WordSisters

Category: Transformation

  • She Did

    On the day of our sale, when the buyer signed and I knew—really knew—that our home was sold, I felt the pressure of years gathering in my chest. Tears burst out.

    I was standing in the kitchen of our RV when the weight of it hit me.

    I was not four years old, or eight, or ten, or a teenager. My twenties were behind me.

    My survival had become a life. A home. A marriage. Children raised in safety. Love sustained over decades.

    How did this girl who came from dirt, chaos, filth, take care of a home for thirty years?

    How did this girl, who knew nothing about how to keep a relationship together, stay married for twenty-eight years?

    How did this girl, who was so abused, not abuse her children? Not allow them to be abused? Not raise a hand to them?

    How did this girl, who was not raised by love, raise with love?

    How did this girl insist that her children learn how to protect themselves? That they had a duty to protect themselves?

    How did this girl, whose body belonged to everyone else, keep her soul her own?

    She lived through their abuse, their dislike, their disdain, their ridicule, their name-calling. She lived through it.

    Slowly, steadily, methodically, she took the next step. And then another.

    She built a life the same way she healed—one small choice at a time.

    Her saving grace was realizing she could finally say:

    No more.

    I don’t need you.

    I don’t need to mother you.

    I don’t need to be your keeper.

    I don’t need to be needed by you.

    I am enough by myself.

    And then she began to see possibility. To see life.

    Jody.

    A relationship that mattered. One worth fighting for.

    She learned to communicate. To apologize. To stay when staying was hard. To work things out.

    Her healing continued because that responsibility belonged to her. No more giving up her thoughts. No more giving up her right to decide what was right for her.

    She would decide.

    She would become her own best friend. Her own witness. She would build a relationship with her spirit, with her soul.

    Thirty years later, standing between what was and what will be, she understands something fully:

    They did not get to decide who she would become.

    She did.

    The little girl who survived became the woman who lived.

    Tae Kwon Do, a family affair

  • Season of Change

    Since ancient times, people have observed days growing shorter and dreaded winter’s coming darkness, which culminates at winter solstice. These days, many of us barely notice this natural shift, but instinctively we light candles, fill our homes with tiny twinkling lights, and gaze at crackling fires—all in an effort to push back the darkness. Beyond being the shortest day of the year, winter solstice can be thought of as a time of change, when one era or year draws to a close and a new one dawns.

    Some personal events parallel this natural cycle of transformation. My family is expanding—a welcome change—and our tradition of hosting several days of long elaborate holiday meals will evolve. Next year, there will be a little person in a highchair who won’t be able to sit still and wait while we linger over a second glass of wine. We’ll let go of our current traditions and invent new ones that are more kid-focused. That’s as it should be.

    I’m also aware of another coming transformation. One of the writers’ groups I’ve been part of for 15+ years will change when a core member moves to Michigan. Because we write memoir and personal essays, we have shared our secrets and personal truths—first in stories with the group, later in writing launched into the big world. Consequently, we have developed an extra measure of trust and acceptance other friendships might not achieve. We support each other when our lives are troubled and when our writing stalls. We celebrate our personal triumphs and our publishing successes. The idea for the WordSisters blog came from this group—you’ve read our writing over the years. 

    Of course, we’ll continue to meet via Zoom. We’ll still share our stories and writing, provide encouragement, and offer personal and writerly advice. We’ve pledged to stay part of each other’s lives, but we all understand our current way of meeting is ending. 

    I’m at the cusp where I can see the past and the future—acknowledge what’s changing and welcome what’s coming next. My family and my writers’ group will move into a new era. In the natural world, the days will begin to grow longer and brighter minute by minute, and spring will arrive as it always does.

  • Meditation on Autumn Equinox

    Long before a turning point is evident, tiny shifts lead to change: The last cut of the axe before a tree falls, the gathering force of an avalanche before it lets go, the final few cells piling up to a clot that blocks flow and becomes the stroke, the gradual loosening of a sleepy child’s fingers before the toy slides to the floor, the droop and dangle of a leaf before it drops, the new insight added to insight as a mind is changed. 

    At autumn equinox, a near balance is struck when day and night are almost the same length before the northern hemisphere tilts toward winter. Minutes of daylight have been slipping away since June, and September’s days, though still sunny, are cooler. I don’t welcome the coming darkness, but accept it. And autumn has its compensations: apples, fires, and glorious colors.