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It has been days since I have written a post, days pulling myself back from the brink I found myself far too close to this past Good Friday (scroll down for related posts).  I learned there are more things I do not want to remember, be reminded of or discover about my own self (history) than I could have possibly guessed.  I learned that what I know about myself ‘above ground’ is only a tiny fraction of who I really might be.  I learned it is best that I keep things this way.

I suspect that what I have learned in these past years through my research about what terrible stress and trauma does to change the physiological development of infants and children is very useful information to me.  I no longer feel I have to dig-dig-dig to turn up unknowns from my 18 year abusive childhood.

I understand that it is not and never will be the specifics of what was DONE to me that matters.  What matters is how my body-nervous systems-brain are different – very, very different – in consequence of my having endured my insanely abusive infancy and childhood than they would have been if I had not been forced to survive and grow in a toxic, malevolent environment.

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I have put my efforts these past days into finding ways to connect with people in the community in which I live.  I have fought my way back (for the most part) to an inner state of relative calmness that was so shaken and crushed when my neighbor girl showed up at my house in absolute meltdown-crisis on Good Friday.  I have not given myself time to THINK about anything except what belongs to the present only.  There is a lot to do, a lot to pay attention to in the present……..

There are also many people involved in very real troubling dramas — I see.  All kinds of difficulties that require friendships, stamina, determination, good intent, courage, creativity and faith to resolve.  Troubles troubles troubles abound — and these past days I have ‘put myself out there’ where I could witness how life is for others – and at times be of some small assistance.

I am not free to write about other people’s stories for the most part, and I am in many ways quite tired at present and in need of some R and R – and in need of paying attention to things I need to take care of in my own home and garden.My thoughts, my feelings, my heart — full of that special kind of tenderness that comes with caring about how people’s dramas progress, unfold, resolve themselves — or don’t seem to.

Death and dying, sickness, deterioration of the body, teens in trouble with the law, relationship breakups in attempt to end abuses, poverty leading to no food in the house, aging without caregivers, court battles, failed parenting, loving parenting, struggles of all kinds.

I witness many many people who are struggling as adults with the lifelong consequences of living with a trauma-altered body-brain that neglect and abuse created in their childhoods.  I see how the tragedies tumble down the generations.  And I see the heroes and heroines who are working as hard as they can to change things for the better – anyway – for their self and often for their children – one moment at a time.

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