JUST “BE”

JUST "BE" When is the last time you just let yourself “be”? We live in a culture that judges us on our activity levels, on what we do, and who we are. That “who we are” in our society is usually a career label. The hierarchy of careers is ingrained in most of us from an early age. Economically, we reward persons for their work in certain fields over others. When is the last time you felt valued for just “be-ing” you? How many situations do you experience where what you do for a living is not known, asked, or valued? In some European countries, it is considered rude to ask an acquaintance, “What do you do for a living?” How refreshing it might be to accept others, to know others, for who they are as an individual without career identification. Labels identify us. Sometimes sharing a label such as “survivor” can unite us in community. Sometimes identification tags limit us. We become the label. We forget, or never even realize, how much more we are or can be; or, we never ever met the criterion for the label to start. I am too hard on myself … still. That ...

WHY DO WE LOVE THE PERPETRATOR? HOW CAN WE LOVE THE ABUSER?

WHY DO WE LOVE THE PERPETRATOR? HOW CAN WE LOVE THE ABUSER? Initially I fell in love with the idea of love – the romantic Prince Charming who rescues me, the modern day abused Cinderella. At the age of 20, Tom M. (also at the age of 20) initially filled the boxes that needed to be checked for me (also at the age of 20): Roses Poetry Gazing into each other’s eyes Wanting to spend all his time with me (a red flag I did not recognize) Dinner and wine And More … Oh, I so wanted to be loved and to love. My family-of-origin could not receive love from me. How can you honestly receive love from an object you abuse and torture? You see, no one wanted my gift of love; and, I was a child filled with the yearning to love and be loved. The quote below intrigues me: “There is yet another illusion, that it is important to be respectable, to be loved and appreciated, to be important. Many say we have a natural urge to be loved and appreciated, to belong. That’s false. Drop this illusion and you will find happiness. We have a natural urge ...

MUSIC

MUSIC & MEMORIES & ADDICTION   “Piano Man” sung by Bill Joel reminds me of my first days of sobriety!! Odd, isn’t it? The song would play in the car as I drove home in Germany. Many times I was driving home from a 12-step meeting. Instead of going to rehab, I chose to attend 90 meetings in 90 days. It worked! Why did that song resonate with me so thoroughly and deeply during those early days of no alcohol? Looking back, I believe I connected with the loneliness of the people in that piano bar. Those people were trying to deaden their collective pain as well as each one’s individual pain.   I never drank more than one drink in a bar alone. My preferred location to drink began at dinner in a restaurant with my daughter and my abusive husband. At the time, I was trying to pretend it was a social drink or two because that is all I would consume in a restaurant. This restaurant dinner was a stalling tactic on my part. Why cook a healthy meal at home if it meant the abuse would begin sooner? Later, I would drink a glass of wine ...

AN UNPAVED ROAD

AN UNPAVED ROAD No words are on the page yet. A blank slate. A fresh new start. A new blog. Another beginning. A bright beginning! As a teenager living in my abusive family home, a poster hung on the closet door. It contained a favorite poem of mine, “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost. THE ROAD NOT TAKEN By Robert Frost Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And ...