Only write the pretty things. Speak in pretty tones, pretty word choice. Somehow REAL is no longer cool. Intolerable. Honesty must be extinguished, slaughtered alongside her sister, authenticity. Continue reading “Only Pretty Allowed Here”
We’ll do anything for a good Mom. When there was so much wrong in our childhoods, we need, now, to reparent ourselves and get what we’ve missed.
Bringing loving kindness to ourselves. Validation. Safety. Feeling comfortable really , deeply being seen. Celebrating our Aliveness. Feeling worthy.
Gift yourself these. Get whatcha need. Fill those holes. Anyways.
Picture credit to 9Gag.com
Here we are, Christmas quickly approaching. So of course I have no plans to spend time with my family on Christmas Eve. Flirting with attending vs. not attending family gatherings for 15 years, Continue reading “The Unlikely Christmas Card”
So, the Holidays, hmmmmm. I’m guessing that some of my readers may be very excited for Holidays. I am also knowing that there’s a whole other section of the general pop who are digging themselves a large hole, preparing to jump in to escape all things “family celebration”. Continue reading “How To Survive (The Family) Holidays – 13 Joyful Hacks”
Oh the opportunity to feel, when no-one’s looking. Today I took my sad ass outside to sit by the fire pit. Sweet Grass, Sage, Palo Santo, healing wand in hand. All with the intention to purge, to sit in the fresh air and sunshine. Handing myself over to the earth, to the powers that be. To bear my sadness, grief and hate to the trees and listen for their wisdom.
I light the Sweet Grass, quickly the fire spreads to the Sage and engulfs the Palo Santo. Sweet ceremonial earthy fragrance circles around my tear streamed face. With a turkey feather I assist the plumes around my head and body intending to bebseen in my grief and hate. With the intention of healing the deepest sadness I carry. With the intention of Bird Medicine supporting my use of a home-made healing wand, dispersing the smoke with Hawk, Turkey, Crow and Peacock plumes. The smoke making its way to my body’s energetic centers. Bird medicine feels so right, calling on Hawk or Crow to watch over me as I present my latest emotional garbage for renewal and healing.
I am hit with a wall of grief, to the solar plexus (navel area) with the likeness of being gutted. It arrives in waves of rage and sorrow, guilt and shock. She’s getting ready to die. My Mother. I feel the disruption, the frantic, the reaching. I am questioning my platform, my truth. Am I too selfish? Mean? Demonic? Am I self-protective to a fault? Am I stuck in a battle that is long past? Is there self hate for the parts of myself that are unyielding? Is there love for my unhealed, rough parts?
There are no right answers. There are, though, many haters on this path. When we choose to do the right thing and live our truth those closest to us seem to lose their fucking minds. It’s like you are being asked to live everyone else’s guilt and have to’s and should have’s. Like I don’t have enough of that shit myself. Eye roll. I think that people lose sight of “mind your own fucking business” when someone is suffering. I think it’s “normal” to want to take action and ease someone’s suffering. But stay in your own lane and do your thing. The second you expect anyone to join in on your next best idea this is when you fail.
I am not here to alleviate anyone’s suffering – mental or physical. Period. I am no lifeline or Savior. Lately I feel so distant from my Mother’s situation. I am done attempting to fulfill her needs at the expense of my own mental health. I’ve spent 34 years of my precious life doing that. Fuck that. I vow to my inner child to not give up on her (inner child) and to put her safety and sanity first. I refuse to continue giving up this precious little child inside of me -handing her over to be slaughtered and used. She’s way too precious. EVEN if the slaughter-er is dying. Even if. The threat of death doesn’t change anything for me. Nothing changes. Which shocks the shit out of those around me. It remains me, living my truth. Even if no-one supports me. Even if.
Please let me live with the consequences of not seeing her one last time. Let me feel it. Let me feel the wide open freedom of knowing she won’t show up and stalk me and whisper in my ear “You’re trapped”. Let me know that I will never feel her seductive touch. Let me feel the reality of this world rather than be told lies about everything and anything. Let me be fabulous, and smart, and worthy and just right in my body without someone putting the doubt in my head that I’m too much and should dumb down my glory or that someone ELSE deserves the credit for what I’VE accomplished.
So as the smoke dissipates and my tears subside, feelings of satisfaction and completeness arise. I fill my lungs with fresh Winter air, imagining the breath traveling down to my Winter boots and into the earth. SHE supports me, Mother Earth. Supports my journey and the beautiful mess that I am. I’ve accomplished a whole lot, Mother, without you, despite you. Anyways. Because of your self-hate and baggage. Because of your traumatic disowned past. Because of generational mental illness and sexual abuse.
And what a wonderful existence was waiting for me. Without you. Without thinking of you, without remembering that I even have a Mother. Thank-you for all you’ve taught me about my worth, my ability to see reality and my love for my body. Anyway. Anyway.
As the smoke dissipates. You were wrong. I am amazing.
Oh, by the way, have I shared my expertise regarding the long term effects as a result of a dark childhood? Unfortunately, I know all too well, the life-long repercussions – the DEAD they placed inside of me, in us. Continue reading “Here, Wait, I Believe This Dead Is Yours”
When I took this picture last fall, a warm smile took over my face. It reminded me of a portal, where Fairies and light beings play – visible only through the hard work of a wild, tree drilling, feathered beast. Then, the realization of Mary 5… Continue reading “Mary 5”
This piece is a continuation of my original post with the same title (JULY 7, 2018)
So I’ve lost so much body weight….. I look down and there’s the body of a nine-year old. I suddenly feel distant/cold. My body is betraying me, this feels like a dirty trick, where’s my fat? my padding? my womanly curves? my safety from physical betrayal of my past? Continue reading “Canned Peaches and Custard (continued)”