My owl

Sometimes I cry when we have our chats…I don’t know why…maybe because I feel she can hear me when humans cannot…maybe I feel she is sent to me when I am at my saddest moment and I feel heard by God…Who am I kidding, I don’t sometimes cry, I always cry when I talk to my owl…


REBLOG: Because she is AWESOME!!!

A Thomas Point of View

I am a survivor. We are all meant to survive. The thing is that you can never give up. It is not in our nature to give up. We must keep pushing forward, no matter the situation. It’s in our blood. We survive.

Our capture.

We survived.

The slave ship.

We survived.

The auctioneer’s block.

We survived.

The heat.

We survived.

The beatings.

We survived.

The rape.

We survived.

Child bearing.

We survived.

Our children are survivors.

I am a child of a survivor.

I too have survived.

Child molestation.

I survived.


I survived.

Sexual assault.

I survived.


I survived.


I survived.


I survived.

Loss of a loved one.

I survived.

September 11th.

I survived.

The NYC blackout.

I survived.

Job loss.

I survived.


I survived.

Survival is in my blood. Nothing can stop that which God has destined for greatness. Trials and tribulations may…

View original post 53 more words

I like…

I like… 

The pink fluff flowers coming on the mimosa tree. I like standing under it and looking up.

I like that the morning glory vine is shaped liked hearts. 

I like the feel of whatever this green moss is on the ground.

I like the feel of whatever THIS moss is.

I like that there is a red leaf among the green ones on this vine.

I like that when I walked down to look at these rocks, I could hear my daughter singing on the porch.

I like that after my husband trimmed back this flowering tree, it shot out new green branches.

I love that after I thought this gardenia on the deck was dead, sure enough it put out a bloom!

Living in the moment is a challenge for me some days. Today I just wandered around, and in the moment, noticed the things that I liked. “I like that red leaf. I like the sound of that bird. I like the feel of the wind today. I like listening to the sound of my daughter’s voice.” Because at any point the unlikes will make their way back. So for now. I’m just sitting in the moment.

Two trees.

Two trees were given to me by a monsterous man, before I new the extent of his monsterous ways, or was even aware he was a monster in the first place.

I planted the two trees and they have grown outside my window for 10 years. 2 years ago I contemplated cutting them down. I didn’t want a reminder of a monster right outside my window. But I looked at them, these two vibrant green trees. Why would I punish the trees for one bad man touching them? Why would I cut them down?  I mean, it wasn’t their fault that a horrid man gave them to me. They didn’t deserve to be chopped down because of one bad man.

I walked outside after the storms passed yesterday and took their picture. It took me 8 years to look at those trees and not see the man that gave them to me. Those trees are not who gave them to me. They are simply, trees. Beautiful, bright, trees. The rain drops glistened on them as I took the picture yesterday. They are just innocent trees, trying to reach up towards the sun, allowing raindrops to rest on their leaves. They are NOT the man who touched them once long ago.

I left those trees there as a reminder. I am not just what some bad man did to me. I am not going to punish myself and chop myself down because of what someone else chose to do to me. A monster is not worth destroying a beautiful tree. A monster is not worth destroying me. I have to see beyond the bad that was done to me, so I can recognize myself as a person who stood in the rain and looked toward the sun, knowing that someone else’s choice to hurt me, does not define me. I left those trees standing because their life represents mine. They stand for and represent and symbolize that good will prevail in the face of evil. They remind me that a monster cannot take away your beauty. They remind me to see that the good in myself, is stronger than the bad that happened to me.

Two trees were given to me by a monsterous man. He doesn’t define the trees. The trees are mine now. I appreciate their beauty and their ability to grow. I nolonger see the monster who touched them because he has no place here anymore. The trees symbolize the ability of me, to see past the bad, and embrace the good. The trees remind me that no abuse can define me or take away my joy of standing in the rain or feeling the sunshine on my face. The monsters will not prevail. We will.

The Day After

There is a trigger warning on this reblog.
I cannot imagine how painful it must have been to write these words for my friend KATM. She is a survivor of horrific, and mean some of the most horrifying abuse I have read. But it must be read because in the truth of these experiences we can see…so much. Many people don’t want to hear these words. They are hard to read. But if she went through it, I can read it and give love and support. Those who live in denial want these words to be minimized. They cannot be. The monsters of the world need to be revealed for what they have done to the innocent. Justice needs to prevail in our world and we cannot see that if everyone chooses to look away.
I pray for this friend, this soul, this precious person who went through hell and is brave enough to write about it and keep moving forward.

Finding the Light in the Darkness

So I saw Dr. D yesterday.  It was tough, complete with a panic attack.  She encouraged me to call Dr. W.  Since I seen her earlier this week, I didn’t think it was a good idea.  But Dr. D gently explained that Dr. W would be concerned that I let myself continue to suffer needlessly.  So I called.  I got a call back that evening, which surprised me because she’s on vacation.  She asked what was going on and I told her everything.  Well almost everything.  I didn’t tell her how long things have been going on.  She gave me hydroxyzine, which she has given me before.  Dr. W said she’s hesitant to prescribe a benzo at this point.  Not because she’s worried about addiction.  But rather given the amount of medication I’m on.  I understand her point of view, and I respect it.  What it says to me is…

View original post 623 more words

Stages of grief

I find myself always aware of what stage of grief I am experiencing. I don’t always move right through them. I don’t always need all of them. I may go from one to the next and then go back again. 

My last boyfriend before my husband was not kind to me. His abusive tendencies left me feeling like I lost more of myself. When I broke up with him I didn’t have to grieve the loss of him. I had to grieve the loss of what he did to me. 

I grieved my last boyfriend by chopping up all of his furniture and then borrowing a chainsaw and hacking up what was left. I then started a burn pile in the front parking lot of everything that reminded me of him. Now THAT is anger. I still find it funny when family says I am “rageful” now. PFT. Little lesson: Unless a chainsaw or axe or fire has happened, I have NOT shown anger. After I chopped up all his stuff I could throw out the upstairs window of the apartment, he packed up what was left and went on his way. Something about chopping up his furniture and allowing my body to feel that full rage over what was done to me was liberating. So much so that after, I laughed.  I was immediately over the grieving process. Anger was all I needed to grieve the loss of what he had done to me. 

With my family and what they did to me I did also go through stages of anger. Some scissors did come out when I cut up the curtains my mother hung in my house. But lets be real, that is pretty benign. I didn’t scream or yell or bash things. I just cut up some curtains. We all have our own way of dealing with anger. I write about it, and apparently now, cut up curtains. Unfortunately, that was not the end of grieving my family. I skipped the denial phase. Went straight to the angry phase and hoped to skip the sadness phase and go right to acceptance. It didn’t happen. I have come to the sadness and here I sit. I hope I don’t stay here for long. 

While grieving my body because of this muscle disease I went straight through! I was in total denial. I was angry. I was depressed. I accepted it. And then I went backwards. I refuse to accept this disease. I am going to fix it, I am going to research it. I am going to fight it. Then I would hurt myself by overdoing and become depressed. Then I would be angry and push myself to do something I knew I couldn’t just to show I could, just to repeat the cycle again. Grieving my body through this muscle disease process has not been linear. I don’t even know where I am in the grieving process right now with my body. Perhaps, appreciating what I can still do. Which is my own little amendment to the grief process. 

When it comes to the grief after abuse, 2 nights ago I had a moment of denial. I never ever thought I would go there. Grieving the loss of my childhood and the loss of my identity and the loss of normalcy due to PTSD has FIRST come with acceptance. Then there has been sadness. Anger has not really played a part. But I have never denied what happened to me. But a few nights ago, for a moment, I thought, OK, maybe this really was not as bad as I have thought. Maybe I have blown this entire thing out of proportion. Maybe the abuse wasn’t that bad. Maybe my childhood wasn’t that bad. I kept thinking of the good things that happened growing up. I thought, am I making the bad a bigger deal than it was and ignoring all the good I had? Maybe it just wasn’t that bad. Denial. It is a stage of grief I have not ever felt in abuse I experienced while being an adult. As a child, coping required a certain coping skill of denial but that didn’t have to do with grief.  It is not a good feeling. I doubted myself. I doubted my words. I doubted my truth. I had to reread the letter I wrote to my dad detailing the abuse details (it only details small details). I read. Oh. Right. That did happen. Oh. That happened too. Oh i totally forgot about that. Oh right, that was awful. I was immediately thrown from denial to depression and back to acceptance and then depression over the acceptance. I know why I did it. I let my family get into my head and I let their words and the weight of them overpower the actual truth. They live in denial. They want me there too. So I went there. Tested out the waters there in denial. Denial from childhood abuse is a very unhealthy place for me to visit. I didn’t stay there long. I was trying to pretend. Make it all go away. Just for a moment live in the fantasy world where I didn’t have to mourn myself. But that is not being true to all of the work I have done listening to my inner child and speaking for her, finally. Denial cannot be a part of my grief when it comes to trauma. So I didn’t allow it to be. Good things did happen in my childhood. Wonderful things. I don’t deny those things either. 

I have never bargained for myself  It is a stage of grief I have never felt within myself. I have bargained when it came to my daughter’s illness. I have begged and bargained God to just take me if that means she will be well again. Because her illness has caused grief too. Grief over the loss of what I want her life to be and what she has lost. 

Grief is powerful. Whether it is for a loss of our body, a loss of our self, a loss of someone we love, or a loss we are witnessing, it is complicated. It is definitely not linear for me.  I have also put in an extra stage for my own grieving process: Allowing for love. I don’t have to be in a stage of grief that requires sadness, anger, or acceptance, I could just be in a state of love. I can love myself through the grief. Love that little girl in me. Love my body that I am losing with the muscle disease. Love my daughter. Find a spot to just love in the midst of it all. 

End it on a good note.

Yesterday was, well yesterday. I want to share a part of it with you because I find this motto one I have to live by: “End it on a good note.” 

I went out on my daily wheelchair walk. It had just rained and I hesitated for a moment because I really don’t like to get my wheelchair tires covered in car yuck that accumulates in puddles after it rains. But I am bound and determined to every single day get out of the house. I have set up some daily routines for healing and the most important one for me is my wheelchair walk. During my walk a woman came up to me and gave me a good ole pat on the shoulder. Whether it was a kind gesture with good intention or not, it does not change the fact that she hurt my arm, and she stepped into my space. I have been working on boundaries. I cannot set up a boundary to protect myself if I am lower than everyone else and in a “pat” zone especially when I never know when it’s coming. I could just say to every person who passes by or stops to talk to my, ” Hey if you are thinking of patting me, please don’t,” but that would just get old! People have often caught me off guard while in my wheelchair and pat my arm or my shoulder. It is not a reflection on them per se as much as it is something I simply do not like. AND I am under the complete belief that if I were out for a jog, the same person would not stop me and pat my arm. Infact, I can’t think of one time when I WAS out for an actual “walk” or run that anyone felt the need to give me a pat. Like I said, good intention or not, I do not like being pat. My arm was hurt and my walk was ruined. I think you had to be there but I heard her friends say….oooooh look there is a girl in the road in a wheelchair. Like I am some freaking wild bird sighting. It just all did not set with my own daily walk intentions. I came home pissed off. But then no. I wanted to stick with the motto that my daughter’s old horse back riding instructor always said, ” Never end it on a bad note.” If she was jumping a horse and they had a bad jump, that couldn’t be the end. They needed a good jump to finish up on so they both felt satisfied with the day’s work. I guess the same applies to the theory that you shouldn’t go to bed angry. End it on a good note. So I came home, pissed off, made a sign, and taped it to my tank top! 

Pretty clear right! DO NOT TOUCH ME!

I went back out on my walk and stayed out until I felt the calm I had originally set out to achieve. One jogger passed by and laughed while he shook his head understandably as if to say, ” That is so sad that you had to do that to get respect.” Another girl stopped to say hello and we had a chat, never did she mention the note taped to my chest. But I didn’t have to worry she’d touch me, now did I! And I have to say there was a great calm in that. I didn’t have to say the words. My intentions were taped to my chest. My walk was a success. 

Today I went to therapy and taped the same sign on the back of my scooter. It felt very empowering. I didn’t have to be hypervigilant that someone would come up from behind me and pat me or grab my shoulders. Really, most people have no idea the amount of unwanted touches I get in my scooter. And some truly are just passerby individuals that want to give me a pat of encouragement. I know that. But I am out to be normal. And you don’t normally pat strangers. 

Tomorrow my husband is going to make me a more proper laminated sign that says “Please don’t touch me.”  I will put one on my wheelchair and one on my scooter. I can then feel a little safer. That is what I am always MOST trying to achieve. To feel safe. It is hard to do when you are in a scooter or wheelchair even if you have had no past trauma or triggers. 

Today, my day ended with my frequent bloomer that always makes me smile. I had this “grass” for 11 years. This is the first year it has bloomed. Out of nowhere it just pops out a flower. I love this flower! It is like an angel’s yellow arms are open and right in the middle is a purple cross. I mean come on. That is a cool flower!I like to end my day on a good note too.