Eleana Kouneli

         Stories of Travel and creating independence

New York was starting to weigh heavily on me.  A hostile, abrasive city environment after a very emotionally taxing winter, was pushing me to my limits, so when the time came for a free weekend in June, I jumped to the chance to get out. Nothing makes me happier than being on the road, on a plane or on a boat. Moving from place to place has been part of my whole existence, and there is something incredibly calming and familiar about airports. I packed my bags with much anticipation to go somewhere I had been longing to visit for years… It was a just what I needed.

IN THE DESERT YOU FIND AN OASIS

Arizona desert, 5am as the sun is rising; I squint as the sky fills with mesmerizing colors and hues. Small shapes start to appear, wild desert animals are wide awake taking their place in the trees and the rocks. Silhouettes of low brush and tall proud cacti pepper the landscape. I walk carefully down the rocky path being extra careful not to trip on the jacked rocks as we climb up the hill. We keep a steady pace and I can hear my breath with every step. My friend T and his wife brought water packs for us, and I’m thankful because I left my backpack in the car so I wouldn’t be weighted down during our hike. Its a good hour-long drive away from Phoenix where they live, so we had started out as early as possible to “beat the heat”. It’s the first time in months I feel strong enough to take this journey. After my abortion, I barely had energy for seated meditation, but it gave me purpose to concentrate on my breath when not much else did.

“I started weeping, tears slowly forming in my eyes, my cheeks burning with the sun’s light my heart expanding with every breath…”

This early morning in June marked 2 months after my procedure and I can feel my body take in the desert sun like a sponge. My skin felt warm, my breath felt strong. I want to test my legs and endurance in this challenging environment. I stand still and take a moment to experience this vista that is so new and so familiar at the same time. I am in awe of what mother earth has to offer. I am still anxious about my body being able to deal with the extra pressure and physical demands of hiking, but I know that I’m in good hands. I needed to do this, to prove to myself that I have reclaimed my body. I am starting to feel alive again.

I’ve known my friend T since high school; we lost touch after I went to college; we reconnected after I came to live in New York four years ago, and after my abortion he was one of the few people I could trust with my experience.  He and his family stood by me, and emotionally supported my decision like champions. He has two gorgeous daughters with his wife and they are quite possibly the most loving, joyous and giving young girls I’ve seen in a long time. His youngest stole my heart, and instantly knew how to draw me in, hold me tight and show me unbound love. They embraced, nourished, and took care of me like few friends can and now we were silently walking up the hill together with this glorious landscape as our backdrop.

I felt a strong desire to connect with the earth again and find a true north. In the cacophony of the city that task of being able to maintain serenity and balance is not unlike the task handed to Sisyphus,  by the Greek gods. He was forever punished for his hubris and trickery with pushing up a boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll down again. I was tired of meaningless tasks, futile relationships and disruptive people, and nature always serves as a reset button unlike any other.

I sat on a beautiful rock formation overlooking the valley below.  The desert expanse spread out before me and I closed my eyes. The sun was rising, the colors changing and the energy around us could be cut with a knife. There is nothing more pure and unfiltered as the sun’s light. I felt the warmth of the rocks rising up through my spine, each synapse and nerve ending slowing down for just a second and I watched the anxieties, the fear the anger the sadness slowly lift away from my body. I started to realize that whatever I had felt up until that point was moving away from me and into those rocks. Like layers coming off from a snake as it renews its skin leaving the old and embracing the new shiny layers underneath.

I saw the injustice, how I was being wronged, insulted, and ridiculed by the very persons who had vowed to be my protectors and my champions lift and slowly dissipate into the morning air. I started weeping, tears slowly forming in my eyes, I looked up at the purple and blue and pink sky as my cheeks started burning with the sun’s light, my heart expanding with every breath, and my womb connecting with mother nature.  A deep understanding came over me, knowing that it’s no longer empty, no longer barren no longer scarred. She is my mother, the earth the sky the wind, and my friends my guides and my protectors on this amazing transformation. I closed my eyes again.

This is only the beginning — I kept breathing in and out, slowing my heart rate, the stream of my tears falling on the rocks and becoming one with the earth. It’s the closest I have ever felt to a divine experience. We speak a lot of meditative and transcendental states in yoga, yet it is a connection that can never be fully explained unless it is experienced. I bowed down to the teachers before me, those who taught me that strength is what you find within and not what you seek outside of yourself.  Happiness, is a work in progress and not a holy grail that you have to look for. Despite the pitfalls of sadness, I’m freshly determined to explore this newly found joy one day at a time.

I opened my eyes, my friends were there sitting beside me and we embraced the new day ahead of us. “Let’s go get some breakfast! I said… I’m famished.”

We nodded, we laughed  we gave a high-five, and walked back down the hill as the new day began.

On the way back a song came on, on the radio…. Nina’s voice crooning our new beginning. And I’m feeling good.

Feeling Good

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve heard a lot of high minded stories of how women should act, how women should behave and what requirements we have to adhere to in order to keep their man. We are judged on our makeup, our walk, what we wear, if we smile on the street, and if we keep our man “happy”.  We are to please men’s gaze because that’s our job, that’s what is expected. We are seen ultimately as helpers, caretakers, mommy figures despite our accomplishments, our intellect and our professional successes. We are everything to everybody and in the end leaving nothing to ourselves. And this got me thinking, what is it to be a real man? Do the same rules apply, and what are those rules? It seems that very little emphasis if any is given to how men should develop their emotional intelligence leaving much to be admired, in self centered, narcissistic and misogynist behavior that I’ve seen too much of recently. Men with all the love in  my heart, grow up, wise up, and get a grip.

So indulge me and let me flip the script. For those who so quickly pass judgement without looking in the mirror, and take a moment to ask yourselves. What of manhood?

I wanted to share my observations over the years but most recently, this past year:

• For those who know me, know that I appreciate a man with his feminine side intact, and his masculine side fully developed.
• A man, who’s hat is tipped slightly to one side and who doesn’t ride like a brute through life. (aka take time to notice the world around you)
• A sensitive, self assured, knowing man who’s life isn’t about how much pussy he’s licked, or how much money he makes, but how he’s dealt with his fears, kicked his ego to the side, and is present in all aspects of his life.
• A man who can raise the bar for all men, and be seen as an example to emulate rather than one to avoid. (we know far too many of the latter)

Those men are not a rarity, and let’s be clear, you ain’t shit if you talk a good game, and can’t back it up with actions. You can’t insult others in your path, demean others who you don’t agree with, and degrade women who for whatever reason didn’t give you what you wanted, and call yourself a good person, leader, father, man. That’s an oxymoron.

It’s not manly to call out the shortcomings of others, but all the while pushing out your pent up aggression, insecurities and tragic lack of self awareness for the whole world to see.

That isn’t manhood, its buffoonery.

We have too many examples of those men, to last a lifetime. Let’s raise, uplift and appreciate those who don’t fit into that category. So here is my little poem about a man that inspires me.

Thank you to the real gems out there, you know who you are. Thank you to the men who remain steadfast to their beliefs,  while empowering, uplifting and encouraging others to reach their potential.

Thank you.

—————————————————————————————————————————————–

There is man who makes me smile, 

a man who cleans that gunk off the tile.

And with his gaze lifts me uplifts me onto the pile of fresh laundry he’s been meaning to fold.

There is a man who can be bold

A man who doesn’t do what he’s told,

but dreams hard and thinks for himself

who doesn’t leave ideas to wither on the shelf.

                                        ***

There is a man who knows he doesn’t have it made just because he fucked me

A man who doesn’t let the passion fizzle and drizzles that extra special sauce I like,

Because he knows that later I’m gonna make his hair stand on end…

                                            ***

There is man who can’t wait to kiss me

And doesn’t diss me because we differ in how we drink our coffee

There is a man who is always proud

Who doesn’t have to talk out loud; he whispers,

Little nothings in my ear, the way I like to hear.

                                            ***

There is a man who sleeps next to me and gives me bear hugs in his dreams,

Who wants to scream out loud and tell everyone how proud he is of his woman,

Rather than complain and act all ashamed because of the little things that make us different.

There is a man who loves to listen rather than chatter endlessly about his “superiority”.

There is a man who says more in silence than a thousand words could ever do.

                                            ***

There is a man who sees the scars, smiles and looks up at the stars and says:

“I love you because you’re perfect for me. There is nothing I can do but be….with you here, and now”

There is a man who when the time comes sits next to me and without saying a word,

takes me in his arms, and whatever bothered us up until that point

disappears.

                                            ***

And If I am frustrated with life, and it brings me to tears?

He’s there to figure out the stupid shit with me, dispels my fears and insecurities because sometimes,

It just takes a smile and a deep knowing that he has my back no matter what.

                                            ***

There is a man who will get me out of my rut.

And looks to me to help him if he gets stuck

There is a man who isn’t afraid to wear flowers.

Because a man who is strong isn’t afraid to show his powers…

with flair.

                                            ***

Here is a man who deeply stares in my eyes and without saying a word

takes me by surprise and lets go of any disguise and is real with me.

Shedding the petty little lies that are the demise of the beauty within us.

                                            ***

I know a man who makes me smile

And all the while knows deeply how wonderful life can be

With me.

 

And a little tune to keep you going:

Neneh Cherry- Trouble Man

 

My dear Readers,

I was approached recently by people connected to the blogs I have recently published. Most notably my experience with my abusive ex partner and my recovery from my abortion. These were experiences, that were unfathomably difficult to go through, and extremely painful to recount. It took all my strength to share them with a wider audience. I felt compelled to share my experience because it has reached those who may not have had a voice. Countless people have reached out, and told me that my words have spoken to them in ways they could never have imagined, and that gives me the courage to keep sharing, keep writing and keep speaking about what I have experienced. All of my writing comes from a place of profound respect for what I have to share, because above all else I am talking about my life. I have not mentioned and will never mention the names of the people involved.

That being said;

As a writer and an artist any attempt at censoring and silencing of my words will not be tolerated in any way.

I realize I have taken a risk to write about my life, to open up about deeply personal moments to the public. I don’t mention anyone by name and I don’t reveal identities. Some may find what I write uncomfortable, or offensive and that is unfortunate for them. This is a country with free speech written in the fundamentals of its constitution. I speak my truth,  I share my experiences with honesty and integrity and will not accept threats of any kind from persons related or unrelated to the articles I share. We are all free to read or not read what may interest us. That which does not interest us we have the freedom to avoid. That is the beauty of freedom of speech and expression.

Dear readers and followers, If you don’t like what you read here feel free to not read it. I realize not all of what I write is easy to accept. I also realize I can’t please everyone with my writing. That is all a matter of taste. My life has recently, repeatedly, and disrespectfully been exposed, talked about and ridiculed countless times in ways that can not be taken back. Things have been said publicly about me, and recorded in detail, without regard to my feelings, or how this would impact me, and those I love and care about. We all risk public and personal exposure. That is the price we pay. For those who would like to read my blog and have something of value to share, I welcome your feedback and comments. Those you feel the need to justify or defend by threatening me into silence are greatly mistaken.

The power of the pen is stronger than any threat.

I make that renewed commitment to my loyal followers and to those who have supported my writing over the years. I shall not be silenced.

I welcome everyone who wishes to read my blog posts, subscribe, follow and share with friends and loved ones.

Thank you.

How I broke up with myself. Loss and rebirth.

Two losses, and finding myself again.

Touch Point Article

leftovers and memories in a bowl of rice

A story that reminds me that integrity can be found in a simple meal.

 

 

Leftovers… there is something uniquely comforting about them.

These are the things that make us feel “at home”; that last plate of food that reminds us that there is someone who cares enough to feed us, body and soul. Yesterday’s bountiful meal, today merely a simple plate of food, and for the creative, culinary lovers, a way to re imagine a re-heated bowl of rice. A couple of days ago, I sat down after a very long and tiring day to eat a bowl of risotto that I had made the night before. I was mentally and physically exhausted…. I have not slept a full night’s sleep for at least a month and food, is has been the last thing on my mind.

I usually don’t get inspired to cook unless I am preparing food for others, and making a meal, is something I cherish and look forward to, especially in New York, where so many eat out on a regular basis. There is nothing that makes me happier than serving up a wholesome dinner. That offering of nourishment, shelter and safety is probably the most sacred bond you can ever create with someone.  These days I find myself at my most un-creative, unmotivated and uninspired in the kitchen. My cookbooks are gathering dust, and my desire to eat is at an all time low. I’ve lost my need to prepare food, and quite honestly, have also lost my appetite. I used to cook all the time for my partner, and when friends came to visit, but for past couple of months I have been mostly alone, recovering physically,  and emotionally so a simple bowl of rice is all I had any inspiration to make.

Leftover rice, pesto sauce, avocado, and sweet potatoes. I stared at them for a while before my instinct kicked in and I started preparing the first meal in months that didn’t feel like a chore. I took out my grandmother’s old bowl and placed the rice, the sliced avocado and some salt and pepper to taste. As I took the first bite, the memories of my maternal grandmother flooded my brain. I have had this bowl ever since her passing in 1995.

Pauline Winifred Councilman, Nash, Jackson was born in 1908 in Montague, Massachusetts, to a very poor working class family.

She along with her three brothers Paul, Norman, Phillip and sister Ester, was raised in the center of town. She was rebellious, tenacious and strong even at a young age.  She didn’t finish high school and neither did any of her siblings. She lived her whole life in Montague, except for when she traveled to Greece to visit my newly wed mother and to meet me as a baby. She married and divorced twice. She raised my uncle Norman and my mother Christine alone, and worked full-time at Sears Roebuck & Company, until she retired.

Pauline was a woman full of fire and strength. Her gaze, was like nothing I’ve ever seen before or since. She had white blond hair and piercing blue eyes, and was always very slender and petite. Her delicate frame was a bit underweight and frail in the end. A lifelong smoker, she smoked up to four packs a day in her youth, which over the years took a terrible toll on her health.

A take no bullshit woman, she worked hard her whole life and with no help from her ex husbands. She didn’t tolerate anything for long and even though many women of her generation would have remained married she chose to defy convention, and not be beholden to anyone who didn’t have her best interest. So she kicked both of them out, and they never were a part of their children’s lives. She was fiercely loyal to her family and they supported her in every way as she raised her two children on her own. I feel (sometimes to my detriment) I take much of my personality from her.

Her home was humble, tidy and always welcomed visitors with open arms. She kept it pristine to the point of neurosis, because of her obsession with germs and cleanliness. I recall her old vacuum cleaner which now would adorn some hipster’s apartment in New York as an antique curiosity. She always had lemon candy in the sugar bowl by her dining table, and small snacks in the cupboard for when I would come to stay.  She worked to the bone for everything she had, and the bowl that is now stored in my kitchen cabinet was bought as part of a set; piece by piece on lay away. Despite her apparent “poverty”, my grandmother Pauline was a generous woman, in her spirit, with her heart and with her love. She had endured hardships and difficulties that I can only imagine, yet she was a woman of conviction, of morality and integrity like no woman I’ve ever met. She never complained about her circumstance and always had a graciousness that surpassed many who I’ve met in my life.

As I looked down at my bowl of rice, I closed my eyes and remembered the last time I visited my grandmother’s home. It was this past Christmas, my best friend had come from Athens, and we had planned a road trip to western Mass to see my parents and relatives for the holidays. My partner decided not to join us, so it was us two crazy ladies on the road. The woman who currently owns my grandmother’s home graciously invited me to a Christmas party, and I felt this was an incredible opportunity to show my mom her old home again. This was going to be an emotional time for us all, since my mother had not seen the home she grew up in since 1995, yet I felt it would be an amazing opportunity to reconnect with her memories and breathe new life into its current reincarnation.

Food was being served and prepared in an incredible banquet, of fish, salads, fruit, meats and cheeses. My grandmother in contrast wasn’t much of a cook and didn’t have any gatherings in her home for the holidays. She was always too frail to prepare elaborate meals, so most of her food was prepared by others or bought in frozen meals. She loved saltines and to this day I can’t have one without thinking of her.

Seeing so many people gathered together drinking, eating, and celebrating in merriment felt like new life was breathing in to this home filled with childhood memories for both my mother and I.  As I looked out into her backyard, which was home to wild turkeys, blueberry bushes and hundreds of fireflies during summertime, I felt so comforted by the realization that even though homes change owners, their memories live on in the little things, like a bowl, a table, and the wood floors. New memories can be made with what seems to be a part of one’s own personal history.

I am glad that I’ve kept a small part of my grandmother’s personal history with me. She reminds me to be strong at times of adversity and to appreciate the small things despite their value. Her bowl has been to Greece, Mykonos, London and back to the U.S, so her spirit has traveled with me.

To Pauline… This recipe is for you

For the Rice:

2 Cups of Basmatti Rice (or any rice of your choosing)

1 1/2 Teaspoon of Butter to boil with the rice

Half a chopped shallot added to the simmering rice

A pinch of herbs de Provence or any other dry herb of your choice ( oregano, basil, marjoram)

let the rice simmer until done.

For the Sweet potatoes:

wash the potatoes well and leave the skin on. Cut them in quarters and place them on a baking tray. put salt, pepper and drizzle with olive oil to taste

Bake for 30-40 minutes at 350-400 degrees (250 Celsius) until soft.

let cool.

Combine the rice and the sweet potato cut in small cubes; add salt and pepper to taste

Cut up half an avocado lengthwise in strips put salt, pepper and a little but of lime

finish off with chopped spring onions

 

ENJOY!

 

 

 

 

My experience of deep loss, rebirth and finding my body again. 

I felt compelled to write about this because I had a duty to share my experience. I know there are other women out there who feel the same way I do. Nothing prepares you for this. No one can tell you how it will feel.  No one can teach you how to deal with the loss and how to fight to find yourself again. No one can prepare you for the utter emptiness you feel inside. No one can tell you it will be OK.

I never thought I would have to ever face this alone. I felt helpless, and still feel something missing that will never be replaced. I know women in my family who underwent  six, or seven abortions just because it was a form of contraception for them.

 I was horrified at the fact that the body can go through so much change and preparation only to then be void, useless, unproductive and scarred. I felt abandoned and alone. My partner who had left me 3 weeks prior, was unresponsive, abusive, or declined any reply to my pleas for assistance, or support. At every attempt to communicate, I was met with disbelief, accusations and threats. That betrayal felt far worse than the realization that I had to undertake this procedure all on my own.

I told my mother, two weeks before I booked my appointment with the clinic. She was my hero and my support the whole time before during and after the abortion. She understood me even without saying a word, she felt compelled to be there even though this was something she wasn’t prepared for either. She was a calm force beside me and quite honestly, I could never have done this without her. I was falling apart. She was there for me every step of the way. She stayed at the clinic when I got my final blood tests, waited patiently as we drove the 30 minutes from the house to the clinic, she stayed in the waiting room as I got my final ultrasound, and took me to the home after all was done. I barely ate, or slept before that day, and for weeks after. I saw nightmares and dreams of death, and the only thing that kept me sane was my yoga practice and my daily meditation.

“the body can go through so much change and preparation only to then be void, useless, unproductive and scarred”

I was devastated at all this loss. The loss of my partner’s support who refused to believe I was pregnant, demanded proof, and called me a liar, and a nut job, who instead sent me abusive, threatening messages, and lent me no support in my decision to terminate the pregnancy. The loss of my body and my ability to fathom ever recovering from this, and the loss of my faith in a person who I loved dearly and wanted to share this scary life changing experience with, who showed no understanding or care for what I was going though.

Yet with all this pain and insanity, came the people who surrounded me with so much love, care and support from every part of my life, that I felt it embracing me like no other time. The clinic was incredibly supportive before, during and after the procedure. My closest friend in New York, called me every day,  my friends in Greece sent constant messages, acquaintances reached out and assured me that everything I was feeling was normal. Women I only had a recent connection with spoke to me, walked me through it and reassured me that everything however uncomfortable was normal….

I felt far from normal, and nothing was normal.

Upon arriving for my appointment, I was met with the kindness and understanding that is so vital when going through something so incredibly difficult and life altering. There were no protesters, there was no harassment and above all there was no moment where I was made to feel guilty because of my decision. I chose to go to Massachusetts at a women’s clinic that was not only incredible in their services, but beyond the call of duty in their emotional and physical support during the whole process. Going through this alone in New York felt like a fight I was not prepared for.

I felt the after effects for days, and weeks after the abortion. My body felt numb, dizzy, and nauseous. I felt faint and weak and could barely function for the first few days after the procedure.  I felt absolutely torn from myself, devastated at not being with the person I loved so much during this difficult part of my life, and incapable or feeling anything at all but waves of shame, remorse and regret. I was at my lowest point when I reached out to a trusted confidant who directed me to an incredible organization based in New York called Avail. I had to talk to someone who knew exactly how I felt, who knew exactly what my body was going through and who needed no explanations.

Avail proved to be so much more than a recovery center. It has been a safe haven for me to let go of all the feelings connected to my pregnancy, my abortion and how I didn’t think I could move on from my sadness. Their counselors and group support staff have been incredibly supportive in guiding me towards, recovery in my body and finding some joy again in everyday life. This is a service that is available to all women for free, and offer group as well as individual counseling that has brought me to a place of some acceptance that I could never have achieved on my own. It has given me the resolve to talk about my experience and share my grief in a way that would not be possible otherwise.

“I felt the after effects for days, and weeks after the abortion. My body felt numb, dizzy, and nauseous”

This experience however difficult, deeply sobering and saddening has given me the strength to educate others on what they can do to heal their bodies, focus on those who will care and support them and become stronger through their adversity, as did I.  It’s been over a month and although I’ve had some very dark days, feeling a sadness that can’t be described, and I still battle with nightmares and hormonal changes that I can’t control, I am slowly making peace now with the choice I made, and my body is slowly coming back to life. 

If anyone in your life needs support help each other, women need other women to listen, comfort and surround themselves with positive understanding people through this very daunting time in their lives. In my darkest hour, women reached out to me in ways I could never have imagined. This journey hard as it was has taught me that nothing is more valuable than the knowledge that we are all stronger together.

Please know that you are never alone and even if it takes months or years it will be OK. 

For further information on Avail please check the link below:

https://www.availnyc.org/

 

Let me tell you a story about leaving home, about struggling to find a place of your own, Let me tell you about walking miles every day in this crazy city, and asking yourself over and over again is this all there is?

Let me tell you about loving and heartbreak, about standing on your own two feet, about flirtation about opening your heart again about loneliness about doubt and fear, let me tell you about sitting alone at night thinking…

There must be more than life to this.

Let me tell you about rejoicing in knowing you have friends who love you and you love them. Let me tell you about poetry and listening to father analyse over and over the importance of poetry…. because talking about your motherland falling apart isn’t that pleasant.

Let me tell you about mother and how she is my best friend.  Let me tell you about laughter in the middle of the street, till your guts hurt and not caring how loud you are cause that shit was so damn funny!  Let me tell you about sex, and passion, lack of intimacy or truth, let me tell you about excuses and mistreatment and unfulfilled embraces, let me tell you about pain. Let me tell you about not wanting to live again.

“let me tell you about sitting alone at night thinking, there must be more than life to this…”

Let me tell you about falling in love and going out of your mind, let me show you loss and tears. Let me tell you about walking alone, and sleeping alone and crying alone and feeling alone even though your not. Let me tell you about countless early mornings sitting alone just breathing and hoping it will all get better.

Let me tell you about waking up with sun in your eyes and smelling the island breeze and wishing you were there with me, diving deeper and deeper into the deep blue sea.

Let me tell you about missing home, and missing my people, my sun kissed balcony, the aromas of fresh baked bread from the village bakery

salt on my skin

the sound of hundreds of cicadas drowning the air with their numbing rhythm. Let me tell you about music and dancing, and embracing friends who are far away, and letting your hair down cause…

that’s what life is all about.

Let me show you what I see, what I hear let me share with you my story, and I want you to tell me yours.

Tell me about you, tell me about your dreams and struggles your life and goals, your fears.

are you sitting up at night thinking is this all there is?

Eat with me, drink with me, laugh with me, cry with me, look into my eyes and see there is nothing more beautiful than sitting in silence and knowing, understanding one another and realizing….

Yes that this is ALL there is.