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/

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

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

Inner Work Update

I have not done a very good job lately on writing about all the Inner Work I've been doing. I work on it nearly weekly. Sometimes my progress seems significant, but usually it takes a few sessions to have much to write about. On the other hand, I could probably write in more detail if I wrote about each one. Regardless, it's time to catch up with what I'm working on now.

A few weeks ago, I found Dad down the stairs from my safe place. Eventually, I had to go back. When I returned, the door to his cell was open. I peeked inside and was startled to discover that it was empty. I was feeling nervous and very uncomfortable knowing he wasn't locked up where I left him. I backed away slowly. I reached behind me for the doorknob to the exit. Suddenly, he was behind me. He had his penis out and placed it into my hand. I turn around and stepped back in slow motion. 

I could move, but I couldn't scream. I couldn't talk, whisper or shout. I had gone mute. I started to panic and looked around for a way out. My heart was beating faster and faster, and the air was growing thick around me. I looked up and he was back in his cell again. I tried to figure out how to lock him in more permanently this time. I didn't want any more surprises. There was already a padlock on the door, so I added a second one. It was a feeble attempt at security, but I didn't know what else to do. Regardless of how well he was locked up, I knew I was going to have to face him again.

It became clear to me at this time that I was going to have to find a way to defeat him in my mind. Even though in reality I had him locked up, in my mind I am still vulnerable to him. He still frightens me. So I needed a plan.

This is war. And we will win on all fronts.

I've decided to create the "Army of Me".  I am summoning all the younger versions of myself, to face him together. Today, I spoke with the 17 year old, the 19 year old, the 11 year old, and briefly the 12 year old, although I suspect she still feels afraid and ashamed after being told she was acting seductively. My Actual Self summoned them with a horn. She looked larger than life today and very powerful. I thought about how she would be a great commander of my army. As she spoke to them, I suddenly remembered that my Actual Self was just that - she was me! I was powerful! I could command my own army! I took over and told my "selves" how much strength I was drawing for them, and the we were powerful together. Together we could defeat him, for each other. Before I left, I asked them to spread the word to the other selves. We will be meeting again before we will move forward in our victory.

VERY empowering song for me:

"I can feel a phoenix inside of me
As I march alone to a different beat
Slowly swallowing down my fear, yeah yeah

I am ready for the road less traveled
Suiting up for my crowning battle
This test is my own cross too bare
But I will get there

It’s never easy to be chosen, never easy to be called
Standing on the front line when the bomb starts to fall
I can see the heavens but I still hear the flames
Calling out my name

I can see the writing on the wall
I can’t ignore this war
At the eh-end of it all
Who am I living for?

I can feel this lightness inside of me
Growing fast into a bolt of lightning
I know one spark will shock the world, yeah yeah

So I pray for a favour like Esther
I need your strength to handle the pressure
I know there will be sacrifice
But that’s the price

Heavy is the head that wears the crown
Don’t let the greatness get you down
Heavy is the head that wears the crown
Don’t let the greatness get you down, oh, oh yeah"

Rachel

Our Honeymoon

3 years, 8 months and 1 day from our wedding, Studdly Hubby and I finally departed on our honeymoon. It was my first vacation since I was a teenager (not counting visiting family). We had been talking about going to Disney World for a couple years, and finally decided to use our piddly little savings and tax return to make it happen. And let me tell you, even if we have to eat Ramen noodles for the next 2 months, it was totally worth it.

We flew out on Tuesday night after I got off work. It was my first flight and I was really nervous. My boss in activities suggested I swallow a lot during take-off and the landing to prevent my ears from popping. I tried but my mouth was so dry from my nerves that I couldn't do it! Once the plane started, I grabbed Aaron's hand and closed my eyes. I used some skills I had learned in therapy to calm myself down and managed to make it into the sky with much less anxiety than I would have experienced otherwise.

After we landed, we hunted down a taxi van that was also shuttling a man and a group of 3 women. The man was dropped off first at a gorgeous, probably 5 star, hotel. I jokingly started to follow him out of the van and told Aaron I'd see him in the morning! After he had his luggage, we were one our way. We pulled up at another beautiful hotel, and Aaron said "Is this one ours?" I laughed and told him it was not. Ours was $50 on Priceline. The three women got out and we drove on, passing other beautiful hotels. We held our breath, waiting to see where ours was and what it looked like. Finally, we pulled into a parking lot shared by Country Inn and Suites and several other restaurants and stores, including the one right in front of the hotel - Kabob and Curry. After the big 4/5 star hotels, the difference really tickled me. But the hotel was clean and the staff was friendly. They had a good free breakfast as well as a free shuttle to Disney (that was an adventure of it's own, by the way). But the best part of all, was the jacuzzi. That's right. I upgraded our room to a jacuzzi suite. It was normally $30 a night, but I used my super negotiating skills to get it for $15. I was worth every penny.

The next day, we were off to our ultimate destination. Disney World truly is as magical as the commercials claim, particularly the Magic Kingdom. There was a show right in front of Cinderella's Castle right after we entered the park. We missed the beginning, but we did see that it featured Mickey, Minnie, Goofy, Donald, Maleficent, Hook, Peter Pan and more. I got so swept up by the whole thing that I actually got a bit teary-eyed. The fact that I was PMSing led to my emotions being close to the surface and I could not hold it back! It was a perfect start to an amazing day. We went to the Hall of Presidents, rode Aladdin's Magic Carpet, the Jungle Cruise, It's a Small World (never again!), Pirates of the Caribbean and on and on. 

Here's a link to the photos!

But the most significant part for me was that night. I've written about our wedding night before. It was a shamble and probably one of the biggest disappointments of my life. I've been working on healing vaginismus since then, and have made progress, but our wedding night still hung over my head. On some level (not a logical one), I felt some guilt about it. It was my issues and my history that was preventing my husband and I from enjoying a normal healthy sex life, from having intercourse as newlyweds. But the night after the Magic Kingdom, I reflected on our first attempt as we had sex. I mentally and emotionally re-wrote that  failed attempt. I allowed this time to truly be our honeymoon and finally let go of the previous. I've come far enough now that I no longer feel guilt. I'm still momentarily frustrated when things don't go as well as I would like, but we've come so far and have finally had the honeymoon we needed.

The next two days we went to Animal Kingdom and Epcot. Animal Kingdom was a let-down for me, but still nice. I guess I expected more animals or more animal interaction. It felt a bit like a really amazing zoo that didn't have enough animals. Epcot, on the hand, was amazing. We got there at open and stayed through the fireworks show and barely had time to see it all. We didn't even have time to go on some of the rides we wanted to!

On Saturday, we rented a car and started the long drive home. While we would have liked to have flown back, tickets were over $300/person, so that made the choice for us. This cut off a day that we could have gone to Hollywood Studios, but I'd never seen anything south of Indy, so this was a great opportunity to see some more of the good old US of A. We stayed overnight near Chattanooga and finished the drive on Sunday. We got home that night, unpacked and collapsed on our bed. Monday morning was back to work and school.

Rachel

Clear as Mud

Ok, my last post requires explanation. Mostly because I had some more time to reflect on the issue of academia and I had a chance to work with my therapist on it. I did not yet fully understand the issue, but really needed to share it. It was very hard for me to do, but I've promised myself that I was going to be honest about what happens after the abuse. Struggling with schoolwork is a major piece of the puzzle, so it was time to be honest about it.

I've been saying "I am a bad student" for quite some time. This was going off the assumption that the entire value of being a student is in the grades. While this is the only measurement tool available, I don't believe it is the most accurate, just the most logical. 

A student is defined as "one who studies something". Well, I wouldn't say I ever "studied" much, unless paying attention in class and soaking up that information counts as studying. It could be argued that it does. However, I would like to take that definition a step further so that it instead reads "one who learns something". If that can be an agreed upon definition, then I would like to assert that I am a good student.

Regardless of whether or not we can agree on that, the important thing is that I now better understand the struggle, and tomorrow I can start fresh. 

Now to clear up the mud a bit. Let me start by sharing that Post-traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) had a great deal of overlap in symptoms with ADHD. (Click here for a great explanation)

When I was being abused, all of my energy was going into surviving, protecting myself both physically and mentally, all while keeping up the appearance that nothing was going on at home. There was nothing left in my energy reserves for homework. Also, while attempting to do it anyway, I had to be on high alert. I never knew when he was going to attempt to fondle me or force me into the basement or bathroom for something worse. My sisters and I had to constantly "take the temperature" of the room my stepdad was in to see how he was going to behave, what mood he was in. If he was gone, we would listen for his truck to pull up. If he was taking a nap, we would listen for him to get up and open the bedroom door. We were all on high alert. This made it impossible to focus on homework or anything else for that matter. Patrick Stewart gives an excellent description of this in this YouTube clip:

Living in that existence for years has led to PTSD. I can't say if any of my sisters are dealing with it, although I would not be the least little bit surprised. You can see a list of symptoms here. The ones that most apply to me are flashbacks (occasionally), nightmares, avoiding places, thoughts, or feelings that remind you of the trauma, inability to remember important aspects of the trauma, feeling detached from others, difficulty concentrating, hypervigilance and feeling jumpy/easily startled. The last three are the ones that most lend themselves to the appearance of ADHD. 

Not the only face of PTSD. There's a war at home being
fought too.

It's easier for me to excuse my low grades in high school because I was still experiencing the trauma. However, I believe in taking responsibility for your own actions. I don't believe in using your past for a crutch. But I realized today that by going to therapy and try to heal things like this, that is exactly what I'm doing. I may still be struggling (hence the POST traumatic stress), but I'm working on it.

So I'm going to keep on plugging. I will get this degree. I imagine that I won't be satisfied with an Associate's and will eventually get my bachelor's, but for now, I need to focus on my homework for this week. I'll forgive myself for the past (an idea that had me unexpectedly BAWLING in therapy today) and move on. 

I used this quote in my last post to refer to forgiving others, but today, it's about forgiving myself in a very big way:

"Forgiveness is giving up the hope that the past could have been any different." -Oprah

Hope this all made some sense!

Rachel

Holy Blizzard, Batman!

I'm sitting here at work on what was supposed to be a relaxing "Pajama Day". I had requested today off far in advance for the National Crime Victims' Rights Awareness Week planning meeting, which I attend as the "token victim". It was cancelled. I also had a therapy appointment at 8:30a, which I cancelled the night before in preparation of the storm. Purdue even closed today for the first time since 2007, so Studdly Hubby and I were going to hang out and be lazy. Once I decided to get out of bed and get dressed (in fresh jammies), I took the opportunity to clean the bedroom up and organize some things that had been neglected. Once I finished that, I had been sitting on the couch for all of 2 minutes when I got a text that they needed someone to come into work to help cover phones due to call-offs and employees leaving to pick their children up from daycares that were closing early.

So here I sit, listening to the sleet raining down on us, attacking the windows and reminding me of decreasing safety of the roads. I'm hoping to leave around 4:30, although if it's too unsafe I'll have to sleep over in one of the assisted living apartments.

Since the phone is barely ringing, and there's nothing I'm able to do in the Business Office, I figured I might as well blog.

Something that has been on my mind lately is a couple early memories. It seems when I remember one thing, other memories often follow, relating to that same time period. In my last post, I talked about memories related to our home on Palmwood. As I was thinking about them, I remembered something else from that time.

I think my stepdad and I were home alone. I remember him closing the blinds in the living room. Then, I was sitting in his lap. I don't remember if my shirt was pulled up or taken off. He was tickling and kissing my chest. I remember giggling and squirming away from him. I didn't understand what was happening at that time. I do know that it made me uncomfortable.

Across the stree from us lived an elderly couple. I remember him being very paranoid about them. His paranoia was extreme by the end, although I don't recall if it was always that way. I firmly believe that part of it was mental illness, but on the other hand, he had something to be paranoid about. Perhaps the combination of the two was toxic. Perhaps it began around this time, when he started to abuse me and started to feel guilty.

I hate to admit it, but I do believe he felt guilt, at least in the beginning. Often he would come to me later or sometimes right after he ejaculated and apologize. He wouldtell me it was wrong and it wasn't going to happen anymore. He would instruct me to refuse him should I attempt anything again, but we both knew that it wouldn't make a difference. On Saturday morning, he would go to confess at his chuch and absolve his sins. In the beginning, the abuse was on rare occasions. He never even said anything about those that I recall. Later, he would go for 2-3 weeks between episodes. Later it was weekly. Eventually, it was every night. Once it became that frequent, he no longer repented, at least not to me. He still went to confession, although I can't imagine it was heartfelt at that point.

In conclusion, this post has been a complete hodge podge. The weather looks scarier by the amount, although I've just been informed I can leave at 5, and my boss can come get me in the morning with her 4-wheel drive if need be. Got a new memory out of my system, will a little guilt and paranoia sprinkled in for good measure.

Have a good night everyone, and please, be safe!

Rachel

Guilt

I'm really getting in touch with how guilty I've been feeling about things lately. 

I feel guilty for not doing well enough. I still don't have a degree. I still struggle with eating healthy and exercising consistently.

I'm not a good enough wife. I feel guilty that I have to deal with vaginismus and put my husband through those difficulties, even if it is getting better. I believe it is that guilt that kept me from really progressing for the first three years.

I feel guilty for being so selfish, all the time. I often get caught up in "Rachel Land". Everything relates back to me in some way. It's a terrible way to be, and it's the truth. I'm always afraid that people are going to find out about it.

I'm sitting here thinking I would like to play a video game. But there's clothes in the dryer, another load waiting to go in the wash, the coffee table is cluttered, the whole place needs to be vacuumed, classes started again this week so I should really work on homework.

I feel guilty for not talking to my mom. What doesn't help that is that I know at least some of my sister's would agree that I should feel guilty. I've tried to explain to a couple people why I feel the way I do about her, but for one, it's complicated, and for two, I haven't been sure exactly how to describe the problem.

I feel guilty that I want to feel special. I cherish every little bit of positive feedback I get on this. I know it's healthy, because I shouldn't be trying to determine my worth from outside sources, but I still feel like I need a lot of validation. I don't even understand why I want to be special. I always though survivors of abuse strive to be normal; to fit in. But I never felt like I did fit in growing up. Maybe that's it...I want to be special and not weird. Maybe it has more to do with the lack of validation I'm getting from my mom. After the court case, she came to me and said "It's not as bad as I though..." I need her to validate my pain. The pain from the past and the pain I'm still carrying today. And with that, I need her to be proud of all I've overcome, but she can't do that if she can't understand how horrible it was.

But I digress...

I was never made to feel like the abuse was my fault. Thankfully, my mother never placed that on me, as many others did to their children. But I still don't know how to feel like I'm "good". I feel like a naughty child on some level - like I am inherently bad. I remember trying to reach out to people a little bit when I started high school. I told my first boyfriend that "my dad" sometimes called me a bitch. His response? "Well maybe you are sometimes." Dumb kid. That didn't help anything.

I just want to stand up and scream,

"I'm not good enough!!"

Let me finish this by saying these are all feelings. Logically, I can point out all the fallacies. But in my heart is a battle between logic and feelings. Logic usually wins, but right now, the feelings are on my mind.

Rachel