Take Back the Night

"There may be times when we are powerless to prevent injustice, but there must never be a time when we fail to protest." Maya Angelou

     For the first time, I took my girls to Take Back the Night. I stood in the darkness with other women and children - listening to the speaker talk about her daughter who was murdered - murdered by a man who should have been in prison - a man who had raped and murdered women - not once - many times. Why was he still allowed to roam the streets?

     She said most rape victims don't go to the police, don't charge the rapist, don't come forward. The justice system makes it too difficult. Most women fear not being believed, being blamed or shamed in some way....so they never tell.

     I stood shivering in the cold night air- holding the hands of my girls - listening to women share their survival stories and for the first time -  I knew - I was one of them. 

     I have lived in a fog - separate from that part of myself that fought so hard to survive - not believing what happened really happened. Minimizing it - telling myself it was no big deal. 

     Everytime I've written a post - I've held my breath - waiting - waiting for someone to email me with I don't believe you. It's not true. You made this up.


     Why doesn't somebody stop all this violence? It's not just in some far off land but right here in our cities, our towns, our communities. Why can't we just stop it?

          I had no voice - I couldn't talk. I couldn't speak. The words were caught inside. I took everything out on my body. I hurt myself like I had been hurt, but those who hurt me lived free and I found out I wasn't the only one they hurt.


     Silence keeps the shame and keeps the secret. It perpetuates the cycle of violence. I can't be silent anymore. I want my voice to give hope - I'm praying God will help me speak - help me not to be silent -help me to have my voice. 
     The fear of being seen is so strong. But He is stronger. He broke so many chains off me. He can do this too. And He let me live. I want to tell. I need to tell.





     

Survival

"I preached to gangs on the streets of Manhattan, Brooklyn and the Bronx - and miracles began to happen." David Wilkerson

     Living on the streets taught me how to survive.  I learned to fight - to get my needs met.

     I rarely had money. When I did - I spent most of it on drugs. A few social workers went to bat for me - arranged to get me bus tickets, food and even clothes. And there was a guy who worked in the kitchen of this Greek restaurant. I'd go see him usually after suppertime. He always had packages of leftover food for me and bones for my dog. When it got really cold out, I went to this downtown shop and the owners let me sleep in the back of their store.

     Surviving. I got really good at it. I figured things out - how to live - how to get by....How to fight for what I needed.

    But there were things about living on the street that was too hard - things that nearly broke me - the creeps, the jerks, the slimy individuals who wanted to take advantage of anyone vulnerable. I felt like prey to them - an animal being stalked - I kept my distance but sometimes, in my naivity, I trusted the sleekness of their words......

     I used to go to this downtown Christian bookstore to shoot up.Their bathroom was clean and they never hasseled me. They were kind and always let me use their washroom. I wonder if they prayed for me. I bet they did. 
     A social worker helped me get off the streets. She set me up in my own apartment. She even managed to furnish it.  One night I sat on the coach in that apartment wanting to shoot up. I was already pretty stoned.  I accidently dropped the lit match. Within seconds the sofa became engulfed in flames. It spread rapidly through that little apartment including all around the doorway. 

     I sat on the floor stunned - listening to the crackling sounds of the flames and the popping and crashing as things broke from the intense heat. I kept coughing from the overwhelming black smoke filling the room, but I didn't move. I didn't try to get out.  I heard a clear voice tell me he knew and I knew so burn baby burn. I kept asking him to tell me what I knew but he just kept repeating he knew and I knew so burn baby burn. 
     Later - I found out that whole apartment had been gutted by the fire. Completely destroyed. The apartment below and the ones next door were not touched by the flames at all.  

     Survival. The streets taught me that. Grace. That's what God taught me. I lived because of His grace. I survived the streets, the fire and so many other horrible things. His grace. It went so far down to pull me out. 
     Survival. I learned to fight on the street. Grace. He taught me love.

Hope

"The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live."  Flora Whittemore

      All day yesterday I walked around feeling lower than a snake. I couldn't shake the feeling. Came home from work and even hugs from my nine year old didn't make me feel better. 

     I felt like a crumb - a worthless crumb. I went for a walk to try to get rid of the feeling but I couldn't. I wanted to just crawl in a hole.

It was that rejection. Not winning the contest. Maybe they were right - I can't write. Maybe I got it wrong. Maybe everything I've done this last year was for nothing. Writing - praying - believing it was from God......

     But today...... Something changed - something shifted inside me. That crummy feeling lifted. I heard God - His whisper in my spirt  - I'm in this. It is my will. 

     My friend called. My writer friend. She said something wonderful happened. I asked if something she wrote was accepted for publication - or did one of her four daughters do something awesome.......

     Her voice - filled with excitement -  I told my massage therapist that you'll be speaking in October, that your story is awesome......Before I left she asked me to write down the time and address. She wants to come. She wants to hear. 

     That's your wonderful news - I asked. You bet! The strength of her words lifted me out of the crummy place. She told me my writing is amazing...my story is incredible - that it will touch lots of people and she is in my corner. 

I met her online. Three months after I started writing. She did a sample critique -  Then asked where I lived. It blew me away when she said she lived in the same city as me. She wanted to meet. I couldn't. The shame. It took me three months to finally meet her. We've become really close friends. She's a writer, a Christian, a youth worker with girls in trouble. God knew. He knew we needed each other. 

     I went to work today. Wanted to stand on a table and shout - Guys, listen. I'm not who you think I am. I have a secret. A secret I need to tell so I can be free - so others can be free. If you don't like me anymore I don't care. I can't carry the shame anymore. It wasn't my fault. 

     I work in a hospital. People trust me. They see me as fun  - together - But I'm not who they think. The fighter ....the street....still lives inside me. I want to fight for others now. I want to help them get free. To give them hope.

The words have been stuck inside me too long. The shame has crippled me. I haven't been free. 
     But something has shifted. I am going to tell. I need to tell the truth of what happened. I need to do it for me - for my girls, for others - 
I feel a strength I didn't have before. I feel a determination - a drive - a focus. It's the right thing.

Fear and Perspective

 "Courage is not the absense of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear." Ambrose Redmoon

The other day I took my kids walking along the water. A snake slithered in front of us - I screamed. My youngest jumped in my arms. My oldest cracked up laughing. 

To her it was 'just' a harmless garter snake. To me and my youngest - it was huge, disgusting - terrifying. For the rest of the walk my youngest and I moved cautiously - terrified of meeting another slimy snake. My oldest kept laughing and trying to convince us we were just being goofy. 

I got home and thought about my fears. I've been so afraid to tell anyone about the stuff that happened to me. I've been afraid to speak. Afraid to be seen. Afraid of the memories. Some days I want to scream at myself - 'who cares. It's over. I survived.' Other times, I'm convinced people will look at me differently and think something's wrong with me to have been where I've been.


I kept silent for a long time. Afraid. Worrying what others would think. Living in shame. Not wanting anyone to know. Not wanting to admit it was bad - lying even to myself. 


This year I felt God shaking me....... shaking me into reality. Things happened. I connected with people. People who knew. Some said they were shocked I had survived the drugs, the streets - living life on the edge. God forced me to face the truth. The truth of what happened. The truth of how bad it had gotten - the truth of where I had been .....how far down He had reached to pull me out.

  
I started writing. Mostly to get rid of the images in my head.  I had minimized it  - kept telling myself it was no big deal. But the shame....the shame consumed me. I couldn't be with people long. I couldn't let anyone look in my eyes.


I went to talk to a physician friend. I told her everything....in the dark...my words faltering...hesitating....broken. I couldn't look at her. Worse - I couldn't have her look at me. You should be dead she told me. You need to tell your story. Her words shocked me. For so long I didn't believe it even happened....I thought I made it up.



Listening to her ....and writing - I started feeling selfish, selfish that I never told.....

God had touched me. He had broken chains that I couldn't get free of. Nothing had worked, not jail, not hospitals, not rehab.......Then He touched me.....in a hospital...under oxygen.... He freed me from the drugs. Just like that. 


I promised Him I would tell whoever He wants - so others can have hope - to know there's a way - But.....


I'm still afraid to be seen, to speak in front of people. I keep thinking about that snake....my daughter's persepective versus mine. 


I don't know how I'm going to tell.....but I will. He gave me life. I owe Him.


     

Thank-you

"Kind words can be short and easy to speak but their echoes are truly endless." Mother Teresa

Whoa! When I woke up and read your comments the day after I posted - I kept thinking - where did these guys come from. Your support - your kindness - your words encouraged me. All day I held your comments - thinking about them. They made me strong. 

Thank-you. You guys are the best. The absolute best!

Darn that rejection. I hate that it made me sink so low but your words gave me the fight I needed to hit back.

This year so many things happened - things that made me believe God wanted me to write. Write about what I could never tell. As I wrote it hit me how bad things had been - how far down God had reached to pull me out -
 
I connected with the rapist's son - I connected with people who knew what happened -

And something else - I went back to that house where the rapist held me. I stood there  - shocked at how close the neighbour's homes were. How come no one heard? How come no one saw? How come no one came to help?

The six foot high fence that had wove around the property was gone. That gate I had somehow managed to climb over - in the middle of winter - in ankle deep snow - with no shoes, no boots, no coat......

  A man came out. The cleaner. I told him I had lived there once. Would he let me inside?  He said yes. He let me me go through every room, open every door - even take pictures.  I asked about a coach house with a room upstairs. He told me its been renovated. He led me to the back of the house. Brought me to that room. That room - where I had been dragged, held, banged on the door until my hands hurt - desperate to be free. 

I felt like a holocust survivor returning to the camps. It had happened. It was real. 

I survived. 

There is a strength in me - a fight - a determination. In the past I used drugs, threw up, cut myself. Today I am finding the courage to tell - to turn the light on for others to survive - for others to be free. 

Rejection

"We keep going back, stronger, not weaker, because we will not allow rejection to beat us down. It will only strengthen our resolve." Earl G. Graves

Rejection hurts. It's sting goes deep - tearing at everything that's good. It makes me want to give up - makes me feel worthless - that my life is worthless - I'm worthless.

Anything that feels like rejection - a small touch of it triggers the pain of everything that hurt - the beatings, the bullying from my parents - being held - raped - confined - chemically and physically restrained -

It pushes me back to the darkness - to hopelessness -

How can I be a writer and not deal with rejection? I love to write - to weave words together. To spin stories that can touch people and inspire others to climb out of their own darkness. I entered a contest. Didn't win. It came on the heels of an email acknowledging the article I submited was the best they had recieved. All I could focus on was the rejection.

For two days I walked around in the darkness. Couldn't talk to anyone. Didn't care about anything. Angry - sullen - wanting to stop writing - even to stop living.

My close friend and writer called. Told me she wouldn't let me stop writing. And my editor encouraged me. Said the words I had written had stayed with her since the first time she read them. Don't give up they told me. You need to write. Writing is your voice.

I went running in the woods. Alone. God whispered to my heart - Write. Write for you. Write. Never give up.

The fighter in me came back. It came back strong. I won't let what happened in the past keep me down anymore. I won't let it pull me to into darkness and hold me there. I can use it to make a difference. A difference in the life of even one person - to give them hope - that there is a way out. I want to do that. I want to shine the light for others.

God let me live. I owe Him. I owe it to my kids - to the people who love me - who are in my corner. I owe it to myself.

Fighting for Others

"Don't give up trying to find your way. But do remember that sometimes it takes bending to avoid breaking." Katinka Hesselink

I spent a long time fighting - fighting to stay alive - watching friends die. Others falling into deep depression unable to find their way out. Listening to voices of hatred - feeling the touch of evil.

I'm a fighter. I don't give up easily. In some ways that fighter mentality has given me strength. An inner strength. A strength that makes me push against whatever I need - to survive. I don't understand. Why me? - others gave up - died - gave in to the darkness - gave in to hopelessness.

The worst is past. It's behind me. But I'm still fighting. I feel it inside. Sometimes I fight when I don't have to - when there isn't a need to fight. I don't know how to stop. It's a part of me - like my name - a drive that surges through me - pushing me to hang in - stay focused until I exhaust myself. Letting go - giving in is not an option. Not until I'm writing or running alone in the woods.

I want to use this energy to fight for others. To give them hope - a reason to live - a purpose to push back - to fight their demons. I want this fight in me to help others not give up - to show the gentleness of God - to point them to the One who has the power to break through anything.

I'm working on courage. Courage to tell people in my world the things that happened - how I lived.....the darkness - the deception that I believed. - I don't want shame to win out. I don't want shame to stop me - Some days it's easier to have faith. Other days I feel lower than a worm. But that fighter in me won't give up - won't stay down. I have a purpose - a goal. To give back. To reach out. To help even one person not be swallowed up by the darkness.

Kindness in the Journey

"The greatest work that kindness does to others is that it makes them kind to themselves." Amelia Earhart

Your comments really touched me. I never thought of myself as being brave. I've been afraid to be real, to be seen. -

Many of you have gone through or are going through your own pain, your own trauma - yet you give me strength in mine. I hope I do the same for you. I want to.

I've lived as two people. One free - One not. Those things that happened - live inside me - Never telling anyone because I believed it was all my fault. I thought I deserved it. And I didn't think anyone would even believe me.

Writing - blogging has given me a voice. I need to tell - I want someone to know what happened.

For a long time I struggled to be strong. To not show weakness. I didn't realized being strong had become a weakness - a weakness because I couldn't let people see me. I couldn't let anyone get too close. Not telling created a wall of shame. I was afraid to be seen. I couldn't look anyone in their eyes - in case they saw - what I knew...that something was wrong with me - that I was bad.

I was loyal to those who hurt me. I never charged the rapist. I was afraid. Instead I used drugs. I threw up. I cut myself. - I never told.

One day God touched me. He took away the addiction to drugs. I still threw up. I still cut myself. I still couldn't tell. I told myself it wasn't so bad. And some days I wondered if any of it even happened.

I started writing. A year ago. And I connected to people. People who knew. I learned I could still charge him. I found out he had spent time in prison for rape. I talked to a court support worker. She told me how courts worked. It's hard. I may not win. He may not be convicted.

Somedays I feel strong. I think I can stand up and do what I need - most days though, I still hide.

If what I went through - what I know - how I survived can help one person - then maybe it had purpose. I'm trying to get the courage to tell - to speak what happened. I'm practising here - with you guys. Thank-you for letting me do this.

Weakness and Tears

"Tears are the safety valve of the heart when too much pressure is laid on it." Albert Smith

I learned to fight. I learned to fight to survive. And to never show weakness. To show weakness meant defeat.

And he had taught me - his fist in my face, 'don't you dare cry.' I never did. I swallowed the fear. I forced myself to be strong. I cut my body instead to fight the urge to give in - to buckle - to fall.

When he beat or ridiculed me - I refused to let him see how terrified I was. And when the rapist held me in that house I cried only the first time - After that - I never did. I forced myself to be strong - to never let him see my fear. When I was detained - I refused to cry. I wouldn't show them I was afraid. Instead I fought. I fought to stay strong.

I was driving back from a friend's. My 13 yr. old, then just a baby, was in the back in her car seat. Without thinking, I pulled off to the side of the road and started crying. The tears kept coming. They wouldn't stop.

I wasn't crying because I had to fight someone to stop them from hurting me. I was crying because I felt inadequate as a mother.

This baby depended on me to protect her and keep her safe. I felt overwhelmed. I had no idea how how to be a mother. I only knew how to fight - I only knew how to survive.

I cried not because of someone's hatred towards me - not because someone was hurting me. I cried because I loved this child and I didn't want her to ever feel shame and pain and fear like I had. I cried because I was afraid I couldn't give her what she needed.

Love made me cry. Not hate, not violence, not having to fight to survive.

The Voice of the Heart

"Words are the voice of the heart." Confucius

I thought I was bad, wrong, unworthy of anything good....Over and over my parents called me garbage, idiot, stupid. They told me I was worthless and deserved nothing. They ridiculed everything about me - the way I walked - the way I talked - and what I did. I believed what they said. Their words became the voice of my heart. I lived them. I ran on them.

The power of their words led me into situations that almost killed me. The power of their words took me down a path of self-destruction. They became ingrained in my spirit. They became a part of who I was. I couldn't shake them.

I didn't know they were lies. I had heard them so often I accepted them as truth.

I think words have energy - a power in them that can lift beyond what I think I'm capable of or they can bring me to down to the lowest edge of life.

My parent's words took me deep into darkness - drugs, eating disorder, self-harm. They led me into dangerous situations - situations like being held and raped. Their words became the fuel for my self-hatred, the fuel that drove me to descend deeper and deeper into pain.

Somehow though, God broke through the darkness. I learned the words my parents had told me were lies. Lies that had become so cemented inside me I couldn't shake free of them. Even though I knew they were lies they continued to gnaw at me, tearing at me inside until I had to rip my arms or throw up to relieve their pull to tear me down.

Those words have been the hardest to fight - the hardest to overcome.

Words - I want to be careful to use my words to speak kindness, gentleness and peace. I want to be careful to use my words to empower others and to never tear down anyone or make them feel less than who they are.

Freedom to relax

"Tension is who you think you should be. Relaxation is who you are." Chinese Proverb

Staying still - relaxing - has always been hard for me. I need to keep busy - to keep moving. Sometimes though, I totally exhaust myself. I just seem to have all this energy and need to move all the time.

My kids wanted me to take them to the beach yesterday. I did. I'm not a beach person and I find lounging around difficult. After forty-five minutes of being there I asked if they were ready to go. NO! they both shouted. I fought within myself to stay, to veg - to hang in there for them. I looked around at the other families. Everyone seemed relaxed, calm, enjoying themselves. Another half hour went by. The tension was building. I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to go.

As we headed for the car, I felt like the worst parent in the world. Not that my kids whined or complained, but I knew they really wanted to stay. Maybe if I was different - it would be better for them. I drove home angry at myself, wishing for their sake, I wasn't who I was.

When we got home, I jumped on my bike and took off pedaling as if my life depended on it. I needed to get out all the pent up energy. When I returned home and opened the garage door to put my bike in, my kids ran outside, threw their arms around me and told me they loved me.

Sometimes I focus too much on what I can't do or wishing I was different than I am. I forget about the things I can do. Like today I took my kids to the one place where I can let myself relax - in the woods - in the hills - in nature. That's where I feel alive - free - energized. In the woods, in the mountains, I feel connected - to my body, my mind and to God.

Today the three of us hiked and ran up the mountains. We laughed and sang and shouted. I danced around them encouraging them to keep climbing. Later on the drive home, my oldest told me I love the extreme stuff and she loves doing it with me. My youngest said she had a ton of fun. I thought of the beach. Maybe it's ok to be who I am. My daughters words echoed in my head long after they had said them.

Life

"Be glad of life because it gives you the chance to love and to work and to play and to look at the stars." Henry Van Dyke

I'm glad God let me live. I'm glad He didn't let me die.

And I'm glad I'm not crippled, or sick or physically a mess because of all the things I did to my body. He let me live. And He gives me this amazing joy inside that makes me feel like I can fly.

Many times I wanted to take my own life. I tried. I popped tons of pills, overdosed shooting up, walked in front of cars, stood on the ledges of buildings, became so thin my heart could have stopped - Yet He let me live.

I shook my fist at Him, daring Him to kill me - but He wouldn't. I tempted life - ended up in crazy and dangerous situations where others could have killed me - He didn't let them.

He ran with me even when I didn't know Him. He fought for me when I was determined to live opposite to what He wanted. He saw something in me I couldn't see. I guess He knew I would live for Him if I ever let Him free me.

I keep wanting to ask why me when so many of my friends died. I won't ever know why, but I promise I will be whatever He wants. I'll do whatever He asks even if I'm afraid. I love Him. He touched me. He freed me. He broke chains that held me really tight - chains that were choking life from me.

I couldn't feel anyone's love. I couldn't accept kindness from anyone. I knew I didn't deserve it. I deserved nothing. When someone said they loved me I didn't believe them. I didn't know what they meant. I didn't trust them. In my mind, I believed I had no right to exit.

Somehow though, God broke through that. Somehow He manged to show me love that was so amazing it broke through the barrier of shame and did what nothing else could -

I'm really glad He didn't let me die. I'm really glad I know Him. I'm really glad I belong to Him.I want my life to count. I want it to count for Him.