By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
Finally making some sense of the tattered threads in my life which have held angst for so long. Growing up without my dad was painful and sad.
I had only the biased negativity of my mum to judge him by. I never connected with him at all and he died aged 85 in 2008. Apparently his love for mum and his children only died when he did. I attended his funeral as a mark of respect and whispered, "Good-bye, dad." Now I have to acknowledge, and cut those lingering threads and walk the path of release. My parents wedding photo. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
My childhood was complex-a cauldron of simmering emotions and the plight of child abuse. The experience of childhood moulded me into the person I am today. I think, act, and feel as I do because of the experiences and lessons I learnt along my life's journey.
I hope my children can accept and understand my journey which began in childhood and continues now with forgiveness, honesty and healing. The image is my own aged about 4 years. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
After my mother and father separated my mother moved my siblings and me to a boarding house in town for one year. I'd lost my father whom I was now ostracised from and three of my older siblings who were sent to an orphanage and now lived in an unfamiliar environment. It was during this time my mother would meet her future de-facto partner and my abuser.
Many years have passed and I am no longer afraid yet I am still as securely bound as I ever was. The message "tell no-one" is so firmly branded in my mind that even now it can control my responses. The connotations attached to this phrase can clasp my chest so tightly I can scarcely breathe. The thought of emotional freedom beckons like the scent of honey to a bee yet seems an impossible dream. Am I so strong that I can break the grip of this enigma? I am not so sure, because whenever I think I am breaking free the droning message "tell no-one" re-invents itself.
Years of mental abuse, social isolation and mind control leave damage. Great gaping wounds that heal over time but leave distinct reminders of where they have been. No-one else can see them or acknowledge they are there, yet the effects continue to tear at the very heart and soul of who I am. Just when I feel I have risen above my past I realise I have never really dealt with it. Instead I have pushed it to the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind and locked it there. The problem is that all it takes is a moment, a memory, or a set of circumstances to open a small wound which can fester and destroy.
If I had ever really comprehended the repercussions caused by the emotional abuse and bullying I may not have survived them. For a very long time I hid my childhood experiences behind a veil of silent, private tears. "Tell no-one" is exactly what I did. The only way to cope was to conform, for defending myself only incurred more wrath and punishment. Sleep and attendance at school were the only times I felt safe from my abuser's verbal abuse. Once an episode waned I blocked it out. Still, some of those episodes still linger untold and hidden in my subconscious. Now all these years later I finally feel I can, and need, to vocalise my suffering and despair. Only then will I allow inner peace and happiness to enter my life.
My behaviour and beliefs were influenced and most often determined by my abuser. He used social isolation, ostracism and mind control to his advantage. I had no contact with anyone else apart from the controlled environment of a strict convent school. Fear of reprisal and emotional blackmail, plus the constant taunting words-"tell no-one" crushed any hope of release from the abuse. There was no-one to care or to confide in. No relatives to rescue me or authorities to save me. I didn't know that my experiences were not normal and I was never given the opportunity to find out. To this day I thank God that at least my mother instilled in me the gift of faith and the power of prayer. I will be forever thankful that faith in God's love gave me the strength and resilience to survive almost certain emotional annihilation.
I had no friends, play dates, sleep-overs or birthday celebrations. Apart from my siblings I had no contact with relatives at all. My paternal grandparents had died before my birth, my father had no access or visiting rights and my maternal grandparents lived in a different state. My aunts and uncles on both sides of the family were either ostracised, too far away, or just didn't care. I had sixteen aunts and uncles and numerous cousins who I would never meet. My mother was emotionally distant and lived in a bubble of prescribed euphoria. She showed little emotion and lived in her own world which was so far removed from mine. Medical mismanagement of depression meant she was also a target for my abuser's mind control and emotional manipulation which robbed her of motherly emotions. Once she was rendered incapable of, and unwilling to make decisions, he had free reign to dictate our life experiences as he willed. Only once in those thirteen years do I remember my mother intervening on my behalf and that was when his fist was aimed at my face. I was thirteen years old.
My older siblings could not save me as they also suffered in silence. My brothers bore the brunt of physical abuse when younger but not as teenagers. My two older brothers who still lived at home left at age sixteen to join the army and my younger brother escaped the abuse. One of my older sisters and I suffered the most. All my older siblings left home by sixteen years of age and returned for nothing and no-one.
I was the youngest girl so I suffered from the youngest age and for the longest time. The only bonus for me was successfully completing senior high school against all odds. I have been asked why I didn't leave but my abuser had a master plan which as I've already stated used ostracism, crippling emotional abuse and social isolation. I had nowhere to go and no-one to help me. I was afraid, mostly compliant and didn't know just how bad the abuse was. I was too scared to speak about it and was never in a situation where I could learn about life beyond my home.
I was easy prey for a middle-aged tyrant whom my mother believed she could not live without. He was a returned soldier who had fought gallantly in World War 2, receiving a commendation. He was given an honourable discharge on medical grounds after incurring a shrapnel injury to his shoulder. Though the physical scar healed the mental scars remained. On his arrival home he found his former fiancee was married. This rejection invoked a hatred for all women. This included my mum whom he pretended to love. In reality, he took a vibrant, attractive mother of seven and systematically destroyed her. My sister and I paid the price as well. He despised any female with intelligence and crushed our spirit and self esteem on a daily basis. In some ways he succeeded, for although I survived his abuse, to this day I bear the emotional scars. Scars which can open and fester at will. He removed the CHILD from my childhood and I will never forget the words-"tell no-one."
No form of counselling or support was ever offered because to the eyes of the world I was a poor kid who had been lost in the system which should have saved me.
| Author Notes |
Emotional abuse takes on many forms and multiple family members can become victims. I, along with an older sister and two of my brothers, met such a fate.This is a personal account of the methods used and contributing factors. This man was a master manipulator and all his abuse was carefully and cleverly hidden from the world.
My own image is used. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
My children often don't understand why I am as I am.
This journey back through the dark days will, I hope, allow them to understand how mental abuse stays hidden within always. The right circumstances can bring a world of hurt flooding back in an instant. Don't judge me-just love me- unconditionally. Just as I love you all. Image courtesy of free Christian images |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
To carry shame and hurt so deeply, for so long, is soul destroying. I have accepted, and acknowledged my past, and forgiven my mother and my abuser.
Now I walk the path of release and healing. I share these words for my children, so they may one day understand who I was, and how far I have come. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
As a little girl of seven I was already a victim of emotional abuse and became very compliant and eager to please. I knew nothing about my human rights so quickly learnt life’s lessons to protect myself from physical abuse. My parents had fought constantly for a very long time. From before birth I was exposed to anger and violence. Suddenly I was wrenched away from all contact with my father and didn't know why. Soon my world grew even darker.
“Where’s daddy?” I'd ask.
“Your father is a bad man and we can’t live with him anymore,” my mother replied.
Soon my mother moved the family out of town to a small acreage farm and her “friend” moved in. My siblings and I became like worker bees to do the queen bee's bidding. We were to be “seen but not heard’ at all times. At this point I lost my mother as well. My mother was medicated for stress and nervousness and played little part in my life from this point.
I became a quiet, lonely child with nothing and no-one to really care. School was just somewhere I must go. A miracle from God placed me as a student at a Catholic private school. Although I had friends they were only friends in the confines of a school environment. I had no other contact with the outside world except for Sunday mass.
One day it was announced that for school open day the class would be having a concert. My class would perform a maypole dance. I was so excited and when I told my mother a small spark of caring was lit.
As a child of poverty I had never seen or owned a new dress. When my mother offered to sew a pretty new dress for me I was so elated. My mother wasn't a capable dressmaker, and in fact hadn’t sewn before. This didn’t dissuade her and she chose a pretty pale blue material with little white kittens on it.
Mother used an old treadle singer sewing machine and soon the dress was finished. My eyes gleamed with anticipation as the concert day arrived. My mother and an older brother attended and I proudly performed in the maypole dance.
Some people pointed and laughed behind their open hands but I was oblivious to them and to the giggles from the other children. That day I felt proud and almost an equal. Though...
| Author Notes |
A short story accompanied by a 5-7-5 poem.
Author's own picture is used. Darts are the garment shaping seams which are sown on the inside of the garment for neatness. Now this may not be seen as a problem but many years ago it was. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
We cannot determine our life choices at birth but we can choose a better life with wisdom and the guidance of God's love.
The image is me as a small child in an impoverished family. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
As I lived and walked the path through child abuse I learnt I could only depend on me. No-one else knew or cared about my life. If I was to survive it was all up to me. If I showed the slightest sign of weakness I knew my life would just get even worse.
When very young I was totally compliant, manipulated, brainwashed and frightened. To show weakness was to become an immediate target for an abusive tirade. That’s when I decided my abuser would never see me cry. I would not break under pressure. Don’t misunderstand me. I crumbled, I cried, I begged God and I felt totally desolate. I felt emotions that at times I was ashamed to feel. I grew to hide these signs from him and to fight back.
During my thirteen years of abuse I had many questions. Immersion in such a harrowing, soul destroying experience robbed me of insight. I couldn’t see; I could only be. During my lowest moments I wondered why and how my mother could allow this to happen. How could she turn her back on me? Why did she see with blind eyes? What possessed her to treat her children as though pawns in a crazy game of life?
With age came wisdom, acknowledgement and growth. This in no way excused the abuse, or abusers, but allowed me to see with fresh eyes. At the age of twelve or thirteen I hated my mother. I felt so ashamed and guilty of those feelings that I accepted the abuse was my punishment. I was raised a catholic and every fibre of my being felt emotions at odds with my catholic faith.
My parents are now both deceased and I feel I can finally voice my torment without being disrespectful to either one. I am grateful for the life God gave me and to my parents for allowing me to live. Without deep faith I wouldn’t have survived the journey to where I am today. I would not have the gifts of a loving husband children and grandchildren.
I have forgiven my parents for their part in the abuse and suffering I endured. They were victims too. Neither had the emotional, financial or social skills to bear and raise a family of seven. The marriage was doomed before it even took place. Fate‘s hand had already been cast and so had the future of seven children.
My mother was a damaged child herself. She was born out of wedlock to a teenage mother a year before the onset of the Great Depression in 1929. Her grandparents were members of the Baptist religion. No- nonsense, extremely strict, God- fearing people. My grandmother was fifteen when my mother was born and considered to have disgraced her family. Her pregnancy was hidden and when my mother was born she was raised as though her grandmother was her mother.
When my mother was nine years old my grandmother met and decided to marry a young man. Her parents forced grandmother to take her daughter, my mother, with her. Suddenly my mother was wrenched away from the only family she had ever known. Her “sister” was now her mother and her “mother” was her grandmother. How horrifying must that have been for her to deal with at such a young age? There were no counsellors in those days.
Grandfather adopted my mother and proudly accepted her as a daughter. Grandmother considered mother her shameful secret; a reminder to all that she had sinned. Mother was treated badly by her mother and never accepted as her daughter. She was ignored, denied love, and shunned. Grandfather and my mother developed a rapport and her mother hated that.
My mother became pregnant at eighteen and I guess grandmother saw her past all over again. Ashamed and deeply angered grandmother sent my mother a long distance away to work in the laundry of a convent. It was assumed by her mother that she would spend her pregnancy and confinement there and give up her baby. Conditions were harsh at the convent and grandfather brought my mother back home. Her mother was furious and when my mother gave birth to a son she wanted to take him as her own. She had given birth to three girls and desperately wanted a son. To escape her mother and keep her son my mother met and married my father. She said she had never loved him but he was eager to marry her. She saw this as a solution and a chance to keep her son. In later years she described her decision as 'escaping from the frying pan into the fire.'
My mother was not well educated and had finished school at the end of primary education. Her employment prospects were virtually non-existent when poor education was combined with motherhood. My father also was searching for work during the depression years of 1929-1932. He was uneducated, born into a large family and his father was very strict. His family travelled frequently to work in agricultural jobs. His financial prospects were poor and the chances to forge a better life for himself were slim.
My mother grew restless and impatient with the long hours my father worked. She was left, often in isolated areas, to cope with the raising of up to seven children primarily alone. She sought company and solace elsewhere and often left the children home alone.
After eighteen years of escalating physical, and verbal abuse my mother separated from dad. We spent a short while in varied emergency housing before finding cramped accommodation in a boarding house. My two eldest siblings aged fourteen and sixteen found work and the eldest moved in with my uncle. The three next eldest siblings were sent to an orphanage for just over a year. My mother saw them three times that year. I saw them twice.
During that year my mother gained some shift work in a café just up the street from the boarding house. My fourteen year old sister cared for me and my younger brother whilst mother worked at night. Mother enjoyed the freedom, and soon met a man who would become her partner and my abuser. He was a returned serviceman who had seen action in World War Two at the Battle of El Alamein, and in Libya and Egypt. He was a “Rat of Tobruk.” This battle is deemed one of the most remarkable in military history. He was wounded and incurred a shoulder injury from shrapnel. During his time of service his fiancée jilted him and married another. I feel this contributed to his hatred of anyone remotely like her.
Mother began to smoke cigarettes quite heavily although she never had before. Soon he had encased her like a second skin. She was convinced she couldn’t live without him and he promised to help her raise her children. Mother was suffering depression and began a journey on prescribed anti-depressants which would last the rest of her life. Sadly this would be the ruination of my mother. She became a shell of who she once was and chose the path of medication to block out the world, including her children.
Now her partner could control her for she was dependant on him and medication both of which changed her perception. During this time there didn’t seem to be such a thing as short term treatment. My mother continued on some form of anti-depressant until she died at the age of sixty eight years. At this stage my siblings and I, especially the girls, became his target. He knew he could manipulate and control my mother and consequently us. She was so blinded by the toxic combination of medication and his lies she would do anything he said and believe him unconditionally. Discipline was now open season.
Her new love promised to help her work the acreage of banana land she owned. It sounded like the perfect solution. From this point on my mother lost the essence of who she was. She was a puppet like we were. He robbed her of her worth as a mother and a woman though she never recognised that. From this point on our fate was sealed. She spent her days lying down reading true romance novels and took little part in our lives. Her motherly chores were now dictated by him. She rarely cooked, never cleaned and bought only what she was told. The chores of a mother now became mine. I became Cinderella but without a Fairy Godmother. The evil Stepmother was replaced by my abuser. Now our abuser had free reign.
My older siblings all left home at sixteen to escape the abuse and not one of them looked back. Not one tried to make my life better. I had nowhere to go, no–one to care and no hope of escape. I was brainwashed, threatened, abused and isolated. My younger sibling was not abused. He was only thirteen months old when my mother began this relationship. He was young enough to have no memories, to accept everything he was told and as mother's favourite was treated like his son.
The journey was now mine alone and the depth of his abuse and control will unfold with my story.How sad, yet brave it is to have walked this path without the love and support of those who should have loved and protected me.Without deep faith and astrong survival instinct my life may have unfolded very differently and every day I praise God for His abiding love and protection.
| Author Notes |
I have asked myself many times over the years how this abuse could happen. I didn't understand how my mother could stand back and allow it to be so. As I grew into adulthood my knowledge of events in the lives of both my parents, and my abuser, showed me what contributed to its inception.
In answer to other reviewers who have asked the questions also here is my reply. Walk with me. The image is a painting of my parents wedding photo. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
This is a Nonet poem which has nine lines.
The first line has nine syllables and then drops one syllable per line until a single syllable word remains. Nonets can be written about any subject and rhyming is optional. As a very small child I was locked in a cupboard on a regular basis. Supposedly to protect me, from my father's jealous rages. Imagine the fear of being in a cramped space whilst yelling and abuse went on nearby. I'm sure I would have felt like I might never get out. Pure terror. To this day I still feel claustrophobic in small spaces or certain situations. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
Abuse takes many forms, and control is achieved subtley, yet with impact.
My hair was hacked to "bring me down a peg or two". It was always lopsided and uneven and I looked like a boy. Add poverty to the mix, and there was no way I was going to be a popular "Miss high and mighty." The image is me with my lopsided haircut in primary school-before the smile started to fade. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
Dad, I often wonder what my life could have been,
If you'd just been in it instead of sight unseen,
Mother didn’t love you and that is such a shame,
She always told me that you were the one to blame.
She said you were a bad man and to stay away,
If I'd ignored her would I feel the same today?
Mother said my birth was an unplanned accident,
Though I still consider my life was heaven sent.
The presents you sent were never given to me,
They were hidden away so that I wouldn’t see,
I’m sorry that you were not a part of my life,
I was only little and the gossip was rife.
I believed that you'd hurt me and I was afraid,
Mother always told me that we could not have stayed,
I prayed what she told me was a terrible lie,
Never noticing the years were passing on by.
Seeds of doubt were planted and so quickly they grew,
Until I wished that I wasn't born part of you,
Mother ensured we would always be kept apart,
Whilst I always kept an empty space in my heart.
I went to your funeral to pay my respects,
Though I didn't love you and we had seldom met,
I respected you for loving me from afar,
Dad,may God richly bless you wherever you are.
| Author Notes |
My father left my life when I was aged only four. Time and circumstance meant we barely knew each other. I had an empty space in my heart but dad had a heart of love. The two were never reconciled.
I met him several times and respected him as my dad but never had a bond with him. I really miss that. A syllable count of 12/line. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
These are confronting flash-backs from a domestic violence
family situation when I was very young. Lack of punctuation is intentional. Thanks to RicksSketches on FanArtReview.com for the picture. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
Just reminiscing on childhood.
Edited 12/10/24 Free use image from www.pixabay.com |
By Shirley E Kennedy
I passed my childhood home today and memories flared.
Iron roof
Chimney blowing grey smoke
Beautiful garden of blooms
of many hues
Resplendent in the sunshine
Each room held a memory
Lingering from my childhood past
I passed by my childhood home today and left memories in the past.
| Author Notes |
My first attempt at a Codary poem which has nine lines and a set format.
A solitary line Couplet Tercet Couplet Solitary line. The last line must summarize the poem. Rhyming is optional . The Couplet and tercet must connect within themselves. Thank you to cleo85 on FanArt Review for the use of this image. Limited punctuation. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
Three little children were left all alone,
Their mother had gone to places unknown,
As hours passed by their hunger pangs grew,
They shivered with cold and misery too.
High up on the shelf the sweet treats were kept,
Soon, into their minds, a master-plan leapt,
The middle child climbed to the highest shelf,
His little eyes bulged as he helped himself.
A treat for each child was all that he took,
Oh, how delicious, each sweet treat did look,
Two of the children quite eagerly ate,
'Twas this very action which sealed their fate.
The culprit thought wisely about the theft,
Then waited until only crumbs were left,
Without a word he replaced his sweet treat,
He knew the punishment if he should eat.
When mother returned their crime he relayed,
Omitting, of course, the part he had played,
Two little children were promptly beaten,
As punishment for the food they'd eaten.
Resentment and hurt now simmered within,
For punishment given didn't fit the sin,
A bond of trust then was so harshly broken,
Sibling trust breaks when secrets are spoken.
| Author Notes |
Even a sibling will lie and betray to cause trouble for their siblings and to save their own skin.
Image courtesy of google images |
By Shirley E Kennedy
By Shirley E Kennedy
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By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
To truly understand the footprint left by abuse you must walk a mile in the shoes of the victim.
Dedicated to all victims of childhood abuse. Own image used. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
My younger brother and I were aged just 4 years (me) and 13 months (Tommy)
when our parents separated and our lives changed forever. His experience in the following years was quite different to mine. Finally he can now acknowledge that this was so. Abusers do choose their targets well. Our own images used but his name is changed. I'm smiling but my eyes hold great sadness. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
*****Please note that due to the sensitivity of this subject real names have not been used. ******
Jimmy entered her life when she was aged 4yrs and he was 55yrs. He died at 72yrs and she was 20 yrs at the time of his death. Mandy was a nurse who returned home on rostered days off to help her mum who was several years younger than Jimmy but emotionally weak. His death meant that finally she had the upper hand. The story is written as a flashback of years of mental abuse not a current situation. Australian English used. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
This is written to show that along my path of release, I have considered our lives after change and loss, from my father's perspective as well.
I was brainwashed and emotionally manipulated as a child, and couldn't even consider any other perspective but what I had been scared into believing. I'm sorry for your suffering too dad. The image is from my wedding day- the closest I ever remember being to my dad. Look closely and you will see the physical distance between us as well. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
This is a Triolet poem consisting of eight lines.
A rhyme scheme of ABaAabAB. Upper case lines repeat so that lines 1,4,& 7 are the same whilst lines 2&8 have rhyming endings. ' Petey' was mum's pet name for my younger brother. Sadly in an abusive environment not all are treated the same. Nothing is ever 'black and white" hence the colours of the presentation. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
Chapter 23 in my book 'Walk with Me' which deals with childhood abuse and neglect.
I have felt the emptiness in my heart my whole life -a place my father should have filled. 'HE' was my mother's de-facto partner who had endured the horrors of WW2 and been jilted by his fiancee using a 'DearJohn' letter whilst he was fighting abroad. A very callous and angry man. My own image used. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
As an abused child there are not a lot of happy memories.
This image captures a memory of one moment when I felt maybe my mother loved me. Sadly she passed away in 1996 and I never got to tell her this. Don't make the same mistake. Image from my family album. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
Finally getting my mind clear on the fateful day that changed my family forever.
Walking this path of release is allowing me to accept that the final outcome was inevitable. The huge cracks in the relationship my parents shared ran deep and began with the fractured surface at its inception. This is just taking a look at some issues from my father's perspective. The impact of this day changed so much for so many. This continues my walk to understanding, acceptance and release. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
Sometimes clinging to old memories is too painful and prevents us from achieving the freedom to live our own lives. We may believe they define, not just who we are but also who we will become. I chose to set myself free-- It feels wonderful. This is biographical and I know because I lived it past and present.
|
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
This is therapeutic poetry written for healing and blessed release from a painful past. As such the concept of healing and renewal is the primary purpose.
The focus has not been on punctuation. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes | This is an autobiographical poem for my book titled "Walk with Me." |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
This another chapter in my book 'Walk with Me.'
I am releasing emotions I wasn't able to as a child and walking a path to a brighter future. I hold forgiveness in my heart. Image from my private collection. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
Childhood should create happy memories of love, laughter, friendship and warmth.
The hub for these memories is the childhood home. Unfortunately mine was just...an empty shell. Thank you to davealpert on FanArtReview for the use of this image. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
I remember as my abuser was laid to rest how I wept, though not in sadness, but with relief.
Finally I was free from his destruction of all I was, or could be. He was gone forever and at last I had the freedom ... to be me.
I was wrong and his legacy is always just a thought away. I have walked a lifelong journey to be free. Sadly, most of the time I walked in a circle with no beginning and no end.
Finally I understand that to acknowledge who I am I must first set the child I was free.
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
This is another entry in my book 'walk with me.'
A biographical journey of release from childhood abuse. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
As I embrace the challenge to rid myself of emotional baggage which overpowered
the very core of my identity I find such peace as I morph into who I feel I was always meant to be. Thank you for sharing my journey. Thanks to brushbyme onFanArtReview for the image use. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
Traumatic past experiences may be triggered to manifest
as current nightmares if the original trigger is reactivated. I believe this is a Cameo poem which has seven lines and a syllable count of 2,5,8,3,8,7,2 I chose to make lies 1 and 7 the same. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
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| Author Notes | This is another chapter on the path of release in my book -Walk with Me where I'm finally releasing the emotional baggage of an abusive and neglected childhood. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
This is another entry in my book of poetry and prose titled 'Walk with Me"
which tables my journey to finally lay demons from childhood to rest through acknowledgement, acceptance and release. Thanks for walking with me. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
This will be one of the closing chapters in .my book titled; 'Walk with Me,'
Thank you to LindaBickston onFanArtReview.com for this image of Jesus. I chose this image because I believe Jesus walked the length of my journey so far right beside me, He carried me and He saved me. In God I trust. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
This is my first attempt at a Quatern poem which has 4 stanzas and 8 syllables per line.
The first line of stanza 1 is a repeating refrain and also the 2nd line in stanza 2 3rd line in stanza 3 Last line in stanza 4 Thank you to greentop on FanArtReview for the image. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
Child abuse is not okay and the aftermath of sustained abuse affects the victim
forever as the memories simmer in the subconscious mind to bubble to the surface uninvited. To walk a path of release is healing, liberating and moves the psyche from victim to survivor. Thank you for walking with me along this chapter of healing in my book titled-'Walk with Me.' Free for commercial use image used. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
When I see children excluding others from their games I feel a deep heart connection
with those excluded. Being excluded was my life as a child because of the abusive family unit I lived in. Trust didn't come easily and contact with others really didn't exist outside the school yards. Those children had already formed solid friendships...I was always the last one chosen, if at all. A chapter in my book titled; 'Walk with Me.' |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
I don't have a lot of memories of my dad but apparently I was his favourite-his youngest girl.
On that morning at aged four when I hugged and said goodbye I didn't know he would never be in my life again-just a shadow on the fringes. I needed him and have carried an empty space in my heart my whole life. I'm sorry dad I missed you and no one has ever filled that space. An entry in my book titled-"Walk with Me." My own personal images used-sadly I do not have an image of us together. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
This was my original entry in the recent contest but I felt it may have been too long and some aspects of my story may have identified me. As the contest was a 'blind contest' I entered a shorter, edited version.
This will be the final chapter in my book titled, 'Walk With Me. 'Several years ago I began writing a book to accept, acknowledge, release, and heal the emotional wounds of my past. As I completed each chapter I cut an emotional chord to emotional pain, and let it go. Slowly I began to heal and found my true self, and began to acknowledge, and like, who I have become. Free use image used... I feel it captures my journey. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
This is another chapter in my book titled 'Walk with Me' which is my journey from childhood abuse and neglect to emotional freedom as I acknowledge, accept and release the feelings and memories which have scarred most of my life. It is my personal journey and written as a therapeutic and healing tool.
The free for commercial image is perfect to depict my walk in childhood darkness to my autumn years where I have found light,love and a sense of peace. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
It is a wonderful feeling to walk from years of emotional garbage.
God has been a spiritual mentor and shining light along this journey. No journey of healing is fully complete until you have faced all fears and feelings. These thoughts are about my childhood abuser. Free for commercial use image used. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
This poem is written to depict two viewpoints and is a part of my healing journey.
My inner child has suffered for such a long time-almost a lifetime. My father and I were torn apart when I was only four and our relationship was lost forever. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
By Shirley E Kennedy
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| Author Notes |
Child abuse creates memories that never really disappear but we learn to accept, address and heal.
Private images used |
By Shirley E Kennedy
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| Author Notes |
As a frightened child I felt abandoned when my brother left to escape to his new life and I was left behind to suffer abuse alone.
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By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
Often family ancestral trees provide incomplete records by accident or design
and ancestral links are lost. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
By Shirley E Kennedy
Though winter’s long and nights are cold
the mind’s a wonder to behold.
Just when the past had found its place,
again, it slapped me in the face.
My inner child still needs to speak,
to tell me why she’s mild and meek.
She’s lived her life in empty shell
a void filled with her private hell.
Dear inner child come talk to me
I wonder what your secrets be.
Your path has always mirrored mine,
captured by ties that bind.
Now is your time to find your voice;
I give to you the gift of choice.
No-one else knows me as you do
So, share your burdens too.
Deep emotions soon burst through
for we are one; I’m part of you.
In dark of night when all is still
empty void you soon will fill.
Dear inner child it’s now, you pray
To thank God, just for today.
I hear your voice offer Him praise
as my voice I too raise
He holds our hearts close to His own;
the greatest love we’ve known.
Dear inner child your voice is heard
Such wisdom in each word
By Shirley E Kennedy
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
My earliest memory is of standing in the hallway of my home and screaming for thirty minutes or more. I was four- years- old, my baby brother was thirteen months old and my other siblings were all older. My parents were fighting in the tiny kitchen and pots, pans and utensils were crashing to the floor. This was almost a daily occurrence but this particular night it was even worse.
Daddy was hitting and pushing mummy and calling her a whore. I didn’t understand what that was but I knew it was bad and I wanted it to stop.
‘Daddy, stop I screamed,’ but he didn’t.
He grabbed my mother around the throat and wouldn’t let go. She was thrashing and gasping but he wouldn’t let go.
‘Mummy! I called and tried to run to her but she was hitting daddy with a lump of firewood to make him let go.
My baby brother and I were screaming and I couldn’t stop. I struggled to breathe and I stood paralysed with fear.
Dad staggered back and grabbed his forehead and mummy signalled to my sisters to take my baby brother and me to the safe place. I knew this place all too well and struggled to make them let me go. I was gasping for air, screaming without sound and paralysed with fear.
We were picked up and taken into a darkened room and shoved into a cupboard. The cupboard was tiny and I pounded on the door to get out. I was so terrified I wet my pants which just made it even more uncomfortable. I couldn’t breathe and my heart thudded in my chest. I don’t know how long I was in there but I must have passed out.
The next day my older brother and I were taken to the doctors because neither of us could speak. The shock, fear and trauma were too much for our young bodies.
My parents separated after this attack and I had nightmares for about a year and today many years later claustrophobia is still my constant companion. I can control it until similar circumstances arise and then I feel varying degrees of panic.
Not great memories to have but thankfully I have lived, and continue to, live a full life.
| Author Notes | Domestic violence is never okay and trauma remains for a lifetime hidden yet ready to emerge at will. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
Each Father’s Day would come and go and my heart felt such pain. I didn’t know why you weren’t there; mum said you were insane. At four years old I was too young to know who was to blame. I only knew sadness and grief yet I still bore your name. You were the midwife at my birth and the first face I saw. You treated me so tenderly and gazed at me in awe. I can’t recall your love or touch for I was torn away. Mum swore you were an evil man until her dying day. The gifts you sent were not received, mum hid them from my sight. How sad it was for both of us to suffer such a plight. Within my heart there was a space where a dad’s love could shine. Sadly, that love was from afar and never truly mine Our hearts each held a missing piece which neither one could find. Each Father’s Day I pause to pray as I call you to mind. I thank you dad for loving me; though it wasn’t returned. I pray God always keeps you close for peace you’ve surely earned.
| Author Notes |
My mother left my father when I was four years old.
For many years I've felt an emptiness my heart where his love should have been. Sadly, all contact was lost and I only saw my father a few times before his death. Though I saw the pain in his eyes he was a stranger to me. I acknowledged he was my dad, invited him to my wedding and attended his final goodbye. |
By Shirley E Kennedy
My childhood was so sad and lonely.
My father was torn from my life.
Toys, books, and fun were taboo.
Though abuse left deep scars
I wish I had known
my father's love
instead of
hearing
lies.
By Shirley E Kennedy
| Author Notes |
Although I met my father I never knew him. Divorce, distance and family loyalties kept us apart. As I reflect I
see the emotional cost to us both. My father's image used. |
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