Category Archives: Inner Bonding

Ferguson is on my mind…

be kindI’m not adding much to this post that I borrowed from my friend, Phyllis. She summarizes succintly what many of us in the Ferguson area are feeling these days.  Just the word “Ferguson” commands many images to mind as it’s become a constant loop of details and speculations, hatred and violence, grief and turmoil.  The subject has dominated most of my Thanksgiving gatherings, brief conversations in the hallway outside of a classroom, sermons at church, in line at the grocery store.  It has already divided friends and families, co-workers, teachers and students.

We are each processing the trauma in our own ways.  Some will protest. Some will pray. Some will stick to narrow minded views.  Some will deny the problem.  The evening before Thanksgiving, while shopping for last minute grocery items, I physically stood between an irate, shouting older man and a car full of teenagers who’d been vying for the same parking space.  What came out of my mouth straight from my heart was a simple series of NO’s….no, no, no, no…no more.  It was my moment of standing up to Michael Brown and saying NO, stop what you’re doing and go home.  It was me telling Officer Wilson NO, drive away from the boys and let it go.  It was my own sick worry about my own child coming out as NO, we can’t hurt people anymore…stop now…NO, please, NO. 

I pray often for the families involved in these conflicts. I send them as much love and healing energy as I can. I do what I can each day to walk through life with as much love in my heart.  We are all affected as we are all connected.

Please be kind.

Please be gentle.

Please be patient.

Please be compassionate.




From Phyllis Stein, PhD., Associate Professor of Medicine at Washington University School of Medicine

Ferguson is on my mind. For those of you who do not live in Saint Louis, Ferguson is the name of part of the patchwork of communities that surround Saint Louis, literally part of a patchwork quilt, this one called North County, no real separation from one town to another even though they have separate police forces and local governments. I live in the village of Bel Nor (pop about 1500, area about 400 acres), another of the continuous towns in North County. The effect of the events Ferguson has been an abstraction for me, even though it is only 3.6 miles from here and even though I have had direct contact with people who are involved.

Yesterday the protesters shut down some local shopping malls, including the Galleria, a large indoor mall, good for walking. It had opened again for a couple of hours when a friend and I decided to go there to take a walk.

I have never felt anything like this at the Galleria. The energy of the mall was so “off” and people were both tense and exhausted. But the reason that I am sharing this was that I could feel the intense hostility and distrust coming from almost every African-American there. As we walked, I made eye contact with one young man, and saw hatred and rage coming back from his eyes. It was a shock, and I understood, viscerally, for the first time, the massive nervous system dysregulation and ongoing trauma that has been triggered by what happened and by all of the ways that these events got amplified and fed back by different people with their own agendas and their own trauma filters.

Maybe this is a long way to say that I really “got” how much it is going to take to come back to any sort of regulation for all the people who were so strongly affected and maybe how little the goals and actions of those who are involved are informed by a true desire to bring the world to a more healed place.

You can find Phyllis’s blog here.



Barbarie and her Miracle Child

baby grasping fingerThis post is all about a woman who is a personal heroine of mine.  I had the good fortune to meet her through Margaret Paul’s healing site, Inner Bonding where we’ve come to know each other, exchanging conversation and stories over the years.  What I’ve come to respect about Barbarie is that she has taken a life full of horrible adversity and challenged that in every way possible.  There simply isn’t a hurdle that she’s failed to overcome and what strikes me most is what a gentle and kind soul she is today.  Most would have succumbed to this life and become bitter.  I hope you all are moved as I was by her story and am proud to know her as a friend, a survivor, soldier and mother.  This is her story of her and her Miracle Child, Courtney when she spoke to her congregation at the urging of her pastor.  I’d like to introduce you to my friend Barbarie.

My Miracle Child

Courtney Who Survived Against All Odds

Good Morning – Pastor Jen approached me and asked if I would give a short testimony of God’s resurrection power. So I am delighted to be able to share with you the incredible miracle of the birth of my daughter, Courtney Marie.

In the Fall of 1992 I was an Active Duty Soldier in the United States Army returning from Operation Desert Storm to my duty station in Germany.  Upon my return to post; I received relocation orders to Ft Bragg, NC.  It had been a very long and lonely two years in Germany and I was ecstatic to be returning stateside.     

One evening, just as our overseas tour was drawing to a close, a few of my fellow soldiers and I went out to the club to celebrate the end of a successful tour in Germany.  At the end of our evening, as I was taking a shortcut back to the barracks; I was violently confronted by four uniformed men.   Without warning, I found myself being gagged, my head covered with a pillowcase and dragged into a very dark alley.  Once I was subdued in the alleyway; I was viciously gang-raped by all four men.  It happened so quickly and without warning that I scarcely had time to think or react.

When it was over; I returned to my room, shaken and terrified to my core.  I was convinced that if I reported the rape I would be dishonorably discharged.  Being a soldier was my life and it was the only life I knew.  I told no one what had happened that night and I did everything within my power to block out the memory of the attack so that I could go on being a Soldier.

I left Germany and reported to my new Unit at Ft Bragg.  I went on with my life as a soldier.  It reported for Physical Training – running six miles a day and completed 15 mile ruck sack marches.  I qualified at the rifle range and I reported for duty every morning at 8 am.  I worked with radar, ran drills as a member of the missile crew and endured training in the NBC gas chamber. I was an active duty soldier in constant readiness condition to deploy at the drop of a dime.

Being a soldier was literally my lifeline.  I had no family support and I certainly did not have any positive parental role models or happy family memories.  I had been orphaned, abused and refused entry back into my family as a child and then made a ward of the state. I had no one that I could turn to; I had nothing but the Army. I had absolutely NO desire to be a parent and have children of my own.

I had joined the Army to following in my Father’s footsteps. Though he had passed away when I was three years old; he was only person with whom I had a soul and spirit connection and I clutched onto that memory with both my hands. It was that one and only thread of connection and hope that gave my life’s journey meaning and purpose.  

It was the one thing that kept me going and I felt that I was in danger of losing it. 

I managed to deny, hide and block any conscious thought of being pregnant until I was in my sixth month.  I even fell 12 feet off of a Radar Tower, breaking my wrist and requiring full body X-rays and surgery, and the baby was never identified or noticed. 

It was about that time when I started to feel movement within me that scared me.  Even though I felt the movement I still denied the possibility of a pregnancy.  I know that sounds impossible to believe but I did not have morning sickness nor did I show any symptoms of being pregnant even with the demanding physical training and physical exertion each and every day. 

It was about the middle of the eight month when I began hurt so bad that I was doubled over in horrible, horrible pain.  This lasted for several days and over a weekend.  I said to myself, after buying Tylenol and some anti-acid over the counter medications, that if the pain does not subside or go away by Monday morning I will go to sick call.

Sure enough that Monday morning after reporting to sick call and a urinalysis, the Dr. came back and said “Mama you going to have a baby and you going to have it today!”  Go to the hospital and report in on the 9th floor to Labor and Delivery. 

Courtney Marie (though she was yet unnamed) was born 8 hours later that day.  I had no preparations made for a child, no clothing, no diapers and no name.  I had not wanted to believe that it was going to happen.

But there she was.  She was real and she was here and I HAD GIVEN BIRTH … WOW. 

The social workers and other workers asked over and over what I was going to do with the child.  My unconscious mind already knew and spoke to me through spirit that there was absolutely NO WAY I could or would give this child up. 

Due to complications during the birthing process – meconium aspiration – she was whisked away immediately to NICU – I barely saw her for 30 seconds.  4 hours later they had to life flight her to Duke University Medical Center because the military hospital did not have the means to care for this critical newborn.  

Courtney spent the first 7 weeks on life support (ECMO) with a 15% chance of survival.  She only weighed 4.8 pounds, but she had a head full of curly brown hair.   After I was discharged from the hospital three days later; I was finally able to see her for the first time.  Courtney was so small and so frail that all she could do was hold my little pinky.  She was hooked up to so many wires and medical equipment that I nearly fainted when I saw her for the first time.

I spent those first 7 weeks with Courtney 24/7 in the hospital.  In the midst of feeding, learning to diaper and dress and bathe her; I told God that I did not understand all this.  But I vowed that I would do everything within my power to keep Courtney and raise her.  I told him that he would have to provide all the means necessary for me to be a loving committed parent and that he would need to ensure that all our needs would be met because I had no one else to help us.

When Courtney was 18 months old, I found out that she would have permanent nerve damage and a hearing impairment due to the complications at birth.  So added to the trial of being a single parent was the challenge of having a 98% deaf child.

The journey was extremely challenging for us.  After the first year of a compassionate reassignment to stay at Ft Bragg due to Courtney’s medical needs; I had to return to work.  This meant a new duty assignment that brought us here to Ft Lewis.  I was deployed twice for 6 months while Courtney was under the age of 5 and had to take several leaps of faith while leaving Courtney with a family (strangers) or very new Friends when I was deployed for a six month tour in Saudi Arabia. 

I share all this to share how GREAT our GOD IS. What a blessing it is to speak it out and share God’s Redemptive Resurrection Blessings.  God had a different plan for my life; One that I could have never imagined.  God created a child within me that is a precious part of me that can never be taken away nor devalued.  God created and brought forth Courtney Marie White against all the odds.  God sustained me and brought me through tragedy and heartache so that I could be her mother.  To Him be the Glory Forever. 




I’m the dissenter….

Recently I read a conversation on Facebook where a friend was crying out in pain due to her family shunning her.  Her pleas were confused, angry, sad. By her standards,  she’d been loyal and loving in her gestures toward her family over the years but they had chosen to ostracize her for reasons that they wouldn’t share with her. This challenged many feelings inside her.  She questioned her reasons for staying true to herself, thinking maybe she should have been softer with them, perhaps even more enabling.  Many times she’d reached out attempting to find a common ground with them, something to build a new foundation upon, to no avail. But the bottom line of her pain was that she missed them.  Terribly.  Her emotional loss visits her often.  And I felt her pain even from where I was sitting 1000 miles away.

If you change out the players and setting, you have my exact family situation.  Since my friend and I feel many of the same feelings towards ourselves and our families is probably why we’ve stayed close.   It’s also why this post struck so deeply.

As hard as I try to maintain contact with my family, they just aren’t motivated to return my gestures.  As I’ve grown and learned more about myself, I’ve been able to temper my anger toward our abusive upbringing that we all were subject to.  I, above anyone else, know the deep wounds etched in our young psyches.  I guess I always figured that this fact would make me safe to them.  I understood. I got it.  I was one of them.  Yet somehow, sitting in one of my many therapist’s offices over the years, I convinced myself that if I healed, worked hard, found the solutions for us and held up the light of illumination that they would somehow follow me along that hallowed and healing path.  My fractured reasoning combined with a dogged and desperate approach to enforce my fractured reasoning would result in many, many failed attempts and lots of heartache.

For a while, I was just plain pissed.  After all, I was one of them, how could they turn their backs on me?  I had gone through divorce from an abusive partner, poverty that left me selling my possessions including my car, a child to care for and a tender spirit that had given so much that she’d lost herself completely.  They turned their heads, they wanted nothing to do with me.  When the anger began to wain, the depression ensued, medications were taken, anxiety filled my days with my child.

This was a painful, painful time and the healing took the form of one minute after another, one hour, then one day.  My trust eventually extended to several women friends who gradually over time replaced my family of origin.  We created our own family gatherings, raised our children and moved on piece by piece.  But this was hard, hard work.  And dammit…I didn’t want a replacement for my sisters, nieces and cousins, I wanted THEM.  They were the ones that my heart stayed attached to, they were the ones whose blood my body recognized simply by standing close by or thinking of them.  What I realized is that there aren’t enough curse words, things to be broken or tears to be shed that will make another person return to you if they don’t want to or simply can’t.  And it was in this last phrase that I finally took another step toward healing.

My family can’t be around me.  They just can’t.  And they don’t.

I don’t exactly know why or do I have any explanations as to my conclusion but have had many possibilities given to me by loving friends, sponsors and therapists.  One thought is that I am the one person in the family that left.  I am the dissenter.  Like the little girl in the photograph, she’s the one who is standing up, preparing to separate herself from the circle.

In their eyes, I chose to honor myself, putting my individual needs over the group’s needs, get the hell out making sure that my life and my daughter’s life would never reflect that stagnant, cesspool upbringing that I had.  I had left the cult and the cult like thinking that defined us. Following this line of thinking, my family then shunned me as a religious community might shun those who no longer follow the thinking of the group.  So maybe, we were really just simply a sociological~philosophical~anthropological~spiritual textbook example? That’s the cunundrum, its all of these truths but  it. is. not. simple.  Have I overthought and personalized a situation that perhaps historically has happened throughout time?  Believing I was not unique actually made me feel a bit better.

I search for reasons behind the fact that they can’t be around me.  My friend and Inner Bonding facilitator, simply states that they are too wounded.  Their inner child feels too wounded to be able to give any love back to me at this point and maybe never.  But what does that mean for me?  That I never know them again?  That years go by and people die and new babies are born and the children get married and I’m never, ever a part of this?  I was wounded too but found a way to free myself, why can’t they step up and do the same?  We could lift each other up instead of giving up and staying so stuck, perpetuating the same cycles over and over.  They have the same ability that I did to throw off the blinders and go out into the world and experience other ways of life outside the cult commune.  Wow, look who just showed up!  The angry cheerleader strikes again!  I want to inspire them with my chosen set of values, yet when they don’t respond, I’m pissed.  Hmmm…..

Actually, I’m hurt and sad.  I miss them and I want them whole and happy.  I want to see their children and have them know my daughter.  Then, I’d like to throw in a family reunion where we all have T-shirts printed the same, with a rainbow overhead, while we frolic the day away proclaiming our undying familial love for each other.  Insert my family as interesting, well read, politically moderate and non-racist individuals who love themselves and perform altruistic work for a living preferably with an environmental flair.  And you can see where this goes….off into fantasy land. But since this is reality and the previous scenario is not going to happen, I learn there is absolutely nothing to do about it.  Except to pray for their peace.  And well, there is that acceptance part.

Using my best  DBT (Dialectal Behavior Therapy) skills, I stay as centered as I can and allow the feelings to wash over me.  My mantra being that I must accept myself and my family for who they are and what they can give.  Just accept….with compassion….the place where we are at this given moment.  Send them love.  Send me love.  Breathe.

My niece responds via text  “damn, I miss you”.  She has read the quarterly upbeat newsletter type thing that I do.  Actually she confesses that she received it a week before but looked at it with dread for days before opening and reading it.  That puzzles me but I let it go.  My newsletter is similar to what families send out around the holidays, updating family and friends that they don’t see in person throughout the year.  I’ve chosen this method of communication by default.  Since we don’t have family reunions or holidays together or even Facebook connections, it is my safest, best and most creative way to stay in touch.  The subjects are benign and safe.  This issue was about the dogs in our lives.

Here’s the other thoughts that I try to release from my heart….How can you miss someone and let that be the overriding feeling?  As in, I miss you so much but will do absolutely nothing about it.  I will simply choose to sit here and miss you and deny myself the experience of trying to work things out or even let myself think that I deserve a chance at happiness?  I’m going to tell you just enough to let you know I still think of you,  making the move to reach out and give you a quick, elusive, snippet of love and then yank it back so fast that you won’t even really know it was there.  An illusion, a wisp, a fantasy that can be denied.

I mailed out 12 of my newsletters to my family a month ago and to date, I’ve received one text of  “damn, i miss you”.

Breathe.  Breathe.  Give yourself love and compassion and then extend it to them.

Related articles:

6 Steps of Inner Bonding

Dr. Margaret Paul,  Do you chase when someone withdraws?

the letters in my life….

Recently my life has been a world salad.

My family and I have recently been throwing around letters of treatment modalities combined with prospective and already assigned diagnosis.  In an effort to be an well informed consumer as well as keeping our minds and hearts open to whatever ensures that our family and I are getting the most help, we’ve tried many therapies.  Some more interesting and helpful than others, we’ve journeyed down the road full of letters and abbreviations designed to add brevity to a complex and confusing situation.

These recent conversations in our home were very timely accented by a thread on Facebook where Terri, owner at Bone Sigh Arts, asked  her audience what therapies helped the women survivors….I feel compelled as always, to help my fellow woman survivor and this is a partial list from that thread with some of my own thrown in…

  • EFT ~ Emotional Freedom Technique ~ Gary Craig
  • NAET ~ Nambudripad Allergy Elimination Technique ~ created by Dr. Devi Nambudripad
  • DBT ~ Dialectic Behavior Therapy ~ created by Marsha Linehan
  • Energy Medicine ~  created by Donna Eden
  • Herbal remedies for physical and emotional conditions
  • EMDR ~ Eye Movement Desensitivation Response
  • IB ~ Inner Bonding ~ created by Margaret Paul 
  • Hypnotherapy
  • Cranial-Sacral Therapy ~ John Upledger

Homeopathy, acupuncture, massage therapy and the list goes on of top notch healing modalities….

Now here are some of the letters attached to me….SA (sexual abuse) survivor, PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder), DID (disassociative identity disorder) , CFIDS (chronic fatigue and immune dysfunction syndrome), LD (Lyme disease), EBV (Epstein-Barr) and the recently suggested but not confirmed BPD (borderline personality disorder).

I prefer to think that these letters will set me free instead of inducing more confusion although the process of maneuvering through them can be confusing.  I am putting this post mostly for reference, there aren’t any conclusions here.  I have found that the technique is as almost as good as the practitioner.  For example, my NAET practitioner is excellent.  She is kind, intuitive and skilled out the whazoo.   The woman who did EMDR for me was just okay and I didn’t pursue working with her.  One has to follow their instincts strongly here and find a practitioner that you can trust implicitly when doing this type of work.

Next week, I begin working with a woman (who was a fabulous fit by the way) who will be teaching me DBT.  It’s high success rate makes it not only a perfect technique for those with BPD but for many less labeled individuals.  We begin our work even without the controversial label of BPD which actually is one reason I agreed to see her.  She isn’t interested in the diagnosis just the outcome.  That sealed the deal for me.

Just to cover all the bases and to shut some people in my life up, I saw my MD/psychiatrist who yawned and scratched his face when I told him of my plans to start DBT and did he think I had BPD.  He didn’t really answer me but asked me if I had a firm, concrete plan for my suicide to which I replied no.  He handed me some anti-depressant samples and told me to come back in a month.  My answers hadn’t compelled him to jump to any conclusions nor hospitalize me.  I can’t say that I was disappointed by his lack of conclusion because it was pretty much the way I saw it too.  His apathy may have done me a favor.

That doesn’t mean I don’t know that things are amiss with me sometimes.  One can’t go through this type of trauma and not come out with swiss cheese for a brain on occasion. My family and I have been through times of hell that forced growth and compassion on us whether we liked it or not.  DBT (dialectical behavior therapy) has as one of its cornerstones the concept of radical acceptance which I immediately latched on to.  It feels really kind to learn to accept myself for exactly as I am and because of what I have been through.  What a beautiful thought to understand the strengths and limitations brought to me by this situation, accept it and go on to be the best person I can be.  And of course, my hope that my family and friends also learn the concept of radical acceptance but its not required for my success.

And by the way, this work takes time.  One of the mantras that I hear over and over from sensitive practitioners and support people is that it took a lifetime for us to get this way so be patient with the recovery.  Its so true for me that being gentle with myself has been one of the most important approaches to these life changing therapies that I would place very near the top.  That and a good dog.

This post touches on many, many topics.  Digest them slowly, stay informed and be gentle with yourself.  Otherwise you may find yourself drowning in word salad.

towards her Light

 she had changed.
they hadn’t.
so why was she still hanging around?
she closed her eyes,
wished them well,
wiped her tears
and headed thru another passage
towards her Light.

~terri st. cloud

Each day, my inbox is graced with reminders of fellow bloggers and artists, who’ve taken the time to send me a greeting.  Being very selective about who I give my limited brain power to, I carefully choose those who motivate in an introspective and authentic way, in other words, they have to “get it”.

Terri gets it.  In fact, it is as if she writes for me, finding the words I can’t find and expressing them when I need them expressed.  I’m so grateful for that, needing this exact type of guidance and inspiration to fill the gaps between the things I want to see but can’t.  Drawing up her words, I create new words hoping to put them in form that carries on the inspiration to another person.  That is the ultimate prize for me, reaching out and taking someone’s hand, easing their pain, putting a smile on their face….

The struggle wrapped up in this quote is one I’ve dealt with my entire life.  So many times have I been in this very place, looking at someone I love with all my heart and having to choose to walk away from them.  Sometimes it was family, sometimes friends, and once, a husband.  It is so hard.  It really sucks.  I hate it.  But, this choice, being crucial to the preservation of one’s true self, is sadly often the only and best solution.  The first time is the most difficult.  In the stupor of unawareness that I lived in, I didn’t realize this option existed.  Even when I discovered it to be a choice, I was appalled at the thought of disengaging from one’s family, from one’s loved ones, from one’s own blood.  I doggedly held onto the false notion that I could control the outcome of others, get them to want a better and healthier life and spare myself the pain of living without the family that I envisioned them to be.

It happened for me much like Terri states in her quote, that “she closed her eyes, wished them well”.   It has truly been a lesson worth practicing.


Phyllis and her therapy are my mind expansion drug.  It is an induced state of existence that I have come to crave.  It is a drug that I haven’t gotten often, a rare delicacy. When I am out somewhere and stumble upon someone who truly makes me think, I am delighted.  Often it is animals or children.  Usually I am the one who is bored with the people crowd, the mundane conversation which goes in the the same direction, money, blah, blah, blah…me, myself and more about me…..  when something catches my interest be it human,  animal or plant, a warm feeling pulls me toward it.  I love the energy of this moment.  It is there if you pay attention, in fact, it is everywhere.  The conversation fades as you have the sense of needing to cross the room to experience that which holds great interest.  I love being led through therapy.  The places we go are the innermost creases of my conscious which borders my subconscious.  It is a separation that is slight, very thin.  Its texture is that which is intended to give, bowing gently to one side then another, like a curtain over an open window, following whichever way the breeze carries it.  This division blurs often for me not in visual terms but mostly in feelings.  Within a span of a day, I can experience emotions from many different stages of my life.  This ability is increasing thanks to my therapist.  She leads while I slip down that path, the warm timeless space where I retrieve lost and buried thoughts an emotions.  sometimes the division is huge and made of stone.  very definite barriers constructed purposefully so as not to feel.  after all it wasn’t safe to feel.  the priority was for the child warrior to be on the lookout.  the attackers were many and took many different forms.  some were so subtle that it took years of therapy and growing up just to recognize them.

We talked of the bright room, the room of joy, pure blissful joy.  I stare blankly for a long time trying so hard to conceive of this notion.  I want so much to know this feeling, this room of joy. Barely into the room, the feeling comes that I want to write my story. This is something I want with all my heart and like many other projects before, I will persist and learn until I have mastered it.  I take a helper in the room with me.  It’s Shrek, big, green, fierce protector but so sweet and warm.  He blocks the doorway from intruders so I can be little.  I get to be the child while he watches lovingly.  My angel swoops in for the party. It is wonderful, I sit with my comforter around me watching with delight.  So many wonderful things to look at.

Phyllis said last night that she couldn’t wait for my book.  It was in reference to the stories I’ve been writing and the progress that I have made.  I was glowing.  It didn’t hit me until i was getting into bed tonight that a PHD at Washington University, just told me that she couldn’t wait for my book.  Oh my god, it occurs to me that there really is a story to tell.  I’m giddy and am already picturing it.  My words have worth.  Yes, I could do this.  I AM doing this.

diary entry…

March 4, 2011…..Really wanting to get up and get moving.  Is that a distraction for me? To get involved in a project as a way to move the focus somewhere else or is it a healthy thing to do to move about trying to feed one’s need for order. i feel more connected when I’m moving around, seeing people living life so i know the answer to this already.  I suppose it is about balance.  I spend time here, moving and stretching, canning, reading but always holding my child with me, stopping when she’s tired or frustrated.  The weather is crazy today so I need to be extra careful.  I feel love right now for my therapist and having Inner Bonding as a tool, as a way to connect with others on the same path. It feels great to have a resource, an anchor, a go to strategy.

My stomach is growling and I must eat and stretch.  C’mon sweetie, let’s go get some food.  Berries and cream, yum.

mother aches…

last night was full of dreams, went to bed sad, lonely, aching for my mom or a mom. feeling like i needed mothering bad.  spent some time crying, cuddled with my pillow, didn’t get very far talking to my child before i fell asleep.  felt introspective most of the afternoon and evening.  thinking it has tons to do with the the one word that is stuck so hard in my brain, deprivation.  deprivation of mothering.  the feeling is so strong, it engulfs me and i feel empty.  i want to be mothered so bad and i loved being a mother that i want to mother all of my daughter’s friends.

last night’s dream was about me being pregnant at an old age, 50 plus, and delivering a baby girl.  it begins as if i am the mother but have strong feelings also as the baby….  she was beautiful, almost glowing as i held her.  but immediately i knew something was wrong with her.  she had a physical deformity in her mouth, her jaw was crooked, her teeth were misplaced and oddly enough i just birthed a newborn with teeth. i delivered her by myself because i didn’t make it to the hospital. my husband would have nothing to do with her and simply offered to bring me food if needed it but wouldn’t look at the baby after he deposited us at the hospital entry.  later when i left to be with her at  the hospital, he was busy with a project and wouldn’t go with me.

here’s the weird part about this baby.  she was very wise, an old soul, but wouldn’t look at me much, kept glancing away, wasn’t comfortable at all with me.  we weren’t bonding much at all. i desperately wanted to feel something for this child and kept holding her but the hospital staff kept taking her away and doing procedures on her.  this is the part where i wasn’t the parent that i am now because i would have never let that happen.  i watched this passive, worried, fretful woman let everyone poke and prod her baby and didn’t say a word and totally gave her responsibility over to them and never in this life would i have done that.  the baby didn’t care for this either and was extremely emotionally vacant as she would look away from me, wondering why the hell was i not taking care of her better.  then during a time when they left her alone, i was holding her and she looked at me and spoke “mommy….this hurts.  it hurts when i do this….she is mimicking moving her stiff and rigid jaw open and shut where her teeth didn’t fit right. her mouth couldn’t close right and as the mother am still not really hearing her.  its not that i don’t love her or want to love and help her but this whole thing freaks me out so much that i want to just leave her there and run away.

my therapist feels that i represent both the mother and child…thinking my baby inside is starting to trust me and talk to me a bit.  i’m to encourage her and continue to honor her so she will express herself.  i’m actually thrilled that if it is her finally speaking to me, i can help her with her hurt.  that i can do.  i’ve learned to be the person who can do that and will.  the discouraging part is the realization that i’m starting at the infant stage?  a lifetime’s work of piecing myself together and a breakthrough and its back at the very, very beginning…doesn’t that signify another lifetime’s work ahead?  exhausted, i e-mail my therapist for another appointment.

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