When I first started this blog I was fractured. I had divided myself into parts so I could choose who received which part. There were too many people who weren't safe to offer my whole self to.
As I've healed, I've learned that it's not about whether others are safe or not. It's about being safe within myself. It's about bringing all those pieces back together to create the whole me. It's about believing that all those pieces are important and make me who I am. It's about believing that the whole me is good enough to offer to the world. To not have shame for what I've experienced. To believe in what I've learned enough to shout it to the world. To not feel like I have to apologize for who I am.
Like a broken vase, the big parts of me have been glued back together. There are still visible cracks and tiny chips that will never be found, but for the most part I am whole. Whole enough to serve my purpose. To do what I was meant to do.
A vase holds water. Water that sustains the life of cut flowers. Water that allows those flowers to offer their beauty to the world.
I can hold water again. I can help sustain others. I can help others offer their beauty to the world. And I can offer my own.
I don't need this blog like I used to. I am not hiding parts of myself from the world anymore. I will leave it up because these stories and experiences are important to share. They are important to testify of what was and what hurts. They are important so others will know they are not alone.
But I don't need to write here anymore. I am confident in offering my story to the world, including the people I know. I don't think I'll post here again.
I will continue to write. I will continue to document my healing. But I will do so on my main blog, The Mess that is My Life. If you would like to follow my healing and learn with me, I invite you to follow me there. The next post I'll publish will be my husband's story. He wrote about being an abusive husband and what he's learned and how he's grown. It will go up in a day or two.
I won't be writing here, but I am not going away. I still long to help others. I still want to listen and strengthen when I can.
Thank you for sharing in the dark parts of my journey. It helped to know I wasn't alone.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Father's Day
Father's Day was not at all what I expected. For those of you following my relationship with my dad, I wrote about it on my other blog: http://infaithbelieving.blogspot.com/2012/06/fathers-day.html.
I hope you are healing. And if you are struggling, I hope you are finding moments of peace and joy. It comes in moments.
I hope you are healing. And if you are struggling, I hope you are finding moments of peace and joy. It comes in moments.
Monday, June 4, 2012
It Matters When He's Mean
Something important happened at my last therapy session, other than me confronting my therapist.
We had about fifteen minutes left and my therapist asked what I wanted to work on. After thinking for a minute I suggested we talk about my dad. I told my therapist that we are coming up on a time when things get difficult. Father's Day is coming up. Shortly after that is my dad's birthday. And family will probably come to town during the summer and invite us up to my parents' to spend time with them. I'm just not sure how to handle those things.
He talked about forgiveness. In fact, he called it doing the forgiveness dance. He suggested I go to their house on Father's Day, stay as long as I'm comfortable, but if my dad is mean I have to leave. It's my job to protect myself and get out of there.
He's usually fine lately. He's not warm and fuzzy -- he never has been -- but he isn't usually demeaning or controlling. But sometimes.
I told my therapist that I don't always notice when he's mean until later. It's just been such a part of my life that I don't see it. He asked if I could recruit my husband to help me see it and be my backup to get me out of there. I cried and said no. He's not reliable enough. Sometimes he would see it, but more often than not he will just join in. He and my dad will bond by picking on me together. He asked if there is anyone who would be there that would be able to help stop it in the moment. There isn't. I won't put my kids in that position and my mom isn't stable.
As we talked I realized that while I don't always see it when he's mean, I know how I feel. I know when I start to feel unsafe. I can usually sense the tide turning before it gets ugly. I have just ignored it in the past. I told my therapist. He asked how often I'm right when I sense that my dad is going to be mean. I told him I am always right. 100%. So we decided that I can go as long as I have an immediate escape plan that I will use as soon as I sense it's getting dangerous. He made me promise that I would leave if that happened. I did.
I semi-jokingly asked if I couldn't just take a Xanax before I go. He said that if I needed one to calm down enough to go it was okay. But if taking one would incapacitate me enough that I wouldn't be able to leave when I needed to it wasn't okay. I said I never take that much. Just a little. Just enough so that it doesn't matter when he's mean.
And my therapist said, "It matters when he's mean."
That one simple sentence brought instant tears. That moment was so powerful. I had difficulty processing it.
He could tell it was important and he said it again. It matters when he's mean. All that encompassed came rushing in. I deserve to be treated better. It's not okay for him to treat me that way. It's not okay for anyone to treat me that way. I have every right to be hurt and scarred from the way he's treated me. When he's mean he doesn't deserve to be with me. When he's mean I don't have to stay. I don't have to take it anymore. He has to earn my presence. Just being my dad doesn't give him the right to be mean. It's not okay.
Those words changed my life. I now offer them to you. Whatever brought you to my blog, whoever is unkind to you, you deserve to be treated better. You have the right to protect yourself. You have the right to walk away. It matters when he's mean.
We had about fifteen minutes left and my therapist asked what I wanted to work on. After thinking for a minute I suggested we talk about my dad. I told my therapist that we are coming up on a time when things get difficult. Father's Day is coming up. Shortly after that is my dad's birthday. And family will probably come to town during the summer and invite us up to my parents' to spend time with them. I'm just not sure how to handle those things.
He talked about forgiveness. In fact, he called it doing the forgiveness dance. He suggested I go to their house on Father's Day, stay as long as I'm comfortable, but if my dad is mean I have to leave. It's my job to protect myself and get out of there.
He's usually fine lately. He's not warm and fuzzy -- he never has been -- but he isn't usually demeaning or controlling. But sometimes.
I told my therapist that I don't always notice when he's mean until later. It's just been such a part of my life that I don't see it. He asked if I could recruit my husband to help me see it and be my backup to get me out of there. I cried and said no. He's not reliable enough. Sometimes he would see it, but more often than not he will just join in. He and my dad will bond by picking on me together. He asked if there is anyone who would be there that would be able to help stop it in the moment. There isn't. I won't put my kids in that position and my mom isn't stable.
As we talked I realized that while I don't always see it when he's mean, I know how I feel. I know when I start to feel unsafe. I can usually sense the tide turning before it gets ugly. I have just ignored it in the past. I told my therapist. He asked how often I'm right when I sense that my dad is going to be mean. I told him I am always right. 100%. So we decided that I can go as long as I have an immediate escape plan that I will use as soon as I sense it's getting dangerous. He made me promise that I would leave if that happened. I did.
I semi-jokingly asked if I couldn't just take a Xanax before I go. He said that if I needed one to calm down enough to go it was okay. But if taking one would incapacitate me enough that I wouldn't be able to leave when I needed to it wasn't okay. I said I never take that much. Just a little. Just enough so that it doesn't matter when he's mean.
And my therapist said, "It matters when he's mean."
That one simple sentence brought instant tears. That moment was so powerful. I had difficulty processing it.
He could tell it was important and he said it again. It matters when he's mean. All that encompassed came rushing in. I deserve to be treated better. It's not okay for him to treat me that way. It's not okay for anyone to treat me that way. I have every right to be hurt and scarred from the way he's treated me. When he's mean he doesn't deserve to be with me. When he's mean I don't have to stay. I don't have to take it anymore. He has to earn my presence. Just being my dad doesn't give him the right to be mean. It's not okay.
Those words changed my life. I now offer them to you. Whatever brought you to my blog, whoever is unkind to you, you deserve to be treated better. You have the right to protect yourself. You have the right to walk away. It matters when he's mean.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Validation and Progress
So many things have happened in the last two weeks. Unfortunately, much of it isn't my story to tell. How do I share all the things in my heart without violating someone else's confidence? Let me just say I had the opportunity to be with someone as they processed some difficult things. Many of these things validated much of what I am struggling with. And I got to validate the other person, too.
Many more memories are coming back. As they come, they are sometimes too much to handle. And yet, I can't seem to let them go. They run around in my mind, playing hide and seek. I can tell they are there but can't really lock down their meaning. It's tough when my adult brain tries to make sense of things that happened to me as a child -- things that didn't make sense then. So much of it doesn't make sense now either.
I have had the opportunity to work on my therapeutic assignment. I have worked up several alternate coping strategies, some of which can be painful. I don't know if they will fill the void and make it so I don't hurt myself but we'll see. I typed them up because when I am in that place I can't seem to think straight; even though I had all these plans I can't remember what any of them were. This way, I can read what they were and try some. I will list some of them in a future post.
I also found something that helps to quiet my mind sometimes. When something starts to bother me and I realize it's something I need to discuss in therapy, I write it down. I have a file on my computer where I type random thoughts, memories, connections. Once I write them down, knowing that they are there when I am ready to deal with them, I am able to let them go and move on. It seems to free me from them temporarily. Mostly.
I also connected with several people on facebook late at night. I don't think it's necessary that I have someone I can vent to and process with, just someone to connect to. (Although I do have both kinds.) I have written up a list of these people as well, so I don't have to try to remember when I can't think.
And I was blessed with an anxiety attack irrelevent to any emotion or memory. I say blessed because experiencing it without emotion or memory meant that I was just dealing with the physical symptoms. I was able to test one of my coping mechanisms at a lower state of aggitation.
When I have a panic attack, when I get really tense and start to shut down, the first place I feel it is in my shoulders. I feel like there are hands on my shoulders and I need to shake them off. To get away. Even without memory connected to it. It happened this time as well.
I was tempted to scratch, but the temptation wasn't overwhelming. I was able to think clearly enough to remind myself to try my new strategies.
So I got out my hand weights. I worked my arms, especially through my shoulders, until it hurt. I pushed through the point that I thought I couldn't go on until they were almost numb. And it helped. I felt better. The tension relaxed. The pain remained long enough to get me through the tough moments. It distracted me for a bit, changed my focus.
I don't know if it will work for a full-blown meltdown, but it helped me get through that moment in a healthy way. I got the chance to practice in a less intense moment.
And any time I make progress, I feel like I'm moving in the right direction.
Many more memories are coming back. As they come, they are sometimes too much to handle. And yet, I can't seem to let them go. They run around in my mind, playing hide and seek. I can tell they are there but can't really lock down their meaning. It's tough when my adult brain tries to make sense of things that happened to me as a child -- things that didn't make sense then. So much of it doesn't make sense now either.
I have had the opportunity to work on my therapeutic assignment. I have worked up several alternate coping strategies, some of which can be painful. I don't know if they will fill the void and make it so I don't hurt myself but we'll see. I typed them up because when I am in that place I can't seem to think straight; even though I had all these plans I can't remember what any of them were. This way, I can read what they were and try some. I will list some of them in a future post.
I also found something that helps to quiet my mind sometimes. When something starts to bother me and I realize it's something I need to discuss in therapy, I write it down. I have a file on my computer where I type random thoughts, memories, connections. Once I write them down, knowing that they are there when I am ready to deal with them, I am able to let them go and move on. It seems to free me from them temporarily. Mostly.
I also connected with several people on facebook late at night. I don't think it's necessary that I have someone I can vent to and process with, just someone to connect to. (Although I do have both kinds.) I have written up a list of these people as well, so I don't have to try to remember when I can't think.
And I was blessed with an anxiety attack irrelevent to any emotion or memory. I say blessed because experiencing it without emotion or memory meant that I was just dealing with the physical symptoms. I was able to test one of my coping mechanisms at a lower state of aggitation.
When I have a panic attack, when I get really tense and start to shut down, the first place I feel it is in my shoulders. I feel like there are hands on my shoulders and I need to shake them off. To get away. Even without memory connected to it. It happened this time as well.
I was tempted to scratch, but the temptation wasn't overwhelming. I was able to think clearly enough to remind myself to try my new strategies.
So I got out my hand weights. I worked my arms, especially through my shoulders, until it hurt. I pushed through the point that I thought I couldn't go on until they were almost numb. And it helped. I felt better. The tension relaxed. The pain remained long enough to get me through the tough moments. It distracted me for a bit, changed my focus.
I don't know if it will work for a full-blown meltdown, but it helped me get through that moment in a healthy way. I got the chance to practice in a less intense moment.
And any time I make progress, I feel like I'm moving in the right direction.
Monday, February 27, 2012
A Cry in the Dark
As far as I can tell, people find this blog most often through a Google search (or Yahoo, whatever). And the most common phrase that brings them here is "my husband is mean" or some variation on that theme. They are directed to my post My Husband is Mean to Me and the Kids. I am so saddened by how many women are searching with that phrase.
Sometimes they write to me. They tell me their stories. They are heartbreaking. These women are so lost and alone. And scared.
Most of them comment anonymously.
I understand. It's a scary thing to admit that your husband is sometimes a monster. It's hard to admit to yourself. And maybe they worry that he will somehow find out that they've told someone else and it will invite danger.
But because they are anonymous, I can't respond. And that breaks my heart. I write this post to them.
I want to reach out. I want to tell you I heard your pain. I feel it. It's real. I want to tell you that you aren't crazy. I want to tell you that I'm so sorry he hurt you. That marriage isn't supposed to be like that. That you deserve better.
I want to invite you to keep talking to me. I want to tell you that I am a safe person to talk to. I will listen. I will hurt with you. I will not betray you. Everyone needs someone to talk to. You aren't alone; I want to tell you that.
I want to offer support and validation. Or just a listening heart. When you reach out to me, I want to reach back. I want you to know that you are heard. That you matter. That your pain matters.
Some of you may never feel safe enough to let me know who you are -- and that's okay. Hopefully, you will read this and know that I carry your story with me. Thank you for sharing it in whatever way you could. May you find moments of peace to carry you through until you find the strength and support to find change. Thank you for sharing your pain.
If you think you don't have any options, please read What are My Options When My Husband is Mean?
Sometimes they write to me. They tell me their stories. They are heartbreaking. These women are so lost and alone. And scared.
Most of them comment anonymously.
I understand. It's a scary thing to admit that your husband is sometimes a monster. It's hard to admit to yourself. And maybe they worry that he will somehow find out that they've told someone else and it will invite danger.
But because they are anonymous, I can't respond. And that breaks my heart. I write this post to them.
I want to reach out. I want to tell you I heard your pain. I feel it. It's real. I want to tell you that you aren't crazy. I want to tell you that I'm so sorry he hurt you. That marriage isn't supposed to be like that. That you deserve better.
I want to invite you to keep talking to me. I want to tell you that I am a safe person to talk to. I will listen. I will hurt with you. I will not betray you. Everyone needs someone to talk to. You aren't alone; I want to tell you that.
I want to offer support and validation. Or just a listening heart. When you reach out to me, I want to reach back. I want you to know that you are heard. That you matter. That your pain matters.
Some of you may never feel safe enough to let me know who you are -- and that's okay. Hopefully, you will read this and know that I carry your story with me. Thank you for sharing it in whatever way you could. May you find moments of peace to carry you through until you find the strength and support to find change. Thank you for sharing your pain.
If you think you don't have any options, please read What are My Options When My Husband is Mean?
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Therapeutic Assignment
So it's safe to say yesterday's session led to a rather massive meltdown, on a visceral level.
Through a weird twist of fate, I was able to take advantage of a cancellation and get back in today. Yeah, that was a good thing. No more processing today. Today was all about what happened yesterday and last night and preparing for more of the same (because this work will bring more emotional pain) by building some more/better coping mechanisms into my life.
One thing he wants me to do is connect with other people to have them help me through those dark moments. I explained that it's tough to do at 2:00am. He asked me to try to find a way. I have a few friends on facebook that are night owls, so I am going to connect with them and just ask if they will stay available on chat when they are up late. Then I need to make sure I stay logged into chat and take advantage of it. He would like me to practice whenever I'm up late when I'm not in crisis. That way, I'm more likely to take advantage of it when I am in crisis. If anyone out there reading this would like to be my friend on facebook, who might be willing to help sometimes, let me know (send me an email or a facebook request -- redacted). I'm not asking anyone to stay up waiting for me to need help. But the more people I have on call the more likely I'll find someone when I need them.
My other assignment is to come up with some more visceral coping strategies. I have several logical/intellectual ones, but when I melt down I am not in the thinking part of my brain. I need something that works when I bypass that part of my brain and am just looking for pain. Basically, I need to find non-destructive ways to hurt myself. That doesn't sound quite right, but that's what it is. Deep tissue massage that hurts. Exercise to the point of pain but not injury. Going outside in the cold without a coat on to really feel the cold but not to the point of freezing. So I am to find ways to address my need for physical pain in those moments that isn't damaging. Suggestions are welcome.
I am in a better place, although I'm still fragile. I have made some connections for support. And we're going to take things a little slower in therapy.
On the bright side of the dark side, he says that all the emotional pain and the fact that I self-injured indicate we are on the right track. We are not working on a decoy. He's proud of the fact that I didn't hurt myself worse, even though I spent a lot of time pondering doing so. And he's proud of me for telling him that I injured myself instead of hiding it.
I'd say I'm out of the cold, dark water but still shivering on the shore. Luckily, there are people trying to warm me up and keep me safe.
Through a weird twist of fate, I was able to take advantage of a cancellation and get back in today. Yeah, that was a good thing. No more processing today. Today was all about what happened yesterday and last night and preparing for more of the same (because this work will bring more emotional pain) by building some more/better coping mechanisms into my life.
One thing he wants me to do is connect with other people to have them help me through those dark moments. I explained that it's tough to do at 2:00am. He asked me to try to find a way. I have a few friends on facebook that are night owls, so I am going to connect with them and just ask if they will stay available on chat when they are up late. Then I need to make sure I stay logged into chat and take advantage of it. He would like me to practice whenever I'm up late when I'm not in crisis. That way, I'm more likely to take advantage of it when I am in crisis. If anyone out there reading this would like to be my friend on facebook, who might be willing to help sometimes, let me know (send me an email or a facebook request -- redacted). I'm not asking anyone to stay up waiting for me to need help. But the more people I have on call the more likely I'll find someone when I need them.
My other assignment is to come up with some more visceral coping strategies. I have several logical/intellectual ones, but when I melt down I am not in the thinking part of my brain. I need something that works when I bypass that part of my brain and am just looking for pain. Basically, I need to find non-destructive ways to hurt myself. That doesn't sound quite right, but that's what it is. Deep tissue massage that hurts. Exercise to the point of pain but not injury. Going outside in the cold without a coat on to really feel the cold but not to the point of freezing. So I am to find ways to address my need for physical pain in those moments that isn't damaging. Suggestions are welcome.
I am in a better place, although I'm still fragile. I have made some connections for support. And we're going to take things a little slower in therapy.
On the bright side of the dark side, he says that all the emotional pain and the fact that I self-injured indicate we are on the right track. We are not working on a decoy. He's proud of the fact that I didn't hurt myself worse, even though I spent a lot of time pondering doing so. And he's proud of me for telling him that I injured myself instead of hiding it.
I'd say I'm out of the cold, dark water but still shivering on the shore. Luckily, there are people trying to warm me up and keep me safe.
Little Girl Lost
I started. I'm telling. I'm talking.
I knew it would be hard. I didn't think it would be this hard. It's as hard as my first day of therapy several years ago. And it hurts as much as anything I've ever done.
I'm scared. I'm violating the rules. If I am caught I'll be in trouble. It will get so ugly. I will be punished.
And I'm so sad. It hurts so much.
I scratched today for the first time in a very long time. Not much, and it only left a few tiny lines, but I did it. I wish I'd been better prepared for that temptation.
Why did I do it? It wasn't to punish myself, as it has sometimes been in the past. It wasn't to feel because I was numb. It was to change what I was feeling.
It was my lifesaver. I was drowning in an ocean of emotions, so many that I couldn't name them all. Choking on them. Scratching kept my head above water.
I can't seem to turn it off. I was okay during the day while I was busy, while I was with my family. Then everyone went to bed and the house got quiet.
That's always when the ghosts rattle their chains, isn't it?
Memories. Emotions. Images. Monsters. Skeletons. And lots of dark water. All threatening to devour me. Chasing me. Breathing down my neck like fire.
A little girl. Lost and alone. Trying to force herself out from behind the safety of the shield. Trying to lift that big, heavy sword. Knowing that she, alone, can slay the dragon.
I knew it would be hard. I didn't think it would be this hard. It's as hard as my first day of therapy several years ago. And it hurts as much as anything I've ever done.
I'm scared. I'm violating the rules. If I am caught I'll be in trouble. It will get so ugly. I will be punished.
And I'm so sad. It hurts so much.
I scratched today for the first time in a very long time. Not much, and it only left a few tiny lines, but I did it. I wish I'd been better prepared for that temptation.
Why did I do it? It wasn't to punish myself, as it has sometimes been in the past. It wasn't to feel because I was numb. It was to change what I was feeling.
It was my lifesaver. I was drowning in an ocean of emotions, so many that I couldn't name them all. Choking on them. Scratching kept my head above water.
I can't seem to turn it off. I was okay during the day while I was busy, while I was with my family. Then everyone went to bed and the house got quiet.
That's always when the ghosts rattle their chains, isn't it?
Memories. Emotions. Images. Monsters. Skeletons. And lots of dark water. All threatening to devour me. Chasing me. Breathing down my neck like fire.
A little girl. Lost and alone. Trying to force herself out from behind the safety of the shield. Trying to lift that big, heavy sword. Knowing that she, alone, can slay the dragon.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
A Cancellation
My therapist had a cancellation so instead of seeing him in a month I am seeing him tomorrow. I'll admit it's got me a bit anxious. It's nice to be able to prepare myself emotionally for therapy. But I guess I'm going, ready or not.
Positive thoughts in my behalf would be appreciated.
Positive thoughts in my behalf would be appreciated.
Monday, February 6, 2012
My Father's Hands
I'm going back to therapy.
Through a strange twist of events, I was able to meet with my therapist very quickly a month ago. I updated him, we discussed those things in my life that he could help me with, and we chose a plan of attack.
Then I set appointments. I couldn't get scheduled for sooner than March. That seems like forever. And way too soon.
You see, we're going to talk about my dad.
I went to therapy off and on for a couple of years a while back. I attended a support group for a year or two. I did lots of therapeutic writing to process some of the dark things in my life. My attention to my relationship with my father has been lacking. I have touched on it, but not really done much work.
Even though I feel like it's the source of so many difficulties. Maybe all of them.
I have stayed away. I have stayed mostly silent.
I knew I had other work to do so I always steered therapy that direction. I avoided discussion about my dad whenever I could.
Why?
Because I am afraid. I don't understand. I feel so small and helpless when I think about my dad. I worry that I'll get caught. I worry that I'll get in trouble. I worry that he will know, that he will find out.
I'm forty-two years old. I'm still afraid of my father. And I don't really understand why.
My memories are so inaccessible. So foggy. So vague.
And when I think of them, of my dad when I was little, all I feel is fear and sadness.
I am sad because I never had a daddy. He didn't like me. I was in the way. I was trouble. I was a disappointment. I needed to be invisible to be safe. I was a thing. An annoyance. A money suck.
As I have waited for my appointment I have tried to avoid preparing for the work. I have tried not to think about it. It causes such intense anxiety that the rest of my life becomes difficult. I cry and shake and collapse. I curl up in an attempt to hide. To protect myself. To be little and unseen.
But my mind started working anyway.
I still don't have many memories. But my fear has found a focus.
I am afraid of his hands. They are big and strong. They hurt. They are so strong. They hold me in place. They are in control. They don't care about me. I am a possession. I am to be what he wants me to be.
When we are out together in public, I am never allowed to stray. I must stay right by his side. He grabs me by the shoulder or the back of the neck. He holds me this way as he talks to people.
I don't move. I don't squirm. I don't wiggle. I am still.
I smile and say my lines, what I think he wants me to say. Anything that will make him look good. Anything that will make him let go of me.
But he doesn't let go. Because I am bad. I will misbehave. I must be kept under control.
So I just do what he wants.
Don't worry, dad. I learned my lesson well. I do what I'm told.
Thanks a lot for that. You set me up for a lifetime of abuse. Boys and men telling me what to do and me obeying. Because that's how to stay safe. That's how to be loved. Just do what you're told.
Through a strange twist of events, I was able to meet with my therapist very quickly a month ago. I updated him, we discussed those things in my life that he could help me with, and we chose a plan of attack.
Then I set appointments. I couldn't get scheduled for sooner than March. That seems like forever. And way too soon.
You see, we're going to talk about my dad.
I went to therapy off and on for a couple of years a while back. I attended a support group for a year or two. I did lots of therapeutic writing to process some of the dark things in my life. My attention to my relationship with my father has been lacking. I have touched on it, but not really done much work.
Even though I feel like it's the source of so many difficulties. Maybe all of them.
I have stayed away. I have stayed mostly silent.
I knew I had other work to do so I always steered therapy that direction. I avoided discussion about my dad whenever I could.
Why?
Because I am afraid. I don't understand. I feel so small and helpless when I think about my dad. I worry that I'll get caught. I worry that I'll get in trouble. I worry that he will know, that he will find out.
I'm forty-two years old. I'm still afraid of my father. And I don't really understand why.
My memories are so inaccessible. So foggy. So vague.
And when I think of them, of my dad when I was little, all I feel is fear and sadness.
I am sad because I never had a daddy. He didn't like me. I was in the way. I was trouble. I was a disappointment. I needed to be invisible to be safe. I was a thing. An annoyance. A money suck.
As I have waited for my appointment I have tried to avoid preparing for the work. I have tried not to think about it. It causes such intense anxiety that the rest of my life becomes difficult. I cry and shake and collapse. I curl up in an attempt to hide. To protect myself. To be little and unseen.
But my mind started working anyway.
I still don't have many memories. But my fear has found a focus.
I am afraid of his hands. They are big and strong. They hurt. They are so strong. They hold me in place. They are in control. They don't care about me. I am a possession. I am to be what he wants me to be.
When we are out together in public, I am never allowed to stray. I must stay right by his side. He grabs me by the shoulder or the back of the neck. He holds me this way as he talks to people.
I don't move. I don't squirm. I don't wiggle. I am still.
I smile and say my lines, what I think he wants me to say. Anything that will make him look good. Anything that will make him let go of me.
But he doesn't let go. Because I am bad. I will misbehave. I must be kept under control.
So I just do what he wants.
Don't worry, dad. I learned my lesson well. I do what I'm told.
Thanks a lot for that. You set me up for a lifetime of abuse. Boys and men telling me what to do and me obeying. Because that's how to stay safe. That's how to be loved. Just do what you're told.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Was I Abused?
When I went to therapy that was the question I wanted answered most. I felt that I had been abused. I knew I was damaged. But I needed validation. I needed someone to hear my story and tell me that what happened to me was wrong.
The more I told my story, the more validation I received. No one that heard my story questioned whether it was abuse or not. And this helped.
It helped because part of abuse is teaching the victim to doubt herself (or himself, but I'll say her just for simplicity). I didn't know what was true anymore. I didn't know how I felt or what I wanted. I no longer trusted my feelings or my judgment. The various abusers in my life had taught me that what I felt or knew didn't matter. They had become God -- they ruled my universe, each in his turn and setting. They created a new me. They programmed me to be what they wanted.
And as I continued with therapy I began to see more and more how much I had surrendered. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to. For survival. Our instincts to survive are so much stronger than our desire to be happy.
For a long time I was trapped because I was a child. I could not leave the situation because I could not take care of myself. And I didn't know if there was anyone who could protect me if I spoke up.
As an adult I was trapped again. Not because I couldn't take care of myself, but because I couldn't see that I could. I didn't understand that I could survive and find my way even if no one believed me or supported me.
It took a lot of therapy for me to learn to trust myself again. To finally listen to my own voice. To come to a place where I am willing to stand by what I believe without feeling the need to convince anyone else.
And I no longer need anyone's validation for this. I know I was abused. I know I was forced to do things I didn't want to do even if no one used a gun to make me do them. I know that without striking a single blow my abusers beat me into submission. I know that they have a wide array of weapons to use that no one but a victim can see. I know that doesn't make those weapons any less real. I know that doesn't make the threat any less dangerous.
And I know that the abuser often doesn't think he did anything wrong. But that doesn't mean he didn't. He doesn't get to judge if his actions were wrong. They hurt me. They damaged me. They changed me in a way that will never be gone. I will heal, but I will still have scars. And they did that.
Yes, I was abused.
The more I told my story, the more validation I received. No one that heard my story questioned whether it was abuse or not. And this helped.
It helped because part of abuse is teaching the victim to doubt herself (or himself, but I'll say her just for simplicity). I didn't know what was true anymore. I didn't know how I felt or what I wanted. I no longer trusted my feelings or my judgment. The various abusers in my life had taught me that what I felt or knew didn't matter. They had become God -- they ruled my universe, each in his turn and setting. They created a new me. They programmed me to be what they wanted.
And as I continued with therapy I began to see more and more how much I had surrendered. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to. For survival. Our instincts to survive are so much stronger than our desire to be happy.
For a long time I was trapped because I was a child. I could not leave the situation because I could not take care of myself. And I didn't know if there was anyone who could protect me if I spoke up.
As an adult I was trapped again. Not because I couldn't take care of myself, but because I couldn't see that I could. I didn't understand that I could survive and find my way even if no one believed me or supported me.
It took a lot of therapy for me to learn to trust myself again. To finally listen to my own voice. To come to a place where I am willing to stand by what I believe without feeling the need to convince anyone else.
And I no longer need anyone's validation for this. I know I was abused. I know I was forced to do things I didn't want to do even if no one used a gun to make me do them. I know that without striking a single blow my abusers beat me into submission. I know that they have a wide array of weapons to use that no one but a victim can see. I know that doesn't make those weapons any less real. I know that doesn't make the threat any less dangerous.
And I know that the abuser often doesn't think he did anything wrong. But that doesn't mean he didn't. He doesn't get to judge if his actions were wrong. They hurt me. They damaged me. They changed me in a way that will never be gone. I will heal, but I will still have scars. And they did that.
Yes, I was abused.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Your Story is Important
I have been honored to have many people thank me for telling my story. They tell me it helps them not feel so alone. They tell me it helps them believe that their feelings and experiences are valid. They tell me it gives them hope.
For whatever reason, sharing my story has helped people. What an incredible privilege.
It took me many years to get to a place where I was ready to tell my story. Many years and lots of therapy. And sometimes I still struggle.
But even though it's difficult, I believe it is important. I believe prejudice about mental illness is so common because people don't talk about it, except to mock. I believe abuse runs so rampant in part because people look away. People don't want to know about the dark stuff. Or they are afraid that they carry some shame or guilt because of it. They are afraid they will be judged, looked down on, or in danger if they tell their story.
And, unfortunately, sometimes that's true.
I am blessed that I am at a place now where I do not fear those things like I used to. I do not tell everyone I meet, but if asked I will own these things as part of my past. And part of my present. Part of who I am. I speak because I can. I speak for all those who cannot.
But I believe every story is important. I believe everyone should get to tell their story even when others don't want them to, even when they are afraid. I believe strength comes from saying, "This is what happened to me. It is not who I am, but it does affect me. And it was wrong." I believe healing comes from saying, "This is what I did. I hate who I was. I am trying so hard to change." From saying, "This is what I struggle with and I am ashamed."
Whatever your story, I believe you will be stronger and more whole when you are able to share it.
I offer to tell your story for you. If you want your story known, but are fearful of the outcome, share it with me and I will share it here. I have had people ask about this, if I would be willing to post their story here. Yes, I am willing.
If you do not want to share it publicly, I am still willing to listen. Feel free to email me and we'll "talk" electronically (without your story being published here). I am not a therapist. I will probably not give you any advice. But I will listen and honor your offering. If you are uncomfortable talking to me, please find someone who is emotionally safe for you, someone who has never violated your trust. Talk to them.
And if you aren't ready to talk about it, I suggest writing about it. Electronic or paper, writing will help get the toxins out. You are not your past. Don't let it keep holding you hostage.
Please don't feel pressured to do this. I do not mean to push. Everyone comes to their moment(s) of healing in their own time. But if you've felt like you might want to move ahead, I would be honored to help.
For whatever reason, sharing my story has helped people. What an incredible privilege.
It took me many years to get to a place where I was ready to tell my story. Many years and lots of therapy. And sometimes I still struggle.
But even though it's difficult, I believe it is important. I believe prejudice about mental illness is so common because people don't talk about it, except to mock. I believe abuse runs so rampant in part because people look away. People don't want to know about the dark stuff. Or they are afraid that they carry some shame or guilt because of it. They are afraid they will be judged, looked down on, or in danger if they tell their story.
And, unfortunately, sometimes that's true.
I am blessed that I am at a place now where I do not fear those things like I used to. I do not tell everyone I meet, but if asked I will own these things as part of my past. And part of my present. Part of who I am. I speak because I can. I speak for all those who cannot.
But I believe every story is important. I believe everyone should get to tell their story even when others don't want them to, even when they are afraid. I believe strength comes from saying, "This is what happened to me. It is not who I am, but it does affect me. And it was wrong." I believe healing comes from saying, "This is what I did. I hate who I was. I am trying so hard to change." From saying, "This is what I struggle with and I am ashamed."
Whatever your story, I believe you will be stronger and more whole when you are able to share it.
I offer to tell your story for you. If you want your story known, but are fearful of the outcome, share it with me and I will share it here. I have had people ask about this, if I would be willing to post their story here. Yes, I am willing.
If you do not want to share it publicly, I am still willing to listen. Feel free to email me and we'll "talk" electronically (without your story being published here). I am not a therapist. I will probably not give you any advice. But I will listen and honor your offering. If you are uncomfortable talking to me, please find someone who is emotionally safe for you, someone who has never violated your trust. Talk to them.
And if you aren't ready to talk about it, I suggest writing about it. Electronic or paper, writing will help get the toxins out. You are not your past. Don't let it keep holding you hostage.
Please don't feel pressured to do this. I do not mean to push. Everyone comes to their moment(s) of healing in their own time. But if you've felt like you might want to move ahead, I would be honored to help.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
A Tough Day
I've been kind of lost today. Unsure of myself. Without direction. And anxious.
Today is my dad's birthday. I have been unable to decide how to deal with it. I feel like I should make some kind of contact to let him know I remembered. I really don't want to see him. It's impossible to buy him anything.
Today I wished I lived far away. That way I could send a birthday card and that would be enough.
I'm afraid to initiate contact because I don't want a conversation. I don't want two-way communication.
I spent the whole day trying to decide what to do. Until I noticed at about 11:00 tonight that it was too late. By not making a choice, I guess I kind of did. I did not make contact.
I wrote happy birthday on his facebook wall. That doesn't really count though because he doesn't check it.
I'm thinking maybe an apologetic "Sorry I missed your birthday; I hope it was a good one" text tomorrow. I know it sucks, but it's really all I feel good about and honest in offering right now.
There's a small piece of me that is afraid I'm in trouble. I doubt it because he doesn't feel insulted very often. He'll probably just shrug it off.
But maybe I am in trouble. I guess I won't know until tomorrow.
I'm trying to remember that I'm an adult. Just because he gets upset it doesn't mean I am in trouble or that I've done anything wrong. I'm trying to remember that he doesn't control my life, that he doesn't have the ability to punish me anymore unless I let him.
Now if I could just figure out how to stop letting him.
Today is my dad's birthday. I have been unable to decide how to deal with it. I feel like I should make some kind of contact to let him know I remembered. I really don't want to see him. It's impossible to buy him anything.
Today I wished I lived far away. That way I could send a birthday card and that would be enough.
I'm afraid to initiate contact because I don't want a conversation. I don't want two-way communication.
I spent the whole day trying to decide what to do. Until I noticed at about 11:00 tonight that it was too late. By not making a choice, I guess I kind of did. I did not make contact.
I wrote happy birthday on his facebook wall. That doesn't really count though because he doesn't check it.
I'm thinking maybe an apologetic "Sorry I missed your birthday; I hope it was a good one" text tomorrow. I know it sucks, but it's really all I feel good about and honest in offering right now.
There's a small piece of me that is afraid I'm in trouble. I doubt it because he doesn't feel insulted very often. He'll probably just shrug it off.
But maybe I am in trouble. I guess I won't know until tomorrow.
I'm trying to remember that I'm an adult. Just because he gets upset it doesn't mean I am in trouble or that I've done anything wrong. I'm trying to remember that he doesn't control my life, that he doesn't have the ability to punish me anymore unless I let him.
Now if I could just figure out how to stop letting him.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Fear of My Father
This is an incredibly difficult topic to write about. I have avoided it for a long time. I avoided it in therapy as well. It's amazing how powerful fear is.
I have faced fear before. When something I need to process frightens me I know I need to deal with it, that's the only way to take away the unrelenting power it has over me.
And yet, I still don't want to write about this.
I am afraid to think about it. I am afraid to remember. And I am so terribly afraid that my father could find it and read it. Imagining the fallout if that were to happen is almost enough to make me stop. Almost.
But it hurts me. It controls me. It makes me sick. It is a toxin I have to get out.
My father is a bully. He is controlling and domineering. I thought he had changed. I guess it was only a matter of time.
He expects people to give in. They always have. He makes sure of that.
I wish I had the words to describe how he does this. I don't fully understand it. I think it's because I was programmed so young. I think the control tactics are so deeply rooted that I can't see them anymore. All he has to do now is look at me in a certain way and I know I have no option but to comply.
I do have options. I understand that now, at least on some level. It took several years of therapy but I believe I can choose for myself. But knowing the wrath I will face if I choose differently from what he wants is enough to keep me in line way too often.
We had an incident recently. He overstepped his bounds and verbally attacked my daughter when I wasn't there. She was devastated. I was so angry. I thought of many different ways to confront him about it. I stewed about it. I vented about it at home.
And in the end, I did nothing. I did nothing but prepare her for a future attack. I gave her permission to walk away. I told her if he did something like that again to come get me or text me. I told her he was wrong and did what I could to support her. But I did not confront him.
I am ashamed of this. It breaks my heart that I was not strong enough to better protect my daughter.
I wonder if I will ever get there. I wonder if I will ever be strong enough to look him in the eye and tell him how much he has hurt me. I wonder if I will ever be able to stand in front of him and say no. I wonder if I will ever be able to tell him he's a bully and unless he changes his behavior toward us he will no longer get to be with us.
But I'm not there yet. Just thinking about it brings me to tears. It makes me shake.
Since that incident I have avoided him as much as possible. We took him something for Father's Day but didn't stay long and I kept others in between me and him. I haven't taken his calls but I have responded to his texts (I get in trouble if I ignore him). I avoided a family dinner that my husband and children went to on Memorial Day.
His birthday is in two weeks. I don't know how I'm going to handle that.
I have faced fear before. When something I need to process frightens me I know I need to deal with it, that's the only way to take away the unrelenting power it has over me.
And yet, I still don't want to write about this.
I am afraid to think about it. I am afraid to remember. And I am so terribly afraid that my father could find it and read it. Imagining the fallout if that were to happen is almost enough to make me stop. Almost.
But it hurts me. It controls me. It makes me sick. It is a toxin I have to get out.
My father is a bully. He is controlling and domineering. I thought he had changed. I guess it was only a matter of time.
He expects people to give in. They always have. He makes sure of that.
I wish I had the words to describe how he does this. I don't fully understand it. I think it's because I was programmed so young. I think the control tactics are so deeply rooted that I can't see them anymore. All he has to do now is look at me in a certain way and I know I have no option but to comply.
I do have options. I understand that now, at least on some level. It took several years of therapy but I believe I can choose for myself. But knowing the wrath I will face if I choose differently from what he wants is enough to keep me in line way too often.
We had an incident recently. He overstepped his bounds and verbally attacked my daughter when I wasn't there. She was devastated. I was so angry. I thought of many different ways to confront him about it. I stewed about it. I vented about it at home.
And in the end, I did nothing. I did nothing but prepare her for a future attack. I gave her permission to walk away. I told her if he did something like that again to come get me or text me. I told her he was wrong and did what I could to support her. But I did not confront him.
I am ashamed of this. It breaks my heart that I was not strong enough to better protect my daughter.
I wonder if I will ever get there. I wonder if I will ever be strong enough to look him in the eye and tell him how much he has hurt me. I wonder if I will ever be able to stand in front of him and say no. I wonder if I will ever be able to tell him he's a bully and unless he changes his behavior toward us he will no longer get to be with us.
But I'm not there yet. Just thinking about it brings me to tears. It makes me shake.
Since that incident I have avoided him as much as possible. We took him something for Father's Day but didn't stay long and I kept others in between me and him. I haven't taken his calls but I have responded to his texts (I get in trouble if I ignore him). I avoided a family dinner that my husband and children went to on Memorial Day.
His birthday is in two weeks. I don't know how I'm going to handle that.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Taking Pleasure in Another's Pain
I was recently accused of gaining pleasure from hurting another person. Initially it stung. I got defensive.
Then I realized that this person was striking out from a place of pain. I was sad that she either didn't know me very well or couldn't see things as they really are because of her pain.
Other people's pain. I've spent a great deal of my life concerned about other people's pain, especially pain I caused. I have given up so much of what I wanted and sacrificed who I am to make sure I don't hurt others. This is not healthy.
When I first started therapy I was asked what my boundaries were. I was very confused. I had no idea what he meant. I had no idea that I had a right to set boundaries. The more I learned the more I understood that I had very few boundaries. I had some legal and religious boundaries, but that was about it. Other people could push me, manipulate me, into doing what they wanted time and time again. And the tool they used to do this was their pain.
By making me feel responsible for their pain they could make me change my behavior. Even if I knew my behavior was wholesome and healthy, they made me question that and sacrifice that because I didn't want to hurt them. One of the main motivations in my life is to not cause others harm. This has been used against me.
I remember sitting in a therapy session sobbing. I was learning so much. I was making healthy changes in my life, changes that were so good for me, but they were hurting others. I remember asking my therapist how these could be good things if they were hurting others. He told me something that has changed my life.
I felt like I was personally hurting other people. I was not. They were hurting themselves.
I had finally set boundaries. He told me to imagine these boundaries as a brick wall. They are there to protect me. I can set these boundaries but others choose what to do about it. The people who were hurt by my new boundaries were choosing to continually push against that brick wall. They were choosing to run head-first into that brick wall and then blaming me for hurting them because I built the wall.
I've seen it happen over and over. Pain is a difficult thing to endure. We want to blame someone else. It's easy to see how another person's behavior makes us unhappy. It's tough to admit that our response to that person's behavior is what determines our happiness. It's difficult to admit that our own behavior may be causing us pain.
On the other side of it, I've been hurt by others. By the boundaries that they've set. Not because these boundaries were unhealthy but because I was unhappy with them and kept banging my head against them.
Seeing another person hurt because of something I did is horrible. I hate it. But I must stay true to the boundaries that I need in order to feel safe. I am not responsible for their pain. And it's not my job to fix it.
Then I realized that this person was striking out from a place of pain. I was sad that she either didn't know me very well or couldn't see things as they really are because of her pain.
Other people's pain. I've spent a great deal of my life concerned about other people's pain, especially pain I caused. I have given up so much of what I wanted and sacrificed who I am to make sure I don't hurt others. This is not healthy.
When I first started therapy I was asked what my boundaries were. I was very confused. I had no idea what he meant. I had no idea that I had a right to set boundaries. The more I learned the more I understood that I had very few boundaries. I had some legal and religious boundaries, but that was about it. Other people could push me, manipulate me, into doing what they wanted time and time again. And the tool they used to do this was their pain.
By making me feel responsible for their pain they could make me change my behavior. Even if I knew my behavior was wholesome and healthy, they made me question that and sacrifice that because I didn't want to hurt them. One of the main motivations in my life is to not cause others harm. This has been used against me.
I remember sitting in a therapy session sobbing. I was learning so much. I was making healthy changes in my life, changes that were so good for me, but they were hurting others. I remember asking my therapist how these could be good things if they were hurting others. He told me something that has changed my life.
I felt like I was personally hurting other people. I was not. They were hurting themselves.
I had finally set boundaries. He told me to imagine these boundaries as a brick wall. They are there to protect me. I can set these boundaries but others choose what to do about it. The people who were hurt by my new boundaries were choosing to continually push against that brick wall. They were choosing to run head-first into that brick wall and then blaming me for hurting them because I built the wall.
I've seen it happen over and over. Pain is a difficult thing to endure. We want to blame someone else. It's easy to see how another person's behavior makes us unhappy. It's tough to admit that our response to that person's behavior is what determines our happiness. It's difficult to admit that our own behavior may be causing us pain.
On the other side of it, I've been hurt by others. By the boundaries that they've set. Not because these boundaries were unhealthy but because I was unhappy with them and kept banging my head against them.
Seeing another person hurt because of something I did is horrible. I hate it. But I must stay true to the boundaries that I need in order to feel safe. I am not responsible for their pain. And it's not my job to fix it.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Progress Not Perfection
I have to constantly remind myself that's the goal. Progress, not perfection. Because, man, do I get frustrated when I find myself in familiar territory. Back in a place I hated that I worked hard to crawl out of.
I'm a mess right now. Lots of things getting me down, not the least of which is my health. I feel awful. Almost all day every day. The last week has been particularly bad. So much pain and dizziness and blurry vision. It's really hard to function.
I can't control that. I get it.
But I keep thinking that I should be able to control the other stuff, the emotional stuff. I've experienced it before and learned how to handle it. So why, when it comes back, do I have no clue what to do.
The thing that has been particularly troublesome lately is my sensitivity to the emotions of others. I knew I was off my game. Then I found myself in several situations in a short period of time where other people were upset. Intense negative emotions. Sometimes directed at me, sometimes not. Either way, I crumbled. I froze. I shut down. I withdrew from life.
I am in a place where I feel like I have to justify all my decisions again. As I state how I feel or what I want I am taking an emotional read on the people around me to make sure that what I say is okay with them. I hate that!
I am hiding from people because they might ask something of me that I don't want to give and I won't have a good enough answer. Any little bit of pushing with strong emotion can make me buckle under right now. I feel so vulnerable and weak. I hate that, too!
I hate that other people's emotions are ruling my life. I hate that I can't remember how I got past this last time.
The only thing I'm happy about in this situation is that I noticed. I guess that's progress. And that's what I'm working toward.
If you're wondering why I put this on this blog instead of my main one, let me tell you. It's about fear and self-protection. Honestly, too many people who know me read my main blog and I worry that there may be people who would take advantage of my current vulnerability if they knew.
I'm a mess right now. Lots of things getting me down, not the least of which is my health. I feel awful. Almost all day every day. The last week has been particularly bad. So much pain and dizziness and blurry vision. It's really hard to function.
I can't control that. I get it.
But I keep thinking that I should be able to control the other stuff, the emotional stuff. I've experienced it before and learned how to handle it. So why, when it comes back, do I have no clue what to do.
The thing that has been particularly troublesome lately is my sensitivity to the emotions of others. I knew I was off my game. Then I found myself in several situations in a short period of time where other people were upset. Intense negative emotions. Sometimes directed at me, sometimes not. Either way, I crumbled. I froze. I shut down. I withdrew from life.
I am in a place where I feel like I have to justify all my decisions again. As I state how I feel or what I want I am taking an emotional read on the people around me to make sure that what I say is okay with them. I hate that!
I am hiding from people because they might ask something of me that I don't want to give and I won't have a good enough answer. Any little bit of pushing with strong emotion can make me buckle under right now. I feel so vulnerable and weak. I hate that, too!
I hate that other people's emotions are ruling my life. I hate that I can't remember how I got past this last time.
The only thing I'm happy about in this situation is that I noticed. I guess that's progress. And that's what I'm working toward.
If you're wondering why I put this on this blog instead of my main one, let me tell you. It's about fear and self-protection. Honestly, too many people who know me read my main blog and I worry that there may be people who would take advantage of my current vulnerability if they knew.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
One Step Back Again
I've slipped up. There are things in my life that I have worked so hard on, and made so much progress on, that are a big giant mess again.
And I've ignored it as long as I can. Or not noticed. Or not cared.
But I do care. Even though it's difficult, I want to change things. I want to swim upstream because I've tasted the other waters and they were satisfying.
When you are in the flow of things and stop swimming, the tide carries you backwards. The idea is to notice before you get too far away from where you want to be. And to keep heading in the right direction.
So I'm back on track, or working to be anyway. Back to work. No more floating along wherever life takes me.
Even if I have to ask for help -- because we all need a life preserver every now and then.
And I've ignored it as long as I can. Or not noticed. Or not cared.
But I do care. Even though it's difficult, I want to change things. I want to swim upstream because I've tasted the other waters and they were satisfying.
When you are in the flow of things and stop swimming, the tide carries you backwards. The idea is to notice before you get too far away from where you want to be. And to keep heading in the right direction.
So I'm back on track, or working to be anyway. Back to work. No more floating along wherever life takes me.
Even if I have to ask for help -- because we all need a life preserver every now and then.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Emotional Vomiting
I really don't know what else to call it. It's what happens when I am overflowing with emotions and I feel like they are going to consume me, devour me, if I don't get them out. That's where I am right now.
I've considered some of the coping mechanisms from my past: scratching a few deep lines into my arms, burning myself with the curling iron, taking something with a sedative effect (an extra Xanax maybe), as well as others I'm still not ready to talk about.
If I were a drinker, I would go out and get plastered. That sounds pretty good right now. Anything to stop feeling what I'm feeling now.
But I will try to do it in a healthy way. I will face and process the pain, even while wanting to slam the laptop on my own fingers. I will write.
It hurts so bad. My heart. It feels like a black hole, sucking and gaping. Aching. Empty. But still so much pain.
I feel so unwanted. So rejected. So unvalued. Like I mean nothing. Like I am only good for serving others. Like if I can't do what they want then I am a waste of skin. Like I am selfish for wanting anything. Like I don't matter.
I feel like I am standing in the middle of a high school gym full of people and they are all laughing at me. Pointing and laughing. Calling me names. You're stupid. You're wrong. Why are you here? No one wants you here. No one likes you. You are ugly. You are worthless. You don't belong here. You are weak. You are lazy and good for nothing. We will use you, take what we want, and throw you back into the trash where you belong.
Look at you sitting there, crying like a big baby. You're so thin-skinned. You make such a big deal out of everything. It's not all about you, you know? Suck it up like the rest of us. We have problems, too, and you don't see us whining. We don't want to hear about your silly little problems. You're world isn't ending so quit being so dramatic.
Pull your self together. You're such an idiot. Sometimes life is hard; get used to it. Deal with it.
You're not worth my time. Get out of my face -- you make me sick.
**********
Author's note (the next day): Writing it out helped. I am feeling stronger emotionally today. I am feeling less vulnerable. I am not going to hurt myself. I am okay.
I've considered some of the coping mechanisms from my past: scratching a few deep lines into my arms, burning myself with the curling iron, taking something with a sedative effect (an extra Xanax maybe), as well as others I'm still not ready to talk about.
If I were a drinker, I would go out and get plastered. That sounds pretty good right now. Anything to stop feeling what I'm feeling now.
But I will try to do it in a healthy way. I will face and process the pain, even while wanting to slam the laptop on my own fingers. I will write.
It hurts so bad. My heart. It feels like a black hole, sucking and gaping. Aching. Empty. But still so much pain.
I feel so unwanted. So rejected. So unvalued. Like I mean nothing. Like I am only good for serving others. Like if I can't do what they want then I am a waste of skin. Like I am selfish for wanting anything. Like I don't matter.
I feel like I am standing in the middle of a high school gym full of people and they are all laughing at me. Pointing and laughing. Calling me names. You're stupid. You're wrong. Why are you here? No one wants you here. No one likes you. You are ugly. You are worthless. You don't belong here. You are weak. You are lazy and good for nothing. We will use you, take what we want, and throw you back into the trash where you belong.
Look at you sitting there, crying like a big baby. You're so thin-skinned. You make such a big deal out of everything. It's not all about you, you know? Suck it up like the rest of us. We have problems, too, and you don't see us whining. We don't want to hear about your silly little problems. You're world isn't ending so quit being so dramatic.
Pull your self together. You're such an idiot. Sometimes life is hard; get used to it. Deal with it.
You're not worth my time. Get out of my face -- you make me sick.
**********
Author's note (the next day): Writing it out helped. I am feeling stronger emotionally today. I am feeling less vulnerable. I am not going to hurt myself. I am okay.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
My Husband's Feelings
I don't claim to know what he feels. (Okay, sometimes I do; but just when we are arguing and he claims he isn't upset -- not here.) But I would like to share what he has expressed.
If I were reading this blog, and someone else were writing it, I would wonder how the husband feels. If he knows. So I want to answer that question.
He does know. He reads this blog and everything else I write and publish. He knows I write about things from our past that are not pretty.
He supports me and is proud of me.
It's difficult for him to read sometimes. He doesn't like remembering how ugly it was. He doesn't like that he did those things. I'm sure there is embarrassment, even though he hasn't said so.
But he also thinks it's incredibly brave. He understands that it's important to talk about these things, to help others see. Some of your comments have helped him see just how important it is, how it has touched your lives and helped you.
When I write something particularly offensive, like my last post, I talk to him first. I do not ask permission; that would be going backwards. That would be going back to when I was afraid to do something without his okay, when I was so worried about him and his feelings that mine didn't exist. Or worried about making him angry. Or representing him badly.
I tell him what I want to write about. Then I ask him how he feels about it. I tell him how I will approach it. I ask if he is ready. He shares any concerns he might have. He tells me what he'd prefer I not share, which is usually what I wouldn't have shared anyway (you know, gory details).
And then I write as honestly as I can. Before I publish I always look it over to see if I feel good about it. If I feel I represented everything accurately. If I stayed true to my promises to him. Then I publish.
He does not read them before I post.
Then I immediately call or text him to let him know it's done. I want him to read it so that he knows what others are reading. So he knows exactly how it unfolded. And, yes, I go into a little PTSD, worrying that I am in trouble until he signs off on it. That's going to take some time to get over.
I feel that it's important to consider his wants and feelings as I do this. I don't think it interferes with the process. But I am working on my marriage and to just throw him under the bus would not help that.
I just wanted anyone reading this to know where he stands. I have told him that if he ever wants to write a post here, he is welcome. Writing isn't really his thing, so he doesn't think he will want to. But the offer stands.
I hope this helps a few people understand a little better.
If I were reading this blog, and someone else were writing it, I would wonder how the husband feels. If he knows. So I want to answer that question.
He does know. He reads this blog and everything else I write and publish. He knows I write about things from our past that are not pretty.
He supports me and is proud of me.
It's difficult for him to read sometimes. He doesn't like remembering how ugly it was. He doesn't like that he did those things. I'm sure there is embarrassment, even though he hasn't said so.
But he also thinks it's incredibly brave. He understands that it's important to talk about these things, to help others see. Some of your comments have helped him see just how important it is, how it has touched your lives and helped you.
When I write something particularly offensive, like my last post, I talk to him first. I do not ask permission; that would be going backwards. That would be going back to when I was afraid to do something without his okay, when I was so worried about him and his feelings that mine didn't exist. Or worried about making him angry. Or representing him badly.
I tell him what I want to write about. Then I ask him how he feels about it. I tell him how I will approach it. I ask if he is ready. He shares any concerns he might have. He tells me what he'd prefer I not share, which is usually what I wouldn't have shared anyway (you know, gory details).
And then I write as honestly as I can. Before I publish I always look it over to see if I feel good about it. If I feel I represented everything accurately. If I stayed true to my promises to him. Then I publish.
He does not read them before I post.
Then I immediately call or text him to let him know it's done. I want him to read it so that he knows what others are reading. So he knows exactly how it unfolded. And, yes, I go into a little PTSD, worrying that I am in trouble until he signs off on it. That's going to take some time to get over.
I feel that it's important to consider his wants and feelings as I do this. I don't think it interferes with the process. But I am working on my marriage and to just throw him under the bus would not help that.
I just wanted anyone reading this to know where he stands. I have told him that if he ever wants to write a post here, he is welcome. Writing isn't really his thing, so he doesn't think he will want to. But the offer stands.
I hope this helps a few people understand a little better.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Sexual Abuse in Marriage
This is a very difficult post to write. For so many reasons. My husband and I are in a really good place right now. I have been able to function without any PTSD flare-ups for a while. And my memories are sparse from this time period.
But it won't go away. It needs to be written. It is an area that I have just begun to process, so there is still a lot of pain; my heart is racing and tears are streaming as I write this. It still hurts so much.
I do not intend to be offensive. I do not intend to be descriptive. However, I totally understand if you know me (or us) and don't want to read this.
Sexual abuse in marriage is a tough thing to judge. Only recently have laws changed that even acknowledge it. For so long, being married meant consent -- no matter how it was taken advantage of. Legally, there was no such thing as rape in a marriage.
Luckily, we aren't that blind anymore.
But abuse is a difficult thing to judge much of the time, no matter what kind. When does it cross the line?
For years, I knew I was unhappy. I knew something was terribly wrong. I knew I was not being treated as a daughter of God should be. I was not treated with value as a person. But I wasn't sure it was abusive. Now I am.
I have already written about how my husband was emotionally abusive. How controlling he was. And how I had no defenses against it. I have hinted at other abuse. But this time I am saying it.
For years, my husband was sexually abusive in our marriage. To the point that I could have pressed charges? I doubt it. To the point that I should have divorced him? Absolutely.
If I had known then what I know now, I would have. If he were still like that now, I would. Things have changed.
But I feel like I need to address this for others. There are others who have experienced this or are experiencing this or are doing this. They need someone to stand up and say it's not right.
I am standing up. It is not right.
It's not about sexual practices. It's not about whether or not to use toys. It's not about location. It's not about role play. It's not about having a difference of opinion on what is appropriate and what is not.
It is about one person forcing their wants on their partner. It's that simple.
Sometimes in a healthy marriage there is negotiation. I don't really want to, but I will because I want you to be happy. That's not what I'm talking about.
Honey, I am so uncomfortable with that. I really don't want to. Please don't ask me to do this. Please don't make me do this. Please don't do that. No. I said no. Please, no. Begging and pleading to be excused. And so many tears.
That's what I'm talking about.
I am talking about becoming emotionally violent when he didn't get his way. I am talking about refusing to speak to me for days until he got his way. I am talking about being extremely mean to the kids until he got his way (men quickly learn that women will do almost anything to protect their children, even sacrifice themselves). I am talking about withholding money until he got his way. I am talking about punishing me and/or the kids in any way he could until he got his way. I am talking about making me feel worthless for not meeting his needs; no, not needs - wants. I am talking about expecting that it was my job to be the whore from porn movies. Whenever and in whatever way he wanted.
I'm not talking about demanding sex. Although, if one person is demanding it I think that is abusive. I am talking about more than that. I am talking about asking me to do things I found offensive. I am talking about forcing things that were painful. I am talking about taking away all of my value as a person and making me an object.
He had become my world. He was the father of my children and the provider for our family. He had become my lifeline. He had rescued me from my life so he owned me. Unfortunately, I think we both believed this.
I did not talk to anyone about this. I was ashamed. And it was taboo. It was my problem to fix.
But he was my husband. It was a mutual relationship. What right did I have to say how the relationship would be?
It took me so many years to understand what was wrong. I violated many of my principles for him, because he demanded it. And then I felt so guilty. I felt like it was my fault for giving in. I felt so worthless for the thing I'd let him turn me into. It's horrible to feel more like a whore than a wife.
We make the sacrifices we need to in order to survive. That's what I did. I used the only tool I had: compliance. Giving in.
It was the only way I knew to try to give my kids a normal life. A life not filled with hatred and anger and fear. A life where their dad loved them and loved their mom.
It's not like this anymore. I have learned a lot about myself and my power to choose. I have learned that in a sexual relationship it takes two yesses to make it right. And only one no to make it wrong.
I have learned to trust and value myself. He has learned a lot, too.
He didn't see it. I have watched him grow to understand. He will probably always be the gas and I will always be the brakes. But I need that power to feel safe.
He knows that if that power is ever taken away from me, we will no longer be together. I am worth more than that.
There is still a lot of pain. Our past colors so much of our present. Any type of anger in conjunction with sex can send me into instant PTSD. We have a long way to go to heal this.
But I believe we can. Because both of us have opened our eyes and seen what it was. And we both hate what we see.
But it won't go away. It needs to be written. It is an area that I have just begun to process, so there is still a lot of pain; my heart is racing and tears are streaming as I write this. It still hurts so much.
I do not intend to be offensive. I do not intend to be descriptive. However, I totally understand if you know me (or us) and don't want to read this.
Sexual abuse in marriage is a tough thing to judge. Only recently have laws changed that even acknowledge it. For so long, being married meant consent -- no matter how it was taken advantage of. Legally, there was no such thing as rape in a marriage.
Luckily, we aren't that blind anymore.
But abuse is a difficult thing to judge much of the time, no matter what kind. When does it cross the line?
For years, I knew I was unhappy. I knew something was terribly wrong. I knew I was not being treated as a daughter of God should be. I was not treated with value as a person. But I wasn't sure it was abusive. Now I am.
I have already written about how my husband was emotionally abusive. How controlling he was. And how I had no defenses against it. I have hinted at other abuse. But this time I am saying it.
For years, my husband was sexually abusive in our marriage. To the point that I could have pressed charges? I doubt it. To the point that I should have divorced him? Absolutely.
If I had known then what I know now, I would have. If he were still like that now, I would. Things have changed.
But I feel like I need to address this for others. There are others who have experienced this or are experiencing this or are doing this. They need someone to stand up and say it's not right.
I am standing up. It is not right.
It's not about sexual practices. It's not about whether or not to use toys. It's not about location. It's not about role play. It's not about having a difference of opinion on what is appropriate and what is not.
It is about one person forcing their wants on their partner. It's that simple.
Sometimes in a healthy marriage there is negotiation. I don't really want to, but I will because I want you to be happy. That's not what I'm talking about.
Honey, I am so uncomfortable with that. I really don't want to. Please don't ask me to do this. Please don't make me do this. Please don't do that. No. I said no. Please, no. Begging and pleading to be excused. And so many tears.
That's what I'm talking about.
I am talking about becoming emotionally violent when he didn't get his way. I am talking about refusing to speak to me for days until he got his way. I am talking about being extremely mean to the kids until he got his way (men quickly learn that women will do almost anything to protect their children, even sacrifice themselves). I am talking about withholding money until he got his way. I am talking about punishing me and/or the kids in any way he could until he got his way. I am talking about making me feel worthless for not meeting his needs; no, not needs - wants. I am talking about expecting that it was my job to be the whore from porn movies. Whenever and in whatever way he wanted.
I'm not talking about demanding sex. Although, if one person is demanding it I think that is abusive. I am talking about more than that. I am talking about asking me to do things I found offensive. I am talking about forcing things that were painful. I am talking about taking away all of my value as a person and making me an object.
He had become my world. He was the father of my children and the provider for our family. He had become my lifeline. He had rescued me from my life so he owned me. Unfortunately, I think we both believed this.
I did not talk to anyone about this. I was ashamed. And it was taboo. It was my problem to fix.
But he was my husband. It was a mutual relationship. What right did I have to say how the relationship would be?
It took me so many years to understand what was wrong. I violated many of my principles for him, because he demanded it. And then I felt so guilty. I felt like it was my fault for giving in. I felt so worthless for the thing I'd let him turn me into. It's horrible to feel more like a whore than a wife.
We make the sacrifices we need to in order to survive. That's what I did. I used the only tool I had: compliance. Giving in.
It was the only way I knew to try to give my kids a normal life. A life not filled with hatred and anger and fear. A life where their dad loved them and loved their mom.
It's not like this anymore. I have learned a lot about myself and my power to choose. I have learned that in a sexual relationship it takes two yesses to make it right. And only one no to make it wrong.
I have learned to trust and value myself. He has learned a lot, too.
He didn't see it. I have watched him grow to understand. He will probably always be the gas and I will always be the brakes. But I need that power to feel safe.
He knows that if that power is ever taken away from me, we will no longer be together. I am worth more than that.
There is still a lot of pain. Our past colors so much of our present. Any type of anger in conjunction with sex can send me into instant PTSD. We have a long way to go to heal this.
But I believe we can. Because both of us have opened our eyes and seen what it was. And we both hate what we see.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Almost Ready
I know I've been away from this blog for too long. It's not that I don't have anything to write. Or even that I don't have the time or energy. It's that I know what I need to write next and it's a tough one.
I have been pondering how to approach it. I think I'm almost there. Soon. Maybe even today. But definitely soon.
I have been pondering how to approach it. I think I'm almost there. Soon. Maybe even today. But definitely soon.
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