I just spent half an hour picking peas in the garden. I sat on my little gardening stool and picked and ate to my heart's content. I let the pods fall where they may.
For those of you who listened to my radio documentary you'll understand how good and freeing it is to just let things fall where they land, instead of trying to throw the evidence out of sight.
Showing posts with label radio documentary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label radio documentary. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Skippety Do Da
It's been a long but terrific day.
Shopping with my soon to be daughter in law
reminded me how much fun it is to shop with another woman.
Especially her.
I figured out I can suck my belly in
in order to get the dress to fit.
But there's no such thing as
sucking in one's boobs.
What a dilemna.
Went to an AA meeting that was fantabulous.
The meeting opened with just two of us.
15 minutes later five more had joined in.
Sat there realizing I was feeling incredible peace.
On my way to see a friend at the hospital
I passed the homeless shelter in town.
On the grass sat a woman singing her heart out
in the key of pain and suffering.
She was singing Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah."
My counseling appointment came next.
A hope filled session
complete with challenges and new insight.
Met dearest one and a friend for coffee.
Lots of joking and laughter and an opportunity
to be generous that was received with surprise and quiet acceptance.
Bought myself a toy to celebrate my birthday tomorrow.
I always wanted one of them as a kid and so I get to be
a kid again at 46.
That's how I'll be spending my birthday.
Skipping around and around and around.
Stood in line at the grocery store.
Privileged to be able to buy the basics
plus a treat.
Came home and soon the house was filled with friends
who came to listen to the radio documentary with us.
First they all took a turn with my new toy and we all got to be
kids together again.
Cheering each other on as we attempted and succeeded
in being more coordinated than we ever thought possible.
Then they sang me happy birthday
and I felt loved.
Listened and heard the radio piece as a story
instead of the cut and paste, cut and paste version
that's been reverberating
in my head.
I done good.
People sometimes belly ache
(sucking that belly in or not)
about getting older.
Like it's a burden
instead of a gift.
So, so much goodness.
My cup overflows.
Gotcha.
Shopping with my soon to be daughter in law
reminded me how much fun it is to shop with another woman.
Especially her.
I figured out I can suck my belly in
in order to get the dress to fit.
But there's no such thing as
sucking in one's boobs.
What a dilemna.
Went to an AA meeting that was fantabulous.
The meeting opened with just two of us.
15 minutes later five more had joined in.
Sat there realizing I was feeling incredible peace.
On my way to see a friend at the hospital
I passed the homeless shelter in town.
On the grass sat a woman singing her heart out
in the key of pain and suffering.
She was singing Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah."
My counseling appointment came next.
A hope filled session
complete with challenges and new insight.
Met dearest one and a friend for coffee.
Lots of joking and laughter and an opportunity
to be generous that was received with surprise and quiet acceptance.
Bought myself a toy to celebrate my birthday tomorrow.
I always wanted one of them as a kid and so I get to be
a kid again at 46.
That's how I'll be spending my birthday.
Skipping around and around and around.
Stood in line at the grocery store.
Privileged to be able to buy the basics
plus a treat.
Came home and soon the house was filled with friends
who came to listen to the radio documentary with us.
First they all took a turn with my new toy and we all got to be
kids together again.
Cheering each other on as we attempted and succeeded
in being more coordinated than we ever thought possible.
Then they sang me happy birthday
and I felt loved.
Listened and heard the radio piece as a story
instead of the cut and paste, cut and paste version
that's been reverberating
in my head.
I done good.
People sometimes belly ache
(sucking that belly in or not)
about getting older.
Like it's a burden
instead of a gift.
So, so much goodness.
My cup overflows.
Gotcha.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
More Birthday, Less Belly
One of the most frequent hits I get on this blog is for the term belly button birthday, which I wrote about nearly a year ago and reread today. It's a term used to differentiate between your birth day and the day you celebrate your sobriety.
This will be a full week. For those of you who are so inclined, my spiritual director, Fr. Charlie, is having surgery in a few days and prayers would be appreciated. He often talks about the ripple effects of transformation in a person's life. I am a beneficiary of the ripples of his own transformation. And I think you may be, too. He has held out a beacon of hope for me when I've been unable to see any way out of the miry clay. This past week he kept asking me the same hard question half a dozen times during our session. It took that many tries before I was willing to consider the question and answer. Fr. Charlie's seen every avoidance tactic I employ and is not fizzed by them in the least. God bless him.
The radio documentary airs this week. That same day I will see my therapist, say goodbye to a friend who was recently diagnosed with cancer and has only a few weeks to live, and visit another friend who has been on the brink of death so many times that I've pulled back from the friendship because I can't handle that we're not going to grow old together. Those are more words than any sentence should contain. Oh well. Trying to wrap my head around death continues to befuddle me.
My birthday is the following day.
This year I have more birthday, less belly. Typing that makes me grin because my brain goes into overdrive with too much information. Sorry. Sixty pounds less weight means less belly. The same wonderful rising bread dough punched down flesh that comes after babies and more babies and weight gains and losses and the ageing process that makes it all go south eventually. When you live as far north as I do going south has a nice ring to it. Okay, okay, I'm done being corny. Considering that I was born 12 weeks too early in a time when survival was not expected, I'm grateful for every year I age. No, I don't always embrace that pimples, wrinkles and grey hair can coexist. But in the whole scheme of things, every day is a bonus. I get to live this day.
Friday night I will be on a team for Relay For Life. For 12 hours through the night, one of our 10 member team will be walking around the track with 140+ other teams. The event is held at night to remind us that cancer never sleeps. You know, with my chronic health issues, what a gift it is that I can take part in something like this. Yes, I'll be spoonless for a while afterwards, but I will bounce back. I will bounce back. Well, with my extra skin and less belly, I'll bounce a little further. Everyone should be so lucky. And they aren't. And I'm really aware of that today.
This will be a full week. For those of you who are so inclined, my spiritual director, Fr. Charlie, is having surgery in a few days and prayers would be appreciated. He often talks about the ripple effects of transformation in a person's life. I am a beneficiary of the ripples of his own transformation. And I think you may be, too. He has held out a beacon of hope for me when I've been unable to see any way out of the miry clay. This past week he kept asking me the same hard question half a dozen times during our session. It took that many tries before I was willing to consider the question and answer. Fr. Charlie's seen every avoidance tactic I employ and is not fizzed by them in the least. God bless him.
The radio documentary airs this week. That same day I will see my therapist, say goodbye to a friend who was recently diagnosed with cancer and has only a few weeks to live, and visit another friend who has been on the brink of death so many times that I've pulled back from the friendship because I can't handle that we're not going to grow old together. Those are more words than any sentence should contain. Oh well. Trying to wrap my head around death continues to befuddle me.
My birthday is the following day.
This year I have more birthday, less belly. Typing that makes me grin because my brain goes into overdrive with too much information. Sorry. Sixty pounds less weight means less belly. The same wonderful rising bread dough punched down flesh that comes after babies and more babies and weight gains and losses and the ageing process that makes it all go south eventually. When you live as far north as I do going south has a nice ring to it. Okay, okay, I'm done being corny. Considering that I was born 12 weeks too early in a time when survival was not expected, I'm grateful for every year I age. No, I don't always embrace that pimples, wrinkles and grey hair can coexist. But in the whole scheme of things, every day is a bonus. I get to live this day.
Friday night I will be on a team for Relay For Life. For 12 hours through the night, one of our 10 member team will be walking around the track with 140+ other teams. The event is held at night to remind us that cancer never sleeps. You know, with my chronic health issues, what a gift it is that I can take part in something like this. Yes, I'll be spoonless for a while afterwards, but I will bounce back. I will bounce back. Well, with my extra skin and less belly, I'll bounce a little further. Everyone should be so lucky. And they aren't. And I'm really aware of that today.
Friday, May 30, 2008
My 15 Minutes of Fame
The radio documentary has an air date. For those of you who requested I'll be sending out an email with the details soon. There is at least one regular reader I'd love to pass the info on to so [if you're reading from southern Ontario] email me [writerchick62 AT yahoo DOT ca] if you like and I'll let you know the details. Otherwise, you may have figured it out from my posts and I'll leave it at that.
This week I had to speak up and share a few concerns I had about the piece with the producer. It's much easier for me to take the well worn path of "everything's fine" than risk god knows what by speaking my mind. I did speak my mind and then carried on. And the one line in the piece that was causing me no small amount of angst got edited out of the final mix. I've decided not to let my parents know when the piece airs. The first go round where I spoke to them about the abuse was hard enough. Hearing the piece will simply open up those wounded places again for them. So unless they ask when it's going to be on I won't be offering any information. There was a time when I would have enjoyed being in their face and forcing them to pay attention. Those days are gone. It sucks energy from my own healing journey, which is the only journey I have any control over.
This week I had to speak up and share a few concerns I had about the piece with the producer. It's much easier for me to take the well worn path of "everything's fine" than risk god knows what by speaking my mind. I did speak my mind and then carried on. And the one line in the piece that was causing me no small amount of angst got edited out of the final mix. I've decided not to let my parents know when the piece airs. The first go round where I spoke to them about the abuse was hard enough. Hearing the piece will simply open up those wounded places again for them. So unless they ask when it's going to be on I won't be offering any information. There was a time when I would have enjoyed being in their face and forcing them to pay attention. Those days are gone. It sucks energy from my own healing journey, which is the only journey I have any control over.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Belly Down, Standing Tall
I've spent the last few weeks
travelling back and forth
between stuck and unstuck.
Some days find me belly down in the rut
and others have me standing back up tall again.
One afternoon when I was home
doing the radio documentary
I followed a well worn cattle trail
from the middle of the farm
back to the barn yard.
Those trails always lead home.
I'm trying to trust that the path I'm on
is headed in a good direction as well.
It means being present in the now.
Being present sometimes feels like being stuck.
Other times it means unstuck.
Being present.
I hope it won't always
be a place of fear for me.
A place I often avoid
even though I know it's the only
sane place to be
despite what it feels like.
travelling back and forth
between stuck and unstuck.
Some days find me belly down in the rut
and others have me standing back up tall again.
One afternoon when I was home
doing the radio documentary
I followed a well worn cattle trail
from the middle of the farm
back to the barn yard.
Those trails always lead home.
I'm trying to trust that the path I'm on
is headed in a good direction as well.
It means being present in the now.
Being present sometimes feels like being stuck.
Other times it means unstuck.
Being present.
I hope it won't always
be a place of fear for me.
A place I often avoid
even though I know it's the only
sane place to be
despite what it feels like.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Rough Mix
Today's mail delivered the rough mix CD of the radio documentary.
I listened to it by myself.
I'm not good at new things in front of others.
Even if I had already read the transcript.
It still was scary.
I'll know at the end of May when it will air.
I got paid for doing this and that feels like a bonus.
My first paycheck for creativity in 20 years.
I feel vulnerable with my story out there.
Very vulnerable.
I will let you know when it will air.
But I might go hide for awhile afterwards.
My older sis told me my dad will forget when
the air date is and my mom won't listen.
I hope that is true.
I really do.
I listened to it by myself.
I'm not good at new things in front of others.
Even if I had already read the transcript.
It still was scary.
I'll know at the end of May when it will air.
I got paid for doing this and that feels like a bonus.
My first paycheck for creativity in 20 years.
I feel vulnerable with my story out there.
Very vulnerable.
I will let you know when it will air.
But I might go hide for awhile afterwards.
My older sis told me my dad will forget when
the air date is and my mom won't listen.
I hope that is true.
I really do.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Don't Analyze That
Despite spending most of my blog time analyzing life to death I'm getting better at not doing so every waking moment. Sometimes when I catch myself living in my head I think, "Don't analyze that, just [enjoy, accept, let go of, deal with] it." And amazingly I'm able to for that moment. As someone who excels at living life from the neck up, this is progress.
So bear with me while I continue to hash out the feeling-like-I'm-drunk-post-sedative-episode I had earlier this week and stuff that's old news but is still rattling around in my head. I've shared the sedative incident twice at meetings this week and with my after treatment counsellor. I think it takes a fellow addict to appreciate how very scary it was to love that drunk feeling and experience a 20 year time warp as if my sobriety had never been. One of the things I had to not dwell on this week was how seductive that drunk feeling was. There's a clarity now - knowing if I ever take a sip it will take supernatural help to sober up again. Oh, who am I kidding - it takes supernatural help to stay sober today, every day. My after treatment counselor told me she knew several people who had lost their sobriety from experiencing what I had with the sedative at the hospital. It was good to get confirmation that scared shitless was an appropriate response to loving that drunk out of my mind feeling. She recommended that I talk to my doctor about never getting that particular drug again. The risk is too huge. I know me too well. I'd look forward to another colonoscopy if it meant getting that drug again. Cunning, baffling and powerful is the voice of addiction.
My AA meeting today was incredible. Lots of laughter, incredible sharing and an all around good time. I am so thankful I could share honestly. I have a hard time doing that. I tend to feed my ego little slips of miracle grow and end up wanting to impress someone with where I'm wishing I was at instead of sharing where I'm really at.
When I was at my parents a few weeks ago I went to an AA meeting in a scary, not safe part of the city. It was the only meeting I knew how to get to. I like routine, comfort zone, small meetings. This meeting met none of those criteria. The first guy who shared that night left his ego behind and I am always in awe when I hear someone share so freely just how it is with them. I have much to learn. I look forward to the day when I'm not out to impress someone, including myself.
I had a neat experience after the meeting today. One of the members recently celebrated 20+ years of sobriety. The thought came to me awhile ago to buy him this little book I read all the time. Because it comes from a Christian perspective I wasn't sure I should buy it for him. I didn't want to offend him. I happened to find a copy of it in a book store in the city I grew up in. It took two trips to the store before I bought it. Today I was able to give it to him. I slid it across the table to him before the meeting was over and he looked at it, looked at me and mouthed the author's name with a question mark expression on his face. I nodded yes. After the meeting he told me that author had been recommended to him for a long time but he'd never read him and looked forward to doing so. Cool, eh?
Yesterday my sexual abuse counselor helped me see that feeling like I'm stuck in a rut, falling backwards, and having an incessant need to talk about the whole radio documentary process is most likely because I'm preparing to face fully forward for the first time in my life. What will I grasp at once I leave behind me the identity of sexual abuse victim/survivor? There will always be residue from experiencing what I did, it's shaped who I am, but it's not the whole of who I am. It needn't define me. Do I have the courage to truly own my choices in life? Even as I type that I can hear a sputtering "But..but....but" in my head.
For today I can do this.
I can even live it from my heart.
Celebrate progress not perfection.
Enjoy taking baby steps.
Continue to grow up.
And they all gathered 'round
and said,
"Amen. Amen. Amen."
So bear with me while I continue to hash out the feeling-like-I'm-drunk-post-sedative-episode I had earlier this week and stuff that's old news but is still rattling around in my head. I've shared the sedative incident twice at meetings this week and with my after treatment counsellor. I think it takes a fellow addict to appreciate how very scary it was to love that drunk feeling and experience a 20 year time warp as if my sobriety had never been. One of the things I had to not dwell on this week was how seductive that drunk feeling was. There's a clarity now - knowing if I ever take a sip it will take supernatural help to sober up again. Oh, who am I kidding - it takes supernatural help to stay sober today, every day. My after treatment counselor told me she knew several people who had lost their sobriety from experiencing what I had with the sedative at the hospital. It was good to get confirmation that scared shitless was an appropriate response to loving that drunk out of my mind feeling. She recommended that I talk to my doctor about never getting that particular drug again. The risk is too huge. I know me too well. I'd look forward to another colonoscopy if it meant getting that drug again. Cunning, baffling and powerful is the voice of addiction.
My AA meeting today was incredible. Lots of laughter, incredible sharing and an all around good time. I am so thankful I could share honestly. I have a hard time doing that. I tend to feed my ego little slips of miracle grow and end up wanting to impress someone with where I'm wishing I was at instead of sharing where I'm really at.
When I was at my parents a few weeks ago I went to an AA meeting in a scary, not safe part of the city. It was the only meeting I knew how to get to. I like routine, comfort zone, small meetings. This meeting met none of those criteria. The first guy who shared that night left his ego behind and I am always in awe when I hear someone share so freely just how it is with them. I have much to learn. I look forward to the day when I'm not out to impress someone, including myself.
I had a neat experience after the meeting today. One of the members recently celebrated 20+ years of sobriety. The thought came to me awhile ago to buy him this little book I read all the time. Because it comes from a Christian perspective I wasn't sure I should buy it for him. I didn't want to offend him. I happened to find a copy of it in a book store in the city I grew up in. It took two trips to the store before I bought it. Today I was able to give it to him. I slid it across the table to him before the meeting was over and he looked at it, looked at me and mouthed the author's name with a question mark expression on his face. I nodded yes. After the meeting he told me that author had been recommended to him for a long time but he'd never read him and looked forward to doing so. Cool, eh?
Yesterday my sexual abuse counselor helped me see that feeling like I'm stuck in a rut, falling backwards, and having an incessant need to talk about the whole radio documentary process is most likely because I'm preparing to face fully forward for the first time in my life. What will I grasp at once I leave behind me the identity of sexual abuse victim/survivor? There will always be residue from experiencing what I did, it's shaped who I am, but it's not the whole of who I am. It needn't define me. Do I have the courage to truly own my choices in life? Even as I type that I can hear a sputtering "But..but....but" in my head.
For today I can do this.
I can even live it from my heart.
Celebrate progress not perfection.
Enjoy taking baby steps.
Continue to grow up.
And they all gathered 'round
and said,
"Amen. Amen. Amen."
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Feeling the Feelings
The medical procedure I had yesterday
went well.
No tumours.
Good, good news.
The sedative they gave me
left me feeling drunk
when I woke up.
I couldn't walk straight.
I couldn't concentrate.
I didn't make the greatest of sense
when I talked.
When I got home there was a message from the
radio producer.
I called him back.
It's just as bad to call when you feel
like you're drunk
as when you are drunk.
He asked if I had read the transcript
of the documentary yet.
So I opened my email and read it.
I started typing replies.
As in multiple replies.
I open my inbox this morning
to an email from him
basically telling me to calm down.
I was always a happy drunk.
I felt happy last night.
Telling youngest son that
this is what he could look forward to
if I ever relapsed.
Eventually dearest one
suggested I go to bed.
I slept 10 hours straight.
Rationally I know it was the sedative
producing the irrational behaviour in me
yesterday.
But I feel the exact same shame
as if I'd been drunk.
went well.
No tumours.
Good, good news.
The sedative they gave me
left me feeling drunk
when I woke up.
I couldn't walk straight.
I couldn't concentrate.
I didn't make the greatest of sense
when I talked.
When I got home there was a message from the
radio producer.
I called him back.
It's just as bad to call when you feel
like you're drunk
as when you are drunk.
He asked if I had read the transcript
of the documentary yet.
So I opened my email and read it.
I started typing replies.
As in multiple replies.
I open my inbox this morning
to an email from him
basically telling me to calm down.
I was always a happy drunk.
I felt happy last night.
Telling youngest son that
this is what he could look forward to
if I ever relapsed.
Eventually dearest one
suggested I go to bed.
I slept 10 hours straight.
Rationally I know it was the sedative
producing the irrational behaviour in me
yesterday.
But I feel the exact same shame
as if I'd been drunk.
Friday, May 02, 2008
Fetal Positions
It's Friday. Don't you just shake your head when you read such a silly sentence as if you don't know what day of the week it is? It's more for my benefit than anyone else's. I'm still really tired. I've been battling nausea on a daily basis for quite a while now. Also an increasingly painful area in my abdomen. On Monday I'm having a medical procedure to see if they can find the cause. Let's hope they don't. Let's hope they do. Does that make sense?
Before I write anything more please know how grateful I am for your prayers while I was gone. The week could not have turned out like it did on simple human willpower. Something bigger than all of us was at work. Well, doesn't that sound so trite. Something bigger than all of us is at work always. Last week I was simply very aware of it.
My trip to finish up the radio documentary was both grueling and good. My parents met me more than halfway. My mom softened instead of getting defensive when I spoke of the abuse. I don't think I'll ever wrap my head around that. And while it was an uncomfortable conversation - the producer told me later I sounded like I was hyperventilating the whole way through - we all got through it with our relationship intact.
In the radio studio I relived on tape an incident from my childhood. It set off every alarm bell within me that I was really crossing the line. As a child I was told point-blank-to-my-face by my mom that I was never to talk about what happened in our home. [Let alone do that on national radio.] My older sister consoled me by saying if I tell my dad when the program airs he will forget and miss it and my mom will never listen to it anyway. Small mercies of the aging process. After a 2 hour taping session I left for an AA meeting. Later that evening I was trying to cryptically tell my older sister - my parents were sitting right there - how intense the taping session had been. Eventually she came and stood in front of me and told me she could tell it had been intense because I looked about 12 years old to her.
The last day of taping the producer and I drove to the land hoping to tape me finding some closure. I had no idea if that would happen. I don't remember what he asked me but all of a sudden the little girl in me was standing within my body. I saw her step into me with her feet in my footsteps. It was as if we were one except the top of her head only reached my knees. Then she started to grow and she grew until she fit my adult body. Her arms grew and touched to my fingertips. Her head reached the top of my own. At that point I started to cry and talk. That any kind of closure happened was a bonus. That it happend on tape - I feel a bit pissed about that because it was so private. But that's what I signed up for and I'll work through it yet. The producer was sensitive and left me alone after that. He walked back to the vehicle while I slid down the hill and had the moment I wrote about previously.
Later on I went back to the land with the buyer and his family. The most poignant moment in that conversation happened when he yelled out to one of the kids asking what he saw as he crested a hill. The little boy held up his arms as if he was a body builder posing and yelled, "Mother Nature." I was quite teary while I watched the buyer's kids and their friends explore the land with all the exuberance that childhood can hold. It felt right. I chose to walk across country to get back to my parents' house. I followed old cattle trails until I saw landmarks I recognized. I stopped at my sister's house to share my afternoon with her. My pocket held some prairie sage and a crocus. That little crocus dried in a fetal position which is ironic because I finally feel like I'm no longer frozen in that position.
Before I write anything more please know how grateful I am for your prayers while I was gone. The week could not have turned out like it did on simple human willpower. Something bigger than all of us was at work. Well, doesn't that sound so trite. Something bigger than all of us is at work always. Last week I was simply very aware of it.
My trip to finish up the radio documentary was both grueling and good. My parents met me more than halfway. My mom softened instead of getting defensive when I spoke of the abuse. I don't think I'll ever wrap my head around that. And while it was an uncomfortable conversation - the producer told me later I sounded like I was hyperventilating the whole way through - we all got through it with our relationship intact.
In the radio studio I relived on tape an incident from my childhood. It set off every alarm bell within me that I was really crossing the line. As a child I was told point-blank-to-my-face by my mom that I was never to talk about what happened in our home. [Let alone do that on national radio.] My older sister consoled me by saying if I tell my dad when the program airs he will forget and miss it and my mom will never listen to it anyway. Small mercies of the aging process. After a 2 hour taping session I left for an AA meeting. Later that evening I was trying to cryptically tell my older sister - my parents were sitting right there - how intense the taping session had been. Eventually she came and stood in front of me and told me she could tell it had been intense because I looked about 12 years old to her.
The last day of taping the producer and I drove to the land hoping to tape me finding some closure. I had no idea if that would happen. I don't remember what he asked me but all of a sudden the little girl in me was standing within my body. I saw her step into me with her feet in my footsteps. It was as if we were one except the top of her head only reached my knees. Then she started to grow and she grew until she fit my adult body. Her arms grew and touched to my fingertips. Her head reached the top of my own. At that point I started to cry and talk. That any kind of closure happened was a bonus. That it happend on tape - I feel a bit pissed about that because it was so private. But that's what I signed up for and I'll work through it yet. The producer was sensitive and left me alone after that. He walked back to the vehicle while I slid down the hill and had the moment I wrote about previously.
Later on I went back to the land with the buyer and his family. The most poignant moment in that conversation happened when he yelled out to one of the kids asking what he saw as he crested a hill. The little boy held up his arms as if he was a body builder posing and yelled, "Mother Nature." I was quite teary while I watched the buyer's kids and their friends explore the land with all the exuberance that childhood can hold. It felt right. I chose to walk across country to get back to my parents' house. I followed old cattle trails until I saw landmarks I recognized. I stopped at my sister's house to share my afternoon with her. My pocket held some prairie sage and a crocus. That little crocus dried in a fetal position which is ironic because I finally feel like I'm no longer frozen in that position.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Walking Away, Moving Forward
I am emotionally done in.
Exhausted.
Not a spoon to be found.
I am humbled
by this past week.
Risks taken
Healing unfolding.
Secrets spoken.
Many tears.
Yesterday I lay on
the ground
amidst the prairie sage
saying goodbye
to myself as that
wounded
little girl.
At first she was curled in a fetal position
then she healed enough to get up,
run and play amongst the brush.
Growing even bigger she stopped her playing
looked at me and said,
"Thank you for doing the hard work
of healing, for becoming the beautiful
woman you are."
And with that she skipped off
to play.
I lay there until the tears
subsided, then
got up and walked
away from the land.
Exhausted.
Not a spoon to be found.
I am humbled
by this past week.
Risks taken
Healing unfolding.
Secrets spoken.
Many tears.
Yesterday I lay on
the ground
amidst the prairie sage
saying goodbye
to myself as that
wounded
little girl.
At first she was curled in a fetal position
then she healed enough to get up,
run and play amongst the brush.
Growing even bigger she stopped her playing
looked at me and said,
"Thank you for doing the hard work
of healing, for becoming the beautiful
woman you are."
And with that she skipped off
to play.
I lay there until the tears
subsided, then
got up and walked
away from the land.
Friday, April 18, 2008
I CAN DO THIS
This is my last post until the first of May. Next Tuesday I'll be flying home to spend a week with my parents and finish up the radio documentary. After that I'll fly to the city where dearest one will be at a conference and we'll spend a night there and then head home. Some of you have said you will keep me in your prayers for the duration that I am gone. Thank you. Prayer changes me. For the better. Even on days when it feels like a complete waste of time and nothing seems to penetrate the invisible shield of my being, prayer is doing it's work in me. Yesterday I returned to contemplative prayer after an absence. Tears and peace were a part of that process yesterday. To open myself up to God and rest in His presence, knowing that God does God's work in me as I show up and remain willing is a mind boggling Mystery.
Here is the letter I sent to the radio producer tonight. The process has been painful, yet worth it. I think anything we go through in life has that potential. I am grateful and humbled to be given a glimpse of that in my own journey.
Dear Radio Producer,
The taping is going well. For a few days I thought it all was garbage but I'm over that for now. :) I'm working on making notes of what is on what track on the discs. I've used up most of one disc and part of another. I think at the most, with the recording I'll do with my family, I will use 3 discs in total.
I met with my therapist today and had her record what she thinks selling the land will do for my healing journey.
Later on I had a pretty big 'aha' moment in my session.
I've kept going back to the thought about owning my story and what does that mean and how badly do I want to do that. I figured out today that doing this piece is forcing me to look that in the face. One of my friends told me not too long ago that parenting is a make work project. In the process of parenting we give our kids enough baggage to last them a lifetime. Owning my story is about taking responsibility for what I'm going to make of the baggage. Am I going to carry it forever? Am I going to use it as a shield to keep others out? Truly owning my story means absolving my parents of the responsibility to make it better. It is what it is. Owning my story means letting go of being a victim. It means taking responsibility for my choices today. It means an end of pointing fingers. Of saying, 'it's all your fault." My life is what I make of it. I've spent way too many years giving my power away to others and not taking responsibility for my own life. In one of my taping sessions I talked about selling the land being a catalyst for me to face forward....to stop living in the "perhaps one day" and accept that life can only be lived this day.
I'll get those thoughts recorded unless you'd like to cover them in the interview.
Another interesting bit that I haven't talked about with you and that I only thought of mentioning today is that 8 years ago I had a nervous breakdown and the straw that broke the camel's back for that was my dad's refusal to let me sell the land. Shortly after that I went into a tailspin. That breakdown was a pivotal point in my healing journey. It was the first time I really felt the pain of my past and it started the process for me to individuate from my parents. Eventually I had to confront my mom about a situation and at the same time tell my dad the truth about that situation. During that phone conversation I held a little piece of paper in front of me at all times that said, "I am an adult." In part of that phone conversation I told my dad that he was the one with the power as the land was in his name even if us kids each had a piece named in his will. I don't think I'd ever been that blunt with him before. And in the healing that took place, as I was willing to feel the emotional pain and not run from it, I finally stopped letting the voices of my parents be the dominate voice in my head. I had just turned 38. I had a lot of shame connected to the breakdown. So much so I didn't tell my family about it and I never even mentioned it to my family doctor. I had a brief time when I just about checked myself into the psych ward but started to function a bit better and chose not to. I cried for about 6 months straight. It was the most pain filled time of my life and while I hope to never experience it again, it forced me to grow up. Anyway I share all that with you because I think it fits the thought that this really is a journey.
One other thing I wanted to mention to you is what I am and am not willing to talk about on tape regarding the abuse. If there is a way to allude to the abuse without naming names that is my preference. I have never gone back to my brothers and talked about it with them and do not want that to begin with public radio. Also I'm not willing to talk specifics on tape about what the abuse actually was. I am willing to talk about the fallout of it, about the emotional pain, about my side of the journey at whatever depth is necessary. Also the physical, emotional, verbal abuse from my mom - if there is a way to approach that without getting specific that would be my goal there, too. I want to be as grace filled as possible about it without skirting the topic. I have no idea what your plans are for that taped conversation between us but I just wanted to give you a head's up on my thoughts so I don't have to say at that moment that I'm not willing to talk about that.
You know if nothing ever came of the piece, if you decided to scrap it, it has already done it's work in me. This process with you has been another pivotal point in my healing and for that I am incredibly grateful and humbled. The story is bigger than any of us. And it's not over yet. I read not too long ago that courage is moving forward in the face of fear. Next week, the conversations with my parents, will take incredible courage. Without the opportunity of doing this piece I would shrink from it instead of embracing it. Often, since coming home from treatment, I've ended my journal entry for the day with - "I can do this." Then I put down my pen and do the next right thing in front of me and keep moving forward. I think every night as I'm with my family, I'll be writing in capital letters I CAN DO THIS.
Thanks for being a part of my journey.
Talk to you soon - in person.
Here is the letter I sent to the radio producer tonight. The process has been painful, yet worth it. I think anything we go through in life has that potential. I am grateful and humbled to be given a glimpse of that in my own journey.
Dear Radio Producer,
The taping is going well. For a few days I thought it all was garbage but I'm over that for now. :) I'm working on making notes of what is on what track on the discs. I've used up most of one disc and part of another. I think at the most, with the recording I'll do with my family, I will use 3 discs in total.
I met with my therapist today and had her record what she thinks selling the land will do for my healing journey.
Later on I had a pretty big 'aha' moment in my session.
I've kept going back to the thought about owning my story and what does that mean and how badly do I want to do that. I figured out today that doing this piece is forcing me to look that in the face. One of my friends told me not too long ago that parenting is a make work project. In the process of parenting we give our kids enough baggage to last them a lifetime. Owning my story is about taking responsibility for what I'm going to make of the baggage. Am I going to carry it forever? Am I going to use it as a shield to keep others out? Truly owning my story means absolving my parents of the responsibility to make it better. It is what it is. Owning my story means letting go of being a victim. It means taking responsibility for my choices today. It means an end of pointing fingers. Of saying, 'it's all your fault." My life is what I make of it. I've spent way too many years giving my power away to others and not taking responsibility for my own life. In one of my taping sessions I talked about selling the land being a catalyst for me to face forward....to stop living in the "perhaps one day" and accept that life can only be lived this day.
I'll get those thoughts recorded unless you'd like to cover them in the interview.
Another interesting bit that I haven't talked about with you and that I only thought of mentioning today is that 8 years ago I had a nervous breakdown and the straw that broke the camel's back for that was my dad's refusal to let me sell the land. Shortly after that I went into a tailspin. That breakdown was a pivotal point in my healing journey. It was the first time I really felt the pain of my past and it started the process for me to individuate from my parents. Eventually I had to confront my mom about a situation and at the same time tell my dad the truth about that situation. During that phone conversation I held a little piece of paper in front of me at all times that said, "I am an adult." In part of that phone conversation I told my dad that he was the one with the power as the land was in his name even if us kids each had a piece named in his will. I don't think I'd ever been that blunt with him before. And in the healing that took place, as I was willing to feel the emotional pain and not run from it, I finally stopped letting the voices of my parents be the dominate voice in my head. I had just turned 38. I had a lot of shame connected to the breakdown. So much so I didn't tell my family about it and I never even mentioned it to my family doctor. I had a brief time when I just about checked myself into the psych ward but started to function a bit better and chose not to. I cried for about 6 months straight. It was the most pain filled time of my life and while I hope to never experience it again, it forced me to grow up. Anyway I share all that with you because I think it fits the thought that this really is a journey.
One other thing I wanted to mention to you is what I am and am not willing to talk about on tape regarding the abuse. If there is a way to allude to the abuse without naming names that is my preference. I have never gone back to my brothers and talked about it with them and do not want that to begin with public radio. Also I'm not willing to talk specifics on tape about what the abuse actually was. I am willing to talk about the fallout of it, about the emotional pain, about my side of the journey at whatever depth is necessary. Also the physical, emotional, verbal abuse from my mom - if there is a way to approach that without getting specific that would be my goal there, too. I want to be as grace filled as possible about it without skirting the topic. I have no idea what your plans are for that taped conversation between us but I just wanted to give you a head's up on my thoughts so I don't have to say at that moment that I'm not willing to talk about that.
You know if nothing ever came of the piece, if you decided to scrap it, it has already done it's work in me. This process with you has been another pivotal point in my healing and for that I am incredibly grateful and humbled. The story is bigger than any of us. And it's not over yet. I read not too long ago that courage is moving forward in the face of fear. Next week, the conversations with my parents, will take incredible courage. Without the opportunity of doing this piece I would shrink from it instead of embracing it. Often, since coming home from treatment, I've ended my journal entry for the day with - "I can do this." Then I put down my pen and do the next right thing in front of me and keep moving forward. I think every night as I'm with my family, I'll be writing in capital letters I CAN DO THIS.
Thanks for being a part of my journey.
Talk to you soon - in person.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Sunday Night
It feels like bedtime.
It's 8 pm.
Today I went for a walk.
The first one since last Tuesday.
It was good to have the energy to do that.
Thank you for your prayers.
This radio documentary is kicking my butt.
I need courage and strength.
Or rather I think I do.
I don't know what I need.
I can worry something to death.
Or to life.
Which robs me of
living in this day only.
Today I can handle.
I hope to really know that
one day.
Today.
It's 8 pm.
Today I went for a walk.
The first one since last Tuesday.
It was good to have the energy to do that.
Thank you for your prayers.
This radio documentary is kicking my butt.
I need courage and strength.
Or rather I think I do.
I don't know what I need.
I can worry something to death.
Or to life.
Which robs me of
living in this day only.
Today I can handle.
I hope to really know that
one day.
Today.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Of Stewardship and Legacy Part Two
You can read part one here.
I had purposely not reread the script before we went to see the play. Maybe because of that or maybe it was just the head space I was in that made the watching of the play so painful. I worked out beforehand with my therapist what I needed to do to feel safe. I chose a seat in the theatre where dearest one was on one side of me and a railing on the other. (No, it wasn't so I could jump if I needed to.) I just didn't want a stranger to sit beside me while I watched. I needed to feel in control of something and where I sat was about the only option.
If you're a parent you know you say the same stuff over and over again to your kids. Some of it might even sound cute or evoke a laugh, a groan, a rolling of the eyes. Some of it might not. The mother in the play held her body in such a rigid way. It matched her words perfectly. Two minutes into the play I heard my words coming out of an actor's mouth. Dysfunctional, control freak lines, 98% of which, had come straight from my mouth at one time or other. (Oy, fucking, vey.)
What hadn't was my daughter's responses. Lines full of anger. Seething anger. I got to hear what would have been healthy and necessary responses on her part had she been given the chance as a kid. As I sat there shaking in my seat a thought flashed through my mind, "At least she's found a way to give voice to her story in a way I haven't been able to do with my mom." That single moment of clarity would later inspire me but at the time I just wanted to put my hands over my ears. And my heart.
At one point in the play the mother relives being raped. My daughter knows none of those details of my own but the scene was so vivid it was as if I was being raped all over again. Damn. I sat there and sobbed as quietly as I could. My body just wouldn't stop shaking. There's nothing worse than being glued to your seat while your brain is screaming, "Run, you fool, run!"
But you know what? I survived.
Not only the initial rape but the triggering of it, too.
I can write that now because I've had 6 weeks of distance between the play and today. It wasn't my initial response. Initially I was on automatic pilot. In survival mode because the pain was so intense I wanted to escape my body. It took several trips of walking around the small town where only daughter lives, before I could work the shakes out of my body. I dreamed that night of the play and the rape and woke up the next morning absolutely drained.
By the grace of God
I didn't binge.
I didn't drink.
I didn't numb out in sexually addictive behaviour.
I stayed in the feelings.
It wasn't pretty.
There was no perfection
other than being
perfectly fucked up.
I came home more determined than ever to face what needs facing so that the abuse loses its punch. I may be at this the rest of my life, my therapist assures me I won't. She assures me that healing can happen to the extent that I won't always be triggered by my past.
As I face telling my story in the radio documentary I'm working on I realized last week that only daughter is the one who has paved the way for me to have the courage to do it. Here is what I wrote to her last week:
God help me be a good steward of my pain.
I had purposely not reread the script before we went to see the play. Maybe because of that or maybe it was just the head space I was in that made the watching of the play so painful. I worked out beforehand with my therapist what I needed to do to feel safe. I chose a seat in the theatre where dearest one was on one side of me and a railing on the other. (No, it wasn't so I could jump if I needed to.) I just didn't want a stranger to sit beside me while I watched. I needed to feel in control of something and where I sat was about the only option.
If you're a parent you know you say the same stuff over and over again to your kids. Some of it might even sound cute or evoke a laugh, a groan, a rolling of the eyes. Some of it might not. The mother in the play held her body in such a rigid way. It matched her words perfectly. Two minutes into the play I heard my words coming out of an actor's mouth. Dysfunctional, control freak lines, 98% of which, had come straight from my mouth at one time or other. (Oy, fucking, vey.)
What hadn't was my daughter's responses. Lines full of anger. Seething anger. I got to hear what would have been healthy and necessary responses on her part had she been given the chance as a kid. As I sat there shaking in my seat a thought flashed through my mind, "At least she's found a way to give voice to her story in a way I haven't been able to do with my mom." That single moment of clarity would later inspire me but at the time I just wanted to put my hands over my ears. And my heart.
At one point in the play the mother relives being raped. My daughter knows none of those details of my own but the scene was so vivid it was as if I was being raped all over again. Damn. I sat there and sobbed as quietly as I could. My body just wouldn't stop shaking. There's nothing worse than being glued to your seat while your brain is screaming, "Run, you fool, run!"
But you know what? I survived.
Not only the initial rape but the triggering of it, too.
I can write that now because I've had 6 weeks of distance between the play and today. It wasn't my initial response. Initially I was on automatic pilot. In survival mode because the pain was so intense I wanted to escape my body. It took several trips of walking around the small town where only daughter lives, before I could work the shakes out of my body. I dreamed that night of the play and the rape and woke up the next morning absolutely drained.
By the grace of God
I didn't binge.
I didn't drink.
I didn't numb out in sexually addictive behaviour.
I stayed in the feelings.
It wasn't pretty.
There was no perfection
other than being
perfectly fucked up.
I came home more determined than ever to face what needs facing so that the abuse loses its punch. I may be at this the rest of my life, my therapist assures me I won't. She assures me that healing can happen to the extent that I won't always be triggered by my past.
As I face telling my story in the radio documentary I'm working on I realized last week that only daughter is the one who has paved the way for me to have the courage to do it. Here is what I wrote to her last week:
"What I really wanted to tell you is that you are the one who is paving the way for me to have the courage to do my story for the radio. That you trusted the creative process over hurting family members with your play and how that really is breaking the cycle for who knows how many generations... of not revealing family secrets or at least not talking about them in such a public way. Not that I think my sexual history is such a secret but it was a very brave piece for you to do and you found the courage to give your story a voice despite my voice echoing in your head. ..... at some level the abuse has to be alluded to in the piece and I am breaking a huge taboo in my family by doing so. And because the communication is not open about the abuse there is no way for me to prepare my parents about what the piece is really going to be about. So I feel like I'm jumping off the edge of a cliff willingly. Or possibly tying my own noose. Yet I know I will be okay no matter what the backlash could be. Anyway I just wanted you to know that I am taking courage for my story and for using my voice from the precedent you've set. And it makes me very teary to type that because watching your play was one of the most difficult things I've ever done. But there really is a bigger picture in life and now this is all unfolding in my own. It doesn't mean that I feel all that courageous yet my gut instinct tells me I have to be true to the story. That it isn't an accident that my pitch was accepted, that the producer poked and prodded in the interview to uncover the abuse and how I felt about the land and that this is the direction the piece is headed. Father Charlie is always talking about the ripple effect in our families when transformation happens. I am very grateful for the ripple effect of your transformation on me."
God help me be a good steward of my pain.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Bits and Pieces
This week has felt like a mile in length.
Tomorrow I'll start recording answers to questions from the radio producer.
He actually told me not to erase anything I record. He said he might have been able
to use that bit where dearest one chased me around the kitchen and I was laughing.
So dearest one will surprise me one day soon and chase me again and we'll see if I
have the same reaction. Laughing with dearest one is one of my favourite past times.
Yesterday dearest one and I were up shortly after 5 am and into town before 7.
I had lab work and a diagnostic test at the hospital and he was there with a group of students.
A noon AA meeting and a counseling session were lined up for the afternoon. I was in a fair amount of pain from the test at the hospital but today it's better. The dizziness from the weekend is gone but nausea continues to plague me. It feels minor all things considered.
The best part of my day was walking into a regular store and trying on all these cute tops and being thrilled/shocked that they fit. Not sure when my warped body image will be a thing of the past. Sometimes it feels like I peer into a mirror when I try on clothes and say, "Hope, is that you?"
I booked my plane ticket home so I can interview family for the radio piece. I'll be there in less than 3 weeks and will be staying a week.
I have a blog post I want to write about what's going on inside me about the whole deal but am waiting for some input from a family member first before I go ahead.
I hope you've had a good week.
The geese are back.
It's really and truly Spring!
Tomorrow I'll start recording answers to questions from the radio producer.
He actually told me not to erase anything I record. He said he might have been able
to use that bit where dearest one chased me around the kitchen and I was laughing.
So dearest one will surprise me one day soon and chase me again and we'll see if I
have the same reaction. Laughing with dearest one is one of my favourite past times.
Yesterday dearest one and I were up shortly after 5 am and into town before 7.
I had lab work and a diagnostic test at the hospital and he was there with a group of students.
A noon AA meeting and a counseling session were lined up for the afternoon. I was in a fair amount of pain from the test at the hospital but today it's better. The dizziness from the weekend is gone but nausea continues to plague me. It feels minor all things considered.
The best part of my day was walking into a regular store and trying on all these cute tops and being thrilled/shocked that they fit. Not sure when my warped body image will be a thing of the past. Sometimes it feels like I peer into a mirror when I try on clothes and say, "Hope, is that you?"
I booked my plane ticket home so I can interview family for the radio piece. I'll be there in less than 3 weeks and will be staying a week.
I have a blog post I want to write about what's going on inside me about the whole deal but am waiting for some input from a family member first before I go ahead.
I hope you've had a good week.
The geese are back.
It's really and truly Spring!
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Swiftly Tilting
If I sit very still the room doesn't spin.
Last night I crashed into the wall trying to walk.
Today is a bit better.
Not sure if it's my blood pressure taking a dive
again or what.
Youngest son drove me to my AA meeting this morning.
He didn't want to risk being a passegner
considering the combination of my dizzyness, nausea
and the steering wheel.
Me neither.
But he laughed as we headed into the bank,
me weaving a little as I walked.
Normally I would have missed my meeting.
But today I was celebrating
my 20th birthday in sobriety.
So youngest son told me if anyone thought I was
walking drunk
he'd just tell them I'd been 20 years without a drink
and was celebrating.
Yesterday I learned how to use the recording
equipment for the radio documentary.
I was encouraged by the producer to play with
it over the weekend.
Dearest one plugged in the microphone to play
and proceeded to chase me around the kitchen
with the microphone.
The sound of my laughter on the disk
was very pretty music.
Gravol is my temporary new best friend.
Last night I crashed into the wall trying to walk.
Today is a bit better.
Not sure if it's my blood pressure taking a dive
again or what.
Youngest son drove me to my AA meeting this morning.
He didn't want to risk being a passegner
considering the combination of my dizzyness, nausea
and the steering wheel.
Me neither.
But he laughed as we headed into the bank,
me weaving a little as I walked.
Normally I would have missed my meeting.
But today I was celebrating
my 20th birthday in sobriety.
So youngest son told me if anyone thought I was
walking drunk
he'd just tell them I'd been 20 years without a drink
and was celebrating.
Yesterday I learned how to use the recording
equipment for the radio documentary.
I was encouraged by the producer to play with
it over the weekend.
Dearest one plugged in the microphone to play
and proceeded to chase me around the kitchen
with the microphone.
The sound of my laughter on the disk
was very pretty music.
Gravol is my temporary new best friend.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Floating In De Nile
The recording equipment arrived today in the mail to do my radio documentary. Tomorrow I'll have to fess up to the producer that I am equipment illiterate and take it from there. Thankfully dearest one loves gadgets of any kind and I think this equipment qualifies so if all else fails he can figure it out and teach me.
My day has been full. Today was my last scheduled appointment with my after treatment counselor. I feel like I have an adequate support system in place to get me through whatever life throws my way. Seeing to my spiritual life is the first priority of the day. With that intact when life throws me for a loop I've learned to call in the posse and with their experience, strength and hope have made it through some tough moments. It's not about staying strong in the rough spots but about telling the truth about how I feel about them. My counselor remains a phone call away and I told her today that I knew I could call if necessary and also knew that by the time I actually got an appointment to see her the crisis would be over. We laughed. There was a time not too long ago when I would have made the crisis last until the appointment because I didn't know what else to do. Today I do. Deal with it.
Next I had a doctor's appointment. When he asked me how I was I started to chuckle and he told me that was the wrong answer. I told him how tempted I often am to say, "help, my body's falling apart." We laughed. He listens differently since I've been to treatment. Treats me more holistically. Today I shared with him about doing the radio documentary. About how I'm telling the story of selling a bit of the family farm - that's been in the family nearly 90 years - and how conflicted I feel about my decision. I was telling him how the radio producer had poked and prodded until the story came out that I felt safe on that land. That across the road, where my grandparents and most of the 960 acres that encompassed the family farm were, felt predictable and safe. Home was unpredictable and scary. In the midst of that conversation my doctor said to me, "Selling the land is like the last step in the healing process. You don't need the land to feel safe anymore." Somehow I don't think they teach you that kind of reading between the lines in medical school.
You see I thought the story was going to be about selling the land, about the demise of the family farm. About betrayal of generational bequeathment. About selling out. Going into it I knew there was an underlying story of abuse and recovery but I didn't think it would surface. Had had only fleeting thoughts about whether selling the land was symbolic of moving forward. So when the underlying story surfaced the producer told me that's the real story. The one I need to tell.
Telling the story will be breaking every taboo I was raised with. Especially the one where my mother said to my face, "What goes on in this house, stays in this house." And here I am preparing to tell on national radio. Someone asked me tonight if there was a way to prepare my family for the real story to be told; but how do you warn someone of something they are in denial about?
So I'm trusting that God will make clear a way to honour my journey without running roughshod over my parents. A way to honour my journey without trying to shelter them from my reality. A way to be gracious and honest.
I trust that telling my story will not smack of selling out in any way, shape or form.
And that body of mine that's falling apart?
As of today it's 47 pounds lighter since I stopped bingeing.
Not sure what parts I've lost but them there's a falling going on.
My day has been full. Today was my last scheduled appointment with my after treatment counselor. I feel like I have an adequate support system in place to get me through whatever life throws my way. Seeing to my spiritual life is the first priority of the day. With that intact when life throws me for a loop I've learned to call in the posse and with their experience, strength and hope have made it through some tough moments. It's not about staying strong in the rough spots but about telling the truth about how I feel about them. My counselor remains a phone call away and I told her today that I knew I could call if necessary and also knew that by the time I actually got an appointment to see her the crisis would be over. We laughed. There was a time not too long ago when I would have made the crisis last until the appointment because I didn't know what else to do. Today I do. Deal with it.
Next I had a doctor's appointment. When he asked me how I was I started to chuckle and he told me that was the wrong answer. I told him how tempted I often am to say, "help, my body's falling apart." We laughed. He listens differently since I've been to treatment. Treats me more holistically. Today I shared with him about doing the radio documentary. About how I'm telling the story of selling a bit of the family farm - that's been in the family nearly 90 years - and how conflicted I feel about my decision. I was telling him how the radio producer had poked and prodded until the story came out that I felt safe on that land. That across the road, where my grandparents and most of the 960 acres that encompassed the family farm were, felt predictable and safe. Home was unpredictable and scary. In the midst of that conversation my doctor said to me, "Selling the land is like the last step in the healing process. You don't need the land to feel safe anymore." Somehow I don't think they teach you that kind of reading between the lines in medical school.
You see I thought the story was going to be about selling the land, about the demise of the family farm. About betrayal of generational bequeathment. About selling out. Going into it I knew there was an underlying story of abuse and recovery but I didn't think it would surface. Had had only fleeting thoughts about whether selling the land was symbolic of moving forward. So when the underlying story surfaced the producer told me that's the real story. The one I need to tell.
Telling the story will be breaking every taboo I was raised with. Especially the one where my mother said to my face, "What goes on in this house, stays in this house." And here I am preparing to tell on national radio. Someone asked me tonight if there was a way to prepare my family for the real story to be told; but how do you warn someone of something they are in denial about?
So I'm trusting that God will make clear a way to honour my journey without running roughshod over my parents. A way to honour my journey without trying to shelter them from my reality. A way to be gracious and honest.
I trust that telling my story will not smack of selling out in any way, shape or form.
And that body of mine that's falling apart?
As of today it's 47 pounds lighter since I stopped bingeing.
Not sure what parts I've lost but them there's a falling going on.
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