Coral’s Healing Room at 505-269-9242 I rise early. I go to bed early. If you need me, I will make myself available to you.

Eating my words today and inviting you to join me…


I just completed my blog and as it always does, it has a path of its own. Today, I write about something I just learned of, this week, something I am still coming to terms with, something I am bringing into the light. As always, thank you so much for being here, as I honor my commitment to myself to blog for 365 days to get it all out, rather than keeping it all in. My blog is for me, to heal me and to allow my voice, Sam’s voice, your voice, without being shamed and silenced. Today’s blog may be difficult to read, and so as always, if it’s too much, I bid you good day here. I love you..if it’s too much, at any point, stop reading, okay?

Good morning and Happy Thursday! I’m not sure why I’m waking at 2:00am…that used to be closing time for me.”You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here…”Many, many, many nights of closing down the bar and beginning my festivities at 2:00am.

I am not that girl anymore. I am in bed by 7:00 and that’s a late night for me, as of late. I haven’t been in the bars in years and I have been sober for just over four years…quit smoking over a year ago, and I’m on a cleansing, healing journey. Do you want to join me?!

I definitely lost my way when my Mom got sick. Man, I have never been so fucking destroyed as I was when I saw that MRI pop up on that screen…a picture really does say a thousand words sometimes…and sometimes, a picture takes every word you’ve ever uttered…grabs every single fucking word from you and renders you speechless. My Moms brain scan that morning, afternoon…day…a single word…that picture said one word to me…Cancer.

One word can change your life. One word can open doors. One word can close doors. One word, worth a thousand words..the past two and a half years for me…Cancer. One word took so much from me. One word is the only word that explained everything and nothing all at the same time. We all have a word like that, don’t we?  Terminal. Pregnant. Incest. Raped. Sober. Married. Divorced. Cancer. If you’ve ever been anywhere around those words, you know what I am saying…one word stops things. One word opens doors that another word closed shut.

What about strings of words? Words that we string together, based upon what others say? Don’t worry, I have an example for you, of my own assholeness (my blog…my word…I do what I want!) Have you ever heard someone say something about someone…and then someone else says the same thing about said someone? Maybe someone else, even says something else, something different, that strings itself to the other word? The words seem connected, they seem to fit…they seem accurate, and they may even feel true. These words are ugly and you hear them in scuttlebutt, and you begin repeating these words.

Fuck…there I go using the word “you” when I really mean to be saying “I”…I stand corrected…I began repeating those words. Two words, strung together, to describe someone I love deeply and dearly and true. I stopped using my words, her name…I used two words, because I heard others use their words and I made my own words. Fuck, maybe I started the whole thing! Maybe these are my words that others starters using, because they heard me say my words, and my words stuck. Now, because of me, others have been hurtful and ignorant and mean and judgmental.

I stand before you and I tell you today, that I have been wrong. I pause my writing to wipe the tears from my cheeks, as I admit to you that I have hurt people. I stand corrected and humbled and educated…forgiving and forgiven…love and loved. I will never utter those two words again, to anyone, about anyone, without a moment of self-reflection and humility to pause and make immediate amends…a pause to thank God for the lessons that become abundant blessings daily, when I am able to come clean.

In my story, there is not only one abuser. I am not the only victim and she is not my only abuser. I did not know this. I had my suspicions and a sick feeling in my gut, so I knew, and yet didn’t have the courage to “know” until yesterday. Yesterday, in the Middle of the store at Buffalo Exchange, on my way to therapy, thank you Jesus, I knew. I knew that my abuser…my story…my pain…my incest…my shame…they were not mine alone. This moment, illuminating another moment, another “knowing” of my story that someone else shares with me, that I did not know, until I knew. Now, I know. I cannot not know what I have just come to know. I know.

Apparently, the others did not know either, that there were others. We were all living our own private mother fucking hell, isolated and alone…afraid and fucking scared to death. We were tiny little kids in a world of big mean people…bullies and assholes…drunk and belligerent, ignorant and abusive big mean people. We tell our stories and they start connecting.

Until now, liars and misfits. Losers and crack whores…wanna be’s and nothings…trouble makers and instigators…pathetic and worthless…jobless and without compass…embarrassment to the family…alcoholic…those who never fit in, who have never amounted to anything… the ones too broken to mended, too addicted to be sober, too dirty to be clean…too weak to be well and too flawed to be forgiven. Destructive and suicidal…self harming and entitled…theives and liars. We are not those things. We are not those words, those strings of words, that we have been called, that we have called others. We are the sum of our parts and these are not our fucking parts. These have never been our parts.

Hi. My name is Coral. I am an alcoholic. I am an incest survivor. I come from sickness and I am here to get well.

It was easy for you to judge me, wasn’t it uncle? As I sat on your “lap”…I was a small child and children sit on laps. “It’s ok Coral…just sit on his lap. He loves you. He just wants to love you…don’t be so shy.” So, for my whole childhood, I sat on laps. I thought that all kids sat on the laps of adults who loved them. I hated sitting on laps…I mother fucking hated it. I wasn’t sitting really, I was trying to not sit, on the hard dick underneath me, shuffling and squirming, while you placed your hands on my shoulders, holding me on your lap, so you could “love” me some more. I grabbed for the dash, desperately trying to reach my little legs to the floorboard, so I could stand up or hang from the dash…whatever it took to get off of your hard and hardening Dick, desperately trying to turn my face away from your whiskers and the stinch of alcohol on your breath, as you rubbed your hard, rigid, red and angry face against my cheek and held me on your “lap”. You, who have always been so unkind to me…you who labeled me all of the horrible names and made me wrong…called me a liar and violated me, with your dick in your pants. You…Uncle…you sexually assaulted me. You hurt me over and over and over again. You did these things and you call me a loser?

When my Mom died and we were at her viewing, you pulled me in and “hugged” me, and you wouldn’t let me go. I stood, petrified in fear, only a few feet away from my dead Mom, while you violated me again. Tears ran down my cheeks, and she couldn’t wipe them away for me. I tried to break your hold a few times and you pulled me in closer. My Mom, even when she wasn’t lying in the casket a few feet away, could never keep her family’s hands off of me. God rest that poor, dear woman’s soul…God please give my beautiful Mother rest and reprieve from the horror that must have been her fucking life.

You’re right…I haven’t ever been able to find a job or a career I love and keep it. I can’t find a good man. I have a filthy mouth. I don’t know when to shut up. I will never amount to anything. These things have been true about me. Did you ever wonder what role you played in all of that? I mean, I’m not blaming you. In all of my failures, I am the common denominator. I get that and I own that and I embrace that part of me…the “loser” that you and your sick family created. Loser after loser after abused and tortured loser, coming out of this family. Does anyone besides me wonder why that is?

Alcohol addicted and unable to hold a job or a relationship for as long as I could hold the fucking bottle. The same bottle that I drank from before I could even walk, so you could have your way with me…so all of you could have your way with us, and we wouldn’t remember. As we bounced from lap to lap, sipping beers and being wrong…as we grew up and couldn’t have…I’m sorry…As I grew up and had dysfunctional sexual relationships, failures in my careers…a potty mouth and constant correction from you to “watch my mouth”. Watch my mouth? Watch my mouth? Why don’t you watch your filthy fucking mouth? Why don’t you watch your pathetic fucking dick, as it shrivels up into nothing…with no children to sit on it anymore, making it hard. Uncle, you did not get by with it. We know and we have always known that we didn’t like the way we felt around you, on your lap, in the stinch of your breath and under the crushing blows of your words…

My Dad always told me that “Coral Dawn, If they can live with it. You can live without it.” My Dad is right about that. The things you have to live with, are definitely things that I can live without. The things I had to live with for my entire childhood…you bet your sweet ass that I can live without them. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

So to all of the jobs I couldn’t hold down and the people I impacted with my inability to be present at work, I really am sorry. I’m sorry that you carried my load at work for me because my load outside of work is was too heavy for me to bear it all. To all of the friends I wasn’t a good friend to…I see that with clarity now and I hope you’ve forgiven me. I want you to know that I forgive you. I mean you haven’t asked me to and you probably won’t…and I forgive you and I forgive myself, just the same. To all of the boyfriends I couldn’t “be” with…I had no idea why until yesterday…I really didn’t. Hard dicks make me very uncomfortable and they always, and I mean, always have. I did not have any idea of this until yesterday…I really, really didn’t. It all begins to make sense, and so I thank each and every one of you for not forcing me, for not doing what was done to me, for not pushing me to do what would have felt good for you and harmed me. To all of the guys I’ve loved before…the guys I still love (you know who you are…all thee of you)…thank you for being man enough to love me how I needed to be loved. Thank you, all three of you amazing men, thank you. Thank you. Thank you. To all of the girls I’ve loved before…that’s another blog for another day.

To the one girl, the only girl, that really matters, in this moment, right here, right now…Tamara…I love you, with all of my heart, with all that I am. I cannot possibly tell you the countless ways that you touch and bless my life, every minute of every single day. Once I get spayed, we have some mountains to climb and some kayaking to do. We have some romance to catch up on and some memories to make together. We are on time. ( Thank you Nahko…this has kind of become our song). We are. All of us, on time.

I dedicate my blog today to the other voiceless victims in my family, in your family…in all of our families. May we rise up and be heard. May we rise up and be seen. May we know that we are not victims….we are fucking survivors! We resist. We survive. We will not, we cannot be silenced anymore. We speak our truth, even when our little Sam voices shake…we speak their names. Held in silence behind the horrible names that they put on us…stifled and suffocatied…driven into addiction…you bet your sweet ass, we will rise up and speak their names.

A lifetime of being told to be quiet…to watch my mouth…to not use that word because it offends you…my mouth, my words….they offend you? Have you ever taken a moment to wonder where all of that expression comes from? Have you ever stopped and looked at me? No really…have you, ever REALLY, looked at me, looked into my eyes…seen my soul? Have you ever really looked at me? If you haven’t, I invite you to.

For words I have used myself…words that labeled someone else, who was clearly already struggling…I am sorry. Truly, my own ignorance abounds sometimes and I own that. I know better and I will do better.

As always, I take my lessons from this and I turn them into the most abundant of blessings. I forgive those who have harmed me and I place a white light of protection around us all…a light that gives way for our own space, our own boundaries and our own comfort to be in time and space with others, without being harmed, without causing harm. I ask for forgiveness for not acting in accordance with who I really am…who I really, really am…I am love. I have always been love. I will always be love. I send what no longer serves me, back to the universe to be recycled for the greater good of us all. And so it is. We are all just walking each other home. Take my hand and let’s help each other through these rough patches, shall we?

Have a beautiful day everyone! If it feels wrong, there is a reason. Always, in all ways, trust your own gut instincts. When we pray, we are talking to God. Our intuition is God talking to us…are you listening?


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