Gloom & Doom vs Sunshine & Roses

When I previewed my previous blog entry, I took one look at the picture I had chosen (a pensive girl) and thought, "Gee, that's really depressing."  I removed the picture.  I realized that by  writing openly about the realities of childhood sexual abuse, you could get the impression that every minute of my childhood was full of fear and dread.  And it really wasn't.  The human spirit (and body, I guess) won't let us stay in that place for long. We protect ourselves by hiding the reality away, out of mind and sight, and we find ways to laugh, wonder, imagine, and create.  We find ways to be children.

My brothers and sisters and I went on adventures, climbed trees, and had secrets.  We ran and laughed and fought, like all kids do.  As we got older, we learned things from our parents.  I learned about carburetor's and spark plugs, growing carrots and rhubarb, ironing and hanging clothes, and making bread.  We had friends, favorite clothes, dreaded chores, and foods we either loved or hated.  Yes, the "bad" stuff was there but, in between, there was "good" stuff as well.

I had been thinking about this for some time and was planning to write about it here on my blog.  But, what motivated me to actually begin writing, was a dream I had last night. In the dream, I was at some kind of gathering, like a family reunion, and I was having a really bad time.  I wanted to shut out all of the people and the commotion, so I curled up on the couch and put a blanket over my head (something I've been doing in "real life" some lately).  My siblings were attentive and wanted to understand what was going on, and even my psychologist was there.  I wanted to to tell them how I felt and that there was nothing to fear, but I couldn't express my feelings. I wasn't afraid or despairing, I was just so very, profoundly, sad.  At the end of the dream, someone touched my hand, soothingly, and I immediately had an image of that touch on my vulva.

I woke up fine, not upset, but thinking about the dream and how I might write about it.  I realized what a great counterpoint the dream was to my earlier thoughts.  As a child, I survived by shutting out the fear and pain and, by doing so, I was able to have times of joy and laughter.  As an adult, having looked the monsters in the eye, I no longer need to hide from the the traumas of past events, and I feel pretty safe and content.  But, as my dream shows, the core of the trauma, the reality of it, is still deep within me.  The bittersweet truth is that I will always carry, within myself, both the horror and the joy of my childhood.   

Today I'm very comfortable with my psychological and emotional status, and I'm grateful that I had the help and encouragement to be at peace with myself.  I know I'll learn and change and grow for the rest of my life.  I also know that my past, and all that I've lived through, has made me who I am today.  It's given me depth and compassion and helped to form my own personal style, perspective, and magic.

Life is such an amazing gift.  In spite of all the struggles and traumas, I'm glad to be alive, and I'm very glad to be me!  If you've had similar insights, or if my experience resonates with you, I'd love to hear your comments.

Finally Believing That it Wasn't My Fault

During the time when the minister was actively abusing me, two of my best friends confided that our new pastor had approached them sexually. The three of us were church buddies who shared all of our secrets.  Both girls said they had rebuffed the man's advances, but had not told anybody else about the incidents. When asked, I lied and said that he hadn't approached me, but I felt awful! Why hadn't I fended him off like my friends had done?  What was wrong with me?  Of course, we were little kids and had no real power over the adult abuser, but apparently they were able to do what I could not.  That may have been the beginning of me blaming myself for the horrors that followed.

When my father took up the abuse, this conviction was reinforced.  I felt powerless.  Apparently, everyone wanted to use me for sex, and I couldn't stop it.  I didn't even try to say "no" to my dad.  Years later, as a young adult, I was raped at knife-point in an empty lot near where my husband worked.   Even then, I didn't put up much of a fight.

    

I've read stories from other survivors who were also victimized repeatedly as young people.  I wonder if they also thought, as I did, "Why does this keep happening to me"?  "Do I have a target on my back"?  "Do I carry an invisible sign that says, 'rape me, abuse me, beat me, demean me'"? I suspect that we have all wondered, "WHY ME?  I MUST BE DOING SOMETHING TO MAKE THIS HAPPEN!"

I recently got a great new perspective on this topic from this quote (which I lifted from the very excellent website, TAALK):

In her book The Socially Skilled Child Molester, Dr. Carla van Dam states that “Child molesters [also] gravitate to those people who are most likely to be too polite to fend them off, too shy and anxious to tell them to leave, too dependent to be assertive, and too impressed by rank, power, status or money to do the right thing. Child molesters deliberately associate with adults who cannot address these issues. They seek out adults who worry about hurting people’s feelings. They charm adults who do not believe it could happen.”

When I read this and other passages from the book, I realized that I had been set up!  My parents fit this profile perfectly!  Dad wanted desperately to be revered as an intelligent and godly man, and Mom wanted desperately to be accepted by Dad and so reinforced his empirical rule. Our family was the perfect target for sexual predators!  We children were to be deferential to all adults.  We were not to say "no", not to ask "why", and never to disobey!  We were not to express our own preferences.  In our family we drank our coffee black, we ate our eggs sunny-side up, and we liked our steaks medium rare. If someone dared to show individual opinions or tastes, they knew that the punishment would be a lifetime of shunning and ridicule.

Enter the pedophile.  And then enter the empirical  and deluded father. And then enter the rapist.  It wasn't that I had a target on my back.  I didn't have a certain look, a precocious manner, a fatal flaw.  I wasn't too pretty, too sexy, too clever.  I was the perfect compliant child.  I was smart enough to know the rules and to play them to perfection.  And, in doing so, I became the perfect target.

My previous post was about anger.  I feel anger as I write this.  I also feel grateful that I had the skills and found the people who were willing to help me escape, to be safe, to grow, to mature, and to heal.  I now know, in a deeper and more liberating way that, truly, IT WAS NOT MY FAULT! 

Parents, civic and church leaders, and helping professionals might find "The Socially Skilled Child Molester," helpful.  I know that that there are many other great resources as well, and I'd love to have you share ones you have found with me in the "comments" section.

The TAALK website is also a great source.  The more we know and the more we share, the more able we will be to stop the epidemic of childhood sexual abuse.

MY DANCE WITH ANGER

Years ago, before therapy, I would tell folks that, "I never get angry".  And I'd mean it.  There were only 1 or 2 incidents in my whole life in which I had raised my voice to anyone.  I couldn't remember a time when I had even openly disagreed with a person.  It wasn't my style.  "I was just an easy-going person". 

However....whenever my therapist heard me say this, I'd get a raised eyebrow, a small smile, and sometimes the comment that, on the contrary, I was a very angry person.  I didn't argue with him (because, as we all know, therapists can see into our souls), but I totally disagreed with him.  I really never felt anger! I just didn't get "mad" 

So........from early childhood, I had been raped, abused, lied to, and manipulated by those whom I should have been able to trust...and I felt no anger!  How could this be?  Why didn't I feel this most understandable emotion? 

One of the reasons is that anger, as well as other strong emotions, was forbidden in my family.  In our household, only a "bad" person showed strong emotions, and only a foolish or stupid person strayed from the family paradigm.  In either the case, the punishment was to be shunned, rejected, and ridiculed.  Even as adults, all of my siblings and I get extremely uncomfortable around boisterous or outspoken people.

Of course, the anger was inside of me.  It manifested itself as sarcasm, "sniping," secretiveness, manipulation, self harm, and sickness.  I was passive-aggressive.  I would guard myself against intimacy and maintain a secret world, hidden even from my own conscious mind, of mistrust, anger, hatred, fear, and silence.  I would look for people's weaknesses so I would have a bit of power over them if I felt threatened.  I was a very angry woman!  It was very difficult for me to admit to this and to and accept this side of myself.  It brought a lot of shame and a lot of fear.  Anger equals bad, right?  If I was angry, I must be bad.  The old family rule. 

Slowly, I learned about degrees of anger and how to manage my feelings and how to allow ever stronger emotions into my comfort zone.  I learned that to be angry at someone is not to hate or despise them.  The emotion of anger passes, it can be resolved. 

I still have a tendancy to turn my emotions inward and to keep my opinions to myself, and I pay for that physically.  My immune system doesn't like that at all!  But, I'm learning.  Most of the time, I like myself just fine.  I even admire myself at times.  I would no longer characterize myself as an angry person. 

But now, unlike before, sometimes I just get mad......for a while. :-) 

Looking in the Mirror

While watching a show on TV this evening I was reminded of a conversation I had with my therapist a few years ago.  I made some off-hand remark about being old and he, in typical fashion, asked if I was afraid of aging.  I told him no, I wasn't afraid of getting old - in fact, I planned to live to a ripe old age as my relatives have been wont to do.  I told him, however, that when I looked in the mirror and saw myself as a "mature" woman instead of a young and beautiful girl, I invariably felt ugly and unlovable.  I said that, as a child and young woman, I had  come to believe that my only value was in my beauty and youth. If I wasn't young and attractive, I was of no value at all - I was nothing. 

It was, and is today, still jarring to see my reflection in the mirror. 

I know that being "selected" by my father and the minister, being used by them to satisfy their own needs, is what brought my young mind to these conclusions.  What I wonder about now is, why have I held so doggedly to those "lies" all these years, after so much introspection, therapy, and healing.  I know the truth -that I am innately beautiful just being myself - so, why is it so hard to let the old ideas go and embrace the truth?

Am I afraid? 

I don't think so. 

I think I'm just "comfortable."  I know that sounds silly but don't we always tend to stay with what we know?  I know that it will take effort to change my perceptions of myself.  Every day I must look in the mirror and make peace with what I see - admire my attributes, forgive my shortcomings, and claim MY SELF.  It's the same with other feelings and perceptions (lies) that were fed to me as truth by my abusers.  It takes work to move away from them and toward the truth.

So, am I lazy?

I don't think so,

In order to survive as a child, I withdrew inside myself and made the best of a bad situation.  I didn't fight, I didn't think, I didn't feel.  So now, I have to learn how to fight.  I have to use my mind and my energy and my emotions to notice and challenge the lies that I took to be truths.  I'm not afraid and I'm not lazy.  But, now and then, I have to shake myself out of my comfort zone and break down the lies and learn to live in my own truth.

I write these feelings as an encouragement to myself, and also as an encouragement to others. I suspect that these struggles are common to all survivors of abuse and trauma.  Fighting for the truth my be difficult at times, but it's sooooo much better than being lost in the lies.  Hang in there with me - we're not alone - and it's worth it!

Avoiding What I Want and Need

Did you ever start out to do some"dreaded" task and then get sidetracked by a completely different chore, like cleaning out a closet or straightening up your music CDs?  I think we've all done that at some time or another.  It's perfectly natural .  We put off the thing we don't want to do by substituting another useful job in its place. 

I've just become aware of something in myself that's related to this idea.  I was recently encouraged to ask myself what I really wanted - what I wanted to be, to do, to become. I had never really asked that question before. I had always asked what others wanted for me.  I had tried to measure up, to be adequate, to produce what was expected.

So, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and consulted my inner self .  Here's what I came up with.  My body is built to be sturdy and strong.  I want to be that.  I have a playful, curious spirit. I want to play and explore, to make things and do things. My personality is one of giving, caring, listening, supporting.  I want to be that.  I want to draw and paint.  I want to write.  I want to be calm and centered.  I want my own personal beauty to show through.

However, although I love baked fish and fresh veggies, I choose to eat pizza, snacks, and massive amounts of sweets.  My "strong and sturdy" body is overfed, underexercised, and plopped in front of the computer for hours on end.  Instead of taking the time to draw or write, I watch TV with my husband in order to "be with him" - a noble idea, but one he does not require.  I make excuses to my friends when I'm invited out.  I declare myself too busy or too tired to explore new activities.  In other words, I'm replacing what I WANT FOR MYSELF with meaningless or harmful activities.  WHY???

Have I given my real desires the label of  "dreaded tasks?"  Sort of. 

More accurately, I think I have labeled them as "you don't deserve this" or "only bad people want things for themselves" or "you're being selfish" or "you have no right to be yourself."  So, for all these years, I've muddled along instead of enjoying my life. I was believing and internalizing dreadful lies which caused me to fight against myself and deny myself  what I needed and wanted. 

Thinking about what I really wanted for myself was a new experience for me.  I suspect that many (most?) people affected by childhood sexual abuse or other forms of trauma have felt this way.  But, once we see the lies, we no longer need to accept them.  How to challenge these deep-set beliefs?? I think that the strongest way to attack them is by concentrating on the truth.  I'm going to remind myself daily of the things that I really want for myself.  I may have to close my eyes and look inward again each time in order to know the truth, but I'm willing to do that so that I can become ME!!!  All of me--as God intended. 

As always, share your thoughts and questions if this was meaningful to you.

Lost Innocence? Lost Hope?

Drifting toward wakefulness, I found myself thinking about my grandmother. At 5' tall and 300 lbs. she was very soft to hug. She was also crude, snappish, and prone to cursing. She was kind of strange, but she wasn't scary - at least not to me. She had songbirds in cages at her house, and I thought that was very cool!



Then I thought about other memories of my early childhood. I liked the red-headed girl in first grade, and I introduced myself to her the first day so we could be friends. I was sad to find a beautiful little dead bird in the yard and I took it to school for "Show and Tell." I contentedly drew streets in the dirt and played with little cars with my brothers and sisters. Daddy put us up on his shoulders, and read the "funnies" out loud. Mommy sang when she ironed, and laughed when my aunts and uncles visited.

By the time I was fully awake, I was profoundly grateful for those early childhood experiences. I realized that I had been a truely innocent, happy, carefree child, full of wonder, energy, and curiosity. I can actually look back and see what I was - my potential, my magic, even my style. Wow!



Of course, things changed. My father "got saved" and my mother followed (sort of). Suddenly, there were no more kitchen-table card games, no Saturday night beer with uncles, no dancing, no movies, no smoking.........and no laughter. I don't think religeon was to blame. I think the church atmosphere just happened to be fertile ground for the fear, anger, confusion, insecurity (and who knows what else) that had always been there. Mom continued to smoke and curse --and she tried desperately to please Dad. Dad constantly demeaned her, making it clear that she would never measure up -- and he became more and more imperial and dictatorial. Before second grade was over, before any overt sexual abuse, I had already become secretive, guarded, and grasping for approval.

But, what about the children who were rejected, raped, tortured, when they were 6 months old, 2 years old, 4 years old?  Because they were too young to develop memories of innocence, are they now doomed to go through life wondering who they are and why life is so difficult?  How do these children, now adults, find their way out of the maze of feelings, misperceptions, and lies that where there as far back as they can remember? I ache for those children - for the "grown ups" they have become. I want to tell them that they too were innocent, open children once, even though they can't remember it.  I want to tell them to keep trying to find their own path to healing.  I want to tell them that it's not too late to to claim a new life of wonder, energy, and curiousity - to discover their potential, their style and their own special magic.    

I'm grateful that I can remember an innocent time in my life. I cannot go back to that time or that innocence. But I can give to myself what I wish for others.  I can embrace the potential, the magic, and the style that is uniquely ME, as best I can. 

Eyes Wide Open

Have you ever noticed how some people close their eyes when they speak?  I can't imagine myself ever doing that. However, I do often close my eyes while waiting in medical offices, sitting through boring lectures, listening to music, or planning my day.  It always feels safe, quiet, and restful in this private internal darkness. I've been aware of  this tendency for some time, but I've only recently decided to explore it more deeply, thanks in part to the example set by the writers at OvecomingSexualAbuse.com.

I think that feeling safer with closed eyes stems from the initial trauma  (as well as the daily threat) of the sexual abuse I suffered as a child.  When the situation was too frightening and I found myself helpless to make it stop,  I tried to shut it out.  I closed my eyes.  It seemed to make the horror less real if I couldn't see it (him).  I felt safer with my eyes closed. As an adult, I think that closing my eyes now and then to find a peaceful place is fine.  It can be restful, centering, and calming. 

On the other hand, if I find myself trying to "shut out" or "close my eyes" to difficult thoughts and emotions through food, sleep, compulsive behavior, or other methods, I know that I need to take notice.  I'm fooling myself and not helping my healing process.  I'm reminded of the child who hides his head behind a sofa thinking that you can't see him (because he can't see you), when in fact his body is in plain view.  The thoughts and emotions are still there in plain view, whether I "close my eyes" to  them or not.  And, if I don't look at them, they can weigh me down and continue to have power over me. 

Many of us have held the believe that, because this life is full of danger, it is safer to peer out at it with our hands metaphorically over our eyes.  We want to be safe from the horrors of  suffering, death, abuse, disease, poverty, and war.  But, if you think about it, with our hands over our eyes (or with our eyes closed) we are actually less able to see approaching danger.  I've come to believe that it's much safer to have our eyes WIDE open, taking everything in. That way we can not only see approaching danger, but we can also more clearly see the life and beauty we've been missing all around us.

Thank You Gratitude for Making Me Smile

Some mornings, in that fuzzy time as I'm moving from sleep to wakefulness, I feel an old familiar heaviness.  It's not exactly sadness, or fear, or dread....and yet it is all of those things in a kind of wordless, physical sensation.  If you have suffered trauma, neglect, or abuse you are probably familiar with this experience.  What can cause this reaction?  Sometimes it only takes a word, a look, an embarrassment, or an affront to trigger these feelings.  (Or maybe too much pizza the night before).

When this happens to me, my first foggy reaction is usually, "Ugh, I don't want to get up.  I can't deal with this today. Just let me hide under the covers and make the world go away."  I used to try to figure out why I felt so bad.  I'd feel like a failure, broken, impaired, and ashamed of my weakness.  I'd berate myself or try to "psyche" myself up to face the day.

But, I've found a wonderful, new technique that dispels the gloom EVERY TIME! On those days that I wake up all sloggy and down, I still have my little "Ugh" reaction, but now, instead of struggling, I start saying "thank you."  Really.  It's as simple as that.  I think of what I am grateful for, and I begin to speak sentences like; "I'm so grateful that _____," and "Thank you, Lord, for _____,"  etc. 

Here are two of my favorites which you might find amusing. 

1.  Thank you, Lord, for giving me a strong body.
 (I'm a short little overweight 63 year old woman with Hepatitis C, breast cancer, psoriasis, and who knows what else!). 
2.  I'm so grateful that I have a wonderful, comfortable home.
(We live in a 1000 square ft. house filled with mis-matched furniture, 2 cats, and aging appliances).

And I mean every word of it!  It makes me smile.  I take a deep breath, and then I'm ready to face the new day.

I'm sharing this because I think it might work for everyone.  If the early morning "dreads" are just relics of old thought processes or the very understandable reflections of past traumas, then we don't need to analyze them or give them much space or consideration.  These vague, unbidden emotions can be gently pushed aside and then we will have more energy, and be better prepared to deal with and learn from the real issues of the day.

So, give it a try.......and give me feedback.  Wishing you many happy wakings!!

Forgive and Forget?

I was recently graciously invited to join a blog roll about clergy abuse (http://childsexualabusesurvivor.com/) which has mostly Catholic victims posting.  The Catholic church has been actively turning a blind eye to accusations of sexual abuse by priests for decades.  The most common response had been to move the priest to another parish where, of course, they continued their practices.  Have things changed now that more and more victims are coming forward?  It depends on whom you ask.  Victims can speak out, and some get financial compensation, but there is little comfort for them.  Legal battles rage while the scope of the problem and the search for solutions continues to be minimized.

My abuser was a Protestant minister.  He "repented," and my parents chose to "forgive" him.  Doesn't the Bible say to "love your enemies" and  to "forgive and you will be forgiven?  I watched him groom his next victim.  There were many victims before and after me and he was never reported or prosecuted.  Perhaps our side of the Christian church prefers to save face, deny and forgive on the local and family level instead of involving the church leadership.   Either way, the result is the same.  The abusers continue while the children silently watch them get away with it.

What would you do?  What would your church do?  Would you send a priest or a pastor to jail?  Would you report your father, uncle, neighbor, or teacher?  Would you seek the truth and take the risk of bringing shame to your family or friends?  Of course, there are lots of variables when child sexual abuse is alledged, but in all cases, the truth must be sought, the abuser must be held accountable, and the child must be protected. 

I'm not a very brave person.  It would be VERY difficult for me to do these things.  Even as an adult, I never sought my abuser or tried to alert the authorities. Some of us are trying to bring child sexual abuse into the public conversation so that abusers are robbed of their secrecy, but we must also take action when abuse is discovered.  Why?  Because the children cannot, and because the abusers will not stop or get help unless someone speaks up.

Getting Personal

As I re-read my first entries, it seems that I've been writing primarily to my family, my friends, and my co-workers, giving information about the causes and repercussions of sexual abuse, and explaining why I'm talking about it.  Perhaps, with this foundation laid, it's time stop trying to be so clever and articulate about this dicey subject and to get down to sharing what I feel and how I cope with my past. 

I spent most of my life in a kind of fog, not really connecting with the world or taking responsibility for my actions.   I lived with mild depression and took anti-depressants for many of the last 25 years.  After a bunch of years of living, and a few years of therapy, I started feeling, seeing, and reacting to the world around me in a new way.  I didn't need the depression medication any more, and I had more hope and a better perspective than I'd had in years.

Then, along came breast cancer.  It threw me into terrible panic and reminded me of the terrified child I had once been. I didn't run back to the therapist because I knew that I had the tools to deal with it.  Imagine my surprise when a part of my treatment (a pill used to suppress the estrogen in my body) threw me into a new, more severe, depression.  I'm back on depression medication, but it just takes the edge off.  And I have to be on the estrogen suppressor for 5 years!!!  The sensations are so familiar that I'm tempted to examine my present life and look for causes.  But, it's just the medicine. 

Once again, I'm forced to face the limitations that this development presents and to make the most of my life as it is.  I have to "manage" my feelings for a few years, take it easy on myself, and be alert to old, self- demeaning patterns of thinking.  It's a bit embarrassing to be "impaired" in this way.  I want to put a disclaimer sign on my chest that says, "I'm not crazy or lazy - I'll be fine in a couple of years."

I used to think that life was supposed to be a slow ride down a peaceful river.  I was appalled when I discovered that this life takes energy and effort.  I'm now beginning to believe that life's great joys and satisfactions only come when you're willing to expend the necessary energy for any given task. 

“Happiness includes chiefly the idea of satisfaction after full honest effort. No one can possibly be satisfied and no one can be happy who feels that in some paramount affairs he failed to take up the challenge of life.”
Arnold Bennett quotes (British novelist, playwright, critic, and essayist, 1867-1931)

A REALLY BIG SECRET!!!

I've read that you must post to your blog often or folks will get bored and wander off.  Wouldn't want that to happen!  Sooooo, I'll share with you the current theme at my house and in my head this week.

I talk about secrets because I learned what a burden they can be and how wonderful it is to be free of them.  There is, however, a gigantic secret held by healing survivors that none of us wants to talk about.  Here it is -- because of the trauma and the breach of trust, we have spent our lives pretending to be normal, trying to live like everyone else, to be productive, creative, caring, and responsible.  But, we just can't do it!  We have issues with food, drugs, depression, self esteem, intimacy, boundaries, and trust, and they have affected our choices and made us significantly different than what we could have been. 

Here's where the secret comes in.  When people hear someone say, "I can't..., I'm limited..., I'll never...,  it makes them uncomfortable and they want to shout, "Yes, you can!!"  Survivors feel exactly the same way.  We don't want to admit that we're broken, impaired, or limited.  We're ashamed of what we haven't accomplished, the potential we did not live up to.  We don't want to admit it, we don't want to hear it from our fellow survivors, and we're pretty sure that you don't want to hear it either...so we keep silent....again. 

Of course, there really are things that we will never be able to do as others can.  I, for example, will never fully trust an authority figure.  I will have trouble with intimacy.  I will feel threatened by anyone who tries to persuade me in any way.   We all in this life must struggle to maintain that delicate balance between accepting our limitations and striving to be our best.  It's my goal to live my life as honestly and as courageously as I can.  That's what I'd call a successful and victorious life!

COURAGE - mental or moral strength to venture, persevere, and withstand danger, fear, or difficulty (Courage implies firmness of mind and will in the face of danger or extreme difficulty)

VICTORY - achievement of mastery or success in a struggle or endeavor against odds or difficulties.

Webster's Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary
Mirriam Webster, 1983

Early Therapy Drawings

When I was seeing my first therapist many years ago, she encouraged me to draw at home and bring the pictures to her.  She said, "Just doodle.  Draw anything that comes to mind."  So I did.

The pictures I drew were full of unsettling images, some of various body parts, which I won't share with you! (actually, I think I finally threw away the body part ones  :-).   They were also filled with images of sadness, loneliness, anger, and isolation.  You can see some of them here.

The pictures I drew showed how I was feeling, and they helped me get in touch with how I saw myself.  These were helpful pictures, but they weren't really healing pictures.  I think that most people dealing with a traumatic past will go through this phase of discovery and expression. 

Drawing My Story many years later was quite a different experience.  As I was drawing each panel, I thought about what I had felt, seen, said, and thought.  I was driven to tell it all, show it all, eyes wide open, as honestly as I could.  This was possible in part because I had a good doctor who had earned my trust.  But I think we were both surprised by the outcome.  

Check out this lady who expresses herself beautifully with poetry.

http://www.youtube.com/user/reVerse2bfree/videos

There's TELLING...and Then There's TELLING

You might wonder how in the world telling your intimate memories of traumatic events could make such a difference.  Here's how I see it. 

I think there comes a time for every "victim" when they come to believe that they will never, ever be able to tell what happened to them.  They've lived with the secrets for so long and feel so isolated that they give up.  The decision to remain silent is then reinforced if their supposed rescuer betrays them, if they tell and are not believed, if the abuser is vindicated or ignored, or if someone implies that they should have or could have rescued themselves. 

Oh, they might reveal the bare facts of the trauma.  Over the years, I told lots of people something like, "Yeah, I was sexually abused as a child.  A minister molested me for several years and then my father continued it at home."  Short and sweet.  In each case, I was absolutely certain that nobody would care, nobody would understand, and that it would only make people uncomfortable and lower their opinion of me. 

Real healing comes from finding a safe listener (ideally a professional) who is committed to hearing your whole story without judgement. That includes how you felt, what you saw and heard, what you thought about - all of your fears, worries, horrors, humors, anecdotes, and lies.  It's amazing what a relief it was to finally share that part of my life with a doctor who encouraged me, sympathized with me, and challenged my self recriminations.

Why Would ANYONE Want to Talk About THIS?

Most people don't want to get anywhere near this subject.  So, who does??  Here are some that I've seen.

1. Victims who want to be heard and understood (often full of anger, despair, sadness and confusion). 
2. Recovering victims who tell about their healing process and encourage others to share their experiences.
3. Victims and advocates who use strong emotional appeals to bring the subject to the attention of the public. 
4. Professionals providing resources and information to the public, to victims,  and even to abusers.

So, why am I doing this? 

First, I think I have an obligation, after all I have experienced, to do my part to help others to heal and the public to understand.

Second, I believe that abusers count on the cloak of secrecy that surrounds child sexual abuse and that talking publicly about it can make it more difficult for them to succeed. 

And third, I learned some nifty things about the nature of secrets during my own therapeutic process that I think could be helpful, not only for abuse victims, but for all who have suffered traumas.

Soon I'll be posting my story in slide show form on YouTube and here.  So, stay tooned!

The Trouble With Blogs

In this my first venture into Blogland, I have discovered a few limitations with the forum.

First, you need to stay on topic.  This can make it appear that this subject is the most important one in your life.  We're pretty complex beings and, while one part of your life may have affected you profoundly, it isn't  necessarily your main focus or something that you think about every day.

Second, you have to dish out your information in tiny little bits.  Nobody wants to read a long blog post, so you need to decide every day what little teaspoon of your story you want to share and hope that the reader won't get bored before they get to the good stuff (the stuff that they want to hear about).

So, hang in there.  I'll share myself, my experience, my insights a teaspoon at a time until all the "good stuff" is out there. I hope you feel comfortable enough to share back.

How Does it Feel?

So, what does it feel like to be a person with childhood sexual abuse in their resume?  I have some experience with the subject.  I was used by a real, live pedophile for several years, I suffered incest at the hands of my father, and I even bore my dad's baby.  So I've got creds.   Let me tell you how it feels to me right now.

After 50 years of "life after abuse" and 5 years of therapy, I'm  doing quite well.  I'm feeling optimistic about my future, I have an honest and open relationship with my husband, and I don't struggle with anger, fear, or loneliness like I have in the past.  I haven't quite gotten a handle on the whole "food for comfort" thing, I remain a little secretive and isolated, and I still minimize praise and maximize criticism that I receive.  I can be clever, energetic, a problem solver, and a generous, non-judgemental listener.  I can also be remote, self involved, and overly concerned with other people's perceptions of me.  My boundaries are better, but I still tend to be either too open about my feelings or too guarded and superficial.

It's my understanding that all of these responses are typical of people who were unfortunate enough to have been inducted into the Childhood Sexual Abuse Club. Check out the TAALK website.  It has great information about how this thing effects folks.  It can help you understand.  It can help you know you're not alone.

Why MEEE??

Since this is the first post on my first ever blog, I'll start by explaining how I came upon the name MEEE.

During one of my not so uncommon 4:00 am musings,  I was thinking about the things I should incorporate into my life every day in order to feel strong, focused, and confident.  What are the basics that I need for a strong body, a clear mind, and good interpersonal relationships? 

I came up with the acronym MEEE, which stands for Meditation, Exercise, Eating well, and Engagement.  Meditation provides a centering, a stopping of the cacophony of the outside world as well as the inner chatter.  Exercise boosts my confidence, strengthens my body, and keeps depression at bay.  Eating Well makes me feel better physically, helps my immune system, and gives me a sense of control. And, Engagement calls me to interact with others and with my surroundings, drawing me out of my internal world.

That MEEE looks like a very dramatic form of the first person singular (me) is not a coincidence.  It helps me to remember to honor, value, and care for myself throughout the day. 

And, how am I doing at implementing this clever little plan of mine?  Well, like all good plans, it works just as well as I work it!