The Beautiful Swan

Kindergarten school picture 1956

Mother was so overwhelmed with five of us girls at the end of twelve children of her own and taking in other people’s children.  She was forced to find ways to make her million tasks easier.  One of the things she did was to have my sister Ginny cut our hair to a “Dutch cut”.  Mother explained that she needed it to be easy for her to comb our hair because there was so much to do to get us all off to school. She said, “When you are old enough to take care of it yourselves,  you can grow it as long as you like.” 

When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t feel pretty at all.  I thought I looked like a boy.  I missed my curls.  I had heard people say how darling they were.  Mother would even get them wet and scrunch them.   I loved it when Mother would touch my hair or stroke my arm. She reserved her hugs for Dad until she grew older and we were adults.

When I was old enough to read on my own, I read the classic story of The Ugly Duckling.  I noticed the duckling had no hair, like me after I had mine cut.  At the end of the story, the ugly duckling turns into a beautiful swan.  I had never seen such a beautiful bird.  She looked so regal.  I hugged the book and closed my eyes tightly as I imagined someday, I would be beautiful like the swan. 

I was in my 50’s before I started hearing people tell me I was beautiful.  It was after I had let go of a lifetime of baggage and opened my heart to love again. While on a boating trip, I glanced at a young girl walking toward me in the distance. Before I realized who it was, I was struck by how stunningly beautiful she was.  I kept my eyes on her as she walked closer, noticing that her beautiful features were almost exactly like mine.  It finally landed, the swan had arrived. The young girl was my daughter Jessica.

I visualize daily my beautiful being until I breathe it into expression!

Daddy Dear

Dad was arrested in 1954 along with Gary’s father Louis Kelsch.  Louis simply pled guilty as charged and took the wrap.  Dad wanted to fight it in court to put the state on notice that they were breaking constitutional law.  He had many friends who offered financial support to help him win the case.  After four years of fighting it, he lost the case and was sentenced to five years in prison for bigamy.  He was satisfied that his point was made.  

The Five Sisters

It was devastating to the family when Dad was sent to the state penitentiary.  I was nine.  He picked me up, set me on the counter, and made it clear to me that I was the oldest of the five little ones in the family, and that it was my responsibility to help mother take care of my younger sisters, to keep them safe, and help them do the right thing. I made up the story internally that if anything went wrong, I wasn’t doing my job and I would disappoint my Dad, again.  I also made up the story, as a nine year old that whatever needed to be done, it was up to me to make it happen.  If a war broke out between my little sisters or anyone got hurt, it was my fault.  My immature mind felt overwhelmed with the responsibility and I took it very literally.

He explained to me why he had to go away for a long time.  The judge wanted him to call Mother his mistress instead of his wife.  He made it very clear that he refused to have any of his children labeled as bastards.  He proudly claimed each of his wives and children as his family, and was willing to pay the price society and the law demanded.  He made sure to answer every letter I wrote, and make our visit with him very special.  I was proud of my Dad.  He was my hero.  

Albert, Kate, Vio & Maurine 1959

The day before he was scheduled to go to prison, he spent the whole day with all three wives.  That evening he took them and all the children who were not married out to a restaurant called Nolgrens.  He proudly introduced all his wives and children to the waitress.  I felt treasured by him. 

I dare to be committed to maintaining my own boundaries, and love to respect the boundaries of others.

Hansel and Gretel

My big sister got a studio apartment uptown when I was eight.  She called to see if I wanted to stay with her.  I was so excited!  In those days it was pretty safe for a child to take the bus alone.  Everyone looked out for us.  I felt really big when I got on the bus all by myself.  When the bus driver dropped me, I wasn’t sure which direction to go.  I couldn’t remember the name of the street.  It seemed I walked forever and couldn’t decide which apartment house was hers.  It was getting dark.  I was feeling very afraid of being alone in the dark in a strange place.  I was eight years old.

Finally, an old lady noticed me and asked if I was lost. She looked so old and wrinkled, and kind of bent over.  I was sure she must be the witch from Hansel and Gretel.  When she offered to take me to her apartment to use her phone, my imagination went wild with pictures of her taking me into her home, locking me up, and having me for dinner.  Too frightened to speak, I somehow remembered my phone number. I finally calmed down when I heard Mother's voice on her phone.  I was so relieved to discover she was just a kind old lady.  Both of my grandmothers had passed when my parents were in their teens.  I was not yet familiar with what old age looked like on a woman.  

1958 eight years old

Throughout most of my school years my very best friends were my sisters.  I didn’t mix well with other children.  I felt “different” and uncomfortable.  Especially after Dad was sent to prison for his religious beliefs.  I made one friend in elementary school who became my very best friend until middle school.  Dad got wind that she was doing things I wasn't allowed, so he told me not to hang with her anymore.  I felt very sad, but trusted Dad’s judgement.  Soon I noticed she was missing at school.  I met her again a few years later at the store where I worked.  I was still in high school.  She was there with her mother and a baby that was hers.  I then understood what Dad was trying to protect me from.

I enjoyed primary at the LDS ward house.  When I was old enough, the elders offered to baptize me.  They made it clear that for me to be a member of the Church I would have to promise not to live the way my Dad lived.  I wasn’t ready to make a promise like that.  I didn’t see anything wrong with my family.  I didn’t understand the judgement I felt about how the “outside” world” viewed us. I just knew I felt safe and loved within my family. 

I open myself to the flow of life, people, and events as I experience being human.

Happy Days

When I was little, I watched out the window for “Daddy” to come home.  He would often leave a treat in his lunch box for us to share.  He was so happy to see us.  Sometimes he would load up the whole family in the car and take us to the Dairy Queen for an ice cream cone.  If the neighbor kids were there, they piled in with us.  Sometimes we had to stack three deep on laps.  There were no seat belts then.  Other times he would take us camping in the nearby mountains.   I experienced him as kind, generous, and loving.  I loved being around him.

With so many siblings and Mother’s daycare children, I always had playmates.  I still thrill at the smell of dry Autumn leaves as it stirs up the memories of frolicking in them and burying each other in them.  The smell of summer rain brings back the happy times when we would run outside and sing and dance in the rain.  Then we made boats out of paper to float  on the water as it ran down the gutter.  On summer nights we played hide and seek throughout the yard.  Hopscotch and jump rope were daytime favorites.  In the evening we would sit on the front steps and visit mother while she sprayed the lawn with the hose.  I loved Mother's calm energy.  It gave me the feeling that everything would always come out right.  We could count on her being there.

One summer Dad had a huge pile of sand dumped in the back yard.  I don’t know why.  I just know we had tons of fun making tunnels, bridges, and waterways that summer.   There was a nice shaded spot under the back porch with a dirt floor.  We loved making little dishes out of the mud, letting them dry in the hot sun, then making shapes of food and pretend we were having a feast.  When I had my own children, I made sure there was either dirt or sand they could play in.   

We didn’t have a television until I was nine.  Mother had no money for something we didn’t need, so all the kids pitched together whatever money we earned on our own.  It took us nearly a year to save enough, and we were really excited when it came.  It was black and white.  It had a big cabinet with a small screen.

One of my favorite things is when we would have a large box of clothes given to us by someone.  It felt like Christmas!  We girls would rummage through the box and find the clothes that fit us.  Until one day at school, I was probably in third grade, one of my classmates announced to the class that the dress I was

wearing used to be hers.  The tone of voice she used made me feel less than.  I never wanted to feel that again.  I didn’t like wearing anything used at school after that.  It was a shock to hear that we were poor, especially while it was publicly announced.

We all got brand new school dresses for the first day of school and for Christmas.  I was finally old enough to take care of my own hair when I was eight.     

1960 the five “little sistas”

I appreciate the graces that surround and enrich my life.

Princess in the Forest

At seven, I had the rare opportunity to spend two weeks of the summer in the mountains near Flathead Lake, Montana, with my younger sister, Doris.   My older sister, Ruth, was married to a kind man named Chuck, who couldn’t have children.  When we arrived, he insisted on taking us right into town for new clothes.  If we just squeaked a hint of something we liked or wanted, it was provided abundantly.  We got excited about a pair of roller skates they bought for us.  When we brought them home to Ruth’s, there was no cement to skate on.  So right away Chuck arranged for a cement driveway to be poured so that we could skate.

We had the grandest time.  We felt like princesses with all the new clothes, toys and special treatment.  This was my first reference point to abundance and where I learned how abundance works.  I learned about generosity, how to receive, and knowing that whatever we desire is available to us.  I learned what it was like to be noticed and adored by the grown ups.  This would offset the balance of wealth and poverty for me.  I was happy in both worlds.

We loved playing in the forest behind the house.  I felt I was home in the forest...like I belonged there.  I had a daydream that I lived in such a forest among the wildlife.  I felt so happy and so loved.  I felt a deep, lasting connection with the Earth that never left.

Chuck couldn’t bear to have us leave when it was time to go home.  He came clear to Salt Lake with us to ask our parents if he could adopt us.  Ruth warned him that it wouldn’t work that way, but in his mind, the twelve children Mom and Dad had was too many to take care of with so little means.  Surely they wouldn’t mind giving up one or two of them, whom he could provide so well for.
  

2013

Later, at home, I would climb the aspen tree in the backyard and just sit in the tree whenever I wanted to feel close to God.  I've heard that many children, at age seven, have a deep sense within of what they were born to do or be.  I now live in the mountains among the wildlife in Park City.  The wild flowers, animals and trees are so dear to me.  I feel as though my daydream has come true and I am in heaven.

Following your desires will lead you to your purpose.

Stay out of Sight

In 1953, I was three, when the state of Arizona decided to raid a little town of polygamist families in southern Utah.  The police broke into their homes at 3:00 in the morning.  The men were arrested and the children were put onto buses, to be taken away.  Their mothers refused to part with them and boarded the bus with their children.  Well-meaning people in Arizona, who perceived they were rescuing these “poor women and children”, were waiting to adopt the children and give them “a good life”.  

1953 3 yrs old

These families were simply living their religious beliefs, but because the current laws did not permit it, and the news media villainized it, they were constantly being threatened with imprisonment and disenfranchisement from society.  They had moved themselves to a remote part of the country with the hope that they would not be molested by the law.  They were, in essence living on the “underground”.  Even those living in cities, going to public school, lived as quietly (secretly) as possible.  We were such a family, living in Salt Lake City at the time.

When my parents got word of the raid, they panicked. They had heard that at least one of the women were also arrested and her ten children taken away, and placed into several different foster homes as wards of the state.  They didn’t know how far reaching this raid would be.  

My father and fourteen of his friends and relatives had spent time in prison in 1945 for polygamy.  He wasn’t afraid for himself, but the threat of his children being scattered and  his family torn apart, was more than he could bear.  He and mother decided to gather all of the children, and take them to the canyons for a while until they could assess the situation.  

My older sister woke me in the early hours of the morning.  I could feel the fear in her voice as she dressed me and helped me into the car.  “Where are we going?  What’s the matter?” I asked.  The car was parked right under the neighbor’s window.

“Shush!! If you wake the neighbors, they will call the police!  The police will take us away, and we may never see Mom and Dad again!”  That fear instilled in me a strong belief that I needed to be very quiet, in order to stay safe and to protect my entire family.  The monster under my bed was anyone with the ability to interfere in our family.  

I mostly kept to myself in public school.  As a child, I had nightmares of my little sister and I hiding in a covert under the street because we heard a siren.  We were sure they were looking for us to take us away.  As an adult, I had nightmares of policemen coming to my door to take away my babies, because I had chosen to live plural marriage.

I am flexible enough to accept life as it is, and forgiving enough to accept it as it has been.

The Spanking

Emotional wounds establish a core belief about yourself in relation to the world from an experience as an emotionally undeveloped  (open) psyche, or trauma that is not comprehended in innocence.  Innocence is childlikeness: free from expectations, attachments, beliefs, guile, judgement.  Humans are born premature, dependent on their environment.  Environment includes energies, food, belief systems, behaviors, attitudes, ways of being. ~ Dr. Gabor Matte’

My earliest recollection is what I would refer to many times in my healing process as “the spanking”.  I’m standing in the middle of a very large room alone, desperately searching for Mother, who is nowhere in sight.  Dad is holding my left arm tightly while spanking me with a rolled up newspaper.  “Stop crying!” his big voice booms out with each loud whack.  

I am two.  I have an earache.   Mother's way of handling a whining toddler is to turn them over to Dad. Now, the pain of the earache is minimal compared to the  humiliation of disappointing my father.  I feel so ashamed to let him down.  Something is very wrong with me!  I hold my lips together tightly, desperate to stop these awful  sounds.  I swallow the tears until my stomach feels sick.  The little noises inside my throat bring another loud whack.  I push the sound further down with all my might until my body becomes rigid.  I dare  not let the air out of my lungs.  I think if I hold my whole body tight enough, he will stop spanking me and telling me I'm bad.  Finally, the noise stops. 

I turn my head around to look at him, aching for that familiar hug I know is waiting for me and the reassurance of his kind voice.  I begin to relax, ready to fall into his loving arms when suddenly, out of nowhere, my body betrays me.  My head jerks with a whimper.  Whack! "You're still rebelling!" I am horrified, humiliated, and exhausted.  I can’t look him in the eye for the shame I feel.   I just want to run away and hide my face.  His strong arm is holding me tightly.  I have no choice but to hold my shame in silence.  The thoughts in my head are all I have left, leaving a huge void in my heart for self love. I am numb. I made a decision, as a two year old, to do whatever would please my parents and anyone else I saw as an authority figure. 

.     .     .     .

Spankings were very acceptable ways to discipline children in those days.  It was Dad's way of supporting Mother in never having to spank us.  All she had to do was give us “the look”.  We knew to respect and obey her.   I  logically, in my head, explained “the spanking” as his way of teaching me to be obedient.  If it worked on me, surely it would work on my children.

It’s astounding the many decisions we make as tiny children when something happens to us that we are not capable of understanding.  Logically, as an adult, I had no clue that this one incident would be the source of so many unconscious behaviors and reactions I would automatically turn to, in response to any other incident or dialogue that looked or felt remotely like “the spanking”.   I held unconscious beliefs about myself and my body, and held my body in disdain, as defective, believing that there was always something wrong with me, or that I did something wrong and God was punishing me.  That no matter how hard I tried to do something right, my body would betray me, or that I couldn’t quite pull it off.   It would manifest itself physically, emotionally, and spiritually until I became conscious enough to let it go.  These subconscious beliefs about myself became the source of many painful experiences based on some of my established beliefs built in shame.  

These beliefs became a persona (mask), something to hide behind to keep me safe.  A more familiar term is personality.  The question that was always hyper vigilant in my mind was, "What is expected of me to be safe, loved, and acceptable? "  If I didn't have the answer or perform the required task, I felt worthless, unworthy, rejected, ashamed, and humiliated.  

1952 two years old

• I had an intense need to know the rules, what was expected of me, or to have the answers.  It showed up in a know-it-all, self righteous, perfectionist addiction and an obsession and rigidity to know and keep the rules.
• Intense preparation in the form of researching and collecting information became my safety, my assurance that I was right, and I could prove it.  
• I was constantly trying to "fix" my body so it would stop hurting, or so I could have babies like other women. This showed up in a constant vigilance of the food I ate with a rigid discipline of eating healthy, which turned into a pattern of dieting, fasting, and bingeing.  
• I was driven to learn everything I could about obstetrics and several healing modalities including and finally, emotional healing, to try to make sense of whatever trauma I experienced.

How many times do we force our children to comply with our demands with little or no understanding of the effect it has on their psyche.  How can we approach our children with the same degree of respect we would ask for ourselves?  Where do we play this out as adults?  Are we capable of asking for respect from those we are in relationship with?  

The good news is that my response to these beliefs eventually developed into the pearls that bring me so much strength, courage, commitment, and Joy in my new awareness.

The solution does not come from the outside, it comes from within.