What a moving, painful, devastating, heartfelt, soulful story. Mothers and children, and the women caught up between them, that seems to be the journey of life in trauma. Our journey. And somewhere in between you became a midwife! Every story is unique, I know. Yours is incredibly important to be written and read. And very well written too. 💕🙏
My heart sank and broke while reading this for the versions of you who you have honored here. I can feel the tenderness and compassion for yourself that you have grown amidst such a treacherous journey, and for that, I am in awe. I won’t soon forget your story. It’s touched me in a profound way.
Hi Stella. I look at your beautiful face and I think, all this happened to her and yet look at her face, how lovely. My time at home was short too. When I was twelve I remember my mother pushing my head into a wall. Her mother was smiling a weird smile. Later I believed my grandmother was enjoying it. I know only a little of what she could be like, but it was cruel from what I could see even though she liked to play cards with us small children.
Through years of therapy, I discovered my home life was a cult. Learning to perform at an early age for safety, but being the butt of verbal abuse I left at eighteen to a university I could have walked to. I came back to look after my little brother when she went to therapy and she sent one of those letters a therapist makes her write but doesn't mean.
Though I did well, designing clothing, the pictures show a different story when my parents visited. I asked my therapist, how long am I going to feel that way about them? She said possibly forever.
When I divorced, I had been in therapy for almost ten years, and did three years of early childhood so I did not repeat what had been done to me. But my mother appeared like un diable, taking them. She wrote me hate mail, told me I had hit rock bottom, and got my siblings to help her.
When I wrote to her (when a young man was killed on the lake we had lived on and I asked if mine were ok, she wrote back that they didn't need me or want to talk to me) later, she sent my letter to my sibling and he threatened me with arrest if I didn't stop (trying to get my children back)
I lived in Hawaii for a time and went to a healing weekend a gift from a friend. I went into the ocean and vowed to stop this inter family pattern of both families (ex and mine) and we were told to not look back at the water at the ocean as we left it.
I heard someone being carried out by the rip tide, but I kept walking. Someone will help them, I thought.
Hawaii saved me.Without her, and the healers I met there, I don't know where I would be today. The cruelty that people are capable of in their outermost regions of their life pattern can kill. I have a son now with mental illness. It was not there before, and I believe it can come clean with healthy response. I really do and sometimes have to do it from far away.
I can keep your son in my heart when doing my work if you want. We have to help each other. I once had a dream that my friend's son was really in trouble and she asked me to do this with her, and I did of course. Men, especially men, are fodder for their father (land). In France, I found this cartoon book in the house of my friend Michèle. On a page dedicated to L'histoire d'Art pour Nuls, there is a drawing of a tank. Beside it, it says, "think tanks avec les idées légères"
I think it comes from monotheism. Having been written according to plans political the bible is stories, and Indigenous comedian Highway Thomson (Massey lectures) describes Christopher Columbus arriving, and the natives saying, where are your wives because you are going to need them.
Deeply affecting Stella Lyn and I wish you all the best in your recovery. I am familiar with the permanent damage a life can sustain, when childhood has been immersed in an environment where mental illness is normal, in fact most people would not need much convincing that this is true. For those who have not experienced it, what is less easy to understand, is the feeling that the rest of the world is alien and wrong. Coming out of that for me was accompanied by the shame of where I came from and the guilt for trying to leave it behind. In my case the damage caused me to make bad decisions, some of which I knew were bad, even as I was making them. I wonder if that makes sense to you?
I hope you don't mind me finishing my comment by telling you about a dream I had nearly two decades ago that has stayed with me.
I go into a kitchen and there is a little boy standing at the sink, school shorts, grey pullover, with his back to me. I walk up to him and look over his shoulder. He his holding a broken glass, his hands are lacerated and covered in blood; it's running down the glass and splattered all over the basin. He turns back to look me in the eyes and with a faint smile says, 'I am so glad you are here with me' - I feel my heart stop. I recognise him. It's me.
In that moment I want to be my own parent. I empathise with the boy like he was somebody else. Then I woke up and couldn't go back. But the empathy remained and it helped.
Stella, this is such a harrowing but life-affirming read. I’m so sorry that, over the years, you’ve had to experience such an unbelievably challenging set of circumstances. Wishing you an ocean of healing/love. And keep writing - your voice is so powerful and important. ✨
Just appreciate your open heart. Our families can sometimes so rend us. But God never stops sewing on us. He started in the womb and He knows where to mend. You are a kind, shining one, Stella.
wow very powerful words indeed. Thanks for sharing the deepest insights. The poetic between the brutality a hero's journey. That umbilical chord the tether to our skin suit in the universal amneisa of birth life and death repeat in the symphony of the multiplicity of experiences to be had in the wheel of time no doubt. Again fantastic read and great words shared.
What a moving, painful, devastating, heartfelt, soulful story. Mothers and children, and the women caught up between them, that seems to be the journey of life in trauma. Our journey. And somewhere in between you became a midwife! Every story is unique, I know. Yours is incredibly important to be written and read. And very well written too. 💕🙏
My heart sank and broke while reading this for the versions of you who you have honored here. I can feel the tenderness and compassion for yourself that you have grown amidst such a treacherous journey, and for that, I am in awe. I won’t soon forget your story. It’s touched me in a profound way.
Hard to say more than "keep going."
Hi Stella. I look at your beautiful face and I think, all this happened to her and yet look at her face, how lovely. My time at home was short too. When I was twelve I remember my mother pushing my head into a wall. Her mother was smiling a weird smile. Later I believed my grandmother was enjoying it. I know only a little of what she could be like, but it was cruel from what I could see even though she liked to play cards with us small children.
Through years of therapy, I discovered my home life was a cult. Learning to perform at an early age for safety, but being the butt of verbal abuse I left at eighteen to a university I could have walked to. I came back to look after my little brother when she went to therapy and she sent one of those letters a therapist makes her write but doesn't mean.
Though I did well, designing clothing, the pictures show a different story when my parents visited. I asked my therapist, how long am I going to feel that way about them? She said possibly forever.
When I divorced, I had been in therapy for almost ten years, and did three years of early childhood so I did not repeat what had been done to me. But my mother appeared like un diable, taking them. She wrote me hate mail, told me I had hit rock bottom, and got my siblings to help her.
When I wrote to her (when a young man was killed on the lake we had lived on and I asked if mine were ok, she wrote back that they didn't need me or want to talk to me) later, she sent my letter to my sibling and he threatened me with arrest if I didn't stop (trying to get my children back)
I lived in Hawaii for a time and went to a healing weekend a gift from a friend. I went into the ocean and vowed to stop this inter family pattern of both families (ex and mine) and we were told to not look back at the water at the ocean as we left it.
I heard someone being carried out by the rip tide, but I kept walking. Someone will help them, I thought.
Hawaii saved me.Without her, and the healers I met there, I don't know where I would be today. The cruelty that people are capable of in their outermost regions of their life pattern can kill. I have a son now with mental illness. It was not there before, and I believe it can come clean with healthy response. I really do and sometimes have to do it from far away.
I can keep your son in my heart when doing my work if you want. We have to help each other. I once had a dream that my friend's son was really in trouble and she asked me to do this with her, and I did of course. Men, especially men, are fodder for their father (land). In France, I found this cartoon book in the house of my friend Michèle. On a page dedicated to L'histoire d'Art pour Nuls, there is a drawing of a tank. Beside it, it says, "think tanks avec les idées légères"
I think it comes from monotheism. Having been written according to plans political the bible is stories, and Indigenous comedian Highway Thomson (Massey lectures) describes Christopher Columbus arriving, and the natives saying, where are your wives because you are going to need them.
Then 'successful' men are so lonely at the 'top'.
Deeply affecting Stella Lyn and I wish you all the best in your recovery. I am familiar with the permanent damage a life can sustain, when childhood has been immersed in an environment where mental illness is normal, in fact most people would not need much convincing that this is true. For those who have not experienced it, what is less easy to understand, is the feeling that the rest of the world is alien and wrong. Coming out of that for me was accompanied by the shame of where I came from and the guilt for trying to leave it behind. In my case the damage caused me to make bad decisions, some of which I knew were bad, even as I was making them. I wonder if that makes sense to you?
I hope you don't mind me finishing my comment by telling you about a dream I had nearly two decades ago that has stayed with me.
I go into a kitchen and there is a little boy standing at the sink, school shorts, grey pullover, with his back to me. I walk up to him and look over his shoulder. He his holding a broken glass, his hands are lacerated and covered in blood; it's running down the glass and splattered all over the basin. He turns back to look me in the eyes and with a faint smile says, 'I am so glad you are here with me' - I feel my heart stop. I recognise him. It's me.
In that moment I want to be my own parent. I empathise with the boy like he was somebody else. Then I woke up and couldn't go back. But the empathy remained and it helped.
Stella, this is such a harrowing but life-affirming read. I’m so sorry that, over the years, you’ve had to experience such an unbelievably challenging set of circumstances. Wishing you an ocean of healing/love. And keep writing - your voice is so powerful and important. ✨
Just appreciate your open heart. Our families can sometimes so rend us. But God never stops sewing on us. He started in the womb and He knows where to mend. You are a kind, shining one, Stella.
wow very powerful words indeed. Thanks for sharing the deepest insights. The poetic between the brutality a hero's journey. That umbilical chord the tether to our skin suit in the universal amneisa of birth life and death repeat in the symphony of the multiplicity of experiences to be had in the wheel of time no doubt. Again fantastic read and great words shared.