Riled Up/Call for Change

Have you seen that video yet about the 16-year old girl that secretly taped her father beating her with a belt for 8 minutes? Me neither. Actually, I watched the first 30 seconds. I couldn't make myself go on. But here's an article that will fill you in on the details: click here. And it's not just the beating that's horrifying, but him screaming at her that he's going to beat her "into submission" and her mother telling her to turn over and take it like a woman. Yeah. She said that. Oh, and did I mention that he's a judge that has ruled in child abuse cases? And that the girl is now 23 and there is only a 5 year statute of limitations on child abuse cases?

I don't know why this particular story has me so mad, but I AM STEAMED. It's probably a combination of things, but that's not where I'm going with this. I'm not just mad at this idiot. I'm mad at ALL the idiots. Men (and women) are getting away with this everyday. And so many think they can get away with it or that there's nothing wrong with it. There is some discussion in the article about the fine line between discipline and abuse. Well, let me help clear it up.

THIS WAS WRONG. THIS WAS ABUSE.

I don't give two shits about the people belly-aching that child abuse laws are too strict, or that they're afraid to discipline their children. If you use half a brain, you'll be fine!! What's more I don't care who this offends anymore. I'm sick of the ignorance. Both people being ignorant about the effects of abuse and thinking that they are entitled to handing out this kind of degrading punishment and the people who just don't seem to care, even if they don't abuse their children.

We have to work together!

Survivors of any kind of abuse, I'm begging you to find your voice. Speak up. We have to do something to help the next generation and the generation after that. I know I'm asking a lot. I know a lot of you have never told anyone what you've been through. I know a lot of you have "dealt with it" and don't see any reason to revisit your past in anyway. I get that. I really do.  But look into the eyes of a child. There's your reason. 

Can you imagine the impact if every man and woman who was abused as a child stood up and shared their story? What if we all worked together for harsher sentences for child abuses? What if we worked together to prevent child abuse? What if we worked together to educate our communities on how they can prevent child abuse and what signs to look for in children that may be being abused?

Please, help me help our future children. There are a lot of good people and organizations out there that you can get involved with. Volunteer for them. Donate money to keep nonprofits running. Be open and honest about your story. And seek help for yourself.

I'm sorry for the angry tone of this post, but I'm not sorry for anything I said in it. Something has got to give. If you have any ideas on how we can get a lot of people to have their voice heard all across the country to really get something started, by all means, let me know. I'm not saying I have the answers, but I do see some problems.

Thank you.
Rachel

Refusing to Suffer in Silence

When you log on to Facebook and click to update your status, it says "What's on your mind?" Often, what's on my mind is a dream I had, or my support group, or the anxiety I'm feeling. So I share that. I suffered in silence for 17 years of my life. Why I should I continue to do so because it might make someone uncomfortable?

I'm sure I've lost some "Facebook friends"  because of this, but that's fine with me. It's too difficult for many survivors to speak out about their pain. I, for whatever reason, don't feel like I have anything to lose. If someone chooses not too understand or not to be supportive, then they are missing a big part of who I am. A part I refuse to hide.

To be clear, I don't suffer all the time. I have a great life, but I'm still working through some things and facing some demons. That's my reality, not a sob story. 

I still feel like our society expects victims of any kind of trauma to just pack it all up in a neat little box, throw away the key and move on with their lives. And perhaps many of us sense that more than it exists, and therefore do that very thing. Then society in turn learns that that is how it works. I don't know. It's a difficult thing to measure. But there needs to be some recognition that that isn't how it works. There is healing that needs to happen, and that takes some time and support. I read a study recently that discussed the importance of social bonds when recovering from trauma. If you want to try to read it (its very clinical), follow this link.

Rachel

Show and Tell

Do you remember "Show and Tell" in school? I think we had it in kindergarten. Each week, one student gets the chance to bring something in that they normally wouldn't bring to school, to show the class and tell us about it. This could be a pet, a loved one, a Barbie Hot Wheels car that everyone could drive around the parking lot (o yeah, that kid was popular that day), etc.

I LOVED Show and Tell. But then I loved attention as a kid too. And I'm still playing Show and Tell today, but in a different way.

When I meet someone new, and I've decided we're going to be friends (or I'd like them to be), I feel a deep need to tell them my story. I want them to know "who I really am". I don't think my past completely defines who I am, but it is a significant part of my life. My hobby is my blog, which is all about my past. My family relationships are affected by my past.  It is a part of me. And I just want to be honest about who that is.

I'm loving my new job, and I love the people that I work closely with. I technically have 2 part-time jobs, which means I have 2 bosses. They are both awesome, but in different ways. I really feel like I have a growing friendship with another one of the girls that works in Activities as well. And now I'm at that point where I want to Show and Tell. I want them to know what makes me tick.

I think a large part of this is because everything was kept secret for so long that I still feel liberated by sharing it. I feel empowered.  I have no secrets!! 

Rachel

My Heroes

I don't have a lot of heroes. I don't have a ton of role models. Don't get me wrong, there are a few, but I am very selective. I like a lot of people, but there are not many I aspire to be like or draw inspiration from.

Maybe it's because in the end, I had to be my own hero.

I'm not trying to toot my own horn, but really, no one else could save me. I couldn't have felt safe enough to disclose without Studdly Hubby's support. I couldn't have made it through the trial without him by my side every second, and my friends at Concordia. But I had to be the one to disclose. I had to be the one to report it to the police and follow through with the trial. 

Today, I was reminded of another hero. Elizabeth Smart.

For those of you who don't recall her story, she was kidnapped from her own home in the middle of the night in 2002, and held captive for 9 months by a man and his wife. They kept her in the wilderness near her home and abused and raped her. The fact that she was even found alive was a miracle in itself.

A week and a half ago, on December 10, that man was finally convicted. His wife was also convicted in November 2009. (You can read more details about the story here.)

The Abductor, Brian David Mitchell

I have seen Elizabeth's Oprah interview, as well as some short clips from other media interviews. She handles herself with such grace and dignity. She remains firm in her faith.

"Elizabeth Smart told reporters Friday that she was "thrilled" that Brian David Mitchell had been convicted in her kidnapping. "I hope that not only is this an example that justice can be served in America, but that it is possible to move on after something terrible has happened," she said." (From AOL News)

I don't know what issues she is dealing with on a personal level. I know she has been in counseling. But from what I can see, she is happy and at peace. She isn't angry. She is moving on with her life and seems successful. She, my friends, is resilient. 

Don't you find that remarkable?! I certainly do. I would love to sit down to lunch with her and ask her, woman to woman, how she is doing. 

If she can succeed in life after the horror of her experience, surely I can put together the pieces of my own life.

Who are your heroes? Is there someone the inspires you to be your best or someone you want to be like?

Rachel

Best 4 Years of Your Life?!

Have you ever heard someone comment that high school was the best 4 years of their life? How did this ever get started?! For a long time, I thought I was the only person that disagreed with that because of everything I was dealing with. Eventually, I talked to other people who felt the same way. 

I'm not saying all of high school is terrible. My teen years certainly had it's magical moments, but I just don't think it's all it's cracked up to be. You're growing up. You're anxious to be independent and to be treated like an adult. When you make the effort to behave as an adult, you are not treated with any respect. Some teens respond to this by acting out. Others manage to remain calm and show how truly mature they are.

Freshman year of high school, I was getting male attention for the first time. I was making friends with girls, as much as I could for only interacting at school anyway. I also had an eating disorder (read more about that here). I had my first boyfriend and he took advantage of me. I was more confident than I was in grade school, but still not feeling great.

This was the entire school my freshman year. I'm in the
middle in the back.

Over the next 3 years, the abuse was intensifying. At the same time, I got my first job. I was a hostess and then waitress at a local diner. I loved my job and the chance to get away from home. I also loved that I had my first serious boyfriend, Chris. I convinced myself that I loved him and we were "secretly" engaged by the time I was 17. "Secretly" meaning it had be hidden from my step-dad who wasn't even allowing me to date. This of course took its toll, among other things, and the relationship ended right before my 18th birthday. 

Throughout this time, I did very little homework. I was going to school, working, taking care of my family and being kept up late at night with the abuse. While I've heard of people who were still able to be excellent students in these kinds of situations (and worse!), I did not have whatever it takes. I almost failed high school altogether. Had I been going to a large public school, I would have undoubtedly slipped through the cracks and probably never finished. For whatever reason, my mom never seemed too concerned with it, so I'm not sure she would have been pushing me forward too much. 

However, I was fortunate enough to attend a brand new Lutheran High School. For whatever reason, my step-dad was opposed to sending me to a public school. Oddly enough it's probably the best thing he ever did for me that eventually led to his downfall and eventual imprisonment. The school was so small, I graduated in a class of 5 girls. I really should not have graduated at all, but I believe they didn't want to fail anyone in their very first graduating class. The principal and teachers gave me some work to do to try to bring up my grades just enough to squeak by. 

The Graduates...all 5 of us! I'm in the middle again.

My senior year I took the ACT and got an overall score of 26. I am particularly proud of this because it proves that I am smarter than my grades make me appear. Also, a girl who was a junior at that time and a complete perfectionist got a 24 and I was stunned that I had done better than her. Somewhere around this time, I applied to Concordia University in Ann Arbor, a mere 45 minutes from home. Without that test score, and the fact that it was my principal's alma mater, I do no think I would have been accepted. Had I not been accepted, I would have been (or felt like I was) trapped at home.  I do not know where I would be today. Truthfully, I think I may not be alive today. Or he wouldn't. It's hard to say which way I would have eventually snapped. 

But God knew what he was doing, as always.

Two weeks into my freshman year I met the love of my life. And he built me up and supported me in a way I didn't even know was possible. I found the courage to take ownership of my life. (Read more about THAT drama here.)

So that was my high school experience. How about yours? Do you think it was the best 4 years of you life?

Rachel

Your Stories

Since starting this blog, many people who have stumbled upon it have shared with me their own stories. Some told me their whole story. Some gave me a very abridged version. Some told me simply that they had been sexually abused or assaulted. Others shared that someone close to them had experienced this trauma. Not long ago, I was sitting with a friend in Fazoli's crying about her story, and then laughing together at ourselves for crying unexpectedly in Fazoli's! 

According to http://www.rainn.org, 1 in 6 women will be sexually assaulted at some point in their lifetime, and I believe that is a conservative estimate since many still never disclose or report the incident, and 80% of them will be under 30. It is now fairly common knowledge that sexual assault is an out of control problem in our country. However, hearing the numbers is very different from talking to the victims and survivors. When I realized how many people I have been interacting with have been assaulted, I started to view the world in a different way. Most of the people I've known here in Lafayette still do not know my story. Therefore, many of them have not had the opportunity to share if they have experienced that trauma. 

My point is simply that you never know what has happened in someone's life to make them the way they are. I always try to remember this when dealing with someone behaving unpleasantly. Maybe they're caring around a lot of anger. Maybe they are weeping on the inside, filled with a sorrow they cannot face. Maybe they are so caught up in their own situation, they can barely even see anyone else around them. I mean, who would ever guess that taper candles freak me out? I try to be a little more patient with people, because you just don't know. Wouldn't you want someone to show you a little mercy in less than ideal circumstances?

That being said, I don't think being a victim is ever an excuse for bad behavior. While we are often unable to control what happens TO us, we can control, to an extent, how we respond to it, how we choose to live our lives, and the people we become. Maybe if we can all show a little more patience, and become more aware of our own behaviors, the world may just be a little more pleasant.

So much for "no more blogging" this week! I'm an addict!! ;-) Happy Thanksgiving!

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Sorting Through Feelings

 For those of you who do not know, I have been doing some job shadowing the last couple weeks at The Heartford House, a child advocacy center. There has not been anything going on the last few times I was there, so the director let me watch a pre-recorded interview today. I was very excited to get to the heart of what they do, but was unsure of how I would respond emotionally. I know I can control my emotions so that I do not start bawling and curl up in the fetal position right then and there. I believe this is a strength because I need to hold down a job and function in society. On the other hand, I worry that I sometimes don't allow myself to feel in a healthy way.  

The director had told me a little bit about the case before we started so I already knew that some of it would hit a little close to home. Without going into detail, I can say that some of it was very similar. It actually brought back a memory that made me very uncomfortable. As I was watching it, I was amazed at the skill of the interviewer. She was excellent at making the child comfortable enough to disclose, and to ask the right questions, without leading. I took note of how I was feeling as well. I didn't feel any strong emotions really. I was amazed at how little I felt. Afterwards, I talked with the director and shared that a lot of it was similar. I started to talk about how I sometimes don't feel as much as would be expected, and got just a little teary eyed. I reeled that back in, and myself psychically shake as I continued our conversation. I don't know why, but this is a reaction I have anytime I talk to someone about the abuse, especially if it is the first time they're hearing about it.  I don't really understand it. Perhaps it's some sort of adrenaline rush that comes about from telling a long hidden secret. Maybe it's more of a tremendous relief. I don't know.

Whoa! She's got a whole bag of feelings!

I drove home in a daze. This happens to me often when I have some strong emotions somewhere below the surface. Sometimes I absolutely cannot cry until I get to Aaron. I guess that's when I feel like I don't have to be strong anymore. Today when I got home, Aaron wasn't there because he had to take an exam. I couldn't cry. Instead I ordered a medium pizza and gobbled up half of it. I followed that up with some Halloween candy. It's really a shame because I had been doing really well earlier as far as diet is concerned. 

Ugh. So glad  have therapy tomorrow.

The Disclosure

When I decided to do this blog, I promised myself that I would be very honest and open. Other victims/survivors may not be able to truly relate if I don't express how am I feeling or what I am dealing with. When I started, I thought this would be an anonymous blog, but had a change of heart and went public with it. 

Now I am struggling with some family issues. This is difficult for me to write about because I was raised to keep family issues amongst the family. Even though I understand that this was partly to keep the abuse hidden, it has been ingrained in me. Also, I worry that some members of my family may be hurt by what I saw and that is not what I want either. I know other families have been deeply affected by the disclosure or abuse, but I am still trying to understand it. Let me see if I can sort through some of this to bring you up to date (this could be a long one).

I went away to college, Concordia University in Ann Arbor, at the end of August 2004. I was so excited I had started packing before I even graduated from high school. There was a lot of drama involved because my step-father obviously did not want me to go. I was desperate though, and had the support of my teachers.

I was expected to come home every weekend, and my mother or step-father would come pick me up and drive me 45 minutes back to Monroe. The abuse continued on these weekends, and was quickly intensifying. My step-father insisted that either he or I would be performing oral sex on the other. During the week however, I was growing more accustomed to my new- found freedom. I could stay out as late as I wanted, visit who I wanted, when I wanted, etc. It was only a few weeks in when the control began to intensify as well. I remember one night I was out with Aaron. I came back to my dorm room very late, around 1 am if I remember correctly. As the two of us walked towards my dorm, I noticed that security was parked outside. I sensed that it had something to do with me. When we walked in they let me know that my step-father had called because he couldn't get a hold of me. My room mate said he had been calling the room, wondering where I was and interrogating her. 

Another time, he called me on my cell phone and screamed at me over and over. He was feeling deserted by me. He was losing his control over me and he knew it. He screamed at me with such intensity, I thought he could have had a small stroke. I'm sure he was completely drunk at the time.

On yet another occasion, he reassured me that his sexual interest was "not as bad as I thought it was". He said there was something he wanted to tell me but that Mom would kill him so he couldn't. By the time I hung up, I realized that he was not my biological father. I went to visit Aaron and broke down crying. I still don't understand why.

My birthday was October 7th. He came to school and brought me 19 pink carnations, one for every year. I can't remember exactly what it said, but the card said something about the best 19 years of his life. I had to be to work later so he walked me there. I said goodbye, left him in the doorway, and greeted my coworkers, one of which was a black man. When my supervisor found out it was my birthday, she said I could take the night off if I wanted. I waited until I was sure he was gone, and left. Later that night, Aaron took me out to dinner. As we were driving to dinner, my step-dad called. I asked Aaron to turn off the music because I did not want him to know that I was off campus. My step-dad screamed at me, accusing of having a relationship with the black employee he saw me talking to. To him this was one of the greatest offenses I could commit. I tried to assure him that this was not the case, but he was completely unreasonable. He couldn't be placated. He continued his tyrant until we were parked in the parking garage. He finally hung up and Aaron and I sat in silence. He had been able to hear every word coming from my phone. It was the first time he had gotten a first-hand view of any abuse. He hit the steering wheel out of frustration. I was startled by his response and asked him what was wrong. He said he couldn't believe anyone would talk to someone like that, let alone a father to his daughter. Eventually we both calmed down and had an enjoyable dinner.

Not long after that, he and another friend went with me to talk to the campus pastor. I admitted that I needed some support because the emotional and verbal abuse was becoming too overwhelming. He then referred me to the counselor on campus, and reassured me that if I ever need a place to go to feel safe, he and his wife would be happy to have me in their home. 

I started seeing the school counselor after that. In our first session, I explained my step-fathers controlling behavior and emotional/verbal abuse. I was still unwilling to tell anyone about the sexual abuse at this time. I still believed I would take that secret to the grave. I remember her asking if he had ever physically assaulted me. I told her he had not. She then asked if he had ever sexually abused me and I quickly stated that he had not.

Most of my friends were aware that something was wrong at this point. They were all incredibly supportive in a way I had never known. And even though all this was going on, I fell in love. I knew I had Aaron's support no matter what. I went home October 22-24, a weekend. It was then that I realized I was ready to speak out about the sexual abuse. That night, I told Aaron that there was something I needed to share with him, but I wanted to talk to the counselor about it first. This worried him, and he wanted to know what it was. We found a place to be alone, and he held me as I confessed that I was being sexually abused by my step-father. He cried. Later he told me he thought I had been raped by my step-father. 

The next day, I talked to the counselor and told her the whole story as well. She said she wasn't surprised because when I answered her original question about abuse, she saw something flash in my eyes.

That week, I knew what I had to do. I had to encourage my mom to leaver her husband. She wasn't going to do it all on her own. Aaron didn't want me to go back there, but I knew it had to be done. Another special friend of mine knew what I was planning, and as I walked out of my last class on Friday, he simply placed a hand on my shoulder and said "God will guide your words".  And I believe he did. I don't even remember what I said to my mom, but I remember sitting in the car in a grocery store parking lot discussing it, although I still did not tell her about the sexual abuse. The next day was Halloween. It was late afternoon, and I was ready to go back to school. He wanted me to stay the night and go back Monday, but I insisted I had homework to do. After much back and forth, Mom finally said we were going. I loaded my things into the car and we got in. He was still very angry that we were leaving, so he came out, and lunged towards the driver's side of the car. Mom yelled for someone to call the police. He opened the door and opened the hood of the car and disabled it. We sat there, feeling lost. 

Not much later, we found out someone did call the police, because they showed up in our driveway. After talking to Mom, they told him to fix the car. He did and we left, as did the police. As we were driving out of town, Mom suddenly realized that her children still at home may not be safe. She called the police and asked them to return to our home until she got back. The woman on the phone clarified what the situation was, making Mom realize that it might be smart to go home and get them. We drove back and she picked up the rest of my sisters, and drove me back to Concordia.

I have been abuse free since that night. It will be 6 years this Halloween.

That week, I sought a personal protective order against him. When filling out the form to apply for the order, I was still reluctant to share the sexual abuse, even though Aaron encouraged me to come forward with everything. The judge issued the order anyway.

During this time, my step-father still had visitation rights with my sisters. He was trying to fill their heads with lies. One of my sisters believed him. She took his side, and was bitter and angry that our family was breaking up. He told them that Mom and I were planning something, that we were going to spread lies about him. One time I was home, and Mom was at her wits end. That same sister was so filled with anger towards her that she was becoming very difficult to handle. Mom said she was thinking of letting her go to live with her father. I knew then that I must intervene and tell the truth. I could not risk having my sisters living alone with him, for fear that they might suffer the same fate I did. After that I was just waiting for the right time, or the right opportunity. 

Not long afterward (the next day?), Mom and I dropped of my four sisters at a restaurant to visit their dad. As we drove away, she started the conversation.

"There's something I need to tell you, and I don't want you to be mad, but, he's not your real father."

I had my opening.

"That's ok Mom. There's something I need to tell you too. He's been sexually abusing me for years."

"That bastard!" she exclaimed. "That son of a bitch!" 

I remember watching her reaction. She expressed anger, but it didn't seem real to me. I couldn't tell you why. The thing that struck me is that she didn't seemed shocked, or even surprised. Nor did she cry. It is for this reason that I find it hard to believe that she did not recognize what was going on on some level.

My step-dad

She called the police that day and reported what I had shared. They told her that since I was an adult, I would have to file a report. I did, and a trial ensued.  Eventually, he convicted on 12 counts of criminal sexual conduct, and is now serving time in a prison in Michigan. You can see his prisoner profile here.

Since then, my family has been very shaken up. The sister I mentioned previously that did not believe still does not as far as I know. We all have deep issues from being abused. My sisters were not sexually abused in the way I was (because they are his biological daughters?), but the level of verbal and emotional abuse was severe. My step-father was also fond of harsh spankings as punishment, and I believe some were victims of this more than others. He did often ask strange questions of my sisters that implied they were involved in something sexual. Because of his own sexual deprivations, he seemed to believe that everyone was as depraved as he. 

Initially, I was quick to defend my mother for not protecting me or my sisters from abuse. I understand how abused women behave and why. However, over time this has become harder and harder for me to deal with. I can't help but feel that she has not allowed herself to understand what I went through. During the court case, I let her know that I didn't want her to know all the details of what happened for her own protection. After she testified, she heard some of it. She came to me and said "It's not as bad as I thought." She said this in an effort to let me know that I didn't need to worry about her, but I was horrified. Even if she imagined the absolutely worst case scenario, her comment was wrong and anything but comforting. 

I love my mother, however, I requested that she seek counseling for a variety of reasons before I will speak with her again. I don't think she understands right now, but it's in her hands. She only has to take that first step.

This whole thing has taken me hours to write, but I feel like it is important.There is more I could share, but I think this post is long enough. This one will help explain future posts, and gives a lot of background. That's all for tonight. Thanks for reading if you made it this far!