Skip to content

Maiara Musings

"Problems can not be solved by the level of awareness that created them" Albert Einstein

Monthly Archives: May 2013

Hi everyone,

I hope that you had more TIME this passing week to do the things that matter. Lately I have been thinking about the importance of self-image, how we see ourselves. The question becomes more so important when we are faced with the new reality after the abusive relationship and years of constant criticism from the narcissistic partner, when we are finally daring to contemplate entering the world of dating and some other normal social activities. I am quite certain that I am not alone on-line with those whose self-image after such an unhealthy relationship has become very distorted. No matter how much I try to stare at that mirror and believe that I look fine it is just the same, tired and rather ugly me staring back. At the end of it the old saying that the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder is so true. How can the person staring at you back from the mirror look beautiful if she is unhappy, ashamed, regretful, scared and lonely inside. We all know people who to our eyes look so beautiful because we love them and we think that they are perfect just the way they are, and that has nothing to do with their actual looks. So in order for us to see beautiful person on that mirror it will require self-love. I have come kind of long way from last summer when I did write this particular essay “Mirror, Mirror on the wall….” but there are still many flaws in me when I look at myself in that mirror and wonder if any man could really truly love me. The improvement being in that I do not feel desperation any more because I have committed myself to heal emotionally as well as physically from my past and live happily ever after. I hope that this essay will make you think about internal beauty and to search for that wonderful lost soul that is certainly hiding deep inside each one of us so that when you next time look in to that dreaded mirror you will see a happy, balanced and beautiful human being.

Image

Picture taken by KKMaiaraM

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall – an essay written by KKMaiaraM

Is this essay going to be a fairy-tale of beautiful adventurer, you may wonder, how else would the title be about the mirror. Only the main character from the great story would be pictured in front of the mirror brushing her long, shiny hair and taking for granted the beauty which, to nobody’s surprise, is not only external but also internal. These lovely women are always pictured graceful, wise, kind and well liked. They smile when they see their reflection in a mirror because they have the self-confidence to conquer the world if they so wish.

Me too, I want to be a brave and kind person with great beauty and have the world at my feet. With excitement I approach the dreaded mirror: Today is going to be different, I will see my reflection and then I know. I want to know that I am not who I have become and that there is still a little girl inside me hiding, a girl long forgotten, who is desperately fighting for her existence. I am standing in front of my nondescript mirror by now; my head is bent down and I am very carefully trying to count all the small aqua green tiles on my bathroom floor, after that I just might have to kneel down and scrub the grout between the tiles with my old toothbrush and then…OK, OK, avoidance techniques big time. Do I really want to look into that mirror? Yes…and…No. Yes, because I am hoping to see something good and no, because I am terrified of reality of me. Looking at one’s own reflection is daunting task at best of times, but for an emotionally abused woman it can be more like trying to watch Alfred Hitchcock’s horror movie Birds: I have seen the beginning of that movie several times but I have yet to find the courage to see all of it because I am so frightened of the ending.

Starting from the top, my eye catches the grey roots of brown mousey hair followed by too wide forehead, and as the eyes drop even further down in a middle  they almost get stuck with the potato nose before finding the angry-looking down turned ordinary mouth and the scar, newest addition to my flaws. With heavy sigh I take one more look at myself and can’t fail to notice how borderline ugly I am with wrinkles, pale uneven skin and the eyes, which are so sad and tired. What did I expect? At least I should be thankful for small mercies of life: My mirror is not full length. I take a deep breath and momentarily close my eyes trying to decide if I dare to continue all the way to the end. Yes, I will take the journey to the unknown and open my eyes for further scrutiny.

Eyes, they say, are the gateway to the soul. So I stare deeply into so familiar faded blue-gray eyes of mine, mentally trying to squeeze myself through the black pupils to see if the statement is true. I have to find my soul, how would I otherwise be able to see myself genuinely and rescue the lost little girl from the horrors of obscurity. Time freezes and I find myself completely alone in total darkness. I can feel the imminent death of my soul: … bad person, talking unkindly of others, yelling at kids, failure as a mother, angry, never smiling, blaming, gossiping, foolish human being, greedy, black soul, negative, almost lying, not really good at anything, not smart enough, not intellectually equal, no man will ever love me, too ugly, too weird, talking too much, what’s wrong with me … STOP!!!! I scream and the eerie silence in my brain follows the onslaught of negativity.

Then it hits me, the old proverb I have hanging on my wall:

 

Just when the

caterpillar

thought the

world was over

it became

a butterfly

That’s it, maybe I am the caterpillar. I am starting to look more carefully around. It seems that the black is not as black as I first thought and that there is a shimmer of light ever so faintly guiding me forward deeper into my soul. Now I really have no choice but to continue my quest for the lost little girl, for if there is light she is still waiting to be rescued. As I descend further down to the unknown, forgotten territory, pieces of unconscious puzzle start flashing along the way: … can’t be too stupid with the education I have, define smart, isn’t the beauty in the eye of the beholder, kids must love me sometimes, can’t be entirely failing in parenting, some men do turn their heads to look at me, I have few friends, I speak nicely sometimes, I make a joke once and awhile and some people even get it, I love being silent, there must be some gifts I possess, intelligence comes in many disguises, lately I have been smiling again …… This is it then, I have reached the little girl: She is right there, within the grasp of my mind. The big dilemma I am facing now is what to do with her.

If I refuse to rescue her and go back to my miserable, unhappy, tear drenched life, I know with certainty that I will become lonely, bitter, angry and unsatisfied human being: My life will be full of regrets. If, on the other hand I accept her into my life as she is, I will end up being the uncertain, pimple faced, radical teenager with no boyfriend and a bucket full of issues. No thank you, being a teenager once in this lifetime is more than enough. So I am left with the third option, which is the one with most work. I have to slowly merge with her and start the long and painful process of transformation. I am not who I used to be but I am also not who I am now. I am someone different and only time will tell what kind of a woman I truly am. When the metamorphosis is complete I am hoping to emerge from my cocoon as one strong, beautiful, multicolored butterfly who gently but fearlessly flies to her new life and freedom.

Advertisements

Tags: , , , , , ,

Time - we all have it.....Picture taken by Maiara

Hi Everyone,

It is Sunday already, how does the time fly? I have to say that I am not a poet, nor do I have any intentions to become one for my love for writing lies in essays, and the dream of writing would be that of many, to write a book one day. Writing something like a novel seems very far-fetched for me because I simply have no extra time at all and probably I have no skills for it either, although who knows, life works mysterious ways. However, sometimes this feeling of writing a poem descends over me and I have no choice but to write it down. In this particular case I was having my early morning tea before work on the local coffee shop when I just had to write poem about time. I realized how paradoxical is it that I claim not having time whereas some other very distinguished and highly achieved individuals seem to have all the time in the world to create wonderful works. Yet, as it stands still as this morning; we all have exactly the same amount of time on our disposal.

The need to redefine time in my life as it used to be became very important after two things that happened in my life: First, after hours of secretly looking information about abuse I came upon the book that opened up my eyes. I realized that I am indeed all right and that it is my husband (at that time, since I am separated now) is a Narcissist and that I have been in emotionally abusive relationship for over two decades without knowing it. All I ever knew was that my mental and physical health kept deteriorating year after year no matter how hard I tried. And as a result the second occurrence happened to me that truly changed my view of the world. I actually got sick, I ran from one specialist to another and they kept finding more and more things off in my body, however the defining moment was that of my thyroid surgeon telling me that I have cancer. At that moment the time stood still and I saw the world in different eyes. For your information everything turned out good, since the cancer did not spread and after two surgeries I am completely cancer free, although there is still the lung surgeon keeping track of the thing on my lungs, but after several cat scans and some time passing my doctor has assured me that likelihood of it turning to lung cancer are getting less and less as time passes. This is a background for this poem and I hope that  if nothing else this will give you something to think about for the coming week.

Yours Truly, Maiara

TIME – a Poem, written by KKMaiaraM

Time

Past, Current, Future

Gone

Time

Regrets, Anxieties, Plans

Gone

Time

I wish, Tomorrow, For Sure

Gone

Time

Rainy, Cloudy, Sunny

Gone

Time

Wasn’t right, Isn’t right, Won’t be right

Gone

Gone is my childhood

Gone is my innocence

Gone is my past

Gone is my marriage

Time

It passed


Illness, Misfortune, Disaster

Time

Is Still

Hope, Love, Dream

Time

It changed

Time

I have It

Time

Now I know

Time

I will use it

Wisely

Time

Gone

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Hi Everyone,

Happy Mothers Day to all the mothers of the world. There is no greater challenge than that to get your children ready for life and to guide them so that they can grow up happy and balanced. There is no mother perfect, yet we are perfect for our children for they have unconditional love towards us and hearts so big and forgiving that no matter how bad of a situation we end up the children, our strength, will help us to get off the bed in the mornings. I wrote this poem to my mother, I love her so very much. There is nothing much else for me to say, for each one of us have a very unique connection to our mothers and there are no two relationships the same but the one factor, that of the umbilical cord. We all were truly connected from the very beginning the same way and only after that one physical connection was cut, did we start developing our very own relationship to our mothers. Today is the day to celebrate our mothers and their importance in our lives and to contemplate on wonder of children, their huge heart and wisdom in loving.

Sincerely

Maiara

ImagePicture taken by KKMaiaraM

MOTHER- a Poem

Written by

KKMairaM

Mother

Why do I even bother

You are so perfect

There are no words to make you alive

On paper clearly describe

 

Mother

How is it possible

You are so calm

Even in the middle of a storm

Safely guiding me home

 

Mother

Where does it come from

You are so happy

Laughing and joking thru the dark days

Making me smile always

 

Mother

When is the right time

You always know

Even if you are hungry or cold or tired

To wrap your arms around

 

Mother

Why is it easy to clean

You know how

Sweeping thru the house like a wind

Creating peace of mind

 

Mother

How old are you

You are always ageless

Elegant and sophisticated in looks

Finding me behind the books

 

Mother

Where did you learn

You are a gourmet chef

Filling the house with wonders of food

Us in a jolly good mood

Mother

When is it my turn

I am not much of anything

Please help me to become more like you

Because I love you too 

Tags: , ,

Hi Everyone,

It seems fitting that since my house is finally just about to go for sale, I should go back in time to July 2012 when I wrote this essay to my lovely therapist. Her question was: What does word home mean to me?  I happen to have brain that works amidst chaos – inside my brain is more like criss crossing multiline highways in New York rush hours. Therefore I am not always capable of verbally expressing myself in clear and concise manner. I figured that if I can extract the information from my brain to the paper in clear format it means that I have indeed contemplated and internalized the issue and examined it from all the relevant angles thus giving an answer that is true to my beliefs and spirit.

When you read my essay, please keep in mind that at the time I wrote it I had not yet started the process of separation and divorce.  I am hoping that it leaves you with something to think about at the end of a day. I would also like to remind those who did not read my previous blog that I am only blogging on Sundays and I will not post anything at all during the rest of the week

Sincerely

Maiara

MY HOUSE, OR IS IT HOME?

An Essay, written by KKMaiaraM, July 2012

Very wise friend of mine just recently reminded me that there is a house and then there is a home. So what?! My house is my home, eh! Stop there…it is not that simple. House is actually a building, there is the roof and the walls and the floors and all the stuff in between. The house can be very humble or very fancy, it can be a townhouse or apartment or even a trailer. It can be located anywhere in the world, some are in the upscale neighbourhoods and some in the slums, but most, however, are somewhere in between. No matter what kind of house it is or where it is located, no matter how expensive or run down the living quarters are, only one thing remains unchanged: There are people living inside, and it is those individuals that define the word home.

Home is where you can be you, where the people you live with love and respect you, or where it is blissfully quiet if you happen to live alone. It is a place you can go to after a very long day and feel at peace, you don’t have to worry about being hurt or yelled at, nor you have to worry about being criticised or laughed at. At home you can sit and enjoy wonderful conversations, happiness and peace of mind. You can let go of all the layers of defence and pretence you put on in the morning when you stepped out of the door.

 The question therefore is this: Is my house a home? Let me think… it definitely is a house, a bit run down, in need of repair and in a good neighbourhood. But is it a home? No, my house is most certainly not a home for me. The only time I relax there is when my husband is traveling. Then, for a little while, I am a real person; someone who matters. What really worries me most though is my children. It is completely unimaginable that my rundown, messy and lately ever so dirty and unhappy house is the only place they can call home. How did I, a previously perfectly fine individual, end up providing my children such a sad definition of a home. I don’t know how I got here, but I certainly have decided that there must be a way out. Lets see then what can I do to change the situation.

 Have you ever heard of the saying “My house is my castle”, or how about  my version of it: “My house is my prison”, at least that is how I feel most of the time. All my dreams of growing happily old in that house and making it beautiful are crushed. I have no choice but to find the strength and courage to move out. Since moving out won’t happen overnight, it has made me realize something very important. More than being the prisoner inside the physical walls, I am a prisoner of my own mind. Until I can change my thinking patterns and also accept myself as I am, I will never find my way back to freedom where I can finally open the door to my beautiful new home.

 I don’t know about you, but I know exactly what my future home will be like. Trust me on this one, if I visualize and believe in my dream sincerely without any doubt and work very hard on other aspects of my life, I shall have my dream come true. I will have a small house with big windows and private little back yard. My backyard will be my garden of bliss, full of well-tended flower beds and couple of trees, preferably maple and birch, under which I have one very old-fashioned swing. And birds, so that I can wake up in the morning and have my tea sitting on that swing peacefully rocking back and forth with beautiful sounds filling my ears. Afterwards I enter my kitchen where the gentle movement of white lace curtains catches my eye and reminds me to water the herbs that I am religiously trying to grow on my windowsill. The house is so simple and quiet that one can feel the harmony and the flow of positive energy everywhere. There is nothing fancy or expensive but everything is clean and well taken care of with love. The wood floors with old-fashioned Scandinavian rugs are very clean and make the house ever so inviting. After taking care of those herbs of mine, and neatly putting away my tea-cup, it is time to start the day. I walk happily to my bedroom: My bedroom is filled with light, just like the rest of the house and has the same wood floors than the other rooms have. I now own to my great delight a “makeup table”, one of those small desks with big mirror and small drawers for makeup and everything else that I need to make myself look beautiful when I leave the house. The walls are decorated with pictures of the people I love and there in a corner I keep a basket of projects that I finally have time and confidence to do. My bed, of course, is big and very comfortable, but not too comfortable, I would not want to sleep away my newly found freedom because I already had missed out two decades of happiness in my previous life. This is my dream home, and if I get really lucky I will spend rest of my days there ever so happy with the man of my dreams.

My essay seems to have reached its end. But before the final word, there is one more point to make. If you read carefully, you might have realized that some people live in castles completely miserable and yet others may live in very poor conditions but so happy. Money just can’t buy happiness. It is us who make the difference. It does not matter if the dream home takes few years to come by, or that temporarily we might even end up with social housing, what matters is that we, the “homeless”, take action to change our lives. My action, starting today, is to continue my D-book – yes, A…., that is really funny – which contains the lists of all my possessions I am planning to take with me when I finally move out of this house. I will also start living the life I will have, it does not matter that I am still in a difficult situation. I will start building my new life inside my old life and that alone is very meaningful way to make me stronger and more determined. I choose to start cleaning and making my current house organized and inviting, I am, after all, still living in it with my children. There is just no excuse for me to dwell on my own misery anymore. From now on, I will practice for my future life; so that when I finally open the door to my new home I know what to do and I know that everything from then on will be as it should. I also know that I won’t be crying anymore because my dream home will be filled with laughter.

Tags: , , , , ,

%d bloggers like this: