Grief. Everyone deals with it at some point in their lives, and there are many different types of grief, some we may not even realize as grief. We know that losing someone close to us causes grief, but what about other things like losing your job or getting hurt and losing your physical ability to do what you used to do? Those are losses, too. Grief could be something as simple as not being able to fit into your favorite pair of jeans because you are grieving your lighter self. You can feel grief when your child leaves home, or you lose something of value to you. We can understand and sympathize with those feelings of grief because we may have felt those same feelings.

Experts tell us that time heals all wounds and that we need to keep living life as we grieve. We are not supposed to wallow in pain, but feel the emotions and move on, right?

But what about a different type of grief we don’t hear people talking about – the pain and grief of losing ourselves? What if that grief keeps us stuck in a loop because of reminders and reinforcing situations that won’t allow us to fully heal? What do we do then? I’ve been trying to figure that out.

It is so easy to get so busy in our adult lives, going to work, taking care of a home, kids, parents, and whatever other responsibilities, hobbies, or leisure activities we do that keep our minds occupied just enough to think we are living a good life. We have an excuse for forgetting who we were once upon a time when the World was open to any possibility we could imagine.

For me, feeling this grief now is not about blaming anyone or living in the past. It’s about honoring that little girl inside of me who was beaten down and shamed so much that I detached from my true self and felt guilt and shame whenever I expressed myself.

I’m finally dealing with that grief. I couldn’t do it before because it was too painful, and I didn’t have the tools or strength to deal with it. Instead, I kept busy, blaming life and other things for keeping me from living the life I choose.

My earliest memory of when I felt okay being myself was when I was five years old. My dad had a stereo system on a high shelf with speakers in the adjacent room. I learned how to use it by watching him. There wasn’t much music played in the house on that stereo, but I loved music. So, when I thought the coast was clear, I’d drag a chair to the stereo and pop in Three Dog Night and sing and dance to the songs. Well, until I got caught. Then that wasn’t so much fun.

My mother thought I had something special enough to take me to try out for the first Miss Cherry Blossom Princess contest in Wilkes-Barre. She made me the outfit I wore: a navy polka-dotted maxi skirt and a vest. She also choreographed the dance I did when I sang Three Dog Night’s “Joy to the World.” I still remember the moves when the song goes, “A straight-shootin’ son of a gun.”

Back then, technology was simple, and I sang along to a 45 record. However, something went wrong with the record player, and it stopped working during my performance. At five years old, I didn’t let that stop me, and I kept singing and dancing. I was having fun! And I won.

I don’t remember much family life before that event, but what happened after that contest affected me so profoundly that I couldn’t confront that memory and fully grieve until recently.

My family had a station wagon, and my mother schlepped my siblings and me to the contest. On the way home from it, on what should have been a very happy day for me, I was confronted by my older brother and sister about how the only reason why I won was that everyone was laughing at me like I was a clown. He didn’t tell me once. For the entire ride home, I repeatedly heard that I was a loser and that the judges only voted for me because I was a funny joke.

Words hurt. I was five years old and believed every single word.

I’m sure I tried to stop them, but like so many other episodes in the family, I got shut down, and the abuse continued. [It was like the scene from the movie Home Alone when Buzz is abusing Kevin, but Kevin got in trouble and had to sleep in the attic with the bed-wetter cousin who just finished a can of Pepsi.] I don’t remember much about the rest of that day, but I do remember that the teasing and abuse never stopped. It only got worse.

Part of the winnings from the contest was a family dinner at the restaurant in Pomeroy’s, a shopping trip in Pomeroy’s, and a year of modeling lessons at Marilyn Gauntlet’s School of Modeling. My older sister wanted modeling lessons too. So the two of us went. I left after a year, but my older sister stayed with it.

I chose this memory to share because I finished the book, Healing the Shame That Binds You by John Bradshaw, and he recommends doing a writing exercise while looking at a photo of you as a child. I found a school photo of me from first grade and put it on my desk. Seeing me as a child flooded my brain with feelings I didn’t even know I had –one of them was overwhelming grief. The book deals with the shame we learned as children that follows us into adulthood. Grief was a by-product of reading the book, and I’m grateful for that experience, but man it hurts to feel it!

For many years after winning the Miss Cherry Blossom contest, I was abused by my older brother and sister. She and my older brother were close, and when their wonder twin powers activated, wow, they were powerful and very harmful. I got treated differently from my siblings. The punishments were intense and the negative, hurtful words said to me stung like getting hit with acid. I felt so alone.

By the time I got to high school, I wanted out of the house, out of the town, and the life I was living. There was much more going on than just the fallout from the Cherry Blossom contest, and I looked to music for help. I used to take my dog and cat (who followed me everywhere) into the woods, sometimes with a tape recorder, and I wrote songs. And I have amassed an extensive library of songs.

Even though I was persecuted for wanting to sing, I never stopped doing it. I didn’t think much of my voice or songs, but there was something that kept pushing me to keep singing and writing. I know now, it brought me a sense of peace among the chaos. Plus, I always believed God was with me, helping me through my challenging life, and gave me reasons to embrace my gifts, not reject them.

As a teenager, I dreamed of singing on stage with a band. I sang in garage bands and felt so much joy doing it that it was a no-brainer that it was what I was supposed to be doing with my life. A friend who had graduated high school a year ahead of me went on to study at Berklee College of Music in Boston, Massachusetts, and told me about it. That’s where I wanted to go!

I was so excited about it until I told my father, and he told me I was not going there. I was so sad. He said I was going to Mansfield University for music because it was a state school, and I could be a music teacher. I believe his words were something like, “You can’t make money with music. You need something to fall back on.” But I didn’t want to be a music teacher; I wanted to be a performer, singing my songs. I did not have anyone in my life to tell me I had a choice, and because of the family “dynamics” (that’s a sweet word for abuse), I didn’t make waves. I failed out of Mansfield. That’s another chapter.

I’ve lived a tough life, and it’s made me wise, strong, and resilient. I’ve kept secrets and shame bottled up inside of me, waiting for the next person in line to show up and tell me what I was going to do. Thankfully, God answered my prayers, and I met a guy who was a creative soul like me. Together, we have been dealing with the murky waters of my past as I keep learning how to deal with grief and loss. And along the way, we’ve created some beautiful music (him being a talented guitarist).

My guy, Marty, and I had recorded an EP of five songs at Sound Investments studio in Scranton as Sugar Lime Twist with two other incredibly talented musicians: Tom Smallcomb on drums and Jeff Pehala on bass guitar. I was so proud of it having music put to my lyrics. During a Sunday family dinner, I shared the good news and asked who wanted a copy of it. I looked around during the silence as the heads of my brothers, sister, and parents went sideways, trying to avoid eye contact. My sister-in-law was the only one who wanted a copy.

Can you imagine what that did to me, whose life force and soul made something out of nothing, and my family (who are supposed to be supporters) once again acted like I was a pariah, an embarrassment to the family?  How could I feel good about it when we played the music out in public? I never gave it my all; I subconsciously sabotaged the effort (without knowing it at the time), and we didn’t perform as a band for very long.

I am done protecting those who never once protected me. I need to move on and this is helping me do that.

I had forgiven so many times only to be zapped again by the harmful tentacles of my family. How many times can a person forgive before you have to look at yourself in the mirror and say, you know what? I deserve better, and I’ve had enough. I never did anything to my family to warrant such hurtful lousy behavior toward me. I only wanted to be loved and respected for who I am. Sadly, I do not have any relationship with my brothers or sisters, only my younger brother, and even that’s distant. It’s heartbreaking, but it was necessary for my well-being, and I am also grieving that loss.

This post is about dealing with grief but also about being authentic and honest, something I’ve wanted to be all my life. I had to be continually on guard and protect myself, leaving me a shell of a person, being numb inside. Life is going by so fast that I knew I had to start living, or else what was the point of having these gifts and not sharing them?

It took a lot of courage and strength to share my music and words on Facebook. I was terrified of criticism and judgment. But I’ve learned that having the right people in your life, who are positive and supportive, can help you see things differently so that you don’t have to worry about that anymore.

This is me — > Jussme — > Francesca M.E.

Thank you for reading.

Francesca