Community : Write 28 Days

Community! What a wonderful word.

I got to experience my favorite community Saturday. I am blessed to have a group of friends I've known for over (gulp!) 40 years. Once a month we get together to catch up and encourage one another to handle some of those monotonous things that have to be done. Sometimes it's bill paying or sorting through accumulated paperwork. Sometimes it's some mindless task we've been putting off because it's boring! Sometimes we just wind up coming together to sit with one another.

We call ourselves The Fun Girls - 4 women and 1 man. I've known Keith since were 7. We've been through a lot together. The women, Linda, Caroline, and Sandra, I've known since high school. Linda is our cruise director. If it weren't for her Fun Girls would never have started or continued as it does. Many years ago she contacted all of us and suggested the idea of getting together once a month to do some crafting or an outing. Over time it's evolved into just getting together. Sometimes we go out to eat or do some antiquing. Occasionally we take the weekend and go to a state park together (just the girls then LOL!). But one way or another we see each other most months. 

We don't all make it every month, but we do our best. Yesterday The Fun Girls met at my house. We were all present and accounted for. There is always food, of course. Sandra brings chicken salad from the Amish store near her. Keith brings whatever strikes his fancy when he strolls the aisles at Publix. Caroline brings fruit and hummus and whatever item she's stumbled on recently. Linda makes "Crack", our affectionate term for her chocolate chip cookies. And I provide something breakfast-y - scones, muffins, strudel, etc.

My kitchen island was covered in food. My dining room table was spread out to its full length and all of our projects intermingled as we "worked" and ate and talked and caught up on mutual friends and information. It was lovely.

My son and his girlfriend came in at one point and chatted for a bit. Keith had brought one of his vintage percolators. He made coffee for us all while we remembered the coffee pots of our families, and we introduced my son to old fashioned stovetop percolators. 

As I write this all, it seems a bit disjointed and muddled. Not a good description of a lovely day spent with dear friends. But that's what it was because real community is disjointed, muddled, messy, and wonderful all at the same time.

These people have seen me through a lot - marriage, pregnancies, medical scares, PTSD, depression, children issues and joys, and the disintegration of my marriage. They have held me up in my worst times. They have listened to most of the gory details of the childhood abuse, and they still love and support me. They got me through the transition from longterm marriage to successfully living on my own. 

And that's what community is. That's what community does. Thank God for community!

Number : Write 28 Days

Let me start this post with a disclaimer: I don't like this prompt.

There are several reasons for my reaction to that word -- I wrote a post a long time ago about numbers. I'm worn out with our society's obsession with weight and wealth. (More numbers). I was married to an actuary.

But I'm a rule follower, so I will soldier on. 

We are a society identified by numbers. Identifying numbers instead of names. Rankings. Weight. Salary. Savings. Home costs. Retirement. The Electoral College. The National Debt. Elections. Votes.

NUMBERS! 

I am SO much more than the number used to identify or define me. Maybe I'm just frustrated by numbers because I am not an analytical person. I am a strongly emotional person and numbers have no part in emotions. And I was married to an actuary.

But. But, there are good numbers in my life. I have 2 children. I have been alive for 57 years. I have 1 part-time job that I love. I have had the same 4 dear friends that have stood with me for 40+ years. 

Perhaps there's more to a number than I realized.

Make : Write 28 Days

form, construct, create, build, assemble, manufacture

Each day I make something. 

Some days it's easier to see the end result. A blanket I've crocheted. A strand of prayer beads strung together. A meal to feed myself or others. 

Other days it's more difficult. Another step in healing. Another relationship established or improved. Mistakes. 

Whether intentionally or not, I make something every day. The dream is to make something that improves the world. To add to the goodness and positivity I hope to see grow. But sometimes I make things that are neutral or even detrimental. 

Right now as I sit typing these words, I hope that it's the former. Words that encourage not only me but someone who needs a word of hope. Some light at the end of the tunnel. When I first started this blog over 10 years ago it was about needing a place to hear my own voice and get some validation that I wasn't crazy. I made sentences by stringing words together. And then paragraphs. And then a post. But one of the unexpected gifts of this blog has been the lasting relationships I've made with other people writing about their own struggles and dreams. An unforeseen benefit of what I feared was more evidence of my own self-indulgence.

So what do I want to make of this second half of my life? 

Thinking about my own wants, wishes, and dreams is something that got lost along the road awhile ago. When I first started trying to listen to my own desires I couldn't hear them. People would ask me what I wanted and I would explain all the pros and cons of the various options. My best friend and I went shopping for a pepper grinder or shaker. She held up two options and said, "Which one do you want?" I proceeded to explain the benefits of the grinder over the shaker. Then I turned it around and explained the benefits of the shaker over the grinder. She looked at me the whole time, and then said in the exact same way, "Which one do you want?" And I started again with my explanations. I could see some frustration in her eyes, so I stopped and asked what I was doing wrong. She asked again, "Which one do you want?" I stood there for a moment and finally said, "Well, I guess I want both of them." I suddenly realized that what mattered was what I wanted.

Now that may seem like a silly "aha" moment. Then again it may sound sad. But standing in the aisle of the local Wal-Mart I began to see how deeply buried my own wants had become.

It's gotten easier to access those preferences, but the struggle still catches me off guard sometimes. Most days I make choices without too much difficulty. It's simpler when it's an either/or situation. The more options the greater the anxiety.

So what will I make today? Choices. My own choices. And in making those choices I hope they make my world and the world at large a better place for all.

Joy : Write 28 Days

Joy . . . comes when you make peace with who you are, why you are and how you are.  

www.psychologies.co.uk › joy-vs-happiness

Last night I walked through my home and realized I felt something I hadn't felt in quite some time. I stopped in my kitchen and looked around. I have all new appliances that replaced the very dated and wonky appliances that came with my place when I bought it 3 1/2 years ago. Everything looked nice and clean and well ordered. As I wandered through the rest of the condo I realized again the peace, ease, and comfort I was feeling. I wondered what to call that feeling.

Just before heading to bed I checked the list of prompts for this challenge. I like to sleep on the next word. To let my resting mind play with it before I write the next day. The prompt was "Joy", and when I woke up this morning I had the name for my feeling.

By now you know words are extremely important to me. I try not to choose words randomly, but rather with care and consideration. There are nuances that I need to express in the words I use especially those used to describe feelings. So it was vital to find the right word to describe what I had felt.

I did a quick Google search and found the quote at the beginning of this post. I really liked the word "peace" and the ideas of who, why, and how. The next line in the article compared joy and happiness -- whereas happiness tends to be externally triggered and is based on other people, things, places, thoughts, and events.

And that's it in a nutshell. Joy is of my own making and doing. It's a choice. A place I come to on my own. Happiness is externally triggered. Joy is internally triggered. 

Let's be clear, I'm all about the happiness and I have lots of people and things that trigger me in very lovely ways, but joy. Ahhh, joy is mine alone to trigger. To create. To embrace. And that is an affirming and validating thing.

Intent : Write 28 Days

Intent - (adj) having the mind, attention, or will concentrated on something or some end or purpose; (n) a usually clearly formulated or planned aim or goal

What is my intent with this series of posts? 

I've missed writing. I've missed reading other bloggers. I've missed feedback from readers. I've missed the discipline of thinking through the thoughts in my head enough to get them into coherent sentence structure. So my intent is to return to something I loved. To something that helped me connect with myself and others. To return to a medium that got me through so much in the past and became a path to a better future. 

That sounds quite impressive! But what it all boils down to is I like to write. To get my thoughts out in the open and clarify them. And I'm a little ashamed to admit how much I enjoy feedback. I guess all writers crave that though.

My method or plan to achieve this intent is to follow the challenge, Write 28 Days (or maybe 29 since it's a leap year!) I'm using the prompts Anita provided for the group. Prompt writing is helpful when I'm having a difficult time getting back into the discipline of writing. It's like the essays teachers had the class write in high school and college. At the time, I didn't understand what they were trying to achieve. I got so wrapped up in grammar and structure and wanting to sound impressive because I was being graded! It might have helped me appreciate the exercise more if it had been explained more clearly. 

So that's my intent for now. But one thing I know is that intent can change. 

Begin : Write 28 Days

Begin.

Begin again.

Start over.

Recreate.

Reinvent.

All words that signify change. The hope for a shift. A do-over. 

I've been in the midst of all those things for the past 3 1/2 years. I've settled at my computer numerous times to write about changes and new beginnings. I guess I haven't really been ready. I hope I'm ready now. To begin to write about the past in a new way. To focus on the future without constantly looking over my shoulder into the past. There have been so many questions. So much doubt and fear, and sometimes sheer terror. But part of needing to begin is to write, so I'm taking on this challenge of Write 28 Days as the opportunity (and let's face it, accountability and expectations) to look back in a productive way so that I can begin to write, to process, to share, to begin a new way forward.

Three and a half years ago, my marriage of 32 years ended. It wasn't abrupt, more of slow-burn that turned into a cleansing fire. Things had been unraveling for quite some time. I'd been twisting myself into knots, figuratively and literally, for several years. We had tried praying together for the marriage, talking with church leaders and friends, professional counseling (multiple players), individual counseling ad infinitum. Nothing helped or changed. It was over. Something I never intended to happen was happening, and while I was terrified, I was also relieved. Relieved to accept defeat (?). Relieved to find a way out of the constant stress and anxiety that was tearing my psyche and my body apart. I won't go into the gory details except to say that something that had been good, just kept going downhill. 

I was 54 years old, almost an empty-nester. I hadn't worked full-time in 26 years. I hadn't worked part-time in 7 years. I am not a particularly confrontational person -- it's not in my nature and the abuse from the past hadn't encouraged me to learn how to stand up for myself -- but suddenly I found myself needing to stand up in all kinds of unprecedented ways. To begin being more self-reliant. And as I began to believe in my capabilities, to trust my instincts, to choose what I wanted, I found I was better at all of those things than I had realized I was. 

So with this beginning to write again, I hope that I'm taking another step toward being the person I want to be. Maybe the person I was meant to be. Not a new me, but a more authentic me.

Begin. 

linking up with #Write28Days

Sexual Assault and the Golden Rule

It is inescapable. The constant news of rampant sexual abuse of women and children. And the powerful men willing to let it continue, ignore it, or even pass it off with a "boys will be boys" sigh.

I know that "boys will be boys" line as it was said to me when I told about an assault in a family member’s home. Don't believe it happens in "nice" families? My dad was a college professor and minister. We all went to church every time the doors were open. What you see is not necessarily what you get.

There is a line from the Gilbert and Sullivan operetta, HMS Pinafore, that always comes back to me when these issues arise -- "skim milk masquerades as cream". Shallow pretending to have depth.

It's not bad enough that victims are expected to keep quiet about assault as if it is somehow our fault that someone else behaved badly, viciously, violently. We're told to think about the impact it will have on the abuser's life, success, career, reputation if we air our dirty laundry. Guess what, it's not MY dirty laundry. One of the best deterrents of "bad behavior" is knowing everyone will find out who you truly are!

I've been, mostly, silent over the past couple of years on this topic. In the past, I’ve been open about the abuse I endured, but even now typing these words, my hands shake at the thought of just telling the truth. Fear of the repercussions gnaws at my gut. Somehow, I am responsible for keeping the abusers' secrets and protecting them from being outed so I remain vague about the details.

How did we come to this?

On the one hand, I've talked and written about being a survivor of childhood sexual abuse and two rapes as an adult. On the other hand, I've been complicit in keeping certain facts out of the public eye. The argument can be made that I kept those facts to myself to protect me, but part of that protection was based in fear. If I tell the unadulterated truth, how will that play out for me? I have no proof. I have only my memories and experiences, while the abusers have their own memories and experiences. Why should I be believed over them?  The answer is simple, I have so much more to lose by making accusations I cannot prove. People lie to make themselves look better, not worse.

Christine Blasey Ford moved heaven and earth to escape from the man who assaulted her. She reinvented herself in a far-off place and prayed she'd done enough to escape that night. When her safe haven was threatened, she considered moving to a FOREIGN country to escape, but instead, she decided to risk everything and save others by coming forward all while knowing full well it would shred her world. But she did it anyway.

She has moved from her home. Left her children, for their safety, and been emotionally eviscerated by people for POLITICAL gain. And they have no remorse. No compassion for her now or the 15-year-old girl from then. According to her critics, it can't have been that bad or it would have been investigated by the police. Really? What world are those people living in?

I want to name names and list offenses. None of my abusers are important people, but I don't name names because I'm afraid of backlash from family and friends. Because what if one of "them" decided to sue me for defamation? I can't afford that, and I HAVE NO PROOF!

How do we fix this? I don't know. Years ago, in Sunday school classes in small, rural churches, I was taught about the Golden Rule -- Do unto others as you would have them do unto you (Matthew 7:12). And I bought into it, believing other people did as well. But over the years I've been shown repeatedly that I was naive to believe that. I still treat other people the way I want to be treated -- with dignity, respect, empathy, and compassion. I assume the best on first meeting people. But it's getting harder to make that assumption.