Fight or Flight

Can I be me with you?

Silence is my trauma response. When I do not feel free to be me, I close ranks. I batten down the hatches, throw up impenetrable barricades, and hide my true self from you.

It is an internal flight. I’m still there, guarding my words, playing the angel game that I learned as a child.

I don’t have the patience for it anymore. My tolerance for BS has diminished over the years. At 62, I am more vocal. I stand my ground and speak my peace. Yes, peace. I’m not arguing with anyone. It’s not a war.

That means that there must be a third… fight, flight, or just be your own true self, confident in your own right. I like the old woman me, more crone than sweet old lady.

My blog has been in a flight mode while I recovered. Thanks for reading!

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Stray Words #2

He parted seas and mounted dry, tapped into a dream. Wild horses grazed in green meadows, fed by a gentle stream. She rises, sighs consent with closed eyes as the eagle carries her away.

Blue-green, yellow tinged flames dance with the familiar clouds. Pink swirls into red.

Stray Words #1

She came to me in a dream, spilling secrets like diamonds falling from her velvet lips, each precious drop glistening with morning sunlight as the words scattered memories across my polished granite.

I am hard, indifferent to persuasion, as she is not telling me anything that I don’t already know.

What comes next?