Dancing in Place

Under the warm sun in early June we sat on a blanket in the park and talked with our friend Lindsey. She commenced her story by sharing an event from her childhood that continues to resonate with her today. “Growing up, there was some good and bad love. My first memories are with my aunt and uncle, but I thought they were my mom and dad. In kindergarten, they [my aunt and uncle] said we’re not your mom and dad. My mom was in a bad domestic violence situation. She had traumatic brain injuries. I was not even two when that happened. After the accident, she was in a coma so I went to live with my aunt and uncle. When she woke up, she didn’t remember anything. She had to relearn how to walk, talk, and write. My aunt and uncle gave me back to my mom, but she went back to bikers, sex, and drugs.”

Lindsey referred to what happened to her mother as “the accident,” and the aftermath of the accident as well as the trauma she endured continued to resurface. “My mom was a beautiful person. She worked with women who had disabilities. She struggled with alcoholism. I got pulled in and out of school when my mom would get bad and get back to drinking. It was bad. She took it really hard when they took us [my sister and I] out of the house. I never knew my dad. There was a lot of anger inside of me growing up and it is still hard for me to figure out why. One thing I live by is that my home ain’t broken, it just taught me different lessons.”

When Lindsey walked us through her journey she would often revert back to what it was like to grow up with her mother. She explained that time did not make a lot of sense and some events remained difficult to recall while others surfaced vividly. “My homelessness goes in and out. I think the first time I experienced homelessness was when I was in sixth grade, but I am not sure for how long. We were both [my sister and I] sexually abused. While all of this was going on, my sister was trying to get adopted by a family that didn’t want me. After that, I dropped out of high school, I guess you could say I was a run away. I ended up out west for a while before returning to The Midwest.”

Some stories we hear from others help us understand the past and present. Lindsey’s story stayed in her childhood years as she continued to process her life and the lives of others. “While I was growing up I saw my mom get beaten a lot. I don’t judge people, but a lot of people judged us. It was just unfair. I have always wanted to help people. I can think of a time growing up that our neighbors needed help and I would beg my mom to help because we were a community. It isn’t fair when your neighbors and their children are suffering.”

Closer to the end of Lindey’s story we learned more about her time in our local area. “ I have one daughter and she’s adopted. When I’m clean I can see her. I comply with what the judge asks of me. I went to rehab. I got kicked out. I go in and out of housing and I am not sure how long I’ve been homeless. I still come out here [to the park] to see my people. I was also couch surfing and that doesn’t qualify to get you housing.”

When we asked Lindsey what brings her joy and where she sees herself in the future, she responded with a glimmer of hope and sparkle in her eyes.  “I want to see people being cared for and having what we all deserve. Music sets me free. I like all kinds of music. I like to dance. I like not being in pain. I like community. I love the area. We should all love each other everywhere. I hope to be volunteering and maybe open a studio for music and dance someday.”

​Artist’s Note: Lindsey’s story reflects someone who often feels “stuck” in their trauma, yet continues to search for ways to live with and make sense of their experiences. For this reason, we chose a photo, taken in Arizona, of a cactus. Cacti survive in harsh conditions and remain known for their ability to endure and persist.