Seasons Change
It is the holiday season and the simplest question to be asked is “Are you going home for the holidays.” The answer for me in the last twelve years has been, “No,” and it will continue to be a negative for me. I rarely talk to my family: isolation the best form of self-preservation. You see when I told them of my abuse at my brother’s hand only a few offered comfort -comfort which ended in that moment. Many ignored the reality or questioned the veracity of my experience. A tale not uncommon from victims. My energy has been expanded, creating safety to heal and view the world not as a threat but as a place of curiosity and to return to the place, the people, who should have been that safety, would not be in my best interest.
One thing I wish people knew about me is that I want to go home for the holidays. I want the coziness of a winter night near a fire with a hot cup of coco and the twinkle of lights adorning the room. The mirth of conversation reminiscing about that past. I miss the feeling of winter’s breath upon my face as fresh fallen snow crunches below winter boot. I cannot experience this with my family, not without the turn and retching and cramping of my gut; not without tapping furiously at my fingertips or scratching the palm of my right hand until I feel pain that reminds me, I am not experiencing the abuse all over again. Or the obsessive counting over and over again to distract myself from the memories. I remind myself of this fact often, “I am capable of protecting myself and keeping myself safe.” And this is one way, by not returning to the place that has hurt me so significantly.
Before we get to the poem that accompanies this writing, I will add that I never view these questions as problematic. Many people live their life with a different perspective, one I wish I could have, but I will not fault anyone for their path: good or bad. Life is a giant lottery. Sometimes we influence the outcome but most of the time we have no control over that outcome -especially a child. Finally, I write for those who feel alone to know you are not; to know that their experience is seen, because at the end of the day we have each other strangers alike to pull strength and comfort from and perhaps one day fly home to during the holidays.
SEASONS CHANGE
My brisk breath at morning sun,
As my feet crunch frozen snow,
In the cold silence of this winter morn,
Awakes me to seasons change
I pause a moment,
Fixing my gaze upon the horizon.
My breath dancing in the cold morning air.
The light of winter morn reflected across pines
A harbinger of Holiday spirits!
And in the cold silence of that winter morn
My heart fills with all to come:
Gifts exchanging hands,
Laughs and giggles: mirth for all!!
And even some, sadness.
And even others indifference.
But for me, in the cold of winter morn, happiness.
My brisk breath at morning sun
My brisk breath at morning sun
Awakes my heart to seasons change.
-EJB
