Touch

 Touch is a strange thing. Lately, my reactions seem extreme for a situation. Even with my students, when they do things that I am not expecting, it's like this jolt of electricity goes through my body, and my insides feel like the insides of a pincushion; each movement sends stings to each and every cell. But it lasts and takes hours to go away. It's been happening more lately, and it's exhausting. Sometimes I find that the closer that Spunky gets, the more sensitive I become to any and all touch.  I wonder if that will go away or if that is something that will always be.  It is something different. Generally, I am not one who doesn't like touch, but lately, every touch feels more intense. I was thinking back, and maybe there was a time, when I was working on little Callahan, that the same thing happened.  Maybe we just went through so much that the thoughts, the memories, are still living in our bodies. It's strange to think that in so many ways and have so few words.  Many of the things that happened, I just left. Left my skin, my bones, my body. There were those single seconds that I knew what was going to happen, or things became too intense, and I knew to go away until things were safe again. 

It's strange I can remember some of the most brutal moments and yet other things, it's just a feeling or a sense that I knew and was far away from where I was physically.  The nature of the beast TRAUMA. The things that it does to a person.  The lasting impacts and ways it continues to show itself.  I know that I have come such a long way, but when I have a reaction so intense, it reminds me I have a ways to go. 

I heart your heart. 

The most unimportant thing in the world

 

I have been terrified of this moment for as long as I can remember. The thought that I might break his heart is devastating. I fear how he will view himself, and I worry how he will see me. I am scared that he won't have questions, and I will just have to fill in the pieces. The thoughts of the last few days have spun around and around, and it would be so much better just to say I was a slut. I do not know how to even get the words out of my mouth and into the air. I don't know how to do it.  

When Shelbi came over on Sunday, it was so awesome.  I took her upstairs and showed her Amelia's Room.  We were just there present with each other. We were laughing, talking about everything. And the conversation turned to Father's Day, early in her relationship with Vincent. She said she asked him if he was going to do anything for Father's Day, and he said no, that he didn't have a dad. She said, but he was upset, and she said that she was sorry that she didn't know.  She said that he didn't even want to celebrate this past Father's Day as a first-time dad; he just wanted the day to go away. 

Listening to her talk broke my heart. I think that not having a dad has greatly impacted him, and he doesn't talk about his feelings. The ache in my heart hearing her talk made me more than sad; it broke my heart, and that is the last thing that I ever want for Vincent. I think that not having a dad has had a greater impact on him than he realizes, than even I have realized.  I don't have a clue what to do about that. I would do anything to take this pain away from him, and yet I can't. 

For a moment, while talking to Shelbi, I wanted to tell her, to explain.  I want her to have a deeper understanding of who Vincent is as a person and of all the things he has had to deal with in his life.  Is that my place to tell Shelbi?  Is that a conversation that I should open with Vincent first? I feel like he doesn't have a support system to even process that information, and that is not something he needs to keep to himself.  So I am left not knowing what to do. 

Should I bring it up to him, or wait until he asks?  Do I keep the silence, knowing that it stands like a huge weight between us? How do I say those words to my son, one of the best things that has ever happened to me? I would do it all again to get to be his mom. I want to have that conversation to ease his heart and mind, help him understand that I love him more than the last breath in my lungs. I want to find other moms who have been through similar things and learn what worked for them and what their children needed or longed for.  I have so many questions and not a single person to ask. 

What happened to me is the most unimportant thing in the world because I got to be his mom. I got to feel both of them move and grow and turn into the most amazing humans.  Being their mom has given more than I could have ever imagined, and that is something that I want him to understand.   

The fact is, something terrible happened to me. A man put a pillow over my face and took what he wanted.  Was I devastated, yes, yet another man using me, and I was almost accustomed to it, just go far away, pretend that you are somewhere else. The fact is that I get to be your mom.  The fact is, I would do it all over again to be your mom. I love you more than words and more than you could ever imagine. 

I heart your heart 

I will tell you everything

Sometimes there are moments when things become so clear. Last week was one of those moments for me. I felt closer to spunky than I ever have, and honestly, the feeling hasn't really left. I feel like we are on each side of the wall, extending our hands and holding on for dear life. Who knows what the journey ahead of us is, but together, there is a knowing that we can accomplish anything. I have this picture in my head of what it looks like, this old, broken, crumbling wall, one of us on each side, but we are both reaching for each other. We can't look each other in the eye not yet but there is a connection that is strong and undeniable that has never been there before. 

She is scared of me, and I am scared of her yet we both know that we need each other on this journey. I know that there are things she holds and there are things that I hold. I do think that there are times, we wonder if we will make it. I know that that there are things that she doesn't have words for and that is ok.  Piece by piece little by little I am sure that she will tell me everything, and I will do the same. The parts she remembers are horrific and the things I remember are just as bad but together, with all that I am we can tell each other everything and still be ok.

There are pieces of us that have been hiding in the dark our entire lives, and I know that we are both incredibly tired of hiding, of becoming small of shrinking because our story is different. We have pieces that have never been seen for fear of being hated, being seen as something other than, as something that doesn't really belong. 

In a sense we don't belong, the lives that we have lived few can imagine and yet here we are. We have built our own way. We have suffered, we have lived, I have even found joy in the unimaginable, and it's time that she do the same. So here we are.  At a space of great change that feels more right than it ever has. So for this time, this place this moment. This just this. 

The Wall Between Us

There was a wall — not built, but born from all the words we have never said. It cracked with silence, crumbled with time, but still it stood.

I reached for you through every jagged breath of broken stone and memory. Your fingers, just a breath away, trembled like mine.

We touched — not skin, but sorrow sadness and immense pain. Not warmth, but the echo of it.

The wall did not fall. It watched. It remembered. It holds all that we can't say. It held the shape of our longing like a wound that never heals.

And though we are finding our way, we are moving on, though the seasons changed, people left that wall still remains — a monument to almost, to what could not be, to the ache that still reaches in all that we do.

But we have each other, closer than ever

I promise to tell you everything, even if it keeps you awake

                                               Mumford and Sons: I will tell you Everything. 

Ghosts don't apologize

 

I heard these words today, and they kept repeating in my head. Ghosts don't apologize.  One of the worst things I have ever read was my mother's words. That long letter my mother wrote, in a sense, told me everything I did wrong and everything that was wrong with me. All the ways that I did things wrong, and I was blamed for my reactions to what happened to me. I was supposed to be quiet and keep smiling. All the ways that I was holding on to the past, and just needed to get over it. Her words were cruel and uncalled for, and broke my heart in ways that I never imagined. 

 She said, " All of my ghosts haunt me. I lived in a haunted house that she refuses to visit. " Oh, those words. She didn't want to visit the house that she created for me. 

Yes, all the things that have happened to me haunt me sometimes. I was hurt so deeply by the people who were supposed to love me.  I could say that the house I grew up in was haunted by a man who used his own daughter as his wife. I could say that my mother chose to look out for herself rather than protect her daughter. I could say I lived in a house full of secrets that everyone was comfortable keeping. I could say that she made me that way, and yet I was blamed for being so hurt. 

Today, when I heard the words "ghosts don't apologize," I immediately thought of the letter she wrote and thought, "She is the ghost that will never apologize." I will never hear an "I am sorry" for the things I didn't know. I am sorry for the ways that I didn't protect you. I am sorry for not being there and letting your father hurt you. I am sorry you went on that weekend. I am sorry you were brutalized. I am sorry you suffered the loss of your girl alone. I will never hear any of those things, in any form.  She is a ghost that will never apologize. She is a ghost who never saw me for who I truly am. She was a ghost when I needed her and a ghost when I stood up for what was right. She was a ghost when I was left alone, trembling in my own bed. She was a ghost when I found my voice. She was a host when I took the stand to testify and save another little girl.  She was a ghost that refused to see the damage she had done and blamed me for her shortcomings. She was the ghost who chose to look the other way as her daughter suffered. 

There was a different realization today that I will never get the love that I longed for. I will never get that I am so sorry for all the things that have happened to you. I will never get that I am sorry that I didn't protect you. I will never get the experiences that a daughter is supposed to have. She could never acknowledge what happened to me or the damage it caused. At this point, I truly believe that she was not capable, and that feels like a million thorns on all the hurt places. I truly don't believe that she was sorry. I was someone who refused to remain silent, and she just couldn't understand that. She didn't want me to survive and thrive; she wanted me to survive and become the victim like she had done her entire life. I wanted more for myself, and she never ever understood that. She missed out on so much of who I was. She will never apologize for how she treated me. I will never ever hear those words. Some days, I don't even realize that those are the words I long for. Hearing those words today made me realize that I would give anything to hear them and be acknowledged. Someone to be sorry that things were so hard, so violent, and so gut-wrenching. She is a ghost, and she will never apologize.  She was very wrong, though. I do not live in a haunted house; I just sometimes have to visit there to continue healing, and I am so ok with that. 

I heart your heart. 

You can't take away my thoughts and dreams

 

There are just times that Spunky becomes more prominent, and it weighs heavily on my heart. Pieces are slowly coming together, and I am grateful.  The fear is ever-present and so intense. Somehow, I am going to end up like Probst in K-Pax. The fear is that time and place can somehow destroy all that I have worked so hard to achieve. Things were just that terrifying.  I have come so far, and she is such a huge piece of who I am as a person, and I so want her with me on the rest of this journey. She is still sitting in Mark's waiting room, taking it all in. I think she is trying to see beyond what was done to how she feels and what she thinks. All the people around her blamed her, and she is trying to undo everything that still plays in her head. She is trying to move beyond the gross and disgusting to that place where she was just a scared girl who needed so much care. I think she often puts on a front that she doesn't need anyone or anything, and yet I know she needs so much. There is just so much loss that I think it could swallow her whole. I think when a person has had to keep it all together for so long, that step of letting someone in, even if that someone is me, is a huge step. 

I think so much of that deep, deep sadness that I often speak about comes from her and what she had to experience. I have worked so long finding the right words, and I still struggle to find words for her. The kind of aloneness that she endured feels like that last leaf holding on for dear life before winter comes. Everyone has moved on, and yet I am always the last one hanging on.  

I was talking to a friend the other day, and she said that when her husband got into trouble, his parents took everything away. All his toys, his favorite show on Tv. He would go sit on his bed and say, " Fine, you can take all those things, but you can't take away my thoughts and dreams. How beautiful is that? Spunky had everything so violently stolen from her. Her sense of who she was, her womanhood, her soul was shaken to the core, and still, she always kept going. She always found something to fill her heart, taking care of others, watching the sky, and believing in the kindness of whales.  I do think that, deep down, she always believed she would someday make a difference for others, and that she held onto for dear life. She has had to fight her entire life, and finally finally, I don't think she is fighting anymore. I think she is resting. She is watching and waiting for that moment when she feels confident she won't break when she finds the words for the thoughts and feelings she has always had to hide.  

I think sometimes she sits there on that couch with that trauma mountain in front of her and is trying to find the best option to make it over the top. I personally think she is further than she thinks she is, but I understand the terror. The couch in the waiting room is the safest she has ever felt, and I know the moment is coming when she will stand, take a deep breath, move through that door, take my hand, and we will finish this journey together, doing all the things we once could only imagine. 

I heart your heart. 

For those who are still whispering

 I saw a post on Facebook, a part of a poem, that stood out to me. No, I take that back, it was more like screaming at me. There are still times when I feel guilty for sharing my story or wanting to speak about the things that have happened to me. There are times, even in conversation, that I would love to speak up and say my truth, to talk about the things that I have had to face, yet that silence sits on our chest, and we keep our words and thoughts to ourselves. The things many have experienced are kept in the dark and overlooked. The things that have happened are things that are looked down on and judged, but I am here to stay forever and always true to who I am. From my very being, I want to shine a bright light on those awful things as a path for others to heal. Even today, after all the work I have done, there are moments I find myself shrinking, becoming small, and I look forward to the day that  Irise higher instead of shrink smaller. I look forward to the day when I don't have to hold my story back for fear of what others might think. I look forward to the day that I am able to hear, " Thank you for sharing your story for speaking up, because in that, I found my own way." 

I promise it's not this look at me kind of thing, it's a quiet strength, a courage, a hope that things could be so different for others. I am tired of people having to whisper and pretend that their hearts are no longer broken, or that the ache of trauma is all gone. It may ache forever. That has to be ok, but as time passes, edges smooth, we grow older, we see things differently, and sometimes we can sit and hold our hand on our heart and know just how far we have come. If we can come this far, we can go the rest of the way, and we will come out on top, feeling lighter, with a peace that we never ever imagined. 

In counseling my clients I sometimes hear myself and think, wow look at the things you are able to see in them but are unable to hear. I tell them how brave and strong that they are how much worth that they have but those things in me are often a whisper. A whisper I am working on but still a whisper. 

To all those still whispering including myself, we deserve to have a voice and for it to be heard. 

I heart your heart. 

Look for the windows

 This semester is going to be amazing; I have a professor who values who we are as people. We are seen and genuinely heard. He speaks to us as the counselors that we all hope to become. He wants us not only to be better for ourselves, but for our clients. He tells stories, many of them more than once, but each time he tells one, I see it differently and consider its impact on a client. He may tell the story more than once, but I see it differently each time. Today, he was talking about seeking windows that let us gather more information and gain insight into our clients' world. They are going to give us those windows; it's about recognizing them and doing something with them. What one person may see as a window and fly through, gaining so much, might not be seen by another. Each window is an opportunity to learn more, do better, and gain a deeper understanding of where a client is at any given time. 

I think maybe this is true for all of us. We are all just hoping to share something of ourselves and to make a difference for others. We are all looking for that just-right person to come along who can hear our song, see our heart, and gently touch our soul. When that happens, we can open our window and share a deeper part of who we are. I hope that I am that for my clients: I hope that I catch those open windows and hear them in the right places, in the ways they need it most.  

So often in my life, there have been people who have either ignored those windows, chosen to look the other way, or not even cared that they were there in the first place. Today, that makes me so sad.  So many missed opportunities that no one took the time to see. I truly think that is one of the things that makes me, me. I notice those windows; I notice the little changes, the differences, and I acknowledge them. That is something that I will always always do. 

I heart your heart.