant sort of way.

 

He rebelled in school, about rules and things the teachers were teaching, always challenging the norm.

 

He wasn’t afraid to be the loner or to be the odd man out, in fact he seemed to try and be outstanding but in a unique way, yet never really catching on to our disapproval, for he was just being himself.

 

He feels that it was my fault that his childhood is now tarnished with deeds from a father towards a daughter, that I totally wrecked what he considered an average childhood.

 

His memories are now twisted and mixed up like his drawings of past, perhaps his sub-consciousness was the Artist back then.

 

When I first discovered that I was a victim of my father, that he was a pedophile, it never crossed my mind that my owing that would affect my relationships with my siblings, that it  would come between brothers and sisters.

 

My brother felt that the ‘victims’ would get all the support and that his poor father would stand alone, so he became the one to step up and be with him. 

 

So he was the one who made sure he had a good lawyer, that he was bailed out and a place to live, first at his house, until I called the Court, letting them know he was in a home of a young girl, and then to his camp. 

 

As he stood steadfast by my father’s side, I slipped away.

 

It was odd to fear a brother, to lock doors with a racing heart, not knowing what such a confused person could do.

 

I was the one he stood against, me his sister.

 

What do I do with that?  How do meet him and keep this part of him separate and not allow it to come between us?

 

I fully believed the children would unite and form a close front, that we would heal, and deal and commiserate together, a rag tag crew, broken, defeated, upside down, dragging each other across the finish line of normal.

 

They say what doesn’t break you makes you stronger, our family broke, well it was already broken, but this just made the crack wider and even more jagged. 

 

The relationships between the 14 children, varied between ages and the span of years that separated, whether you had kids or not, whether you lived near each other, and even if you had similar likes, but at the end of the day, I assumed when trouble hit us, we would cling to each other and become a better family because of it, instead it seemed to stretch and rip an already weak thread that held us together.

 

We all, each one of us were not strong enough to paddle our boats through the rapids while carrying and holding on to another, it seemed it was each man/woman for himself.

 

And maybe that is the way we all grew up, separated and it was for survival of the fittest, doing what needed to be done to get us through.

 

I really don’t know how he felt justified to stand beside a man who hurt little girls, a man who was so self- absorbed in his own addiction, but that is what my brother did.

 

All I can now do, is honor his choice, allow him the freedom to spend time now with his dad and my perpetrator, and in doing that I also get to have the freedom to step away from that relationship.

 

There is no common ground between the way we two handled this crisis, the way we rowed our own boats, his headed deeper into the swirling dark waters, while I paddled like mad to put distance and space reaching for land and the safety it would offer.

 

He and I literally are heading in opposite directions, I guess like we always have.

 

Funny he now steps in and is responsible or feels responsible, to stand by his father, like we are in a mental relay, he grabs what I release.

 

I am letting go while he is hanging on, or picking up what I am putting down.

 

Happy Birthday Brother, if I had a gift to give you today, it would be the gift of release, of surrendering and no longer carrying of others and their lives, to be able to create wonderful art, without the twisted subconsciousness emerging, to be free and unique, in peace and joy, just to be.

 

Free of the dark swirling waters.

 

If and when you change direction and start swimming towards land, my hand will be reaching….always!