Monthly Archives: January 2009

Voice Found

For too many years I was quiet.  I held on to a secret that was just too painful for me to express.  I did not think it really mattered much to anyone and who was I to rock the boat?  I buried my secret in a place deep inside, put a smile on my face and lived my life as best I could.  No one knew.  No one could tell.  To the world I was a competent, enthusiastic, passionate and warm human being with a smile and manner that made others comfortable.  Optimistic.  Positive.  Loving and trusting.  No one knew that inside I was struggling.  Desperately sad, lonely, full of shame, despair, guilt, low self esteem and battling depression.

I had my innocence taken from me at the tender age of 5.  It was a trusted neighbour who used to babysit me.  My parents had no idea.  I never said a word.  Some 42 years later on December 14, 2005 , I finally dared to speak of the abuse.  This triggered a series of events and a journey that has allowed me to finally find my voice.

My plan now is to use my voice and join in with others to do something positive.  I have a dream that I wish to make a reality (see information under the ‘About’ tab) and I am already well on my way.  This blog is one vehicle I will use to communicate with my supporters, seek additional support and share my experiences with others who may benefit.

Next post will outline my dream and the steps I am taking to get there!

I look forward to sharing this exciting journey with you.

that-day

THAT DAY   by cynthia bland


I remember everything about that day

My bedroom where I lay my head each night
Full of the little girl things that brought me joy
Waiting for me to fill it with my laughter
It watched me that day

My darling baby doll, the one who ‘wet’ and cried and ate
Her big blue eyes wide open as she sat in her cradle
Waiting for me to dress her for tea
She watched me that day

My wonderful magical slinky that sat coiled on the floor
It’s silver metal wire glistened in the sun
Waiting for me to set it walking down the stairs
It watched me that day

My red- framed “Etch a Sketch’ with it’s white twisty knobs
Coloured paper, crayons, paints and markers
Waiting for me to create a masterpiece on their blank pages
They watched me that day.

The faint smell of lemon from the polish on my floor
The softness of the pink sheets that covered my bed
The look of the curtains as they fluttered in the breeze
The sound of his footsteps as he came to my room
The taste of my pillow as I smothered my cries.

I remember everything about that day

I wrote the poem  May 21, 2007.  When I read it now, I am happy to say that I do not feel attached to the pain that I felt when I wrote it.   I am creating a new story for my life.  I am so much more than what has happened to me.  I am NOT my abuse.

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