I have been silently replaying the past few days since I posted about molested. Admitting this one was a great deal easier than I had imagined. Having said that, I know there is more that happened prior to me being 13, but it has always been hazy and just as start to turn the lens to capture the photo I lose the image. I first started seeing the image when I was about 16, but have not ever been able to sit still enough, long enough to see the video play out.
The part of my soul that felt I wasn't ready to see it has protected me from what ever hurt is there and while this has been a huge blessing on many levels, it feels like a bomb ticking down to implosion. I have asked my parents over the years at odd & probably inappropriate moments if there was something they needed to tell me and I have always seen something in their eyes, but honestly my parents have so many hurt places in their own lives that I have never pushed any farther than that. Once in the late 90's my dad started to talk to me, but he stopped. Soon after I started my family & didn't need any more ugly & scary in my head because I already felt so over protective of them I couldn't breathe some days.
I don't know what prompted this most recent exploration other than I am just damn tired of the shame & fear & anger that I carry with me from experience to experience. It is just time. I am not going to get any more mentally or emotionally prepared to deal with the awful news that someone else who I trusted hurt me when I was young.
I have spent so many years learning how to forgive, why it is important and how much better my life will be when I do forgive. I have walked through the teachings that I am only poisoning myself, but it is still a daily battle to keep on forgiving. Like bathing it doesn't last very long and I find I have to remember that I have forgiven someone and that I have laid that bag down. Much like when I traveled alone with my two small kids, I would stand at the baggage carousel with my sister and she would ask, "so what colors are your bags?" My reply was always a mess because after the first round passes you by, I couldn't remember if my bags were black or dark green or blue. I have picked up bags that were not mine only to read the bag tag and see someone else's name listed. I have also started walking out of the airport and remembered I had two child car seats to be claimed. Now having admitted that I had absolutely no clue what color my bags are, I seem to have the same problem every morning when I forget that I have already forgiven and released that particular and reach down and fling it over my shoulder. I find myself standing at the baggage carousel trying to remember if I forgave that bag or if I am merely thinking about forgiving that bag. Some days, I randomly pick a couple of the ones I feel I have forgiven back up to see how they feel. That is when I realize that dammit, this one still feels really heavy. This forgiveness battle is really hard.
I started this post Monday night while sitting at Boy Scouts and then yesterday I was listening to the an interview with Iyanla and she starts talking about "monogrammed luggage" versus "baggage."
I love when my Angels make the message easy for me to hear. Iyanla says that for many of us we have allowed our baggage to turn into "monogrammed luggage" that we take great care of. Baggage is the stuff we through in the corner of the basement and only pull out once a year when we need it. Monogrammed luggage is carefully stored and taken care of. An expensive investment is made when you choose monogrammed luggage.
School just began for my children and I could not be more thrilled. Not because I am ready for them to be gone all day, but because I have two hours drive time a day on my days! Last year I used that time for mediation and listening to interviews and tapping. This year, my desire is to have this be quiet time where I can allow my mind to wander and to allow day dreams to play out. I need some in my head time. I do not feel like I have had time all summer to hear myself think.
I have felt very out of sorts for the past month. Anxious and exhausted and overwhelmed. The kids playing music at home has irritated me. The sound of the video games has irritated me. The chatter has irritated me. I need some quiet. I need some outside. I feel desperate to unhook from this incessant energy pulsing in me.
I have been learning to meditate using the concept of not attaching to the thoughts that pop into my head, but allowing them to pass by. I have been using mantras to keep me focused. I will keep learning this type of meditation, but I am hearing my gut scream that I need some time to listen to my inner voice and what it needs me to hear.
While driving down today after dropping the kids off at school I heard the song Brave.
Since it came out, I have not liked it. It always sounded too bubble gum happy. Today, for what ever damn reason I listened to the words. I found myself crying. I have been eating my words and thoughts for so long. When I was told that I had ulcers through most of my entire colon which is approximately as long as I am tall, I became really aware that each hurt that I swallow instead of voicing is making another inch of me sick. My swallowing my hurt instead of voicing it could cost me my colon and my life. Jason took me to the emergency room during one of the most awful episodes of pain before I was diagnosed, and it wasn't until the morphine kicked in that I became aware of how much low grade, low level pain I had been living through each day. Being on morphine reminded me of what normal, no pain felt like.
I fear the daily low level pain is creeping back in. I know I am swallowing my hurt instead of sharing it.
Sharing my hurts means I have to accept the fall out of the emotions they bring up in the person I am being honest with. Sometimes sharing means I have to ask for change. No one likes to be told they need to do better or to change, especially me. Sharing means making my feelings real and solid. Words spoken can never be taken back. If I speak them, then I feel like I need to act on them. It just all gets so big. It all just consumes my non-working hours of which there are too damn few.
It is so much easier to keep it all inside and make do. Making do makes me feel guilty. If I was going to settle for making do, I should have stayed married and kept my family together. I chose to destroy my family so that I could thrive and teach my children what healthy love and life could look like. Then I feel like an idiot for wasting my hard earned freedom. I am my own worst enemy in this cycle of abuse.
I want to be BRAVE and let the words fall out. I want to kindly speak my heart and not fear the consequences. Some days I am braver than others.