I don’t know that I have a story worth selling. I have an interesting life, that’s for certain. Not many people have driven alone on a 400-mile dirt road to the Arctic Ocean, communed with crows, and overcome crippling depression, suicidal ideation, and its accompanying fibromyalgia. Not everyone has found or even understands true self-love and how it can break a person away from patterns of abuse and abusive relationships. But my story doesn’t have a once-upon-a-time unfolding, a climax of terror, struggle, and heroism, and a happy conclusion. It’s an ongoing journey, fluctuating between successes and setbacks, highs and lows, deaths, rebirths, recovery, and discovery. It includes long stretches of general contentment, which, though a tremendous boon for one who struggled most of her life to achieve and maintain this level of safety, makes for mundane reading and isn’t worth more than a sentence or two when attempting to captivate an audience for the long haul.
Still, I have to start somewhere.
Once upon a time I was a baby. An innocent little thing. A fresh canvas upon which my genetics and my environment would paint the instructions for how I would navigate life for the many or few years of my human existence. I had a kind heart, full of love and compassion for living things. I was a good little girl. I did my best to do the right things in an upbringing where rules and expectations fluctuated. I was quick to modify my behaviors to adapt and prevent the varying levels of punishment for a concept of disobedience I didn’t understand. I learned to accept that, more often than not, favorite coffee cups etched with the gold and rainbows appreciated by most young children were smashed against the walls to the regular rhythm of blood-curdling arguments between my parents while I hid under a large pedestal desk that I still own today.
Once upon a time I grew up in an unstable home environment with a narcissistic mother and a relatively absent father. It was a chaos that I knew only as normal life.
How many details of my abuse and neglect do I divulge? We humans do love to be appalled. We enjoy the gossip that makes us feel better about our own perceived shortcomings as much as we appreciate the validation we find in the familiarity of struggle and injustice. Yet there is a certain point at which the divulgence becomes a pity-party, a compilation of complaints that run a sympathetic heart dry and make you close the book, put down the kindle, turn off the audio stream and search for something lighter, something uplifting after all that woe.
So what about the good memories? The piano and singing duets with my father and the artistic, literary, and musical talents nurtured by my mother. The love of nature, animals, and the outdoors instilled in me from infancy. How do I create a balanced picture that accurately explains why I put off my childhood intentions of running away until I turned 40?
I don’t know how to explain why it took so long to heal and what healing looks like. I don’t know how to portray that part of my life as inspirational. Much of it was arduous and, frankly, embarrassing, having to look at myself and my behaviors under the ghastly bright light of honesty. And as much as I have found an abundance of peace and self-compassion in that honesty, I’m still hesitant to feel like an ass to the general public on the off chance of reaching a few people and helping them out of the wallows of their own personal despair.
But you do want to hear about the wild crow that stands on my head, right? And all the places I’ve been and the people I’ve met and the things I have seen and done. The great things. The life-changing and once-in-a-lifetime events and accomplishments. I want to share them. But I can’t sugarcoat them. They need raw naked cold vulnerable honesty, a backstory of suffering and growth if they are to have any substance. You need to know how I got here.
Dear god, how the fuck am I going to tell this story?
Once upon a time I was me.
All pictures and words copyright Anna Horvitz (me) and cannot be used without my consent.
The little girl in the photos is me.
Thanks so much, @ladiesofhive!
I see that yours has been a complex journey, I also see that you are very strong and resilient... And you also have a natural talent for writing in an eloquent and human way ;)... I send a big hug... Thank you for sharing these deep lines and moving photos...
PS: I also have fibromyalgia :( it's a kick in the ass, but I had to learn to live with it...
!discovery shots
!VSC
@jlinaresp has sent VSC to @corvidae
This post was rewarded with 0.1 VSC to support your work.
Join our photography communityVisual Shots
Check here to view or trade VSC Tokens
Be part of our Curation Trail
@jlinaresp ha enviado VSC a @corvidae
Éste post fue recompensado con 0.1 VSC para apoyar tu trabajo.
Únete a nuestra comunidad de fotografía Visual Shots
Consulte aquí para ver o intercambiar VSC Tokens
Se parte de nuestro Trail de Curación
Thanks for your words. 🖤
Fibro absolutely sucks. For a brief period when I was on antidepressants I had some days with zero pain and tension. It was incredibly validating, though I didn't really get it under control until I started doing the hard core therapy. I can still get flares if I'm totally caught off guard and exhausted and vulnerable to triggers, but otherwise many days are relatively pain free. I say relatively because, unfortunately, mental health therapy doesn't fix arthritis. 🙄
Sending fibro fist-bumps.
This post was shared and voted inside the discord by the curators team of Discovery-it in collaboration with Visual Shots community.
Discovery-it is also a Witness, vote for us here
Delegate to us for passive income. Check our 80% fee-back Program
Congratulations @corvidae! You received a personal badge!
Wait until the end of Power Up Day to find out the size of your Power-Bee.
May the Hive Power be with you!
You can view your badges on your board and compare yourself to others in the Ranking
Check out our last posts:
It's a hard one indeed!
I think especially once you realise that the story continues to shift and change as we do...
And so much of a life lived. So many moments and all that!
Hoping you're warm and safe and okay.
Yes! I know other authors who write about shit like this realize this, too. There's so many formats, so many options... Truth be told, I do want to write about it, but I don't want to waste time writing some bullshit. I want to create something that is really worth reading. And I don't know if I have the talent enough to do that... (Not asking for praise/encouragement, just lamenting possible truths, lol.)
Super warm and cozy eating salad in front my space heater! Probably not as warm as you though, under the African Sun.
P.S. Just now learned today (Dec 1) is Antarctica Day! Since you're much closer, I wish you a very happy Antarctica Day indeed. One of those bucket list places.
Good lords and ladies I missed Antarctica day?!
Sorry so late to respond. School hols, trying to find a new rental, car trouble, computer charger died, blah blah when it rains it pours.
But yeah. It's summer and the sun has been shining.
I'm warm but tired. But warm. But tired.
And yes to writing anything, really. It ebbs and flows and stalls and then flows again. I suspect it depends a lot on how and where we are internally.
And externally because a lot of us depends on our surroundings.
Jealous af. Wish I was tucked away in a very fucking far off cabin and could sit in front if a fire, read, write and make art all day
And cookies. 👍🏼 Loads and loads of cookies.
Hope you had a wonderful filled weekend 🪷
Shit, should I be making cookies??!!
If it makes you feel any better, you wouldn't be jealous of the thick filmy drizzle or the cold and humid days. How long is a summer day down there? I'm not familiar with your latitude location. In peak summer we get something like 17 hours of sun or something ridiculous.
Fuck yeah!!! Cookies are mandatory!!
Still sounds awesome.
Here. We're kinda lucky, I guess. Mild wonders and nice summers.
Coldest is 14 Celsius on a grim day and usually between 35 and 32 in summer :)
The sun is fierce though! It'll fry you in minutes African sun fierce!
But altogether down at the coast (ZA) it's not extreme. 2 hours earlier sunset in winter.
2 hours earlier sunrise in summer
San Diego climate, what I grew up in...
Oh? :D
Have family by once was marriage over there.
My daughter's aunt :)
Yes. Hear the weather if fine and the temperament mild over there. Nice.
You could always come and visit you know.
Tons of Crows around here :D
And your crows like Pie!!
African Crow ear pretty much everything
This is Africa, you know. Not for lightweights! It's wild!
This can be a good and bad thing both
I noticed that by the last photo, you seem to have outgrown cat strangling. I was so concerned when I saw your tiny little hands around that orange tabby's neck.
The question that's burning in my brain on reading this that I must have answered in detail is what do you call "me"...what is "me"? I need to know. I really need to know. Please take me seriously even though I've been slinging silliness in subtantial amounts of slop.
If you look closely, you can see that one hand is under Kitten's armpit, so that there is no actual strangling involved. One of the many good things my mother did for me in this lifetime was teach me how to hold cats without strangling them. Considering this was probably a first try, you can see how the image indicates that I was a natural with animals... they used to call me the Cat Tamer. For reals. I have a knack for even getting mostly feral cats to let me hold them.
Me? I do take your question seriously. I think that's part of what would be answered in the writing of The Thing. Not gonna call it the B word right now. Me. Me equals being comfortable in not knowing who the fuck I am and accepting that as fluidity and freedom. Me equals actually fairly scared of a lot of the things I try and do but try/do them anyway. Me equals haven't been eaten by a bear yet or split my head open on the ice so I'm probably doing ok. Me equals walking around the store oblivious to the giant splat of crow shit on my beanie and collar of my jacket. But also me equals not just me, but the sum of real connections I make with other beings.
OK. I looked real, real, real close and I see this...
Your right arm is under the kitten's right forearm but also has a good grasp under the head if you look closely at that fingergrip. Your left hand has good grip from the back of what looks the scruff of the kitten's neck. Looks like you're wearing pee protection. Right leg of kitten looks like it's trying to find purchase there.
Did I look close enough?
Love the last pic yet again (liked all the others, stared way too much at all of them), you doing your cat magic on what looks like steps, forgot to say that. Total natural with animals, but then, I noticed that way back when...
I really like your way of answering the me question; flows in a lovely way. I also think it's pretty admirable to write The Thing, aka B, your story. Couldn't and wouldn't do it myself, even if I could...the thought alone exhausts me.
Thanks! To everything. And I guess that explains why the kitten asphyxiated and died shortly after that photo was taken.
Snark snark snark SHARK!!!
You're welcome. To everything.
You said, look real close. I did just that and reported back in a comment flash. I felt I was accurate.
p.s. I know you're not a kitten strangler. I couldn't help myself.
Thanks team!!
Yeah, that makes sense, but I think it's worth taking the risk and putting yourself out there, because it's totally worth reaching the people who you do end up reaching. Which, of course, you already know otherwise you wouldn't have hit publish. It's one hell of a good story. Love the pictures too, especially that one with the man I presume is your father at the piano.
Piano song time was the best. I wish we still did it. I don't know why we don't. A thousand miles away isn't that far...
And thanks. I think probably maybe possibly it's a good story, if I can figure out how to tell it so I can sell it.