In the past, I would have said, “I’m such an idiot for ever believing that everything was my fault,” and “I feel so much shame for acting out my abuse even though I’m out of that situation,” and “Of COURSE I am a trash person,” “useless,” “no good,” “used up,” “worthless.”

Is that voice really mine?

Now, I can wonder about what I say – Do I have something to say about me? Am I worth some sympathy? I think I’m the closest to believing that than I ever have been. It’s a bit exciting, in a nausea-inducing way.

Who else is in here with me? Can I survive that question? I really have been terrified of asking that question, of examining the population size inside my head, of just supposing for a moment that I’m not the only one here. I just need to practice holding that thought inside of me now. It used to be so white hot I didn’t even fathom it, it was hidden. But now that the question can come out, I admit that it’s real.

The step right before this was recognizing Progress. I’ve been learning to see the Progress I make, not just making progress but also recognizing Progress and labeling it “PROGRESS”. I can see how that leads into recognizing the different voices that live here and maybe even perceiving my relationships with each of these “Others”.

Relinquishing control is just recognizing that I never had it. I mean, I don’t control other people. I don’t keep them from sinning or make them choose a bit of violence. “Influence” is still mysterious and controversial for me to consider at the moment. I set that aside for now.

One of my defenses that I had to use every hour of every day until recently was hiding within my sense of control. Me. I believed I was in control of my happiness. I believed my bio-dad and his lies and knew to blame myself for my feelings because he was the Head, always right, subsidized by G-D, infallible, and therefore we know his intentions are never “Bad”. So how could anything he did be considered bad?
“That’s you, Dearie! It’s in your head where YOU are assigning the blame to him; that’s not his fault, of course. Don’t you see that?” “Oh, yes…I can see it. but-” “No buts!”

In one sense we learned to question everything (science, mathematics, the world, assumptions) and in every other sense we learned that some questions were so dangerous we were to think of them as insolence, evil, or truly ignorant. I remember thinking like him. I remember what it felt like to try to be in synch with his will and pray that G-D would help me only do good, be a good daughter. I just wanted to be accepted. But being a girl kept me on the outside. I was supposed to be okay with my position as the object we use for ceremonies, as the thing, the female, the one who should be proud of her usefulness. So, perhaps I should give myself credit for breaking the mind-shackles that I have so far instead of boo-hoo-ing my fallibility as an abused infant, then child, then tween, then adult.

I can be a portion kinder to that little kid today then I was even yesterday. Admitting and exposing the other persons who have been hiding out between my neurons is tough work. It is a tumultuous process to go through. And now I meet it with strong effort. I see you. I’m going to find you. I’m getting wiser to your games as I go, Daddy-O.

This is literally my territory. I’ve allowed you squatter’s rights for far too long. That’s right. Time’s up.  Get. The. Fuck. Out.  Pastor.


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