Fresh Air

Even though my dad had been "squished" in one of my last adventures in inner work, there is still work left to be done. So this week I returned.

I called upon the "younger me's" as I had before. This time I was only able to meet with two of them, the 17 year old and the 12 year old. In the past, the 17 year old had been very angry. This time it seemed like she was actually able to take a deep breath and allow herself to breathe. The three of us turned and started to walk towards the cellar doors when something unusual happened.

11 or 12 years old. Check out the wallpaper! Yikes!

There is a picture of myself around 12 years old, standing in my parents' bedroom in a blue and white striped shirt. Whenever I picture myself at that age, I see that picture. As we were walking, she and I were suddenly in that room. The strange thing is, I'm not sure if I was her, or if I was behind her, watching. It's very complicated because in my mind's eye, I tend to have an "over-the-shoulder" view of things. In memories, dreams, etc., I am watching myself. That's why it was hard to tell what was going on here. 

Anyway, I watched her walk out of the room and then saw my dad standing on the landing to the stairs on the left. He was masturbating into a kitchen pot. To make things more complicated, I was aware that my other 12 year-old self was sitting downstairs in the living room, where he was directly in her line of vision. The self that I was with upstairs then stepped forward and popped him with a pin. He deflated faster than the wicked witch of the west.

After this little detour, we were all standing at the top of the cellar doors. We walked down and through the massive door, which is now always open. The first thing I noticed is that there was at least 6 inches of water on the floor. It was sloshing gently, the door that had been keeping my dad locked up swaying back and forth with the movement of the water. I walked over to it and looked inside. The sun was shining in through a window, illuminating the empty room and the air smelled incredibly fresh and clean, which he never did. It was as if though he had never been there. 

I turned around and saw another door open. It was to a room I had explored in the past, and it all looked the same. The door directly to my right was closed, but it had a window. I looked in and saw my mom, lying on a cot. She wasn't asleep, but seemed to be staring off into the distance, seemingly very depressed. I left that alone, and turned the corner at the end of the hallway. I went down a few stairs yet another hallway. I entered the very first door and discovered a room full of furs! They were incredibly soft and reminded me of Char. I can only imagine that this is related to my exploration in sensuality and that the other rooms in that hall would be filled with a variety of other things directly related to specific senses.

After I felt content that I had explored enough for one visit, we all came back to my happy place.

There was a lot going on here for one session! I've never done any kind of inner work within my inner work. That was totally unexpected, and not really "guided" by me or Simone. It just came out of nowhere. Also, I couldn't help but notice that I didn't care if my dad showed up or not. I really didn't feel threatened by his presence at all. That being said, as I was writing this, it occurred to me that maybe he was gone because he was out of his REAL prison cell. I knew this was illogical, but I looked up his prison profile page anyway, just for good measure. When I saw his picture, I felt my tummy flip over. I instantly recognized the look on his face and knew that he was angry and annoyed when the picture was taken. I felt uncomfortable, but ok.

I'm always fascinated by the inner work aspect of therapy. It's amazing to me that all of this is inside my mind. But I couldn't just sit down at my computer and make it up on the spot. It really is an experience that takes place with my eyes closed. If I would have read any of this a year ago, I wouldn't believe it was written by me!!

Rachel

A Terrible Mother

I accidentally called my mom that in therapy today. It slipped out before I could stop it and actually startled me a little bit. 

I was talking about an instance in which she was going to consciously ignore her gut, and risk losing me forever. I was around 10 years old I think, although I'm a little fuzzy on the timing. I remember it as July for some reason. My step-dad was planning on flying to look for property to purchase in Wisconsin and was going to take me with him. He had been talking about moving out there throughout their whole marriage, so the idea of looking at property was not a surprise. However, my family was not one to take trips like that. We would all pack up and drive to Wisconsin once a year to visit Grandma and Grandpa Moore, but my mom didn't go anywhere without the rest of the family, nor did my step-dad. And we never, ever flew. This was a highly unusual situation, and it didn't sit well with me. I would be alone with him for however long we were gone. At this point I had learned that alone with him was not safe. I didn't know what would happen to me if I went with him. I felt nervous about it and didn't want to go, but knew better than to say anything. As I remember it, we had gone so far as to pack.  The night before, the trip was cancelled.

I brought this up to my mom a few years ago, after she left him. She said that she was so worried that she was never going to see me again if I got on that plane with him. She felt in her gut that something wasn't right.

Wait...Let's rewind that...

Your abusive husband was going to pack up your daughter, not his, fly across state lines, you felt in your heart that something was wrong and you may never see either of them again and you were going to let that happen?! 

This is about the time I let the "She's a terrible mother!" slip. 

I was reminded of summer 2005 when she called me and told me she wanted to put one of my sisters up for adoption. I was livid. She may have been having a hard time with said child, but it wasn't anything that warranted such an extreme response.

I have come to the conclusion that she is a weak woman. I'm not trying to be cruel, but she did not step up to her role, before or after the abuse. People tell me I am strong for surviving the abuse. I'm not. Anyone can survive it as long as they do not take their life by their own hands (which I certainly considered on more than once occasion). I am strong because I am dealing with it. I'm not burying my head in the sand about anything. I'm facing my demons and working as hard as I can to overcome them. I'm not saying that I'm the poster child for abused girls. I struggle and certainly have my weaknesses. But I can hold my head high and be proud of my work. She, on the other hand, won't even try to understand.

I know it would crush her to know that I feel that way, and for that I feel badly. It may seem cruel and unnecessary to others, but it is reality. My sisters may disagree and that's fine. If they don't feel that way, then I'm happy for them. But I'm not going to sugar coat this.

Rachel

Confused

It's no secret that I'm a big fan of Oprah. She has played a major role in changing how this country views and deals with sexual assault and abuse of any kind. She has given victims a voice, and has been a model of overcoming. Needless to say, I watch it whenever I can. Right now I'm able to catch episodes on my DVR. Of course I've missed a lot of episodes because of work schedules as well. 

I'm always riveted by the stories of real people on her show. Most of them have been through some kind of adversity, whether it be heartbreak, betrayal or abuse. People just fascinate me! Obviously, the stories from survivors of child abuse or sexual assault are especially significant for me.

The twins

When I'm watching these stories, I can't help but relate them back to my own. I usually spot the similarities quickly. Today's episode featured twin sisters who, along with one younger sister, were raped for years by their 2 older brothers and father. Clearly, this was horrific, and in many ways, I can't even imagine the horror of their existence during those years. 

But the similarities lie in how they felt about some things. For example, the girls didn't want their family torn apart, even though it wasn't much of a family. It was part of the reason they couldn't tell anyone what was going on. I could tell just from watching their body language that one of the twins was still very numb, but the other was in a different place and more in touch with her emotions connected to their rape. I've been in both of those places. I was also struck by their neighbors comment that they had any idea that the abuse was taking place. The girls talked about the fact they had to protect their secret. They couldn't let anyone know that anything was wrong. I can recall people telling my mom what a happy child I was...

But most of these stories also involve aspects I feel differently about. For example, they always seem to remember how old they were when things happened. I can easily tell you where we were living when some things occurred, but I have no idea how old I was or what grade I was in. I feel like my memories are not very clear in some ways. As if though in the process of blocking out the abuse, I was blocking out the rest of my childhood as well. It was very difficult to come up with a timeline for the court case. Between me sharing the instances of abuse and where it happened, my mom was able to tell the detective how old I was when we were living there. Is this something the other victims went through as well? 

Different from the other girls

Another thing that always strikes me as different is the fact that many of them believed that this must be how all families were. I don't remember ever feeling that! In fact, I think I often felt like there was something different about me. I don't think I could quite grasp how horribly wrong it was when I was very young - I don't think I even knew to say "No" - but I did know it was wrong. I was told not to tell anyone. That was a pretty clear sign. As the abuse progressed from him exposing himself to me to fondling, more red flags started to show up for me. I was uncomfortable and confused. I believe this was around the same time I figured out that my mom's wedding anniversary was 2 more years than my age and I was told a bold faced lie about my conception. Anyone, the point is I was starting to ask questions. I knew something wasn't right with our family.

Are my feelings more normal than it seems to me? Am I picking up on a trend that isn't there?

Also:

"Forgiveness is giving up the hope that the past could have been any different." -Oprah (She said it three times so I think I got it right)

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

Weird Head Space

If you've noticed my abnormal absence from blogging the past few days, it's because I've been in a really weird head space since Friday. 

As I shared before, my mom texted me that she began counseling. I had agreed to open up communication again once she took this step so I knew it was time. We agreed to talk on the phone on Monday night.

Between Friday and Monday night, I was in a panic. I felt like a naughty child who had been caught because I had had all this time to sort through and process a lot of negative feelings, anger and disappointment towards her. But I hadn't talked to her about any of it. I knew it was time to confront her and share all of this, and I had no idea how she would respond. I didn't know what to expect from the call at all, but I knew I wasn't going to back down.

Fast forward to Monday night...I got a hold of her and she brought me up to date on her life. She talked about her job. She talked about my sisters. She talked and talked and talked for half an hour as if though nothing had ever happened. And I didn't bring anything up either. She didn't even ask many questions about me or my life, other than to ask how I like my job when I told her I made the switch. 

Whatever I was feeling, it didn't feel good.

I didn't even know how I was feeling after the call. Was I disappointed? Relieved? Numb?

After a while, I realized I was angry with myself. For all my talk about not backing down, that is exactly what I did. I promised I wasn't going to let the conversation go that way, and it's exactly what I did anyway.

The whole mess has been festering in my head for the last 24 hours. I've been contemplating our relationship, thinking about what to say to her when we talk again (on Saturday) and still trying to decipher my feelings.

Then there was a really weird situation at work this afternoon in which the wife of a resident shared that she was sexually assaulted several days ago. She was very shaken up and shared with us how she was feeling through her tears. When I come across these sorts of situations where my own emotions need to be kept in check, it leaves me feeling strange. I feel emotional, but I don't know which emotions. I do know I am very empathetic, and am often able to feel what other people are feeling, to an extent of course.  In cases like these, I almost feel like a sponge. I absorb their feelings, but don't fully feel them. Does that make sense? Probably not, but it does to me. :-P Although this is unrelated to the mom issues, it's definitely adding to my "weird head space". 

So there's where things stand right now. Have a good night all.

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

Emotional Control

Seriously, check this one
out.

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

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

1. Guardian-oriented parenting style:

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

2. Exploitation-oriented parenting style:

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

3. Abuse-oriented parenting style:

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

4. Victim-oriented parenting style:

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

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

Letting go...

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

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

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

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

My baby, Char

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

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

Rachel

Controlling Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

After a different occurrence:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rachel

2 Steps Forward, 3 Step Back...

My mom found my blog. I don't know how, but it doesn't really matter. It's not like it was hidden in any way.

Apparently, the only post she read was "Mom". I got text from her exclaiming that she never knew anything and that she had been looking for an excuse to leave him for years.

I don't even know where to start. I have poured my heart and soul into this blog. I have shared exactly how I am dealing with everything. In the past, I have not shared with her how I felt about things like this, mostly because I felt like she couldn't handle it.

Now that she's had the chance to see it, she had nothing to say other than to defend herself. 

I need the support of my readers. I need it from my friends and even from the strangers that have found it. Even though I'm getting all of that, what I need most is the support of my mother. I just do not feel like I am getting it. 

The crazy thing is, when she first left him, all she could about was how great life was now and how different things were. That completely contradicts her statement about looking for an excuse for years. That doesn't even make sense to me. If you're looking for an excuse, clearly, something is already wrong.

I know this is going to sound dramatic, but I often feel like an orphan. I never knew Bio Dad, my stepdad was not fatherly, and my mom is unable to be there for me. 

I really have trouble finding the words to discuss this, other than to say I'm very frustrated. I'm really trying to get to a place where I don't expect anything from her so that I can just accept her as she is, but I am just not there yet.

Ugh. That's all I've got for now.

Rachel

2011: Goals and Expectations

O boy. Where to begin?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ready to write this chapter of my life!

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

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

Rachel

My Christmas Present

I know, I know, Christmas posts are so 2 days ago. But I have one last one to share anyway.

On Christmas Day, one of my sister's called me to fill me in on the lovely family drama that I was missing out on. I won't share the gory details here, but I will say that I'm happy I wasn't there. I miss my family and I would love to see them, but if that means subjecting myself to insanity, well, I would rather love them from afar. I don't mean to sound cruel. We just don't do well when we all get together. One on one is much better.

Anyway, my sister did share something positive with me as well. She got my mom to promise she would start counseling by February, even if just to placate us. I don't even know what to think of it at this point, but I will say it's the best present I got this year. For now I'm  just going to wait and see what actually happens. I don't want to get my hopes up just to be disappointed. 

Although, because of all the drama that came up, I am more aware than ever of just how deep her denial is. One of my sisters was talking about the physical abused she endured at the hands of her father, and my mom made the comment that all she remembered was a couple swats on the butt. She said she didn't remember any of the instances my sister was describing. This is really mind-boggling to me. This is not something that had been done privately or behind closed doors. We all saw it happen.

This also got me thinking that I was in my own denial about the physical abuse for awhile. I didn't deny that those things happened, but I labeled it differently. Even during the court case, I never would have said any of us were physically abused. Part of this is because I did not experience as much of it first hand as my sisters did. Also, we were taught that it was just discipline. We were told our grandma and grandpa spanked our aunts and uncles, and surely they wouldn't do anything evil. But this wasn't just spanking. It was done in anger and done viciously, often for minor offenses.

It's no wonder my family has drama.

Now on to the "2010 In Review" post.

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

Beating a Dead Horse

I've been avoiding blogging this week. The biggest thing on my mind is my mom, and I feel like writing about it more is beating a dead horse. But I'm really frustrated over the whole thing.

Yeah, yeah, it's a stock photo...couldn't find a better one.

I've been reflecting on some memories lately. There is the one that I can't share the details of, where my mom was just a door away. There was another instance when I was standing in the kitchen doing dishes when I was around 10 or 11 years old. He was in there, sitting at the back door with a mirror placed on the floor. He was masturbating and needed the mirror to see if anyone walked into the room. I think Mom had been napping, because I remember her shuffling into the kitchen and seeming a bit groggy as if though she had just woken up. She saw my step-dad, and as she walked over to him, he put himself away. She looked over his shoulder suspiciously.

If she was feeling suspicious, wouldn't that be a huge red flag? I can't help but feel like she knew exactly what was going on, but made the decision to push it away, and justified it because she hadn't actually caught him in the act...kind of. He had this all figured out, and had no real fear of being caught. The abuse couldn't be out in open, because she would then be forced to deal with it. But if she was careful not to see it and not to hear it, she could easily pretend nothing was happening.

I don't think this was all done on a completely conscious level, but I do think she was trying to protect herself, feeling like she could not handle the reality of the situation. Even though I can see that as a coping mechanism, it doesn't mean I'm able to come to terms with it. In reality, she neglected her her duty to protect me and my sisters. 

I'm not trying to be cold, and I'm not trying to make her out to be the villian. Clearly, my step-dad was the villian. But she doesn't exactly fit in the innocent bystander role either.

I could much more easily come to terms with this if she could. She is still protecting herself when I really need a heaping helping of reality. I'm trying so hard to face my past and work through it. I really need her on board with this but she is unwilling.

It breaks my heart that she can't do this for me.

And I don't think she ever will. I'm going to have to come to terms with this on my own, but right now I can't do it. I worry that it is going to take some time for me to get there, because I can't have a relationship with her unless we're going to be 100% honest. I worry that my actions are hurting her, but at the same time, I am very hurt by hers.

I'm not trying to dwell on this, but I'm really having a hard time with it...

If you're interested, I came across this outline that discusses daughters being abused by step-fathers from a family systems point of view. Very interesting and relevant. I'd recommend giving it a look if you want to understand this a bit more. 

On a side note, "Somethings Gotta Give" was on this morning. My sister and I have long realized that Jack Nicholson looks like my step-dad. 

This expression was particularly
frightening...and drunk.

Normally, I can watch his movies and it doesn't really bother me. ("The Shining" has always shaken me up a bit though.) Now that I'm more open and in touch with how I'm feeling (the doors are open), it's harder to push it all aside. I was watching him trying to court Helen Hunt's character, and kept wondering what this single mom could possibly see him. How could she marry him and bring him into her life and the life of her child? It stirred up some interesting feelings - obviously wondering what my mom saw in my step-dad in the first place. 

Anyway, there you have it. Thanks for reading.

Rachel

The Worst Experience of My Life

I have a lot of memories floating around in my head. A lot of them are dark and twisted. Some are incredibly perverted. But there is one that stands out above the rest. One so sick, I have only spoken about it once to Aaron. I tried to talk to a therapist about it once, but it was at the end of the session and she cut me off without ever revisiting it. It's not something I like to think about, but for some reason it's been on my mind more lately, perhaps because I have been wanting to share it with my current therapist.

Unfortunately, I cannot share all the details of this event publicly, or share why it was so horrifying. I can tell you that I was around 12 years old, around the same age as the incident when my sisters and I were sleeping in the living room.

The way our house was arranged at that time, you could see the staircase in the foyer from my mom's chair in the living room, up to the landing. On this occasion, I was sitting in Mom's chair while she was upstairs in her room napping. My step-dad was standing on the landing in clear view of me masturbating into a saucepan. 

The crazy thing was, all Mom had to do was open her door and she would have seen him. He had nowhere to hide from there. He also seemed to have no REAL fear of being caught. (More on this part later...)

That is all I can really share of this story. There is more to it, but this is all I can share publicly. I brought it up today in therapy, and (this) therapist was completely empathetic and understanding of the implications of everything that happened. Truthfully, it feels good to finally feel like that box has been opened and explored. It's too ugly to keep inside myself.

Mom

I'm not talking to my mom at this time. I chose to do this for my own emotional health. My only condition for opening up the lines of communication again was that she seek therapy for her own issues. 

At this time, she insists that she does not need therapy at all, has no issues to deal with, that it would be a waste of time, and that my efforts were emotional blackmail. It really hurts me that all I'm asking is the one small thing from her, and she is unwilling to do it out of pure stubbornness. She really has nothing to lose from this and everything to gain. I realize that therapy is can be a frightening thing. You are forced to face things that are sometimes more comfortable kept locked away. I completely understand that because I've been there. However, if you truly believe you don't need therapy at all, then what is there to be afraid of?

She has also said she is hurt by my claim that she knew the sexual abuse was going on. I stand by this, not that it was happening right in front of her eyes, but that she chose to ignore every red flag. There was actually a point where my sister had figured out what was happening. She told my mom that there was something very wrong going on and my mom said she would ask me about it. She never once came out and actually asked if anything like that was going on. When my sister later asked her about it, she said that I had said nothing was going on. For the record, that is what I would have said at that time. I was terrified to tell the truth. My teacher and bell choir director in high school once sat me down and said she knew something was going on and that I could talk to her about it. I became a bit defensive and said there was nothing. But I'm certain she knew I was lying. My mom had to know on some level as well, but chose to ignore it. I'm not going to apologize for taking issue with that. All things concerned, I really don't think I'm asking for much. 

Ever see this show? The Nazi guard chose to ignore all the signs that the prisoners were trying to escape, even though it was right in front of his face.  "I see nothing, I know nothing!!"

My mom did some therapy for a short time back when all this drama came out. She says she worked through everything then, but as one of the people who is a witness to her behavior, I can assure you that she has not. 

I have been considering reconciling because I fear she will never change, and I just need to learn to accept her the way she is. But then when I really take some time to think again about all the reasons I am doing this, I just get angry. 

I do NOT intend for this to go on forever. I miss my mom. I miss sending her a text message to tell her I saw the first snow of the season. I miss chatting about our favorite contestants on American Idol. But at the same time, I never allowed myself to come out and be honest about how I felt. That's my own fault. I was always afraid that she wouldn't understand and that her feelings would just get hurt. I don't want things to be like that. I need to able to have an open and honest relationship. 

My mom has made comments in response to this situation like "It's breaks my heart that I will never see my grandchildren". The only reason that would happen is by her own choice. This is in her hands. Maybe I misunderstand the maternal connection since I'm not a mother myself, but wouldn't a mom be willing to do this one thing if that's all it took to restore her relationship with her daughter?

I'm really open to your input on this, even if I may disagree. Thanks for reading!

Rachel

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!

What have I gained?

I found this when I was looking for an inspirational wallpaper for my desktop. I thought it was perfect! I've spent a lot of time talking about what I have been without in the past. Saying we didn't have much money when I was growing up is an understatement. Because of this, my sisters and I went without. We went without new clothes, fashionable clothes and appropriately fitting clothes. We went without experiences like Disney World, Cedar Point, etc. The list of things like that could go on and on. The thing I think I missed the most was having a loving father. I yearn to be a daddy's girl. I try to remember that God is my heavenly father and he loves me more than anyone on earth can, but I am only human. I still long for that. I want to find my biological father so badly, but I don't even know if the little information I have is true. My mom has said his name is Jesse Patrickson. She met him when she was working at Fermi. He was a contractor, or contract employee (I don't know if there is a difference). She said he was tall and good-looking; a blue-eyed blonde. He may or may not have said he had family in Pennsylvania. She said they went out on one date. She had been drinking and they went back to her (?) apartment where he forced himself on her. She said she was too intoxicated to do much about it. When she told me about this, she didn't seem to realize she was raped, or maybe didn't want to. It was the 80s after all...I don't know if the term "date rape" was even being used. She said it wasn't long before she found out she was pregnant. She remembered crying in the doctor's office. When she confronted "Jesse", he offered to pay for the abortion, which mom obviously declined. After that he left town and couldn't even be found by the courts when she tried to pursue child support. Maybe the story is 100% factual. But in this time of the digital age, it seems unlikely that I can't find anyone with that name and approximate age. 

There is a chance that I would be disappointed if I were to meet him. But on the other hand, it would be amazing to meet someone who looked like me; who shared some of my personality traits and quirks. Would he be like me at all? I want to know so badly. Do I have other brothers and sisters? Do any of them look like me? Don't get me wrong, my sisters are my sisters. I don't care if they have a different biological father. We all grew up together, not knowing any different. I'm just curious who else is out there. If you're reading this and you have any advice at all, please, share with me!

I have gotten completely off the point. lol So, I'm wondering what I gained. I'm not saying that I think I didn't gain anything. I'm just contemplating what it might be.