Women's Stories - Reflections, Musings, Thoughts

About Tess Healy:

Warrior and dream maker, Theresa (her friends call her Tess) has a long history of fighting for women's rights, her involvement always paralleling where she stands - day care when her daughters were small, union activism when a young working single mother, International solidarity during and after her two year sojourn in Mozambique, and mostly recently, the Court battle that went all the way to the Supreme Court on the rights of same sex couples to marry.

She believes in the power of voice, the power of feminism to liberate women and men from the chains of profit hungry patriarchy and the importance of learning to dress up and dance on every possible occasion.

Tess can be contacted at:
Theresa Healy, Ph.D.
School of Environmental Planning,
Room 4-146 Library Building
UNBC, Prince George, Bc V2N 4X9

Tess's Favorite Quote:
"Until lions have their own historian,
tales of the hunt will always glorify the hunters".
~ African Proverb ~

:: Some Poems by or for Tess ::

TRINITY
A poem about surviving childhood abuse, by Tess Healy

I tell my students -

Should the case ever arise
When sharing my story makes sense
Validates, some others pain -
That you were always a trilogy
Victim-survivor-warrior.

What was done
Changed you irrevocably.
Oh yes, who might you have become..
Had you the perfect childhood,
The loving father?

Instead the burden of knowing
The monster has a human face
Is called father
Friend
Neighbor
Moves through daylight
With respect
And, in the same body, visits
Your nights with terror.

But -
Guess what?
You didn't get perfection
You got you !

You stayed alive
Scarred wounded damaged
Soiled used
But alive
A soul spirit that endured.

And all that rest ?
The wounds
The soil
The dishonor
The shame
- is all his
His to own
And bear and pay for.

For the Spanish proverb says
"Take what you will but pay for it"
And it is his debt.

While you -
Victim-Survivor-Warrior
The days get better
Brighter
As you scour away
The years of grime his touch
Laid on your soul
Elbow grease of the mind and heart
To eradicate the veils of mistrust
From the spirit self.

Find the spirit core that kept you here
And build for yourself
The life you want
And still
Yes
Times will come
The agony revisits
The victim self surfaces
Needs old lessons
Retaught/resought
For new depth
New lessons for the first time.

Things you didn't know you needed
Still need to know.

This will go on
Till the day you die.
Less frequently
Less intensely
For shorter times.

Years may pass
And you'll think of him not once
And then he's back
And you curse and rage.

It is not all you are,
The victim he made of you
The victim self is you
Is part of you
Is true of you
But it is not all there is to you.

The survivor
Skills and strategies
Houdini of the mind soul and spirit
Found ways to keep you sane
And keep you alive
Through the holocaust nights.

And warrior
Every time you lay pen to paper
Every time you give voice to words
Every time you attend a vigil for the murdered or missing
Every time you give truth over silence
Volunteer donate educate
Celebrate create love parent
All acts of will
Acts of life
Acts of the warrior
That would never let this happen again
Ever
Not once
To any child...

All of these three live in you
Rebirth you
Victim-survivor-warrior
Recognize celebrate and renew
Love them all
Liberate them
Live with them
Each one of them
denies and defies
what he would have made of you
as you become your own.

Copyright © Sept 1994. Theresa Healy
Reproduction of this poem, either on the web or any other media,
requires written permission from the author herself.

From Silence.. Voice, From Darkness.. Flame
by Christal Capostinsky
(A dedication poem to Theresa Healy)

I am not the little girl with no voice,
hiding through my childhood fantasies.
The darkness will no longer silence me,
for there is only light guiding my way.
There is no fear left inside me
I have come to embrace who I am.

You said that I was weak and would not amount to anything,
yet look at me now.
I have overcome the burden of your weight.
I have fought with the same strength that you used against me.

You shamed the child within me,
yet look at me now.
I carry no shame
My flame is vibrant again.
I am a beautiful woman standing tall and proud of who I have become.
Sad to see how I have reached this peace.
Your painful touch
Hurtful words
Long dark fearful nights
Days
Weeks
Months
Years

I want to hate you
yet I pity you
For you have become what you set out for me to be.
Lost
Alone
Scared.
Powerless that you are now
And forever.

But look at me
I am a warrior woman,
My hope brought me strength
Courage
Passion
She, the warrior within me, has overcome.
The burdens of my past are no longer mine to bear.
I give them to you.
Take them
I do not want them
They are yours.

Today is another day in my life
A new day.
A day for growth
Challenges
Gifts
and all the things I wished for.

I choose to take what I want now
Life anew.


Copyright © ... Christal Capostinsky
Note by Christal: "I dedicate this poem to Theresa Healy.
She is a strong, courageous woman who has been an inspiration to me."

Reproduction of this poem, either on the web or any other media,
requires written permission from the author herself.

Mining The Depths of Despair for Energy to Burn
For Halijo, By Tess Healy

Commentary by HaliJo:
"The times when my being struggles with challenges life brings, and I forget to allow these events to just be guides to inner wisdom from beyond. The universe has a restorative way of delivering a mentor in human form.This was the case with this following creative piece written by Tess Healy for my being.

Thank you Tess; For your supportive championship that has encouraged me to search for personal authenticity and continues to inspire and reassure others forward to honor there individual quests out of the silent cages of invisibility.

"Let's keep lighting the candles for others", for it is the flames not yet lit that burn the fiercest!"
HjoW


"On the days when her powerful light feels dimmed
(with the reminder that even on a cloudy day, the sun is still there)"


The depth of the despair is a testimony -
it is real and painful, no denying that truth.

Your ideals are high,
and meare mortals will tumble.
They have not shared
your break-neck speed of flight,
of fancy towards light
of knowing that somehow, somewhere it will be, must be, different.

They are not steel-tempered in high flame
as you were, too many times,
And so they fall short.
You can stop to weep over what might have been,
who you thought they were,
or weep to mourn the loss of what they weren't.
Or should you stop and wait to offer counsel and advice
that they may not hear?

But the race is yours.
You cannot afford these other
gentler seeming toxins.
They are not blows you can dodge
or wounds you can bind.
They may be only words
and attitudes.

But, words that will sear with acid persistence to the bone
and attitudes that rip up the slowly healing skin.
Your strength must bear this too,
that those you thought would most welcome you,
have wounds of their own to tend.
And their courage may not match you own.

Raise your face and voice,
and look beyond these troubled paths
towards the dizzy heights you will make your own.
And know this:
That finally
As ever,
You run your race alone.


Copyright © 2007 Tess Healy
Reproduction of this poem, either on the web or any other media,
requires written permission from the author herself.

About Si Transken:

Si Transken is a survivor of incest.

Her father sexually abused her during her whole childhood. When she ran away from home (sic) when she was 15 she began to discover (or more vividly also see) how many other predators there were out there in the wider world who'll take advantage of young women who are without supportive kin and who have no money.

She waitressed in greasy spoons and at 18 (when it is legal to do so) she began waitressing in strip joints and disco bars. In these contexts the wages were just as bad as in greasy spoons and all night coffee shops but the tips were much much better. And the music was so loud that she didn't have to really listen to the men's comments.

Having survived those contexts, she has incrementally found various healing contexts and healing world views. She identifies now as a Buddhist, an eco-feminist, a creative writer, a social justice activist, and as an academic.

Si teaches in the social work program at UNBC and has published in a variety of contexts. She has a collection of 15 poems which explore her thoughts about violence and healing; our relationships with our bodies; our relationships with our sisters / comrades; our relationships with the levels of government which are supposed to protect us; our relationships with nature / animals; our relationships with our own creative spiritual energies; and sometimes even more importantly our relationships with our own righteously rude sense of humour! Read the Poetry of Si Transken.

Casual Pleasure of Ageing Well
Some reflections on the past,by Si Transken

"2 of the 3 buildings in which the sexual abuses occurred are gone now. One burned years ago and recently the second got ripped down and replaced by a massive modern structure. The third exists for different purposes.

All the squares of dirt are owned by different hands - not forgiving, not forgetting, acknowledging and monitoring through distance in detachment.

No-one did or would talk. Reports to Children's Aid went nowhere - and all this was before the invention of cyberporn, or i might have had hard evidence, collaborating testimony from co-victims.

It's hard to be certain of the numbers. It depends on where you set your perimeters. But 2 of the worst are dead - 1 of a heart attack, 1 eaten by cancer. Maybe more have died. I know one is in the clutches of chronic illness. I can't know everything. My life is too full of joy, learning, going forward and educating others."

The following poems are by Brianne Stremel.

Silence
by Brianne Stremel

bitterness
this love
leaving me
like a twisted veil
surging through me
grasping
for what little left
i have to give

this love
wearing me
like plastic
everything real runs down
leaving me.

Copyright © 2005 Brianne Stremel
Reproduction of this poem, either on the web or any other media,
requires written permission from the author herself.

Nirvana
by Brianne Stremel

the soft roar,
a whisper;
an echo
of things, ancient
and mystic.
undefinable.
softly crashing
quelling
beneath and before me.
cool and calming;
power.
beauty.
and the moon, up above,
serenading me.

Copyright © 2005 Brianne Stremel
Reproduction of this poem, either on the web or any other media,
requires written permission from the author herself.

Untitled
by Brianne Stremel

empty rain on my forehead
kissing me goodbye
for the night,
lingering in my hair
like the last supper,
casting reflections
in the windowpane,
sealing my fate
in the chaos surrounding.

Copyright © 2005 Brianne Stremel
Reproduction of this poem, either on the web or any other media,
requires written permission from the author herself.

Boredom
by Brianne Stremel

sand
creeping through the cracks
in no particular hurry
to be here or there.
no rhythm
no drive
no natural order
no chaos.
nothing
but the corresponding colors
blurring together
under the cracks
of my naked feet.

Copyright © 2005 Brianne Stremel
Reproduction of this poem, either on the web or any other media,
requires written permission from the author herself.

About Megan:

My name is Megan. I'm 21, working my way through Nursing school. I have been battling my way through different drug/alchohol addictions since I was fifteen, [having experienced] physical/mental abuse for as long as I can remember...

Just trying to take things as they come... real big on going with the flow, making good memories and leaving the bad ones behind... huge on living each day like its your last, 'cause you never know what can happen.

No regrets.  All about peace and love and just living that laid back chill lifestyle.

Got a quote from a buddy of mine that I LOVE, "there would be world peace if everyone just cuddled".

A Poem by Megan

giggly, stupid woman or girl,
brown-eyed big smile trying to save the world.

impulsive, mellow, sometimes dramatic,
thinker, cheater, liar, addict.

gotta plan just to get it confused.
hurt, beaten, abused and misused.

upbeat, upset, understated
childhood, adulthood, overrated.

good friend, bad friend someone you trusted
morning without warning call myself out i'm busted.

laughing when i can't, not doing what i should
hurting inside when i know i'm no good.

self destructive party girl to break another rule
stupid little worthless, just a f......g tool.

Copyright © 2007 Megan
Reproduction of this poem, either on the web or any other media,
requires written permission from the author herself.