A healing journal can be whatever you need it to be.
For me, I need a place to share some of my soul.
This journal takes place in Lansing and Kalamazoo, MI.
I am not afraid to heal.
There is no filter on this post, because my best work comes from a truly awesome and terrifying place. No cliches here, just me unexposed and in the raw. Because I'm not afraid.
I have a cousin who I didn't know too well growing up, because she was older. I called her "Cousin Fran" because I was taught to give titles to adults, even family member adults. She was always sweet to me, and I was the flower girl in her wedding. I remember I got to wear lipstick, and my cousin kissed me to transfer some of her excess lipstick onto my lips. I felt like a goddess the rest of the day.
This same cousin now has breast cancer. She is going to write a book soon. What will it be about? I don't know, but I know it will be real and raw and unafraid. I wrote on her Facebook the words "No Fear." I know she knows what I mean.
And this post is with "No Fear." Why are we fearful? Because being open and honest comes with risks, a possible price tag of excommunication, isolation, and social pariah-ism. And this all because you finally got tired of protecting others and neglecting yourself. Sure, Christianity tells us to share each others burdens, "honor one another above ourselves," take the road less traveled (Robert Frost, paraphrased). But we are made with a soul, and a heart that feels, dreams, and hurts. And that hurt is real. The Bible even acknowledges that hurts and trouble will always exist. King Solomon lamented quite a bit on the fact that life really has no meaning because everything you try to set your heart to just blows away.
You know, no one is allowed to tell you what you can and can't feel. That's ridiculous. My story is mine alone, and although we may share some perspectives, at some point we're all alone in our storytelling. Coming from someone who was denied the right to feelings growing up, I vehemently oppose anyone directing them in this way or that without rightful cause. (read: you've walked through at least 9/10 of the steps I've walked). No one, except some very dedicated people who bind their soul to yours, is going to contribute full truth, full compassion, full sincerity to your life's story. Life is like a bunch of cliques; either you're in this one or that one. The "brush the secrets under the rug" one or the "it's not me, it's you" one or the "who cares? You got through it" one. Chocolates are way too sweet to depict life. I love chocolate but life really sucks most of the time. Sorry to break it to you.
I've grown up a lot. Not because I'm a mom, not because I'm a wife, not because I have a graduate degree and am skilled at certain things. Those are experiences I live daily, and they're good. But I've come into contact with that part of me that died a long time ago. It's the inner me, the part that feels and makes connections and that sat in a corner and rocked back and forth, back and forth for the past umpteenth years. I'm sure glad I found her, because she's really something. She's valuable. She's worth a whole lot, and everyone deserves to know who she is, especially the one that's cradling her in their spirit.
Monica is the child of two people, who granted are amazing in their own right, and was given to two others, also amazing, to raise and handle. She is a participant in five different families through adoption and biology and marriage and even more through blessed friends who love her. She is sweet, she is kind, she is helpful. She dreams and finds light in many dark situations, and finds hope in dead ends by finding walls to climb. She's my friend, and I'm so glad I found her.
Because the me that survived all the ordeals of my story is hurt and angry, monstrous and dangerous. Have you ever been in such a terrible rage the only outcomes you could see were vengeful death and twisted colors? Have you ever driven down a highway and the only thing you kept thinking was that driving off the side seemed like a nice reprieve? Have you ever fought extremely hard to keep a smile on your face every time someone told you how wrong you were for being ungrateful in the face of rejection, abuse, manipulation, abandonment, and irresponsibility? Have you ever wanted to scream every curse word you could think of in every different language on a megaphone in front of whoever the heck cared to stop and listen, and then of course judge you for? Have you ever looked at someone in the therapist's waiting room and secretly admired them for being strong enough to realize that a therapist is an ally, a silent supporter who knows there is more to you than two arms and legs and a screwed up brain, but also a spirit that was neglected in nurturing and needs to learn how to thrive to survive on the daily? Have you ever mentally hugged someone so tight they couldn't breathe because they smiled at you in understanding, knowing too well the pain you were going through without you having to say more than "I'm fighting, and I'm going to be ok"? Have you ever had to be purposeful in bonding with people (children, a spouse) you love and would die for, because there's some missing link you have no clue how to attach? Not to mention millions of solid, proven reasons why taking more risks necessitates the placement of a health warning label over your wheezing heart?
If you haven't, that's nice and I would love to give you a cookie so you can run back off and play. But the rest of us are real, and we're looking for the strength to get out of bed every day and push towards our dreams. Dreams represent survival, a peak, a climbing out of treacherous waters and using all strength to pull ourselves up on shore where we can collapse and heave deep shrill breaths of disbelief that we're alive. Dreams are real because they have to be. Dreams represent hope and acceptance. Dreams represent a place where we can be proud of what we've come through and where we can finally open our eyes and look around and see light all around instead of always using a tiny police flashlight to see what's available to us. It ain't much, that's for sure.
I recently listened to a 33-minute long audio clip on Youtube of a man named Gustavo who survived being in a Mexican prison for unknowingly committing a federal offense of selling a rifle to a gun shop to get money to pursue graduate studies. He was sentenced to 10-15 years. Just listening to him describe how he survived emotionally and mentally was such a relief. You see, there are different levels of survival. Those who survive the obvious day to day way of eating, drinking, pooping and peeing; and then those who survive through changing their perspective, finding courage, and pledging not to surrender (which means they promise themselves they will never kill themselves). Gustavo and I are in the second set of people, as are many other brave people you encounter every day. This second set of people are what I like to call master-level live-ers. They are on a different spiritual plane of survival through the trauma of their story's. Their stories can include past or present abuse of the whole body (this includes physical, mental, emotional, environmental), abandonment, loss of nurture through uncontrollable circumstances (a parent becoming incarcerated or unwell emotionally), or any type of injustice over which they had to decide to live through and persevere out of. They are all around, and more of them are coming out with their stories. That's why so many people write books and memoirs; they are no longer afraid to show their master-level living and survival. They hope to inspire and think they can help others achieve master-level living where the spirit and soul are joined together with their outward movements. This is unification in full, and it is a sort of arriving.
Gustavo needed to figure out how to deal with the impending trauma that suddenly threatened to suck away years of his life and encapture him in a dangerous and mentally torturous environment. He mentioned his mother as being a persevering constant, reaching out to every person and avenue and providing every needed documentation to free her son. He says she was "amazing," and that she did whatever it took even though in her countenance it was obvious she was devastated at her son's captivity. She took a baby step every day, and they all added up. His father asked him to promise he would never surrender his living, which he had a hard time doing at first, but eventually did. Gustavo learned to change his perspective by watching and paying attention to his surroundings. He eventually shared one watershed moment as being when he saw how pigeons,cats, rats, and cockroaches came willingly to the prison because it meant there was going to be food and some human contact through petting. He realized that for some, the prison was refuge, and it was the place where he saw one of "the five best sunsets in my life." He found hope somehow, and this was necessary to keep his mind safe for survival. I want all of you here to listen to his story, please. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wL-Mfte5voo&feature=youtu.be
Gustavo is just one person of innumerable master-level live-ers. But what a difference his courage and dedication to survival made to me. In my life, I choose to see the current step I'm partaking in towards my dream as an opportunity. Gustavo says that "Crises are all opportunities." I couldn't agree more. I also pledge to persevere, even though support and encouragement may drop by the wayside; I will wait it out and even step back and let the storm pass so I can powerfully stomp through the puddles. I am sad that I don't have strong childhood family support, but I do have others who believe in me and want to see me thrive. We need others in order to reach our goals. Man was not meant to thrive alone. We are created with needs and desires that require other human involvement and interaction. I am full of love and a desire to be true and loyal to my other counterparts who have pledged to live, and those whom I believe in.
I want my kids and husband to know that I purposefully made a pledge to live, and that my life has a purpose. I want them to know that they played a key role in my survival. I want them to know I couldn't do this without them. I want them to know I would do anything for them, go to the ends of the Earth for them, and stick by them even when (not if) they will hurt me or cast me off. I am forever. This is what I have always desired, and even if I don't have it I will be it. To all those who are surviving and are finding their master-level selves, I fully support and love you. Choose life, so that others can live from your story. NO FEAR.
With love and purpose,
Monica Brooke P.
For me, I need a place to share some of my soul.
This journal takes place in Lansing and Kalamazoo, MI.
I am not afraid to heal.
There is no filter on this post, because my best work comes from a truly awesome and terrifying place. No cliches here, just me unexposed and in the raw. Because I'm not afraid.
I have a cousin who I didn't know too well growing up, because she was older. I called her "Cousin Fran" because I was taught to give titles to adults, even family member adults. She was always sweet to me, and I was the flower girl in her wedding. I remember I got to wear lipstick, and my cousin kissed me to transfer some of her excess lipstick onto my lips. I felt like a goddess the rest of the day.
This same cousin now has breast cancer. She is going to write a book soon. What will it be about? I don't know, but I know it will be real and raw and unafraid. I wrote on her Facebook the words "No Fear." I know she knows what I mean.
And this post is with "No Fear." Why are we fearful? Because being open and honest comes with risks, a possible price tag of excommunication, isolation, and social pariah-ism. And this all because you finally got tired of protecting others and neglecting yourself. Sure, Christianity tells us to share each others burdens, "honor one another above ourselves," take the road less traveled (Robert Frost, paraphrased). But we are made with a soul, and a heart that feels, dreams, and hurts. And that hurt is real. The Bible even acknowledges that hurts and trouble will always exist. King Solomon lamented quite a bit on the fact that life really has no meaning because everything you try to set your heart to just blows away.
You know, no one is allowed to tell you what you can and can't feel. That's ridiculous. My story is mine alone, and although we may share some perspectives, at some point we're all alone in our storytelling. Coming from someone who was denied the right to feelings growing up, I vehemently oppose anyone directing them in this way or that without rightful cause. (read: you've walked through at least 9/10 of the steps I've walked). No one, except some very dedicated people who bind their soul to yours, is going to contribute full truth, full compassion, full sincerity to your life's story. Life is like a bunch of cliques; either you're in this one or that one. The "brush the secrets under the rug" one or the "it's not me, it's you" one or the "who cares? You got through it" one. Chocolates are way too sweet to depict life. I love chocolate but life really sucks most of the time. Sorry to break it to you.
I've grown up a lot. Not because I'm a mom, not because I'm a wife, not because I have a graduate degree and am skilled at certain things. Those are experiences I live daily, and they're good. But I've come into contact with that part of me that died a long time ago. It's the inner me, the part that feels and makes connections and that sat in a corner and rocked back and forth, back and forth for the past umpteenth years. I'm sure glad I found her, because she's really something. She's valuable. She's worth a whole lot, and everyone deserves to know who she is, especially the one that's cradling her in their spirit.
Monica is the child of two people, who granted are amazing in their own right, and was given to two others, also amazing, to raise and handle. She is a participant in five different families through adoption and biology and marriage and even more through blessed friends who love her. She is sweet, she is kind, she is helpful. She dreams and finds light in many dark situations, and finds hope in dead ends by finding walls to climb. She's my friend, and I'm so glad I found her.
Because the me that survived all the ordeals of my story is hurt and angry, monstrous and dangerous. Have you ever been in such a terrible rage the only outcomes you could see were vengeful death and twisted colors? Have you ever driven down a highway and the only thing you kept thinking was that driving off the side seemed like a nice reprieve? Have you ever fought extremely hard to keep a smile on your face every time someone told you how wrong you were for being ungrateful in the face of rejection, abuse, manipulation, abandonment, and irresponsibility? Have you ever wanted to scream every curse word you could think of in every different language on a megaphone in front of whoever the heck cared to stop and listen, and then of course judge you for? Have you ever looked at someone in the therapist's waiting room and secretly admired them for being strong enough to realize that a therapist is an ally, a silent supporter who knows there is more to you than two arms and legs and a screwed up brain, but also a spirit that was neglected in nurturing and needs to learn how to thrive to survive on the daily? Have you ever mentally hugged someone so tight they couldn't breathe because they smiled at you in understanding, knowing too well the pain you were going through without you having to say more than "I'm fighting, and I'm going to be ok"? Have you ever had to be purposeful in bonding with people (children, a spouse) you love and would die for, because there's some missing link you have no clue how to attach? Not to mention millions of solid, proven reasons why taking more risks necessitates the placement of a health warning label over your wheezing heart?
If you haven't, that's nice and I would love to give you a cookie so you can run back off and play. But the rest of us are real, and we're looking for the strength to get out of bed every day and push towards our dreams. Dreams represent survival, a peak, a climbing out of treacherous waters and using all strength to pull ourselves up on shore where we can collapse and heave deep shrill breaths of disbelief that we're alive. Dreams are real because they have to be. Dreams represent hope and acceptance. Dreams represent a place where we can be proud of what we've come through and where we can finally open our eyes and look around and see light all around instead of always using a tiny police flashlight to see what's available to us. It ain't much, that's for sure.
I recently listened to a 33-minute long audio clip on Youtube of a man named Gustavo who survived being in a Mexican prison for unknowingly committing a federal offense of selling a rifle to a gun shop to get money to pursue graduate studies. He was sentenced to 10-15 years. Just listening to him describe how he survived emotionally and mentally was such a relief. You see, there are different levels of survival. Those who survive the obvious day to day way of eating, drinking, pooping and peeing; and then those who survive through changing their perspective, finding courage, and pledging not to surrender (which means they promise themselves they will never kill themselves). Gustavo and I are in the second set of people, as are many other brave people you encounter every day. This second set of people are what I like to call master-level live-ers. They are on a different spiritual plane of survival through the trauma of their story's. Their stories can include past or present abuse of the whole body (this includes physical, mental, emotional, environmental), abandonment, loss of nurture through uncontrollable circumstances (a parent becoming incarcerated or unwell emotionally), or any type of injustice over which they had to decide to live through and persevere out of. They are all around, and more of them are coming out with their stories. That's why so many people write books and memoirs; they are no longer afraid to show their master-level living and survival. They hope to inspire and think they can help others achieve master-level living where the spirit and soul are joined together with their outward movements. This is unification in full, and it is a sort of arriving.
Gustavo needed to figure out how to deal with the impending trauma that suddenly threatened to suck away years of his life and encapture him in a dangerous and mentally torturous environment. He mentioned his mother as being a persevering constant, reaching out to every person and avenue and providing every needed documentation to free her son. He says she was "amazing," and that she did whatever it took even though in her countenance it was obvious she was devastated at her son's captivity. She took a baby step every day, and they all added up. His father asked him to promise he would never surrender his living, which he had a hard time doing at first, but eventually did. Gustavo learned to change his perspective by watching and paying attention to his surroundings. He eventually shared one watershed moment as being when he saw how pigeons,cats, rats, and cockroaches came willingly to the prison because it meant there was going to be food and some human contact through petting. He realized that for some, the prison was refuge, and it was the place where he saw one of "the five best sunsets in my life." He found hope somehow, and this was necessary to keep his mind safe for survival. I want all of you here to listen to his story, please. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wL-Mfte5voo&feature=youtu.be
Gustavo is just one person of innumerable master-level live-ers. But what a difference his courage and dedication to survival made to me. In my life, I choose to see the current step I'm partaking in towards my dream as an opportunity. Gustavo says that "Crises are all opportunities." I couldn't agree more. I also pledge to persevere, even though support and encouragement may drop by the wayside; I will wait it out and even step back and let the storm pass so I can powerfully stomp through the puddles. I am sad that I don't have strong childhood family support, but I do have others who believe in me and want to see me thrive. We need others in order to reach our goals. Man was not meant to thrive alone. We are created with needs and desires that require other human involvement and interaction. I am full of love and a desire to be true and loyal to my other counterparts who have pledged to live, and those whom I believe in.
I want my kids and husband to know that I purposefully made a pledge to live, and that my life has a purpose. I want them to know that they played a key role in my survival. I want them to know I couldn't do this without them. I want them to know I would do anything for them, go to the ends of the Earth for them, and stick by them even when (not if) they will hurt me or cast me off. I am forever. This is what I have always desired, and even if I don't have it I will be it. To all those who are surviving and are finding their master-level selves, I fully support and love you. Choose life, so that others can live from your story. NO FEAR.
With love and purpose,
Monica Brooke P.
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