Some prose pieces are hard for me to post. I am scared the imagery will be too strong or the hurt communicated will lead to yet more invalidation. I wrote this piece just before I got sick 20 days ago it was fraught with so much pain in a final encounter I had with my Mum where wounds of the past came up, she wanted me to talk then shut me down. I need to express it not suppress it, though
We spoke River flood deluge Swelling and expanding me beyond any human perimeters I understand Breaking my banks We agree to meet but then this flood I could never describe in any effective ways seems as though it will drown me Entirely I want to meet and I don’t want to meet Meeting is so fraught : with all that is truly important hidden below a surface You ask me what is going on And I tell you what I told the oncologist last year Don’t ask me to explain an ocean in teardrop!
Lets sit a while, you say. I am tired. We start to talk of everything and I know it hurts you to hear me say how I suffered While you reach for your defence. Don’t you see I am not trying to hurt you with my words only to speak the truth My truth brings you back to your childhood You say Let’s not hash it over again. It was never my intention For some time my dream of ever getting validation was subject to an expiry date And tears fell when I knew, sadly finally irrevocabley that was most probably never going to be your job
Don’t tell me all the ways you tried I know them well But emotional ills cannot be healed by physical or financial means their roots reach down deep, so deep inside and span generations And self centred justifications only drive a wound deeper that needs to be seen but you cannot will not and so I must make of this wanting also rust.
Am I the devil’s advocate seeking in mistaken ways a cure of something that was most probably no single person’s fault but rather ancestral tapestry woven deep so blood red and indigo blue with loss
You both just never realised that it was me standing behind the mill when the devil came to claim his prize and your attention was distracted with worldly things Subject to forces that you were blind to, unprotected I was devoured by monsters who came to call when I was left with holes in my armour and poison seeped inside
And so I poison bled in ways you could never understand traveling so far down into the dark when darkness came in the wilderness time to cover everything with ash and soot And then I went so far away to find a place not knowing how I hungered or for what I was seeking Those silent aching years you could never fathom
Don’t tell me how marriage would have saved me when he never wanted to face his own wound fully head on in the way you have consistently refused to I was not made for a smaller life where straightjacket bridle kept all that was best of me locked down deep inside or reigned back tight My teeth ached and lips bled with biting back a silent agonising truth and wanting Attracting flies to feast on the bloody carcass mess that remained when everyone left me alone
You will never know of all the nights I bled Sheets covered in spots of my hurting Rope like clots running like tendrils resplendent with ancestral anger grief that found no home To know the truth would scare you or make you run For you are not truly built for this heart wrenching twisting journey of soul suffering I bore for all of us
On my cross I bleed from the wounds you deny I am neither imposter nor thief But at times made of solid lead Ground and ground over and over in furnaces of birthing and firing that design to bring to birth solid gold and tarnish hue may now obscured fashioning truths you could neither fathom nor understand
I only know I my body and soul is furnace, crucible and birthing of god knows what ancestral wounds
Emerging From The Dark Night 
It sounds like maybe your mother, her responses and lack of responses, triggers some deep emotional flashbacks for you. We need a safe place to process them and some of them have many layers that spill out over time. Sometimes through writing about them. I hope this brought you some insight that has helped you. Hugs!
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Sadly I am realising more and more we just suffer from the same wound. Unlike me she doesn’t blame her mother for what her mother was unconscious of. I am reading the most incredible book at the moment that shows how mothering wounds are passed down. Its unfair to expect an older generation to understand these kind of things, or at least maybe my mother lacks that deeper intelligence that I have. It was one reason I was reluctant to post this… How can she accept my pain when she has spent so many years defending against or rationalising her own. Its so complex. ❤
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Yes, a mother bond runs very deep. Their lack or inability to face these wounds, unfortunately, do not change our reality. I am sorry you are struggling so! And all of this does not negate what it triggers in you! Hugs!
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True and we can feel alone in it. I do believe though extending our heart in compassion is the only way forward that I can now see, staying stuck in anger or blame only keeps us stuck and it poisons later relationships. ❤
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Yes, I would never imply otherwise! I was only referring to someone else’s intentions don’t change the pain they can cause us. This has nothing to do with our hearts toward them. What intentions do change is how our hearts respond to them. With your mother, the only healthy thing for you to do is be kind and forgiving and loving toward her. And accept what she can give you. When someone is a narcissist or psychopath, which your mother is not, that would change everything.
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Yes it would because they block love and compassion and that hurts too much and is contrary to the flow of love life and psychological health.
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