I CANNOT be the only one who loves this. This is the only type of selfie I am prepared so far not to look on with withering contempt! Allan Dixon has a habit of coaxing animals into a posing for selfies with him all around the world. Unlike the abysmal morons who have killed swans…
It isn’t ‘popular’ to admit you are fragile. Abuse survivors are expected to be ‘strong’ all the time. In fact, we are expected to be stronger than those who have not endured much suffering. Which is bizarre in itself. I have come to realise, we live in a very emotionally invalidating and abandoning society. […]
This post spoke to me as I sometimes too refer to myself as fragile. Sometimes, it is because I have been triggered; at other times, it seems that my protective barrier is down. When my fragility is caused by the second — that my protective force field is down — is when I feel the most authentic. I feel the air on my skin and my history in my bones. But the history is combined with years of healing so it is not jarring or very painful. I feel more alive at these times with a keen sense of myself and the many years I have lived. And on these days I am gentle with myself and stay home. Rather than chide myself for this sense of fragility, I celebrate it. Because like the Velveteen Rabbit, it is when I am most real.
I am crying. And, I don’t cry easily. But, I am glad because I think Philandro and his family and fiancee deserve tears. As do the other African Americans killed by the police unjustly in the past few years. I can hardly believe that this is the country I live in. Born in the 1960’s, I grew up during the Civil Rights Movement. Now, it is over fifty years later and obviously we have not come as far as I thought. These are dangerous times. Especially if you an African American. These are sad times. And these are angry times. But, thankfully, these are times where cameras are everywhere recording these heinous acts so they can be brought out into the light. But, will there be justice?
I dreamt of liquid tar cascading down the incline of an auditorium of seats. I clasped the hand of a child and guided her to safety on the steeper sides of the room where the tar was less apt to glide. I knew how to escape the tar because I had experienced the same thing as a child. Back then, I had been covered partially in tar before someone had taken my hand and led me out. This history was revealed in the dream. The tar may have harmed me but I evidently survived to guide that little girl out of harm’s way. I wonder if the tar in the dream is symbolic of the incest I experienced. But, whose hand or what child have I saved from such harm? None comes to mind. Perhaps, it is a calling dream — a dream that indicates a path I should follow. But, how to help the thousands of little girls experiencing sexual abuse at the hands of the families? Not to forget the little boys either. But it was just one child in the dream. Maybe, one child at a time? I have to think on this. My life is open now with many possibilities. I will ponder this dream.
I wanted to share this today, for all the fighters and survivors out there. Whatever it is you’re battling, your story is unique and I won’t ever feel your pain like you do. I will never know or completely understand the suffering of others, but when I read the blogs of my online friends I get to share in such strength and compassion. It inspires me and I feel just a bit less lost.
You are all warriors and I am so grateful that you share in my journey too.
“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.”