"B" Stands For Bitch and Birthday

    A week ago today, last Wednesday, was my mother's birthday.  With the very limited contact we have had over the past year and a half, with a LOT of coldness on her part, I haven't been sure what to do about the upcoming holiday season (I'm sure I will end up posting about what happened last year as it gets ever closer).  My mind has been mulling that one over quite a bit and I hadn't considered her birthday quite as much.  If we didn't live in such close proximity to her I think it would be easier; as it happens, we live about a mile away and it takes about 15 minutes to walk to her house.  So mailing a card seemed weird, which it would not if we didn't live in the same area.  The way she has acknowledged our birthdays for the last year has been to put a card on our door, so I wondered if I should do that.  Then there was the question of whether or not to include a gift.  For years I spent time and money trying to find the "perfect" gift, whether spending more money than I could really afford or spending a lot of time making something that probably was much more of a labor of love to me than any amount of appreciation she felt for what I did.

    A huge part of me just wanted to let the day pass and not do anything, but I have chosen up to this point to keep up appearances as far as doing minimum acknowledgments.  I haven't written an official letter to her stating that I don't want contact, so at this point it's "limited contact." Nothing verbally has been said along these lines; it's all unspoken and truthfully, at this point I'm kind of following her cue.  I tried being gracious last year at the holidays and this past year with Mother's Day and she has been extremely cold.

    So last Monday my daughter and I went to the dollar store to look at cards (I refuse to spend more than that on some sappy, beautiful card that is nothing but lies and add to the self-deception she has going on). We looked through them, joking about some and finally settling on a humorous one that said something to the effect of letting the diet go and treating yourself, and I got a tray of small Hershey bars to go with it.  My daughter bought her a Cherry Coke and a package of Mambas, saying there was some sentimental value there because when she was little and we would go to a particular church-related event, the only thing that made it bearable to her was that Grandma had Mambas in her purse and would give them to her and our son.  When we first went into the store I saw some cute autumn-colored ceramic bowls and thought of getting one, putting treats in it and wrapping it up cute with cellophane and ribbon (I'm one of those craft girls).  My daughter said, "It seems to me that that wouldn't be a good idea since it would give encouragement to someone you really don't want anything to do with."  I had so much conflict inside over what was enough, if I was being a terrible daughter, should I be planning to pay her a visit and try to smooth things over, was I being petty and if I wasn't was it LOOKING petty to not do more, etc. Also thinking to myself that I wouldn't want my children alienating me later in life; was this the kind of treatment I was setting up for myself by doing this?

    When we got home I had a full-blown panic attack.  I was so agitated. I couldn't focus, I felt sick, I was became so tired that it was hard to move. I felt like I had a vice around my head and that there was a weight pushing on top of it.  It culminated in a migraine aura at 3:00 a.m.  At first I didn't make the connection between the aura and the panic attack but realized that it happened as I was coming off the panic attack.  It was scary to have that much of my vision obstructed.  The next day I felt better but realized that my body was showing me that I need to take my boundaries with her very seriously.  If that was the reaction I was getting just from considering talking to her or seeing her, then I definitely need to not do that.  How much louder does my system have to scream at me?  If it wasn't a parent then maybe it would be different.  I have that "honor your parents" thing so firmly rooted as something that good people do that it really does hurt me to feel like I'm not doing that.  I have to remind myself over and over of something a former therapist told me, and that is that you bring honor to your parents through the way you live your life.  I even have to rework that in my brain to clarify to myself that that is not why I choose to live a good life; I try to live my life with integrity and goodness because that is who I am and the kind of person I want to be, not because I'm trying to make my parents look good.

    My daughter alleviated a lot of stress that next day when I was mulling over how to deliver the card and treats when she said, "I'll walk over and visit her for a few minutes and take it over (she did this a couple of months ago one day without me knowing it and I was really surprised because she has had a lot of painful Grandma issues to work through. She said it went surprisingly well and she felt good about doing it because it was on her terms); I haven't visited for a couple of months and I was going to show her the dress I used the birthday money she gave me towards anyway."  She also said she would tell her I had to go out of town for a meeting and suggested I call one of my friends who lives in a nearby town and go to dinner so she wasn't lying. LOL

    The Big Day turned out to be a good day.  When I woke up I didn't feel good about my daughter visiting with her and had the distinct feeling that she might be greeted with coldness because if my mother was angry that I wasn't there it was very likely that she would take it out on her.  I told her that and so we decided to go to lunch and drop the stuff off in a little gift bag on her porch before she got home.  We had such a nice time having lunch together and I was so thankful for her support through the day!  After that we came home and rested for a couple of hours (I didn't sleep well the night before and still felt drained from the anxiety attack) before meeting my friend for dinner.

    This friend was a particularly wonderful choice for going out with because she has the same kind of mother I do.  We met sometime ago through a support group and have met for lunch a couple of times.  Her husband works nights and so I knew there would be a possibility that she couldn't get together for dinner, but she said that it just so happened that he had that night off.  It was so cool that it worked out that way.  We met at The Cracker Barrel for dinner and talked for about two and a half hours.  She insisted that we get cake and ice cream for dessert, and I thought that it was so awesome that that was how I was "celebrating" my mother's birthday.  Her mother's birthday was in July so it was therapeutic for her, too.  We decided that we need to do this every year on our mother's birthdays.  My outlook as I drove home was 100% better than it was before; it helped so much to be able to talk with someone who "gets it."

    Another good thing that came out of the night was her telling me more about her therapist.  I have felt for a little while that maybe I should start seeing someone again so I have that extra source of support, as well as a sounding board as I work through things, but have been hesitant to start therapist shopping.  It's been several years and the one I was seeing passed away a couple of years ago.  He was excellent and helped me with a lot of things, including boundary setting.  Knowing now that narcissism is part of the package I'm dealing with, as well as needing someone who really understands the effects on a person who has a narcissistic parent and won't minimize them, has made me kind of dread the process of finding a therapist who fits.  As my friend told me more about her therapist I felt this would be a good person for me to see.  It's a woman, she understands narcissism, understands complex PTSD (which I am very certain I have but there are a lot of therapists who aren't buying into it as being a real condition or one that needs to be treated differently than the more commonly acknowledged version of PTSD), and as she talked about her approaches and methods I felt really good about it.  I came away having enjoyed uplifting company, a good chef salad, the best chocolate cake I think I have ever had in my life (Cracker Barrel Coca-Cola Chocolate Cake, How Do I Love Thee?  Let Me Count the Ways! Holy freaking cow, if cake could be candy that one is it), an enjoyable time looking around the store afterward, and a business card with her therapist's contact information.

    Oh, I forgot to add that my mom didn't get the little Hershey bars in the bag because I ate them.  Defiantly.  It felt good. When all was said and done, once that stupid gift bag was on her porch I never looked back.

    I did get a text from my mother the next day saying thanks for the treats and that "the thought was nice."  A lot of people wouldn't see anything wrong with that but those who deal with this kind of person recognize the barb that was included.  By saying "The thought was nice" she was also saying, "But the gift was not."

    Pretty sure I need to go no contact, but I'm not internally strong enough at this point to do it on my own.  The more my friend and I talked at dinner the more I realized that I felt happy with the way I was choosing to handle the night. I loved how free I felt.  This is an issue I plan on working on when I start with this therapist.

Dressing My Truth

    A little while after I posted yesterday I kept having the thought come to me to go into my email and finish watching a free series of video clips I signed up to receive about a month/month and a half ago.  I have a friend who suggested this series to me and some other friends and said it had made a world of difference in seeing, understanding and accepting herself.  The system is called Dressing Your Truth by Carol Tuttle.  I watched the first two a few weeks ago but hadn't gone back to it.  I really liked what I saw.

    So yesterday I went back in and finished the remaining several video clips and it was so good.  I had a strong sense of which Type I am and had a really interesting emotional response.  In a huge way I was immediately drawn to it and excited, but in another way I didn't want to admit that I'm a Type 1.  I realized that the reason for that was that the attributes in Type 1 are things that I have felt criticized for.  I've known for a long time that the natural brightness and joyfulness I had as a child enraged some people and it made me a target for people who decided that they needed to break me.  During times I've lived true to myself I have had people in my life who have seemed compelled to try and tear me down and rework me into something more "acceptable" by their standards.  I rarely felt that being who I am was acceptable and have been trying to fit into a type that is more "mature" or "organized."  Type 1 characteristics have felt like major flaws.

    It's amazing to me how beautifully learning about this and understanding it better ties in to other things I've been learning and working on.  I think God wants us to understand that how He made us individually is perfect and to embrace that because within that we find our greater purpose.  I've been told that I was sent here to be a cycle breaker and to help others heal, and that part of helping others to do that is for me to show through my joyfulness what healing looks like.  That has seemed too huge sometimes because the process is hard at times.  But I'm understanding more and more that a big part of my personal healing is learning to return to joy and getting there, even knowing how ugly the world can be.  Understanding the naturally bright and joyful aspect of being Type 1 confirmed to me that the answer really is within myself because that's how I was in the first place.  I think I've been trying to fit myself into Type 4 because so many strengths in that type reflect where my deficits are.

It's pretty beautiful to see how all the types compliment each other through their strengths if one isn't hung up on insisting that others be the same as them.  I can see where the world could become such a beautiful, harmonious place through just honoring each person for who they are.  In a group with a common goal, it would be optimal to have people from all four types working together with honor and respect for each others' strengths, because together they would be able to accomplish so much more than they could individually, or with one type controlling everyone and insisting that they function the same way they do.

    This was a nice way to end my day last night, and my heart didn't feel as broken.  My outlook has been better today.  I'm glad I paid attention to and followed through on that nudge I felt to finish the video clips.  I think every woman should at least take a look at this to see if it resonates.  If you go to the link below it will take you to where you can sign up to receive the free introductory videos, and they send one a day to your email.  To learn more specifically about various aspects of your type you can buy the whole system and they will send an offer to buy it for $95.00, which makes you a member for life.  I'm not able to do that at this point but you can still learn a lot from the introductory videos and following her blog and other resources. I found a lot on Pinterest on what types of clothing, jewelry, etc. are complimentary for my type.

http://dressingyourtruth.com/

How To Hurt

    I am hurting a lot today.  My heart is very, very sad.

    I'm still learning how to do grief and pain.  For a long time I have used food to mask it when it comes up; some people drink, do drugs, or have other coping behaviors.  The religion I was brought up in discourages use of alcohol, so the "good girl" version of addictive behavior for me is reaching for comfort food when I feel sad.

    I didn't realize for a long time that I was doing this; a lot of times I just felt this compulsion to eat.  I did go through a period of time where I overate, a LOT.  I have lost about 60 pounds and don't generally overeat as far as volume goes, but darned if I don't eat the wrong things when I'm not in a good emotional state. What I realized over time was that not only was I eating in response to feeling sad, but when I did so I literally did feel better emotionally. There was a chemical change that took place and I didn't hurt as much. There are a few reasons why, although in the short-term I feel better when I do this, it's not a good idea. First, not good for my health.  Food may always be there for me, but. . .it's always there for me.  Like, it stays on the hips and stomach.  I also don't want diabetes and I still need to lose more weight.  Second, when food deadens the pain, it doesn't get rid of it; it stuffs it back down. There is still a residual ache, and it's just a matter of time before it comes back up.  I also learned over time that when I felt that pain or sudden anxiety/panic, etc. that was my system indicating that something was coming up for processing, so masking it and stuffing it back down wasn't allowing me to do the healing work my system was indicating it was ready for.

    I've been told that I've never seen grief through all the way.  If you visualize being on one side of a lake with the lake symbolizing the grief process and needing to get across the lake to the other side, I've never gotten to the other side.  I have usually gotten about halfway across the lake and then gotten stuck, then go back to the side I just came from rather than continuing through the water to the other side--so I've been carrying a huge amount of grief around with me throughout my life.  Part of the reason is that growing up it wasn't safe for me to express what I needed to and I have carried that nonexpression into my adult life. Besides eating, there are other ways to distract yourself from feeling grief.  Shopping, staying "too" busy, hyperfocusing on other things or the needs of other people, etc.  I'm the poster child for all of this.

    One thing I hate about trauma-related healing work is that when I'm processing something hard and then get to where I feel like I'm in a pretty good place, it's not long before I start feeling that old feeling again ("that old feeling" can show up in many ways for me: a sudden feeling of panic or anxiety that seems to come out of nowhere, feeling a sudden compulsion to stay overly busy all the time, compulsions to stay up all night and not let myself sleep, feelings of depression and hopelessness when I've been fine and taking steps to support feeling that way on an ongoing basis, sabotaging myself on the eating front when I've otherwise been doing really well) and something else comes up.  There are so many layers.  Sometimes I feel like it will never be done.

    I went to the pool late this morning and did water aerobics; I always feel better after I've been in the water. Besides the exercise, I find that I am able to literally release a lot of stress into the water. Even if I have a day where I don't do a great "workout," I still feel better just from being in the water.  As I was changing, etc. afterward I was keenly aware of this pain.  This past weekend was a major conference event at church where there were many speakers and I found some of the talks to be just what I needed to hear.  But other talks hurt.

    One of the age-old questions that comes up about God is why He allows pain and suffering, and this is why a lot of people don't believe that there can be a God.  The explanation I hear and that makes sense to me is that God can't interfere with our free agency and that learning to use our agency is one of the reasons we are here on earth. Intellectually I get it, but I am having the hardest time with the fact that sometimes there is intervention. Sometimes people do get strong promptings that help them avoid danger.  I was in danger from the time I was born, and I was in an environment that made me vulnerable to further abuse and being used by other people. I wasn't protected.  Furthermore, these circumstances conditioned me to not readily trust my instincts when they signaled to me that something was wrong, and so throughout my life I have had poorer boundaries than the average person and have been more vulnerable to opening myself up to unhealthy people and situations.

    Many people would be quick to point out that God has helped me persevere through everything, and generally I'm part of that group. But a huge part of me feels so betrayed by that same God who I have tried to put my trust in my whole life.  As an adult one of my sole, constant prayers was for my children to be protected, and while we gave them a better home environment in a lot of ways, I have learned of abuses that happened to them.  To me, that has been the ultimate slap in the face.  With all that I endured, I just wanted my children to be safe and well, and it feels to me like God just turned his head the other way and said, "Ummm, let me think about it. . .actually, no. There are other people who are more important than you, so that's where I'm going to direct my attention."  Sometimes I hate God.  And then I feel guilty because that's not showing faith in Him, and then I feel that being that way makes it so I'm not as worthy to be blessed as someone who doesn't have these feelings.

    One of the constant things that comes up when I'm hurting is this feeling that I don't matter, that I'm an afterthought, that by my nature I'm not as worthwhile as other people.  The message I got from my mother early on was that my very existence wasn't acceptable.  So many people have always seen me as a project that they needed to fix, or someone to feel sorry for.  Very rarely was I built up or allowed to "just be."

Folding Towels

    As I was reading through the article on escapism that I just posted, it brought some examples to mind of weird, over-the-top things I would get screamed at or punished for.

    It might seem weird that the author refers to it being "wrong" if a target doesn't have the same personal tastes as the controlling person, or that to the controller tasks have to be done "their way" to be "right."  Well yeah, it's weird.  It's weird because it really happens and being on the receiving end of it is completely bizarre.

    Let's talk about bathroom towels.  Folding them, to be more specific.  I have been folding laundry since I was four or five (my first job was to fold the cloth baby diapers).   At some point between the ages of 8 and 12 I started folding towels, as well.  I'm not sure why they weren't included earlier, but I remember watching my mom fold towels and being kind of enchanted with the way she did it.  She did and still does a more elaborate fold than a lot of people, similar to how they do it in hotels.   When the job got turned over to me she showed me how to do it and went upstairs.  I set to work folding them but because it was a complicated process I got it wrong but didn't realize it.  I was excited to show her the good job I was doing when she came downstairs to check on my work and she had a complete screaming fit about the sloppy job I had done.  It was all about how unless it was done this particular way it looked trashy, people who don't fold them this way don't care about how things look and I was belittled for not getting it right.  Never mind that maybe I just needed to do it under her guidance a few times for it to set in to my brain.  Better yet, just don't worry about it and just thank the child for the towels getting folded, however they're doneIt was pretty devastating to me and I practiced and practiced until I got it right and it was second nature to me to fold them that way.

    Imagine my shock when I had roommates and later a husband who, not one of them, folded their towels the "right way."  My husband was actually really proud of the way he folded towels because he had figured out on his own how to fold them the way the hotels do (my mom's way looks pretty but is a different technique). He was folding laundry one day and I was like, "Why did you fold the towels like that?  That's not the right way to fold them."  That was one of our stupid "which way should the toilet paper hang" discussions that newlyweds have, and now I feel really bad about that.  His way looks very pretty, as well (actually I think it looks even nicer than her way), but there is this compulsion with me that they HAVE to be folded the other way because I got in so much trouble for them not being perfectly done in that manner. At one time several years ago I started purposely folding them the way my husband did just to try and break free from the feeling of being controlled, but old habits die hard.  I think I may try that again, telling myself that "This is the pretty way that some nice people like to fold their towels." It's so stupid, really.  It doesn't matter.  How ridiculous is it that a 46-year old woman feels like she needs to purposely fold towels differently from her mother just to make a point?  It's not like she knows what my linen closet looks like, she's not going to be in my house to check it, etc.

As I got older I found towels folded the "wrong way" in the linen closet and she would wave it off, saying that one of my siblings did it and not to sweat it.  And THAT is just one more element to why things seemed so bizarre to me.  Rules that applied to me, whether they made sense or not and with no allowance for variation regardless of my aptitude, the age appropriateness or whatever, did not apply to others.  You know, because it wasn't bizarre enough in the first place just to deal with her version of what was "right"--switch it up so that it's only "right" some of the time and for certain people.

Escapism and Avoidance

    I haven't written about one aspect of the puzzle that is my mother yet, and that is narcissism.  I am planning on writing more in-depth at some point on how I came to that realization, but in the meantime wanted to share this article someone from a support group I belong to shared.  It really struck a chord with me and explains really well what I did to cope with my environment growing up.  It is taken from the Sanctuary For Wellness And Recovery page on Facebook:

    "One of the coping behaviors targets of Controllers often develop is “escapism” and avoidance.  This behavior is a survival mechanism, where the brain is trying to preserve the person’s Self and ability to be autonomous.  Autonomy is essential to a human’s survival, without it we can literally die, because we lose the ability to care for ourselves properly and make survival actions and decisions.

    "One of the core issues with Narcissism is trying to force targets to live through them, to see the world and themselves through the Narcissist’s eyes instead of their own eyes, to live life AROUND the Narcissist’s needs, wants, and emotions instead of their own.  A target of a Narcissist is told that they are “wrong,” “bad,” and “unwanted” when they initiate any action or express anything from THEMSELVES that is not under the umbrella of the Narcissists’ parameters.  Any emotional that isn’t “in line” with the Controller’s emotions or agenda is “wrong.”  Preferences that are different from the Controller are “wrong” (vanilla is better than chocolate, if you prefer chocolate or don’t like vanilla you’re “WRONG” or “WEIRD”).  Clothing, hairstyles, shoes, jewelry are WRONG if they don’t line up with the Controller’s preferences.

    "ANYTHING that a target does, feels, or thinks, or doesn’t do, feel , or think, is “WRONG” if it doesn’t line up with the Controller/Narcissist’s very narrow point of view.  Even the WAY the target does a task that the Controller commanded is “wrong” unless it’s exactly the same as what the Controller has in their head.

    "This projection of control is literally CONSTANT.  The Controller/Narcissist actually believes that ALL of his or her perceptions, opinions, preferences, and beliefs are The Correct Ones, and they feel completely entitled to project all of them onto their target at all times.

    Basically, in their mind, the Controller is the child playing with a set of action figures and dolls, making up everything they say, do, think and feel, and their targets are the dolls who don’t have minds or spirits of their own.  It doesn’t occur to the Controller that the targets are NOT dolls, and that they are just as REAL as he or she is, and that the Controller is NOT entitled to rule over them as if they are.

  

    "In response to this, targets often develop survival skills like escapism and avoidance, in order to preserve their core “self.”  They are giving themselves TIME and SPACE to BE REAL, to be autonomous.  Controllers of course confuse this with typical teenage “rebellion.”  It is related, but teenagers rebel in order to grow up and become autonomous adults; it’s a natural process that all children go through.  They are learning about their own perceptions and how to live in the adult world AS adults.  Rebellion as a SURVIVAL mechanism is different because it’s not part of the natural maturation process; it’s literally to preserve the person’s BEING and sanity.

    "Escapism and avoidance can easily become a habit, and cause problems for the target in making decisions in career and in relationships.  This is another one-two-punch; first the target develops this habit as a way to survive a Controller, and then the target must heal from the habit itself.  IT’s not fair at all, but it’s what happens commonly.  ON the positive side, the coping mechanism DOES help preserve the target’s “self;” without it, the target may have lost their autonomy and their sanity along with it.

    "Escapism and avoidance cause problems because they become the method of coping with discomfort, pain, anxiety, fear and anger.  So instead of balancing the checkbook, we go to the store and buy new jeans.  Instead of talking through an issue with our partner or friend, we turn away from them and go do something else.  Instead of staying at a job we don’t like until we find a better one, we quit.  Instead of saving money, we spend it trying to make ourselves feel better.  Instead of going to Motor Vehicles, we do the laundry.  We say we can’t go to counseling because we have to work.  We say we can’t afford to move so we don’t have to deal with the stress of moving, even though we know we need to move.  We say we can’t afford to quit our job so we don’t have to deal with change and the fear or failure.  We say we can’t afford college because we fear the costs of money an time, or because really we don’t want to deal with the social issues from other humans.

    "So we end up NOT doing things we want or need to do.

    "This is one of the things targets often need to heal from in order to “be themselves” again.  It’s easier with support, of course, but only with healthy supporters with healthy boundaries; otherwise the mechanism will kick in again.  It helps to work on healing our own boundaries first, so we can deal with other human beings and their control issues (most humans have at least a couple of them; when our boundaries are strong enough, we can at least stay in the same room and keep participating with non-Narc. People, even if they have some arrogance or dominance behaviors)."

    Wow, this was great for me to read.  I could relate to so much.

   My form of escapism growing up was reading.  I was a bookworm, always had my nose in a book.  This accomplished a few things--first, reading was considered an acceptable way to occupy my time and people wouldn't bother me as much if I was reading.  Second, I was often on my bed reading, in my room with the door closed--away from the craziness of the rest of the household and less likely to get yelled at (once chores, etc. were done, anyway).  Third, I usually had series of books I was into like Nancy Drew or something like that (yes, to some of you this is going to make me seem really old!  LOL) and I would sort of make myself one of the characters in my mind as I was reading and define myself that way.

    I think that in some ways this was a healthy way for me to deal with not being able to individuate in normal ways---through reading I learned about the world, including some things about interacting with other people through the descriptions I read, etc. (although practical experience through healthy interactions came later; I was one of those kids who was picked on in school all the time when I was little and felt awkward in jr. high and high school).  Better than drug use and other really destructive coping measures--but I found that after I "got out" and got married, etc. reading didn't do the same thing for me that it had in the past.  It took me awhile to figure out why it didn't hold the same "magic" and had a real a-ha moment when I realized it was because my "someday" had come and so I wasn't getting the therapeutic value from it that I had before, if that makes sense.  I think that left a huge hole in a lot of ways because I didn't know what to use to replace it.  As I'm writing this, it occurs to me that maybe the hole it left behind was pain that it had been covering up and I didn't know what to do with it.  No matter what I did I couldn't feel better.  I felt completely lost for a long time, and still struggle with knowing how to occupy my time on a day to day basis.  I often felt compulsions to leave the house each day--I couldn't just be "home."  I often found myself walking around stores, even if I wasn't purchasing anything.  One day when I was trying to figure out why I did that I realized that I felt "normal" when I was at the store.  Running errands is something normal people do, so I am always running errands.

    Anyway.  This gives a lot of food for thought.  I've been learning a lot about my maternal grandfather in the last little while and realize that he carried a lot of the same kind of emotional pain that I do.  He was an alcoholic and I think I'm understanding so much better what was behind it.  His parents had severe marital problems and he was the product of an unwanted pregnancy, and he knew it from the time he was little because his mother would say things like, "I never wanted you anyway," and his older sister was the one carrying him around on her hip and mothering him.  Both mother and sister had very mean personalities.  No matter what he did, he could never be enough. He was a successful businessman in several ventures but lost them all to alcohol.

    Similarly, I was consistently given the message, even as a little girl, that I wasn't enough. I realized several years ago that my very existence never felt acceptable, and the more I've pieced together and learned about my mother the more I've realized that this is really true. I believe strongly that my dad was ready to have a baby much sooner than she was and so she felt pressured into getting pregnant when she did. When she saw how much my dad adored me, she saw me as competition for his affections.  For most of my growing up years I had a desperate need for approval and acceptance.  The arenas I sought after those things in were at church, being the goody-two-shoes who was well behaved and knew all the answers; and through praise or achievements in areas I was talented in, such as music and dance.  I was in ballet for eleven years and in modern dance/jazz for about four years after that, and if I left a class without a compliment from my teacher I was devastated.  If someone outperformed me in some way it took the wind out of my sails, rather than spurring me on to stronger effort and I would sink into depression and hopelessness.  The way it felt to me was that a compliment to someone else was a personal rejection of me.  I couldn't figure out for the longest time why I would do that; now I understand that it's because it was all rooted in approval that was withheld at home, and when I didn't get it in the places I felt like I could get it, it was further validation to me that I was worthless.

    My grandpa was always trying to cope with pain that never went away, and the alcohol cushioned it.  I'm really a lot more like him in a lot of ways than I realized, but instead of alcohol I use food or other coping behaviors.

Should I Tell the Brother Who Was There?

    The brother just younger than me is currently really struggling with a lot of aspects to his life and I have felt very worried about him for several months.  We haven't interacted a lot, especially over the past year and a half or so since the family started freezing me out, but I've had the recurring thought that something is wrong.  I think he may be dealing with really severe depression; the signs are all over the place.

    Sometimes I have the thought that maybe I should write him a letter and tell him what happened to me, minus details he doesn't need to know, and let him know that he was there when it happened.  It's very possible that besides sensing something was wrong, he may have seen the rape because his crib was next to the bed.  It's also possible that he was molested.   If I did this, I wouldn't tell him I thought he may have been abused this way as well, because I know how hard it is to get to the point where you are willing to look at that possibility; even when the signs are staring you in the face. There is also a deeper impact for males, I believe--or maybe just a different impact, because as a society this kind of abuse is associated with happening to females. Also there is a very strong stereotype where men are supposed to be the strong sex and so they should be impervious to this kind of violation. Therefore, being a victim of something like this and admitting it might seem, to the victim, to be an admission of being weak or that something is inherently wrong with them. This, of course, is utterly false, but because of this stereotype many males who do know it happened stay quiet about it and don't get the help they need. A lot of times they think they should just be able to handle it and move on.  I think that's the case for all victims, but it seems to me that that dynamic must be a lot stronger for males. My husband is also a survivor and it took him a lot longer to decide he needed help than I did, so to an extent I've seen how that process works with men.

    As we were talking one evening, I expressed to my daughter that I have been worried about him and it's crossed my mind more than once that he may have been sexually abused, too, and she said, "That would explain a lot because you and he have a similar energy about you that the rest of your siblings don't have." He and I have always been treated as outcasts compared to the way the rest of my siblings interact.  Part of that could be the "oldest" role that we both play--I'm the oldest child, but he is the oldest of four boys.  My dad would have put a lot more pressure on him than the rest of the boys, and there are resentments there on the part of some of the younger sibs towards us, I think.  I'm sure part of that comes from being jealous at the older ones getting to do certain things first, and as the oldest I was put in charge of the other kids All. The. Time. My brother would have been Choice #2 for that role if I was at my dance lessons or otherwise not around to be the substitute parent.

    The only way he and I could hope to have the approval of our parents was to try and measure up to the kinds of pressure that were put on us, hoping we would get a pat on the back and nod of approval. Add to that the abuse issues and you have no idea how intense the pressure is. It literally is like something is pressing down on you all the time, and you have to push against it just to stay upright. For some reason, from Brother #2 down, the rules changed. It's so weird to me.

Nothing New

    Just got back from a therapy session, where I worked on processing the incident where the uncle I alluded to seeing at the funeral last week sexually abused me.

    This was the first person I associated with abusing me in this way when the memories started coming up.  As I mentioned before, I spent a lot of time several years ago working on it and vacillated quite a bit between denial and acceptance.  It felt right to address it again today and I got a lot of clarity, which actually confirmed what I already knew but had been afraid to completely embrace as fact.

I was four years old and he was 17.  He was the family golden child. He raped me, full penetration, during my nap time while my family was staying with my dad's parents after moving back to the states from being on active duty in the Army.  My mom and dad had left me and my brother with my step-grandmother while they went house hunting.  We slept in a room up in the attic.  He told me at some point that he would kill me if I told anyone.

    On either that day or another day I went to tell my step-grandmother that "Sometimes Uncle _____ is bad," and he tried to stop me from going down the stairs, resulting in me falling down a very steep flight of wooden attic stairs.  He ran down after me and I was surprised that he acted so solicitous and concerned about if I was okay or not, because 1) what he had done before hurt and that didn't seem to bother him and 2) since he threatened to kill me, why would he be worried about me hurting myself falling down the stairs.  Obviously he was covering up and was putting on an act in front of his mom; maybe he snapped out of whatever fog he was in and realized that I could have died, that it was almost obviously his fault for struggling with me on the stairs and he didn't want me to say anything about the struggle so he didn't have to explain why that went on.  When I tried to tell her, she became furious with me for not staying upstairs where I belonged.  She was crocheting.

    I have an image of my younger brother standing up in a crib up in the attic during some aspect of all of what went on.  I don't know if I should tell him any of this.

    When my mom and dad got back from house hunting after I got in trouble for coming downstairs, step-grandmother went on a tirade about what an inconvenience it was that they were having her babysit and how we were misbehaving, etc. and they made a quick decision to leave because of how angry and unreasonable she was.  I definitely had the sense that they were frustrated and felt very responsible for the fact that we had to leave. We went and stayed with my maternal grandmother until my parents found a house for us to live in.

    Two years after that this uncle went to Hawaii to do some volunteer church service.  I remember it being a big deal that he was "such a neat guy" to do this and remember all the hooplah with the family greeting him at the airport when he came home. He, of course, was sporting a Hawaiian shirt and leis and was quite the celebrity.  At the party at the house afterward he was playing the piano and I came over and pushed some of the piano keys.  I wanted to see if he remembered me and he gave me a weird look and said, "Who are YOU?" I said my name and he just looked at me like I had lost my mind and he had no idea who I was. So then I felt very stupid and self-conscious.

    I remember that when he became engaged and got married, I couldn't wrap my head around it.  He must have said something when he raped me about this being what mommies and daddies do. Even though I compartmentalized the incident, I retained some sense of it because I remember looking at her and wondering why she wanted to be with someone who was bad.  Then as I watched how he acted and she responded to him, I wondered if she knew how bad he was. She was very pretty and nice.  When I watched them it seemed so weird to me that he acted so "normal" and that everyone thought he was so wonderful.  I really think that that kind of thing plays into keeping victims quiet--if everything seems normal then what happened has to be impossible.

    I bet he never told his fiance that he had already had practice for the honeymoon.  I wonder if she was enough for him or if he needed to bother their daughters, too.  Now that the encounter at the funeral is over, I keep picturing me leaning in when he hugged me to say, "Does your wife know that you practiced on little girls before you got married?"

    I compartmentalized so well that when I was engaged I kept having the thought, "I wonder if I'm a virgin." Then I would wonder why I was thinking something so absurd, because I had saved myself for when I got married. I started remembering on my honeymoon when I realized that "I know this. This isn't new."

    One of the things we addressed quite a bit today was the threat he made to kill me if I told anyone.  When someone says that to a four year old, the child believes them.  As we talked today I told her that the therapist who worked with me on this several years ago was probably ready to rip his hair out because when it came to the question of confrontation or just telling in therapy I kept saying, "I can't.  He'll kill me," even though I didn't have a super clear memory of that.  I felt it with everything in my gut.  It didn't matter how much we went the rounds with him telling me that perps are the most cowardly people in the world, that statute of limitations was up so he was free and clear from being prosecuted so it would be stupid of him to mess that up now, that he lived in another state, and if he did kill me then he was really stupid because there would be a clear trail that the police would figure out, because both my therapist and my husband knew what I've been processing and he would be the #1 suspect.  I could see what he was saying with my head, but that emotional conviction that he would do what he said couldn't be reasoned with.  I think the work we did today will help a lot with that.  Still don't know that I'll ever write a letter of confrontation but maybe now I won't be so scared to say something to family members if I feel it's needed.  I don't expect to be believed but I don't want to be frightened to death about talking, either.

Reflections On a Funeral

    As I alluded to in my last post, my husband and I attended a funeral service on Saturday for one of my uncles (husband of one of my dad's sisters).  He was in his 70s and died in his sleep; pretty good way to go, to my way of thinking--although I would probably like to be a little older when I go (if I'm in reasonably good health and not a burden to my children).  My dad was one of nine children and we used to have summer and Christmas family reunions; you can imagine that with that size of a family all having their own families, that always meant a LOT of people.  There were also a lot of bridal and baby showers.  I had a lot of anxiety when it came to being in large groups of people, especially if I didn't know them well.  This aunt and uncle were always very kind and I felt calmer around them.  I really didn't know them super well outside of family events because we lived in a different city than most of my dad's siblings as we were growing up. Since I can't say we had a close relationship, I didn't really feel a lot of personal grief; I went to the funeral to show support for my aunt and cousins.  My father passed away 21 years ago so I know what it feels like to lose a parent.

    When we got there we headed to the room where they were having the viewing and as we were waiting in line I saw my mother inside and thought, "Great.  She's already here."  I was kind of hoping to be seated, etc. before she arrived.  The last funeral we had was for one of my cousin's husbands and my sister and I went up with her and she just kind of sat off to the side and waited for people to come to her.  She acted annoyed when I left the three chairs we were sitting on to go and interact with some of my cousins and say hello to people.  It's funny; she always complains about these family functions being clannish and that no one breaks out of their individual family groups to sit by anyone else, but then when I do it she acts weird.  This time she seemed pretty animated and smiley.  She came out as we were signing the book to go in and I just didn't look her way.  She went and sat in the foyer of the church with one of my brothers, his wife and son. After my husband and I gave our condolences we mingled to say hello to cousins, aunts, etc.

    Then I saw a face I hadn't seen for quite a number of years and decided I needed to find a restroom.  I can't believe I didn't consider that he might be there.  An uncle who lives out of state and hardly ever comes this way.  The last time I saw him was at an aunt's funeral several years ago and everyone made a big deal, saying, "Did you see that Uncle So-and-so is here?"  When it happened at that aunt's funeral I froze and felt kind of sick to my stomach, not wanting him to see me.  But then I decided for some reason that I needed for him to know that I wasn't scared of him so I marched up to him and said, "Do you remember me? I'm ______" and gave him a hug.  He was very uncomfortable.  Right after that is when I started having memories surface of him abusing me, and I spent a LOT of time in therapy dealing with that, doing memory work, trying to trust myself and going in circles between denial and acceptance.

    As we were headed to the bathroom, we of course had to acknowledge my mother who was in the foyer and I was really amazed at how normal she acted, smiling and acting like we are just the best pals ever, a far cry from the cold and distant woman who has been freezing me out for the past year and a half as we have dealt with our daughter's health problems.  Rather than support she has acted like we've been lying or exaggerating, and using that as an excuse to not come to her house for family dinners and the like.  This past holiday season was horrible and illustrated plainly to me just how vindictive she can be if she doesn't get her way on something, regardless of the circumstances. Anyway, that is a story for another post, maybe.  This time I just kind of played a long and told her I liked her pink sweater and she said I looked nice.  My husband said I gave him quite the look over her shoulder.  After we left the restrooms we went back into the viewing area to be there for the family prayer (I also didn't want to hang out in the foyer with my mom).  I got talking to one of my cousins who then pulled the aforesaid uncle over to us and said, "Uncle So-and-so, you remember ________ (me), don't you?" and I was completely floored at how natural the uncle acted.  I had no intention of going in for a hug but he did, and although I returned the embrace I definitely had a wall up and he could only get so far.  Afterward I thought, "It is weird that I don't feel more freaked out."

    As I watched my mom and this uncle, I was really struck by how NORMAL they looked and acted.  They didn't look like they have been wrestling with a guilty conscience, they didn't look like older age has been unkind to them as a consequence of the terrible things they have done.  My mom looked great.  He looked good.  They seemed happy. This is probably what bothered me the most when the shock set in AFTER the funeral was over.  It doesn't seem right that they should fit in so well with everyone else and look so normal. It strikes me that this is one of the freakiest aspects of abusers--they don't look like bad guys. They don't act like bad guys. It is so covert and secret. They must do some serious compartmentalizing to be able to do those kinds of things and then just move on like nothing ever happened.  It's so weird to me.

    During the funeral service my cousins (children of the deceased) each spoke and gave tribute and it seemed very evident that they loved their father very much.  It seems that their family functions well and they actually like each other.  As they spoke about learning experiences they had growing up it was very evident that this was a father who treated his family with love and respect, and guided them in that way, as well.  I sat there and wondered what it's going to be like when my mom passes away.  I've wondered this many times and I really have no idea how it's going to be for me.  I did make a decision quite awhile ago that I am not going to be the one to organize everything, and I am not planning on speaking.  I don't know if I'll be sad or relieved that she is gone.  The legacy that my mother is leaving behind so far is a very sad one in many ways. She has left so much pain in her wake, which includes fractured relationships between me and my siblings, because of the way she gossips and spins whatever she is saying in a way that casts her in a noble light--whether it's correct or not.  Our home growing up was one with a lot of yelling, belittlement, beating and threatening, and using fear and anger to control.

    So when that time comes, do I play the game and contribute to the facade?  My plan so far is to attend but to be there quietly and graciously thank people for coming.  I know people in similar parental situations who have chosen not to attend their parent's funeral because of where they are in their healing and they deal with backlash from the other family members.  I don't think the backlash would be worth it to me personally to stay away, so I don't think I will choose that option, but I don't think I can sit and act like she was this wonderful, giving person (something I will hear from her church congregation because she puts on quite the show where church is concerned).  It's so sad that I am even having to consider these things.

    What a legacy.

Tired and Triggered

    Rough couple of days; I attended a funeral yesterday for one of my uncles, who was a good man.  I wasn't really close to him but in the very large family on my father's side we had family reunions once or twice a year, and many baby and bridal showers for cousins as we grew up.  He was a quiet, softhearted person and his children spoke of him with great love.  It was very evident that he guided his family with love.  During the viewing beforehand I became aware that an uncle who lives in another state was there, and he is the first one I connected to being sexually abused.  My mother and a couple of my brothers were there at that time and she acted like absolutely nothing was wrong and was smiley and huggy with me--consistent with how she changes in public.  I think I handled myself well; my husband asked me at one point if I was okay and I said I was. Afterwards we went to lunch and I felt like I was kind of in shock and was very tired when we went home.  He told me he was worried about me being triggered being around my siblings and mother when I told him I wanted to go and honestly I hadn't really thought about it.  I just didn't want to be in a position where I was reliant on any of them for a ride there or back.  I wanted to pay my respects to a good man and show support for my aunt and cousins. It didn't dawn on me for a minute that this other uncle would be there, so that threw me a little. I will post more about my reflections from the funeral tomorrow.

    Today at church was the annual children's program where the children's organization does a presentation for the rest of the congregation as our worship service.  It was beautiful and sweet.  I found myself crying during one of the songs called "Heavenly Father, Are You Really There?" and realized that my inner child was very triggered.  I felt like I was little again and desperately praying to God for help and trying to feel some sense of being cherished and special.  I'm struggling with the fact that I wasn't protected from the sexual abuse, and that my mother was so abusive in other ways.  No one rescued me from my situation.  I guess I need to focus on the fact that I made it through all of it, and maybe it was divine intervention that helped me get through, but I often wonder why I was put in those circumstances in the first place.  I was sitting on the stand to the side during the program because I am the organist for our worship service, so in a way I felt like I was one of the children in the program, remembering times when that was me and seeing my parents faces watching me.  There was always a nonverbal sense of them watching that what I said and the way I acted gave any indication made them look good.  One of the songs talks of "parents kind and dear" and that was a further trigger.  At the end of the song there is a phrase about heavenly glory being ours if we can but endure. I found myself thinking, "When is it enough?  I've been enduring all my life."  I'm tired.  I've always pushed forward through tremendous force trying to stop me from doing so and sometimes I feel like I just can't do it anymore.

    I told my husband afterward that I needed to leave rather than stay for the remaining meetings and although we don't normally do this on Sunday, he took me to a restaurant to eat and talk things out. He is so wonderful, the way he listens and doesn't judge.  He is also an abuse survivor so sometimes I worry that when I need to talk he doesn't need to hear it because he deals with his own stuff.  I will write more about today's experiences, as well, but right now I need to go to bed.

About My User Name

You may have noticed that to start off with, the username attached to my posts is Her Majesty, and now you are seeing Forest Rose. They're both me; I just changed the username.  Forest Rose it is and will be from now on. :)  I had the Forgiveness post in drafts, not yet completed, when I changed the name so it posted under the first one.

Thoughts About the "F" Word (Forgiveness, That Is)

I think anyone who has been through abuse can relate to the joke I attempted up there with the title of this post. :)  Humor is one of the ways I cope with this process--some days it's easier to do than on other days, and sometimes the humor can be pretty dark; some days it's not there at all.  I love the days where I'm able to genuinely laugh and have fun, finding the bright humor in everyday situations.

Obviously, you can tell that I'm not in a fabulous place when it comes to forgiveness.  I don't have it figured out yet, and I'm not rushing to it.  I can't count how many times during my life I've focused on needing to forgive, thought I did it, and then realized that obviously I didn't because more pain and anger would come up. I've learned over time that it's because I rushed to attempt forgiveness before going through the rest of the process of healing that needed to come first, and that includes letting yourself feel the emotions that are part of the wound--sorrow, grief, anger, etc.  If you try and rush the forgiveness process you don't fully process those emotions and when they come back up you feel like a rotten person for "holding grudges."  At least that's how it's been for me.

What exactly is forgiveness?  I can tell you for sure what I know it is not, and that is saying that what happened was okay and then pretending nothing ever happened.  And I think one reason this one screws with my head so much is the way it was exercised in my home, especially in regards to how my mom defined forgiveness.

First off, I have never known my mom to take accountability for her mistakes or actions that hurt other people.  Ever.  If someone dares to stand up to her, say she was hurtful or rude, etc. she flies into a rage and/or freezes the person out.  When I was living at home the freeze-out sessions usually lasted for 3 weeks, regardless of how I tried to apologize or desperately tried to communicate with her to reach a better understanding.  It was the definition of walking on eggshells.

There would be many times when I would be upset in my room over something she had done and she would come in (this was usually after she did something that had a traumatic impact) to "talk" to me and tell me that she was sorry she spanked me too hard or whatever, but then pointed out why I deserved it.  Then she would say that she would try harder if I tried harder, and after I said I would then she would say that we needed to "forgive and forget" and pretend nothing had ever happened.  I got duped more than once into thinking that meant things were going to get better. Turns out her definition of forgiveness, at least in action, was "You need to forgive me, but I get to keep doing the same things over and over and you just need to get better at taking it."

How often do parents, when they are teaching their children about apologizing and forgiving, coach their children to say "That's okay," when the other person says they're sorry?  Maybe most other families didn't do forgiveness like this, but this is the language of forgiveness that I heard all the time, not just in my home.  It's the knee-jerk response that a lot of people use when someone says they're sorry about something--"Oh, that's okay."  Now, I try to use phrases like "I forgive you," "Thank you for apologizing," etc.  That phrase, "That's okay," has been a huge trigger for me and has given me real issues when it comes to looking at forgiveness because the things that happened to me are NOT okay.

About five years ago I read a book called Toxic Parents by Susan Forward.  This book was so helpful to me, and I have recommended it many times to other survivors.  The whole book is excellent, but one of the things that helped me the most was her section on forgiveness and how she defines and approaches it in relation to abuse.  In all honesty, my knee-jerk reaction when I read other books and they addressed forgiveness was that I was ticked off.  I did not want to hear another person talking about just forgiving and moving on, because I had tried doing that and it wasn't working and I felt completely invalidated by the whole experience. I also felt that my pain, feelings and other needs were completely disregarded in the process, and this is how I felt during the times I was abused. Talk about adding insult to injury. I was pleasantly surprised and intrigued by the title of this chapter in Toxic Parents--"You Don't Have to Forgive."  Wha-whaaat???  What I found in this chapter was a version of forgiveness I could live with.

Early in her professional career she, like many others in her profession, encouraged clients to work on forgiving cruel or abusive parents.  She also had clients who entered therapy claiming they had already forgiven their toxic parents, but she found that more often than not, they didn't feel any better for having forgiven.  They still had their symptoms, "forgiving" hadn't created significant or lasting changes for them, and often they felt even more inadequate than they had before.  As she re-examined forgiveness, she came to the conclusion that there are two facets to it; giving up the need for revenge or getting even, and absolving the guilty party of responsibility.  The first is pretty important to work on, mostly because revenge keeps stirring up the emotional chaos for the survivor and wastes your energy and time.  Letting go of this aspect is difficult, but is clearly a healthy place to get to.

The second aspect, absolving the guilty party of responsibility, is another issue altogether and gets pretty complicated.  In cases of abuse particularly, the danger there is that it can actually become another form of denial, creating that scenario where you pretend that what happened wasn't so awful.  It undercuts your ability to let go of your pent-up emotions.  As she puts it, "How can you acknowledge your anger against a parent whom you've already forgiven?  Responsibility can go only one of two places:  Outward, onto the people who have hurt you, or inward, into yourself. Someone's got to be responsible.  So you may forgive your parents but end up hating yourself all the more in exchange (page 179)."  Another dangerous aspect of this to me is that you are then vulnerable to repeatedly going back for more because you feel like you don't have any right to refuse being around the person. Forgiving someone doesn't mean that you are obligated to hang out with them; in fact, if you do that you are sending them the message that you are fine with that kind of treatment and you are opening yourself up to be abused again. It really screws with your boundaries.

There is much more in the book, so if this resonates with you I urge you to obtain a copy and read it.  I bought my own so I could highlight the things that I could relate to and things that were helpful to me.  The bottom line that I took from this particular chapter was that I could work on letting go of a need to get even, but that I needed to be free to assign responsibility where it belonged, rather than carrying blame that belonged on someone else's shoulders. Another aspect of this that is important to realize is that shifting blame and guilt onto the victim is something that the abuser does on purpose.  You have to be free emotionally to reassign that squarely back onto their shoulders. You don't necessarily need to do this through confrontation or telling them, but you need to do it within yourself.  I can't describe how freeing it was emotionally for me to embrace this approach to forgiveness.  I still hate lessons on forgiveness in church, etc. because most people don't grasp this and the discussion can get so condescending, but I am at least at peace with this approach.  I hope that what I have shared here can help you, too.

Invisible Dragons

A friend of mine shared a post she wrote called Invisible Dragons, alluding to challenges they deal with in their family .  She graciously gave me permission to share the link to that post here.  I loved the way she describes the invisible battles that we all fight, and how some dragons are more visible than others.  Abuse survivors also fight invisible dragons, so I thought I would share her thoughts here since I think the same principle applies.

It's a good reminder not to judge others based on what we see.  You never know what difficulties people are dealing with.  I know that I have had periods of time in my life when healing work has been particularly hard and physically taxing, and I have a really hard time keeping up with tasks that other people would consider no-brainers and things that you just do every day.  I tend to isolate during these times to avoid judgment, which contributes to the feelings of loneliness.  By the same token of trying to not judge others, if you are doing healing work be gentle with yourself.  Treat yourself with the same understanding you would like to have from others.  We can be our harshest judges, but we need to remember that we are battling very big, ferocious invisible dragons.  In your efforts to press forward, if you are having a day where you were barely able to get out of bed, congratulate yourself for being vertical and moving rather than berating yourself over all the "shoulds."

http://invisibledragons.wordpress.com/

Song I Love--What Faith Can Do

I want to share a song that I love so much.  The first time I heard it was as a cover on another artist's CD and I literally just kept it on rewind while I drove until I had listened to it about five times.  I have seen miracles occur in my life, and this song is so filled with hope and power.  It has helped me a lot on hard days. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!  If you are an abuse survivor, please know that you can heal.  I'm not done with my healing work, but I am much more whole now than I was, and I have a strong sense that I will be able to achieve the sense of wellness and wholeness that I have always longed for.

Accepting My Truth, Part I--Thank You, Oprah

Although I always felt a pervasive sense of deep sorrow as I was growing up and this continued on into my adult life, I didn't have an explanation for WHY I felt the way I did.  I didn't associate the one accurate, very descriptive word that put it in a nutshell with what much of my life experience had been--ABUSE.

When my kids were very young, back in the early '90s, Oprah Winfrey did a prime time television special called Scared Silent.  I've never been a regular talk show viewer and only caught the Oprah show once in a blue moon.  I watched the show one day and she made reference to this special that was coming up, and there were also regular commercial spots advertising it on both daytime and primetime TV.  My natural instinct was to not want to watch it, but something inside of me felt compelled to do so and for some reason I couldn't put a finger on, I knew that I had to watch that show.  For me it wasn't a feeling of  "Hey, maybe I should watch that," or "That looks like an important show for people to see."  I had the clear message, with strong urging, that I absolutely must watch it.  My kids were in bed when it came on and my husband was working late, so I was alone as I watched it, and after it ended I was completely stunned and then I started sobbing uncontrollably. It was the first time I had the stark realization that I was abused.  This show was the first time I really saw emotional abuse addressed, and as they described what it was and what the effects could be I realized that that was one of my missing links to what "my problem" was.  It validated so much of what I felt and had experienced.  I will forever be grateful that Oprah had the courage to speak out and that this show was promoted and aired.  I think, personally, that it probably has done a lot to raise public consciousness.

As I was going through school in '70s and '80s, child abuse came up a little here and there in junior high and high school, usually as a unit in health classes.  This was always accompanied by pictures of horribly bruised children and focused on physical battering.  Whenever these units would come up I usually kind of tuned them out and definitely couldn't look at the pictures.  Once I was at the age where we did research papers in English, it seemed like a lot of kids chose the subject of child abuse and that was so repulsive to me.  When the subject kind of floated around in conversation that my mother heard or was aware of, she would kind of stiffen and look at me uncomfortably.  I didn't really understand the body language at the time, but I had coped with her enough during the years to get the nonverbal message that this was a taboo subject. Sometimes she would join in conversation about it, and she was part of the "if the kid doesn't have to go to the hospital it isn't abuse" camp.  There were a few times when she would say to me, "Well, do you think YOU are being abused?" usually in a sarcastic or challenging tone.  When she uses that tone it's kind of an "I dare you" dynamic.  Yeah right, like I was going to say, "Yes, I think I am."  Way safer to agree that I wasn't than deal with the consequences of standing up to her.  A phrase I heard a lot was, "If you think that's bad, I can really give you something to cry about."  I never had visible bruises, at least that I could remember, and never went to the hospital, so in my mind from all this I wasn't abused and whenever the topic was addressed I didn't associate it with myself.  I just didn't want anything to do with the subject, the photos were always disturbing and I have always been pretty tenderhearted, and I couldn't understand for the life of me why anyone my age would choose it for a research paper.

The subject of to spank or not to spank is one that can get pretty heated.  I think a lot of the people in my parents' generation (I was born in 1966) tend to feel very defensive along these lines when it is addressed within the context of abuse, and to me it makes sense on a lot of levels why they would feel that way.  It was common for kids my age to hear about how their parents had to cut their own switches when they were kids and being punished. This isn't unique to my parents.  Whipping as a form of discipline was the norm. Teachers and principals used it in schools.  Examples that this mindset has been part of society for a long, long time are evident as you read books like the Little House on the Prairie series and Charles Dickens. The verse in the Bible that reads "spare the rod and spoil the child" has been used to backup and justify these methods of discipline.

I think it is a good thing that as a whole, society seems to be moving away from such harsh forms of punishment.  I do, however, also see another extreme happening, and that is parents not correcting their children and requiring appropriate behavior.  Parents who placate their children by giving them what they want to make them quit whining, and parents who aren't instilling a work ethic by teaching their children to earn things they want.  Maybe this is happening partially because today's parents don't want to repeat the patterns they had growing up that were harmful, but then are at a loss to know healthy ways to discipline. This overcompensation is producing a lot of extremely entitled people who have no respect for rules and authority, and quite frankly I don't think that bodes well for our society in general.  I saw this multiple times as my children were growing up; as an example, when my daughter was in 2nd grade there was a boy in her class who carried this to such an extreme that if he didn't like something the teacher said, like "It's time to get off the computer," he would fly into a rage.  He ripped up text books and threw his desk across the room so hard that it bent the legs.  He would call his mother and tearfully tell her that they were being mean to him and she would either check him out of school or threaten lawsuit.  He was already a pretty stocky, strong kid and it was even worse when he was angry. One time, in order to get him to the principal's office, it took four adults carrying him spread-eagle.  My husband and I have both observed the entitlement issue; he sees it in the workplace with young people coming into jobs expecting to do as little as possible but to be rewarded with high pay and management positions, regardless of their experience and poor work ethic.

Anyway, I digress.  I was spanked, a LOT.  I have never  labeled my parents as abusers over that subject, though.  I can accept that part of it was the mindset of their generation and what was the norm, and I can also accept that to them, they were probably doing better than their parents had.  My dad's stepmother woke him up one morning by hitting him over the head with a shovel (not the kind you play with in a sand box).  My mother's father was a raging alcoholic and there was a lot of violence associated with that.   I do feel that some of the instances where I was whipped or spanked crossed the line, though, and these instances were usually accompanied by blind rage on the part of the person doing the whipping.  Usually this was my mother, and usually I didn't even know what I was being whipped for.  It was over the top.  When you break a wooden spoon over a child's bottom,  and then go for a heavier object out of rage at the child for "breaking" said spoon (I reflexively tightened my bottom against the blows because it didn't hurt as much), it's probably time to reconsider your methods.  And prefacing it with the phrases, "This is going to hurt me a lot more than it's going to hurt you" and "I'm doing this because I love you/If I didn't love you I wouldn't do this" makes absolutely no sense to the child whatsoever.  When your first response to misbehavior or simple mistakes on the part of the child is to beat them, there's a problem.  When you are in a blind rage and "seeing red," it's probably not the best time to dole out discipline, because you are more likely to not know your own strength (which is boosted by adrenaline) or have any sense of control once you get going and you might find yourself in a position where you have done serious damage physically or your child has died.   I don't think anyone wants to live with the kind of regret that would come with that kind of extreme.

But as I alluded to earlier in this post, the aspect of the Scared Silent show that resonated most with me was the subject of emotional abuse.  That's when the light came on.  As I sat sobbing, I said, "I was abused," and my tears weren't only tears of sorrow and grief.  They were also tears of fear, because just saying it was such a frightening thing.  That was the first time I broke my own silence.  There was no one there to hear me, so I wasn't "betraying" anyone in that sense.  No one was there to yell at me or slap me for daring to be so disrespectful.  I definitely wasn't in a place where I was ready to call it what it was to other people other than talking to my husband, but there was still fear just in acknowledging it to myself.  I think on a very deep level I knew it was just the tip of the iceberg and that there was going to be a lot to deal with in my life as a result of the things I had been through.  I also needed to accept that this level of abuse had happened in order to be able to get to a place of acceptance when traumatic memories of sexual abuse started coming up.  I did a very good job of compartmentalizing and repressing, and my sense of denial was really strong.

Broken Mirror, But Not Broken Baby

I have had a memory come up quite a bit lately that just won't settle down and leave, so I feel like I need to write about it and give it the attention it is obviously asking for.  This one is not a repressed memory; I've always had it.  I haven't dwelt on it throughout my life, but as it's come up this time I'm struck by how strongly my needs were disregarded as a very, very small child.  I was clothed and fed and kept clean, but my parents were completely out of tune with me emotionally and when it came to me needing to express myself or tell them when something was wrong.

I am the oldest of six children; there is me, four brothers, and my sister at the very end.  My father enlisted in the U.S. Army during the Korean war and ended up making a career in the military.  When I was born he was in O.C.S. (Officer Candidate School) in Ft. Lee, Virginia and was in various trainings after that so they relocated depending on where the trainings were.  When I was about two he was sent to Viet Nam for a year, and my mother got pregnant with my first brother when she met my dad on leave in Hawaii.  I was one month shy of being three years old when he was born in Pueblo, Colorado.  My dad was then stationed in Okinawa; he went ahead for a time while my mother moved back to the general area they were from when they met with me and my brother while my dad got things settled and got a house on base in Okinawa.

Somewhere with all those moves there was a day when we were first moving into a house and there was unpacking, etc. going on.  A neighbor lady came over to introduce herself and she and my mom were talking as they were unpacking in my parents' bedroom.  There was a full-length mirror leaning against one of the walls and I saw that my little brother was crawling towards it.  I saw that if someone didn't pick him up or move the mirror, he was going to get hurt.  I tried to get my mother's attention but she and the other lady were involved in what they were talking about and hadn't noticed what was going on.  My mother didn't want me bothering her while she talked.  I was frantic about my brother getting hurt, so I ran over to the mirror and got in front of it to block him just as he got to it and the mirror shattered.  I knew when it broke that my mother was going to be furious with me.  The noise got the ladies' attention and my mother's first reaction was rage as she ran over and picked up the baby.  She was furious that I ran over to the mirror and it broke.  Getting after me for running in the house and endangering my baby brother.  It wasn't until the other lady said, "Oh my gosh, she's hurt," and I looked down to see there was blood spilling down my front that my mother thought to see if I was okay.  The other lady kind of took charge and moved me to the kitchen to clean me up.  I had two huge gashes down the middle of my stomach; I still have the scars.  This lady was really nice to me and because of the way she was reacting, my mother's reaction towards me softened.  She was more solicitous and asked if I was okay.  I still remember how genuinely kind and concerned the neighbor lady was, and that she was really worried about me.  I remember how gentle she was as she started cleaning me up, and I remember that that reaction was new to me.  I knew I was going to be in trouble.  My mother's first thought was not to see if I was okay. She was inconvenienced that her conversation was interrupted and furious that her mirror was broken, and it was my fault.  I was punished for running in the house and breaking the mirror, and I was never given the chance to say that the reason I ran over there was so the baby wouldn't get hurt.  I protected the baby, got hurt in his place, and was then punished for what I did.  All I needed was for her to understand WHY I did it.  I needed her to understand that I was not a bad girl.

What's the Deal With the Crown?

In thinking about what to call this blog, I went through a few different options.  Initially I wanted something like You Can't Break Me, but the choices along those lines seemed to be taken.  Then the title Getting My Crown Back popped into my head and I decided that was perfect, because I often jokingly dub myself Queen, along with my first name.  Queen of my house, my life or whatever.

The reason I've been thinking along these lines is because I am an abuse survivor in recovery.  I'm sure this blog is just one of many, but maybe that's a good thing.  The silence surrounding abuse has gone on for too long, and the more that people speak up about their experiences, the better chance we have at changing the consciousness of society around us and breaking those patterns.

I was severely abused growing up by my mother, and also survived childhood sexual abuse (SA).  This is an ugly topic and I know that people are uncomfortable with it.  I generally will give fair warning at the beginning when I do a post specific to the SA so people can skip it if they feel like they need to.  I'm not likely to go into graphic detail, but there are some things that need to be said.  Even if it's only to get things out of my system and I'm the only person who ever benefits from doing this.  I have learned over the years through different support groups I have been a part of, however, that there is kind of a magical thing that happens during recovery when you are in a position to share your experiences with others, and that is that by doing so, often somewhere along the line someone comes along who can relate to what you have been through and you are able to help each other simply through that relatability.

I have been in recovery for about twelve years.  It has taken a long time for many of the pieces to come together and form an accurate picture of what I have been dealing with.  At the beginning of this, I was cycling in and out of depression, often not realizing what was going on until I came out of it and it felt like the lights came on again.  I'm not exaggerating.  Sometimes depression is such a dark, dark place that you don't even realize the sun is shining.  Or, you wish the sun wouldn't shine so bright because it's hurting your eyes. Several months after going on medication I realized that there was something underlying everything because no matter what I did, although I was functioning a little bit better, there was always this deep sense of sorrow and anxiety that I couldn't get rid of.  Shortly after that I started seeing a therapist and found some online support sources that helped me a lot.  More about that later.

I believe that each of us are children of royalty, as children of God.  I believe this firmly.  Those of us who go through abuse have a harder time feeling the magnificence of who we are because we have been torn down and disregarded so much throughout our lives.  Everyone has struggles, I'm not discounting that.  But for people who are born into circumstances where they are treated with respect and validation and allowed to be who they are without constant berating and criticism, I really believe that they inherently have a better sense of self-esteem and as adults, their day-to-day lives run in a smoother fashion.  I was never allowed to just "be."  So, as I am recovering I am remembering who I am. I am getting my crown back.