+ROADS TRAVELED

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Tuesday, October 7, 2014.  I am being haunted by a trauma that both exists and does not exist.  I evidently don’t know how to tell the difference.  As I now decide to write a post about this I realize that I am dealing with the difference between a minefield and a different kind of mine.  One that holds something of value.  Something desirable.  Something useful.

One of the significant problems with traumas is that while I continue to believe they hang around after their actual occurrence in time and space in large part because they contain information we need to know and make use of for the future.  Learning from the past in order to create a safer, better future is a good reason to mine the minefield of a trauma.  At this point in my thinking, then, my two images begin to merge and overlap.

There is always far greater danger for people who have been, as Dr. Bruce Perry suggests it, SENSITIZED by trauma.  We are the people with the long-term lingering and often overwhelming difficulties caused by how previous traumas altered our physiological make-up.

Perry also describes the far more desirable and advantageous response to trauma of increasing our TOLERANCE so that we can flexibly and positively respond to past and present traumas without being sideswiped or overrun by them when they happen or later as we heal from them and/or ever face another trauma that resonates with our past experience.

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I cannot deny that my extreme sensitization to trauma — because I suffered so much of it and because it began as my body was developing in this world post-birth — is hyper-active now.

I woke Tuesday two weeks ago to find the following text from my dear daughter waiting for me on my phone.  She had left late evening on Monday the 22nd in a fleet car from the university where she works, driven by her research assistant Lori*, to get an early morning head-start on arriving at a Tuesday morning conference on Spirit Lake Reservation.  They were 35 miles east of their night’s motel destination at Devil’s Lake when the unthinkable occurred as they drove through the pitch blackness of a moonless middle-of-nowhere west on a remote North Dakota (speed limit 65 mph, high quality two-lane paved) highway.

1:27 am September 23 – “Part of a major multicar accident on highway 2 on way to devils lake.  we are OK but there were fatalities.  Waited 3 hours for tow truck.  Now taking us to DL and will get car tomorrow so can go home.  Feeling very grateful, but sad.  No more travel in the dark for us.  Love you xoxox

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Man Killed, 3 Children Hurt When Car Hits Moose on North Dakota Highway

Fort Totten man killed, 3 children injured when car hits moose

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I pause in my writing at this point to consider a decision I will make here.  If I choose to protect readers of this post from exposure to horrifying facts about what happened in this accident I will write very little if anything past these words.

If I choose to give myself permission to write whatever comes to me past this point I risk exposing readers to TMI – Too Much Information.

Hummmmm……  Fork in my blog post road.  What path will I take?

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Here is our first book out in ebook format.  Click here to view or purchase –

Story Without Words:  How Did Child Abuse Break My Mother?

It lists for $2.99 and can be read by Amazon Prime customers without charge.  Reviews for the book on the Amazon.com site are welcome.

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Leave a Comment »

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Next post:

+ROADS TRAVELED – PART 2 (a read “at own risk” warning attached)

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+CLAIMING. PART OF A LETTER….

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Sunday, October 5, 2014.  I spent most of today clearing out the 8′ x 8′ closet in this small apartment to make a room for my 26-month-old grandson to take his naps in so I can have the only bedroom here for my sewing while he is sleeping and I have some time to myself.  My long handled bags are selling well and seem to finally be something I enjoy making that actually make enough money to pay for my materials!  The sewing is very therapeutic for me.  I need this creative outlet.  The room is draped with fantastic colors and patterns of fabrics from sale clothing I discover each week (while weather holds and I can walk there) at our new Goodwill Store.  I call this very full room my 3-D textured palette.

Before I began my work today I was writing a letter to my 89-year-old Alaska homesteading neighbor from my childhood.  I found myself writing some things that surprised me with their words:

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A butterfly transformation is in process.  Those stages can be difficult and painful.  Still vitally necessary.  (As in all aging.)

I am OK with being alive at this moment and unboundingly grateful for your being in my life, dear friend!  I worte a blog post last eve about my “last” drum lesson entitled Drumming My Spunk Back.  I have lost my self- confidence!  In many ways that part of me left when my dear friend passed out of my life nearly 2 years ago.  Then I outran all I knew in Arizona last fall that fed, nurtured, and sustained me — home and all.

Now here I am transforming a closet into a baby haven so I can have “a room of my own.”

Having our book in Dr. Perry’s hands is magical to me!  He is our best hope.  For this work to sprout I NEED him to take me and this whole story seriously.  Will he?  Time will tell.

I feel so fragile these days, in this strange land — dare I say writing to you today I almost feel OK?  Parts of myself, ME being a tree — these parts or aspects are like birds — all sent into a terrible flutter — some falling to the ground unable to get up — when I uprooted what I could and was hauled — lock/stock/barrel — hook/line/sinker — on that awful trip up here — up here — seem to perhaps have re-alighted themselves in my branches.

The part that writes you is here.  The one who loves plants and beauty and the sound of falling water are here.  A part of me took charge of my drumming yesterday.  Not to leave it behind or in the hands of another — but to bring it home HERE where I live.

I am taking charge of my vital need to create as I rearrange my space here — small as it is.  Bring home to roost these creative birds of my self.  These thoughts come to me as I change the built-in shelf in soon-to-be-baby’s room — four running feet of my odd (to me beautiful, bound hope) collection of old piano books and music.  I “love” those books — yet thanks to my connection with Brett [drumming teacher] I keep out only the one new one he suggested that I buy.

Hanon – The Virtuoso Pianist in 60 Exercises.

True, I’ve been practicing 20 minutes every day intensely on one of the keyboard exercise Brett gave me from this book three months ago to strengthen and speed up the last three fingers of each hand — drumming fingers — and only now am I seeing good progress.  But this winter I can add another 20 minutes a day practice session beginning at the start of the Hanon book.

Not to take away from drum practice but to bring home another bird of me to roost in my tee of self.  Those books on my shelf are about what I was told once by an astrologer:  The biggest issue of my life is about “reasons to keep the seed alive through winter.”

I am also focusing/claiming my main winter diet.  I have 25 pounds of organic quinoa I bought online and keep buffalo meat patties in my freezer along with frozen green vegetables for juicing — and of course, a supply of Snickers.  A bit more will come and go.  I found out about a local grocery store where I can order online and they deliver to the door.  [I am not driving and have no car to drive.  Can’t afford one.  Have no inner resources left within me to drive.  As Dr. Perry describes in his book:  Too many changes.  Nothing in my life is currently ordinary.  I am on high-stress alert.]

Key and central things matter.  The homesteading daughter in me knows many things. — Perhaps more than anything else I was born and made to be a damn good survivor!

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Here is our first book out in ebook format.  Click here to view or purchase –

Story Without Words:  How Did Child Abuse Break My Mother?

It lists for $2.99 and can be read by Amazon Prime customers without charge.  Reviews for the book on the Amazon.com site are welcome.

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Leave a Comment »

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+DRUMMING MY SPUNK BACK

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Saturday, October 4, 2014.  Last Thursday evening at 5:15 pm the seriousness of fall arrived.  I watched it coming.  I didn’t know in those few moments that was what I was seeing.  What I noticed after a warm perfect afternoon of no North Dakota wind and warm sunshine was a bank of blue clouds lining up in the west.  I have NEVER seen those exquisite shades of blue in any clouds, in any sky.

I was awestruck as if my heart stopped beating inside of me but rather beat within those clouds in the sky.   Oh, such beauty.

I was sitting on one of my worn chairs on my tiny cement slab outside my apartment door when five minutes later the wind came with chilling gusts.  The temperature dropped 10 degrees instantly and kept going down, down.

I am not surprised by fall but I am dismayed by it.  My life changed that instantly, as well.  What lies ahead of me from now until at least March is one series of hardships after another one as far as I am concerned.

Light vanishes from both ends of day at a rapid pace only beat in its rush by the nasty winds.  Yes, they belong to and on and over these great plains.  It is I who does not really belong here.  I recognize that.  Yet here I am with another lease signed in this city apartment until my 64th birthday next August 31, 2015.  This is where I need to be, for some reasons I understand but mostly for reasons I don’t.

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All the words I write in my posts feel to be more like punctuation marks with the actual sentences missing.  I cannot possibly keep up with all my thoughts and feelings.  They come like Tsunamis.  They follow me around like gaunt shadows.  The ensnare me if I let them.  So I am always on the run inside.  Always on the run.

But once in a while I stop by here.  Right now because two hours ago I completed what will be my last drumming lesson — possibly for the next five months until spring arrives.

I feel sad.  I feel sad the loss of these lessons in the here and now and sad for all that was taken from me as a child.  Everything I ever wanted.  Snatched.  Gone.  Intentionally so by my abuser.  I work to separate those sadnesses……

How much of the lesson-letting-go is MY CHOICE right now?  I won’t go into those details, those sentences for which these words are their end-dots.

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Jango radio has been a total miserable disappointing mess for me lately.  There may be a new compatibility issue with my Google Chrome browser but I don’t want to mess with adding Firefox or Mosilla just to straighten out that mess.  So I just switched back to Pandora online free radio because I need — ROCK’N’ROLL!!!!

I can’t play it LOUD in this dinky place (apartment) but when I am ready I will get myself a 50′ cord system going so I can walk around this place with my excellent headphones on when the baby isn’t here.  (As it is there’s so little space to walk in here let alone walk around together let alone walk around some CORD for heaven’s sake!)

I have barely been afford those lessons on my low fixed disability income.  Since March.  Every Saturday at 4:30 I have walked my mile and there I be.  Perched.  Drumming, or trying to, along with my so-good teacher.  How to get there without a car in the horrible winter chill and winds?

My anxiety is too busy to let me deal with figuring out the city bus schedule and stops.  My anxiety is just plain too dang busy, period!!  Good ‘ole PTSD!!  Where would I be without you?  (Another writing here alluded to with punctuation-words.  Sometimes their are oceans signified only by the smallest pieces of sand.)

Music says it better.

Rhythm says it best.  In my world.

I am on my own now.  I can do this.  I have plenty to practice.  After all, I have to turn those notes on these pages into INSTINCT.  I need CONFIDENCE so when I eventually get back to lessons — when spring comes — having hopefully saved enough from not paying lesson fees to make a big dent in the purchase price of a Vdrum (electronic drum) set I want to buy — I will not be nearly paralyzed by my “performance anxiety” that makes it so DAMN difficult for me to drum in the room with my teacher!

How dumb is THAT??  Four sticks, one tiny pad, one tiny room, me feeling about 2″ tall and couldn’t-be-clumsier ….

Or more afraid.

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I also have a long North Dakota winter to practice focusing on what I have rather than what I don’t have.  I don’t say that tritely.  In reading Dr. Bruce Perry’s book, The Boy Who Was Raised as a Dog — and I am making slow, painful progress through the book —  I found the reason I can’t even drive since I moved here from Arizona last year.  TOO MUCH CHANGE!!!  TOO MUCH has changed.  Nothing is familiar.  And in my traumatized body-brain this is something I cannot fix.  I am overloaded.  I am on overload.

I cannot drive…..  I am trapped …….  and on it goes……  and then there’s music.

And maybe down the road — not too far — I can get my spunk back.  I can’t think of any other time in my life when my spunk was gone.  I will drum it back.  I will drum and drum and DRUM it back!

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Now.  The sentence writing and then erasing has begun……  Nothing left for now from here but the dots………..

But to eat buffalo burger and dig my winter clothing out.  Believe me.  I need a LOT of both.

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Click to listen with great links at the side

Drummer Kenny Aronoff – AWESOME Drumming!

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Here is our first book out in ebook format.  Click here to view or purchase –

Story Without Words:  How Did Child Abuse Break My Mother?

It lists for $2.99 and can be read by Amazon Prime customers without charge.  Reviews for the book on the Amazon.com site are welcome.

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Leave a Comment »

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+TODAY — MANUSCRIPT OF OUR BOOK WAS DELIVERED INTO THE BEST HANDS ON EARTH

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Friday, October 3, 2014.  No matter what the outcome I would say that today is a landmark day.  First of all, it marks the 45th year anniversary of my escape from my insanely abusive childhood.  I had just turned 18.  My parents “put” me into the Navy.  I certainly had no choice.  I had never had a choice.  So off I flew October 3, 1969 leaving my beloved Alaska behind.  Off I went to land in Baltimore, Maryland to enter boot-camp which was – very literally – the best time of my life thus far.  I thought I was in heaven!

But there’s more.

There’s a great brochure picture — CLICK HERE — about the 2-day conference Dr. Bruce Perry is the main speaker for tomorrow here in Fargo, ND that my daughter is attending.  We are hoping he will be on-site today, but if not then tomorrow will be our significant day!  (It turns out the online brochure, strangely enough, is wrong.  Perry is speaking all day today in Fargo.)

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This is the letter coauthor Ramona will hand-deliver to Dr. Perry’s at some point during this conference, along with a printed/bound copy of a manuscript for our book:

Dear Dr. Perry,

I would like to take the opportunity of your speaking at this conference in Fargo that my daughter Ramona is attending to have her give you this letter in person about our book,Story Without Words:  How Did Child Abuse Break My Mother? which we have epublished on Amazon.com in Kindle format.

When I read your descriptions in The Boy Who Was Raised as a Dog: And Other Stories from a Child Psychiatrist’s Notebook about how early traumatic stress can alter physiological development it helped me further decipher both what I know of my own process of surviving the horrendous abuse I suffered from my mother as well as the probable effects of the early abuse and neglect done to her.

Mother suffered a psychotic break during her difficult 24-hour labor with breech-me (in 1951) that left her forever believing I was sent by the devil to kill her while I was being born and that I was not human.  Because we both survived my birth she believed I was the devil’s “curse upon” her life.  To her I was the devil’s child.

Although I endured the trauma of her horrific abuse from the moment I was born and for the next 18 years with no adult to help me, this book is not directly my story.  Rather it is my effort to combine everything I know and suspect about Mother’s early life in an attempt to discover factors that may have contributed to her severe mental illness as it made her such a terrible monster toward me.  By my most basic estimate she would have deserved a minimum jail sentence of 15,000 years for her crimes against me, yet it is what I call my “informed compassion” for Mother that I sought to strengthen within the pages of this book.

It would be an honor for me if you would consent to previewing a copy of our book and, if you like it, contribute a few short words that we could use on the cover of the book, and on a web site and other promotional venues marketing this sensitive, thought provoking work.

I can be contacted via email at _______.  Thank you very much in advance for your kindness.

Yours Sincerely,

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My choice for a subtitle is direct and blunt.  It is also, from my point of view, exactly accurate for what I intend with this book.  (All my words about the cover art for this book have been removed.)

Ramona feels I am selling myself short with my subtitle.  Her suggestion:  A Survivor’s Compassionate Inquiry Into What Broke Her Mother.  What parts of “my story” that are in this book are not directly about me.  Never would I have such stories to tell, never would I have lived through what I did, if my mother had not been the sick, sadistic monster that she was.  My point in writing any part of “my story” was to amplify the seriousness of the suffering Mother’s illness was capable of causing her child — me.

I would far rather “undersell” this book than not.  Readers of depth and breadth will be moved by the sincere complexity of this story far beyond what they could have imagined had they not discovered it by their own efforts.  My thoughts are that anyone who knows a very troubled parent might be motivated to read this book once they find a point of resonance in the subtitle.

I just spoke with Ramona and the letter and manuscript have been delivered.  She said Perry was most warmly receptive to her approaching him and expressed certain interest in the manuscript.  He told her that he always values hearing from adult survivors such as I am and he assured her that I will be hearing from him.

It was an act of daring for Ramona to approach Perry on this mission and I thanked her with everything I am.  Perry is THE ONE PERSON ON EARTH I want to read this book.  He is the one person I am SURE will understand what I am saying.  Considering that there are at present nine more manuscripts prepared for edit except for their photographs and at least four more to be written — and considering that my writing heart has been woefully absent this past year — I take the fact that this manuscript is now in the hands of the most competent child trauma expert on this planet as a direct gift from God.  Thank you!  And thank you Ramona for being the angel YOU are!

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Here is our first book out in ebook format.  Click here to view or purchase –

Story Without Words:  How Did Child Abuse Break My Mother?

It lists for $2.99 and can be read by Amazon Prime customers without charge.  Reviews for the book on the Amazon.com site are welcome.

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Leave a Comment »

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+TAKING “COMPLAINERS” SERIOUSLY — AND THEIR WORDS TO HEART

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Tuesday, September 30, 2014,  I live within a society and a culture that touts a belief in free speech.  Unless one “complains.”  Then out come the big guns of mass social pressure to shame into silence any individual within that society who issues forth words that speak honestly of that person’s reality in the world.

Basically the pressure is to shut up.  Just shut up.  Shut up about what hurts.  Shut up about what’s wrong in your personal life let alone what might be wrong in anyone else’s life.  Nobody wants to listen to “a complainer.”  After all, wasn’t my psychotically mentally ill insanely abusive Boston-raised mother correct?  “Laugh and the world laughs with you.  Cry and you cry alone.”

Who wants to be alone?  Left all alone?

Maybe if we were not members of a mammalian social species alone wouldn’t matter to us.  But we ARE a social species.  We are supposed to be designed with empathetic compassion — with an altruistic response-ability — built into us.  We are supposed to CARE.  And we cannot care if we cannot speak our own truth and listen to others speak their’s.

What spurs others to take appropriate compassionate social action if they would rather silence any concerns that there are genuine troubles that greatly affect and very often terribly hurt people?  (Not to mention the earth itself and much of natural life upon and within in it.)  There is great prejudice in this culture against those who DARE to complain.  About anything.  Ever.

“Never complain” leaves a wide open field for rampant ignorance to flourish with its accompanying deterioration in the quality of life for the masses.  Where there are complaints there are problems.  It is very easy (and convenient) for the enfranchised to negate and diminish the importance and the reality of “complaints” made by the powerless, the oppressed, the disenfranchised, the suffering.

As an example, the simple perusal of statistics provided within the yearly Incentti Report Cards provided by the United Nations on the quality of life for children in the world’s richest nations clearly shows the huge and growing disparity between conditions of life for the haves versus the have-nots in America.  Are we shamed or embarrassed or remotely motivated to FIX this disgusting and morally WRONG condition within our nation?  Do we care that the adults in our disenfranchised children’s lives are disenfranchised as well?

Evidently not.  Not remotely.  All we evidently want is for those who suffer to SHUT UP!  After all, America WANTS to remain at the bottom of the heap just above Romania in caring for our children (or for anyone else?).  Everyone knows, after all, that if you are suffering in America it’s your own damn fault.

These are dangerous grounds, folks.  Dangerous waters.  We are polluting our “thought pool” every time we judge rather than honor, respect, care about and compassionately listen to those among us who are in pain.  I don’t care WHAT kind of complaint another person makes within my range of notice.  If someone is suffering enough to say so, ESPECIALLY given the courage it takes to stand up against the insane pressure in this culture to SHUT UP if you happen to notice something wrong, I owe it to everyone to LISTEN.

Listen with an open mind and an open heart.  How are we ever going to solve our social problems and concerns if we refuse to accept that they even exist?

I will not bow to damaging social pressure or control.  I want to be a better person than that.  I have suffered.  I had no voice.  I didn’t even have words for what happened to me.  I could not even THINK about it.

I will never allow myself to be lulled or forced into mental oblivion again.  If someone suffers I want to know about it the best that I can.  Listening may well be all I have to offer, but at least I care enough to offer that.

I would rather be a part of our nation’s wisdom than a part of its ignorance.  What we ignore — hurts us all.

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Here is our first book out in ebook format.  Click here to view or purchase –

STORY WITHOUT WORDS

It lists for $2.99 and can be read by Amazon Prime customers without charge.  Reviews for the book on the Amazon.com site are welcome.

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Leave a Comment »

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+IGNORANCE IS NOT OUR FRIEND

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Tuesday, September 16, 2014.  I used to have a lot of tolerance for the truthful stuff about what early abuse and neglect does to change the physiological development of infants and children.  There are thousands and thousands of background pages on this blog about this kind of Trauma Altered Development processes.  Yet during the years I spent post 2004 studying neuroscientific development along these lines not one of the experts’ writings I pored through ever had the emotional impact on me that Dr. Bruce Perry’s does.  (see previous post)

There are dry scientific facts.  Then there are damp, moist, earthy facts that belong to the body itself.  To its emotions.  To its storehouses of memories.  To its blood and to its tears.  These kinds of facts, the kind that Perry works with and writes about, lie at the heart of matters of infant and child neglect and abuse and cannot be denied although they can be ignored.

Yet Perry himself did not live through the levels of life-changing early traumas he writes about.  I did.  Truth is, I hate that fact.  I hate harm to defenseless little ones.  Does hate ever heal?

My guess?  No, not by itself.  I have previously written about denial as a kind of immature childish magical thinking that allows humans to bypass the truth of circumstances they are not ready to face.  And certainly not ready to change.  Not ready to accept response-ability for.  “Somebody else’s problem.  Too messy for me.”  These patterns allow the taboos cultures hold about harming little ones to find their way into higher-level taboos against KNOWING the truths that tear apart the heart once they find their way — home.

Some things are too painful to contemplate.  So culturally we maintain taboos against accepting upon ourselves what adults need to care about because little ones are totally powerless to change what needs to be changed.  By vastly ignoring the truth about terrible harms done to the youngest among us we are showing our ignorance by ignoring what we don’t want to face.

I am finding that process operating within myself as I struggle to read Perry’s words.  The difference for me and for many of this blog’s readers is that I/we already know about this subject from the inside out.  Perry’s words hot-wire my reality between traumatic past and current “better” present.  Any hope of a buffer against the pain of abuse and neglect evaporates.

That kind of pain little ones being harmed feel is too big for them.  That kind of trauma is supposed to be healed by a whole society that HATES harm to young ones and stops it.  We don’t live in that kind of world.

Not yet.

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Here is our first book out in ebook format.  Click here to view or purchase –

STORY WITHOUT WORDS

It lists for $2.99 and can be read by Amazon Prime customers without charge.  Reviews for the book on the Amazon.com site are welcome.

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Leave a Comment

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+THE LIFE LOST

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Tuesday, September 16, 2014.  I am trying yet again to read The Boy Who Was Raised as a Dog: And Other Stories from a Child Psychiatrist’s Notebook–What Traumatized Children Can Teach Us About Loss, Love, and Healing (2007)by Bruce Perry and Maia Szalavitz.  I again fell into the depths of my sadness while reading page 25 just as I did when I stopped reading Perry’s book in 2007.  My slide again began while reading forward from page 22.  Why am I trying again?

Dr. Perry will be speaking here in Fargo, North Dakota in a little over two weeks.  My daughter will be there to hear him.  I have continued to think that the one person I would want to read our book, Story Without Words, and to write a “blurb” for it would be Perry.

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I am grieving for my life.  Obviously not for the one I have as a survivor of 18 years of severe (psychotic) abuse from the moment I was born.  I grieve for my OTHER life.  The one I was robbed of.  I also grieve for my mother.  For her suffering.  For the life she lived and for the life she lost.

I cannot read Perry’s work without being swallowed by this grief.

How productive is THAT?

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Or, how tolerable?

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I don’t think there is an early neglect and abuse survivor reading this post who will not resonate with what Perry writes beginning on page 22.  (If that link becomes inactive Google search for “perry boy who was raised as a dog they would unravel and forget” and begin reading on that page by clicking on the first link the search provides.)

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I asked my published brother who is also a highly successful used bookstore owner about how to approach Perry for a book “blurb.”  He immediately responded with his humorous suggestions which included the following example:

Dear Mr. _______

I have followed with great interest your research on delectable shrimp recipes for wild-caught Alaska prawns. Your book 101 Ways to Boil Shrimp has been an inspiration to me in my own work on the subject of making healthy, tasty meals for my family. I was privileged to hear you speak last year at the National Crustacean Symposium, and your responses to audience questions at the Q&A that followed your presentation highlighted your unique and innovative approach to the field of seafood preparation.

I am a former vegetarian and recovering vegan, whose journey to preparing shrimp has carried me through many years of cooking classes, cookbook study, and first-hand research upon the oceans of the Pacific Northwest. I have written a book (complete in manuscript form) that I feel addresses a need among home chefs who are struggling with their own feelings of prawn apprehension. Life Lived Backwards: My Journey Across the Ocean Floor tells the story of my own travels through the culinary world of scallops, crabs, oysters, shrimp, and other delectable members of the crustacean nation that your own work has made so accessible. It would be an honor for me if you would consent to previewing a copy of my book and, if you like it, contribute a few short words that I could use on the cover of the book, and on my web site and other promotional venues marketing this important work.

May I sent you a copy of Life Lived Backwards?

Please contact me via email at ____ or by phone at ____ with your postal address, and I will send a copy out promptly to your attention. Thank you in advance for your kindness, and thanks again for your outstanding work in this field!

    Yours Sincerely,

 

    Wanda B. Anauthor

Me again. I haven’t tried it, but I bet with some creative Googling you can find lots of tips about this from online writing/author/publishing web sites that will further describe approaches you might consider.

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I thanked my brother and decided that in order for me to write anything like a genuine request letter to Perry I better read the two books of his I have here.  My plan has gone as far astray as my OWN REAL life has gone due to the severe trauma and its changes to my physiology that I experience.  I am “land locked” in my frozen Silence.

This grief has no words.

Obviously.

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I am trying.  I have now read to page 37.  Will I be able to finish Perry’s book?  Time will tell….

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I am thinking about being this blunt with a subtitle for this book – Did Child Abuse Break My Mother?

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Here is our first book out in ebook format.  Click here to view or purchase –

STORY WITHOUT WORDS

It lists for $2.99 and can be read by Amazon Prime customers without charge.  Reviews for the book on the Amazon.com site are welcome.

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Leave a Comment

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+2-D PARENTS

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Friday, September 12, 2014.  Sent to me by a dear friend this morning (hope this posts OK) —–

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“BTW, Psychotherapy Networker’s email to me today included a VERY interesting article:
I’m excited about it because is shows that the writer (Ron Taffel, whom I’ve seen in some of PN’s previous webinars) has realized that something is really screwed-up with our culture, attachment-wise. Nice to know that Gordon Neufeld is getting some company and isn’t going to remain virtually the only voice in the wilderness crying out about this!”

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Take a look.  Print FREE!  Dr. Daniel Siegel’s rebuttal to “Attachment theory is dead.”

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Here is our first book out in ebook format.  Click here to view or purchase –

STORY WITHOUT WORDS

It lists for $2.99 and can be read by Amazon Prime customers without charge.  Reviews for the book on the Amazon.com site are welcome.

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+FOUR DAYS OF MUSING ON THE NATURE OF ….

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Tuesday, September 9, 2014.  Today is Day 4 of a collection of thoughts as I will post them here in the order they were handwritten:

DAY ONE

I think a lot about depression, both my own and that of those around me who are “medicating” theirs.  I know mine has been a part of me since I was a very young child.  The only way I could survive the trauma of Mother’s continual abuse was to do nothing else but — survive it.  Now I know she was psychotically mentally ill.  This made her insanely unpredictable and insanely violent and dangerous to me.

From birth any response I could have had to utilize the energy of any “fight” reaction to her was forced into inactivity or else she would have killed me.  Of that fact I have no doubt.  I was alone in a hopeless, horrible situation — helpless in my own defense — for the first 18 years of my life from birth.

My depression has always been directly due to the situation of trauma that built itself into my developing physiology.

Yesterday the term “situational depression” appeared in my thoughts as if it were a massive tree planted in the center of my reality.  My response was, “Yes.  That’s what this is that I live and breath nearly all of the time.”

Most of my current “situation” amplifies the depression I already lived with before I left Arizona to move back to Fargo, North Dakota last October.  Poverty.  Tiny cramped apartment with completely inadequate windows and light.  City which has never been good for me.  Noise.  Light pollution.  Lack of privacy and of natural beauty.  Not to mention the horrible long winters and the cumulative, disabling consequences of the severe early trauma.  None of these things HELP me feel better about anything.

DAY TWO

One can only step forward into each day making choices care-full-ly with good intent and then try one’s best to carry through.

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I also think a lot about anxiety.  (Depression itself is an anxiety disorder.)  One can certainly be born with a body that contains more than enough anxiety within it, even so much so that the best safe and secure, loving attachment from birth cannot create a calm, tranquil, peaceful reality for such a young one.  Attachments cannot, then, necessarily provide the safety necessary for the entire progression of “best possible” emotional regulation or social interplay to develop in such a child.

I am just now learning this.  Such a child would end up with all of the “symptoms” of an insecure attachment disorder because the body can never bypass that super-built-in anxiety.  Nor could the best attachment ever alleviate the anxiety.  Attachment systems would essentially fail as surely as if there was trauma in early relationships themselves.  This “trauma in the body” would leave such a little one perpetually living in a dangerous world because the anxiety “says” this is so.  There would never be any safety or security.

What then?

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Patterns in the nervous system and in the stress response system:  Underactivation.  Overactivation.  Meet in the middle?  Where is the true peaceful calm?  Without this, where is there ever an opportunity for true playfulness?

DAY THREE

Failed attachment is failed attachment, no matter the source or cause.  There is too much we don’t currently know about causes and consequences of alterations in how our attachment systems and all their related physiology form and operate.

I would simply say that all experiences in our environment forward from conception are forming the physiological selfhood of everyone prior to the conscious autobiographical remembering self’s appearance.  By the time we can consciously trace our self in our life the physiology that does this experiencing and its remembrance has been created.

At the same time it is critical to realize that every change from what is an optimal safe and secure attachment of the growing self impacts all development as an ongoing process.  We do not escape the forces that form us even though the most important ones are owned in and by our body out of range from consciousness UNTIL WE LEARN as much as we possibly can about those forces as they probably existed for us from the earliest moments of our life.  It may then be possible to mitigate some of the attachment failure physiological influences as they profoundly complicate our lives.

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The kicker, I suppose, is how we respond to stressors.  That includes how we detect them in the first place.  Life is about change.  Change ques systems in our body to attend and assess.  How much of what kind of attention is in our response?  I suspect this information passes for most of us as emotional reaction.

What do we notice and how?  What then happens to any equilibrium we may have achieved before a detected change occurred?

Then what?

As I age as a long-term early severe trauma survivor my thinking becomes simpler.  Serious insecure attachment repercussions for me are so intimately connected in my physiology to PTSD I have begun to wonder if there is any earthly part of me that is ever NOT under the seemingly identical discomfort of a reaction from both of them to all change I experience.  I therefore have to be very, very careful of what influences me.

My life simply is this continual battle to try to find some kind of equilibrium as I live in a world of constant change.  Very little in my physiology except for basic operations ever finds rest.  True rest is about safety in the world.  I never had enough of that as my body formed to even really know what it is.

I have a trauma formed body.  My self does not have any other body to experience life with.

I live with chronic, continual anxiety.  It interferes with every aspect of my life.

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A chronically “ON” attachment system operates in a kind of infinity loop with a chronically “ON” stress response system.  Some combination of survival emotions of anger>fear>sadness are nearly always in motion.  There is so little rest.  Little peace.  Little playfulness.  Little true joy.

We are enslaved to our body as it has been created, changed through severe early trauma, as it knows one thing and one thing only:  DANGER threatens SURVIVAL.

Continual application of the powers of the mind in attempt to counteract this “mess” are TIRING!  Always the other signals compete for our attention.  And always some version of survival emotions and their demands upon us are present.

This all combines to make our being alive — WORK!!

DAY FOUR

What keeps a seed alive?  They don’t LOOK alive.  Take any dried bean you can buy from a bin or in a bag.  There it is.

Pass the bean down through the generations.  Five hundred years from now if the bean has been stored properly it could be planted and up will rise another crop, same as the last.

I don’t know scientifically what the secret is inside a seed.  Inside something as simple as a plain old bean.  But whatever lies encased in mystery and miracle must be inside of me.  No claim to fame.  Humble of origin.  Yet here I am.  And I am viable.

Every day I have to remember this.  No matter what storms of feeling or thought swirl and tumble me along through life I hold within me something intangible.  Some kind of hope.  Some kind of miracle.

And it keeps me going because I trust that.  I AM that.  I am so much more than what I appear to myself or to others.  I am a part of something so much bigger.

To ask why any of this matters is to ask why I matter. I guess right here is where, for me, the line of faith lies.  It’s where I have no answers.  My faith is that there ARE answers.  Gone ones, too.  Ones that would make perfect sense to me if I knew them.

And then my faith — which must be very elastic — stretches further as I stand across from myself and say, “Just be patient.  More will be revealed.  If not in this lifetime then in the next one.  Hang on.”

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There are those of us who have lived through hell and beyond it.  Even with what Dr. Martin Teicher says — formed in a malevolent world for life in the same — we DID find our way into a more benevolent world.

And yes, we are a mismatch as Teicher states, for this “other” world.

But what world, I ask, is a seed’s best world?  Once it sprouts — where is its “seed self?”

Dead and gone?  Or transformed?

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This article contains the most important information that survivors especially of INFANT-TODDLER maltreatment need to know:

The neurobiological consequences of early stress and childhood maltreatment.

Neuroscience and Biobehavioral Reviews 27 (2003) 33-44

Martin H. Teicher, Susan L. Andersen, Ann Polcari, Carl M. Anderson, Carryl P. Navalta, Dennis M. Kim

“In our hypothesis, postnatal neglect or other maltreatment serves to elicit a cascade of stress responses that organizes the brain to develop along a specific pathway selected to facilitate reproductive success and survival in a world of deprivation and strife.  This pathway, however, is costly as it is associated with an increased risk of developing serious medical and psychiatric disorders and is unnecessary and maladaptive in a more benign environment.  [page 39 – found by clicking on article title above]

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Here is our first book out in ebook format.  Click here to view or purchase –

STORY WITHOUT WORDS

It lists for $2.99 and can be read by Amazon Prime customers without charge.  Reviews for the book on the Amazon.com site are welcome.

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+TODAY I AM 63

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Sunday, August 31, 2014.  Today is my 63rd birthday.  Shaped and molded.  I am still here upon this glorious earth.  Of what do I speak?  So few moments in my lifetime have I felt content with myself.  I am a true, true Virgo.

My dear friend left me a birthday gift last week before she left on a week’s tour of Sweden.  In the package I just found a kit to make and remake a kaleidoscope!  Many different kinds of colorful small bits and pieces that put together and within a container will allow me to see infinite collections of beauty.

Forty-three years after our first meeting – and I feel so perfectly known and loved by her.  Thank you!

Later today I will show my 4-year-old grandson my gift and we will make our arrangements together.

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I ponder these words today:  “‘Does not the child succumb in the youth and the youth in the man; yet neither child nor youth perishes?’”

What do any of us really know about who we are?  What do I know about who I am?  It feels like I KNOW nothing.  I am woven together of questions.

Yet I am most grateful in my life that I seem to have been born with a spiritual awareness that does not leave me.

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I have viewed all I can see so far of my life.  Backward in time.  I never see my own future.  Not a glimpse.  Not even an imagination of it.  It seems that because I have been alive this long I might be able to more clearly see my own patterns of reactions and choices so that I could begin to place myself within the context of my own life.

As I reach within for my own words I only find myself becoming quieter and quieter inside.

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Here is our first book out in ebook format.  Click here to view or purchase –

STORY WITHOUT WORDS

It lists for $2.99 and can be read by Amazon Prime customers without charge.  Reviews for the book on the Amazon.com site are welcome.

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Leave a Comment »

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