Years later I read what I wrote and cringe at the title
"I feel like such a doormat"
I did feel like a doormat and a victim forever. Somewhere along the line I had to learn and admit that I played a part in my victimization. Where were the points of power that I failed to grab onto, and where was the situation and system so much bigger than I could possibly grapple with?
I could have left my abusive husband much sooner, I could have followed my dream, I could have moved to Italy, I could have been a writer or an artist. Definately my choice there. At times I was a screaming banshee and a shameless hussy and lots of other things that I thought were my entitlement because I was wounded. I just didn't know better.
Self pity is a bottomless pit that sucked me down way too far and too long. Real grief was mixed inextricably with it.
I will grieve for the child in me who was not loved. Now I realize my parents, husbands, did not have the ability to love. Somehow I have compassion for them and have taken back my power.
I have so much more peace and simplicity now. I just made a beautiful mushroom soup and picked fresh bay leaves from the garden. It was deliscious, fragrant, hot, satifying. Deeply.
I cried remembering it is the anniversary of my own personal atom bomb going off in 2007. It felt searing to cry like that but no no longer frightening. I have the strength and insight to know it will pass.
Life isn't about being happy all the time. Knowing that helps. I am writing now about the past. That was WAY too dangerous before and now it is hard to approach, exhilarating to do.
Speaking out to all these strangers, more than thirteen thousand, quiets my soul. At the same time the detachment from you all is sad. I am often lonely. Now I can concentrate enough to get out and get going. I can breathe and stay alone and dance around in my art and writing. It is enough. The storm is over.