I've had chronic pelvic pain for years. I don't remember if it was there before my miscarriage eight years ago, but I remember being in pain a lot since then.
At the time I miscarried, is also when I woke up to the life I was living. It's when I couldn't ignore the relationship I had with my husband, and how unhealthy and harmful it was for me. I couldn't pretend that I was okay with the idea of being a mom, and bringing a baby into that environment. Along with "waking up", I also finally acknowledged how much Larry had hurt me with his abusive behavior in my first marriage. When I started talking about Larry, and spousal rape, and depression, and false beliefs about sex and relationships, and all of the other shittiness that had been my life, I fell apart.
Pain just seemed like it was all part of the deal.
I believed my pain was entirely body memories, or related to the trauma, and I felt so much guilt and shame that I experienced pain that I barely talked about it.
(I don't doubt doing trauma work in therapy and in life had an effect on my body, and trauma work is painful all over. But it wasn't just the trauma work.)
I went to a doctor a year ago. I told her I had been raped many years before, and now I was in a lot of pain all the time. She ordered an exam, said there was nothing wrong, and I just needed to go to therapy.
Six months ago, I went to another doctor. She didn't do an exam, but told me she could order an ultrasound if I really wanted one. And told me to keep going to therapy.
I walked out of that appointment frustrated with Todd. He pushed me to go to the doctor. He promised they would help me. I told him they wouldn't - they would dismiss me and my pain, because that is what all doctors have always done.
At seventeen, I was told I was being selfish and controlling when I said I didn't want the doctor to touch me. And nobody cared or asked about WHY... The doctor just did what he wanted, quick, painful, and entirely insensitive.
At nineteen, I was held down while a doctor did a pelvic exam, because I was freaking out. I was shaking and kicking, because I didn't want that man touching me... So the nurse held my legs, and I walked out with a huge fear of doctors.
At 28, I got pregnant, pretended like I was fine with exams, because I didn't have a choice... At eleven weeks, they told me I would miscarry, and sent me home. (They asked if I wanted surgery to remove the fetus, or to go home and try to let it happen on it's own. I was eleven weeks, so I was on the border of when surgery would be required. I was afraid, so I went home.) Three weeks later when I was still cramping horribly, bleeding a little, but had also added a high fever and throwing up to my list of symptoms, they prescribed antibiotics over the phone. Luckily, my husband at the time talked to the pharmacist, and the pharmacist told Dann to get me to the hospital "right now".
My general experience with doctors left me feeling shitty. I felt disrespected. I felt used. I felt scared and silenced and I didn't like it. Todd reminded me of a good experience with a doctor I had two years ago, and he suggested that I see her.
I gave him all kinds of excuses: She's not a specialist, she's just a family practitioner. If the other two didn't see anything, what makes me think SHE would. They didn't even ask me about my pain, they just dismissed me... All doctors would dismiss me.
Except that two years ago, she hadn't. She had made me feel like a person, and she had made me believe it was okay to tell the doctor I was hurting. She also made me feel like she could help.
Last week, I finally worked up the courage to call and set up an appointment. On the phone, I told the office girl why I was coming to see the doctor, and she emailed me a questionnaire about chronic pelvic pain.
I cried as I filled out the questionnaire. It was not easy to describe the pain, and I still felt shame for feeling pain at all. I felt disgusted with myself for not being able to power through the pain... I felt disgusted with myself for talking about that part of my body. I wanted to hide, because deep down I knew the pain was all my fault.
If I could just relax, it wouldn't hurt.
If I was good, I wouldn't care about the pain.
If I was good, I would be quiet and submissive.
Along with many other messages that came straight from being a survivor of abuse.
Then I read the message from Larry asking for my forgiveness, and I cried a lot. By Sunday night, something had shifted within me.
Trauma, sexual assault, rape, and abuse have hugely affected my life. (Duh.)
This pain has been there for years, and the biggest effect that sexual trauma has had on this pain, is my inability to talk about it. My fear of talking, and being dismissed. The shame and the guilt that kept me silent. The fear... It was crippling.
By the time I went to the doctor on Tuesday, there was no doubt in my mind that the pain I was experiencing was not caused by rape. I wasn't going to dismiss the pain as just something I needed to work through. I was no longer going to accept "relaxing" as a way to cure it. I wanted help, and I fully believed I deserved help.
I volunteered information. I answered her questions. I didn't shy away from or sugar coat what I was experiencing.
I told her that it felt like someone was shoving a hot poker inside me and twisting. It is usually around my bladder and up the right side, but sometimes it moves. I explained that it burned and cramped when I peed. I told her that it always hurt, but got almost unbearable just before and during my period. She asked about bleeding, and I told her what I had observed. She asked about nauseousness and indigestion, which I also experience a lot... Turns out those are symptoms of severe Endometriosis too.
She gave me the diagnosis, offered a few treatment options, and prescribed painkillers for in the meantime. (The least invasive and least expensive treatment option is birth control, so I am trying that first. If that doesn't work, I can move to hormone blockers, and then possibly surgery.)
This is a huge relief. It's not just in my head. I'm not just making it up. There are ways to treat the problem, and to find even small relief from the pain.
Even though I don't feel any better at the present - finding some hope that it will get better, makes a world of difference.
Showing posts with label advice for secondary survivors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label advice for secondary survivors. Show all posts
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Sunday, April 5, 2015
Free from the Other. It is not my problem, and I won't make it mine either.
Facebook has an "Other" folder for messages. It's where messages go if I'm not Facebook friends with the person who sent it. I think I knew it was there, but I had never checked it until yesterday.
I discovered some nice messages from people thanking me for my Ordain Women profile, and for the Sunday spotlight interview I did a month or so ago. It also had a message from my ex-husband. It had been there a while, so for him this is way old news. For me, it's pretty darn fresh.
I didn't know what to do with it. I don't know what to do with it, so I guess I have decided to write about it here.
This post isn't to him, but of course he's welcome to read it. This is for me, and for anyone else who is trying to figure out what to do with past abusers, forgiveness, apologies, etc.
A couple years ago, I wrote the blog post "The Letter I Will Never Send", because I was contacted by the Catholic church asking what I thought about his getting remarried. They asked me to describe my marriage and my experiences with him. I chose not to do anything with their questions except to write my experiences FOR ME.
I guess he read it.
Reading his message, my initial reaction was fear. I was afraid that he could find me, and I wanted to hide.
Then I felt like I needed to write back and apologize for not responding sooner: to tell him that I hadn't seen it, but now that I had, give him a response that would make him feel better. I felt like I should tell him I wasn't angry and I had totally forgiven him... but I didn't do any of that.
Todd told me to tell him to "Fuck off."
I wasn't entirely against the idea, but it didn't really resonate with how I was feeling.
I thought about asking how I had hurt him and apologizing for anything I had done to him, and then I realized: I DON'T CARE
I have had to work my ass off to recover from what he did. I have gone to therapy, I have read books, I have cried, I have gone through flashbacks and nightmares. I have spent countless hours thinking and rethinking, so that I could make sense of the world around me. I have spent time talking to others about how they treat their wives, and defining rape, and going to SLUT walks, and writing and writing and writing and crying and then writing more. I didn't ask him to apologize. (In fact, if he read anything besides that one post - he would have seen that I didn't want an apology.) I didn't ask him to do anythig. All I did was to go out and do MY work to make peace with what he did and what was my life.
I worked hard, and I have created a beautiful life. I didn't need anything from him, and I don't care what would mean the world to him... What he needs and wants doesn't matter to me. I can finally say what he needs and wants and thinks and does means nothing to me. I wish him no ill will. I also don't wish him happiness. He gets to exist completely separate from me.
(Oh, and there is no tension between us, because there is nothing between us. That is exactly how I want it.)
I don't know what prompted him to write me - maybe he was trying to repent, and apologizing to me was part of that... but that's a pretty shitty apology. If I cared about him and his repentance, I would suggest that to him: Learn to apologize and take some responsibility if you actually want forgiveness. But I don't care about his repentance, or his work, or what he needs to learn or do... He gets to be responsible for his own learning and growing, and I get to completely dismiss it. It's his, and has nothing to do with me.
I have gone through anger at him. I have gone through all kinds of emotions, and now... I am at peace. I don't know if that means I have forgiven him. (I am not a fan of the word forgiveness - I think too often it is used to manipulate and control. In too many cases, it is used to shift responsibility from an abuser to the victim.)
I have cried a lot in the last couple of days. I am not even sure what the tears were for. I just felt like crying, so I did. And now, I feel more free than I have felt in a long time.
I discovered some nice messages from people thanking me for my Ordain Women profile, and for the Sunday spotlight interview I did a month or so ago. It also had a message from my ex-husband. It had been there a while, so for him this is way old news. For me, it's pretty darn fresh.
I didn't know what to do with it. I don't know what to do with it, so I guess I have decided to write about it here.
This post isn't to him, but of course he's welcome to read it. This is for me, and for anyone else who is trying to figure out what to do with past abusers, forgiveness, apologies, etc.
A couple years ago, I wrote the blog post "The Letter I Will Never Send", because I was contacted by the Catholic church asking what I thought about his getting remarried. They asked me to describe my marriage and my experiences with him. I chose not to do anything with their questions except to write my experiences FOR ME.
I guess he read it.
"Hey Jen,Since writing the letter, and the response to it, I hadn't thought much about him. I am still dealing with some false beliefs about relationships. I am still dealing with a lot of guilt and shame that is left from a lifetime of abuse - which included my life with him - but was not limited to just him. I have had to completely reconstruct my whole emotional/mental/spiritual foundation, which takes a lot of time and a lot of work. (That could be the understatement of the century.)
I wanted to write you because there is a lot I have been thinking about for a long time. Someone alerted me to the blog you wrote and it solidified what I think I didn't quite understand before. Where I didn't think rushing you into sex so often was kind, I didn't understand how bad it was. I didn't know to you it was a forced obligation. I thought because I had your consent it was o.k. --I didn't realize how abusive that was to you. I think aside from that, we both went into things unprepared and unrealistic and hurt each other. I am truly sorry, I realize now how hurt you were. I don't want there to be any tension in the future and I hope you are and continue to do well in your life. It would mean everything to me if you would forgive me.
-L"
Reading his message, my initial reaction was fear. I was afraid that he could find me, and I wanted to hide.
Then I felt like I needed to write back and apologize for not responding sooner: to tell him that I hadn't seen it, but now that I had, give him a response that would make him feel better. I felt like I should tell him I wasn't angry and I had totally forgiven him... but I didn't do any of that.
Todd told me to tell him to "Fuck off."
I wasn't entirely against the idea, but it didn't really resonate with how I was feeling.
I thought about asking how I had hurt him and apologizing for anything I had done to him, and then I realized: I DON'T CARE
I have had to work my ass off to recover from what he did. I have gone to therapy, I have read books, I have cried, I have gone through flashbacks and nightmares. I have spent countless hours thinking and rethinking, so that I could make sense of the world around me. I have spent time talking to others about how they treat their wives, and defining rape, and going to SLUT walks, and writing and writing and writing and crying and then writing more. I didn't ask him to apologize. (In fact, if he read anything besides that one post - he would have seen that I didn't want an apology.) I didn't ask him to do anythig. All I did was to go out and do MY work to make peace with what he did and what was my life.
I worked hard, and I have created a beautiful life. I didn't need anything from him, and I don't care what would mean the world to him... What he needs and wants doesn't matter to me. I can finally say what he needs and wants and thinks and does means nothing to me. I wish him no ill will. I also don't wish him happiness. He gets to exist completely separate from me.
(Oh, and there is no tension between us, because there is nothing between us. That is exactly how I want it.)
I don't know what prompted him to write me - maybe he was trying to repent, and apologizing to me was part of that... but that's a pretty shitty apology. If I cared about him and his repentance, I would suggest that to him: Learn to apologize and take some responsibility if you actually want forgiveness. But I don't care about his repentance, or his work, or what he needs to learn or do... He gets to be responsible for his own learning and growing, and I get to completely dismiss it. It's his, and has nothing to do with me.
I have gone through anger at him. I have gone through all kinds of emotions, and now... I am at peace. I don't know if that means I have forgiven him. (I am not a fan of the word forgiveness - I think too often it is used to manipulate and control. In too many cases, it is used to shift responsibility from an abuser to the victim.)
I have cried a lot in the last couple of days. I am not even sure what the tears were for. I just felt like crying, so I did. And now, I feel more free than I have felt in a long time.
Monday, May 5, 2014
Fishing with the guys. Part I. To feel included
I just got back from a week long camping/fishing excursion with BJ, Brad, and Ben. I wrote about my desire to go, and the excitement of going last month.
I was going to tell you all about the fishing and the grand adventure, but I'm going to start with the therapeutic part of the trip.
Our first night, we set up camp and then went fishing. We were on the river until 9, then Brad made dinner, and we (eventually) went to bed. We'd arranged the cots so that BJ was next to me and between me and Ben and Brad. I was in the corner, because that's where I felt safest.
Everyone else went to sleep. I did not. I heard them breathing deeply, snoring slightly. I heard them all get up to pee. I listened to the frogs. I listened to the other critters scampering around the campsite. About the time the frogs stopped and the birds started, I fell asleep. About an hour after that, the sun came up. I stayed and tried to sleep a bit longer, but it didn't work out as well as I would have liked...
We spent all day fishing, and the next night tried sleeping again with no luck.
(I wasn't sleeping, because every time one of them moved or breathed, my entire body would tense up. Every time I started to fall asleep, my brain would say, "WE'RE NOT SAFE! WAKE UP!" and I would be wide awake again.)
We got up and spent the morning fishing, but the sun was intense, and I was tired. I tried to rest, but the hyper-vigilance that kept me up at night wouldn't let me rest during the day either.
Something else started going screwy with my brain too. I was sure they didn't want me there. I was taking all the good fishing spots, and I was in the way. I'm aware that lack of sleep makes me emotionally vulnerable, but it is REALLY hard to enjoy fishing when you believe you don't deserve to be on the water, taking up space, and nobody wants you. I was doing everything I could to fight the crazy thoughts, but I was losing.
In the tentative plans for the trip, we had talked about going to a play in town that evening, and maybe staying in a hotel that night. None of us were super excited about going to the play. (There were fish down there, and no one had caught enough yet!) BJ suggested we still break camp and go into town to get a hotel room. His reason being that he wanted me to get sleep before the next day of adventures.
I was uncomfortable. I had made grand plans to take care of myself, but when it came right down to it... I didn't want to inconvenience anyone. I didn't want to talk about me. I didn't want them to do things for me or to help me.
We sat and talked for forty-five minutes. There was only one room available at the only hotel in town. While I think being in a bed would have helped - being in a bed in a room with two men seemed to be causing as much anxiety as being in the tent. Ben and Brad were trying to be helpful to me, but I wasn't expressing myself well... I told them that I wasn't comfortable with all of the sounds, and although I knew I was safe, I was having a hard time feeling safe around them because they were men, but I didn't want them to feel bad...
Finally, BJ just said, "Jen was violently raped in her sleep. She has a hard time feeling safe when she's starting to fall asleep because it takes her right back to what happened back then."
Instantly... they said, "You guys will go into town and sleep in the hotel. We'll stay here and camp. We'll come pick you up in the morning. No big deal."
I cried. Brad gave me a hug and apologized for not being more sensitive. I tried to explain to him that wasn't what I was feeling. They were all great, but I didn't want to even be worrying about it. I felt like a failure that I wasn't sticking it out. I wasn't strong enough, and I couldn't handle camping. I also felt sad, because I was enjoying being there... and it sucks that something that happened fifteen years ago is still fucking with my life.
We got back to fishing. I finally caught one fish. Brad thanked me for taking care of myself. Ben said he was sorry that I had ever been through such fucky shit. (And I got to use my favorite joke, "Or just really shitty fucking.") He laughed, and then said he felt bad for laughing. We ate dinner after dark, and cleaned up what we could before we left Brad to do the dishes and Ben drove us into town.
I took a shower, and I slept.
They came and picked us up and we went fishing. Nobody treated me with kid gloves. They didn't treat me any different at all. I still felt like I belonged, and I was part of the group. I REALLY appreciated that Ben was already planning next year's adventure, and maybe the year after that.
As we said goodbye, Ben gave me a hug and told me he was really glad I had come... and that he was looking forward to our next grand adventure. Brad said he was really glad I was there, and we'd get together again soon.
I cried again. I had honestly thought they wouldn't want me to come back, because it was such a burden to have to deal with me and all my problems.
It was really nice to spend time with guys that were just nice, normal guys. And to feel included, even though I'm a girl. Even though I have issues. Even though I was once raped, and I still have to deal with side effects of that. Words just can't quite describe how loved I feel, and how much safer the world feels today.
I was going to tell you all about the fishing and the grand adventure, but I'm going to start with the therapeutic part of the trip.
Our first night, we set up camp and then went fishing. We were on the river until 9, then Brad made dinner, and we (eventually) went to bed. We'd arranged the cots so that BJ was next to me and between me and Ben and Brad. I was in the corner, because that's where I felt safest.
Everyone else went to sleep. I did not. I heard them breathing deeply, snoring slightly. I heard them all get up to pee. I listened to the frogs. I listened to the other critters scampering around the campsite. About the time the frogs stopped and the birds started, I fell asleep. About an hour after that, the sun came up. I stayed and tried to sleep a bit longer, but it didn't work out as well as I would have liked...
We spent all day fishing, and the next night tried sleeping again with no luck.
(I wasn't sleeping, because every time one of them moved or breathed, my entire body would tense up. Every time I started to fall asleep, my brain would say, "WE'RE NOT SAFE! WAKE UP!" and I would be wide awake again.)
We got up and spent the morning fishing, but the sun was intense, and I was tired. I tried to rest, but the hyper-vigilance that kept me up at night wouldn't let me rest during the day either.
Something else started going screwy with my brain too. I was sure they didn't want me there. I was taking all the good fishing spots, and I was in the way. I'm aware that lack of sleep makes me emotionally vulnerable, but it is REALLY hard to enjoy fishing when you believe you don't deserve to be on the water, taking up space, and nobody wants you. I was doing everything I could to fight the crazy thoughts, but I was losing.
In the tentative plans for the trip, we had talked about going to a play in town that evening, and maybe staying in a hotel that night. None of us were super excited about going to the play. (There were fish down there, and no one had caught enough yet!) BJ suggested we still break camp and go into town to get a hotel room. His reason being that he wanted me to get sleep before the next day of adventures.
I was uncomfortable. I had made grand plans to take care of myself, but when it came right down to it... I didn't want to inconvenience anyone. I didn't want to talk about me. I didn't want them to do things for me or to help me.
We sat and talked for forty-five minutes. There was only one room available at the only hotel in town. While I think being in a bed would have helped - being in a bed in a room with two men seemed to be causing as much anxiety as being in the tent. Ben and Brad were trying to be helpful to me, but I wasn't expressing myself well... I told them that I wasn't comfortable with all of the sounds, and although I knew I was safe, I was having a hard time feeling safe around them because they were men, but I didn't want them to feel bad...
Finally, BJ just said, "Jen was violently raped in her sleep. She has a hard time feeling safe when she's starting to fall asleep because it takes her right back to what happened back then."
Instantly... they said, "You guys will go into town and sleep in the hotel. We'll stay here and camp. We'll come pick you up in the morning. No big deal."
I cried. Brad gave me a hug and apologized for not being more sensitive. I tried to explain to him that wasn't what I was feeling. They were all great, but I didn't want to even be worrying about it. I felt like a failure that I wasn't sticking it out. I wasn't strong enough, and I couldn't handle camping. I also felt sad, because I was enjoying being there... and it sucks that something that happened fifteen years ago is still fucking with my life.
We got back to fishing. I finally caught one fish. Brad thanked me for taking care of myself. Ben said he was sorry that I had ever been through such fucky shit. (And I got to use my favorite joke, "Or just really shitty fucking.") He laughed, and then said he felt bad for laughing. We ate dinner after dark, and cleaned up what we could before we left Brad to do the dishes and Ben drove us into town.
I took a shower, and I slept.
They came and picked us up and we went fishing. Nobody treated me with kid gloves. They didn't treat me any different at all. I still felt like I belonged, and I was part of the group. I REALLY appreciated that Ben was already planning next year's adventure, and maybe the year after that.
As we said goodbye, Ben gave me a hug and told me he was really glad I had come... and that he was looking forward to our next grand adventure. Brad said he was really glad I was there, and we'd get together again soon.
I cried again. I had honestly thought they wouldn't want me to come back, because it was such a burden to have to deal with me and all my problems.
 |
| The four of us on the Yakima River. |
It was really nice to spend time with guys that were just nice, normal guys. And to feel included, even though I'm a girl. Even though I have issues. Even though I was once raped, and I still have to deal with side effects of that. Words just can't quite describe how loved I feel, and how much safer the world feels today.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Going fishing with the guys
I was invited to go on a four day fishing trip. I will be the only girl there. We will be camping and sleeping in a tent, fishing during the day, and I am really excited.
And nervous. A long time ago, I was raped in my sleep. Many times.
My nights are a million times better than they once were, but I still have nightmares occasionally and night terrors fairly often, and a tent with four other men could be incredibly problematic for me.
I've been invited before, but didn't go, because I was afraid of trying to sleep.
This time, I decided to do it differently.
I talked about what my nights are like. I asked for some accommodations that will make my trip more fun. We talked about sleeping arrangements. We talked about how they can help if I do have nightmares or night terrors. (BJ will be there, so I told them to just trust him.) I also promised to take care of myself - which means if I don't sleep at nights, rest during the day.
I feel guilty - that somehow I am a burden on my friends.
My friends have insisted that they want me there, and what seems like a huge deal to me is really no big deal to them.
The trip is six weeks away, but I can hardly wait.
And nervous. A long time ago, I was raped in my sleep. Many times.
My nights are a million times better than they once were, but I still have nightmares occasionally and night terrors fairly often, and a tent with four other men could be incredibly problematic for me.
I've been invited before, but didn't go, because I was afraid of trying to sleep.
This time, I decided to do it differently.
I talked about what my nights are like. I asked for some accommodations that will make my trip more fun. We talked about sleeping arrangements. We talked about how they can help if I do have nightmares or night terrors. (BJ will be there, so I told them to just trust him.) I also promised to take care of myself - which means if I don't sleep at nights, rest during the day.
I feel guilty - that somehow I am a burden on my friends.
My friends have insisted that they want me there, and what seems like a huge deal to me is really no big deal to them.
The trip is six weeks away, but I can hardly wait.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Is a comedian still funny underwater?
(I wrote the following in December - day after it happened. I never posted it, and to be honest, now I can't remember why. Probably because I was hoping to have a nice little addendum before I posted it that said, "I went back and tried again! I was fine. It was awesome!" But I can't say that. I haven't gone back yet...)
Sometimes, I'm still crazy. I thought about not sharing this story, because I was embarrassed. Because I'd like to say I'm all normal and silly things don't freak me out ever. But then I realized that silly things DO freak me out. I'm not "normal", and that's okay. It sucks to still have to deal with trauma related shit, but it is what it is. Part of recovery is learning how to deal with triggers.
Scuba diving in the pool went great. In the pool, if I felt anxious or if something wasn't going quite right, I could come up and talk to my instructor. In the open water dive, I knew that wouldn't be possible. If you're forty feet underwater, and something isn't right, you still have to take your time coming up (or cause yourself serious injury).
I passed the written final. I passed off everything in the pool. I was all geared up and ready to do the open water dive. And then I got dizzy and nauseous and I couldn't breath. I thought it might be because the water (and the cave around the water) were really warm. I walked outside, and I realized it wasn't the heat. I was about to have a full-blown panic attack.
At this point, I didn't want to go back in and look like a fool. I also didn't like just walking away and having the instructor worrying about where I'd gone. I walked back in, told them I wasn't feeling well, and I'd make up the dive later. One of the worst parts of dealing with PTSD or panic is dealing with other people's thoughts and opinions of me. It sucks to have people think that you're crazy and out of control, but I learned a long time ago that trying to control other people's opinions of me didn't make my life better. It didn't help me recover. It didn't help anything... except that we all got to live in a delusional world. I don't know what instructor dude thought of me, but he told me it was fine.
At first, I didn't see how panicking about scuba diving could possibly be related to trauma. I was sexually abused... there was no water around at the time... what the what?
One of the skills I've learned in dealing with fear (irrational and rational) is to ask myself two questions:
How old do you feel? often shows me what is triggering me. A few years ago, I was having panic over buying brand name shoes for myself. When I asked myself that question, I realized I felt like a little girl. My dad didn't see the need to buy brand name shoes (and when you're buying them for a ten year old, it makes sense). I was still holding on to what he'd said. As soon as I realized that, I let go of that old story, and just enjoyed my shoes.
This time, that question didn't do any good. I couldn't link to any specific age or event that would be triggering this.
What's the worst that could happen? usually helps me to get to the root of my fears. When I asked myself the question this time, I first thought, "I might drown." But that didn't really trigger any fear. When asking myself the question, I have to pay attention to what I think would be the worst, not what OTHER people would think is the worst.
So I just kept asking myself.
What's the worst that could happen?
The worst that could happen is I will be trapped under water, and I won't be able to use my voice.
I won't be able to tell people what is happening.
I'll be hurting and have no way of communicating my hurt.
Trapped. No voice. No way out.
That's when the flashbacks started. I was suddenly back trapped, no voice, no way out, and in so much physical and emotional pain that death would have been a welcome relief. (No wonder drowning didn't trigger any fear.)
I called my friend Steph. She has an amazing ability to make me laugh at things that aren't really funny. She teased me about what a storyteller I must be: Why else would I be afraid that I wouldn't be able to talk underwater? How could people know I was funny, if they couldn't hear my jokes?
And then she empathized. It sucks to have such silly things feel SO big. It sucks to have something so unrelated (like scuba diving) trigger trauma and flashbacks. She understands. Been there and doing that herself.
What she said next is the main reason I am sharing this here. She told me I was a hero. Not because everything is perfect. Not because all of the flashbacks and trauma symptoms are all gone, but because I keep fighting even though they aren't. She also pointed out how rarely this stuff comes up now, and how it takes so much more than it once took.
That's what recovery from PTSD and sexual trauma and shit looks like. Sometimes it's just messy. Sometimes you look crazy, and a lot of times you feel crazy. And we just keep going anyway.
Sometimes, I'm still crazy. I thought about not sharing this story, because I was embarrassed. Because I'd like to say I'm all normal and silly things don't freak me out ever. But then I realized that silly things DO freak me out. I'm not "normal", and that's okay. It sucks to still have to deal with trauma related shit, but it is what it is. Part of recovery is learning how to deal with triggers.
Scuba diving in the pool went great. In the pool, if I felt anxious or if something wasn't going quite right, I could come up and talk to my instructor. In the open water dive, I knew that wouldn't be possible. If you're forty feet underwater, and something isn't right, you still have to take your time coming up (or cause yourself serious injury).
I passed the written final. I passed off everything in the pool. I was all geared up and ready to do the open water dive. And then I got dizzy and nauseous and I couldn't breath. I thought it might be because the water (and the cave around the water) were really warm. I walked outside, and I realized it wasn't the heat. I was about to have a full-blown panic attack.
At this point, I didn't want to go back in and look like a fool. I also didn't like just walking away and having the instructor worrying about where I'd gone. I walked back in, told them I wasn't feeling well, and I'd make up the dive later. One of the worst parts of dealing with PTSD or panic is dealing with other people's thoughts and opinions of me. It sucks to have people think that you're crazy and out of control, but I learned a long time ago that trying to control other people's opinions of me didn't make my life better. It didn't help me recover. It didn't help anything... except that we all got to live in a delusional world. I don't know what instructor dude thought of me, but he told me it was fine.
At first, I didn't see how panicking about scuba diving could possibly be related to trauma. I was sexually abused... there was no water around at the time... what the what?
One of the skills I've learned in dealing with fear (irrational and rational) is to ask myself two questions:
- How old do you feel?
- What's the worst that could happen?
How old do you feel? often shows me what is triggering me. A few years ago, I was having panic over buying brand name shoes for myself. When I asked myself that question, I realized I felt like a little girl. My dad didn't see the need to buy brand name shoes (and when you're buying them for a ten year old, it makes sense). I was still holding on to what he'd said. As soon as I realized that, I let go of that old story, and just enjoyed my shoes.
This time, that question didn't do any good. I couldn't link to any specific age or event that would be triggering this.
What's the worst that could happen? usually helps me to get to the root of my fears. When I asked myself the question this time, I first thought, "I might drown." But that didn't really trigger any fear. When asking myself the question, I have to pay attention to what I think would be the worst, not what OTHER people would think is the worst.
So I just kept asking myself.
What's the worst that could happen?
The worst that could happen is I will be trapped under water, and I won't be able to use my voice.
I won't be able to tell people what is happening.
I'll be hurting and have no way of communicating my hurt.
Trapped. No voice. No way out.
That's when the flashbacks started. I was suddenly back trapped, no voice, no way out, and in so much physical and emotional pain that death would have been a welcome relief. (No wonder drowning didn't trigger any fear.)
I called my friend Steph. She has an amazing ability to make me laugh at things that aren't really funny. She teased me about what a storyteller I must be: Why else would I be afraid that I wouldn't be able to talk underwater? How could people know I was funny, if they couldn't hear my jokes?
And then she empathized. It sucks to have such silly things feel SO big. It sucks to have something so unrelated (like scuba diving) trigger trauma and flashbacks. She understands. Been there and doing that herself.
What she said next is the main reason I am sharing this here. She told me I was a hero. Not because everything is perfect. Not because all of the flashbacks and trauma symptoms are all gone, but because I keep fighting even though they aren't. She also pointed out how rarely this stuff comes up now, and how it takes so much more than it once took.
That's what recovery from PTSD and sexual trauma and shit looks like. Sometimes it's just messy. Sometimes you look crazy, and a lot of times you feel crazy. And we just keep going anyway.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
eating disorders are one of the ways that our brains have to actually keep a person alive.
BJ made this comment on my blog about eating disorders... and I wanted to share this with everyone.
He explained it so perfectly - I wish everyone could understand it like he does. I wish everyone had a friend and a support like I have in him.
"My experience with eating disorders is primarily with Jen. This battle is complicated to the extreme and would take hours to explain and takes years to recover from. From what I have gleaned, eating disorders are one of the ways that our brains have to actually keep a person alive. An odd twist. A survival technique. One where the body demands the diversion of the brain to allow for pain to be relieved. It's not the source of the pain but a way to mask and hide the underlying torment.
Those battling with eating disorders are battling for their lives. Many don't make it. They die. Those that survive are Heroes in my eyes: Capable of dealing with life's most horrific pains. AMAZING people."
He explained it so perfectly - I wish everyone could understand it like he does. I wish everyone had a friend and a support like I have in him.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
The alone-ness of PTSD.
The past two weeks have been full of emotions.
Most recently, I went with a friend of mine to have a medical procedure done. The procedure itself was not a huge deal. NOT fun. Definitely not pleasant for anyone. But throw in a little PTSD, and what is mildly uncomfortable for others becomes a traumatizing moment.
I came back from that experience angry. Anger confused me. Angry at what? or who?
Sad and angry that she is having to go through any of this? Yes. What else?
Angry at the fucked up person that abused her? Hell yes!! And there's more.
A week ago, I went with K to her doctor's appointment at the Huntsman Cancer Institute. I don't know how it is other places, but every person who goes through cancer deserves to be treated the way they treated her. Compassionate, professional, knowledgeable doctors and staff. At least two staff recognized her walked up to her in the waiting room to give her a hug and talk to her. The doctors had all been working together and reviewing her scans and files to come up with the best solution for her cancer. BJ and I were in the room with her, plus three people conferenced in on the phone, plus several others who would have been there if she had wanted them there. She was surrounded by amazing and loving support.
I was so glad to see K had all those people and resources. I wish she didn't have to go through this. I love her, and would do anything I could to be helpful, and I was only one of many.
A few days ago, there was a funeral for three beautiful people. The family they left behind were surrounded by love. So many people willing to help, bring food or flowers or heaters, drive shuttles, decorate, offer a hug, a kind note, take pictures, and more that I couldn't even see. It was beautiful to see all of the love, the shared sorrow, and the support.
No one should ever have to go through that kind of loss. No amount of love from people could take the pain away, but there were so many that were willing.
As I sat in the ER with my friend, she tried to explain to the nurse that she had major PTSD.
"What? Were you assaulted or something?" (Just in case anyone is wondering, NOT a very helpful way to word that question.)
My friend asked the doctor for something to calm the anxiety, he offered a small dose of Ativan. He didn't ask what she normally took. He didn't stick around and listen when she tried to explain that Ativan doesn't do much for her.
Twenty minutes later, when the nurse asked if she felt the effects, she said, "No."
The nurse went ahead anyway, and when she saw my friend's tears, said nothing, finished the procedure and ran from the room.
I understand that doctors and nurses have a lot on their plates. These people meant no harm. I understand that my friend probably wouldn't want a room full of support at that moment. (I'm not sure she even wanted me there. I just told her I was coming... and then told the people at the front I wanted to see my sister. She didn't kick me out, so probably okay that I was there.)
It's just... I feel angry and sad that someone with PTSD has to go through it all SO alone.
Typical for me, I wasn't able to put to words the feeling when it was me. Watching someone else go through an experience that is similar to my own, I feel sad for the alone-ness of PTSD.
People don't understand. Doctors, nurses, and professionals don't get it. Most friends and family can't understand what it's like. They can't understand the pain, the confusion, the mixed up ideas, the flashbacks, the nightmares, the loneliness, the depression and anxiety, the guilt, and the shame.
So much shame associated with the abuse and the PTSD itself. I felt like I couldn't let people know what was going on. I didn't want them to think I was crazy, attention-seeking, broken, or screwed up. I couldn't handle the stupid things people would say (Things not to say, Stupid things people say) - it was better to be alone than to have to take care of someone else when I was hurting.
Flashbacks were so personal and so frightening, I didn't want to go through them alone, and I didn't want to have anyone else around while my body was going through that. I was lucky to have BJ. He seemed to understand what I needed, and just sat with me.
Sexual abuse is so personal, so perverse, and so painful... It's hard to talk about. (Sometimes impossible to talk about.) Even now, I don't like talking about it. I still feel very raw and afraid when I tell someone I was molested or raped. Just those words make me want to crawl in a hole.
(And recovery means you stop talking about it... Why is that?)
I shared some of these thoughts with BJ.
He said he wished he had money like the Huntsman's had money.
He would start a big complex just for PTSD research and treatment. There would be doctors of all kinds who were trained in their specialties as well as in PTSD. The place would feel kind and compassionate, and they'd have an ER. There would be therapists, staff, and caseworkers.
It would be big enough that the community would get involved. There would be high school choirs singing or guys playing piano in the lobby. And home-made stressballs made by people in the community available to anyone who wanted one.
They would research the brain, and how to overcome the effects of trauma. And have cutting edge treatment and technology to give every person the best chance of not only surviving but living life to the fullest after survival.
They would have a place where someone could go when they couldn't sleep, because it was too hard to stay grounded AND sleep. Staff and therapists willing to just be with someone who is hurting that much.
Most of all, it would be a place where people wouldn't have to feel ashamed. Not of PTSD symptoms. Not of the abuse or trauma. Not of needing extra support or love or attention.
Suddenly, I wish I was a millionaire. I would like to be a part of creating that place.
Until someone has the money to create such a place, what can be done?
Is there anything that can be done, so that people with PTSD don't feel so alone?
I want there to be more that I can do.
Most recently, I went with a friend of mine to have a medical procedure done. The procedure itself was not a huge deal. NOT fun. Definitely not pleasant for anyone. But throw in a little PTSD, and what is mildly uncomfortable for others becomes a traumatizing moment.
I came back from that experience angry. Anger confused me. Angry at what? or who?
Sad and angry that she is having to go through any of this? Yes. What else?
Angry at the fucked up person that abused her? Hell yes!! And there's more.
A week ago, I went with K to her doctor's appointment at the Huntsman Cancer Institute. I don't know how it is other places, but every person who goes through cancer deserves to be treated the way they treated her. Compassionate, professional, knowledgeable doctors and staff. At least two staff recognized her walked up to her in the waiting room to give her a hug and talk to her. The doctors had all been working together and reviewing her scans and files to come up with the best solution for her cancer. BJ and I were in the room with her, plus three people conferenced in on the phone, plus several others who would have been there if she had wanted them there. She was surrounded by amazing and loving support.
I was so glad to see K had all those people and resources. I wish she didn't have to go through this. I love her, and would do anything I could to be helpful, and I was only one of many.
A few days ago, there was a funeral for three beautiful people. The family they left behind were surrounded by love. So many people willing to help, bring food or flowers or heaters, drive shuttles, decorate, offer a hug, a kind note, take pictures, and more that I couldn't even see. It was beautiful to see all of the love, the shared sorrow, and the support.
No one should ever have to go through that kind of loss. No amount of love from people could take the pain away, but there were so many that were willing.
As I sat in the ER with my friend, she tried to explain to the nurse that she had major PTSD.
"What? Were you assaulted or something?" (Just in case anyone is wondering, NOT a very helpful way to word that question.)
My friend asked the doctor for something to calm the anxiety, he offered a small dose of Ativan. He didn't ask what she normally took. He didn't stick around and listen when she tried to explain that Ativan doesn't do much for her.
Twenty minutes later, when the nurse asked if she felt the effects, she said, "No."
The nurse went ahead anyway, and when she saw my friend's tears, said nothing, finished the procedure and ran from the room.
I understand that doctors and nurses have a lot on their plates. These people meant no harm. I understand that my friend probably wouldn't want a room full of support at that moment. (I'm not sure she even wanted me there. I just told her I was coming... and then told the people at the front I wanted to see my sister. She didn't kick me out, so probably okay that I was there.)
It's just... I feel angry and sad that someone with PTSD has to go through it all SO alone.
Typical for me, I wasn't able to put to words the feeling when it was me. Watching someone else go through an experience that is similar to my own, I feel sad for the alone-ness of PTSD.
People don't understand. Doctors, nurses, and professionals don't get it. Most friends and family can't understand what it's like. They can't understand the pain, the confusion, the mixed up ideas, the flashbacks, the nightmares, the loneliness, the depression and anxiety, the guilt, and the shame.
So much shame associated with the abuse and the PTSD itself. I felt like I couldn't let people know what was going on. I didn't want them to think I was crazy, attention-seeking, broken, or screwed up. I couldn't handle the stupid things people would say (Things not to say, Stupid things people say) - it was better to be alone than to have to take care of someone else when I was hurting.
Flashbacks were so personal and so frightening, I didn't want to go through them alone, and I didn't want to have anyone else around while my body was going through that. I was lucky to have BJ. He seemed to understand what I needed, and just sat with me.
Sexual abuse is so personal, so perverse, and so painful... It's hard to talk about. (Sometimes impossible to talk about.) Even now, I don't like talking about it. I still feel very raw and afraid when I tell someone I was molested or raped. Just those words make me want to crawl in a hole.
(And recovery means you stop talking about it... Why is that?)
I shared some of these thoughts with BJ.
He said he wished he had money like the Huntsman's had money.
He would start a big complex just for PTSD research and treatment. There would be doctors of all kinds who were trained in their specialties as well as in PTSD. The place would feel kind and compassionate, and they'd have an ER. There would be therapists, staff, and caseworkers.
It would be big enough that the community would get involved. There would be high school choirs singing or guys playing piano in the lobby. And home-made stressballs made by people in the community available to anyone who wanted one.
They would research the brain, and how to overcome the effects of trauma. And have cutting edge treatment and technology to give every person the best chance of not only surviving but living life to the fullest after survival.
They would have a place where someone could go when they couldn't sleep, because it was too hard to stay grounded AND sleep. Staff and therapists willing to just be with someone who is hurting that much.
Most of all, it would be a place where people wouldn't have to feel ashamed. Not of PTSD symptoms. Not of the abuse or trauma. Not of needing extra support or love or attention.
Suddenly, I wish I was a millionaire. I would like to be a part of creating that place.
Until someone has the money to create such a place, what can be done?
Is there anything that can be done, so that people with PTSD don't feel so alone?
I want there to be more that I can do.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
The "R word" (rape) and stupid things people say
Warning: This post will probably be triggering. I haven't written it yet, but I am about to talk about rape, and I'm angry. I don't plan on censoring myself, so please take care of yourself. Only read this if you are in a good place, and stop (and seek help) if anything I say triggers you.
Rape. It's an incredibly ugly word. It's not a word I like to use. I struggle to use it to describe my own experiences, but I've found that I'm not alone. Many people who have been raped (legal definition of the word) try to use other words to describe their experiences. It has been so hard to allow myself to use that word to describe what happened to me.
Recently, in an effort to convince me to not go to a wedding (that the bride and groom invited me to), I was told that (this person) seeing me would be like me seeing one of the men that raped me. (She blames me for her divorce.) I was confused.
I spend time with my uncles. I would never dream of asking them to not go to an event just because their presence makes me uncomfortable. I have anxiety seeing them... and I have choices about what I do. I can choose not to go to functions where I know they will be. I can choose not to talk to them if I do go. I can choose to be friendly if I feel like it. Whatever I decide to do, I can only choose for me. It has never crossed my mind to ask them to stay home.
My confusion... I know I still have a desire to protect abusers... AND, I want to be healthy. What does that even look like? Is she more "normal"? I don't want to be like she is. Like I said. Confused.
I shared my confusion with BJ... as we talked, and he pointed out what a ridiculous and stupid and completely inaccurate comparison the two things are... My confusion went away, and I got angry.
On most days, I understand that pain is pain... It doesn't matter if someone else's pain is worse than your own, when it hurts, it hurts. On this day, realizing how irrational that comparison is, made my head spin. How DARE she compare anything she has gone through to being raped?!?! (Even IF her accusations were accurate, and I was to blame for her divorce, there's just no comparison. In one analogy, an adult man decided to end his marriage. He left. He has a right to do that. Rape is a violent, violating, horrible thing done TO someone who cannot defend themselves.) She has no fucking clue what she is talking about.
I don't like using the word "rape". I feel like I have no right to that word, but damn it if I am okay with those who have no clue what they are talking about, never experienced anything close to it, and ESPECIALLY trying to use that word to control and manipulate others... No patience, no tolerance, for that kind of bullshit.
That stupid comparison just reminded me of all the stupid people out there.
They THINK they know what they are talking about, but they have no clue.
Todd Akin is currently being blasted for his stupid statement about "legitimate rape". It was a really stupid thing to say. My hope is that he was just incredibly ignorant.
Last year, there was a bill proposed that used the phrase "forcible rape". Do they not understand what RAPE is??
Up until 1993, there was no such thing as marital rape. The traditional definition of rape was, 'sexual intercourse with a female not his wife without her consent'. Basically, a woman had no right to say no to sex with her husband... And he could take it by any force necessary. The law was changed, but not without a fight. People fought over whether a woman had a right to say no to sex with her husband... and that was only twenty years ago.
Did they think about what they were fighting for? Did they care that they were fighting for the rights of a man to rape his wife? Did they think about how it would effect women?
When I started talking about what Larry did, sometimes, I even got brave and used "the R word". Do you know what SEVERAL people said to me?
Sometimes, I'd try to explain how he did it whether I cooperated or not. It WAS a lot easier if I could just force myself to lay there and take it... but sometimes, everything in me fought against it. I'd try to explain the pain, the violence, and some understood... A few never did. They held to the belief that a man could never rape his wife... After all, a woman is given to a man. She is nothing but his property.
Today, some states still have exemptions for married men. For example, in some states a man cannot be prosecuted for forcing sex on his wife if she is impaired and cannot consent. In other words, if she is asleep, and therefore cannot consent, he can force himself on her without fear of the law. Utah law states that if a person can't consent, then it is rape, with no exception for husbands.
There are so many other instances of politicians saying things that are just WRONG. Joking about rape. Trying to minimize and sometimes defend it. Protecting everyone but the victims of rape. I don't feel like going into any more of it now... just know there are a whole lot of really stupid people out there.
As a teenager, I read the book Miracle of Forgiveness. I was full of guilt. I wanted to be happy. I wanted to feel good in my life. I believed my unhappiness was because of sin. (I heard it over and over and over in church.) I wanted to repent, so I could be happy... So I read the book.
There are a few passages in the book that STILL make me want to hurl.
Up until two years ago, I believed my family would prefer I was dead than to know the truth of what happened to me. I believed the fact that I was alive was proof that I was bad...
"It was better that I had died defending my virtue than to live having lost it without a struggle."
I could not tell anyone the truth. I was barely alive already, and I knew I couldn't handle it if they agreed with me, and said, "We wish you would have died."
I found a great therapist. I found BJ. I found many great people and resources that helped me to change the way I think. I learned the truth. (It was NOT my fault. It is much better to cooperate and LIVE than to die. And so on.) I talked to people that understood... I tried to shut out the people who were clueless.
Now what I want to know is, where are all the people who KNOW?
Why aren't there more talks in church about the effects of abuse? Why aren't there more talks about how it isn't the victim's fault AT ALL? Why hasn't the church apologized for publishing such AWFUL things? Why are they still handing out that awful book?
1 in 4 women nationally, 1 in 3 women in Utah. 1 in 6 men nationally, 1 in 5 men in Utah will experience sexual assault in their lifetimes. That means that 33% of the women in any ward in Utah will have been raped or assaulted. With statistics that high, isn't it about time to start talking about it, and I don't mean the people that have no clue... I mean the people that KNOW.
Why are the ignorant people talking about rape? What makes them even THINK they have a right to make a law that effects victims of rape? They don't. Every single one of them needs to stop it. NOW. I don't care that they think they are protecting life... until the conversation is more open and honest and they have a clue about what they're talking about. Shut up. And do some listening. Get educated. Do NOT talk about rape unless you know what you are talking about.
I'll finish with this:
Rape. It's an incredibly ugly word. It's not a word I like to use. I struggle to use it to describe my own experiences, but I've found that I'm not alone. Many people who have been raped (legal definition of the word) try to use other words to describe their experiences. It has been so hard to allow myself to use that word to describe what happened to me.
Recently, in an effort to convince me to not go to a wedding (that the bride and groom invited me to), I was told that (this person) seeing me would be like me seeing one of the men that raped me. (She blames me for her divorce.) I was confused.
I spend time with my uncles. I would never dream of asking them to not go to an event just because their presence makes me uncomfortable. I have anxiety seeing them... and I have choices about what I do. I can choose not to go to functions where I know they will be. I can choose not to talk to them if I do go. I can choose to be friendly if I feel like it. Whatever I decide to do, I can only choose for me. It has never crossed my mind to ask them to stay home.
My confusion... I know I still have a desire to protect abusers... AND, I want to be healthy. What does that even look like? Is she more "normal"? I don't want to be like she is. Like I said. Confused.
I shared my confusion with BJ... as we talked, and he pointed out what a ridiculous and stupid and completely inaccurate comparison the two things are... My confusion went away, and I got angry.
On most days, I understand that pain is pain... It doesn't matter if someone else's pain is worse than your own, when it hurts, it hurts. On this day, realizing how irrational that comparison is, made my head spin. How DARE she compare anything she has gone through to being raped?!?! (Even IF her accusations were accurate, and I was to blame for her divorce, there's just no comparison. In one analogy, an adult man decided to end his marriage. He left. He has a right to do that. Rape is a violent, violating, horrible thing done TO someone who cannot defend themselves.) She has no fucking clue what she is talking about.
"That's like scraping your knee, and thinking you must understand what it feels like to break every bone in your body." ~BJ
I don't like using the word "rape". I feel like I have no right to that word, but damn it if I am okay with those who have no clue what they are talking about, never experienced anything close to it, and ESPECIALLY trying to use that word to control and manipulate others... No patience, no tolerance, for that kind of bullshit.
That stupid comparison just reminded me of all the stupid people out there.
They THINK they know what they are talking about, but they have no clue.
Todd Akin is currently being blasted for his stupid statement about "legitimate rape". It was a really stupid thing to say. My hope is that he was just incredibly ignorant.
"First of all, from what I understand from doctors [pregnancy from rape] is really rare. If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down.”What does that mean when a woman DOES get pregnant from rape? It's not legitimate?? Who the hell is he to decide what is legitimate and what is not? To take something so traumatizing, invalidating, and awful already... there are no words to describe how much harm that man could do with just a few stupid words.
Last year, there was a bill proposed that used the phrase "forcible rape". Do they not understand what RAPE is??
Up until 1993, there was no such thing as marital rape. The traditional definition of rape was, 'sexual intercourse with a female not his wife without her consent'. Basically, a woman had no right to say no to sex with her husband... And he could take it by any force necessary. The law was changed, but not without a fight. People fought over whether a woman had a right to say no to sex with her husband... and that was only twenty years ago.
Did they think about what they were fighting for? Did they care that they were fighting for the rights of a man to rape his wife? Did they think about how it would effect women?
When I started talking about what Larry did, sometimes, I even got brave and used "the R word". Do you know what SEVERAL people said to me?
"How could it be rape? You were married."(And I wonder why I have a hard time using that word...)
Sometimes, I'd try to explain how he did it whether I cooperated or not. It WAS a lot easier if I could just force myself to lay there and take it... but sometimes, everything in me fought against it. I'd try to explain the pain, the violence, and some understood... A few never did. They held to the belief that a man could never rape his wife... After all, a woman is given to a man. She is nothing but his property.
Today, some states still have exemptions for married men. For example, in some states a man cannot be prosecuted for forcing sex on his wife if she is impaired and cannot consent. In other words, if she is asleep, and therefore cannot consent, he can force himself on her without fear of the law. Utah law states that if a person can't consent, then it is rape, with no exception for husbands.
There are so many other instances of politicians saying things that are just WRONG. Joking about rape. Trying to minimize and sometimes defend it. Protecting everyone but the victims of rape. I don't feel like going into any more of it now... just know there are a whole lot of really stupid people out there.
As a teenager, I read the book Miracle of Forgiveness. I was full of guilt. I wanted to be happy. I wanted to feel good in my life. I believed my unhappiness was because of sin. (I heard it over and over and over in church.) I wanted to repent, so I could be happy... So I read the book.
There are a few passages in the book that STILL make me want to hurl.
"Your virtue is worth more than your life. Please, young folk, preserve your virtue even if you lose your lives.”
- The Miracle of Forgiveness, p. 63
“Also far-reaching is the effect of loss of chastity. Once given or taken or stolen it can never be regained. Even in a forced contact such as rape or incest, the injured one is greatly outraged. If she has not cooperated and contributed to the foul deed, she is of course in a more favorable position. There is no condemnation when there is no voluntary participation. It is better to die in defending one’s virtue than to live having lost it without a struggle.”
- The Miracle of Forgiveness, p. 196
Up until two years ago, I believed my family would prefer I was dead than to know the truth of what happened to me. I believed the fact that I was alive was proof that I was bad...
"It was better that I had died defending my virtue than to live having lost it without a struggle."
I could not tell anyone the truth. I was barely alive already, and I knew I couldn't handle it if they agreed with me, and said, "We wish you would have died."
I found a great therapist. I found BJ. I found many great people and resources that helped me to change the way I think. I learned the truth. (It was NOT my fault. It is much better to cooperate and LIVE than to die. And so on.) I talked to people that understood... I tried to shut out the people who were clueless.
Now what I want to know is, where are all the people who KNOW?
Why aren't there more talks in church about the effects of abuse? Why aren't there more talks about how it isn't the victim's fault AT ALL? Why hasn't the church apologized for publishing such AWFUL things? Why are they still handing out that awful book?
1 in 4 women nationally, 1 in 3 women in Utah. 1 in 6 men nationally, 1 in 5 men in Utah will experience sexual assault in their lifetimes. That means that 33% of the women in any ward in Utah will have been raped or assaulted. With statistics that high, isn't it about time to start talking about it, and I don't mean the people that have no clue... I mean the people that KNOW.
Why are the ignorant people talking about rape? What makes them even THINK they have a right to make a law that effects victims of rape? They don't. Every single one of them needs to stop it. NOW. I don't care that they think they are protecting life... until the conversation is more open and honest and they have a clue about what they're talking about. Shut up. And do some listening. Get educated. Do NOT talk about rape unless you know what you are talking about.
I'll finish with this:
 |
| A friend posted this on Facebook. THIS is how rape should be talked about. THIS is what happens when a woman is raped. (And I know it's not just women who are raped.) This is what happens when a PERSON is raped. It's time people understand what really happens and how truly awful, traumatic, life altering, and sometimes life ENDING it is. |
Sunday, August 5, 2012
From Present (Future?) Me to Past Me: The only way out is through.
I started this blog for two reasons:
For me. I wanted a place where I could write down my thoughts, my feelings, and just be me. I was so used to hiding behind my own smile and pretending to be someone I wasn't, it was nice to just be able to write down my own thoughts.
For someone like me. When I started my journey to healing, I searched the internet looking for someone who had been through abuse and PTSD and survived. I wanted to find someone who could tell me I was going to be okay. There was a way out. I didn't find anything like that. When things got really bad, I'd think about what it would be like to have someone to talk to.
I pictured meeting me in the future: Future Me had been through hell. Future Me had survived months of not sleeping, Flashbacks, Nightmares, Night terrors, Pseudo-seizures, Dissociation, Pain, Body Memories, Crazy thinking, All of the emotions, The heartache, The loneliness, The suicidal thoughts and plans, The eating disorder, and everything else. Future Me had not only survived, she was happy and healthy and loving life. She would tell me it was going to be okay. She'd tell me there was a way out, and that I just needed to keep walking this path. She'd tell me I'd be okay.
I pictured myself as Future Me. Writing in my blog, and someone like Past Me would happen upon it and feel less alone. Less afraid. Hopeful.
So, for that person, I'd like to say:
If you think you are being selfish for not taking someone's abuse, you're wrong. If you think that you have to take abuse and ridicule because that makes you a good (wife, husband, person, etc.), you are wrong. If someone tells you they love you but you have to change, that is not love. That is manipulation. If someone tells you that no one could love you, they are lying!! That is abuse. Don't stick around and take it. There are people who will love YOU. I don't know who they are or where you will find them, and I know they exist.
You've spent a long time adapting to abuse. You've convinced yourself that's what you deserve... or that is love... or making excuses for the other person... or making excuses why you have to stay... or...
The truth is, there is a whole world out there that is light and beautiful and wonderful.
You know how to find your way. It feels impossible, but the truth is all there inside you. Trust yourself. You know the way.
And when I was in the worst of it, I repeated this line to myself over and over and over:
The only way out is through. The only way out is through. The only way out is through.
It worked. I got through it. I'm happy. I'm healthy. I am way more than okay.
You'll be okay too.
For me. I wanted a place where I could write down my thoughts, my feelings, and just be me. I was so used to hiding behind my own smile and pretending to be someone I wasn't, it was nice to just be able to write down my own thoughts.
For someone like me. When I started my journey to healing, I searched the internet looking for someone who had been through abuse and PTSD and survived. I wanted to find someone who could tell me I was going to be okay. There was a way out. I didn't find anything like that. When things got really bad, I'd think about what it would be like to have someone to talk to.
I pictured meeting me in the future: Future Me had been through hell. Future Me had survived months of not sleeping, Flashbacks, Nightmares, Night terrors, Pseudo-seizures, Dissociation, Pain, Body Memories, Crazy thinking, All of the emotions, The heartache, The loneliness, The suicidal thoughts and plans, The eating disorder, and everything else. Future Me had not only survived, she was happy and healthy and loving life. She would tell me it was going to be okay. She'd tell me there was a way out, and that I just needed to keep walking this path. She'd tell me I'd be okay.
I pictured myself as Future Me. Writing in my blog, and someone like Past Me would happen upon it and feel less alone. Less afraid. Hopeful.
So, for that person, I'd like to say:
If you think you are being selfish for not taking someone's abuse, you're wrong. If you think that you have to take abuse and ridicule because that makes you a good (wife, husband, person, etc.), you are wrong. If someone tells you they love you but you have to change, that is not love. That is manipulation. If someone tells you that no one could love you, they are lying!! That is abuse. Don't stick around and take it. There are people who will love YOU. I don't know who they are or where you will find them, and I know they exist.
You've spent a long time adapting to abuse. You've convinced yourself that's what you deserve... or that is love... or making excuses for the other person... or making excuses why you have to stay... or...
The truth is, there is a whole world out there that is light and beautiful and wonderful.
You know how to find your way. It feels impossible, but the truth is all there inside you. Trust yourself. You know the way.
And when I was in the worst of it, I repeated this line to myself over and over and over:
The only way out is through. The only way out is through. The only way out is through.
It worked. I got through it. I'm happy. I'm healthy. I am way more than okay.
You'll be okay too.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Mormon Matters: Abuse and the Forgiveness Dilemma
A few weeks ago, Mormon Matters did a podcast titled "Abuse and the Forgiveness Dilemma". I don't usually pay much attention to Mormon podcasts, but this one caught my eye.
This is a paragraph from the description of the podcast. It kind of made me sob.
And then I remembered what the people in my life said YEARS ago:
(Here's an excerpt from the post I linked to.)
Their words and their insights were invaluable to me, probably saved my life, and definitely made my life more livable.
So, knowing that was what this podcast was about, I both really wanted to listen and wanted nothing to do with it. A few months ago, I wrote about wanting to dump the baggage that the word forgiveness had for me. Listening to the podcast felt like a next step.
They started by talking Elder Uchtdorf's talk.
I didn't listen to the talk, but I read it because it got so much attention. This was the response I wrote in my journal:
Just a few thoughts as I listened:
(Sorry if it's a bit disjointed, these are the notes I took while I was listening.)
It is not appropriate for a mortal to try to absorb the consequences of another person's actions. If I do something to protect an abuser from the consequences of their choices, that is what I am doing. It isn't my job to protect them, it also isn't my job to punish them.
Forgiveness is NOT about the other person... It is NOT doing things to make the abuser's life better or easier... Forgiveness is about ME. It's about me leaving my pain behind. It's about me finding peace.
I've heard that thought before - we don't forgive for THEM, we forgive for ourselves...
I have also experienced abusive people asking for forgiveness because it made THEIR life easier, better, less painful... "Forgive me and just do what I want you to do." That is NOT forgiveness. It is manipulation. (And if a person is apologizing in this matter, it is not a real apology. A real apology ESPECIALLY in the case of abuse, will show more concern for the person that they hurt than for themselves. I wrote about what it felt like to get a real apology here.)
I can be Christlike and be forgiving, and yet not open my arms to an abuser that continues to cause me mental (or physical) anguish. Forgiveness is not about sacrificing your personal boundaries... I still get to choose who and what I want in my life. I ALWAYS get to choose. Forgiving doesn't take away my freedom - real forgiveness gives me more freedom.
Asking the survivor to forgive the perpetrator as part of the survivor "being a good person" is another way to make the survivor responsible for the abuse. That's WRONG. The survivor is not and never will be responsible for the abuse.
Shame. Shame is such a huge and horrible part of abuse. I have long believed that the beliefs I formed about myself and the world around me were FAR MORE damaging than all of the bruises or physical symptoms. Talks like Uchtdorf's only added to the shame.
If you believe what they say at church, "I am worse, because I can't forgive," and you KNOW you are a defective, bad, horrible person, you work so hard to be "good". You want so BADLY to be good, that you just keep signing up for more abuse... I KNOW that what they did was HORRIBLE, and I don't want to be like that...so I try to be nice, and kind, and loving, and serve even those that hurt me. That is the OPPOSITE of what a healthy person does.
Saying that "not forgiving" is worse than the offense, puts people on equal footing when they shouldn't be on equal footing. Abuse is not the same as the "just being human and needing compassion".
It is GOD's responsibility to be the judge over another person. The "sin" is when I decide what another person should or should not do, and try to control them. Making my own choices about where I spend my time is NOT a sin, but telling another person they have to change or do what I want IS.
"Being judgmental is a sin. Choosing to move on or separate yourself from a relationship is NOT."
Judging abuse as bad, is also okay.
Is saying, "I can't stand that person, and the things they have done to ME," even close to the same as saying, "I hate the choices they are making with their life. I wish they wouldn't drink alcohol, or live with a woman they aren't married to, or have a tattoo."?
Those two statements are totally different, but it has taken me a long time to understand the difference.
Sometimes the best thing to do is GO. Here's an example from the scriptures.
Nephi left. He got away from Laman and Lemuel. He didn't stay and take more abuse.
Follow your heart, your divine intuition, it's the only way to live, heal, and BE.
There are situations when anger IS righteous. Anger can protect us.
We can't paint with a broad brush. The journey and the process is VERY individual.
Suggestions on how to be helpful if someone trusts you enough to share their story:
God brings comfort and love. Total comfort and love. Anything else just isn't God.
I love what she said at the end... about her friend... She couldn't handle touch, so her friend sat at the edge of the bed and held her big toe. SO grateful for BJ. He'd touch my head. The only place on my body that I could handle being touched was my head, and then my hands, and then I wanted to be held. So, he held me for hours and hours while my body and my mind healed.
You don't have to forgive, at least not in the way the church teaches forgiveness, in order to move on. It is not required of you.
This is a paragraph from the description of the podcast. It kind of made me sob.
"But what about abuse victims? What about those who have been physically, sexually, emotionally abused—sometimes relentlessly and violently? How would they hear such messages? Is a warning that they must forgive their abusers, rapists, torturers or else they are even worse sinners than them a good one to hear? Can certain messages that are wonderful in most cases (and no one is imagining that abuse victims were on President Uchtdorf’s mind when he gave his remarks) be heard in spiritually and emotionally damaging ways by those whose self image distorted by internalized shame over the abuse they received as a child or whose lives are in danger or souls are being warped by abuse even in the present? Can such messages actually re-victimize these people? Are there circumstances in which even the beautiful message of “Families Are Forever” be heard as a threat—heard in such a way that a person might express a deliberate choice to live in hell rather than be forced to associate with their abuser(s) in heaven? The answer is yes."My first thought was, "Where the hell were you people when I needed you?!?"
And then I remembered what the people in my life said YEARS ago:
(Here's an excerpt from the post I linked to.)
"She gave an analogy that hit me as absolute truth.
She is giving a presentation on eating disorders to 70 RA's tomorrow. Knowing that she is talking to people who like to help others, and are college students, there will be about five people in the audience with disordered eating. She was worried about giving certain suggestions or saying certain things, because she didn't want to say something that would hurt those five. She came to the conclusion that the sixty-five needed to hear what she had to say, and she had to hope that the five would be okay.
Just because they are saying it in conference, does not mean the message was to me personally.
She said, "If I told you I was falling apart, and I really needed you here," and I finished her thought, "I would be there tomorrow... In fact, I have thought about getting on a plane when you were sick, even when you didn't ask, because I love you and I wanted you to have a friend."
At the end of President Monson's talk, I also got a text from BJ:
"He was not talking to you. I listened to the entire talk. Not once did he say, 'Hey Jen, listen up!' or 'Now I am want to talk to victims of abuse that can't say no to people yet,' He didn't say anything close to that.""
Their words and their insights were invaluable to me, probably saved my life, and definitely made my life more livable.
So, knowing that was what this podcast was about, I both really wanted to listen and wanted nothing to do with it. A few months ago, I wrote about wanting to dump the baggage that the word forgiveness had for me. Listening to the podcast felt like a next step.
They started by talking Elder Uchtdorf's talk.
I didn't listen to the talk, but I read it because it got so much attention. This was the response I wrote in my journal:
"The thing about talks like this is:As I listened to the podcast, I felt like they described my thoughts on forgiveness, love, boundaries, and choices perfectly.
Selfish assholes hear it, and think, "Yes. Everyone else should be more loving, accepting, and forgiving of me. Why doesn't (doormat) be more loving and just do what I want?"
Self-sacrificing doormats hear it, and they think, "Yes. I need to be more loving and accepting. Next time (asshole) says something awful, I will tell him that I love him and just do what he wants."
It's like the perfect recipe for a disastrous relationship."
Just a few thoughts as I listened:
(Sorry if it's a bit disjointed, these are the notes I took while I was listening.)
It is not appropriate for a mortal to try to absorb the consequences of another person's actions. If I do something to protect an abuser from the consequences of their choices, that is what I am doing. It isn't my job to protect them, it also isn't my job to punish them.
Forgiveness is NOT about the other person... It is NOT doing things to make the abuser's life better or easier... Forgiveness is about ME. It's about me leaving my pain behind. It's about me finding peace.
I've heard that thought before - we don't forgive for THEM, we forgive for ourselves...
I have also experienced abusive people asking for forgiveness because it made THEIR life easier, better, less painful... "Forgive me and just do what I want you to do." That is NOT forgiveness. It is manipulation. (And if a person is apologizing in this matter, it is not a real apology. A real apology ESPECIALLY in the case of abuse, will show more concern for the person that they hurt than for themselves. I wrote about what it felt like to get a real apology here.)
I can be Christlike and be forgiving, and yet not open my arms to an abuser that continues to cause me mental (or physical) anguish. Forgiveness is not about sacrificing your personal boundaries... I still get to choose who and what I want in my life. I ALWAYS get to choose. Forgiving doesn't take away my freedom - real forgiveness gives me more freedom.
Asking the survivor to forgive the perpetrator as part of the survivor "being a good person" is another way to make the survivor responsible for the abuse. That's WRONG. The survivor is not and never will be responsible for the abuse.
Shame. Shame is such a huge and horrible part of abuse. I have long believed that the beliefs I formed about myself and the world around me were FAR MORE damaging than all of the bruises or physical symptoms. Talks like Uchtdorf's only added to the shame.
If you believe what they say at church, "I am worse, because I can't forgive," and you KNOW you are a defective, bad, horrible person, you work so hard to be "good". You want so BADLY to be good, that you just keep signing up for more abuse... I KNOW that what they did was HORRIBLE, and I don't want to be like that...so I try to be nice, and kind, and loving, and serve even those that hurt me. That is the OPPOSITE of what a healthy person does.
Saying that "not forgiving" is worse than the offense, puts people on equal footing when they shouldn't be on equal footing. Abuse is not the same as the "just being human and needing compassion".
It is GOD's responsibility to be the judge over another person. The "sin" is when I decide what another person should or should not do, and try to control them. Making my own choices about where I spend my time is NOT a sin, but telling another person they have to change or do what I want IS.
"Being judgmental is a sin. Choosing to move on or separate yourself from a relationship is NOT."
Judging abuse as bad, is also okay.
Is saying, "I can't stand that person, and the things they have done to ME," even close to the same as saying, "I hate the choices they are making with their life. I wish they wouldn't drink alcohol, or live with a woman they aren't married to, or have a tattoo."?
Those two statements are totally different, but it has taken me a long time to understand the difference.
Sometimes the best thing to do is GO. Here's an example from the scriptures.
Nephi left. He got away from Laman and Lemuel. He didn't stay and take more abuse.
Follow your heart, your divine intuition, it's the only way to live, heal, and BE.
There are situations when anger IS righteous. Anger can protect us.
We can't paint with a broad brush. The journey and the process is VERY individual.
Suggestions on how to be helpful if someone trusts you enough to share their story:
- Don't make assumptions.
- Ask questions.
- Do NOT give me advice.
- Don't presume you know these relationships better than I do.
- Don't presume you know what I should do better than I do.
- Reaffirm my worth. I don't need you to reaffirm my courage. Don't marvel at me or my strength...
- Don't presume what will happen, in this life or the next... Talking about a "forever family" is not always a comforting thing. (Although my family has been great, one of the big things that got me thinking about the church was when I looked at some of the people at church. I thought if I had to spend eternity with them, that would not be heaven, that would be hell.)
"They know they are going to the celestial kingdom. I want nothing to do with them. If this is what heaven will be like, I'd rather go to hell."
- When I said that, I MEANT it. Hell was better than what I found in my relationship with the church.
"In my opinion, a relationship becomes abusive when one person tells someone else they are not good enough. They need to change. And at the same time, won't let that person leave the relationship. (You are not good enough for me, but I won't let you be with anyone else.) That is what it felt like being a member of the church. I wasn't good enough for them, but I didn't have the choice to leave.
Only, I did. I have the choice. I am not ever going to go back to a place or a relationship with anyone or any organization that makes me feel less than."
-me - Abusers are charming. Victims stay quiet. You never know what other people have been through.
- It is NOT. NEVER will be. the failing of the survivor who can't "hang in" any longer. NEVER. NOT. That is so so so so so wrong.
God brings comfort and love. Total comfort and love. Anything else just isn't God.
I love what she said at the end... about her friend... She couldn't handle touch, so her friend sat at the edge of the bed and held her big toe. SO grateful for BJ. He'd touch my head. The only place on my body that I could handle being touched was my head, and then my hands, and then I wanted to be held. So, he held me for hours and hours while my body and my mind healed.
You don't have to forgive, at least not in the way the church teaches forgiveness, in order to move on. It is not required of you.
The only thing that was hard to listen to in this podcast, was talking about horrific abuse... I have spent many years saying, "It wasn't rape, because it wasn't like what they experienced." or, "It wasn't abuse, because it wasn't as bad as it could have been." I have also listened to friends who said, "I wish he would have beat the shit out of me, because then at least I would have had the scars, and I could call it abuse." etc... Emotional abuse is devastating. Just because abuse doesn't look like it looks on TV, doesn't mean that it isn't. It is okay to move on and separate yourself even if you are not experiencing the VERY horrific things that Tresa and Natasha talked about.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
"It's okay for you to sit on the couch too."
I have struggled with trying to take care of, please, or sacrifice for EVERYONE for much of my life. The main focus of therapy was for me to figure out what I want, and to do that. To stop being "indiscriminately self-sacrificing." It hasn't been easy.
At the beginning of my therapy journey, I had a conversation with a friend. She was telling me about her sister's therapy.
She said, "I know my sister is probably a lot happier now... she doesn't feel like she has to do everything everyone asks of her... but I just miss the way she used to be. She did whatever I asked her to do whenever I asked her. I know she's probably healthier now, but I miss the sister that didn't care about herself."
Her words didn't anger me, like they do now, they scared me. I was afraid to start this process of finding what I want. I was so afraid that people would hate me if I stopped being the super self-sacrificing, people pleasing, caretaker that I have tried to be. I was afraid that my sister might say the same thing that my friend said. I'm glad I didn't run away from my fears, and I kept fighting for ME, because a beautiful thing has happened in the past year or so. Because I have expressed and shared my struggles with my family and friends, the way they speak to me has changed dramatically.
They used to applaud me for smiling all the time. For my kindness. For my willingness to serve and sacrifice. They thanked me for doing things that helped others, but hurt me. (They didn't know I was hurting. I never told them.)
It's not that way anymore. I have heard all of these things in the past couple of weeks:
They applaud me when I tell them that I want something. (Or laugh at me, which is equally wonderful. My mom recently called me her "perfectly normal goofball daughter", because it turns out I'm totally human, and that's perfectly normal... I just thought I wasn't, which is what makes me a goofball.)
They thank me for telling them 'no', because they want me to be honest.
They don't push me to do anything, and respect my boundaries, even when I struggle to define what those are.
I have almost no one in my life that would expect me to sacrifice myself to make them happy. In fact, sacrificing myself (if they know about it) makes them UNhappy.
I still care deeply about others. I still struggle to not take care of others, which is apparent, because people are saying the above things to me often. There will come a day when I am adept enough at not trying to anticipate everybody's needs and wants, that I won't need people to say stuff like this to me.
Until then, I'm very grateful for the people who are helping me to find my way.
(Although, actually, maybe I don't want to change that about me completely. Maybe it's just wonderful to have those who love me who are aware of ME, and will help me to take care of me.)
At the beginning of my therapy journey, I had a conversation with a friend. She was telling me about her sister's therapy.
She said, "I know my sister is probably a lot happier now... she doesn't feel like she has to do everything everyone asks of her... but I just miss the way she used to be. She did whatever I asked her to do whenever I asked her. I know she's probably healthier now, but I miss the sister that didn't care about herself."
Her words didn't anger me, like they do now, they scared me. I was afraid to start this process of finding what I want. I was so afraid that people would hate me if I stopped being the super self-sacrificing, people pleasing, caretaker that I have tried to be. I was afraid that my sister might say the same thing that my friend said. I'm glad I didn't run away from my fears, and I kept fighting for ME, because a beautiful thing has happened in the past year or so. Because I have expressed and shared my struggles with my family and friends, the way they speak to me has changed dramatically.
They used to applaud me for smiling all the time. For my kindness. For my willingness to serve and sacrifice. They thanked me for doing things that helped others, but hurt me. (They didn't know I was hurting. I never told them.)
It's not that way anymore. I have heard all of these things in the past couple of weeks:
"What do YOU want?"
"I don't want you sacrificing what you want to make me happy, what kind of a friend would want that?"
"Please just take care of you. Stop trying to take care of me or anyone else."
"You're calling because you want to be sure that although you know you need to take care of you, you also feel like you have to make sure that doing so would not adversely affect me or anyone else. Is that really the way you want to live your life?"
"Don't try to make ME happy, that just makes me confused and frustrated."
"You don't have to do that, I just wanted to know if you wanted to."
(after calling my name, and I ran up the stairs) "You don't have to come running just because I call. I just wanted to know where you were."
"It's okay for you to sit on the couch too."
"I love you. I want you to be happy. That's what love is."
They applaud me when I tell them that I want something. (Or laugh at me, which is equally wonderful. My mom recently called me her "perfectly normal goofball daughter", because it turns out I'm totally human, and that's perfectly normal... I just thought I wasn't, which is what makes me a goofball.)
They thank me for telling them 'no', because they want me to be honest.
They don't push me to do anything, and respect my boundaries, even when I struggle to define what those are.
I have almost no one in my life that would expect me to sacrifice myself to make them happy. In fact, sacrificing myself (if they know about it) makes them UNhappy.
I still care deeply about others. I still struggle to not take care of others, which is apparent, because people are saying the above things to me often. There will come a day when I am adept enough at not trying to anticipate everybody's needs and wants, that I won't need people to say stuff like this to me.
Until then, I'm very grateful for the people who are helping me to find my way.
(Although, actually, maybe I don't want to change that about me completely. Maybe it's just wonderful to have those who love me who are aware of ME, and will help me to take care of me.)
Friday, December 23, 2011
Protecting Abusers
After my last post, BJ and I were talking. He said something to the effect of, "But you understand the desire to protect abusers. You still do it yourself."
Oh yeah. I do.
I've had panic and anxiety for three days following sharing with my brothers that my uncles had molested my cousin. I should protect them (my uncles). They're good people. So, yeah they molested at least three little girls, but... it's okay. Just keep it quiet. Don't tell anyone. Think of how it will affect them, their kids, their wives, my grandma... Think about everyone else, keep the secret, even if it kills me. Maybe they've changed and repented, and isn't fair to bring up their past...Why do they deserve to hurt just because I am? Or just because my cousin is? Geez, Jen, don't you believe in change and forgiveness? When are you just going to get over it?? They hurt you, but you don't KNOW that anyone else is getting hurt. It gives you anxiety to watch their teenage sons with little girls, but that's just you being overreactionary. And around and around it goes in my head.
The truth is, they did what they did. Pretending that they didn't do it is silly. Lying to protect them from the consequences won't heal or help anyone.Talking about it is the only way for things to change. (Which is why I wanted to tell my brothers so bad, and why I did tell them, even though it caused killer panic and anxiety ever since.)
The thing that makes ALL abuse possible is secrecy. As a child, I was sworn to secrecy. They said things like, "If you love me, you'll do this."
"This is what grownups do, and some people don't think you're big enough to do these things, so don't tell anyone. You want to be grownup don't you?"
"This is our little secret. Just between you and me, isn't this fun?"
"Don't tell your mommy and daddy. Think of how sad it will make your mom that you did this. And your dad will be so mad at both of us. You don't want him to be mad, do you?"
My mom remembers me trying to tell her "a secret", but I couldn't do it. She remembers me being so worked up, but in the end I didn't tell her, and we both forgot for the next twenty-five years.
As an adult, we keep abuse a secret for many different reasons.
"I love you, and this is just between us, so I won't tell my parents that the bruises I have came from you."
"Don't get anyone else involved."
"People will know I hit you because you deserve it."
I didn't share the horrible things that abusers have said to me. I haven't shared a lot of things that people have said to me, because I was worried that others would agree. If I told the bishop that my husband called me a "dirty whore", he'd agree. So I kept it secret to protect both the abuser and myself.
I understand why people protect abusers. I understand why abuse is kept secret. I understand why people blame the victim. I have done a lot to protect abusers. I have kept abuse a secret, and I have blamed the victim (me). Knowing all of that about myself, and knowing that there HAS to be a better way, I keep on writing and talking and searching and hoping.
My goal is still to heal ALL of us.
Oh yeah. I do.
I've had panic and anxiety for three days following sharing with my brothers that my uncles had molested my cousin. I should protect them (my uncles). They're good people. So, yeah they molested at least three little girls, but... it's okay. Just keep it quiet. Don't tell anyone. Think of how it will affect them, their kids, their wives, my grandma... Think about everyone else, keep the secret, even if it kills me. Maybe they've changed and repented, and isn't fair to bring up their past...Why do they deserve to hurt just because I am? Or just because my cousin is? Geez, Jen, don't you believe in change and forgiveness? When are you just going to get over it?? They hurt you, but you don't KNOW that anyone else is getting hurt. It gives you anxiety to watch their teenage sons with little girls, but that's just you being overreactionary. And around and around it goes in my head.
The truth is, they did what they did. Pretending that they didn't do it is silly. Lying to protect them from the consequences won't heal or help anyone.Talking about it is the only way for things to change. (Which is why I wanted to tell my brothers so bad, and why I did tell them, even though it caused killer panic and anxiety ever since.)
The thing that makes ALL abuse possible is secrecy. As a child, I was sworn to secrecy. They said things like, "If you love me, you'll do this."
"This is what grownups do, and some people don't think you're big enough to do these things, so don't tell anyone. You want to be grownup don't you?"
"This is our little secret. Just between you and me, isn't this fun?"
"Don't tell your mommy and daddy. Think of how sad it will make your mom that you did this. And your dad will be so mad at both of us. You don't want him to be mad, do you?"
My mom remembers me trying to tell her "a secret", but I couldn't do it. She remembers me being so worked up, but in the end I didn't tell her, and we both forgot for the next twenty-five years.
As an adult, we keep abuse a secret for many different reasons.
"I love you, and this is just between us, so I won't tell my parents that the bruises I have came from you."
"Don't get anyone else involved."
"People will know I hit you because you deserve it."
I didn't share the horrible things that abusers have said to me. I haven't shared a lot of things that people have said to me, because I was worried that others would agree. If I told the bishop that my husband called me a "dirty whore", he'd agree. So I kept it secret to protect both the abuser and myself.
I understand why people protect abusers. I understand why abuse is kept secret. I understand why people blame the victim. I have done a lot to protect abusers. I have kept abuse a secret, and I have blamed the victim (me). Knowing all of that about myself, and knowing that there HAS to be a better way, I keep on writing and talking and searching and hoping.
My goal is still to heal ALL of us.
Should Mormon bishops stand trial for not reporting abuse?
Reading the Deseret News this morning. Here's my thoughts:
Bishops saying things like Moon did comes from their complete and total ignorance of what it is like to be sexually assaulted... They don't get it. They don't understand. They think they speak for God even when they are speaking in complete and utter ignorance.
This bishop asked the girl to think about her abuser, and how her reporting would affect HIS life. That's just stupid. He asked her to consider changing the way she dressed, which is common way to blame the victim rather than ask the young man who assaulted her to take responsibility. My guess is he meant well, but in his ignorance, he served to aid an abuser.
Luckily, the girl's mother set up an appointment with a detective that same day. Luckily, the girl TALKED to her mother and her mother listened. I went to the bishop, and I stopped there. When he told me not to worry about it, I took him at his word. I didn't understand that he didn't speak for God... That I had every right to pursue MY rights and to talk about it. I didn't go to my mom, or other friends, or a therapist. I just went on as if nothing happened.
I'd hate to see somebody having to serve time just for being ignorant AND at the same time, how else do we start educating people? If there are no consequences for being ignorant asses, why would they change? And how do we tell other people like me that it is OKAY to talk about it, even if the bishop tells you not to? The more awareness we can create, the less this will happen.
Victims will be treated with respect and understanding and get the help they need. It's also my hope that perpetrators, bishops, parents, counselors, teachers, friends will be made more aware of what is going on and get the help they need as well. My goal is to heal ALL of us.
But nothing will change if someone doesn't do something to create the change.
Bishops saying things like Moon did comes from their complete and total ignorance of what it is like to be sexually assaulted... They don't get it. They don't understand. They think they speak for God even when they are speaking in complete and utter ignorance.
This bishop asked the girl to think about her abuser, and how her reporting would affect HIS life. That's just stupid. He asked her to consider changing the way she dressed, which is common way to blame the victim rather than ask the young man who assaulted her to take responsibility. My guess is he meant well, but in his ignorance, he served to aid an abuser.
Luckily, the girl's mother set up an appointment with a detective that same day. Luckily, the girl TALKED to her mother and her mother listened. I went to the bishop, and I stopped there. When he told me not to worry about it, I took him at his word. I didn't understand that he didn't speak for God... That I had every right to pursue MY rights and to talk about it. I didn't go to my mom, or other friends, or a therapist. I just went on as if nothing happened.
I'd hate to see somebody having to serve time just for being ignorant AND at the same time, how else do we start educating people? If there are no consequences for being ignorant asses, why would they change? And how do we tell other people like me that it is OKAY to talk about it, even if the bishop tells you not to? The more awareness we can create, the less this will happen.
Victims will be treated with respect and understanding and get the help they need. It's also my hope that perpetrators, bishops, parents, counselors, teachers, friends will be made more aware of what is going on and get the help they need as well. My goal is to heal ALL of us.
But nothing will change if someone doesn't do something to create the change.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
To my family: Thank you for making me SO wrong.
Sometimes I get a glimpse of what it must have been like to be my friend a few years ago...
I forced myself to go to church. It made me crazy. I was a mess of anxiety leading up to it, and then a slightly different kind of mess after it. BJ would ask me every single week, "Why do you do this to yourself? You don't have to go. Just stop. It's hurting you, so stop."
My reply was always, "I HAVE to. What will people think of me? It will hurt my family if I don't go. It would be better that I was dead than to not be what they want me to be," and I'd keep on doing what I thought everyone else wanted me to do. He never told me not to. I know it killed him to watch me constantly putting myself in that situation, but he let me find my own way.
In the meantime, I kept finding evidence that I was right: My family would disown me if I didn't do what they wanted. They never came right out and said, "If you are honest about who you are, it will hurt us," but I believed it. I can only imagine how it would have messed me up if they had said it. I couldn't handle the thought of hurting them or making them unhappy, so I'd keep trying to please everyone else, while slowly killing myself. I made myself crazy trying to live the life everyone else wanted me to live.
And then one day, I got it. I made the decision that I was not going to let fear or guilt run my life. People that tried to use fear or guilt to manipulate me were just gone. I didn't talk to them anymore. If a situation felt manipulative, I walked out. I got it.
I stopped going to church. I got honest. I told my family and some friends how I really feel, and who I want to be, and who I am deep down inside. It didn't create the hell I thought it would - in fact exactly the opposite happened.
I found REAL relationships. REAL love. My family is amazing.
I have had some friends call me to repentance and tell me how much I am hurting myself and others by not doing what THEY think I should. Fuck them. I don't need them in my life, because I know what it feels like to have REAL love. (ok. not fuck them. More like... goodbye, I'll miss you. I'm here to be your friend if you ever change.)
I don't know why my family got it. HOW they got it, because I know that many MANY members of the church do NOT get it. They keep right on being manipulative, controlling, emotionally abusive people. They keep right on hurting the ones they "love" in the name of "love". And most of them never see it. They don't even have a clue of the pain they are causing.
I tried to explain this to my parents and sister once. My mom kept telling me that, "I can't imagine saying those kinds of things to someone I love. EVER," She thought she was normal, and the stories of the things people have said (and continue to say) to my friends are odd.
"I'm not that amazing... Most people would have handled things the way I handled things."
No. Mom. They don't.
Here are some of the amazing things my family did that most won't do.
My records are currently in my parents' ward, because they couldn't find me... When the clerk asked my sister why they were there. She told them, honestly, exactly why, "Jen isn't a part of the church, doesn't want to be, and it's just better if her records stay here. She doesn't want them where she is living." I cried when she told me, because that means... She is listening to ME. She doesn't have some preconceived notion of what is best for me, she isn't trying to control me or change me or to get my bishop to get me back to church. She cares about ME enough to hear ME.
I was visiting my parents when their bishopric stopped by.
I was in the kitchen, from the living room my mom shouted, "Oh. HI Bishopric!" It was a message to me, "Jen, the bishopric are here. I know how much these guys could possibly freak you out. Don't know how to handle it other than to just let you know by shouting it out, and emphasizing it awkwardly." I froze in the kitchen, waited a bit, and then I left. As soon as they were gone, my mom called me and we laughed at it all. This doesn't seem like much to my mom, but it is HUGE to anyone that has left the church. Most people don't treat us with that much respect.
(Incidentally, the bishopric were coming because my sister's father-in-law talked to the bishopric to get them to go reactivate his son. My parents are not just awesome when it comes to me... They are also awesome when it comes to their son-in-law. To the bishopric they said, "Actually, this is exactly the problem. His parents can't figure out how to stop being controlling, crazy people, and they keep pulling stunts like this one in order to get him to do what they think he should. If he decides to go back to church, we'll all support him. In the meantime... just let him be.")
My dad and I have had many discussions. We talk openly. He's aware that he can't answer many of my questions, so he doesn't try. We just talk about them... And in the end, he always says, "I love you, and I trust you," and I think he really means it. I FEEL that from him. He has told me he totally supports me not going to church, because he wants me to love ME, and the church just gets in my way. He knows me, and loves me, and it still makes me cry happy tears when I think about it.
My youngest brother posted this on my facebook wall, "So apparently there's a guy that used to work at BYU who is working on a documentary about being gay and Mormon, called "Far Between" It's not out yet, but it seemed like something you'd be interested in." I am aware of the documentary, I even know the man that he is talking about. (I even considered submitting my story of being asexual for it, but I don't think I will.) What amazed me is that he is paying attention to things that interest me. I care deeply about LGBT rights, and he knows it. Again... he may not understand how impressive that is, but I want him to know... That's impressive.
On Thanksgiving, I was nervous about seeing extended family. (As it turns out, I didn't have to be. My dad didn't want me to have to deal with awkward questions... He told my grandparents I've left the church, and told them I was happier. He told them he supported me and my decisions. And he wasn't just saying it, he MEANS it. Do you know how amazing THAT is?) I was trying to get more honest with my extended family, so I talked to my grandma about fishing and riding on Sundays. I talked about my roommate BJ, and she remembered meeting him. He and my grandpa talked about fly-fishing. As I was leaving, my GRANDMA just said, "You are happy, so you must be doing something right, just keep on being happy."
In the process, before I left, I was not happy. I was miserable. It is hard to face the possibility that I might lose everything if I am true to myself. I questioned whether it was really worth it. If I had known the kind of people that I have surrounding me, I wouldn't have had to question. Unfortunately, in the process of leaving, you don't know the kind of people you have in your life until you've stepped out and been honest, and then they show you. You have to face the fear of losing them before you can make the choice that might make them leave you.
As I've shared my life with my brothers, I've been surprised to hear them say, "I just want you to be happy," and they mean it.
I believed for so long that when people told me they "just wanted me to be happy" what they really meant was, "I want you to be happy as long as you do it my way." There ARE a lot of people like that in this world. The church can create that idea. (There is only ONE TRUE way to happiness, so if you aren't doing what *I* think you should be doing, you're not happy... even if you think you are. I just want you to be happy, so do what I tell you to do, and if that doesn't make you happy, then repent.)
These are just a few examples... I have stories like these happen all the time. It is more than just what they do, it is who they are and how they treat me ALL the time. (Hard to explain, but I'll try.) My parents actually mean what they say. They really do love me and trust me. I know the way my extended family is treating me is directly related to the wonderful way my parents are treating me. Their love and respect is making all of the difference in the world. I couldn't make them do that. I didn't get to choose their reaction, but if I DID get to choose, it would have been exactly like this.
I suppose what I want to say is, "Thank you."
Thank you for loving me. Thank you for listening to me. Thank you for not getting caught up in the stories. Thank you for trusting me to live my own life. Thank you for not trying to change me. Thank you for accepting me. Thank you. Sometimes, I'm still afraid of what you'll think of me, and I'm still afraid you won't love me... and yet, you have never left me. Thank you. Thank you for wanting ME in your lives. Thank you for not expecting me to continue to wear the mask or pretend in any way. Thank you for listening when I hurt. Thank you for being there with me through my confusion, and thank you for not thinking you know the way my confusion should be resolved. Because of you, my angry phase was much MUCH shorter than it could have been. I didn't have to get really angry to get out. I could leave (somewhat) quietly. I didn't have to fight against you in order to live my life. I thought I would. I was geared up for a big battle. I was geared up to lose everything. Thank you for making me SO wrong.
I love you. I am so grateful for you.
I forced myself to go to church. It made me crazy. I was a mess of anxiety leading up to it, and then a slightly different kind of mess after it. BJ would ask me every single week, "Why do you do this to yourself? You don't have to go. Just stop. It's hurting you, so stop."
My reply was always, "I HAVE to. What will people think of me? It will hurt my family if I don't go. It would be better that I was dead than to not be what they want me to be," and I'd keep on doing what I thought everyone else wanted me to do. He never told me not to. I know it killed him to watch me constantly putting myself in that situation, but he let me find my own way.
In the meantime, I kept finding evidence that I was right: My family would disown me if I didn't do what they wanted. They never came right out and said, "If you are honest about who you are, it will hurt us," but I believed it. I can only imagine how it would have messed me up if they had said it. I couldn't handle the thought of hurting them or making them unhappy, so I'd keep trying to please everyone else, while slowly killing myself. I made myself crazy trying to live the life everyone else wanted me to live.
And then one day, I got it. I made the decision that I was not going to let fear or guilt run my life. People that tried to use fear or guilt to manipulate me were just gone. I didn't talk to them anymore. If a situation felt manipulative, I walked out. I got it.
I stopped going to church. I got honest. I told my family and some friends how I really feel, and who I want to be, and who I am deep down inside. It didn't create the hell I thought it would - in fact exactly the opposite happened.
I found REAL relationships. REAL love. My family is amazing.
I have had some friends call me to repentance and tell me how much I am hurting myself and others by not doing what THEY think I should. Fuck them. I don't need them in my life, because I know what it feels like to have REAL love. (ok. not fuck them. More like... goodbye, I'll miss you. I'm here to be your friend if you ever change.)
I don't know why my family got it. HOW they got it, because I know that many MANY members of the church do NOT get it. They keep right on being manipulative, controlling, emotionally abusive people. They keep right on hurting the ones they "love" in the name of "love". And most of them never see it. They don't even have a clue of the pain they are causing.
I tried to explain this to my parents and sister once. My mom kept telling me that, "I can't imagine saying those kinds of things to someone I love. EVER," She thought she was normal, and the stories of the things people have said (and continue to say) to my friends are odd.
"I'm not that amazing... Most people would have handled things the way I handled things."
No. Mom. They don't.
Here are some of the amazing things my family did that most won't do.
My records are currently in my parents' ward, because they couldn't find me... When the clerk asked my sister why they were there. She told them, honestly, exactly why, "Jen isn't a part of the church, doesn't want to be, and it's just better if her records stay here. She doesn't want them where she is living." I cried when she told me, because that means... She is listening to ME. She doesn't have some preconceived notion of what is best for me, she isn't trying to control me or change me or to get my bishop to get me back to church. She cares about ME enough to hear ME.
I was visiting my parents when their bishopric stopped by.
I was in the kitchen, from the living room my mom shouted, "Oh. HI Bishopric!" It was a message to me, "Jen, the bishopric are here. I know how much these guys could possibly freak you out. Don't know how to handle it other than to just let you know by shouting it out, and emphasizing it awkwardly." I froze in the kitchen, waited a bit, and then I left. As soon as they were gone, my mom called me and we laughed at it all. This doesn't seem like much to my mom, but it is HUGE to anyone that has left the church. Most people don't treat us with that much respect.
(Incidentally, the bishopric were coming because my sister's father-in-law talked to the bishopric to get them to go reactivate his son. My parents are not just awesome when it comes to me... They are also awesome when it comes to their son-in-law. To the bishopric they said, "Actually, this is exactly the problem. His parents can't figure out how to stop being controlling, crazy people, and they keep pulling stunts like this one in order to get him to do what they think he should. If he decides to go back to church, we'll all support him. In the meantime... just let him be.")
My dad and I have had many discussions. We talk openly. He's aware that he can't answer many of my questions, so he doesn't try. We just talk about them... And in the end, he always says, "I love you, and I trust you," and I think he really means it. I FEEL that from him. He has told me he totally supports me not going to church, because he wants me to love ME, and the church just gets in my way. He knows me, and loves me, and it still makes me cry happy tears when I think about it.
My youngest brother posted this on my facebook wall, "So apparently there's a guy that used to work at BYU who is working on a documentary about being gay and Mormon, called "Far Between" It's not out yet, but it seemed like something you'd be interested in." I am aware of the documentary, I even know the man that he is talking about. (I even considered submitting my story of being asexual for it, but I don't think I will.) What amazed me is that he is paying attention to things that interest me. I care deeply about LGBT rights, and he knows it. Again... he may not understand how impressive that is, but I want him to know... That's impressive.
On Thanksgiving, I was nervous about seeing extended family. (As it turns out, I didn't have to be. My dad didn't want me to have to deal with awkward questions... He told my grandparents I've left the church, and told them I was happier. He told them he supported me and my decisions. And he wasn't just saying it, he MEANS it. Do you know how amazing THAT is?) I was trying to get more honest with my extended family, so I talked to my grandma about fishing and riding on Sundays. I talked about my roommate BJ, and she remembered meeting him. He and my grandpa talked about fly-fishing. As I was leaving, my GRANDMA just said, "You are happy, so you must be doing something right, just keep on being happy."
In the process, before I left, I was not happy. I was miserable. It is hard to face the possibility that I might lose everything if I am true to myself. I questioned whether it was really worth it. If I had known the kind of people that I have surrounding me, I wouldn't have had to question. Unfortunately, in the process of leaving, you don't know the kind of people you have in your life until you've stepped out and been honest, and then they show you. You have to face the fear of losing them before you can make the choice that might make them leave you.
As I've shared my life with my brothers, I've been surprised to hear them say, "I just want you to be happy," and they mean it.
I believed for so long that when people told me they "just wanted me to be happy" what they really meant was, "I want you to be happy as long as you do it my way." There ARE a lot of people like that in this world. The church can create that idea. (There is only ONE TRUE way to happiness, so if you aren't doing what *I* think you should be doing, you're not happy... even if you think you are. I just want you to be happy, so do what I tell you to do, and if that doesn't make you happy, then repent.)
I suppose what I want to say is, "Thank you."
Thank you for loving me. Thank you for listening to me. Thank you for not getting caught up in the stories. Thank you for trusting me to live my own life. Thank you for not trying to change me. Thank you for accepting me. Thank you. Sometimes, I'm still afraid of what you'll think of me, and I'm still afraid you won't love me... and yet, you have never left me. Thank you. Thank you for wanting ME in your lives. Thank you for not expecting me to continue to wear the mask or pretend in any way. Thank you for listening when I hurt. Thank you for being there with me through my confusion, and thank you for not thinking you know the way my confusion should be resolved. Because of you, my angry phase was much MUCH shorter than it could have been. I didn't have to get really angry to get out. I could leave (somewhat) quietly. I didn't have to fight against you in order to live my life. I thought I would. I was geared up for a big battle. I was geared up to lose everything. Thank you for making me SO wrong.
I love you. I am so grateful for you.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
The poker game
A good friend of mine wrote this blog post, and I think she hit it spot on.
I especially love her analogy of the poker game.
"I would compare it to a round of poker. “Genetics deals the cards, environment determines the number/skill of your opponents, and you play the hand.”
I also love this:
"In other words, don’t obsess about your body in front of children. Don’t encourage them to try fad diets. And, of course, eat cake at their birthday parties. Your children will thank you."
Only, I doubt your children will thank you, because they won't know any other reality. They will just know what it was like to have parents that eat birthday cake. They won't know that some people don't get to enjoy such wonderful things.
Love your body.
You're beautiful!
I especially love her analogy of the poker game.
"I would compare it to a round of poker. “Genetics deals the cards, environment determines the number/skill of your opponents, and you play the hand.”
I also love this:
"In other words, don’t obsess about your body in front of children. Don’t encourage them to try fad diets. And, of course, eat cake at their birthday parties. Your children will thank you."
Only, I doubt your children will thank you, because they won't know any other reality. They will just know what it was like to have parents that eat birthday cake. They won't know that some people don't get to enjoy such wonderful things.
Love your body.
You're beautiful!
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
"It isn’t just about dismissing a thought, it is about self-dismissal"
I just read a blogpost on "Gaslighting".
Gaslighting is a form of emotional abuse where the abuser tries to make their target think they are crazy, their reactions on abnormal, or wrong, or... in some way completely invalidate the other person.
The blog is not superbly written, and there are a few things I really didn't like about it. (The biggest being that he seemed to think that it was only a problem done to women, and that he could tell other women what their problem was.)
There was one line that really struck me, "That “forget it” isn’t just about dismissing a thought, it is about self-dismissal. It’s heartbreaking."
Here it is in a little more context:
It's heartbreaking.
After years of being told to dismiss my own emotions, experiences, myself, I didn't need anyone else to do it for me. I told MYSELF I was crazy. I told myself I was too sensitive, overreacting, nuts, I deserved it, to just forget it, it wasn't important, I wasn't important, etc.
I believed it for a long time, but it just wasn't true.
I still have a hard time knowing if my reactions are "too much". The most valuable tool I have found is to think about how I would react if someone was doing or saying (...) to my sister, my friend, to those that I really love, how would I react? I believe I deserve the same love (and boundaries) I want for those that I care about most.
I wouldn't want my sister to take abuse, so I won't take abuse.
Gaslighting is a form of emotional abuse where the abuser tries to make their target think they are crazy, their reactions on abnormal, or wrong, or... in some way completely invalidate the other person.
The blog is not superbly written, and there are a few things I really didn't like about it. (The biggest being that he seemed to think that it was only a problem done to women, and that he could tell other women what their problem was.)
There was one line that really struck me, "That “forget it” isn’t just about dismissing a thought, it is about self-dismissal. It’s heartbreaking."
Here it is in a little more context:
"These women aren’t able to clearly express to their spouses that what is said or done to them is hurtful. They can’t tell their boss that his behavior is disrespectful and prevents them from doing their best work. They can’t tell their parents that, when they are being critical, they are doing more harm than good.That is what emotional abuse does to a person. They can't express what is going on, and when they try to express it (especially to the person that is already abusing them), they are told to forget about it, and in order to forget about that kind of violation to their own psychological boundaries, they forget about themselves. We dismiss ourselves. I dismissed myself.
When these women receive any sort of push back to their reactions, they often brush it off by saying, “Forget it, it’s okay.”
That “forget it” isn’t just about dismissing a thought, it is about self-dismissal. It’s heartbreaking."
It's heartbreaking.
After years of being told to dismiss my own emotions, experiences, myself, I didn't need anyone else to do it for me. I told MYSELF I was crazy. I told myself I was too sensitive, overreacting, nuts, I deserved it, to just forget it, it wasn't important, I wasn't important, etc.
I believed it for a long time, but it just wasn't true.
I still have a hard time knowing if my reactions are "too much". The most valuable tool I have found is to think about how I would react if someone was doing or saying (...) to my sister, my friend, to those that I really love, how would I react? I believe I deserve the same love (and boundaries) I want for those that I care about most.
I wouldn't want my sister to take abuse, so I won't take abuse.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Dumbledore knows what he's talking about
I'm in the process of rereading all of the Harry Potter books. I just finished the Goblet of Fire
.
Near the end of the book, Harry has been through hell. He's lost. Everyone around him is lost. This is the advice Dumbledore gives:
I had to accept I was abused. I had to accept it wasn't my fault, and there is nothing I could have done to change it. I had to accept that it has changed me and my life forever. I had to accept that some of the people that were supposed to love me the most are the ones that hurt me the most. I had to accept that what I thought was love, wasn't. I had to accept that I am who I am, and I've come to accept ME.
And then came recovery. The REAL recovery. The kind that leaves me feeling peaceful, fulfilled, happy, and connected to the people that love me.
(Back to the book) Harry was exhausted. He felt like he couldn't push any more. His friends were telling him to rest, sleep, take a break. Dumbledore had more advice.
Surviving the horrors of life takes great bravery. It also takes courage to stand up and use your voice and "Tell us what happened."
(So much for my "just for fun" reading, huh?)
.Near the end of the book, Harry has been through hell. He's lost. Everyone around him is lost. This is the advice Dumbledore gives:
"Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery. He needs to know."The most powerful part of that to me is only with acceptance can there be recovery.
I had to accept I was abused. I had to accept it wasn't my fault, and there is nothing I could have done to change it. I had to accept that it has changed me and my life forever. I had to accept that some of the people that were supposed to love me the most are the ones that hurt me the most. I had to accept that what I thought was love, wasn't. I had to accept that I am who I am, and I've come to accept ME.
And then came recovery. The REAL recovery. The kind that leaves me feeling peaceful, fulfilled, happy, and connected to the people that love me.
(Back to the book) Harry was exhausted. He felt like he couldn't push any more. His friends were telling him to rest, sleep, take a break. Dumbledore had more advice.
"If I thought I could help you," Dumbledore said gently, "by putting you into an enchanted sleep and allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what has happened tonight, I would do it. But I know better. Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. I ask you to demonstrate your courage one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened."There is a time for postponing and numbing the pain. I am positive I would not have survived without all of my various ways of avoiding the pain. If I had been able to deal with it back then, I would have, and it wouldn't have grown in intensity like it did.
Surviving the horrors of life takes great bravery. It also takes courage to stand up and use your voice and "Tell us what happened."
(So much for my "just for fun" reading, huh?)
Saturday, March 19, 2011
The Scream
Back when I was inpatient, and I had group therapy a million times a day, we had a group where the therapist decided to practice "scream therapy".
He had each of us find a spot in the room. Then told us to scream our hearts out. I could not do it. Not a peep came out of my lips. I actually covered my ears, closed my eyes, and curled up in a ball. The sound, the emotions, and my own desire to scream was too much for me.
I spent a lot of time in the mountains. I WANTED to scream. I felt like if I could just scream loud enough and long enough, all the pain would get out of me. When I was out with Sunny and BJ, I'd try. I'd yell and swear, but there was something about screaming that was too... primal... for me.
This afternoon, BJ got an email from his son. BJ asked, "If you sister was being beaten by her husband, what would you counsel her to do?" He only read one line to me, and it was too much.
I screamed. And screamed. And screamed.
No swear words. No words at all. Just a scream from deep inside.
Don't talk about the abuse. Don't tell anyone that he beats you. Don't share the secrets. Protect him. Protect the marriage.
I BELIEVED this. I BELIEVED that to use my voice to share what happened to me was wrong. I WAS WRONG. My voice is the only thing I can use. My voice is the only power I have to stop abuse. (That and my ability to walk away from the abuse.)
It turns out, I can scream. Really loud and really long.
(And if I were answering the question, What counsel would you give your sister? I'd tell her to get out. Leave. Then sort out the whys and what-fors. Once she is away, THEN decide if the relationship is worth working for. If it has gotten to the point of abuse, there is A LOT that she is going to have to learn and fight through. It won't just go away, and she needs a lot of help and support. That said, each person has their own journey... I would want my sister to know she is loved. No. Matter. What.)
He had each of us find a spot in the room. Then told us to scream our hearts out. I could not do it. Not a peep came out of my lips. I actually covered my ears, closed my eyes, and curled up in a ball. The sound, the emotions, and my own desire to scream was too much for me.
I spent a lot of time in the mountains. I WANTED to scream. I felt like if I could just scream loud enough and long enough, all the pain would get out of me. When I was out with Sunny and BJ, I'd try. I'd yell and swear, but there was something about screaming that was too... primal... for me.
This afternoon, BJ got an email from his son. BJ asked, "If you sister was being beaten by her husband, what would you counsel her to do?" He only read one line to me, and it was too much.
I screamed. And screamed. And screamed.
No swear words. No words at all. Just a scream from deep inside.
Don't talk about the abuse. Don't tell anyone that he beats you. Don't share the secrets. Protect him. Protect the marriage.
I BELIEVED this. I BELIEVED that to use my voice to share what happened to me was wrong. I WAS WRONG. My voice is the only thing I can use. My voice is the only power I have to stop abuse. (That and my ability to walk away from the abuse.)
It turns out, I can scream. Really loud and really long.
(And if I were answering the question, What counsel would you give your sister? I'd tell her to get out. Leave. Then sort out the whys and what-fors. Once she is away, THEN decide if the relationship is worth working for. If it has gotten to the point of abuse, there is A LOT that she is going to have to learn and fight through. It won't just go away, and she needs a lot of help and support. That said, each person has their own journey... I would want my sister to know she is loved. No. Matter. What.)
Friday, February 11, 2011
Trust Jen
In the past few weeks, I have opened up to more people. And it has felt awesome in many ways. Knowing that my family loves me even if I don't go to church, or have doubts or questions, or... That has felt amazing.
Downside has been opening myself up to everyone's advice and thoughts on my life.
"You can't be happy..."
"You need to..."
"Why don't you..."
Actually. I KNOW HOW TO TAKE CARE OF ME.
I AM happy. And I have sad days. I don't need to do anything except what I need to do. AND I KNOW WHAT TO DO.
I want to speak out more, and I don't have to do it today.
I do need people in my life, and I choose who those people are and when I interact with them.
Jen, you know what you need. Take care of you. Trust you.
And now I'm going riding, because I do know what I need and what is best for me.
Downside has been opening myself up to everyone's advice and thoughts on my life.
"You can't be happy..."
"You need to..."
"Why don't you..."
Actually. I KNOW HOW TO TAKE CARE OF ME.
I AM happy. And I have sad days. I don't need to do anything except what I need to do. AND I KNOW WHAT TO DO.
I want to speak out more, and I don't have to do it today.
I do need people in my life, and I choose who those people are and when I interact with them.
Jen, you know what you need. Take care of you. Trust you.
And now I'm going riding, because I do know what I need and what is best for me.
Friday, January 21, 2011
...walking around with my skin peeled off.
A friend once told me that trauma work was like "walking around in the sun with your skin peeled off". I thought the analogy was PERFECT. Its painful, and I feel vulnerable, and painful, and other people don't know quite how to handle me, and...
I'd forgotten just what it feels like. For more than two years, I felt it everyday, all day, all the time, never a break. But with life being calmer the last six months, I was beginning to forget.
I've had a rough couple of days. I shared things about myself that were hard to share. Although the feedback I have gotten has been 100% positive, I have still felt icky.
I realized this afternoon, when all I wanted to do was hide in my room, I've now bared myself. Everyone has been very kind, better than I could have expected, but it hurts to peel off your skin...
I'm feeling very vulnerable and raw. I'm not planning on disappearing, and I need some time to nurse the raw wounds. I'm taking extra special care of myself. I've spent most of the day curled up in a blanket in the backyard with Sunny. (Thank goodness its above freezing!) I don't know how long I'll need, and I will take just the right amount for me.
I'd forgotten just what it feels like. For more than two years, I felt it everyday, all day, all the time, never a break. But with life being calmer the last six months, I was beginning to forget.
I've had a rough couple of days. I shared things about myself that were hard to share. Although the feedback I have gotten has been 100% positive, I have still felt icky.
I realized this afternoon, when all I wanted to do was hide in my room, I've now bared myself. Everyone has been very kind, better than I could have expected, but it hurts to peel off your skin...
I'm feeling very vulnerable and raw. I'm not planning on disappearing, and I need some time to nurse the raw wounds. I'm taking extra special care of myself. I've spent most of the day curled up in a blanket in the backyard with Sunny. (Thank goodness its above freezing!) I don't know how long I'll need, and I will take just the right amount for me.
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