"Don't ask me. Tell me. You're the boss." #pelvicfloorphysicaltherapy #endometriosis #PTSD

Three months ago, I had a complete hysterectomy and endometriosis excision surgery. The doctor didn't know how extensive the endometriosis was until he got in. My bladder, bowel, colon, rectum, left tube, left ovary, and uterus were all fused together in one big clump. There were several other spots of endometriosis spread throughout my pelvic and abdominal areas. It was a pretty extensive surgery, and it's taken a while to heal.

There are a lot of things that have improved since my surgery.
I no longer have pain so bad that I feel nauseated. I no longer spend a few days vomiting during my period.
I don't have a period.
The intense pain (felt like a hot poker stabbing my insides) is gone.
I don't feel the burning/urgency/painful cramping whenever my bladder is full or while peeing or after I've peed. It used to feel like I had a UTI all the time, but I don't feel that way anymore.

I still have some bowel issues that weren't there before the surgery, but since I had major surgery on my bowels, it's apparently normal. It takes time for those things to heal.
I also still feel exhausted a lot. I no longer take a nap everyday, but I feel like I still could if I had the chance.

I still have a constant aching, burning, uncomfortable pressure pain throughout my whole pelvic region. That combined with the fatigue I still have since the surgery has been discouraging. Last week, I spoke with the surgeon again. He told me I should be feeling better by now, and suggested I give physical therapy a try to see if that could help me. He also said it could help with preventing more adhesions (scar tissue) from sticking to my organs and muscles. Scar tissue can cause the organs to stick together in the same way endometriosis did. If it got bad enough, I'd have to have surgery again to fix it. Physical therapy can help break up the scar tissue and keep the organs moving in the way they should.

Pelvic floor physical therapy was not my idea of fun. It sounded AWFUL. Besides the fact that physical therapy of any kind is generally painful and difficult, I have a history of sexual abuse. I have been diagnosed with PTSD, and anything that feels anything like being sexually abused felt, triggers reactions in my brain and body. PTSD makes it hard for me to know if I am in the present (with a doctor that can help me) or in the past (with a man who is raping me). As far as my body and brain are concerned, I FEEL like I am being raped. I am in the past. I can see the things I saw then. I can hear the noises of the fan whirring above the bed, and his grunting. I can feel the pain of being raped or the suffocation of having a pillow over my face. I feel scared and alone and betrayed and disgusting and disgusted. I feel so many things that I can't come back to the present without a lot of work and usually some help.

Pelvic floor physical therapy uses both internal and external muscle manipulation. It's like a regular exam on steroids - and I have never done well with regular exams.

I was afraid to go, but I also want to feel better... Really better. I want to be able to go to work, or fishing, or horseback riding, or to sit on my couch and watch TV, and not think about being in pain. It's exhausting to be in pain, and it takes a lot of energy.  If there's a chance I don't have to live like that, I want to do whatever I can to take that chance.

Pelvic floor dysfunction can be caused by a lot of things.
Chronic pain from endometriosis can be a cause. Surgery (hysterectomy or the extensive excision) can also cause it. Sexual abuse can also be a cause.
It could also be caused by pregnancy, miscarriage, sitting too much, exercising too much, poor posture, etc.

(In other words - I have a lot of things that could cause it, and they probably all contributed to where I'm at today.)

I had my first physical therapy appointment yesterday. I was scared out of my mind. I asked Todd to come with me. I made the decision that I wasn't ready to do any kind of internal work yet. As I was filling out the paperwork before meeting with the therapist, I was trying not to cry or panic or run away.

Then I met her.
She asked me about my pain. She asked me to describe it. She asked me what has helped, what has made it worse, what other doctors and professionals have told me, and she told me it usually took a woman seeing at least seven doctors before they got to her. (I counted. I have been to eight doctors for pelvic pain. The last two were helpful. Everyone else was dismissive.)

She showed me some stretches to do. She reminded me the importance of breathing deeply (diaphragm breathing). Then she handed me a sheet and told me she liked to do both internal and extrernal work.

"Is it okay if we just start with external for now?" I asked, very timidly.

She responded, "Of course! Don't ask me. Tell me. You're the boss. It's your body - I'm just here to help you."

I breathed a sigh of relief, and gladly got on the table where she massaged my incision scars and tested to see how tight my stomach and back muscles were. She had me move in different positions as she massaged and moved different parts of me. I learned about fascia, which I was unfamiliar with before. She talked a lot about teaching my body to send new signals to my brain, because the cause of the pain was gone - but my body didn't know that yet.

I walked away feeling hopeful. I still don't want to go through the physical therapy. It still sounds awful. I still think I will have a really hard time with it, and I will probably get triggered in a way that will leave me feeling awful on more than one occasion. I also know enough about recovery and PTSD and myself to know that I can handle it... And the only way out of the pain is to go through it.

So... here I go... through pain. Twice a week for at least the next month.

Not grateful. Peaceful.

In a conversation with BJ, he once said he felt guilty for feeling grateful I am in his life. In essence, he was concerned that by being grateful for the way things are today - that also meant he was grateful for the pain I had suffered.

Can I be grateful for where I am today without being grateful for the circumstances that got me here?

I've thought about this a lot. I've written and rewritten this post several different times over the last six months.

The first was really snarky. (I might have just made that word up, I don't actually know what it means... Sarcastic? Bratty?) It talked about feeling gratitude that there are abusive people in the world. If no one was abusive, how would we ever grow? I could go into it more, but there IS a reason I deleted that one.

The second was very tearful. I don't believe abuse is what made me who I am. I was already strong, kindhearted, empathic. My friends who have been abused were already clever, funny, compassionate, beautiful, wonderful people. Their abusers didn't make them that.

The third was a little closer to what I wanted. I talked about how I might not have never met some of the amazing people I know today if I hadn't been through the hell of abuse. I might not have ever seen how strong they are if I didn't know how hard they had to fight just to survive. We might not have connected if we hadn't been through so many similar (and extraordinarily painful) experiences. I am grateful they are in my life today. I am amazed and astounded at the people I have the privilege of calling friends.

I'm trying again.
I am not grateful for the past. I am at peace with it.
When I think about my life, I don't have a need to change what has happened. I've accepted it. That doesn't mean I think for a second it is okay for a man to rape his wife, but I am at peace with where my life is. That makes me at peace with my past. (Or maybe being at peace with my past has made it possible to be at peace with where my life is. I'm not sure which came first.)

I don't know who I would have been, or what life would have been like if I hadn't been abused as a child, or married a man who raped me, or any of the other circumstances. And, I guess what I'm trying to say is, I don't need to know. I am done mourning who I might have been.

I am grateful that BJ understood what emotional abuse was, and I also wish he had never experienced it. I wish he didn't understand how damaging it is. I am grateful to have people in my life who really understand the pain of rape, sexual trauma, PTSD, eating disorders, and depression, because it feels GOOD to be understood. I also wish for their sakes, they had no idea how it felt.

I don't know how or why there is so much pain and heartache in the world. I don't know why some people choose to hurt other people. I don't know why a God that can bring these amazing people into my life couldn't also have stopped them from being abused. If it was left up to me, I would have sent down angels with flaming swords to prevent children from being molested, spouses from being abused, or young women from being assaulted. I suppose I'm glad it isn't up to me.


I guess what I'm saying is I feel trusting. I trust the process. I trust where I have been lead. I trust God to balance it all out. I trust me to find my way. I trust my friends to find their way.
I trust. There is someone or something who takes care of it all. I don't know what that looks like. I don't know how it all works out, and... it does.

The words are just not coming the way I want them to.
Why does this feel so hard to write, and yet so important?
Because it is far more personal than I am letting on. There is ONE thing, one piece that I need to face, but I'm afraid. I'm afraid to admit how deeply I feel...

I would give up everything I love in my life if it meant that BJ had never been abused. I would trade the feeling of love and acceptance I have from him, if it could just mean he hadn't been hurt so deeply by someone who claimed to love him. I love my life today, and still... it just doesn't justify someone I love being hurt so much. I HATE it!  I feel so sad. By being grateful he is in my life, am I also grateful that he was abused?

The answer to that question is No! And still, I accept that it is the way it is. We are all connected. We help each other. We find the people that will help us to grow, to learn, to love. We also find people who hurt us. We learn to move on from them. We learn to trust, and we learn who and what to trust at any given moment.

I am not grateful for the pain in my past. I am not grateful for the pain in BJ's past. I am not grateful for the pain in other friends' pasts. I am at peace with my life today.

Briefly describe a miraculous event that happened to you in your life.

A friend posted this question as his status (I love facebook):
"Briefly describe a miraculous event that happened to you in your life."

 And this is my response:
"It's hard for me to describe the miracles without the understanding of the pain. I don't want to sound dramatic, but I had a lifetime of abuse that lead to fear, guilt and shame so huge, it's a miracle I'm still alive.
I had just what I needed to find my way out of the pain.

Miracles included: Splintering myself into different personalities, so the different personalities could hold the pain until I was ready to integrate myself, being able to go through flashbacks so I could remember what happened, understand it and accept it, trusting myself and others when it felt impossible, finding the right books, friends, and therapist at the exact right moment, somehow finding a way to love and accept myself, and so much more. I felt like each step to my own healing and recovery was shown to me just as I needed it. I didn't have the wisdom, but there was Love and Wisdom that guided me.

Because I wanted to hear it back then, I will say, my miracles didn't come because I was "worthy" or a member of a certain religion, or for any other reason than life is miraculous, and we are all deserving of Love, Wisdom, and Miracles."

Horribly painful, life-altering, and still perfect.

I've spent a lot of time thinking, and discussing, and intellectualizing things. I wrote about it in my last post... I feel like I got out of touch with a very crucial part of myself.

Tonight, I came across Duck's blog entry, "Does God...?" and read her thoughts about God after her abuse.

She echoed my feelings.

"Except that God gave me the VERY things I needed to survive what THEY did to me. He sent gifts to me that helped me survive what happened to me and to others. In His mercy, He helped me survive."

I have been amazed at the Love I have felt even when I couldn't find love around me. It is miraculous how I have sorted out different memories and flashbacks. The understanding I have found.

When I started therapy with Paul, he told me it was his job to tell me what to do. I told him I didn't need that... I had a relationship with God... I needed Paul's help to do what I knew I needed to. Paul asked why he had never felt things like I did. I came to the conclusion that Paul didn't need the spiritual connection that I needed. I wouldn't have survived any other way.

BJ has said he has never seen such perfect and miraculous answers to prayers as he has with me. (He also said he had never seen anyone in as much pain...)

As I read Duck's writing... I thought back to that really strong, spiritual, slightly crazy sounding person. I miss her. It was easy for me to accept that God was there and working it all out in my own life... I mean, I I could SEE His hand everywhere around me. Although my life is anything but perfect, still... I could see His hand perfectly. I understood that even if I didn't survive, I was His.

I started working through my own pain, and started listening to others' painful stories. As I really listened, I couldn't SEE God like I could in my own life... and I didn't know how to make sense of it anymore. I got angry. I AM angry.

Where was He? Why didn't he protect my friend? When she was only six and needed a mom, why didn't He send her someone who could actually love her rather than someone to hurt her? WHY? If He could send me a friend like BJ, why didn't he send someone like that to her? And why did it take so long for ME to find the help? And where was He for all of my other friends? And...? So many questions that I didn't have answers for... and I HATE the common rhetoric of, "We don't know, and will never know in this life. We just have to accept it on faith."

Somehow, I still believe God's hand is in everything around me. Did He personally go through the nightmares, the night terrors, facing the flashbacks? No.
Did He guide me on my journey? Did He show me how to help myself? Did He give me strength when I had none left? Did He send friends and angels and miracles at the very moment that I needed THAT? YES! YES! YES! YES!

To use Duck's words(because they are awesome and perfect!)

"I am ONLY here today BECAUSE of God. How could I NOT have faith in THAT?"

I can't explain it all. I don't know why I have been so blessed. Its not because I am good, and its not because I am not good. Its not because I am stronger or better or... I can assume that God is taking care of my friends too. Actually, I HAVE seen Him guide that six-year-old. In ways that don't always make sense to the rest of us, I have seen her find strength when she shouldn't have been able to go on. I have seen her make choices that bring her exactly what she needs. I have seen it all working perfectly. And I assume whatever comes next for her will be the same perfect. Horribly painful, life-altering, ass-kicking, AWFUL, not fair, shitty (and these words don't even BEGIN to describe it) and still perfect.

Trusting my Divine Intuition

In January 2008, there was a lot going on in my life. Eating disorder had become intense. Therapy seemed to be making things worse between Dann and I. I felt very alone. I felt crazy. I was working at BYU. Thursday mornings we shut down the office as required and listened to the devotional. To be honest, I rarely listened. I usually turned it on my computer, and then worked through it. On this day, my computer wouldn't work. My co-worker, Todd, was concerned that I wouldn't get to hear Elder Eyring and forced me to come sit in his office.

I grabbed my journal and sat down. Eyring talked about trials and the power of deliverance. I don't remember any other part of what he said, but one line caught me so strongly it was as if the ground had fallen out from underneath me. I was falling. Fast. I couldn't breath. I couldn't see. The desks around me seemed to vanish. And at the same time, the weight that had been pressing down on me for as long as I could remember seemed to shift. Not lift. Not go away, just moved a little.


The direct quote was, "He knows you perfectly. He knows your heart. He can know which of the many things you can do that will be best for you as you invite the Holy Ghost to comfort and bless you. He will know where it is best for you to start. Sometimes it will be to pray. It might be to go to comfort someone else.
There are many ways that the Savior can succor those who grieve, each fitted to them. But you can be sure that He can and that He will do it in the way that is best for those who grieve and for those around
them."

All I heard was, "YOU know the way. YOU know what you need to do to heal. DO it. Stop fighting, and do what needs to be done."

The rest of that day I heard that same thing OVER and OVER and OVER. And from that moment, I just decided to trust me. If I was hurting, and the thought came to call someone, I called that person. And then I paid attention to the things I said and the things they said, and from then on, every phone call had significance. If the thought came to me to go somewhere, or do something, or say something, I just did. Some of it looked pretty damn crazy. I felt like I was losing my mind. And now, as I look back, I can trace the beginning of my healing to THAT moment.

Tonight, I was reading in Kiley's blog, and she talked about something similar.

"I no longer really search for answers outside of myself.  My sister’s affirmation, “I am enough” translated to “I have my own answers” for me today."

There have been many times when I doubted me, and that is when I get in trouble. When I listen to ME, I get where I want to go, and I do it pretty fast. When I worry what others will think, I get lost, and I suffer. (Not in the "I'm being punished" sort of suffering, more in the Buddhist "lost in illusions" sort of suffering.)

I went a month with no nightmares. Anonymous sent me a letter, and suddenly, I am trying to make Anonymous happy. I am trying to fix the problems that Anonymous thinks I have. Simultaneously, my nightmares are back.


I'm reminded of a quote from the book, The Princess Who Believed in Fairy Tales:

"You're lost. One often gets lost when they use someone else's map."

(Sidenote: This book is an excellent allegory on codependent relationships. I found it very helpful, although difficult to read at times. There was actually a time where I threw the book across the room. I hated that it was telling the story of my life, because I didn't want THAT to be my life.)

This is MY journey. Since that day in January, almost three years ago, it has been a spectacular journey. All because I finally began to accept the divine intuition that has always been there, and will always be there. My journey hasn't been mine alone. My spectacular journey intersected with some other spectacular journeys. It has been and continues to be amazing.

Thanks for the reminder Kiley, I needed that.

a life worth living

Something amazing happened today. I went to dinner at my parents' house. (That's not the amazing part, what comes next is the amazing part.) We all moved to the living room and hung out on the couches. When I left, I wasn't freaking out. I wasn't in pain. I wasn't in a place where I had to then go walking, or crying, or... I left calm.

As I was driving home, Dann called. He said that at first, he couldn't put his finger on the difference in me. Then he realized, it was the way I was sitting. On the couch in my parents' home, I sit and shake, or I cross my legs into what is commonly called "the pretzel" trying to hide my anxiety and my pain.

Today, I didn't. I sat like a normal person. I can sit like a normal person. Even if its hard and I go crazy inside my head, I can force myself to sit normal. This wasn't like that. This was just me... being relaxed...


As I drove, I cried. Happy tears. I have worked SO hard. I have fought for so long. All I've wanted is a few moments of peace, a few moments without pain, a few moments where I can just BE. I have fought so hard for THIS, and THIS is here. I'm not sure if anyone who has not been through this could understand, and it amazes me.

I didn't know if I could survive the hell I have been through, and I never dared to believe that life could be better. I have dreamed of, and thought about, and planned for death everyday of my life... for as long as I can remember. My death brought me more peace than anything. And then I'd feel guilty, because what kind of person thinks like that? But dying was the only way I could see out. If I just hung in there, eventually, I would get to die and be done.

I don't know when it happened, but I realized it last week. I don't think about dying anymore. Not ever. I find hope and comfort in living. I find hope and comfort in knowing who I am and what I can do, and... for the first time ever I feel positive enough about life to not need anything but life.

I've often referred to things in my life as "Miraculous Shit", because most people would not see what has happened in my life as miraculous, but I know better. I know that many people who have gone through what I've gone through don't survive, and definitely don't ever find a life worth living. I have, and I am.

thank You.

Still Miraculous

I moved to a teeny-tiny town. I did it!

Today, as I finished cleaning my apartment, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. When I moved in, I didn't like the place. It was where I went "until I could change enough to go back". I felt like I was a kid being sent to my room. I was lonely. I was hurting.

At the same time, the way I found the place was perfect.
Desperate. Dying. Felt like the world was collapsing. I'd looked and looked for a place, but there was nothing that felt safe enough for me to even imagine trying to go to.
Sleeping under a trailer seemed better than most options.

And then Bishop Campbell met my landlord, and they told him about the little basement apartment that they only rent to single women. They didn't need a deposit, and they would work with me on paying the rent, and they were just kind people. So, that night, I stayed there.

So much happened there at that little place. Before I left, I sat down and said a prayer. Thanking God for the amazing progress I have made. For leading me on this journey. For everything that has happened to get me to this place.

The thought came to call Bishop Campbell. For the next two minutes, I argued with myself. And then I called him. He answered and said, "Wow. The spirit just works in amazing ways!"

It turns out an hour before I called, he'd been asking current bishop how I was doing. Current dude wouldn't tell him, because bishop confidentiality or something... Really... he has no clue how I'm doing... But that's beside the point. Bishop Campbell was at meetings, and they had just broken two minutes earlier. If I had called five minutes later, I would have missed him.

I told him about the divorce. I told him I was moving. I told him about many of my questions. I told him that I was making choices that many people are questioning, and I told him I didn't really care what people thought, because I just had to live my life.

He told me how amazingly strong with the spirit I am. He told me that he trusted me, because I wouldn't do anything that I didn't need to do to progress. He's seen it over and over. And then he told me that in all the times he'd talked to me, he'd never heard me sound so good.

I feel good. I feel excited. I feel light.
And my life is still miraculous in ways I will never be able to explain.

Gianna Jessen

"I didn't survive to make others comfortable. I survived to shake things up a bit."


"Don't mess with me. My Father runs the world."

I am weaker than many of you. If you pay attention. If you listen. I have much to offer. The world that doesn't see or understand, could, if you only hear the courage and strength within me.

Hated from conception. Yet loves herself.
I was loved at conception. Loved at birth. Loved by many. Hurt. Used. Abused. And still can't love myself.

Can God make abuse beautiful?
I see how Cerebral Palsy can be beautiful.
I see how much suffering can be made beautiful, but all that happened to Steph, can it be made beautiful?

If all of that shit hadn't happened to me, I wouldn't be who I am... And I am beautiful.
Paul says God will compensate for all of the suffering. He will make it Good.
Dammit. He better.

This woman seems to have found her way...

I am a survivor... and one day...

This chart:
http://www.cbwhit.com/Victim-to-survivor.htm
was shared on the After the Silence board.

As I read through the different columns, I saw that I have been a victim... still am sometimes... and I felt compassion for myself. My feelings of anger at religion? Make perfect sense in context. And I won't stay there.

But what I saw, the incredibly powerful, AWESOME feeling...
I AM a survivor. I fit very nicely into that column. I've moved and progressed. And there IS more.

One day, I will be a Thriver.
People have traveled this road. They've made it.
I will too.

...go me!

Everyday, I learn more about who I am, what I want, where I am going... Everyday, more things fall into place inside my own mind. Everyday, I change.

I've been struggling with trying to figure out how to talk to my landlord. John came in the apartment almost two months ago, and I have kept trying to dismiss it... While at the same time not being able to.

I have been reading meditations from the book, Time to Break Free. I am on day 60, but I randomly turned to day 71.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm competing with other abused women. I may hear or take part in conversations in which women are comparing situations or abusers: "If you think that's bad, listen to this," or, "Your husband may have pushed you around, but mine treated me much worse."

This competition doesn't help anyone. We simply want others to know how much we've been hurt; we want to be heard, and we want compassion. There is a way to feel heard without comparing myself to others. Expressing my feelings about the abuse instead of the details of what happened helps me move forward in my healing process. "When he pushed me, I felt afraid, angry, and alone" is a healing statement. When I learn to speak in this manner, I find that all abused women have shared the same types of feelings. This helps me better understand other people as well as myself."

I have never been one to participate in competition stories. I refused to go to a support group after I divorced Larry, because I didn't want to participate in that. The friends I have chosen to associate with are very similar to me... Constantly dismissing their own stories as "no big deal". When they do it, I have no problem getting angry and upset for them. For me... not so much... But... Reading this, it REALLY hit me. I NEED to be heard. I NEED to be understood. I NEED compassion. There IS a way to be heard without telling "horror" stories.

It doesn't actually matter to ME if John coming in is right, or wrong, or good, or bad, or legal, or whatever... It doesn't matter if he had a good reason... It doesn't matter if he meant harm...

When John came into my apartment, I felt panicked, invaded, scared, and angry.

And the same thing goes for whoever has come into my apartment when I'm not there.

When I go into my apartment and things have been moved, I feel scared, anxious, and unsafe.

HA! I get it. I understand. I might actually be able to do this whole "life" thing.

Miraculous Shit!

I have felt stuck for a very long time... This past week, so much has happened, I no longer feel stuck, I feel... a lot of other things instead.

On Wednesday, I remembered.
I have experienced flashbacks of it,. Confusion surrounding it. I thought I was crazy. Paul kept digging. Suddenly, in the afternoon, crying in the corner of the office, I knew.

Emily and Calli... Calli's dad... the shower...

The next day, it was strangely VERY IMPORTANT to not let K take advantage of me anymore. At first, I thought I was just avoiding. Still... I just went with it...

I talked to K. I talked to Paul. She was angry. I didn't back down. I felt so much better... lighter... stronger...

Friday, I woke up HAPPY! In those few seconds between sleeping and waking, I suddenly gained so much insight into me.

Emily had manipulated me for years, "If you don't do what I want, I'll tell everyone how disgusting you are. No one will want to be your friend."

Eventually, I stopped doing what she wanted, and she DID tell people, and it worked. I was shunned. I switched schools. I found some really good friends, but in the back of my mind, "If they knew, they wouldn't be my friends. I don't deserve friends like them." They never had the intention of manipulating me, but I was still manipulated into doing and being what I thought they wanted.

As I grew older, made new friends, I found many who took advantage of my eagerness to please. I had forgotten WHY I had to do everything for everyone, but I remembered I was worthless, disgusting, and if anyone knew, they wouldn't be my friend.

The friendship with K FELT the same. I HAD to do what she wanted. I lied, I kept secrets, I did so much that I didn't want to do... Standing up to her, changed everything. I was no longer a slave to anyone. I was free!

All day, I walked around feeling light as air. No guilt. (WEIRD!) It felt so good to see a world of new possibilities...

As good as I knew all of this was, I couldn't bring myself to write about it at first, so BJ did.

"It was a miracle. Months and months of incredible effort and painful enduring. One miracle."

He's right. It was a miracle, but its the kind of miracle that sucks too. Answer to my prayers? Absolutely. A step in the right direction? No doubt. Finally knowing what I am dealing with? Good... And now I gotta deal with it.