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.

What my CPTDS is to me…Why the doggie in the room?

Good morning everyone! Lucky day for us all to learn something, as I’m in a PTSD spin and can’t get out. For me…for Tamara..for you…for the unknowing passerby…I am going to attempt to blog from this space this morning to help you to understand me and those with this diagnosis.


This is a hard fucking write and I imagine it will be a hard read also. Take what you need and leave the rest. I love you. Have a beautiful day!

The C is for complex. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Agent Orange. Vietnam. Desert Storm. 911. All PTSD. Multiple tours in Iraq…EMS and Fire responders…Sexual abuse and incest survivors. You. Me. We have been so egregiously harmed. We have so egregiously harmed. The complex in my PTSD diagnosis is because of the repetitive and unrelenting nature…the family dynamics…I am a triple diagnosed C-PTSD incest survivor.  Did not ever get a break from the abuse, like coming home from a war. I had to stay at war to survive. I still have not come out of fight or flight. I am still at mother fucking war. Every PTSD attack is like the same fucking war. Rest and digest…ya…never…not even now…because the war is in full on battle. Choosing to leave this battleground does not come without its costs. This war waged upon me at one time is now a fucking battle that is only in my mind and only with myself. You witness this in my attacks. The dog in the room and it’s over for me. Why? You don’t want to know. You ask and you won’t be able not to know. You ask again. And again. Why are you as you are with your dogs? Why do you want them near you and push them away when they come to you? Why don’t you love them the way I love my dogs? Why? Why would you surrender Nicholas? Why do you even have dogs? Why is your service dog, Taos, not with you? Why? Why do you put your dogs in crates? Why are you as you are with your dogs Coral?

I am as I am with my dogs, the dearest creatures to my very soul and existence, because as long as I can remember, I have been taught to treat animals as less than human beings. Dogs have no place inside our house. They are animals and we are people. People live inside and animals live outside. Dogs are a nuisance and they are nasty and they don’t belong. I was younger and I didn’t know then what I have come to know. I was one of them. I was in belief of the things I witnessed and was taught. Some of those beliefs hang on tighter than others as I struggle to shake them away. I was forced to intoxicate dogs. I was then forced to jump on the trampoline with them, intoxicated myself. I remember the vodka or gin I was made to pour in the water bowl. I remember my soul dying and tears welling up in my throat. Threatened with my own life if I cried or showed emotion, I began to laugh loudly, to cover and muffle the tears in my throat so that they not dare show through my eyes. “Make sure he drinks it all. You drink yours and I’ll get you another. Put that soccer ball away. You aren’t good enough to make the team anyway, and wouldn’t you rather be doing this than practicing all of the time anyway? If you were good enough, like the girl you love so fucking much, you wouldn’t have to practice all the fucking time, would you? Now get that dog and get your ass on that trampoline. Now. Coral. NOW, and I don’t want to see you crying like a baby. God damnit. Do I have to put him up there? Jump! Coral. Fucking jump. You start jumping or I’m coming up there. Do you hear me?” And the world went black and I jumped. And she yelled and I jumped. My soul died and surrendered and I jumped some more. I jumped and I jumped. I saw his face hit the springs. I saw him struggle and his eyes beg me to stop. I heard his cries as they echoed the cries of being my very soul, as I finally collapsed and fell to the springs myself. I don’t remember his name. He may have been a her. I don’t think he made it because I do not ever remember seeing him again. My soul shrieks now, recounting and sharing this with you. I could lose all of my clients over this. I can never tell.

Why do I freak out at the dog in the room you ask? I go somewhere else. I see and hear and think and feel and know another time and another place. Distant and yet so close, and all at the same time. Out of body. Only my soul with that dog in the room…the dog that I do not even deserve to look at for one fucking minute. Why Coral would you put your dogs in crates? I can either put them in there or me in there to keep us all sane while I try to dodge the land mines of my past, to reach the other side, safely for us all. “Coral, why don’t you love Taos? Baby Taos is the best dog ever.” First of all…Baby Taos is the best dog ever and I love Baby Taos with my very soul. You see, Baby Taos is Sam. Sam got treated how Momma Coral sometimes treats Baby Taos…with contempt and erupting anger for seemingly no reason at all. Baby Taos is Baby Coral and so sometimes we can’t be together as much as we would like to. You may not get it and that is okay because Baby Taos does get it and she loves me just the Sam.

A long time ago and just moments ago, the doggie in the kennel in the corner of the room didn’t trigger me at all and I was so happy to go and bring her out to be with me. The kisses she bestows on me and the tears she licks away. With her or without her, she is with me every day. My soul screams for her and my spirit will not rest. Not until I try my hardest and can say that I have truly done my best. Because I’ve no idea what the corner brings and no idea how I may react, we sometimes keep our dogs in kennels, to keep us all intact. Tamara didn’t come from here and she’s the one who asks the most…when will you be better so we can all become close? You’ve no idea how I pray for it or to what lengths I will go. You see the little doggie on the trampoline, she took me with her soul. I cry for her and I miss him and I cannot even recall a name. A boy or a girl I cannot remember, my soul knows him the same. He was white with a black spot or two…maybe his name was Jack? I will never know for sure, but I cannot give him his life back. So the doggie in the kennel and Taos deprived of momma Coral kisses…prayers for every second and any love that she misses. For Taos is momma Coral in a different time and space. Sometimes when I get lost, I only see another doggies face. A doggie I sent to Heaven long before his time. I was forced to choose his life or me and I chose mine. I do not have regrets as it got me here to tell you this. But God damnit I would give my life if I could only give him one more kiss. The doggie in the kennel and Coral in a little heap upon the floor. I will fight this battle I am fighting until it’s not a battle anymore. For the love of baby Taos and any feelings I have hurt. For Aliah and Rocky and Momma Tamara…all I can say is I hope I am worth…all the trouble I have caused and the hell that I am in. With your love I’m coming out and I beg you not to push me back in. So the doggies in the kennels that you may not understand is the hope for my beginning and my means to an end. To end a war that I have been fighting for every moment of my life…please God if it’s your will, may I sometime have my life? A life not built on torture and trauma of the worst kind. A life abundant and content…a life that I can call mine. With baby Taos and baby Prajna in tow at all times, with Rocky and Aliah and the bears following behind. I see Ali aging and I’ve wanted so much time. You’ve no idea how that kills me and how hard that I try.

Anyway…I am headed to clients, if I still have any after this. Either they will call and book me for an extra appointment because I am only able to do my work so well because of all of this…or I am about to get fired Apprentice style. Either way, I speak my truth to heal us all, as we hold hands and walk each other home. I love you. Have a beautiful day as we take what we need from this and send the rest back to the universe for the greater good of us all. And so it is.

#whyididntreport #metoo


Good morning everyone, from the healing room. I hope you have your coffee in hand this morning because we are going to get right to it.

With that being said, This is a hard read. Take what you need and leave the rest. Never read or take in more of me than you can handle. My story is a hard fucking read. If you must go here, have a beautiful day. I love you. If you keep reading, feel my arms tight around you first and all of my love embracing you, as we walk each other home through a pretty dark alley this morning. I’ve got you. You know that right? I mean you feel that, right? Good.

My name is Coral and I am an incest survivor. I was sexually abused, over the span of 18 years by my aunt. I was made to sit on the laps of uncles, when I did don’t feel comfortable. I have been groped and touched inappropriately my whole fucking life. I am 45 years old, and I truly am just beginning my life.

Incest. The first known use of incest was in the thirteenth century. Even Miriam Webster has trouble choking out this definition: “sexual intercourse between persons so closely related that they are forbidden by law to marry.” My spellcheck vomits incest out into anything but incest. Me fucking too. You too? “Having sex with members of ones own family. Incest, the game the whole family can play.” Did you like that? That definition is courtesy of the urban dictionary. I could keep going. For the benefit of us all, I’ll suffice to say those are some of the more eloquent ways I have heard incest defined.

“Corals definition of incest:

Non-consensual sexual relations and relationships with family members. Inclusive of and not limited to inappropriate touch and innuendos, suggestions, requests and offers of and for sexual favors. Rape of a family member by a family member. Incest is often initiated under duress, threat, intoxication or some other means of dulling the senses. Incest is a violation of ones physical body and an emotional hijacking of ones very soul. Incest often results in diagnoses of C-PTSD, severe and extreme emotional and physical disorders, which are not recognized for the horror they actually are in many cases, leaving them untreated and mismanaged. Incest is so infrequently spoken of that we cannot possibly have actual statistics to illustrate how far and wide it reaches and how deeply it cuts us. Incest survivors are often and repeatedly asked why they didn’t tell anyone, and the answer is simple. We didn’t tell because we were threatened, drugged and drunken to keep silent and to fog or erase the event from our conscience. We didn’t tell because we were told, with dire consequences, that if we didn’t comply, we or those closest to us, would be harmed or killed. We didn’t tell because our lives and the lives of the people who meant the most to us, those who could and would actually help us, if they knew, would be terminated if we told. We didn’t tell because we bargained our lives so that the lives of our helpless siblings and animals would be spared. We didn’t tell, because who would we tell, if the very people we were born to be dependent upon trusting, for our own survival, were the ones raping and abusing us? Incest is the deepest betrayal of trust and sexual abuse, that those who don’t know cannot imagine, and those of us who do know, will never fucking forget, inflicted upon us by a family member. Incest has inflicted a level of shame and discourse in our lives, unmatched, unhealed and virtually untouched, simply because it is so taboo, that we haven’t really talked about it.”



I wouldn’t want to leave out all of the wonderful folks who were not in my blood family, who forced themselves upon me. The OBGYN who lived with his wife and son, right behind our house, who fingerfucked me in his Porsche with his drunken breath and rough hands, after driving me home from babysitting his son, when I was 12 or 13 years old. I narrowly avoided being raped by throwing all 96 of my pounds against the car door and landing in a juniper bush in front of our house. Dr. Trinsosky…and I did tell, in a breakdown in the middle of our kitchen floor, with my Mom and Dad, because I had been hired for three nights and this was my first night of three. He had done it before and it was progressively getting worse and scarier. My Dad called his office and I have never heard that man…my Dad would have killed the son of a bitch…My Mom called his wife and she unrailed on my Mom and called me a little liar. I remember nothing else, only that I never babysat there again and I lived in a fear of that red Porsche and of doctors. Looking over my shoulder was already second nature to me, and there he was, voyeur around the corner, until he finally fucking died, many years later.

Let’s not forget about Javier, my neighbor at my old house,from across the street, who stumbled over drunk one night while my friend and I were enjoying some music and drinks on the patio. I offered him a beer, as we had shared beers together a few times, in the street between our houses in the 12 years or so that I lived there. My friend went in and Javier decided to unzip his pants and teach me what Dick was all about. I almost couldn’t keep him off and he almost got it in. I broke free enough to grab him by his dick and drag him across the street screaming at him, all the while he was begging and crying for me to let go and to stop yelling so I wouldn’t wake his wife and three kids.

And oh the laps I have sat on and the hugs bestowed upon me, with such force that I could not stand up or break free. On the day of my Moms viewing at the mortuary, my Moms little brother, whom despises me, hugged me just like this, right in the front lobby, and wouldn’t let go, even as I cried and struggled to break free. My mom, unseen yet by me, lying dead in the next room, unable to protect me in death, just as she was in life from her siblings. 42 years old and at the mother fucking mortuary, literally hours after my mothers passing, and why didn’t I tell until now? I talked to my Dad and Tamara about it and I will suffice to say that Tamara handled it. Uncle Rick…yep…he has always been a upstanding guy…calling me a loser and hating me for being gay…pitting my Mom, and my entire family against me and groping me whenever he got the chance…all the way up to the very fucking day we laid his big sister in the ground.

So, why didn’t I report? Here are but a couple of reasons. I’ve no doubt that you’ve a few reasons of your own. Why didn’t we report? Why the fuck didn’t you, the adults….protect the children?


An update for those interested…


Good afternoon. To apprise you of my current situation, I had an appointment with my surgeon this morning and my road to healing shall be a long one.

I am on HRT, which was slightly increased today, as the sweating and hot/cold is still fairly prominent. I go in next week, in office and under anesthesia, for injections to my pelvic floor. These are the injections I spoke of that did not get done in surgery.

My surgeon sat down together, with Tamara an I a couple of weeks ago, and again today with just she and I. Tears and hugs and apologies at our first meeting. Today, after hugs, we forged ahead with a plan. We, my surgeon and I, seemed to heal and heal each other in ways unspoken. There was no need for many words. As I sit here, I feel the words leaving my body…as if to say the time has come for me to listen.

Reliving the trauma that got me here has been unsettling and painful. I have definitely lost my way in all of the pain and blame and fear. The severity of my abuse has literally locked my body down, in an effort to defend itself. For over 40 years, when I was not cracked open against my own will or drunk enough to fuck, my body is on lockdown. As you can imagine, all of these years of locking down and clamping shut have taught my body only one thing, to clamp down and lock myself safe inside. In order to interrupt and train my body to do something different; I am going to have to have these injections once a month, under anesthesia, until I can do it otherwise.  Additionally, I am going to have to see an oriental pain specialist twice a week for a couple of hours each session, indefinitely. Once the injections begin to do their job and I can tolerate it, I will be referred for PT, and I can’t even speak of that right now. Truly, no words for the journey I am embarking upon, in an effort to be well and pain free and happy and whole….the journey of my life. I just walk through the fire to stop the flames for once and for all. I must scream with all of my might to silence the echos screaming inside myself.

Incest and sexual abuse have left their mark upon me alright. I’ve the scars and the pain and the dysfunction to prove it. I’ve the broken heart of a daughter who lost her Mom and the longing for things that once were, even though, I don’t think I do really. My heart cannot break free of my mind for long enough to make sense of it all.

At first I was overwhelmed and disheartened, scared and reluctant. Today I surrendered, in the cemetery, as I baptized myself in my Moms fountain. I wiped my face and drenched my hair and then her pretty face with my tears and I sat for quite a spell. I baptized my malas In her fountain and I recited and prayed as I wept. I left the cemetery today differently than I came in. It’s almost as though I left my voice there…like I’ve nothing much to say.

I wish to read and reflect, meditate and be still. As I swished my head from side to side and I  let the water fly from my hair, I crawled up into my FJ and Johnny Lang was playing. I wiped my tears and sat a spell, to attempt to comprehend what had just taken place. This baptism, this commitment to my own healing…This void…literally all I can call it…empty space so full that it consumes and dismantled me, piece by piece, as I wake each day to another death of my Mom.

I am reading Ram Dass and Hermann Hesses, Siddhartha. I am frozen and captivated and alive and waking up. I am old and new and young and old. I am here. I am not there. I am today, not tomorrow. I wash myself clean if the illusions that deceive me and I surrender to my journey to heal the wreckage left behind by a sick and violent lineage. I forgive the hands that hurt me and I arise anew from my ashes. And so it is.

Thank you for being here. You give me strength for the journey, light in my darkness and love when I need it most. I love you and I thank you, with all of my heart for carrying me through this. Today, I literally begin again. I am humbled. I am blessed. I am thankful. I am because you are. I love you.


An update on my medical situation, for those of you following…and my hardest post ever turned EASY with love…


Good morning everyone! I begin again with this blog post that I’ve honestly not the right words to write. I am more concerned that I have the energy in alignment with my own soul, than the “right” words.So…second day out of the gate and I did not wake up at 5:00am to blog, as I had committed to. I want to be honest with you about my last two weeks. I’ve not been dishonest, although I have been vague. I have been vague, to be honest, because I have no words. I have words…plenty of words…I haven’t known which ones to use. I will say it has been a mother fucking doozie! So, an update on my medical situation, for those of you following.

I tell you my medical update story now, for those of you following. This may not be one of my highest vibrating blog posts, and I will see what I can do to keep it high, as I relay my experience of the last few weeks of my life. Please keep in mind, as always, that this is my blog. I write to get it all out, and when you see what “it all” is…I am sure you can understand why I need to purge it the fuck out of me. I write about my life experience and I write, only to heal myself. I send all that does not serve me back to the universe to be recycled for the greatest good of us all. I mean no harm in telling my story, not to me or to anyone else. My immediate family and any reference I make to them is fairly obvious, and so I am very dedicated to exercising decorum and keeping my story mine. With that being said, one plus one still does equal two. If you are good at math, you might figure things out or conclude things that I have chosen, for reasons of my own, to be ambiguous about. I am not good at math and even I can do this math. Good thing that I fucking hate math and this is not math class…this is Corals blog…and today, I may say some things that hurt or offend you. I will say some shocking things in this blog today. Today’s blog will be a mother fucking doozie and WAY too much truth for people who cannot really see me. For those of you who cannot feel me, this may be like every other blog, and yet, I doubt it, because you do feel me, don’t you? I feel you too, which is why I put a warning on this blog post, right here, so you can stop reading now and call it a day, if you do feel me. If you feel me, this blog will hurt you and upset you, and I just want you to know, before you keep reading…if you love Sam and if you love Coral, this one is going to hurt you. Fair enough?

With all of that being said, I am going to write about my experience of the surgery I have blogged so much about, until I went silent. My silence, truly, for those of you who know me well, only takes over, when I simply cannot speak of it. I begin by thanking my medical team for all of they have done for me and continue to do for me. Doctors are practicing medicine. I know that, so well, as all of us, no matter our profession, we are practicing every single day, every procedure…we are practicing. Doctors practice medicine. So, with that being said, I will suffice to say that I hope we all learned a lot. We are all just walking each other home and sometimes, we will stumble. It matters not that we stumbled, only that we get back up.

As many of you know, I have some very serious PTSD. I am actually diagnosed with CPTSD. I am a survivor and I have some issues. Fuck, this girl has back issues! Touching me is not a luxury that most people get. I am closed up tight. My body, and my psyche…my very soul…fractured in ways that most people will never be able to comprehend. My body, harmed. My spirit tarnished and getting polished every single day.

I don’t get routine Paps. I don’t get colonoscopies and mammograms. I cannot be put in stirrups. You cannot stick your hand or even your pinky finger in,  when my body clamps shut. You can’t talk me or walk me or force me through this. I have forced me and Sam through this and not only does it not end well, it causes me to teeter of of my mother fucking rails. I want to be clear when I say that I cannot, not that I will not, be a “normal” person and walk into an OBGYN and get ‘er done. I cannot do this…not paps, not pelvic procedures and not “let’s just take a look see”…not this girl.

Pain in my abdominal and pelvic area, bordering my rectal area became intolerable, and so Sam and I had to make some hard decisions. Can we live with our pain ranging in our scale, which is off the charts for most? If we cannot, and we could not, live with the pain in our ass and our pelvic area, we have to let someone else help us.

I called a dear friend of mine, one of my very, very dearest friends. I was broken. I asked her to help me and together, we made calls and assembled medical teams to assist me on my road to health and becoming pain free. Countless calls, insurance calls and doctors calls and visits and procedures…Sam and I, with much love and support from Tamara, stepped up to this challenge.

Two weeks ago, we submitted and we showed up at The hospital, ready…as ready as we would ever be…to heal this pain. I had to be sedated to be put under anesthesia. I had to go back, by myself. I did it! Sam and I got in that gurney, naked and scared, agitated and alone….scared and hyperventilating…our voice shaking and tears pouring from our eyes…we closed our eyes tight  and we prayed. We said thank you. We asked God to guide the surgeon and her team, that we be mended. After what felt like a long time, we left where we were.

I remember seeing my surgeon, and she was happy and smiling. My anesthesiologist was wonderful. The nurse was compassionate and kind and double checked all of my meds to be sure they were vegan and wouldn’t cause me further complications. My nurse in the room was gentle and kind. My friends, the closest I have, and my girl, all waiting for me in the OR waiting room. All was as good as it could be and so off we went.

I remember nothing, except that I was back in that room and I kept crying in pain and asking for Tamara. For a really long time, I was hurting and no Tamara. I heard a series of phone calls, in which a patient had not been discharged. Several More pages and calls and that Doctor had left the building…could someone please come discharge this patient, as her doctor has left the building? That patient was me and that doctor that left the building, was my doctor. The pain was Intolerable, and time was passing slowly, as they waited for someone else to discharge me. They got me up to urinate, which was a green light to get to go home. I asked to stay overnight from the get go, so that I would not be cathetered and so that They could address any complications. My Doctor has said she would admit me if she needed to and on that morning, she said I would definitely not be admitted. Tamara and I panicked a bit. We live far away. I’m a lot to handle when Sam is clear and present. We accepted that we were going to have to figure it out, and we have figured it out, the best that we can.

The nurse in the room came back in and told me that Tamara said I would be cold, and she was right. Kindly, she rubbed my feet and helped me to warm up. I asked again for Tamara and she said I would see her soon. I told her I was hurting, really hard, and she got the anesthesiologist to come talk to me. He was also kind and injected  somthing into my IV for pain. When I peed, before those pain meds hit me , I thought I was going to fucking die. I peed though, so I could go home. That’s what they said and that’s what I did.

Finally, my nurse, went and got my clothes and got me dressed. He was very gentle and kind. I was handed my pain ball, in a little fanny pack, and told that it would do its job, and I need not worry. This pain ball would administer my pain meds for several days and I could supplement with oral meds that I had already picked up from the pharmacy. With my pain ball in hand, and hurting like fuck, off we rode to get my girl.

My surgery was Tuesday morning. I was sent home, with my pain ball. My pain was high, very, very high. I medicated orally. My understanding was that I was in to get pelvic injections, to stop the pain that I came in for. As a trauma victim, high on the CPTSD chart, in times like these, I came in to stop the pain. Extensive measures had to be taken, as I cannot have those injections, in my pelvic floor, in a regular office visit, like the lady before me or the ten coming in after me. I had to be under anesthesia, for this routine procedure, and so I was.

My pain running consistently at 9-15, my family history of cancer and my Mom dying at 66 of stage four breast cancer, bumped me to the top of every fucking list, to get me some help. It was decided, since we were going to have to poke and prod and inject and biopsy, and I’ve had nothing but pain and issues with my girlie parts since I began menstruating at 12 years old, we would do a full hysterectomy. While under anesthesia, my doctor would do a full spay on me, ovaries, tubes, everything, do injections to my pelvic floor, to stop the pain I came in for and scrape any remaining scar tissue, from my childhood sexual trauma. When I woke up, my cervix, uterus…all of it and all of the trauma that goes with it, would be neatly wrapped and sent back to the universe for the greater good of us all. I prayed. I meditated. I had faith and so it was.

By Friday afternoon, after two or three calls to my Doctor, Because my pain was not being managed and my pain ball didn’t seem to be getting lighter, since Tuesday when I came home, we called my doctor again. Every call before, we were advised to turn it up until it started to ease the pain. I was sent home on four and we were up to 12 on he last call. On that last call, it was determined, as Tamara unzipped my fanny pack, to examine the situation, with my doctor on the line, that the clamp on my pain ball had never been unclamped or removed. I had no pain relief and the ball was not lighter, because my pain ball was never unclamped after surgery. I almost hit the fucking floor…I cannot lie…I was in so much pain and Mother fucking defeated. We were advised, on this same call, with my doctor To unclamp the pain ball now and to let it run, and get my pain under control. Again, surgery was on Tuesday and this is Friday at 3:00pm…and I am not fucking crazy! I really did hurt. That fucking bad. Tamara unclamped the ball and I laid back down. I felt like shit and I was so fucking bummed out, so we began again.

At 2:00am, in excruciating pain and nauseous, with my pain ball in one hand, I headed to the bathroom. I was pretty sure I was about to have the BM they spoke of…my first BM since she did bowel prep for my surgery. I don’t even know that the fuck that means, just that she said that on my intake paperwork. Don’t strain, don’t push. Take your stool softeners and your milk of magnesia. I did all of that and I was ready. Nauseous and dizzy and the buzzing in my brain and my ears, wobbly and disoriented, I headed down our hall to take my long awaited shit. Holy fuck did that hurt! I didn’t push and I didn’t squeeze. And I was…wait….yep….grab something….I started puking my fucking guts out, on the toilet, in our trash can. I grabbed my stomach and all of my newly sewn together guts and I just grabbed on for dear life, praying that I wouldn’t bust anything open.

I got myself back together, crying and scared to death. I made it back to our bed and told Tamara what happened. We were both so fucking exhausted from it all, we fell back asleep. When I awoke a few hours later, I was so fucking sick and sore and we looked down again, at the pain ball. My pain ball ran at 12, instead of 4, for almost 11 hours straight. We turned it down to 4, as soon as we saw it. I had overdosed. I felt like I was going to die, well probably because I almost fucking did die. From no pain meds to an OD on pain meds and I was D&D (Done and done).

I texted my doctor and asked if I could pull my own catheter and get that pain ball out ASAP. This was Saturday morning and she said I could, and maybe wait until Sunday. I laid there a bit more and I just couldn’t leave it in. I googled how to take it out, I picked up Pranja, and off we headed to get This out of me. I will suffice to say that I would never have imagined me being able to do that…never…and somehow, out of necessity, I did what I had to do.

So, I had my post op and I relayed these things to my doctor. As she typed away, I forgot to ask what she found out…Am I okay? What did my pap tell you? I asked about the pelvic floor injections, the ones I went in for, because I’m special and cannot have them done without being under anesthesia, which takes a fucking village, by the way, and a major surgery. “Oh, she said, I didn’t do the injections. I didn’t have enough marcaine, since I had to do the extra incision”. I knew nothing of what this meant. Apparently, I am too narrow…and she could not dock her robot on my pelvis, as she had intended, so she had to make an extra incision to dock the robot, on my left side. So, my procedure, the one I went in for, or so I understood it, the procedure to stop this excruciating pelvic pain, did not get done, while I was asleep. My doctors answer was that she could do it right now, as she had just given a couple of women injections, in office, just that morning.

I am not those women. I am Coral and I am a survivor of horrific sexual and emotional abuse…literal, lifelong abuse. I cannot, hop up into your stirrups right now, anymore than I could a few weeks ago when I spoke to you initially. And yet, I said nothing. I asked nothing. I wandered back out into the waiting room, to deliver the news to my girl, that after all we just went though, my pelvic pain had not been addressed, and my injections were not done. My pain ball was not turned on on the OR and I went from surgery to Friday late afternoon without pain management that I thought I was getting. Addressing this caused me to literally overdose and think I was dying, puke like you never want to do, especially after surgery.

The very decision I made to heal me, to address my pain, has caused an onslaught of a shit storm, that I am slowly walking out of now. I still have the pain I went in with, plus the pain that comes with having major surgery. I am a fucking wreck. Sam is a fucking handful.

This, without going into any more detail, and without getting anyone in trouble…this is my reality. This is how my last  two weeks and Tamara’s last two weeks have been. Thank God that Tamara’s sister, hopped on a plane, leaving behind her life and her newly graduated boys, her husband and her daughter…to come and give us a life preserver. We are so thankful for you Michele. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. We were fucking drowning.

This blog is a reminder To is all, that we are all just human beings, being human. We are practicing our crafts. Doctors practice medicine. In my situation, in preparing a place, in doing and not doing procedures, I was harmed simply because I was not able to be really seen.

People cannot see what they have no parameters for seeing. Seeing a 44 year old woman, who is whitty and funny and charismatic and charming…even as she tries to slay her own demons…well its a mother fucking doozie…because inside I am fucking screaming and these, amongst so many other reasons, are why….no matter how loud I talk or how much I need to be heard, I and my CPTSD…Sam and Coral…we are D&D. Since you are here loving me and praying for me…I just wanted you all to know why. I wanted to give you my true update on what has really been happening with us for the last two weeks.

As always, and more than sometimes, we could really use your love and your prayers, whatever you’ve got…I love you and I am sorry I’ve been distant. I hope this will help you to understand  why that is so.

For now though, grab my hand and let’s get going. I will not enroll in any negativity around this, as we are all just walking each other home. We had some good practice this round, didn’t we?

Here is what I want us to take form this…we must open our eyes and our hearts, if we are ever to truly see one another. We must listen and we must speak, even when our voices shake. We must know that we never know anyone else’s struggles…we just don’t. We must be kind and we will always be right.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for the medical teams that assembled to help me to help me. Thank you to my dear friend who made all of this possible. You will never truly know how deeply I love you, how deeply I have always loved you, my dear friend. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

To the most amazing girl in all of the land, my girl Tamara…you are my heart and I love you with all that I am. I thank you for the hell you have walked through, just to keep me afloat and to love me though  this.

To Michele, we were drowning and you came and saved us. Any way you look at it, your love, carried us through a place we couldn’t walk alone. We fucking love you sister! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. With all of our hearts and from the very bottom of mine, thank you for being there when my Mom died, and for being right here, as I come back to life.

To my Mom…I love you just the same, you beautiful fucking soul! Shedding that body and buffing the shine on that radiant soul of yours suits you well pretty lady. Mom, with all of my heart, after ostracizing you briefly, so that I could catch my breath and heal a bit, I invite you back…I welcome and want you back. Thank you for the much needed time and space to sort it through…please, please, please come back! I fucking miss you!

To everyone who loves me, to everyone who prayed and continues to pray for me…to friends physically and in spirit at the hospital, to everyone who called, texted, PMed me…to Sigrid (who’s says I can use her name), I love you silly and I have no words for the love I  have for you, for us, and who we are, in spite of it all….and the un-named who I honor and appreciate, just the same. To Regina…no words needed, never have needed them, have we? I love you Regina. I love YOU so so much! To my little Brother, I love you Shawn…we will get there…I promise. To my hero, David…literally, YOU are the reason I can do my work with appreciation and gratitude, in ALL things. YOU are such an inspiration to me Dave, and I love you with all of my heart.

To our dogs…with all of my heart and all of my love…Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I love you guys with all that I am…thank you for meeting me and loving me where I am at.

To God…Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Never a day, never a doubt…never a single solitary second that I don’t know that you’ve got me.  When the master is ready, the student healing and coming back better than new, is ready!


The struggle is real…

Good morning everyone and happy Sunday!

Thank you for all of your love and prayers. As surgery draws closer, Sam is much more present than Coral. Sam has done amazing and I am so proud of her! The struggle is real. An adult survivor of childhood abuse, trying to love their inner child through rough and rocky terrain, without her Mommy. I will say again, the struggle is real.

I know that my story brings up your stories. I know that my abuse may have reminded you of your own. The pain that my story touches in you may well be a pain in a story all your own. With that being said, I love you. I really, really do. I will remind us all that we are just walking each other home. Be kind. Be gentle. Be mindful. We all have stories that no one else knows anything about. We all have pain that has gone unloved, not healed and ready to come out. I see you and I know that you are struggling too. I know your struggle, the struggle, is real for you too.

I know that people who hurt me, every single one of them, are hurt people. People do not just go around inflicting that kind of terror and abuse on others, without a story of their own. We all have stories of our own. Every single one of us have been angry…really fucking angry, and taken it too far somehow…in ugly words and actions, haven’t we? I know I have. Although it doesn’t excuse abuse, doesn’t it explain abuse to know that hurt people, hurt people? Truly, stop for a moment and think about your own abuser…who hurt them?  Did you ever wonder about that or care about that or think about that before? What happened to the people who hurt animals and children? What becomes of those children? What becomes of their family? We must begin to realize the connection and to heal the hurt, or the hurt is going to get worse. We must love more than we hate or we are going to do far more damage to ourselves and our world than our abusers have done already.

How many of you who have been abused have inflicted abuse? In some form or another, be it someone else or yourself…hurt people, hurt people. We must heal the hurt and love the people who hurt us…or we will not heal. We must love the unlovable and forgive the unforgivable if we are to heal.  We must be the change that we wish to see and the example to everyone else, to be that change also. I nominate myself to go first today for this challenge. Today’s challenge is to forgive your abusers.

I imagine a few of you will stop reading here and I get that. I encourage you to keep reading though, because this is where the healing starts.

I woke up this morning heavy. Racked in physical pain and drowning in fear and misery. My remembrances and my memories have been painful to revisit, to put it mildly. I realized that I have done my work here. I have spoken my truth, as much as I can get out. I have spoken my truth in love and light. I have been wrapping little packages like it’s Christmas, to put them in my uterus before my surgery on Tuesday, so that everything can be cut loose and set free during my spay procedure. I have been in constant prayer and meditation and I have and will continue to ask for your love and prayers. On this day, I really did wake up and say to myself, that I do not want to feel this way anymore. I do not want to carry this pain and this hurt in my heart anymore. I do not want this inside me anymore. I surrender, in this moment and I forgive each and every person who has knowingly or unknowingly caused me harm or pain. I ask for forgiveness from anyone I have ever knowingly or unknowingly caused pain to.

Dear Debra,

You must know somewhere deep inside of your heart, how very much I loved you and looked up to you. You must have felt at one time, something for me also, something pure and untainted. I am not a liar. I wish that I were. I really wish that there were some way for it to be possible that I could have fabricated all of this. I did not make it up, and I know that you know I didn’t make it up too. I think you must be feeling attacked because the abuse inflicted by so many others, all got put on you. I can see that more clearly since I began writing and people began calling…I was not the only victim and you were not the only perpetrator. I named you because you abused me. In naming you and being contacted by others, I realized that you did not act alone. You are not solely responsible for all of the terror reigned down on top of me, are you? Unfortunately the truth in that is more sinister than most people can fathom.

I feel you. I have always felt you. I love you. I have always loved you. I forgive you because up until this moment, as hard as I have tried, I could not, completely forgive you, for how you hurt me. I forgive you now and pray for you to find your own peace and forgiveness.

Hurt people, hurt people, and I’ve no doubt what so ever that you too, were hurt. We come from sickness, generations of sickness and alcoholism. We come from pain and we have carried it right on down the line, all of us, in our own way. The enablers, worse in many ways, than the abusers, who saw injustice and did nothing.

Children and animals have been harmed. Lives have come undone. Death has come for your sister and taken her from us without healing, without closure and without any fucking mercy. We have taken so much and we have lost so much. We have been a hurt bunch of people, out there hurting people for a really long time, haven’t we?

We have kept secrets and screamed deep inside ourselves until our lungs,  bloody and raw from the screaming,  all at the same time, as we have tried to be heard, to no avail. You know my story because you lived it too, didn’t you? You call me a liar because someone called you a liar too.

On this day, Debra, I want you to know and everyone else to know, that I am finally able to forgive you for the harm you brought to me. I forgive you for hurting me and I release the venom attached to your name, around my story. I know you probably don’t care either way, and that is okay…I forgive you just the same. I love you, just the same. I release all of this, which no longer serves me, just the same.



Today, I set down, with all of my intention, things that do not serve my highest good. I release the pain that has stifled my heart and imprisioned my soul. I forgive my abusers, each and every one of them. I forgive myself. The struggle is real and today I do my part to lighten the load and to heal us all.

I know you all have someone or someone’s who have caused you harm. You carry pain that is not yours, don’t you? You don’t know how to let it go. I know because I didn’t know how either, until I knew, and now I know. I want to encourage you to let it go too. For the healing and for the love of us all, my challenge to you today, is to forgive your abusers, and to free your own soul. Go ahead…I dare you!

Happy Sunday everyone and thank you for being here with me. I love you!

Wrapping up the most important package of my life…

Good morning everyone and Happy Saturday! I really am sorry I’m so distant. I am struggling to stay tethered to the ground right now. Millions of words bouncing around in there and so few able to articulate themselves enough to come out.

With surgery really right around the corner, it feels like my body is using all of its reserves and back up, just to muster the courage to go through with it. Many breakdowns this week in pre-op situations where I just want to be like everyone else, without all of this fucking trauma. I want to go in for a blood draw and not leave there with 4 pokes and no blood…I have to be sedated to be put under anesthesia. To be honest, it’s all just a bit overwhelming right now. You’re right, I don’t want to be “normal” because I don’t think that normal even exists. I don’t want to be like everyone else. I am just really struggling. I am struggling as much as I’ve ever struggled and hurting as much as I’ve ever hurt and I am fucking worn out! Counting down for this surgery and the release of all that no longer serves me.

I have been praying and meditating on my surgery for a while and I have decided that I am going to take all of my pain, all of my trauma, all of the physical and emotional and mental scarring…all of it, and place it inside my uterus, before surgery. My pre-op work, other than what is listed on my orders, is to let that shit go!  I have been gathering the jagged little pieces of my life and placing them in neat little packages, with the prettiest little bows, and all of the love in my heart, to be placed neatly in my uterus, to be prepared for their next journey. In this preparation, I have learned things that I cannot not know. I have felt things I cannot not feel. People have hurt me that I did not know had hurt me, in ways I cannot even speak of. My silence, my distance and my inability to write to heal myself, are all the result of these realizations. My distance and being rendered catatonic and speechless, I have come to know that a lot of people hurt me. My abuser is not a single person. Multilayered, multifaceted and too painful to touch on, and so I package this one with a special bow and a special blessing, and with all of the love and forgiveness I can muster, I let it all go. I place these carefully and lovingly prepared packages into my uterus, so that they may be released and set free on Tuesday, for once and for all.

My surgery to get spayed, is also a new beginning. When I come out of anesthesia and head into recovery, I will not be the same. I will be lighter and not so weighted down. Things causing me pain will have been detached, to be removed, just as all of my emotional baggage and scar tissue. I will go to sleep and rest peaceful and easy, while my surgeon, with all of her love and skills, takes out of me, what no longer serves me. I release everything that no longer serves me and send it back to the universe to be recycled for the greater good of us all. And so it is.

I have lived a life full of pain…I really have.  Physical pain and emotional pain. I have been a wounded little warrior my whole life. I surrender to this procedure and all that it has to offer me, to begin my life, pain free and ready for the good things coming.

I take this moment to thank my body, and all of its parts, for how they have served me, for how hard and tirelessly they have worked, from the very beginning, to keep me afloat. I honor and cherish what God has given me and I ask for prayers for what is being taken, that all things that no longer serve me…all things…be released during surgery. I release all of my pain, all of my trauma, no matter who inflicted it, and I forgive those responsible. I forgive everyone and everything that has happened to me, knowingly or unknowingly, to cause me pain and harm. I forgive myself for any pain or harm, knowingly or unknowingly, that I have inflicted upon others. I release, back to the universe, all of my pain, all of my expectation and my desperate need for control. And so it is.


I am ready for my overhaul…

Good morning everyone. I hope you have a beautiful Thursday. I am in a lot of pain this morning and soon I’m headed in for pre-op blood work for my upcoming surgery. I am so thankful to be getting this pain addressed. I feel like I’ve been hurting forever. The countdown is on for the surgery that will improve my life and heal my pain.

I am sorry I’m a bit distant. My life is leveling and shifting and I am badly wounded. I hurt in ways I didn’t know possible, over things I cannot fathom or understand. I struggle to hold on as I learn to let go. I am learning to let go and it hurts me deeply. I am learning how many times I’ve been let go and it shakes me to my core. I just hurt all over and I am weary and ready for some reprieve.

My surgery is to address severe abdominal pain. I am putting everything, every thought and feeling that does not serve me any longer, and I am gathering them to place I to my uterus, before they remove it. I am filling myself before surgery, of all of my pain, so that it will all be emptied and released during surgery. All of the scar tissue and all of the pain…leaving my body for good.

I have been meditating and praying on this constantly and with reverence and gratitude, and I am certain that this is my release from the pain that has bound me for so long. Used and abused from the very beginning…tortured and terrorized…traumatized and clamped shut, to keep the attacks out…my girlie parts never stood a fucking chance. Hell, I never stood much of a chance either. This is my chance. Right here, right now….this is my chance and I’m taking it! To heal, to walk away, once and for all…to let it go…to be whole…to be the Coral I imagine me to be, not someone else’s idea of who I “should” be…just me…just who I am.

I met a dear friend for lunch yesterday and she remembered me as drunk and not giving a fuck. I ended up being almost engaged to a guy that she had her eye set on. Me, the struggling to come out lesbian, took my straight girls guy….why in he fuck would I do that?! My life has always been a mother fucking mess…a place that I never fit in to or belonged in. It is becoming abundantly clear to me now, why that is…I was drunk, literally, most of my life, up until just over four years ago. I was force fed alcohol to anesthetize me during my abuse and then I drank it to deal with the pain I was in because of the abuse. My life, riddled with abuse…my body riddled with alcohol and did I give a fuck? I think I wanted to give a fuck so badly…and deep down inside, I have always given a fuck…just too busy being hurt to reach that place and live in its light. Too fucking wounded to realize I was wounding others. Hurt people hurt people and I am no exception.

To my dear friend who shared those painful and tortuous years with me…I love you and I am sorry for any pain I caused you, in my drunken stupor. I consider myself blessed to call you friend and it was wonderful to see you yesterday. Thank you for always loving me, no matter what.

Learning hurtful things about where I came from had to give me some idea that I might have some amends coming up myself. I mean, hurt people, hurt people. As badly as I’ve been hurt, I have hurt people. I have been wrong. I am okay with that and I accept responsibility for it, and with all of my heart, my dear friend, I apologize for it. I love you.

I must go and heal myself so that I may go out and heal my world. I must right myself so that I can be right with myself and my world. I must fall so that I may rise and i am okay with that too. I submit to this takedown and I put up no fight. From now until my surgery, I will be in the deepest and most reverent prayer and meditation, for healing and for clarity, so that when I wake up from anesthesia, after I take time to heal, I begin to actively seek to fulfill my own Dharma. I would not change one moment, not one moment of my life, even learning what I am learning, for it got me to right here, and right here is where I belong.

I love you and I thank you for being here. I appreciate you and feel your love and support and with all of my heart, I thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Many of you have had front row seats, VIP and backstage passes, to the shit show that has been my life. Keep those tickets handy because they are soon to be very valuable.

At 44 years old, my life is just beginning and I am ready for the good things coming. I am thankful, beyond measure, for all of the good things already here. I am, just as you are, the sum of my parts. I am ready and anxiously awaiting my overhaul. As the sun goes down at night, to rise again every morning, I too shall go down to gather energy for my rising. And so it is.

Have a beautiful day everyone! I love you!


Struggling to come with it again today…

Good morning everyone. I have been sitting here a while this morning, praying and meditating and trying to get started writing. Millions of words bouncing around in my head and I am diverting to my heart to chose the kind, necessary and true ones, and to leave all the rest.

I have come into knowings of things, awareness and remembrances of things from my past, that have literally rendered me fairly lifeless and debilitated. I am allowing myself this time and asking for continued love and prayers. Even with the millions of words, I have none for this, right now. I just can’t, right now.

In other news, I am going to begin with a huge thank you to everyone loving me…like a verb, loving me, from wherever you are. I feel you and I thank you so much, for reaching out to me right now. I feel the subtle nudges, the cyber hugs and the prayers and I know you are with me. I thank you for staying with me.

A writing, to attempt to find some of my words;

My world went black. Color escaped and eluded me.

All of my color. All of my clarity, my peace and my safety…they were all in my head and so I spent a lot of time there.

Dodging blows and counting footsteps. Keeping in corners and always facing the door. Living in blanket forts and squeezing eyes shut. Holding breath and saying prayers. Playing possum. Being dead, only for moments, and abruptly coming back to life. Violently clinging to a life that I must have asked for and yet couldn’t make sense of. Being silenced. Being wrong. Being terrified and wearing fear like a mother fucking shroud, because there was no protection.

Being Little. Not little enough to be invisible to the blows coming. Worthless enough to be invisible otherwise. Invisible and invincible and clearly divisible. My life, my simple life, was anything but simple.

Walking away from death more times than I’ve actually truly, lived at all. Picking up jagged pieces and cutting my own flesh with the reality of my life. Nothing softens this blow and nothing consoles these tears. Nothing reduces this gap or plugs up this gaping hole. Nothing gives back what was taken. Nobody and everybody knows but me and I can’t even hear it right now. Undeniable, unmistakable and without argument or fight…As the memories come together and the blanks begin to fill themselves in a bit more, I am leveled and lying low. I am hurt. I am mortally wounded. I am nursing my wounds. I am in constant prayer and meditation. I am sad and getting mad. I am.

Walking through fire like this is teaching me to appreciate the beauty of the flames. Gather the heat in my skin. Pull the heat and hold it close. Look at all of the illumination, that comes to the darkness, from this light. Watch the shadows scurrying to escape the light and ricocheting off of each other. Listen to the murmur or the truth, illuminating this room…lighting up our world…one truth at a time.

I am not alone. I know this to be true. I am not the only one. You are not the only one either, you know?  You are not the only abuser. I am not the only victim. We are not alone in this. I never knew that…I truly didn’t. Is that why you call me a liar, I wonder? All of this, raining down on you…it isn’t yours alone, is it? You all kept me in silence and literally in the darkest places, drunk and unable to remember…and yet, I am remembering. Do you know what this is doing to me? Knowing how much I was despised and hated and abused and mocked and silenced and hurt and abandoned…the contempt and the disgust…do you know what your feeling like this about me, all of my life has done to my life? To me? To my relationships and friendships? To my jobs and careers? Do you know that your hatred of me and your contempt for me hurt me to the core? Do you care? I mean, really…do you care, any of you, for what you have done to me? Does anyone, anyone at all, feel badly for hurting me? Does anyone feel sorry for destroying my life? You call me a liar because I put all of this on you, when there are others? I started to feel bad, like I should apologize to you, for putting all of it on you, when you had accomplices. I owe you no apology. I haven’t owed more than half of the apologies I have given out, have I? You calling me a liar encouraged my due diligence, and what do you think I found out? Upon investigating further and after being defended, for the first time, ever in my life, by my cousins who called you out, what did you think I would find? You know…you know what I am finding out, don’t you? Does it make you as happy now, as it always has, to see me struggle so? Does that still gratify you, to see me in pain and unable to get out? Do you still get off watching me fight to cling on to my own life?

I could not remember, to save my life. Now, I cannot forget. I didn’t know and now I cannot not know. I was anesthesized and I could not feel. I am sober and have chosen no pain management and I cannot, not feel. I am crawling around in the worst agony of my life, bleeding out, all over my rock bottom. I will not stay down here. While I am down here though, I am seeing the sights. You all put on quite a show, you know? Truly, this wasteland is like none I have ever seen before…this wreckage and carnage and bloodstained tapestry, that is my life…you guys really did it up, didn’t you?

And I sit here alone, just as you predicted, don’t I? Defeated and bleeding out…blank stare across my tear stained face. Everyone scattered and having chosen everyone but me. I sit here alone. I always have, haven’t I, I always sat alone? Awkward and cowering…silent and clumsy…always falling down and getting hurt…there are doctors who never reported, aren’t there? There are people outside of our family who didn’t protect me either, adults…doctors…you’re right, it wasn’t just you. It wasn’t just me either. This is all a bit too much, isn’t it? Unfair and unregulated…no way to defend yourself and no one who believes you…not even you, deep down, can believe you, can you? Deep down, no matter who you lie to, you have to go to sleep with yo and wake up with you.

I do too, you know? I have to accept that I have never really had sleep or peaceful slumber…always been in fight or flight. I have to figure out how To begin to pick up the shattered pieces of me, that the adults in my life left…me, a shattered and broken pile of no one and nothing to anyone ever. So, please forgive me for being unable to feel too sorry for you, for any of you, for how this is impacting your life, all of these years later, as it re-emerges, as I remember, as I speak, about the horrific things that happened to me, for an entire lifetime, while you all stood by and watched. We are not silent anymore. We will not keep your secrets and hold your demons at bay any longer. We rise up…every single one of us, harmed by each of you…we rise the fuck up. So, with that being said, you may stand down now. You will stand down now. We rise where you have fallen and we offer you our hand, one last time, as we help you to the door. You may go now. All of you, who have harmed all of us…you may go now. We’ve got this and we’ve got each other and you are free to go.

As the demons come to visit me and open up their memory chests, I sit with each one, as long as I must, before moving on to the next. I will sit here until I am satisfied and then I will rise up. I will rise up. We will all rise up.

Have a beautiful day everyone and go easy on yourself today. I love you and I thank you for being here with me again today.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Happy Memorial Day everyone! I am struggling to come with it and so I remember the Little Engine That Could…I think I can. I think I can…and I come to this sacred space this morning to meditate and to write and to heal.

With Palo Santo heavy in the air and charcoal soaking up the bad stuff….cord cutting ceremony and a barrage of inconsolable tears…I come this morning to humbly pray and to ask all of you to pray with me, that I may prepare to release all that no longer serves me. As my surgery approaches, I visualize all things that have harmed me and cut me deeply, all things that do not serve me and all people, places and things that have caused harm to peacefully find their place for their next calling. I release, without prejudice, all who have harmed me and I pray for their healing and their release from their own prisons.

I pray for victory over our demons. I call for softeness to come and wash away the hard and difficult. I pray for cleansing of the dirty that nothing has been able to wash off. I pray for awareness and enlightenment. I pray for adjustments, as needed, for our thinking and our way of being. I pause for clarity. I burn Palo Santo. I cry.

I am on my third day of being so hurt that I cannot speak of it, and so I gift myself time and space for meditation and reflection. I take what I need. I pull myself out of harms way as I recount what I must  recount, to know what I must know, to prepare a safe space to do what I must do, so that I may grant and be granted release.

I stand again today, in silent solidarity, for things I cannot speak of…things that have pierced and sliced my very soul, shaken my core and rocked my very foundation. I invite my tears to cleanse me. I pray my soul to mend. I offer release and grant safe passage. I ask for and accept forgiveness. I ask again, for all of my your love and prayers as I sort this all out, as much as i must, to tie it all up in a neat and tidy little package, to place in my uterus, before it is returned to the universe, to be recycled and loved Hime, for the greater good of us all.

I hope you have a wonderful day and I am so glad you came to see me, even though I’m in a tough space, without words. I know you are too, aren’t you? Let’s love each other through it and forgive others for it, whatever “it” is, and let’s live life that we have always held sacred and with such clarity in our hearts.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Sitting in a giant bowl of gratitude, for each and every one of you…

Happy Sunday everyone! I am completely heartbroken and undone by things I am learning and remembering. I am asking again for your love, prayers and support, to get me through to the other side on this one…

Surgery is scheduled for June 5th and I am so thankful. This constant pain has me  a bit scattered and unhinged. I have big plans to just let all of this pain and trauma and hurt go. When they go into spay me, I am asking all of you to help me program, that they take all of the trauma and emotional and physical evidence of abuse too. With everything in me, I am mediating and praying myself, to walk away from all of this a better and stronger human being.

I have never hurt as I am now and I have never been so discombobulated and thrown off of my center. I may have known, at one time, what I am coming to know again, and yet, I didn’t know. I know now and I cannot not know. That’s  truly all I’ve got on that right now.

Please pray for healing in my family. Please wrap them in your hearts and pray for their ability and desire for healing. Please keep those harmed close to your hearts and let them know they are safe now. Please hold the abusers as close as you hold the abused in your prayers and  your hearts, so that we may truly begin to heal our world.

I appreciate each and every one of you, your love and your prayers. I just don’t have it right now and I thank you for loving me through this.

I hope you have a beautiful Sunday and that you find some peace, love and healing of your own.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to all of the amazing people in my life. I feel your love and I am evidence of your prayers. If I have missed texts, messages or calls, please know that I feel you and I love you and I just can’t. I will as soon as I can again though, okay?

To my amazing partner, the brave warriors fighting the same fight, with different players, right beside me…Ohana and all of my chosen family, friends and my wonderful therapist, my silly friend Sigrid, Regina and those who prefer anonymity, to Shawn and his wife, to everyone who harmed me and to those who are instrumental in my healing…to those who have called and to those who cannot calll…to the medical team, working to make me well and whole again, to my sister and her father…to everyone reading and everyone rooting for my recovery and my healing….for the recovery and healing and wholeness of us all….Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

I love you. I love you. I love you.