So grateful you set this down. One never knows, nor can one imagine completely in some moments of craving new insights and highlights, that one's own quest can undermine the goal. From an old far travelled lady, yes, Sue, "Look alive," as the saying goes. We can survive this world a hundred thousand days in so many ways, as we have, all through history. We know from those stories. The Bible's,Torah's, and Qu'ran's, included. The burdening costumes women wear based on strangers' sexual fantasies and pride systems. For me, wavering, traveling the globe, more speciificly problematic at home in Canada at first, and then moreso, alone, on my own, in Manhattan from the age of 9, then high school adolescence, and then, during my college dissertaton at age 20-21, traveling the world to study. 1970 In Papua, New Guinea, Nepal, Ethiopia, and finally in 1971, a village in Nigeria. I encountered friends and foe who spoke varied languages, and had varied morals. For me, getting further into the remotest areas was a big test, whether I could even communicate at all, or how to behave in a way that was acceptable to that tribe or village in the wilderness. Perhaps, because, in my own home, members of my family were the largest threat, I had necessarily accepted the worst abuse, sexual and psychic. By my late teens I was developing a useful armor for these faraway places. Far offsite villages, remote, high in the Himalayas to outback gorges, etc. I understood my early experiences of fear and abuse were not going to protect me from a real asshole hiding behind a friendly put-on face, or sudden break of physical boundaries. Though, I was quick to sense that moment, to stay in check with fear, my self-dependence did guide me. What is fear if not a guide or query? It is the best guide if one pays attention, uses it, smell it. That aroma of smoke and mirrors slipping past. Not as clearly purposed as in the hundredth-thousandth murder movie. Sights and sound head me off daily in the city subways, lonely or crowded places. One learns the need to be needed as a new doll, not a flesh and blood human being is the gist. If I was a thief's child, sister, mother, or any family member, I would pray to have the strength to take down that soul-murderer on sight, so to speak. Such is early priming. Our instincts guide us only if we listen to them. Nature prepares us with fear and longing. The wild scream in an infant's voice. The steamy stench of a back alley. The shutdown of survivor's fear is prolific nowadays. Hourly in the news, the bogus taunt, come play, you'll be safe with me? From who? Pay attention to the airy whisper. The finger point. Don't go there, not alone. Can't win 'em all, but better the afterthought to have made the move. One's body and spirit are worthy of second thoughts. No blame. No shame.
I was lucky to have the father that I had. He never touched me in a way that harmed me. Luckily, neither did any of the other men in the family, although my Uncle Harvey let it slip that the men at the family ranch were a bunch of dirty old men. They never let the children go wandering around without a responsible adult. I don't know whether he referred to the ranch hands or that generation of family ... my grandfather's generation and the great-grandfather's. Maybe that's why my father was so bashful and careful about sex.
Yes, you are so lucky and I am so happy for you both that you and your Dad had that great relationship of him being protective and honoring his child's boundaries. Honestly, not every child can count on that, though they should feel glad for it.
It was my mother who was incestuous. A more apparently common story nowadays, though the last to be told, in my experience. Always helpful to attend Survivor of Incest Meetings, which was clarifying to say the least. Always good to know you are not alone, even though back when I attended those all female gatherings, and the occasional male and female survivors groups, a lot of same sex abuser stories were kept quiet, or there were far less willing to open up about such tragic circumstances. Thankfully, in today's world, survivors are more likely to get the help they need and can feel they fit in despite the fears that remain, told or untold. Eventually, opening up is a result of this kind of writing, Sue. Bringing attention to examples in daily life of working awareness. No one has to be preyed upon, so thank you for setting down your story and in always such clear and lively writing. You invite strength and limits so good for us all. Connie
Thank you. I'm getting a bit more courageous about sharing such stories. Next month's is going to be a doozie.
Your story about your mother surprises and horrifies me. Mother's have such a strange relationship with their daughters, but I've never heard of incest between mothers and daughters. My mother was psychologically abusive. In fact, I was going to share that story on Mother's day, but I've already devoted a week this month (including this Thursday's post) dealing with really dark issues. I try to mix it up regarding subject matter, as you may have noticed with past posts. But it's good to write this stuff and share it, have conversations like this in the Comments, and heal together. It amazes me the people I've met through Substack. Holy merde! Awesome, kind, engaging, brave people. Our country may be turning in to a cesspool, but Substack will always give us shelter and sanity.
What a story, Sue. Scary. Considering how much traveling you did, I guess you were actually quite lucky! No regrets, it is all learning.
This story is just the warm-up to next month's post. I've been building up the courage to post it. But it's time.
So grateful you set this down. One never knows, nor can one imagine completely in some moments of craving new insights and highlights, that one's own quest can undermine the goal. From an old far travelled lady, yes, Sue, "Look alive," as the saying goes. We can survive this world a hundred thousand days in so many ways, as we have, all through history. We know from those stories. The Bible's,Torah's, and Qu'ran's, included. The burdening costumes women wear based on strangers' sexual fantasies and pride systems. For me, wavering, traveling the globe, more speciificly problematic at home in Canada at first, and then moreso, alone, on my own, in Manhattan from the age of 9, then high school adolescence, and then, during my college dissertaton at age 20-21, traveling the world to study. 1970 In Papua, New Guinea, Nepal, Ethiopia, and finally in 1971, a village in Nigeria. I encountered friends and foe who spoke varied languages, and had varied morals. For me, getting further into the remotest areas was a big test, whether I could even communicate at all, or how to behave in a way that was acceptable to that tribe or village in the wilderness. Perhaps, because, in my own home, members of my family were the largest threat, I had necessarily accepted the worst abuse, sexual and psychic. By my late teens I was developing a useful armor for these faraway places. Far offsite villages, remote, high in the Himalayas to outback gorges, etc. I understood my early experiences of fear and abuse were not going to protect me from a real asshole hiding behind a friendly put-on face, or sudden break of physical boundaries. Though, I was quick to sense that moment, to stay in check with fear, my self-dependence did guide me. What is fear if not a guide or query? It is the best guide if one pays attention, uses it, smell it. That aroma of smoke and mirrors slipping past. Not as clearly purposed as in the hundredth-thousandth murder movie. Sights and sound head me off daily in the city subways, lonely or crowded places. One learns the need to be needed as a new doll, not a flesh and blood human being is the gist. If I was a thief's child, sister, mother, or any family member, I would pray to have the strength to take down that soul-murderer on sight, so to speak. Such is early priming. Our instincts guide us only if we listen to them. Nature prepares us with fear and longing. The wild scream in an infant's voice. The steamy stench of a back alley. The shutdown of survivor's fear is prolific nowadays. Hourly in the news, the bogus taunt, come play, you'll be safe with me? From who? Pay attention to the airy whisper. The finger point. Don't go there, not alone. Can't win 'em all, but better the afterthought to have made the move. One's body and spirit are worthy of second thoughts. No blame. No shame.
I was lucky to have the father that I had. He never touched me in a way that harmed me. Luckily, neither did any of the other men in the family, although my Uncle Harvey let it slip that the men at the family ranch were a bunch of dirty old men. They never let the children go wandering around without a responsible adult. I don't know whether he referred to the ranch hands or that generation of family ... my grandfather's generation and the great-grandfather's. Maybe that's why my father was so bashful and careful about sex.
Yes, you are so lucky and I am so happy for you both that you and your Dad had that great relationship of him being protective and honoring his child's boundaries. Honestly, not every child can count on that, though they should feel glad for it.
It was my mother who was incestuous. A more apparently common story nowadays, though the last to be told, in my experience. Always helpful to attend Survivor of Incest Meetings, which was clarifying to say the least. Always good to know you are not alone, even though back when I attended those all female gatherings, and the occasional male and female survivors groups, a lot of same sex abuser stories were kept quiet, or there were far less willing to open up about such tragic circumstances. Thankfully, in today's world, survivors are more likely to get the help they need and can feel they fit in despite the fears that remain, told or untold. Eventually, opening up is a result of this kind of writing, Sue. Bringing attention to examples in daily life of working awareness. No one has to be preyed upon, so thank you for setting down your story and in always such clear and lively writing. You invite strength and limits so good for us all. Connie
Thank you. I'm getting a bit more courageous about sharing such stories. Next month's is going to be a doozie.
Your story about your mother surprises and horrifies me. Mother's have such a strange relationship with their daughters, but I've never heard of incest between mothers and daughters. My mother was psychologically abusive. In fact, I was going to share that story on Mother's day, but I've already devoted a week this month (including this Thursday's post) dealing with really dark issues. I try to mix it up regarding subject matter, as you may have noticed with past posts. But it's good to write this stuff and share it, have conversations like this in the Comments, and heal together. It amazes me the people I've met through Substack. Holy merde! Awesome, kind, engaging, brave people. Our country may be turning in to a cesspool, but Substack will always give us shelter and sanity.