Control me with eggshells

 

I’ve been abused.

Abused,

abused,

abused.

And now I’ve said it aloud,

and now it can’t be undone.

 

Hah!

It couldn’t have been undone even when I was silent.

It couldn’t have been undone because it happened.

Now that I’ve said it aloud,

what is undone is you.

 

I’ve undone the secret.

I’ve undone the shame.

 

I’m not going to be ashamed, because shame doesn’t help me.

Shame is not a force that carries me forward.

I am catching better currents now.

There is self-acceptance in these waves,

and I am going to ride them.

I’ll ride out this current of peace,

and honor that the person that I was needs me to believe her.

 

I won’t deny that you were an abuser.

In fury and fear you collected your power

and you held it over me,

a small child.

You taught me to fear you.

You taught me the pathways of compliance.

You taught me eggshells.

 

Your path was control.

 

abuser

abused

abuser

abused

eggshells.

 

I didn’t like that pattern.

I wanted to live without eggshells.

 

Found someone new.

Someone not like you.

but he’s trying to introduce me to eggshells.

 

abuser,

abused.

abuser,

abused.

This is a crazy-go-round, adulthood merry-go-round.

I’d like to know you, but I’m allergic to dizziness.

I’m allergic to abusive control.

I’m allergic to walking on eggshells.

 

‘But these eggshells are from different hens!’

Hah!

I’d like to bypass them all the same.

 

Honestly, I see what you’re saying, I know

that there’s a person behind the control…

that you learned to do

from another abuser too.

And my someone new

is just flailing

in a lengthy freefall

through a world of dis-order.

 

This is why, this is why, this is why… … .

 

This is why there are eggshells.

 

Hmm.

Yep.

That explains that, doesn’t it?

 

Does it also explain

why you expect me to walk on eggshells

when it’s misery for me?

 

Does it also justify

why I must live the eggshell life,

when it doesn’t even heal you?

 

I can walk in these well-worn pathways on my tip-toes,

but you will still be a controlling abuser.

If I hushed and was silent,

it would be no act of love.

 

YOU must be the one to deal with: the fear, the fury, the power, the control, and the eggshells.

 

I’ll deal with my allergy.

 

Recognizing control is how I walk towards maturity.

I’ve sharpened my vision

to quickly detect red flags of abuse

And I’m not sorry to have spotted you,

although you

deny

deny

deny.

 

I don’t care why.

 

Getting off the crazy-go-round has cost me personally.

You’ve got to find your own path to maturity.

It won’t be through controlling me.

wrong place, nowhere to go

 

The feeling of having just arrived at the wrong place,

but having nowhere else to go.

This makes me small

this leaves me vulnerable.

I am a soul, created to be loved,

freshly introduced to this body

which has just a few words for a vocabulary.

I cannot explain,

I do not have the skills to explain

Who I Am

and

What I Need.

I am just a small vulnerable soul

who has come to this place

but did not find a welcome here.

Behind my breathing there is sadness,

it’s at my spine,

it resides in my being.

I can’t remember what happened

that was worth crying about,

but this sadness became too heavy

to usher out with tears and sobs.

 

“That’s not who I am”

“You don’t understand me”

 

These are phrases that I feel must now be said

although they place words on a time

when there were no words

and describe the emotions of a girl

whose emotions were felt with the soul and not explained by the mind.

 

Precious Girl

I send you comfort.

I send you love across time.

 

I hope that these words get to you.

 

And I think they have,

because just now,

your tears sprang to my eyes

and dried on my cheeks.

 

I know you have nowhere to go

and I remember that they will bark at you

and try to give you their shame.

Vulnerable one, I give you my resolve.

And I give you today.

Tightly, in your fists take this knowledge that you have seen your future

you have seen that you were able to endure

you have seen me

 

reaching out to you

and saying

Thank You.

Punishment of the unloved

 

If you understand him better –

are you able to deal with him better?

Understanding

will not change his behavior.

 

I know I cannot change him,

but,

understanding has expanded me.

 

I was an invisible child

-only an extension of himself,

only another appendage,

no thoughts independent.

 

He was an abandoned child,

for whom his lost mother become ‘ex-mother’,

gone mother

because to the authority giver,

she was ex-wife.

 

My feelings were too much to handle,

my opinions never asked for,

my obedience went un-thanked.

When I found courage,

I was belittled.

 

His childhood was pressed into service,

taken-for-granted-chores

and the responsibilities of the eldest.

Far from thanked, he was threatened –

told to bring back success, or not return at all.

 

I was told

that my dreams were stupid,

that talking about my pain was stupid,

that thinking I was trustworthy

was stupid.

 

He was taught not to trust

when his dreams were extorted

and his ambitions were sold

to the highest bidder,

without notification,

and certainly without consent.

 

He was afraid of me

afraid of what it meant

to have a delicate thing,

not sure who he could be around it,

around me.

And so he delegated my care to my mother,

but she kept him near enough

to be a threat.

Do you know what it meant to me –

– to admit how deeply I had been hurt,

only to learn that he knew he might hurt me?

He knew he might, so he tried to be distant?

 

Knowing that the love I craved,

he had never felt himself,

has left me without a judge’s hammer.

The punishment I might pronounce

has already been served.

 

I was unloved!

– You must be unloved too!”

 

But his un-love had already happened,

and I was punished for it.

All this I understand –

it pours water on my fire,

and turns it to steam,

instead of rage.

 

With this understanding

I forgive myself more easily –

for not being more charmingly lovable,

and for not being delightful enough

to make him forget himself.

 

Some people are impervious to charms,

not all speak the same tongue.

I was born to a language

that he had long-ago renounced.

I might have taught it to him again,

but change was not his way.

 

And unchanged he remains,

my understanding has not expanded him,

only altered him in my eyes,

so that I see him as someone to love.