Transcendence - so much more than sheer Survival!

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

In honor of the many people who are not just survivors, but whose lives are filled with purpose, laughter, questions, tears and determination - in other words, a mixed bag of real, genuine emotions that real, genuine people are "supposed" to have...


I have created a social network, entitled "Transcendent Survivors," which can be reached by clicking http://transcendentsurvivors.ning.com/, or by clicking on the black "badge" box you'll see to your right, with a purple and black butterfly. 

My hope is that we can co-create a community of survivors who share ideas on how to live beyond that which which we have survived, and become Transcendent to include its deepest meaning. 

Wishing everyone a week filled with moments of joy and insight.

Love and hugs,

Jo

The Gift of Love

If you or anyone you know is having a crisis and feeling alone or potentially unsafe, please consider using one of the resources in the link below. You'll notice there are organizations around the globe, including LGBT-targeted groups like PFLAG, and groups for survivors of different kinds of violence.

Here's a link to a list of resources.

Please know that I care, and many people in your life care. It's a sign of true strength to reach out if you're hurting; people want to offer their support. You are NOT alone.


================================================


"Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at it destination full of hope." - Maya Angelou



The following is a note written to me by my beloved.  I awoke one day to discover her getting ready to head out the door for a few errands.  She told me to check my e-mail, for she'd sent me a message.

A bit nervous, but very curious, I pulled up my mail and read what she had to say.  I was blown away.  The compassion, love and tenderness are all so obviously a part of who she is and how she relates to me.  I was moved to tears, but in an uplifting way.

I work hard to ensure that much of the worst ugliness that is inherently part of my current process of healing and recovery is kept away from her, out of the light of day.

Still, as always, she is a perceptive partner, lover, and best friend.  I could never ask for anything more, for her insight and compassion are gifts beyond measure.

Below is the text she sent me.  After reading it, perhaps you'll understand why I'm feeling so very touched, deeply blessed, and unconditionally loved...

=================================================

"As I sit here, I am watching you sleep, peaceful yet restless. All I can think of is how much I love you. You are my life and my love, you are my capturer yet also my freer. I am so in love with you that I get extremely agitated with myself and the English language...that there are no words to convey the depth of my feelings for you. I love you with all my heart and all my soul... you are my everything.

I ache for you and what you are going through at this time, I wish there was something I could do for you. I want you to know that I am here, that I love you deeply and that my shoulder(s) are big enough for you to lean on, cry on, laugh on and get comfort on them. I wish I could take all your pain and anger away, to a place far far away - in a locked box buried deep in the ground so that they can never find their way back to you.

Please let me be a source of safety and comfort to you and for you...that is what I ask of you. I love you with all of my being....and I am here for you in any way you feel and/or see fit. You mean the world to me and I am willing, able and ready to be here for you. Please know that I love you with every fiber of my being. I vowed to love you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health.....I am going to honor the vows we took, 'till death do us part."

=================================================

Tears of joy, and of gratitude, have been freely flowing.  I am very aware just how fortunate I am to have this powerful, unconditional love in my life; a gift freely given.

Bless you, my Beloved Yelo Bear - my heart belongs only to you.

Courage

WARNING: This blog is written by an adult survivor of severe childhood abuse. While specific graphic details are not offered, it is entirely possible that this material may be uncomfortable for some readers. If you have any doubt as to whether this may “trigger” you or make you feel unsafe in any way, please STOP reading and click elsewhere. If, while reading this or at any other time, you find yourself feeling unsafe or contemplating hurting yourself, please IMMEDIATELY contact a crisis line or mental health professional. Please – be safe, and be well.

If you or anyone you know is having a crisis and feeling alone or potentially unsafe, please consider using one of these resources. You'll notice there are organizations around the globe, including LGBT-targeted groups like PFLAG, and groups for survivors of different kinds of violence.

Here's a link to a list of resources.

Please know that I care, and many people in your life care. It's a sign of true strength to reach out if you're hurting; people want to offer their support. You are NOT alone.


================================================


"The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned." - Maya Angelou


There is a pervasive myth that children who endured horrific abuse - be it sexual, physical, verbal, emotional, or some combination thereof - inevitably grow up to continue the cycle of abuse by victimizing children once they become old enough to do so.

While there certainly are many individuals who meet these criteria, many other survivors (more than half, I would say, based on years of conversations with other survivors) go on to lead lives in which they use their heightened sensitivity to develop and demonstrate compassion to their friends and family, and to the world at large.

I have found the courage to say "This is what happened to me, and yes, it's more horrible than you can even imagine." Having said that, I refuse to own the shame - it belongs with those that committed the atrocities.

While I do the incredibly hard work of dealing with the newly-recovered memories and flashbacks, I will bend but not break. Even on my toughest days, you'll still find me laughing heartily (and genuinely) at life in general, and often at myself.

I had a powerful dream the other night, one in which I was walking through a military hospital ward. The men and women who serve this country serve with honor and distinction. If they're fortunate enough to come back from overseas, they are changed forever - often physically; always emotionally and spiritually. Their sacrifices and bravery are worthy of deep respect. Although I will never wear a military uniform, I can aspire to such courage as they demonstrate.

I am speaking my truth, and refusing to back down, though this work is the scariest thing I've ever done. But if in so doing I will have helped even ONE person - especially a child who doesn't know where to turn - my courage will have been well worth it, and I'll gladly shed all the tears again.

Funhouse - Where's the Damn "Exit" Sign?

more Emo and LOL cats

WARNING: This blog is written by an adult survivor of severe childhood abuse. While specific graphic details are not offered, it is entirely possible that this material may be uncomfortable for some readers. If you have any doubt as to whether this may “trigger” you or make you feel unsafe in any way, please STOP reading and click elsewhere. If, while reading this or at any other time, you find yourself feeling unsafe or contemplating hurting yourself, please IMMEDIATELY contact a crisis line or mental health professional. Please – be safe, and be well.

At one time or another, we've all had moments of sadness. But sometimes those down feelings can spiral, and threaten our very well-being and sense of safety. If you or anyone you know is having a crisis and feeling alone or potentially unsafe, please consider using one of these resources. You'll notice there are organizations around the globe, including LGBT-targed groups like PFLAG, and groups for survivors of different kinds of violence.

Here's a link to a list of resources.

Please know that I care, and many people in your life care. It's a sign of true strength to reach out if you're hurting; people want to offer their support. You are NOT alone.


=========================================================


"A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song." - Maya Angelou


Lately, things have become like some sort of a dark funhouse ride, filled with disorienting spins and turns, sudden descents into darkness, and nothing is what it seams. Moments when I think I will be okay, that the worst is over for the day - those are when I sense a tsunamai of repressed memories rising, preparing to wash me away, along with any real sense of security and certainty about who I am, and how I ended up here. Worse, I am left with a sickened sense of uncertainty as to how to get back to the place I'd been before being pulled into the funhouse...

The horrifying memories that are surfacing, in wave after gut-wrenching wave, are so awful that at times they leave me unable to move from a curled fetal position, weeping – sometimes wailing. This, after learning early in life to cry silently, or risk truly awful consequences.

The memories themselves are truly bad, but I think it’s the secondary issues that are actually worse. Let me explain…

I am blessed to have experiences that have broadened my understanding and given me a sense of perspective, including many previous years in therapy, and my own training as a shaman, peer counselor, Reiki Master and ordained clergy. But what comes with those experiences is the deep and unassailable knowledge that these memories are so toxic, that for me to share them – even with trained mental health care professionals – inevitably, it will cause them some kind of psychic damage. I’ve actually had to change therapists twice in my life in decades previous, because the content of my recovered memories was so horrific. At least they were honest enough to admit it.

And those memories, at that point in my life? Those were the EASY ones, relatively speaking. The ones I’m dealing with now are the ones that make the worst horror movies look like a walk through Disneyland. And so, as the memories surface, I feel increasingly alone, unable and unwilling to risk hurting someone else by sharing this toxic waste in its unadulterated form. I have begun seeing a psychiatrist, finally bowing to the inevitability that, for now, it may be unwise to go through this process without some support, and antidepressants at minimum.

Those who have Diabetes, and thus need insulin to be healthy, are not mocked for their weakness. Those of us who have brain chemistry that is altered by life experiences, however, are seen by many as “weak” for stepping forward and saying, “Please help me.” A therapist I saw in the mid-1990s actually told me about research that indicated children who’d endured severe, repeated trauma early in life (helllooo???) have a PERMANENT change in their brain chemistry, and benefit from lifelong anti-depressant therapy.

Anyway, back to the roller-coaster ride of flashbacks and recovered memories…

My partner, bless her compassionate and loving heart, has a background in mental health, and offers to listen as I wrestle with these horrors. Even with her very respectable containment skills, I am simply adamant about my refusal to “go there” with her. I love her too much. She’s my partner, not my therapist. Yeah, I learned that one when I unconsciously tried to be a therapist to a former partner – nope, it never works.

So, what about calling a hotline? Yeah, I’ve got an online hotline bookmarked, where I can do live chat with trained volunteers, or I could always pick up the phone. But my fear is that these individuals might suspect that someone is playing a sick game – nothing THIS horrible could really have happened to a child, right? It’s hard to think of the world making sense when these things are allowed to happen. And yet, the sun rises each day, and I begin anew… As do we all…

I think another factor that’s been really messing up my head is the fear that on some level, I will be judged (by others or perhaps myself) as coming up short as far as being a spiritual person, a shaman, ordained clergy, and all the other things I have on my various business cards.

There are many out there, smug and self-important life coaches, who profess that if your life isn’t sunshine and lollipops all the time, obviously you’re just not spiritual enough, you’re lacking something on a basic level…

Well, ya know what? I cry BULLSHIT! This is my story, and I’m not apologizing for the horrifying things that happened to me, nor for my need to grieve for all I’ve lost. Sharing my story, as scary as that prospect is, is the most important work I will do in this lifetime.