My passion: Connecting to the world.

This is prompted by Becky's blog:

My passion is connecting to the world around me through nature, music, deep discussions, writing, and reading.

What are your passions??

Modesty

Modesty. This is a topic that has been on my mind for months... I've thought about writing at least ten different blogs on the subject, but never came up with the words to express what I was thinking and feeling.

I believed my body was something that needed to be hidden. I needed to cover up to prevent others (particularly men) from thinking evil thoughts. I also believed that covering up my body kept me safe... or at least kept me safer. If I was modest, men were less likely to rape or assault me.

I hated my body. I hated everything about it.

As an eight or nine year old, I became so terrified of my body, I stopped showering naked. I wore a t-shirt and underwear, or an old swimsuit, or anything so that I wouldn't have to see my naked body. I did that up until I was fourteen years old. Around fourteen, I also developed an eating disorder.

My hiding continued. I wore layers and layers of clothing. I wore undershirts and shorts at ALL times. It was like I invented my own "garments" to keep me covered.

At CFC 1997, I had a therapist who wouldn't let me wear my layers. I actually had to walk around the mall in daisy duke shorts and a tanktop. He wanted me to understand that my body was not something to be hated. He was LDS, but also saw that my "standard" of modesty was not based on anything good for me.

When I left, I had gotten rid of my layers of underclothes, and I wore shorts and sleeveless shirts on occasion. I still struggled with feeding my body, but I had learned to accept it a little more. That is until Johnny.

I quit going to church. I didn't like it. At the time, I "knew" it was true, but I just couldn't bring myself to be active. I felt so guilty and horrible when I was there... I assumed that feeling would go away when I was "good", so I just needed to be "good", and then I'd like church.

Johnny was my home teacher. He was working hard to reactivate me. He came over and we read scriptures together, he invited me to church and to firesides. He spent a lot of time asking me what my sins were, so that I could repent. We also went on dates together.

One night, we went for a walk around the temple, and then he said he wanted to just sit and talk in the car. That was not what he wanted. I completely dissociated when he touched my stomach. I still can't remember what happened from my own perspective. When I remember that night, its as if I'm watching it all happen to someone else...

I believed I deserved to be assaulted. I believed I was no good. I didn't have a right to say no to him, he was better and more spiritual. I believed it was my fault - I had tempted him with my short shirt. (I was wearing overalls, but the shirt I was wearing showed skin on the sides of the overalls.)

I became devoted to the church and to modesty in an effort to (in essence) make men treat me the way I wanted to be treated. I wanted to deserve to have men respect me.

Two months later, I met Larry, six months after that I went through the temple and we got married. I loved garments. It was not a hard adjustment to wear them. I had hated my body my whole life minus the few months right after my time at CFC. I didn't have any desire to be "sexy" or beautiful... I just wanted to hide.

Larry treated my body horribly. He had no respect for it. The garments didn't make him treat me any better. But in my mind, they kept me safe. Nothing bad was happening to me or my body, because I was wearing them.

Fast forward ten years.
I'm trying to learn to love my body. Accept it. Stop hurting it. Respect it. Nobody at CFC 2008 asked me why I never wore shorts or sleeveless shirts. They accepted my "standard" of modesty and respected it. Nobody challenged me on it, but I sure needed to be challenged.

I'd been taught that modesty was all about respecting your body, but the reason I covered up was NOT respect. It was hatred. I knew that, but I wasn't ready to face it yet, so I didn't tell anyone.

Six months ago, I was ready to face that, but still terrified. I went through many different stories and emotions.
If Larry raped me when I was modest, what would happen to me if I suddenly wasn't?
What would people think of me if I showed off my shoulders?
(and on the reverse side) Why should I hide my body to control what other people think? It is NOT my responsibility to prevent a man from thinking dirty thoughts?
Why are sexual thoughts even considered dirty? He can think whatever he wants. Just don't touch me.
People already think I'm a slut and a whore because I live in BJ's house, wearing "immodest" clothing will just add to that.
What will BJ do if he suddenly sees my shoulders? Will he think I'm giving him permission to touch me "like that"?
Will Satan have power over me if I don't wear garments? What will he make me do?
My body is ugly. It NEEDS to be covered up. No one wants to look at me.
I want to learn to love my body, and I don't see how I can love my body if I insist it needs to be hidden. I want something different. It's time to try something different.

I started experimenting. A tanktop. Shorts. A $5 bikini from Wal-Mart. New underwear. Then I'd freak out and go back to wearing garments. And then I'd try again. (This has been over the course of months.)

This morning, as I got dressed I realized I have found a place that I am happy and comfortable with. I don't wear garments anymore. I can wear tanktops, but I prefer not to when I'm in public. I like my shorts to be shorter than they were when I wore garments, but not really short.

I now feel like I dress to respect ME. The way I dress tells me that I am beautiful, wonderful, and my body is perfect. It is a female body, and I can finally appreciate that. I don't like getting sunburned, but I LOVE the feeling of the sun on my shoulders. (Sunscreen is a beautiful thing.)

I do feel like pointing out that modesty has nothing to do with rape or sexual assault. A rapist will rape, and he doesn't care how a woman dresses. Most men are not rapists, and wouldn't hurt a woman no matter how she was dressed.

I no longer judge others on how they are dressed. I enjoy their expressions of themselves. I had no idea how harshly I was judging until I finally learned to dress MY way. Learning to love myself has definitely helped me learn to love others.

My mom has told me she dresses modestly, because she loves and respects her body. It is something she only chooses to share with certain people. I appreciate that. It is her body, and she DOES get to choose how much she shares. My body is MY body, and I can (finally) choose how much I share.

I would like to go to a nudist beach one day. I'm not nearly comfortable enough yet. (Just the thought of seeing naked men triggers a nightmarish reaction.) One day, I think it would be a wonderful experience.

I know this was long and not very succinct, but it feels good to have gotten all of these thoughts out of my head and onto "paper". I feel lighter.

Love is beautiful.

A friend posted this link on facebook. I can't quite explain why I loved it so much. I cried lots of happy tears for those people who have wanted to get married and finally can and did.

Wait.
I just realized I looked at 60 wedding photos of couples I don't know, and I am still upright and thinking (mostly) sensibly.
Apparently, not only do I not have a problem with gay marriage, I love it!
 I might have some little bit of romantic in me after all!

Refreshing

I spent yesterday with my aunt. She wanted to talk about her upcoming divorce. It's her second. She hasn't filed yet, but she's pretty sure that's what she wants and needs to do. We just talked.

It felt so refreshing that I could have a good, honest, open conversation. I shared my thoughts when she asked for them. She asked a lot of questions about my recent divorce, and I didn't hold back anything.

It felt so good to be me. Fully present with her and her pain. No judgment or advice or guilt. It is hard to describe the freedom of just being. I could hurt with her. I felt angry with her. I felt hopeful with her.

I don't know HER experience of me, but I know I loved my experience with her. (And this was what happened after feeling so afraid of going to my grandparents' house. SO glad I went!)

Old shame

I'm going to visit my grandparents today. I used to go visit them all the time - I'd just talk and hang out, but in the last two years, as I've tried to sort out my own life and feelings, I've avoided much of my extended family. I miss them, and so made the plans to go. Now I'm feeling anxious and afraid and part of me wants to run away.
Here's my fears (I'm listing them so that I can see the irrationality of it all later.)
My grandma will ask me about my callings in church. If she does, I plan on being honest and telling her I haven't been to church in two years. And I suppose the real fear is that she'll be really hurt or sad.
They'll talk about my cousins and their kids, and I'll feel like I'm "less-than" because I'm divorced twice and I don't plan on having kids.
My grandma will make comments about my weight, and it will do funny things to my head.
They'll ask questions about my life, and my life isn't what I used to want or used to think it should be... I'll feel the old shame.

It IS ironic, as I write this, I realize I already DO feel the old shame. Here I go. I hope to just spend time with my grandparents. Enjoy their company. I don't want people I care about to be triggers of old shame. I think the only way to disconnect them as triggers is to face the fear, the shame, and see that really... there is nothing there.

My backyard

Just thought I'd share a little bit of the loveliness at my house tonight:

I'm all famous and stuff!

Ok. Famous is totally pushing it. But I did just post my first ever post on a blog that is not mine.
Go check it out!

Happy Father's Day

When I was a kid, I was a total "daddy's girl". I wanted to go everywhere with him. On Saturdays, I remember MANY trips to the hardware store. He always bought me something. Some little trinket, treat, something. I didn't go with him so he'd buy me something - I went because I just wanted to be with him.

People would tell me I have my dad's smile, and I thought that was the best compliment anyone could ever give me. I was HIS girl.

At the same time, I was afraid of him. As I got older, I realized that the way he treated some people around him (namely my brother) was just WRONG. I watched in horror as my hero fell. I was angry at him. I was angry at my mom for staying with him. It hurt. When I think about it, it still hurts a little.

A year ago, I still (mostly) believed that my parents would rather me die than leave the church. I was so scared of what my dad would think if he knew I hadn't been to church in months. I told my mom first. I let her tell him. He and I didn't really talk until that day a few months ago when he told me he loved ME. He saw the light in my eyes, and that was an answer to his prayers. He wants me to love me, and the church just kept getting in my way.

Since then, we've been able to just talk. And although I'll never be "daddy's girl" like I was when I was seven, I'm happy to know that my dad loves ME. I know I'm pretty darn lucky to have a dad that is willing to see me rather than what the church tells him to see. I'm also really grateful that he is him. Love you daddy!

Why is it??

When I'm out in the mountains, riding Sunny and enjoying the sunshine, I think of a million things to write about., and I feel very clear about what I want to say...
But then, when I come home, and I sit down with my laptop, I can't think of a durned thing??

Great wisdom

A friend posted this as her status on facebook:

"True giving happens when you are overflowing from the inside, and cannot help but share. When there is so much love within you that it has to flow to others or you would burst open. There is no thinking involved, no willpower in such sharing. It just flows out. If you have to force yourself to be kind, to love, to feel compassion, you've missed the first step of filling in your own Self with these emotions."

I LOVE this!

It made me think of a day at CFC. We were in a group - discussing the benefits of being sick. One benefit was getting a break... a day off. I felt confused. At the time, I didn't take a day off for anything. Fever. Puking. Passing out. There was NO good reason to take a day off. I was terrified to say anything, but I finally just asked Espra to explain to me... A day off??

She then had me come sit in a chair in the front of the room. She kept asking why I couldn't take time off. She pushed until I got the "real" answer.

I just want to be loved.

She then brought the whole group up. They picked me up and held me in a "cradle" while they played a song.

The first ten seconds, I fought an internal battle. I was terrified. Touch was difficult. I wanted to feel loved. I wanted to get everything I could from the group, and I wanted to run away.

The next twenty seconds, I was able to just let it in. I felt the love of my friends.

And then, for the rest of the song, all I wanted to do was share the love I felt. I wanted to look each person in the eye. I wanted them to know all that I was feeling.I realized how easy it was to love, to give, to serve, to share when I was full. And it didn't take much for me to get "full".

I appreciate the reminder tonight.
I'm feeling a lot of love for the world around me.

Really??

Last night, BJ got a text from his ex. He read it to me, and I'm not completely sure why this one was so triggering to me... But it was.

The text said, "I just wish that you would think about me and respect me and my needs sometimes."
(He took a pan. ONE PAN. No other dishes, plates, silverware from the house since he moved out, but he went to the house and got a PAN. Maybe he should have just lived without like he's done for SO long.)

Somehow, that was just too much...
I was raped almost everyday for two years, but that was not the worst part.

The worst part was that I BELIEVED it was okay that he did that. I BELIEVED it was MY job to let him. There were so many beliefs that kept me there, motionless on a bed, when I could have walked away. The worst part was believing I was nothing but a tool to be used, and also believing he loved me. He SAID he loved me. And then he'd say things like, "Don't be selfish. I have needs too." or "I just wish that you would think about me and my needs sometimes."

I believed that if I said no to him, or if I had any wants, desires, thoughts of my own, that somehow hurt him. THAT is the worst part about being in an abusive relationship.

I believed that love = sacrificing everything so that my spouse could be happy. Unfortunately, my spouse seemed to believe that love = his spouse sacrificing everything so that he could be happy. What a recipe for disaster!

I spent much of the evening angry, sad, hurting, facing the hurt, and trying to come to grips with what I had just seen and realized about myself. (This wasn't totally new, but still seemed very big and important to face.)

This morning, I got a message from his ex.

"Would it be okay with you if I ask you some personal questions about your sexual abuse before and during your marriages? Yesterday, I had an experience with a friend who started opening up to me about some stuff in her past and the first thought that popped in my mind was to talk to you. That might seem strange given what's going on, but I can't shake the feeling, so there must be a reason. Thanks, xxx"

My first reaction, "Are you fucking kidding me?"
Second reaction, "Oh. Hell. Yes. Lets talk. I'll TELL you what its like to be abused. I'll TELL you how it feels when your spouse is so controlling and demanding that you forget your own worth. I'll TELL YOU!"

And then I got on the phone with my mom. I shared that I had no desire to "talk" in order to be helpful. I wanted to yell, and scream and fight and beat her down. Once I got the swearing and the yelling out of the way, I heard myself say, "Even if I DID answer her questions, that won't help her understand her friend any better. If she wants to understand her friend, she needs to listen to her friend."

On the other end of the phone, I heard, "See. I knew you'd figure it out. That sounds like the perfect response."

So, this is what I sent:

If you really want to understand your friend, listen to her. You could ask me questions about my abuse, but it wouldn't help you understand your friend any better. What every abuse victim (every human) needs is for someone to really see, hear, and understand them personally.

There are a multitude of resources on the web. But again, the most healing thing you can do for anyone is to listen to them. REALLY listen. Your friend will tell  you everything you need to know about her.
I hope that helps.
Jen

I feel peaceful. I don't know if she'll be able to accept my answer. I hope so... for her friend's sake. But either way, I feel like I just went through one very intense process. And I came to a place where I am very comfortable. I also offered the most precious and honest advice I could give. She may not see it, but I gave more of me in those few sentences than if I had said all of the things I thought I wanted to say.

Random Updates

I've been absent from bloggy world... I've been thinking a lot about a couple of things - I plan to write about them sometime, but I haven't done it yet...

I've been thinking about changing the name of my blog, because the name doesn't fit as well anymore, but I haven't come up with anything yet. (Not to mention that I am still just a little attached to this name.)

I've been busy playing. Riding!, fishing, hiking, riding!. I went to the Utah Symphony as part of the audience. Regular rehearsals for my community symphony. Pride in Salt Lake. Les Miserables at the Capitol Theater. A Real Salt Lake soccer game. Movies. Pawn stars. Sitting in the sun. Riding!

I found a canyon just twenty minutes away that is known for rock climbing. The canyon walls are better than any man-made rock wall I have ever seen. Amazing hand-holds. I'm anxious to find a buddy and go back. (My mom says no rock climbing without a buddy, and I think she might be right about this one.)

I've been busy working. Usually business is slow in the summer, but this year... April was a huge month. I spent May trying to catch up, and June is looking like it will be even bigger than April. Which is just cool.

I also need a good book to read.
Something that will make me think.
I'm taking suggestions.

I guess I'm just updating all ya'll.. and letting you know I promise to write something worthwhile again soon... just... not yet.

Who is the better friend?

I had a friend post this on facebook as her status:

"Let's hear some opinions- Do you think a friend is someone who lets you be your self or is a friend someone who helps you become better than yourself?"

I wanted to put an answer, but the only thing I could think of was, "Who the hell are YOU (or ME) to decide what makes someone better?" That didn't seem like an answer that would create the feeling I wanted.

I have literally spent the last two days obsessing and mulling over the question, as well as other people's answers. I've had discussions online, on the phone, and over dinner all about this same thing. I laid awake last night unable to sleep, because I couldn't turn my brain off.

Round about five o'clock this morning, this is what I came up with:

"The friend who accepts me and loves me for who I am is the truest friend. It feels amazing when someone sees ME, knows ME, and loves me. That kind of friendship feels hopeful, healing, and inspiring. That kind of friendship inspires me to be the best me. They don't love me, SO that I will change anything. There is no expectation to change... And ironically, that provides the best environment to change and grow and learn, and become better.

When a friendship is based on, "I love you and I hope you'll change," that feels confusing, lonely, sad, "dried up", and withered away... The opposite of inspired. It eats away at me. Until I have no desire to be around that person, because it is painful and empty.

I also used to get confused and think that I should accept everyone just as they are, which meant accepting things that really hurt me. (Like a friendship I described above.) Now, I can say, "That hurts me, so I won't be around you when you're doing that." That isn't about changing them to be better, its about creating an environment I like being in. I can't know what is "better" for someone else. Only they can know that. And only I know what is "better" for me.

I really like the saying, "Accept me as I am or watch me as I walk away." And I feel like that goes both ways, "I will accept you as you are, or I will let you walk away." That feels like love (true friendship) to me."

I posted it to her status. I feel terrified. At first, I wasn't going to... I didn't find this answer for her, it was for me. But, she did ask for opinions, and just because my opinion was pretty much the opposite of everyone else that posted doesn't make my opinion wrong... 


It might open me up to nasty messages. It IS her wall, so she can hate it, delete it, tell me not to post there, and I think that's fair. I'm still scared. Speaking my truth is new for me, and scary. I'm not used to voicing my opinions when they are different from others... yet.

Gender

I posted this http://www.parentcentral.ca/parent/babiespregnancy/babies/article/995112--parents-keep-child-s-gender-secret on facebook this morning...

One of the required readings for one of my Sociology classes in college was X: A Fabulous Child's Story. I had never heard anything like that before, but I found the idea fascinating and revolutionary. X is genderless... Meaning, X's parents will not tell any of X's teachers, friends, relatives, neighbors what X's gender is. Everyone gets really upset. An Xpert is called in to interview X.

In the end, X is said to be one of the most well-adjusted child the Xpert had ever seen, and when gender is important, X will know what to do...

These parents who are trying to do what X's parents did are fascinating to me.
Is it the "right" thing to do? I don't know. Those kids ARE going to be teased a lot. The parents seem aware of that, and are trying to be there for their kids.

I imagine that eventually those kids will want the approval of friends... so they won't always be so free... but what better time to be free than when you're five? And besides WHO decided that dresses were for girls? Or boys couldn't wear pink? I'm pretty sure that at one point in this country, it was considered immoral for a girl to wear pants.

Is it possible to live in a world where we just accept everyone just as they are?

Defying Gravity

This is my theme song for today. I have always loved this song. (The words are just perfect!) I love, Love, LOVE this version. I would LOVE to be able to sing like this.

Defying Gravity Lyrics:
Something has changed within me.
Something is not the same.
I'm through with playing by the rules
of someone else's game!
Too late for second guessing,
Too late to go back to sleep.
It's time to trust my instincts,
Close my eyes, and leap!
It's time to try defying gravity.
I think I'll try defying gravity,
And you can't pull me down!

I'm through accepting limits,
'Cause someone says they're so.
Some things I cannot change,
But til I try I'll never know!
Too long I've been afraid of
Losing love I guess I'd lost.
Well, if that's love it comes
At much to high a cost!
I'd sooner buy defying gravity!
Kiss me goodbye, I'm defying gravity,
And you can't pull me down!

Unlimited, my future is unlimited!
And I've just had a vision almost like a prophecy.
I know, it sounds truly crazy,
And true, the vision's hazy,
but I swear someday I'll be...
Up in the sky, defying gravity!
Flying so high, defying gravity!
And you can't bring me down.

So if you care to find me,
Look to the Western Sky!
As someone told me lately,
Everyone deserves the chance to fly!
And if I'm flying solo,
At least I'm flying free!
To those who'd ground me,
take a message back from me.
Tell them how I am defying gravity!
I'm flying high, defying gravity,
and soon I'll match them in renoun.
And nobody in all of Oz,
No Wizard that there is or was,
Is ever gonna bring me down!

I'm here. Now what?

I woke up this morning with a strange feeling. I don't know how to describe it other than, "I'm here."

I remember being in a group at CFC where they asked us to define what recovery would like. How would we know when we were recovered?

My answer was, "When I love myself more than I hate myself."
I've been there for a while. I feel a lot of love for me. And I don't think I ever hate myself... I get caught up in old stories sometimes, but it doesn't feel like the hatred and self-loathing I have felt.

When Paul and I talked about what healing from abuse would look like. I told him I wanted to be free of flashbacks, nightmares, and body memories. (I made sure to differentiate. I don't want to know how to cope with them. I want them GONE!)

I'm not completely free. I am still dealing with body memory pain on occasion. I still have nightmares about once a week. The pseudo-seizures are completely gone. Flashbacks have changed so completely that although I still have moments where I am thrown back to the past, they last for a few seconds, and then I remember where I am, when I am, and I figure that will keep changing until one day I will remember what happened, but not go back there, even for a few seconds. (Not sure if that makes sense. It makes sense in my own head.)

I started this blog because I was SO busy pretending, I needed a place where I could find me. Figure out who I was. Talk about the pain, the abuse, the miracles.

My own family had NO clue that Larry was ever abusive, and very little clue about how my relationship with Dann really was. They had no idea who I was. They had no idea how much pain I was in, or the battle I was waging. They had no idea what I thought about anything, because I never shared. That's different now. I talk pretty openly about what I think, feel, and my experiences. I don't hide or pretend. I have many friends who know ME. I am not in hiding anymore. I am pretty much the same everywhere I go.

I also now stand up for myself. I'm still learning what that really looks like, but I'm not afraid to say, "I don't like that." I'm not afraid to walk away from a situation that is harmful to me. I'm not afraid to say, "No," well... at least I'm less afraid to say no than I ever have been before.

So, now what?
I've been fighting with everything I have to get to this place. I don't think I ever really believed I would get here. I thought I would be fighting for the rest of my life... so, really, now what?

What do I do next? I know I'm not done learning or growing or changing or progressing. I am just not sure what I want.
What do I want this blog to look like? The intro at the top no longer fits. I'm definitely not done blogging... I really like writing. It is still incredibly helpful to me, and I love getting feedback and hearing other people's thoughts and insights. I'm not done... I just feel like there's a change coming.

I'm excited. A little nervous. Full of hope, wonder, joy, and gratitude.
I'm only 32. There's a whole lot of life ahead of me. And it can be anything I want it to be.
This is just cool.

Abuser's Remorse

I went to see the movie Water for Elephants last night. It would be a very appropriate thing to ask, "Jen why on earth would YOU see that movie?"

I hate movies with sex, violence, or any  kind of abuse. This movie had all of it, and I knew in advance that the movie was all about abuse. I just felt like I HAD to see it, so I did.

I'm probably about to spoil the whole movie, so if you don't want to know what happens, stop reading here.

Malena was a lost child. She met August, he took her in, taught her how to be a circus star, and married her. All throughout the movie, she talks about how there is nothing else for her. Her whole world is the circus and August, but he is violent, mean, and nasty to her, the workers at the circus, and the animals.

There were two scenes that were meaningful (for lack of a better word).
The first was at the end. In a fit of rage, August was strangling his wife. I've been through that. I remember the look in his eyes while he was pulling my scarf tighter and tighter around my neck. I also remember the look in his eyes when he seemed to realize what he was doing and stopped. It was hard to watch, because it brought it all back.

The other was after August beat the elephant nearly to death. The circus vet, Jacob, goes to August's tent. August is visibly upset. Near tears. When Jacob walked in, he seemed remorseful and apologetic, but as I listened closer, there was no remorse.

"She'll never forgive me for this. If she leaves, I'll lose my star attraction. I'll lose everything! Tell her I'm sorry. Tell her the elephant is okay. Fix this for me."

It wasn't remorse - it was fear. I'm only sorry, because I don't want MY life to change. I'll do anything... but actually stop being a mean, violent, controlling man... I just don't want to have to face the consequences of my actions. I'm so sorry I got caught.

People often talk about the cycle of abuse:

(Abuse - Apology/Honeymoon - Build Up - Abuse)

I remember asking Bishops and therapists when I would know if the apology was "real" vs. just part of the abuse cycle. I also remember when the apology finally felt real. The real apology was not about telling anyone else he was sorry. It wasn't about his fear. It wasn't about how I "made" him do that to me. 

The "real" apology was, "I'm so sorry I've hurt you. I hope for your sake, you can forgive me and move past this, but I don't expect anything from you. I understand that you may never be able to trust me again. I want you to be happy, and if that means we can't be together because of what I've done, so be it. What can I do to help you heal?"

That apology has meant all the difference to me. As I watch others go through very painful separations and divorces, I wonder how I lucked out. He knows I keep this blog. He knows I sometimes talk about him. He knows that many people may hate him for what he did to me, and he's never asked me not to write. I don't know if that is healthy for him or not, but I am very grateful.

I can't know for sure what another person is feeling, or what their motivation is. I CAN know what I feel when they apologize. For years, after an incident, he'd apologize and I'd feel shutdown rather than loved. I felt hurt rather than healed. That was a sign TO ME that something wasn't right. 

Its been a rather intense day for me as I've faced emotions, memories, old beliefs, and current thoughts. 

Now its time for some Pawn Stars and razzleberry pie (with ice cream of course)!

What's changed?

My youngest brother started reading my blog. He decided to start at the beginning, which was two and a half years ago. A LOT has happened in my life since then. I started this blog because I had been writing in "The Crap Journal" for Paul. It was dark and hard and AWFUL. It had all of the flashbacks, body memories, thoughts, urges, pains, everything that I had never shared with anyone. It was intense. I filled the whole journal, and wasn't quite sure where to go next. I started keeping a private blog.

I let Bishop C and BJ read the private blog, but it was a little TOO much for C.
I wanted a place where I could be ME. Like the intro to the blog says, I spent so much time hiding and pretending, I wanted just a little corner of the world where I was more me.
At the beginning of my own journey, I desperately wanted to know that someone else had been through what I was going through and not only survived, but was actually happy. I searched, but only found one blog. PTSD and Me. It was helpful. He talked about pseudo-seizures as part of the trauma response. SO helpful to have a name for what I was experiencing. I didn't even care that part of the name was pseudo... Still, I wanted a story closer to my own. I had been raped. Over and over. And never even known it.

I wanted so bad to hear someone's story that had made it through being abused: sexually, physically, and emotionally, I decided I would be that person. Whenever I REALLY wanted to give up, I'd picture someone else who had been raped finding my blog. They'd read about my journey, they'd know I could understand their pain, and then they'd read about how I was happy, alive, and good.

The truth is, in my effort to be uplifting to others, the beginning of this blog didn't even begin to touch on the pain of the fight. I wouldn't use the word rape, but that is what happened to me. Because I was raped, hit, and emotionally beaten down, I dreamed of dying. I planned for it. Hoped for it. Wanted it so bad. I had other people convinced that it might be better for me to die. I would go days and days with NO sleep and weeks with very little sleep. For HOURS at a time, I would lay in my bed with my whole body seized up - every muscle tense and my thoughts racing, as I relived being raped or thrown across the room in a rage. There were times I thought I would die from the physical pain. Sometimes, the flashbacks and memories were so intense, I'd have bruises on my arms and legs - in the same places I had been bruised during the abuse.

I felt panicked ALL the time. I spent many nights under a trailer on the street, or behind a church, because the house was SO frightening and upsetting to me. I slept at my office often, because there was no bed and I was totally alone. I was less afraid to be alone in the street or at my office than in my home. I understood why people would become homeless. I actually feel pretty lucky that I never ended up there.

In some ways, its hard to remember how bad things were. Its all SO different now.

Justin's question brought all of this back. Back then, I went to church and hated myself. I had the hardest time with eating disorder and self-harm urges on Sundays. I'd sit in meetings and shake. Then I'd walk for hours and hours trying to run from something, and I didn't even know what.

BJ told me to stop going, because it made me miserable.He told me to stop forcing myself to do things I didn't want to do. He could see that I was being triggered just by being forced to do something. It felt like rape, so the flashbacks would start, and I would spend the rest of the week trying to recover. Then I'd go back on Sunday, and lose my mind all over again.

I knew divorce wasn't an option in the church. As a woman, I covenanted to obey my husband. And yes, he was supposed to obey God, but who was I to judge when he was obeying God's will? I didn't have a right to question the priesthood authority. And I knew I was supposed to go to church, serve, give, love, and everything would work. It just wasn't working.

I spent countless hours on lds.org. I read EVERY article I could find on abuse, marriage, relationships, depression, addictions. And there was so little that gave me hope. Most made me feel more hopeless. They all talked about how abuse was wrong, but... what was the victim of abuse supposed to do? Go to the temple, pray, read the scriptures, and love her spouse no matter what. If you've done all of those things, then what??

I started reading about abuse outside of the church. What is abuse? What is aggressive communication?
I started to see that almost everything said at church is aggressive communication. (Telling others what they should do. Saying "good" people do this. "Nice" people do that. etc.)

EVERYTHING was to tell people what to do, when to do it, how to do it, and how to feel while they are doing it.I was reading books telling me not to let anyone speak to me in that way, but then I would willingly go to a meeting where mere acquaintances could talk to me that way? It didn't make much sense.

I started reading what most professionals tell a person in an abusive relationship to do: GET OUT!
Then why did the church tell people to stay? And go to the temple more? And read the scriptures? And serve their spouse? And not be selfish?? Often those things TRAIN an abuser to continue to be abusive.

I listened to people at church. I watched others be abused by members of the church - using church teachings to justify her abuse. Just like Larry did. Just like many in my life had. It wasn't just MY experience. My therapist tried to tell me it was just me, but I knew he was wrong. It wasn't just me, and it wasn't my fault!

I started asking questions. I started admitting to myself and others that I had never felt the beautiful confirmation that the Book of Mormon was true. I had never had the answer that Moroni promised. I had felt angry and nothingness when reading the scriptures. I TRIED, but...

Still, I knew all the words to say, I'd been taught how to bare testimony, even if I had never felt it for myself. I stopped pretending to believe. And I stopped blaming myself. If I didn't get the answer, maybe it wasn't because I wasn't good enough. Maybe it was because it wasn't true: the church wasn't what it claimed to be. Or it just wasn't right for me. I didn't know, but I stopped taking the blame for everything. I also stopped taking the blame for my abusive (now ex) spouses. Being raped wasn't my fault.Being beaten was not my fault. Being told I was wrong and crazy and delusional and under satan's control had NOTHING to do with me. None of that was my fault!

When I stopped taking the responsibility for my lack of testimony, everything else just started to fall into place. In a really good way.

I'd fought for so long to find relief, and suddenly, the fear and the guilt weren't ruling me like before.

The final piece came the last time I went to church. I hadn't been for a few months. In January, Bishop C had finally convinced me to stop coming. He'd arranged to have the sacrament brought to me at home, but that never quite worked out. I was too embarrassed to have them come, and then try to explain why I was perfectly healthy but not at church. In April, ward boundaries changed, and I got a new bishop. I went to church once, because Bishop M asked me to come back, but I hated it!

A few weeks later, Justin was singing in church. I went to his ward to accompany him. (I still love accompanying him when he sings!) I have always felt miserable during the sacrament. This time, I looked at it, and thought, "I don't want it."

All at once, I realized I really didn't want it, but when you're taught that is what you SHOULD want... and you don't want it. What do you think about yourself? I thought I was bad, and I needed to change me to want it. EVERY time they passed the bread and water, I felt sick with the knowledge that I didn't want it, and that made me bad, so I'd try to change me to be good, but I couldn't. I couldn't make myself want that.

That day, I let it pass me by. With the full knowledge that I didn't want it, and I didn't have to take it.
And that was okay.

I've never really looked back.

Many in my family think I will come back when I have healed, or when I find love for myself, or... They don't understand that I just don't want to be there. Its not good for me, and as I heal, I grow farther and farther away.

I know its hard for them to understand. They love the church. They find peace and friendship and hope there. I'd compare it to ketchup. Most people love ketchup on their hamburgers. I do NOT. I think its nasty. Jalapenos? Those I love, but I understand that a lot of people do NOT like them. That's okay.

I'm not sure if I've made any sense, but I hope this answers your questions.

Peaceful Life

Last year, a goat randomly showed up in the pasture where the horses were. I had no idea goats could be so much fun. She was SO excited to see me every time I came to feed the horses. She greeted me with jumping and dancing and running. I would run and play with her.




I played like a little kid in a way that I hadn't experienced before or since.
One day, her owner came and got her and no more goat. :(

Ever since then, I have wanted one of my own.
A few days ago, I brought home Hardy the Goat.

He's five weeks old. Still being bottle fed. And SO much fun.
Because he's still a baby he likes to cuddle. Which isn't something I was expecting. 

 My yard is entirely fenced in, but he is so little that he can fit through the fence. I have a little escape artist. Thus far, he escapes to come sit on the porch.

 I'm quickly becoming a hobby farmer.
A horse.
A goat.
A cat.
And me.

I used to be so afraid of what people would think of me. I used to be so afraid of feeling happy.


It feels good to just enjoy life. I'm sitting outside in the sun. Horses are laying in the sun. My baby goat is exploring close by. My cat is curled up next to me. Watching the seagulls dig up all the freshly planted seeds in the neighbors fields. Life is just... peaceful. I had no idea it could be so good.

A better way

I have so many thoughts going through  my mind.

Osama Bin Laden is dead.
Some people are dancing in the streets. I'm sure that on the other side of the ocean, there are people plotting how to get back at the evil Americans that have killed their leader. And I feel heartsick.

I posted this on facebook:

"They" kill "us", so "we" kill "them". And it never stops. There HAS to be a better way - I just don't know what it is. And THAT is what makes me the most sad. I want and need to know there is some way to accomplish peace, and I don't, and it makes my heart hurt.

Some responses were in agreement.
One said that even Christ removed certain people(s) from the Earth. (When did Christ EVER do that? I admit its been a while since I've read the Bible, but really? Christ said "turn the other cheek", which I also have a problem with... but I think I like that better than the whole "Go get 'em!" mentality.)

As a teenager, I once sat down with my dad and told him that the way he treated my brother was wrong. I'm not sure exactly how I said it... Something along the lines of violence is just wrong. His reply was something about how it was his job to protect his children, and Jeff was a bully. I remember the confusion I felt then. It was his job. He couldn't just stand by and let Zack get hurt because violence was wrong. Still, I believed there HAD to be a better way, even if I didn't know what it was.

Two weeks after Larry and I got married, we went on a vacation with my family. In the van, my youngest brother Justin wanted to sit next to me. Larry demanded I could only sit next to him. Justin (who was eight at the time) got upset and grabbed me around the neck. Larry punched him.

I freaked out. I was SO angry at Larry. My dad tried to talk to me and tell me that I should be grateful because Larry was just trying to protect me. I wasn't grateful. I was upset, but again felt the same confusion. What else could he do?

And now, the US Marines have killed a mass murderer. People are telling me its a good thing, because "some things just need a killin'." THERE HAS TO BE A BETTER WAY!

I don't know what it is. I don't know what would be better. Maybe killing Osama is the only way, but I refuse to believe that. Someone has to stop it. Someone has to do something different. If its not going to be them, then it has to be us. And if we say, "there is no other way", then we'll never find the other way. We'll never find the way out. We'll just keep perpetuating this awful cycle of killing, and war, and sadness, and pain.

If the choices are "to kill or be killed," I guess I choose to be killed. I always have, and I probably always will. Which is one of the reasons I'm grateful there are soldiers out there willing to fight, because I wouldn't do it. Couldn't do it.

So, now, I guess, I'll go about my life. I won't stop searching for something better. I won't pretend that I'm happy or even okay with killing, even if it is necessary. And maybe one day, we as a global people will stop trying to control the rest of the world. Maybe we'll all find a better way.

Home

In flashbacks and nightmares, I have been told I cry out, "I just wanna go home."
As a kid, home was never a peaceful place. Even when things were good, I lived in constant fear that I would do something to set off my dad's anger.
The day I married Larry (ex #1), I cried in the bathroom for hours. I wanted to go home, but I didn't know where that was... I wanted to get away from him, but knew I was now eternally joined to this man who didn't love or care for me in the least.

My whole life, I have wanted a home, and felt confused that I couldn't find one.
I hoped that when I died, I'd find home there.

As I left Germany yesterday, something felt different.

I am excited to be HOME. United States. Utah. My house. My room. My cat. The horses. 

Home. 

A place that I feel safe and happy and good. I didn't know this feeling was possible in this life.

Tulips in Amsterdam

I went to Keukenhof as part of my trip. SO glad!! We almost didn't go, because it was a four-hour drive. The stay in the hotel was expensive. Sherrie (my aunt)'s car was dying. We went anyways.

It was GORGEOUS! I could never have imagined such a variety of tulips. Here are a few of my favorites.

 (I took most of the pictures in the first hour. We were there for about six hours. I came to the realization that the pictures couldn't do it justice, and there were just too many to capture them all...)

Germany!!

I'm here. Its amazing!! Day 1 was hard... Everyday since then has been tons of fun! I love the scenery, the architecture, the "oldness" of everything, the language, the people, the food, loving it all!!

I want to write more, but I also need to sleep. (It's 1 AM here, and I'm tired!)
Here's some of my favorite pictures so far:

Traveling totally agrees with me. I will be doing a lot of this in the future!

Correct Principles

I got an email this morning. It said, "I know when you follow correct principles, you'll go back." The email didn't say what that meant... church? marriage? Utah County? Who knows? I am a lot more grounded, because I didn't get upset. I just saw it as a very controlling (and abusive) way of thinking. Virtually what he was saying is, "I'll know when you're following correct principles, because you'll do what I would do."

I shared this with BJ. He nodded and said, "That is exactly the way I was taught to think. 'If you knew what I know, you'd do what I do. I'm changing, but I used to be this way."

Then he started talking about all of the times he has approached life with that idea. I'm not sure why he picked ice cream to talk about, but he did.

"If I just explain to you how much better vanilla ice cream is than chocolate, you'd like vanilla better. How could anyone like chocolate better? Its gross. Vanilla is smoother, not as strong. Chocolate is bitter. And with vanilla, you can add fruit to it... mmmm."

I had to stop him. I was losing my mind. I was believing that I was wrong to prefer chocolate.

As I started talking about the silly belief about ice cream, I realized how I've believed that about everything. Whatever I liked was not as good as what other people liked. Whatever I thought, wanted, felt, desired, hoped for, believed, etc, was not as good as everyone else.

I've never come from the place, "If you knew what I know, you'd do what I do." I came from the opposite place. "I'll learn what you know, so I can do what you do."

I was both laughing and crying.
Two days ago, I listened to Everyday Joy where Angie talked about how she felt like she was always doing everything wrong, because it wasn't what everyone else was doing. I listened to her and thought, "Angie. I love YOU. Trust you. You're the best Angie there is, so don't try to be Jen or anyone else but Angie..." I did not connect what she was saying to me...

...until I started laughing and crying at myself. Even my taste in ice cream is wrong, because it isn't what everyone else likes. (Eating disorder also assigns some judgment to chocolate. A person that prefers fruit is better than a person that prefers chocolate.)

BJ also pointed out that the idea, "If you knew what I know..." would create controlling people. It would also create the reverse. ME. I hate fighting. Even for my own wants. So, I became the opposite, but I don't want to be that anymore.

I like chocolate ice cream. I don't like fruit in my ice cream, except for very rare occasions.
I'm living correct principles, because they are MY principles.
I believe I do what I do, because I know what I know, and because I want what I want, and because I am who I am.

"You never need to defend yourself or your desires to anyone, as those inner feelings are Spirit speaking to you. Those thoughts are sacred, so don't ever let anyone trample on them." - Dr. Wayne Dyer

I'm outta here!

Spending money has always been hard for me. I like to work to save.

While married, I never had money. Both of my exes didn't make much money. The first one never worked, and the second one always worked for commission only. Living in poverty did not help my issues with money.

Now, I'm on my own. Every penny I make, I get to choose where it goes. I've been saving up a little each month.

A couple weeks ago my siblings were all trying to convince my mom to go to Germany. Her sister is living there until April 30th. She was hemming and hawing a little. She wasn't sure if she wanted to go by herself. I asked how much it would cost, and it turns out it is EXACTLY what I have saved up.

So, I bought the tickets. I'm going to Germany. Spending more than $1000 on myself. Just for fun. I will have no savings after this trip. That scares me a little (okay, a lot!), AND I am SO excited!!

I haven't traveled much. Always too expensive. Its impractical. There are people and causes and things that need that money and that time more than I do. At least that is the way I used to think.

I've always thought I would love traveling. I love people, history, culture, and exploring. It makes sense that I would enjoy going to new places. Now I get to see if I'll like it or not.

This is a new Jen. This Jen lives her passions. This Jen LIVES! For today. And for herself.

Woo Hoo!!!

Angry Song

One of my favorite things is playing the piano while others sing. One of my brother, Justin's, favorite things is to sing. I spend many Sundays at my parents' house for dinner, and I usually play the piano while Justin sings.

Here is my angry song.
Justin's voice. The pounding on the piano. The lyrics.
When I'm angry, there is just no better therapy than this.

Lyrics: The Facade from Jekyll and Hyde
There's a face that we wear
In the cold light of day -
It's society's mask,
It's society's way,
And the truth is
That it's all a facade!

There's a face that we hide Till the nighttime appears,
And what's hiding inside, Behind all of our fears,
Is our true self,
Locked inside the facade!

Every day
People, in their own sweet way,
Like to add a coat of paint,
And be what they ain't!

That's how our little - Game is played,
Livin' like a masquerade
Actin' a bizarre charade -
While playing the saint!

But there's one thing I know,
And I know it for sure:
This disease that we've got
Has got no ready cure!
And I'm certain
Life is terribly hard -
When your life's a facade!

Look around you!
I have found You cannot tell, by lookin' at the surface,
What is lurkin' there beneath it!
See that face!
Now, I'm prepared to bet you,
What you see's not what you get -
'Cause man's a master of deceit !

So, what is the sinister secret?
The lie he will tell you is true? -
It's that each man you meet
In the street
Isn't one man but two!

Nearly everyone you see -
Like him an' her, An' you, an' me - Pretends to be
A pillar of society - A model for propriety - Sobriety
An' piety - Who shudders at the thought Of notoriety!

The ladies an' gents 'ere before you -
Which none of 'em ever admits -
May 'ave saintly looks -
But they're sinners an' crooks!

Hypocrites! Hypocrites!

There are preachers who kill!
There are killers who preach!
There are teachers who lie!
There are liars who teach!
Take yer pick, dear -
"Cause it's all a facade!

If we're not one, but two,
Are we evil or good?
Do we walk the fine line -
That we'd cross if we could?
Are we waiting -
To break through the facade?

One or two
Might look kinda well-to-do -
Hah! They're bad as me an' you,
Right down to they're boots!

I'm inclined to think -
Half mankind
Thinks the other half is blind!
Wouldn't be surprise to find -
They're all in cahoots!

At the end of the day,
They don't mean what they say,
They don't say what they mean,
They don't ever come clean -
And the answer -
Is it's all a facade!
Is it's all a facade!
Man is not one, but two,
He is evil and good,
An' he walks the fine line
We'd all cross if we could!

It's a nightmare -
We can never discard -
So we stay on our guard -
Though we love the facade -
What's behind the facade?
Look behind the facade!

Doesn't he have an awesome voice?? I'm such a proud sister.

Abuse, Church, Love

Silver Rain wrote a post on abuse... understanding abusers and their partners... I've read a lot of books, but this one takes on many of the Christian and LDS teachings that made me believe I had to stay. I could fix it.

"Part of the difficulty is reconciling the reality of abuse with the gospel. The scriptures teach us to turn the other cheek, to give the cloak with the coat, to walk the extra mile. They teach faith, hope, charity: the exact things an abuser uses to entice and entrap. He uses them deliberately, whether consciously or not.

How does a person who believes in those things reconcile them with the evidence that they do not work, that they, in fact, make things worse?"

The thing is, I couldn't. I couldn't reconcile it. I still can't. She talks about how she has, and I feel guilt and shame that I can't.

I understand that being kind to others is universal. I don't ever want to hurt anyone, but standing up for myself does NOT hurt people. Turning the other cheek is a dumb idea. I don't like it. I've tried it. It just left me bruised and battered on both sides. And I can't ever see myself suggesting that kind of thing to anyone.

If someone is hitting me, the best thing is to walk away. I actually believe that when they hit me, it hurts them as well. I don't walk away just for them, but I do believe it benefits everyone.

I don't want to discount the comfort others have found. I don't want to take away from the fact that someone else can reconcile it. I also am tired of blaming myself that I can't reconcile it. What if what I want and the way I see the world is different? What if my way makes me happy? As long as I don't harm another, is that okay?

I just don't believe the things I was taught about how to love others was actually love. Love is seeing the beauty in other people, nature, buildings, everything... Love is seeing the beauty. Without expectations. From me or from them. That is the kind of love I want in my life. That kind of love makes me happy.

Abusive Relationships

General Conference is this weekend. It always causes me great stress. In the same way Sundays used to. I'd get anxious beforehand. Church would make me completely crazy. I'd spend half the week recovering, and then start the cycle all over again. Conference is worse in many ways, but better because it is only twice a year.

I have several friends who have been in (or are still in) abusive relationships. They leave. They go back. They get hurt (emotionally more often than physically). They leave. In the books I've read about abusive relationships, it says it takes the average woman seven times before they leave for good. Why is that?

One goes back because her abuser cries and says he can't live without her.
One goes back because her abuser tells her SHE is the problem, and he wants to be happy with her... if SHE just changes, they could be happy together. She believes him.
One goes back because his abuser tells him, she's changed. She deserves another chance. And he needs to see.
I want to watch conference this weekend, because I want to know if leaving was really the right thing to do.

I didn't leave the church because I talked with "anti-mormons". I didn't leave the church because I wanted to sin. I didn't leave the church because I was offended and couldn't let go of my anger. (Well, actually, maybe I did leave because I was offended. The leaders, their teachings, and the things they did and said were harmful and thus offensive to me.) I left the church because the relationship I had with the church was an abusive one.

I believed the church had no problems - it was always ME. The reason I hated church, was because there was something wrong with me. I wasn't righteous enough. I wasn't good enough. I needed to repent. I had the wrong thoughts. I had the wrong feelings. I was bad. They didn't need to change. I did.

In all of my relationships, I falsely believed if I just changed me enough, the relationships would be good and happy. It does NOT work that way. I can only be responsible for my half of the relationship. And just because I am good, kind, loving, serving, righteous, devoted, etc., does NOT mean that the other person will treat me with love, respect, kindness, etc., and it does not mean I will be happy.

I went to bishop after bishop asking them why I wasn't happy. I told them how I didn't like the temple. I told them how much I hated church. I told them I didn't like the way I felt when I read the scriptures. They told me I needed to repent. Over and over and over I looked for something to repent for. I'd confess every thought, every deed, everything, and I still felt horrible. I went to the temple more. Read the scriptures more. Looked for the good. Served others more. Prayed for God to make me different. Make me into someone who doesn't need other people. Make me into someone who can give and give and give and never want anything in return. Make me into someone who never feels angry. Or sad. Or hurt. Make me into someone who loves the church. Change ME!

The most abusive relationship I have ever experienced is the one I had with the church. The hardest relationship to let go of is the one I have with the church. Even though it has now been nearly a year and a half since I last went, and I no longer claim to be a member, I still feel guilt and fear and shame for wanting to get out. I still feel like I have to go back.

With conference coming, that feeling intensifies. I HAVE to listen. Have to do what they say. I can not think for myself. I am no good without them. If I just change ME enough, I'll be happy there...Or maybe, I was wrong about them. Maybe they don't teach things that are harmful. Maybe I am just crazy, and I interpret everything all wrong. They don't mean what they say... And I should know that.

As I write this, I feel fear. What if no one believes me? What if no one understands and tells me (yet again) I am wrong? What if it is ME that is the problem? What if...???

I had one session with a therapist that I call DBT Guy. I shared with him an argument that I had had with Ex#2. I told him all of the things I needed to do different, so we wouldn't argue. He didn't buy it. DBT Guy's response was, "You aren't the problem."

I was confused. Of course I'm the problem. I'm ALWAYS the problem. He pointed out that I was angry, but he said I SHOULD be angry. When someone refuses to take "no" as an answer to a request, and keeps pushing, we are supposed to feel angry.

He said it MANY times in that 50 minutes session.
"YOU are not the problem."

That was almost two years ago. It has taken me a long time to believe that maybe it wasn't MY fault. Maybe I am actually okay just the way I am. Maybe I don't need to change and become perfected by someone else's definition of perfect. Maybe... Just maybe... It is okay to walk away from someone who tells me that I need to change to make them happy. (Or any other reason someone ELSE tells me I need to change.)

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.

The Scream

Back when I was inpatient, and I had group therapy a million times a day, we had a group where the therapist decided to practice "scream therapy".

He had each of us find a spot in the room. Then told us to scream our hearts out. I could not do it. Not a peep came out of my lips. I actually covered my ears, closed my eyes, and curled up in a ball. The sound, the emotions, and my own desire to scream was too much for me.

I spent a lot of time in the mountains. I WANTED to scream. I felt like if I could just scream loud enough and long enough, all the pain would get out of me. When I was out with Sunny and BJ, I'd try. I'd yell and swear, but there was something about screaming that was too... primal... for me.

This afternoon, BJ got an email from his son. BJ asked, "If you sister was being beaten by her husband, what would you counsel her to do?" He only read one line to me, and it was too much.

I screamed. And screamed. And screamed.
No swear words. No words at all. Just a scream from deep inside.

Don't talk about the abuse. Don't tell anyone that he beats you. Don't share the secrets. Protect him. Protect the marriage.

I BELIEVED this. I BELIEVED that to use my voice to share what happened to me was wrong. I WAS WRONG. My voice is the only thing I can use. My voice is the only power I have to stop abuse. (That and my ability to walk away from the abuse.)

It turns out, I can scream. Really loud and really long.

(And if I were answering the question, What counsel would you give your sister? I'd tell her to get out. Leave. Then sort out the whys and what-fors. Once she is away, THEN decide if the relationship is worth working for. If it has gotten to the point of abuse, there is A LOT that she is going to have to learn and fight through. It won't just go away, and she needs a lot of help and support. That said, each person has their own journey... I would want my sister to know she is loved. No. Matter. What.)

Indiscriminate Self Sacrifice

This morning on Everyday Joy, they were talking about the movie Avatar. In the chatroom, someone shared that they didn't like the movie. I loved it... It was a big deal for me... I SAW people defend themselves, and I didn't feel like that was bad. I wasn't angry at the people for trying to protect their world.

I shared that in the chatroom... It was such a foreign concept to this person: "Survival instinct will force you to defend yourself."

Nope. Not in my world.

When I was inpatient at CFC, Paul (therapist) liked to give people signs to wear. I willingly wore every sign he gave me, except one. I don't remember exactly what it said, but it had the word "martyr" on it. I refused to wear it. I told him I wasn't a martyr. There were some assignments he gave me that I fought because they weren't what I needed. This was not one of those times. I knew it. I think he knew it, but I flat out refused, so what could he do??

Some might think I didn't want the martyr sign, because being a martyr is bad... That wasn't the case for me. A martyr was the BEST kind of person, but I wasn't one. I was still alive. I had survived, so therefore, I wasn't good enough. (It sounds really crazy to write this now, but I BELIEVED it.)

"Greater love hath no man than to give his life for his friends."
The stories of Joseph, Hyrum, and Christ... If I wanted to be good like them, I couldn't value my own life, so I didn't. (Direct result of not valuing my own life: sitting in an eating disorder treatment center, literally starving to death, and only eating because someone else told me THEY needed me to eat.)

How this played out in my life:
Ex-Husband #1 raped me, and I laid there. I thought his needs were so much more important than my pain, my sadness, my fear. THIS was love for him.
I gave money I didn't have to people who said they needed it.
I worked two jobs, had three callings, went to the temple, listened to friends as they shared their heartaches, reached out to the lonely, and no matter how much I did or gave or tried, it wasn't enough, because I WAS STILL ALIVE.
I stayed with Ex#2, even when he was physically violent. It hurt me, but it was okay, because I LOVED him... and if he needed to kill me, that was what needed to happen. (It never crossed my mind how AWFUL that would have been for him. I was SO confused.)
My cat sat on my lap, flexed her claws in my skin, and I did nothing. It drew blood, I think I felt pain, but I didn't do anything to stop her.
I didn't tell people about the violence in my life, because I didn't want anyone to protect me. I didn't want anyone to get hurt.

I was so ashamed of being alive, I was willing to die slowly by starvation rather than face the guilt and the shame.

Paul eventually changed his terminology. He came up with the phrase "indiscriminate-self-sacrifice". I was willing to sacrifice myself, my wants, my needs, my life for anyone, anything, everything, and everyone.

I'm slowly unlearning all the things I learned. I'm worth protecting. I can feel safe and happy and still be a good person. I don't want to ever harm someone else, AND I will take care of me. I can have needs and wants, and express them, and still be loved. That's what is has always been about, I just wanted to be loved, and I didn't know there was any other way.

Serenity

In the book Controlling People, it basically says that when a person thinks they know what I feel (without me telling them), that is controlling.When I think I know what someone else is thinking or feeling, or that I can change what they are thinking and feeling, that is controlling.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately.

A few years ago, after leaving CFC (eating disorder treatment), but still VERY new in this whole healing process, I had to make a decision. I knew what I needed to do to heal my life, but I knew other people would think I was crazy. I kept trying to find another way around it, but finally gave up. "I don't care what people think. I don't care what other people do. Here goes nothing."

For me, what happened next was terrifying. I stopped trying to control myself so that I could control what everyone else thought of me. I cried uncontrollably for hours at a time. I screamed and ran away when I was scared, even though there was a part of me that could have controlled myself, I didn't try. I left the church. I withdrew from my family.

Some people thought I was crazy. Some people thought I was a bitch. Some people thought I was incredibly selfish. I had to give up who I thought I was, and who I thought others wanted me to be, and I had to give up the idea that I could change what other people thought of me.

I was threatened with hospitalization. I was able to say, "I'll go if that is what you need me to do. I understand that this is MY journey, and you are not required to go with me. I trust you to take care of you."

I ended up not going, and I'm glad... But that is not the point. I finally trusted me enough to let go, and I trusted the people in my life enough to let go of them. I didn't know what the end product would look like. There was a lot I didn't know, and it really didn't matter.

I didn't feel the need to control anything. Not me. Not them. Whatever happened, happened.

Fast forward to now.
I got the email from my cousin. Sent me into a kind of crazy place. At the same time, I was getting emails from BJ's kids and ex. They were telling me how I ruined his life. The combination was a little more than I could handle, and I went back to old ways of thinking.

I started to believe I was responsible for his choices. I started to believe I was responsible for their choices. I started to believe I couldn't trust myself or them or him. I forgot to even THINK about what I needed, even though that is the only thing I could know. I was trying to control what everyone else thought, rather than take care of myself.

I was quickly becoming all that I hated.
Luckily, I have some amazing friends. I changed course. I stopped trying to control what others were thinking and instead decided to face the things I could face: the memories and the secrets from my cousin.

I'm not going to say this is easy, it is NOT. I'm hurting. I'm crying. I'm scared. I'm sad. At the same time, I'm trusting the people around me to take care of themselves, and trusting me to do what is best for me, and knowing that whatever happens next is okay.

I cannot control what other people think about me.
Believing that I can, only makes me (and everyone else) incredibly miserable.
Knowing that I can't, frees me to live.

God, grant me serenity to accept the things I cannot change.

Courage to change the things I can.

And wisdom to know the difference.

Five Years Old

Its been a while since I've written here. Two weeks ago, I got an email from my cousin. She has been on her own path of healing. From my posts on facebook, she came to the conclusion that we have been through some similar experiences. She has tried to pretend she is okay for a long time. In a moment of clarity (but full of a lot of her own fears)she reached out to me.

Our healing paths have now intersected in a way that I never imagined.
Some of my own questions may have just found an answer.
I feel like I have just found the final piece to completely heal my life. I have worked my way through a lot...
Since her email, I have felt like I was five years old. Feeling all of the same emotions that I felt then. I kept trying to push through it. Be an adult. Got involved in other people's problems and life rather than deal with my own. Tried to run away from the present to get away from the past.

Today, I finally stopped running, working, caretaking, and pushing everything aside. I wanted to hide in the closet, so I did. I cried. And cried. And cried. And then, I wanted to be held, wrapped in a blanket. I wanted a snack and a movie on TV. So, that's what I did.

Tucked in to a blanket. Hugging my stuffed hedgehog. Watching How to Train Your Dragon. Eating a Twix.

When I was five, I was hurt. I hid in the closet. I cried. And then my mom, who was hurting and struggling herself, told me she couldn't handle my tears. She needed me to just stop crying.

I needed a mommy. I needed someone to hold me while I cried. I needed someone to ask about my pain. I needed someone to tuck me in, bring me a treat, and put a movie on TV to help distract and comfort me. I needed that, but I didn't get it.

Today, I was able to give myself exactly what I needed.

Sexuality isn't about Sex

I belong to a group on facebook of mostly ex-Mormons. It has been the most amazing, loving, supporting group. They have ALL helped me tons! Angie wrote about the group here. This morning someone posted these questions. I shared them on the board, but I'd like to share them here too.

-Have you changed opinions regarding sexual practices or activity such as pornography or masturbation, or simply become more open about your previous lifestyle?
I always believed that pornography was not the problem. Back then, I believed it was a symptom of a larger problem. I still believe that is true... But my definition of porn has changed. It used to be anything sexual at all was considered pornographic... Now, porn is only the violent degradation of women: Depicting them as objects rather than as people. I don't demonize anyone who looks or participates... I just wonder how it affects women and men who forget that other people have emotions and feelings. With Larry, I FELT like I was just an object to be used when he wanted to get off, and ignored otherwise. Anything that feels like that is harmful.

I started cutting when I was only 7... to stop myself from masturbating. It took me 23 years to see the connection of why I started hurting myself. When I was going through therapy to heal from sexual abuse, ALL of the books talk about learning to "please yourself" first. Several therapists suggested it as a way to deal with flashbacks and pain of body memories. Between the guilt and the fear that had been there since I was a kid, and the belief that it was wrong... I could not.

Now I see nothing wrong with a person masturbating. If it is compulsive, interferes with life, or there is a lot of guilt and shame attached to it, there is a problem. It seems to me like a natural release. (And guilt and fear still tell me "I could never!" I still have a hard time touching my own arms, because of the pleasure I feel. I'm working on it...)

-Are there 'things' you have done since departure that you would never have done while an active member?
I live with a man who is not my husband... Not sexually involved, but the guilt of "appearing evil" would have kept me from having a friendship with a man... I was taught that nothing should come before my husband and my marriage. In order to keep that marriage alive, I had to eliminate all friendships, wants, desires, hobbies, hopes, dreams, etc... In my mind, my ability to see me as a person, an individual, a woman with her own wants, is ALL part of my developing sexuality.

-Are you more liberal in your views of homosexuality and bisexuality than you were previously or simply more open?
I am both more liberal and more open. Prop 8 was a big deal for me. I didn't like it, but I felt like if I just prayed harder, I could understand... When prop 8 was overturned, and I felt like that was a good thing, it was a sign to me that I had really moved on from the church.

-Big one, what are your previous and current views on monogamy?
I don't believe in marriage, but I think I do believe in a monogamous sexual relationship. I believe I need to have the freedom to come and go in a relationship... as long as it is healthy and beneficial for me, I will stay. As long as it is not, I won't. And I want anyone I care about to have the same freedom.
I believe that the instant I put my happiness in someone else's hands, I will die. I will trust only me with my happiness.
When I do decide to add sex to a relationship, if that ever happens, I want it to be something talked about often... and just because we have sex doesn't mean that then we are tied together forever... same freedoms apply. I will NOT be someone else's property. Ever.
I have LONG believed sex is what a "strong" person does TO a "weak" person. That is one of the reasons I have had no interest. I haven't wanted to hurt someone else, like I have been hurt. (And I hated the being hurt side too.)

This is something I am still working out in my head.

-Finally, what bad decisions and good decisions regarding sexuality in any form have you made since departure?
I haven't really made any decisions, so there haven't been any to BE good or bad.

As I read back over my answers, I realize the most powerful thing (for me) I said was, "My ability to see me as a person, an individual, a woman with her own wants, is ALL part of my developing sexuality"

I remember a conversation with Jen... I asked her how she "knew" she was lesbian. I shared that I am terrified of men, but I don't feel attraction to women. Her words were amazing, and I still think about them often.

She talked about learning to love herself. Then learning to love everyone else. And then she could wake up to the love that had been a secret inside her. She pointed out that she loves men, she just doesn't want to have sex with them. At the time, I was so anxious to figure out my own sexuality... I needed to KNOW, so I could give myself the right label and "move on."

Her words inspired my post on being asexual. I don't have to have sex with anyone. I just get to be me... whatever that looks like, whoever that is.

As I've relaxed, and not needed to KNOW... I have found amazing peace. I am learning to love myself. Find my wants. Needs. Desires. Hopes. Dreams. See myself as an individual. As a woman. It feels good.

"my expression is about me"

I turned on Jen and Angie's blogcast, "Everyday Joy".
Jen talked about the Universe's wake up calls. She talked about the thing she has learned this week:
"my expression is about me."

At that moment, I got an email saying BJ's son had sent me a message.

I wrote the response, but was feeling... uneasy. I needed help seeing. I asked Norm for help. I knew he knew some of the story, he wouldn't judge, and it felt like I needed to ask him.

I had him read the blog and BJ's son's response. This was his question:

"What makes you think that you can change his mind about you any more than you might be able to change anyones mind about the church?"

My reply was perfectly me. Just what I needed to hear and to know.

"I don't. I don't expect him to listen or hear me, so my responding isn't about him. My words probably will be used against me. Twisted to serve the church, or his stories, or something else... My response is about me speaking up and not hiding because my voice is "useless"."

At which point, he told me that he didn't need to give me any advice. I knew what to do. And I know he's right. I just needed to find that. This isn't about BJ, or his son, or the church, or anyone but me. I have long believed my voice was useless, so I never spoke up. I thought if I couldn't change the world around me, there was no reason to talk, to sing, to laugh. It has always been about everyone else... and in a backwards way about myself. Today, I can finally see in a forwards way its about me. This is a part of what I sent back:
(I'm only leaving the parts that I thought could be beneficial to others. Anything personal to BJ's son's letter, I removed.)

I appreciate you asking, and I'm grateful you sent me the message.  

I can't speak for BJ and his authenticity. All I know is that he has said he is now being authentic. I trust him to speak for himself.

Having traveled the road of trying to figure out how to be authentic... it IS hard. It hurts. There is a cost. And the longer we have pretended to be something we aren't, the harder it is. The trouble with masks is when we take them off, no one recognizes us. I know many people would say authenticity is NOT worth it, and that is something we can only say for ourselves. I don't get to make that choice for anyone but me. No friend, bishop, parent, spouse can choose or decide for me... And I can't choose for them.

Authenticity is not about what you do... I would define authenticity as "doing what you believe", being who you are. Authenticity will look different for each one of us.

I'm about to give advice. You didn't ask for it. Its free. Take it for what its worth. If your dad tells you he is being authentic, believe him. If your dad tells you he wasn't happy, believe him. Listen to him. He knows himself better than you or me or anyone else.

When I finished talking with Norm, I was shaking. Whole body vibrating enough that I thought I was going to pass out. I laid down on the floor for an hour and just shook.

I can't explain exactly what was happening, but my theory is that I'm coming together. A few more pieces of me that have been broken off and separated are not broken off anymore.