Easter Sunday Memories

I hesitated in sharing this today mainly because this day, April 5, 2015 is Easter Sunday. Most celebrate this holiday as a day to be with family and friends and enjoy the possibility of new life and new hope. In my belief system, I celebrate according to the Magdalene teachings, but that’s an entirely different blog post. 

This morning, I wrote a poem and shared it on Twitter. There are two meanings behind this poem. One pertains to my own belief system and the pain behind the meaning of the religious holiday. I will not get into religious belief semantics here, but suffice it to say that my own personal beliefs and convictions are very strong and require no defense.

The second meaning is a very personal one to me and one that I have not shared to very many. I chose today to share it with my readers in the hopes that someone somewhere finds healing in my words. 

A few months ago, I shared a little bit about my years growing up and the role my father played in my life. So, today, I take a very deep breath and forge on. I must add a caveat right now. I do not share this for sympathy or as a testament of pity, but to let others know that we are all strong enough to survive even the most evil of childhoods and can come out of it with grace.

Easter Sunday, regardless of when it falls, brings memories of pain and suffering. I guess it is apropos to the religious meaning, but I do not even come close to comparing myself and my past to that event. Yet, in a way, it is a testament of finding new life from death and destruction, of sorts.

Growing up in my home was traumatic at best. Holidays, particular Easter, brought out the worst in my parents, and my home became a living nightmare. Easter eve always brought visitations from my father while he did his evil deeds to my little body. Early Easter morning brought a visit from my mother rendering punishment for something I did not understand. 

There was great care taken by her to make sure no bruises or blisters showed on my legs or arms because we were to be at church in our brand new Easter clothes. And no one would ever know how evil a little girl I was, and how my sins needed to be purged.

Dressed in my pretty new Easter dress, new shiny white patent leather Mary Jane’s over little white anklet socks with lace, white gloves, pretty new Easter bonnet on my perfectly curled hair, I gingerly climbed out of the car to be greeted at the First Baptist Church of whatever town in Texas we lived at the moment by the smiling church goers all in their Easter finery. 

Reminded by my mother with her cigarette and coffee breath to smile and be polite, I smiled prettily and said my “Yes, ma’am’s” and “Yes, sirs” playing the part of the perfect little girl so no one would know how evil I really was.

Sitting on the hardened church pew seat, my little behind bruised and blistered, I was reminded to sit still and behave with a pinch to an already sore behind and a pinch to my little tender side. I dared not wiggle to try to find a position that cause no pain because that would bring a lift in an angry mother’s arms and another round of spankings in the church foyer. Of course, she and my father were commended in raising a child and not sparing the rod. 

I remember sitting in church listening about how Jesus died for our sins on the cross and wondering why he didn’t die for mine. Was I so evil that I was not worthy? Or maybe, he knew that I was such a horrid little girl that nothing could be done to save me. 

I wondered if anyone else was as evil as I. Those children laughing and playing as children should be able to do. Those women with their smiles for their children even though they wiggled and squirmed in their Easter finery. Those men proudly displaying their pride over their families and how well they provided for them. Slaps on the back, laughs after church, children running through the grass. But I stood smiling stalwart knowing that I was not worthy of such behavior and did not deserve such laughter and fun.

And so now, as a woman who raised two amazing beautiful daughters who are healthy, happy, and never knew of the pain I kept buried inside, I remember that little girl and hold her on these days when those memories flood in. My daughters never knew how some little girls are so dirty and evil that they are not allowed to be children. They still do not know the complete story. That will be shared in a memoir to be published later. No, they only knew joy and happiness as they dressed in their Easter finery and played and laughed and ate chocolate Easter bunnies with sticky chocolate hand prints on their clothes and grass stains on their shoes having a joyous day. 

Watching them with their own children now brings joy to my heart. Because I survived and have found healing through their love for me, their mother who made sure they never felt the sting of the belt on raw skin, and who made sure they knew just how precious they are.

And that is why I do not celebrate Easter. Instead, I meet the day with gratitude that I am strong and empowered. And that little girl from long ago? She’s learning that she was not dirty and evil at all – in fact, she’s learned that she is a most excellent creation worthy of all the good that comes her way. 

Happy Birthday, Momma

Mothers and daughters have their moments. Me and my mother certainly had ours.

We were estranged for several years, but were able to talk about our past and heal. She finally became the Momma I longed for, and we were able to become friends - Mother and Daughter. I am so grateful.

But cancer stole her away from me. I miss her each day. I miss the relationship we carved out of the pain of our past.

A few weeks before she died, she told me her story - one that I did not know. She showed me documents of her life - wanting me to understand her. I listened and saw the incredible woman she was. She overcame a type of domestic abuse that would have destroyed most women.

And now,  I understand so much more. Since she passed,  each year on her birthday, I read her words and reflect on her life. Each year, I understand so much more. 

White Lab Coat

I see your mouth moving,
White lab coat proving
The severity of your words,
Yet my mind says, "absurd!"
Another life change drastic,
Thoughts come to me sarcastic.
I must have spoken aloud,
Your head shakes, silence so loud.
Droning changes to be made,
To fail, a death sentence paid.
Where do I turn for solace and strength?
How do I navigate waters this length?
Don't want to hear anecdotes and tales,
Not while I'm in my own private hell.

CWylde ⓒ 03/ 04/ 15

Challenges? Meet Them With Love

This week has been a week full of challenges, and not all of them were fun.

The most amazing challenge was the VOE Poetry Challenge, called Missing Piece. The poetry shared has been so beautiful and full of heartfelt emotion. They all spoke to me in such deep spaces and getting to know the poets from that part of which they shared has been good for my own soul.

I must have read and re-read each poem hundreds of times and so wanted to comment on each and every one of them, but I had to read in brief passing moments. This gets to the other challenges of the week.

I work part time as a therapist/practitioner at a center for adults with special needs. Many are low to mid-level functioning experiencing autism, Down’s syndrome, have experienced some kind of brain trauma in their lives leaving them with emotional and mental challenges that they work with each and every day. What I and the other therapist do to help is offer massage, energy work, yoga, meditation, acupressure, reflexology, and sometimes, just a hand to hold. The work is challenging and difficult, but always fulfilling. 

One group we service is an elderly group. Most are low functioning and have been institutionalized for the greater part of their lives. They are just now getting to be integrated into group homes and experience being with loving and caring humans for the first time in their lives. Most in this group are past their 70s and have physical illnesses as well. I admit that I do get attached and have to really work at not getting overly attached. 

Two of my dearest, sweetest elders passed this week, and one is in hospice. It was hard knowing that I won’t see them again, and remembered how much they meant to me. I play the Native American flute, and one always requested I play. When I did, he would smile – something he very rarely did. He also had built trust in me through the flute to allow me to hold his hand. And he would hold my hand and kiss it each time after I played. He was meant to be at our group this week, and wasn’t. I took my flute expecting to see him, but he passed in his sleep overnight. He was 97 years old, and I loved him so.

The other challenge? My colleague, the other therapist, had to leave unexpectedly. Her father was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer in November. He was in remission, but passed suddenly on Tuesday. So, I took over for her on her days while they got a substitute to help. Remembering losing my own parents, losing my special elder 97-year old friend, and knowing what my colleague was experiencing threw me for a loop. 

This morning, I finally had the opportunity to re-read the poems in the VOE Poetry Challenge and experience the emotions shared. Finally, I could listen to the podcast. Finally, I could let each poet know how much their words touched me. 

I am reminded of something Amanda, VOE Editor-in-Chief, said. You never know what others are going through. I smile through it all because I know that someone else is experiencing far worse than I am. I don’t negate my own feelings and emotions, but know that love and understanding go a long way to healing ourselves and others.

So, today, I ask my readers to take the time to tell those you care about that you love them and thank them for being a part of your life. I thank each of my fans, followers, and readers here, on Twitter, on Facebook, on VOElla, and in life! Thank you for being a part of my life!

Message to My Inner 10 Year Old Little Girls

I just couldn’t figure out why the VOElla Poetry Challenge became so important to me. I hate contests, but this poetry contest became a symbol for me. 

When I was a young girl, I was considered a child prodigy in piano. I was put in the National Piano Guild Contest against college students, and was ranked in the top 2% at 10. From there, I was offered a scholarship to the University music program and a chance to go to Juilliard. My parents both said no and lectured me about how I was not good enough and would never be good enough and to get used to being let down. So, I believed them – they were my parents, after all.

This poetry contest became the National Piano Guild all over again. It became my chance to tell that little 10 year old girl, once and for all, that she was good enough then and she still is good enough. 

I sit here writing this, not knowing the results yet. I do not know which way it will go tonight. What I do know is that I did the very best I could do, and regardless, Dammit! I am good enough, and so is that 10 year old girl.

So, winning is not about what everyone else sees. Winning this is about loving that 10 year old that was hurt so bad back then, and telling her she is more than good enough.

Coming Out of My Fear

There is something to be said about being published. It is exciting to think that someone understands and likes your work, but for me, it is more about feeling validated as an author and writer.

I have written poetry, short stories, and non-fiction ramblings since I was a little girl. I even tried my hand at songwriting when I was a teen. I was shot down quite quickly when I shared one of my songs with a producer who taped it and showed it to a then very popular music artist. This artist took my song, recorded it, and put it out there as his own. Since I was young and had no idea about the ways of the world, there was nothing I could do. So, I became really discouraged and simply … quit sharing my work.

I continued to write poetry and stories, but never shared it with anyone – even my closest friends and family. When I decided to return to college for my degree, my writing for academic purposes became the catalyst for pushing me forward. Suddenly, I was getting perfect marks from my professors, requests to share my papers with future students, encouragement to share my writing. And then, I started writing poetry to share on Twitter joining in the poetry prompts there. 

I focused on writing my blogs sharing little pieces of myself and received praise and encouragement there from strangers that really enjoyed my writing and wanted more. Pushing my limits, I started a novel, Dark Stranger, and it has taken far longer to complete than I thought it would.

Fear has had a huge factor in this. Fear that I’m not good enough and that my writing is trite and unreadable. That fear is quickly being squelched though.

My first real boost came from all the retweets and praise on Twitter. In October, e-Innovate Magazine invited me to submit a poem to publish. They accepted it and I was published for the very first time. From there, it seems to have snowballed.

At the encouragement of Ruben, aka @torturdcyclone on Twitter, I submitted poetry to Nina with Fiery Verse LLC for inclusion in her anthology, Neverlasting. I never expected to make it, but I did – with two poems! The anthology comes out this month. 

January has been a huge turning point for me. My blog Dancing Naked from the Heart won the Liebster Award for small bloggers, a real honor and boost to readership. Last week, my poetry submission for the VOElla poetry challenge made the top 14 and has been featured with the other amazing poets in the 14 on the VOElla magazine website. On top of all that, I am a new regular writer in VOElla’s Sensual Stories with my first installment coming soon. 

In the very same week, I was commissioned to write copy for a new lingerie company that caters to plus-size women. The focus of the monthly newsletter is promoting beauty for all size women and promoting just how sensual and beautiful all women are.

All of this, I share not to boast or brag, but to share my excitement and the thrill that people seem to like what I write. And to share how fear can stop us from achieving great things in our lives. I am a firm believer in magic and creating our own stories. In December, for Winter Solstice, I set the intention to release my fears and step forward bravely. As a result? All of those childhood memories of being told I wasn’t and would never be good enough are soaring out of my mindset, and confidence in my writing and myself is taking hold.

I am realizing that dreams really can come true. Sometimes, it just takes a couple of synchronistic small steps, and those small steps turn to giant leaps. Changing the thought processes and facing our fears head on takes us past what we ever thought possible. We are truly our own worst enemy, but I am becoming my own best friend now.

Dark Stranger may actually get finished this spring! I am writing more feverishly to get the story of the Dark Stranger and Nina out to the world. It is such a special story that spans lifetimes, and it is one that is begging to be shared. I have promised both Nina and her Dark Stranger (name will not be revealed until the book is out) that their story will be told this spring. Dark Stranger gives Nina confidence, and my own Dark Stranger has done the same for me. Perhaps they are the same ….

Poly? All About the Love - Not Sex

There is something to be said about the poly lifestyle. It’s not easy, but the amazing love you experience is far beyond the earthly realm. 

One of my dear friends and I were discussing this, and she put it perfectly. Storm, I hope I quote you correctly. She said that too often, sex and love are misunderstood. Sex is natural and sacred, but love? Love is holy!

That’s what it feels to be poly. So many think it’s about jumping in bed with every person you find sexy and attractive, but it’s not! It’s about connecting on a deep level with another human being to which there is a connection. 

I believe that we have many more than one soul mate. Each soul mate comes from a different “come from” and brings a piece of themselves in their heart. Perhaps, they are a former lover from another lifetime, or a future lover from another dimension. (That's just my mind over working, again) Whatever their “come from” is, when you connect, it’s instant recognition. Magic! Yes, there may be a physical attraction. But it is so much deeper. As Storm said, it’s holy! 

To realize the connection at so many different soul levels, raises the heart chakra to a much different vibration. It is about love – magical love! 

Each person I love, I love completely and (w)holy! There are pieces of myself that share the intimate, the sacred. When I am with someone I love, I am 100% all there. Being poly? No, it’s not about the sex, it’s about love – holy love!

It’s not about being promiscuous or cheating or being addicted to sex. Sex is not the reason for being poly. It’s about loving openly and freely and recognizing that part of myself that is beautiful and whole and complete! It is about being Love! 

Love? It’s holy and sacred! To feel love at such a level! All I can say is Wow! 

So, those of you that don’t understand? That’s all right. I don’t expect you to. What I do expect is non-judgment and understanding and tolerance. Oh, and if you don’t understand, ask! There is nothing wrong with asking about that which you don’t understand. But? keep your preachy thoughts to yourself. Thank you very much!