+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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Leave a Comment

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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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Leave a Comment »

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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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+THE BUDDHA’S FINGERS, EARLY SEVERE ABUSE AND THE PERITRAUMATIC PASSAGE OF TIME

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Friday, August 29, 2014.  All-in-all I can simply say that as a result of having to develop in every way, on every level, during 18 long years of terrible abuse from birth that I have been left knowing what I should not REALLY know in a way that I should NOT know it.

Cryptic?  Absolutely so.  Impossible?  No.  Absolutely not, although the extent of trauma it took for me to be formed “this way” was so extraordinaire and so rare as to leave in its wake a way of being in the world that nearly defies description.  Perhaps this is why my blog has remained so silent for so many days after so many days as that time stretches very soon into a year.

Again and yet again I refer readers to the profound neuroscientific facts about what severe early attachment relationship trauma is likely to do to the physiological development of its littlest sufferers as they are recorded clearly in Dr. Martin Teicher’s 2003 article, The neurobiological consequences of early stress and childhood maltreatment.

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I am inundated with and surrounded by increasingly clear awarenesses about what severe early trauma from birth did to my development of self as I exist in this world – a world of TIME passing.  I cannot say I know anything about Buddhism.  I know that I take great comfort knowing that the 14th Dalai Lama is still on our planet.

I am reminded of my mention of him nearly five years ago on the pages of this blog —

+LIGHT T-DAY READING ON RATS AND THE DALAI LAMA

A few related past posts —

+SOME OF MY THOUGHTS ABOUT ‘ATTACHMENT’

 

+ANTIDOTE TO DISSOCIATION: THE TRANSITION TO WHOLENESS

 

+A COLLECTION OF POSTS RELATED TO — CALM — AND ABUSE RELATED COMPLICATIONS

 

+CAN EARLY INFANT-CHILD MALTREATMENT TURN OFF THE COMPASSION SWITCH?

+A CRITICAL FACT I JUST LEARNED ABOUT MY ABUSIVE BORDERLINE MOTHER

 

+CALM THE CRYING BABY — IMMUNE SYSTEM STIMULATES VAGUS NERVE TRAUMA ALTERED DEVELOPMENT

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Within the posts lie facts conveyed by developmental neuroscientists to the Dalai Lama about how babies born to an anxious mother rat will all come out anxious if she raises them.  Babies born to a calm mother rat will all come out to be calm if the calm mother raises them.

However, if babies born to these two kinds of mothers are switched at birth all of the babies born to a calm mother and raised by an anxious one will become anxious.  All babies born to an anxious mother but raised by a calm one will come out calm.

Implications for those of us within the Kingdom of Humanity?  You know it….

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Someone at one of these neuroscientific “learning events” hosted by the Dalai Lama asked him if people severely abused when young had the same opportunity to reach “enlightenment” as those who had not been abused do.  The Dalai Lama was evidently silent for a long time before he responded with – “No.  They do not.”

Again.  Implications?  I have my 63rd birthday in two days.  The longer I live in this body on this earth the clearer I become about not only what the implications are for us as survivors, but more importantly I learn every moment about the difficulties born from the traumatic changes Teicher’s article begins to outline for us.

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TIME

I have written many posts on this blog about how trauma alters the sense of the passage of time (search this blog by putting ‘peritraumatic’ in the search bar and more posts will appear) –

+DISSOCIATION AND THE PERITRAUMATIC PASSAGE OF TIME

+INFANT-CHILD ABUSE, ACUTE TRAUMA = PERITRAUMATIC ALTERED SENSE OF THE PASSAGE OF TIME

+FIGHTING BACK AGAINST THE ABUSE SURVIVOR’S ALTERED PERITRAUMATIC SENSE OF TIME

 

+FASCINATING NOTES ON LIVING WITH TRAUMA

 

Past posts beginning late summer 2013 and onward through last fall and winter as they can be found along the right side of this blog tell the background story about why I am up here in Fargo, North Dakota facing the onset of another horrible windchill winter rather than being on the Mexican-American border of the high desert in Arizona that I love.

I will tell you a little story about how the efforts I am making to care for my youngest grandson who just turned two are successful.  Three days ago as I sat on a chair talking to one of my sisters on the telephone Baby (as he calls himself – and who is just beginning to talk) came to stand directly in front of me.

He was smiling as he tapped the center of his chest lightly, telling me “Here it is!  Right there.”  And then he walked away.  (It wasn’t until the next day that he first used “I” and “me.”)

I never before that moment heard him use those words, “right there.”  WHO is RIGHT THERE!  BINGO!  Right in the center of his little body-being is his spirit-soul-self – with joy and awareness!

I never had a chance to reach that point!  I don’t think many severe early trauma survivors did, either.  This is a critical juncture in human development, and a necessary required one for well-being to exist in the body and between the body and self.  Missing this development leaves us truly LOST in some way for the rest of our lives.

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And what about time?  There is a critical body-brain developmental stage through which we gain what is termed “autobiographical memory.”  Without a sense of self that is true and real how can we process memory, which is our record of our own experience of passing through the time of our life, in any ordinary way?

I don’t believe that we can.  Nobody tells us this.

If you do a simple online search for the terms “Buddha fingers circle” you will find images I am going to refer to next.  I recently read the following in a book about a woman’s travels in Japan around 1930 as it relates to these images and the “lore” behind them:

On another solitary jaunt, she visited the Great Buddha – “a bronze figure over forty feet high measuring some thirty-five feet across….  Surely the serenity and peace of this figure are worthy to rank with the enkindled majesty of the maimed and broken face of the Sphinx which so impressed me with its heroic spiritual ardor.  The hands of the Great Buddha are turned upward in the lap, the thumbs and forefingers forming two circles and touching.  In Buddhist lore this represents ‘firm faith,’ but it also signifies life as the moment between two eternities, each moment being the only contact between all that is past and all that is to come.” (p. 138 of book at above link)

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Early safe and secure attachment relationships an infant has with its caregivers form the basis of building “attachment transitions” between self and the world (after they begin to form the sense of self in the first place!).

I was given nothing but terror and trauma WITHOUT being given any relationships of safety and security.  I did not form into my body-nervous system-brain the required circuitry to process TIME as I live through it in anything but a dissociative way.  What am I learning about what this means, how it operates and most importantly what it FEELS like to me to have been robbed of building a sense of self in passing time with attachment to others and to the world around me?

I do not REMEMBER on an ongoing basis what the past actually felt like to me.  I cannot carry “warm and fuzzy” feeling awarenesses forward into and through my present moments, nor can I IMAGINE any future moments with that safe and secure information contained within them.

This is being alone.  Perpetually alone.  And the sadness never leaves me.  It accompanies me perpetually.

That instant of the present moment between the infinities of the past and future is ALL THAT I HAVE!  Yes, I can intellectually think about all these time-based, reality-based conditions in a rational way.  But these thoughts are entirely separate from my body-based sense of myself in the world.

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The point, as I think of it, of reaching “enlightenment” is that a person CHOOSES a pathway that takes them there.  As the Dalai Lama answered that question “No,” the reality of altered physiological development on so many critical levels was being referred to.  Without ever having been given what it takes to build a self to later relinquish denies a possibility of taking the step in the present moment into a consciously chosen state of relinquishment.

One cannot give up what one has never had.

Safe and secure attachment prevents so-called “dissociation” from becoming the predominant pattern of time-processing and therefore of memory-building.  Without safe and secure early attachment experiences there is no clearly-delineated “past” as separated by the present moment from “future.”

What I am beginning to so clearly detect in my own experience is that what was supposedly my “past” never leaves just as the “future” never arrives.  There is nothing BUT the present moment.  I cannot carry any knowledge of love from others along with me throughout my life journey.  I was formed terribly alone in terrible danger.  That was what built me as it built itself into me.

I struggle always to be consciously articulated about love and goodness in my present moments.  However, my ongoing need to be grounded in a “larger body” of physical location that provides me stability, grounding, sanctuary and what feels to me to be beauty is always “dragging with gravity” at my physical self-awareness.

Developmental experts speak of the “unsolvable paradox” abused infants and young children are faced with, as it exists on at least two distinct levels of (a) how to stay alive when to do so is impossible (how to “go on being” when to “go on being” is impossible), which is deeply connected to (b) how to avoid approaching a deadly caregiver upon whom our very life depends.

Living with this paradox has never left me.  It is built into me.  It built me.  It has expanded itself into something more complex, really, because now as an adult I know “this is not right.”  I had to be greatly harmed and in great danger and in great isolation for this paradox to have grown so immense.  Simply put – and in regard to my being alive in a body passing through time – the paradox has become this:

I cannot LIVE in two “places” at the same time.  I cannot carry my past with solid understanding of my safe and secure connection to others through my present moment, knowing I will “have” these safe and secure connections In the future.  It is impossible for me to be “there” and “here” at the same time.

I remember very clearly what my reality felt like growing up into my teens right up to the moment I left home.  I have often described my state-of-being in terms of my being a detached camera that merely recorded every split second of what happened within my awareness in each present moment.  ALL I HAVE EVER HAD IS THE PRESENT MOMENT.

In the chaotic, unstable, unpredictable, brutal, dangerous PSYCHOTIC world of Mother’s that I could not escape from ALL I COULD EVER DO WAS ENDURE AND SURVIVE.  And THAT – the living of the paradox of staying alive when doing so is impossible – happens in the peritraumatic present moment of time passing.

Living the paradox has expanded for me into trying to, wanting to, be able to experience connection with others in the present moments of my life (and to remember these connections, and to carry the knowledge of their existence through the present into the future) even though I physiologically do not have the capacity to DO THIS.

I doubt that most of those who advocate what might be termed “mindful” living can begin to imagine what it is like not to have any other choice but to exist within a state such as I am describing.  I therefore – yet again – believe that there will be survivors reading this post who know exactly what I am trying to describe (given the failure of words to do so).

We are here.  We have nowhere else to be.  Our life has always been this way.

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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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