recovery

Look, this is no laughing matter. The mother took her 9-year-old son and fled her husband’s violence and unbridled tyrades to a different continent. The father in turn found them thousands of miles away and kidnapped his son, scurrying back to that unnamed country. Unbelievably, the father was entirely supported by the woman’s whole family. Every one of her family members supported the father in taking his son away from her because they value a boy’s life more than a girl.
Well, she returned to that unnamed country, found her son, and once again took him back with her to live a life of hiding. She felt betrayed, sad, hurt, lonely and truth be told, the betrayals started at a very young age. At two she was burned, at seven years old she was blamed for the string of molestation's that continued for years by various family members, all while being indoctrinated into a culture that branded all girls as useless.
She could trust no one and no one trusted or believed in her. Her life experience exuded a fowl odor of utter disrespect. None-the-less, this brave woman wanted to break free from the feelings and their stories and forgive her family. She also knew that what she wanted and needed most was to be loved, and that if she were, she would feel fulfilled. No doubt.
She held a pillow tightly as if holding the many layers of accumulated pain in her arms. It helped. She imagined her whole body being saturated with a soft pink honey like nectar, speckled with yellow and gold, that held the frequency of unconditional love. Her body relaxed. She shared this nectar with the pain pillow, and she perceived it softening too. She took ten minutes to lie down, legs bent, pillow held, to invite the chronic tension in her jaw, neck, and shoulders to relax. It was a start.
Some of her stories were just too brutal to share. Many were lost in a chronic brain fog. Her body needed recalibrating out of adrenal burnout, shame, and fear, back to a more livable setting first. So, she willingly committed to this practice for as long as it would take while slowly finding her words, one story at a time, when the timing was right. No hurry. No pressure. No judgement. She began to breathe just a little more deeply and the look in her eyes was that of extreme relief. For the first time in a very long time, she felt love for herself.