The world was big and ready to be explored when I was four. It was also a scary place where I could fall. But the fear didn’t stop me.
There was a hole in the kitchen floor. In my two-year-old mind, it was huge. My family lived in a travel trailer. There were a hundred acres of land with pecan trees and livestock, horses, chickens, all with a nearby river and wooded area, wild enough for any child’s fantasy. The hole—I avoided it, walked around it, afraid of falling.
When I was three or four, I remember picking pecans. My first experience with money and the thrill of commerce. Power.
I remember sitting carefully on the toilet. Mom bought an adapter seat so that I wouldn’t be afraid.
Falling in holes, dropping in toilets, we can’t forget that I dove out the door. I was young. Early that morning, dad had been plowing the cornfield, and he had a bowl that he wanted me to come and get. I was happy to run to help — a good little worker. I stood on the edge of the open door, and I knew I should sit down and scoot. The steps were tall. Four-year-old little legs can’t leap the way her big brothers do, but I never realized this. So I jumped.
I jumped and missed the steps. What happened afterward is a blur. I screamed. I’d fallen awkwardly on my arm, pinning it under my body against the concrete steps. People say there’s no pain when you break a bone. Or it hurts worse if you’re an adult. I don’t know what type of weed they’re smoking because pain hurts everyone.
For fifty years, I’ve tried to convince Mom that I jumped, that Dad did not force me to run outside for the bowl, but she’s stayed stuck in the blaming. Dad will always be The Evil One. And I’m not sure where that puts me.
I had difficulties at a young age. As a kid, my life was out of my hands. Written in these paragraphs are memories, vivid. They are the squares of fabric I’ve sewn into my life. Why did I save these and shelve the others? Memories are packets, and you change them each time you examine them. And every person who sees an event will see it differently.
Ideas excite me, wake me. I feel the novelty bubble up like soapy suds flooding out of the washing machine. I know joy. At that exact moment, there’s a lie hiding among the zeal of promise. If you scratch away the top layer, you’ll find the untruth—everything would be perfect if I tried harder.
I expect by finishing my tasks, I will feel at peace, and I will enjoy my life, knowing I have things in place. But life doesn’t cycle in that manner. There’s always something that breaks and issues to solve. There’s another needling, prickly urge. And I scratch.
I’ve often griped about my mom not sitting still. She would get up and down to get things, all in the name of taking care of her family. It was as if she had Mexican jumping beans in her veins. She annoyed me by continually asking if we wanted something else to eat or drink. Do we need a napkin to wipe our not yet dirty faces? As the perfect hostess, she didn’t want to leave anything undone.
Mom called it, “Fretting.” I’ve heard it said as, “Worrying the bone.” At the age of 55, I not only understand, but I have the diagnosis—Attention Deficit Disorder along with anxiety.
I want to do so many things. Travel. Take pictures of places I’ve seen. Buy a rug. Clean the closet. Paint the bedroom. Redecorate. Change something.
Hypervigilance, OCD, and Anxiety- someone save me from me.
I want to write a short story about the dream I had last night. Edit my other stories. Work on a new article that came to me while I was showering. Update blog pages. And I want—more.
Today, I am stressed. I’m having surgery again. In my head, I think if I get everything prepared, all will be fine. No mistakes. I now laugh at my arrogance. I’m not in charge. Fear makes me cling to control. Anxiety isn’t shut off like a water tap, so my brain gives me soap bubbles of new ideas. At least in my doing, I’m distracted from my pain.
If you relate to any of these things and are needing help, please ask. Talk to a doctor or a counselor. I have a great psychiatrist who works with me.
I’ve studied my issues for years. My education is in childhood development, so I understand the importance of the developing mind. Trauma and PTSD are real. Abuse of any type can scar a person and even change their personality from upbeat and positive into a frightened, self-loathing person.
There’s counseling available, even online. Heal the pain. Namaste. You are worth it.
In my years of recovery from abuse, I’ve learned that a victim’s coping methods are smart. List making and stocking up on supplies are virtues we admire in others, but we can use them to hide also. It’s like procrastinating until it’s too late. I’m the same way, there are many healthy habits we can develop.
Creating small memories throughout your day is a great way to build a beautiful life. Totems can be made to honor your life. It’s an easy way to remind yourself of your values. You can have unique traditions or days of your own. My two girlfriends and I created our winter holiday in which we exchange socks. The holiday is our day. And it is sacred.
Only you are in charge of your life. Yes, others cause things to happen around you, but you are the ultimate chooser. Be well in your life today.
“Simply asking yourself the question, ‘How am I doing right now?’ is a gentle reminder to take care of yourself,” Hill Kooienga said. – HuffPost
Thanks for your patience while I am recovering from my surgery. Healing is slow but sure.
Have you liked my posts? If you’re a fan of my writing or even a casual reader please take a look at my Patreon account. I promise not to zap you when you stop over. It is the fiction side of my writing.
What To Know
I’m completing a novel currently titled I’m In Love With A Gangsta. Not the final title obviously, but I had to start somewhere. Come and see the status. Check up on it periodically. I’ll let everyone know when it’s off to editing.
If you wish to become a part of the process, dive in with me, become a Patron. Otherwise, your cheering on the sidelines is also much appreciated.
It’s Saturday evening, and here I sit on my couch finally writing my post. I’d crashed on the couch earlier in a coma-like sleep. It was one of those marathon naps, and I had been out cold.
I dreamed I woke and got up, but I was still asleep. In the dream I fell asleep on the floor, only it wasn’t my place. I startled at finding myself on a floor, sleeping, and not in my house. And then I remembered that I was dreaming, and in my dream, I hugged my couch pillow tighter. Tired.
I didn’t sleep well this last week. The neighbor’s dog was noisy, there was a storm, my cat woke me howling like a banshee, and my mind started working at midnight as if I needed to accomplish all the tasks that hadn’t been checked off my list.
It’s the end of the year. And we have holidays in full uproar. The pressure is on. My nerves get a bit wrecked. But truthfully the topper, the part for me that’s the most difficult is facing my shortfalls. Am I where I want to be? Is this project what I want to do? Sometimes I have to accept the little progress I’ve made. I did as best I could. Other times I can congratulate myself for where I’m at.
Here are a few thoughts to help
Take positive steps
Is there something you want?
Or to do
Make a plan
Put it into steps
What is realistic for you
Forget about the feeling, of it. It will feel awkward and artificial at first, like a new pair of shoes.
When I was younger, I had a good position at a church, but I doubted myself a lot. I felt out of place. There wasn’t anyone else to do the job, so I showed up.
Be a boomerang. Come back to the same spot you want. Feel it. Live it. Be it.
In the early 1300s, Scotland was at war. Each man was defending his right to be King. Swords in the air, blood on the soil, raw power. You can read about Robert the Bruce here. It’s the strength of the fighting man. Right?
It makes me wonder, what is power? Am I a person of means? Rich people appear dominant, and so do those who have a higher status. These are traits we usually have to acquire or inherit. So how does someone ordinary get power? Or are we stuck?
Power is making decisions, and whatever course you are charting, I choose you, my husband.
It’s time to understand where we are. The crossroads. These are days you want to tell your grandchildren about. I do hope someone takes notes. Why? There is a drama of contrasts playing on the stage for the world to see.
We have politicians in mock battle pretending to be warriors. They’ve puffed their chests and beat their drums while marching through the streets on their way to nowhere. It’s all talk. Loud sounds. Build up the beat. Build up the beat. And yes this strategy works.
Charisma, you’re a pretty tune. But can you feed the people? All of this drama has taken our attention from real needs. How do we rebuild our school systems and prepare our children for the future? Can we make our cities better for families?
My power is my choice. I don’t pay attention to their mock battles. The shadow boxing is a distraction. It’s only keeping us from doing real work.
There are many examples we can follow. To their actions, we should pay attention. Women who decided civil disobedience was a good thing, who created their power by the Women’s Suffrage movement. The Doctors Without Borders who chose to go into areas of crisis, putting their lives at risk. They do this by choice. This is their power. And they give this power to their patients in the form of health.
Elizabeth de Burgh: [to Robert the Bruce]
Power is making decisions. Power is not allowing yourself to be buffeted on the tides of history. Instead, it is choosing a boat, climbing aboard, and hoisting the sail. I choose you. And whatever course you are charting, I choose you, my husband.
Simple little lies seem harmless. Your cooking is great. You look great in that dress. Those never really bothered me. I tried usually to ask what the person thought. A lie in itself is only a cover. An actor is lying when he plays the part of a police officer when he’s on the stage. He limits himself to the stage or his role in a movie. He isn’t an officer in real life. It’s a lie. It’s pretending.
There were a couple of shows that reminded me that sometimes harmless lies can be forgotten to be lies. They are the new truth. Up becomes down and right becomes wrong. Or, is it wrong becomes right? I’m confused. Anyway, the first was on Netflix. Kumaré-imdb. The second was an episode of Derren Brown which starts as a lie, but for some becomes the truth. Derren and Dawn Porter try to convince an entire town that a statue has special powers. Todmorden’s Lucky Dog (Long version click here)
Here is the short version:
Lies – Ones I’ve told. Ones I’ve believed – Spiritual Mentor that’s in my head:
If I don’t go to school, I won’t get a better job
If I don’t get a better job, I’ll struggle financially
Having all of my needs met is the most important thing.
I am better than others because of my aspirations, opinions or knowledge. I’m enlightened.
These are also illusions. Warped truth, not lies. These are just things that my eyes don’t see clearly. I don’t want them to become my truth. I squint and rub my eyes to try to look at them clearer. The crazy part is that they may be truth for someone else, but that doesn’t mean they are for me. I want to remain true to myself. What’s my truth? What’s the most important thing for me?
I received another invitation to Yoga church. The concept is interesting. I’m not sure how it’s different than going to a temple Sunday morning. Tell me what you think, hype, lie or truth? Yoga church. http://www.truenorthyogacoaching.com/yoga-church/
No one wants to feel like the lost toy. Forgotten. We hate to be misunderstood. It hurts.
I called my doctor’s office this week. My neck was in a muscle spasm and my head was hurting. I’d actually left home from work early on Monday. So I called them in desperation. Could they help? The nurse called me back promptly, stating she’d get with the doctor then let me know. I waited. Monday evening I checked my phone. Tuesday morning, I took my time getting ready for work, dreading going in since I was still in pain, but I was still thinking the doctor’s office might call any minute. I checked my phone around noon and there was still no call. I don’t like being ignored. I’m not easily forgotten. Wednesday came, then Thursday, and finally Friday morning, which was when I spoke with the nurse. After all the waiting, I wondered if my doctor really reviewed my chart when she only upped my dosage of the same medication I’d already been taking.
There are misunderstandings.
Sometimes we don’t hear the full sentence. We often aren’t fully listening to the person talking, we just think we are. We hear the words, but we hear them with our perceptions. I’ve talked about this before in other posts. For more on this read, Flavors and Perspectives. I do this so much it embarrasses me. Note to self: Practice mindfulness. Recently I had an epiphany. When I was growing up, girls were becoming more independent, going to college and getting jobs. It was the beginning of the age of the working girl.
I graduated from high school in the early 80’s without any of these big plans. I’d had odd jobs. I wasn’t lazy and I never refused work if it was offered. What I had lacked was transportation. I don’t want to be down on my parents because everyone has their faults, as well as their charms. My parents are the steady type. They are there for you when you’re in need. You need new tires or your air conditioner is broken, they are the people who will help. There was always food on the table and a bed to sleep in. But I knew where I stood all of my life when it came time asking for the extra things. And I knew what those extra items consisted of. I didn’t ask to attend extra curricular activities in school. I didn’t do band or sports. I rode the bus home from school. I did my homework. I colored in the lines. No nonsense. No useless activities. Why? Have you ever been on a highway that has the bumps on the side for when you veered off the road? It’s like being pulled feet first down a flight of stairs. That’s what it felt like asking for more.
I didn’t realize until recently that I’d been guilty of not only misreading my parents’ values, but also of ignoring their values. Maybe I never saw them at all. At that time, they had disregarded my requests for a car. Ignored. Said No. However you wish to phrase it. When I asked to work, which I did temporarily, it was received with a lot of complaining on my parents part. Remember the bumps on the side of the road? The job lasted for a few months until I got tired of hearing the complaining. For years I’d thought of myself as lazy after high school. I should have went to college, I kept thinking. But how could I have went to college, since I didn’t have a car? I should have gotten a job. Small towns. No transportation. Guilt. Shame. Misunderstanding. The circle of life.
My brother had mentioned my parents’ different values to me a few years before and I had forgotten until recently. Dad is old-fashioned. Women don’t need educated. Men do. Men work. Women stay at home and raise children. There wasn’t a reason for me to go to college or have a car. I knew that I wasn’t lazy. I had just misunderstood. It’s just taken me a bit longer to get where I wanted to be. My generation, the edge of change, often misunderstood our parents. Just as they often misunderstood us and our need for independence and leaving their ways behind.
Strange abandoned house
I was watching some new videos on YouTube and found an entire channel devoted to urban exploration with abandoned houses. I’ve included one of the most interesting ones below. It’s short and quaint. WWI era house and supposedly left undisturbed. Check it out for yourself.
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