Why Vulnerability is a Gift in Memoir Writing

June 17, 2014 By
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This week I’m honored to welcome, Kathy Pooler,  my very first guest blogger. Her upcoming memoir, will be published next month.  I’ve enjoyed reading Kathy’s blog posts for over a year and when I discovered that she was writing a memoir about abusive relationships, I wanted to get to know her better.  Abuse is also an important topic for me as well. Last month I got to read her final draft, an uplifting story about emotional, domestic abuse and the two failed marriages she left behind.

A huge problem in our society today, domestic violence, both physical and psychological, destroys lives and families all around us, every day. Many women, and men, too, stay with their abusers, afraid to leave them, believing that he or she will mend their ways and become the dream spouse they thought they had married.

Kathy’s courageous story is about her journey through hell and back in order to protect her children and herself.  She transforms from a submissive, naive young woman, into a mature, take-charge  adult, willing to take risks in order to become the confident and loving wife and mother she is today.  It’s filled with lessons for those among us who find themselves in similar relationships.

Do keep an eye out for Kathy’s book next month.  You won’t be disappointed.

***

 Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.” ― Brené Brown

Kathy Pooler

Kathy Pooler

How do you write about pain that was so deep, you don’t even remember how you felt?

You blocked it, buried it, stored it away for another time, then went about the business of your life. Going through the motions, Doing the best you could . Trying not to think about it.

Too. Darn. Painful.

That was me at age thirty with two small children, knowing I had to leave their father. And again at age forty when I had to flee in broad daylight with my children from a second marriage for fear of physical abuse. I had no choice. It was a matter of survival.

For years, I lived with guilt and shame when I faced the reality that my choices led to two emotionally abusive marriages and years of turmoil for myself and my two children. That shame hung around me like an uninvited guest who taunted and harrassed. I journaled my way through it, went to counseling sessions, prayed, cried, shared with friends, but all of that did not change the fact that I could not un-do the damage that had been done. I lingered in a sea of self-doubt, confusion, regret that was too painful to confront head-on.

In my upcoming memoir Ever Faithful to His Lead: My Journey Away From Emotional Abuse, I expose my vulnerabilities and flaws in order to find the answers to the question that plagued me for years:

How does a young woman from a loving Catholic family make so many wise decisions about career, yet so many poor decisions about love that she ends up escaping with her two children from her second husband for fear of physical abuse? 

 In order to write this story, I had to revisit the past I kept hiding from. I had to dig deeply and keep digging. In doing so I had to be willing to look at my mistakes and failures.

I had to allow myself to be vulnerable.

None of this was easy or painless.  Many times, I put the story aside to give myself some breathing room.

When I was in the midst of the writing, I didn’t even know what my story was. I just kept writing whatever came to mind.

I began searching. I looked for pictures from the mid-70s of a young father reading to his children who were nestled in his lap. I listened to 1970s music. “Jeremiah was a bullfrog, from Joy to the World took me back to the night we were engaged. Happy faces. Hopes. Dreams.

The marriage that couldn’t be started with the same hopes and dreams of any twenty-something couple in the 1970s then took a turn down an unfamiliar road, a point of no return. And again, in the 1980s when a second chance marriage at the age of thirty-nine left me fighting for my life.

Through the vulnerability—the raw, searing pain of self-discovery—I slowly began to feel compassion for the young woman who tried so hard to have a loving relationship and provide her children with a stable home.

Writing helped me to heal. After a while, I began to experience compassion and a spirit of forgiveness toward the men I chose to marry.

I embraced my inner strength and developed insights into my motivations and decisions.

I forgave myself.

The guilt and shame melted away as I realized I acted in good faith. In writing Ever Faith ful to His Lead, I discovered that I had become a stronger person as a result of all I had endured and it has left me feeling transformed and empowered.

Vulnerability is not a weakness. It took courage and perseverance to break down the tight shell I had created around myself to protect myself from the truth.

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful that the risk it took to blossom” Anais Nin

I had to face the darkness before I could see the light.

In writing my memoir, I have let the pain go with a spirit of forgiveness, compassion and understanding. Ever Faithful to His Lead provides a message of hope, resilience and courage that I want to share with those who need it the most—women who need to claim and honor their own strength within to find freedom from abuse.

Vulnerability has been a gift that has allowed me to heal and share a healing message.

***

 Kathleen Pooler is a writer and a retired Family Nurse Practitioner whose memoir, Ever Faithful to His Lead: My Journey Away From Emotional Abuse and work-in-progress sequel, Hope Matters: A Memoir are about how the power of hope through her faith in God helped her to transform, heal and transcend life’s obstacles and disappointments:  domestic abuse, divorce, single parenting, loving and letting go of an alcoholic son, cancer and heart failure to live a life of joy and contentment. She believes that hope matters and that we are all strengthened and enlightened when we share our stories.

She lives with her husband Wayne in eastern New York.

She blogs weekly at her Memoir Writer’s Journey blog: http://krpooler.com
Twitter @kathypooler     https://twitter.com/KathyPooler
LinkedIn: Kathleen Pooler: https://www.linkedin.com/pub/kathleen-pooler/16/a95/20a
Google+:Kathleen Pooler: https://plus.google.com/109860737182349547026/posts
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/4812560-kathleen-pooler
Facebook:
Personal page,
Kathy Pooler : https://www.facebook.com/kathleen.pooler
Author page:
Kathleen Pooler/Memoir Writer’s Journey: https://www.facebook.com/memoirwritersjourney
Pinterest  (http://www.pinterest.com/krpooler/)

One of her stories “The Stone on the Shore” is published in the anthology: “The Woman I’ve Become: 37 Women Share Their Journeys From Toxic Relationships to Self-Empowerment” by Pat LaPointe, 2012.
 Another story: “Choices and Chances” is published in the  “My Gutsy Story Anthology” by Sonia Marsh, September, 2013.

 

Filed Under: Abusive Relationships, Domestic Abuse, Memoir, Mental Health, Navigating Through Life, Trauma Tagged With:

Being Mindful In A Mindless World

March 11, 2014 By

IMG_0027In this age of multitasking and always needing to be first in line, I work at keeping myself from getting involved in doing too many things and out of the general hubbub around me. I want to live in the moment. Mindful of the way traffic is flowing. That there is someone tailgating me and that I need to be careful. I want to notice all of the colors the sky takes on at sunset. And yes, I even want to experience the sadness I feel about losing a friend or the pain I feel in my hip. Being mindful is about being awake and aware of where you are, how you feel, and what is happening around you. It’s about being present in the moment, in relationship, and with the world around you.

It’s taken me a long time to figure out what mindfulness is all about. I first heard the the term years ago when I started going to the local Insight Meditation Community meetings on Tuesday nights to meditate with a large group of other seekers and to hear dharma talks espousing the teachings of the Buddha. I thought that during meditation you are supposed to empty your mind completely and experience some altered state of being. I thought, “Wow, that will surely make my life happier and I won’t have to suffer anymore.”

Imagine my disappointment when I found that wasn’t going to happen. I tried over and over again to concentrate on my breath, only to find myself planning tomorrow night’s dinner or badmouthing the lady who pushed herself ahead of me in line at the grocery store today, resulting in my dropping everything I was carrying and breaking the eggs I needed. But with time and a lot of missteps, I realized that everyone else in the meditation group struggled with the same thing.  I learned that meditation was not only about relaxing and bringing a peaceful vibe to the day or evening. It’s about learning to understand how our minds work and what pulls them away from the moment of quiet and peace we are currently trying to experience.

There I was trying to empty my mind while my mind insisted on being full of other stuff that seemed to be more important than what I was currently trying to do. Have you and your mate ever gone out to dinner and spent a good part of the time checking your email on your iPhone instead of enjoying each other’s company? Have you ever been driving your car lost in thought, suddenly discovering you’ve been unconscious for the past five minutes and didn’t remember to turn right after the last traffic light?  It’s what happens when we don’t give ourselves enough time and space to breathe deeply and be with ourselves in the moment.

As I sit here at my keyboard I’m aware of the words forming on the screen as I dictate to my fingers.  I’m aware that I’m writing about something that is important to me and want to share my thoughts. I notice that sometimes the words I find on the screen aren’t the best ones I could choose. I go back and change them.

I notice that my eyes are dry and tired. I close them and stop typing. I hear a robin and a several other birds practicing their spring mating songs just outside the window and the hum of the heater warming the room. I notice my back feeling stiff and my need to get up and do a few minutes of stretching before getting back to work. When I’m mindful of what my body needs I can help it feel better and my writing will be easier and better.

The problem is I easily get distracted. As I write I find myself keeping one eye on the clock, knowing I have only a few more minutes to finish this post. I’m going to be late getting to my Pilates class if I don’t hurry up. Before I leave I need to put the dogs out, check the washing machine, and find the list of groceries I need to get after class. My writing is no longer making sense and I’m just wanting to finish it.  All that leads to a host of other possibilities: like speeding, running a red light, getting a traffic ticket, or causing an accident. I stop and ask myself, “Is it worth it?”

For me the secret of being as mindful as possible is to slow down and give myself the time and space to practice being in the moment. Instead of filling my plate with too many things for me to handle at one time, I slow down and take my time choosing one thing to do. I decide I’ll finish this post later. Otherwise, I’ll become as mindless as the next person, charging down the highway trying to keep up to speed with the world around me.  I’d rather pay attention and do one thing well, than do two or three things and only do a half-assed job at any of them.

Hope you’re enjoying these wonderful spring days.  To my family and friends in New England, I’ll be thinking of you over the next few days.  I hear you’ll be getting yet another snowstorm.  I’m extremely grateful to be here in Virginia.

Filed Under: Meditation, Navigating Through Life, Time Tagged With: ,

On Trauma, Triggers, And Thanksgiving

November 26, 2013 By

IMG_0934You’d think that by age seventy-one things would be different.  But, no, there are triggers that still get me wound up so tight I could burst.  Take Friday evening for example. I was on the phone talking to my friend, Sharon.  We started having weekly conversations back in 2010. She lives in Florida and I live in Virginia, so we can’t talk over the fence the same way I can chat with my neighbor, Harmon, who is also a dear friend.  Sharon has been traveling of late and we haven’t talked in almost a month.

I was sitting in my new chair (an early Christmas gift), enjoying Sharon’s musings about her travels. Both of us agree that life is tempestuous and both have a growing number of people we know who have been diagnosed with cancer.  It just doesn’t seem fair to either one of us, but then no one ever said that life would be fair, or a bed of roses, or without pain and unhappiness.

I’m at the age where I know better and have decided that I can’t worry about what is going to get me …an asteroid falling out of the sky or being hit by a dump truck full boulders, rendering me paralyzed from the neck down.  Life is what it is.  It has cancer, asteroids, boulders, dump trucks, along with a gazillion other things that could kill us or make life totally miserable.

Mind you, I always have and will probably continue to cry, carry on, and complain with all my might if and when something awful does happens to me.  But I’m working hard at being grateful for everything that I have, including the best family and friends in the universe.

So it took me by surprise that as I sitting in that cozy chair, talking my heart out, that I was being triggered by Bill’s sudden dash through the living room and out to his car. He looked befuddled and mad. He tore out of the driveway as if there were an emergency.  I started feeling my old companion, anxiety, arriving on the scene. My gut started feeling jittery and filled with rocks. Though I was still listening and talking to Sharon, another part of me was trying to figure out what I had done wrong to make Bill so mad.

Then I realized that Bill’s behavior had brought on a reaction in me that became ingrown years ago. My father was a tyrant.  To him, talking on the phone for more than two minutes was wasting time.  Staring into space was a mortal sin and taking naps was not acceptable.  When my dad was around, my brothers and I always had to be doing something “constructive.” If he caught us doing nothing, his face would become hard and frightening.  He would  yell at us and quickly gave us jobs to do. We were never relaxed when he was at home and it got to the point that one of us was always on the look-out, warning, “Here comes Dad.  Look busy.”

Had I been ten or twelve as I chatted with my friend, I would have quickly hung up the phone, charged into my bedroom, and pretended to be doing homework.  We all got pretty good at pretending and I’ve always been amazed that none of us ended up acting on the stage.  But it sure developed into a pattern in our lives. I’m beyond thankful for being able to recognize when I’m being triggered. Most of the time now, I may feel some anxiety or fear at first, but can quickly acknowledge that I’m safe and that no one is going to hurt me or tell me that I’m doing something terribly wrong.

Bill popped back in the house waving a bag of fresh Italian parsley in his hand. He was wearing a wide grin on his face as if he’d been out fishing and caught the biggest fish in the pond. I was still talking to Sharon and by then had calmed down.  I hadn’t hung up and hidden in my room. Bill had been preparing our dinner and when he discovered we had no parsley he went out without interrupting me to get some.  And yes, he had been a bit mad when he realized we didn’t have what he needed. But it wasn’t about me. It was about the inconvenience of having to rush out during traffic hour.

Life is all about things like that. I don’t enjoy being slammed back into my childhood by someone else’s behavior, but I’m accepting and grateful for being able to recognize when my cells and nervous system are simply reacting to something they remember from long ago. If you’d asked me five or six years ago if I thought I’d ever recover from the trauma in my life, I would have bitterly said no. But working with a therapist brought me back to my senses and I’ve learned to be mindful of my own behavior.

So yes, I have changed. Life is all about typhoons, tornados, friends dying, and not getting what I want. But it’s also about red roses that fill the air with their sweet essence, dear friends, and a husband who shares the cooking of meals and holds me tight when I’m scared.

 This Thanksgiving I’m especially thankful for you, dear readers, for the sun that rises daily, and my wonderful family.  May the holiday find you all filled with peace, love, and happiness.

And if you’re driving watch out for the weather along the East Coast.

Filed Under: Childhood, Fear, Friendships, Gratefulness, Growing Up, Healing, love, marriage, Memoir, Navigating Through Life, stories, Thanksgiving, Trauma Tagged With: , , , ,

Shouldering My Shoulds

September 17, 2013 By

DSCF0623A few days ago as I was working on my memoir, I wrote, “Though he has broad shoulders, I should not lean on them as much as I do.”  Seeing the words “shoulder” and “should,” just one word apart from each other stopped me in my tracks. They are words with different meanings. Their spelling is alike, except for the “er” in shoulder.  And they are very much related, especially in the way we use them today.

I  looked up the meaning and origin of each word. According to the Merrriam-Webster Dictionary, the word should comes from “the middle English word, sholde and the Old English word sceolde.”  One of its many uses is “in auxiliary function to express obligation, propriety, or expediency.”

Shoulder on the other hand “in Middle English is sholder from Old English sculdor; akin to Old High German scultra.”  We of course know it to mean the part of the body between the neck and the tops of our arms. It can also mean to carry a burden or to push through.

I first heard the expression, “Don’t should on me,” years ago at one of the first Alanon meetings I went to.  Dealing with my mother’s alcoholism and another family member’s drug habits, I went to those meetings to find my way through the maze of how to live my own life while being a family member with concerns about my loved ones. My mother-in-law had also been an alcoholic when she was alive and I’d successfully made her into my worst enemy by telling her that if she really loved her son and her new grandson, she shouldn’t drink.

It was years before I learned that “should” doesn’t mean anything when it comes to addiction, whether it’s to alcohol, heroin, or food.  Addiction is a disease that is genetic and runs in families.  It is a biological urge that is difficult, if not impossible to overcome.

I have always been a “shoulder.” Should is a frequent part of my speech no matter who I’m talking to, and especially when it comes to myself. “I should go to the gym four times a week, I shouldn’t eat too much dessert, and I should be more patient,” are always on the tip of my tongue. It was a family pattern I grew up with. I was constantly being told I should or shouldn’t, as in “You shouldn’t be seeing that boy. You should be seeing someone closer to your own age.”

I’ve also been one big “shoulder.” I’ve carried a lot of stuff belonging to other people on my shoulders so that they would feel less pain. I’ve always hated watching people, especially my family and innocent creatures like dogs, cats, and horses suffer. So in order to keep those I love from painful predicaments I often try to carry their baggage for them. When it came to my parents, I was their go-between when they fought. I became the family “fixer” who knew just what to say to calm everyone else down, while I broke apart from the weight.

I’ve been known for taking the reins when someone falls off their horse and lies on the ground broken and in pain. I took my mother in during her last years, caring for her as best as I could, often at my own emotional expense. I know now that I shouldn’t be carrying anyone else’s baggage but my own. But it’s still a tendency and I’m working hard at being less prone to that way of life.  I’m being fairly successful, though now and then I find it particularly difficult to pass up taking in a stray dog or cat.

The pinched nerve in my neck/shoulder area is almost 100% better. I think it had something to do with a should.  The one in which I said I should have my first draft done by October first.  Well, it’s not going to happen and that’s fine by me. I’m learning to listen to my body when it tells me what I should and shouldn’t be doing.

Are you a “shoulder?”  If so, what makes you want to take on the weight of the world?

Filed Under: Addiction, Compassion, family, Memoir, Navigating Through Life Tagged With: ,

Picking And Choosing

June 25, 2013 By

DSC02458

Acrylic on Paper, Untitled, © Joan Z. Rough

Heaven and hell are not some places I’m going to go to later on.  Heaven and hell are here, right now, and I create them for myself with my choices.

Hae Doh Gary Schwocho
Beneath Belief

Driving in Ireland is quite frightening for me. It’s one of those places where you drive on the left rather than on the right side of the road as we do here in America. It can also be very difficult to figure out where I’m going. I’m not always good at reading maps. When I reach a crossroads there are usually road signs pointing to the nearest village, but more often than not, the signs may have been spun around by the wind and I can easily be lead astray. Many an hour has been taken up in my travels on that magical Emerald Isle, backtracking … trying to find my way to where I’m supposed to be. Fortunately it’s always a beautiful drive along the way.

And so it is with life. Crossroads are always in front of me and road signs are rare, if they exist at all. One minute I’m in a state of bliss. The next moment can take me on the most terrifying journey I’ve ever imagined. Taking one road over another can sometimes make a big difference. It’s always a hit or miss situation. Though I may get to my destination in the end, one way may be full of boulders and potholes, while the other way may be a straight shot on a newly paved surface.

I try to follow my intuition most of the time. But I’m not perfect at it in any sense of the word. Moving to Virginia from Vermont was one of the best choices I ever made. Up north I felt at the end of my rope. I felt I had seen every horizon that existed. I didn’t enjoy the part every winter when the snow was deep, the winds would howl, and I’d get very depressed. I suffered from Seasonal Affective Disorder, a problem brought on by lack of enough hours of natural daylight during the shortest days of the year.

Here, in Virginia, the road has indeed been tough at times.  Though it was especially hard to move, my world suddenly opened up to new possibilities.

And talk about making choices … we’re close to Washington, DC, where things change or not, depending on how the Senate or the House are feeling on any given day. But right here in Charlottesville there are more educational possibilities at my fingertips and a much more diverse community than I found up north, close to the Canadian border.

The weather here is most agreeable until summer comes along and cooks me with its heat and humidity. I’ve been here for 35 years, and I’m finally getting a bit used to it. Gone are the days of my winter depressions. The only weather bit that sometimes gets to me are summer heat waves when going outside is torture. But summer here is much shorter than winter in Vermont, so less suffering.

Pick and Choose

Which to choose?

But it’s somehow the day-to-day choices that don’t seem to have a great impact on my life that get me in trouble … placing me on the hot seat within spitting distance of hell. Simple choices, like what to eat when I’m feeling I need a bit of energy. Will it be protein or sugar?  Usually it’s sugar. Should I do my hour of exercise in the morning when I have more energy? Or can I make myself do it at four PM when when I have some free time?  If it’s not done by noon, it won’t happen at all.

And so it goes. There are always questions to be answered and choices to make.  Should I hang out with Louise, even though she sucks all of my energy away? And exactly why don’t I tell Steve that I don’t want to see him any more?

When I do nothing about the things that really bother me and just let them be, no matter how much they hurt, I am making a choice. Most often doing nothing leads to the stress and anxiety I’ve already been suffering from. And because I’m afraid of what might happen if I don’t call Louise and invite her to lunch, or tell Steve, that I don’t love him, nothing changes. That is the kind of the choice that will most likely lead me to hell right here and now. The deed not done, is done.

But if I let go and decide not to invite Louise to fill me with her doom and gloom over a healthy salad, or tell Steve the truth about how I feel, there are also consequences. Those two people will be gone from my life and maybe I will miss them. Maybe I won’t be able to find another guy that is attractive to me, and I to him. Maybe there won’t be another Louise to whom I can tell my deepest, darkest secrets. But then, just maybe, I’ll be happier and feel free to go about my life the way I choose to.

Making choices always has consequences. Some are good. And some might be bad … at least for a while. Making choices means making changes in what fits in my life and what doesn’t. Maybe I’ll be lonely for a little while until I find just the right guy. But if I keep hanging on to someone who doesn’t naturally make me want to sing and dance with him, I won’t be happy ever.

When decision times come along, I always try to ask myself what the consequences will be. If I remain where I am, will I be happier or does the alternative have more promise?  Yes, it’s hard, but without change where would I be?

How about you? Are choices hard for you to make? How do you handle those monumental crossroads? What helps to move you along and out of the reaches of hell?

 

Filed Under: Navigating Through Life, Quotes, The Journey, Travels Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,
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