Moving Day -- PLEASE NOTE!
13 years ago
Here We Go Again
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Recently, I've been revisiting a topic that I have spent, literally, thousands of hours and thousands of dollars dealing with -- my history of abuse.
I spent the better part of a decade dealing with nothing else. Over the course of the last 18 years, I somehow managed to transform myself from a blithering mess to a fairly functional being -- and there is nothing I would love more than to swish my palms together in that famous "dusting off" gesture and say: "Well, that's done!"
But it doesn't seem to work that way -- so far, at least.
For me, at least.
In the past few months, external circumstances and internal cues have signaled to me that it's time to take another look -- at ghosts I thought I'd vanquished, and scars I thought I'd healed.
When I started really working on my abuse shit, way back when, my greatest fear was that I was utterly and irrevocably "broken" -- that I would never and could never recover.
I didn't want to be the woman with the awful, dramatic history -- the terrible tale to tell. I didn't want to be a victim.
And I'm not.
I'm a survivor.
Still, each time I discover that there is another layer of this onion to peel, I go through some large or small ritual of resistance. Most recently, this arose when I, my Beloved, and a dear friend chose to do personal work together. We each chose an area of our lives that we knew we wanted to work on, and we did weekly check-ins and intention setting.
I chose the state of my relationship with my FOO (Family of Origin) -- especially with my parents. They are now in their mid-80's, and I in my mid-50's, and I know that they will not be around forever. I love them, and I know that they love me, but there are places in my relating with them that I know are not as deep as I would like them to be.
That's where the resistance came in. As my two compatriots checked in with verve and gusto on their chosen areas of focus, I found myself dragging my feet, making excuses, and bringing my energy to the assignments I'd given myself in a half-hearted, half-assed way.
That's when I began to suspect that that pesky onion was stinking up my psyche again.
Seriously, I've peeled more skins off that fucker than you can believe.
It's kinda funny though -- the closer I get to the core, the less traumatic each peeling seems to me. That's a hopeful thing.
And I think that's a big part of what's kept me from blogging. Part of what marks me as the "New Improved Portly Dyke -- Now More Functional!!" (in my mind, at least), is that my abuse history is no longer the central issue of my life every single day -- and I think that when peeling time comes around again, I get scared that it will subsume my life as it did 18 years ago.
But truth is, this is a huge part of what I've been thinking and feeling about internally.
I've been carrying on with my routine and doing what I do. From outside, you probably wouldn't notice much difference, but inside, I'm having tectonic plate shifts and long talks with myself, and it all feels intensely personal and important -- but there's also a lot of self-talk that says that no. one. on. earth. would. be. interested. in. hearing. about. this.
And I talk back to that voice and hint that maybe, just maybe, it might be very important to communicate my experience to the world. For me. For someone else.
So, when I said that I was going to just let you in on what's been going on in Cranium-Portly, this is what I'll be letting you in on.
I have no idea whether it will be worth reading. I have great hope that, at the very least, it will be worth writing.
It all kind of came to a head a couple of weeks ago, when I was talking to my Beloved about how much the whole torture thing was bothering me.
Regular readers here will know that I don't blog that much purely political stuff -- the reasons for this are complex and more than I want to go into in this post -- suffice it to say that I was really surprised at how politically-activated I felt when I regarded the torture issue.
I talked about this with my Beloved, because I have strong feelings about being pro-active and working towards things rather than against things, and I wanted to find a way to take action without going into "fighting against" mode. I wanted her advice about approaches and actions, and I wanted to understand why I was so activated about it.
She said: "Well, I'm not surprised that it would be intense for you, given your history."
And I was stunned. Stunned because I had not even considered that angle. It felt a little scary to me that I hadn't seen it, and at the same time, it seemed a mark of healing.
I am a survivor of abuse that would be described -- with no hyperbole involved -- as torture.
It seems impossible that I could fail to see how that connected for me with the issue of state-sponsored torture authorized and perpetrated by my government, but I did fail to see it until she said it out loud.
Therein lies the onion-skin I'm peeling now.
Is it a sign of dissociation that I didn't see it, or is it a sign of healthy objectivity that I didn't see it?
It doesn't matter what the answer is -- I only know that I am compelled to get to that answer.
I have to peel this onion.
Posted byPortlyDyke at 11:21 PM
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IMO, your writing will surely be worth reading.
I thank you for your revelations as it has opened my mind to recognize that the abuse, violence and danger I was steeped in, in my late teens and early twenties was torture. I had tucked it neatly away as "oh, that is just how life was. I brought it on myself by choosing to engage with this being."
Onion peeling, here I come,
ZuVu
Peeling the onion (tears and all) is how I have always described the work on myself that I have been able to do. I want to say, "been lucky enough to do," because that is how I feel. Every layer gives me more of myself.
It seemed I couldn't do the next layer until it was ready to be dealt with. After a while I just accepted the timetable and felt relieved that I'd had the insight that my inner self was taking care of the schedule. I feel strongly that we can trust ourselves for that.
I would say that I now feel this is just my journey and my innerness is simply part of the world I keep on discovering and appreciating as I go along.
I salute you and thank you for writing about this.
I also want to thank you again for the excellent letters you wrote and allowed us to copy and send to our legislators.
I have no idea whether it will be worth reading
It will be worth reading and worth writing.
I am ready to peel with you. Thank you for sharing.
You are one strong, brave, impressive woman. And what you write is always worth reading.
Consider yourself hugged.
~Tina H (from Shakesville)
And those voices that are telling you that this won't be worth writing and won't be worth reading are just continuing to try to shut you up.
You have a right to your voice, and a right to use it. I'm glad that you did :)
And just from reading this, oh my goodness yes is it important that you wrote this.
It will assuredly be worth reading.
I have an onion myself and it's amazing that there's anything left of it, never mind more skin. Yet, this has come up recently for me as well. I can tell you that I spent most of my 30s and part of my 40s with a blasted onion peeler.
I was surprised in to speechlessness when I read this entry. And then spent a great deal of time navel-gazing about it. And I'll say again, I know what you write will be worth reading.
Oh, and you have a very smart Beloved.
I just started reading your blog today, and I identified with this post almost immediately. I quoted you in my own blog and linked it back to your post, but if you're not okay with that just let me know and I will take it down. My post can be found here ( http://queeridentity.blogspot.com/2009/12/storytimeparallel-lives.html ). Sorry, I'm still learning how to backlink and notify and whatnot.