I’m taking all off my other blog and putting it here.
Started 11-25-16 – finished 1-7-17 Heart freedom, freedom of heart, free of angst, hurt, pain. This is a story. A true story but my end is better than my beginning and it keeps getting better’n better, so stay turned to this blog, cause this is my journal, online. [yeah sucks for me sometimes, but obedience to God is more important]
Let me get a couple things out of the way. I was raised a Catholic, went to 3 yrs of Catholic school. Anyone raised Catholic knows what that means. I’m not going there in this post though. I am now a born again dyed in the wool, spirit-filled follower of Jesus and God loves me! There will be cussing here but no cursing. I am 63 years of age and I have FINALLY come into my own. God told me when I was just turning 60, ‘you are coming into your own, your 60’s are going to be the most glorious years of your life’. Now on to the gritty.
‘Too Sensitive’
You know all those times people say to you, when a family member has rejected you, or a loved one, ‘they are the ones that are missing out’, ‘it’s their loss’? Those of us that have had that said to us, usually never feel that way. We are the sensitive ones, the ones that feel hurt more deeply, feel pain and rejection more acutely.
We have labels put on us by others. Labels that make them feel better about themselves and put the other down. Labels like: ‘Black sheep’, ‘odd one’, ‘sensitive one’ even the dreaded, ‘too sensitive’. Just what IS ‘too sensitive? It’s something people that are devoid of having caring, loving feelings, those that have the innate character traits of being unkind, say to people who are full of heart.
Ohhhh, the pain, the hurt that comes from familial rejection. Let me give you a little background. My mother had me because she wanted another baby. But once I started growing, she was like. ‘eh, noo, uh huh, I don’t think so, but I’ll keep your sister with me’.
My mother, Elaine Martin, has been married 4 times and has lived with a man twice. I guess she can’t be alone eh? The second man she was married too, Bill Washburn, was a tyrant. This man had lost his wife and my Dad said Bill could stay with his family til he got situated. Little did my Dad know Bill would be the ultimate interloper.
When I was 7, my mother divorced my Dad saying she ‘didn’t love him anymore’ which put the fear in me she would just one day, not love me anymore! But it wasn’t fear as much as it was prophetic. [wow! Did you see that light bulb go off??!! ] She moved us to Reno where she married the interloper, Bill Washburn, the one who sucked his teeth when he ate those marshmallow cookies in his chair at night while watching t.v. I went from molestation and emotional abuse to physical and emotional abuse. He used to beat me all the time for any slight or what he imagined was a slight. I was forced to go from Mr. Washburn, to Bill, to Uncle Bill, to Daddy Bill to Daddy. I hated being forced to call him ‘Daddy’.
Fourth Grade – 10 yrs old
I was sent to live with my paternal grandmother in the 4th grade. My mother said I was ‘incorrigle’. What did that mean? I had no idea but I knew it couldn’t be good. That made a HUGE bru-haha with my Aunt and Uncle. Oh my aunt, man she was a mean one. Mean and spiteful and hateful and judgemental. I can honestly say, in all my years of living, I don’t think I’ve ever known any woman as mean as her. Constantly putting my mother down, constantly telling me how fat I was, how if I would lose weight I’d be so pretty. Telling my grandparents to send me back to my mother, they shouldn’t be saddled with someone esle’s child, blah blah blah.
My grandmother was non-demonstrative, but she was a saint. She put up with all kinds of things from me acting out. I was still wetting the bed in 4th grade. She would get up in the middle of the night to check on me and if my bed was wet, she would change the sheets right then. She took me to the dentist, something my mother never did. The dentist, Dr. Smith [no relation] put a band on my lower teeth to align them or something. Even when living with my mother after 4th grade, Elaine never took me to a dentist. Never had it removed. No one ever kept after me to brush my teeth. I must have been taught as a toddler, however I don’t recall anyone, ever, harping on me to brush my teeth. Except my grandmother.
Using Humor
I was either grounded all my childhood or beaten. My step Father would beat the sh*t out of me, [ginormous hand, wooden coat hanger, willow switch, belt and once, belt buckle] my mother never said a word. My sister never stuck up for me. I learned how to do things. Like [one of the many times] when I was sent to my bedroom with no dinner, waiting for my mother to come beat me after she was done with dinner – I got one of her girdles and put it on and padded my butt with washcloths, making it look as ‘normal’ on a flat behind as I could. She beat the snickers out of me with a leather belt. I tried to act like it hurt a lot. I was around 11 or 12, my sister said, ‘Mom, it’s making a weird sound’, [I was getting beat for wearing my sister’s clothes, cause she got all the new, pretty clothes and I got squat. Why? Because I had a tummy on me, no where else, just a tummy, so Cindy didn’t think I was getting the beating she thought I should be getting. Oh yeah, she would watch, leaning against the doorjamb of the bedroom with her arms folded across her chest and this self-satisfied smug smile on her face. [I hated her being allowed to watch.]
Elaine made me pull down my pants and LO AND BEHOLD! All these washcloths came falling out of my backside. It was ALL she could do to not laugh, but she did do little chuckles. I found out humor was good for me. She quit hitting me. I learned how useful humor was.
Welts
I used to have welts all over my legs, cuts from the leather, bloody marks. Neither my mother nor my sister stuck up for me. My mother never once told him to stop. Even when he got the belt and grabbed it at the wrong end and beat me with the buckle. She told me 30 yrs later ‘I was sorry you got cut from the buckle’. Really? One day I got enough courage to call the cops. They said I had to have bruises in order for them to do anything. They said welts wouldn’t ‘do’. This was back in 1966, they didn’t know anything back then.
I never got too old for Bill to force me to pull my pants down to bare butt so he could get his jollies and beat me bare butt. Even when I was having my period at 12, he made me take all my pants down. Thanks Mom.
My Mother broke promises to me, all the time. Like when we lived in Alameda, Ca and she said she would do my chore of vacuuming the stairs for me. It was SO HARD for me to carry that vacuum on the stairs. I was 11 or 12, the vac was one of those long tube ones. But she didn’t do it and Bill got mad. She never said a word the whole time he beat me. If I wasn’t being beat, I was grounded. Man, all the times I was grounded, I lived a lifetime. Being grounded meant no dinner, no lights on, sent to my room. Homework? Bah, tough kid. I read by the tiny orange light on the electric blanket control pad.
Since I was grounded so much, I would watch the guy next door. I was on the second floor and I could see into their backyard. He was cute, drove a car, was about 16, never knew I watched him. I was about 12.
I had a poster of Peter Noonan from the Monkees on my wall. Not Davy. Even back then, I knew I wasn’t enough or pretty or much good, so I knew I couldn’t have the cutest guy in the band, so I would always settle for the next guy that was good looking. key word: settle
One of the times I had gone to visit my Dad, he lived in a broken down house in Carmichael. There was a girl that lived nearby, Deana [Dean-ah not Dee Anna]. We were very good friends. Her family moved to Modesto. I went to visit. Her Dad beat her mother, there was never enough food to eat, never anything to drink but water and I ate an inordinate amount of oatmeal as that was the only food in the house. That and cucumbers. I lost a lot of weight.
I was there for 2 weeks. I couldn’t go back because I had a bus ticket that said I had to be there for 2 weeks and there was no one to take me into town anyway. The milk was for the baby but we snuck swallows from the carton. It was from that, that I got trench mouth. Hoof and mouth disease. Same things cows get. All I remember is my gums hurt, they bled ALL the time, my dentist painted blue on my mouth and I had to go to school with blue gums and teeth.
Eighth Grade
Then she sent me to my Dad in the latter part of the 8th grade. I got involved with a group of girls at school who said they were ‘going to do cartwheels after school’. I couldn’t imagine why grown girls would make such a big deal out of doing cartwheels, so I told a friend of mine. Apparently it was drugs. They started to follow me home and stand outside on the sidewalk threatening to beat me up for telling someone.
My sister and her boyfriend had been beaten up by a crowd of blacks outside a movie theater and the cops did nothing. Cindy said Mom was afraid of it happening to me. I was afraid to walk to school, to walk home. I WANTED to go live with my dad to get away from the hated Bill anyway, so…there I went. Shipped off to live with my Dad in Carmichael, Ca on Kenneth Ave, on the corner, in the second part of 8th grade. [I went to school at Starr King with Craig Chaquico. He was good looking even then] Some people still remember that they bought Christmas trees from a man on that corner. That was us.
Remember that band on my teeth from the 4th grade? It was removed when I went to live with my Dad. It was on there from 4th grade to 8th grade. The gums had grown up over it. It was anchored on both sides with bands that had gums grow up over them as well. There was a tiny bit of metal the dentist could get a hold of with his pliers. I’m sure he gave me novacane. I just remember it had to be removed and the gums had grown up over it. Vaguely I remember there was pain and a lot of fear. Every so often memories come up.
My Dad taught me how to cook a roast in a roaster. He taught me how to scramble eggs, he taught me how to boil water. He taught me how to gig frogs, gig crawdads, tie a fly, fly fish, clean the fish, clean catfish, gut a deer, cuss like a sailor, work hard and play sometimes. He taught me to get my work done and THEN play. He taught me sometimes you have to just stop working and go play. He taught me how to track animals, appreciate nature, build a fire, shoot a gun, gun safety.
My Dad was a reserve deputy sheriff. He had porn photos in his desk. I found them. Black on white. I didn’t know what they were doing, but I knew it wasn’t nice. And I didn’t know why he had them.
It was during living with him I had my first boyfriend. Herbie Hairston. I was 15. My Dad said, ‘watch out for him’. I asked ‘why? because he’s black’? Dad said ‘no, because he’s been around the block, several times and you haven’t been’. Racism didn’t exist in my world. Every time Herbie called me he would sing the chorus of the song by the Zombies, Time Of the Seasons.
One time when my sister was visiting, they met. Herbie fell for her. Between correspondence and _maybe_ a couple visits they were together several months. She lived in another city.
One day the phone rang and when I answered, there he was, singing that song. I was ecstatic. That was May 8, 1969. I was in 9th grade, getting ready to graduate. He had come back to me. May 11 was Mother’s day. He went tubing on the American River on May 9 with some friends, got drunk and drowned. I was devastated. I was going to go to the river to see if they found him. It took a couple days. Something stopped me from going. I am so glad [now], they found his body the day I was going to go. It wouldn’t have been pretty.
I didn’t drive and had no one to take me to his funeral. I heard it was packed and people were on the street. He was a very popular kid. His mother sent me the beanie hat he always wore when I wrote her.
Just before 10th grade my Dad got a job out of town so I went to live with my grandmother.
Due to my mother being married to Bill Washburn, I went to 13 grammar schools. Three were the 6th grade. So I didn’t learn fractions or math or much science. Thank God my brain functions on both sides!
I was living with my mother from the age of birth to 10, then 11 to 12. At no time did she teach me how to cook, to sit with my legs together, how to sew, not to act certain ways in public, how to act, how to think, how to speak to people, nothing. N.o.t.h.i.n.g.
Say What?!
My mother told me in 1992, when I was 39, ‘I don’t want to be your mother anymore’. SAY WHAT? [Keep in mind she never was much of a mother to me]. ‘But you’re a mother to Cindy’ [the sister], ‘no’ she says, ‘we are friends’. ‘But when she needs something you are a mother’. ‘She’s doesn’t need me in that way anymore. We are friends’.
‘Well, then let’s you and I be friends. I would like to get to know you. I don’t know what your favorite color is, don’t know what you like. How about doing lunch twice a month’? Knowing, if I suggested more, she would balk. Elaine says, ‘how about once a month’? But you know what happened don’t you? She never ‘had the time’ or ‘was busy’. That sealed the hurt up inside me.
My mother is a piece of work. Lemme tell ya. But to meet her, you would never think that. To meet her you’d think she is a gracious woman. She is, most definitely – on the outside. However the inside is empty, devoid of life. I feel so sorry for her.
Elaine Martin, my mother, has never been a loving, or any other good-type of mother to me. I have tried, through the years, especially since I became a Jesus-follower, to make things better. I have forgiven her, HOW MANY times? I have asked her to forgive me of all the things I said and did over the years she didn’t like, she said she forgave me. I have honored her with giving her my products that she especially likes, calling her, other things. The Bible says to honor your parents and you will have a long life.
I have done everything I know to do. I have tried and tried to be ‘friends’, anything and everything to have a relationship with her. But she will have none of it. I have forgiven, ad infinitum, but the pain remained in my heart. I prayed for years about this, asking God to remove the pain. Looking back, there seriously is a season for everything. We are not always ready for the healing to take place, as other things need to be healed as well before that deep healing can happen.
Until 11-25-16! YES!! Thank You GOD!!! I actually DO believe now IT IS HER LOSS. How did this come about? Let me explain.
When I lived with my Dad, latter part of 8th grade, he would sell Christmas trees from the huge ‘yard’ where he lived on the corner of Fair Oaks Blvd and Kenneth Ave, Carmichael, Ca. A fellow came along, named Bob Griswold, who had a cherry picker and would string the lights up for my Dad. That was a business he had. I was 16 when we met, 17 by the time I noticed him as a male. He was 15 years my senior. He told me he wouldn’t have a virgin, so I lost my virginity at 17 and it was no longer a problem.
He was the one that took me to Planned Parenthood for the pill, before my Dad knew anything and I’m not sure my Dad ever knew about Bob and I. Bob met my sister at some point. He started dating her. But he and I were still having sex. My sister had a track record of stealing my boyfriends, but they always came back once they saw what a shallow, un-fun person she was. But really, Bob was too old for me. I knew that and I wasn’t in love with him or anything. I was 18 by the time he met my sister.
Sisters, There Were Never Such Devoted Sisters
My sister is a LOT like my mother. To meet her you would think, ‘oh she’s gracious, I like her’. But she rarely lets anyone see the real her. Only those close to her know how controlling she is, how impatient, thoughtless, mean and backstabbing. She has no close friends and the last time we spoke, Nov 2016, she said she has no friends. However, she choose to be with Bob’s family when she and Bob first got together, she refused to come to family sourdough pancake breakfasts, refused to come to visit our grandmother, Moggie, the one I lived with, just didn’t do ANYTHING with the Smith side of the family. She rejected our Dad – and me as well – in the process of her hating Dad.
She has lots of Bob’s family around her and a daughter, who also, didn’t fall far from that female side of the tree [she’s well known in porn circles]. Bob was married before and had 4 children. Barbara, Bob Jr, [who I used to play footsie with in the hot tub, how thankful am I that didn’t go further? you have NO idea], David and Peggy. My sister, in her ‘graciousness’ keeps Barbara away from the family functions, because she doesn’t like Barbara. She bitched about Peggy using her to get married in her garden one year and then dissing her.
While I was the class clown, [due to molestation by my father and grandfather], my sister was the class slut. [she said in 2016 Nov no one ever molested her. I think she just doesn’t remember].
I tried for decades to be a good sister to Cindy. Thinking one day she will want a sister, one day she may even find that God loves her and come to Him.
She enticed my best friend away from me in high school, she did all the things hateful females do to others, all my life. To top it all off NOW – she’s jealous of me, egads. She has been for years. People see it and ask me why. I have no clue. Well, she did tell me once she was jealous of the relationship I had with our Dad. That was 1985. She didn’t know how hard I worked at it, what I had to give up and give in too.
She and Bob had an open marriage. Bob and I were buddies off an on during their marriage. Just friends. You know, you get closer to someone for a while, drift to other things and people, people come back in your lives. Bob told me in 1996, when we became buddies again, that he and Cindy have an open marriage and have had since they got married in 1973. I already knew about their open marriage, but he wanted to elaborate. He told me how they do it and that Cindy has had the same ‘boyfriend’ in the Bay Area she’s seen for 1 week every year for decades. He’s married too, Bob said. Bob told me, ‘don’t say anything to Cindy about any of this, she doesn’t need to know everything’. Bob and I were friends, not with benefits, just friends. He would take me out to lunch at work, buy me gifts, give me money.
Let me tell you about Bob, in those days. With my sister as selfish as she is/was and as bitchy, it was Bob that would smooth things over. Cindy did what she wanted to do, always. She left me out of Thanksgiving gatherings or Christmas at her house, or she would invite strangers to Thanksgiving gatherings when it was supposed to be family only [by pre-agreement]. BOB would make sure those that felt left out, those that were overlooked, myself and others, were always included. Bob was the epitomy of kind and nice at those ‘family’ things. He always made people laugh, he always had a hug ready, always made people feel welcome. He was kind and gracious, with the graciousness coming from his character, not something he put on, like clothing, like my sister.
Bob’s laugh was big and loud. He was as unselfish as my sister is selfish, as kind as my sister is unkind. He put up with my sister. She is a controlling, greedy, selfish, impatient female. He was the complete opposite of her.
When Bob was younger he got kicked in the forehead by a horse. It left a dent in his skull. Sometime in his later years, he got it fixed. Bob owned his own business for years, running steam cleaning equipment for industries. Apache Steam Cleaning in Sacramento, Ca. Several times he was thrown against the wall by the blast of steam that would come out. Bob sustained several head injuries. Which means Bob started having memory loss. My sister was adamant it wasn’t dementia. Even though it was. Lewy Body Dementia it’s called.
My sister turned 60 in February 2012. She was horrified. I invited her to come to Phoenix in April and we would go to Payson, ride horses, stay at a timeshare. She said yes. [surprised me. Several times she and Bob had come to Phoenix for conventions for his work and she never once called me. I found out years later]
I honestly didn’t think it would be me footing the bill for the entire trip, but $700+ later, it was me. Cindy thought everything was ‘due her’. She didn’t volunteer to do anything. Drive, cook, pay for anything. She was the biggest PITA I’d ever met. And I vowed I would never have her back. And here I thought all this time I wasn’t gracious. HAH!
My sister took it upon herself to criticize how I spoke to my friend Steve. [my ex, now platonic friends] She told me how to drive, where to go, even though she’d never been there, how to do anything and everything. She was her uber controlling, bitchy self. She wanted what she wanted and it didn’t matter about anyone else, including Bob.
I had told her beforehand there was a longer ride to Fossil Creek but it would be too much for Bob. But when we got to the stables, she asked the guide to take us there. Unbeknownst to ANY of us. We had all been out ALL day riding horses. We were gone 6 hrs. Up and down mountains. A storm came in. It was cold.
It was too much for all of us, but Bob mostly. He was tired and didn’t want to go out, but she forced him too. And Bob went, because he always did what Cindy wanted to do to please her. And she took full advantage of it.
2012 October, I went to my 40th high school reunion. Stayed at Cindy’s. As long as there’s no emotions exhibited around her, everything is fine. She was short with Bob. She demanded he think. He couldn’t think, it was the brain not functioning. She was so impatient with him it broke my heart. I tried to be super nice to him to make up for her lack of caring and patience. After all, I had a lot of experience with my grandmother getting dementia and I loved Bob.
2013 I took a driving trip to California with a gal friend. Stopped at Cindy’s and stayed 2 nites. My friend said, ‘she’s so jealous of you’! I said ‘I know, can you figure out why’? She said, ‘no, but she really is’. Cindy was her normal self. Impatient with her loving husband. She wanted things to be the way they used to be, but Bob wasn’t ‘there’ anymore. She refused to have it. I guess she thought if she browbeat him enough, he’d ‘come out of it’. I dunno. Bob would go off in the car and forget where he was going. He would lose the keys and walk to the diner, 5 miles away. But he was always loving and laughing. He had a joie de vivre about him with an easiness about whatever happened in life, wasn’t a big deal.
As an aside, but important to this story: In 2013, my sister called me and said, ‘you’re gonna hate me, don’t hate me’. I’m thinking ‘what in the world’???? ‘What ARE you talking about’? I asked her. She repeated herself. ‘just don’t hate me’. Now for decades I’d been trying to have a relationship with Cindy. I had bent over backwards, trying to do, trying to be, giving, giving, giving. Backing down, giving up, forgiving, working so hard, for so many years to have a sister relationship with her.
She said, ‘I asked Dad for the dresser and he gave it to me’. Me, ‘what dresser’? ‘The one that Papa made’. She knew my name was on it. It’s on the drawer even now. Dad knew it was mine. His wife Carol, knew it was mine. Carol knew my name was on it. She saw it. Dad had the dresser. CINDY KNEW IT WAS MINE. But she gave Dad a song and dance about needing it because ‘she needed some special love in her life now that Bob was going downhill’. Did I mention she is sly and cunning and backstabbing? DAD betrayed me and gave it to her. He let her go up to his house in Oregon and get it.
And he never said a word to me, even though he and I had been planning for me to come to his house for a visit a month from then. He knew it was mine as well.
You want to know how hard it is sometimes to be a Christian? A Jesus follower? This is one of those times. I tried to not react on that phone call. I tried to be ‘above that’. I tried. I told her I would have to hang up and cry. She repeated her ‘don’t hate me’. It took me 2.5 months of working through how I felt, EVERY S.I.N.G.L.E. day. How betrayed I was, not just by my sister, but also by my Dad. By his wife. My whole family betrayed me. I KNEW I had to forgive. I finally got to the place where it was only wood and she could have it. I forgave my Dad.
I also tried for years to have a relationship with him and to do that, I had to do it HIS way. Go to HIS house, put up with his cursing and cussing and drinking himself to belligerent meanness. Everything had to be HIS way. Because I wanted a relationship with him, I did it his way. Until I finally told him in 2014, he can’t control me anymore, can’t speak into my life or tell me what to do anymore. He quit talking to me. I was set free. That was the month I knew that I knew that I knew God loves me and He is my Father. I’d been a Christian 35 years at that time and struggled to know God loved me. Lost my earthly dad and gained my Heavenly Father. WOW. What FREEDOM! HEART FREEDOM!
On Nov 13 at 2 p.m. my sister texted me that Bob had died the day before. I called her and got the particulars. Around 11 a.m., he died while napping she said. Even though I had known him longer than she did and he and I were close at different times over the years, she didn’t tell me until the next day at 2 p.m. The next day! And then she did it on a text saying ‘I tried to call you’.
So after crying with her and offering my condolences, we hung up. I then texted her saying how hurtful it was that she didn’t call me until the next day. She didn’t like that. She let me know.
So then, I told her what a bitch she is and was for years. But I said it graciously. Not calling her a bitch, but telling her she is a bitch, [try out out loud, you’ll see the difference] How Bob, her husband, put up with her controlling, how she won’t have anyone to order about or control now. Oh man, it was one of those times when I said the RIGHT thing in the RIGHT way. The things we always wish we had said, those are what I texted her this day. IT FELT WONDERFUL.
Bob died two weeks shy of his 77th birthday. The man I lost my virginity too, was dead. [Cindy knew {{could not telling me sooner have still been a part of retaliation, 45 yrs later? She IS known for holding a grudge}} ], was dead. Passed on. Because I told her how I felt, because I didn’t cuss her out, because I handled it SO WELL, I was on the path to healing and I was set free. I woke up the next morning and thought of what I had said to her, examining myself before I got up to see if I was convicted by Jesus that I had done badly. I wasn’t. I had no guilt, no remorse. I went in the hot tub [where I get a lot of information and ephiphanies] and while praying, God said to me, ‘they are missing out on knowing you’. And in an instant, I was freed of hurt, pain and betrayal from my mother and my sister. I knew what it meant, ‘it’s their loss’.
Betwixt and between everything, somewhere along the way I picked up a fear of women. Fear of being judged, fear of them not helping me when I needed help, fear of being judged, fear of not measuring up, fear of being judged for what I wore, how I acted, what I said. And let me tell you. I WAS judged. Harshly. For not ‘acting right’ for not saying ‘the right thing’ for being ‘blunt’ for being honest. I cannot begin to tell you how trampled down I’ve been.
In November of 2016, on a 3.5 hr drive to visit a friend, I had the red rose petals of Mr. Lincoln next to me in the car. I had been wondering for several days what their frequency would help with in emotions and thoughts. I live in Phoenix, Az so yes, roses bloom in November. 🙂 So on the drive down, I started praying in my spirit-filled prayer language when all of a sudden I started crying.
I realized I was carrying around self blame for everything. And it wasn’t my fault. GOD SET ME FREE of self blame. To see things as ‘it’s their problem, not mine’. God freed me from the bondage of self doubt, self hate and blame, the ever pervasive self blame. Being molested by my grandfather and his masonic croonies and by my dad was NOT my fault. It was NEVER my fault. Not ever. I had no idea I carried that around with me. My mother telling me she didn’t want to be my mother but would be Cindy’s, was not my fault. My mother being more caring about the child beater she married than the child, was not my fault.
Being untactful, undiplomatic, ungracious, not knowing how to sew, cook, be a lady, was not my fault. I was never taught! It’s not that, ‘well you’re an adult now, learn it’. FIRST one has to UNlearn the bad and learn the good. But when one doesn’t know which is bad and which is good, it’s doubly hard. So the only way I learned what was bad, was when I was rejected, blamed, yelled at, laughed at. But even then, it was hard to decipher which of what I did was wrong. And now, I know it wasn’t my fault.
I am not a blamer. I will take the blame before I’ll blame others. It’s always been my way. However God told me to watch myself from now on. Make sure it’s my fault before I take blame. There is no blame for a victim.
God gave me new understanding of my past and my present. I was left with freedom of self. Understanding of self. This year of my life, I have come into my own. I have always been ahead of time. Always. People around me know this. But no more. NOW is my time. And God sees to it that I have the tools I need. HE told me to use and sell flower essences. HE told me to write a book so others understand it.
I’m not afraid anymore of my self or others, I’m not afraid to move or make decisions. I think differently. I have a joyous release inside of me I just can’t describe. I feel like an adult, instead of a kid trying to act like an adult. It is because of the healing of emotions and thoughts God has done for me through His Son and the frequencies and growing me to the place where I was ready to be healed.
My end is greater than my beginning. It’s scripture. I also learned it from commercials growing up. ‘You’re not getting older, you’re getting better’, from a hair coloring commercial. I learned it well. And it’s true. I AM getting better. My end IS greater than my beginning. Thank God. The rose essence is on the website as ‘Hug Me’.
If you are not a follower, you can still use ANY flower essence for what it’s meant for, because this is one of the things God made for our healing. He did not put a requirement on His creation that everyone must believe in Him for them to work. Some things fall under universal laws. This is one of them.
So I was freed up of a lot of things in my thoughts and emotions that day. And what has continued to happen is a freedom from fear of women weaving itself in and through me.
These ARE the most glorious years of my life because I’m being set free of mindsets, fears, false notions and maybe the most biggest thing…my self. The part of me that would hold myself back in fear because I was so afraid of being laughed at, hated, disliked, disowned. [shit did you see THAT light bulb go off? ]
Disowned from being a woman because I have never, ever fit the mold of what other women said I should be. Not effing ever.
And the best thing lately? I am seeing that not all women are backstabbing, bitchy, mean, sniping, cunning females that I have been around in the past and grown up with. In some groups with only women, there are women that cheer me on. They encourage me. On one group, we were to do a vid for our biz for a contest. I almost backed out but this is the year of being there for myself, so I did one. It wasn’t perfect, but NOT ONE person said anything not encouraging. Not one.
I am learning some women have kindness for others. I am also learning it doesn’t matter what I look like, if I have makeup on, if my double chin shows and if I don’t say it correctly. For the first time in my entire life, I am not judged harshly by other women.
With this post, I am leaving this past behind me. I am moving on, into my glorious future. Big things almost always happen on the 7th day of whatever month. I was born on Dec 7. Today is no different. I am a new creature today, stepping in to and looking forward to – my GLORIOUS 60’s and my AWESOME future!
Update: 3-6-18. I have completely forgiven my biological mother. God set me free. It was HE who gave me understanding and set me free. I am 64 and it’s been a long, painful time coming. Glory to God for the deliverance.