Posted in Blogfest Entries, Challenges and Contests, Life Writing, Mindful Monday

Small Steps to Fitness for Mindful Monday

Do you know that feeling of wanting to set a goal, but being still too fuzzy on the details to do it? There’s kind of a nagging quality to it, that crawling feeling of something that wants tending to left undone.

I’ve been feeling that, when it comes to fitness and health – I knew I wanted to set escalating goals that build upon one another, and yet still make sense within the reality of my life- the framework into which everything else must fit.

But I was stuck on how to do this.

And that’s where the wonderful world of blogging comes in.

Last spring, I read this wonderful post by Amy Kennedy. I resolved to begin my own #onegoodcupproject that same day, and, I’ve done it nearly every day since. I write in three separate journals, do a bit of reading, and meditate for a few minutes, which puts me in a mindful frame for the rest of my day.

Sometimes, the intersections between the things I read and do hold magic. My intentions journal, for instance, has action-inciting prompts scattered through its pages. On December 2, I reached one that asked me to outline my overall health goals. This is what I wrote, that day:

Outlining my goals needs some thought, brainstorming, and focus. Maybe why I haven’t been oriented to this more…

Tomorrow, I delve into the emotions.

Tonight, I ponder.”

Clearly, I wasn’t exactly primed to make anything approaching a specific plan…and the next entry? Well, judge for yourself:

December 4, 2015 –

I didn’t write here yesterday – the kids and I headed to Saratoga for the Victorian Streetwalk, which we usually attend if weather and schedule cooperate.

Had a lovely time, and, of course, did some walking!

Okay, so on to health goals…here’s my first impressions:

  • More consciousness

  • Balance

  • Sanity

  • Fitness

  • Health

These are the main categories I want to focus on…”

Are you starting to see the problem,here? It’s really hard to change something for the better when I can’t even define the change I want to make in general terms!

Here’s the next entry:

December 6, 2015 –

Missed yesterday again. More walking – Annalise received an invitation…

OK, for the health goals….I have to confess, I’m not feeling them now. More tomorrow…”

Clearly, there was some serious resistance going on, here. I needed a lifeline. And then, one found me.

December 7, 2015 –

I think I have the glimmer of an idea that will shape my exploration and setting of fitness/health goals…

Silver Threading is running a long-term feature on healthy living as part of her Mindful Monday project. I’m going to start with that, and make my explorations public.

That will benefit me – I’m thinking I can do it either once or twice a month; not only would that keep me accountable and forward-thinking, it would give me ready MM topics for those weeks, and be even better if I develop a template for these…”

This may not be quite the tack most people would take for this prompt – but I had been disconnected from it, and now I’m feeling energized and raring to create a new vision and bring it to life!

Yay, words and writing!”

Ah, so there’s my “in”! Now that it’s in ink, I don’t know how I missed it so long. For me, experiencefreely shared through words, experience that might help someone else to a goal of their own, is a powerful motivator. It’s obvious with the shifting vibe, the longer entry, and the way it continues into the next post:

December 8, 2015 –

I’ve been thinking more about the MM fitness link.

I’ll let myself feel my way into this topic, a little at a time…because it’s not about ticking things off a to-do list – it’s about my life!”

Ah, and there was the realization I needed to really start to connect with the idea. It was the union of intent, motivation, mission, and revelation. Where I began with a sense of befuddled resistance to an idea that seemed vague and overwhelming, I’ve now come to the place where I’ve got a mindful approach that makes sense to me, because it suits my nature and my life. It gives me the time and space to think and feel this through organically, and to make shifts as I need to. More than that, I’ll be doing it in community, and that is also important to me, because I can draw from others, and offer to others, as I go along. And I honor my creative spirit, which might just be my best tool for change.

I’ll be back in two weeks with the first musings and small steps on the path to a greater vision.

In the meantime, I’d love to hear your stories! When you set goals, are you mindful of your own nature Do you use it to achieve your goals, or does it seem you’re always trying to exert your will against it?

Want more Mindful Monday learning? Follow the link!

 

Posted in A Round of Words in 80 Days, A Round of Words in 80 Days 2014, Round 1 2014

A Not-So-Playful Wrapup: ROW80 Update, 3/26/14

 

Curious? click the icon!

Hi there! I hope this finds you well and happy, indulging in things and people that delight you!

Here we are – time already to put ROW80 Round One in the record books, and ramp up for Round 2. My, that first quarter of the year went fast!

On Sunday, I will be posting my progress on my annual goals. But for today, I give you my final Round 1 update

I’d hoped to get more done, but…

Sometimes life gets in the way. Sometimes unexpected things happen (and, in the odd perimenopausal place I’m in, ‘often’ can be substituted for ‘sometimes’). Sometimes, decades after puberty, I get clusters of acne. Sometimes I get them in places I never had them before…and sometimes, that’s incapacitating in the way childbirth was, or that time I fell on the hot wood stove because I didn’t want to step on the dog…

Enough said. Monday and Tuesday were days of excruciating pain, and I am happy to report that today is much, much better. I can move and sit, stand and walk, just like a regular person! Hooray! =D

 

I lost some time, during those two days, and so, for the rest of the month, I’ll be playing catch-up:

  • Write and schedule five A to Z posts, to cover Week One.
  • Write my guest post for my friend Flo Gascon‘s lovely blog, and my ROW80 Sponsor Post for Round 2.
  • Queue some blog posts to cover the April creative bonanza without ignoring my followers.
  • Move To Be or Not to Be to Dropbox, and reread in preparation for April CampNaNoWriMo.
  • Set my intentions for Round 2.
  • Indulge myself, and gear up for the creative surge of April and May.
  • Continue revisions for Chameleon’s Dish, and plotting for “The IDIC Romance” stories.

My main focus areas (other than pain management) :

  • Revising Chameleon’s Dish;
  • Preparing for April and May’s intensive writing projects.
  • Preparation for ROW80 Round 2.
A break in the clouds….

2014 Blogging:

Build positive blogging habits – post regularly, build queues, answer comments, and share diversely.

Answer comments regularly, across all blogs, Facebook, and Twitter. On target.

  • Behind, due to pain affecting focus – oh, and happily, more comments these days!

Make at least two return visits every other day, on average.  Target attained!

  • I think so. A little foggy.

Maintain regular posting schedule;queue one post for each regular feature. On target, mostly.

2014 Writing:

Explore my gestating Star Trek: Enterprise fan fiction novel concept, as well as the Last House story collection concept, in the form of short pieces or flash fiction, during April and May.

Create basic plan for the Last House stories (2014 A to Z April Challenge)On target.

  • This will be my major focus, until completed.
  • I will begin posting stories on Tuesday, April 1.
  • Hope to have 5 stories (for the first week) completed by then.

Create premises for all stories; write POV character’s GMCs . On target.

  • Premise:12/26 Completed; nearing the halfway point at last!
  • GMC:11/26 Completed.

Write brief character sketch for each MC.  On target.

  • 9/26 Completed.

Set Plot and Pinch Points for all stories.  On target.

  • 3/26 completed.

Write story summaries. On target.

  • 1/26 completed.
  • Write story Cheat Sheets. Pending.

“The IDIC Romance”Enterprise fan fiction (2014 Story-a-Day May):Create premise, GMC, and character sketches for both protagonists by April 1On target.

Write character sketches/bios for both POV characters. On target.

  • Completed Habits and Mannerisms.
The promise of spring.

2014 Editing:

Complete first revision passes for Chameleon’s Dish and Bounded by a Nutshell; make pre-revision notes for Blood and Breath.  On target.

Complete first revision pass for Chameleon’s Dish. On target.

  • In progress: 8/60

Spend at least 60 hours (2hours/day average) on this pass during MarchTarget exceeded!

  • 3/23: 1 hour; 30 minutes.
  • 3/24: 50 minutes.
  • 3/25: No revising.
  • Month to-date: 63 hours, 20 minutes.
  • This will be a lesser focus through the remainder of the month.

2014 Hometending:

  • There was little that could be called hometending this session. I was in debilitating pain.

2014 Lifetending:

Seek out playful new ways to move and challenge my body. Uh, no – not after Sunday.

  • Marching in place; yoga sun salute.
  • Does “seek out ways to move my body that don’t involve excrutiating pain” count?
  • No workout or walking yet – those were impossible, before today.

Sponsor Visits:

 

See what the other ROWers are playing with this round!

I hope the close of the round finds you in a place of joyful productivity. What are your plans for the coming days? For the new season? Will you be part of ROW80 Round 2?

 

 

 

Posted in Coffee and Conversation, Life Writing

Coffee and Conversation: “Gratitude for Two Years”

Grab a cuppa and a comfy seat, and let’s chat a while.

It’s Monday again! – time not too late! for Coffee and Conversation.

When I was six, my family was driving on a highway late at night. Streaks of headlights and taillights painted the dark. For the first time, I realized that each car held people living lives as important to them as mine was to me.

I wanted to know what those lives were, and to share my own…

Chef Bluebeard  just before the fall…

My husband’s vacation officially started when he arrived home last night. As a chef in an area noted mostly for summer tourism, February brings a major slowdown, so that’s when his vacation falls.

He came home with a toothache, and incubating a virus that’s catching up to him today. Not, for sure, the very best way to start two weeks off….

But it could be much worse.

I’m not just saying that as a way to put a bright face on a less than auspicious beginning to this much-anticipated family time. I’m saying it because I know it’s true; know how very much worse it could be.

Two years ago, on another Sunday night – one that happened to be, all at once, the eve of his vacation, his forty-eighth birthday, and the fifteenth anniversary of the day we met, my husband nearly died.

It had been an extremely mild winter here in upstate New York, and Jim never stopped riding his motorcycle, as he’s usually compelled to before November is out, if not sooner. Now, I have no objection to motorcycles – I was a moving force behind the acquisition of his current bike – but I always worried about him riding the bike home from work.

“It’s only ten miles”, he’d say. “I’ve been riding since I was six years old; I know how to handle the bike, and I know the roads.”

The first three parts of those statements were unassailable; I couldn’t argue with any of them. But that part about the roads…

I grew up on the same road we live on. My family moved here when I was four years old; I lived here until I was nearly 21, and visited after. And I knew things about these roads – especially at night, when chefs are coming home from work – that always made me worry.

Between our rural home, and Jim’s place of business in a neighboring small village lies a National Park. Saratoga National Historical Park, to be specific. A park rife with deer, deer whose natural predators have all been eliminated, and where humans are not allowed to hunt.

“Sometimes you can’t avoid hitting a deer,” I said.

 “I’ve never hit one yet,” he countered.

And so I watched him ride off, day after day, and I worried.

Until we came to that pre-vacation Sunday. We’d had a fight, that morning, about I really don’t remember what; but likely something small that was blown far out of proportion. Jim had left early for work, without a word goodbye, without a kiss or a hug, without, seemingly, a thought to me, left at home with the emotional wreckage – mine, and that of two children who were hurt, confused, and frightened – and showed those things in ways that further abraded my already raw edges.

So, when the phone rang a little after nine, just at the time Jim would be getting out of work; I didn’t answer it. I was still angry, and didn’t want to lose my cool again.

And then, too much time went by.

I started to worry; not enough to call him; but enough to make me restless as I finished up my ROW blogpost.

I was still doing that when the dog began to bark frantically, and then there was a knock on the door.

And I was looking at a county sherriff, who told me calmly, “Your husband had had a motorcycle accident. He is all right, ma’am; he’s being airlifted to Albany Medical Center right now.” He went on to say that he had had a collision with a deer, and that he had been thrown about a hundred feet. All he could tell me was that my husband was conscious, but that the paramedics had seen something concerning enough to warrant landing a helicopter on a country road for.

Remarkably unscathed!

That something turned out to be a collapsed lung, lacerated spleen, eight broken ribs, and a hand injury. He could have died, out there on that road, that night.

And he didn’t. He got well. Yes, he aches more than he used to; but he’s alive, two years later.

We’re watching TV together, intermittently. M*A*S*H; Castle, Antiques Roadshow. Jim went out earlier, for a workout and to buy groeceries…Pax left the Burton larders rather depleted. I’ve been visiting blogs, answering comments, and working through the pre-revision stuff for my novel-in-progress, Chameleon’s Dish.

Both children were up all night, and have been asleep on and off today – growth spurts need lots of food, and lots of sleep.

Life is peaceful here, for the four of us – all here, and all alive.

It’s a lovely day. =D

What were you doing, two years ago? What are you thankful for, today? What brings your to a place of gratitude and quiet peace? I’ll replenish your cuppa and listen, and the hugs are free; let’s converse! =)


Posted in Coffee and Conversation, Life Writing

Coffee and Conversation: “I Am Me!”

Grab a cuppa and a comfy seat, and let’s chat a while.

It’s Monday again Tuesday already!time not too late! for Coffee and Conversation.

When I was six, my family was driving on a highway late at night. Streaks of headlights and taillights painted the dark. For the first time, I realized that each car held people living lives as important to them as mine was to me.

I wanted to know what those lives were, and to share my own…

Last Saturday, Annalise came to me with a small notebook, and showed me what she’d written in it.

ME!

Me

I am me and only me

And you are you

So love yourself!

You are who you are.

-Annalise S. Burton, age 9

I thought she had intended to write a poem, but she held it up in front of herself, instead.

 “Here’s my sign!” she said, with a big grin. “Will you take my picture now?”

We’ve talked a few times, in the last months, about the current trend of public child-shaming, especially on social media sites. We’ve chuckled at Elf-on-the-Shelf shaming (she finds the elf creepy at best, and the idea of parents using it to coerce their children offensive). We’ve laughed outright at the hilarious “animal-shaming” parodies.

And then, a week or so ago, I was invited to a Facebook Group which invites kids and their parents to turn the entire concept on it’s ear, and, rather than shaming a child, to celebrate what makes a person one-of-a-kind.

This, then, is what Annalise feels, at nine-and-a-half, and what she wants to say to the world.

“Here’s my sign!”

Compared to my nine-year-old self, Annalise has a tremendous amount of autonomy. Her wishes are taken as seriously as every other family member’s. She eats what she’s hungry for, when she’s hungry for it, she chooses how to spend her time, what to wear, when to sleep, what to read. She has the freedom to follow her passions, to indulge her imagination, to speak her mind, and to challenge herself in the ways she chooses.

I was no less an individual than she; I had big ideas, things to say, hungers and aversions, just as she does. I wanted to stay up late, to free my imagination, to dive into all the things that fired my spirit and set my mind racing.

Sometimes, I could do what I wanted. When I could, there was often sneakiness involved. I learned to be covert, to keep many things hidden within my mind, guarded against discovery.

It wasn’t a great situation for trusting myself, or feeling that I was all right just the way I was. Honestly, what I often felt was a vague shame that I couldn’t, by my very nature, live up to the expectations my parents imposed upon me, with the good intention of making me into a “decent adult”.

I grew up still carrying that shame, still trying to appease my parents, still feeling like I had to sneak and hide aspects of my life and my self that they would not approve of. Still, not loving myself, but asking myself what was wrong with me.

Learning how to help Annalise and her brother gain the skills and knowledge they need to meet their own needs; to honor, trust, and love themselves, is a journey I’m still taking. My own childhood doesn’t offer examples, and neither does most mainstream parenting advice, which seems to see raising a child very much in the same way as tending a garden; prune away the undesirables, enrich the soil with schooling, maybe also sports or extra lessons, demand they meet expectations.

Our children are more like wild meadows than well-tended gardens. They live according to their own natures, enriched by love and honest interaction, and expected to be – well, who they are. When there’s conflict, we do our best to work it out in a way that allows for everyone to get what they need, a “Win-win”. When feelings burst forth, we accept that, pay attention to what lies beneath, and then find our way back to peace.

“I am Me!”

Given the choice between what happens when a child feels shame, and when they feel at peace with themselves, I choose peace.

And maybe that’s why I have a nine-year-old who chose to write this message, and share it with anyone who reads it. Maybe it’s behind her wide, confident grin, in her easy assumption that we’re all who we are, and we should just love ourselves.

Maybe, if all children could feel this way, there wouldn’t be parents who feel that publicly shaming a child – or anyone else – is a good way to attain a goal. Maybe there’d be a lot more of love, and peace, and self-acceptance.

Now, please go out and love yourselves! =)

How have you loved yourself lately? Treated yourself to something you wanted? Really looked at yourself in the mirror? Indulged yourself with a gift of time? I’ll replenish your cuppa and listen, and the hugs are free; let’s converse! =)

 

Posted in Coffee and Conversation, Life Writing

Coffee and Conversation: Me, My Brother, and Star Trek: Enterprise

Grab a cuppa and a comfy seat, and let’s chat a while.

It’s Monday again (well, it was!)  – and, around here, that means it’s time for Coffee and Conversation.

When I was six, my family  was driving on an interstate highway late at night. Streaks of headlights and taillights painted the dark. For the first time, I realized that each car held people living their lives, lives as important to them as mine was to me.

I wanted to see what those lives were, and to share my own…

I strive to reach that understanding through offering ideas and tidbits from my life. Settle in for a while, and share something of yours.

Last week, I read this post by Kristen Lamb, and it resonated with my own volatile childhood, a quagmire of emotions and reactivity where people argued and attacked far too often. My three siblings and I were often pitted against one another, egged on by our parents.

I became a wary victim. I learned to read the signs of the coming combustions. I was a master appeaser. Conflict twisted my insides almost to the point of panicky sickness. Certain sounds, postures, and expressions triggered instinctive protective responses. I apologized when I felt I had been wronged; I still find it nearly impossible to confront someone when I feel they’ve wronged me, preferring avoidance to the tumult of powerful negative emotional energy.

My own children were seven and four before I began to understand how much impact these patterns had on me. And I was repeating the pattern with them. I decided that I needed to change. It was the single hardest thing I’ve ever done, to stop and learn to be the mother my children needed me to be.

As I began to learn new and more peaceful ways, the reactive and dysfunctional patterns I thought normal when I was a little girl became transparent. I began to resist the bullying and manipulation, which led to more stress and conflict with family members who were liked the status quo. I wanted to keep my family bonds, and still live in this new way that was making so many wonderful changes possible in my own home.

So, what does all this have to do with Star Trek: Enterprise?

Eventually, there was an extremely unpleasant and public backlash. The crux played out on Facebook, where I posted a casual update on my wall, and returned to find eighteen hours’ worth of flaming posts from two siblings. My character, emotional state, mothering, and life choices were openly and often falsely ridiculed.

Because I hadn’t been online, and I had changed, I could see something I hadn’t before – these attacks weren’t about me and my opinion. . I had unwittingly provided a fuse for deep, seething wounds, and they responded in the way we’d learned as children – gang up and attack any perceived threat.

When I posted that the nastier messages would be deleted, and a set of guidelines for how I expect people to comport themselves in my online space,one sibling ‘needed a break from me and my energy’. My brother, with whom I had always been close, demanded that I have no further contact with him or any member of his family. It’s hurt, these last years, to think that we may never be friends again, that we’ll never have another wandering, easy conversation.

And that’s where Enterprise comes in.

You see, Star Trek was ours. Of our whole family, we were the only two who enjoyed it. It was our touchstone, our secret language, and, even as adults, we would spend hours, sometimes, exploring plots, books, what-ifs, and favorite characters.

When Enterprise came out in late September of 2001, I was the mother of a newborn, preparing to drive cross-country fromYellowstone National Park to upstate New York. I was skeptical of both that guy from cheesy Quantum Leap as a viable starship captain, and that the show seemed to have trotted out yet another token Vulcan. I didn’t see the show during its four-year run. But my brother did, and thought that I would like it, too.

I wish that I could tell him how right he was, how Trip makes me think of him, how so absolutely not a token Vulcan T’Pol turned out to be, how I cried for two days after watching the last few episodes, and the way they reminded me of deeply personal pain and loss. I even wish I could ask if his dog was named after Captain Archer’s beagle.

I wish I could tell him how desperately I want more…

More Enterprise – and more connection between he and I.

My son and daughter are friends, at 12 and 9. Minecraft is their thing. They spend long hours creating, separately and together. They make plans and create games and stories around their play. They laugh and cry and sometimes get mad at each other. Because their lives are peaceful and conflict resolution is an important part of our family life, they are getting steadily better at expressing what they feel, listening to one another, and releasing anger in favor of enjoying one another’s company again.

They’ve lost a brother. He died in infancy, and nothing can ever bring him back. That’s tragic, but not as tragic, maybe, as losing a living sibling because of an inability to overcome a damaging family dynamic. Not as tragic as loving someone fiercely, and feeling the empty place within my soul where only he fits. Not as tragic as knowing that it might be forever, and that there is nothing I can do about it without sacrificing a way of life that brings joy and fulfillment.

But how we are treated as children has bearing on whom we become as adults, and volatility can become a way of life some people never overcome.

This might be the deepest tragedy of all. If we had been raised differently, maybe I could share Enterprise with my brother, or tell him how much I love and miss him, or share how changing those patterns has healed the little girl I was.

It’s worth the pain, though, to give my children the chance never to feel this hurt.

And that’s worth it.

Have you ever needed to make peace with something in your life, at the cost of something else you treasure?  Can you see how your childhood affects your life, now?  I’ll provide the hot beverages, and a listening ear.

Posted in Life Writing, Writing in Freedom

Written Beatings?

Written Beatings ?

One night, while browsing a social media site, I found a complaint posted by a sibling who asserted that, for the last year, her parents have been “taking a written beating” on the internet, and “having their names dragged through the mud”.I learned that they are “defenseless” against these attacks, because they have no access to the Internet.

A part of me wanted to flash right back in reactive anger…you see, I am the accused perpetrator of these crimes.

Every instinct I have, every shred of integrity, has been screaming, “No fair!” about these allegations. But, as with many issues of family dynamics entrenched since birth , it was some time before I could put words to the reason why I felt such wrongness in it.

Until a week or two ago, when I reread that comment, and, in a flash, I KNEW!!!!

Here’s why it’s an unjust accusation, and one that conveniently ignores truth.

My truth – which, incidentally, is what I’ve been writing to inspire such allegations.

My sibling is concerned about the written beating my parents cannot defend against…

Yet nothing in that post addresses the actual beatings I received from my parents, throughout my childhood. Yes, I am talking about physical abuse and domination; whatever would satisfy the parental privilege to punish any infraction, or simply to vent rage or frustration upon someone who had no choice but to take it.

These acts were inflicted upon my own child self.

When I was a child and my parents hit me, screamed at me, belittled or humiliated me, I was truly defenseless.

I had no power whatsoever to stop what was happening, and what was happening was violent, scary, painful to my body, and hugely damaging to my psyche,resulting in a need to appease; even at great personal cost; rage that was uncontrolled for many years; accepting abusive treatment; disbelief in my own worth; a difficulty in trusting; an immobilizing fear of being trapped; and a tendency to blame myself for others’ behavior.

I was, quite literally, defenseless against these physical beatings. I don’t say that as an accusation, but as a statement of obvious and undeniable truth.

By contrast, I have remained silent, publicly, about these aspects of my childhood for most of my life (I am 43, and I began delving them and sharing them somewhere about 41). That is a very long grace period – I have been writing since I was 7. At any time, one or both parents might have honestly acknowledged the results of their choices. They have not chosen to, and so that avenue of healing is closed to me.

I do this with my own children on an ongoing basis, because I did terrible, wounding things to them, too, things that can’t be undone. With openness and a deep intent on my part to hold myself accountable for those choices and the damage done by them, there has been great healing and rebuilding of trust.

Although I spent most of my life denying what had been done, much as my sibling did in referring to those choices as “mistakes”, in the manner of stubbing a toe or burning the toast – no big deal – I try, now, to relay my truth accurately, and I have often stated that what I have are memories rather than physical proof. I am a person of vivid and reasonably accurate memories, and still I know that time and perspective shift things, and my memories are not infallible.

As I heal, and practice the art of compassion (not something I learned, in childhood), I have also made clear that my parents are not monsters, but, in some ways, still wounded children of abuse themselves, that they were acting out their revenge against their own parents through the medium of their children, just as generations likely did before them, and as I did with my own children, later.

But the accusation is that I have perpetrated written beatings against the defenseless. In my family of origin, such rhetoric tends to be accepted as unquestionable truth.

I want to examine that “truth”.

My parents, if they wish, can have access to everything I have publicly shared about my childhood, if in no other way (smartphones, libraries), then surely through the sibling making the accusations against me (who clearly has access to at least some of it).

If they think I an lying, they can seek to charge me with slander, or serve a cease-and-desist letter.

They can publicly refute my words.

They can talk to me, and ask why I am sharing these things, and ask me to stop.

Therefore, they are not defenseless.

Now, to the accusation of “written beating”:

I can see how it may feel like that, to them – but then, when one is faced with an unpleasant and unsavory truth about oneself, it is seldom a pleasant experience, no matter how it occurs.

But I am not badmouthing them – I am sharing my experiences, my own life, and the way I lived as a child in their keeping is a fundamental part of that life. I share, not to accuse, not to drag anyone through the dirt.It may be noted here, and everywhere I have posted these aspects of my life, that I do not give names, or features, and, as my name has significantly changed, through marriage and design, a very small number of people will specifically know the individuals I am referring to.

I offer them the gift of as much anonymity as is possible, and they do not have to claim their part in anything I write. I do this because, rather than seeking revenge, I am trying to heal, and to understand, and to share my life and what I have learned, as I live very differently, today, with my own family.

Attacks require intent, and I have no intent to cause harm, only to heal what I can, and to learn to live peacefully with what remains. I have found paths for this – not continuing to hold a dangerous silence, when I know that my words have impact.

And they do. I have already shifted the way more than a person or two views their children or their own childhood, through my writing.

I’ve found a way to give some meaning to the suffering, fear, and damage I will always bear. I can be the voice for children who have none, because I remember in detail, and because now I am an adult and I know how to use my voice.

I can be kinder, and continue to learn the art of compassion, and extend it outward to my parents, to my sibling, because I see that it is their woundedness that hurt me, and that now wants to defend against my personal truth.

What I am doing, far from being an abuse of my parents, is creating some good from my own pain.

To protest that I am attacking my defenseless parents is to imply that what I am doing, in speaking the truth, is a far greater crime against them than their abuse was against me, and that they have less power than my child self did.

These things are so blatantly untrue, that only a wounded mind could believe them.

The words people use matter. Sometimes, words offer clarity; other times they throw up straw men intended to draw attention away from truth, and to discredit those who express that truth.

And that is the final, perhaps most deeply held, reason that I write, and share, and refuse now to hide or sugarcoat what affect these acts had and still have upon me.

I will not be part of any conspiracy that exonerates the perpetrators of violent acts, while indicting the victims of those acts if they dare to speak their truths, because nothing can be cured or healed, that way.

Posted in Blogfest Entries, Blogfest Entries, Life Writing, Thankvember 2012 Gratittudes

Simplicity – Thankvember Twenty-Fourth

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Simplicity – Thankvember Tewnty-Fourth

Breath

Simply

To breathe free

Just as I am

In all my moments.

To live tickling laughter

To allow space for sorrow

Time to stop and watch the sunset

Or to remain awake ’til far past dawn

Writing, learning, playing, my soul dancing

Musing pondering wandering cow trails

Worlds that exist only in my mind

Words that only I can give voice.

Talk over morning coffee

Kids flopping on our bed

Four together

Family

Just us

We.

Simply us.

It’s a BLOG HOP!