What you're saying is, I'm like a horse? (A therapy session with horses)

This post and my next post are going to be out of order of the way they happened in my life... I had a therapy session two days ago that is still kicking my butt. I feel like I have to write about it, so that maybe I can move through it more quickly and more effectively.

Also, a trigger warning for this one. Sexual abuse and stuff. I don't go into detail, but I list some of the memories I was flooded by, and it might be just enough detail to trigger you if you've been through similar experiences.

Last week, Todd and I did an interview with Mormon Stories. It was basically to tell the story of the abuse I had experienced, the complex PTSD I lived through (and feel like I am recovering from), and the way Todd had handled it that damn near saved my life - both as my bishop, as my friend, and now as my partner.

It is on video on the Mormon Stories Podcast page on Facebook, it's also available on YouTube and on the mormonstories.org. I plan to write more about that experience, but first... therapy that came a few days after that interview.

I told Wendy that many of my stories were fresh in my mind because of that interview. Some I had told, some I had chosen to gloss over or not tell at all, some that I had forgotten while I was trying to talk but felt very invasive in my brain now that I wasn't in front of a camera.

She asked what I was feeling in my body.
Tightness in my chest and throat. Tenseness and shakiness in my whole left side.

Since one of my very first sessions with her and her horses (three?) years ago, we both noticed that if she moved in to close to my left side I flinched. Not always, but if there was any emotional energy coming from me or her, I'd flinch. I wouldn't ask her to move. I rarely even moved myself. I just felt my left shoulder muscle tense. We've both made the connection to trauma and trying to protect myself and that seems to be the only body response I had when I first started seeing her that showed I was uncomfortable with her (or any other human) in my space.

We have experimented with horses moving up on the left side, and I don't feel any reaction. I'm also fine with horses moving around behind me, and don't feel the need to be aware of them most of the time. (Though, when a horse is more worked up, I do naturally pay more attention to them. Wendy has wondered if that is just that I actually am pretty in tune to energies, but humans just all make me uncomfortable.)

We started EMDR focusing on the tightness and tenseness. She asked me if I had anything to say.
"I'm sorry for speaking up. I'm not sorry for telling my story. I'm sorry for not protecting everyone from my story anymore. I'm sorry for telling people the things my ex husband did - especially since I know he has done so much work to change. I'm not sorry. I carried so many secrets and protected him and everyone for so long, I don't want to protect them anymore. I need to talk, and I want to help others who can't talk, but I'm really sorry... but not sorry."

And then I cried. My whole left side started shaking hard. I was flooded with memories.
Being in the car, and getting hit while he was driving.
My little brother touching my butt, and turning around and slapping him (without even thinking, I just did it.) Then getting in trouble, because that was never an acceptable way to deal with someone touching you. 
Sitting in the car next to the Stake Relief Society President. I told her that being touched by any human felt incredibly painful, like lightning going through my whole body. She then kept rubbing my neck and arm and asking, "does this hurt?" Back then, I froze. I just nodded, and my body shook a little, but I couldn't talk or really do anything more than sit there.

Back in the present, I wanted to strike out with my left arm and scream, "Don't fucking touch me. I just told you that hurts. What kind of a sick person then does things I JUST SAID HURT ME? STOP!" and, "I slapped him because he touched me. That is the perfect way to deal with that. MY FUCKING BODY. DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!"

Then I was flooded with memories of Larry. In my interview with Mormon Stories, John asked me why I never talked to Larry about wanting a better sexual relationship. The thing is, I did. But Larry got angry. He got mad. He told me that a woman was disgusting when she was turned on. She got wet down there, and it was so gross. He told me if I moved, that ruined his experience. When I cried, and begged him to stop, he put a pillow over my face or told me to shut up. My voice was completely useless. I also lacked the sexual experience and vocabulary to really express what was going on for me and what I wanted if I wanted anything. Because mostly I wanted him to stop touching me. Leave me the hell alone.

I told Wendy the energy in my left side felt like it wanted to fight, but I wasn't sure I had any real fight in me. She had me push against her hands (see the picture below). My left arm shook hard even though I don't think I was pushing hard against her.

This is an exercise I've done in therapy more than once. It seems to be a way to use my body to help the energy of the emotions move through me. The first time I was able to effectively use this, was when I realized I am a fighter, and I am proud of being a fighter. (see this post if you want to read more about it)

Then she did the most horrible thing she has ever done. She moved over to my left side. She has warned me this may be something we try in therapy. She even asked my permission a couple weeks ago. She put her hand up, so that I could push against it. I did, and then the whole left side of my body crumpled. Emotionally, I felt almost nothing. Cognitively, I was fascinated by my body's response (but unable to figure out why this was happening). Physically, I was standing, but only because I was hanging on to the rails of the horse (fence) panel with my right side. Daisy the horse had her nose up against my hand. Violet the horse was standing behind me. I felt very supported by them, so I kept trying to pay attention to the sounds of them licking and chewing and stomping their feet (and at one point Daisy squealing and kicking towards the fence away from me while still keeping her nose calmly touching my hand).

Wendy stepped a few steps away, put her hand down, and turned to face the same direction I was. (So if we were touching, we'd be shoulder to shoulder.) That helped my body to calm down a little, but still I was so tense and shaky, I was struggling to talk and breath for a few minutes at least. Then, just when I was feeling steady, she asked me to put her hand on her shoulder - as if I was pushing her away - but not actually to push her away unless I wanted to.

Again, I felt like I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I also felt like crying and curling up. I couldn't talk. I couldn't think. I tried with everything I had to remember why I was doing this, and to understand why this was so damn hard. There was zero brain available to me at that moment. As I started to get lightheaded, she moved herself back to facing me. I started breathing.

Then I asked her to explain what was happening.
PTSD caused a freeze response in me. My body froze in trauma over and over and over. It became a way to feel safe. It became a way of life. All of that trauma is now stored in the muscles, the nervous system, every part of my body has been affected. Specifically it seems it is now stored in my left side (for whatever reason). She wanted me to let the energy move through me, but then I got flooded, so she decreased the energy (put her hand down, turned to stop facing me, put her hands behind her back, etc.).

I laughed and said, "so I'm like a horse. Training my body is like training horses."
She shrugged her shoulders. She pointed out that she is trained in trauma and in horses. She tries to think about ways to help me. Sometimes she's right. Sometimes she's way off. We are experimenting together. But in this instance, she feels pretty confident, she was right, though the energy of her hand up and facing me was too much energy.

That session was two days ago.
I spent the afternoon after the session with my niece. We rode horses together. We spent a lot of time outside with the horses. We painted. We played with toys. Having her there was both a great distraction and a great reminder of the life I live now. I am dealing with past trauma, but it is not present at all. In the present, I live with Todd and horses and have so many amazing little kids in my life, and I was grateful for the respite.

My niece and I riding Sunny, the horse. I can't believe how happy it makes me to share horses with her and all of the other little kids (and adults) in my life.

That evening, we went to Hope of America to see Todd's granddaughter sing. I felt anxious the whole time. It was a big struggle to be able to just sit there. When they started singing about the military and how some will live and some will die, I ached. Some will live, but never be the same, and I'm angry that we don't do more for them. PTSD is awful to live through, but we keep sending people out anyway. Can we PLEASE find a better way? Or at least do more to take care of those we as a country keep damaging? The crowds of people felt overwhelming. Having people touch me - even brush up against me as we walked back to the car - I wanted to jump out of my skin.

Yesterday, I again felt shaky and teary and the muscles on my left side were so sore, I couldn't get them to relax. I was supposed to help teach a casting clinic (fly fishing), but couldn't imagine trying to focus on casting when my brain didn't quite feel like my own.

Last night I kept having nightmares, and woke up this morning crying.
I was being flooded with memories - just quick flashes.
A penis coming at my face. Waking up to being touched on my breasts and genitals. Waking up to being raped. Holding my own legs out of his way. Unwanted hugs. My boss rubbing my shoulders and being unable to ask him to stop. Feeling fear at night that kept me from falling asleep. Being hit in the car. RS President touching my neck. Stake President wanting a hug. Nightmares I had when I was a child of my grandparents' basement. Being coerced into performing oral sex when it made me sick and I wanted to bite it off rather than the pleasure the bastard it was attached to. Pillows over my face as I cried. Begging him to stop. Fighting him off, but it didn't help anyway. Dissociating and watching from the corner of the room as Larry did his thing and I just laid there like I was dead or a limp doll.

At the same time, feeling the energy in my left arm. (Now the muscles were downright spasming!) I laid there in my bed, and hit it with my left fist as hard as I could and yelled, "Don't fucking touch me!" over and over and over.

(Then I thought about that one time ten years ago when Wendy had me beat a couch cushion with a tennis racket. She was trying to do the same thing for me then that she's trying to do now. I'm a lot better at it now.)

I feel a little better now. I still feel sad and tense and maybe a little broken. I also know this won't last. It's nothing like I have experienced in the past (though the most intense I have experienced since starting therapy with Wendy and her horses).

I was supposed to help with a fly fishing clinic again today. I am not. They didn't need my help - taking people fishing is one thing our fly fishing club is good at, so they had enough volunteers. I wanted to go, because I wanted to be involved in something I enjoy and love doing and teaching it to women who have never fly fished before would be an awesome experience. Except, I needed a day to sit down and write. I needed a day to spend time with my own horses. I needed a day to be alone to process all that my poor brain and body is trying to process. I am missing something I would have really enjoyed if I wasn't going to therapy to work so hard for a better life. I also feel lucky that I could take part of a day just for me. (I also worked for a bit and will probably work more. Sometimes my brain needs a break, and there's some work to be done. Not much since we had planned to take the day off to go to the fly fishing clinic.)

Anyway... My latest session. If I could stand to have someone give me a massage, I could sure use one. 

My thoughts on "How do we interact with loved ones or associates who once embraced the gospel, but have become less active?"

Because I am a still a member of the LDS Church on their records, and my membership is still in a ward, I get emails from the Relief Society of that ward. I suppose I could ask to be removed, but most of the time I like reading the updates on the people that are in the ward. (They send out a prayer list that talks about what is going on for some of the people in the ward. I've known these people most of my life, so I like knowing what's going on. When one of my best friend's from high school's mother was really sick, I knew about it and could reach out to my friend.)

This week's email was about the upcoming lesson/council/discussion. I haven't been to a relief society meeting in nearly ten years, but I read the email just because I was bored... and then I had a lot of strong feelings about it.

Here's the email:

Agenda for Sunday Relief Society Council Meeting, 03/04/2018

Reading Assignment: “Apart, But Still One” by Elder Joni L. Koch, of the Seventy (November 2017 Ensign, P.110)

Sharing: Last month our action item was to look around us and to become aware of the needs that were around us, and to seek ways that we could help with those needs. I want to give you an opportunity to share any thoughts or experiences you have had this past week on this topic.

Today's Council: How do we interact with loved ones or associates who once embraced the gospel, but have become less active?

• As we talk today about this topic, think about someone who was once active in the gospel, but has now become less active, or think of those who were less active and have returned (this could even be yourself). I want you to make comments that you feel prompted to share. This council should invite the spirit to give each of us personal revelation as we share information and experiences.
• Iceberg Example from Sister __

Possible Discussion Questions:

• Our reading assignment of Elder Koch's talk, “Apart but Still One,” pointed out a few possible events that can occur among members of the church that can contribute to disunity among members. Did you find any insight from the article that relates to our topic that you would like to share?

• What experiences have you had or observed that have brought loved ones back to the faith?

• Read messages of hope from our living prophets (taken from quotes page that will be passed out at Relief Society)
• Action Item: What is one thing you can do this week to help or accept a loved one or associate who has become less active?

 I called my mom to see if she would be in this meeting. (She's the stake primary president, so she is often not in Relief Society, because she is taking care of stake business.) She will be in this one, so I asked her to say something. My family did a great job of helping me know I was loved when I left the church. (You can read about it here.) I like what I wrote, but I love what my mom wrote in the comments even more,

"I had some preconceived notions about what a family looked and felt like and that's what I tried to bring about, but eventually I figured out that what a family looked like, didn't matter. What a family felt like did.
I know you think we aren't normal, but I think there are a lot of people like us, who just love their family no matter what they look like to the rest of the world.
Thank you for being so patient with us while we grew up as parents. Love you tons!"

She has some wisdom she could share, but I know how hard it is for her to speak up in a group. (She struggles with it even more than I do, and that's saying something!)

My mom suggested sending an email to the Relief Society President. I don't know what to say, so I thought I would start with just writing here and see what comes out.

The Letter

Dear Sister __
I know I am not the target audience of the emails to the relief society. I haven't been to a relief society meeting in more than ten years, and have no intention of changing that. I know many people think it is sad that I have distanced myself from the church I was raised in, and I know many people want me to come back - for my own good they say - because they don't understand why I left and how a different path could be good for someone. I understand that. I was once a member who believed there was only one path and one true way to happiness. I was wrong.

I am happy for the members who are happy being members. I am so glad the church and its teachings bring my family so much happiness and peace. I would never want to take that away from them. I also want to say many of those same doctrines and teachings brought me misery. You've known me since I was a teenager, and probably remember how I didn't fit in even when I was 14. I tried. After my teenage years, I gave it a really good try. In the end, for my own health and well-being, I have left the church behind me.

Many members (including the gentleman who gave the conference talk that was the assigned reading for this week) give reasons for people leaving that aren't complete. I am sure there are people who stop going to church for the reasons listed in that talk, but there are so many more reasons why people stop attending and/or resign their membership. For the purpose of this email, I don't think it's important to list those reasons... In fact, I think it is really important to ask people who no longer attend what their individual reasons are. Most probably won't talk about it, or they will try to protect you from knowing what they have learned. Many won't trust that you REALLY want to know. My family has had to work really hard for me to trust them with my own thoughts and reasons for leaving, because I didn't trust them in the beginning. I'm grateful for the work they have put in. I'm grateful they have asked me why I chose to stop attending instead of assuming they knew. I am grateful for their unconditional love and acceptance of who I am.

I'm really glad you are having a lesson on how to interact with and love people who no longer attend. I know way too many people who have been completely shunned by their family because they have left the church. Last week, I spent hours listening to three different men who are facing the possibility of divorce because their wives don't know how to be married to (men) who don't believe the church is what it claims to be. They are losing everything, because they are being honest about what they believe. It's heartbreaking. I have witnessed other men and women who have children, parents, siblings, and friends who will not spend time with them because they have left the church. They have been disowned by their families completely. It is beyond heartbreaking to know that your family can't love you and doesn't want you, no matter how old you are.

I sincerely considered coming to the meeting on Sunday, just so that I could say one thing:

"PLEASE, please don't love people so that they will come back to church. Just love people. Don't try to manipulate them or coerce them. Just love them. Trust them in their journey. They might come back. They might not. In the meantime, your love could be a lifesaver.

I honestly believed my family would prefer I was dead than that I left the church. I almost made that happen for them. Luckily, I decided to give them a chance first. Luckily, they took that chance and supported me and loved me wholeheartedly. I am alive today because of that choice.

I told my mom she could just stand up and tell the whole room to be like her, but that's not really her style. But seriously, be like her and my dad."

I also don't know if I would be heard. I am an outsider now, and I know it. I also feel nervous sending this email, because I enjoy coming back to accompany (my brother and sister) in their musical numbers at church. I would hate to be excluded from that in the future, because I tell you what I really think and who I really am. (If I actually send this message), I guess I have decided it is worth the risk. 

I know part of the goal of the relief society meeting is to bring relief to those sitting there. Offering people a way to bring their loved ones back may bring a lot of relief. I have found love, friendship, community, compassion, and relief from outside that space, so I understand it's asking a lot to think about me while sitting in that room and in that meeting. It might be selfish of me to ask, and I guess I'm doing it anyway.

Please think about me and others like me as you have this discussion on Sunday.
Much love and gratitude,

Jen


(I did not send the following, but I thought about it. I just decided it wasn't the message I wanted to send right now.)

P.S. In case the above wasn't enough, here are a few other thoughts I had:

This blog post was written a while ago, and it might help you understand how to be helpful.
https://johnpavlovitz.com/.../what-church-people-really.../
It's not a Mormon perspective, but it fit with what I needed (and probably still need) from "church people".

Some things church members can do:

• Talk to us with no goal of trying to get us to do anything. 
• Invite us to social events (especially the kind where there won't be lessons)
• Ask us how you can be a good friend to us.
• Acknowledge how hard it is to leave what we have known all our lives. We are pioneers, and it is hard to be a pioneer. 
• Tell us you don't know what to say, but you also don't want to say nothing.
• Listen.

Things not to do:

• Don't send us scriptures, ensign articles, or links to why we should do something different. 
• Don't call us to repentance or tell us how to live our lives. Even if you really, really want to.
• Don't tell us what to do.   

An hour after I sent the message, she had responded with the following:

"Dear Jen,

Thank you so much for your absolutely honest and sweet email. I love you whether you are in the church or out of the church. And I know many others would do the same. 

Yes, we will respect your journey. You are correct in understanding that families are heartbroken when their children leave the church. But, it is because they do strongly believe the doctrine of eternal families. 

Sunday our discussion will include how to love and accept the decisions of those who have chosen to step away from activity. And, yes, we do plan to discuss how that talk illustrates just a few of the many many reasons that people do not want to be a part of the church. 

I always enjoy seeing you when you come to play your beautiful music or when I see you at other activities. I hope we will always be friends. 

You would be so welcome at our meeting on Sunday. And I hope that your mom will be there and share her thoughts, if you are not there.

Love you lots,

__

Also, if it seems OK with you and it seems good as I proceed through the council, may I use A few of your statements in your email, if I don’t give names?"

I am happy with the exchange. My mom says she'll report back on how she feels about the whole discussion. I thought about going, but would rather get together with our Uncorrelated Mormons group (which meets at the same time).

It's not just toddlers who have meltdowns.

Protect LDS Children has a petition going around that has recently gained traction among my believing friends. I didn't really feel like I had a dog in the fight - I don't have children, I no longer have anything to do with bishop's interviews, and I don't feel like it's my place to try to change a church I don't believe in.

Then this morning, I was reading my friend's comments about it. She is a strong, believing, active member of the church. She has told her bishop that he can't be alone with her children, and the bishop has told her it isn't possible for her (or any adult) to be in the interview with him and her child.

I suddenly felt sick inside. (Can I blame that I've been doing EMDR therapy, and it makes things seem bigger and stronger emotionally than they use to?)
I distinctly remember my mom begging me to go to a temple recommend interview when I was fifteen. The Mount Timpanogos temple dedication was coming up, and I needed a recommend. I couldn't explain to her why I couldn't go, but I just could not go into that room alone with the bishop. It seemed stupid to me, since I'd been in interviews my whole life. I'd been walking in those rooms alone since I was seven years old.
As I thought about it this morning, I also remembered feeling anxious and afraid going in the bishop's office when I was seven. I didn't want to be there alone, but I wanted to be good. I don't know if I said anything to my parents or not. I do remember the fear sitting in the room alone with Bishop K and eventually getting over the fear because he was nice.
At fifteen, I was going through puberty, which was bringing up all kinds of shit and generalized anxiety over men most likely because of past sexual abuse. It could also be the fear I had of my own father. Whatever it was, I was terrified of men. The thought of going in there and having him ask me questions made me want to die. (I was already very self-destructive, deep in an eating disorder, deep in shame and self-loathing, and deeply hated who I was. Worthiness questions could have also added to my fear. It's hard to say since I was fifteen and confused as hell about what was going on for me. It was a lot easier to starve myself, cut a little, and just flat out refuse to go to the temple dedication with my family.)

I started talking to Todd about it, and my strongest objection to bishop's interviews was the way it grooms little kids into trusting men of authority and ignoring their own discomfort.

I think it is pretty rare that a bishop abuses a child. VERY RARE. I think damage is more likely to come by sending a child into the room where an adult man that is almost a stranger asks them questions about themselves, and the kids are just supposed to answer because he's the bishop. It's teaching a child a lack of boundaries that isn't healthy to learn.

As an adult, I went to the bishops for help. I trusted that they were the ones that could help me. They couldn't. Most didn't. Most caused me more harm than anything. One fought for my life like no one ever has before or since. One listened to me and tried to do right and help me. Every single other one made things worse for me, because I thought they knew what they were talking about. They had no fucking clue. They didn't mean to cause harm, but they did.

I shared some of this with Todd, and I said it was just so upsetting, and he responsed, "because it taught you who you were in relation to men in authority," (or something like that. I wish I could remember exactly, because it was perfect.)

I sobbed. Hard. For a good thirty minutes.
Then I went and signed the petition on Protect LDS Children. I wrote about it here. I commented on my friend's post. For my own sanity, I have to do something. I want to change things for other little kids.

I didn't have a good relationship with my parents, so as a teen, I would not have wanted them to come with me. (Though actually, I remember the bishop coming to the house, and I felt more comfortable with him there when my parents were there than when I thought about going to an interview... so maybe I would have been better off.) I love the idea of the child choosing an advocate. I would have chosen one of my young women leaders. I had several that I felt comfortable with, and I would have been totally fine with them sitting there in the room. Even if they didn't say a word, I could have handled an interview if I wasn't alone. (I think.)


I don't know if that would have made a difference in my life - my life is pretty fraught with a lot of shitty things - but maybe?

Anyway, I don't have time to go back and edit this or make it sound smart... I just needed to get it all out of my head.

#ACA #Obamacare Getting Political (Again)

A few years ago when the Affordable Care Act was passed, I wrote a blog post wondering how it would affect me. After all, I was the target audience. I was "uninsurable". I was middle class. I had gone without health insurance since I was 18. When I looked into joining the high risk pool, it was $1000 to insure just me. I was worried I was going to be asked to pay for insurance at that price, and wondered if I would be one that chose to just take the penalty fines.

That's not what happened. I was able to buy insurance. I qualified for small subsidies. With pre-existing conditions no longer barring me from insurance, I was able to buy it at an affordable price. (Without subsidies, I payed $150/month the first year. $220/month the second year, and $230/month this year. I qualify for a $50/month subsidy.)

I had no idea how nice it was to have insurance. With preventive care being covered 100%, I went to the doctor for well checks. I chose a primary care physician, who I saw regularly enough that she knows me. She calls me by name and knows my health history for the past three years, and has been great to have on my team. People with primary care physicians who know them well get different treatment and options than those who do not. When you only see the doctor at the clinics when you are really sick, and you don't see the same doctor every time, they are rushed. They don't order tests or treatments as quickly or as often as they do when they know you.

In 2015, I saw a therapist on a weekly basis starting in July or August. I went to the doctor four or five times trying to figure out what was going on with my chronic pain. I tried various medications, and they did a few different ultrasounds trying to figure out what was wrong. Eventually, I had surgery that included two nights at the hospital in December. Just the hospital stay (not including the surgeon's fee or the anesthesiologist) was $40,000, and that was taken care of 100% by insurance. I wouldn't have gotten the surgery without insurance. I would have continued in pain so intense I would spend 7-8 days/month vomiting, sweating, and crying. My pain wouldn't have killed me, but I don't think I could have lived like that for very long, and it was getting worse at the time I had the surgery.

Surgery helped a lot, but it didn't take care of all of my issues. I had to go back to the doctor for more treatment and more care. I went to physical therapy twice a week for six months. My copay for PT was $60/session, which was expensive, but not nearly as expensive as if I had to pay for it all. (Self-pay was $100/session.)

Then I developed kidney stones. I went to my doctor who immediately ordered a CT scan ($1100!). Also, because she knew me, she gave me a shot of dilaudid and prescribed some percocet that helped while I waited for the stones to pass. Ten days later, I was still in a lot of pain, had developed a kidney infection, and decided to have the stones removed surgically. With that surgery, I hit my maximum out of pocket with the insurance.

My chronic pelvic pain still wasn't getting better, so more doctor visits, more tests, and finally a second surgery: all covered 100% by my insurance. (As well as still seeing a therapist twice a month, all prescriptions, everything all taken care of by insurance.)

Now it's January, and I have recently been referred to another specialist. I will hit my deductible by the end of this month. I hope I still have insurance in a few months, because I really like having it. If I had never known what other people feel: the freedom to go to the doctor when you are sick. The reassurance of knowing that if I need medical care, I won't have to file bankruptcy or struggle to pay tens of thousands of dollars when I don't make that much.

I am very grateful for the ACA. I benefitted a lot. I really don't know what I would have done without it. I definitely could not have afforded the specialists or the surgeries I had this past year. I imagine I would have gone to a doctor when I had kidney stones, but I don't think I would have gone through with surgery. I definitely wouldn't have done the surgery for the endometriosis, because that wouldn't have been an option!

I feel sad and afraid as I think about the future. What will happen to me and to people like me? I didn't have anything life threatening, but what if I had? What if I do in the future? What if Todd does? What happens to the people who are "uninsurable" now? The ACA also protected women from being charged more than men. It protected the elderly from having to pay premiums more than 3x what the young have to pay. It got rid of lifetime caps. That's a lot of protections that would just vanish, and I don't think the insurance companies will keep them in place if they aren't forced to. The big reasons for rising premiums now are the insurance companies trying to make more profits, and I don't see that going away any time soon...

The ACA isn't perfect. It has a lot of flaws, and a lot of things that need fixing. It relies on private insurance companies' participation, and I hate that most of those companies are huge corporations who have always made money by NOT paying for treatment of the sick. But it was a baby step in the right direction. It saved lives. What will happen if it is repealed with no replacement?

"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.

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.

Free from the Other. It is not my problem, and I won't make it mine either.

Facebook has an "Other" folder for messages. It's where messages go if I'm not Facebook friends with the person who sent it. I think I knew it was there, but I had never checked it until yesterday.

I discovered some nice messages from people thanking me for my Ordain Women profile, and for the Sunday spotlight interview I did a month or so ago. It also had a message from my ex-husband. It had been there a while, so for him this is way old news. For me, it's pretty darn fresh.

I didn't know what to do with it. I don't know what to do with it, so I guess I have decided to write about it here.


This post isn't to him, but of course he's welcome to read it. This is for me, and for anyone else who is trying to figure out what to do with past abusers, forgiveness, apologies, etc.

A couple years ago, I wrote the blog post "The Letter I Will Never Send", because I was contacted by the Catholic church asking what I thought about his getting remarried. They asked me to describe my marriage and my experiences with him. I chose not to do anything with their questions except to write my experiences FOR ME.

I guess he read it.

"Hey Jen,

I wanted to write you because there is a lot I have been thinking about for a long time. Someone alerted me to the blog you wrote and it solidified what I think I didn't quite understand before. Where I didn't think rushing you into sex so often was kind, I didn't understand how bad it was. I didn't know to you it was a forced obligation. I thought because I had your consent it was o.k. --I didn't realize how abusive that was to you. I think aside from that, we both went into things unprepared and unrealistic and hurt each other. I am truly sorry, I realize now how hurt you were. I don't want there to be any tension in the future and I hope you are and continue to do well in your life. It would mean everything to me if you would forgive me.
-L"

Since writing the letter, and the response to it, I hadn't thought much about him. I am still dealing with some false beliefs about relationships. I am still dealing with a lot of guilt and shame that is left from a lifetime of abuse - which included my life with him - but was not limited to just him. I have had to completely reconstruct my whole emotional/mental/spiritual foundation, which takes a lot of time and a lot of work. (That could be the understatement of the century.)


Reading his message, my initial reaction was fear. I was afraid that he could find me, and I wanted to hide.

Then I felt like I needed to write back and apologize for not responding sooner: to tell him that I hadn't seen it, but now that I had, give him a response that would make him feel better. I felt like I should tell him I wasn't angry and I had totally forgiven him... but I didn't do any of that.

Todd told me to tell him to "Fuck off."
I wasn't entirely against the idea, but it didn't really resonate with how I was feeling.

I thought about asking how I had hurt him and apologizing for anything I had done to him, and then I realized: I DON'T CARE

I have had to work my ass off to recover from what he did. I have gone to therapy, I have read books, I have cried, I have gone through flashbacks and nightmares. I have spent countless hours thinking and rethinking, so that I could make sense of the world around me. I have spent time talking to others about how they treat their wives, and defining rape, and going to SLUT walks, and writing and writing and writing and crying and then writing more. I didn't ask him to apologize. (In fact, if he read anything besides that one post - he would have seen that I didn't want an apology.) I didn't ask him to do anythig. All I did was to go out and do MY work to make peace with what he did and what was my life.

I worked hard, and I have created a beautiful life. I didn't need anything from him, and I don't care what would mean the world to him...  What he needs and wants doesn't matter to me. I can finally say what he needs and wants and thinks and does means nothing to me. I wish him no ill will. I also don't wish him happiness. He gets to exist completely separate from me.

(Oh, and there is no tension between us, because there is nothing between us. That is exactly how I want it.)

I don't know what prompted him to write me - maybe he was trying to repent, and apologizing to me was part of that... but that's a pretty shitty apology. If I cared about him and his repentance, I would suggest that to him: Learn to apologize and take some responsibility if you actually want forgiveness. But I don't care about his repentance, or his work, or what he needs to learn or do... He gets to be responsible for his own learning and growing, and I get to completely dismiss it. It's his, and has nothing to do with me.

I have gone through anger at him. I have gone through all kinds of emotions, and now... I am at peace.  I don't know if that means I have forgiven him. (I am not a fan of the word forgiveness - I think too often it is used to manipulate and control. In too many cases, it is used to shift responsibility from an abuser to the victim.)

I have cried a lot in the last couple of days. I am not even sure what the tears were for. I just felt like crying, so I did. And now, I feel more free than I have felt in a long time.

#OrdainWomen It Feels Personal

On the topic of Ordain Women. I'm angry and hurting, and trying to figure out where the emotions are coming from and why.

 

It feels personal. Every attack on Kate Kelly and to some extent John Dehlin feels personal: like I am the one they are talking about. 

Up until a couple weeks ago, I had followed Ordain Women, but didn't really care to add much to the conversation. Be compassionate. Understand what they are saying and don't jump to your conclusions about what they want or who they are. I didn't feel the need to share my own feelings or even have my own feelings. 

Today, I am so angry and upset, I hurt. I feel sad for Kate. She will probably be excommunicated tonight. The process seems unfair for a woman who loves the church and wants to be a part of it as much as she does. I feel like I must mention her, even though my pain really has nothing to do with Kate any more. 

 

Like I said. It's personal.

I understand that not every Mormon woman is oppressed and voiceless. There are many women who are very happy with the way things are. AND the current system is definitely a breeding place for a voiceless and oppressed woman to get her start. It's where I learned to be voiceless. It's where and how I learned that it was okay to abuse and use me, and there was nothing I could do about it. And I can't help wondering how different my life would have been if the system was different. 

If women had the priesthood and were taught they were equal in authority... The night with Johnny, the Elder's Quorum president, would have gone differently. I did nothing that night, because I believed I had no right. 

If women had the priesthood and were taught they were equal in authority, my marriage to Larry would have been so different. 

Recently, on a Facebook page someone posted a picture of black men in the fifties and compared Ordain Women to civil rights. There was some backlash saying, "They aren't even close to the same thing. A few women wish they could bless their child compared to men and women that were beaten and raped."

Maybe for some, it is just a desire to bless a child, but the inequality runs much, much deeper than that. For me. If I had had the priesthood and been told I was equal to my husband, rather than being reminded of my temple covenants to obey my husband... I can't even finish the thought. If there had been women leaders. If there had been more than the bishops that gave me fucked up advice. If I had had a voice and authority. If I hadn't believed all of the stupid shit about men and women and their roles. 

 

The story of inequality for ME included being beaten and raped. It included being voiceless, powerless, and feeling "less than". The inequality nearly killed me. 

I don't know for sure how different it would have been, but I know it would have been different. I have had to completely deconstruct my entire belief system, and that changed me. I am different. (I'm still deconstructing old beliefs and changing myself, but I can imagine how different it could have been.) If I had been taught and believed women had just as much authority and right to their own authority, I would have protected myself. 

So, everyone that talks about why Kate Kelly should shut up.... It feels personal. It feels like they want ME to shut up and take whatever the men in my life had to offer. All in the name of God.

Far Between: Me!

I can't remember when exactly I did the interview with Kendall at Far Between. More than a year ago... It felt cathartic to tell my story, and to see how people responded in the moment to my heartbreaks and sadness and to the hope and peace I'd found.

Today, they have the edited interview up to view.
Here it is:



You can also visit their page here: http://farbetweenmovie.com/jennifer/

No More Strangers: Check me out!

There's a guest post on No More Strangers by me!

It's a little nerve wracking. Even though I have a public blog where I write about all sorts of things, it still feels scary to put my story out there more.

But there it is.

Go check it out. Add your comments. (I ALWAYS love comments, but it seems I love them even more and might even need them on a post like that one. I feel really vulnerable, and hearing what people actually think, instead of what I think they think, is really helpful.)

What would it look like if you weren't hiding?

There's been a growing frustration in my head.
It started as a nagging in the back of my mind, and has grown just a little each day. It suddenly got huge yesterday. I couldn't put it in words until I was talking to my sister.

She helped me find the words, "I feel like I'm hiding. I don't want to hide anymore."

That prompted a conversation with BJ. I told him what I had felt while talking to Mellen.
"I feel like I'm hiding, and I don't want to hide anymore."

He asked the question, "What would it look like if you weren't hiding? How would things be different?"

Not much. There's not much that would be different on the outside. The difference would be in my head. I spend a LOT of time trying to anticipate how everyone else will feel and what everyone else will do.

If I say this, will it make someone mad?
If I do this, will it hurt or offend someone?
If I do this, will she make life difficult for or hurt someone else I care about?
If I don't do that, will people be disappointed?
If I am this way, how will it affect them? How will that affect others?

So, how would it look if I wasn't hiding?

I'd be less worried, afraid, scared of angering people that will hate me no matter what I do. I'd be less concerned about what labels people attach to me, and just BE me. I wouldn't worry about how anyone else defines me or my relationships and just BE.

And I would just hold BJ's hand whenever we wanted to hold hands.

I'm not (quite) as cool as I thought I was

Yesterday, I posted about how I've learned to say NO. And how good it feels to do what I want, and to not be manipulated by others... I posted a conversation I had where I got to be the person who had learned stuff, and I talked about how it's okay to think about what you want... blah... blah... blah...

Last night, we'd planned to go fishing, but it was raining and cold.
This is how the conversation went:

BJ: Jen, do you want to go fishing?
Jen: Sure.
BJ: Do you WANT to?
Jen: I don't know... can't I just go and think about it later?
BJ: Think of this as payback. What do you WANT?
Jen: Well fuck. (pause, while I actually thought about what I wanted) No. I don't really want to go tonight, but I AM willing.
BJ: That wasn't my question. My question was "do you want to?" The truth is, I don't want to go right now either, but I was also willing. We could have both ended up doing something neither one of us wanted just because we thought the other one wanted to.

He has a very good point. I wonder how often THAT happens. Both people are unhappy because neither one says what they want.


Wait a second... now... as I'm writing this, I wonder: When was he going to tell me that he didn't want to? Calling me out on my inability to say what I want, but completely ignoring his own wants...

Just in case anyone is wondering... I have made a lot of progress... but I definitely wouldn't call this one of my strengths.

Angela's word revisited (A guest post for Julia)

Julia asked me to do a guest post for her blog. 
She gave this post the title, "A Mouse Tells How She Found Her Voice".

When I was in high school, I had a violin teacher that told me at least once a week that I played like a mouse. He'd push me to play stronger. I wanted to please him, and I wanted to play better, but I could NOT figure out how to be less of a mouse.

When I started playing again (two years ago), I had no problem playing out. It seems that I found my voice, and my mousiness went away.

Here is the blogpost I wrote. 
Thanks for the invite Julia! I really appreciated revisiting this poem. It meant a lot to me before, and it meant something more this time.


A Mouse Tells How She Found Her Voice
Sometimes, I come across the writings of others, and I wonder how they could have put my thoughts and feelings so perfectly into words. This poem described my journey perfectly:

When Angela was very young
Age two or three or so,
Her mother and her father
Taught her never to say NO.
They taught her that she must agree
With everything they said,
And if she didn’t, she was spanked
And sent upstairs to bed.

So Angela grew up to be
A most agreeable child;
She was never angry
And she was never wild;
She always shared, she always cared,
She never picked a fight,
And no matter what her parents said,
She thought that they were right.

Angela the Angel did very well in school
And, as you might imagine, she followed every rule;
Her teachers said she was so well-bred,
So quiet and so good,
But how Angela felt inside, they never understood.

Angela had lots of friends
Who liked her for her smile;
They knew she was the kind of gal
Who’d go the extra mile;
And even when she had a cold
And really needed rest,
When someone asked her if she’d help
She always answered Yes.
When Angela was thirty-three, she was a lawyer’s wife.
She had a home and family, and a nice suburban life.
She had a little girl of four,
And a little boy of nine,
And if someone asked her how she felt
She always answered, “Fine.”

But one cold night near Christmastime
When her family was in bed,
She lay awake as awful thoughts went spinning through
her head;
She didn’t know why, and she didn’t know how,
But she wanted her life to end;
So she begged Whoever put her here
To take her back again.

And then she heard, from deep inside,
A voice that was soft and low;
It only said a single word
And the word it said was … NO.

From that moment on, Angela knew
Exactly what she had to do.
Her life depended on that word,
So this is what her loved ones heard:

NO, I just don’t want to;
NO, I don’t agree;
NO, I don't believe that;
NO, that’s wrong for me;
NO, I wanted something else;
NO, that hurt a lot!
NO, I’m tired, and NO I’m busy,
And NO, I’d rather not!

Well, her family found it shocking,
Her friends reacted with surprise;
But Angela was different, you could see it in her eyes;
For they’ve held no meek submission
Since that night three years ago
When Angela the Angel
Got permission to say NO.

Today Angela’s a person first, then a mother and a wife.
She knows where she begins and ends,
She has a separate life.
She has talents and ambitions,
She has feelings, needs and goals.
She has money in the bank and
An opinion at the polls.

And to her boy and girl she says,
“It’s nice when we agree;
But if you can’t say NO, you’ll never grow
To all you’re meant to be.
Because I know I’m sometimes wrong
And because I love you so,
You’ll always be my angels
Even when you tell me NO.” 

Barbara K. Bassett

Julia asked for my thoughts on the poem - what it meant to me in my life.
I don't have a lot to add. The poem says so much, so perfectly... I was an agreeable little girl. I was quiet. I was giving. I was obedient. I was an agreeable adult. I did what I thought I was supposed to. I never said no. I tried not to have wants or desires. If I did have a want or a need, I tried to put other people's wants ahead of my own. I tried to be good and nice and GOOD, and I was miserable. I wanted to die.

Angels came along. They took many different forms. Friends. Books. Horses. Family. Bloggers. Acquaintances. Support groups. Songs. Church leaders. Each one of them gave me little glimpses into what life could be.

I was afraid. I didn't know who I'd be if I wasn't agreeable Jen. The many different angels in their many different forms supported me as I found ME. There was always an angel to show me my next step. They taught me how to live and how to be happy. They were there with me when I was afraid, and reassured me there was nothing to be afraid of. (It turns out I can still be a nice person AND have wants and desires and thoughts of my own.)

Re-reading the poem tonight, this paragraph stuck out to me:

She has talents and ambitions,
She has feelings, needs and goals.
She has money in the bank and
An opinion at the polls.

That's ME! I have talents and ambitions, feelings, needs, and goals. There's money in the bank, and I most definitely have an opinion at the polls!

 It wasn't that long ago that I felt guilt for having ambitions, feelings, needs or goals. I was not allowed to have money in the bank, so IF I had anything extra, I gave it away.

And an opinion? Especially at the polls? NOT ALLOWED. Mostly because my political opinions are very different than the majority where I live. But... then again... since I now know that my opinions are different, that means I have them. And that feels kind of amazing - especially thinking about where I once was.

Mormon Matters: Abuse and the Forgiveness Dilemma

A few weeks ago, Mormon Matters did a podcast titled "Abuse and the Forgiveness Dilemma". I don't usually pay much attention to Mormon podcasts, but this one caught my eye.

This is a paragraph from the description of the podcast. It kind of made me sob.

"But what about abuse victims? What about those who have been physically, sexually, emotionally abused—sometimes relentlessly and violently? How would they hear such messages? Is a warning that they must forgive their abusers, rapists, torturers or else they are even worse sinners than them a good one to hear? Can certain messages that are wonderful in most cases (and no one is imagining that abuse victims were on President Uchtdorf’s mind when he gave his remarks) be heard in spiritually and emotionally damaging ways by those whose self image distorted by internalized shame over the abuse they received as a child or whose lives are in danger or souls are being warped by abuse even in the present? Can such messages actually re-victimize these people? Are there circumstances in which even the beautiful message of “Families Are Forever” be heard as a threat—heard in such a way that a person might express a deliberate choice to live in hell rather than be forced to associate with their abuser(s) in heaven? The answer is yes."

My first thought was, "Where the hell were you people when I needed you?!?"
And then I remembered what the people in my life said YEARS ago:
(Here's an excerpt from the post I linked to.)

"She gave an analogy that hit me as absolute truth.
She is giving a presentation on eating disorders to 70 RA's tomorrow. Knowing that she is talking to people who like to help others, and are college students, there will be about five people in the audience with disordered eating. She was worried about giving certain suggestions or saying certain things, because she didn't want to say something that would hurt those five. She came to the conclusion that the sixty-five needed to hear what she had to say, and she had to hope that the five would be okay.
Just because they are saying it in conference, does not mean the message was to me personally.

She said, "If I told you I was falling apart, and I really needed you here," and I finished her thought, "I would be there tomorrow... In fact, I have thought about getting on a plane when you were sick, even when you didn't ask, because I love you and I wanted you to have a friend."

At the end of President Monson's talk, I also got a text from BJ:
"He was not talking to you. I listened to the entire talk. Not once did he say, 'Hey Jen, listen up!' or 'Now I am want to talk to victims of abuse that can't say no to people yet,' He didn't say anything close to that.""

Their words and their insights were invaluable to me, probably saved my life, and definitely made my life more livable.

So, knowing that was what this podcast was about, I both really wanted to listen and wanted nothing to do with it. A few months ago, I wrote about wanting to dump the baggage that the word forgiveness had for me. Listening to the podcast felt like a next step.

They started by talking Elder Uchtdorf's talk.
I didn't listen to the talk, but I read it because it got so much attention. This was the response I wrote in my journal:

"The thing about talks like this is:
Selfish assholes hear it, and think, "Yes. Everyone else should be more loving, accepting, and forgiving of me. Why doesn't (doormat) be more loving and just do what I want?"
Self-sacrificing doormats hear it, and they think, "Yes. I need to be more loving and accepting. Next time (asshole) says something awful, I will tell him that I love him and just do what he wants."

It's like the perfect recipe for a disastrous relationship."

As I listened to the podcast, I felt like they described my thoughts on forgiveness, love, boundaries, and choices perfectly.

Just a few thoughts as I listened:
(Sorry if it's a bit disjointed, these are the notes I took while I was listening.)

It is not appropriate for a mortal to try to absorb the consequences of another person's actions. If I do something to protect an abuser from the consequences of their choices, that is what I am doing. It isn't my job to protect them, it also isn't my job to punish them.
Forgiveness is NOT about the other person... It is NOT doing things to make the abuser's life better or easier... Forgiveness is about ME. It's about me leaving my pain behind. It's about me finding peace.

I've heard that thought before - we don't forgive for THEM, we forgive for ourselves...
I have also experienced abusive people asking for forgiveness because it made THEIR life easier, better, less painful... "Forgive me and just do what I want you to do." That is NOT forgiveness. It is manipulation. (And if a person is apologizing in this matter, it is not a real apology. A real apology ESPECIALLY in the case of abuse, will show more concern for the person that they hurt than for themselves. I wrote about what it felt like to get a real apology here.)

I can be Christlike and be forgiving, and yet not open my arms to an abuser that continues to cause me mental (or physical) anguish. Forgiveness is not about sacrificing your personal boundaries... I still get to choose who and what I want in my life. I ALWAYS get to choose. Forgiving doesn't take away my freedom - real forgiveness gives me more freedom.

Asking the survivor to forgive the perpetrator as part of the survivor "being a good person" is another way to make the survivor responsible for the abuse. That's WRONG. The survivor is not and never will be responsible for the abuse.

Shame. Shame is such a huge and horrible part of abuse. I have long believed that the beliefs I formed about myself and the world around me were FAR MORE damaging than all of the bruises or physical symptoms. Talks like Uchtdorf's only added to the shame.

If you believe what they say at church, "I am worse, because I can't forgive," and you KNOW you are a defective, bad, horrible person, you work so hard to be "good". You want so BADLY to be good, that you just keep signing up for more abuse... I KNOW that what they did was HORRIBLE, and I don't want to be like that...so I try to be nice, and kind, and loving, and serve even those that hurt me. That is the OPPOSITE of what a healthy person does.


Saying that "not forgiving" is worse than the offense, puts people on equal footing when they shouldn't be on equal footing. Abuse is not the same as the "just being human and needing compassion".

It is GOD's responsibility to be the judge over another person. The "sin" is when I decide what another person should or should not do, and try to control them. Making my own choices about where I spend my time is NOT a sin, but telling another person they have to change or do what I want IS.

"Being judgmental is a sin. Choosing to move on or separate yourself from a relationship is NOT."


Judging abuse as bad, is also okay.
Is saying, "I can't stand that person, and the things they have done to ME," even close to the same as saying, "I hate the choices they are making with their life. I wish they wouldn't drink alcohol, or live with a woman they aren't married to, or have a tattoo."?
Those two statements are totally different, but it has taken me a long time to understand the difference.

Sometimes the best thing to do is GO. Here's an example from the scriptures.
Nephi left. He got away from Laman and Lemuel. He didn't stay and take more abuse. 
Follow your heart, your divine intuition, it's the only way to live, heal, and BE.
There are situations when anger IS righteous. Anger can protect us.


We can't paint with a broad brush. The journey and the process is VERY individual.

Suggestions on how to be helpful if someone trusts you enough to share their story:

• Don't make assumptions. 
• Ask questions.
• Do NOT give me advice. 
• Don't presume you know these relationships better than I do.
• Don't presume you know what I should do better than I do.
• Reaffirm my worth. I don't need you to reaffirm my courage. Don't marvel at me or my strength...
• Don't presume what will happen, in this life or the next... Talking about a "forever family" is not always a comforting thing. (Although my family has been great, one of the big things that got me thinking about the church was when I looked at some of the people at church. I thought if I had to spend eternity with them, that would not be heaven, that would be hell.)

  "They know they are going to the celestial kingdom. I want nothing to do with them. If this is what heaven will be like, I'd rather go to hell."

•  When I said that, I MEANT it. Hell was better than what I found in my relationship with the church.

  "In my opinion, a relationship becomes abusive when one person tells someone else they are not good enough. They need to change. And at the same time, won't let that person leave the relationship. (You are not good enough for me, but I won't let you be with anyone else.) That is what it felt like being a member of the church. I wasn't good enough for them, but I didn't have the choice to leave.
  
  Only, I did. I have the choice. I am not ever going to go back to a place or a relationship with anyone or any organization that makes me feel less than."
  -me

• Abusers are charming. Victims stay quiet. You never know what other people have been through.
• It is NOT. NEVER will be. the failing of the survivor who can't "hang in" any longer. NEVER. NOT. That is so so so so so wrong. 

This talk on forgiveness does NOT apply to victims of abuse.
God brings comfort and love. Total comfort and love. Anything else just isn't God.


I love what she said at the end... about her friend... She couldn't handle touch, so her friend sat at the edge of the bed and held her big toe. SO grateful for BJ.  He'd touch my head. The only place on my body that I could handle being touched was my head, and then my hands, and then I wanted to be held. So, he held me for hours and hours while my body and my mind healed.

You don't have to forgive, at least not in the way the church teaches forgiveness, in order to move on. It is not required of you.

The only thing that was hard to listen to in this podcast, was talking about horrific abuse... I have spent many years saying, "It wasn't rape, because it wasn't like what they experienced." or, "It wasn't abuse, because it wasn't as bad as it could have been." I have also listened to friends who said, "I wish he would have beat the shit out of me, because then at least I would have had the scars, and I could call it abuse." etc... Emotional abuse is devastating. Just because abuse doesn't look like it looks on TV, doesn't mean that it isn't. It is okay to move on and separate yourself even if you are not experiencing the VERY horrific things that Tresa and Natasha talked about.

Fiddlin'

I recently went to the Utah Fiddlin and Pickin Contest.
Eight hours of beautiful folk music: guitars, banjos, mandolins, harmonicas, and fiddles.

I have loved the violin as long as I can remember. (Actually, I think I've loved it longer than I can remember. I asked my mom about the first time I told her I wanted to play the violin. I was two.)

In therapy, one of the suggestions was to go back to a time that was good. With eating disorders, it is often before the eating disorder started. My eating disorder developed when I was fourteen, but I have struggled with self-hatred and self harm since I was five. My earliest memories are around the same time. I don't know what it was like before I hated myself.

Listening to these people of all ages play, I had a memory of something I can't remember. (I know I just contradicted myself. It is what it is...) I still don't remember anything before age five. My first memory is still praying for my grandma to live and knowing that she wouldn't.

And... sitting there... with the music playing... I remember my earliest feeling: I want that. That instrument is somehow a part of me, and I need to learn to play it. I felt like crying and laughing at the same time. That instrument holds so much joy for me. My love for the violin is one of the few pieces of me that I know existed... before everything else became a part of me.

I started to play when I was eight. A lot of scales. Twinkle Twinkle. Scratchy, screechy, and not very pretty. I remember the first time I felt like I was playing music: I was thirteen-ish. But even then, violin had become just another way to try to be "good enough". And trying to play while being completely out of touch with emotions was almost impossible. So, I put it away. I didn't touch the bow for nearly twelve years.

Playing now is SO different. I'm not saying I'm good - I'm saying I LOVE it. It's a part of me. A part that I know was me before any of the crap.

Here is me, playing "Bile 'em Cabbage Down". I have loved playing this since I was a teenager. I memorized it then, and it stayed in my memory even though I didn't play or practice for years.



I think my favorite part of the video is when my bow gets moving too fast, and I can't keep up with myself. :) There are times when I can play this song a lot better than I did, but I really like this version... enjoy!