"Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness, who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter. Woe to those who are wise in their own eyes, and clever in their own sight." Isaiah 5:20,21
It hurt so bad. It hurt my mind. It hurt my body. It changed the way I moved in the world. I stopped being free. I needed to cover all of myself - my body, my soul - even my mind. I couldn't be seen.
I was too scared to let anyone look in my eyes. If they did, they would see the shame, the badness, the horribleness of who I was.
My body is bad. I can't be seen. To be seen means to be hurt: raped, punched, beaten. Being seen hurts too much. It means being forced to do what what I don't want. Hold your breath. Don't move. Then no one can see.
It hurt so bad. In hurt my mind. It hurt my soul. I wasn't good enough. I moved in shame. I moved in apprehension knowing the slightest look, the tiniest hint of vulnerablity would result in an unwanted attack. 'Don't touch me. Don't look at me.' I feel dirty. I feel less than human.
Beaten and shamed, I deserved what I got. That's what he said, his fist shoved in my face. I held back tears that wanted to pour out of me, but I knew if they did, they would never stop; my soul would be flooded and I would drown in their torrent. I need to fight to survive. I need to fight me, to hurt myself to stay alive.
I have become my abuser. I need to punish myself because they are right. I am bad. So I cut into my soul and I cut into my body, trying to rip the good out, tear the bad apart, desperate to be accepted.
I watch the red life force stain the sheets, the bed, the floor. My blood. It tells me I am still alive. I can go on fighting. The demons rage in my head, fighting for my soul while I stand on the sidelines waiting to see who the victor will be.
"Everytime you smile at someone it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing." Mother Theresa
As a kid I learned to read people...watching their faces...trying to detect what they were feeling....happy, sad....worried, angry. I thought if I knew what they felt...it would help me stay safe...it would help me not get hurt. I became so in tune with other people's feelings...gauging my own with what they felt. A hint of disapproval, upset or even a scowl....made me afraid...forcing me to do something....anything to make it right for them.
And their look of disgust - impatience...annoyance...triggered my feelings of worthlessness which quickly turned to anger.....causing me to turn on myself. I interpetated what I saw on their face...as 'rejection of me.'
As an adult....I still tried to read people....basing my self-worth on what I thought I saw written on their faces. Encountering anyone....even a stranger....who didn't smile....who scowled....who looked annoyed or dismissive....I took as rejection. Anger kicked in and again I turned on myself... cutting and hurting my body in ways that almost killed me.
I started noticing when someone smiled....it felt different...it felt safe...I felt accepted. Their smile broke through my self-hate....my shame....my feelings of worthlessness.....In some weird way....their smile made a difference.
I've learned I don't know what anyone is going through....I have no idea what they've lived...or are experiencing...Sometimes just a simple smile can made a world of difference to them.
“Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.” Dr. Seuss
When he was hungry....he insisted I was too. When he wanted to sleep...he forced me to lie down with him. When he felt sad or happy or scared and I didn't feel the same....he screamed that I had no feelings. Whatever he liked, whatever he wanted, whatever he needed - I had to feel the same. I had no idea who I was - what I wanted or needed or liked or didn't like. I had no identity. I became whatever he needed.
Being seen....being known has been my biggest issue. I've spent a lot of time hiding...I still struggle with being present. I feel safer alone even though I do connect easily with people. People tell me all the time I'm friendly, outgoing...fun. And they say they feel close to me. But at a certain point...I stop being present.
I'm used to reading people instead of relaxing....and just being. I can only just be for so long and then something happens inside me. There's a restlessness...and a detachment...I stop paying attention. I want to leave....get away....withdraw.....write.
When I write I can be me. Writing gives me a freedom - it makes me feel connected....it lets me be real...I can say what I want....I can say the truth. And I write in the dark...with the lights off.. The darkness helps me to feel....it helps me stay connected to me.
When I had my youngest daughter....I asked my oldest who was then five...if she was jealous of the baby. She said, 'No I'm not jealous because she is the best she is and I am the best I am.' Pretty powerful words. I've never forgotten them.
Being real...being seen. I'm still working on this...
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