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People say leaving is the hardest part. It’s not. But it is a very terrifying first step. In the middle of the night, I took my three kids and fled to escape the hell that had become our home. This is my experience that night. This is my first step.

I Watch Them Sleep
Inside me roars the sort of storm that brings about terror.
My spirit is shrunken, sunken, cowering, and endangered.
But outside I appear calm, like the quiet, cool night around us.
No visible, telling signs of distress, aside from my trembling hands.

My respiration was shallow; so tensely forced and controlled
Intentionally labored to stop my chest from heaving
Total silence, despite the loud heartbeat pulsating in my ears
I must remain stoic; they can’t know I’m terrified of leaving.

The three pairs of little feet in a row lined up right behind me
Are bouncing atop boxes and bags chaotically piled on the floorboard
I can’t let them know the truth; that they are in a nightmare wide-awake
I already fear any sense of safety will not be granted to them anymore.

Holding my breath, statue stiff, I need to get out of the driveway.
And brief relief does brush past me, when pulling into the street.
A freedom short-lived, as my mind hastily races in a circular motion
Where are we going? What am I doing? The plan stopped at, we leave

Under the protection of the dark, secretly we move with no destination
Trusting, innocent, defenseless littles fully dependent on my sanity
The weight of that is not lost on me. Its reality is hopelessly crushing.
But this perilous escape is for them and could not be done politely.

The soft chatter continues, as I pull into a big, empty parking lot.
I must get myself together and pull out at least one useful thought.
They will be restless soon, and I need to make this appear normal.
Think! What is the next right thing? I must move. It is too late to stop.

No chance for an answer, as I am heaved back in the moment by a voice.
A soft, small voice behind me finally asks, “Mommy are you ok?”.
And just like, I remember who I am to them. Head up, shoulders back
Reaching back to try to provide uncertain reassurance and to myself pray

Unlike other times, I feel many little fingers grab back, so tightly.
Turning around, I see all our hands are a messy constellation of love.
My heart starts to glow. It’s now burning; strength quickly returning
My bruised-up hands no longer shake; I place them on the wheel.

I put on a song. Try to sing along and get us to a safe place for tonight.
Pushing a cumbersome cart heavy with piles of stuff; a toddler on top.
I look like a drunken clown as the exhaustion is almost incapacitating
Hitting anything stationary; picking up loose items as even more drop

Finally, ungracefully we pass through the threshold of our temporary home
There is this glaring oddity. The littles seem so carefree after so much pain.
I realize then, that the absence of fear allows the once joyful child to return.
They lay down without resistance, unlike other nights, another change

I dig through the mess for a book to read before bed, as was our routine.
In what seems like minutes, all three heads are down and sleeping deeply.
The first easy breath comes; though I know the worst is yet to come
I am no longer powerless. Finally, at peace, I sit; I sit and watch them sleep.

Everyone says you are evil,
That you tried to ruin my life.
What they forget is that my life
Is not ruined, because I have
Never known it without you.

Praying for your absence
Seems odd, even unnatural
To me. You have become an
Integral part of my life;
Every decision I have made
Involved you. To pray that
You would leave overnight
Would leave me desolate, but

I suppose I have other
Places to go; decisions to make:
Neither of which involve you.

Learning to live without you
Is an undertaking I had
Always wanted, but now that
It is a reality, I am not sure
Where to begin, or how to
Begin. People say that this
Is the “beauty of it all,” and
Perhaps that is true,
But I am beginning with something new.

Expectations placed upon me now
Cannot be met overnight. Maybe you know this,
So to protect me from
Impending failure, you continue to
Reside within my mind.

Perhaps I do not need your misguided
Protection. The principles you have instilled
Within me have caused more
Hinderances than they have relief.

Still, I cannot help but pity your
Tireless efforts. I can see now that
You were tired, and I was ungrateful.
Or maybe you were not trying to protect
Me at all. It could very well be that
You were trapped, trying to escape, but

You never knew how.

One Day in December

Letters can express so many feelings—love, joy, sadness, fear, longing, hope. This is about a terrible letter; one of the hardest I’ve ever written.

We met at a dance. He was almost two years older, and we danced all night. I fell in love, as best as a fifteen-year-old can.

The only daughter of four rowdy brothers, I wasn’t allowed to date until I turned sixteen. But the next day when John knocked on the door and introduced himself, my skeptical, conservative parents were enormously impressed. It didn’t hurt that he was the only child of an only child and stood to inherit a comfortable amount of money.

His parents, who needed a daughter-in-law who would fit in socially, readily gave their stamp of approval.

For the next two years my life was a whirlwind of dances, movies, proms, church, dinners, picnics, fishing, traveling. He bought me flowers and expensive gifts for no special occasion. He presented me with an engagement ring with a diamond from his grandmother’s wedding ring.

My future was scripted—after graduation, I’d be a stay-at-home mom with several children, hosting card parties and play dates, eventually caring for our parents when they grew old.

But on December 1, 1969, the trajectory of my life changed, although I didn’t realize it at the time. That Monday night, the entire nation was glued to their television sets watching representatives of the Selective Service System reach into a glass jar 366 times and pull out a pellet containing a slip of paper that would match a date in the calendar year. This would determine the order of conscription into the U.S. Army.

The fifth date pulled was October 18—John’s birthday.

He would be going to Viet Nam.

February 1, he left for boot camp. I graduated high school in May.
It was understood—but unspoken—that I would continue to live with my parents while planning our wedding that was to happen upon his return from Viet Nam. He wanted to be standing at the front of the church in his dress uniform as I came down the aisle. My father would hand me over to John, then step away.

But the day after he left, it was though someone opened all the doors and windows—everything seemed lighter, airier. I had the freedom to make my own decisions, time to myself and time to hang out with friends. It was a heady experience and every morning I woke excited to start a new day. I graduated, got a job, and then, in a rush of independence, an apartment. John wrote that he did not approve of me living alone.

I found it oddly joyful to pay my own bills, balance a checkbook, buy groceries. I taught myself to cook and reveled in the quiet aloneness.

I went to parties and made poor decisions. When my friends left for college, I ached to join them.

I dated other men.

And soon, I started getting a lot of pressure to help plan the wedding. My mother booked the church. His mother booked the Country Club. My fiancé wrote, begging for details—what did the invitations look like? How many bridesmaids? Flowers, food, honeymoon, music—a dizzying number of details.

***

One evening, alone in my apartment, I sat with pen and paper and did a horrible thing, but also the only thing I could do—
“Dear John,”

***

My mother was devastated. His parents were outraged.

I broke his heart. Of course, I did.

A year later I stepped into my first class at the university, thrilled, terrified. Three years later I graduated.

I eventually married and eventually had children.

I’d like to say I didn’t look back, but I did, mentally wishing him every happiness. He was a good person. He just wasn’t right for me.

Had it not been for December 1, 1969, I doubt that I would be the woman I am today—strong, resilient, purposeful, and, most importantly, free to make my own decisions.

Two thousand plus miles
from home.
Time to surrender.
Twenty two years
of fight.
Feasible no more.
Projected outcome
Manifested.
No escape.
Options presented.
Machines and humans
would do.
New lifestyle
Initiated.
Strict diet,
Fluid restrictions,
Lifeline in arm,
Modified activities,
Life schedule altered.
Two needles,
Three hours,
Three days
Weekly.
Intimate relations
Mechanical
for sustenance.
The process
Challenging
yet, just another thing.
Going with the flow
as life moves on.
Back to work.
Balancing act engaged.
The essence of time
Profound.
Grad school in view.
Success achieved.
Own business pursued.
Rewards ensued.
Twenty four years later
Still vertical.
New ventures in sight.
The sun will always shine.

The pandemic hit
I quit
All went south
Forever broken, I frown
Should have believed her
Setting the features

Your what drove her
I thought it was over
I gave up on trying
Day after day I lie here dying
This is my life
Just give me the knife
Trapped in a loup
Someone remove this Damn Hula Hoop

We move and move and moved again
Oh God, please tell me when
Strapped
I find myself trapped
Her world stolen
Lifeless in motion
Ripped from the streets
I will not be beat

I run and hide
This is no fun, she cried
Locked up
Corrupt
Confined
Is this what you had in mind
Stories over, the end
My life, where I shall spend

Never getting out
My veins a drought
Sweet and naive
Kidnapped, I believe
What right do you have
Attacked
Soon you will feel the impact

This insane world
Flipped and swirled
Pinned down
Should have never moved to this Godforsaken Town

Mother
I will not suffer
I will not die here with you
I know the truth
Forgotten
We shall not be in here rotting
Left behind
This is not what I designed
Unfound
I will rise from underground
Not a sound
Silence
My guidance
A protector
I Am Now the Director

I will scream and shout
Whale my hands and feet about
Bring the world down with me
Open your eyes you shall see
For you will pay too
Your time is due
I will show you well
Oh boy am I gonna tell

Who knew
The me that was me
I will forever be
This clock has awakened
Tick Tock Taken
My innocence
I am Magnificent
I will not bow
This is not allowed
My future scene
For I am Queen

life’s first teachers were filled with so much love,love was there but insecurities and jealousy love adding darkness to beautiful things . The time before darkness were beautiful beyond words i long to remember those days, however the darkest days were shining bright compared to others and that is when gratitude started to come around, love was there but hate and animosity were stealing the show. love was there but Hate and animosity were the ones who became the teachers and showed the students this is love, the students went on to teacher others “ the love that they learned” not understanding what was wrong with it because love was there. the student became a life teacher they realized jealousy and animosity is not love. Reteaching themselves what love really is. love was there.

With my heart pounding faster than a freight train, and my mind spinning madly out of my control, every ounce of my survival instinct forbade me from doing it.
But I had to do it, I wanted to do it.
It had always been my secret, whimsical fetish. A desire that I had harbored deep down in some untapped part of my heart.
Oh, I wanted to do this so bad!
But should I? And could I?
I felt apprehensive, I felt very diffident.
Climbing up the seemingly unending bridge, walking up to the lethal ledge, I felt my heart sinking down my throat and my intellect going theoretically dead. As I got sized up, harnessed and bounded, the alarming realization dawned on me that I had at that very moment lost control. I had forfeited my last chance to quit. There was no escape. I had no choice.
But I had to do it. I must do it.
For there was too much at stake. My pride, my ego, my unfulfilled dream, my claim to fame, my commitment to myself.
Opposing every muscle and thought in my body that was operating overdrive to pull me away from gravity, I closed my eyes and took the deadly plunge.
As I plummeted down 410 feet, blood gushing through every crevice in my head, I felt surprisingly liberated. The harness felt non-existent. I felt untethered. I felt free!
I felt alive!
But what I was oblivious to, was that the bungy jump down was a daunting job just half done. The horror of the act of jumping was thwarted by the suddenness of the savage recoil back up!
My body flayed like a pendulum at the bottom for a few seconds only to be pulled aggressively up a few hundred feet mid-air!
In those few fleeting moments, I felt like I had traversed through numerous celestial realms, both physically and emotionally.
And then just like that, it was done!
As I was maneuvered into a boat and onto to familiar ground at the end of this personal feat, I felt something new.I felt satiated, I felt accomplished!
I had proved a point— To me!
I had overcome my fears, crushed my low self-esteem, defied my survival instinct, and had just let a comforting tranquillity come over me and take control.
I had let a feeling of submission, faith in a force above, and my free spirit guide me as I took that leap that day.
A leap of faith, quite literally!
Down 141 feet that day, I had found myself and made my way to the top of the world!

Dear Unsealed,
As a young child I was diagnosed with what they called a “lazy eye.” I was only three or 4 or 5. Those toddler Esotropia runs in families and usually requires surgery to correct. Acquired esotropia occurs in children usually between the ages of 2 and 5. Eyeglasses can usually correct it. seem to conjugate into one perimeter of I was too young to begin wearing glasses.
My mom had surgery on her eye, not mine. I found out later in life when my mom was alive. She explained to me that she could not deal with it, so she had surgery instead of me. I was deeply hurt as I was young and dealing with bullying not her as a grown woman. I loved my mom and always will but that hurt deeply. I learned to forgive her and move on without anger and buy more frames to accompany my wardrobe.
I told my mom I could not see well and was embarrassed about my left eye because the kids were making fun of my disability. My mom was incredibly sad as she had the same eye ailment. We can see but need glasses.
At three, four, and five I was a gregarious spontaneous combustion running around the house, playing with my Kachina dolls, my baby dolls, my mudpies and least of all of these was pretending that the toads were my friends. I was an adventurous child of sorts, and my glasses were in the way, but what was really in the way was I could not see well without my glasses. So, my glasses became a part of my wardrobe, and I had to learn to fit my glasses into my daily routine of trees, toads, and Kachina dolls.
The truth is that the significance of learning to respect and wear my glasses taught me survival and how cruel young toddlers can be. My favorite little boy on the block in our 1950s neighborhood was accepting of my disability. Back in those days people who wore glasses were called four eyes. That is a debilitating bigotry condition of certain types of personalities of certain human beings. I learned to go with the flow. My grandpa Boss was with me teaching me to read and write and music.
Those days are gone now.
I remember a little girl who was so sweet.
I remember a little girl who was so neat.
I remember a little girl who was me,
To be
Grown one day,
Along the way
As I was now a 21-year-old young lady growing up in the crazy seventies entering college after nursing school at age 19. I had a pair of frames to match every outfit in my closet.
Later I began to wear contacts mixing it up with different frames and lots of sunshades.
Now at 75, I am wearing contacts again mixing them up with different frames and reading glasses and computer glasses.
Old habits are a positive virtue in the case of a young toddler beginning to wear glasses to see carrying on to an elder age.
I now look back.
React,
To my younger self of creative play.
Today
I still suffer from lazy left eye syndrome, strabismus, astigmatism, and far-sightedness but hey folks I am human, and we are all with disabilities of some kind. We are human.
As an artist, writer, lyricist and elder I thank the Universe for supplying me with perseverance, longevity, patience, and intellectual capabilities that have helped me continue walk my life path.
To someone else reading this who might say it is no big deal, it is a big deal to a toddler and to humanity that has given humans the ability and ambition to overcome obstacles as they walk their path in their life.
My glasses and contacts are woven together into a web of sight and creativity overcoming the obstacles of a toddler in the 1950s era of bigotry and judgmental style cultures of America at that time.
The learning concave ability of learning to live with strabismus or “crossed eyes”. I had one crossed eye, and I grew up overcoming my disability by wearing many different frames. However, the stigma of bullying that was present in those days has left a scar inside my intellect that I still have to work through with my therapist.
However, I am over the four eyes syndrome bullying. I love my glasses and can shop online and offline looking at cool frames to offset my wardrobe.

It All Started . . .

After several hours filled with fear, anxiety, tears of anger, and wounds of distrust, I ended up in a fetal position on my living room floor. After struggling to roll up in a seated position,I forced my shaky left foot to plant firm and stable, as a wingback chair offered to help me to my feet. Then it happened . .

The phrase “Until I learn to love myself, there isn’t going to be any love for anybody else.” emblazoned the forefront of my thoughts. Such a popular phrase in music and literature that should make complete sense. But my emotional blindness shadowed its true meaning for all these years.

I had been throwing tantrums all day! I wailed out, “I didn’t deserve that…”, “Why would he/they/you/whomever treat me that way?” and so on and so on. After my earlier battle to stand, I started a new rant, when suddenly the image in my bathroom mirror took on its own energy. It sounds outlandish, even fictional–it’s the only way I can describe that moment. My mirrored image caught my attention and scolded, with gritted jaw:

“STOP IT! This is YOUR problem and no one else’s.
JUST STOP! Stop taking this out on others.
YOU fell for it. YOU allowed this to happen to YOU!”

The next thing I remember was looking back at my image in the mirror, grinning from ear to ear. I had finally accepted complete responsibility for my own life. I got that all familiar phrase now.

Under a scorching hot shower, I washed away the negative energy of the past several hours. I slowed my breath, as the calming scent of aromatherapy body wash filled my nostrils and then it happened . . . LAUGHTER. Then a flood of self-awareness and acute in-sight:

To enjoy relationships at any level, a balance needs to exist between self-respect and mutual-respect, mixed in with laughter, touching, smiling, debating, and knowing when to “agree to disagree.”

Painful thoughts of so much time wasted with complicated and empty confrontations throughout so many flittered years suddenly became ridiculously SIMPLE. I had not recognized the concept until that moment, because it is so ridiculously SIMPLE.

Our society has increasingly been overly multi-tasked and run-ragged! Let’s get back to SIMPLE. Here’s my SIMPLE equation:

SIMPLE = HAPPINESS = SELF-ESTEEM = SELF-RESPECT = SELF-LOVE = LOVE

“TO LOVE SIMPLY IS TO SIMPLY LOVE”

which can be reversed!

“TO SIMPLY LOVE IS TO LOVE SIMPLY”

That day was the most significant turning point of my life.
After that day, I became a certified Yoga teacher, I performed at open mic events for the spoken word, I became more adventurous and spontaneous. I loved myself for the first time.
I’ve been restless
All these hours of sleep
Tears mixed with
New-found joy and old tossed loss
Stream down each cheek
Dreams of an old self
And my true self
Vying for status of champion
As a sportscaster commentates nearby.
My true self emerges victorious
Pointing to the beginning
Of a path, upon which
The Divine beckons me
To follow in faith.

Love, Me!