Cindy Benezra - Under the Orange Blossoms

Under The Orange Blossoms

An Inspirational Story of Bravery and Strength

Cindy Benezra

Copyright 2021 by Cindy Benezra.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.

Although every precaution has been taken to verify the accuracy of the information contained herein, the author and publisher assume no responsibility for any errors or omissions. No liability is assumed for damages that may result from the use of information contained within.

Under The Orange Blossoms/ Cindy Benezra1st ed.

I dedicate this to you. To each and every being who has walked a similar path. There is light at the end of the tunnel. You are not alone.

I dedicate this to you. To each and every being who has walked a similar path. There is light at the end of the tunnel. You are not alone.

Author Note

I have written about both my friends and family in this book. These memories are mine as I recall them and are my version of my past. They are in no way intended to harm anyone in this book.

Foreword

U nder the Orange Blossoms is an astonishing debut. Cindy Benezra writes openly about the innate ability children have to survive early childhood trauma. She does so with incredible compassion, bravery, truth, advocacy, and love.

Cindy reveals her story of survival and coming of age trying to escape the post-traumatic stress she suffered at her fathers hands. This is a story of hopeof finding your way out of the darkness and into the light.

She provides unique insight into the healing modalities and steps she used to help her survive, thrive, and create post-traumatic resilience despite her losses. It is a heartbreaking and heartwarming story of facing fears, dealing directly with pain, breaking cycles of generational trauma, and ultimately letting go of the anger and creating a beautiful life.

Cindy is living proof that you are not your abuse, trauma, or story. Its what happened to you, but it doesnt define you. Under the Orange Blossoms is a must read.

Angela Schellenberg, Writer, Speaker and Mental Health Trauma Therapist, LMHCA

Chapter 1

Slices of Sunshine

There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds. Laurell K. Hamilton

I pop a warm orange slice into my mouth and methodically eat it to distract myself from the pain. I notice the texture and sweetness. It tastes the way sunshine feels. Everything about oranges brings me a sense of calm. Ive felt this way since I ran away to the orange orchards as a little girl. I read somewhere that an orange scent triggers happy endorphins. Im living proof.

I stick my thumbnail into the orange rind, breathe in the bright, citrusy scent, and watch the ultra-fine spray be carried away by the balmy Mediterranean breeze. I sigh and release my hold on myself. I remember to breathe. Each time I break into the skin to peel it and expose the fleshy fruit, the spray permeates the air, leaving a slight residue of sticky nectar on my fingers and the floor below. I put another orange slice into my mouth and gaze at the horizon toward the sun. Ive eaten oranges this way hundreds of times.

Since moving to Torremolinos, Spain, back in 1979, Ive never missed a sunset. In fact, it has become a cherished family ritual. The best spot to take in the splendor is from our apartment balcony. Mom usually makes a brief appearance just before the sun dips below the horizon, and the world fades to black. For Sonya (my younger sister) and me, its our new religion. We sit for hours like an old married couple without saying much, but theres no need; taking in the setting sun is monumental. While the sunset is an everyday occurrence, the Earth revolving on its axis and the suns dramatic splashdown is nothing short of miraculous.

Today, I cant miss the sunset because I need to see something beautiful. Something to remind me that there is splendor in the world. Something to ground me in my body. Im numb. Searching. Disconnected. I need to feel connected to something. I need a reason to wake up tomorrow. I need something to live for, such as the sunset that paints the sky in unexpected ways and makes you believe in the wonder of the universe.

I love my family, but theyre not enough to drive away my troubling thoughts and dangerous impulses. Ive thought this whole thing through. Jumping from my bedroom window five flights down onto the red terracotta tile floor with the pretty red, white, and blue mosaic tile in the center seems like the only way outthe only way to stop the pain. I imagine my body striking the ground like a giant sack of flour, making a heavy, echoing thud. Would my head explode like a sack of flour, too? The only problem is that Im not crazy about messes or drama. I imagine the sweet gardener stuck with the cleanup after my limp body is hauled away. He would shake his head and say, Que lastima, (what a shame) as he sprays down the sidewalk with pity. Whats left of me gets washed away into the drainage ditches and out to the sea. I cant have anyone pitying me. No, I cant have that.

As I secretively sit on my bedroom windowsill, my legs dangling in my faded bellbottom jeans, I can feel the hemline hitting my bare feet in the breeze. I wear a flowy linen shirt embroidered with flowers. If I werent so in my head, I would notice the view of the sea over red-tiled roofs and a tanker traversing the calm, sparkling water. I think of reasons why I should jump. I cant live with the pain and nightmares stalking me. Then I think of why I shouldnt jump. It would break my mothers heart. It would devastate Sonya. Id miss myself. My dad doesnt cross my mind either way. I move my bottom a few inches closer to the edge and gaze down at the tile below. I wonder if Id feel terror or physical pain before dying. The truth is it wouldnt be any worse than the emotional pain I live with every day . But what if halfway down I change my mind, and its too late?