Musings of a Meandering Mind

She is they. She is ze.   She is them. She is we.   She is you. She is me.   She is your neighbour, Your sister, Your cousin, Y our teacher.   She is your friend. Your aunt, Your boss, Y our preacher.   She is the C.E.O. in a power suit and heels. She is the grandma who makes the best meals. She is the celebrity you would love to meet. She is the destitute living on the street. She is the small child filled with fear. She is the woman you see in the mirror.   She is many voices Choked back by tears Of criticism   O f humiliation.   She can’t even whisper Silenced from fear. O f rejection O f retaliation.   She is they. She is ze. She is them. She is we.  She is you.   She is me.

 To the bullies Who joined in on the torment… ...you’re forgiven ...you were just a child. To the bullies Who poked, prodded, and hit … …you’re forgiven …but understand what you did. To the bullies who enjoyed their sorrow and tears… …you’re forgiven   …hope the child healed from the pain. To the adults Who knew it was happening…. ...it’s your fault …you could have stopped it. To the adults Who didn’t stop the bullying… …it’s your fault …your inaction enabled them. To the adults Who did nothing… …it’s your fault … you should have stopped the abuse.   To the child Who was shunned by their peers… …it’s not your fault …kids can be mean. To the child who was teased, mauled, abused… ...it’s not your fault ...you didn’t deserve it. To the child Whose innocence was tarnished… …it’s not your fault …don’t let them define you.   …dig deep into the rubble of your heart, find your light and shine.    

In our family “the trunk” is a metaphor for the unspoken.  Be it a wrongdoing, an embarrassment, a taboo, or a secret, it’s best to “just put it in the trunk” where it’s hidden, safe and sound; to be forgotten, never to be spoken of again.   In my mind’s eye, the trunk is old, like a large steamer trunk that my grandparents would have brought over from the old country.    Held in a cold, stone chamber, this worn wooden box, wearing marks from a long, hard voyage’ sits in the center on the cold, wet floor.    Its rusty metal clasps hold the lid hiding its contents.    Inside, it’s dark, damp, deep.    An ominous vibe oozing from cracks and crevices.    Secrets quietly humming, anxiously waiting to be released.   The protectors guarding the trunk vary, depending on when one enters the chamber.    Dressed in long dark hooded robes, the elders have inherited the duty to guard the trunk and all it contains.    Should those approaching speak to the guards, they would be urged to leave, to ne

  ONE OF Nine Questions for Journaling and Introspection – Where do I Feel Safe @vanessaandheriphone   I was watching a video by Vanessa Laterza on TikTok called Nine Questions where she poses nine questions to inspire journaling and introspection. Out of the nine questions, one really stood out as a topic to explore.   The question at first seemed simple enough to answer.   But when thinking of the response, I found it was a much more complex question.   One that I needed to dig deep and explore.   The question was “Where do I Feel Safe?” When I thought of the question, the first thing that came to mind was ‘in Walter’s arms.’   Immediately I felt a knot in my throat and the walls of my chest tighten around my heart, squeezing all the air out of my lungs.   Then followed emotions encircling me like a cyclone. I couldn’t answer “where do I feel safe”.   Thoughts swirled around me, the intensity uprooting questions I needed to explore. I first tried to think back to moments wh