Love in a Nightmare

Focus.

I don't have time or the ability these days to put eloquent words together for the joy of language. I've always loved language. My mother bestowed upon me a great love of reading (library trips are essential to children!!!!). And so as I grew I fell in love with words. Deep infatuated love. They have a feel, a taste, a sound. Words are a sense- a sense for the imagination. But that is difficult these days. This is difficult these days.

As my doctors continue to run tests to be sure my physical and mental limitations that progress are indeed caused by the years of head trauma from domestic abuse I have found I need great focus.

There is much to love yet. Much love to be given and received. And yet my abilities are so limited. My independence dissolved and dissipated as if overnight. Everything I had is falling between my fingertips because I cannot hold my fingers together. I shake.

My head tips back in silent screams, deep cries and aching.

Focus. I must know what is wrong for sure. I must continue to do what I can. I must remember love. Focus.

All the support in the world cannot chose focus for me. I am but alone in the choice to live with focus.

You are but alone in your choice to live with focus. Whether you are choosing love in a nightmare of health problems and difficulties or choosing life and leaving your abuser or simply choosing to make a difference with your life by helping someone....Focus is a choice- a brave choice.

If you are being hurt please know every time you get hurt there can be outcomes you can't foresee. You are not in control, you are not keeping the abuse contained. You are being hurt. If you need help or assistance or a safety plan please click here. 

much love, abigail

Grace and Gratitude

Grace and gratitude. That is what was written to me. If ever I've seen a daunting challenge there one lies. As of late I've been considering the people I know that have already passed. I'd considered how some seemed to live and then leave in grace while others didn't. Can I choose grace? Can I choose gratitude? What if I become unable to choose those things? What if I can't control.... Oh life is very humbling. 

Very. 

But as I look at and roll over these words: grace. gratitude. They aren't sharp words. But in kind they are neither soft nor comfortable. They are words that evoke a sense of work; work before the tragic happens. Layers of thought, observation and perspective. These can't be borrowed, no one can share or give these to you. They are the deep and mindful words I sure hope I can hold. 

We have just have today. Be Brave.

Dark Corner

Fear. Fear. Cowering and Pain. 

Still Relief.

Unsure I stepped. 

The hatred dismissed me and it was if it hadn't happened.

Relief slipped.

Fear marked.

Unsure I stayed.

 

If you are being hurt please get help. Do more than survive. Your life matters, your health matters and both are in danger if you are with someone who doesn't hold you with value. Do more than survive. You will have time for grateful later, you will be grateful you left. You will rely on others grace and then you will learn it for yourself. Your life matters. YOUR life matters. 

-abigail

Fragile Limits

We like to believe that we are limitless. We can do anything we set our minds to do. "The sky is the limit" and "Oh the places you'll go." For most of my life I've believed that I was more, that I could be more, do more and go "to infinity and beyond". I believed this with great passion. It is an emotional cognition that fuels campaigns, wars, politics, religions and every senior educational class of students on the planet. A force to be reckoned with. 
And then comes along the fragility of life. Life so fragile that the toughest fall, the strongest falter, huge empires crumble and every religion in the world has a Thomas, a doubter, who still hangs on to belief. Every breath you take is not chosen by you. Every day you are awarded is not taken or even "lived" by your choice. Life is. And life is fragile. 

For most of the portion of my life in which I was married I wore fragility in bruises, bumps and fear. Sadly the bumps were mostly on my head. A bump on the head is not very easily seen by others and if you live in colder climates it can most easily be hidden by a warm fuzzy hat. A warm fuzzy hat that cradles what aches, that covers what hurts and carries what grows fragile. I had no idea that successive concussions were something to worry about. In eight years the numbers of blows to the head I took are in the high hundreds, easily estimated by more than 3 a week that caused symptoms of mild concussions- often purposefully in the same place as the last hit. My walls bore the dents and my children tell tales of my head being slammed into the floors. 
And now, the fragility of life has found me. This is years later, three years later as of yesterday since the last and eleven years since the first. 

If you are being harmed in any way please find help. EVERY TIME YOU ARE HARMED MATTERS. Every time. It might just be mild, a blow to the head that makes you see stars and makes you dizzy. But that might just be your life. Please find help. 

abigail

Noteworthy

There is a gorgeous fog that touches down around my house most mornings. The morning light filters through it softly, the tall grasses in the fields get touched with moisture and the cows and horses we love as neighbors look as magical as their fairy-tale cousin the unicorn, soft and glowing in the misty fog. The fog leaves by 8:30 or 9, the sun heating it up and demanding the dewy softness of the morning leave for the warmer, more realistic day to begin. The horses keep eating, the cows continue mooing and I sigh every morning as that is my cue to let "real life" start again. And yet, I like the morning moments far more than I like those that follow. I wonder why those magical still quiet moments are vanquished and sent away from my days. I do understand it is hard to feel mystical and special when cleaning toilets, doing laundry or frowning over my financial spreadsheet. Joy lost in the "Hurry Up" moments, lost in the language of "STOP FIGHTING" calmly muttered to my squabbling angels, forgotten in my quandary of financial statements.... Somedays though I pause long enough in the foggy quiet soft spaces of morning to let it seep a little deeper in. I breathe in a little longer, smile a bit farther inside.... Mercies are new every morning. There is nothing like setting aside worries, busyness and efficiency for a little wonder, a little joy and a quiet break from what ails us. I'm pretty sure it's there our brave grows. 

Dark Corner
Guilt. My daily dose of guilt that day was that he picked up the house....cleaned some of it even. Hatred and then a blank stare that is what greeted me. I'd forgotten for a bit while I was at work that everything was my fault. It amazes me now that I let that move me, that I let my motivation be to make him happy. But that day I felt bad, I felt badly that he did "my work". He could see it on my face that afternoon- emotion from me, good or bad wasn't acceptable. Grabbing me by the hair he dragged me down the stairs, along the hall, my hands grasping for something, my knees running into every corner. I did not want to be pulled into our bedroom. Heart racing I pulled back, my hair ripping but he knew I didn't want to follow him. We both knew he was going to suffocate me, his hands already reaching for my neck. Later that evening, I stood in the bathroom- eyes bloodshot, face speckled with broken blood vessels, red scuff marks on my neck....I only looked for a moment. I was as ugly, broken and hurt as he had said I was. 

And yet the truth is that I wasn't ugly. Not ugly due to the bruises, not ugly any day. I have been as beautiful as the morning fog is everyday since I was born. We have the same creator after all. My insides are as fascinating as yours. My outsides can be an amazing mirror to my insides letting out life, beauty or being honest about the turmoil within. Just as I was made to be. That is where our beauty, our worth lies. We are as we were made to be. We don't belittle the lion at the zoo for being captive, we don't think him less because he was injured and rescued, we don't quit feeding and caring for him because he needs us to. Your worth is not dependent on whether you or not you need help. Your worth isn't dependent on whether or not someone else thinks you worthy. You are because you are here. Because you can enjoy the same quiet still foggy morning moments as I. 

You are noteworthy. This morning was noteworthy. Can't wait to see tomorrow.
abigail

If you are being hurt as always, I implore you to seek help. Emotional, physical, spiritual- any or all of those signify being hurt and needing help. You are worthy.