Strength not shame

"Survival is your strength not your shame"  Jaycee Lee Dugard

Shame...not the healthy kind that keeps us from running to the store naked.....
but toxic shame....the kind that makes you believe you're wrong...defective.... not good enough. 
Shame....it's power so strong.....it forced me into hiding....living in darkness...holding onto secrets. 
Shame.....the glue that kept me stuck....spinning my wheels..spiraling further down into that black hole.
Shame....made me believe lies.....that I was different....wrong....bad. 

Shame.....it wouldn't let me look in someone's eyes or worse....have them look in mine.  I  knew....if they did....they would see...and know....the truth about who and what I was.

Shame...it covered like a blanket....held on like a leech.....fed beliefs that had been ingrained since I could remember. 

I'm reading Jaycee Durgard's story, A Stolen Life. I was afraid to read it but I wanted to. I wanted to hear her strength.....read her courage... and remind myself that evil can't destroy us if we don't let it. 

Jaycee's story....a reminder of my own in so many ways..... Her words...feelings....thoughts....similiar. Her focus to move forward and her gratitude for all she's been given....the same.  Her words confirm....evil can wield so much damage but it can't steal our souls....not if we don't allow it.  

I wish there was no evil....I wish children everywhere were safe.....I wish only good was in the world. I hate what happened to Jaycee....the years she had to endure evil in its purest form.....and I hate that her kidnappers were free.....to do what they did....and that nobody noticed a girl, a child, held a prisoner in the backyard enduring the worse at the hands of a madman.  And it sickens me to know his partner worked in a senior's home....every day at the end of her shift...going home and participating in evil. 

I want to live alert....aware....of what's happening around me.....Maybe if we all did that.....children wouldn't be taken.....lives wouldn't be destroyed.....and evil would be diminished. 

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.

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 Power of Nature

"The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quiet, alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature." Anne Frank

I don't do good when I'm around people too much. I crave alone time. When I'm around too many people too much of the time, my mind goes into frantic mode. I stop listening. I stop being present. I daydream about the woods, the mountains, the water. I envsion the birds - the deer and I can even smell the sweetness of the earth. The pull to be outside is so strong. In nature - in the woods - I feel safe. I feel free.

I think nature has to be God's gift to us. If I wasn't so scared of the dark, I would probably live in the forest, up on a mountain somewhere.

I spent a lot of time locked up - My father used to lock me in his car in the worse part of the city for hours by myself. I was terrified. I prayed he would come back and get me. He always did. As a kid I spent hours hiding in a closet, under the balcony or in the basement, holding my breath, afraid to move - terrified, listening, waiting - like an animal being stalked.

The rapist held me for six months. In the cold, in winter, in the snow - with no shoes, no coat - I escaped. I climbed over a six foot high gate to freedom. When I couldn't stop throwing up, cutting myself, shooting dope - they locked me on a psych ward. Threatened to keep me locked up until I stopped the destructive behaviour.

Confined. Trapped. I hate those feelings. Maybe that's why I love being outside. There I hear God's whisper in my heart. I feel His gentle touch. I feel His strength.

Letting Go

"Deny your weakness and you will never realize God's strength in you." Joni Eareckson Tada

For years all my efforts went into forcing myself to be strong. The cutting, the drugs, the throwing up - all of it were my attempts at pushing myself to be strong, to not fall, to not give up.

No matter what happened or what anyone did to me - I struggled with myself to stand firm. I refused to cry, refused to admit I was scared or even that I needed help. Instead I lashed out. I felt like I was in a war - fighting so hard I nearly killed myself. Even after God amazingly freed me from the drugs - I continued to hurt myself - refusing to eat, forcing myself to throw up, biting my arms, punching and cutting myself......I told God I trusted Him but I didn't trust Him. I didn't trust Him to not allow me to get hurt again.

As a kid I was threatened to never show fear or sadness. But how do you really do that unless you lose a part of who you are? I went away. Far away. In my head. In my own world. A world where no one could reach me. A world where I couldn't reach me. I got lost. The way back has been long. Hard. There were days I didn't want to come back. I struggled with not wanting to be seen. Being seen meant getting hurt. I didn't want to get hurt again.

I've been afraid of feelings. I never knew how or what to do with them. So I punished myself for having them. Sadness, fear - even joy.

Yesterday I went running in the woods near our old place. As I ran through the secluded hills and trails, I felt like I had come home. In the quiet, the calm, the peacefulness - God's whisper in my spirit reminded me - He was with me. Everything will be ok. I'm learning to let go. I'm learning to lean on His strength.

Willingness to Fly

""How does one become a butterfly, she asked pensively.You must want to fly so much, you're willing to give up being a caterpiller." Trina Paulus (Hope for the Flowers)

I am grateful. Really grateful. As I write and remember, I am filled with gratitude. So often I have to shake myself and ask, 'did it all really happen?' The years of living on the street, shoving needles in my arm, not allowing myself to eat, throwing up if I did and cutting myself until I couldn't stand the pain or until I bled.

Living with extreme shame, out of control rage and debilitating fear - and one day, just like that - God touched me and changed everything. He gave me purpose and hope. He helped me heal. He gave me freedom. Now I owe Him my life.

There is a story about ten lepers being healed. Only one came back to say thank-you. I don't want to be like the nine who showed no gratitude. I need to tell what happened - what God did because had He not touched me in the ways He did......

How do I tell people what I lived? How do I say all those horrible things that happened? It's easier to tell strangers but I struggle with telling people who are close to me - my friends and people at work - I don't want them to think differently about me. I don't want them to be disgusted.

It was bad. Really bad. How can I tell them? Sometimes I just want to blurt it out but I can't. The words are stuck inside me. Many of my friends know I'm writing a book. They don't know what I'm writing, but they know I' m writing.

I get lost in writing. I think in some way it validates what happened really took place. And it's a way for me to have my voice. I need to write. Writing has become like breathing for me. Seeing the words in print diminishes the shame and gives me strength.

My friend came for a hike in the woods with me the other day. As we walked the secluded trails, she asked if I ever get scared out there alone. I don't. I feel safe in the woods. That's where I hear God speak to me. That's where my heart gains courage. In the woods, in the beauty of nature, I never feel alone. God whispers to me there. He reminds me I am never alone anymore. He tells me everything will be ok. He reminds me He has purposes and plans for my life. He tells me not to be afraid.

I don't want to live like a caterpiller anymore. I want to fly. I want to tell. It will be my way of saying thank-you.

The Secret of Redemption

"In remembrance is the secret of redemption." Jewish Saying

It's so hard to reflect back to the pain of what happened, but there is also healing in looking at those things that shaped us and made us who we are today. In writing my story, "In the Eye of Deception," there were times I felt like it was happening all over again. The memory clips screamed at me, the sounds, the intense feelings, and even the shame and fear hit me so hard that I thought I would become consumed in them. Yet, as I wrote, God took the healing to a whole new level. He led some wonderful people into my life who I was able to share the pain with, and who could handle my inability to talk during those times the memories overwhelmed me. They offered support and friendship on such a deep level that I still marvel how awesome God is in giving us what we need. My faith is my anchor. It is my strength to move forward. It gives me the courage to look head on what happened and not turn away. It is my hope and prayer that I can use all that I lived through to touch someone else on their journey to healing and recovery. There is something else in remembrance - deep gratitude. My heart swells with thankfulness to a God who reached through the layers of pain and drew me out of deep darkness into His marvelous light.