#tammyblackday

[tammyblackday]

Goodbye Green Star Motivation!

It's been 12 years since I started Green Star Motivation. I've made less than a thousand dollars in all those years. Although it's a failed business, I wouldn't call it a failure for me. This idea was born from abuse and became a beautiful and safe place for me to heal myself, share my story, and help others do the same in their own lives. It's time to put it, my past, and my dysfunctional relationship with my mom to rest.

It wasn't an easy decision but it also came to me after my father rejected me in the most painful way, and showed me that even after 12 years of healing... some people didn't change, instead they hid.

Me included. I'm getting my official diagnosis of ADHD and Autism completed. The latter takes more time, as it requires a four-hour long psych evaluation and has a waiting list of 12+ mos. to have it done. However, my psychiatrist believes I'm definitely on the spectrum. We're going for diagnosis, so that I can have it on file with my work and school to help accommodate my needs better. I'm 52.

It almost seems unnecessary this late in my life and career; however, it's important to my future self to have this in place. I don't know why it is, but I feel strongly about it. That makes it important. I deleted my Green Star Motivation social media weeks ago.

Not one person said anything to me about it, so I know it was mostly just important to me. That made me feel a bit sad. I came home from work the next day and packed up all of my business cards and marketing materials into a box for the sole purpose of having a burn party later in life. I simply don't have the capacity to do it now.

I'm not going to stop blogging. I will, however, change the name of my blog and stop using the businesses' hashtags and logos. Green Star Motivation served a great purpose...

... it changed my life, one perception at a time! Shine on, Tammy

[tammyblackday]

Struggling.

Lately, it seems like each day of my life feels like I'm trudging through mud just to get to the end of it. When I first learned of my ADHD and possible Autism (AuDHD) diagnosis, I felt a sense of relief that my issues weren't PTSD related and that I'd done a fairly good job of managing the impact on my life. However, as time goes by, I've come to realize that I've spent my entire life "masking" and trying to "fit" in society, make friends, and create a sense of family, while simultaneously wanting to be "safe" at home and not be bothered by others.

I'm odd.

I don't allow myself to truly express the way in which would make me feel safe and authentic because I know these things are socially unacceptable and would create more isolation for me. I decorate with an eclectic style of things I've collected throughout my lifetime that each represent a frozen moment in time that brought me joy or a person whom I love. However, if this were MY house, I'd have one room where I wrote on the walls. Another that was plastered with overlapping photographs, like wall paper, of all my travels and joyous moments. I'd have a room of green. Another of all things soft. My spaces would be designed to meet my texture and sound needs.

The more I learn about AuDHD, the more so much of my life makes more sense. Things like why I didn't ever cry whenever I was told people died or my mom was hospitalized. Or why every time I smell beer I want to gag or throw up. Or why smooshy foods like mashed potatoes or soggy bread cause me to get upset. I recently watched a video about a person describing certain sounds that caused them to react negatively, throw a tantrum, or want to gag. I've been trying to explain this to my husband for years.

The issue is that none of it changes for me, even though I have the answers. The sound of the dinging when a seatbelt isn't put on in a car makes me want to scream. I can't stand certain music because it contains tones that cause me to get angry immediately. Certain smells create a gag reflex, and sometimes those smells are what others consider pleasant.

I'm sad. I'm grieving. I'm overwhelmed by life and work. I hate that I list out in my mind every step of a task as I complete it. "Open the cupboard, take out the glass, shut the cupboard, turn on the water, place the glass under the water for ten seconds, then move the glass, shut off the water, put the glass up to my lips to drink, swallow the water in gulps (counting each one), then put the glass in the dishwasher by opening the dishwasher, pulling out the drawer, put the glass down, close the drawer, shut the dishwasher."

That's just for a glass of water.

These narratives run through my mind throughout my entire day, while simultaneously thinking about my past, my now, my future, and all the things I need to do.

I'm exhausted. I'm struggling.

[tammyblackday]

My heart.

I'm not, nor have I ever claimed to be, a perfect human. I make all kinds of mistakes on a daily basis. I learn from most of my mistakes Sadly, the ones I've made with the family I raised and my family of origin keep me from living my fullest and best life. I'll do my best to explain, knowing that some of what I'm writing contradicts itself and/or my own beliefs.

I do believe that everyone has the right to choose who they want to have active in their lives. And, I also believe that ending a relationship with another person can be used as a control tactic and that the person on the receiving end is at the mercy of the other. Let me see if I can explain this better.

I didn't get a choice in my divorce. It was thrust upon me. I didn't get to choose for two of my children to go no-contact after a lifetime of working things through. I wasn't given a choice to never hear from my closest niece again. I have absolutely no idea why after twelve years of connection, healing, and relationship building, that my father would tell me to leave him alone forever. I had no say in my brother deciding that he no longer wants us to "meet in any way" again.

Did I play my part in these failed relationships? Of course I did. However, my ex and I were amicable and still had family time together for nearly two years after our divorce. Then, he suddenly decided he was done. I've a niece who ended a close relationship and used my words against me as justification for doing so. My kids and I spoke at least weekly, if not daily, for many years after they became adults. They became more distant from me after I met my now husband because of my inability to deal with changes in my life, but we'd kept trying until suddenly one tells me they had only met with me to end our relationship and the other just started to ignore me for years. I tried too hard and made too many mistakes, which drained them emotionally.

Over the past three years, I've learned through the internet about my daughter's college achievements and my son's born son that I've never met. My niece has two beautiful children. My dad expressing himself freely without judgement from me. Their lives seem to be better without me, but my life is certainly not better without them.

I may have played a part but I didn't get a say. None of these family members actually know me, or have taken time to ask me about who I have become or who I am. Instead, they've taken details from their own lives and sporadic interactions with too much passing time in between and created a version of me that they can reject. I'm easy to hate if you freeze-frame me on one of my worst days.

Imagine you know someone your whole life, but then decide to only focus on all the "bad" things or "negative" interactions you've experienced. It becomes easier to reject them. Plus, you're in control. You now get to determine aspects of that person's life without being accountable for the pain and suffering you've caused them.

This is where things become contradictory because what about the pain and suffering I've caused them? Yes, I have caused pain and not handled myself in the best manner possible.

No excuses.

And, I'm a communication person. I believe all relationships can be healed and managed with mutual respect and clear communication. However, both parties must be willing to get to know each other more than they think they do. They've no respect for me. I lost that over the years. Unfortunately, none of them can articulate to me how.

As for me, not only have I worked hard at therapy and trauma healing over the past three years, I've accomplished so much in my life. I've moved. I'm in the process of getting a diagnosis that helps provide a framework for my undesirable behaviors, such as emotional deregulation during stressful encounters and blurting out what is on my mind without considering the implications. I've also worked to become more aware of the importance of setting boundaries for myself and taking "time-outs" to think before I speak.

These are all great attributes that have improved many of my relationships. Unfortunately, I've no control over my family's willingness to consider reconciliation and forgiveness. I've the desire to heal but no power in the pain.

So, what do I do? I keep learning and growing. I keep trying to figure out how to express myself in healthy ways that help me to let go of the past and those who no longer desire to know me. I hope there comes a day in which we can navigate a new kind of relationship that's built on trust, understanding, compassion, and a willingness to assume best intentions. One of love.

[tammyblackday]

Contradictions.

re·​ject [ri-ˈjekt]: to refuse to accept, consider, submit to, take for some purpose, or use.

love [ləv]: strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties.

I keep being told this by different people in my life, "I love you. I don't want you in my life anymore."

One doesn't seem like the other. It seems to me like rejection is almost the exact opposite of love. For if it isn't, then I do not want your kind of love. It hurts too much. It's cruel. It gives you permission to abuse and bully me, say you're sorry and love me, then push me away.

None of that seems like love, nor is it how I would treat those whom I love.

It's one thing to set a healthy boundary; which is done by stating what actions you will do if someone causes you harm. But, straight up rejection... I mean, I guess it's a boundary. I just don't necessarily think it's a healthy one because it jeopardizes that person's relationship with everyone else innocently connected to both parties.

It's happened too many times to count, and I'm tired of the pain.

"Fine.

You want out of my life?

Great!

Stay out.

I'm done being your emotional punching bag."

I wish it were as easy as that for me, but it's not.

My heart is broken. My soul is confused.

I question my very existence. And, all because you decided in this now moment that you lacked the emotional maturity to navigate a relationship with me? The irony is that you likely believe you're doing the mature thing by walking away, but it's simply not true.

Trust me. One day, you'll turn around and realize you've demanded others behave in a manner that's pleasing to you, instead of getting to know them. And, since you couldn't understand your part in any conflict, there's no one left to reject. The "middle" as you called it was not getting your way... the "middle" is acknowledging both (all) could be "right."

"Yes... and..."

We all have our own way of being in the world. I won't ever be who you want me to be, or behave the way in which you think I should behave, but maybe, just maybe, I wasn't supposed to be anyone but me. Maybe, you'd like who I am if you'd only taken the time to get to know me now.

[tammyblackday]

Lost.

I've recently taken assessments and have been diagnosed with hyper-verbal autism and adhd. Wow. It's a lot to process and somehow my whole concept of self is validated. I feel like my world is falling apart and simultaneously together. This explains all my social anxieties (sensory related) and awkward behaviors. It also explains why I follow sets of social rules imposed on me by people of "authority" (ones I see as knowing more or are more powerful) in my life. It explains my odd rituals and what my family called obsessive-compulsive behaviors, but that I called organization and efficiencies.

Still. I'm feeling lost. Like all I've ever done is exactly what other people told me to do... from parenting to school to career. I kept chasing after ways to be accepted and belong into a world that absolutely makes no sense to me. I feel like I was just given permission to be myself, yet when I relax into me it seems to upset everyone around me. Then, I become hyper-aware of how my behavior and/or existence is upsetting. Ugh.

I keep telling myself that it doesn't mean anything changed, only that I have words to say what I've known my whole life- I'm different. Somehow, though, it changed everything I've ever known to be true about myself, my childhood, my parents, and my life. I'm so lost.

[tammyblackday]

I love you.

"Now, god damnit, Tammy... I'm sick and tired of the drama and the sensationalism and shit... you're just using this for an excuse to make contact with me. No more!"

Whose parent speaks to them like this as an adult? Mine.

These are some of the last words my dad spoke to me on a voicemail. They now live rent-free in my mind repeatedly echoing throughout the middle of the night after I awake from yet another nightmare. I'm 52 years old and I still experience regular nightmares about my childhood despite thirty years of counseling and five years of intense trauma therapy these past five years. I still wake up crying, sometimes screaming. I've been told my whole life I'm being dramatic, when really I was being traumatized.

For weeks now, I keep telling myself it doesn't matter what my dad thinks of me. Let's be real, he's never really liked me. I allowed myself to believe that for the past twelve years he and I had built a new, healthier relationship. Heck, the last time I saw him we hugged and he had tears welling up in his eyes as if it would be the last time ever. Then, just a few weeks later, he's being nasty mean like he was when I was a child, saying cruel things, and telling all of his kids he hates them and to leave him and his wife alone. No contact, unless he initiates it... as if he has control over our behavior as adults. Yet, somehow he does.

In my previous passage, I mentioned that as a child, I would tell him over and over again, "I love you," only to be ignored or dismissed. I was in my forties the first time I recall my dad telling me that he loved me back. I swore we had healed our shattered relationship but here it is shattered again, only this time I care because it matters. My dad is aging and his health isn't great. It's quite possible that we said our final goodbyes. I'm angry.

I'm angry that he couldn't be healthy. I'm angry that he let me down. I'm angry that he continues to be verbally and emotionally abusive towards me. I'm angry that I believed for the past twelve years that he was proud of me and loved me. I'm angry that I was vulnerable. I'm angry that I let my guard down and he hurt me again. I'm angry that my willingness to forgive and grow seems like a wasted effort. I'm angry that his emotional maturity isn't higher. I'm angry that he has the audacity to believe he knows who I am simply because I refuse to keep quiet about my pain. I'm angry that people call me dramatic for simply communicating in effective and socially acceptable ways.

Most of all, I'm sad that it's possible I might never again hear my parent say, "I love you."

[tammyblackday]

It's personal.

One of my favorite books is The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz. If you haven't yet read it, I suggest you do. It's a quick read, but it takes time to process everything being said and a lifetime to practice the principles. One of those is, "Don't take anything personally," which is easier said than done because so often how others choose to treat us feels personal. And, sometimes, it is. Recently, I've had several people block me off their social media. It took me years of healing and learning how to better regulate my emotions to not take this type of rejection personally. Then, I found out that it was very personal. This is where I get intellectually and emotionally stumped and discombobulated (my favorite word btw).

I believe we each have a right to determine who is in our lives, including family. I also believe our family is essential in our lives, providing us opportunities to learn, grow, heal, and connect. Family helps us better understand ourselves and teaches us how to manage conflict and express joy and love.

Life can lose purpose and joy without family. We eventually learn that friends and acquaintances, regardless of the years between you, will often move on once you change, grow, heal, or move, but even if you go no-contact... your family is still your family. Frequently, they grieve a never-ending grief that goes away the instant contact is restored. The friends we keep for a lifetime often become "family" to us because the bond with family stands the test of time.

I get it. There are family members many of us would rather not be related to or know. For years, actually decades, I avoided my dad like the plague. I held him in contempt for a past that could not change. I listened to the stories others told me, and I believed them because those stories reinforced my disdain for him.

Then, after my mom died, I realized I'd been treating strangers on the street, drug-addicted and often criminally insane people, better than I was treating my own family. I held more compassion for their struggles and trials. I immediately felt ashamed of myself for never taking the time to sort out the "truth" of the past.

For the eight years following her death, I called my dad every Sunday. He didn't always answer, but I called nonetheless. I did this until a few years ago after he'd met his now-wife. I adore her. I stopped calling so frequently because my life was in turmoil, and each time I called, he spent most of the call talking to her and ignoring me. I often felt I had walked into a conversation I wasn't supposed to hear.

However, over the past twelve years, I learned so much about who my dad had become and started caring less about who he was. He and I spent much time talking, healing, growing, and forgiving. We became family again. Anytime others wanted to speak ill of him, I either defended him by saying, "That's not the relationship I have with him," or I would tell them I didn't want to hear anything negative about my dad.

I love my dad. I love our relationship, even though sometimes he behaves in those "old ways." According to The Four Agreements, how he treats me is not personal, good or bad. Still, sometimes, it's personal. Either way, he's my family. I'm so grateful.

SOURCE: https://www.reddit.com/r/QuotesPorn/comments/7g2dj2/sometimes_you_will_never_know_the_value_of_a/#lightbox

[tammyblackday]

She loves me.

I shared this and a photo of my sister on Facebook earlier today. I’ve modified it for this platform.  My older sister loves me so much. She is one of the most generous people I have met in my life. From a young age, she did everything she could to take care of us kids. She tried so hard and never got anything but grief from us. I'm ashamed to say that I've often taken advantage of that generosity, not intentionally, but I did. When I was a teenager and young adult, she was the person I called to help me out of every single horrible situation I got myself into. And, there were some bad, life-altering situations. She never judged me, just helped in whatever capacity she could. 

I remember at my lowest point, when I wanted to die, she told me to go get my hair done and she'd pay for it. I needed to change my perspective on myself. I did and it did. Since then, whenever I'm feeling down, I remember to do one thing to change my perspective. 

She's the reason my business is "Changing lives one perspective at a time." 

For the longest time, she was the "wealthiest" person I knew- but she and her husband didn't really have much for a lot of those early years. What they did have was perseverance and tenacity, and the capacity to do better with the cards they were dealt in life. They worked hard and shared what they could with our family. I took it for granted. 

My sister helped me clothe and feed my children throughout the years, when I was down and out on my luck. After my first divorce, she started sending me her $25 rewards gift cards from Target with instructions to spend it on myself. She knew I put everyone else ahead of me. She sent me those cards for years, until I finally was stable and able to provide for myself and my children without assistance from anyone. I know that once I stopped receiving that generosity, she started sending those to my children and others to help in the same way. Just a few years ago, when I lost both jobs, my apartment, and had to voluntarily repo my truck, she sold me one of their vehicles, had her husband drive it half way to me, and even filled up the gas tank and gave me money to get home.

She's a giver. She can't help it. 

I've done her wrong so many times throughout my life, and she's always been there. Sis, I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused you. I wonder what it's been like to be on the receiving end. Will you forgive me for being selfish and ungrateful? I love you!

[tammyblackday]

I see love.

I shared this earlier on Facebook. I’ve edited it a bit from its original post because I mis-remembered. Still...

Once upon a time, I was me... authentically and completely. And, I failed to see those around me for who they were and how they lifted me up to my highest good. The past ten years have been challenging beyond measure. I've spent the past three in trauma and grief therapy just to function in a healthy capacity. I see a photo of me and my younger sister and I remember this time of great peace in my life and the support despite the traumas I endured with divorce, job changes, grieving the loss of the life I wanted for my children, along with the challenges of working fulltime and trying to navigate life on my own for the first time. It was made easier by my sister, someone who loved me unconditionally. At the time, she offered me help when I felt so alone in the world. She was there this day when my finalized divorce papers arrived in the mail. A few months earlier, she was gracious and took my lovely dog, Keela, when I had to rehome her during my divorce. It broke my heart but gave me joy knowing she went to love. Sadly, Keela escaped homes often and was later rehomed to a farm and killed by a motorcycle upon one of her escapes (the driver survived the accident, thank God). I can't even imagine the hardship my sister faced with this situation. I don't know if I ever thanked my sister for stepping up for me in this way and so many others in my life. She was my rock, despite our challenges, I could always count on her to be there to laugh, sing, talk, or cry it out. So many times, I think she let me think I was doing her a favor by taking on my burdens. I remember she loaned me money during my divorce, and said she wanted to help me. Looking back, I don't think she really could have afforded to give me anything but she did. Not too many years ago, she took my kitten for me. Originally, I got the kitty (not thinking through our travel plans) to help me deal with my aloneness as an empty-nester. Realizing we had to travel, my sister offered to "kitty-sit" for the few days we'd be gone. When we got back from our trip, she nonchalantly said she was in love with the kitty and would keep it forever. So, I gave her the kitty thinking it would make her happy. We also had another upcoming trip, so it was a "win-win" in my mind. The kitty eventually grew and became violent towards her. I felt so responsible every time I heard about how the cat would attack her. Another one of those times, she was looking out for me but I thought I was actually doing her a favor because I thought she wanted the kitty. I don't think she really did, and certainly not after he became such a terror. Ugh. I suck at big-sisterhood. Tragedy seems to have followed me most of my life. I don't say this as a "woe is me" but more of a simply truth. I feel like I've endured more than my fair share of pain. Lately, with so much alone time, I am haunted by the tragedies of the past and broken relationships caused by my inability to value others through my own brokenness. I've caused so much pain to those I hold dear. I see my part in it all, and I do the work to forgive myself and to hold space for the healing I hope will someday come. I wish I could turn back time and undo all the things I've been told I did to cause harm to the people I love dearly. Will they forgive me for being human? For being broken? For being blind to their needs? For all the known and unspoken ways in which I caused harm? Maybe. Maybe not. In the meantime, I see this photo and I remember who I came here to be. It was not to be broken. I grew, thrived, and overcame so much to be in this now moment as an expression of love and hope. I see me. I see her. I see love

[tammyblackday]

Once upon a time...

...I was happy, overjoyed. My days were filled with family (the one I created), friends, laughter, and growing. 

Now, my days are filled with my own thoughts, contemplation, sadness, and growing. 

I unintentionally hurt the ones I love the most. I suppose I felt slighted by them in some ways at the time. I’ve been told I “play the victim” but I assure you there is nothing fun happening here. No “playing” involved. I think I sometimes I get so wrapped up in my own trauma responses that I fail to see how much damage it causes others. 

I’ve been called abusive more than once and by more than one person, which means there’s some truth to what’s being said. My experience is that I am protecting myself from the misfiring neurons all triggering all pain receptors all at once on my brain. I start grasping at actions that will keep me safe. Blocking people on social media is a go-to response. Screaming at people to “STOP!!” when really I’m screaming for my trauma-brain to stop. 

The pain is unbearable. 

Every cell and fiber of my being hurts all at once from every trauma I’ve ever experienced. From childhood to womanhood. Every single one; physical assault, emotional assault, sexual assault, death of loved ones, car accidents, surgeries, broken bones, mis-healed broken bones, job loss, divorce, homelessness, verbal assault, shattered self esteem, weigh gain from traumas...being kicked out of people’s lives. 

It’s called “no contact.” I can’t say that I blame them. I can hardly stand myself when I’m triggered. I seriously can’t imagine being on the other end. I remember one day my daughter kicked my bad knee in her own trauma response. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I know our relationship came quickly to an end. There’s only so many times I can say, “I’m sorry” or “It wasn’t about you.” 

Two of my children, my younger sister, and someone I thought was my best friend all cut off contact with me within a few months of one another. The grief has been a journey of pain that rivals the two years that 22 people I knew had died. Actually, I think this pain has been worse because I hold out hope that maybe one day, someday, possibly, I’ll be the kind of person who is healthy enough to be worthy of one more chance. 

It’s been nearly two years.

I’ve been in trauma therapy for three years now. I’ve done counseling for nearly 30 years. Trauma therapy has been the best at helping me to navigate my emotional responses differently, as I’ve reprocessed most of the major traumas that were haunting me. However, occasionally, I’ll get pushed over my emotional edge and all the pain happens all at once... those are my bad days. Fortunately, they’re becoming more rare as time goes on. 

I attempted reconciliation and asking for forgiveness from my children. My attempts failed. My sister recently unblocked me from her social media, and it feels like someone deeply cut open an almost healed wound. I see how joyful she is without me in her life.

I’m angry and sad. 

It’s lonely here. 

I know I’ve grown into a different woman these past two years. I’m calmer now. I listen more. I talk less. I try to be more mindful of others without being codependent. I do my best to navigate life each day with more purpose. 

I remember the last time I wrote on this blog, I was being bullied from family for telling “secrets” about the generational abuse I suffered through. It seems so long ago. I think it’s time to finish my book. I think it’s time to publish and move on.

I think it’s time to heal. 

[tammyblackday]

SOURCE: http://www.picturequotes.com/shine-on-quote-5613

[tammyblackday]

“Glitter & Dirt” by Tammy Black  ©2018 All Rights Reserved.

Quiet, little one,

for the pain will always be there.

There is nothing anyone can do to

make it stop.

What’s done is done.

All that can happen now

is whatever you do to make it.

Dear, sweet one.

“Glitter & Dirt” by Tammy Black  ©2018 All Rights Reserved.

Everyone loves Myrtle. She’s a sweet, smaller elderly woman in my church. Each time she hugs anyone, she pulls their face down close to hers and presses her forehead against their own. She closes her eyes and tells the person just how blessed she is to be alive. She radiates love. Today, just before church, she was telling me about how her granddaughter refused to have a relationship with her. Sadness washed over her face as she told me her story of motherhood into grandmother hood. She shared that she’d been a horrible mom and person but mostly because it was a different time, and she just didn’t know any better, like most of the people she knew. She was living out generational abuse. She hadn’t known it at the time but she knew now. Once she was aware of the devastation her parenting had on her daughter, there was nothing she could do to repair the relationship. She kept trying but had long ago accepted the realization that her family may never have anything to do with her again. It hurt her most that her granddaughter “hated” her. Myrtle’s heart was broken over it.

As service came to a close, we all stood up and held hands. I, along with a small group of others, sit in the front row and must turn towards the rest of the congregation when it’s time to sing. I love singing. Today, we’re singing one of my favorite songs as I find myself straight across from Myrtle. She was sitting directly behind me on this bright spring day. Her blue eyes light up as we sing. I think to myself, how could anyone hate Myrtle? It doesn’t make sense to me how anyone could not simply adore this woman. I suddenly realize I’ve been treating my own grandmother exactly the same way that Myrtle’s granddaughter was treating her. I’m now filled with a sense of urgency to get home and call mine. She’s dying. I received the call just a few days before. I didn’t care that she was dying. I hadn’t spoke with her since the last time she appeared years ago at my front door, with my father. She quickly pulled out photographs of a dead relative and began showing my children without my consent. I was still so angry at her from her declaration at the park so many years ago about breastfeeding me. It turned out after conversations with many now adult grandchildren that her claim was true. It was said it wasn’t for nourishment but for nurturing crying babies. It didn’t matter to me why, it was still disturbing. She still stole my mother’s bond from her. I didn’t care if I ever saw my grandmother again. Now, as I stand before Myrtle’s smiling face, I realize it was time to say what needed to be said.

I nearly burst through the front door of my home. My husband looked at me and asked what was wrong.

I need my grandmother’s number.

Why, are you going to let her know you forgive her?

No, I’m going to ask her to forgive me.

I don’t understand.

I begin to explain my experience at church. I’ve been working on healing my past traumas and had long since forgiven so many people but obviously from the presence of my anger I hadn’t yet forgiven my grandmother. My epiphany helped me to see that I’d missed out on a relationship with my grandmother. While my other family members got to learn from her and share in storytelling, laughter, and nostalgia, I was busy being hurtful and hateful. As I’d driven home, I remembered all of the wonderful things my grandmother had done for our family. She worked tirelessly to ensure we all had clothing and food, even if it wasn’t much. She crocheted afghans or made quilts for each one of her children, grandchildren, and was recently trying to  complete ones for the great grandchildren. She was a helper, and I failed to know her.

I called my brother to get the number where she was staying during hospice. I was met with similar questioning.

I simply need to ask for forgiveness.

The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity. I keep praying, please God let her forgive me for how I’ve treated her. Please God forgive me for holding contempt for so long. Please God let her forgive me…

Hello. (A weeping voice answers).

Hi Aunt ---. It’s Tammy. May I please speak with Grandma?

Oh, honey, you can’t. She just took her last breaths as the phone began to ring.

What? Wait. No. This can’t be true. I was going to ask her to forgive me for being an awful grandchild to her. (I begin crying uncontrollably). No. No.

It’s okay baby. She forgives you. She’s with God now.

I hang up the phone and weep in my husband’s arms. I can’t believe it’s done. I can’t believe I didn’t get to say goodbye. I can’t believe I never got to hear her voice again. I hope Myrtle’s granddaughter decides to know her grandma. I pray she never knows my pain.

[tammyblackday]

Forgiveness

I’ve been working on this for a few weeks now. After the verbal attack on FB and other social media outlets from my past few chapter releases from my book, I struggled with the anger people were projecting onto me for sharing my story. I didn’t understand why they weren’t angry with my abusers. It still doesn’t make sense to me. I’ve opted to hold back on releasing anymore chapters; however, I’m still writing my book. 

One of the things I came to realize is that many people believe it’s ME who’s holding a grudge. I’M the one who’s angry. Boy, are they ever wrong. See, I spent 20 years of my life going through mental and spiritual counseling. I learned to manage life through severe PTSD and I healed. I forgave those who hurt me and began to appreciate the suffering I experienced as what shaped me into the amazing woman I’ve become. It took me 20 years to sort out my memories from those of other family members who shared their experiences with me and influenced my perspective. I spent 20 years asking myself; Do I remember this? Or, did someone tell me this? 

Sometimes, I do include bits a pieces of what others told me. I was one when I had my first memory... I thought I was having reoccurring nightmares. It was a family member who helped sort it out for me. And, many others who confirmed what I was told happened. I take none of it lightly. It took 20 YEARS to sort it out. 

I figured if people knew me, truly knew me, then they knew to read each written word with love and compassion. It’s why I never use names or locations. It’s why I don’t explain in gruesome detail every nasty thing I experienced. I learned to love through it all. I forgave them, I forgave me. 

I share my story as a tale of hope to those who have yet to experience freedom from their past. For those naysayers, I tell you it DOES give them hope and removes the isolation of abuse. The more stories I hear, the more I come to understand that I was not alone in my suffering. It’s empowering. 

With that said, I did hurt a few people but never intentionally. See, their perspectives are very different from mine. For example, the house I show repeatedly with my post. It represents to me poverty and pain. However, it represents a piece of history and connection to members of my family of origin because it was built by my great-grandfather. It’s just a house (that was once a post office, I think). It’s just one house of dozens that we lived in growing up. We moved around so much that I can’t even begin to list all the addresses. 

Instead of over-reacting and pushing people out of our lives, maybe it’s time to pause and ask questions. Why that house? What does it mean to you? Would you care to know what it means to me? Are you trying to hurt everyone? 

Still, I can’t help but wonder; why are family members so angry at me? Why aren’t they angry at the people who hurt me? 

And, I still forgive.