Rights

"Get up, stand up, Stand up for your rights. Get up, stand up, Don't give up the fight." Bob Marley
 
 I never knew I had rights. In fact I believed I didn't even have the right to exist. This week....someone asked me to post only the positive....things about my kids and not the pain of what happened.

It's taken me a long time to speak....to tell what I never could....to own it....to look at it head on and not run. The shame lived inside, crippling....keeping me from living my best life. This past year.....writing...blogging...I could feel the shame leaving. I've learned something through blogging....I have the right to my voice.....I have the right to say what I need....I have the right to tell what happened.

I had been silenced by shame. It did cripple me...kept me stuck. I couldn't look people in their eyes and worse....have them look in mine. I never stayed anywhere long enough to let anyone get close. I still struggle with that...I have to force myself to be with people. But writing....blogging....helps me. It frees me. 

Before my book went to print...I spoke to a lawyer. She told me I have the right to tell my story. I have a right to speak my truth. I have a right to not keep silent anymore. Tell and keep on telling she said.

I need to tell. I carried it alone too long. I kept it secret....not letting anyone know. I can't anymore.

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.

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.