Letting go and A Plug for a Friend

"There are two lasting bequests we can give our children.  One is roots.  The other is wings." ~Hodding Carter, Jr.

My 13 year old came home from school and handed me a form. "Can you fill it out, Mom. I want to go on the trip." Trip? What trip? "Next June 2010 - our school is going to........" I looked at the face of my child. Her sweet smile, her innocent face. She wanted to go. Her friends were going. She didn't want to be left out.

The words, of course you can go came out of my mouth, but in my heart I heard another voice, no, don't ask me that. You can't go. Something might happen to you. Something awful. I won't let you go.
I'm afraid - afraid to let her go. She'll be 14 next June. How could I say no. How could I deny her the right to experience her life.

I'm hoping they don't get enough kids and have to cancel - I'm hoping because I'm afraid - afraid of losing her, afraid of what can happen...... Images dance in my head - images of terrible things - I feel the panic - I won't be close enough to help her, to protect her - to keep her safe.

I never want her to feel fear, or experience being trapped like I did. I never want her to look into the eyes of a madman, a rapist, a crazed person and feel terror. I never want her to be held against her will - humiliated -shamed....fighting for her life....fighting to survive.  Everything inside me is praying; My sweet girl - please don't go. I know I'm praying the wrong thing. I need to pray protection over her and I will - but my instincts to protect her, to not let happen to her what happened to me takes over.

I survived horrible things. I know that now. I didn't always know it. I had always believed it was me that caused everything to happen -somehow I had brought it on......something about me made it happen.....
It's been a long fight to find my way back home to myself. I've become strong. Yet if something like what happened to me, happens to one of my girls - I won't be able to live. I won't be able to fight. The thought of them scared, terrified, hurting makes me crazy. I just want to hold onto my daughter and never let her go. But I also don't want to make her afraid of life - I can't transfer my fears onto her -

I am so afraid - afraid of letting her go. I'm trying to remember the opposite of fear is faith. Letting go and trusting God to keep her safe - to bring her home....to not let anything bad happen to her..the trip is almost a year away. For today -for right now - I don't have to think about her going. For today - I have time to learn to let go, to trust, to move from fear of what happened to me - to faith it won't happen to her.


Madison from Addiction -in God We Trust - was getting a lot of Spam because of the word addiciton in the heading. Her writing is amazing, detailing her journey from a parent's perspective. Her new blog is up and running. Check it out or if you are a Madison fan, want to read some awesome stuff from the heart of a parent and didn't know she moved......Here's the link. 
http://fight-of-your-life.blogspot.com/

Secrets

"Secrets are made to be found out with time." Charles Sanford

Secrets - I kept so many of them. All the time. Never told anyone anything.
Secrets - I didn't think anyone would believe me. I didn't think I got it right. I thought I was making it up. And I thought it was no big deal. 
Secrets - they tore at me  - kept me living in shame - terrified to be seen - unable to look people in their eyes or worse have them look in mine. If they did, I knew they would see how bad, how horrible, how disgusting I was.
Secrets - they forced me to inflict pain on myself because I believed it was all my fault - everything that happened - everything they told me - I was bad - deserved it - worthless - garbage - I ran with those beliefs. Everytime I pushed a needle in my arm, everytime I puked my guts out - everytime I pulled jagged rocks up my arms until the blood oozed out and I could breathe - 
Secrets - the images danced in my brain forcing me to stay awake, terrified to sleep, terrified of the dark, of what could happen in the dark.....
Secrets - made me angry - angry at me. I hated me - everything about me. I tried to destroy myself because I knew they were right - I had no right to exist, no right to life -
Secrets -Finally I discovered I had believed Lies. Lies that kept me stuck. Lies that had sounded so much like the truth. Lies. Deception. 


It's taken me a long time to tell. To tell the truth. The truth of what they did to me. It wasn't my fault - 
Those 4 words it wasn't my fault helped me breathe again, helped me know it was wrong what happened - they had no right. How could I not know that before?


Last week, the radio was abuzz with talk about this loved teacher and Christian youth leader....charged by police for molesting two boys in a Christian camp. The day after he was charged, he commited suicide.
Secrets....
A friend came to me the other day, she's a nurse - told me she needs help - told me no one knows - told me she's  a Christian and an alcoholic - drinking 16 oz. of booze a day.

Secrets....
A good friend of mine found out her husband of twenty years was addicted to porn and had been having an online affair
Secrets....hidden. shameful....destructive
I don't want to live with secrets anymore. I am commited to telling what happened to me. Commited to saying the truth in the hopes someone else whose keeping secrets will tell.....will get help.....will find freedom.

Stepping Out

"Take the first step in faith. You don't have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step." Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr

     This past week I've been worried. My book is in the hands of the editor. November 6th is the potential day for it to be printed. 
     I've been wondering - what am I doing putting this stuff out there for everyone to know. I think people will look at me differently when they find out where I've been - when they find out how awful and crazy I was. 

     Reading what I wrote - I feel sick - Overwhelmed. It's not like there was one thing. There's too much - too much crazy stuff......kidnapped, raped, drugs, eating disorder, cutting, the streets,.....
     I' ve been trying to share bits of what happened with some friends - trying to prepare them - to warn them - that I'm not what they see. I'm trying to take a step - to test the waters. 
    I try to convince myself it wasn't so bad. Then I look at what I wrote.....yeah it was crazy - really bad. I go back and forth like a ping pong ball wondering what the heck I"m doing writing this stuff and putting it out there.
     I watched this tv show - about a brother and sister. They looked like everyone else - normal. But they endured years of abuse - now they struggle to cope. No one could tell that everyday they fight overwhelming feelings of shame, fear and worthlessness. Looking at person you can't tell......

     The other day I noticed someone - really thin - way to thin - face gaunt - body frame skinny - emaciated. I glanced in her eyes - I saw that familiar emptiness and the shame. I wanted to grab her and tell her she has a right to live....a right to be safe....a right to be cared for. I wanted to point her to the One who can help her. But I just let her pass by. I went home and emailed my editor some cover samples for the book.  


     If what I wrote can help just one person find peace, find their way out of the darkness, away from that horrible emptiness.....then I'll risk people in my world thinking less of me.

     And I need to bridge what happened with who I am today. I don't want to live in shame anymore - hiding a secret - hiding huge parts of myself. I want to be free - totally free. I spend too much time hiding - worried what people would think if they knew the truth of where I came from. I don't want to do that anymore.

     I want to be free inside - I don't want to carry the shame anymore. And I want others to be free....
 
     Last night I did what I've been afraid to do. I told a group of women my story. I voiced it. I spoke. I said the words. The words that I've not been able to say outloud to anyone except a trusted friend. I couldn't stand up so they let me sit at a table and they closed the lights - I talked in the dark. But I did it. 
     People came to me after - told me pieces of their stories - told me what I shared touched them - told me they were amazed I survived....
     I think freedom is learning how to dance in spite of the fear. I'm going to keep taking risks - even though I'm afraid. Something pulls me to do it. A hunger to be free. A hunger for others to be free. I think it's happening.

    


  .

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.

Writing to Heal

"Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart." William Wordsworth.

Writing - journaling has been one of the best ways for me to deal with stuff. I couldn't tell anyone what happened, how I felt or how afraid I was or even what I wanted or needed - But I could write.

Writing helps free me. It takes me to that dark place deep inside myself that I've been too afraid to look at. The place that's held the fear, the shame, the pain, the memories.....The place I've spent years running from. Writing has helped pull from that place what I could never say.

To say meant owning it - Owning it meant it was real. I didn't want it to be real. But the shame kept me a prisoner....isolated and distant even from myself....

So I write.

In writing I own it. In writing it becomes real. In writing I look at the shame. I face the fear, the pain, the memories that have tormented me.

There are times I want to close my eyes and not wake up....the memories hurt- the shame too overwhelming....But God doesn't let me give up. He takes me to a place I've never been....a peaceful place. He sooths that part of me I try to hide, to push away, to pretend doesn't exist. He offers me His gentleness and whispers; it's ok now.

People in my life don't know where I've been. They see me as happy, fun, free. I don't know how I never told anyone about being held in that house for six months, desperate to get away. I don't know how I never told all those things I lived, the 14 year drug addiction, the years of battling an eating disorder and cutting myself, of being forced into situations that nearly broke me. It's like I've lived two lives. Side by side. Never free. Pretending. But I want to be free. I really want to be free.

My book is soon ready to be published. I'm afraid of people I work with, friends and neighbours knowing how awful things were and how much a fight it has been. Not telling though is being selfish. If God hadn't touched me the way He had - I wouldn't have lived. I owe Him.

Body Image

"When you are a bear of very little brain, and you think of things,
you find sometimes that a thing which seemed very thinkish inside you, - is quite different when it gets out into the open and has other people looking at it." A.A. Milne

Today a co-worker told me I looked great and she loved the blouse I had on. I'm don't know why, but her words triggered shame in me. I cringed. I wanted to run. Get away. Everything inside me screamed hide....cover up....can't be seen. A voice in my head wanted to shout at her - don't look at me!

I hate that I'm still struggling with not wanting to be seen....not wanting anyone to look at me. It's still there....the shame. Body shame. I still believe - My body is bad - wrong....I still feel the danger.

My body has been my enemy for a long time. I've hated it. It betrayed me. Somewhere deep inside I still believe being female is not safe. I don't consciously think about it, but every now and then, like today at work....It shows me it's still there.

I still see vivid images of being trapped, held down, punched, raped...fighting, desperate to get away - powerless. Days turning into weeks. Weeks into months. No way out...Alone. No one knew. Couldn't tell. For a long time. Telling would make it real. Don't talk. Don't tell.

Sometimes the memories make me crazy. Sometimes I want to lash out at my body blaming it for everything that happened. I know in my head - my body wasn't to blame, but somewhere inside me that doesn't feel like the truth.

I watch my daughters moving freely in their bodies. They're connected to them. They're at home in them. It's strange to me. I want to be free in my body.

I don't like it when it rains too much. I can't run. I can't bike. Can't be outside. Running, alone, in the woods - pushing my body to its maximum...Getting on my bike - riding fast - straining the muscles in my legs until they hurt ....I feel connected. Out in nature - I feel free.

With God's help, I will make peace with my body. One day - like my daughters, I will come home to live without fear in my body.