Different Than The Rest

Credit: www.dreamstime.com

Nicolette hopped on the old big yellow for the first time once again. She didn’t bother taking a survey for possible seats to share with someone or even look for empty ones in the middle. Just sat herself down right behind the bus driver. She placed her side-saddle book bag on the empty space beside her. Of course, in 1973 no one thought to carry a bag for their books. Just wrapped them in paper bag book covers and a bungy cord. That’s if they even bothered with books at all. From her twelve-year old perspective, the only ambition that her peers had were playing spin the bottle in someone’s basement or smoking in the bathroom between periods. In fact, she could already smell someone’s morning high at the back of the bus.

She let out a heavy sigh.  A new school away from the safety and innocence of her elementary years where her teachers encouraged her intellect and her small group of friends felt free to be themselves and not follow the crowd. But when Daddy lost his job, they were forced to sell their small house and move to the local trailer park on the other side of town. Momma said it would be temporary and as soon as Daddy landed on his feet, they would buy another house back in their old neighborhood. Yet Nicolette-a girl Daddy said was born with an old soul-knew the family had a long road ahead of them. Dixsville Junior High would be her school for the next few years. A place where they said the inmates ran the asylum. Where the rough kids went. The Dixsville Dump. Not like Janesville where class sizes were smaller and teachers were respected and rules were followed.

Without warning, her brief reverie was disrupted. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her bag being moved to the floor. In its place, sat a long-haired “greaser” wearing a thin black leather jacket, dungarees and black boots. Nicolette dared herself to look him in the eye. Surprisingly, he had a tender, sweet face and a welcoming smile. “Hey there, you must be the new girl. Name’s Joey. You look like one of those smart chicks. Don’t worry, Dixsville ain’t as bad as you think. We’ve got some great teachers who look out for kids like you and me.”

Nicolette looked at him in disbelief. What was talking about?  Kids like him kept the teachers in line, didn’t they? And ate kids like her for lunch.  As if to clear her confusion, Joey asked her, “So what do have first period?”  All of Nicolette classes were Level 1-the courses for the geeks. “Geography with Mr. Fiske,” she replied. “Hey! Me too!” he answered. “In fact, all my classes are the Level 1’s this year. My dad said if I don’t get my act together and show some ‘potential’ (he said this word in a sneering tone) I would be shipped off to military school instead. No way I  am giving up this (he tugged at his jacket) for those  brass monkey suits.”

“HEY! MR. JOE SMARTY PANTS! COME BACK HERE AND HANG WITH US FOR THE REST OF THE RIDE!  “Oh. Looks like my boys want me.  What’s your name by way?”  With a quick and still shy smile she answered, “Nicolette.”

When the ride ended, she stepped off the bus first. As she walked the long portico to the roughly worn brick building, Nicolette knew it was going to be a memorable year.

Kellie took us back to junior high with this one! I know I am dating myself…

#FWF Free Write Friday: Time & Place

There’s Not Enough Words…

Credit: www.talentplusplus.com

Today is the last day of a wondrous year. A time of growing as a writer and an independent woman who despite my age, experienced many “firsts”. I know there are more of those to come and I hope to embrace them as best I can and seek help when needed.

This post is being written as a way of expressing my continued thanks to my dedicated followers. The year 2013 saw an explosion of followers to my little blog. Since March, I have added 164 lovely people from all over the world to this space. I am glad my words and thoughts resonate with you. It is because of you that I continue to write and be inspired.  I have never considered myself to be a writer, really. Do I possess the gift of spoken word? Yes. Speaking and talking- absolutely! But writing? That is for those lofty souls who can delve deep into the human condition and make us laugh, cry, or simply breathe.

But encouraged I was by my eldest son and my now fiance’ back in the summer of 2012. I wrote and wrote and published weekly. Then came the fateful March Friday when WordPress interviewed Kellie Elmore http://kellieelmore.com/.  It was and is through her Free Write Friday prompts that my writing took and continues to take a different path. Without her, I would not have met, shared and read other talented writers who follow her and participate in these creative endeavors.

April came and WordPress offered its 30 poems in 30 days challenge (NAPOWRIMO). I had never written poetry in my life but another writer who follows me through email said: “There’s poetry in your words. You should give it a try.” Many thanks to Megan for the push!  Again, I gained new followers and discovered once more the power behind just a few words.

The spring gave birth to a bountiful season of summer writing (thanks once again to Kellie’s FWF) and my first ever series of creative fiction, one of which turned into a full-fledged short story. Never thought I had it in me!

Writers are vulnerable people. With each sentence we reveal more and more of ourselves and our life experiences. It is a risky business. We look less for pity (if at all) and more for affirmation and acceptance as artists. We want our words to touch and inspire others. Give them strength. Help them to know that they are not alone. Well, that is at least what I hope.

So once again, thank you to everyone who reads this blog. I hope you will continue to be with me in the coming year and encourage others to join in on the fun. I wish all of you a happy new year and one that is full of new discoveries about yourself and the world around you!

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

The Circle of Life

Credit: jonsama.deviantart.com

“For within your flesh, deep within the center of your being, is the undaunted, waiting, longing, all-knowing. Is the ready, able, perfect. Within you, waiting its turn to emerge, piece by piece, with the dawn of every former test of trial and blackness, is the next unfolding, the great unfurling of wings, the re-forged backbone of a true Child of Light.”
Jennifer DeLucy

November has never been a favorite month of mine.  The trees stand black and bare against the steel-gray skies. The wind is brisk and nippy; a coming sign of the season that brings increasing darkness and even despair.

Certainly, I was in the midst of despair five years ago as I engaging in the last breaths of my divorce process-awaiting and preparing for a possible trial date among other dire scenarios.  Knowing I was in absolutely no control of my future, wondering if my relationship with my youngest would ever be as close as it once was, watching myself disappear as I got thinner and thinner by the day. And when it was finally and officially over, I had no chance to come up for air. Within 24 hours of my marriage’s death knell, I received the news that my beloved mother was diagnosed with stage 4b pancreatic cancer.

My world was full of blackness. I was very glad that my marriage was over, no doubt about it.  But the process had taken a serious toll on my soul even before it had gotten underway.  I was definitely an empty vessel in desperate need of refueling. My mother’s prognosis was grim and that news just knocked me out.

For a while, November became-symbolically at least-just a month for me to get through. A year hence, I became seriously ill with the swine flu followed by pneumonia. My mother had succumb to her illness the previous February and my former husband was engaging in a series of violations of our agreement that had led to many court appearances. I was spent.

It would easy to think that my life was a black hole-that each month and each season was November. Not so! Positive shifts, rebirths and renewals were happening simultaneously even during the darkest hours. As I was preparing to legally end my marriage, I discovered a yoga studio. The owners were recalling just last Monday how I was “a mess” when I first walked through their doors. Today  I am more whole because of them. It was also in November that my now fiance’ graced my doorway and my life with his love and unconditional support. And when I was seriously ill, my youngest was also. He rebounded quickly so he became my caretaker and fulfilled his role beautifully.

So the only thing I dread about the seasonal shift is the lack of light and the endless raking. (Well, right now maybe the possibility of having to get a new boiler!) I have learned that moving forward through all of life’s challenges and struggles is the only path to rebirth. I have learned to embrace the dark times, nurture them as a means for renewal. To hold them for a bit and then simply let them go. Their ashes are the seeds for a new life.

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)

A Change in Latititude

credit: www.flickr.com

So there I was enjoying the hot Florida sun, languishing with the post race crowd in the cool waters of a pool. I looked over to my left as a fellow runner (whom I met earlier at the race) walked in wearing a Red Sox cap and T-shirt. “Hey, where are you from?”, I shouted to him as he approached the water. I was surprise to learn that he had grown up in a town not too far from where I was currently living.  Before I knew it, he had climbed into the pool beside me. An immediate sense of ease came over me  as we began what turned into a 2 1/2 hour conversation.

I will spare you the details; they are not important. Suffice it to say that we each felt a shift occur. A connection. Certainly we were not the only ones to witness this event. Fellow runners and my own teenage sons were keen observers as well. My parents -especially my late mother-were thrilled to see me enjoy myself for a change. (I was in the midst of a nasty divorce, feeling drained and lost.) My mother sang this man’s praises later that evening, but I had no expectations.  After all, we lived very far from each other and I was still not legally divorced. Her reply was simple: “Well, you never know.”

And that’s right. You never do know. Pivotal changes can be subtle. They can be the beginnings of something new without any tangible or obvious or even immediate  changes. In my life, meeting the man I love helped me to return to myself. He did not come into my life to save me-that was up to me. He came into my life for many reasons not the least of which was to show me the profound sense of peace that deep love and commitment can bring.

We have been together nearly five years and will be married in a year and a half. My hard work raising my sons is done. I have given birth to myself once again. I will be moving away from a place that I have known all my life to embrace a newer culture and climate. I have never been more afraid and more ready.  Living out loud and truly free with a man who loves me for me.

Many thanks to Kelley Rose for hosting Kellie Elmore’s     Free Write Friday this week!

#FWF Free Write Friday: LIFE CHANGERS | with Guest Host Kelley Rose

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

Woman to Woman

Credit: www.mutantspace.com

I remember when I knew it was you

I felt your conspicuous stare

Your obvious observations

You had heard of me through your lover

A man of ill repute

A believer in his own lies

     Who couldn’t handle any truth

 Your curiosity couldn’t stand itself

 So I wonder

Were you

Satisfied?

Or more mystified?

Did you feel justified?

   Unaware that I knew it was YOU

Your morning appearances an insinuation

   Gathering  information about my situation

    I played it cool and remained myself

      Empowered by your insecurity

      Emboldened by my maturity

      Embraced by my community

      I’ve watched you watch me

    And I know you’re not like me

       I am graced by sensuality

            Secure in my femininity

Aglow in my luminosity

    I, too was once under his spell

   My life becoming a slow burning hell

I look at you and see you’re not well

Nearly heartless

                        A vacuous void

Neither shapes nor curves to your body and soul

Invisibly thin

                  As deep as spit

    (Well suited to him)

     Artificially earnest

With manners that are staged

Tinged with feigned politeness

      And a simmering rage

            I cannot say I wish you good luck

You see he’s only interested in a nice little fuck

I celebrate a new life

Possessed of deep roots

A bearer of ripe fruit

A feast for another much sweeter brute

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.