The real reason I was upset, and it wasn't what I thought it was.

Todd's son lives in another state. He moved there a while ago, and Todd hasn't been to visit. They've asked him to come, but it hasn't worked out yet.

A couple weeks ago, we bought plane tickets. Todd talked to them before we bought the tickets to make sure it was okay, and it was. Last night, he got a phone call: we can stay there, but we won't be sleeping in the same room.

I didn't see that coming.
I'm sure my own family doesn't love that I live with Todd, and we aren't married, but it stopped being an issue before it ever was an issue with them. We went on vacation with my parents and siblings, and it didn't seem like they cared. We have stayed with Todd's siblings, his parents, and his daughters, and it didn't seem like an issue with any of them.

I was really upset.
I am aware that asking us to sleep in different rooms isn't a horrible thing to ask.  It seemed illogical - even to me - to be so sad and hurt.
Illogical or not, it hurt.

Here's the reason. It has nothing to do with religion or intolerance or them not liking who we are or all the reasons that made sense at first. It has everything to do with what they are really asking of me (without knowing it of course).

I have a tough time at nights. I've learned to cope, and I can sleep in my own house, with Todd next to me. I learned to cope before I was sleeping with Todd - but now that THAT is my normal, it will take a long time for me to readjust. And honestly, with Todd, I feel safe in a way I never felt before. I still have some sleepless nights, but mostly his presence has changed my nightly battle completely. I coped in the past. Now, I rest.

Any new place is hard, but with Todd there, I can get comfortable. Even in my house, when he's not here, I struggle.

At night when he's not around, my body and my brain go on high alert. Hyper-vigilance is the technical term. I am aware of every noise, every smell, every movement, and they all feel like a threat. I can think it through and know I am safe, but I can't think and sleep at the same time. As I start to fall asleep, thinking brain turns off, and my PTSD brain takes over. That is a scary place to be. I stay awake all night thinking it through, so I feel safe, and morning comes without rest.

With him there, I don't have to think, I just feel safe. (Most of the time.)

Four nights in a new house with other people in it, I can pretty much plan on not sleeping at all.
(It's made worse by the fact that one of the people there is male. I'm not afraid of Todd's son when I'm awake, but there's nothing rational about the PTSD brain when I want to be sleeping.)

I feel broken. I feel crazy and stupid... and sad.
A grown woman who can't feel safe enough to sleep without someone else there. And it's just not fair... (I know, life isn't fair, so... shut up... but for just a minute, I'm going to whine.) I didn't choose this life. I didn't choose for any of the stuff that happened that left me with an inability to sleep without a lot of help. If Todd goes on a trip without me, I don't sleep. I will rarely go on trips without him, because it's not really worth not sleeping. (It turns out, now that I sleep regularly, I really like it. Even one night without it, makes me cranky and tired.) I make do with the way things are, but it sucks. It's sad. It's just really sad that I have to deal with any of this.
I'm broken. I'm crazy. And I didn't choose any of it. And I feel stupid and ashamed, as if there is something that I could have or should have done in the past... or in the present... I shouldn't talk about it. I should pretend to be fine, but I'm not... and there's a crazy battle going on in my head about what I'm supposed to do. 

So, do I talk to them? Do I tell them what's going on for me - maybe they will change their mind? Maybe they won't. (I fully support them making decisions for what they accept and/or expect in their home. With more information, they may make a different decision, but it is still their decision to make.) At least if I'm honest, I can know I was honest.

Do we just go and get a hotel room?

Do I stay home, knowing I may not sleep, but at least I will be in my own house? Todd can visit his son and his family, and I don't need to be there.

Do I do what they ask, and deal with the consequences, which might not be as bad as I suspect they will? Maybe I'll be fine...

We could always just get married to make them happy... But I'm thinking that is a bad reason to make a decision like marriage.

Here's what I know.
I want to go. I want to stay at their home. I want to have a relationship with them, which makes me want to be honest with them. I'm afraid. I don't like talking about past traumas, and I REALLY don't like talking about how it still effects me. I don't like writing about it anymore. I don't like paying attention to it (when I can ignore it). I don't like telling other people about it, and seeing the look in their face when they realize some of what I've been through. (It's a good thing I've been going to therapy, where I spend a good portion of the time letting Wendy empathize with me and the horses support me. Ugh.)

They have every right to make whatever decision they will make, and I will support their decision for their home. I also want to take care of myself, which means if they decide to still have us sleep in separate rooms, it's probably not a good idea for me to try to sleep there. There may come a day, but I'm not there yet.

Also, I'm not willing to get married just to make them happy, or so that we can stay in their house in the same room. (I also don't really think that would make them happy, or it is really what they would want anyway. Just wanted to say, if it was what they wanted, I'm not willing to do it.)

A diagnosis (#Endometriosis) and it's not just in my head.

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.

Feeling helpless - feeling triggered

A couple months ago my life and my summer plans took an interesting turn.
We had big plans for camping trips, fishing trips, horseback riding, etc. We weren't going anywhere extravagent - I just bought a new car. BJ just bought a new truck. We were planning on doing a lot of grand adventures, just close to home adventures.

Then BJ's dad had to have open heart surgery. (A quintuple bypass!) BJ's dad has been the full-time caregiver to BJ's mom. She can't walk and can't do anything for herself. BJD (BJ's Dad) was beside himself with worry about what would happen to BJM (BJ's Mom). The three kids in the area decided we would take shifts and stay with the parents to make sure they were taken care of.

Because BJ and I have to get work done during the week, our shift is the weekend. Basically, for two months, I have either been working or at BJ's parents. We took the horses out a couple of times, but they've had to be fast evening rides. We went fishing for an hour. We had his grandkids come to the house to play for a couple hours, and then had to go back to work after they left at 8pm.

It's been hard to have life plans changed, and not be able to go on our riding, camping and fishing trips. (And to know that we are going to have to cancel all of our plans for the rest of the summer too.) It sucks a bit, but also... not a big deal. I'd like to write about how this has triggered old thoughts and patterns in me.

BJ's mom is diabetic and very obese. Her dietary needs are very restrictive: Low calorie, low carb, and we have to count and keep track of everything she eats.
My dietary needs are very different. Higher calorie, high protein, and a really bad idea for me to keep track of everything I eat.
How do you match both of those at the same time? I can't keep track of what she eats without also keeping track of what I eat. If I eat when she is not eating, it's hard on her. (Probably in the same way it is hard for me to eat when she isn't eating. We are opposite ends of the same disorder. I feel bad for needing food. She feels unloved when she doesn't get food.)

I knew that would be hard for me. I compared it to an alcoholic having to poor drinks for everyone else in the room: totally doable, but difficult.

I also knew that without a compelling reason to do old behaviors, the triggers wouldn't be enough... I needed an eating disorder in the past, because my thoughts, my life, my existence were all incredibly painful. I needed an escape, and took the only way I knew "out" - at least until I didn't need it anymore and I found other ways to get my needs met.

I have to be here. I can't leave. My body is needed to lift and move and help. They also need me to appear emotionally and mentally strong. No matter what I am feeling - I need to get the work done. AND this is hard. I haven't wanted to be here. I've wanted an out - or some sort of emotional release.

Eating disorders are a way to get an emotional release. An out.

As I've talked to friends who have struggled with their own eating disorder, they have been compassionate and also said, "Remember you have to take care of yourself or you will be of no use to them."

That is when I realized, part of the trigger is that if I don't take care of myself, I don't have to take care of anyone else. I feel sad and selfish knowing that THAT is one of the reasons I feel triggered. I also understand it makes sense... I'm not so good at establishing boundaries for myself. I struggle to say what is too much, and I feel like I should give until I am dead. With that underlying belief, it makes sense to hurt myself so that I won't have to give as much.

One of the big pieces of eating disorder (and probably most addiction) recovery is recognizing the needs it fulfills, and then find a new way to have those needs met. I'm tired and I can't give as much as I have been asked to give (and be healthy).

BJ and I sat down and talked to his sister a few days ago. (Incidentally, she is the same place. She can't keep going like this without damaging her health.) BJ's dad has been doing this for years... no wonder his heart has finally said, "NO MORE!"

Sadly, there are not many resources for people who don't have money. I know what it's like to need more help, but have no resources to get that help. BJ's mom needs a lot of care.

Will she have to go to a rest home?

How will we pay for a rest home?

What happens now?

Do all of us sacrifice our health to help her? How long?

The real reason I just told the story I told...

In my last post, I talked about BJ's ex... But, I want to make it clear... I judged her. My judgment may or may not be accurate. The accuracy of my judgments doesn't really matter. What matters is the way my judgment has motivated me in the past, and still motivates me.

In other words, this isn't about her, it's about me... and the way I think... and how that affects my daily life. And I didn't realize all of this while I was writing that post... but I am starting to see things more clearly...

I don't want to hurt him. I don't want to be selfish or self-centered. I don't want him to ever feel about me the way he felt about her. I don't want him to ever feel like his wants, needs, feelings, or thoughts don't matter. I don't want him to ever feel like he belongs to another person and especially not to me. I don't want him to feel obligated. I don't want him to feel controlled. I don't want him to feel like a slave.

That fear... of hurting him... or of being selfish... is a strong motivator. And it sometimes still gets in my way. I don't allow myself to have the healthy and happy relationships I want, because I am afraid that if I want, that want will somehow become abusive and controlling.

I don't know what else to say about it - because I am still working through the emotions and the false beliefs that have driven me for a long time. So... stay tuned? I will continue to work through my stuff and I plan to write about it as I do...

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?
• 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.

SLUT walk 2013

"I love the cause. I hate the name."
That's what BJ said when I told him I was going to Slutwalk, SLC this year.

I was scared.

Do I even have a right to call myself a survivor?
Nobody blamed the way I dressed for the way Larry treated me... It was just his right as my husband.
That old belief. That old fucked up idea. That stupid thing repeated to me by well-meaning (and ignorant) people just keeps hanging around. Even though I know it's stupid, fucked up, irrational, and NOT TRUE, it comes back to haunt me regularly.

Being there, with other survivors and supporters and advocates, was an incredibly emotional experience. It also showed me that although I am better off than I ever dreamed possible, I am not yet where I want to be.

Seeing her. I wanted to cry. Pretty damn good way of displaying the voicelessness I have felt.

The sign behind me: awesome.

Sign making.

I couldn't bring myself to make a sign. I know what I wanted it to say, but I felt too scared to write that and then carry it around. I borrowed someone else's sign.

This is a very powerful project. Victims of abuse: sexual, physical, and emotional as well as secondary survivors (those who know someone who is a survivor of abuse) made T-shirts. Seemed like it could be a very healing thing.

This was my favorite shirt. I HEALED! I will be silent no more!

The Clothesline Project

I wondered if these little girls understood what they were protesting. To some extent, they did. "My body is mine. No one has a right to touch it without MY permission. And if they do, it isn't my fault!"

There were a lot of men and secondary survivors there. I felt grateful for the secondary survivors in my life: The ones that wouldn't give up on me and KNEW I could heal from the abuse.

Some of the signs. It seemed like a very healing thing for a lot of people. Maybe next year I'll be ready to hold up a sign.

This sign broke my heart. PLEASE, let's change things, so no more children have to deal with this.

In memory of those who didn't survive.

There were a LOT of people walking.

I'm still not a "proud survivor", but I would like to be some day.

There were several business where the people came out and clapped and cheered as we walked by. I didn't expect that... I still feel a lot of shame. It was good to see that not everyone believes it was my fault, or that I should keep silent. Some people cheer for the survivors who won't be silent anymore.

I couldn't bring myself to make a sign, so I just signed the poster. I got an eyebrow raise from BJ, "'What you did was not okay!'? NO!!! What he did was fucking SICK, but if that's all your ready to put out there, then that is enough."

I feel loved by the people that I love.

BJ spent some of the holidays with my family. I was worried...  I was afraid of questions. (Questions that I don't necessarily know, nor care to explore the answers to.) I was afraid that everyone would push to know what my relationship with BJ is. (I am very happy with what we have, and I don't want to try to define it for anyone else. Labels just make me feel crazy.) I was afraid of judgments. (The word "judgments" doesn't cover all that I was afraid of. I was afraid of my family acting like I've seen others act. Judgmental. Opinionated. Critical. Self-righteous. Controlling. Abusive. Etc.)

I didn't know how they would react, and I was afraid and anxious. I had no reason to be. It turned out so much better than I could have imagined.

They all welcomed him with open arms. He said he felt loved and accepted and comfortable.
(Of course, anyone would have told me I was being silly for feeling afraid. Parents and siblings all know and love BJ. They come to visit. We all hang out. Grandparents came to visit, and then we went fishing. My aunt sent me a text, personally inviting BJ, and my Grandparents have said several times that BJ is always welcome. Still... all evidence aside, I was a tiny bit anxious.) 

At the family Christmas party, we were playing a game, and I drew the question, "What do you like most about the person sitting next to you?" I wondered for a moment if the game was rigged... and then felt grateful that I got to answer that question for everyone to hear... Defining our relationship feels scary and upsetting... Telling people why I love BJ, what I love about him, and why I am glad he is in my life: That is easy and I LIKE doing it.

After the games, we talked with my uncles and aunts about camping trips and fishing trips we've been on, and then about plans for future trips. I felt so comfortable. At home even. We all laughed and told stories, and it was... fun. It turns out, they don't really care what my relationship with him is. Their only care or concern is, "Are you happy?"

The answer to that question is, "Yes," but the answer to that question would have been a "partial yes" if I had had to deal with the questions, the judgments, or any of the things I was afraid of. I know that I'm not supposed to let other people rule my emotions... choose my own happiness and all that... but....

I WANT my family to love and accept me. It's easier to be happy when I have a loving and accepting family. It's easier to be happy when I don't have to choose between what is best for me and what my family wants me to do. It is easier to be happy when they just want me to be happy. I know I can't control that. I know they have every right to think or say or do whatever the hell they want, but the truth is... I want them to love me. I want them to love and accept BJ. I want them to be a part of my life, and I want to be a part of theirs. I want them to know ME, so they can love ME. Pretending that I don't want that, is just plain silly.

There are lots of things in life that I might want that I don't get, and if I didn't get the love and acceptance, I'd deal with that. I might walk away from my family, because if they can't love ME, then what is the point? I might hide from my family, and keep secrets if I thought that is what I needed to do in order to have a relationship with them (and if I thought that was what was best.) I might busy myself making new friends, and create a family of non-relatives. I might insist that it was MY life, and if they wanted me in it, they would accept ME. (And then let them make the choice.) I would do what I had to do... I would find a way to make life worth living, whatever that meant, and I am SO grateful that I don't have to do any of that. I am so grateful that I get to be me, live my life, AND have a loving family.


I feel loved. They don't care what I do, who I live with, what my relationship is... except that they want to know me and be a part of my life.

(Why is it so hard to describe what it is like when people have healthy boundaries that lack judgments? Maybe because the way they acted was healthy and normal, but I'm not used to people being healthy and normal. So, I want to describe the healthy and normal, but it's hard. The ones who know what healthy and normal is don't need the description... and the people who have no clue probably won't understand my descriptions anyway.)

I count myself one of the most lucky people on the planet... I feel loved by the people that I love.

You are good. (or why I care so much about LGBT issues)

I get really passionate about LGBT issues.
A lot of people have thought I am gay/lesbian because I get so passionate. (I'm not.)
The question always comes next, "Then WHY do you get so worked up about it?"

Because I know what it's like to go through life feeling "less than". I know what it feels like to feel like I am unacceptable, bad, different, etc. I also know what it feels like to accept and love myself, and I want that for EVERYONE.

Everyone deserves to feel loved and accepted for who they are.

Today, Dan at Single Dad Laughing came out. His prayer, "Please God, don't let me be anything but straight," brought me to tears. Please read it. He describes the pain, fear, and confusion so well.

I thought of all the prayers I said, "Please God. Just make me different. Make me GOOD."
I also thought of the answer that finally came, "Jen, you don't have to change a thing. You are good just the way you are."

I want everyone to know, "You don't have to change a thing. You are good just the way you are."

I'm prejudiced against Mormons.

JeannieLeigh nominated me for a blog award. 
I promise I'll do all that I am supposed to do because she nominated me. (Answer the questions about me, nominate others, etc.)

But first, there's other stuff that I want to write about:



It surprises me when active members of the church get to know me, and they are okay with me. It surprises me when they tell me they appreciate what I write. It surprises me that people have been so kind and respectful to me.

I have written a ton about how awesome my family has been... because they respect me and love me.

It really IS awesome that my family loves ME... and at the same time... when did it become awesome to have a family that was loving and respectful and nonjudgmental?

The thing I recently realized about myself?
I'm prejudiced against Mormons. You know how I know that?
I say things like, "They are still members, but they are really good to me."
"They love the church, and yet somehow they still love me."

How could I have not seen the way I think before?
I get REALLY cranky when people say racist statements, like:
"He's black, but he's a really good man."
(As if to say a good man and a black man aren't usually the same man. BULLSHIT!)




So, when did it become okay to hold members of the LDS church to a lower standard than I would hold the rest of the world?

Maybe my prejudice comes from the way I was as a member...
I cut off friends who went inactive or who left the church. I never told them why - I just stopped talking to them.
I was self-righteous...
I was self-sacrificing AND I had an expectation that good people women would be too. (Men didn't have to be.)

I pushed people to be obedient.
I told them what to do, how to think, what to feel.
If they got any answer that was different from the church, I dismissed them and their answer.


Just four years ago, I sat with my sister and told her she was taking the wrong path. I am SO GLAD she didn't take that shit from me. She told me I was caught up in my life and my problems, and I wasn't seeing HER. She was right. I apologized to her immediately, and have made every effort to see HER. I hope I am a better sister now.

I wanted to be GOOD. I wanted to be a good, righteous, person who was worthy of being loved... and that desire drove me to be a bitch. (Other days it drove me to be a doormat. I was a very confused soul.) Leaving the church helped me to let go of all of that.

I feel amazed, because I don't know if I could have done what my family or people like Jeannie have done.

My prejudice also comes from observing others:
It is amazing to me that my family isn't judgmental, because I see how other families are.
It is amazing to me that my family doesn't try to get me to go back to church, because so few families are respectful enough to do that.
It is amazing to me that my family comes to visit me when I have heard of others that won't visit family as long as they are"living in sin". (i.e. I live in the house with a man I am not married to.)
I think it's awesome that my parents, siblings, aunts, grandparents, and a cousin all SAY and MEAN, "I love you and I want you to be happy," and they trust ME to find my own happiness. They have no prescribed "plan of happiness" that I have to do, or they won't believe I am happy. They listen to ME.
They don't tell me I am following Satan, I need to repent, or any other of the crazy things I have heard people tell their "apostate" loved ones.

I am SO grateful. My family treats me the way I wish ALL families would treat each other.
I also wish I didn't think it was so amazing and awesome that they are the way they are.

It's just... I'm not sure how to change my fear of Mormons.
That's what my prejudice is:
Fear that people will first: judge me, and then: use their judgment to hurt me.

My prejudice keeps me alert and wary, and it's easier to not take it personally if they do something that hurts. As much as I hate to say this, maybe I'm not ready to let go of that.

Right now, I feel amazed by very simple acts of kindness, and can shrug off huge acts of abuse. Maybe that's not a bad place to be in... at least for a little while...

Book of Mormon Musical: dinner conversations

After seeing Book of Mormon Musical, I had all these thoughts I was going to write about, but something strange happened:

I told my mom I was going to go see it. I didn't think she would think that was cool, but for my own sanity, I felt like I needed to tell her. (When I start keeping things secret because I'm afraid of what other people will think about me, I start to go crazy. It doesn't really matter what the secret is... just having a "secret" makes me lose my mind.)

I was at dinner with my parents and siblings, and my mom turned to me and said, "Are you going to tell everyone about your trip this week?"

I got all nervous, and asked her if it was really okay if I tell people.
She laughed at me, which was a totally appropriate response, and then I had a conversation about why I like the Book of Mormon Musical with my whole family. I talked about why I went, and why I loved it. I also talked about what I didn't like. And my dad and brothers talked about what they liked and didn't like (at least as much as they'd heard).

I never thought that conversation could happen, because... well... I thought they wouldn't want to hear about it. It's cool that we can all talk about the things we care about - even though the things we each care about seem to contradict each other.

It's like the things don't matter, but the people do.

So... now I don't really feel like trying to write any more blogs about the musical. Maybe later. (I really do want to write about what each of the songs meant to me, because the music was really healing for me...)

It doesn't make you kind - it just makes you feel like a slave.

The following conversation has actually happened. More than once. Most often, I have been the pink person. Once or twice I have been the green person.

A conversation between two people:
Do you WANT to do that?

Sure.

When some people say "sure" I don't feel concerned. When you say "sure", this is what I hear: "I can't even think about what I want. HE wants me to do that, so I will." Which means what you are really saying is, "I haven't thought about what I want yet, but I probably don't want to do it."

Of COURSE I don't want to, why would I want to do that?

I don't know. Why would you?

I DON'T.  But... I'm supposed to do what everyone else wants me to do, that makes me a kind person.

No. It just makes you a slave to other people. I can't imagine that he wants you to feel like his slave. I think he probably actually cares about YOU... If you cared about someone, would you want them doing things they didn't want to do JUST because they felt like they had to... or JUST to make you happy... Only a really selfish, abusive, jerk would want you to do something you hated, just to make them happy. How could knowing you were miserable make someone else happy? I don't believe he's that kind of person. Do you?

No. It's just easier to do what other people want than to deal with the anxiety of disappointing them.

Really? That's easier? You feel depressed and anxious most of the time. You feel guilty and afraid whenever anyone asks you to do anything (unless you also want to do it, then you feel happy. That's the way it is supposed to be. BOTH people are happy.). It might be easier, but I'd say it's killing you slowly. Besides, the fear of NOT pleasing them makes you avoid people. If you had the freedom to say NO, you'd also have the freedom to say YES. Being with other people would not freak you out as much as it does.

You have nothing to be afraid of. You are good and kind and wonderful. You will still be all of those things when you learn to let yourself do what you want. You will find that you want to do a lot of things for other people, and doing things for others won't wear you out like it does now. It will feel good. It will feel fun and loving and GOOD. 

Ok? I can't really think about all that you just said. So, what do I say right now? How do I answer his question today?

Say, "No". 
Say, "I appreciate you asking, but I am not interested right now. If anything changes I'll let you know". 
It doesn't really matter... You can even tell him how hard it is to say no, because you feel like you don't have a choice. You can tell him you feel like you have to do what he wants, but you don't want to... Just be honest with yourself, and understand you are worthy of having your own wants, needs, thoughts, and opinions. You get to decide what you do with your life. 



When I was afraid that I couldn't say NO, I had a lot of social anxieties. I was afraid of every man, woman and child. What if they wanted something? I HAD to give them what they wanted. If someone asked for something, I had no choice. If someone looked like they might sort of kind of want something, I had no choice. It was my job to take care of everyone else, and the way I did that was to always do what everyone else wanted. The world was a terribly frightening place.

It WAS really hard to face the anxiety of saying NO, and even more scary to think about what I wanted. It was SO hard. I wasn't sure it was worth it at the time, but it got better. I got used to acknowledging my wants and needs. I got used to doing what I wanted, and they were right! I actually WANT to do a lot of things for and with other people. I am much more kind and giving person now, because I do things from my own heart. I don't do things out of obligation, guilt or fear.

I feel very comfortable in social situations now. If someone wants a hug, I think about what I want and I do that. (I CHOOSE.) If someone asks me a question, I decide what and how much I will share. If someone needs money, I decide how much I can and want to give. The world isn't scary anymore, because I know I can take care of myself.

Other people didn't change. I did!
 I learned how to take care of myself. I learned how to respect me. I learned I had a choice. I had the right to say NO to any request, at any time, for any reason.

There are some people who don't care about my wants or needs... They care a lot about their own wants. Some people's needs include controlling others, controlling ME. When I encounter people like this, I find I have to be VERY strong. NO should be enough, but sometimes I have to get distance and space from them too.

There will always be people who don't understand or respect my boundaries. There will always be people who use manipulation, insults, and whatever else they have to do to get what they want. When I'm dealing with people like that, less is more.  NO is enough. If I give my reasons, or my thoughts, they tend to use that against me.


There are still people who don't know how to handle it if I don't say YES. They just aren't used to me saying no. At first, they might do some manipulative things, but they won't KEEP doing those things. (This usually happens with family. They've known me all my life, and they just don't know how to handle "the new me". Explaining to them where I have been and why the change makes a lot of sense to them. Their love for me motivates them to become a part of the next group.)

For the most part, all of my relationships are better. Closer. More open. Just more.

There are some people who were afraid to ask anything of me. They knew how hard I tried to please others, and they didn't want to make it harder for me. Now they know I will take care of myself, and that gives them more freedom to take care of themselves.

It turns out, mm  e becoming healthier and stronger made all of my relationships healthier and stronger. That was something I wasn't expecting.

Thanks for coming to my house. I'd love for you to come again.

My parents came to my house for dinner tonight.

I was anxious inviting them over. I was a tiny bit anxious while they were here. The anxiety really hit after they left.

BJ asked why I was so anxious... What was I afraid of?

Good question. I think I'll write about it. (So, here I am. Writing about it.)

They've been to my house several times before. I feel like I should be comfortable having them over... But still, every time I invite someone into my home, my world, my safe space, it's scary. I feel afraid that they won't approve. I feel afraid that I'll like having them here, and they will never come back, and that will hurt. I just feel generally afraid of something that doesn't really make sense. Even to me.

They've told me they love me and they want me to be happy, and still I feel like if they don't approve of me, I'm not allowed to be happy. That's a lot of pressure to put on them. That's a lot of pressure to put on me. OF COURSE I'd be anxious if I believed that. I'd try to be practically perfect. In every way. All the while knowing I'm not. Also knowing that to try to be perfect is crazy and impossible, and yet I can't stop myself from trying.

I'm much better than I once was. Mostly all I have left is a remnant of my old fears and perfectionisms. Having people come to my home though, is like a whole new part of my brain that has to be trained. (I'm like a horse. You can work with a horse forever on one side of his body, and when you move to the other side, it will be like totally starting over.You have to work both sides of his body and his brain.)

I'm babbling a bit. I'm still trying to figure out my own emotions... feeling a bit raw. And happy.
I no longer want their approval (mostly). Mostly, I want them to know how happy and real I am, and I want them to share in that with me. Which they did. They do. That makes me grateful and happy.


To my parents: 
I haven't quite figured out how to say the words in person yet... Forgive me for saying this on a public blog. I'm really grateful you came to my house. It was a fun night. Despite the anxiety, I loved planning for your visit. (I even loved cooking dinner! Weird!) I enjoyed talking about camping, hiking and scouting. I enjoyed the stories about Hawaii and lack of oxygen. I enjoyed having you here, sitting on the porch, watching the horses and goats, and eating BBQ and peanut butter bars. I liked sharing my world with you.

Thank you for coming to my house. I'd love for you to come again.

A jumble of quotes and wisdoms for the day

I found Katie Byron's website last night. She says a lot of stuff that I could have really used a few years ago. Didn't know she existed back then, so I just had to figure it out for myself...

"To believe the story that someone has left you is to leave yourself. That’s how you divorce yourself. Every time you’re in your partner’s business, dictating whom he should be with, whom he should or shouldn’t leave, you have left yourself, and the effect of that is loneliness and terror. Until you question what you believe, you remain the innocent cause of your own suffering."

Brilliant. I used to be afraid that someone would love me and throw me away... And then one day I realized, I didn't belong to anyone, so they couldn't throw me away. I am not a possession. I am not a thing to be used. I make my own decisions... It doesn't matter who leaves me or loves me, I have ME, and that is enough. I won't leave me ever again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Who would you be if you didn't believe that you needed him (or it, or them) to complete you?
I found out. By letting go of all the things, people, and beliefs I thought I needed.

I am reminded of something I wrote a little while ago. A quote from myself:

"The more you hold on to something you've already lost, the more you fear losing it, so you hold on even tighter. The fear and the holding on is crippling... but you don't see that it is the fear that is crippling you... And then, one day, you finally realize, you're only holding on to an illusion, so you let go, and you feel free.

I've heard people say, "If you love someone, let them go," but really that's just an illusion. The truth is: loving someone doesn't make them belong to you. And if they were never yours, how can you let them go? "

Which reminds me of this one:

I like this one too:

That makes me think of a line from the musical Wicked.

"Too long I've been afraid of  

Losing love I guess I've lost 

Well, if that's love  

It comes at much too high a cost!"

 Love isn't love if you have to be afraid you are going to lose it. (If I don't do this, he'll stop loving me. If I am honest about what I think, they will hate me.) 

One day, I decided I would be me. If people loved me FOR ME, then awesome. If when I was honest and myself, they didn't love me, that was okay too... I'd rather be hated for who I am, then loved for who I pretended to be. That kind of "love" comes at "much too high a cost".

This is the piece of advice I give whenever anyone asks me for advice.

You know what you need to do. Trust you. (You don't know what anyone else needs to do. Trying to get someone else to do anything, think anything, be anything, will make you nuts. Don't do it.)

Four years ago today

In November 2007, I pretty much came to the conclusion that I was done. Done living. Done trying. Done pretending. Done. Done. Done. That translated to an eating disorder: Starving myself and over-exercising was a way to end my life in the most painful and slow way possible. I didn't even deserve a quick and painless death...

I had gone to treatment in 1997, and I saw how the women treated each other: Competing for who could be the "sickest", berating those that ate, being fed via  tube up the nose was a "badge of honor". I didn't want to be in that environment again, but in January 2008, I started to wonder if that was my best choice.

On the one hand, I knew how to eat. I knew what to eat. I just didn't want to. I had done it before: Forced myself to eat because it was what I had to do, because it made other people happy, because there was no other choice... but I didn't want that life anymore. I felt like my choices were either to die, or to somehow find a way to want to live. I wasn't sure if anyone could really help ME... but... I chose to give it a shot.

On February 18, 2008, I checked myself into Center for Change.

Going inpatient to CFC meant turning my WHOLE LIFE over to other people. They tell you when to eat (and what to eat, and what happens if you don't eat everything they tell you to eat), sleep, go to the bathroom, everything. Your whole day is scheduled out to the minute. They tell you what you can talk about, what you can't talk about, what you HAVE to talk about. They ask you to share your deepest, darkest, hardest parts to share, about yourself. There is no such thing as a private life in treatment. (You even get people standing outside the bathroom door with it cracked open.) It sucks. Even if it is totally necessary, it SUCKS!

I knew it was going to be hard work. I knew there was a lot of things I had to face and changes I'd need to make, but at the same time I had no fucking clue. I feel pretty lucky that I had the opportunity to go to a safe place to do the work that had to be done. They took care of the business of keeping me alive, so that I could put everything I had into healing myself. I know how RARE that opportunity is. (Only 1 in 10 people who have eating disorders get to go to treatment. Most are sent home LONG before they have had the chance to face the problems that caused the eating disorder in the first place.)


There are so many powerful experiences I could share. Here are just a few:

The women I met there
I was afraid I'd have another experience like the one in 1997, but I had nothing to be worried about. I went at the exact right moment: With the most intensely beautiful, strong, amazing women on the planet. Fighters with huge loving hearts. The fact that most of them had survived their lives was a miracle to me. Every single one of those women have been through hell, and not just a little bit of hell: HELL!!! Every single person I met there had faced life experiences that "normal" people can't even begin to fathom. Before CFC, I had sat in church, and listening to the women there, I felt jealous at what they called "trials". Sitting with the women at CFC, I felt understood. Finally, not alone.

Petey, the wheelchair
Chronic low blood pressure, combined with random drops in blood pressure, combined with anxiety and dissociation, combined with trying to gain a lot of weight in a short amount of time, combined with blood sugar issues, combined with emotional exhaustion, combined with who knows what else - all those things made me so dizzy, I had a hard time walking. I was a "fall risk", so I had to sit in a wheelchair.
I spent months sitting in that wheelchair. I learned to rest. I learned that I didn't always have to push through and push my body past it's breaking point. I learned to take safe risks, and to avoid unsafe risks. I learned to let others help me..
One of the reasons I hated the chair was how much space it took up, but in that chair, I had my own space. For so long, I'd convinced myself that my mere existence was somehow infringing upon other people's space. I'd tried to make myself as small as possible... Since it was my chair, and no one was going to sit in the thing with me, it was okay to take up the whole wheelchair. I relaxed and began to let myself take space.

The assignment to "Stop doing all the things you do to prove to others that you are loveable"
For me, at that moment those things were: Smiling, talking to other people about their problems (not talking about myself), and following all of the rules.

At first, I wanted to please everyone by doing that assignment perfectly... and then I decided that was silliness, because I would still be doing the same damn thing I'd always done: Trying to get other people to love me by doing what they wanted. For the first time, I started thinking about what I wanted. I WANTED to smile, so I did. I WANTED to break the rule of getting out of that stupid wheelchair and walk to the dining room, so I did. Before that day, it had never even occurred to me that I had choices, that I could want something. It was also the first time I ever said "no" to someone in authority. (I was such a rebel. I wouldn't give her my watch when she asked. She didn't know what to do. I felt bad for saying no, and I felt SO GOOD that I could.) It was an eye-opening day for me.

Beating the hell out of a couch cushion in "Care Bear's" group
In group therapy, a friend was sharing an experience she had had with her husband. He had said things to her that were just... awful... and I remembered Larry saying the same kinds of things to me. I told the group that I was angry, but I didn't know what to do with that feeling... Care Bear (therapist) got a tennis racket and a pile of couch cushions and had me hit them. With every hit, I was supposed to say, "I am angry!" like I meant it. That was not an easy thing for me to do. It took me a long time, and a lot of trying before I could say "I am ANGRY!" (It's funny, looking back now, I can see that I was still very restrained, even when I thought I was "out of control" angry. It was just the start of learning to be present with my own emotions.) It was incredibly intense for me, and for others in the group. They still talk about that day in group when Jen finally let go of the some of the anger.

Ceremonial Group: Standing before a jury of my peers, I had to convince them that I was bad
I had believed my whole life that I was worthless and unlovable and "no-good", but I couldn't tell you WHY I thought that. In a court, there has to be evidence, so the assignment was to lay out my evidence to the women there. I shared the most painful things that had happened to me. I shared the worst things I had ever thought. I KNEW that they would hate me, but they didn't. To this day, only BJ and that group have heard some of those thoughts... Because of the way those select few responded, I'm not afraid of myself anymore. Those women gave me the courage to face the "worst" parts about myself, and let me know it was okay to love me. Pretty much changed my life.

RAD (Rape Aggression Defense) training
I wasn't allowed to do the training, which was okay by me, because just watching OTHER people do it caused panic attacks, dissociation, flashbacks, and generally awful days. As awful as it was, watching my friends go through the training, helped me face my own past. Going through flashbacks and panic is AWFUL, but it was necessary for me to heal. By facing my past, it stopped having the control over me.

I still have the plan to take a RAD class sometime. The final day includes a simulation: Men "attack" you. You use your voice, your body, everything you've learned to get them off and to get away. I'd like to be able to do that. (Still don't think I'm ready for it. I'm shaking just thinking about it.)

DBT (Dialectical Behavior Therapy) "Non-judgmental stance"
I learned that things aren't "good" and "bad". Things just are. There aren't good people and bad people. There aren't good emotions and bad emotions. There isn't a right or a wrong. There isn't a should or a should not. Everything just is. Very powerful lesson that helped me to stop being crazy. (I've sat here trying to think of how to say it, but honestly... I was crazy. Trying to put everything into it's little box of "good" or "bad" or some derivative of that, made me insane.) Life is a lot more gentle, peaceful, and happy. There are still times when I get caught up in judging things (mostly myself or my emotions) as "good" or "bad". Then I remember Espra and getting pillows thrown at me. (I know that last sentence won't make sense to most people. But in group, if you said anything that was a judgment: good, bad, right, wrong, should, shouldn't, etc., you got a pillow thrown at you. It was a good way to make me aware of what I was doing. Now I use phrases like, "I prefer" or "I don't like", because that is more effective.)

The "pinky promise prayer"
This one still brings tears of love and joy to my eyes. I'm not sure how long I'd been at CFC at this point. A couple of weeks, maybe? "Bubbles" was a teenager who was a new patient. Her body was failing her, and the group of us sat and watched helpless as the nurses worked to take care of her. Together, we prayed for her and then made a pinky promise that none of us were going to give up the fight with the eating disorder. Eating disorders claim so many lives, but not ours. That night I wrote in my journal: "CFC. At this moment. With these women. Is EXACTLY where I need to be". We've all kept that promise thus far. 1 in 5 people diagnosed with an eating disorder will die. The fact that I don't know anyone who has died from an eating disorder is astounding to me. I know of people who have died: Friends of friends, but no one I know personally. And no one from that group. They're all still fighting like hell, and I love them for it.

There were many times after I left CFC that I just wanted to throw in the towel, and be done. I didn't want to fight for my life anymore. I was so tired. In those moments, I thought of the women in the group, and there was no way I was breaking that promise. There was no way I was going to give them any excuse to give up their fight. That promise I made to them, and that we made to each other has saved my life more than once.

Sacrament meeting
Since we couldn't leave to go to church, they arranged to have the young men bring the sacrament to us. A small group of women gathered in one of the group rooms. We sang a hymn a'capella. A prayer (and the prayers offered by the women there were the most sincere and beautiful prayers I've ever heard). No talks, but sometimes we'd share thoughts with each other. So much love in that room. If church had felt like that, I probably would have never left.

Your definition of recovery
We were all asked to define what recovery looked like to each of us individually. Mine was, "When I  love myself more than I hate myself."
According to that definition, I am recovered, but I think recovery is just life. I keep learning and growing and changing and living. According to that definition, I'm still working for recovery and always will be.


I know that most people won't understand the rest of this list, but to myself and the few that will:
"Love you to pieces"
J and C dancing to "Beat it"
temper tantrums
ripping up phonebooks, throwing ice, throwing pillows
challenge day
NIA
"Let it be okay"
Fedder and Le Freak
music listening
drum circles
arguments about the fireplace or walks
Boost
that nasty bean salad
singing and peeing
"hit snap clap hit hit snap clap"
table manners? what table manners
"Goals change lives"
FNS
Curses
"How is that like your life?"
illegal exercise
the big white van
the race to get out and the race to check back in
scream therapy
"auto" group
the vitals machine
games at the dining room tables
the "f word" wasn't fuck - it was fat
"The voice is no longer hidden in me. I've let go, Now I am free!"
and this:



I'll never hear this song and not think of the dining room, saying goodbye to beautiful women, not knowing where life would take me...it turns out... I like where life has taken me.

And the best part: I REALLY like the girl that I've become.

This Josh Powell stuff is upsetting to me...

(THIS Josh Powell stuff, for those unaware of who he is)
I know it's probably a good idea for me to stay away from this case, but I've been fascinated by it for years. I just can't stop thinking about it all...


Josh has always seemed to me to be an abusive and controlling person. I've never met the man, so my assessment of him comes from what I've seen on the news, what I've read, and my own experiences.


Abusive people are usually insecure. They are scared of losing anything in life, and channel that fear into trying to control every aspect of their life, including the people in it. They do this through abuse: emotional, physical, sexual, or some combination. When they feel safe and secure, they'll be kind and calm, which can be confusing to their victims. (As long as you do what the abuser wants, they treat you nicely, so it feels as if their treatment of you is a result of the way you act.) Abuse is their response to perceived threats of control being taken away. (To victims: That means they feel threatened when you don't do what they want you to do. That doesn't mean you ARE threatening them, it just means that when they don't have control over you, they feel threatened.) They blame the other person for their fears, but the truth is simply: They feel scared, insecure, and out of control, and they don't know how to deal with those feelings. They compensate for their fears and insecurities by controlling (abusing) the people that they have the easiest control over (generally spouses and/or children).

Observations on Josh:
Susan threatening to leave him would have TERRIFIED him. He would have done everything he could think of to get her to stay. It never would have crossed his mind that maybe she needed to get away from him for her own safety, or that it could be good for her to leave. Abusers see the people in their lives as possessions or extensions of themselves. (If he wanted her to stay, then she needed to stay. In his mind, his thoughts are her thoughts. They are not separate. In an interview two years after her disappearance he said, "She loves me, and I love her, and I don't understand why everyone is trying to alienate her against me."  (The following question is based on the assumption that he was telling the truth and didn't murder her and drop her body in the desert.) Does that sound like a rational statement to make two years after she left him?)

The threat of losing his sons was too much for him to handle. He told people he couldn't live without them, and if HE couldn't have them, no one could. Again, it seems he believed that the best thing for them was what he wanted: He couldn't see that they were separate beings with needs and wants and LIVES of their own.


I've seen some blame porn. I think that's silly.
Blaming porn for violent crimes is like blaming food: Before every murder takes place, the murderer eats. Therefore food causes murders. There might be a correlation, but that doesn't prove causality. There are a LOT of people who look at pornography and they never murder their children. I understand that if a man (or woman) ALREADY thinks of people as possessions, looking at pornography could add to the problem. When you look at the world through colored glasses, it doesn't matter what you look at, you will only see that color. (My experience was a man who read the scriptures and felt justified in treating his wife like a piece of property... I think I would have preferred he looked at porn. It would have been easier to sort out what was real and what was his fuckedupedness.)

Obviously Josh Powell is an extreme case, but that doesn't make less extreme cases any less damaging. Just living in an environment where you are thought of and treated as a possession  is damaging. It hurts. It is confusing. It erodes self-esteem and self-worth.

I worry that some people will look at the case and think, "My abuser hasn't done anything as bad as THAT," and dismiss their experiences. Josh has been made into a sick monster. I've heard people talk about how evil he is, but look at what his mom, his sister, and even his kids thought of him. They loved him and thought he was sweet and kind and would never hurt anyone. I've written about this before: Abusers are NOT monsters. They look and act and ARE normal people... Normal people with fears and insecurities that rule them and cause them to do whatever they can to control every aspect of their life, including the people in it.

I've been made aware I have a kidney/I think funny

I got to visit with a very nice doctor today.
It turns out I have a kidney infection. I pretty much knew that before I met with the nice man. Two weeks ago, I couldn't have told you where exactly the kidney is located. I sure could now.

Sitting in the doctor's office, I felt anxious.
I was aware of one source: They expect me to lay down on my back and let Dr. Dude touch me. That causes some panic.

I was not aware of the rest of it until he started asking me questions.



Pain here? Yes.
Pain there? Yes.
Nausea? Yes.
Fever? Yes.
Energy level? I just want to sit on the couch and not move.
Have you done that? No.
You've had these symptoms for a week? Yes. Yes I have. 

What was going through my head as he was asking?
"I've already peed in the cup. He KNOWS there's nothing wrong with me. He thinks I'm being dramatic, I'm weak, I can't handle a little bit of normal pain. He's wondering why I even came here..."

And then he told me I have a kidney infection. The urine sample let him know I had an infection. It turns out he asked the other questions NOT because he thought I was weak, but because he wanted to know how bad the infection was. He wanted to know how much antibiotics I would need to get rid of it.

Oh. I think funny.

I was afraid of being a hypochondriac. I was afraid I was being weak - that I could have just taken care of this myself. This isn't the first time I've had to say to myself (or others have had to say to me):

"You're so afraid of being THAT extreme that you are the other extreme." 

You'd think I'd be used to this kind of realization, but I'm not. It still catches me off guard and strikes me as funny... One day. One day, I'll find the middle and I'll be comfortable there.

***Unrelated except for that it happened at the doctor's office:
They put me on the scale today. First time I've been on a scale in several years. Interesting to note, my weight hasn't changed. It is still right where it was when the dietitian gave me the thumbs up. There is a remnant of the voice that says, "That's not the right number!" (There was a time when it wouldn't have mattered WHAT the number was, it would have been too big and too small all at the same time.) That voice is quieter today. Much quieter, and far less persistent than it used to be. Mostly, I don't even care. It really has become just another number that doesn't mean anything to me. Which is awesome.

Emotional Vocabulary

I just found this page. The whole thing was SO helpful.

I appreciate the way she talks about anger: If you have too little of it, you won't protect yourself, and if you have too much you'll offend against the rights of others.

I appreciate her insights on fear: If you can work with your fear, you can understand when it is healthy and appropriate, and when it is repetitive and unhelpful to you. It's important to have a good relationship with fear.

Insights on happiness:

"Each of your emotions has a specific purpose and a specific place in your life. One of the biggest tricks to learn with happiness is to let it come and go — and to not treat it as better or more important than your other emotions. Every emotion has its place.
If you treat happiness as your go-to emotion, you’ll suffer unnecessarily when your other emotions arise. You need anger, fear, sadness, jealousy, envy, guilt, grief, shame, and even depression (etc.) at times. If all you know and all you want is happiness, you’ll tend to avoid, ignore, suppress, or mistreat your other emotions, and then guess what? You won’t be happy very often."

Insights on sadness: It clears away things that don’t work so that you can make changes in your life and make room for things that do work for you. What a great gift!

I also really appreciated the pdf download. There was a time in my life when I carried a sheet like that around with me, so that I could learn what each emotion was and how I experienced it.

She says a lot more, and a lot better than I can, so go check it out?

No more hiding: I exist.

A few days ago, listening to Everyday Joy. There was a discussion about old patterns... The question was, "When things get stressful or hard, what do you do?"

Le mentioned that she hides. When she was a little girl, she would hide under the bed so she wouldn't get hurt. I do that too. I hide. As a child, that looked like curling up in a ball in my closet. As an adult, it looks like pretending I am someone that I am not. Hiding my thoughts, wants, desires, and opinions. In some instances, even hiding the fact that I exist.

I wrote the following at the end of November:

"About a month ago, a friend of mine posted a quote from some politician about how gays and lesbians don't exist. Above her link, she just put the words, "I exist." I saw that (I didn't even read the link), and cried. Deep tears. There was just something about her words, "I exist," that moved me.

Not too long after that, BJ came to me and apologized. After a conversation with his kids, he realized he didn't talk about me. He told stories of riding or fishing, and just wouldn't mention I was there. He apologized. Said he wanted his kids to know him. He loves me, and he wants them to know and understand that. He said he was grateful for his friendship with me, and if he can't share what he is grateful for, how will they ever know him? And he wanted to respect our friendship enough to tell people he valued it. I was upset. NOT because he didn't talk about me, but because he apologized. My reply to him, "I don't need you to talk about me. I know that my mere existence is upsetting to them, so you don't have to remind them." (He reminded me this isn't about me, it's about him and wanting his kids to know him and being authentic... but that isn't what this entry is about.)

A few days ago, I posted a link to an article about asexuality. This quote started my tears:

“When I started using the word asexual in the LGBT community, most people didn’t have any idea what I was talking about. There were unintentional hurtful comments made. My favorite response? “’Oh, that doesn’t exist.’ No one wants to be told they don’t exist.”

I have "body memory" pain that won't go away. It hurts ALL the time. Talking with doctors, they've said there is possible nerve damage. Repeated rape can do that apparently. I've never had it checked out. At this point, it wouldn't be worth the craziness that would come from an exam. And mostly, I am pretty certain the pain is somatic.

Last Christmas, my brother bought me the book Eastern Body, Western Mind. I haven't read any of it. I got enough other books, and I put it on my bookshelf and haven't thought much about it since then. BJ has had a headache for weeks. In an effort to be helpful, I picked up the book to see if it could give me any suggestions.

I opened to the page titled "body armor". It showed several different body postures and shapes. First one I noticed was BJ. I read what it said about a person with that posture. (Stuck in Chakra 3). And what it said about where he was stuck. He said it nailed him. I don't know how that helps his headache, because I got distracted.

I saw the body posture that was me.

"People with this structure are highly creative and intelligent with upper chakras that are overdeveloped. Their issues center around the right to exist."

And I sobbed again. That word, "Exist".
I went on to read:

"Without the right to be here, few other rights can be reclaimed. Do we have the right to take up space? Do we have the right to establish individuality? Do we have the right to take care of ourselves? The right to be here is the foundation of our survival and security. A corollary to this right is the right to have, especially to have what we need to survive."

I've been kind of anxious and upset ever since then. Overdeveloped upper chakras? I don't know. But I do remember being told that my constant dizziness had something to do with overdeveloped and underdeveloped chakras...and those chakra bowls dang near killed me... I also have worked so hard to change beliefs and thoughts and patterns, but that blasted body memory pain won't go away... Guess where the the first chakra is?? Just guess.

 Over and over, if I have to choose between what I want and what someone else wants, I will choose someone else. Over and over I have tried to hide who I am, what I want, what I feel, even the fact that I exist... And I can't live like that."

I kept trying to post it, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I felt so much anxiety at just posting the words, "I exist", so I never did it.

After Everyday Joy today, I sat in my chair...thinking... I had just written the post "I'll be the violin in the back row with a HUGE smile on my face." There was a time, I would have shared that with the Everyday Joy group on facebook, but I didn't want to. I hadn't posted anything in the group since facebook had changed things. Now, when I post to the group, it shows up in my friends' news feeds, and I didn't want to be seen. I was scared.

I thought about what Joy (Jen) had said... Hiding. On more than one occasion she has said, "Maybe it's time to show up in your own life." So I did.

I shared my joyful post with the group, and what I was afraid of happening, happened... sort of.
People did see it, click on the link, and have read some of my blog. No one has chased me down with a pitchfork. One friend sent me a message thanking me for what I'd written. Two of my aunts called to chat and to tell me they loved me, and they just want me to be happy. One aunt said she supported me leaving the church, but feels sad for all the people who will never hear my wisdom. The other told me she thought I was amazing. Another friend apologized that she had had no idea.

I'm feeling a little raw and vulnerable, and once again, it has been shown to me that I don't need to hide. Yes, there are people who don't like me, who disagree with me, hate me, and they wish I would disappear, go away, maybe even stop existing... but there are far more loving, kind, and wonderful people out there.

Still... this isn't even about other people. This is about me. Standing up and saying, I exist. I'm here. I don't have to hide, and I'm not going to. I'm not going to pretend. I'm not going to wear a mask. I'm here. I'm me. Exactly where and who I want to be.