I have been sitting in funerals recently Too many actually
But they have lead me to ponder What would my family’s eulogy be for me
I certainly don’t want glorification I know I am not, and have not, been perfect in any way I want truth Not some pontification of marvellousness But I also would like to hear from them Before I am gone That would be way more preferable Than regretful one-sided graveside conversations
I know I have been a parent that was the product of her parents, and the parents before them I know that a lot of my actions have been born from my early traumas I know that I was a pretty shit parent I also know I was a pretty damn good one as well I know that I can’t go back I can’t undo what has been done Conundrums of parenting 101 I can only lay my heart open And apologise for being a mother in training Muddling along Doing the best I could
In hind site it might not be the best of what I could give now But it was the best of me back then
Is this a product of ‘old age’ That we ponder our past and our failings Go down rabbit holes of the ‘what ifs’ What if I had done that differently What if I had been a better parent What if I had said that differently What if I had done more, given more, been more
But what about our successes, our joys, our positive impacts Why don’t we address them I am sure they far outweigh the ‘what ifs’
It would indeed be most intriguing To survey the ones I have raised And ask them their memories Of their mother Would they immediately give you their negatives Or Would they in their adult years Show some grace of understanding That as a parent We do the best With what we have At the time And deliver some heartwarming musings of their childhoods
For the past few days my mind has been a mash up of blank emotions Feeling with others Identifying with parts of their stories But not knowing how to process my own Because it just feels too huge Too complicated Where do I start my PTSD, my ball of string, has so many pieces rolled into it some are long, very very very long and others are short, abrupt, moments with many varying lengths between
This morning Russell Brand challenged me loud and clear He pushed me up off of my pillows and said Start writing!
Here goes….
My father He was my main fuck up He fucked me up so fucking good He spent my entire childhood ensuring I was totally fucked up And he did such a good job of it Incest is the most confusing type of sexual abuse anyone can endure No violence involved Just so called love and enjoyment It turns my stomach to recall how much he made me enjoy what he did to me For over 10 years That is a total screw up in anyones brain I bury those memories so deep But this morning they are surfacing And I am SO FUCKING ANGRY He stole so much from me The pleasure of actually knowing when I lost my virginity Or the ability to give consent and give myself to who I wanted The never knowing when, because it is blurred into obscurity The not knowing how to guide my own children My children – OMG don’t get me started on that He locked my emotions up so fucking much I didn’t know how to parent or communicate with me own children I so fucked up my own children
That day we were going to visit our friends the day our landrover rolled off the road and down the bank the day the one man I trusted let me down for the first time that one error of judgement set triggers alight that haunt me decades later fears that seem now to be irrational but are so fucking real fear of falling fear of losing my children fear of confined spaces fear of losing control fears, irrational and uncontrollable fears…
Home from the hospital an innocent comment A curious question Allowed us to discover our precious daughter had been abused whilst we were away she was in the care of someone we trusted but still a fucked up deviant who managed to get to my precious little girl So Fucking Up and So Fucking Angry
A month later pregnant with very unplanned baby No4 after pelvic injuries, broken left ankle, sprained right knee and weeks on crutches after a month of painkillers after a month of vomiting then bleeding a bucket full of bleeding nearly died getting to the hospital I lost my baby
Abused by a hospital doctor another man I should’ve been able to trust my husband’s ignorance/innocence in female medical stuff allowed it to happen Nurses enveloped me allowed me to cry helped me understand what he did to me was wrong a week later re-admittance a repeat proceedure re-traumatisation
Finally home Fucked up again No you can’t grieve your baby You gotta praise God Cuz you gotta accept its all part of his plan So no tears No sadness Let’s just praise God and carry on living So Fucked Up
Baby No5 Perfectly normal pregnancy Horrendous delivery Hospital trauma Stirrups Huge needle in my spine during stage 2 Total evacuation of my uterus Post birth – you need to get out of bed Migraine to the max Oops – another medical fuckup More needles in my spine “oh you have a wee boy after 3 girls. How lovely” No fucking way do I want this kid! I am in so much pain and you expect me to love this baby 10 days to finally hold and begin to love my boy Such a Fuck Up
Baby No7 7 years later My friends enveloped me Finally I was allowed to grieve But along the way pieces of trauma varying degrees of severity adding up relationships family dramas accidents business issues so many traumas and falls, so many falls culminating in years and years of body pain But swept aside as just another thing to deal with I kept busy, keeping busy Running the farm Doing all the bookwork Raising & educating my 10 living children Feeding the myriads that surrounded our family table each day Encapsulating extreme busyness! I was really, really good at keeping busy
Unknowingly My stress bucket was filling then one evening one small thing was said But it was magnificent & breathtaking in its delivery and its magnificence overflowed my bucket And I broke An emotional breakdown that completely unhinged me Threw me off of my rotation And spin me out of my carefully controlled busyness It totally bewildered my husband It completely blindsided me But actually I wasn’t shocked I had been quietly screaming for help since I was a small child
That Fuck Up led me on my course of discovery and healing And I am so fucking grateful I began then
Because the 2nd biggest Fuck Up of my life happened two years later
On the 17th February 2013 see! this time I remember all everything each detail of that day is marked with such clarity
My husband, My Timmy The man who had loved me since I was 14 years old The man who saved me and cherished me The man I loved so much left for town and he never came home He was killed Instantly only 20mins from our home when his vehicle left the road and rolled 200m down the hillside
The trauma from that moment has overshadowed almost every other trauma in my life I was so Fucked Up and Fucked Over by the police, victim support etc The people that are supposed to be there for you What a massive Fucked Up! the spiral rippling effect this one event has had on myself my children our extended family is beyond belief I cannot even write this without crying I can talk about my abuse I can get angry, feel sad, etc But I can’t cry But for this my heart cries It is like a bottomless well of tears that will never stop They are always there No matter how happy my life is or how content I am in the moment This trauma has fucked me up like no other
Leaving our home of over 40 years Packing up after 4 generations that was traumatic in itself The splintering of our family The inability of my children to process and support each other as they each reeled in their own pain We have been so Fucked Up
Moving to the city Creating new life and new friends exciting but So hard I got a job A dream job Working with Sexual Abuse victims I So Loved my job Until I was Fucked Over once again by the person who was supposed to support us and be there for us Our Team Manager After a particular horrendous call out The worst any of us had ever experienced Instead of support and care I was Traumatised Victimised Stung big time by a scorpion Put over a barrel – had to leave Fucked Up Again
And in amongst my story there are my children My children all have their own stories I have permission to tell some but now is not that place Their stories require their own spaces Their stories are interwoven with mine through it all We have become stronger Still Fucked Up But So Much Fuckin Stronger
No matter your age or abilities or situation Loneliness is it just is
It ebbs and flows you can be the happiest busiest person and still be lonely feel lonesome feel so alone in the midst of a busy room be alone in a crowd feel empty
Loneliness is an emptiness it is tears escaping for no apparent reason it is a void a blackness abandonment
Loneliness can begin through no fault of your own from grief loss estrangement abuse physical proximity social isolation emotional isolation feeling different feeling unacceptable feeling misunderstood removing yourself in your head because it hurts removing yourself before it hurts again self protection not allowing anyone in building barriers closing people out
Loneliness can be just there but you don’t know until you do
Most people who read this know my story (If not then cruise on back through my posts and you’ll soon figure it out) And you will know that I have been in therapy for over 10 years now it was actually quite a cataclysmic event that I am able to pin point my breakdown to – the Christchurch NZ February 2011 earthquake happened exactly one month after I broke. Not sure if there is any rational transcendent reasonings behind that timeframe but its definitely a hinging point for my memories
I have learnt and am still learning about me And how the traumas have affected and altered me I’m sure it has been beneficial No, I know it has been incredibly beneficial It hasn’t changed my past But it has altered how I deal with my future My trauma based brain that I operate from still sends out triggers on a daily basis But I have learnt to how to identify them and cope with them more readily
I’ve also learnt a whole heap of new vocabulary And for someone like me who processes in the written word Who loves words Who loves to research This helps me immeasurably
Recently I was talking with my therapist about how people perceive me and how I see myself I am usually seen as being strong and outspoken and independent But inside I am often a quaking mess, unsure, afraid of being hurt and afraid of upsetting proverbial boats
I present this exterior persona of being strong and in control Which I also am I’m both Because the me that is now I Was shattered into pieces And I am trying to meld my pieces back together again Confused much Yeah me too
This quote pretty much sums it up though
10 years of therapy sounds a such a long time But so much else has happened within those years that have rabbit pathed my focus so my therapy has been often stretched sideways I relaxed into it more easily once I was told in the earlier days by one of my case managers that my abuse/trauma would take a very long time to heal from
So anyways, recently my therapist shared these words with me when I was asking her how the hell do I present so together when I’m actually not…
Firstly Dissociation (when we numb out or block painful feelings) I’m already very familiar with this I do it often It makes life so much easier to cope with But it makes others feel like you don’t care
Over identification (when swamped and overwhelmed) oh my Lord! This is way too familiar I know one of my ptsd cover ups has been, and often still is, to keep very busy So I do And then there gets to be too much happening in my brain And I start spinning And one small trigger tips me over And my brain crashes Like the wheel spinning on the computer screen And I blank out drowning in an absolute lost mess
But the third one is the word I needed to understand to answer my question
Disidentification (when keeping at arms length and know it’s not about me) This is the word I had not heard before But it sure is a good one And it is most definitely me A lot of the time It’s the suck it up and do what is deemed right part of me It’s the brave face It’s the masks I wear to protect me And it’s the masks I wear to actually protect others Because no matter how much I break my silence there are still those who do not know, who can not know, who I still protect
This was the me that was able to stand up the front of the church and speak at my own father’s funeral I never understood how I did that But it was expected of me I was the eldest of the siblings Eloquant Strong Someone who gets shit done So I did what was expected And I spoke I remember absolutely nothing My mother of course kept all the words and on her death I probably inherited them along with all the other words she passed on to me I choose not to go searching for them I choose to stay in a state of insulation to protect my very vulnerable self.
Did I speak at my mother’s funeral I absolutely cannot remember I know I organised her funeral I know so many intimate details of the day, the weeks prior and the weeks & months following But I have completely buried that part of the day My mother was an important part of my development but her ultimate betrayal is still too painful and deeply embedded so dissociation wins
But I do know I stood and spoke at my husband’s funeral This was the me that was so broken, so lost, so overwhelmed with pain But I did it Cuz I had to For me For him For the kids I disidentified and dissociated
Each of us has our own narrative We can be part of the same story But we see with clarity only our part of it
I remember my part of the story that broke us all I remember A day of normalcy A day of planning ahead We were all going to town the following morning But Tim decided to go alone on Monday He wanted to go help Graham pick vegetables because Graham always brought us bins & bins of seconds which he gathered up on his own and brought down for us to process to help feed our large extended family He wanted to do his bit towards this incredibly generosity So He did some mussel ropes with Azzan, some boat work with Seb I remember he raced through the shower and I helped him pack an overnight bag He packed up the Safari I remember we were alone at the back of the 4WD as he loaded in bins of mussels to give away It was to be my last moments with him But neither of us knew I kissed him goodbye and arranged to meet him in town on Tuesday afternoon. He took Seb & Phoebe home and left around 2pm on Monday afternoon I was to drive out with the 3 youngest the next morning to meet him in town.
I remember relaxing with Anson & Marah before they went home Having dinner with the kids and putting them to bed I remember enjoying a peaceful evening
Then with incredible clarity I remember receiving a text from Anson just before 9pm saying he’d heard there had been an accident on our road In my mind ‘our road’ meant anywhere from Port Ligar to Rai Valley I remember making phone calls I called David where Tim was supposed to be staying ‘No we haven’t seen him’ I called Graham ‘No I haven’t seen him, call the police’ I phoned Ian at Okiwi Bay who was our local ambulance responder ‘No, we had a call out but were turned back because the choppers were flown in. Call the police’ So I called the police thinking I would get our local station I remember talking to a lady who had no idea where I was She was in Wellington I remember her telling me she would ask and call me back I remember the heightened fear, adamantly refusing to let her hang up I remember the lightbulb moment whilst waiting for her return – ‘Anson heard it was on the news’! I remember racing to my computer and typing in Stuff.co.nz I remember seeing the news bulletin A lone male was killed on the Port Ligar-Te Towaka Road
I knew instantly I absolutely knew I was hyperventilating I was holding my breath I remember her returning saying she would transfer me to Blenheim Police I remember the voice of the police sergeant… I remember his name I will never forget his name …confirming without compassion or hesitation that yes Tim was dead & had been taken to Nelson I remember frantically asking him where he was and what do I do?? I remember him saying “I don’t know. I’m going off duty now and have handed over to Picton police.”
I remember texting Anson saying Please Come Now! I remember screaming NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
I remember the 3 little ones coming out thinking I was laughing at a movie and their confused faces in total disbelief at what I was sobbing I remember Marah holding me I remember Anson bravely making the worst phone calls he would ever ever have to make Telling his siblings the worst news I remember Seb & Phoebe coming by boat Still numb from losing their wee one only 2 weeks earlier I remember them sitting outside in stunned silent pain I remember having to call Australia I remember Jesika answering, she was so happy at her dance class I remember the anguish of having to tell her I remember her screams as she collapsed I remember the pain of not being able to hold her
I remember receiving a message from a Blenheim cousin at 9:30pm saying how sorry she was and discovering she had heard it from a local person I remember the disbelief that obviously so many others knew long before I did I remember our neighbours Liz, Harry & Jude arriving an hour later I remember them telling me their story Their story confirmed how badly the sergeant had handled the whole situation That Tim had died over 6 hours before only 20mins from home
I remember my pain was so intense that even though I was trying to be everything for everyone that night I completely failed
I have carried all my children’s pain along with my own It has been an incredibly heavy burden I have felt torn in so many directions Grief is a tortuous creature It attacks us all at different times and in different ways
I have watched each of them walk their own journeys, process their own trauma, and know they hold their own narratives of that night Some have vocalised Others have kept theirs hidden deep I cannot tell their stories Just as they can’t tell mine But we can hold each other and listen
My brain has been all over the place during this tumultuous period of our lives There have been so so many triggers I have really been struggling to process them all My emotional state has been highly disturbed and at a very low ebb
Modern technology has been both a curse and a blessing The curse of information overload what to believe what to not who to believe who to not
I have learnt to use Zoom which has been such a blessing as the one certainty each week has been my hour with my therapist It is the 9am appointment that I have to get out of bed and show up for She has helped me unravel my trauma brain amongst all of this confusion The first week was so bad I was drowning in isolation I did not cope with being locked in with being controlled with being silenced with living in fear
Unraveling… Taking it back… Processing…
As a child I was mind controlled I was silenced by fear I was isolated by fear and I was locked in by the knowledge that if I spoke up I would destroy so much By keeping silent I was protecting everyone else but also protecting myself I found strength enough to hold the abuse But I wasn’t strong enough to endure the consequences of breaking silence
My brain was fighting, struggling with being taken back down that dark trauma rabbit hole I was drowning
Once I was able to process and identify I spoke up Voiced my fears And I was heard My friends and family heard my cry for help And through video coffee dates and phone calls And walks in the sunshine & lots of supportive cuddles from my love I have made it through thus far
“My life is so blessed with some of the most amazing people. Thank you for being part of my journey.” – Unknown
On this day 39 years ago I married the love of my life.
Tim was the love of my youth.
He was part of my life from the time I was 14 years old.
He was 21
He gave me the best years of his life.
He truly gave me his all.
I loved him and the journey after his death has been turbulent and tumultuous.
As I approach the 5th anniversary of his accident I am in a much more peaceful place.
It has been a long, long walk through some pretty dark valleys
I am finding myself standing higher on the hillsides now and spending less time in the valleys.
This journey through grief is indeed such a personal one.
I have made discovery after discovery during my walk.
Deeply personal discoveries which I have grown through.
And continue to do so.
They have been incredibly hard and at times I have wondered if I would ever make it through.
But with perseverance and resilience
And the support of precious family and friends
I have.
This morning as I was quietly remembering our wedding anniversary two posts popped up in my newsfeed
Such movingly appropriate posts
The first was a moving video by Kate Braestrup Grief, to a 5 year old
She told such a tender story of how a 5 year old so naturally grieved her little friend.
It made me think back to when I had to say goodbye to my Timmy.
I am so grateful I was able to spend time with him during that week.
I do have regrets that some weren’t done differently,
but at the time you don’t know
you have no idea what to ask for
or how to ‘do it’
You are in so much pain
you sorta just go blurringly along with the flow of things
But to have been able to spend time with him
To hold his hands
To touch him
To talk to him
To just be with him
both alone and with the loved ones who wanted to see him
was incredibly special
Then an article by Katherine Schafler ‘The one thing no one ever says about grieving’ contains some simple but very pertanent truths.
The one that resonates strongly within my spirit is this “Move towards the epicenter of your grief, as it’s the only path to other side of your pain.” From my experience the only way to deal with pain is to face it square on and confront it.
By side stepping you only have it come back to bite you at a later time.
By suppressing the pain it only makes you sick with anger and guilt and more pain.
As time has progressed the triggers and pain from Tim’s accident have lessened
Time does heal
But scars still remain
And sometimes tears well up from deep within
They take me by surprise
But I know they need to flow
Last week I was enjoying dinner out in Sacramento with my special friend Brielle
It was a place and time so far removed from that time back in February 2013
As we talked all of a sudden tears started flowing
They took me completely by surprise
But I needed to go back to that place
Just for a moment
And allow them to bathe my soul
Today the tears are back again
They are tears of gratefulness
of memories
good memories
happy memories
tears of times gone
special times
I can’t go back
I don’t want to go back
But they are flowing
Because I am remembering a good man
Back on this day
the 4th November 1978
I gave him my hand
and on the 18th February 2013
I held his hand
for the last time
and let him go.
Scars – we all have them.
Physical, emotional, mental, spiritual….
Some we can live with and others we abhor with intensity.
It is how we embrace them that matters.
1. we can cover them up and be unaccepting of ourselves and our self perceived ugliness.
Or
2. we can be completely unabashed, and unashamedly display them.
The first is our natural instinct
The second takes work, a hell of a lot of work.
When I was quite young I had an altercation with a barbed wire fence.
It left a raised horrid scar on my upper inner thigh.
I hated that scar with a passion
for years
But now I barely ever think of it
It is still there
still the same as it ever was
it is not a concern to me anymore
Time has healed.
I have other scars
hidden soul scars
Too many of them
I chose the first route for years
but there was so many toxins festering beneath them
I finally realised if I didn’t choose the second route I would never ever heal completely.
I have only recently chosen to confront and display my scars
And in so doing am coming to a place of positivity
And a place of content peacefulness.
A year ago I had a most fortuitous encounter with a lovely woman who has since become a friend.
Sera lit up my life 🙂
That encounter unleashed so many opportunities.
Looking back I love seeing the unfolding of chance encounters.
Is it really chance?
Karma?
Fate?
Coincidence?
We used to say that a ‘coincidence is just a miracle in which God chooses to remain anonymous’
Whatever way you look at it
that meeting was the beginning of so many positive things for me. Sera was wearing the most wonderful jacket.
Being someone who loves mixed media I was immediately drawn to it and to the message it was portraying.
‘Be Still My Sacred Heart‘
That resonated so loudly in my damaged and vulnerable soul.
That jacket and it’s branding is the baby of Amanda Betts She began Bridge the Gap Project to support and empower young victims of abuse.
The Heartspeak Collective allows victims/survivors to tell their stories through art and fashion.
I was so inspired and absolutely delighted to finally meet and spend time in Auckland with the dynamic and enthusiastically energetic Amanda a few months later.
I then began communicating with Sera about creating my own garment with her.
When I began talking with her about Heartspeaking a garment it seemed a natural progression to use my tattoo as part of my creation.
My phoenix is in a fairly private part of my anatomy
Only comes out in summer 😉
My eldest son reminds me often that scars are the tattoos of the brave.
The Phoenix is my Brave rising from the ashes of my abuse and heartbreak.
Perfect!
I also loved Sera’s cocoons so decided to combine those two loves.
We physically connected a few weeks ago and began working.
We spent the day choosing, cutting and piecing fabrics.
It was so much fun working with her on the project
I was so in my element
Back in my happy space that I haven’t been in for so long
It was feeding my creative mojo and incredibly therapeutic
I had to leave Sera to finish it as I needed to return home.
The following week I was transiting through Auckland airport and Sera delivered the finished garment to me.
I was blown away
So rapt
Ecstatically happy with the results.
It is absolutely perfectly Me 🙂
Thank you Sera
And Thank you Amanda
You have touched my heart and helped towards the healing of my soul Each Heartspeak garment has a heart tucked in it somewhere.
Mine is the large orange flower – of course 😉
And the words in the banner – also from my tattoo illa alis volat propriis (She flies with her own wings) I was also delighted to hear Amanda exclaim that the blue/orange flames were cut from one of her old dresses.
So I feel like am carrying a piece of her and Sera with me where I go.
Therapy
-a treatment that helps someone feel better, grow stronger,
-the act of caring for someone
Origin
I used to think therapy was the difficult stuff
the hour long sessions spent with my therapist
But
it’s not
Therapy has
many colours
many forms
many shapes
many times
Therapy
for me is writing
is meeting a friend for coffee and and one on one time is time & fun with my children
is taking the dog for a quiet meander along the river walk is impulsively popping in for a chat with a friend
is sweating up a steep hill track and taking in the spectacular views from the top of my achievement is impulsively shopping
is leaning into the arms of my closest tribal members and sobbing my heart out is allowing them to feel my pain
is receiving their love and encouragement is watching movies that make me cry, and laugh, and think
is sharing my innermost soulful thoughts with my best friend is spending a day in bed with Netflix just because I can
is messaging my lover in the early hours of the morning is sharing belly laughing crazy wine drinking sessions with my tribe
is creating art is accepting the love and understanding of my man
is being held safe in his arms is sitting at the beach and soaking in the sunshine
is planning my garden is clambering around slippery river rocks with my children
is walking beside others who have also experienced my journey is creating something joyous and wonderful and beautiful is dancing wild and free is making love is gloriously wonderful food
is coffee
is orange :-)Therapy is caring for me in a way that restores my soul
But
I find
it tends to come delivered on a roller coaster
I delight in the parts of the ride that are slow
easy
soothing
cruising
but
while I am enjoying them I don’t tend to notice that the car I am riding in is beginning to climb…
Until I am perched at the top
rocking
waiting
then….
horrifyingly
the ride it gets to be screamingly scary
Situations arise
Events happen
my carriage plunges
down
down
down
and the therapy becomes
brutally intense
it makes me writhe in pain
I feel as if I am being torn apart
the anguish of the years
comes pouring out of my eyes
without permission
and when I think
I just cannot bare another moment,
when I am totally emotionally spent
the roller coaster reaches the bottom
and quietly cruises again
I gasp and gulp and reel
from the carnage wrought on my soul
I nurse my bruises
then realise
I made it through
that time
I begin the gentle soul soothing nurturing
knowing that this time
I have been made stronger
so that the next time my carriage reaches its peak
the pain won’t be as raw
the screaming not as loud
the ride down not as intense
nor as long
recovering
healing
from abuse
is not an easy journey
it is wrought with hard seasons
but it is not an impossible journey
if you are willing to reach out
and accept the hands
who want to love you
but the hardest thing of all
for us
is
Each Heartspeak garment has a heart tucked in it somewhere.
I was also delighted to hear Amanda exclaim that the blue/orange flames were cut from one of her old dresses.
