The Dark, the Light and the Gratitude

Dear Reader, the following is a heavy entry.  I’ll understand if you’re not in the mood for revealing and raw.  Check back with me again.  If you’re okay with heavy, stick around.  I’m taking in a big breath, then a full exhale, and I’m going to be brave...

Up until now I was blocked in writing about the Portland reunion weekend with my high school girlfriends.  I’d open a Word document, pose my hands over the keyboard, then stop as I was more than a little lost for words. I couldn’t simply and blithely report on the merriment of the weekend. Not for lack of material, as there was a wealth of little and big events: Parading around the McMenamins’ Kennedy School tiara-ed, the joy of each others company and the lack of sleep because we couldn’t stop talking, so much talking. And laughing, then serious hushed conversation, then back to laughing.  We were at ease, our time together flowed effortlessly and with the same intensity we knew as earnest teenagers. 

I assumed my post would reflect that magic, all that sweetness and loveliness, and that it would be fun to create and jolly to read.  But with each attempt I made in putting together a cheery piece, I realized I couldn’t ignore the shadow world of my youth and the place it held through the weekend.

Going in, I knew my girlfriends would recall the lightness of their childhood and adolescence - the Camp Fire Girls’ trips to Disneyland, bouncing up to Cazadero in Jodee’s Mom’s classic Mustang, sleepovers, parties, knowing each others families, vacations, then going off into the world supported and loved. 

And while listening I knew I would hear the echoes from the contrasting darkness of what I endured - strict ethnic immigrant parents, their fear of the ‘white people’ around us (‘the Americans’ they called our neighbors), the tyranny of the Catholic Church, secrecy, isolation, brutal corporal and psychological punishment, and worst of all, the sexual abuse regularly perpetrated upon me by my father as a small girl and in my early teen years.

My girlhood was crazily compartmentalized, a coping strategy for abuse survivors.  At home I was stupid, a good-for-nothing and used.  In school I was a sunny, smart and smiling kid.  There was no outward affection at home and the sexual abuse by my father served cruelly as the only physical expression from either parent.  But at school my friends greeted each other with warm embraces, big cheek kisses, wide grins.  With my friends I thrived and knew wholesomeness.  At home, I cowered, withered and was degraded.

This split state of being can’t last. It’s too maddening to maintain the facade.  Eventually the two worlds must mesh.  My version of this was to become a furious whirlwind force, acting out by openly drugging, drinking and catting around. By the summer of my 16th year I began to lash out at my parents without any concern that my justified anger would be met with ferocious violence.  On one of those occasions my father threw me against the wall so severely that I lost 40% of hearing in my left ear.  But I didn’t care;  all I knew was that I had to get out of my parents' house, and I began to count the days to the freedom granted by my 18th birthday. 

(And I left three days before I turned 18, directly after the last day of my senior year, to live and work in Yosemite National Park, “…where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.” John Muir.)

Through the crazy years my friends were bewildered and worried and some were disgusted. But I couldn’t tell anyone about the extent of the abuse as the shame and unworthiness seeped deep to my core.  I would only disclose that my parents were extremely strict, wicked-mean and, as immigrants, didn't comprehend American/white teenagers.  I was certain no hint of the real carnage was revealed, but I was told years later many suspected that whatever was going on at my house was profoundly wrong. Still, the theories of why and what the hell I was doing flew around the school; hands were thrown upwards in helplessness, and heads shook sadly.

Nonetheless I was never dismissed by my friends.  My circle provided sanctuary, they were the keepers of my heart, and they love me unfailingly still, all this time, all this way.

It can, however, be tricky business to be with any of my friends from youth.  In planning our weekend I was fully aware that the encounter may tap the best of my girlhood but might also trigger recollections of the worst days of my life.  Therefore, my task during the gathering was to find balance with the light and dark, to have self compassion for feeling on the periphery while others spoke of events and activities I was not allowed to attend, and to give myself permission to appreciate my own bittersweet, poignant sense of our reunion.

But I surprised myself last weekend.  I didn’t spiral into grief and despair for all I had lost and what I never had.  I didn’t dwell on the confluence of light and dark.  Rather, I was overwhelmed with gratitude for my hard earned wholeness, my accomplishments as a mother, and, of course, for my dear, dear friends.  And with this thankfulness, I saw that though I came from the shadows, I had always walked in the light, and, dare I say it, with grace. 

Reader, you were great to hang in with me and I thank you as well.

I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge two fellow blogger Moms for their inspirational truth telling:

I found A Lumbering Soul through my site referrals, took a look and was riveted by this diarist's journey to recovery.  Friends, this is one courageous and noble woman.  All the best to you, Syd’s Mom.

Elizabeth of Ravings of a Corporate Mommy gave the web journaling world her unflinching entry,  'The Turning Point' , and the world stepped back in awe.  Never stop writing, Elizabeth.

Finally, here’s some of that sweetness and light: I have a fabulous photo album from the weekend.  For you sappy Boomers out there, the appropriate background music would be Joni Mitchell’s Blue. But for rockers like my girlfriend Gina, any old Led Zeppelin would be just as perfect.

Namaste.

Comments

[Elizabeth]

I read this and was just blown away.

Wow.

Thank God, you survived. That you survived to become the kind of parent you should have had. That you survived to give voice to other survivors. That you survived to bring one more strong woman to the fight against abuse in all its forms.

You have an amazing, unique, and proud voice that rings clear as a clarion -

Thank you for sharing this story, and making me cry, and for stepping out into the light.

Thank you for this post.

[Margaret]

Incredible post and it sounds like your friends were the anchor you needed to make it through that time. (even though you did some very normal acting out) I had a friend who was being abused by her older brother, never said a word, but starting acting out sexually about the same age. I never understood why until many years later and felt ashamed that I hadn't known or been there for her--but maybe I was in just being her friend and going to games and parties with her. I don't know, but I sure hope so! Glad you can analyse your past now;it does help to come to terms with it all, I think.

[Faith]

It's going to sound crazy, in this day and age, but I've never met anyone or talked to anyone who I thought had had a similar childhood to mine. Not that it's about comparing...but I live in a world where I assume everyone tries to understand, but no one ever really can...you know? Reading this post...oh it's so hard to explain...but I can FEEL what you felt and I know it's what I felt...what a strange fraternity to belong to...but I'm so glad you emailed me, and I was able to read this incredible post.

This blog world, this internet space we all coexist in makes for some amazing meetings, and I'm so glad I've met you!

[Jo]

wow. Very moving post. I admire your healing and strength!

[Michelle]

I also love A Lumbering Soul (Hi Faith!) for it's honesty.

Your excellent post illustrates so very well the importance of having the steady presence of people who care in your life. I'm so sorry for what you went through. I also share pieces of your story, although, I dare say, you had a harder time of it.

It is so wonderful to know that yet another person has attained the vision to be a good parent in spite of not having a model for such. It is people like you who truely make the world go 'round.

[mbd]

I'm touched and very pleased that you wrote this entry.

[bonnie]

Grace, you are aptly named! I am in awe of your strength! Namaste!

[Tonya]

It does truly amaze me that without any kind of role model -- none whatsoever -- you were able to rise above the hell that was your childhood. What you went through could easily have crushed the spirit of another, but your strength transcended any kind of "easy way out". I also suspect that your sense of humor had a lot to do with your survival. Behind a funny person is often pain. But it's also one powerful coping ability.

[Jenny]

This is a remarkable, powerful tale, and you are a masterful writer. I felt every word. Thank you for sharing this with us.

Strength, beauty, honesty, spirit and Grace.

[FrumDad]

wow.

[Suzanne Bellerive]

Grace,

This post, beautifully written, has been for me a timely reminder of how blessed I was with the parents and childhood I had. What some others had to go through! It's difficult for me to imagine, but you have helped me, there.

It has reminded me, as well, that while I bitch and moan about my current frustrations, the life I lead is a thousand times easier than those of many, many women and children out there, right now.

Thanks for helping me keep things in perspective.