Another Paragraph …or Two

Most of the shadows of this life are caused by our standing in our own sunshine.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Above you will find the Hay House Radio Interview I did for Finding Heart Horse

I thought I would post another sneak peek for those that haven’t read it. Remember, the proceeds go to Covenant House, Vancouver, B.C.

There is always hope.

This is from the prolog About A Horse. You can find the first part in my previous post Finding Heart Horse…one year later.

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When my parents took me to visit my aunt and uncle who lived on a farm, I quickly and quietly made my way into the world of the barn where the horse’s lived. I would nestle into the golden straw, inhaling the fragrant honey dust, as hours magically disappeared. Listening to an orchestra of barnyard sounds while enveloped in the dusty air brought me a perfect peace.

It was into that perfect peace that my Heart Horse first made his appearance.

Just as if he were a real horse, my Heart Horse danced and pranced and snorted with joy. Sometimes when he was afraid, I could feel him inside my own heart, racing around frantically, as if to warn me of pending danger. Other times he stood quietly in the grass, munching on crispy red apples and appearing deep in thought, as if to just let me know he was near. And sometimes he galloped wildly free of restraint, tickling me with his unrestrained joy. But those happy and free rides were rare. Mostly he stood guard.

Old Uncle Willy understood my love of horses. He understood my connection to them and my ache to be closer to such a strangely forbidden desire. Uncle Willy always seemed to know where to look for me whenever we went to the farm. And he always seemed to know to look for me, when others hadn’t thought to.

One morning when I was huddled under a mountain of straw in the corner of Ginger’s stall; Uncle Willy came looking for me. He found me hiding there, buried under a pile of golden grass and crying, as Ginger stood over me with her warm breath tickling my neck as if to say, everything will be okay.

I was hiding in there because my cousin had told me, yet again, that I wasn’t real family. It seemed that each time she said that, it hurt a little bit more. Sometimes she even said it front of my mother, but instead of telling her to stop telling such awful lies, my mother would just agree. That really stung. And it made me sad.

I wasn’t sure what they meant by not being “real” family, I was just as real as they were, but I was sad that they even thought such a thing. After all, I had the pictures. My parents holding me when I was a newborn, teaching me piano when I was a toddler, posing me in front of furniture or houses or relatives to take my picture when I was a child. What could they possibly mean that I wasn’t real family? I didn’t understand at all, but I knew that there was something about me that was different. I just had no idea what it was.

Uncle Willy seemed to understand why I was crying, but he didn’t ask me about it. Instead, he told me a story about the Rocky Mountains and the wild horses that lived there. With his soft and comforting words, my uncle told me all about how magnificent it was to see a thundering herd suddenly appear in a lush green valley in the mountains. What Uncle Willy told me that day in the barn gave me the strength and desire to survive the cruel and hurtful comments of my cousin.

“Claire, you wouldn’t believe how amazing these horses are!” he told me. “They sound just like a train going by at a hundred miles an hour when they come galloping out of the mountains. Their manes blow behind them in flashes of black, silver and gold, like flying flags!” I listened to Uncle Willy’s fantastic story, enthralled.

“Tell me more, Uncle Willy! Tell me more!” I pleaded.

“Oh, it’s amazing, Claire, just amazing. You can even hear the different types of snorts and whinnies—they sound just like they’re talking! Then all of a sudden in a gust of wind and dust they’ll be gone. But . . .” and he looked left and right, like he was about to tell me a secret, then lowered his voice to a near whisper, “When they’re gone, you’re left with a feeling of magic. You know what it’s like to be free and wild but still be a part of a family. A really big family!” The images Uncle Willy conjured completely enchanted me, and I’d practically forgotten my cousins’ spiteful words.

“I tell ya girl,” he added, “Someday you have to go there. It’ll change you forever.” I watched as he got a faraway look in his eyes and sighed as if he were there that very moment. I snuggled into the straw and closed my eyes, wishing I were there, too.

“Someday,” he promised me, “when you’re older, you can go there. You’ll see for yourself how beautiful those horses are. And here’s the best part!” He smiled, and then said, “If you can catch a wild horse, it’s yours! It will belong to you and only you for the rest of its life. That’s the rule.” Uncle Willy tousled my hair and pulled me upright with a grin. “Come on, now. Let’s go inside and get some ice cream!”

I couldn’t believe my ears. If what Uncle Willy said was true, and it had to be or he wouldn’t have said it, I could actually have my own horse some day! I brushed all the straw off of my clothes and went back to the house with Uncle Willy for two big bowls of chocolate ice cream. But I couldn’t pay attention to anything else he said. All I could think about were those wild horses.

As excited as I was about pursuing wild horses, in the weeks and months that followed I knew better than to talk to anyone about my dreams. I had learned how quickly people will snuff out your dreams if you say them out loud. So I buried those words inside my Heart Horse, assuring him he would have company some day. He whinnied softly inside my heart, swaying back and forth as if to say, we will wait, we will wait, we will wait.



CARPE DIEM

We each have a finite number of heartbeats, a finite amount of time.  But we have enough heartbeats and enough time to do what is important in our lives.

Susan L Taylor

“THAT DAY” is over…Valentines Day of course.  For those of us alone, depressed, adopted, abandoned, abused, lost… it’s a day we hide from. Who wants reminding that they are any of the above let alone not loved?  Not me, that’s for sure.

CARPE DIEM-SEIZE THE DAY

This saying contradicts what i just said above doesn’t it.  What if we really are and just didn’t know it, couldn’t feel it, couldn’t believe it…what if?

I know it’s a big what if for most of us who have experience with the underbelly of life..but why not try..just for today..to believe it? Myself included.

Byron Katie says that the truth is, that our mattering is innate….no one or nothing can make us matter and no one can take it away.

Is it true?

This is one of her questions of inquiry which I use often.  If this is true, how much time have we lost in feeling like we don’t matter, like we aren’t loved.  Each moment that goes by that we feel like we don’t matter is a moment lost forever.

Ask yourselves..why would we be not loved, why wouldn’t we matter?  I know it’s not easy, far from it.  Our wounds go deep, the pain unbearable, yet underneath all of that lies our perfect buddha self.  Nothing external can bring us the feelings of “mattering or being loved”. Our willingness to dig deep enough to uncover the beauty within, along with the discovery of our strength and courage will allow our vulnerability to shine.

 Just do it.

Seize the day, the hour, the moment.

Activate your warrior energy, the fire within your heart.  Don’t wait until tomorrow because tomorrow might never show up.  Put aside the excuses and do the work.  You do matter,  You are loved.  Someone told me that today and I said I would sit with the words until I believed them. Thank you.  I will…until…

In fact, perhaps I’ll keep THE WALL around and fill it with moments of love and  mattering.  Moments of belonging and wonderment, that after six decades, I too, am worthy of what many take for granted…LOVE & MATTERING

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I WANT MY MOTHER !!

Today, I launched, put into the world, set free, gave birth to…

THE WALL OF SECRETS MEMOIR OF THE ALMOST DAUGHTER

Releasing a book to the world is known in book talk as “birthing”.  The pain is different but just as real.  I have had to edit and re-edit as one always does and each time it’s brought tears to my eyes.  Not mast cell ones but genuine pain filled ones. I am The Almost Daughter.  I’ve never had a Mother.

The definition of Mother is many things depending on where you look:

a woman who gives birth or has the responsibility of physical and emotional care for specific children

Through the blur, I wondered if I was alone or if other parents felt the same way I did-that everything involving our children was painful in some way. The emotions, whether they were joy, sorrow, love or pride, were so deep and sharp that in the end they left you raw, exposed and yes, in pain.  The human heart was not designed to beat outside the human body and yet, each child represented just that – a parents heart bared, beating forever outside its chest.”

 Debra Ginsberg

My emotions are raw today, part mast cell, part pain and sorrow because I, in my sixth decade have never had a mother, never been mothered.  How can that possibly be?  I’ve laid to rest 3 parents and yet have never had a mother…how the hell can that be?

I, myself am a mother.  Not a perfect one by any means. Never having been mothered I had no healthy base to work from.  There was never any question  when I held my baby for the first time, I knew I was in love. I also felt my birth mother’s pain. I knew I would do everything in my power to protect, to love and cherish, to advise, to teach, to do and be everything I would have wanted for myself from a mother. Far from perfect with many mistakes and still there is an amazing young woman in this world that I am proud to call my daughter that radiates pure joy and love.  As flawed as I was as a mother.. she had one that loved her more than life..she knew that, felt that.  I did not.  Therein lies the difference for those of us abandoned, abused, adopted. We had no mother.

I’ve been known to go deep into the greens of the rainforest alone with my little dog.  I go to sit.  I go to meditate.  I go to cry.  Mostly I go to scream, sobbing into the dark hallows of nature…I WANT MY MOTHER….

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I’ve done this for decades.  I searched for decades, weeping on birthdays and occasions that should bring joy.  I grew myself.  Not in the best way but the only way I knew.  I learned to mother myself, sadly not very well but enough to allow growth and survival.  I was the only one there, to soothe, to comfort, to hold tight.  I now know I can survive anything because I have.  With each trauma another layer of protection was added.  You can imagine then, launching a book with my truth in between the covers lays my heart out on the table as Debra says in her quote. Raw, beating on the outside, so vulnerable, so open.

I watch my beautiful daughter with her newborn son and my eyes well up.  I’m reminded of my time with her, how I tried to everything right.  I’d stare at her for hours in wondrous amazement that this little being was so perfect and had been entrusted into my care.  I see her loving him with her eyes, her touch, her heart that is now on the outside wide open, as mine has been.  He watches her every movement, he smiles at the sound of her voice.  He nuzzles into the safety of her scent, her skin, her genetics, her being, and he knows with all of his heart, he is where he should be and that he is so loved.  Even in utero, he knew.

 I WANT MY MOTHER….PLEASE, PLEASE, LET ME HAVE MY MOTHER

We aren’t taught how to be our own best friend, how to look after our hearts, our minds and bodies.  We aren’t taught how to comfort and soothe our broken hearts.  We learn along the way usually at a great price.

We know the pages and pages of studies that document the importance of babes being placed in their mother’s arms or on their chests for that immediate connection, the knowing, the feeling of love and belonging…the foundation for building a solid base for a healthy being to flourish.

 We, the abandoned ones, the adopted ones, the abused and neglected ones feel that disconnect, the unworthiness, the not being loved and protected, the grounding, the roots.  WE KNOW….WE LIVE IT DAILY.

I’m now going out onto my deck, wiping the tears and sucking up as much oxygen as I can so I can scream at the top of my voice…again….

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About a Horse

ABOUT A HORSE

excerpt from

FINDING HEART HORSE

 

I always wanted a horse. I’ve wanted a wild horse, a Palomino horse, an Appaloosa horse, a racehorse, a pony horse and even a miniature horse. I would have settled for a rocking horse, a stuffed horse or even just a picture of a horse when I was a child, but even those small pleasures were prohibited. And so it was that when I was eight years old, I gave myself my own horse, my imaginary Heart Horse.

I’ve had this strong attraction to horses for as long as I can remember. Like a magnet, they have always pulled me in and held me close. They appear in my dreams and on blank pages in my sketchbook. They calm me when I’m disturbed and excite me when I’m bored. My nose longs to inhale their warmth and my fingers crave the feel of their soft wet nuzzle. My eyes are drawn into their own dark, all-knowing eyes and I immediately feel an inexplicable connection.

This must be what it feels like to be loved

  I think, whenever a horse looks into my eyes.

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Resurfacing….

Love seeing the blank writing space before me!

 My fingers shake and my eyes are prednisone blurry.  Slowly, I’m resurfacing.  As most of you know, I’ve been hospitalized most of the last several months dealing with Mastocytosis reactions/complications which I will write about next.  Today, I’m just dipping my toes in to the cool word stream.

I want to relaunch, review, revive

 Finding Heart Horse

I also want to let you know that the second memoir,

 The Wall of Secrets

waits patiently in the wings to be born as my strength allows..

It’s good to be back

I’m home

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Forgive! Are you Crazy?

When we forgive, we set a prisoner free and discover

that the prisoner we set free is us.”

Lewis Smedes

The prompting for this post was a discussion of sorts on my friend’s blog. http://www.morningpageswriter.wordpress.com  Monsters of Our Childhood … last evening.  I can’t remember all the comments but it was about finding forgiveness for those that have abused us in horrible ways as children or adults.

I never even thought about forgiving the people who had abused me, raped me, given me away, caused me pain…the list is endless.  I was so filled with pain and disbelief in human nature that when someone said to me, “Someday, you will need to forgive them and move on,” I wanted to shoving their words down their throat.  How could I possible forgive.  I was handed over at birth with no name, no thought, no love.  Handed over to live in a nursery probably not even held for who knows how long and then fostered by a middle-aged couple for two years as they waited for a boy, which was what they wanted.  If a boy became available I would be “sent back”.  They finally settled.  She, not wanting children at all and he, wanting a boy to fish and hunt with.

They settled and I paid the price.

Forgive!  Are you crazy?  I’m given away only to be abused by strangers who didn’t want me in the first place.

Raped and nearly beaten to death, not once, but several times and you want me to forgive?

I could go on and on with the specifics which, now are just that…specifics.  It doesn’t matter how much has been done to me, with me, around me anymore.  I set out on a journey to heal and to heal I knew I would have to forgive and let go of the past.  I know the exact moment it began.

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The word is where we all get stuck, especially if you were indoctrinated as many of us were in religions where everything was our fault since we were born sinners anyway and meant to spend the rest of our lives atoning for our sins.  We were taught/brainwashed to believe that we deserved everything we got or at least I was.

If I fell and scraped my knee, I deserved it.  If I spent a night licking my wounds from words and hand mirrors, it was because i deserved it.

 Of course, then when I was first raped at 16, in my head I could hear her words, “Well, look what you were wearing, you are a child of Satan.  What do you expect.”

 When I was critically ill in the hospital at 17, I could smell her breath as she leaned over droplets of spit landing on my face and said, “Go ahead and die.  You weren’t meant to be born anyway.  You don’t deserve to be here.  You are dead to us.”

Forgive?  You want ME to FORGIVE?

I wish someone had said to me years ago, “You don’t have to forgive.  Forgiveness is for them.  Letting go is for you.  When you’ve expressed enough anger, enough sadness, enough fear, then you’ll be ready to think about letting go.”

If you remember nothing else, remember that.

The truth is that yes, forgiveness sets you free and yes, I did forgive and have compassion for her now.

Forgiveness is a form of realism.  It doesn’t deny, minimize or justify what others have done to us nor the pain we have suffered because of it.  What it does is encourage us to look squarely at those old wounds and see them for what they are.  It allows us to see just how much energy we have wasted and how we have damaged ourselves by not forgiving.

Forgiveness is an internal process.  There is no forcing it and it sure doesn’t come easy no matter what you call it.  What it does do, is bring a great feeling of wellness and freedom.

Forgiveness/letting go means we no longer identify ourselves by our past injuries and injustices.  We are no longer Victims.  We can claim that right to stop hurting when we say we are tired of the pain and want to heal.  At that moment, forgiveness/letting go becomes a possibility.  We no longer want to punish those who hurt us, the pain from the past will no longer dictate how we live in the present, nor will it dictate our future.

Part of the healing is finding our own voices, speaking our truth, being vulnerable and courageous and writing blogs and books, speaking out loud our long-held secrets.  Dig through this layer and you will rescue your heart.

 This will be one of the most difficult parts of our journey only because our Ego doesn’t want to let go of the power that comes from being wronged.

Read that one again and again…

As long as we feel hurt and damaged we give ourselves the right to blame and judge.  We are the Victims.  Ego can point the finger and feel a certain power.  The Ego has to be put on the shelf for this one.  Forgiveness is an act of compassion but it doesn’t mean we forget.  It just means that there’s no longer an emotional charge from remembering.  It’s a gift to yourself.

You are worth having such a gift

Don’t Believe Everything You Think

ImageI have this bumper sticker and everyday when I get into the car I read it.  I know I’ve mentioned it before but I’ve done a great deal of thinking lately about how we and our thoughts about ourselves shape our reality.  I think it follows writing Finding Heart Horse and The Wall of Secrets.

I wish, I had known at an earlier age that I am, in fact, not my story but life has a way of unfolding just as it should, when it should.

I also know that I am not my thoughts.  I don’t have to believe them especially when what they are telling me isn’t what reality is showing me.  It causes a great deal of suffering when we let our thoughts control our life.

A great deal of conversation goes on within the adoptee community about PTSD but most of us suffer from other trauma’s, post primal wound, that also  classify as criteria for the diagnosis of PTSD.  Since this is Bell’s “Let’s Talk” week in Canada I thought it was a good time to bring up the subject again.  Having open conversation about mental health is crutial to eliminating the stigma and providing a way to speak out.

I don’t have to describe what the symptoms of PTSD are to most of you reading this and if you need further clarification, please take the time to look it up.  It brings me back to my many years of trauma, the rapes, the abuse, the feelings of unworthiness related to being given away.  It goes on and on.  It also boils down to believing those thoughts now or not.

I lived from a place of fear most of my life.  Fear of being found out, fear of not being good enough, fear of being unloveable, fear of not belonging, fear after fear.  All, based on thought.  Some of those belief systems as adoptees know, are so deeply rooted it takes years to uncover them and try to untangle the roots imbedded in our psyche.

Ultimately, everything we want, everything we are looking for is inside us already.  When you go inside and find your own happiness you discover that what already exists is unchanging, immovable, ever present….just waiting for you to find it.  You are the only one that can end your own suffering.

I know!  Go figure.  It’s as simple or as complicated as you chose to make it.  Even those of us with severe PTSD can, with work and love for self are able to emerge from the darkness we have existed in.  No teacher needed, although it helps to have a guide, a support, a spiritual base but ultimatly its you and only you that can change your thoughts.  You can decide to not believe everything you think.

There are, of course times we need various methods to assist us along the way.  Don’t get me wrong.  Appropriate care is mandatory if you are not at a place in your life where you can manage.  I can only speak for myself and now in my 6th decade as much as I accept that life works in ways that it’s meant to. I am astonished at the depth of pain and fear I lived in.  As an imposter.  As a chameleon.  As someone not present in today.

I’ve heard the lesson many times in my Buddhist teachings….If you are not living in your own life, if you are living in someone else’s  business you will only bring suffering to yourself.  So, if you are mentally living in someone else’s business and are feeling hurt or lonely pay attention.  You are not living in your own life.

Having lived in a state of severe PTSD and disassociation for many years I can now recognize with clarity the past triggers and the belief systems that kept me safe until I was ready to dig through the dirt and uncover them one by one.  Reunion was the catalyst and my writing became my therapy.  I relived each and every moment of trauma that had been locked away for so long.  I could smell the smells and feel the fear and pain.  I was there.  Right there.  Momemt by moment in each story told and I now understand why it was hidden for so long.  I had to live.  To survive.  To care for ailing adoptive parents and most of all care for my daughter.  There wasn’t time to open The Wall of Secrets.  There wasn’t time to allow myself to break down the walls and let the barriers fall.

I knew once I opened those drawers that held my secrets my world would change drastically and I wasn’t sure I could get to the other side in one piece.  I became totally fragmented during the process and everyone around me just figured that’s who I was, never thinking of the magnitude of the process of reunion and all the primal wound brings along with my life traumas.  Interesting, now that I can reflect on the past few years.  Why didn’t they see?  Why wasn’t there compassion and understanding instead of irritation and dismissal?

That’s why, this week is important.  People need to speak out, educate, speak their own truths about depression, anxiety, disassociation, whatever it is you suffer from.  The only way one will find understanding and throw off the stigma is to speak out loud or in-between the covers of a book.

Back to us…back to us and our thoughts.

A thought really is harmless unless you believe it.  It’s not the thought itself but the attachment to the thought that causes our suffering.  Once you attach to it, you believe it to be true.  Without inquiring, without question you/we believe it.

Imagine!  All those nasty, demeaning, harmful, despicable thoughts….are nothing more than that.  Yet, when we get attached to them we believe them to be so.  Can you imagine if…just if…it weren’t  so..if they weren’t true and all this time, you “thought” they were!

This subject, i think will have to be several blogs as it’s so much of human conditioning and I so want to write my way and your way through this process to a place where we KNOW we aren’t our thoughts.

You can’t control them.  Don’t let anyone tell you it’s possible, it isn’t but what you can do is meet them with understanding.  They will, then, let go of you.

It’s a practice.  It’s a process.  This being aware of our thoughts,  Inquiring if they are in fact true and then letting them go with perhaps a chuckle.  Say to yourself..hmm..now that was interesting..why on earth would I think that to be true.

A Facebook post has resurfaced the last few days.  One that is especially pertinent for trauma victims, PTSD, Adoptees.  Perhaps you aren’t aware it even exists.  We do the best we can at the time and as we grow and open our walls of secrets we learn that it’s okay to be uncomfortable and walk through the discomfort and pain to expose our coping skills and with time change them.  I’ll post it at the bottom and you can give its some thought.  I want to look at the thoughts behind some of my suffering over the years in my next post.  I have many and I’m still digging them out and I’m also discovering that most of them just aren’t true.  You will find the same.  I promise.

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After the Release of Finding Heart Horse

It’s been a couple of weeks now since Finding Heart Horse has been free.  I experience waves of emotion as if I have just given birth and in a sense that’s what releasing a book is.  It’s your word baby, a chronically, a story, a life of it’s own.  For years you nurture it with phrases, favourite words, descriptions, coffee stains, tears and love and then you set it free to live it’s own life.  Terrifying and freeing at the same time.

This past week I have been working with an amazing photographer Nathan Harben putting video and words together to make a video release for Finding Heart Horse.  Robin Toma, another amazing photographer is also contributing and I can’t wait to see the final product.  Video releases are short, usually 1-3minutes in length so everything has to be condensed and the photographer performs his magic and you have a short summary of what you want people to know about your book.

It’s yet another “birth” of sorts.  Another exposure of self that leaves you feeling vulnerable and new and yet energized.  I continue to watch Brene’ Brown video’s and am trying to embrace with courage the vulnerability of my telling my story.

Stay tuned for the video and the Hay House Radio Interview.

I’d like to start a Finding Heart Horse gallery.  When you buy a book send me a picture of you and the book or the surroundings and I will add it to the gallery.  I know, so far it’s being read in Scotland, UK, Canada and the USA…send a picture in to   thealmostdaughter@gmail.com

Finding Heart Horse: A Memoir of Survival
WWW.AMAZON.COM

Have you ever wanted something so badly it was all you could think of? All you could talk about, write about, dream about. Claire did. She wanted a horse. Finding Heart Horse is her journey and her search for her Heart Horse. It takes her from being “the girl most likely to succeed” to a life on …

 

Vulnerability and Shame……FINDING HEART HORSE COVER REVEAL

So, I couldn’t figure out how to incorporate the video into the post so it came first.

 The beginning of shame because I didn’t research how to do it!

I’ve been thinking a lot about vulnerability and shame.  I think, in particular because as you know, I’m getting ready to do my cover reveal for FINDING HEART HORSE.  I just approved the galley text as well which means the book goes off to print.  I have the Hay House Radio Interview and the Video Release next as well and THEN…..THEN…it’s all real.  I will hear it, see it, hold it and be it.

This is where the vulnerability and shame comes in. Intellectually, I know I am stronger because of the life I have lived, the suffering I have endured, the traumas experienced and yet…to share that in the public is one of the most frightening things I can think of.

I have listened to Brene’ Brown’s TED talks dozens of times and the number will go up as the release date gets closer.  She nails it.  She makes it clear that the only way is to just do it.  Put it out there, be courageous and vulnerable.  I so believe her, yet I still feel so vulnerable and shame sneaks in around the edges.

As I re read my galley text and take myself to the place of that young girl it breaks my heart.  She was so vulnerable and filled with shame at such a young age and it shattered her spirit and stuck with her…until she became me, sitting here writing this post.

Shame can be unbearable.  We can equate it with being worthless, unlovable, unredeemable.  It can fill us with terror that we will be abandoned yet again, fragmented, or overwhelmed with despair.  Adoptee’s are born with this ingrained.  That is not to say other’s don’t experience it as well, just that we are hardwired.

“If distress is the affect of suffering, shame is the affect of indignity, transgression and of alienation.  Though terror speaks to life and death and distress makes of the world a vale of tears, yet shame strikes deepest into the heart of man….shame is felt as inner torment, a sickness of the soul …the humiliated one feels himself naked, defeated, alienated, lacking in dignity and worth”

  Silvan Tomkins-1992

Shame really represents an entire family of emotions: humiliation, embarrassment, feelings of low self-esteem, belittlement and stigmatization.  Shame is often a central ingredient in the experience of being.  It can show its ugly face physically or in defence mechanisms because it interferes with our ability to think clearly.

As I was reading I was also thinking how people will judge.  I fully expect that..There is purpose behind my telling my story.  I survived.  I want others to know they can too.  Go ahead and judge.. because quite frankly, I don’t give a damn.  I did what i did in order to survive.

Many adoptees will recognize themselves in my book. Others that come from various walks of life will as well. The journey of searching for self.  The devastation and pain that arrives when you discover your own mother didn’t want you enough to fight to keep you.  Most lost daughters and sons tried to cope the best way they knew how.  The pain and despair is unbearable, even tho’ at the time you don’t recognize where it’s coming from. 

In my life, I ran from abuse at the tender and naive age of 15.  That automatically put me into the place of vulnerability.  Vulnerability is scary, even now.  But it’s also a place of power and authenticity.

I lived  a life of risk back then and still do now.  Having gone through “reunion” and placing myself in the most painful experience of my life, i know now, vulnerability is also the centre, the core and heart of meaningful human experience.  Just as Brene’ Brown says, its a place of uncertainty and emotional exposure with an unknown outcome.  It’s opening your heart wide knowing rejection may be the result.

As soon as I post my cover to FINDING HEART HORSE the external journey begins.  Of course, I’ve had people write reviews, and editors to critique.  Those are the warm up experiences because just sharing with them leaves me in a vulnerable place and embarrassed by the life I led.

I learned through reunion, being so vulnerable and open can also be very painful.  One needs trust when you are in a vulnerable place.  People need to earn the right to hear our stories.  It takes courage to show the battle wounds.  To open your heart knowing it may get stomped on.  Courage=Vulnerabilty

Brene’ Brown concludes about daring greatly:

“And, without question, putting ourselves out there means there’s a far greater risk of feeling hurt.  But as I look back on my own life and what Daring Greatly has meant to me, I can honestly say that nothing is as uncomfortable, dangerous, and hurtful as believing that I’m standing on the outside of my life looking in and wondering what it would be like if I had the courage to show up and let myself be seen.”

And so..with her words behind me, and in me just like an ear worm I embrace my vulnerability and shame and will walk through the doors with my book in hand being held up by courage.

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