photo by Patricia
Gratefulness seeps in with my senses coming back. Aromas not detected all week now permeate my being; the lilac scented candle on the warmer, the freshness of pouring rain so sorely needed, and strawberries boiling in the pot loaded with sugar for the jam. Gentleness with ‘self’ returns too, along with work necessary to sustain it.
It has taken the entire week to come down from the agitated place of being around others who are my family. How could that be? Samuel is unencumbered by such ongoing disruptions. My brain, injured by early childhood sexual abuse that went unprocessed, poses great challenges.
An articulate, expert writer commented on my post Fears, “Being sexually abused as a child is like being a bird whose wings have been cut short and can never fly. Seeing normal birds whose strong wings take them high in the air over trees, almost…
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