Tell me your story please.

Waiting on a breathless prayer.

It’s just a cardigan I pull closer over my arms and across my chest. A security dawning myself as I glance over at another trigger, another spill. I've spent time hiding in the closet of life and have made masks out of mothballs that have been left from rovings of wool.

Instead of opening the floodgates. Finding myself from the depths of an ocean of words. I pull out of the closet - for a night - dawning a midsummer nights dream. Maybe one more night- thoughtful. One more distraction to bear the weight of heat.

I have courage, but I’m trying to wear myself small. The murmur of the weak made strong in the breaking. Bravery unknots all my fears of failure. I laugh, breathe deep..

Anxiety turns fear inside out. To become stronger than ourselves. All I have stirring are intentional answers all wildly rolled together. Breathless. Everything running all down…

In the beginning, yes, breathless. In the end all I remember is taking the first step.

This is the reason I've never dived in. Invited that scared little girl over for a playtime. Her courage is our story. And when a trigger is pushed she calls in the troops. The one who is her only testimony. Standing up to fight instead of cowering in the corners.

Courage lives in our heart. Encompassing all that is watering our soul.

The wine glass in my hand stains red and I hear the word-Enabled.

Something rises up in me and the red wine splashes the wall and a witness is wide eyed. All while a terror streams down the walls as the glass shatters..


My Mother was never enabled. Although accusations caused myself and her to be beaten until unconscious so many times that we eventually found the courage with the help of my young uncle. To runaway. Through ravines and hiding under parked cars. I was 4.

My first memory was my mother fighting a man off of me, and myself being spanked until I saw .. Well nothing. She was admitted in the hospital numerous times and the hospital staff contacted my Grandmother. A nurse at the time. My grandparents made the long trek to see us way up in the Northern tundra. 16 hours. Only to be told they were not allowed on the property. Not allowed to visit. No pictures. Nothing.

The story is loud, loaded and frightening. The story has faces and bodies ravaged by domestic violence and pedophiles.

But I will now tap into the courage that had always been there. Growing roots planted long ago.

I see the gentleness behind your eyes. The lack of judgement. The grace to accept all things wholly old & new. Immediately the exhale slowly releases the memories bound up tight.

Now in whispers I remember the reason we came to this place tonight. The adventurous heart is longing to be with the people. Listening to their stories. Giving them voices.. Again. Some for the very first time.

But chances are I may regret this. Opening pandoras box. This life is worth it.

Who will join me? Sit together perhaps with a screen between us or a coffee wafting warm and inviting. Daring the silence. Exploring the risk that terror will be reminded to be watered with tears.

And prayers match the grieving, the waiting and pursuing. All where my heart lies right now. On the outside looking in I want to wear who I am.

My friend thank you for seeing me.