I am not even sure where this is going, but this word seems to be front and center. Just the injustice in the world all around us, and some of it, there is not a single thing that can be done about it. It started with a client, then there was an ICE protest, then there were all these little things, and I think so many things just aren't fair. There are just so many things in this world that have no rhyme or reason; there are things in this life that just are, and the pieces left in the aftermath can be a lot to process sometimes. I have never been a what-if person; I have never questioned whether life is fair. Lately, I feel like I am there, living in that place where things just are not fair. The things that Spunky had to endure are not fair in any way, shape, or form, and it is hitting me like a lead balloon. Her world should have been so different. She should have been loved, cared for, and protected, but she wasn't. There were a few heroes who will forever be near and dear to my heart, but there was always something that I never got. I was the one on the outside looking in for as far back as I can remember. I never fit in. I never belonged anywhere, and I am sure that part of that is just me and the way that I am, but at the same time, I want to belong somewhere, be someone's favorite, be someone's person. I know that I see the world differently, but that isn't a bad thing; it is just me. I want the me, the person that I am today, to be appreciated. I want to be celebrated for the woman I am, who has dug herself out of the dark to help others see the light. It feels like I am always waiting to be heard and understood, exactly where I am today. And then when I do feel that, I think, oh no, am I too dependent, like am I being unhealthy? All these thoughts in my head make me want to scream. I feel broken sometimes, and as much as I work on my healing, I get frustrated that I feel so deeply, and then in the same breath, I wouldn't be me if I didn't. I wish I was ok with the person that I am, the me that carries this heavy soul that has been through so much. I see how far I have come. I know that I will never stop until I find the peace that I am looking for, but shit, this journey is not for the weak, and I am so tired. I am beyond exhausted and there is so much work to do. I want a time when I don't have to fight. I fight for spunky every single day, to find the things she never got and to experience life with her head up high. I fight so that someday, she can breathe.
I am not looking for easy, and I will say it a million times that I don't expect anything on a silver platter. There are millions of people in this world who have survived the unimaginable. I am just asking for some peace. My own little part of the world that is filled with kindness, wonder, and presence. A place where the little things are seen, appreciated, and adored. Life is hard, and we are all out there doing the best that we can, and I will always always do what I can to make sure that my part of the world is everything that I need it to be now and what I needed back then. I don't have all the right words right now, my chest is heavy, and I have such a longing for all the things I never got, all the experiences I never had. It's that soul kind of sad, from always fighting and struggling to find that just right place where you fit in the world. Here is something. These words are better than mine.
I think right now there are too many things that I don't want to be true, that I know are true, and are hitting me like a ton of bricks. I am just so sad. Everything makes me sad about Spunky and the life she had to live, and all the normal life things that she never got to experience. The things she endured and the secrets she had to keep. The way she was treated and how she had to survive on her own and figure things out. The weight of all that she has had to carry is weighing on me, and I am not sure what to do with all of the feelings. I am further in this life than I ever thought I would be, and yet that ever-present sadness is holding on like stickers to your feet on a hot summer's day. No matter where I step or what I do, some things just hurt that are a part of my story that I don't want to be. I am not comfortable with the questions I don't know, and I am also not comfortable with the things that I do know. So, I am stuck somewhere in the middle, and no matter which way I look, there are no flowers, no happy ending. Between what I do know and what I don't lies my broken heart. What I don't know makes me angrier, because no one helped me fill in the missing pieces. So many could have made the healing process something better for ame and no one made that choice.
The tears shed are different; they seem to have a greater impact, they are more intense and so very sharp around the edges. I think Spunky is closer than she has ever been, getting comfortable and trusting me more and more. I feel like she is shifting, more into a place of change than just sitting there on that couch in a state of terror. Maybe all the tears are from moving from that state of terror and not being able to have any emotions because they were too intense and too big to even comprehend. Today, the emotions are just as big, just as terrifying, only I am not that same scared, tortured, alone 13-year-old girl that I once was. I am seeing things more from the woman that I am today, standing strong in the things I believe about myself as a person, and the knowledge that I am stronger and more aware now than I have ever been. There are still parts of us that feel so very different from everyone around me, so very foreign. And there are parts of us that are the same. Our will to live, to make things better. Our ability to see the little things, the little bird drinking from a tiny puddle, the fainest rainbow, the twinkle in my granddaughter's eyes. We both have this ever-so-soft spirit that wants nothing more than for there to be peace all around us. We both have this strong sense of justice that deserves to be seen, that gives us this fight to make things better for others.
I have worked so hard on her healing, wanting more for her. I have fought for her freedom from the darkness that she was accustomed to. I wanted all the things for her that she never received in this life. There is a part of me that wonders if all of her will heal. I think there will be places, forever untouchable things that will always ache. I am not sure I am okay with that, but I think it's just the way it is. I am trying to accept it, but that is so much easier said than done.
I think I'm maybe leaning into what happened, sitting with the reality. I wish the things that happened weren't true. So many told me that I wasn't telling the truth, and little did they know that I wished I wasn't. Lying would have been so much easier than admitting the things that had happened to me. I have to work on getting the things that were said to her out of my head. The blame, the shame, the judgment that I was the one who had done something wrong. I still hold onto those things. I must have done something wrong. I did dance with him, but I never imagined he would do what he did. I saw the words 'unlived life,' and that is so fitting for Spunky. She never got to live life or experience things as she should have, and I can do a lot for her, but there are also things she will never have or get to experience. Life was more than cruel to her, and I am working hard for her to understand what happened to her without any shadow of blame. The shame that she feels is huge because there are still so many things she doesn't know or understand. I am learning to be ok with that, because nothing I do can change it. I will be glad when she can trust that she didn't do anything wrong, and that we deserve all that the world has to offer today with out looking back.
I wish I totally understood why I dread my birthday. I want to be excited and celebrate, but there is this fear that I am going to get excited, and then just like that, be left and disappointed. I don't remember the last birthday I enjoyed. I was even getting frustrated at work. I was talking about the kids' birthdays, and my para kept mentioning mine, and I was getting so angry! I'm not talking about me, now shut up. It's that kind of overwhelm for me. I hate the attention, the lead-up to the day, and all the things. I don't remember the last time that I truly enjoyed my birthday, honestly. Do not get me wrong, Mariska always goes above and beyond, and I often feel guilty that I am not more excited. She plans for days, sometimes even weeks; she decorates the house, blows up balloons, and she always goes all out. It's awesome what she does, and there is a part of me that feels more than guilty that I would just like to forget about the day. Someone said well you deserve to be celebrated, and I just am not ready to hear that. This year,, the kids made plans. Mariska was up early wanting me to open my present. She made breakfast and was so happy. They chose the restaurant, and we had the most amazing dinner. We had cake, everything was perfect, and still, in me, there is such a great relief when it's over.
It's almost like my past birthdays have completely ruined the future ones. The parties growing up, I think there was one where no one showed up. I can remember going to a few, but I felt like the odd one out. I didn't feel like I could celebrate and have fun like the others. I can think of one birthday that we went to the beach that turned it being about everything else. It was the weekend that Gotye was on Saturday Night Live. There was arguing and fighting, and all I wanted to do was go out on the pier, but that never happened. That was the same time that my mother bought me a computer mouse as a gift. It's as though I was not meant to celebrate, and not sure I would even know how.
I don't know what it is, but they make me sad. They make me feel alone, and I wish that I knew the root of that, because I have a lot of them left to go.
These past few weeks have been more than emotional for me. I feel like everything and nothing is wrong at the same time. Things are going well, and then this sense of dread comes out of nowhere. There have been a few nights when I get home and just want to go upstairs and get into bed. Exhaustion is a very real thing right now. It's the end of the year at school, 5 more Mondays to be exact. I am working on completing my internship. And there is life that just keeps lifeing. A house that needs to be taken care of, laundry to be folded, shelves to make, just so many things, and not nearly enough time to get them all completed. I feel like there are so many things begging for my attention, and I am not sure where to start. The other night, as I got into bed, the tears came so fast that all I could do was cry myself to sleep. That so deep ache that is looking for some kind of release.
Professionally, I am growing, learning, and doing all of the things that I have dreamed about for so long. There are times when I still can't believe it and want to pinch myself and make sure it's really real. I am making a difference, I am helping others, and it makes my heart oh so happy. Even Mark, the other week, asked about me noticing my accomplishments, and I shook my head, saying things like I'm just me. I do what I do, and I love every second of it. Then he said, " Maybe you get that satisfaction and reward from helping others, from seeing them succeed and thrive, and I thought, yes, that's it. So much of what is under and behind my fight is wanting better for others. I want others to never have to feel the things that I have felt. And it isn't that I can fix anything, but I can be there, listen, and help them feel heard.
Personally, I am really ok. Most of the time, I am fine, but there is that ever-present lingering ache. There are some rough patches, when the weight of what has happened feels like a million oceans smashing against my chest. That deep sadness that keeps rearing its ugly head, is something that I wish would go away. We are talking about things that happened 38 years ago, that often feel like it was just last week . That questioning myself, that mode that makes me so angry, that there are things that I just don't remember. I feel like something has been tapped into, and I have to adjust all over again to a new kind of normal. There are things that I just don't want to be true, and no matter how hard I want things to be different, there are things that I can't change. There are times that I can't go back to and understand or make them any different. I think I have hit a very deep sad that I think a lot of the sad comes from. Having to survive so much on my own and never getting to be sad, never being cared for and never having an understanding of all the things that I was having to deal with.Maybe it's just all catching up. There is so much joy and light in my everyday, to have this kind of sad be so big and have such a looming presence is really hard for me.
Those what if questions are appearing, and I feel like with each one brings more questions that there are no answers for. What if this, what if that, and some of those answers challenge everything that I have always believed. There are so many things that I don't want to be true, that I have to face, and it's terrifying. All the things that I wonder, What would things have been like if I didn't loose Bella. What would that have looked like? Would I have said something about my father, would I have gotten to keep her. I wonder how I would have been treated. Would I have been believed , Would I have been cared for ? Would Bella have been cared for, how would that trip to the emergency room turned out different ? Would CPS have gotten involved would my mother have stood up for me ? Would I have gotten the help and support that I needed all that time ago ? Would I have been able to be a mom? Would my father have hurt her as well ? Would anything really change ? In the end, I onlt have small facts that my mind holds onto for dear life. I keep gathering scattered pieces, hoping one day they’ll fit the empty spaces I carry.
Often I wonder what she would have been like ? This year she would have been 38. 38 years old, and it's more than hard to believe that I would have a daughter that old, that those things that happened still have a hold on me, there are still nightmares. That there are still questions that I go over and over in my mind, trying to create some kind of sense of them. I punish myself for the vanished moments, that happened that are still somewhere in my mind. I forget that a crime was committed and I wasn't the one who did anything wrong. It is carved in my bones by the words that I heard and the actions around me, I didn't deserve care, understanding or warmpth of any kind. My skin holds echoes of those moments I never asked to relive, shadows that return without warning. I move through the world with memories, feelings and thoughts that no amount of water could ever wash away. The things that I carry , that i have carried since I was 13 are so overwlelming, so unthinkable. The mere fact that I survived sometimes takes my breath away.
I want there to be a pease, a calmness, a resolve that I did the best that I could as a 13 year old girl. I want to place the shame and the hate on all of those around me who failed that little girl who never let her grieve, never acknowledged what had happened to her little soul. I found her and I am doing everything I can to being her back to a place where she can stand tall with me and know that she was just a girl who survived unimaginable things and yet continues to change the world with the woman that she has become. I will keep fighting for her and for me as we continue to make a soft place in the world for others just like us.
Oh my heart. I think that there are so many things that need to be said, and yet I am struggling to find the words. There is still a certain disconnect between Spunky and me. I know more than I ever have, I feel closer to her in so many ways, and still, there are pieces that are missing. She is still sitting on a couch outside the room. This week, for the first time ever, I thought of Spunky as a mom. Just a kid, just a girl, and it broke my heart. To survive something so important in silence without a single soul to console her. I was asked about Amelia and if it made me think of Bella. I wanted to respond without even taking a breath, but I am sure it does sometimes. I know that it does, all the time, and it's heartbreaking. It brings back all the who's, what's, and Whys; all the could-have, should-have questions. All of the things that I still don't have answers to. The question was asked how much I think about her, and it kind of stopped me in my tracks. Honestly, I think about her all the time. When I hear the name, when I see it as a store, when there is any combination of those letters, B E L L A, I think of her. When I hear others open up about losing a baby. At random times, when I think about how old she would be. While in the car the other day, I heard a song and my first thought was, " Wow, she would be 38 years old this year." Yes, I still think of her after all this time in my everyday life. I even opened Facebook, and the name on a ring was Bella.
I am sure going to the Dr. Alan Wolfelt conference made me think about so many things, and opened up that so tender spot where Bella resides. The place where anything was possible, and Bella and Spunky were going to conquer the world together. So many hopes and dreams are held there. I was never allowed to mourn her; I just had to keep going. I was never allowed to even speak about her or what she meant to me. I know that there were people in that room who knew what happened to me, what happened to Bella, and yet I was never spoken to. I never received any kind of care following the loss of her. So many thoughts and feelings that I don't allow myself to feel. A place that I generally avoid at all costs. It is one of those things that is there with every breath I take and a part of me through and through. It's a soul sad, the deepest kind of sad that there is, and I carry that.
It's more than difficult to think back to that time and imagine all the things that Spunky must have been thinking and feeling. She was terrified, and at the same time, she was going to be a mom and believed that somehow everything was going to work out, and things were going to magically get better.
I am going to write for a moment as Spunky because if I don't, things get so confusing. For so long, she has been in a different place, and with all that I am, I know that she is a part of me, but sometimes that is just too completely overwhelming. She has survived an unimaginable hell that I often still struggle to wrap my head around. I find myself sitting here shaking my head. She was 13, just thirteen years old, she had the whole world in front of her and didn't even know it. It's more than hard to write because I am not sure that Spunky has ever been given a voice. Maybe today is a start.
Wolfelt says that we must say:
hello before goodbye,
We must see the dark before the light,
And we must go backwards before we can move forward.
For Bella, for Spunky, for little Callahan, for the woman that I am today, that is my goal for all of us.
Let me begin with a Hello. Her Name was Bella
B.E.L.L.A
Bella was everything. She was hope, she was purpose, she was everything true and innocent. She was everything good in this world. I am not sure that there was a realization that I was pregnant for some time. I don't remember the moment I knew or how I found out. Somewhere in my mind, it's almost like she was always there. She and I lived in this world that, because of her, everything was going to be better. She was my reason to keep breathing when all I wanted to do was die. I can remember thinking that I hoped Andy was her dad. He was not like the others; he didn't hurt me like they did. He tried to help, and at times he made them stop. I believe he is the reason that we even made it out of that day alive, and that kindness was what I needed to believe was a part of Bella. There was never a time when she wasn't Bella, never a time when I called her anything else; that is who she always was, and was always meant to be. I was so happy being pregnant with her. I think I knew fairly fast and can remember feeling my belly, and talking to her all the time. Nothing else mattered in the world; it was her and me in everything. We held this belief that somehow, because of her, everything was going to be ok. There was a happiness like nothing I had ever known. There was a peace; I felt like I was keeping her safe and sound. I was sure that I was going to give her all the things that I never had. I was with Calvin the first time that I felt her move, and I grabbed his hand. I wanted him to feel her and be as excited as I was. I can remember his smile. I am not sure what was said, if anything at all, it was confirmation and hope that things were going to be ok for me. Losing her was so very painful. Physically, there was so much pain. I was always able to endure anything, but this was something different. I was in so much pain, and the longer that I waited, hoping that it would just go away, the more that I started bleeding. I was more than afraid and just wanted everything to feel better. When it got to the point that the pain was unbearable, I called Calvin. I was so grateful to see him; he always watched out for me. I knew that he would know what to do. I so looked up to him. I just melted in his arms, and he scooped me up and carried me to his car. I knew that something was very wrong, and I was terrified. The next thing that I remember was the bright lights of what I assume was the emergency room. The pain was excruciating, and the tears just flowed. I was so alone and terrified of being touched, and I wanted someone to just hold me and make everything better. I didn't understand what was happening or why. There wasn't a thought about anyone finding out, because I was sure that, because of her, everything was going to be better. I still do not know who was around the bed; people were around, but I was so alone. My heart was breaking. And he said the words; I am sorry you have lost her. I think those words were bouncing around my heard unable to find a place to land that made any sense. But I loved her, we were going to make things better, I was going to keep her safe. I begged him for it not to be true, I thought if I were just better, if I were just this or that, then everything would be ok. Even now, I feel his hand on my leg, the only comfort I received, as I lost my daughter. My everything, my reason for living, my sweet Bella. I had lost Bella, and I had my hope in everything. I still feel that pain at times, and I am not crazy, just grieving. I still miss her all the time. Spunky was a bereaved girl before her time, experiencing a sorrow of her very soul. From that moment on, nothing would ever be the same, and I am still so sad. It was all so confusing. I thought I was doing all the right things, then I believed that I must have been some kind of awful person to have lost her. That moment in the hospital is the last moment that I remember and the only time that she was acknowledged. She was not celebrated, she was not remembered, and I was left alone. And still I sit alone, terrified of moving, breathing, or living again. In a single second, everything can be gone that matters the most in this world can be gone.
So my Bella, my sweet girl, who brought me so much light. Here is your Hello to this world, you matter, and you are so important, and wherever you are, you are still making a difference.
Such a small word with such huge ramifications for so many. I don't think that many people have a clue about the extent or what it is that people experience when they live in poverty. Maybe that is why working at the Samaritan Inn means so much to me; I can absolutely relate to what they are experiencing. I walk into my house today and think, I am so, forever, beyond grateful to be where I am today. I am standing in a place that doesn't happen for everyone. I have had to scrape the bottom of the barrel. I have been so mistreated, and today I stand in a place where all my bills are paid, and I even have a small amount of money in the bank. No one understands who hasn't truly lived there. I have, and I have been ashamed. I have not had a place to live, and I have been made to feel like a burden when I did. Everyone is always willing to judge, yet no one takes the time to listen and to understand. I have been on food stamps, and I have received TANF. I have had to walk out of stores because there was no money on my card. I have been there in those offices, speaking to people who were making big life decisions for me, and yet didn't hear a word I said.
I can remember Vincent and Mariska not even being a week old, I was so happy being their mom they were everything perfect. The worker who did the interview threw a pen at me from across the table because I couldn't give her the father's name. I remember sitting in the waiting room and my mother making comments about the dirty chairs and telling me not to put my children on them. I still distinctly remember them arguing with me about the formula because they were twins. I vividly remember everything about that day and don't believe that I could have felt any smaller. After that appointment, I went to the car, and the tears started flowing as I tried to nurse my sweet baby. Not one person acknowledged my beautiful babies or me. I always dreaded that call every three months, same questions same answers and still treated like a piece of trash.
They were still newborn and there was a crisis pregnancy center. I could not bring myself to go after what happened at Health and Human Services so my mother went. Once again, I was made to feel small and so very insignificant. They gave her clothes that were beyond old and more than stained. I was sitting on my bed, trying more than hard to be grateful. Soon, the sobbing started, and I asked how I was supposed to put my precious babies in those clothes. I cried because I was grateful for what I was given, yet heartbroken because they deserved better. And of course, they put a bible in with everything, like someone who thought that was going to make everything better. I think my mother went back once or twice. Once they argued about diapers for twins, and then the last time. They gave us a highchair with mold on it and said that we just needed to wipe it down. That chair was thrown in the trash and we never went back.
I was more than grateful, but people don't understand what it is like being in that situation. I didn't deserve less or any better than any other single mom, yet I was looked down on and treated so unkindly by so many. There were a few people who said I should just be grateful, and they had no idea just how grateful I was. I did everything. I was grateful that my mother let us live with her. I was grateful for it all, and I always felt less than and so unimportant.
This week, there were many moments that reminded me of just how far I have come. I often think back to when they were babies and toddlers, and my heart smiles. I loved every second, and I never missed a single moment or a first with them. Goodness, I didn't have two cents to rub together, yet they always had everything that they needed. I look back at some of the pictures and wonder how I managed to make it all work. There were many reminders, given that it was Amelia's Birthday week. She was able to be so celebrated; there are so many people who love her so. I was able to buy everyone lunch on her actual birthday after our trip to the park, and doing that brought me such joy. I may have to cut something somewhere, but I wanted to do that. I brought balloons and necklaces, and all the things to the park. It's the best feeling when they notice you from across the park. She has a life so different from her dad. Even coming to my house she has all the things that she needs and more, she can never wear all the clothes in her closet, or play with all the toys but they are all here for her always. She is growing up so very different than how my Vincent grew up. That family that supports that kind of love that I didn't have when the kids were small. All of us celebrate all of her milestones and accomplishments and cool outfits. For my children, there was just me. Sometimes my mom, every now and then my brother, but I was the constant. Always grateful to be their mom and make sure they knew just how special and important they were.
Finishing school and beginning my career as a teacher was a struggle, but they always had everything, and I see where I am today, getting to be a poppy and do the things that I have only imagined for my granddaughter.
Once again, I have an understanding and a perspective that few have. I have crawled my way out of a place that few do. The determination that I never lost wanting so much better for my children than I ever had. I apologize that this post is everywhere all at once, but this week was very emotional. I think there was a longing for things that I never had. I wish there were celebrations and acknowledgments for my children by someone other than me. I am ever so grateful that Amelia is so loved and supported in all that she does. In so many ways, the things I can share with Vincent and his little family bring the circle back to where it began. Those full circle moments when pieces all come together, and good things happen. I feel truly, truly grateful that I was able to climb out of that poverty and into a place where I am continuing to make a difference and do things better. I also understand what it takes to do that; I have a true understanding of that struggle, and sometimes my heart breaks.
I wish that I had been treated differently when I was struggling. So I treat others the way that I wish to be treated. We are all on this journey, living life, and we all have a story that has gotten us where we are and will lead us in the present and maybe even push us further. We can't ignore these things; we have to do better. We have to do better and treat people better. We have to acknowledge that we are all just people doing the best that we can. I will never forget all I have experienced and where I have come from. I will always always care from the bottom of my heart about you exactly where you are in this moment. We have to talk about and acknowledge the hard things so together we can make a difference that is so needed by so many.
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.
