Stones

 Today is 5/20/2024, and since the last time I wrote there have been a few things that happened between me and my dad.

This is hard for me to write out. I don't want to, but when God tells you to do something, you do it.

You can read: http://katshel.blogspot.com/2024/02/battle-scars.html  for the back story.

March 2024 Denice showed up at my house a couple more times, so I stopped by their house to attempt another conversation with my dad. Denice greeted me at the door with, 'Kathryn, I want to knock the shit out of you so hard. I am so sick of all your lies.' 'Your dad doesn't love you and wants you to leave.' I responded with, 'I am not going anywhere.' To which she responded that she was calling the police. The sheriff showed up and I talked to him for a few minutes to let him know that I just wanted to have a conversation with my dad. It costs me $83 to file a restraining order. I would have to file one for me and Owen to my dad, one for me and Owen to Denice, One for my daughter to my dad and one for my daughter to Denice. That would be a total of $332.00 that I don't have. 

I don't really even want to file a restraining order against either of them. I thought it would be cheaper and easier to just have a conversation. I left quietly leaving the sheriff to talk with my dad and Denice. 

Things got quiet again. I was invited to LifeSurge on Saturday May 18. Ed Mylett, spoke directly to me that day. He talked about his alcoholic dad and the transformation his dad made before his last day, and hour of his life. I was bawling by the end, because my heart to see my dad transform burns like a fire in my soul. 

I got home to learn Denice came to my house on Saturday while I was gone and talked to my tenant/boyfriend Jason for over an hour. Hurled threats against me and then said she had gifts for my daughter. It has taken me till today, 5/20/2024, to really pray and ask God what I should about this situation. I decided to write my dad a letter. 

 

I feel like in many ways, I am spiritually battling for my dad's soul. Only God knows what my dad truly feels about me. I pray that before his last day on earth that we are able to reconcile.

It can't be a Kathryn thing, it can only be a God thing. As I sing this song, my heart fills with hope. 

Kim Walker-Stones  https://youtu.be/y6WnMuoZYOg?si=UmwrIVuQPJyXTG7A

'Find me in the valley
Standing with my hands held high
The valley will never take my song
Find me in the desert
Holding onto You for life
The desert will never take my song
Oh, the desert will never take my song

 

I will praise You
I will praise You
I won't let the stones cry
I won't let the stones cry out
I will praise You
Something in me has to
I won't let the stones cry
I won't let the stones cry out

 

Find me with the promise
Dancing where You prophesied
Still shouting of everything You've done
High up on the mountain
I was made to testify
Forever, You will have my song
Oh, forever, You will have my song

The longer the wait, the longer I'll praise
The stronger the pain, the stronger my faith grows
The higher the need, the higher I'll reach
The greater the cost, the more I'll believe for

The longer the wait, the longer I'll praise
The stronger the pain, the stronger my faith grows
The higher the need, the higher I'll reach
The greater the cost, the more I'll believe for'

 

Battle Scars

 https://youtu.be/4ka1Lgd3SAI?si=5eUKDSzsThcsMC8n

It has been nearly 5 years since I wrote anything. I haven't been able to. The hurt and pain from my dad, the divorce, and trying to figure out what I am doing with my career, not to mention figuring out how I should be as a single mom has consumed my every thought and action. 

The divorce nearly destroyed me. I don't think I would have gotten through it if it wasn't for the show 'Dexter'. I did kick boxing at Round9 in Bothell for about a year while I worked out some of the anger I felt. I still have the boxing gloves and bring them out on bad days. Spar with the wall and try to play with my kiddos. It helps.  

If you clicked on the video, it should take you to a music video. The song was written from the perspective of a love relationship between two people, in my case this song is about my dad and how I feel today, 2/26/2024.

The longest story ever: I was born on 12/20/197something. To two parents who were in their early 20's. My mom was on birth control at the time, so it was a miracle I was even conceived. My dad wasn't working and couldn't hold down a job. They were living in a trailer, in the plains of Bozeman MT. They were two very broken people from alcoholic homes. 

In the 80's there was an opportunity for my dad to work at Boeing, so they packed up and moved to Burien WA. Where they rented a house and had another baby. They were members of a Christian cult and when the baby died and I was still alive they tried to figure out what to do with themselves and with me. Eventually my dad moved to the Renton plant. My mom worked about a dozen various jobs while I grew up. We moved into a new house and that is really when the trauma with my dad begins.

See, my dad is a bipolar rapid cycle depressant. What is that you ask? Here is a link: https://www.webmd.com/bipolar-disorder/rapid-cycling-bipolar-disorder

 From PreK to 8th Grade I changed schools every 2 years. From 0-14 years old, my dad was unmediated. During my impression-ate years my examples of how to deal with emotions was from my dad. My mom didn't know what to do or how to help. My mom was scared all the time. The amount of PTSD she has to this day is not something I can even imagine. I finally convinced my mom to get away from my dad after his second suicide attempt. My mom and I moved into an apartment and I changed schools to finish High School. 

That is when my mom had to file a restraining order against my dad and I stopped seeing him till he could prove he was stable and medicated. I started going to therapy weekly. At 16 I reopened the door to my dad by starting with seeing his therapist in family counseling. I decided to go out to see him for christmas and met his new wife. By the time I graduated from HighSchool we had a functional relationship. I went to Montana State University in Bozeman. Had worked out that my dad was going to provide me funds monthly to support me while I went to school. I received ONE support check. 

My dad and step mom would call me weekly to check in on how I was doing in college and try to convince me that they just couldn't afford to support me. Then it turned into, they were convinced I was also bipolar. I ended up moving to Spokane WA after that first year at MSU. My dad then told me that I needed to get 5 psychiatrist to write letters to him with a report to him that I was not bipolar Or they would put me in a 90 day psychological evaluation. I finally felt the fear my mom had of my dad, and it grew as my dad said he would disown me if I didn't move into his apartment with him and his wife. 

I was faced with a decision to never talk/see my dad again or try. I decided to try.

I moved into their apartment and enrolled in Shoreline CC. I worked full time in addition to going to school full time to finish a degree. They took me to 3 more psychologists for evaluation till they were able to find one that put me on 1500mg of Depakote. 

DEPAKOTE ER and DEPAKOTE are also used to prevent migraine headaches. DEPAKOTE ER is also used to treat acute manic or mixed episodes associated with bipolar disorder with or without psychotic features. DEPAKOTE is also used to treat manic episodes associated with bipolar disorder.

 They had me clean their house once a week. Pay them rent money. I had to submit a weekly budget report of every cent I spent and if I chose to spend my money on something they didn't approve of, I would have to add that to my rent. I was only allowed one meal a day. I had to walk for one hour 6 days a week. I tried to get them to walk with me, but they wanted to follow me in their car and yell at me out the window that I was fat and lazy, I needed to walk faster. 

I had to attend Westgate Chapel in Edmonds every week, as well as go to all youth group events and bible studies. I also had to go to Sunday School for whatever class they thought I needed. If I didn't engage in the classes or in worship I was punished. My dad told me I wasn't allowed contact with my mom anymore, so I had to break off that relationship completely. Dad lied to me about historical events. Told me my mom cheated on him and gave him a sexually transmitted disease. The actual factual is that my dad cheated on my mom with women from his therapy. 

Finally, at 22 I moved into my own apartment away from them. We stayed in contact, but they stayed mad that they couldn't control me. I got off the Depakote with a therapist's help. I got married and had two babies. I asked Denise to help me with the babies and watch them. That was a nightmare because they thought I wasn't a fit parent. Tried to take my kids away from me. Still convinced I am bipolar.

During my divorce I told my story of their abuse. My dad was embarrassed by the truth and decided to write a letter to the court/me that I was attention seeking and yes, bipolar. 

On Jan 1 2017, I boldly knocked on my dad and step mom's house and had a two hour conversation with them while they tried to explain that it was my fault he wrote the letter to the court. I made it clear that I was his only daughter and if he wanted a relationship with me he would have to do better. I told him that I loved him and my step mom, but I will NOT be abused any longer.

That was the last I heard or saw of my dad and step mom till June of 2023. I got a call from Denise (the step mom) from the hospital asking me to come and get her. I didn't have my dad's phone number or even know what hospital she was at. I asked and she started yelling at me telling me that she just saw me yesterday and asked me why I was lying to her. I offered to call and go see my dad to see if we could work something out. I received a text message that I was to stop taking calls or communicating. So I stopped.

Then one random evening on a Sunday at 10am the door bell rings. It is Denise, asking to come in to have a chat. I let her in and my kid have an hour long conversation with Denise where she tells us she is not allowed to use the phone and shouldn't be driving because she has 3 different types of cancer on top of her uncontrolled diabetes. That my dad doesn't know she left the house and was talking with us.  

There were 6 more visits after that. No call to schedule, no warning. I let her in every single time until this last visit on 2/22/2024.

On Saturday this happened:

2/24/2024

Dear R Michael Spears and Denise Spears/Snook,

I wrote you a note on 2/14/2024 expressing that I would like to be contacted if you would like to set up a meeting. Since that time, you have stopped by my house three separate times with no regard to my request.

I have asked if we could set up a time to talk with no response. After you came to my house after 8pm on 2/22/24 and you expressed surprised to find that I lived there, you handed me an item that you asked I give to Rachel/Robin. As you walked away to your car I asked for you to come in so we could have a conversation, but that request was refused. I took the initiative to come to your house on 2/23/24 at noon. I was surprised that you answered the door in your underwear. I asked what would be a good time to come back to have a conversation and was told 4pm would be great. I came back to your house with salmon, flowers, and a candle. I was told that you didn’t want to see or talk to me. That you were done.

I left the gifts at your door.

I don’t understand why either of you feel it is acceptable behavior to come to my house, my daughter’s school, and not listen or allow me or my children to set boundaries. It feels incredibly disrespectful and narcissistic. This letter is a precursor to a restraining order.

Please do not contact me or Rachel/Robin or Owen again. Please do not attempt to come to my house or either of the kid’s schools. If this action occurs, I will file a formal restraining order with the court. Due to the history both of you have with stocking and abuse there is just cause.

Thank you.

Kathryn Sheldon

 There is a video of the interaction, but I can't figure out how to get it at this moment. I will update later this week. 

On Sunday, I called the crisis line and sent the letter/video to the Monroe Police.

To say I am angry and hurt is the understatement of my life to this point. The battle scars from my dad will never heal or go away or stop. I truly do not understand why my dad can't love me. What have I done so bad to be treated like this?

Narrasist will never Suffer

I have found as I heal a few books that have helped me through the last few years of healing and growth.

Why does he do that? By Lundy Bancroft and the associated Daily Wisdom
When Dad Hurts Mom by Lundy Bancroft
Healing from Hidden Abuse by Shannon Thomas LCSW
Everything Happens for a Reason by Kate Bowler
Boundaries by Dr Henry Cloud
The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown
Quiet: The power of introverts in a world that can't stop talking by Susan Cain
Controlling People by Patricia Evans
KickAss by Mel Robbins
One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp
Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge
Battlefield of the Mind by Joyce Meyers

Ok now that I actually written out the list, I have read ALOT.

The thing is, he will never suffer the same way I have. In so many ways that is what is so defeating. He will never feel the sense of responsibility I have to the people he contacts cause I was unable to stop him.

However, it is no longer in my control. I have to let that go.

I have to focus on the kids, and myself. I have been financially ruined. I need to focus on digging out of that hole. I need to focus on keeping life simple and providing the basics the best way I can for the kids to have a good future.

I am starting to dream again. Dream of vacations to come, of life where I don't have hearings over child care or support or visitations. Life where the bond I have with my children is enough. The bond I have with good friends and the people I rent my house too are my ministry.

I can live without punishing him for his bad deeds and decisions. I can let that part go now and rely on God to be my arm of justice. I can trust in Him, the Author and Prefecter of my faith.

#MeToo

I am inspired to share my story. I have written this a million times, in my head only. The #timesup campaign has spurred me to share. The silence broken by Hilary Clinton. The silence broken by Alissa Millano, Reese Witherspoon, and many other powerful, independent women. I have a voice that is unique and may also be powerful. We ALL have a truth, secrets in our hearts and minds.

My story begins at the age of 5. You can read 'MyStory' for yourself, but I failed to include aspects that feed my truth. I had PTSD at a young age that was not addressed, treated, or even acknowledged. Studies have proven that trauma effects the development of children's brains and hormones. I was the first girl in my school in 3rd grade that developed boobs. I was 8 years old. Normal girls had sleep overs then, friends and were talking about barbies, dolls, toys. I was invited to my first sleepover with the popular girls in school. There was about 20 from what I could remember looking back. It was probably more like 5/10, but it felt like the whole school. The sleep over went as planned, until I woke up Sunday morning and was getting dressed and packing up. I was the only girl to put on a bra and when I put it on, it was wet. Like a cold gross wet. I commented and the whole room of girls erupted in laughter. This group of girls then began to explain to me that after I fell asleep they went into my bag, got my bra soaking and put it in the freezer. They then slipped it into my bag in the chaos of clean up and waited for me to respond. I was MORTIFIED. I was only invited to the party to be the joke, the laugh, the main event to find out what it was like to wear a bra. I didn't talk or want to go to school after that and got 'sick' for two/three weeks with every sort of illness my 8 year old brain could come up with.

Luckily my parents moved me and took me out of that school, where I was placed to a public school for 5th and 6th grade. I had learned though that my sexuality was on display. I couldn't deny it, as my boobs could not be hidden. My figure could not be not seen. There wasn't a sweatshirt made anywhere that could cover up that I was a woman. The summer after 5th grade, I went to camp for the first time and I started my period during that week. I was 9 years old. I cried most of the time at camp convinced I was going to get pregnant. The girls in my cabin tried to reassure me, my camp counselor, the nurse on staff, my mom, but I was a full fledged woman and I couldn't go back to being a little girl.

I was 9 years old walking down the street to the local AMPM to get candy when I got my first cat call from a group of passing boys 3times my age. I learned I could get the attention of boys by just being me, silent, young, and ignorant. The cat calls continued from the streets to the school yard. By the age of 13 I had my first boyfriend. He didn't love me cause I had a brain. He had a bet with his friends that I would make out with him. He would get a badge of honor by getting me to show him my lady parts. I loved the attention from him, since my parents were fighting and my narcissistic father didn't show me the love I so desperately wanted. I thought that if I looked at the playboys my dad had in his room and learned what I was supposed to do that people would love me.

At the age of 14 I was date raped by a boy who was two grades above me. Two weeks later, I had to be out of school cause I had an ovarian cyst that was wrapped around my fallopian tubes and uterus. I also had my appendix out at the same time. I had to tell my dad that I had sex, and he cried. He saw me as someone different from that point on and the next summer my mom left my dad after a number of other things that happened during that time that you can read about in my story. Shortly after, I met my first boyfriend. A man who showed me he loved me not just for my sexuality but for my mind too. We are still friends to this day, but it was/is amazing. Then he left, and felt he needed to call me from Florida to tell me he got a girl pregnant. The long distance relationship I thought was going on was just in my head. He eventually moved back, but from that moment he called I released myself to many boys who wanted to have sex with me. I had them lined up on a schedule. at the age of 16 I was very busy finding our what boys liked most. Searching for meaningful love that I could never get, so I settled for physical love. The only thing I craved from them was after when they touted their love for me, hugged me, and made me feel like the only person in the universe.

When my first boyfriend came back, and we hooked up again, I thought we would be together forever till he sat me down outside the apartment on the stairs and told me he was also sleeping with my best friend. He then proceeded to take me inside where he made out in front of me with her. I lost my mind that day. I was inconsolable. One of my girlfriends rescued me from that scene that day and let me stay over with her. But, I was broken. I learned that I could one thing for a lot of people, but never all things for one person ever again. Life went on. No one interested in my story and if they were, they were strangers interested in what my story taught them about their own life, not in helping me. I was 18 working full time, finishing high school and college at the same time. Applying for colleges.

There were a few boyfriends who came and went, but my walls were up and I went to MSU to get away from everything. I found there that I was the same person regardless of where I went. Broken, sexual, walled, hurting woman unclear of my own power. Desperate to be loved by anyone, cause no one showed me how to love myself. That is when my dad and step mom came into my life determined to put me back together. I told them over and over it was too late for me. The damage was already done. By 21 I was back to sleeping around with anyone who showed me interest in my body only. I attempted to find a new script for myself. That is when I met my husband. I was primed and ready for something different and he fed that script perfectly. The problem was that he was a sexual predator. His whole life had been a lesson in providing the perfect script to a woman who would innocently believe it. I married it.

He rapped me more than I can count. I had two kids with the man. The amount of mind games is staggering. He convinced me I like it ruff. It was a slow process, of him asking me to tell him 'no, don't', to then him doing what he wanted anyway. He got off on the fact that I resisted, put up a fight. Conditioned me to put up a fight, and it messed me up more than I understand. I can't even talk about it as I am sitting here shaking over typing this out knowing I am going to release this to the world for others to read. This marriage lasted 13 years. A week before he left, he brutally raped me, and in the morning I thought for sure he was going to kill me if my children were not sleeping upstairs. I got help from my counselor to get out. I knew I was blowing up my world. The scariest part of all this was that I knew I was writing a script  ensuring that I would be alone for the rest of my life.

I read story after story of abused woman getting out. The future of these women were dire. Most end up doing drugs, becoming alcoholics, or dead at the abusers hand. It usually takes 2 years for women to escape an abuser. I had watched my mom escape, and my dad stocked us for years afterward. I was/am putting my children at risk. What motivated me was the reports I got from school. My son's teacher was noticing that my son, a kindergartner, was kissing girls on the playground, and boys at nap time. He was being inappropriate at school physically. And since my ex had abused children in his youth I was scared he had started abusing my children. My children who didn't have a choice who their dad was. My children who were showing signs of being sexualized.

The way my case has gone, I lost the ability to protect my children and had to give my ex visitation. This is common for abusers. I was told by a police officer I told my story to, that they would have counseled me to stay in the marriage longer to get more proof to prosecute him with no reasonable doubt. In my panic and shame, I had not gotten enough evidence of abuse to prosecute my ex. It was a he said, she said story. I had no one to collaborate my truth. I had no evidence he had sexualized my babies.

My truth is that even writing this puts me at risk for ruining my case. My truth is that bad people will still get away doing bad things and I am not sure I can ever release this story to the world. This will stay saved till I know for sure my kids are safe, that I am safe. Time is up on my silence.

It is Over

Today, I declare I am officially Bankrupt and Divorced.

Earlier this year, I posted that it would take another few days....but today it is done. What now?

I have been living the last two years in between. Not married, not divorced. A single mom of two amazing kids. I was trying to keep up on the lunches, school notices, daycare, dishes, laundry, meals, budgets, money, the list goes on!

Today, not much has changed. I can tell you I have kept up on the school notices. I have space to followup on my teenager in regards to homework. I am not living as overwhelmed as I was this time last year. The haze has lifted a bit. I can breathe.

The changes that happened are not seen. To some I don't exist anymore. That is ok. I am learning that lonely and sad is so much better than silenced, beaten, and pretending.

I have so much to say, and I am not sure where to start. I have been silence for decades upon decades. I have lived in the shadows taking hit after hit mostly emotionally. I have put up with people who say they care but prove with their actions the opposite is true.

For today only, I am just celebrating the space I have to breathe. There is alot bubbling up as I heal. I will not stay silent anymore. I will find my platform to speak. I will shout, but not yet. I need the emotional space to just revile in the completion of what I have fought to gain. Independence.

Trevor Shelton has been my voice of encouragement over and over. Not everyone who started with me will finish with me. Not everyone who said I could call them are people that know I still exist. I have even buried a friend last month who lost her battle and voice. She lost her will to continue to try.

Not many people with my story are able to get to the point they can tell the story. In fact I would argue that the fact that I am sitting here writing this out is a testament to the Grace of God. A testament to my faith, to my will, to my fight. It is not me against the world. God wrote my story and He will finish it. Everything my mom has dutifully prayed for. Everything my Aunt has prayed for. I am sitting here as a result of God Himself and for no other reason.

Agiligy in Uncomfort with Change

I always want to start out a post with an apology for how long it has been between posts, but that is if someone is only following this blog and doesn't interact with me on a daily basis. It is like I am apologizing to myself for not being attentive to my need to write.

People said to me last year when my world blew up that it will take me two years to come out of what has happened. When I researched people who have been in similar circumstances I found two years was actually a speedy recovery. Currently I am in to this by 408 days out of 730 days if all ends exactly two years from the day it started, leaving me 322 days left. I have gotten through 408 days by living only day by day. I have made little plans for the future. I look at my life and I hate it. I hate it cause I know what it could have been. I see the choices I made with goodwill, love, kindness, and hope with disgust and shame. I was so ignorant, so naive, so trusting, that I worry daily I will never see those things in my life.

I have spend time investing into emotional security and success vs economic success and security. It is no greater or lesser a pursuit, just different. I truly believe my resolve to becoming emotionally secure and healthy over economic security will eventually lead to economic security and this is the philosophy I live by. If I break down what it takes to be a success, which has been attempted by the best and greatest throughout history there are many paths. I think life in America for the pursuit of happiness and freedom is what humans strive for unilaterally. Telling our stories on how we get there enables others to see different paths and perspectives they never thought of before to get where they want to be, to get to success.

Our leadership at AT&T said, Agility and Uncomfortable are the two words for 2017. There are many paragraphs and words I could re-digest to you that could help explain what they meant by these two words, but I don't want to rehash AT&T corporate agenda. I want to make it personal, which funny enough is also a corporate agenda, but specifically unintended here, just meant as an ironic pun.

Being Agile in the last 408 days has meant changing to the emotional needs of my kids, and being available to support their healing and growth as much as humanly possible. I saw a FB post that a mom's goal is to create a childhood for her kids that they don't need to recover from. If I had been given the opportunity to heal and recover before my childhood was over, maybe I would not have to take the time to do it now. Since taking in a renter and seeing/hearing where they have come from, if there was opportunity to provide a childhood kids don't need to recover from, how much better would we be as a society, as a nation, as a world. Maybe there would not be kids who are scrounging for food through garbage in the streets of India, or people drinking unsafe drinking water is many parts of the world. If Agility were allowed to grow and change us individually, maybe kindness, truth, and justice are also allowed.

I have not read one blog post or twitter post, Instagram post, FB post of anyone asking to be uncomfortable. I know we all don't wake up everyday and say, 'Today, I want to be so uncomfortable!' No all ads, movies, shows, life stories, ect are all in pursuit of being comfortable. The Bible is the only book I know that says, life is going to be hard. You are going to run a race that not all will finish at. The sheep will be separated from the goats, and the road to heave is narrow. If St Mother Teresa woke up one day and said I am tired of living like this, I want to be comfortable, she would not be a saint. If Martin Luther King Jr woke up one morning and said, 'you know, I am good. People respect me, I don't think I feel like marching for my brothers and sisters injustice today,' that he would be the man who lead the American Nation through the civil rights movement? NO. In order to change the world we HAVE to be uncomfortable.

The life pursuit I have to be Soft & Strong has to look and feel agile and uncomfortable. In my last 322 days I will do just that. One day at a time, one hour, one minute, one second. I know my world will change through this adventure. It is not an adventure traveling the world or getting rich, using other people, it is not the easy road. God never said it would be easy, but over and over said it would be hard. I know I will change my world, and hopefully as a result of my personal change, the world will change eventually as those who can and will join me.

Dark and Stormy Nite

On this dark and stormy night, as the clouds move and change, the trees bend to the breeze, there is a quiet calm. A calm I have dreamed. A calm I have wished for, prayed for inside my soul. The clock on the wall ticks away as a reminder of how I can never go back, but always forward. The lullabies playing in the background as a distant but present reminder of the sleeping little ones I desperately fight for on a daily basis.

I have not written much for public consumption, but for private reflection. I have been quiet. I have been rebuilding, redefining, and re framing. At the soul level of who God created me to be is an artist. I have allowed so many voices around me to drown my own voice for so long. I allowed them to define who they all needed me to be to suite their needs, dreams, and wishes. I am an artist of words, and story. I am an artist of depth and design who has been shaped in order to shape and change the world around me.

As I read the works of Maya Angelo, still I rise. As I listen to books of beauty, 'The little Paris bookstore', 'The elegance of a Hedgehog', the words I have are not as pretty. They are not as elegant, but not insignificant either.

 My life has meaning, and all will have the opportunity to hear my voice, my story, my heart.

This month my world is in a storm. A culmination of little parts all crashing into a masterpiece that will set the foundation for not only my future, but the future of my precious little people. I have a hope I have not felt for months, but also of fear for the unknown adventure my world will cause me to go into. As I am quiet I wonder which will rule, the hope or the fear. Maybe just like a storm as the clouds twist and turn to find the way through the wind, both hope and fear are supposed to walk together hand in hand. Twisting around each other to find a way through the wind of change and adversity in an attempt to not finalize the journey, but to be able to rest in the center with a quiet assurance.