Repetitive Sounds/Motions

I don't have a big long post today, but I came across something I wanted to share.

There is a thread on the internet discussing a sensitivity to music related to PTSD. Several of the contributors related their own annoyances with repetitive sounds, such as certain music, turn signals, general ticking, clicking, squeaking noises, etc. 

I became ridiculously excited by this! Those kinds of sounds can nearly drive me mad. Sometimes Studdly Hubby will be innocently playing a video game that requires an abnormal amount of clicking/button pushing and I have to do everything within my power not slap the mouse/control right out of his hands. I can just feel my pulse quickening like I'm running a marathon.

Oh, what fresh hell is this...

But far worse than the sound is repetitive motions. For example, Studdly Hubby and I are sitting in the study. I'm on our old couch, doing homework on my laptop. He's sitting at the table doing his homework. Everyone is happy and getting along. And then it begins. His leg starts moving from side to side, in a repetitive motion. I try my best to block it out, but I can see it in my peripheral vision, shaking repetitively. I try to ignore it, but finally, through clenched teeth, ask him to stop moving. He is very aware of this particular neurosis and stops for the moment. Then he dives back into his work, and before you know it, his leg is moving again. At this point its taking all my strength not to pounce on him like some while animal and rip out his arteries from his neck with my teeth...

Ahem....

But I really do love him. :-D 

And my point is, there are people out there like me. Which is a great comfort when I start feeling like an Extraterrestrial walking around this world.

Rachel

Rattled

I'm struggling.

As suspected a couple weeks ago, I'm getting closer to facing the sexual abuse. I cry about it far easier than I ever did in the past. It happened again today. Have any of you seen the "rape analogy" going around Facebook recently? I was worried it was going to be a tasteless joke, but it wasn't at all. Here's the link.

I made a comment on Facebook about the awful things a defense attorney will say in that kind of situation. Then I thought about how it's not always an attorney being paid to say those things. There are "average" people walking around that believe those things. They believe a woman "asked" to be assaulted. That they may be complaining now, but they actually enjoyed it. That the woman has some kind of ulterior motive or bone to pick with the man. That was the main argument in my case. My mom and dad were going through an ugly divorce and the defense, meaning my dad and his attorney, said that my mom and I "cooked up" the allegations so that my mom would win complete custody of my sisters. I wasn't in the court room for most of the case aside from my testimony and the closing statements. The prosecuting attorney and detective warned me that the defense wouldn't be kind, and they were right. Even though I knew it was his job, I had to fight to stay seated and not stand up and scream at him. It was a horrible experience. But do you know whats  worse?

When your own family believes those things.

My sister believed my dad that my mom and I made it up. He told my sisters that we were going to "cook something up" before I even told anyone, so to her it made complete sense. He said it would happen and it did.  My own sister. There was a friend of the family who also chose to believe this, and while that hurt, it was easy to cut her out of my life and move on. But my sister was there. She knew he was crazy, violent, abusive, manipulative and angry. But all she could see was her family being torn apart, and someone had to be blamed. It couldn't be him - he wanted to stay home, to work things out. 

My Bruised Heart by ~murtada-king on deviantART

On a related note, I have been thinking about how difficult it is to really face what happened to me and how horrifying it all was. So I seek validation from outside sources. No matter how much I get, it's never enough. No matter how many people I tell the story to, how many people are shocked by or how many people tell me how strong I must be to have survived, I need more. The only way (at this time) I know to face it is be reliving the memories, which would only lead to retraumatization. Part of me feels like the people that should really get it, my family, do not. (This is not about everyone in my family by the way.) Right now, the pain of that realization feels fresh. What comes to mind is that my heart is bruised. When I most needed their support to heal my heart, they assumed I "had Aaron" and their job was done. After all those years of abuse, don't you think that is an awful lot put on one person? Don't get me wrong, he's handled it beautifully (I swear, I don't know how I got so lucky), but I, like every other human being, need a support system. I can't help but feel I would be more at peace, content and generally happier if I had that. I have Studdly Hubby's family now, but that relationship is still growing. I have trouble depending on other people in some ways, and so I haven't reached out to them as much as I probably could. It's a difficult spot to be in to gripe about not having it and then not reaching out and taking it when it's offered.

But I digress.

During my inner work yesterday, I came across a memory/flashback. I saw myself standing in the basement, and my dad was pushing his finger in my anus. I've had these graphic and ugly mental images come up for, and quickly try to think about something else in an attempt to get rid of it as quickly as possible. I had to end the experience and open my eyes.

The whole thing left me rattled, for lack of a better word. I'm feeling vulnerable. Paper thin. I'm getting closer and closer to the memories and it's terrifying. I'm glad I've stayed in therapy this long, because clearly there is work yet to be done that I cannot and should not do alone. 

So that's where things stand for now. I do miss blogging, but I've really had to make schoolwork a priority, so something had to give, and unfortunately it was frequent blogging. I'm still here, with plenty to write about though!

Rachel

The Next Layer

I'm not even sure where to begin tonight...

My mood - This has been a rough several weeks for me. I could feel something starting to bubble below the surface. I was really emotional and weepy. My mood has slowly slid into a darker place since then. This past week/weekend has been the worst so far. I've been crying at the drop of a hat, often for no particular reason. I've been talking to Simone about it, and we both agreed that something was going on, but it was hard to say what. It seemed as if my subconscious was trying to protect me from something. Often, in traumatic situations, the psyche will create a "protective self" that is only useful during the trauma. However, old habits die hard and that protective self doesn't know that its job is done. This seemed as if it could be a direct correlation to the dream I had about the dead woman. A sense of dread kept me from exploring the situation further.

Last week in therapy, I was talking about some of the abuse. I became abnormally emotional when I related how my dad would put the responsibility on me to stop the abuse. After he was done, usually after he ejaculated, he used to apologize, say it would never happen again, but to just say "no" if he ever tried again. Obviously, I tried that, and it never worked out too well. When he was diagnosed with prostate cancer, the abuse stopped for about a year when I was 16-17. I thought I was finally home-free (from that part of the abuse anyway) until his treatments were done and he got his libido back. I fought harder than ever to "just say no" and was devastated when I lost the battle. In therapy today, I commented that I couldn't remember the first time it happened after that year, but suddenly recalled sobbing in my bedroom. Honestly, its hard for me to even think about it further without becoming emotional. Besides my family letting me down, it has been the greatest disappointment of my life thus far...

So I think there may be two things at play here. First, I was taught, in a very big way, that just when I think things are going to be ok, everything will come crumbling down. Just when I started to believe that it wasn't going to happen anymore, and was growing stronger and stronger in my belief that I could stop it if it started again, I lost.  So now, when things are going well in my life, you can almost set your stopwatch for the inevitable fall.

The second thing I realized on my drive home tonight. I think I am actually starting to face the abuse. I've been facing the after affects, but not the abuse itself. I think that may be a major part of the next "layer" I have going on. I usually don't cry so easily when talking about it, and even when I did this last time, I didn't let myself let go and "cry it out". I composed myself. So I know there are more tears there, waiting...

This is much bigger and nicer than the one I
visited, but you get the idea...

I revisited the dream with the dead woman in my inner work last week. I tried to get closer to investigate, but the rungs on the ladder kept snapping in half every time I stepped on them. My protective self did not want me to go any further, emotionally or even in the dream. I did some more inner work today, in which Simone led me to a house. I walked from my "happy place" (working on a new name for that...) to my safe place and saw a house plopped down in the sand to the left (to the right are the cellar doors). The house was white, with aluminum siding and black shutters. It was very typical and blase - nothing that would grab your attention. The inside smelled like it had been closed up for quite some time. It had a few furniture pieces, but nothing ornamental, as if though nobody lived there. Simone asked me to look for a message of some sort. I noticed some writing appear on the wall to the left. It said simply "Why are you here?" Not really sure myself, I responded by writing on the wall "I'm exploring..." I then asked if there was a message for me and got the response "Keep looking..." *On a side note, a house can often represent one's self.*

From there, I walked into a large empty room and looked out the windows at farm country. As I walked closer, a vicious dog barked at me from outside. I jumped back and headed to the stairs on the other side of the room. I got the sense that I had "beat" my protective self, that I had gotten inside before she could stop me, so I was free to explore. I walked up the stairs and saw the hallway from the house on Monroe St. I was drawn to my old bedroom. It was pink and deliciously girly. My 12-year old self showed up and seemed to be doing ok. I realized I needed to be with my 17 year self, who was completely devastated that the abuse was continuing. She wasn't coming to me, so I realized I needed to be with her. Suddenly, I was in my bedroom in the basement, holding her and letting her sob. I let her cry it out for a few minutes, then shared with her that it was all over. That "this" wasn't reality. I waved my arm, and our surroundings disappeared like a crumpled up backdrop. We were left in a blank white space. From there, I took her back to my bedroom where I began. I shared with her all the little things in my life that I had that I knew she dreamed about. I was free and independent. I was someone she dreamed of being but would barely recognize as herself. I was a woman and no one was going to make choices for me like that ever again.

I always find it funny that when I start posts with a comment like "I don't know what to write" or " I don't know where to begin", I quickly figure it out...and then some! I have some other things on my mind to share on here, but I think I have enough for now.

Rachel

*Squish*

A couple days ago, I did some more inner work in therapy. I knew the time was going to come when I would need to face Dad again in therapy so that was the plan for this particular day.

I had some trouble getting to my "happy place" this time, perhaps because it had been a while. My mind kept wandering to other topics, but eventually I was able to reel it in. When I finally arrived, my actual self was there, and I immediately called upon the "army of me" - all the representations of myself at different times in my life. I led them on to the  area below my safe place. We walked down the stairs and through the doors to the main hallway.

As soon as we entered, Dad was standing in front of us in a green plaid shirt and blue jeans with his penis exposed. Immediately, the eyes of all the other me's clamped shut with something resembling cast-iron eyelids. Have you ever seen an old baby doll, where here eyelids aren't really attached, but slid back over their eyeball? It was very similar to that, but heavy and almost mechanical. I needed to find a way to protect them but keep them with me, and so this is what I came up with.

As I stood there, trying to decide the best course of action, I heard my therapist say something about deflating him with a pin as an option if he seemed to be looming over me, larger than life. So I did, but he came right back after that, although this time with his pants zipped.

I looked at him and started to get upset. I told him that I, and those with me, deserved better than the way he treated us. I told that I didn't care what he had been through in his past. If he had been hurt, he should know how it feels. As I was yelling at him, I realized I was growing larger. I grew to gigantic proportions, until I was looming over him so far that he looked the size of a cockroach. I looked down at him and stomped down on him. He was completely squished. All that remained was a black blob and green guts.

I herded my little army back up the stairs and to my happy place. I reassured them that I would be back. I don't think I'm done with him yet. Even though I destroyed him, it felt very anti-climatic. Besides, they do say cockroaches are near impossible to kill. At the same time, it's the closest I've gotten to a physical confrontation, so it's still progress!

Rachel

Stumbling On the Walk I Talk

I felt trapped the other day. Someone came up to me and put their arm around my waist. For whatever reason, it made me very uncomfortable. But because of my relationship to this person, I couldn't figure out a way to discreetly pull away without causing a scene. This person did not do anything wrong. It wasn't unreasonable for her to assume that her actions were appropriate. Apparently she feels closer to me than I do her, but none of the other people that I feel even closer to do this. I would be somewhat uncomfortable if they did it as well. 

How am I going to walk this path?

I don't know why she makes me especially uncomfortable when she does things like that, other than her hugs are always too long. I suppose she is simply more physically affectionate than I am comfortable with. The only person I like touching me that much is my husband.

Inside, I was thinking about my recent post talking about children owning their bodies and not making them hug people they don't want to hug. And here I am, a 25 year old, and I can't find a way to speak up.

This situation wasn't traumatizing by any means. I don't want to over dramatize it. I'm just really frustrated with myself for not speaking up...for not removing myself from a situation that made me very uncomfortable. I'm very disappointed in myself and feel very weak. 

I talk the talk so well, but I sometimes stumble on the walk.

Rachel

I have PTSD too.

I was messing around on the internet this morning and came across this little story:

"Today, at a neighborhood BBQ my neighbor’s son - a 25 year old Marine – dropped to the floor and started crying when one of the other guests lit off a round of firecrackers. " -Marc and Angel Hack Life

It was really touching and I could easily imagine this man, full of fear, and ashamed of his inability to cope better in a safe setting. 

I could also imagine the other people at the BBQ. They were probably touched as well. I'm sure they comforted him, maybe some of them went into the house with him to be sure he was ok. Then they probably started talking about how he's been "different" since he's come home. They probably talked about how terrible war is, which may have led to talks about whether or not our country should even be involved in one, and putting American lives at risk.

But I would be willing to bet that nobody there judged him. No one would deny that he has been through hell. No one would be surprised to see that he is still dealing with it all. No one would blame him for not being stronger.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is ugly and unfair. Having survived the trauma isn't enough. Your body is still on high alert, ready to protect you at any given moment. This causes your emotions to be raw and in a touchy state. You relive the event whenever something reminds you of it. 

PTSD was first recognized in veterans. Historical records show soldiers with symptoms to varying degrees, depending on cultural implications, but the the term post-traumatic stress disorder was coined in the 1970s. Eventually, some smart people figured out that people who experienced other kinds of trauma were experiencing the same symptoms. 

But how does the community respond to those other victims? They seem willing to accept that our men in uniform may still be struggling with life after war. But with victims of abuse, it seems the community is quiet. They are generally willing to see that it is a problem. Abuse happens, and that much we can face. But once those victims are no longer being abused, what kind of support is out there? Its seems fairly limited. In the greater Lafayette area, there is one support group that I have been able to find for survivors of sexual assault. ONE. What about the workplace? Do you think employers would be a little more understanding if a veteran had a reaction to something rather than a survivor of abuse? I believe that they would see the survivor as weak, and that they need to "get over it" because, after all, that was 7 years ago! 

A lot of this is just my perception, so it's possible that it's not entirely accurate. But I have to wonder, are other survivors perceiving it this way as well? What can we do to change this? Is it all in my head?

This is something I feel really strongly about. I would really appreciate it you would please take a few moments to visit The United States Department of Veteran Affairs and look over their information on PTSD. A little education goes a long way. Thank you.

Rachel

MDMA: A Miracle Cure for PTSD?

I have a bad habit of subscribing to magazines and then letting them pile up on my coffee table. As part of my seemingly never-ending spring cleaning, I've been going through them, reading the better ones and scanning the others for pictures for my dream board.  I got my Oprah Magazine and expected it be one of the better ones, chock full of inspiration and intriguing stories. Unfortunately, this one wasn't doing it for me, that is, until I came across an article almost at the end entitled "Can a Single Pill Change Your Life?"

Apparently, there have been some therapists utilizing the active ingredient in the drug Ecstasy, MDMA, to help treat post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). I had not heard of any drugs being available for it so I dove in. A small study was done in Charleston, South Carolina in which 20 individuals with diagnoses of PTSD were given the drug during 2 to 3 therapy sessions. In the end, 17 of them were cleared of the diagnosis. This results seemed significant enough to require further investigation. 

From the article:

                  "With MDMA, you not only see your fear but trust yourself to go past it," says Marcela Ot'alora, 52, a Colorado therapist who took MDMA under a psychologist's care in 1984 to treat PTSD stemming from an abusive relationship. "It shows you how to be kinder to yourself, and how much you're capable of. It allows you access to a place in your mind that's compassionate and full of love. You might have abandoned that place, but it never abandoned you."      

That last part was especially interesting to me as it is my ultimate goal in therapy - to become a better, kind person. To find a place within myself that is good. A place that was abandoned as a child because I had to be protective and cautious, rather than giving love and being vulnerable.

From Oprah.com by Dan Saelinger

So what's the deal? Is MDMA safe? How does it work? Is it really a magic pill?

From what I understand, the drug is taken during a therapy session that last about 8 hours. During that time, clients totally relax and mentally revisit the trauma they experienced. They are able to face their abusers in a way that their psyches normally would not, well, at least not in their first session. Dr. Mithoefer, the physician who ran the study, claims that MDMA acts as a catalyst for internal healing. (For more examples and a more thorough explanation, read the original article here).

Obviously, there are risks involved, as there are with any kind of drug. Those that take it experience an increase in heart rate and blood pressure, as well as a decreased efficiency in the way the heart pumps. It can cause sweating, tremors and hallucinations. 

So what is the alternative for those of us suffering from post traumatic stress disorder if we don't want to subject ourselves to questionable drugs with dangerous side effects? Traditional therapy works, and even has its advantages.

While traditional therapy takes longer than 3 sessions, part of that requires a certain amount of personal commitment and work. Following through with that can lead to greater self esteem and pride. Often times, a part of that therapy is find a place within yourself, where you are able to center yourself and find inner peace, not dissimilar to what is experienced while under the influence of the drug. 

But there is a benefit to doing this "sober". A time will inevitably come when something will trigger a survivor who has already gone through a significant healing process. Or maybe something unpleasant will come up in life, as it always does. Something that tries your patience or frightens you. If you relied on the drug in the past to "heal", where will you turn when it is no longer available? If instead, you took the time to learn the necessary skills to heal and know you have a sense of peace within yourself that you can access, then you can do just that if the situation calls for it. To me, this has been one of the great outcomes of therapy so far. It's something I even use when I'm having a difficult time with Vaginismus. I use it when I'm panicking about paying the bills or feel some social anxiety creeping up on me. It's truly been life changing and I hope I never lose touch with it.

Some experts suggest that the current uses of MDMA may lead to finding a way to tone it down for safer therapeutic use. Until then, it is being accessed by therapists that utilize it on a, shall we say, less than legal basis. Personally, this is not something I would seek out at this time, but we will see what the future holds in research.

Rachel

A Letter to My Younger Self

Dear Rachel,

Don't be afraid. Don't be afraid to stand up for yourself. In retrospect, you'll always wish you had. Remember: "Those who matter don't mind and those who mind don't matter." It's good advice, but can be hard to follow.

People are going to disappoint you in your life - people you love. It's best to just accept that fact and move on. If you want it done right, do it yourself! Or find someone you can really trust.

Speaking of which, be patient. You will find him. You'll jump in with both feet. There will be another, and you will know in your gut that he's not "The One". Hang in there. It won't take long and it will totally be worth it. You'll get your Prince Charming.

Enjoy life! Relax! Don't be afraid to have fun. To Laugh and dance. Sing your heart out. You know it makes you happy.

Listen when people tell you you're good at something, but don't expect it to come from the people you need it from the most. Figure out what you're good at and what you enjoy. Then do it some more!

Rachel, life is going to be tough for a while. You're going to want a way out and will consider some scary exit strategies. But you're stronger than that. The time will come when you will be more free than you can even imagine right now. There will be days when you will look in the mirror, at where you are and what your life has become and you will be blown away. You will feel so much love and happiness. You will even be so fortunate that it will be your everyday life and you will have the luxury of taking it all for granted. You'll be a grownup. Happily married to a man that treats you like his queen. You'll have a real job and a nice place to live. You won't have to live in fear everyday. You will make the decisions in your life. If you want to cut your hair (you will), then you do it! If you want to go to bed at 8pm, then you can! If you want to go to the mall, stay out all night, watch what you want on TV, YOU CAN!!! I know, it's mind boggling! I know you can't even allow yourself to imagine it right now, but just know that you'll get there. It'll be awesome. You're going to feel a lot better about yourself too. You'll still have your insecurities, like anyone else, but eventually you'll find things to be proud of within yourself. And you'll start writing. So pay attention in English class!

I guess what I'm trying to say is don't give up, on life or on yourself. Be kind to yourself and forgive yourself for your shortcomings. You're not going to lose control if you relax and feel, even if what you feel is anger. (That's going to be some tough advice to take as well.)

Love,

Rachel

P.S. "Kid, you’ll move mountains!

So…be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray or Mordecai Ale Van Allen O’Shea, you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!" - "Oh! The Places You'll Go!" Dr. Suess




Linked to this blog: "A letter to my younger self" at Multiple Voices

Post 100 - His Identity

I've been reflecting lately on the way I deal with my step-dad in my mind and my memories. As I mentioned before, for the most part, he isn't really all that present, which I realize seems illogical. 

I don't even know what to call him. I grew up calling him "Dad" because I thought that was who he was. But he doesn't deserve that title. When talking to Aaron, I usually just use pronouns, and he generally knows who I'm talking about from the context. In my blog, I refer to him as my step-dad. Today, I referred to him as my "a**hole dad" to someone who I've never really talked to about him much. In reality, he was my adoptive father. His name is Tim. He's a prisoner and a sex offender.

But, once upon a time, he was a child. He was James and Mary Moore's little boy. He was the brother to 6 boys and 3 girls. In theory, he was as innocent as any other young boy. I don't know all that much about his upbringing. I know they were poor. With 10 kids, it's no wonder! I know the boys all shared a bedroom. But I don't know when things changed. As an adult, he didn't seem to have a close relationship with his siblings. There seemed to be some kind of tension between him and them that I didn't understand. It seemed like something had happened a long time ago to cause a rift, but I was never sure what that was.

It's just so difficult for me to think of him as anything besides pure evil. I'm sure there are happy anecdotes from my childhood in which he is involved. But I don't want any part of them. My mind is closed off to it. I feel like any warm feelings towards him would make be vulnerable to him. And I feel like I can't afford to be weak where he is concerned. If I had shown any kindness to him in the past, he would have taken it as an invitation, a seduction. 

A flawless performance...this time.

It was a strange dance I had to perform. I had to be the obedient loving daughter, while at the same time, protecting myself the best I knew how.  Like a prima ballerina, each step was calculated and needed to be flawless; the stakes were high. He would sometimes ask me, "Do you hate me?" My practiced response was always the same: "No, but I hate what you do." Whenever this conversation happened it was after the abuse, after his lust was sated. I knew I could get away with at least that much. The ballerina would get a standing ovation for her performance...this time. However, if I told him I hated him, it would have certainly come up later. If he was drunk, he would either cry pitifully or be very angry, clenching his teeth together while ranting incoherently.

And I've gotten off my main point. I have a hard time even writing about him directly like this, because it is that difficult to let my mind really explore the topic. It leaves me feeling vulnerable and angsty. I need to cry. I can feel it just below the surface, the tears threatening/needing to spill with the right provocation. My husband has a thick scar on his chest, from a surgery he had as a little boy. When I touch it, he says it is numb, but he can feel the pressure of it being touched underneath. He can feel my fingers on the skin around it. As far as my step-dad is concerned, he is a scar that is still numb. I fear I'm going to need to cut it open to allow it to heal properly.

I don't usually do well when I'm writing about something I haven't really processed. It tends to be all over the place and not have any real answers. So I guess I'm for now. I'll leave you with a song that's been on my mind a lot lately. One of those great "singing through tears" songs, filled with raw emotion.

"It took so long just to feel alright, Remember how to put back the light in my eyes...and who do you think you are, running 'round leaving scars, collecting your jar of hearts, and tearing love apart?"

Rachel

Facing a Demon

Last week in therapy, I talked about a whole slew of memories. They just kept coming to me, one after the other. I haven't even gotten around to writing them all down yet. At one point, my therapist asked me what I was feeling at the time some of the memories took place. There was a couple where I was able to tell her. The rest - I had no idea. I could tell her what happened, but I had no idea how I was feeling at the time. I spent so much time detaching myself from the present, that I detached the feelings as well. (That ability to escape in my mind doesn't help my concentration by the way.)

One of the memories that I could link to a feeling was one that I really don't like to remember or talk about. It was when I was around 11 or 12. I remember standing in the kitchen and my step-dad tried to kiss me...with tongue. I pulled back and was absolutely mortified and disgusted. It gives me the willies to even think about it.

Around that time, I had gotten up early to surprise him by making him breakfast before he left for work. I realize this may sound contradictory to some if they've been fortunate enough to not experience an abusive parent, but I was still longing for his approval, the way any child would. I had recently gotten a second-hand swimsuit (people were giving us their old stuff all the time) that had a built in skirt. It was white with a red floral design. Very tropical I thought. Anyway, I loved it, and for one reason or another that I do not recall, I decided to use it for pajamas. I happened to be wearing it this particular morning, and he later made a comment implying that I was "offering" myself to him because I cooked him breakfast and wore that. After that I learned I had to be more careful so he didn't think I was trying to seduce him. Truthfully, it really pisses me off. It is just so insane that I even had to worry about that. No girl should ever have to be concerned that she may be unconsciously arousing her father.  (For those of you newer to my blog, I didn't know he wasn't my biological father until I was 19.)  

Not long after that, I wanted to leave some little notes around the house that said "I love you Mom!". I knew he would be offended if I left him out, so I wrote some for my step-dad as well. However, I didn't want him to get the "wrong idea" so on his I wrote "I like you Dad". (For those of you newer to my blog, I didn't know he wasn't my biological father until I was 19.) 

Anyway, when I rattled off all those memories last week, my wall came back up. I felt nothing about them. A bit emotionally exhausted from digging them back up out of their graves, but otherwise detached. I wasn't even that aware of it until this week.

I did some more inner child work. I haven't been writing them all, for a few reasons, so this may not make a ton of sense if you've read my last posts on the topic. Anyway, I went to my happy place and met with my "Actual Self". She was there, wearing a small crown this time, and sitting atop a horse. I asked her why she would never come with me down the stairs, and she didn't answer. We walked together to the cellar doors, and I walked down, alone. When I got to the hallway that had been behind the locked doors, I quietly observed it, not sure what I was looking for. I walked to the end of the hallway and looked to the left. I expected to see stairs but there was nothing. I turned to the right, and there was a flight of descending stairs. I considered walking down them to investigate this new area, but decided it would be better to check the other doors in the hallway that had not opened yet. I turned back towards them, and a door that had opened to an empty cell previously, now held my step-dad. He was sitting in it, looking at me with a blank expression. 

I was terrified.

I shut the door, locked it and hurried back up the stairs. I left from my safe place and came back to reality.

Finding him there was incredibly disturbing to me, and also led to a realization. First of all, he has never shown up in my inner child work. It all takes place in my mind, and he is not welcome there. I can't even look at his photo on his prison profile page (although I still check it to make sure he's still there). It's too scary for me. So when he popped up out of nowhere, in a place that ultimately I control, I was not happy. But it made me realize, he was really missing from my memories. It's hard to explain, but it's almost like I knew he was there, but I couldn't allow myself to actually visualize him.

He is the scariest thing I have ever faced in my life.

Where he is concerned, I still feel like a tiny little girl, powerless against a much larger, much scarier force, one that had complete authority.

But by not facing the whole picture, I'm only processing half the memory, half the feeling, half the reality. I can cry over what happened to me, but why don't I feel more anger towards him? I can feel anger towards my mother, and she wasn't even on the same level as him. That's a whole other ball game. But I think I still feel numb towards him. I remember testifying against him in court, and was far too numb at that point to feel anything but fear and nerves. It reminds me of my "safe place". It's empty and neutral because numb is safe. After that, I locked the whole issue away, just happy that he was locked up and I didn't have to live in fear anymore. I never let myself get really angry at him. He is that locked away. He's not even human anymore. I can't allow him to be that real. When I cut him out of my life, it was completely.

I don't know where I will be in 4 more years when he is released from prison, but I suspect I'll be feeling a lot of anxiety. The problem is, my whole family hasn't cut him out of their lives. Three of my sisters still talk to him on the phone from time to time, for various reasons. One thinks he's been innocently imprisoned, and I worry about her the most. I believe she will allow him around her future children, and I don't know who will protect them. I know he will also try to have a relationship with my other sisters. Because they are a part of my life, he enters into it as well. And I don't want that to happen. I also don't want him to know anything about my life. NOTHING. I don't want him to know what I'm doing, where I am, who I'm married to, if I have children, what I look like now, etc. I get sick just thinking about it.

But I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

In the meanwhile, I have to face him in my memories. I have to allow myself to see the whole picture and to be honest, I don't want to. I don't even want to go back down "the stairs". I don't want to run into him. 

Rachel

SOC

I've been feeling a bit uninspired lately when it comes to writing, so I'm stealing a page out of Momma Resa's book and doing a "stream of consciousness" post - basically just writing what comes to mind.

At the moment, I'm feeling lonely. I have Studdly Hubby here next to me, and we're great. My "marital love tank" is full. But something is missing. This is something I feel from time to time. For a while I thought perhaps it came from living in too-small houses with a too-big family to being just the two of us. And maybe that is part of it. But it's not really about quantity; it's about quality. I'm feeling a need for connections. I've kind of lost touch with a couple of my best friends. One recently married and moved to California. The other recently married and is living in Michigan (we were in her EPIC wedding). I'll be the first to admit that I am terrible with long distance relationships. And I don't completely connect with that many people. There is only a small handful of people that I consider to be my sisters. (That means you Kristina and Alaine!) 

Me on the left, Studdly Hubby on the right

My Kristina and I

Now I have a new job and I'm longing to make connections there. But it's not the kind of job where there is a lot of time to sit and chat. I should probably make more of an effort to see some of my co-workers outside of work, but I have realized in this past year that I have some mild social anxiety. I blame this on not being allowed to go out or to visit friends when I was younger and especially a teenager, along with carrying around a disgusting secret. 

Regardless of the reason, I get nervous. I really have to psych myself up if I'm going to go to something outside of work. One-on-one and very small groups are better than parties and big groups. Those almost cripple me socially. I panic and worry that I'm going to be judged. An example of this is the NYE party Studdly Hubby and I went to this year. It was at his friend's house in New Palestine. I really like his friend and his friend has really great friends from what I can tell. They were all playing Dance Central. The whole time they were playing, I kept thinking "That looks like so much fun! We need to get this game!" But to embarrass myself by playing it with an audience of strangers? There was no freaking way. Inhibited does even begin to describe it.

In other news, I'm hoping to begin monthly get-togethers with my mother-in-law and aunts-in-law. We're trying to get a date nailed down for February to meet for dinner. There the closest family I have (geographically speaking) and they are awesome women. I could really benefit from having them in my life more than 2-3 times a year! I think this will help my feelings of loneliness as well. I have no doubt that part of it is due to the relationship I have with my mom right now and not knowing my father. These are things that are really important to me right now. 

Anyway, thanks for reading. It feels good to flex my blog muscle a little. ;-)

Rachel

Emotional Control

Seriously, check this one
out.

I've been reading "The Ultimate Betrayal" by Dr. Audrey Ricker. It is about mother-daughter relationships in which the daughter has been abused by another person. 

Dr. Ricker worked as a therapist, and realized that most of the women she was working with due to sexual abuse had the same mother. They all seemed to fit the same description. She shares 4 toxic parenting styles as outlined by Dr. Gopal in her upcoming book:

1. Guardian-oriented parenting style:

• Overindulgence
• Overprotection
• Infantilization
• Hypervigalance
• Pity
• Excessive Concern
• Seen in families with sick children

2. Exploitation-oriented parenting style:

• Verbal Abuse
• Physical Abuse
• Neglect
• Emotional Abuse
• Dejuvenilization
• Sexual abuse

3. Abuse-oriented parenting style:

• Difficulty showing affection to children
• Poor sense of identity
• Overprotective/neglectful
• Insecure, preoccupied, forgetful
• Boundaries struggles
• Passive, envy of child's normalcy
• Unrealistic developmental expectations
• Role reversal
• Seen in families with histories of abuse
• Parentified child

4. Victim-oriented parenting style:

• Helplessness
• Child becomes the caretaker
• Child fearful of parent hurting/killing self
• Role reversal
• Threatened by child's need for independence
• Actions of self-injury to keep child in caretaking role
• Whiny, complaining, condescending, cajoling, manipulative style

I've highlighted the bullet points that seem to apply most to my situation. I get emotional even thinking about some it...

Letting go...

I know this is going to sound cruel, but she was weak. She took on a helpless victim role, which required me to step in as a parent. I've felt so responsible for my 4 little sisters. It was very difficult for me to let go when I went away to college. I still felt like I needed to help them, to save my family as they struggled with this new world without a father and an income source. But I soon realized that there was nothing I could do for them while living away from them. It took me a long time to understand how strongly I felt that maternal role, and I've mourned that loss. There was a time when she actually considered giving up one of my sisters for adoption after the divorce because they weren't getting along. She wasn't a bad kid, just hateful towards her. And she was just going to give her up. Who does that?!

Growing up, I've always believed that she was a good mother, and given the chance in an environment where she was in control and not an abusive individual, she could do more. I guess on some level, I feel like I gave her that opportunity....like I freed her from him. And she didn't take the opportunity to really step up her game, at least not enough. There was a very short window of time in which she needed to take control and become the disciplinarian. Instead, she felt like things had already been so hard for everyone that she would go easy on them. And now she's paying for it. They all are. As much as my sister's love my mom, I don't believe they respect her. She doesn't demand respect. She demands pity.

I remember her talking about how she thought about killing herself on more than one occasion. She made it very clear that she was fragile, and we all must be aware of her feelings. If something we did were to upset her,  we would be scolded by my stepfather. Which was interesting since he was an expert at hurting her feelings. Even now, every time one of my sisters living at home calls me, I worry that she is having another one of her "episodes" where she talks about either just going away and not coming back, or just giving up. The whole family panics.  A couple years ago, when Aaron and I decided we were moving to Lafayette, she had a total meltdown and said that I was moving away emotionally. She sank into a deep, deep depression, and I became terrified that she was going to kill herself. The only person I could get a hold of in Monroe was my Uncle Ralph. I begged him to go check on her. He did and assured me that although very depressed, she was safe. 

Scenes like that make it very hard not to become resentful. Resentful of all the times I had to be the parent. I had to be the adult. I shouldn't have to be making that phone call. I shared an important life decision with her, and she felt like she didn't hear it first so she went into a tailspin. How can I share anything significant with her? It's like every little thing has to be run through a filter first to make sure it doesn't hurt her feelings. It's exhausting and gets in the way of having an authentic relationship. 

My baby, Char

From time to time I bring my cat to the nursing home where I work to visit the residents. I was sitting at work today, looking out the window, thinking about a spot that would be nice to bring her to when the weather gets warm again. This led to worrying about her running out into the parking lot towards the car and having a car drive up and not see her. I realize that I would run after her, putting myself in danger to protect her. The driver would be able to see me more clearly. And then I realized...I was willing to do this for an animal (whom I love dearly), but my mom wouldn't sacrifice her very small amount of comfort to protect her children. She never stepped in when my sister was being spanked. She didn't step in when terrible things were screamed in our faces. She didn't step in when I was told to drive him to the store for more beer because he was too drunk to drive himself. And yet I was willing to risk physical harm to save my cat? What is wrong with this picture? People talk about motherly love, and how mothers would do anything for their child. Are people just being poetic? Do mothers really feel that way? If so, why do so many stand by while their sons and daughters are being abused? 

I realize this post has become very long, but this book has helped me realize a lot of things. It has encouraged me to take an introspective look into this relationship. I'm having a very difficult time with it, but I do feel like I'm making progress...which is important because she has her first counseling session soon...

Rachel

Controlling Time

I just finished reading "A Child Called It" by Dave Pelzer. I've heard of it before, and have had quite a few recommend it to me. I don't know why I waited so long to read it, but I finally bit the bullet. It is every bit as horrifying as it sounds and then some. Reading it was a bit like watching a train wreck: you can't look away. 

For those unfamiliar, the book is written by a man who was horribly abused by his mother.  It was considered the 3rd worst case of child abuse in California's history. Some of the things his mother did were shocking to me. She didn't "just" beat him. She starved him, burned him, poisoned him, stabbed him and more. I'm honestly shocked that he survived. As terrible as all of that is, the level of psychological abuse is truly unsettling. It's amazing to me that he was able to get his life together afterward. 

Something else that startled me, is that this boy had a father present as well. He had 2 older brothers and later 2 younger brothers (who, it would seem, were not abused, at least nowhere near this level). At first, it would seem most of the abuse happened when the father was not around. But over time, he saw most of it. Although he "tried" to be helpful by sneaking him food and acknowledging him as a human being, he decided it would just be easier to get drunk and appease his wife.

I was obviously irate with his mother, but his father's actions made me even more angry. He could have taken that little boy and run. He could have saved him from all of it.  But he didn't. He gave up. 

At one point, Dave's mother stabbed him in the chest. He walked to his father, who was sitting in the living room. He told him to what his mother said. Dave wrote:

"I turned away. All my respect for Father was gone. The savior I had imagined for so long was a phony. I felt more angry at him that I did at Mother."

After a different occurrence:

"...I stared at Father who turned away to avoid my pain. At that moment I hated Mother to no end, but I hated Father even more. The man who had helped me in the past, just stood like a statue..."

Both of these statements really resonated with me. I don't hate my mother, but I do feel a lot of anger towards  her.  Regardless of whether or not she saw any sexual abuse, we were being abused in other ways and she did not protect us. 

And I still don't feel like she sees that.

Another thing David talked about in passing, was his obsession with watching the clock. He knew that when his father got home that the particular situation he was in would end. This is something I often did as well. 

Every Saturday, my mom would be gone for several hours grocery shopping. I would be at his mercy the whole time. But I knew that the longer I could stall, the longer I could put things off, and time would eventually run out. So I made it a point to track the time. It was the same thing at night time. I knew he had to let me go to bed eventually. I had school in the morning. So I felt like I could prevent things from progressing before time would run out. In some way, I think I felt like I had some tiny semblance of control by watching the clock.

That's all I have for now. I started another book called "The Ultimate Betrayal" by Audrey Ricker, PhD. It's all about the relationships between mother and daughter when the daughter has been sexually abused. So far, I am very impressed and highly recommend it. 

Rachel

Angels and Blog Buddies

Today's post is brought to you by...Angel Wings.

This if from the movie "Constantine" AMAZING wings on the angel Gabriel

Angel wings are one of my favorite images in the whole world. They are beautiful, soft and powerful all at once. I remember reading a story in Reader's Digest when I was much younger. The main character had survived a fire. She credited angels for her safety. She said that in the middle of the fire, she felt strong wings envelop her, protecting her from the flames. 

That story really stuck with me. I can vividly recall lying on my bed in the basement, feeling afraid and vulnerable. My stepdad would often come to my room at night when I was asleep, kneel next to my bed and reach under the covers to touch me. I would wake up, but pretend to stay asleep, and turn the other way. He would then kneel on the other side of the bed and try again. This could go on for awhile. For a long time it was important for me to sleep with my sheets well tucked in. 

In those times when I was so afraid, I would imagine an angel, holding me in his arms and wrapping his massive wings around me so that I was fully enveloped. It was incredibly comforting and was often enough to lull me to sleep.

Today, I was feeling especially stressed out about family things (I'll write about that another time). So I decided to take a bath, without the distraction of my Netflix. I had a lot to work through in my mind, so I lit some candles and played my "Relax" playlist on my iTunes.

This song was a bit more upbeat than the others and reminded me of running. Suddenly, in my mind, I was a little girl, I was running through a wooded area, and my stepdad was right behind me with his hands on me. I continued running, then jumped, kicking back against him and suddenly found myself flying through the air, sans wings. Once in the air I was an adult and had Aaron by my side. We were holding hands and flying through the sky. I looked back and saw that my stepdad had been knocked down by my kicking and appeared unconscious. The rest of my family was running along, as if though they too were trying to fly, but couldn't make the jump. 

On an unrelated note, I have found another blogger who is a survivor of sexual assault. I "met" her through a mutual friend. Even though our experiences are very different, I feel like we have an understanding of each other. It's amazing to actually talk to someone who "gets" things that you generally don't talk about, but instantly recognize in someone else. Dancing in the Moonlight is the name of her blog, and you can read it here. 

She also came across this quote the other day and said it reminded her of me:

"I swore never to be silent whenever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented." - Elie Wiesel

That one's going on the Quote Page. :-)

Rachel

2011: Goals and Expectations

O boy. Where to begin?!

First off, I'm not big on New Year's Resolutions. They're made to be broken. That being said, these are NOT resolutions. They are overall goals for the year. That means if I fail miserably in January, I'll just get back on it in February. If I don't reach my goal by July, well then I'll still have 6 more months to get it right.

Also, they are a good mix of high and low priority goals, just to keep things interesting. :-)

Because I love lists, here are my goals, list style:

 #1: Find peace in my relationship with my immediate family members. This doesn't mean we will all be holding hands singing about love and butterflies by next Christmas, but rather I will be satisfied that I have done my part and I will be able to accept them as they are.

 #2: Find a good skincare routine, and not for my face! Last year, thanks to Avon, I was able to find a skincare regimen for my face and my skin has never been the same (in a good way!). However, it always stopped at my neck, but the rest of my skin is desperate for moisture as well, thanks in part to my fondness for scalding hot showers and bubble baths.

 #3: Become a better student. That's a whole other post that I've been putting off, so I will save that for another day.

 #4: Be a better wife to Studdly Hubby. I'm not saying I'm a total failure, but I think there is always room for improvement in any marriage. THEREFORE, I will be more aware of his specific needs, be a little less selfish (ok, maybe a lot more less), and continuing to work on Vaginismus. I think both of us will be happier.

 #5: Find a more nutritional, affordable diet. Aaron and I both need more fruits and veggies in our diet. I'm hoping that with a little time and effort I can find a way to make this happen. Personally, I could live off of fruit trays, but that can get a little expensive! Part 2 of this requires eating out less, but...one thing at a time. :-P

 #6: Manage our money better. This includes creating a realistic budget and sticking to it while saving money.

 #7: Be a better housekeeper! SERIOUSLY! I enjoy my home much more when it is clean and clutter-free. Honestly, I can do better.

 #8: Learn to do one thing at a time. Without distraction. I know it doesn't sound like much to the average person, but trust me, this would be a whole new level of calm in my life.

 #9: Go back to church. This was my resolution last year as well, and it didn't work out so well. I went a few times, but never made it a habit. This is something that has to change. Part 2 of this one would be to remember to pray. I don't do it nearly often enough.

#10: Number 10 is leaving room to grow. I don't know how therapy is going to go, but I'm promising myself that I will stay open minded and willing to grow and learn. I also promise to forgive myself for not completely numbers 1-9 perfectly but I will try.

Ready to write this chapter of my life!

So there you have it. I am feeling very excited to start the new year fresh. I went grocery shopping tonight and bought healthier foods. I cleaned the apartment. I've reevaluated our budget and come up with a plan to help me stick to it. I'm getting things ready for next semester. I bought our "Love Languages Jars". I still have a couple other things to get aligned, but I'll get to them.

What about you? What are your goals for 2011? Do you have any tips that go with any of these 10? I would love to hear them!

Rachel

Survivors' Retreat

This past weekend, I had an opportunity to attend a survivors' retreat in Nashville, IN. It was from Friday to Saturday afternoon, and the hotel and meals were paid for. It sounded like a great opportunity! I didn't really want to go by myself, so I asked around a bit, and my friend Melissa agreed to come with me.

I picked her up on Friday and we started the 2 hour drive south. We were both excited for some girly bonding time, and for some time of healing and inspiration. We talked the whole 2 hours which made the trip go by really quickly. 

Does not do it justice in the least!

I had never been to Nashville, but I heard it was really nice. We drove through downtown and I fell in love! It is packed to the gills with little shops and restaurants, run by the friendliest folks you could imagine (the tourists were another story). It was all decorated for Christmas, and even had carolers roaming the streets. Santa was seated outside the visitor's center for photo opportunities. 

The first order of business was lunch. We found some free parking (there is actually quite a bit of it) and started the walk around town to decide where we wanted to eat. A couple blocks away from the car, I suddenly remembered the Chicago incident. I stopped dead in my tracks and turned to Melissa. I was a tiny bit panicked and told her we HAD to know EXACTLY where we had parked. Thankfully she was familiar with the Chicago incident and was very understanding! We took note of exactly where we were, and she reminded me that we were in Nashville and it was MUCH smaller than Chicago, and it does not have parking garages. After that I felt better and was able to laugh it off.

We had lunch at a cute little restaurant called "That Sandwich Place". We found the car again, without incident, and drove to the hotel where the retreat was to be held. On the way,  we both agreed that it seemed odd that we didn't get anymore information about the retreat other than the initial flyer, but I reassured Melissa that I had gotten it from a reputable source, so I wasn't too concerned. Both of us like to know what to expect and are a bit detail oriented, so it was a bit uncomfortable to feel like we were walking in blind, but we were sure it would all be fine. We found the hotel easily, and made our way to the conference rooms to see what the deal was. They told us to get checked into our rooms first, and then they would give us the information. Fine. We did that and then they gave us our itinerary.

The before and after photo Allen shared with us. And this
is relevant how?

The first 2 hours were supposed to be the welcome and opening remarks by Allen Smith, who was a contestant on Season 8 of the Biggest Loser. It seemed like a strange choice, but I figured there would be some kind of connection or tie-in to sexual assaulted. Allen was very nice and a great speaker. However, his talk seemed completely irrelevant. He never once spoke about sexual assualt, survivors of ANYTHING, women's issues, etc. He never talked about how taking care of yourself through health and fitness could be beneficial for dealing with deeper issues. He mostly talked about the TV show. I don't know how the other guests felt, but I was confused and disappointed. Melissa and I went to dinner after that. The second we got in the car, we realized that we both had the same reaction - "What the heck was that?!" We talked about it over dinner, but I kept trying to convince myself to stop being so negative, and that surely the breakout sessions would have more substance. 

I was wrong. When we went back to the conference rooms, we had a choice between a spa session and a self defense demonstration. We were already leery of the self defense because it was titled "Rape Prevention". We felt like the wording they chose was very poor and implied that victims could have prevented their rape. So we chose the spa. We expected them to talk about taking time for yourself and pamper yourself and how that can be therapeutic. Instead it was a direct-selling beauty consultant allowing us to sample products similar to Mary Kay's Satin Hands. She even had some products set out to buy and offered someone a price sheet. We waited a few minutes to see if there was going to be more to it, and finally gave up to go to "Rape Prevention". 

Does this seem intense to you?

I sensed that Melissa was feeling hesitant about this session, and I should have been more sensitive right then and there. But we went in anyway to see what it was all about. It started with the instructor explaining her philosophy and how she does the class. Normally it is about a 3 hour ordeal, but she had to condense it for the purposes of the session. Bad idea. She also said that she always starts with the "worst case scenario". Basically, this means that you lay on the floor and the man in the protective gear kneels between your knees as if though "rape is imminent". Most of the women in that room are survivors of some kind of sexual assault. It was a very tense situation. The next day, my shoulders were sore from being so tensed up. At one point, Melissa tried to voice her concerns to the instructor about how she felt about somethings. I don't think she felt like she understood. A moment later I could see that she was visibly upset. Once there was an opening, she bolted out the door. I saw one of the women that organized the retreat follow her. I found out later that when Melissa spoke to her, the woman told her that she needed to "work through her feelings". When Melissa told her that the retreat was not what she had anticipated and that she expected more meaningful dialogue, the woman offered to "talk now". Melissa declined and went back to the hotel. I left as soon as there was an opening, partly to check on Melissa, and partly because I was not going to be participating in the session.

Once I found her, she broke down in tears and shared with me how she felt about the whole ordeal. I didn't disagree. Once we were able to have a good talk about the whole fiasco, we were able to relax! I turned on the TV, but we chatted the night away instead. We had to decide what we were going to do about the rest of the retreat. It was clear at this point that finished it would just be setting ourselves up for more frustration and disappointed. We both agreed that we would not be attending any more of it the next day and would instead check out Nashville. Finally, we each snuggled into our own beds and slept like logs.

The next morning, we took our time and ordered room service for breakfast (a first for both of us!). 

Sidenote: Nashville is apparently famous for their fried biscuits and apple butter. If you ever go, make sure you get some! There are available at several places in town.

Heavenly!

Anyway, we packed up, checked out of the hotel and stepped into 4 inches of snow! It was beautiful and perfect for a downtown stroll. We took the rest of the afternoon to check out the town. We went into all kinds of little shops. Some had kitchen supplies, craft goods, men's gifts, bath goods, jewelry, bags, etc. We even got to do a wine tasting. Each wine was particularly tasty by the way. :-) The town was so quaint and picturesque I felt like we were in a Christmas movie! Once we felt like we had seen enough for one afternoon (and Melissa's poor tootsies were soaked from stepping in snowy puddles), we drove home. 

Melissa tasting wine

Overall, it was a very enjoyable getaway, particularly once we gave up on the retreat. It was fantastic to get away from things and have someone to talk to who really understands where I'm coming from. She has a similar education background, and while our experiences were not the same, they of course had some similarities. Turns out we both has the same excellent taste in movies and television. :-)

I don't even know what to say to sum up the retreat. The whole thing did not feel very professional. Only one person had a name tag. We did not know who else that was there was running things. There was no introduction to the retreat other than "all about Allen Smith". There was no talk of why we were there, or what they felt was the purpose of the retreat. We were made to understand that our meals would be taken care of. We were given a meal voucher for $12, even though the cheapest thing on the menu was $15.95. It's a small detail, but added to everything else was a bit irritating. A lot of it did not seem very sensitive to the particular needs and concerns survivors may have. The whole thing was a hot mess. The thing that bothered me the most is that this group (that shall remain nameless) should have known better. I'm not saying I'm an expert, but COME ON! We were certain we could have done better. And maybe we will. ;-) 

A special thank you to my dear friend Melissa for saving the weekend! I would have been much more upset had I been alone, or with someone less understanding! Thanks for reading!