It's right for me

The last time I found myself in this position I started this blog. What position is this, you ask? Being in that place between wanting to contribute more to my life (actually live it), and my bed. Two and a half years ago launching this blog was cathartic enough that it helped me get my rear in gear, aka "outta bed." I'm hoping something good will come of it now as well.

The purpose of the blog was to tell my story in hopes that it helped even one person feel less alone in this big world we live in. The same holds true today. Two years ago it was about mentally overcoming a history of abuse. Today it's about the daily effort it takes to live with the physical ramifications of the abuse.

So often people only ascribe a certain set of "scars," as it were, to abuse: bruises, STD's, PTSD, anxiety, depression, etc. I'm referring to cellular memory. The stuff that keeps the body bondage to the past because it still feels and fears the same situation, constantly. And I have elephant cellular memory. Maybe you do too. You can read this article for more information on cellular memory.

So basically cellular memory is the stuff that's stored at our deepest levels, then it manifests itself in outward behaviors or actions, or in physical form. For me, it's called fibromyalgia (among other things. I'm not going to list it all) and fibromyalgia is the disease of the broken hearted. Louise L. Hay refers to it as "fear showing up as extreme tension due to stress." Yup. That about somes it up. And I'm in a big flare up. And I'm not very happy about it. Fibromyalgia is a big disease. If you don't work with it, it will work you over. I'm trying to find out how to tread lightly, once again, around a ferocious thing. Only this time it lives in my body, it's not my (former) husband.

So what am I afraid of? Good question. Probably that there is no end in sight. I wake up every day in the kind of pain that would send most people to the ER. I fear that this is the way my life will be until I die. That would stress out anybody.

I'm tired of being in healing mode post surgery. I want to be in that afterglow place; I want to healed. I pray for it. I do my own work toward it. It hasn't happened, yet. I recall the doctor telling me that this surgery takes a long time to recovery from. I had to have it done anyway, so here I am being totally impatient - stressed. I don't feel like I'm living the life I was supposed to live. So I asked, "what can I do differently so I'm living my purpose?"

Be still, know that I am God, oh and write about it in your blog.

That was the answer. Really?

What am I going to write about? Whatever is going on right now. Sigh. Ok, here goes.

I was born with a frail body. It has taken me 47 years to accept this. A friend of mine stayed with us for a few months to take care of me and my kids since this was the summer of surgeries for me. One day I asked how many surgeries she'd had during her life. Uhm, none. She's five years older than me.

That night I started counting. By the age of nine I'd had four surgeries. No, I'm not like one of those kids who are born with a heart defect who has that many operations in the first few days of life. I was born with what my mom called a calcified placenta. My second child was born with the same thing, only now it's called Intra Uterine Growth Restriction. Yes it's  a genetic birth defect. Is this the cause of the frailty? Perhaps. It certainly messed up something in the body's own rejuvenating process.  By now I've now had about 15 surgeries.  And it isn't my fault.

Yes, I need to blame something, so I'm blaming IUGR. I'm absolutely certain that the 11 years of abuse from age 2-13 added fuel to the frailty fire. So I'm going to blame people too. Is this a good idea, the blaming? I don't really care right now. I'm finding myself in a place of mourning, again. I get to go through the stages of grief that are required for the healing I seek after. Too many people deny themselves this right. I did it for years. Between the physical DNA and the cellular memory that comes from years of my growing up years and years of my grown up life spent being victimized I have a sickly body and I'm mad! And I'm so proud of myself for finally having the awareness and finally giving myself permission to stop taking it out on me, to finally blame the sources! For me, for now, it's absolutely okay!

See there are two types of people in the world; 1. The type that blames everyone and everything else for their problems. I've been married to men like that. 2. The type that accepts all that trumped up responsibility and blames themselves. I'm the second type. And it's about time I stopped accepting what is not mine to carry. So I'm done.

I feel angry because I was violated and it didn't just mess with my head. My entire body is fraught with pain and prone to illness. To the people out there in the world who hurt me, dead or alive, you know what you did to harm me. You are responsible! Not me! You are accountable for every ounce of suffering I've felt, or that my children have endured because they have a frail mom, and the neglect of the people who's lives I'm supposed to help but can't because I'm always sick, you get that heaping dose of blame too. It's not mine to carry. Never was. Never will be.

So here ya go universe. I'm throwing all the guilt, shame, responsibility, self-blame, self-hatred, fear, embarrassment, anger, resentment, etc etc etc, and a humongous bag of physical violation and pain right back atcha. I choose to release the negative feelings and memory out of my cells, out of my DNA. I choose to be made free.

I can check off step 1.

Good girl Kelly. You've begun again.