Reflecting

So many changes over the past few months. So many emotions have been surfacing. Sometimes my brain is a scramble looking for an exit sign. Sometimes it races so fast that the thoughts circle back on themselves like Mobius strip pretending to be a roller coaster. Sometimes...nothing at all.

The real story began in 1992 of course. That was as they say, "the beginning of it all" when I realized that being abused is not a way to live one's life. That raising two children in a van, no home base, no real network of support for them was insane. What I didn't really know was how much they too were being abused. Life was just trying to survive. We all did, but not without paying a price.

We have all moved far beyond those days in 1992 where I negotiated with the food money for the "best possible" on so little. We are by no means "poor" or relying on the kindness and generosity of others, especially A Woman's Place in Bucks County, PA that provided so much food and clothing. Our space is larger than the first townhouse that was "ours" in Doylestown and certainly much larger than the van. In so many ways life is better and happier.

The scars are still there. Memories creep up from unexpected corners. Old tapes play in the background for days on end then vanish for months. Equilibrium is not easy to find. You want to forget the pain, but you also know the pain is part of what tempered you, coaxed you into action. You no longer feel the anger, but the memory of it lingers. Sometimes more vivid than the reality was. Or so it feels.

Last night, my son had a panic attack. Body memories triggered by an innocent touch. His eyes were so far away and there was nothing to be done for him, except to love him. As a mother I just feel inadequate sometimes. Love just isn't enough, but if it's not the answer, then what is? Time I suppose. Just give it more time and hope for the best.

The changes of recent months have become sharp and clear. Completing the degree has sent me reeling. I am not the person I was in 1992 but some people want me to be that same person. I know logically to let it go. To move past them and my former self. Yet, I wonder if you ever really move beyond yourself.

I have a tattoo on my left wrist. Now it's a teapot, but it wasn't always that. I had the teapot done to cover the past, or at least incorporate it into the present. But I can still see the past when I look at it. Do others?

What do people see now? I stare into the mirror and ask myself if I've really changed or if it's all a matter of new layers being put over the past creating a new mask.