Having holiday fun with the kids . . . December 25, 2009

Yesterday and today I’ve been having fun with my children.  We went to the Dollar Theater to see two movies in a row: G-Force and Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs.  We had FUN    but I have to say all that food falling from the sky freaked me out    Came home and worked throughout the night and into the morning.

My thoughts since the !BLAM!ming of my parents. . . December 21, 2009

Quick note, my parents weren’t aware that I was going to be calling and !BLAM!ming.  That was a “cold call”.  They also didn’t know that we were filming. (re-posted video at bottom)

Thoughts since the !BLAM!…

A great metaphor for the forgotten child.

!BLAM!ming my parents was one of the best things I’ve ever done.  I feel so different inside.  I’m experiencing transformation daily.  I let my parents know that I was a forgotten child in all their violence, drama, and destruction.  And I did it calmly.  No screaming, no yelling, no my parents yelling back…  I let them know in a controlled, clear adult manner that what they did effected me.  That I’ve never stood up and said.  I had always

Christmas memories and Christmas is Coming song . . . December 15, 2009

I was around five.  It was December.  The light of day was nearly extinguished.  We were in our family car on Main Street.  My mom pulled along side the slushy curb and parked.  She, my grandma, and I pulled on our hats, scarfs, and gloves that were piled in our laps waiting.  We got out together and paused.  The wind swirled white snow lightly through the air while we waited for my mom to feed the parking meter with nickels. 

Lie, lies, lying, lied. . . Continued from previous posts on lying . . . December 8, 2009

Con’t From these previous posts: “What’s that you say??  Total honesty??” and “Looooonnnnng history of lying. . .”

Lying is insidious.  
Someone that begins to lie for certain reasons, in specific areas over time can’t contain it.  Without noticing it slowly creeps around and sends off shoots like vines on the side of a house.  Left untended, they’ll cover the house and destroy it.  That was me.

What’s that you say?? Total honesty?? . . . December 3, 2009

TODAY…
was more of the same.  Locked to my computer, making it happen.  Left around 4:45, got my kids, went to the new Silly Bandz store and got them the Christmas set, went to Barnes and Nobel we all drooled over books, the kids submitted an addendum to their Christmas lists, then to Walmart with just Grace.  Had a blast, we Christmas shopped a little.  Took her home.  Talked with my daughter Blessing for an hour plus.  Talked with Ben for about an hour.  Home at midnight to, you guessed it… get on the computer. 

I could end here, but that would be disappointing.  But I HAVE to tell you something more meaningful.  It starts with this blog…

Becoming Jennie captured my attention straight out of the shoot:   The brutal honesty riveted me to her page.  I’ve been reading her for, what?  A couple weeks now.   It’s her honesty that amazes me.  It’s practically brutal.  She’s on the show Sex Rehab.  I’ve not watched it.  Time is an issue.  Then, well, I’d have to find the channel it’s on.  Those sort of things I put off.  But I did Google it last  night.  I watched clips from the show and was blow away by these people.  Honest to the bone.  Some just zipped the info out without a hitch.  Some were having a tough time.  But all wanted to be free.  And I think I’m remembering this right, all/most want to have a sincere relationship with one person.  But their addiction blocks them.  They destroy that for themselves.  Now I want to watch the show.  That means finding the channel…

After viewing them I sat back gob-stopped.   Marveling.  And inspired.  Why?  I’ve been practicing honesty for something like four years now with John1.  We’re both into awakening/healing/consciousness.  It’s our thing.  So we work together.  Read books and discuss them.  Watch movies, discuss them.  Dig into our issues.  Talk about them…

He’s like 20 miles ahead of me so he ultimately helps me more in some ways.  But we both benefit.  Well one day he came up with this new “thing” for us to strive for: absolute honesty with each other.  I’m talking the unveiled, all the time, sort of honesty.  Honesty that can hurt.  I saw the value and agreed…bush baby has this been tough to get to.  Harder for me than him.  Nothing like having a friend hold my feet to the fire!  There’s been tremendous growth.  But first I had to come to see how much I lied.  OUCH.  See, I have a loooonnnnnggggg history with lying…

That’s where I’ll pick up tomorrow.    I’ve always loved television mini-series…

Night, Love ya,
Theresa Jane
-who just looked at her clock and is startled, it’s 4:17 a.m.  eeeeekkkkkkk…

My day, ho hum, but glowing memories. . . December 1, 2009

The day just finished nine minutes ago!  And I’m here reflecting.  This is where I break my day down and map it out for you in 550-650 words (hopefully ).  Today was mostly typical.  Worked on the business, went to my job.  Both went well.  Made headway on some of those picky icy areas that needed sorting out.  Went to John1′s to work on some things, got John2 on the speaker phone and for a couple hours we picked, poked, found solutions, and made some decisions.  So headway.  Perfect.

That’s my day from the black and white “entrepreneur business woman” end.  Not too exciting really.  Shrug.  Today what I think was worthy of ink to paper was this:

After work my eldest daughter whose name is Blessing, wasn’t feeling well at all.  I brought her some herbs, gave them to her with a glass of water, sat on the bed next to her, and rubbed her stomach for about 45 minutes.  Trying to sooth her past the pain and into sleep.  Her slender face was pale and winched with that drained look of exhaustion one has from dealing with a non-stop, crippling cramp that steals away even the ability to speak.

As I sat there in the silence of the soft, amber glow casting a small puddle of light into the room, all I could think was 19 years ago what I was now rubbing was called a “tummy”.  It was tiny and taunt and fit below my hand.   When she was sick I would scoop her up out of her crib, cradle her in the crook of my arm, and rub that tiny belly.  As she grew I eased her small body up from her twin bed onto me, sat on its edge, and rubbed her tummy.  Except now my hand didn’t cover nearly as much and her twin bed continuously seemed to shrink as her form covered more of it.

She’s 19 now and sleeps on a full size mattress.  Beautiful and grown.  Exuding the freshness and exuberance of a healthy adult, anxious to fully embrace the wonders that life holds for her as an adult.  I watch as she struggles to fully experience the weight of her independence.  Such a healthy thing.  A necessary thing.  Such an uncertain, wobbly time.  Wanting me at times and not at others.

But I’m proud to say that she’s doing a terrific job moving from her youth/teens on into her adulthood.  She’s sturdy, strong, and loving.  A hard worker and wise with her money.  For the last few months she’s been working her way towards her first apartment and if all goes according to plan, and it appears that is, she will be securing it and moving in in January.

So as I sat there in the quiet of the evening, on the well worn side of her bed reminiscing through time I couldn’t help but think…after January life is never going to be the same . . .

Night, love ya,
Theresa Jane
-It’s now 1:18 a.m. and I’m heading for bed.

pEEring dOWn tHe RaBBIt HolE Day 5… November 23, 2009

So I’ve ambled all around my wonderland through the last four posts and  I could have left it with the last, I suppose.  Lead you somewhere for it to end up nowhere.  Like a poorly written movie that doesn’t take the end all the way.  But those movies disgust me and besides my blog is about the honesty of my journey so…

So now I try to convey how and why I forged that mask called worthless.  And it’s impact.  This limited space will be a challenge but here goes:

IMPACT: I’ve come to see I haven’t been living my life.  I’ve existed for others.  To make and keep them happy.  To give to their needs.  To bolster them onward to their successes.  To assist them to get their wants and needs.  To encourage and uplift others.  Go out my way to make others feel successful, assist them if necessary.  Make them feel good about themselves.  Find their good and breath it back into them.  But not a drop for myself.  I had died to myself.

IMPACT: Being worthless I didn’t have the right to get what I wanted and needed.  Experience success.  Happiness.  Be encouraged…

I warped myself to be what others wanted me to be.  To keep them happy.  My mom, step-dad, grandmother, cousins, ex-husband, children, friends, and people I don’t even know.  And as such didn’t deserve to be shown worth by myself or others.

IMPACT: Being worthless I didn’t have the right to be me…

Worthless was what I presented to the world.  Believed it was true.  Therefore I unconsciously looked for where I would be treated worthlessly and embrace that.  And as a result very, very few people got to see me at all.   I showed my ex, but he crushed it under his foot.  His feeling toward me fit this quote I read the other day: ” The opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference.”  When I read that it sunk into the bowels of my stomach and tasted bitter.  That is what I always felt from my ex.  That is worse than hate.  I know.  I lived it for 23 years.  And why wouldn’t I have chosen him?  I had no self-worth.  I deserved to be treated horribly.  Being self-imprisioned in that marriage fit the shape of my mask.  This was one example of believing I didn’t deserve to be shown worth by myself or others. Ergo, unconsciously look for where I will be treated worthlessly and embrace that.

The rest of the world I approached carefully.  Didn’t trust.  So to them I wore the mask.  Being worthless I remained at a slight distance.  I had to protect myself from those that would attempt to hurt me so I went out there shoulder’s squared and just a little cold to send the message: you really can’t hurt me so don’t try.

I have gone through most of my life flat line emotionally.  Emotions weren’t allowed as a child.  I had to learn to not cry, not laugh, not express anger, sadness…

If I cried because I got into trouble I was told, “Stop crying you don’t have anything to cry about you got yourself in trouble.  If you don’t stop I’ll give you something to cry about. I’ll whip your ass.”  Couldn’t cry if they just knocked the hell out me either, if I hurt myself, or someone hurt my feeling.  If I was happy I heard, “What do you have to be so happy about?  Stop all your laughing and silliness settle down.”  All of my emotions were slapped into check with a spanking or some other threat or punishment used to stifle it.

IMPACT: Being worthless I didn’t have the right to emotion…

As I grew up I never felt free to experience me.  To grow into me as I moved through childhood, to adolescence, to adult.  To explore who I was.  It wasn’t allowed.   I always had to “knock something off”, I had to think what they told me to think.  Stop what they wanted me to stop.  Do what I was told.  To the letter. I had to obey.  There was a chalk line and I was required to walk it.  Reminded of it often in those exact words.  As well as beaten back onto it.  And I did my best to walk it.  To not be beaten.  Or screamed at.

IMPACT: Being worthless I didn’t have the right to discover who I was…

Throughout my teens, the period where we’re supposed to be discovering who we are and so forth I had no idea how to find myself.  Only how to try and drowned the hurt and trip out of the life I was trapped in.

IMPACT: Being worthless I didn’t have the right to my own life only survival and being what others expected…

RANDOM IMPACT: Doubted my own creativity.  My own free thoughts that might resemble my individualism were at best stifled and generally drown out by the voices in my head reminding me that I had no worth.  I experienced limited success and over the last six years as I’ve made prior attempts at my own businesses I’ve failed.  Worthless people don’t experience success or get what they hope or dream for…

Phew.  That only took hours!  I need to wrap this up  It’s almost four a.m.  I think this is good.  If not it’s very close.  I’ll re-read it for the millionth time tomorrow with a fresh brain and see if I need to add anything.  It was longer than I had hoped but I did cut 600 words.  So pretty good if I don’t say so myself.

Night, Love ya,
Theresa Jane
-who hopes my story is assisting someone

PeERinG DoWn THe RaBBit HOle wITh GrACe SLick WhIte rAbbIT Day 3 Jefferson Airplane – White Rabbit (Woodstock 1969) November 20, 2009

Con’t…And believe me, so far this has whole thing has been a trip.  As I reflect on the words from “White Rabbit” I see that these words shimmer with great metaphorical parallels to my mid-life “waking up,” “self-healing” experience.  Here’s some of the words I connect with:

And if you go chasing rabbits
And you know you’re going to fall…
When men on the chessboard
Get up and tell you where to go…
When logic and proportion
Have fallen sloppy dead
And the White Knight is talking backwards
And the Red Queen’s “off with her head!
“
Remember what the dormouse said;
“feed YOUR HEAD.  Feed your head.…

Over the last six year of tunneling into my unconscious and desiring to connect with my sub-conscious in order to become conscious and experience inner healing, I have done a lot of falling.  I have had more moments than imaginable where what had seemed logical to me at one time, needed to go all sloppy dead.  And so I replaced it with true logic.  Then there have been realities I have had to face at times that have seared so deeply that it seemed my head floated off and and I tripped out into the delirium that pain inflicts.  In that place White Knights were talking backwards and chessboard men were telling me where to go.  And more times then I can count the Red Queen has been waving her hand in the air screaming, “Off with her head.”  And it only stood to reason, my head needed to come off.  I needed to replace it with reality.   Then finally I have needed to feed my head.  Feed it with truth.  The only way to true healing.  True awakening.  In the words of Jesus, “The truth shall set you free.”   True.  True.  But let me tell you friend, it’s going to hurt like hell first…

Grace Slick at Woodstock singing, White Rabbit

more about “Jefferson Airplane – White Rabbit (Wo…“, posted with vodpod

So, where have we been going?  And why?  Backwards.   The only appropriate way to travel in order to get to where we’re going.  To share the more of me.  The unseen.  The unshown.  We’re almost there…

Love ya, Night,
Theresa Jane
-Had I not been four when she and others I idolized performed at Woodstock, just one hour from where I grew up, I would have been there.  Had I been anywhere over 15 I would have gone and worried about the cost afterwards.  And that wasn’t common for me, I may have partied hearty but I did my best to fly under the radar.   But this my friend would have been worth it.  I would have been there every day those groups flew in.  Through the sun, rain, lack of food, and bathroom facilities.  And, back in the day I would have loved every stoned, drunken, jamming moment of it all.  And when Janice Joplin stepped onto that stage and sang, “White Rabbit” I would have been riveted and sang every word right along with her.

Raisin memories . . . November 17, 2009

Having a full out “stop day” from business naturally equaled no business blogging.  So that left me with a bit of a hole.  Not often at a loss for words,  words wasn’t the problem.  The problem was which words.  But I decided.  And it all started with raisins . . .

Cooked a yummy cheese burger for lunch.  Quick seared on both sides to trap in the juices then baked in the oven to finish the cooking.  Topped it with, Colby cheese, ketchup, mustard, mayo, and Portabella mushrooms cooked in olive oil and a generous amount of garlic, sided it with lightly steamed broccoli and a pile of Bread and Butter pickles… Oh god, now I’m hungry again… As I munched I listened to Duma Keys.  After

My Kitchen Aid Mixer. Love her. A thing of beauty.

eating I decided to bake something.  Oatmeal Raisin Cookies.  Not for me, for John1 who loves them–that man deserves a batch of homemade cookies for how hard he works.  Listened to Duma Keys as I melted, blended, measured, splashed, and dropped ingredients in my Kitchen Aid mixer–I love my mixer.  I think everyone should have one.

Well, I never cook with raisins without thinking of my grandmother . . .

I enjoy cooking and baking.  I’m damn good with food.  Started in my grandmother’s kitchen.  Not by my doing.  But by watching.  That woman could cook anything and make it good.  Well except that she had an annoying passion for the raisin.  She managed to slip those things into what seemed like everything, including the occasional chocolate chip cookie.   Yup.  I’m serious.  And apparently she’s not alone.  I stood in a bakery last year and eyeballed that very cookie type sitting under a gleaming glass case, atop a snow white, lacy, paper lined tray, aligned in perfect rows.  There was a business card shaped linen sign proudly standing erect in a shiny metal holder with beautiful, swirly calligraphy announcing to their customers that these were their Chocolate Chip Raisin cookies.  I mean really.  Is this something to advertise to the world?  That they put raisins in their chocolate chip cookies.

I started surveying the shop.  This had to be a joke.  Convinced that if I got into my spiritual state deep enough I would find my grandmother’s ghost floating among the customers, eyes twinkling and her belly rolling with laughter.  So convinced that this was a joke from the spiritual side I asked the little worker bee, “So your owner seriously bakes chocolate chip cookies and puts raisins in them?”  Reply… “Yes she does, and they’re good you should try one.”  I laughed, shifted, and said, “That’s okay.  Thanks.  My grandmother used to say the same thing when she baked them.  I never agreed.”  Startled and wide eyed this young thing says, “Oh, wow.  I haven’t heard of this type of cookie anywhere but here.”  “Well,” I said waving my hand, “you didn’t grow up around my grandmother.”  At this point I quickly chose something, paid, and left.    The moment had grown just a little too surreal.  I, myself had never heard of them outside my grandmother’s kitchen.  And I made food one of my most intense creative outlets throughout my 23 year marriage.  Submerged myself into it, like an over steeped tea bag.   Where was I really??   Twilight zone moments should be left carefully and defiantly quickly . . .

Night, Love ya,
Theresa Jane
-hope you enjoyed my bit of history and humor