memories
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I’ve learned the hard way that a person is shaped by what they aim at…not by what they survive. Not by what they intend. By what they move toward, day after day, quietly, stubbornly. When I was young, survival was my goal. Not consciously. Instinctively. I aimed at soothing my wounds, protecting myself, dodging pain,…
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Doubting memory is a sad tale that brings victims of crimes under scrutiny. Oh, how I remember the sounds that plagued our streets. Children laughing and the happy sounds of the ice cream man — the man who peddled so much joy. I had to find him. I heard the sound coming down our lane,…
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All the years I’ve spent in a counselor’s office trying to sift through the rubble of my childhood and heal, I never encountered the priceless, cherished moments that populate the early years of most. They just weren’t a commodity I was raised with. I’m not being a victim by sharing this, it’s just factual. As…
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Questioning memory is a sad tale that brings victims of crimes under scrutiny. Oh, how I remember the sounds that plagued our streets. Children laughing and the happy sounds of the ice cream man — the man who peddled so much joy. I had to find him. I heard the sound coming down our lane,…
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Growing up I had very little of my own space. Someone or something was always in it! The abuse I suffered encroached into everything. Space was a commodity I didn’t have. If I wasn’t being sexually abused, my being was forced to gorge on the aftermath. Inside and outside my space had become the playground…
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Red sky at night, sailors’ delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning. Just as the sky dictates the weather, so it is with life. It’s been easy to follow my memories as they return to me because my life story was evident all around me. Anger was my father’s finest friend; betrayal of all that…
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12 The man said, “The woman you put here with me—she gave me some fruit from the tree, and I ate it.” genesis 3:12 My mother was both an accomplice and a dictator. Often, abusive mother’s go unnoticed in the world of sexual crimes. That should not be so. Sometimes they are silent witnesses, sometimes they…
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When I can’t hear the music, I know it’s time for me to stop in life and regroup. There was never a time of reprieve in the home I was born into. There was chaos and abuse on the daily. A time to reflect and be still just couldn’t be found. After I left my…
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All the years I’ve spent in a counselor’s office trying to sift through the rubble of my childhood and heal, I never encountered the priceless, cherished moments that populate the early years of most. They just weren’t a commodity I was raised with. I’m not being a victim by sharing this, it’s just factual. As…