There is no forgiving -- Survivor PTSD.

I've been here before. I'm sick. I have come down with bronchitis once again. Just a bug? For me it's a sign that my PTSD is active. This is what the Stanford rape is bringing up.

Trauma at work
weakens my defenses as I take my eyes off
As I tell myself I am ok,
and I am, but I am not
not ok.
 I am ok now.
I am ok today.
Mantra, keeps me sane.
I am safe, today.

There is no present danger,
except inside my head.
I move through daily life,
take the car into the shop,
cry in the car before I go into work
put on a smile and think,
if I make no fuss,
if I give them no power,
the feelings will go away.
But they stay.

Underneath it all,
I'm operating on alert
fight or flight,
thankful to go to sleep at night,
tiring my body
day in and day out.
Sometimes I can't tell,
if I'm trying to foget,
or staying busy not to
recreate the scenes again.

Tell no one.
Tell not.one.
kiss the children good morning,
go on, have a  good day,
tuck them to bed under stars,
tell them they are safe,
though mom is in pain,
remembering
what happened on that day.
Keep on moving.
You'll be ok.

The news of Brock has unearthed a storm of feelings about my own rape 18 years ago. One, that like many, I swept under the rug in shame and fear of more judgement and rejection and pain. I read her letter and wept. Wished I had that kind of healing, that fast. I am only now in therapy, breaking patterns of abuse and here is, this.  Rape, dysfunction, self-esteem, worth. Poster kid am I? Part of my birth to consciousness, my teacher says. I know, he's right, my story is mine to tell.

I went to marry
I went to college,
I ran obstacle races
accrued trainings and degrees
badass I wanted to be.
I wanted to be the best
to be loved,
to be cared for,
to care for others,
to show everyone,
I was success.
Look! at what I can do.
Love me,
I've earned it.
When the truth is,
I don't know,
didn't know,
how to love me
just for me,
and not judge me
and not be afraid,
of me and you
and rejection and regret.

So in my own narrative I hear myself, my own worst critic. "I could have helped it," I could have made different choices. I could have chosen not to naively go out that night. I could have I should have, I shouldn't have. I could have fought, though I had been date-drugged, I wish I had...

I wish I had,
superhuman strenght
to say outloud what my head
screamed at that moment.
To say:
No!, stop! I don't want to be here.
Take me home.

I wish I had,
pushed him of,
told the cop, who did come,
and did nothing,
that I wasn't his girlfriend,
that he was 23,
that I was only,
15.
That it was dark,
and I was scared,
and I didn't feel like myself.
That I was ashamed.

That I only had 1 drink,
something wasn't right,
I went to the bathroom
I didn't feel well
and then
like I zombie, that's all,
out of body, I was there.

"Oh, I didn' think it was your first time"
He said,
and he dropped me off,
at home, in shock,
parents mad because I was late.
Shower, blood, bed.

Truth? I have more anger towards myself. I try to place it somewhere else. I want to own that speech, that says "No, it wasn't my fault, I didn't ask for it."

So yesterday, coughing, with a fever from stuffing all the feelings that are coming up, in therapy I was frozen when I was asked to talk to my 15 year old self. What would I say?

-I love you. Yes. It wasn't your fault.
       My voice cracks. I can almost believe it. Almost.
-You are still a beatiful soul.
--Stupid bitch-my head interjects- Why didn't you stay home that day? Why did you have to be a rebellious teenager who thought she'd go have drinks and play pool for a couple of hours? Why didn't you listen. It is your fault. You are dirty. You will always be dirty. That's why you feel unworthy. Stupid stupid young girl. It's your mother's fault, she taught you how to act like a lose woman, like a whore. Libertinaje. Estupida. Eres una estupida. Te lo dije. Pero no.... On it can go. That voice, that litany of unworth.

The voice of my father. Still now, in me, just as cruel, just as cutting, just as judgemental. The voice of catholicism. The voice of all the unlearning I chose to do today.

I fight on. I cry. I muster out loud:
-No. I am a beautiful soul. You've worked so hard to forgive yourself. You can forgive yourself.

-There is no forgiving
 He interjects, after I am quiet. Not my father this time. My therapist, my teacher, my guide.
The thing is Marcy, you don't earn forgiveness, and you didn't do anything that needs forgiving.

That's the crux. Right now. There's no forgiveness needed. My brain can't wrapt itself around it.

But I must grieve. I must grieve what I never did. I must grieve what I was too busy hiding from everyone then. Too afraid of judgement, too caught up judging myself.

To let go
I must grieve
what happened then
to that kid
who had barely
given a first kiss,
who had never
been touched tenderly.
Who didn't get to say yes.
Who didn't get to chose
how she
a woman became.
Who hurt,
and didn't have parents
who could help her
too caught up in their
addiction,
drama and codependency
the cycle
repeats itself.

It wasn't my fault. I need not forgive me. I need to, let go, to be well. I chose to, feel, and release.
One day.
Today,
One night,
Tonight.
Permission to feel,
now,
with all the fear
and all the doubt,
onto uncharted territory
slowly walking
sometimes crawling
the misery otherwise
to great to bear.
The road to healing,
sometimes,
is born of desperation.
One day,
if I keep soaking
in forgivness without regret
in forgiveness without judgement
in forgiveness without
condition
or consequence,
I hope that feeling
will stay.

Enough. I owe love to myself. I owe kindness to myself.  I owe distance from those harsh patterns devoid of compassion and love and embrace. Enough. So, if you find yourself being angered, regressing or getting triggered, you are not alone. In bringing light to hard issues, perhaps we can come together as a village to bring eachother healing, to face the challenges that come before us, as they pop up. I'm often reminded I don't pick my own healing agenda, and avoiding it, or sidestepping it -if I am paying attention- gets me all twisted, and even physically sick.

In love and light,
May you feel the warmth and embrace that it is often easier for me to extend to you, than it is to me. We are not alone.
Namaste.

Open letter about love and appearance

Throw Back to 2013. Very handy since I'm about to tackle issues of negative talk again. The universe is awesome this way and here I was looking at this nuget of wisdom to bestow upon myself today.

Open letter about love and appearance.

Please do not compare love with appearance, they are very different things. I love the children, they love me. They know so and feel it in every bone. Our home is filled with love and hugs and kisses. We go to sleep and wake up to hugs and kisses. We speak of carrying our love in our hearts even if we are away. We talk about internal beauty and being the best we can. I allow them to be themselves and to feel secure in who they are not because of how they look, or what the world will think, but because of their innate invaluable nature. They are bathed, they wear clean clothes which they pick themselves, they brush their teeth and eat and play and are happy children. I hope they grow to see appearance is only that, and they should only worry about it until and unless they must, for it has a purpose, but it does not define you, or your relationships.

Plenty of successful people and plenty multimillionaires do not put success on their appearance or their kids' appearance. I cherish their innocence. Soon, the days of messy hair will be over and the need to look attractive (hopefully in high school and not middle school) will arrive. Soon, they will go to college and hold jobs and will have to worry about it. At five, he has the privilege to not have to worry yet.

Written in context, since Marcos' messy hair means to his father, that I don't love him and he "looks homeless."

Sometimes I lose myself in the toxicness, at times I am reminded that I can and do find the good in a toxic situation; so long as I stay focused on love. smile emoticon

Happy Birthday Johnny!

Last Thursday was Johnny Cash's birthday and I've been immersed in Johnny and June. Oh what a love. What a life he led.  Below, a Birthday note from him to her:

"Happy Birthday Princess,

We get old and get use to each other. We think alike.

We read each others minds. We know what the other wants without asking. Sometimes we irritate each other a little bit. Maybe sometimes take each other for granted.

But once in awhile, like today, I meditate on it and realize how lucky I am to share my life with the greatest woman I ever met. You still fascinate and inspire me.

You influence me for the better. You’re the object of my desire, the #1 Earthly reason for my existence. I love you very much.

Happy Birthday Princess.

John"

Happy belated birthday Johnny Cash, and thanks for showing us how not to give a fuck unless it really mattered.

I Pretend

I glide my fingers
gently
over a page
and think it’s your skin
instead.
I think of yesterday.

I glide my fingers softly again,
and again I pretend,
that for a marvelous moment,
I can see your face.

It all glazes over,
I lose my sight,
tears stream unstopped now
down from my eyes.
Until I regain focus,
regain my strength,
at least for a some time.

I glide a finger over my hand,
absent minded for a while
and I wonder
if you feel my touch
When we’re away.
I pretend.

Trail of Hope

Lately there's been some dark feelings in my life. The valleys through which I've been traveling have a good destination. That I know, but the road of Doubt, which is where I've been hanging out for the last couple of months led me to a lot of time sitting down and looking up at the tops of smoke black canyons; wondering how I was ever able to get up there and if I remember how beautiful it was to look down at this valley and through it.

I also spent a lot of time wondering if I'm ever leaving. I sat and waited and embraced the cold. I didn't want to get up and go because it was easier to say I got lost. Died trying. Oh well. The journey was too hard. When I tried to just let go and to let myself sink into the quicksand below me, the pain was too great, and here's what came of if:

Before the advent of vehicles and flying machines, starting a journey was a life-altering decision. People traveled for months or even years crossing through deserts, and snow, and wars. When someone left for travels, you  didn't know if you'd ever see them again. Ever. Goodbyes were forever. If a father left for war he'd often come back to find grown children and distant wife. No Wi-Fi, no Skype, not even  a broken up telephone call.

That ancient travel is what my journey through life feels like and I've walking through the road of Doubt at the lowest and most trying point of my valleys of darkness. This road is set in stones made of the past. It's where we go to look back and think we lost it, made mistakes, made wrong choices, can't escape and worse, there's no other way, there's no way out. The road of Doubt is also the road of self-criticism and not of the constructive kind. In the middle of mine I found some acceptance and with that thought I was reminded that mistakes and what ifs didn't matter.

That was the sign pointing to Hope. Once I turned to the dirt trail of Hope  (it's not a magnificent paved road, sorry), I sat down and was able to see that the journey I've completed so far with its struggles and perceived lack of rewards, has been beautiful. I should be proud of myself instead of beating myself up for not doing enough, or not being enough. Up until this point, if I am not yet at the apex, if I am only conquering one small leg of my trip, I should still be happy and ready, because the future journeys may demand more sacrifice and letting go. They will demand more Faith and Trust and Hope. If I can't hold on to Hope now, I'll be in trouble later.

Besides that, I also realized that in the journey is where I will find myself. Sitting around and thinking "Who am I?, Who am I really and deeply, and truly?" is almost a futile exercise, that's for yuppies. Doing, going, experimenting, testing, and following your heart, and fighting when you're in the dark, that's what answers the question. I expect it  will be a grueling discovery.

So, I went back to gratitude exercises yesterday as part of my fight to focus on the light. It's the second day only and I already feel it help me wake up focused on the small white light, on the trail I must travel.

Here's todays:
Today, I'm thankful for waking up feeling the waves of inspiration, again.
I'm thankful for the beautiful people in my life, who hold me up and check up on me and tell me I am so when I don't feel it.
I'm thankful for the ability to write. I've been furiously writing;

and for Internet, because now I have no excuse but to edit and send out material that has been collecting dust.

Hope, Faith and Trust is my wish for you today too.

Oh Ragnar be Kind!

If you're going to do it or you have to it you may as well do your best. There is a lot going on and taking off  and not enough time to tell you all about it yet! Stay tuned!!!

We are about to start quite an adventurous and rewarding journey. Coming up this weekend I'll be doing my best to share photos of the Ragnar-Vail Lake race. My team, "We came for S'more Running"

participated in the Utah Ragnar last April, and we got snowed in.

 I was on crutches. Hobbling around in the snow, was already way beyond the permissions I had obtained from the medical professionals. Of course I tried talking my Physical Therapist and Dr. into letting me race, but they recited all these things that could happen to my bones and my future adventures if I did. So I went anyways, and my not doing anything turned into walking around the camp until I couldn't feel my foot, but I didn't run. I was moral support. They did awesome, of course, until the course closed due to visibility problems and injured runners. The joys of obstacle and cross country races!!!

This year's Vail Lake is held at the location where the last Spartan Beast was cancelled. Yay.

This time, I'm closing the race. Back and kicking ass no matter how hot and humid it gets. I'm not in the best shape yet, --that's the next part of this journey-- but I will be in the company of friends getting little sleep and a lot of running done. Really, I just want my decal, and maybe a t-shirt, and the memories of pushing through and spending time with friends who run.

Of course I haven't packed. There's a pile of supplies I did buy today. And sure enough I got the busiest schedule for the rest of today. As I write this , it's 24 hrs til I wake up to drive away at 2 a.m. Friday Morning.

Race on my friends, and be kind.

Dancing Life Away

 Last July when I never published this post, I had the pleasure to attend the 10th annual Salsa Congress 10th annual Las Vegas Salsa Congress  here in Las Vegas. Dancers from all over the world travel and gather at the Tropicana for 4 days of dancing, workshops and shows. After 2 hours of watching the top performers from all over the floor, everyone proceeds to the ballroom and by 1 am it is full and throbbing, people, most who are strangers to each other, dancing away until 4 a.m. when the music stops and those whose feet are still standing may go up to someone's room for even more dancing and merriment.

Sleep a few hours, get up to take classes, eat, shows, dance, repeat. For a few pictures and video click here LV Salsa Congress

I remember my first congress. As a newbie to the scene I was self-conscious. I worried about 'messing up', not following correctly, stepping on the wrong place. The times I asked someone else to dance, I felt that fear of rejection guys are certainly more used to than us.

As the years have gone by, my dancing has improved some. I still sometimes let worry get to me. That Saturday I danced with some worry: Worry that I am not as good as others, that I am not a performer, that I would make mistakes or that I have bad habits in my dance. Saturday I had more trouble hearing the music, and blamed it on my not-good-enough abilities.  Saturday I danced less and I smiled less.

Sunday night, not even pretending to dress up for the occasion:

 I made it a purpose to just go and have fun, enjoying the last few hours of this year's dance marathon. I had the best dances of the weekend and I danced better than I had all weekend.

Congress ended and I caught up on fluids and sleep yesterday. Then, this morning I rose before the sun and taught yoga. I have been working on projecting strength but with a sense of peace and evenness. Today, my inspiration was that exhilarating and calm feeling from Sunday. Dancing away with happiness, floating in the movement. I found my teaching. I found my voice, steady and strong, urging for challenge and form and breathing. I found the peace in teaching, like I found the peace in the dancing of Sunday, and there was no fear.

Fear holds us back. No matter whether we are talking about workouts, hobbies or daily decisions at work and at home. Fear hinders us. Without fear, we can soar. Fear, most often, begins with us and towards us. We are our biggest critics. If we can love ourselves, forgive ourselves and give to ourselves, we can shatter the fear at least long enough to get a little closer to our true selves today, and as we dance and repeat, we get through life with peace and strength, and maybe even happiness. So dance away and remember: