Strangled by oppression, eventually anger will build and pool in the very soul that was created in love. Out of fear and doubt, the inability to speak, my insides cry and lash out. Why can’t I exhume my deepest thoughts? What I say matters, intellectually inspiring, there is so much to share.
Convicted as a child with emotions to express, ridiculed for feeling, thinking, with wants needs and desires. This would carry on and haunt me like the enemy adores, but God is my one and only, He blessed me with an almighty voice. Choosing to write is what’s saved my own life.
A reflection of what I’ve been carrying around, the pen flows my truth, saving me from being buried underground. At times there are poems rhyming and sometimes not. Uncomfortable to some, embraced by those who aren’t fearful nor flee. My words unbound placed upon my heart. The freedom to shed that has both kept me together and torn me apart.
Truly a masterpiece, His prized work in this aspiring vessel. His Mercy and Grace bringing forth what has been nestled. Now I can see it, my truest self worth I’ve always hidden. Staying this course will revise how I’ve lived, protecting the gifts I’ve been given.
There are people I love and things that I need, but in the end, I always receive everything I believe. When I stop chasing after those who run and hide, I am equipped to move towards what beckons from inside.
Those lies, the ones they told me, I’m learning to rewrite the words in a way that inspires rather than devours me. In a word, or 4, I am a good person.
Ever get tired of listening to the sound of your own voice? The one that rattles on inside the corners of your mind? As I begin to take captive these very objective thoughts, I practice re-recording them. Now when I begin to play them back, I hear my voice, my truths, my consoling love and I let go. Capturing the simplicity and compassion I’ve longed for.
It isn’t in another where I seek and draw from the soothing joy I find within. I watch my daughter struggle with her inner being as she wrestles the demons that have haunted her, but she is all knowing. She always has been. She is a conqueror, a warrior and she’s afraid sometimes, but she rises up to take on the challenges of another day. I admire her completely. I support her in the ways she needs and I step back while she finds her way.
My life has been that incessant rollercoaster. This child of mine is most like me of all. She’s witnessed her mom’s struggles and has even inherited many of my traits. She is fiercely independent yet welcomes a hand up from her trusted allies. I embrace this journey she is on, loving her with absolute unconditional love while I learn by listening.
Even though she tells me not to be, I’m often apologetic for not seeing through her pain early in her life. I’m your mom I tell her, I knew instinctively of your hurting, but what it was I couldn’t figure out. I thank her for trusting me now. For being the bravest young person I’ve ever known. One who has courage when her fear stops her in her tracks, paralyzing her from taking a step on any given day, but somehow managing the next breath. In a world that is more divided, cannot accept diversity and is extremely judgmental, she perseveres. I tell her she has been blessed with this gift to do great things.
As my granddaughter and I walked up to join my daughter in line at the pharmacy yesterday, a woman in front had been chatting with her as they stood patiently awaiting their turn. She smiled at me as I took my place next to her and this kind, older lady asked, “is this your son? I was just saying there’s a twin in here that looks just like”… she trailed off, I felt my heart thump as this was my first encounter, an opportunity to practice my reply. I smiled at my daughter, hesitated, wanting to feel natural and proudly correct her, when the words, “they’re with me” escaped my lips just as my 9 year old granddaughter confidently spoke up, pointing at her dad, correcting the lady’s mistake… “her daughter”, she told the woman. “Ohh, sorry” her words apologetic and sincere. Both my daughter and I beamed as we looked at this unwavering little girl. We should all be so matter of fact, straightforward and honest.
She taught me a valuable lesson in that simple display of assuredness. This is not something to make any sort of issue out of, unless you choose to. Wisdom comes from the most untouched of places. I stood in awe and felt my heart swell in admiration. Life is as simple or difficult as we make it be.
In the quiet space of my mind I hear God’s whispers and I believe what I hear and tell myself. It’s in the noisy places out there I hear the world’s shouts. But I have this child like hope that lingers deep inside my heart. The one that says I can do anything and then someone gives me doubt. It’s in those moments I retaliate with my, shut the fuck up attitude and an, I got this!
I walked into the gym today, frustrated and even a little angry. It was terribly hot in there, it felt like a sauna. I became annoyed. Am I going to admit defeat before I even start, but then who’s winning? Not the girl I see in the mirror. I suited up and showed up for this. No whining with these 6 other awesome gym rats gettin’ it done. Not another chick amongst them. I sucked it up, grabbed some dumbbells and got to it.
I found a playlist, adjusted my headphones, tightened my pony and with each rep and every round, I felt strengthened. It began to remind me of my life. The way I cower to some men. Feeling like I don’t belong in their presence. That somehow they’re above my grade to breathe the same air or take up some of the same space, theirs. Bullshit. Every one of these gentlemen was just that today, courteous and polite, even slightly chivalrous. We had fun. I belong here I told myself.
My vision I’ve had for years was flashing across my mind as the sweat rolled down my back. I will have everything I desire. This is my one awesome life. No one will ever tell me different, again. Discourage me and I’m done with you. Ridicule me and you’re gone too. Underestimate me, hmm that could be fun. I wouldn’t.
To all of you who’ve pushed me around To all of you who’ve torn me down To all of you who said I can’t To all of you who told me no Watch me rise Enjoy the show
When she was a young girl, before the insidious abuse began, it was just the 3 of them. Her mama would often make her way into the single bathroom they all shared and look in the mirror beside her then 7 year old daughter and smile. “Do you think we look alike?” she would ask. Daughter grinning back at her pretty mama, “yes!” They would giggle and go about their grooming and silliness before the school bell rang and her pretty mama would head off to work. She was learning at a very young age what being a soft, feminine, sweet little girl was by watching and learning from her very young mama. At 26 years old, she was the most beautiful, kind person in this girl’s life. She loved her with all her heart and she knew her mama did too.
They were essentially growing up together, but she also knew that mama was the adult and she had to follow her rules. Her big brother was only 16 months older than her and he loved them both, but somewhere he began growing up faster than she did. Maybe this is what happens to a young man when there isn’t a daddy around. She loved her big brother. They had fun playing outside, riding bikes and skateboards, tossing the football and playing catch. No one ever told her she couldn’t play like the boys and when his friends came over, they didn’t mind having the little sister tag along, much. She had her own friends too, but being with the boys was fun.
As she got a little older, this eventually started to fade. Either way, she was outgrowing them or they quit liking the baby sister hanging around. This is when that new man came into mama’s life and our lives began to turn upside down. Mama gradually stopped visiting her in the bathroom mirror and she was beginning to look elsewhere for validation and approval. She was turning the corner on adolescence when a young lady desperately needed her mama to keep teaching her about being that soft, feminine, young lady she was emerging into. She was losing her, or was mama losing herself?
Her teenage years were approaching and while other girls seemed to struggle with the normal issues of confidence, self esteem and courage, she continued to spiral down in her own self worth and doubt about her appearances. Boys were the topic amongst all these girls she was getting to know in her junior high days and she was becoming more shy with every passing day. Attention she received embarrassed her and she didn’t quite know what to do about it. She secretly had crushes on this boy and that one, but that was all she knew, how to like them, but not talk to them. She was getting good at hiding.
By the time she was in 8th grade, her family had moved to a new area which meant she had to start a brand new school and make new friends. This was especially difficult for the extra quiet and shy girl she had become. He immediately liked the new girl on the block and by that winter had become her first boyfriend. She had gone from admiring boys from afar to holding hands in public and at school with this assertive young man and she liked it. He was well liked and everyone knew him in this tiny little school. She quickly made a handful of new friends and was no longer angry about being uprooted from the only home she had ever known. This didn’t increase her confidence or boost her self esteem, but it did create an addiction to love and affection that would affect her relationships from there on out.
She learned that being with that special someone no matter the cost, was always better than being alone. This was the pattern she had established at the very young age of 15 when they entered their sophomore year in high school still a couple. What can you possibly know at that age? Was being in a committed, long term relationship normal at their age? Apparently to them it was. He told her often of her beauty and built her up the best he could, but she couldn’t receive his words of her external looks when she was fighting an internal battle for so many years now.
This would go on for years to follow, clear into adulthood. Her inner beauty so lacking in the strength and confidence a father typically instills in his little girl early on. Having an absent bio daddy and an abusive, substitute, narcissistic step monster who began objectifying her at age 14, she just wanted to be invisible and she worked hard to succeed at that. Her mama had long since been able to replace any of the hurtful, demeaning words that humiliated her since she herself was suffering most of the abuse from this monster. Her once, beautiful, spirited, lovely mama was just gone. Deep in the pits of despair she was cast and there she remained until her death.
By the time that young lady was married and a mama with 3 babies of her own, she had attempted to follow the beauty regiment she had learned at such a young age. She often recalled those intimate, special moments buried in her memories she shared with her mama. She recoiled at remembering his disturbing leering and twisted innuendos and once again chose to be invisible, rejecting the advances of her own husband and father of her children. Her head was muddled and certainly fucked up as she thought, what sort of woman doesn’t welcome the compliments of her own husband? Surely there is something horribly wrong with me she thought, but still she couldn’t shake off the shivers that haunted her. Don’t look at me, don’t see me and please, whatever you do, just don’t notice me.
It would be years later, five years post divorce that for the first time in her life, there was a man who did in fact, not only notice her and made her tummy flip, she welcomed his advances and wanted him to indeed see her. After the first 6 months or so his love bombing had hooked her so deeply she couldn’t get enough of his attention and longed for more. At some unknown point in time, after all the confidence and uplifting he had poured into her, she had changed her appearance to the point that he took notice of people noticing her and he loved that. As long as she was by his side, protecting her from other men, she felt safe. For the first time in her life, she thought she had been found and actually loved.
A secure sense of belonging overcame her for the first few years. One day she saw something different looking in the mirror at this indescribable image, she no longer recognized the lady looking back at her. The closer she gazed at the reflection, the more distorted and unfamiliar the features became. She had quietly been slipping away and was reverting back to that young girl, desiring nothing more than to be invisible once again. She had become her beautiful, lost mama after all. Fuck.
The compliments and uplifting expressions they keep tossing at her, are words and verbalized observations of her outward appearance. They haven’t matched her inside disturbance since she was that 7 year old, standing next to her mama, staring in the looking glass. Now she says to them…