The Heart of the Matter

Credit: We Heart It

“Where we choose to be, where we choose to be–we have the power to determine that in our lives. We cannot reel time backward or forward, but we can take ourselves to the place that defines our being.”
―     Sena Jeter Naslund,     Ahab’s Wife, or The Star-Gazer

Long I ago I ceased wondering and worrying and feeling ashamed of decisions I had made regarding my life’s choices. Like if I didn’t get married 24+ years ago maybe I could have avoided the heartbreak, abuse and eventual diminishment of myself that the union ultimately gave me. Maybe I would have had a different career, different partner, different house, different community, different friends. Maybe it would have been better?  Really, who cares? I made the right decision at the time ( no one had objected, everyone loved him) and I stayed longer than I should have. Even I don’t know when the right time would have been after so much time has passed. And really, who cares? I have two beautiful, grown sons and a pretty satisfying career as a result of being their mom. I got to raise boys who are becoming contributing members of society as a result of my hard work.

I used to think that I was failure because I became a divorced woman. Like the marriage’s demise was a reflection of my own inability to maintain a commitment. When my father told me that he was proud of my decision to obtain legal help and move out of the relationship while protecting myself, it affirmed that I was doing the right thing. People often said they were sorry that my husband had left. I was not. Really, I did not care.

As time moved on, I was acquiring the abilities to become a more independent woman. I got my Master’s degree in the midst of all the turmoil while still working full-time. I took on my former husband at every obstacle he put in my way. Sometimes they were pebbles. Sometimes they were boulders. But, really who cares? They need to be moved and surmounted on the road I was building to a better life.

Today I stand at a crossroads. I have proven to myself that I can be on my own and very happy. I have made amazing financial decisions that secured my present and I hope my future. I have moved out of the past to the point that it seems like it never existed. I am working on being present in my present life, letting go of things that I cannot control and planning a new life with the man I love.

I would not be writing and living my life if the pain of the past had not occurred. I am grateful to have gotten out of it. My experience-through publicly writing about it here at WordPress- I hope has given others inspiration and the seeds of strength to create their own lives and speak their own truths.

Open your mind. Open your Heart. Speak your mind. Speak from your heart. Live by your instincts. Live your life.

Post inspired by Kellie Elmore’s:

#FWF Free Write Friday: Quote Prompt

Undone and Reborn

fwf image prompt

Yep-she thought she was up against it

Never forgiven for sins

That she didn’t commit

Walking that broken road

Stoned, Icy Cold, Alone

Peeling her face off the pavement

His fist crushing her like cement

Cornered in the last round

Her body relenting for another pound

Cries for help never making a sound

She offered herself over to the battle

Her breath nothing but a rattle

Then words of comfort that began as a hum

Gave way to the beating of a drum

The rage of her warriors too strong to ignore

Help and Healing oozing from every pore

She learned to stand tall

Protect herself from another brawl

Now she knew there was no need to crawl

Moving forward in joy and delight

She is one fetching lovely sight

Taking on the world with all her might

I am dedicating this post to victims of abuse. There is a way out. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.

Special thanks once again to Kellie Elmore for the inspiration!

#FWF Free Write Friday: Quote Prompt

Magnificent Beauty

quotes-about-strength

I am dedicating this week’s post to Jasmine and the women of Amirah- a non-profit organization located in the Boston area that provides a wide range of services for survivors of commercial exploitation* (amirahboston.org). Jasmine spoke at author Anne LaMott’s book event (Stitches) on Thursday, November 7th. Her story of degradation and triumph was moving and inspiring. Jasmine: You are Beautiful!

Live Long Enough and You Will Find

Beautiful Treasures on this Earth

People You Meet, Come to Know

Who Share Their Stories

Filled with Grief, Heartache,

Struggle and Strain

Addiction and Abuse

Sickness and Death

 

They’ve walked in Darkness

Alone, left out, Hanging by a thread

Made to feel Powerless and Worthless

An Object for others to use and throw away

Then one day they hear a Whisper

The sound of their Own Voice

They gather Strength and Taste their Freedom

They see their Worth and the Beauty Within

Their Voice becomes a Roar- a Cry for Others

As they walk the Path of Healing

To the Light of Wholeness and Joy

A fully realized Human

Touched by Grace

*The Stats on Human Trafficking Around the World:

20.9 million adults and children in forced labor

8.7 million number of these exploited by private agents for labor and commercial sex purposes

2.2 million forced to work by the State or rebel military groups

$32 billion total year profits, in U.S. dollars, generated by the human trafficking industry

$14.8 billion The 2012 Video Game Industry in the United States

98% percent of victims of sex trafficking are women and girls

Here in the U.S.:

100,00-300,000 number of prostituted children in the U.S.

98.8: Percent suspected or confirmed child victims of domestic sex trafficking taken in by the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (NMCE) nationwide from 2004-2010 who were classified as endangered runaways.

(Thank you to Amirah for providing these statistics through the International Labor Organization , the Polaris Project, the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, U.S. Department of State(Trafficking in Persons Report) and http://vgsales.wiki.com/wiki/Video_game_industry)

Slaying the Dragon

credit: www.levycreative.com

For those of you who have been reading my posts the lately, you may have noticed a theme or two.  Current and past real life situations have informed those pieces. If you don’t know it already, I was once verbally and emotionally abused during my first marriage. When I finally realized that it was happening and stood up for myself one time too many, he wanted out. It was the best gift he ever gave me. Truly, there is nothing more powerful than one’s independence and freedom.

Today I live my life on my own terms.  I have confidence in my career. I cultivate healthy relationships. Love has found me again. I am a whole and happy woman. As I ready myself for the next phase in my life, I am also purging and grieving some things from my past. Writing is at once a great unburdening and a form of standing up to the fight-a means to work through any residual pain. Ultimately, I hope I can help others gain the strength to leave their situations and heal themselves.

Last spring during a home renovation, I came across a series of journals buried deep in a desk drawer. I was giving the over-sized roll top away to a woman who really needed it. I was forced to clean it  out once and for all. So there they sat. Three journals from way back when. Some had poetry. Another contained lists of information that were important at the time. Still another had examples of the verbal abuse that was being hurled at me. I  put them on my bedroom bookcase to sit once again. As I was putting them away, a lone piece of paper fell out of one of them. Hotel stationary. Three words: “I Love You” and the initials of my now fiance’.

I couldn’t figure how that missive had landed in journals filled with negativity and pain.  No matter. I saw it as a symbol of how love exists in the midst of chaos and grief. The man I love came into my life quietly. He loved me and supported me through years of challenges with my children and with my former spouse. His love is a burning fire AND a simmering heat.

The road out from abuse is filled with potholes and boulders and other hazards. But the struggle to be whole and happy always makes you stronger.

So the Hebrew people were freed from their enemy by the hand of a woman.

They danced in the streets and the women were crowned with olive wreaths.

(from Judith 1-15 verses 14 & 15)

Scent of a Man

credit: tribune.com.pk –

She knew it was over when she couldn’t stand the smell of him. The pheromones that had once madly attracted her to him had dissipated. She wasn’t even sure when he turned from being a melliferous man into one who oozed a certain bitter brininess.

His odor permeated the bedroom-an overwhelming form of halitosis-especially in the morning. She remembers how it used to startle her awake. She would be lying close to him one minute and then quickly find refuge on the other side of the bed the next.

It wasn’t long before she arose earlier and earlier each day in an effort to escape the toxicity of him. The raunchiness remained even after he finally woke up and left the room. Then, while he was showering, she would pull down all the bed covers and throw open the windows in an effort to rid the room of his stench.

On the surface, he was a meticulously clean man. He dressed sharply and every hair was in place. But just beneath lay the sewage of his soul. Lately, it had been percolating, bubbling up. He created hazardous waste within their relationship and in their own home.

She knew that his habits were really a manifestation of his need for total control of his own environment at best and an overall inconsideration and disrespect for her at worst. Because he didn’t feel like hanging his jackets in the back hall (where it was cold in the winter), he would pile them up on a kitchen chair. He left his shoes right outside the living room where she or the children inevitably would trip on them.  “Watch where you’re going!”, he would say. He also had his special stack of magazines and papers on one of the living room end tables. She was not allowed to move them except if she dusted.

He seemed to have no problem sitting his ass on the couch while she ran around the house like a whirling dervish cooking dinner and cleaning after working all day either.  A meal and a clean house were par for the course. But she sure was getting tired of cleaning up the toothpaste scum off the bathroom sink’s soap dish. He refused to put his brush with the rest of the family’s. Instead, he would lay it down near the open tube, not caring if he left remnants of saliva or paste on the surface. And he never shut their closet door.  Just left it wide open for her to stub her toe or hit her head in the middle of the night when she got up to pee.

When she called even the slightest attention to any of these issues, he would raise holy hell. Start talking about her bad habits. Tell her, “If you don’t like it, there’s the door.”

She knew she was in a vicious cycle. She was weary and unloved. And she couldn’t stand him or his foulness any longer.  It was time to plan her exit.

“The only thing more unthinkable than leaving was staying; the only thing more impossible than staying was leaving. I didn’t want to destroy anything or anybody. I just wanted to slip quietly out the back door, without causing any fuss or consequences, and then not stop running until I reached Greenland.”
Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

Tainted*

credit: psychopathyawareness.wordpress.com

Slimed by your words

Blemished by your presence

Soiled by your twisted truth

Diseased by your self-deception

Stigmatized by your need to cast blame

Infected by your manipulation and devaluation

 

You are a parasite that fed off me

Attempting to eat away at my strength

Sapping away at my emotional energy

Draining me

Sucking me dry

Wearing me out

 

My spirit was once corrupted but never broken

I have found another path

It led me to a healthful place

Where I could mend

Reenergize

Feed my spirit

Heal from your wounds

Be free from your disparagement

Today I walk hand in hand

With loving others

On a path of utter truth and righteousness

 Feeling, tasting, touching, smelling, hearing

And being present in a world

Cleansed by holy and faithful words

Of love and peace

*(Author’s note: I found this poem earlier tonight while looking for other material for a story that has been bouncing in my head. It was originally written on March 19, 2008. I have changed a few things-like verb tenses- leaving most of the piece in tact. It was nice to see that I had a poet in me back then and most importantly, to know that I was indeed a strong woman!)

Gimme Shelter

credit: ladysilver2267.deviantart.com

Oh, a storm is threat’ning
My very life today
If I don’t get some shelter
Oh yeah, I’m gonna fade away

~Mick Jagger/Keith Richards

The last time she saw him was when he called her a bitch.   It was a dark, late winter evening.  She was upstairs, still in her work clothes, installing a new thermostat in her bedroom. Then the doorbell rang. Who could that be?,  she wondered.  She called out, “Who is it?” as she descended the stairs. Turning on the back light, she saw his profile as she looked out the window.

“What do you want?”, she asked, standing by the kitchen window.  “Is Peter home?” he asked.  It was their son’s 21st birthday and he was out celebrating with friends. They had already had a surprise party at home the previous Saturday (in fact the mud room door and kitchen were still decorated) so the actual birthday night was a quiet one. She replied that he was not.

“But I have a present for him,” he said.

“Leave it in the back hall,” she said. He grew enraged, tossed it in and loudly spoke his epithet as he left.

She had not realized that she was holding her breath for the entire encounter. She listened for his truck’s departure and quickly called her girlfriend (who offered to come over). Her son had not seen or spoken to his father in over two years.  He had grown tired of his ill-treatment after living under his roof for most of his teens and arrived back home on a black February night-his car full of his life.

Since then, family life had resumed a harmonious and healthy rhythm. She and her two children had come to an understanding of the various forms of emotional abuse experienced under her former spouse and their father.  They no longer saw themselves as victims. It was as if he did not exist. And because he did not exist, it was as if the abuse had never happened. And because the abuse never happened, it was as if their past life with him had happened to other people.

This is the place at which you eventually arrive with time, help and healing.  Emotional and verbal abuse is hard to put  a finger on. The former is  an invisible fortress built over time by the one in control. The verbal abuse helps fill in the cracks to keep it hidden. Eventually, you become relegated to a cage with your role in the relationship strictly enforced. Through the eyes of the abuser, nothing is ever done right. This includes every aspect of your life and your very being- your career, housework, driving, raising the children, your identity. You never look quite right either. Something is always wrong with your body. Even when pregnant, the snide comments slip out so you are made to feel fat and unattractive. So, no matter how hard she worked to please and keep the peace, he was never satisfied. Any “mistake” was met with either a derogatory remark or stony silence for days. Any attempt to break free of that role and speak her truth was met with “punishment”.  The abuse only worsened and became more and more obvious.  She eventually learned that her part was simple. Keep her mouth shut and her legs open. Ironically, her wish was not for the relationship to end-only for the abuse to stop.

The implacable mistreatment continues even when the relationship ends. In standing and fighting for the needs of herself and her sons, she was met with false charges of neglect and abuse.  He attempted to take away her shelter twice. His goal was to make her “Scratch, Crawl and Suffer.” These words from his mouth only made her more willing to never back down.  Each meeting with him during this process was like taking a bath in dirty water. It took days to purge herself of the emotional hangover he wrought.

The abuse had a trickle down effect as it was meted out in various ways on the children. Eventually, they too, separated themselves from him.  Self-protection took precedence over the appearance of a normal father-child relationship.

Any contact with the abuser is risky and fraught with anxiety. Even with the absence of physical violence, danger can still be present. Sometimes an unexpected sighting of that person can lead to a physiological reaction. The heart assumes a rapid pace, the mouth becomes arid and the hands become unsteady. The mind races as it seeks a way out.

The universe has a special way of taking care of those of us who choose to move forward. We acknowledge what happened, seek help and eventually forgive. But we never forget.  Instead, we embrace life with a renewed sense of optimism, spreading positive energy and good karma to everyone we see.

The Bad Penny

credit: jellygator.hubpages.com

Sunday morning sunshine

Air alive with early morning briskness

My feet hit the pavement anxious with anticipation

for the quiet of a long run

My heart is bursting with excitement

as my legs move smoothly over the hills

At last at the crest of “The Killer”

I remove a layer

The heat of my arms basking in the high star

The finish is too soon, I think

Arriving home I hear the voices

of loved ones breaking the fast

We are renewing a childhood tradition

In a different incarnation

Grown-up, sharing the ritual

with the girls they love

We are filled with glee

Refreshed, we hit the road

But not before stopping for that cup of joe

And then the reverie is broken

He appears:

AN INTRUDER

INVADER,  INFIDEL

INFECTION, INFESTATION

Our blood was once on his hands

We grapple  with this infelicitous situation

My heart races and my hands shake

I move away yet stay put

My protectors keeping him at bay

Polite, they speak in superficial tones

Pretending to be mannered

All the while  seething at the reminder

of his emotional destructions

At last they come for me

surrounding me as we depart

We breathe deeply

Freed again

Delighted that the orchard awaits our pickings

Sipping and Singing and Celebrating

Moving onward and forward

Knowing our lives are full and empty of him

Meeting the Master

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For those of you who are newer here, this story is another installment of my ‘Lola’ series which has its birth in a FWF from Kellie Elmore. The installments are below in reverse order if you care to read or reread them.

Reunion  

Subjugation and Subordination

Ephemeral Relinquishment

Inspection

Captive

The Scout

Lola nearly laughed at the absurdity of this next chapter in her captivity. Yet she knew all three of them would need to play along if they were to survive. Adrienne and her companions were leading them in rapid fashion through a white-washed maze of hallways. The only sounds were the rustle of the white habits against their legs. Lola, Tess and Grace were dressed in flowing but modest gowns and Lola bristled at the confines of it. She was used to more rugged and useful clothing that allowed for freedom of movement.

Abruptly, the maze ended. The long wall parted and the women entered a cavernous room that exuded masculinity. Fine wood grained walls and floors, heavy leather furniture. At its center was a long, dark table with seven armed and throne-like chairs around it. Art objects depicted hunting, war and other forms of conquest.  A concrete representation of power and control.

A wooshing sound startled Lola out of her observation. Six dark suited and well groomed men emerged from six side doors disguised in the walls. Slick and Smarmy thought Lola. They glided to the chairs at the side of the table. Then another WOOSH. At the center panel stood a man of great height and strength. Dashingly handsome and with eyes the color of turquoise. A face of forcefulness. He ignored the escorts (who by then were on their knees) and strode over to the trio. He had no compunction whatsoever as he removed their gowns one by one and closely examined their bodies using more than his eyes. The experience left Lola with a urgent need to violently lash out against the degradation. But she knew it meant punishment or death if  she moved an inch or  showed any emotion. Then the Master spoke. “Councilmen. You may examine them as well.” Then we will decide who is best suited to marry my eldest son and provide us with the progeny for our new nation.”

The procedure was wretched in its ritual. With each stroke, pat and rub, the women felt less and less human and more like goods to be sold to the highest bidder. When it was finally done, the men moved to the table to cast their votes.  “Well, gentlemen. We certainly have found ourselves a treasure trove of perfect helpmates. I see we all agree on the two that will go to my second and third sons.” The Master then rose from his seat and strode over to Lola. “But you, my lovely, are the perfect match for Gabriel.”

Reunion

credit: blingee.com

“Arise chosen ones. Prepare for your future.” The booming voice came from a rather small old man dressed in a white suit. In fact, he was completely white with the exception of his piercing blue eyes.   “What is it with these blue eyes?” thought Lola. The old man led them from their room to another chamber.  Three women, cloaked in white habits awaited them.  “Dress them appropriately sisters.”

Lola attempted to make eye contact with them-to see their faces. But the trio’s eyes were riveted to the floor. They appeared to be a silent cloud of nothingness blending into the colorless surroundings of the chamber. At once, they lifted their arms to reveal three white gowns. They held them out to Lola, Tasha and Grace as if they were gifts. In unison, they moved behind them and began to remove their thin slips from their bodies. Then, just as swiftly, the elaborate dresses were erected onto their frames. At least that is what Lola was thinking. She was no more than a mannequin awaiting display in the window of  a department store.

But she had to think fast. Find a way to communicate SOMETHING to these mute maids.  “ACHOO!” Lola sneezed so loudly and with such drama that the three could not help but look up and reply with the standard “Bless you.”

And in that instant, Lola locked eyes with her missing mother, Adrienne. A woman of prominent stature, full of vigor and light in the days before, during and after the Revolution, Adrienne was not even a shadow of her former self.  Her spirit was erased by the abuse she suffered as a prisoner of the Restoration Party. But upon seeing her daughter, she began to feel a bit of hope. For what, she was not sure. Pulling the secret language from the recesses of her brain, she told her daughter snippets of information in the smallest of gestures. Her companions joined with Tasha and Grace.

It was all the six of them could do to control themselves. They had struck gold in terms of moving the plan forward. Lola and her friends discovered Adrienne and her two colleagues were to accompany them to meet the Master. They also discovered that these women had access to all parts of the center because of their status as maids. When they weren’t preparing females for their fate, they could be seen cleaning the Master’s quarters and cooking meals in the vast kitchen. The Master and his councilmen often held elaborate feasts to celebrate any new births that occurred in the Breeding Center or within their own families.  These three women were indispensable as chefs for such occasions. It was the only time in their captivity that they could actually speak or give orders.  Only females worked in the kitchen and the entire staff was under constant pressure to present a perfect menu. The kitchen was also a training school for women as they were not considered worthy unless they knew how to cook and serve their future husbands.

The kitchen-the place where women belonged of course! But also an epicenter of untapped power. If Lola remembered anything that her mother taught her it was this:  Never underestimate the inner strength and tenacity of women. Adrienne’s spiritual core may have been corrupted; but Lola’s arrival was the route to its resurrection.

 

Just a little reminder that this story is a continuation in my “Lola” series.

Last week’s story was entitled Subjugation and Subordination