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
I
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
I
was just rebellious and somehow
I must have
deserved it
all
I
felt shame
shame that others who bear the same maiden name as I,
deny
deny
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
I
was not
the guilty party
no
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
I
am worth more
than denial, I
am worth more
than throwing myself
under a bus
I
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
ability
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
free
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
he
always
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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