Here it is Monday morning-still piles of paper surrounding me. The clouds are dark with an eerie yellow-pink light coming down, the thunder rolls overhead and the air is moist with the rain outside. Yet there is a light that begins to come into view and with it a feeling that life might return. With fearful determination as if to face a running bull, I faced my dragon and wrote the letter stating I had worth, I had been done wrong, I deserved respect and more, an apology. I pushed the send button. I was strong, I was okay. Minutes later, the fear returned. Within the hour, I was feeling anxious. The good thing was that it still felt worth it. I did it. I stood up for myself, howbeit in an email, but it was good practice.
Sunday afternoon I had the opportunity to do it again. I was strong, I acted.Again, the same sequence. Stong, fear, anxious, but the good thing was that I stood up to the abuse. I felt stronger. I still cringe when the phone rings because I might have to be accountable for ridding the streets of perversion. Still, I did it.
Monday morning, just an hour ago, I got to practice just one more time. This time it was to stand up for women and children against abuse. This time it was the strength, then the fear, but the anxiousness did not show up. I did it. I was surprised the lack of anxiousness; but that is good.
The conclusion is that when you get cornered and you can't move you feel like you are sufficating; that you will die from having no right to breathe, take action. Challenge yourself to take the right not only to breathe but to speak. It comes with fear of the unknown effects but on the positive side, it challenges my past assumption: that I do know the future results. The reward is that there is a tiny little seed of self-worth that gets planted in your soul. If we water it enough, the doubts will pass like the current storm in the sky. We will achieve our dreams of being able to be; to be able to hear our own voices and to speak our own thoughts. We then will be on our way to live our own lives.
I will be the captain in my life. I will steer toward success. And challenge you to do the same.
Monday, 13 July, 2009
Saturday, 11 July, 2009
Stand up or play dead?
Writing on top of piles of papers of projects in various stages as I sit reflecting on the message of tonight's movie. When one is dashed to the ground, one is to get up . Does it still hold if the enemy is still there with his dagger? Do we challange death to the soul or do we hide, keep silent and carry on?
My trials are so small compared to others. So small. Almost insignificant. I do not have a life threatening disease. I no longer have a brutal husband. I have moved away from the community who deserted me in time of need. I have the use of my limbs, my eyes, my ears. I have a husband and family that respects, loves and supports me. I have the blessings of a home, an income, and food on my table. So why does my old battle still rage, bringing me to my knees, pleading for an end to my endless tears?
Years ago, many years ago, I suffered injustice. It might seem a small injustice to some, but to me it has been the thorn that continually wounds. It was not the demeaning acts, but the betrayal of those who were supposed to be there to protect me. Further, it was the tearing of my faith as I, an innocent victim was mocked, then accused, confirmed wicked and insane and finally punished and austracized.
It was their power I gave them by my beliefs that would continue to fuel my agony for years to come. It was my belief that they represented God that allowed me to 'know' that God had abandoned me. It was my belief in their power which held me in fear, trembling, and in a pitch black hell for some twenty odd years.
I was not tortured in the literal sense, I was not tied or hung or beaten. They left my broken heart, my broken faith, my new insecurities to sew their own seeds. Time after time, I would believe all was healed, when someone would question my worth, my motives, my life, my perception, or my credibility and I would fight the losing fight as my self-worth began diminishing and crumbling before my eyes. I cringe, I run, I hang my head in shame. I once again, relive the pain as I re-live the past maliciousness, deceit, and the shove it under the rug mentality.
I look at where I am now, with not a problem in the world yet here I am, falling apart. Do I fight for the honor that was taken from me? Do I stand and speak and dare to suffer the consequences once again? Or do I lie down, shut up and play dead? If I didn't have to speak up for others, if it was just to speak up for me - my dignity, my rights, my life... would I think I was worth it? If I spoke truth to those who destroyed my life, would it be finally over? Could I then begin living again? What could life be if I became the power in my own life?
My trials are so small compared to others. So small. Almost insignificant. I do not have a life threatening disease. I no longer have a brutal husband. I have moved away from the community who deserted me in time of need. I have the use of my limbs, my eyes, my ears. I have a husband and family that respects, loves and supports me. I have the blessings of a home, an income, and food on my table. So why does my old battle still rage, bringing me to my knees, pleading for an end to my endless tears?
Years ago, many years ago, I suffered injustice. It might seem a small injustice to some, but to me it has been the thorn that continually wounds. It was not the demeaning acts, but the betrayal of those who were supposed to be there to protect me. Further, it was the tearing of my faith as I, an innocent victim was mocked, then accused, confirmed wicked and insane and finally punished and austracized.
It was their power I gave them by my beliefs that would continue to fuel my agony for years to come. It was my belief that they represented God that allowed me to 'know' that God had abandoned me. It was my belief in their power which held me in fear, trembling, and in a pitch black hell for some twenty odd years.
I was not tortured in the literal sense, I was not tied or hung or beaten. They left my broken heart, my broken faith, my new insecurities to sew their own seeds. Time after time, I would believe all was healed, when someone would question my worth, my motives, my life, my perception, or my credibility and I would fight the losing fight as my self-worth began diminishing and crumbling before my eyes. I cringe, I run, I hang my head in shame. I once again, relive the pain as I re-live the past maliciousness, deceit, and the shove it under the rug mentality.
I look at where I am now, with not a problem in the world yet here I am, falling apart. Do I fight for the honor that was taken from me? Do I stand and speak and dare to suffer the consequences once again? Or do I lie down, shut up and play dead? If I didn't have to speak up for others, if it was just to speak up for me - my dignity, my rights, my life... would I think I was worth it? If I spoke truth to those who destroyed my life, would it be finally over? Could I then begin living again? What could life be if I became the power in my own life?
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