In Need of a Pep Talk

There is a phrase in the German language, "Ich habe die Nase voll" meaning, "My nose is full/congested." Interestingly, it also means "I've had it up to here!" When I saw Simone on Tuesday, she noticed I wasn't myself. When I shared with her some things I have going on right now, on top of a month long, antibiotic resistant sinus infection, she shared that German phrase with me, which seemed eerily fitting.

The semester is finally coming to an end. I only have a few weeks left, which includes 2 major papers, and my math final, as well as the usual weekly assignments. I petitioned for Concordia to accept the math class I'm in to count for the math credit necessary for my degree. That's great, expect if I don't get a C-, it won't transfer. Even though I average 98% on the homework, and 86% on the quizzes, I will need a 96% on my final to achieve that, thanks to bombing the mid-term. Let's assume I pull that off. I also realized I will need 17 more credits to graduate. So I'm currently registered for 17 credits for Spring 2012. Now let's assume I DON'T get a 96% on my math final. Then those 3 credits won't transfer and I'll need 20, which I cannot do in one semester. Which means I still won't graduate in May. 

I've already been running out of steam a little bit for this semester, but the prospect of graduating soon was really propelling me forward. But now it feels further and further away. I'm so frustrated by the whole thing and feel depleted of energy, motivation, determination, and so much more. It feels like all of my resources have been tapped out. My house is a mess, I barely get to blog anymore, I can't just pick up a book and enjoy it, because I know I should be studying instead. I don't feel like I can even spend much time working on myself, emotionally and mentally, which has slowed things down in therapy, in my mind anyway. And part of that is probably related to the fact that I haven't been writing about it all as well.

On top of all that, I've been feeling really lonely and kind of isolated lately. One of the problems with that is that I sometimes isolate myself even further when I feel that way. I briefly considered not going to Aaron's family's Thanksgiving, but I know going would be better for me. Today I texted my mother-in-law about Black Friday shopping, and then texted my little brother(-in-law) about staying with us that weekend. That made me feel a little better about the holiday, especially when my brother offered to go Black Friday shopping with me if I was going to be going alone. Seriously, what almost 16 year old volunteers to get up at 3am to go shopping with his 26 year old sister-in-law? I adore him. He is the little brother I always wanted and never had.

Anyway, my point is, I am in need of a pep talk. Or some time off. Or a therapeutic retreat. Or a really good professional massage. Or taking the rest of the semester off from work. Although somehow I don't think my boss or my bank account would appreciate that much.  

I don't know what I need.

Rachel

7 Years

I'm so emotionally exhausted I don't even know where to begin.

The past few weeks have been rough. My birthday was absolutely wonderful, but it's been downhill from there on. For one, I haven't been feeling well physically. I've had some things going on that had me thinking I could be pregnant, even though there's no reason I should be, which really toyed with my emotions. Excitement, worry, nervous, disappointment, and all that. I'm not pregnant, and the symptoms have continued. I saw the doctor and she thinks I may have a sinus infection so I'm on an antibiotic for a few more days. Hopefully that will help clear things up.

On the other hand, I've entered a new phase of therapy, one focused on my body and where it stores memories. I believe that had a lot to do with dream I shared in my last blog. But the back and shoulder pain has continued since then. But the icing on top of the cake was the anxiety attack I had last Thursday night. 

A paper bag probably would have come
in handy...

It was my turn to run Bingo at work. I was assisting the very last resident back to her room. I started to feel my heart pound as we got closer to her room and broke into a full-body sweat. Once in her room, she asked me to adjust her light. When I reached up to pull the cord, everything went black and I had to freeze so I didn't trip on anything and fall to the floor. As soon as my vision returned and I said goodnight, I left her room and grabbed onto the railing along the wall in the hallway. I put my hand on my chest and felt my heart pounding. I figured if I waited a few seconds and took a few deep breaths I could calm back down. That's how it usually goes if my heart starts beating harder than usual. But not this time. I was breathing too hard to take a deep breath. I walked to the nearest nurses station and asked the nurse if she could take my pulse. Shockingly enough, it wasn't ridiculously high. So she took my blood pressure and checked my blood sugar as well. Everything was within the normal range, but my heart was still pounding. After 10 minutes or so I was finally able to get back to work, but the whole thing was really scary. I'm still not sure what set it off. I've been a little nervous since then that it's going to happen again, and I swear my heart hurt the next day.

Today I realized that yesterday was the 7th anniversary of the day my family and I left my dad. I suspect a lot of this anxiety has been related to that. It was a dramatic and traumatic end to the years of abuse, but it had to be. And I think I was subconsciously aware that it was that time of year again. I'm hoping that being aware of that is going to help me turn my mood around, because I have just been on a roller coaster lately, and it is exhausting. 

The other thing that has been bothering me lately is how lonely I feel. I had some alone time yesterday so I used the time to write (with pen and paper no less!). I just feel so disconnected from people. I'm learning that this is common with PTSD, but I'm struggling with how to overcome this one. I think it also stems from the fact that I learned from my family that those closest to you can't be depended on, a form of rejection. By not getting to close to anyone, they don't get the opportunity to let me down or reject me. Is it a trust issue? Maybe. Sounds more and more plausible the more I think about it.

So, the good news? 7 years of freedom!

The bad news? The effects continue to linger...

Rachel

A Few Things...

I have about a billion things on my mind right now, so I'll just dive in.

It's very difficult to describe how difficult it is to let go of my past, to let go of being a victim. I want to be strong and to overcome, but giving up the familiarity of everything that happened has felt a bit like giving up a part of my identity. I want to feel something about it all. I want it to matter for something. I have to find a way to find meaning in it all. But finding the balance between respecting the past and moving forward is not as simple as it sounds. But something clicked today. I deserve everything this life has to offer. I deserve a family. I deserve a happy marriage. I deserve to be happy...because of the past. I've been as low as can possibly be. And I think I'm about ready to come out on the other side. To take a deep breathe in the sunlight. To let go of the angst. None of this means that I'm going to stop processing any of it or working through it in therapy. On the contrary, I'm ready to take the next step, whatever that may be, instead of being held back by the past. I'll still have difficult days. I may still have nightmares. I may still feel like an alien walking around this world, but I'm determined to find accept happiness. 

I find it strange that this is what I've been considering today. Last night, I had a terrible nightmare. I ended up crying in the middle of the night, which never happens. Without going into all the details, I can tell you that in the dream, I am being mercilessly beat by my dad. My tears and sweat were mixed with my own blood. I felt like a dog, cowering in a corner. Have you ever seen a dog being punched and beat by it's master? It's a horrible sight, that always makes my stomach turn. I woke up in physical pain. My lower back, pelvis and right hip hurt terribly. I pulled out my heating pad and that seemed to alleviate most of it, although when finally woke up again at 10:00 in the morning, I felt like I had been hit by a truck. It seemed like my whole body hurt. I had a headache, my heart hurt and my hips, pelvis and back were aching again. As the day has gone on, I've started to feel better, except for my hips.  It seems counterintuitive that accepting happiness would be on my mind after all this.

On the other hand, Aaron and I have been discussing family planning, and I've been a little obsessed with that as well. Also, I had a graduation audit done through Concordia to see where I was at. I've been planning on taking one class next semester, but I wanted to make sure I didn't need anymore. I don't want to draw this out any longer than I have to! Word came back that I will be done this semester. That's right ladies and gentlemen, I'm getting a college diploma for Christmas. Its so close I can taste it. This is a dream I've had for almost a decade, and I can't believe it's about to come true. 

I also can't believe what an amazing husband I have. Aaron is a good man. I am a strong person and I've worked hard to overcome a lot so far. But I honestly believe that I may not still be alive had I not met him when I did. Either my dad would have beat me within an inch of my life to shut me up and I would just give up, or, I hate to admit it, I would have taken my own life. My life was becoming more and more dangerous, and Aaron was right by my side, encouraging me, supporting me, and giving me the strength to make the necessary changes in my life.  Other than a handful of people who were with us everyday on campus, I don't think many people understand everything he did for me, and continues to do. Eventually, I was in a place emotionally where I could give back to him as well, which is easy to do, all things considered. I guess all I'm trying to say is this: Aaron is a man that adds to my happiness daily, and I love him more daily. 7 years of love and counting. <3

"Sometimes your nearness takes my breath away; and all the things I want to say can find no voice. Then, in silence, I can only hope my eyes will speak my heart." - Robert Sexton

Rachel

I'm 26

I had a birthday recently. I am now 26 years old. Once it happened, I realized on was on the "other side" of 25. I'm now closer to 30 than I am to 20. I can't explain, but this birthday brought an internal shift. I finally feel like an adult as opposed to a young girl playing house. I no longer feel like a "young adult". So what's the significance of that? 

Baby fever.

Yep, it's back. There are several factors that play into that. For one, I always thought I would be done having children by the time I was 30. If you do the math: 3 kids+2 parents graduated from school+2 stable jobs-4 years=Not gonna happen in that time frame. Unless I have triplets when I'm 29. Which, given the option, I'd rather a have a couple in my 30's!!

*cozy*

Also, the weather is turning colder. I also get into a "nesting" mood this time of year. I want to make my home as pleasant and cozy as I can for us. I want home-cooked meals and weekends spent at home with Studdly Hubby. And I want a family. Speaking of which, I also feel even more secure in my relationship with Studdly Hubby's family. Not that they've ever given me reason not to, but when you learn early on that family isn't to be trusted or depended on it makes it difficult to form those bonds. But it does my heart so much good to be with them, and I know that if we had a child, it would be a beautiful addition to that family. I feel like I belong, and that's important to me. So often I feel like an alien in this world...Along the same lines as family and cool weather is the holidays. Thanksgiving and Christmas tie together those bonds of coziness and kids and grandparents in a big way, and I'm not immune to it. So much of the magic of Christmas is for children and I miss that. I try to create a romantic Christmas for us, to value this time we have without children, but something is missing, more so now than at the beginning of our marriage. That had a magic all its own. 

Also, I wanted to go to Disney World before we had children. So we did. We both want to be done with school. I should be done in Spring. It's not lost on me that if I were to get pregnant now, I would be a college graduate by the time baby was here. Although Aaron will be done in a year and a half. That's really close! Should I start taking pre-natal vitamins now? Should we start saving for a baby now? Should I talk to my ob-gyn about what I need to start doing to be as healthy as possible before we get pregnant? Maybe if I could be doing some of these things now, it would make the wait easier. It would give it a different meaning. The other major thing we are waiting for is for Studdly Hubby to get a good secure job. That can't happen until he graduates, and even then we don't really know how soon it will happen. We've got our hopes up about some things, so we'll see how all that goes. 

Anyway, that's where I am right now. I feel calm, peaceful and ready. 

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

Survivor's Guilt...Kind Of

It's not often I explore my family's perspective during all the abuse in terms of their painful experiences. In the past, I've put too much energy into feeling responsible for them and wanting to help them. I had to focus on myself and my own issues so that I could heal, and in doing so, I couldn't dwell on their pain at the same time. That's not to say that I deny that what they went through was painful and traumatic. Quite the opposite actually. But I can be very empathetic, and so I can't allow myself to think about it.

I also had Mr. Bear. Every child needs
a Mr. Bear.

But the other day at work, something came out and knocked the wind right out of me. I work in a nursing home, where one of our many activities involves making tie-together blankets with the residents that are later donated somewhere in the community. As we were discussing where to donate the most recent batch, someone suggested the YWCA Women's Shelter. She commented that some little child who had to leave her things behind might really appreciate having it to snuggle with. I was instantly transported back to November 2004. My mom, sisters and I left my dad in a dramatic scene on Halloween night, in which the police were involved. I went straight back to my dorm, with food, shelter and support. The rest of my family spent time in a hotel room and some time with the family of one of my sister's classmates. My youngest sister was 9 at the time. 

It was an awful time for all of us. I did what I had to do and took out a restraining order on my dad. He tried to call me at first, and then talked to the pastor at church and had him call me. My mom took out a restraining order as well, and eventually he left the house and she moved back in with my sisters. He still visited the residence, causing an uproar with each visit. Everyone was scared, confused and angry. The two youngest seemed completely lost in the chaos. 

It was them that I thought of when looking at the blankets. I wanted to cry thinking about the whole thing, but I was at work and didn't have the luxury. Instead, I volunteered to drop off the blankets. But I still felt guilty that I didn't do more. I don't know what I could have done, and I know it's not really rational to feel that way, but that's why it's called a feeling. As I sat across the dinner table from Aaron and explained it to him, I thought of "survivor's guilt". It's common when an individual survives some kind of accident and are the only ones to survive it. The sometimes feel some level of guilt. I look around at my life and overall, I'm fairly content. I have a loving husband, I'm moving forward in school, work and my inner self, and have a decent place to live. When I look at my family as a group, it hurts me that they continue to suffer. I sometimes feel like I don't have the right to be carefree and happy when they are still struggling. I know that doesn't make sense, but for a long time I was made to be/feel responsible for them. 

Is there anyone else who has experienced a similar feeling?

Rachel

Photo Credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/suetrav/3296535448/

DINKS?

I've had a couple things buzzing around my brain lately. School is obviously one of them. I'm getting myself geared up for this crazy semester and enjoying my last few moments of freedom before they are eaten up by homework/studying/research.  The second is babies.

Normally when I bring up babies it's because I'm longing to start a family of my own. But I have a lot of concerns in doing so. When you look at the statistics of child sexual abuse, the perpetrator is almost always someone close to the family, or someone trusted. This point is even more exaggerated by the fact that Aaron's dad is currently serving time for being a pedophile. So what are you supposed to do? You can't go through life not trusting anyone. You can't keep your child strapped to your hip 24/7/365. The thought of something happening to my child terrifies me - and he/she doesn't even exist. 

Aaron made the comment that I can't let that fear rule my life, and he's right, but I can't shake it. For me, it feels like a huge risk to bring a child into this life when I know how damaging a traumatic experience can be. I've had more than one person tell me it's "worth the risk", but for me, that kind of comment belittles my experience. When you've been through what I've been through, you can decide if it's worth the risk.

They made it work.

So I did what I always do when I'm facing a decision or new idea. I research it. I started looking into the intentionally child-free lifestyle, which includes individuals and couples who have chosen, for a variety of reasons, to not have children or adopt. There are a lot of good reasons that people choose this and there are a lot of perks that come with it. I've been trying to imagine my life without children. Aaron and I would be what is known as DINKs - Double Income No Kids. We could settle down in a nicer smaller house than I originally dreamed. We could travel as much as we wanted to. We could pick everything up and move across the country without worrying about the affect it would have on children. We would have more time and attention for each other. We could have nicer cars and nicer things.

On the other hand, the fantasy feels lonely. Although having children to heal loneliness doesn't seem fair either. But "things" can't replace a child. I just don't know that I could ever be happy in giving up a family. I've been trying to ask myself why I want children. I can't come up with a good reason. Honestly, I can't come up with a good reason for anyone to start a family. Most of us feel the need to because it's a natural urge, but now that our planet doesn't require us to populate it, I think we have the luxury to stop and really think about whether or not its the best decision for each person/couple. I think Aaron and I would make great parents. I think I have a strong maternal instinct and a fairly good intuition about people, and Aaron even more so. If a child were to come into our life, we would accept it and love it with all we have. I'm just not sure at this point if I want to seek that child out. 

Maybe this is a phase I'm going through. Maybe in a few years when Aaron is out of school and we both have jobs and the idea of starting a family is an immediate possibility I'll feel different. Heck, I might feel different in a month. Or maybe not. I don't know. But I feel like it was important to share this, because I know there are other survivors out there that feel the same way.

It's how I feel. You don't have to agree or disagree. Just try to understand.

Rachel

Philia

I'm just an Oprah, looking
for my Gayle.

I had an "Aha moment" today. (Don't you just love those?) I've always had trouble making friends that I really trust and feel like I can I "love". I made one good friend in high school and actually got closer to her afterwards. She was in my wedding. I went to hers and cried when I saw her in her wedding dress. Being so far away from her has really been hard, and I'll be the first to admit that I completely suck at long distance friendships. We haven't talked much, but I miss her terribly. I made a few friends in college, mostly men. I've made a few new friends here in Lafayette as well. I have another friend now that might be the Gayle to my Oprah. But something is holding me back.

I was feeling really depressed about this lately. How can I feel lonely but have friends and a husband? It doesn't really make sense and I don't feel entitled to even say that I feel that way. When I get any kind of recognition or support from my blog, I'm thrilled. But it's like a drug - the more I get, the more I want. I sometimes suspect that even if (when) I become a successful author, it will never be enough. How can I be so insecure?

Of the few people that I see often that I am developing relationships with, we don't really talk about my blog or anything related to it. They know about it, but don't act interested. Whenever I try to share my success or talk about it they either don't want to talk about it or don't know what to say. I feel like it shouldn't matter to me. I don't necessarily get all excited about their hobbies. But on the other hand, this is so much more than that. It's about the majority of years I've lived and how they affect me today. It's about how it affects my relationships with them. If they can't understand any of that, how can they fully understand me? Am I being unfair? I really do need input here.

Something else that bothers me when it comes to my relationships, is that I have trouble telling someone I love them. Romantic love is something I can really sink me teeth into, but philia, friendly or brotherly love, is something I struggle with. I'm not saying I don't care about anybody, I do! But I have trouble telling them I love them. I really put some thought into this today. Who has loved me/have I loved in the past? Family. And we all know how well that worked out. As a child, the love I knew was from a mom who couldn't stand up to her husband to protect me or my sisters, regardless of the sexual abuse. I knew a dad who would do horrible, terrible things and then say he was sorry. Until he got tired of asking forgiveness and threw inhibition to the wind. I don't think my sisters and I told each other we loved each other either. Is that weird? Do kids tell their siblings that normally? We do now, but not then. I definitively have a love/hate relationship with my mom now, so sometimes I don't even like to say it to her, but I know I'm "supposed" to.

With romantic love, I have different expectations. I'm not sure where those come from, but so far they've worked out!  I mean, I expect to have my heart broken as a teenager "in love". I told my first boyfriend I loved him. I knew I didn't. We were 15! I told my first "love" the same thing. I almost believed it. I thought I was ready to marry him at 17, but that was more running from home than anything else. He was a good person, but it wasn't true love. Then when I met Studdly Hubby. I knew. Overall, the whole thing worked out the way it was supposed to in my mind.

And the thing is...I want relationships like this.
Even if they are fictional.

But with my history of non-romantic love, it's no wonder I can't fully trust people. I can think of 3 friends that I can say I love. Although after 7 years with Studdly Hubby, I'm just now finally warming up to my in-laws and can say I love them. Well, most of them. ;-)

I'm not sure what to do to work on this one. I just know that when I see my friends together, I sometimes feel like that little girl in elementary school again who just feels different from the others. And that feels very lonely.

Rachel

Jesus and E.T.

Last Friday night I had some more drama with my family. I'm not going to go into all the details here, but I will say I was feeling particularly in need of comfort. Studdly Hubby was there for me, but I needed some extra nurturing. So I headed to the tub for a bubble bath. I put on some music and lit some candles to help me relax.

I wanted to do some "Inner Work" -  to go to a place of healing and beauty. It took me a while to get to my "happy place". My mind kept wandering from one thing to another, but eventually, I stepped into that familiar landscape.

The first thing I noticed was how I looked. Everything was normal, except for a light shining through my chest. The best way I can think to describe is going to sound a bit blasphemous, so bear with me. Have you ever seen that painting of Jesus where his heart is shining through his robes? No? Here's the one I'm talking about:

Now, do you remember the end of Steven Spielberg's "E.T" when E.T.'s heart starts to glow? Here's a reminder:

I think you see where I'm going with this. Combine the two, and you'll get an idea of what I was seeing. I felt like my heart was glowing through my chest, like it's only protection was tissue paper thin. It felt exposed, but very alive. I looked up, and my "actual self" was standing in her usual place, beckoning me to come closer. Her heart was glowing and exposed as well. 

We embraced, heart to heart. She reassured me that it was ok for my heart to feel like that. After years of numbing myself physically and emotionally, it was time for my heart to come back to life! 

Maybe that's why I've been especially emotional lately. I'm opening my heart and it's allowing me to feel on a whole new level. I feel like I'm PMSing all the time, minus the agitation. I cried during a cat food commercial, I cried when Lauren sand a song to her mother on American Idol, I cried when I read an article about the deadly tornado in Missouri and I cried when Rachel and Curt got to sing on a Broadway stage on Glee. Today, I felt like our typical little jokes were just a little funnier. I felt a little more light hearted and silly. And don't tell anyone, but I even enjoyed sex a little more! 

Could this be the start of yet another chapter in my healing journey? Or was it that extra cup of coffee I had this morning? Time will tell!

Rachel

Wanted To Belong Here

But something felt so wrong here...

I heard this song the radio a couple days ago. I haven't heard it in quite a while, so I find it ironic that it came up when I was dealing with my family issues. I've always loved the song and related to it in one way or another, but it really hit a chord with me this time.

Enjoy!



Grew up in a small town
And when the rain would fall down
I'd just stare out my window
Dreaming of what could be
And if I'd end up happy
I would pray

Trying hard to reach out
But when I tried to speak out
Felt like no one could hear me
Wanted to belong here
But something felt so wrong here
So I prayed I could break away

I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly
I'll do what it takes til' I touch the sky
And I'll make a wish
Take a chance
Make a change
And breakaway
Out of the darkness and into the sun
But I won't forget all the ones that I love
I'll take a risk
Take a chance
Make a change
And breakaway

Wanna feel the warm breeze
Sleep under a palm tree
Feel the rush of the ocean
Get onboard a fast train
Travel on a jet plane, far away (I will)
And breakaway

Buildings with a hundred floors
Swinging around revolving doors
Maybe I don't know where they'll take me but
Gotta keep moving on, moving on
Fly away, breakaway

What's up with my mood...

If you've been following along with my blog for the past couple months, you know I've been having some mood issues. I've got really depressed, but have been slowly coming back out of it. A week ago, I had what I believe was a very small panic attack at work. I was worried about several things, and they all just started to get to me at once. I felt like my throat was closing in on me. Once I became aware of that, I started to panic even more and my breathing became more shallow. I talked to Aaron on the phone for a minute and had to fight back tears. I didn't want to lose control of my emotions at work. So I kept on doing my job the best I could, but eventually ended up in the bathroom, standing over the sink and just letting the tears drip down, sobbing silently. I started to feel better after that, but was really shaken by the whole experience.

Thankfully, I had therapy the following Monday. This gave me a chance to really explore what was going on. Back in March, I had a frightening experience during my inner work. I faced my dad, somewhat unexpectedly, and made some valiant speech about how I was going to overcome him, be victorious, blah blah blah. Because I had some other things to focus on after that, I took a bit of a break from the inner work. 

But it's still been lingering in the back of my brain. And I'm really nervous about the whole thing. I'm nervous about facing him and I'm nervous about what will change afterward. Change is always scary, but fear of the unknown is even worse.

So to follow the "panic attack", I had the lovely family issues to deal with. It's no wonder I feel tired sometimes...

*Side note - I tried to Google images of women juggling things to make some kind of comment about all the things I'm juggling emotionally and they were all pictures of happy women, juggling very successfully. Come on!! I know I'm not the only that feels otherwise!!* 

Rachel

In Mourning

I wrote my last post last night, but couldn't publish it until today because, *gasp* Blogger was down! Since I initially wrote it, I've had time to process my feelings. And I've come to the conclusion that I am in mourning.

I am grieving the loss of my relationship with my family, whether it was positive or not. I'm grieving the loss of a part of my identity. I've always identified myself as part of a large family. The eldest daughter. The big sister. Those don't really feel like active roles anymore. I have been stripped of them in one way or another. 

But it goes even deeper than that. I've always felt somewhat maternal towards my sisters, particularly the youngest one. When she was little, I carried her everywhere. It's a wonder she ever learned how to walk! I remember our elementary school teachers calling me her second mom. My nickname for her was "Chica". I don't even remember how it got started. 

In high school, when Mom checked out in many ways, I was the one working, going to school and making dinner for 7 people. I felt responsible for them in many ways, even if we didn't always get along. I remember a day when Mom was driving me back to college after a weekend. My baby sister, who was 9 at the time, stood in the doorway with the saddest most heartbreaking look on her face. I felt a knot in the pit of my stomach, feeling guilty for leaving her there. 

In the next few years, I had a difficult time letting go of that responsibility, but I had to. My sisters did not see me as an authority. Nobody was listening to anything I had to say. I knew I had to let go, but it was not easy to do. I think I'm still working on it.

And so I mourn. Today, I felt physically bruised. My bones ached and my insides felt sore. I felt worn out. 

(Left to right) Me, Emily, Abby, Mom, Maria and Caroline

I realized yesterday, that of all the people that have come and gone throughout my life, the ones that have hurt me the most have been my immediate family. They may not always know they're doing it, but they are. Some of my greatest support has come from the most unlikely places; co-workers, cousins I never talked to before, friends of friends that I only know via the internet, bloggers that I only know through the internet, friends from college that I wasn't even that close to at the time...

God has blessed me over and over with a support system. I need to learn to refocus my attention on them rather than chasing after support from those that don't know how to give it.

Rachel

Heartbroken

Want to know what one of the worst after affects of child sexual abuse is?

It tears families apart.

I just got a lovely message from my baby sister (who is 16 by the way) that basically told me to hit the road and don't look back. She told me I was completely f***ed up by my past, and that I'm the one that should be in therapy, not our mom. She told me that I'm not treating my family the way they should be treated, particularly by not talking to mom, and that they are the ones who have supported me through everything. In reality, the past 9 months or so have been the hardest for me in healing. The most supportive and understanding people have come the most unlikely sources and my husband. But never from my family as a whole. One of my sisters understands better than the others and has always let me know I can talk to her, but that's about the extent of it. Whenever I talk to the rest of my sisters, I feel critisized in one way or another. Mom, on the other hand, just skirts around any potential issues. Not helpful. We grew up in a world of secrets, and not being able to talk about how we feel and skirting issues. It's time to get real.

Anytime I have an interaction with them, I end up in tears. My husband has had his fill. He said he hates seeing them hurt me over and over again. And I agree. My heart has been completely broken out and stomped on by them.

My blogger friend over at Pleasantly Demented has always had my back in this. She often reminds me that just because someone is related to you, doesn't mean they have the right to treat you with disrespect, or to demand respect from you without earning it. This is a difficult lesson to soak in when you've been raised to have absolute respect for your parents, but I think it's starting to sink in...

That's all I've got for now. No deep insight. Just hurt.

Rachel

What I Haven't Been Blogging About

There is a topic that has been lingering on behind the back burner. It's not something I had to worry about, but a week or so ago, it was nudged forward. Aaron's father is currently serving time in prison for molesting children. He didn't deny that it happened and is remorseful. 

Which way am I supposed to go?!
My life feels really complicated sometimes.

We found out sometime before we got married what had been going on. Aaron didn't even want to tell me. The court case I had gone through was still very fresh. I was stunned. I had no clue how to even deal with this revelation and so I didn't. Since then, I've encouraged Aaron in his relationship with his dad. He's visited him in prison and written to him occasionally. This I've supported 100%.  The time came when Aaron expressed a desire for me to come with him to visit his father. This I was absolutely not comfortable with. I felt guilty for saying no, because I knew it would mean a lot to Aaron to have me with him there, but I couldn't do it.

The last letter we received mentioned that he would be out of prison by next summer. I knew then that Aaron and I were going to have to talk about how we were going to deal with that. At the end of the letter, he may some comment referring to the fact that he would be struggling a bit financially. I knew then/worried that Aaron would want to help him out. Sure enough, he came to me later and said he would like to help him buy a computer, as that is an interest they have in common. I wasn't sure how to respond yet, so I didn't.

I finally approached Aaron last night and let him know I was concerned and that I felt like we needed a plan for how we are going to navigate that relationship when the time comes. We didn't completely agree with my view points, but understood why I felt the way I did. This is something that is very emotional and difficult for both of us. It breaks my heart to see him in this position. He loves both a perpetrator and a victim. By the end of the conversation, we hadn't really resolved anything, but Aaron did agree to come to therapy with me so that we could discuss it further with an unbiased third party to help mediate.

It's at times like these when I reflect on 2 points. 1 - Life can be really unfair. It totally sucks that we even have to deal with this. I can't even imagine how Aaron must feel, partly because he doesn't really talk about it much. 2 - I am so grateful for the relationship we have. Even though I cried and the look on Aaron's face told me how he was feeling, we kept calm and communicated our points without yelling at each other. Even though he wasn't feeling particularly affectionate immediately after, we moved passed it and laughed together that same night.

I really do love that man.

Rachel

A Controversial Post

I was watching Inside Edition today (a quality news program ;-) ) as they covered the story of a 6 year old girl getting a full-body pat down at an airport. 

Click here for the original story. 

The little girl protested as respectfully as she could, "I don't want to do it, thank you!" but she was obviously very upset. All the while, her mother stood by. I'm not blaming the mother here. I can only imagine she felt helpless and it all happened very fast.  I would like to think that I would demand to see a manager and request that something else be done, but I wasn't there.

On the other hand, I just watched the video for a second time. The security officer explains to the mother that the child needs a pat down. She summons the little girl over, and lets the officer take over. That's it. No explanation, no comfort. If she could have at least explained what was going on and why in a way appropriate for a 6 year old to understand, this could have been a very different situation. So maybe I am blaming the mother for her inaction.

I understand from a security standpoint why children can't be let through unchecked. I don't understand why she couldn't be sent through the scanner instead. It would seem like this would be adequate. TSA did say that they used a "modified pat-down". Number 1: It didn't look any different in the video. Number 2: TSA did not share why a pat down was required and the scan was not sufficient.

A couple of things went through my mind when I watched this story. For one, I felt very, very uncomfortable watching the little girls's protests go completely ignored. At the same time, I was really proud of her for speaking up at all. Even though she was frightened, and this was clearly a person in authority, she said no, more than once. 

As parents, I think one of the most important things we can do for our children is to teach them that their bodies are their own. They should treat them with respect and expect respect. If your daughter doesn't like hugs from Uncle Bob, as parents, we should respect that and not force her to hug him. If Uncle Bob doesn't understand, that's ok. Uncle Bob is not your concern, your son/daughter is. 

I believe corporal punishment plays into this as well. I know that spanking/slapping is a very controversial issue, although I still haven't heard a good reason for why it should be acceptable. 

• "Well that's how I was raised and how my parents were raised!" So, because it's always been that way that makes it right? Not buying it. We'd all still have slaves if that logic held up. 
• "I got over it and turned out fine." Well, it's possible to get over all kinds of wrong doings. That doesn't mean they weren't still wrong.
• "They won't listen to anything me otherwise." There's a reason that all they respond to is this kind of punishment. Because that's the kind you use. Good parenting requires patience. (I'm not saying if you spank you're necessarily a bad parent btw, I just disagree.)

There are other reasons I think corporal punishment is a bad idea. I believe that if you are going to use this approach, the punishment should never be administered while angry. You're going to do it harder than you should.

I also don't see the point. If you break the rules, you will be physically punished by your parent. Shouldn't the punishment fit the crime? Let's say a child took something from the neighbors that he knew he shouldn't have. I think it's a great idea to march that child and the stolen item right over to the neighbor, have him give it back and apologize. If the child is getting bad grades at school, take away some privileges so that the time spent playing video games is spent studying. 

I also believe that every child is different and therefore motivated differently. For example, if someone gave me positive feedback for something I did, I would then do it 10-fold (and I still work that way to this day). For a child like me, that is the best way to motivate them to do the right thing. Other children may need to lose privileges, or allowance or spend some time in time-out. You have to find what works for your child, before giving up and resorting to a punishment that makes no sense. 

Time out. 

My point is, by using corporal punishment on a child, you are not teaching them anything positive about their bodies. You teach them that a parent's touch doesn't always feel loving or affectionate. If you don't explain why they are receiving the punishment, then you just teach them that mom/dad is mean. And all children should know that love never equals pain.

I know that many of you are going to disagree with the second part of this point. That's ok. We can agree to disagree. Others will point out that I don't have children of my own, which is a fair point. I don't think I will change this stance on punishments when I do have them, but I may better understand why a parent would resort to spanking.

Maybe this should have been two separate posts, however, I feel like the topics are related. Children should learn respect for their own bodies from a young age, but first, we need to show them respect.

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

Another Round of Memories

As I mentioned in my last post, therapy was interesting last night. I started out by sharing a memory that had popped up yesterday.

Only a thin sheet of nylon separated us from
my mom.

I was thinking about family vacations. I remember the last camping trip my family took because it was chock full of drama. We had family in Wisconsin, so that is where we would vacation every year, and the summer before I turned 14 was no different. My family couldn't afford a camper or RV, but we did have a very large, 2 room tent. Mom would sleep in the first room on an old army cot because her back hurt too much to sleep on the ground. My 4 sisters and I would sleep in the back room, and my step-dad did as well, probably "for our protection". Even though I was once again sleeping right next to my sisters, he would grope me when he thought I was asleep. I would pretend that I was and try to roll away from him. 

The thing I don't understand, is what excuse he must have given my mom to squeeze in with 5 girls when she was the only one in the other room? How did he justify that? Why wasn't it raising red flags for her? I know I've already talked about her very deep level of denial, but it never ceases to amaze me when I come across another memory that reinforces it.

After I talked about that particular memory, I got on a roll and several others came to mind. I remember a time when my step-dad was actually paying dock rent and was able to use his boat. He would take me out some mornings on his boat by myself. We would get breakfast at McDonald's on the way. I'm not entirely sure he took all my sisters out by themselves, but I know I went at least a few times. Anyway, he would drive the boat out to Lake Erie, sit in a chair and masturbate in front of me. I'm unsure of my age at this point, because I can't remember if he ever had the boat in the water again after he had it in our backyard. If he sold it after it was in the yard, as I suspect, then I was less than 6-7. I can remember driving from our house on Maple Blvd. to go to the boat at some point, but I can't remember if it was related to this kind of incident. 

I don't remember what I was feeling then, but in retrospect, I'm stuck by his changing levels of discretion. When we were on the boat,  we were in the middle of a lake. There was no one around to see or hear anything. He didn't have to be sneaky at all. When the boat was in the backyard, he would have to be sure no one climbed up into the boat, although he would have plenty of time to stop what he was doing by the time he heard them, they climbed into the boat and down into the cabin. When I was sleeping on the living room floor with my sisters several years later, all they had to do was wake up. Years after that, all someone had to do was walk around a corner.

When I talk about anything relating to my teen years, it helps to understand the layout of the house I was living in and how small it really was:

The main floor was probably a max. of 1000 sq. ft., likely less.
*Click on the image to enlarge

When I refer to the incident in which someone need only walk around a corner to see what was going on, I was standing in the bathroom doorway, while he stood at the end of the hallway. He had me pull my pants and underwear down and masturbate and put my finger in anus. 

This seems like as good a place as any to note that I faked it all.

Moving on...One of the times this was happening, one of my sisters was sitting in the living room. She heard me arguing with him. I'm sure he was especially rip-roaring drunk that day to be so sloppy. My sister heard me say something like "No, that's disgusting!" and "Well, I'm sorry I'm such an inconvenience to you!" Between this and the fact that she could hear him coming down to my room at night after she moved down there, she had a pretty good idea of what was going on. 

My sister approached my mom after that. She told her that "something was going on between Dad and Rachel". When my mom asked what she meant, she said that she didn't know, but it was something bad. I don't remember this, but my mom claims she asked me about it and that I denied anything was going on. This is entirely possible, because that is exactly what I would have done. But here's the kicker...she never said she asked him what was going on. As a mother, don't you think that would be a key piece of the puzzle? To ask both parties involved in this little mystery? Maybe it wasn't what your daughter was insinuating, maybe there was something and he would have a simple explanation. The only reason you wouldn't ask him is if you were afraid of the answer.

When the nicest house we ever rented was sold, we were forced to move. We had nowhere to go, so we ended up renting the top floor of an older couple's home that had been converted into a one bedroom apartment. All 7 of us. This was right before I turned 13. I remember him showing me porn on the computer when we were living there. I remember him peeking in at me when I was taking shower. I don't remember him doing it before that, probably because this would have been right around the time I was starting to develop physically. 

No privacy here...

I remember a particularly strange incident there as well. My sisters were outside playing, and my step-dad was sitting at the picnic table with the old man who own the house and lived downstairs. Right before he went out there, he asked me to rub a piece of bread between my legs and bring it out to him. I absolutely did not want to do it, because it was strange and I didn't want to get crumbs on me. I was repulsed by the idea. I got a piece of bread out of the bag and carried it out to him as is. He took, smelled it, said "You didn't do it right" and instructed me to go back and do it right. I went back up to the apartment, and sprinkled a few drops of tap water on the bread, in a desperate attempt to fool him. It didn't work, but I don't remember what did end up happening. I know I didn't do what he wanted though.

Ok, that's long enough for now! There's more, but I'm tired and feeling kind of emotionally vulnerable right now. I need to get some rest and write some more later.

Rachel

Some Explanation

A few days ago, I had a flashback. I was back in our house on Palmwood Ave. Which doesn't mean anything to you, my readers, but it does serve as a reference point for me. Anyway, I remember huddling in the bathroom with my mom and sisters. The door was locked, and my stepdad was on the other side yelling at us and pounding on the door. "Don't you make them afraid of me!" he screamed. I'm pretty sure that I understood the outlandishness of this statement even at the young age of 7ish. 

The significant thing about this memory, besides the fact that it was completely terrifying, is that it's a reminder that he was always like that. I think I wanted to believe that his rage got worse over time, but I think it was just more frequent later. If I could remember him being like that at the point, what was he like when she married him?

Our house on Palmwood Ct., courtesy of Google Street
View. I can't believe how small it is!

Then today, I walked into our bedroom and Bella and Char were both sleeping on the bed. I gave them each a kiss and told them I loved them. This led to another flashback from around the same time. My mom had my sisters and I lined up on the couch. She grabbed her purse, gave us each a kiss and said "I love you." I felt a sense of dread kick in. She told us that she was leaving us.

Where is the logic here? One day, she has us locked in the bathroom protecting us from her husband, and the next she's going to desert us and leave us with him? Of course, she didn't leave. He stopped her as she was walking out the door. This taught me a valuable lesson at the ripe age of 7: "Don't let Mom get upset, or she may leave us." This message may not have run so deep had she not "tried" to leave us on several more occasions, or shared with me her suicidal idealization, the latter of which taught that she may harm herself if she got too upset. 

This was also around the same time as my earliest memory of sexual abuse. My stepdad owned a boat for some time. For a while, it was kept in the backyard of this house. I assume because he couldn't afford the dock rent. Anyway, one day I was inside the boat with him. He was masturbating right in front of me. He ejaculated and explained to me that the "white stuff" was sperm, and "it makes babies." 

Looked a lot like this actually...

Now tell me how I'm supposed to tell that emotionally unstable person anything about something like that? I knew something wasn't right. I knew it would upset her because I was told not to tell her. I was trapped. I was trapped in this sick secret. I couldn't risk losing my mom, so I obediently kept my mouth shut...for at least 13 years after that. 

I can't believe how unprotected she left us. Because she refused to leave him, we dealt with his rage for years. My sisters that talk to him on the phone now are still dealing with it. 

I didn't call my mom on Saturday like I said I was going to. I was tired from work and honestly did not feel like dealing with it. She didn't call me either, so I just didn't bother. I think I'm more ready now though. We have some things to talk about, besides how fulfilling her job is taking care of other people. Who cares. Take care of your kids....

Anyway, thanks for reading.

Rachel