I am six today. The old farm house is filled with the scent of cinnamon and maple syrup. French toast is my birthday request. I dress with care, and clumsily tie a ribbon in my ponytail. A shiver of anticipation tickles my tummy on my way to the stairs. I wish there was a sliver of light. I don’t want to run my hand along the splinter-filled guard rail to navigate the narrow, impossibly steep stairwell on my way to breakfast. The kitchen is a sea of bodies, ten including my own, settling in around the table. Mama nods and in the doorway stands daddy, a newborn foal in his arms. “She’s yours,” … [Read more...]
To Those of Us Who Had Lousy Mothers – A Toast
Here’s to us. Here’s to creating a life around the hollow left by their inability to mother. Here’s to loving our own children fiercely and well, despite all odds. Here’s to defying the limits our parents and our childhood tried to set. Here’s to life, to love, to hope! Brava or bravo to every one of us who survived. Who felt the pain of betrayal and loss. Who picked ourselves up, dusted ourselves off, and started all over again. Many of us lost entire families, whole communities, affiliations with churches, schools and other organizations. Here’s to every single one of us who endured … [Read more...]
Soar!
The paddock smelled of dung and leather. Excitement quivered through me as I adjusted the riding helmet. I was to take my first formal jumping lesson, in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, English style. Mengustu’s ears twitched, perhaps remembering the Emperor’s barns, from which I’d purchased him. The nicker of horses, halters jangling cheerily and clanging of pails made the music of morning at the stables. I loved it. I stood just inside the barn door, the thirteen-year-old girl without a saddle, in pants that were too short for my growing self, and a sleeveless cotton top. Properly dressed girls, … [Read more...]
Sisterhood Rocks
Brandy. She was petite with fiery red hair, a generous laugh, a quick tongue, an agile mind. A spitfire. She fairly sizzled with energy, this woman I first met over the phone when I called the game on my child-molesting dad. I had waited until my children were in school to make the call, my hands shaking uncontrollably, but resolve thrummed through my very bone marrow. This was a first step in a journey I intended to follow through to a conclusion. I thought I had a pretty good idea what it would take. Boy, was that downright wrong. I think it’s fair to say that had I known, I doubt I’d … [Read more...]
Transcending Trauma – Become a Work of Art
Pope Francis compares child sexual abuse to human sacrifice. Think about that for a moment. The comparison is appropriate. But it’s worse than that. We who were abused by leaders in the church continue to live. We didn’t die of our injuries on the altar of sacrifice. Our hearts still beat a tattered pulse. Our brain still holds the truth, and the body always keeps the score. The horror of abuse is followed by a lifetime of adapting. Here are some things I know: I know we can’t un-ring that bell. It happened. I know that Jesus left the ninety-nine in search of the one. I know that … [Read more...]
The Wounded
I am standing on a 10 meter Olympic diving platform. Suddenly, there is a roaring in my ears, a cacophony of sound; voice, noise, high pitched screaming. I clap my hands over my ears – and jump. Fear claws at my throat as I plummet toward the water. Impact is disorienting. Water churns at being violently disturbed, and then? Utter silence, a muted existence, like I imagine a cocoon, or womb. Until the silent screams begin – open mouthed blasts of heart pain – for no one to hear. They reverberate only in my mind. Inevitably I float up to the surface. When I break through the waterline, the sun … [Read more...]
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