Firsts

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'Firsts', advocate, Anna Waldherr, avoicereclaimed, children, inspirational women

Thank you, Anna for mentioning me in your absolutely brilliant post. Going through what could ultimately be a serious life-challenge at this time, your friendship and support are a source of immense comfort to me. Love, Marie

ANNA WALDHERR A Voice Reclaimed, Surviving Child Abuse

CSM Michelle Jones, first female command sergeant major of US Army Reserve (PD as work product of federal govt.)

An exceptional woman who once worked for me as a paralegal, had been in the Army before that.  There is an Army saying that goes:  It rains in the Army, but not on the Army.  That means soldiers power through, whatever the obstacle.  They move so fast, the raindrops don’t even touch them.

That fit my friend to a tee.  Any organization would have been lucky to have her.

My friend shared with me that she had been the only black woman (often the first and only woman) in all the classes or programs she ever attended.  She refused to declare her race on any form determining eligibility for affirmative action.  Yet the assumption was always made that she could not have qualified on merit alone.

I worked for years in…

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The Community Associations’ Winter Carnival 2016

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awareness, Cheryle. Lightwalker's Blog, children, comfort zone., communication, creativity, friendship, harmony, In light and love, inspiration, reflections, relationships

Sometimes, Cheryle, experiences outside of our ‘comfort zone’ can be the most inspiring experiences. It’s taken me many years to learn this as I’m shy, reserved, quiet and a little bit unsociable :))), but I find when I make the effort to do something which is unsettling, I derive great pleasure and a sense of achievement which (sometimes) spurs me on to get involved in other uncomfortable places. Thank you for sharing.

Lightwalkers Blog

Today was a day filled with children and activities definitely outside my comfort zone.  Today the Community Association held its Winter Carnival.  Today I played with children of all ages. Some were three and some were eleven and the others were all the ages in-between.

Yes, I helped out at the colouring contest table sponsored by the Ogden Seniors 50+ Activity Club.  We had a multitude of Christmas pictures to colour, crayons, and prizes to be won.  The kids lined up at our table excited to spend a few minutes shading stockings, wreaths, and Christmas trees with the waxy crayons. A chance to win a five dollar McDonalds gift card was an easy enticement for many of the young people tagging along behind their Mom or Dad as they wandered from booth to booth.  Alone in their zone, they chatted quietly about their schools, their ages, their siblings and in some…

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The Irish Question: Part 2: Jenny M*, Jenny C* and Me

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anxiety, birthday, birthday gift, character, children, creativity, disappointment, emotion, friendship, life lessons, love, palpable, poverty, retrospect, school girls, struggking, symbolic, trust

Jenny C

I never imagined as a pupil at John D Primary school ever writing about two of my classmates in years to come. It didn’t occur to me that at the time I was learning valuable life lessons. It is only now in retrospect that I see how important it is to value every thing that life throws at you, however painful. There is wisdom in looking carefully and profoundly at certain events which colour one’s life and paint the picture that is your life. To relegate disappointments to the dustbin of life is to throw away pearls. Pearls are not always beautifully shaped and formed when they are discovered: much goes into the process of refining them so that they become a beautiful adornment. You may wish to wear them or you may wish to lock them away in a vault, but either way, their beauty is evident and can never be lost.

Jenny M taught me about human frailty, loyalty and trust. Jenny C taught me about humility, friendship, gentleness and creativity, and ultimately the act of giving. Now these two shared the same Christian name, but apart from that they differed physically and in their characters. I still recall Jenny M’s brilliant emerald green eyes and raven black hair. She was a very pretty girl and I can only imagine that she would become stunningly beautiful. Jenny C was blonde, blue eyed and not at first obviously pretty, but there was beauty in her genuine smile and those innocent blue eyes. The two were such opposites: light and dark, soft and gentle (JC), tough and a go-getter (JM), both were my friends. Interestingly I see myself in all their characteristics and that could be why I gravitated to them and they to me.

Jenny C taught me about the act of giving and receiving. It was my 11th birthday. When Jenny C found out that it was my birthday she said she had a present at home to give me. I became excited at the prospect of this, wondering what the gift could possibly be. All sorts of things went through my mind and I eagerly awaited the gift. But days went by and there was no gift forthcoming. I became disappointed, then anxious, and finally embarrassed. It was obvious that Jenny C had been untruthful about the gift she had bought me. Each day, for over the course of a week she would come in and not quite meeting my expectant eyes offer up an excuse why she hadn’t been able to bring the gift into school.

It came to the point where I tried in my own way to let her know that I understood that she had made a promise that she was not able to keep. By the end of maybe the second week I had long given up hope of ever receiving anything from her, and I sensed in her something that I couldn’t quite articulate. It was as if she thought so highly of me that she wanted my friendship and she wanted to be able to give me something that would be a symbol of the esteem in which she held me. These are my adult thoughts on the matter and my interpretation of her actions. This is what I felt aged 11, but I would never have been able to put it into words.

Then one Friday, she asked if I could follow her home to pick up the gift as she had forgotten to bring it with her to school. She didn’t live too far away from school and I could go around to her home and get the gift and still be home by the time I was expected home. So I followed her to her house and we entered her bedroom after having greeted her mother. It became obvious that her mother was not very well off and was a single parent. But then neither was my family well off – at the time we were living in two rooms at the top of my uncle’s house.
Jenny C placed the carefully wrapped present in my hands. It was wrapped in what looked like tissue paper and tied with string. I opened it. Inside were some shells, some pebbles and some coloured beads with a small piece of paper on which was written birthday greetings to me. My disappointment was palpable. I didn’t know that at the time as I didn’t know the word ‘palpable’ but having learned it now, I look back and realise that was how I felt.

I had the good grace to offer up a weak smile and thank her very much and off home I went with the gift which I looked at once more when I got home disdainfully before putting it somewhere. I don’t think I looked at it ever again. It is only now through adult eyes that I treasure that gift and how much trouble Janet C had gone to, to give me something to show how important I was to her. In my childish expectant way, I had looked for something which she plainly could not give me. She had no money. Her mother was plainly struggling. She had the creative sense to put together some stones, beads and shells – all she had, tie them up with string and to give them to me with love.

How often is something given to us, something precious, not costing the earth in terms of monetary value, but symbolically valuable? How do we receive the gift of love? And do we recognise it when we see it? Now as an adult I see how precious that gift from Jenny C was. What a contrast to Jenny M’s gift?

Summing up, both gifts were valuable in terms of learning. I have learned that trust needs to be earned and not given away and that precious gifts do not have to cost money. It’s not the gift that is important, it is the act of giving and what it symbolises to me.

~ Marie Williams 2016

* Jenny M and Jenny C are not their real names.

Tree of Life

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art, blogging, care, child, children, F.G.M., heart, poem, poetry, tree, wisdom

Beautifully said!

Blogging101: Day 11: From you to you. Write a letter to your 14 year old self. Tomorrow, write a letter to yourself in 20 years

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awareness, blogging university, blogging101, child abuse, children, compassion, father, hope, letter, love, mother, relationships, suicide, Support, younger self

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “From You to You.”

Today’s assignment, write a letter to your 14 year old self, seemed easy, but on second thoughts I am not so sure. It certainly seemed the easiest option. There were so many choices: some that I thought I could do, and others that I thought I wouldn’t know where to start. Sometimes I think when there are too many choices, it’s very difficult to decide which option to go for. Better, when it’s either this or that really.

Dear Marie

Yes, you, come on now, try not to let things get you down too much. I promise life will get better. I know that you’ve had it really rough and I know that you wish your first suicide attempt at age 11 had worked, but it didn’t and that’s because you are here for a reason. I know that you can’t see that now, because all around you is chaos, but you are a divine spirit and you need to know that.

Try not to internalise the pain. I know that you feel that you have no-one to confide in, but you do. Speak to your grandfather. I know he is no longer here. I know he died in 1959, but his spirit is with you. Speak your pain and he will hear and he will try to smooth the path for you and make life a little easier. I know you’re thinking, “rubbish!” But seriously, he came to help you that painful night when you were 11. It was him you saw, when he hovvered over you. It was not a figment of your imagination. He came to make sure those pills did not work.

You’re destined for great things Marie. Look at Oprah Winfrey, Maya Angelou – they suffered too but look how they have turned their lives around. They have have used their abusive pasts to build a solid framework in which to change their lives for the better. OK, so you’re never going to be Oprah or Maya with their very public profile, but you will be Marie blogging on WordPress, “sharing, hoping to inspire and motivate” others.

I know you think I’m crazy, and that this will never happen. Yes at 14, with a mother who clearly finds you an irritation and a father who gets a kick out of battering you, sending you to school with bruises on your face and body, with the explanation “If they ask you what has happened to you, tell them that you fell over some wire in the backyard”, makes the above paragraph seem like the ramblings of a mad woman, but honestly, you will survive.

People that you don’t know now, will be reading your poetry and will write to you telling you how much they love what you have written. People all over the world in France, Austria, USA, Australia will be commenting on your poetry.

There will be something called the Internet which will allow you to connect with others in a way that you can’t now. The world will be a smaller place in terms of contact and there will be vast opportunities for you to grasp and take advantage of.

I love you Marie and I want to take care of you in the only way I can. This is why I am writing to you, aged 14. I want to give you hope. I want to let you know that I am there for you.

Yours sincerely

(A much older)Marie xx

Hurt

Tags

awareness, child abuse, children, healing, hurts, Kendall Person, key, monster, pain, poetry, princess, sex, violence

This amazing poem at the end of this post:  “A Princess on Every Street” by Kendall F. Person has made me focus on the real problems faced today by children.  What insight!  How very well articulated and more to the point how very true.  So many of us are the product of such a sometimes cruel world.  The third verse particularly resonates with me.  So many small girls (“princesses”) and boys (princes) walk among us feeling the pain of abuse, childhoods stolen, unable to speak of their pain because they are children.  Many can only articulate their pain well into old age or perhaps never at all.  Stolen lives – what an absolute tragedy!  Today let us think about those princes and “princesses” and allow our thoughts to heal their wounds.    A Question often asked by the abused are “Why (Did you hurt me)? They struggle with the pain for years “When Pain Came to Stay”.  They don’t understand how to deal with the “monster” – their abuser.  I hope that my poems will touch the hearts of many of you today.

Five Stroke Fourteen (or Look what you’ve made me do to you)

 The monster sits beside me

He has a caring expression on his face

“Look what you’ve made me do to you”, he says

But I shrink from his imminent embrace

 

Because I know

Deep within my spirit

He seeks to control me

 

The monster touches my bruised and battered face

He did it

In a fit

Of rage!

His hunger for control to assuage

 

Because I know

Deep within my spirit

He seeks to control me

 

And control me he does

Because he knows

That I won’t tell

And I won’t yell

“Monster!”

 

Because I know

Deep within my spirit

He seeks to control me

 

Slowly, slowly I come to realise

I am nothing, but a punch-bag in his eyes

A thing of beauty to despise

But now I bravely rise

 

Casting off the fears

Releasing uncontrollable tears

Standing tall and proud

No longer wearing sorrow as a shroud

I am free, free to be Me

Copyright Marie Williams – July 2009

 

When Pain Came to Stay

I am old and grey, and wiser now,

But does the pain go away?

No it stays another day.

Why does it stay for another day

When I want this pain to go away?

 

This pain has been my friend

He moved in with me many years ago

I don’t remember asking him to stay

In fact I barely knew his name

But he took the best room in the house

 

I was only 5, when Pain knocked on the door

“Who are you”, I said, no screamed!

A kick, then a punch, and my body flew

Through the air, Pain was not happy

To leave it there, He needed to leave his mark

 

Seemed like hours and hours

The hurt and the struggle

Knocking me, knocking me

Hurting me, the tears and the fears

Were born that day

 

And how that child pain grew

From strength to strength

And day to day, what could I do

To make pain pack his bags and leave

So that I could be so happy and free

 

I’ll never know why Pain chose me

I guess that will always be a mystery

All I know is that it fed off me

And almost brought me to death’s door

The day pain came to stay with me

 

At last Pain has decided to go

And will I miss Him? Oh gosh no!

But am I stronger for his stay; did I triumph after all?

Put it this way, the locks to that door have been changed

And Pain no longer holds a key

Copyright  Marie Williams – March 2009

 

 

WHY (Did you hurt me)?

What is the question?

Why do you ask the question?

I ask because I want to know

The answer means that I can go

 

To a place, a place of peace

A place where I’ll be able to rest

Safe in the knowledge that at last I

Can say I know the reason why

 

Is it important to ask?

You will say

Or is it better to know the why

How will it improve your day?

You say

 

Do you think the hurts will dissolve?

At last will you gain some resolve

Will the problem go away?

Or will it be the same anyway?

 

Now you confuse me

It’s as if you abuse me

By appearing to challenge

The extent of the damage

 

Why do you not see?

That the innermost core

Of my tortured soul

Seeks only to know why it pains me

 

Seems best not to ask the reason why

Best to let the problem die

Best to move forward

And that will be your reward!

 

 

 

A Princess on Every Street
by Kendall F. Person

There is a princess on every street.
We know who they are by their smiling faces,
and silver braces.
We see the pretty dresses that they wear,
and the adorable ponytails arranged of their hair.
We see them skipping down the walk,
headed off to school,
and ready for the world
because they are daddy’s little girl.

There is a princess on every street.
In the broken down apartment buildings,
and in the houses that blot the streets.
We know who they are,
even if they rarely come outdoors
by the songs they sing,
like The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow,
and other wishful things.

There is a princess on every street. Living with abusers
intent on robbing them of a childhood and a future.
We know who they are from the sadness in their eyes
and the bruises on their faces,
that hide the truth in memorized excuses.
We watch them fail their classes
lost concentration, partly to blame.
We feel them close down, isolating themselves
blocking out the world, but still living with the pain.

Clean and dirty, homeless and rich.
Every color of the rainbow,
in every country on earth.
There is a princess on every street.
And the little girls that do not know this,
please deliver to them this message
and let them know…. they are a Princess too.

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