Inspiration Thursday

by thecraftaholic

Today, I had something particular in mind, and I wanted to talk about it. Most of my faithful readers know that I’ve been more open lately about the abuse I went through growing up. What you don’t know, is that abuse permeates every aspect of your life, even as an adult.

I wanted to share a poem with you today, and I hope you like it. It’s rather dark, and it sort of….goes there. But it’s the best way to illustrate what I’m trying to tell you.

This one is called, “I am not the guilty party”

I used to feel guilty

for the way you made me feel


looked at my spouse, and his

seemingly perfect relationship with his

less then perfect mother,

and I

felt guilty

for the way you made me feel

I used to think that what you said was my fault

that what I felt was wrong, and


was just rebellious and somehow

I must have

deserved it



felt shame

shame that others who bear the same maiden name as I,



denial and ignorance

must be bliss

out of shame they deny

But I

am not ashamed

of how you made me feel, I

am not ashamed to say

that I was angry

and I was sad

and hurt

by you

and your hurtful words and your

wooden spoon and your

threats to me,

“I’ll kill you one day…..”

blaming your marrital woes on a

10 year old girl, and

telling me

“don’t you dare tell your father”

don’t feel guilty, I

don’t, I

didn’t do anything wrong


was not

the guilty party


and I can declare aloud

there is no shame in me

for what you made me feel, I

will not deny

and if denial

means having a relationship with you

denial is something I do not want, you see


am worth more

than denial, I

am worth more

than throwing myself

under a bus


am not

the guilty party

So this poem is because I just feel like I have no reason to be ashamed or guilty. Don’t say sorry to me, when I tell you about my past. Why should you be sorry, was it something I did? While I very much appreciate your wanting to show empathy, do not tell me you’re sorry, as no one has died, and I did not make any mistake. The only tragedy was the mistake my parents made with me, that will cost them a relationship with me.

I will tell you I have relations that went through similar problems, with the corporal punishment. They all choose to deny what happened. All of the sudden, their parents are perfect.

Well, nothing has happened to my memory, and I know what happened.

I choose a few things today.

I choose to be happy, because I have a wonderful husband who supports me, and a wonderful daughter who is smart and loving, and another baby on the way, another extension of my love for my husband and his love for me.

I also choose to not deny it anymore. This of course, means I can’t have my parents in my life, as they choose to deny what happened, stating that I was simply rebellious and am spreading lies. Why someone would want to lie about nightmares and childhood trauma, I have no idea.

I also choose to not be ashamed of it. Yes, this happened to me. And no, I’m not going to cower in shame about it anymore. I am not the one who has done anything wrong.

I say all this, in part because I frankly needed to vent. And in another part, because if something like this happened to you, don’t be ashamed. Don’t deny it. Declare it.

Art is amazing tool for healing. You can take all the anger, all the tears, all the sadness and grief, and turn it into art. Make art with it. Write about it.

I’ll close with another poem, a nice fluffy happy one. I should note, all of it is true.

This one is called, “I can tell you a story”

I can tell you a story

about when it happened

when my

eyes opened and I

saw the light of dawn

I could tell you a thousand stories of how my

hope was restored and

I could see again

I could

from my hands I show you

with my art I teach you

the secret to my happiness

the secret to my


to love, it

lies in my paintbrushes and paint, in my

glue and paper and things

My friend, one day out of

sheer desparation and

frankly, boredom I

stole my husbands paint brushes, I

found myself

beside myself

painting my pain

writing my life, and I

felt like

I had become


and then that night

I kid you not, I

dreamt a dream I became an owl

I awoke to the feeling of wings on my back, and I

remembered the owl by my window as a child



kept me awake at night with his

hooting and hooting, and he hid

so well.

So I took it as a sign and continued to make art

and I remain

to this day

on the path

to myself.




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The Craftaholic

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