It is a trust thing

It is a trust thing.

I can hear you saying, "No! Really? Wow...so what's new?" and yes I'd normally agree that this isn't quite the earth shaking announcement it could be.  But this really is shattering for me. And after you are done reading perhaps a bit rattling for you as well.


My son is studying jujitsu, it is a class for little guys to learn about being safe and it is about not being bullied or being a bully.  It is about sticking up for not only yourself but others as well. 

The children trust each other and you can see it when they practice and play together.They trust their sensei too. He shows them, he teaches them.  Everyone is included.  They understand the sublime message of truly learning this martial art - when you are in class you can trust your partners, your sensei, your training.  By learning that trust there, where it is safe, you can use your skills with confidence outside of class.

That is not what shattered me though.  That is just an observation to set the scene.  

We arrived early yesterday to class and got to observe Sensei training with another practitioner.  They were working on holds. Choke holds. Neck holds.


I overheard them talking and started to realize there were only two ways out of the holds if both people were equally skilled.  One you pass out and the other person lets you go because they won.  Two you tap them and they let you go.

The trust is in the tap.  They could feel the hold, they dissected it and they talked about it.  I watched, they were putting it all into doing those holds right.  You knew it was right when you saw the tap.  Then the one doing the hold let go. He stopped immediately.

There I am, a Mama and survivor, and I'm shaking. My heart is racing. My hands are sweaty. I'm thinking I could never do this.  I can't trust like that.  There is a real trust there. Something that is fundamental to the art.

I want to take his women's self defense class next month.  I want to try. For my friends who are coming. For the person I trust to teach my son. For myself.  I don't know if I can do it. 

I tried talking to my husband about how I feel. But I didn't really get to the trust part, I was still stuck back in the automatic self preservation mode explanation.  But after seeing J and M working on the holds together I started to understand.  It is the trust I need to work on.  


Trust people inside my zone.  Trust people to put their hands on me to teach me. Not to hurt me. To teach me.   I need to trust them enough so I can let my guard down so I can learn.  Letting the guard down means really being in the moment, being present there and now. Not in the past where I learned to break free and stay free of holds.  Nor in the future when I might need to do so again. I need to be present, there fully, and be able to trust and learn.


I'll keep you posted, see how this part of the journey goes. For the Scarred Seeker is still scarred and she is still seeking...

Olive, the other reindeer

Christmas can be such a season of contrasts.

Blessings and stress. Freedom and feelings of being trapped.

Loved ones around you or you being alone.

Choosing boundaries. Making hard choices.

Seeing doors open you thought would stay closed.

Being free or trapped by holiday bullies of all kinds.

Thinking of the strange connections we can make to holiday songs.

As a kid I always wondered why there was that tenth bully reindeer Olive, and why none of the others ever stuck up for Rudolph.  No one understood why that song and show made me sad. No one got it.


And poor ol' Frosty! He couldn't get anything right! But then his brains really were made of mush. What could you expect from a snowman after all?

At least no one asks why we don't have mall Santa photos of our little boy anymore. I guess they got tired of getting the look whenever they asked. Shudder...cringe...yeah...THAT LOOK!


This Christmas I wish for you the best of the season, for you! What you need, who you need and when you need.  If being alone is your choice, then I pray you won't be lonely.  If risking that open door is your choice, then I pray that your risk pays off wonderfully!  If you are hurt and hiding away, I pray that you are comforted and know you are loved.


Survivors can have a hard time at Christmas but we can make it our own.  This year we are just three for Christmas. We are so excited!  Find space and a place for you this season...it isn't meant to be a time of stress and pain.  Really...and we can take it back!

It's Not You

Haven't we all heard that line at least once in our lives? "It's not you, it's me." and didn't it fill you with a strange sort of dread.  That no matter how hard you tried something that was you could not match what they wanted.  When I hear that now, however, I find it rather freeing. Liberating. I'm using that line to clear up some misunderstandings about the choices I have made in my life.

It's not you who changed. You never do. You are solidly the same, even if it is in ways that are less than healthy for me.  Years have come and gone and you stay the same.

It's not you whom these changes have been made for. Indeed, if I could make one change for you it would be that you could change. But you choose not to.

It's not you who has worried, cried and fretted countless nights away in worry, fear, despair and loneliness.  You saw those tears as weakness, as being 'wimpy' and flawed.

It's not you who choose for the heart of a little child, instead of the material satisfaction of an adult.

It's not you, it's me who made the choices to have boundaries, to make things clear and defined.

It's not you, it's me who choose to change her life. For the better. Not the easier. Easier would have been, well easy, but not right. Not right for me. Not right for them.

It's not you, it's me who realized nothing really changes unless you want it to.  And when you don't nothing will change you because you become solid in your place, stuck even, and soon the won't change becomes can't change and the shame/blame game continues.

It's not you, it's me who decided to stop the games, stop the tear-filled madness.

It's not you, it's me who choose to forgive and move forward.  We're waiting. We're praying. Someday you may come, then again you may not.


I'm okay with this. It's okay for it to be me and not you.

Guest Post: Hold On?

My friend Lisa is a poet and shared this wonderful poem with me. She also took the photo which inspired it. Enjoy!
S




Hold On?

When I first saw you, I admired your tenacity.
I could hear you whisper to me, “Hold on. No matter what, hold on!”
Maybe I heard that because I most needed to hear that, at least for a moment.
Your fellows, scattered beneath me, have all given up too soon. Only you hold on.

Then I walk among your fellows.
They crunch beneath my feet (wonderful sound!)
And I begin to see their wisdom, the trust they show
That death must happen before new life can begin.

“Death?!” I hear you shudder. “I don’t want to die!”
I know how you feel. It’s lonely there.
Holding on when everyone else has left; you feel alone
And frightened you will remain that way forever.

But I hear your fellows whisper too.
“Our tree needs to rest for Winter. We will grow again.
Young and healthy and beautiful. This is what comes next.
You cannot hold on to what no longer serves you.”

And I understand. I understand what I never have before.
I have been wanting another chance. Another chance to do it right.
So I hold on. To the person that hurts me, the habits that destroy me,
The relationship I think I ruined. I hold on because letting go means giving up.

But “no,” your fellows whisper. “No. Letting go is not giving up.
It is trusting in the wisdom of the universe. It is knowing when it is time
To embrace a new kind of life.” And I realize, death to the pain of this life
Means opening up to a chance for something better.

The longer I hold on, the longer I am unable to move forward
To whatever comes next. Whatever pain and joy is possible
Can only happen if I let go. When I hold on, my hands stay closed.
When I let go, they open up.

So what do you say? Will you take the chance with me?
Let’s let go. And fall together.

Poem & Photo Copyright 2011 Lisa M. Bogle

Truth and Triumph

"This isn't a happy story but it is a story of truth and triumph because she is still alive and sane." Patricia Caldwell Singleton, commenting on Finding Your Voice of Truth.

I couldn't help but think, I'm much happier when I hear stories of truth and triumph than I am when I hear of stories whose only claim is 'happy'.  Genuine stories of making it through the hurting, breaking through to healing. Triumph when the easy way would be to slide back into the despair, into the games and tricks. Truth when you look at you in the mirror and are okay with who you see, at least most days.  Getting more of those days is triumph too.

Practicing truth and triumph isn't easy, but it is worth it. You won't get that fluffy fuzzy fictional story 'happy story' feel but a deeper satisfaction.  The kind that comes from building a boundary, creating a life and healing from the wounds. The kind that comes from knowing the scars mean you survived. You made it through.

The third party message that says, "She cut off contact." and the knowing, that deep inside knowing, that you set a boundary and maintained it. Their response, their reaction belongs to them, not you. That triumph knowing that the little boy won't cry about their bad choices because they don't get to play with your life any more. The truth that you matter more than ego, agenda, motor homes, modular homes or dogs. More than golf even.

It doesn't mean that there won't be hurt. The kid stories, the family fun memories, that stuff we missed never comes back.  That doesn't mean we can't create our own now though! Making memories anytime we like is half the fun.

Truth and triumph means being able to walk away, when it is best for you and how it is best.  Truth and triumph means you can go back to places you left, if you should choose to. On your terms. Or not. As you choose.

It sucks sometimes, feeling alone in a crowd. Knowing you'll never quite get it, that the scars will always sort of be in the way. That's the truth. There is no way to accept the 'happy' when it has no depth, no soul. When it is a candy coating it always leaves a bitter taste.  It's not easy.  The real stuff hardly ever is.  But there is deep joy, powerful truth and knowing that we survived means we triumphed. We won.

Finding our way to the truth and the triumph is worthy of the effort and so worth it too.  You are worth it. I'm worth it.

My Darkness

Sometimes it is so hard to keep the darkness away.
It lurks at the edge of my vision, waiting, breathing.
I feel it under my skin, over my shoulder, in me.

Everyone sees the light in me, they see how it shines.
They don't see that it is brighter for the shadows.
Darkness makes light seem bright, and I feel fake.

My prayers and my faith hold me up, it pulls me.
Sideways and across, down and down again.
That darkness no one knows thirsts in me.

I thought if I rattled all the bones, burnt the wraps,
shredded the secrets and tossed the ashes to the sky
that it would leave me be, leave me alone, go away.

It doesn't.  I don't fear it. We've been together too long.
I fear for the day it gets away. I pray my angel stays stronger.
Some are sheep, and stay that way. Some grow wolfish.

Redeemed, saved, blessed, loved and yet the darkness
rolls under my skin, in my veins, through my brain.
I cannot look when I feel her rise or I'll see it all.

That ancient darkness that protected the young,
hunted and fought wars to save that sweet life
it lives in me, thrives in me, and I know her.

You can't know her, even if you know me.
She's too deep, too secret, too far down.
God hasn't taken her away, we are one.

Don't ask me to fight her, I can't win.
We have an uneasy bloodless truce.
I don't tempt her, she doesn't escape.

2011 Copyright, Shanyn Silinski

Burnt Up

Our son loves to go see the burnt farm truck.  It amazes him that something that was once shiny and functioning is now a rusting, burnt up shell.  He can see the transformation from running truck to burnt up wreck and it just amazes him.  Glass strong enough to be part of a protection system melted and draped like a frozen waterfall.  Tires, belted with steel, melted down to a tangle of wires.  They once made travel possible and now they rest on useless rims in a muddy part of the field.



That truck does something else for me.  I see it a bit differently.  I see what it was. I see what it is. I imagine what it will become.

In winter there will be animals sheltering there, out of the wind and storms.

In spring the waters will rise and plants will grow.  Things will cover and consume it.  It will sink down into the ground.  Eventually it will be more wild than man-made.  More animal shelter than not.

Summer's heat will make it a great place for things to grow.  Up through the frame and cab.  Plants and animals will create a home.  The roof will be invisible through the cat tails.

In fall seeds will be trapped, they will find new soil, and in spring will sprout and grow.

In time there won't be much left to see of that truck.  However it will still be there!  It will be able to snag a  harrow or seeder.  It will not totally disappear into the soil.

I find my healing journey is much like that old truck.  We ran, we burned up and now we are becoming something new.  The old frame is still there.  Shards of glass and metal, wounds and scars, remain. But they are hidden under new growth, new life.

That's how it should be.  We aren't meant to remain barren, bleeding and scarred forever!  Healing doesn't take anything away but it does transform it.  If we leave it alone, if we tend it and love it, then something amazing can come out of it.

I'm ready for amazing!  Are you?