greenstarmotivation - Tumblr blog

[greenstarmotivation]

I love you.

"Now, god damnit, Tammy... I'm sick and tired of the drama and the sensationalism and shit... you're just using this for an excuse to make contact with me. No more!"

Whose parent speaks to them like this as an adult? Mine.

These are some of the last words my dad spoke to me on a voicemail. They now live rent-free in my mind repeatedly echoing throughout the middle of the night after I awake from yet another nightmare. I'm 52 years old and I still experience regular nightmares about my childhood despite thirty years of counseling and five years of intense trauma therapy these past five years. I still wake up crying, sometimes screaming. I've been told my whole life I'm being dramatic, when really I was being traumatized.

For weeks now, I keep telling myself it doesn't matter what my dad thinks of me. Let's be real, he's never really liked me. I allowed myself to believe that for the past twelve years he and I had built a new, healthier relationship. Heck, the last time I saw him we hugged and he had tears welling up in his eyes as if it would be the last time ever. Then, just a few weeks later, he's being nasty mean like he was when I was a child, saying cruel things, and telling all of his kids he hates them and to leave him and his wife alone. No contact, unless he initiates it... as if he has control over our behavior as adults. Yet, somehow he does.

In my previous passage, I mentioned that as a child, I would tell him over and over again, "I love you," only to be ignored or dismissed. I was in my forties the first time I recall my dad telling me that he loved me back. I swore we had healed our shattered relationship but here it is shattered again, only this time I care because it matters. My dad is aging and his health isn't great. It's quite possible that we said our final goodbyes. I'm angry.

I'm angry that he couldn't be healthy. I'm angry that he let me down. I'm angry that he continues to be verbally and emotionally abusive towards me. I'm angry that I believed for the past twelve years that he was proud of me and loved me. I'm angry that I was vulnerable. I'm angry that I let my guard down and he hurt me again. I'm angry that my willingness to forgive and grow seems like a wasted effort. I'm angry that his emotional maturity isn't higher. I'm angry that he has the audacity to believe he knows who I am simply because I refuse to keep quiet about my pain. I'm angry that people call me dramatic for simply communicating in effective and socially acceptable ways.

Most of all, I'm sad that it's possible I might never again hear my parent say, "I love you."

[greenstarmotivation]

Nope.

I woke up this morning to learn of the passing of one of my uncles. Sorry to my family if this is the first you're learning of my dad's oldest brother dying last night. It's crappy to find out about death through social media, but then again it's kind of like finding out through a letter. I think we all just got accustomed to learning through phone calls over the past decades.

I received a call from one of my aunts trying to reach my dad. It seems as though there's tons of miscommunications around who he's in contact with and who he isn't. I've been trying for the past week but I know I'm blocked. Still don't know why he's got me blocked, other than my dad flat out told me that he doesn't like me and he hates my political views. And, this morning he called me twice to yell and cuss at me for stirring up "drama" because I finally tried to reach out to him via his wife. That's right, I'm the one creating drama. It doesn't make sense to me. I didn't block anyone. I'm not calling anyone hateful and hurtful names. I'm not screaming at someone. I simply tried to get a message to my dad. Now, I can't stop crying because he's triggered the wounded little girl that desperately kept trying to get her daddy's approval and love, who spent years saying, "I love you," without response. Suddenly, I'm broken and rejected.

Why is it that I continually allow this man to break me emotionally??

Why is it that I continually allow this man to break me emotionally?? No more will I get caught up in this family's drama. I'm done hiding the lies. I'm done being treated like crap. I'm done being an emotional punching bag for others. I'm done.

[greenstarmotivation]

Unintentional.

Sometimes, we write or say things we intended to mean one thing, but people take it differently. Why?

Well, it's because we are all different regardless of the commonality of being human. No one experiences the world in the exact same way as you do. No one has seen the world precisely from your perspective.

Yes, sometimes people will say they're thinking the same or even say the same words at the same exact moment; however, each of us has an individualized perspective of the world based on our own personal experiences, physiological responses, thoughts, and values, as well as our environmental exposures. Basically, even though we are similar in makeup, we are each unique in our wholeness.

This is why communication is so important. We cannot assume that everyone understands our intended message; we must ask questions and be willing to receive feedback. Sure, we can guess what others might understand based on our common agreements of the meanings behind each word in our common language, but what happens when someone applies different meanings to the words they read? What if the words we write trigger an unintended emotional response?

These are the things I think about each and every time I write. What are the unintended consequences?

Until a recent visit with my sister to a family reunion, I had never considered there might be negative implications to telling my story. I assumed too much. I thought every single person in our big family had similar experiences. I assumed that because my children are aware of my traumas, other family members shared with their children.

Unfortunately, the result of my assumptions was unintentionally wounding and traumatic for so many people. I'm still so sorry. Each day, I work to forgive myself for hurting others.

And I try to figure out how to share my story in hopes of helping others triumph over their own tragedies without unintentionally harming others. Is that possible?

[greenstarmotivation]

It's personal.

One of my favorite books is The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz. If you haven't yet read it, I suggest you do. It's a quick read, but it takes time to process everything being said and a lifetime to practice the principles. One of those is, "Don't take anything personally," which is easier said than done because so often how others choose to treat us feels personal. And, sometimes, it is. Recently, I've had several people block me off their social media. It took me years of healing and learning how to better regulate my emotions to not take this type of rejection personally. Then, I found out that it was very personal. This is where I get intellectually and emotionally stumped and discombobulated (my favorite word btw).

I believe we each have a right to determine who is in our lives, including family. I also believe our family is essential in our lives, providing us opportunities to learn, grow, heal, and connect. Family helps us better understand ourselves and teaches us how to manage conflict and express joy and love.

Life can lose purpose and joy without family. We eventually learn that friends and acquaintances, regardless of the years between you, will often move on once you change, grow, heal, or move, but even if you go no-contact... your family is still your family. Frequently, they grieve a never-ending grief that goes away the instant contact is restored. The friends we keep for a lifetime often become "family" to us because the bond with family stands the test of time.

I get it. There are family members many of us would rather not be related to or know. For years, actually decades, I avoided my dad like the plague. I held him in contempt for a past that could not change. I listened to the stories others told me, and I believed them because those stories reinforced my disdain for him.

Then, after my mom died, I realized I'd been treating strangers on the street, drug-addicted and often criminally insane people, better than I was treating my own family. I held more compassion for their struggles and trials. I immediately felt ashamed of myself for never taking the time to sort out the "truth" of the past.

For the eight years following her death, I called my dad every Sunday. He didn't always answer, but I called nonetheless. I did this until a few years ago after he'd met his now-wife. I adore her. I stopped calling so frequently because my life was in turmoil, and each time I called, he spent most of the call talking to her and ignoring me. I often felt I had walked into a conversation I wasn't supposed to hear.

However, over the past twelve years, I learned so much about who my dad had become and started caring less about who he was. He and I spent much time talking, healing, growing, and forgiving. We became family again. Anytime others wanted to speak ill of him, I either defended him by saying, "That's not the relationship I have with him," or I would tell them I didn't want to hear anything negative about my dad.

I love my dad. I love our relationship, even though sometimes he behaves in those "old ways." According to The Four Agreements, how he treats me is not personal, good or bad. Still, sometimes, it's personal. Either way, he's my family. I'm so grateful.

SOURCE: https://www.reddit.com/r/QuotesPorn/comments/7g2dj2/sometimes_you_will_never_know_the_value_of_a/#lightbox

[greenstarmotivation]

Forgiveness

"It's not an easy journey to get to a place where you forgive people. But it's such a powerful place because it frees you." (Tyler Perry). Source: https://www.oprahdaily.com/life/relationships-love/g29995262/forgiveness-quotes/"

It's been over a year since I last wrote anything here. That's one more year of struggling with "no contact" from the people I love most in this world. The more I learn about who I am, ask for forgiveness, and stand in my truth... well, the more people walk away, including my dad. I've been most surprised by this recent event because he and I spent the past 12 years healing and growing what I believed to be a beautiful relationship. Now, it's likely I might not ever see him again. It's all so heartbreaking. And, no, I do not believe with all my heart that anything I've ever done warranted being exiled from my family members in this way... but then again, they see me how they want to see me; I see me through the eyes of those who know me now. It's different.

Some of what happens is that people have decided who I am based on my past without ever taking time to actually know who I am now. Most people live by the philosophy that "the best predictor of future behavior is past behavior." (Numerous psychologists, including Ellis, Michael, Skinner, as well as Mark Twain). Is it true? Well, not exactly. For more information, read this article:

We are all capable of change, but whether someone puts forth effort is quite another story. I personally have been trying to change and adapt my behaviors for decades, but it turns out that all my efforts have been futile attempts to fix a bigger issue: ADHD.

See, it turns out trauma and ADHD show up similarly for a person who suffers from both, though there are also differences. The following article is worth a read.

Why does any of this matter? Because when a person knows better, then they do better. I've spent the past three years studying PTSD, Trauma, Leadership, Healing, and Forgiveness. Now, I'll add ADHD to my studies. I've spent the past year asking those I have wronged for forgiveness by owning up to what I'm aware I did that caused them pain or harm, regardless of their actions toward me. The process has been humbling and life-altering. It means having to face my past, heal my hurts, forgive myself, and own up to how my actions can negatively affect others. I do my best to act more conscientious and care for my words and actions. I'm also perfectly human and make so many mistakes, but I learn and move forward with love and grace towards myself. I'm seeking loving ways to tell my story without hurting others. I will tell my story. I also refuse to pretend my trauma wasn't real. I'm working with my professors and mental health professionals to find a way to share the triumphs and tragedies of my life in continuing to write my book.

That's all I've to say for now. I do plan to keep up with daily writing. Hopefully, I continue to stay active here in new and informative ways. Shine on, Tammy

[greenstarmotivation]

Family

Today, I'm thinking about family; family of origin, the one I co-created, and the one I choose. 

Mostly, I'm thinking about how much I miss certain people and relationships to them. Their familiarity (famili..arity). I miss not having to explain myself or introduce myself, who I am, what I value, why I act the way I act, or think the way I think, to new people. People are curious. They want to know if I have children, their ages, who they are and what they do. I'm passed explaining to others why with such an incredibly large family do I spend most of my time alone.

I did it to myself, really. I don't know how to navigate change very well, though I'm extraordinarily adaptable. I have this "out of sight- out of mind" viewpoint. I'm not certain from where I got it, but it's certainly there. I'm always surprised when I do hear from my eldest. I'm simply not a huge part of my kids' adult lives, and that's ok. Also, I've done a bunch of damage to those relationships. 

I also didn't know how to adjust to my ex-husband deciding a few years back that he no longer wanted to spend family-time together. Regardless of his reasons, it changed everything. Suddenly, our children no longer had access to us together after 22 years of togetherness and #wefamilysohard moments.

After that, I slowly cut myself off from his family, whom I love dearly. I no longer felt like I belonged in their lives, despite them saying otherwise. It was easier to "unfriend" and sometimes even "block" them on social media because it was painful to see their family gatherings, sometimes with my ex, his wife, and our children, but always without me. 

I was talking with my eldest this morning, and I experienced the apprehension as it was shared there was a planned Easter gathering. It means I likely won't get to see my kid or grandson on the holiday. I feel sad whenever I think about the loss of family. I miss them all so deeply. 

I do have a sense of family now with Rick and his ex-wife and their children. I do my best to embrace their welcoming me into their lives. Still, it's a strong reminder of missing out on being with my own family. 

Holidays are the hardest, but even the day-to-day stuff suffers. When something exciting happens, I don't know who would share in that excitement. I no longer call anyone when something challenging is happening. I've done enough damage over the years with those calls. I think because we feel so safe with our families we have a tendency to over-share or show the worst side of ourselves a little too often. I relied heavily on family for crisis-management when it came to my trauma-responses, which means I also deeply wounded them in the process of navigating my trauma.

After three years of intense trauma therapy, after the decades of counseling and self-help, I've come to see the harm. I wrote about it a bit yesterday. Today, I'm missing them. I miss my kids, my former in-laws (who tried so hard), the gatherings of familiar faces. I miss my family.

I've been working the past few weeks and months to reach out and repair some of those relationships with the people who will allow me just one more chance. I'm excited to get to know them differently, and to have them know me differently. I'm willing. 

Basically, I'm grateful for all the family in my life.

[greenstarmotivation]

Thoughts for today.

Have you ever experienced being held in contempt by others over a past you simply cannot change? Contempt is different than resentment or accountability or anger. Contempt means, "the feeling that a person or a thing is beneath consideration, worthless, or deserving scorn."

I've been held in contempt for many of my life choices. People I love and admire. They find it necessary to point out the mistakes of the past because they have yet to reconcile their own judgments against me, or their pain runs deeper than they originally thought. 

Yes, I have hurt others through some of those actions and choices, for which I have apologized, asked for forgiveness, and atoned for those mistakes. From my perspective and because I trust in others when they say we're "ok," I assumed the cycle is complete and we can move forward in our relationship. Then, likely because healing is not linear and wounds take time to heal, I read/see something on social media to indicate they are still holding me in low regard and sometimes even publicly shaming me without saying my name but certainly calling out specific circumstances only done by me in their life or naming my relation to that person. 

It's passive-aggressive, which most people mis-define. Passive-aggressive means not voicing your opinions, thoughts, ideas, needs, then getting upset with others when they don't read your mind and treat you the way in which you desire to be treated. An example is saying you don't care where you'll have dinner together, then complaining about the restaurant, food, and service the entire time. Or saying, "it's fine," when it's not fine. 

I can't even begin to list off the number of times in my life someone failed to tell me they were angry with me, hurt by me, I did a task "wrong," etc. but months or sometimes years after the fact, as if I could somehow go back in time and change my behavior. 

See, I'm the kind of person who wants to be the best version of myself I possibly can be. I've spent literal decades in counseling, therapy, school, online coursework, etc. even doing self-help and other certifications in an attempt to become a healthy, kind, and productive member of our society. 

When I do something that causes harm to someone, and I'm made aware of it (let's face it most of us unintentionally cause harm), I do my best to be accountable for my choices and my actions, and try to not repeat my mistakes. Notice, I say, "TRY." After all, I'm human and making mistakes is part of being human. Mistakes in most cultures are considered "LEARNING" not mortal sins. Sometimes, it takes me many times to learn something... because I'm human.

 The challenge for me is that I also have severe complex post-traumatic stress disorder, which means when someone knowingly brings up the past or harm I've caused... I relive it and/or all the circumstances surrounding it over and over in my mind as a triggered trauma response. My brain's neuro pathways are trying to solve an unsolvable problem. 

It's starts like this...How do I fix it? What could I have done differently? Why didn't they tell me? Do they feel unsafe around me? Why am I such a horrible person that I didn't know I hurt them so badly? Of course I hurt them, it would hurt me, why wouldn't it hurt them? What was happening at that time? Oh that's right, that's when...(INSERT MY TRAUMA TRIGGER)...

It's maddening. 

Why do I share all of this? I think we can do better people. I think we can communicate in kinder and more effective ways to get our needs met and to express the pain we feel when others actions trigger emotional responses. 

Also, I'm tired of being held in contempt for a past I cannot change.

I'm deeply sorry and sadden by the pain that I have caused others... for the mean things I said, the way in which I judged, thinking I was funny when I wasn't, being a bully, etc. I wish I could take it all back and do differently. If you are one of those people, and you're reading this... I wish I could have known I was hurting you then, so I could have saved years of pain. Will you forgive me? How can I make this right? I'm willing to make it right...

[greenstarmotivation]

She loves me.

I shared this and a photo of my sister on Facebook earlier today. I’ve modified it for this platform.  My older sister loves me so much. She is one of the most generous people I have met in my life. From a young age, she did everything she could to take care of us kids. She tried so hard and never got anything but grief from us. I'm ashamed to say that I've often taken advantage of that generosity, not intentionally, but I did. When I was a teenager and young adult, she was the person I called to help me out of every single horrible situation I got myself into. And, there were some bad, life-altering situations. She never judged me, just helped in whatever capacity she could. 

I remember at my lowest point, when I wanted to die, she told me to go get my hair done and she'd pay for it. I needed to change my perspective on myself. I did and it did. Since then, whenever I'm feeling down, I remember to do one thing to change my perspective. 

She's the reason my business is "Changing lives one perspective at a time." 

For the longest time, she was the "wealthiest" person I knew- but she and her husband didn't really have much for a lot of those early years. What they did have was perseverance and tenacity, and the capacity to do better with the cards they were dealt in life. They worked hard and shared what they could with our family. I took it for granted. 

My sister helped me clothe and feed my children throughout the years, when I was down and out on my luck. After my first divorce, she started sending me her $25 rewards gift cards from Target with instructions to spend it on myself. She knew I put everyone else ahead of me. She sent me those cards for years, until I finally was stable and able to provide for myself and my children without assistance from anyone. I know that once I stopped receiving that generosity, she started sending those to my children and others to help in the same way. Just a few years ago, when I lost both jobs, my apartment, and had to voluntarily repo my truck, she sold me one of their vehicles, had her husband drive it half way to me, and even filled up the gas tank and gave me money to get home.

She's a giver. She can't help it. 

I've done her wrong so many times throughout my life, and she's always been there. Sis, I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused you. I wonder what it's been like to be on the receiving end. Will you forgive me for being selfish and ungrateful? I love you!

[greenstarmotivation]

I see love.

I shared this earlier on Facebook. I’ve edited it a bit from its original post because I mis-remembered. Still...

Once upon a time, I was me... authentically and completely. And, I failed to see those around me for who they were and how they lifted me up to my highest good. The past ten years have been challenging beyond measure. I've spent the past three in trauma and grief therapy just to function in a healthy capacity. I see a photo of me and my younger sister and I remember this time of great peace in my life and the support despite the traumas I endured with divorce, job changes, grieving the loss of the life I wanted for my children, along with the challenges of working fulltime and trying to navigate life on my own for the first time. It was made easier by my sister, someone who loved me unconditionally. At the time, she offered me help when I felt so alone in the world. She was there this day when my finalized divorce papers arrived in the mail. A few months earlier, she was gracious and took my lovely dog, Keela, when I had to rehome her during my divorce. It broke my heart but gave me joy knowing she went to love. Sadly, Keela escaped homes often and was later rehomed to a farm and killed by a motorcycle upon one of her escapes (the driver survived the accident, thank God). I can't even imagine the hardship my sister faced with this situation. I don't know if I ever thanked my sister for stepping up for me in this way and so many others in my life. She was my rock, despite our challenges, I could always count on her to be there to laugh, sing, talk, or cry it out. So many times, I think she let me think I was doing her a favor by taking on my burdens. I remember she loaned me money during my divorce, and said she wanted to help me. Looking back, I don't think she really could have afforded to give me anything but she did. Not too many years ago, she took my kitten for me. Originally, I got the kitty (not thinking through our travel plans) to help me deal with my aloneness as an empty-nester. Realizing we had to travel, my sister offered to "kitty-sit" for the few days we'd be gone. When we got back from our trip, she nonchalantly said she was in love with the kitty and would keep it forever. So, I gave her the kitty thinking it would make her happy. We also had another upcoming trip, so it was a "win-win" in my mind. The kitty eventually grew and became violent towards her. I felt so responsible every time I heard about how the cat would attack her. Another one of those times, she was looking out for me but I thought I was actually doing her a favor because I thought she wanted the kitty. I don't think she really did, and certainly not after he became such a terror. Ugh. I suck at big-sisterhood. Tragedy seems to have followed me most of my life. I don't say this as a "woe is me" but more of a simply truth. I feel like I've endured more than my fair share of pain. Lately, with so much alone time, I am haunted by the tragedies of the past and broken relationships caused by my inability to value others through my own brokenness. I've caused so much pain to those I hold dear. I see my part in it all, and I do the work to forgive myself and to hold space for the healing I hope will someday come. I wish I could turn back time and undo all the things I've been told I did to cause harm to the people I love dearly. Will they forgive me for being human? For being broken? For being blind to their needs? For all the known and unspoken ways in which I caused harm? Maybe. Maybe not. In the meantime, I see this photo and I remember who I came here to be. It was not to be broken. I grew, thrived, and overcame so much to be in this now moment as an expression of love and hope. I see me. I see her. I see love

[greenstarmotivation]

Once upon a time...

...I was happy, overjoyed. My days were filled with family (the one I created), friends, laughter, and growing. 

Now, my days are filled with my own thoughts, contemplation, sadness, and growing. 

I unintentionally hurt the ones I love the most. I suppose I felt slighted by them in some ways at the time. I’ve been told I “play the victim” but I assure you there is nothing fun happening here. No “playing” involved. I think I sometimes I get so wrapped up in my own trauma responses that I fail to see how much damage it causes others. 

I’ve been called abusive more than once and by more than one person, which means there’s some truth to what’s being said. My experience is that I am protecting myself from the misfiring neurons all triggering all pain receptors all at once on my brain. I start grasping at actions that will keep me safe. Blocking people on social media is a go-to response. Screaming at people to “STOP!!” when really I’m screaming for my trauma-brain to stop. 

The pain is unbearable. 

Every cell and fiber of my being hurts all at once from every trauma I’ve ever experienced. From childhood to womanhood. Every single one; physical assault, emotional assault, sexual assault, death of loved ones, car accidents, surgeries, broken bones, mis-healed broken bones, job loss, divorce, homelessness, verbal assault, shattered self esteem, weigh gain from traumas...being kicked out of people’s lives. 

It’s called “no contact.” I can’t say that I blame them. I can hardly stand myself when I’m triggered. I seriously can’t imagine being on the other end. I remember one day my daughter kicked my bad knee in her own trauma response. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I know our relationship came quickly to an end. There’s only so many times I can say, “I’m sorry” or “It wasn’t about you.” 

Two of my children, my younger sister, and someone I thought was my best friend all cut off contact with me within a few months of one another. The grief has been a journey of pain that rivals the two years that 22 people I knew had died. Actually, I think this pain has been worse because I hold out hope that maybe one day, someday, possibly, I’ll be the kind of person who is healthy enough to be worthy of one more chance. 

It’s been nearly two years.

I’ve been in trauma therapy for three years now. I’ve done counseling for nearly 30 years. Trauma therapy has been the best at helping me to navigate my emotional responses differently, as I’ve reprocessed most of the major traumas that were haunting me. However, occasionally, I’ll get pushed over my emotional edge and all the pain happens all at once... those are my bad days. Fortunately, they’re becoming more rare as time goes on. 

I attempted reconciliation and asking for forgiveness from my children. My attempts failed. My sister recently unblocked me from her social media, and it feels like someone deeply cut open an almost healed wound. I see how joyful she is without me in her life.

I’m angry and sad. 

It’s lonely here. 

I know I’ve grown into a different woman these past two years. I’m calmer now. I listen more. I talk less. I try to be more mindful of others without being codependent. I do my best to navigate life each day with more purpose. 

I remember the last time I wrote on this blog, I was being bullied from family for telling “secrets” about the generational abuse I suffered through. It seems so long ago. I think it’s time to finish my book. I think it’s time to publish and move on.

I think it’s time to heal. 

[greenstarmotivation]

SOURCE: http://www.picturequotes.com/shine-on-quote-5613

[greenstarmotivation]

Forgiveness

I’ve been working on this for a few weeks now. After the verbal attack on FB and other social media outlets from my past few chapter releases from my book, I struggled with the anger people were projecting onto me for sharing my story. I didn’t understand why they weren’t angry with my abusers. It still doesn’t make sense to me. I’ve opted to hold back on releasing anymore chapters; however, I’m still writing my book. 

One of the things I came to realize is that many people believe it’s ME who’s holding a grudge. I’M the one who’s angry. Boy, are they ever wrong. See, I spent 20 years of my life going through mental and spiritual counseling. I learned to manage life through severe PTSD and I healed. I forgave those who hurt me and began to appreciate the suffering I experienced as what shaped me into the amazing woman I’ve become. It took me 20 years to sort out my memories from those of other family members who shared their experiences with me and influenced my perspective. I spent 20 years asking myself; Do I remember this? Or, did someone tell me this? 

Sometimes, I do include bits a pieces of what others told me. I was one when I had my first memory... I thought I was having reoccurring nightmares. It was a family member who helped sort it out for me. And, many others who confirmed what I was told happened. I take none of it lightly. It took 20 YEARS to sort it out. 

I figured if people knew me, truly knew me, then they knew to read each written word with love and compassion. It’s why I never use names or locations. It’s why I don’t explain in gruesome detail every nasty thing I experienced. I learned to love through it all. I forgave them, I forgave me. 

I share my story as a tale of hope to those who have yet to experience freedom from their past. For those naysayers, I tell you it DOES give them hope and removes the isolation of abuse. The more stories I hear, the more I come to understand that I was not alone in my suffering. It’s empowering. 

With that said, I did hurt a few people but never intentionally. See, their perspectives are very different from mine. For example, the house I show repeatedly with my post. It represents to me poverty and pain. However, it represents a piece of history and connection to members of my family of origin because it was built by my great-grandfather. It’s just a house (that was once a post office, I think). It’s just one house of dozens that we lived in growing up. We moved around so much that I can’t even begin to list all the addresses. 

Instead of over-reacting and pushing people out of our lives, maybe it’s time to pause and ask questions. Why that house? What does it mean to you? Would you care to know what it means to me? Are you trying to hurt everyone? 

Still, I can’t help but wonder; why are family members so angry at me? Why aren’t they angry at the people who hurt me? 

And, I still forgive. 

[greenstarmotivation]

“Glitter & Dirt” by Tammy Black  ©2018 All Rights Reserved.

Quiet, little one,

for the pain will always be there.

There is nothing anyone can do to

make it stop.

What’s done is done.

All that can happen now

is whatever you do to make it.

Dear, sweet one.

“Glitter & Dirt” by Tammy Black  ©2018 All Rights Reserved.

Everyone loves Myrtle. She’s a sweet, smaller elderly woman in my church. Each time she hugs anyone, she pulls their face down close to hers and presses her forehead against their own. She closes her eyes and tells the person just how blessed she is to be alive. She radiates love. Today, just before church, she was telling me about how her granddaughter refused to have a relationship with her. Sadness washed over her face as she told me her story of motherhood into grandmother hood. She shared that she’d been a horrible mom and person but mostly because it was a different time, and she just didn’t know any better, like most of the people she knew. She was living out generational abuse. She hadn’t known it at the time but she knew now. Once she was aware of the devastation her parenting had on her daughter, there was nothing she could do to repair the relationship. She kept trying but had long ago accepted the realization that her family may never have anything to do with her again. It hurt her most that her granddaughter “hated” her. Myrtle’s heart was broken over it.

As service came to a close, we all stood up and held hands. I, along with a small group of others, sit in the front row and must turn towards the rest of the congregation when it’s time to sing. I love singing. Today, we’re singing one of my favorite songs as I find myself straight across from Myrtle. She was sitting directly behind me on this bright spring day. Her blue eyes light up as we sing. I think to myself, how could anyone hate Myrtle? It doesn’t make sense to me how anyone could not simply adore this woman. I suddenly realize I’ve been treating my own grandmother exactly the same way that Myrtle’s granddaughter was treating her. I’m now filled with a sense of urgency to get home and call mine. She’s dying. I received the call just a few days before. I didn’t care that she was dying. I hadn’t spoke with her since the last time she appeared years ago at my front door, with my father. She quickly pulled out photographs of a dead relative and began showing my children without my consent. I was still so angry at her from her declaration at the park so many years ago about breastfeeding me. It turned out after conversations with many now adult grandchildren that her claim was true. It was said it wasn’t for nourishment but for nurturing crying babies. It didn’t matter to me why, it was still disturbing. She still stole my mother’s bond from her. I didn’t care if I ever saw my grandmother again. Now, as I stand before Myrtle’s smiling face, I realize it was time to say what needed to be said.

I nearly burst through the front door of my home. My husband looked at me and asked what was wrong.

I need my grandmother’s number.

Why, are you going to let her know you forgive her?

No, I’m going to ask her to forgive me.

I don’t understand.

I begin to explain my experience at church. I’ve been working on healing my past traumas and had long since forgiven so many people but obviously from the presence of my anger I hadn’t yet forgiven my grandmother. My epiphany helped me to see that I’d missed out on a relationship with my grandmother. While my other family members got to learn from her and share in storytelling, laughter, and nostalgia, I was busy being hurtful and hateful. As I’d driven home, I remembered all of the wonderful things my grandmother had done for our family. She worked tirelessly to ensure we all had clothing and food, even if it wasn’t much. She crocheted afghans or made quilts for each one of her children, grandchildren, and was recently trying to  complete ones for the great grandchildren. She was a helper, and I failed to know her.

I called my brother to get the number where she was staying during hospice. I was met with similar questioning.

I simply need to ask for forgiveness.

The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity. I keep praying, please God let her forgive me for how I’ve treated her. Please God forgive me for holding contempt for so long. Please God let her forgive me…

Hello. (A weeping voice answers).

Hi Aunt ---. It’s Tammy. May I please speak with Grandma?

Oh, honey, you can’t. She just took her last breaths as the phone began to ring.

What? Wait. No. This can’t be true. I was going to ask her to forgive me for being an awful grandchild to her. (I begin crying uncontrollably). No. No.

It’s okay baby. She forgives you. She’s with God now.

I hang up the phone and weep in my husband’s arms. I can’t believe it’s done. I can’t believe I didn’t get to say goodbye. I can’t believe I never got to hear her voice again. I hope Myrtle’s granddaughter decides to know her grandma. I pray she never knows my pain.

[greenstarmotivation]

Glitter & Dirt UPDATE

Friends, here’s the part in my story where it’s time for me to get some serious writing done. My notes are all there but the stories aren’t organized. I’ll be working on this in the weeks to come. In the meantime, please take some time to go back to the very beginning of this blog and check out all my writing.  I’d love to hear from you, as well. Ask me questions about my life, about things you want to know; the joys, the heartaches, the traumas. I’m an open book. Plus, it helps me.  See you in a few weeks...

Shine on! 

[greenstarmotivation]

“Glitter & Dirt” by Tammy Black  ©2018 All Rights Reserved.

no sight

no color

soft pedals

sweet scent of lilacs

cool calm breeze

chattering voices

directions of where to go and who to be

ringing through my ears

forever past and gone

“Glitter & Dirt” by Tammy Black  ©2018 All Rights Reserved.

Fall 2018:

I’m sitting on a flight to my birth state. The lovely woman next to me is simply one of the most joyful people I’ve met in a long time. She feels familiar to me. So, when she shares that she’s recently retired as a fifth-grade teacher, I wasn’t surprised. It turns out that she graduated from the same university I did my undergrad degree, though it wasn’t during the same time. It was called something different when she attended. She and her friend/possibly daughter-in-law are flying to surprise her other daughter on her birthday. She’s excited and has no apprehensions about warming up to me. Her children range from 27 to 33; not much older than mine, which is a reminder I feel ever so often how deeply being a teen mom affected the course of my life. She’s twenty years older than me and sharing similar stories of empty nesting and being a grandma. Stories that resonate with me deeply. The only difference is that she’s had those extra decades to create financial stability and gain freedom to travel the world for her children and grandchildren. I learn this as she tells me of her upcoming trip to Japan to go visit her son and his wife and children. I feel blessed to be young enough to crawl around o the floor with my grand son but am often sad that I’m not really needed in the same ways, and I still have so much of my own life to live.

What I love most about her is her love of education and her choice to be in a class with fifth-graders. I remember my fifth-grade teacher the most out of any of my elementary school teachers. Ms. M. She was young, probably in her late twenties. She had short, dark curly hair and bright eyes. She saw through my ratty hair and disheveled clothes to see me and my potential as a human being. She empowered me to sing and act. She helped me make friends and to learn to tell the truth, no matter the consequences. She even made certain I found my way home when I missed the bus and no one was around to pick me up. She was startled to learn that no one had even noticed I wasn’t home. Most days she was my only friend, and she knew it.

I have a feeling my new flight-friend was the same kind of tender and loving teacher. I appreciate her joy and laughter. The more time I spend chatting with her, the more I begin to realize why she seems so familiar to me. She reminds me of my mom, when my mom was younger, which seems odd because this woman is older than my mom was when she died. Still, she has such a youthful way about her, I can’t help but be reminded of my mom’s beautiful smile.

I miss her.

[greenstarmotivation]

“A friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself—and especially to feel, or not feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at any moment is fine with them. That’s what real love amounts to – letting a person be what he really is.” – Jim Morrison

I thought once my kids became adults that being a parent would be easier. 

Was I ever wrong. 

The greatest challenge I have is that they hear everything I write and say with the voice they heard in their childhoods. That voice, my voice, was full of hurt and pain; anger and anxiety. Because of this, everything I write in a message or a text comes out to them hurtfully. This one will be no exception despite the fact that I’m writing calmly and lovingly with joy in my heart for each one of them. 

In the past few months, I’ve been accused of being mean, spiteful, overbearing, and pushy. I suppose since they’ve known me longest, that there’s truth in those accusations. There’s simply one big problem...

I’ve changed. 

I’m not the mom of their childhoods. The truth is that they don’t even know me anymore. I can’t recall last time any of them spent more than a few hours with me alone; other than one of them. Unfortunately, I triggered his past hurts and that triggered my past hurts. Let’s just say it was a shining moment of all I’ve been accused of being coming into the light. Ugh. I punished myself for weeks over it. I still do. Here’s the thing though, none of that matters. Why? Because I believe with all that I am that it’s NOT the intention of our behaviors that matters most but the impact of our behaviors that most matters. So, despite what I think of me and what my intentions are when I write or call or text, what most matters is how it affects my children. 

They’re hurting and there’s nothing I can do to fix it but disconnect and give them the space they need to heal and grow.  As I write this, I remember all the hate I carried in my heart for my parents all those years. Funny though, my parents never pushed themselves into my life, they simply let me know from time to time that they were there for me. I sometimes still hear my father’s voice as the one from my childhood, and it causes me great pain. However, years ago, I was able to step back and see him for who he truly is today. It took time but I came around. My prayer for my children is that they will someday know me for who I am. I pray they realize I truly love and accept each one of them for who they are in this world. I’m grateful for their character and passions. I’m doing my best to step back. 

It’s the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.

[greenstarmotivation]

“Glitter & Dirt” by Tammy Black  ©2018 All Rights Reserved.

silhouettes of a childhood

drift into the sunset

a little girl sits by the riverside

harsh tears stream down her pale skin

dear sweet one, please stop your tears,

for when you weep, your nightmares grow

your deepest fears thrive on your sorrow

yet the world is filled with enchantment

once the monsters have gone away

“Glitter & Dirt” by Tammy Black  ©2018 All Rights Reserved. 

I’ve longed for people to be truthful. I hated the lies when I was growing up. Eventually, I would learn to be just as manipulative as the rest of my family. It’s a frightening thought; a group of fifty to sixty people all lying to themselves and each other. I often wonder if they, too, feel like it was all a dream, or rather a nightmare.

My father’s family consisted of twelve brothers and sisters, including him; their spouses and children, great aunts and uncles; second cousins; and then there was grandma and grandpa.

I loved going to their house no matter where that was. The only house I remember especially one is the one with the white picket fence. There were large patches of grass in the front yard, along with smaller patches of dirt holes that had been dug up by dogs or grandchildren. It doesn’t matter which, both were treated the same.

It’s strange, considering the horrifying events that occurred there, I really enjoyed going to see my grandparents. Grandma was an extremely large woman for her height. She was about 5’4” and weighed (I think) well over 300 lbs. In her younger years, she had dark-dirty blonde hair with streaks of grey. She often wore her hair short with a perm; a very tight perm. Tucked up in the back of her hair were several large bobby pins. Although they weren’t necessary, she often used them to clean earwax from her, or anyone else’s ears. Grandma would just whip one out, clean out her ear, wipe it off on her dress, and place it back in her hair. Because grandma was so large, she opted to wear dresses all the time. Nothing fancy. No, grandma wore simple homemade dresses. The print was typically flowery; small flowers, dark color, nothing too loud. The material was anything she could recycle from other clothes or get at the salvation army.

Grandpa was the exact opposite. He was almost a foot taller than she was, and he was skinny as a post. I’m not sure he weighed much more than 135 lbs. He looked like a holocaust survivor. His face was hollow, his eyes were sunken in, and he always had stubble on his face. He wore loose baggy slacks and light-weight, cotton plaid shirts. Not many of us younger kids remember grandpa. He died when I was very young. I remember him. Grandpa made me laugh.

At one point in my childhood, my mother pulled me aside from the other kids and asked me if grandpa had ever touched me in a bad way or made me feel uncomfortable. I said no, and she never asked me again. As I said before, grandpa putting his hands down my pants was just what grandpa did. I didn’t know it was supposed to be bad or make me feel uncomfortable. When grandpa touched me, well it was simply grandpa’s touch.

I mostly remember grandpa with they lived in the house with the white picket fence. We went over to see them most weekends, I think. Grandpa was sickly, and often stayed in his own room except to use the bathroom. Other than family reunions, I rarely remember grandpa coming out of his room.

I loved my grandma. I wanted her all the time. If I got hurt, I wanted grandma. If someone yelled at me, I wanted grandma. If I was too tired to fall asleep on my own, I wanted grandma to rock and sing me to sleep. Only grandma knew the words to MY song, “Tammy, Tammy, Tammy’s in love.” I missed her so much when I wasn’t near her. She was my friend, teacher, and favorite person.

No one ever understood the security I felt around her. Why would anyone feel such closeness and desire to be around such a disgusting woman?

Grandma was a repulsive woman.

She rarely bathed, and for as large as she was, her odor was less than unpleasant. She was most always picking at something; scratching scabs off her skin, blowing her nose on a cloth hankie, or scratching her head. One time while in the process of pealing potatoes, I watcher her stop, clean her nails with the knife, wipe the knife off under her armpit, and continue to peal the potatoes we ate for dinner that night. When she’d find a cockroach in a coffee cup, she’d just dump it out and proceed to pour the coffee into the cup without rinsing it out first. I can’t remember how many weevils I’ve eaten in my youth. Grandma said it was extra protein in our macaroni and cheese. But for all the unsanitary habits she had, nothing ever compared to her tying children to trees to keep them from running into the road.

Grandma could be fun. She loved to sew and, despite my father’s objections, taught me to do so when I was just 8 yrs old. She made most of my clothes through middle school until I was in the ninth grade. She taught me how to make my own patterns. Soon, I’d be given scraps of material and fashioned all the clothes for everyone else’s baby dolls. Grandma also let us play dress up in the garage. Most of my aunts had been in ballet or dance at one time, so the garage was filled with all their old costumes my grandma had made. She loved music and cooking, and most of all she loved her family.

I loved her deeply. I hated myself for many years for loving my family, but I couldn’t seem to break the bond. That desire to have a connection with where I came from and who I was; it was enough to keep me within harms way. When I was 22 years old, my family started to have reunions again after many years of not. Many of us were now married with children of our own by this time. I was there with my own family; husband and two young children at the time. We were sitting around singing, laughing, pretending we were all healthy and normal, when my grandma blurted out a sentence I wish I’d never heard;

“Tammy, I remember when I used to breastfed you.”

It echoes in my mind over and over again; six million times I’ve relived this moment. My whole childhood began swirling into focus. I now know why I longed for her to hold me, rock me, sing to me, and love me; why I ached for her. I felt sick. I could no longer stop the memories from flooding my mind.

She stole away my mother’s bond.