Gifts From the Darkness

"Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift." Mary Oliver

I never realized until recently...where I had been...what I had lived...had left me with some pretty amazing gifts....gifts I probably wouldn't have gotten had I not danced with the darkness.

I never wanted anybody to know any of what happened. I tried to hide it...push it down....even pretend it hadn't happened at all. The shame crippled me....kept me a prisoner of the past....and tainted everything I touched with bits of that darkness. I walked around holding my breath....afraid to let go....afraid of something worse happening...living on edge....waiting.. anticipating the worse.... always on guard.

Then I wrote my story....told what happened. People started to know. The veil began to lift. The shame I had tried to mask began to slowly disolve. And then I discovered them....the gifts - gratitude...strength...faith...hope....even courage. 

Darkness taught me some things....it taught me to never give up...never let go....to face my fears....and hold onto my dreams. It taught me its wild fierceness runs out of steam. It's not forever...things change...it changes....eventually it lets go of its grip. And sometimes I wonder if it were some sort of test...to see if I was strong enough...brave enough....determined enough. 

And those times when I started to tire....feeling exhausted....and wanting to just give in...He came alongside and held me up. With Him in my corner I could hold on longer. I could fight the darkness with greater intensity.

The darkness taught me perservance.....and that holding on eventually does bring healing... freedom....and purpose. It taught me....never give up. Never give in. And maybe it wasn't just about me. Maybe it's about showing hope to someone else lost in the darkness...that they too can win the fight. The thought of that makes me even more grateful....because if I could beat the odds....anybody can.

Hope

"I simply can't build my hopes on a foundation of confusion, misery and death... I think... peace and tranquillity will return again." Anne Frank

Faith, hope....the ingrediants to live....to survive...to move forward. I wonder why some are able to do this....and others are not. I woke up this morning...remembering a close friend who couldn't fight the darkness anymore, who let go and gave in to it. She overdosed....ended her life. And others I know live on pills....tranqualizers...popping them like candy....not wanting to think....living in a state of numb.

I don't know how I came to have hope....hope that things will work out....Maybe because I still remember when He touched me....when nothing else worked. It was instant. Lying in a hospital bed under oxygen - I felt His touch.... I sensed chains falling off. I've never touched any chemical since.  I had been shooting up three and four times a day for 14 years....since I was twelve. In an instant - one touch - freed. 

I still couldn't stop throwing up or cutting, but the drug addiction...the needle - gone. Without the drugs....I wasn't so sick....but I was afraid my heart would stop from the eating disorder. I was dizzy all the time....and cold even on the hottest summer days and my legs hurt with terrible muscle spasms. I wanted Him to take it away instantly like He did the drugs....but it didn't work that way. I had to fight...to struggle...I wanted to give up....to let go...to let the addiction have its way.  I got mad at Him....really mad...and I got mad at me...I ripped my arms until they bled. I didn't know what else to do with the building frustration.

He waited. I didn't want to face what happened. I blamed myself....The anger and self-loathing and hatred made me lash out in ways that nearly killed me. He waited.  Another friend died. Lost her battle...gave in....gave up....Still He waited.  
Hope - without it there's nothing to hang onto.

Strange....

"Leaving behind nights of terror and fear....I rise." Maya Angelou
 
My books have been selling...sold four yesterday...two more today. Sold almost 100 copies since it was released last month. And they're getting into bookstores. Four stores are carrying them now. 

It feels strange...strange to read people's comments...to know they're talking about me... Many have emailed...telling me what they think of the book....what they think of me....They're saying what no one ever said. You went through so much. Too much. This is amazing. You survived!  

At first their words shocked me. I had always thought it was normal, no big deal....not that bad. Maybe because I went through it alone...maybe because I never told anyone. No one ever knew. I didn't want anyone to know. I thought what happened was my fault. I thought I was bad, wrong, different...I thought I caused those things to happen in some weird way.

The words of kindness and affirmation that it was bad...are taking away that need in me to fight...to be on guard. I can feel something in me relaxing...softening...I don't want to fight anymore.

And something else - people are saying, If you can do it...I can too. My book is doing what I wanted. It's giving hope. It's pumping people to reach for their own freedom. That humbles me. I think He knew. He knew I would tell. He knew I would stand up. He knew I would give back. I feel scared and excited at the same time. I listen to Maya Angelou over and over...Her words 'and still I rise' empowering me...helping me know - I am becoming strong!

He is the core of my story. He is the One who broke chains when nothing else worked....I don't know how He did it....but He did. And if I can help just one person find freedom....find their way out of the darkness...than maybe everything I went through was all worth it.

Honoring Truth

"I can be changed by what happens to me, but I refuse to be reduced by it." Maya Angelou

When I first saw her....I was drawn to the softness in her face....and to her smile. There was a warmth, a kindness, a gentleness about her. She had been admitted to the hospital after falling and breaking a hip. I knew she was from Poland. I asked if she had been through the war. 


Putting her head down, she let the tears fall and began to tell me the horrors she had lived. As I listened....I struggled to stay present. I found myself wanting to close my eyes and go away. She talked quickly, wanting to get it all out....she knew dates, places, times, names.....She wanted to be accurate...she wanted to say the truth. 

I asked her how she managed to live all those years with what had happened to her....She shook her head and cried unashamedly. I don't know. I think God let me live to tell....

I went home that night....detached...like I used to be....feeling separate from myself...that 84 year old woman's words echoing in my mind...I think God let me live to tell.....

When I got home...my friend called....two people her husband works with bought the book. Two other people ordered it online. And a bookstore in the city next to where I live asked me to bring some books to place on their shelves. 

Writing this...I feel sad...I don't know why. Maybe sad for that woman...that  survivor who knew at 84 God let her live to tell her story....Maybe because in some way that lady gave me a message today...a message to be strong...a message to tell the truth of what happened...to not be afraid....It wasn't my fault...and what happened doesn't define who I am today. 

And maybe by telling my truth....I can show there is a way out of darkness...a way out of hopelessness. I think of friends who died...who took their own lives or died by accident because of the damage they had done to their bodies...and I think of the many times I tempted death......Yet He let me live - Maybe He let me live to tell. 

There is still a part of me that thinks what happened defines who I am....In my head I know that's not true...but somewhere inside me....it doesn't feel like that's completely true.

I want to be strong...and give that strength to others. I want to use what happened and give hope. And I want to show the gentleness of His power is able to break through any darkness.

Dignity

"One's dignity may be assaulted, vandalized and cruelly mocked, but cannot be taken away unless it is surrendered." Micheal J. Fox

She was the first-born of triplet girls and weighed only 2 pounds. Her parents wanted to prepare her for marriage...not a career. They refused to support her decision to attend university...She chose to go anyways....without their support. 


She became one of the most loved and respected psychiatrist of our time. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross...well known for her work on death and dying...practised psychiatry at a U.S. facility early in her career. It was there she tested her theory.....if you show compassion, kindness and respect to even the most disturbed patients.....they will respond positively.  It worked. No drugs, no force, no punishment...  
"Patients with even the most severe illnesses seemed to respond to Kübler-Ross's compassionate approach. The indifferent and even inhumane treatment of patients in psychiatric hospitals appalled the young doctor, and the more freedom she was allowed in treating patients, the more successful results she achieved......

When I think about the 'professionals' who used force.....tying me to a bed, locking me in a closet sized room, pumping me full of sedatives that gave me horrible side effects...I still get angry...I want to strike back at them....hurt them the way they hurt me. Why did they think it was acceptable to treat anyone like that?  And that type of 'treatment' goes on all the time in government run homes and institutions. 

The dictionary defines dignity as - a term used to signify that a human being has an inate right to respect and ethical treatment. 

Some of those professionals claiming to 'help' me - stripped me of any shred of dignity I may have had. They said they were simply trying to stop me from hurting myself.  Their force, their control...their methods only pushed me to lash out more....and intensified my self-hatred.  What they did...was reinforce what I had already learned growing up in a violent home....


Dignity....He touched me....and showed me a different way. He showed me compassion, kindness....gentleness. He changed me like Kubler-Ross's kindness changed her patients. Dignity - I never want to take that from anybody....

Facing Fear

"Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live." Dorothy Thompson

I talked to myself all morning....telling myself not to be afraid... not to worry what anyone thinks. This was the day I planned to go market my book. My daughter had made up some cards for me to give out...4X6's that had a picture of the book cover and my website. 

I dropped my daughter off at school....I was pumped...and ready. Let's do this. I drove to the first place really confident. I went in. The woman in charge was off sick. Got back in the car...losing courage. 

I started having all kinds of doubts...wondering what I was doing...and why. It was only a year ago...not even....that I didn't want anyone to know all those awful things that had happened. But things were changing. I was changing. It had never dawned on me how much He had done in my heart, in my life....how far down He had reached to pull me out. He had given me so much. I had given him nothing. I needed to show my gratitude....for what He did....for letting me live. 

I kept driving....out of the city....lost in my thoughts. I owe Him. I can do this....I need to...I need to tell. 

I stopped and walked into a sexual assault centre. I started to blurt out - I wrote this book...
The woman took me in a room, picked up my book, held it gently and then, we had a staff meeting this morning...talked about doing a fund raiser....finding women who wrote their story who would be willing to come in and share. Can I tell them about you? She took all my cards to pass out. 

I drove home...stunned. It worked. Courage....Faith....I had stepped out of my comfort zone...trusting I can make a difference...Something's shifted in me. I can make a difference....No more secrets!

Conflict

"The mother-daughter relationship is the most complex"  Wynonna Judd

I rarely argue with my daughter...but tonight I got angry at her....angry because of my own dumb fear. 

She started a new school last September. She's the kind of kid who needs one best friend. Thankfully she and two other new girls ended up in the same class. The three quickly became good friends...hanging out together, sharing secrets....having fun. 

A few weeks ago she told me one of the girls had applied to go to another school next Fall...a school for advanced kids. I asked her if she wanted to go also..she said she didn't know and besides the other girl would still be at this school. Tonight she told me the other girl has applied too. I asked her if she wanted to apply now. She kept saying she didn't know. She's worried about another change....she's worried about the two kids she feels the closest with leaving. 

When she's worried, she can't think....she starts saying, I don't know a lot. I kept thinking about her feeling lost in the school without those girls. The more she said she didn't know....the more my fears escalated. And then I got angry.

She's a great kid....a thinker...and pretty smart....usually scores high marks....but she's shy when she doesn't know people well. Once she does....she's a ton of fun. 

I thought of her on the first day of school last September. I had dropped her off and watched her. You scared? She nodded and then tears rolled down her cheeks. I won't leave you. I walked to her locker and hung around and met the teacher, and then those new girls came in and the three sat together. I left her that morning feeling like my heart was being crushed. 

My daughter's an awesome kid. I hate that I got angry. She was already feeling scared and I made it worse. After a few minutes - I told her I wasn't mad at her....I was just afraid....and that somehow it'll work out and be ok. I want to protect her....I don't want her to hurt...to feel pain...or fear...or worse - have that awful feeling of being lost...

Funny think about love....sometimes it hurts. It hurts so bad.  I have to remember my daughter is growing up different than I did. She's got love and supports...and a family - she's not alone and doesn't have to fight to survive the way I did. And she's got a steadiness in her....an inner strength. I know she'll be ok and we figured out there are some options....there's always options.

Loyalty

"The trust of the innocent is the liar's most useful tool." Stephen King

His hook were his words....gentle, soothing...claiming love. I overlooked his rage, the beatings, the name calling.  He told me he loved me.....he told me I was the only one who understood him.....he said he  needed me. I was seven years old.

He poured out his heart...sharing things I didn't understand. And when he hurt me....using vulgar words or his fists....or locking me in the car for hours...I still believed he loved me....I didn't know any different and besides - he needed me. 

At eight....he beat me so bad I started cutting myself. I thought he was right - I believed I was worthless.  Nine...ten....eleven...at twelve I stole morphine trying to block out his rage and my fear....thirteen....fourteen I was shooting dope three and four times a day.

Loyalty.....I was loyal to him no matter what he did or how he treated me.  I tried to be what he wanted, to give him what I thought he needed. He spoke with kindness...tenderness but then in the same heartbeat he turned like someone possessed and I became the object of his hatred.

Loyalty - I knew more about what he liked, what he wanted, what he needed than what I did. I didn't exist near him. I couldn't. He couldn't handle that....so I disappeared. I went away. I got lost. I lived in my own world...

Loyalty....the rapist demanded loyalty just like my father. He said he loved me....that I couldn't live without him....and that God wanted me to be with him. Like my father, he hurt me and wouldn't let me go. I managed to get free...but I wasn't really free. Not for a long time....Not until I had falled so far down....not until I almost died - not until I felt His touch....and He showed me the power and truth of loyalty....

I learned I had trusted in lies, in deception. To trust from my heart instead of my head was too hard.  I screamed at Him to kill me...to let me go...but He wouldn't. 

I needed to learn to be loyal to myself.  I struggled with knowing simple things....like my favorite color or food or tv program. I had a hard time staying present or letting anyone get close and I couldn't stop hurting myself. He waited....with patience...with gentleness.

Loyalty - It's powerful. It determines the direction of life. 



 

Giving Back

"Giving frees us from the familiar territory of our own needs by opening our mind to the unexplained worlds occupied by the needs of others." Barbara Bush

It was a different kind of Christmas. The kind I really liked. We spent the whole day helping - serving meals to people who had nowhere to go...no one to share the holiday with. We were it. We were their supports...their family...their friends for a few hours on Christmas Day. 

As I did whatever I was asked - talked to people, served meals, goofed around with the kids....I thought of those people who had reached out to me when I lived on the street...when I had no one...when I owned nothing...when darkness was all I knew. 

Now I was paying it forward. Now I could do what those people did for me. They would never know the seeds of hope they had planted with their caring and their gifts of kindness. I had struggled so much with trust...but still - something of their kindness broke through the walls that padded my heart. It was in their eyes. It was in their voice. They'll never know the impact they made. And maybe some even thought...she's just a drug addict, a street kid...what we give her won't really make a difference....but it did. It wasn't the 'things' they gave me....it was their kindness, their compassion, their caring.


Kindness reaches a place that nothing else can. It's not in things, or gifts - it's a feeling that comes from the heart; a feeling that shows, 'I care about you. I really care. You're worth something.' 

I don't like to be touched too much, but I shook lots of hands and hugged a lot of people on Christmas day -The mother who ran from her abusive husband and was living at  woman's shelter with her five kids, the elderly woman who was all alone, the 15 year old who told me she wanted to be a fashion designer and hated being at a place that wasn't home, the 11 year old with the big black eyes who suffers with kidney problems, the older man whose wife had died a few years ago, never had kids and had no one to celebrate the holidays with. And there were more. Many more. All with their own stories of trying to survive the best they could.


And a plug for my girls. I am totally proud of them. They jumped in helping to serve, cleaning up, doing whatever they were asked. I asked them if they were ok that we did this instead of being with friends...my oldest told me she loved being able to give and my youngest smiled and said, 'it was fun.'

And I thought of you guys. I hoped you were all ok. 
You know what makes the difference? Knowing He loves me no matter what and the kindness I've been given by others. 

Christmas Day

"A merry Christmas to everybody! A happy New Year to all the world!" Charles Dickens.

Guys - I just want you to know - you're some of the best people on the planet.  I know from reading your blogs,some of you are fighting addictions, battling illnesses and grieving losses....but still....I hope....I pray - for all of you - have a good holiday. Stay safe. Hoping you have a ton of fun.

Holidays

"...the message of Christmas - we are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time God chooses." Taylor Caldwell

Holidays....they never meant anything.  They weren't different than any other day. Not to me. My parents prepared food, decorated the house....had friends and relatives over.....did what was expected.  I don't remember ever getting gifts, or feeling special....or being happy.  I felt like I always did - different. My parents made it very clear - holidays were for others, for their friends, for the people they cared about. Not for me...because I was wrong, worthless, an inconvenience. Before anyone arrived, they screamed, they threatened, they cursed - I hid like I always did. I hid in the dark, alone, lost in my head...in another world...a world where no one hurt me and no one made me afraid. I sat in the dark....hearing the laughter, listening to the fun.....alone...No one cared.. Holidays meant nothing. 

Living on the streets.....strangers reached out...strangers gave me gifts...gave me money...smiled....tried to give me hope...tried to give me comfort. But I lived in my head....in another world....separate from people....separate from life....alone...feeling different. Feeling worthless...underserving. ....


It's different today. I want to make the holidays special. I don't exactly know how. We have a tree, with lights, and gifts - People have been giving us cards, presents and inviting us places. My girls are happy. I want them to feel holidays are fun celebrations. I'm doing the things I think are right...the things I think I'm supposed to do for them. I hope what I'm doing is right...because holidays still don't mean too much to me. They're still just another day...


I am looking forward to something though ....I dontated our time to help serve a meal to those who have nobody. Actually I donated the whole day because we're doing it at lunchtime and then again at supper. My kids think it's pretty cool. It's my way of giving back just like those strangers did for me once....when I lived on the street...when I had no one who cared, when I had nothing of value....when I lived in my head.

I've been given so much. But it's like Billie Holiday said, “You can be up to your boobies in white satin, with gardenias in your hair and no sugar cane for miles, but you can still be working on a plantation.”

I look at myself in the mirror...and see someone so different than who I was...someone who somehow overcame  hatred and dope and darkness...But when I close my eyes ..what I lived still lives inside...and in some ways it still affects me, still pulls at me - in different ways then it used to....maybe in ways that now I can use to give back and help someone else.






 

Touching Life

"I finally figured out the only reason to be alive is to enjoy it." Sissy Spacek

I was sick. I think I had the flu or something.  My father pulled me to the table....demanded I eat. Shoving his fist in my face - he threatened if I didn't eat he would force the food down my throat. I took a bite....then threw up. He didn't care. He swore...pushed more food at me.....demanding I eat it. I tried...I couldn't keep it down.. Later.....hiding in my closet - in the dark - I bit my arms until my teeth left indents...and my arms bled.

I think eating and food are metahpors for life and living. Food - it  nourishes the body, keeps you alive...some of my friends  talk about food and eating as pleasurable experiences....they go into great details about textures, tastes...what they love, don't like....baking, cooking, tasting - speaking in animated excited tones...

Food - eating....touching life. Sometimes I still walk around feeling I have no right to touch life...to use things....things that are supposed to bring pleasure...things that are meant for enjoyment. Sometimes I still feel like an intruder....sneaking around a house I've broken into. It's a strange sensation....a sense of not being allowed to really be part of life.

I eat the same things everyday. eggs, popcorn - cereal - something in me still can't let myself touch, feel, experience the pleasures of life. There's a part of me that still believes I don't deserve what others enjoy. Somewhere deep inside - I still think I have no right to life. - It's not the way I used to believe. I used to think I had no right to exist at all.  I don't feel that anymore - I just need to know inside that' it's ok to touch, to feel, to experience life in its fullness. 

I want to feel what my friends feel. I want to touch life as life is meant to be lived. I am really connected when running in the woods  - but it's too cold outside. And my body is always physicially cold. My friends tell me it's because I don't eat the right things. 

Touching life - feeling it's warmth - that's what I want.

She Made a Difference

"What is soul? It's like electricity - We don't really know what it is, but it's a force that can light up a room" Ray Charles.

She was a woman who touched me...an elderly woman who spent the last few days of her life in a hospital bed... I was moved by her gentleness - her gratitude - her kind spirit. She was a fighter....a different kind than me.....but still a fighter. Her friends came to see me....they told me her story - they spoke with admiration...the same admiration I felt when I sat in her presence. 

She had lived in Poland during the war. Her older brother had been thrown in prison. She tried to sneak some home cooked food to him, but was caught and put in prison too. While there, she was beaten and treated cruelly. Finally they released her. The war became worse and conditions in Poland were bad. Parents were frantic wanting their children to be spared. She had been a teacher. She knew the children.  

On her own...alone...she took a number of those kids and escaped Poland, climbing over the mountains. She brought them to the United States but they were turned away. They settled in Mexico. She raised them until they were of age. Most eventually went to live in the United States....she herself came to Canada. 

To look at her....you would never know she was a fighter. You would never think she had been so brave in the face of brutality...or that she had the courage to bring a group of children across the ocean...to a strange land...where she knew no one - alone....

And she couldn't have known how much she touched my life....made a difference...gave me something - gave me a determination not to waste what He did for me. 

I don't want to be afraid to reach out - to make a difference - to take a risk. I don't want to be afraid anymore or live with shame. I've started telling a few close friends pieces of what I've lived. Their reaction is shock - mine is fear that they'll turn away from me. None have so far. 


Some days I feel really confident and strong - other times.....I cringe thinking of people knowing the things that happened.


That elderly woman - her past never went away. It followed her in some ways - pulling and tugging inside.  She befriended a man - similiar to her older brother. He had problems. He couldn't work. He was  like a boy in a man's body. He needed her - but in many ways she needed him. Her friends didn't understand - why would she bother with him? She had the respect of so many - a great woman - a wonderful teacher. I understood.


We're shaped by what we lived....The hurts, the pain, the traumas leave imprints on our heart - in our soul. I don't think they ever completely go away. Remnants linger...they stay affecting us in ways that seem so contrary to who we have become. 

I don't want my past to pull me down anymore. I don't want what I lived to keep me from living my life in complete freedom. I don't want to be ashamed of how far I had fallen.....how bad it had been. My friend told me if people know just how bad it was - they'll understand hope and grace. And if they understand - maybe they'll reach for their own freedom.

Letting Love In

"To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides." David Viscott

 

For a long time I was afraid to love....anyone or anything. I didn't want to get hurt. I was afraid it or them would be taken away. Anytime someone showed they cared - or wanted to get close - I pushed them away - making excuses - leaving. And I never let myself get attached to things. I didn't think they would last either.

But not loving anything or anyone left me feeling alone and empty. That deep hunger for love and being too afraid was a vicious cycle that churned and gnawed inside me - It made me feel like an outsider - not really living. Fear won out for a long time.  


People called me a risk taker. I never knew....to love is to take a risk. Writing, blogging....opened my heart. I don't know how that happened. I wrote the truth - I wrote what I could never say. I wrote and kept writing...Something happened. A light turned on. The heaviness began to lift. The shame didn't feel so intense. I let people look in my eyes - and I could stay in their presence a bit longer. 

Somebody knew. You guys knew. No one had ever said what I lived was awful. I had tried to fight it - to not let it be so big. No one had told me it was bad - no one had said they were sorry it happened. People are saying it now - And that was the key that turned the lock on my heart. I feel a softness inside - a vulnerabilty that wasn't there before - I'm letting people in my world - I'm letting people care - and I'm letting them stay.


I always cared about people - I didn't want anyone to be hurt or afraid - but to care....really care...I'm learning you have to let them love you back....and not be afraid to take a risk.

Love - it started with Him - somehow He cut through all the layers that padded and hid my heart - all the layers that kept the light out  -  I want to love and let others love me back. I want to live free and be a part of life - not an outsider afraid to join in - and I want to give back in ways that make a difference  -

Things

"Be thankful for what you have; you'll end up having more. If you concentrate on what you don't have, you will never, ever have enough." Oprah Winfrey

Money....I have a problem with it. Not that I spend it crazy. I don't spend it at all. I have this weird belief I'm not supposed to.

Money...things...living on the streets I never had enough...of anything...food, clothes, stuff. Most times I didn't really care. I got so I knew how to get around.....how to get my needs met. I learned to connect with people who gave me things - gave me what I needed - and I learned to do without a lot of stuff.

It's  different now. I have more than enough, but I live like I'm still on the street....not wanting to spend or buy anything - living like I have nothing.

I used to give everything away. If someone liked something I had and asked me for it....even if I really liked it - I gave it to them. I didn't think I deserved to have anything. Other times, I lost stuff....lots of stuff - in that fire - when they incarcerated me - when the rapist kept me trapped in that house for six months.....everything I had - gone. Nothing had value. Nothing meant anything. I had no value. My life meant nothing....

I met this older woman...a survivor of the war. She worked as a cleaning lady and told me she scrapes the plates and eats the leftovers.....she can't waste the food. Living through the war....having nothing affected her deeply. She can't let go of the memories of going to bed hungry - never having enough. I think I'm doing the same thing.

I know how to fight for something - and to hold on to what I have...afraid of loosing it. I try to tell myself it's ok now, but.....


I don't know how to change this. I want to for my kids. I don't want them to take on this fear...the fear of loosing or using 'the things' that's been given. I used to have terrible nightmares of my kids being taken from me...through death or being lost..or someone hurting them. I don't dream that anymore, but I think it's the same thing with money. I've been afraid that everything good or anything that I love will be taken away. 

I'm really thankful for all the things I've been given....mostly - for my family and friends. If I loose them it would hurt too much...but if I loose things...those could be replaced. 

Today I'm going to try....to try to let go of the fear and to trust...

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.

    


  .

Being Different

"Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." Dr. Seuss

I always wanted to be like everyone else. I didn't want to be different. But I felt different. I felt like I was on the outside looking in. I think child abuse does that. It changes who you are. It changes how you move in the world and it changes how you think about yourself.

When God touched me, I started watching and copying others - how they talked, how they lived and what they did. I got really good at doing that, but then I began feeling like I wasn't real - that I wasn't being me.

My daughters are different from each other. My oldest is a tree hugger. She cares about the earth, recycles everything and sees the good in everyone. She's cautious when trying new things, but once she decides on something, she's in with both feet. My younger one is always up for adventure. She's daring, spontaneous, laughes from her toes up and always knows what she wants. She's a definite leader. I love their differences. It makes life interesting and exciting.

When I had my youngest, I asked my oldest if she was jealous of the baby. In her five year old wisdom, she said, "she is the best she is and I am the best I am." That kid is totally smart. And right on. I learned something about me from her that day. I don't need to copy anyone else. I need to learn to simply be me.

That's been really hard though. I had spent most of my time trying to figure out what the abusers thought, what they wanted and how they felt. I had became so in tune to their moods and needs - working really hard to keep them happy and calm and to not go crazy. I didn't exist. There was no me. I became what they needed.

I don't want to be someone else anymore. I want to be me, even if it means being different.

Shame

"Shame is worse than death" Russian Proverb

When I went to therapy I couldn't talk. I couldn't stand for the therapist to even look at me. Shame - it was unbearable. Painful. Extremely uncomfortable. I hated to be seen. In my mind, to be seen meant to be hurt, raped, beaten. Even when there was no threat of danger, I felt it. Shame had become a part of me. I couldn't shake it.

The therapist - in her wisdom and kindness suggested we turn off the lights. In the dark - with no eyes looking at me I could relax a bit. When she tried to talk to me with the lights on - everything inside me screamed - Don't look at me!

I couldn't do it. It was insane. So she talked with her back facing me. I couldn't stand being looked at. I felt hideous, repulsive, different. Shame made me feel 'bad, unacceptable, wrong.' Shame - it is worse than death. It feels like death. It feels like having no control. It makes me sick inside. It makes me want to puke.

The therapist said - shame is when we feel like there is something inherently wrong with who we are. I believed there was something wrong with me. I believed I was bad, wrong, different. I felt unworthy. I believed I had no right to exist. No right to life.

I don't know how He did it, but somehow God broke through the layers of shame. I couldn't feel love before but I felt His love, His acceptance and mostly His gentleness. I don't need to hide so much anymore, although I still get antsy when I'm with people too long.

Yesterday I went running in the mountains where I used to live. In the quietness of the woods, in the power of nature - I hear His voice whispering in my spirit - He is my hope for freedom from shame.

Hope

"If you lose hope, somehow you lose the vitality that keeps life moving, you lose that courage to be, that quality that helps you go on in spite of it all. And so today I still have a dream." Martin Luther King, Jr.

We were about the same age. Both of us stuck on a locked pysch ward. Me - to serve out my sentence for drug possession; her - I don't know. They said she was an attention seeker. She didn't look any different than anyone else, but one morning, she poured lighter fluid over her body and lit a match. Her shrill screams, the smell of burning flesh and the sight of the flames engulfing her terrified me. Once medically stable, they threw her in an isolation room. I didn't get that. Why did they punish her? It was a pretty desperate act just to get attention. Why couldn't they just give her the attention?

They didn't know I had been raped or beaten. They didn't know I had been told so many times I deserved nothing and called horrible names. All they knew is I couldn't stop hurting myself, or shooting dope or throwing up. So they pumped me full of pills or tied me to the bed like an animal. What they did was instill more hate inside me. And all that hate made me hurt myself even more.

You can't force anyone to stop self-destructive behaviour. Stopping comes only from feeling safe, feeling accepted, feeling cared about.

It's like the story of the sun and the wind. They had an arguement to see who was stronger - who could make the man take off his coat. The wind blew and tried to force the coat from the man, but only when the sun shone it's warmth, did the man remove his jacket.

The warmth of God's touch cut through my pain, my hate, my fear. It didn't happen all at once. It took time. Time for me to feel safe. Time for me to trust. First, He broke the hold of the drug addiciton. I stopped shooting dope but I still wouldn't eat and I cut myself all the time. I used to scream at God, You want to kill me? Then go ahead. Do it. I don't care. Do it already! I dare you to kill me. In the gentleness of His love, He overlooked my attitude.

Hope. I want to reach out in gentleness like God did for me. Maybe what I lived can give hope to others who live in the dark.

Gut Sense

"We know what a person thinks not when he tells us what he thinks, but by his actions." Issac Bashevis Singer

Her voice was sweet and she seemed kind. I trusted her. But she helped the rapist hold me in that house. Six months, unable to get out of there. She could have let me go at any time. She had the keys to the gate, to the doors - but she wouldn't. She threw me in that small cold empty room, took away my shoes so I wouldn't run, locked the door and even held me down for him....... how could she have appeared so nice, yet participate in something so awful?

What does the face of an abuser look like? I learned the hard way it's not the creepy looking guy that everyone tries to avoid or the dishelved man slumped in a downtown alley mumbling to himself. A pertetrator of harm could be anybody - male or female, young or old. The scariest thing - you can't tell by simply looking at someone if they're unsafe.

This past June my daughter came home from school and said, 'the teacher wanted us to share something we learned from an adult.' She looked at me and smiled. 'I said my mom taught me - something or someone may look good, sound good and have a group of people supporting them, but listen to your gut. Trust that gut sense. If it says danger, - trust it. Run.'

It's taken me so long to learn that. I'm thrilled at 13 she gets it. I've always lived with this fear of someone hurting my girls. It's made me a bit crazy at times and definitely overprotective. Kids trust too easily. They believe in the good of others. How do you not scare them but keep them safe? When my 13 yr. old was small, I was terrified she would go with anyone. But I wasn't a young child when I was pulled into that house. No age is safe.

I have to trust God. Trust Him to keep them safe. My head tells me not to worry. That God surrounds them with His angels and is protecting them. I have to trust. I have to believe.