Spreading #SurvivorStrength

Today after reading +Ramblings of A Southern Angel  post that encouraged survivors to speak out several things started coming together in my mind.

The main thought I had is that Survivors spread Strength to other Survivors.   My brain thought and thought, trying to condense it down into a good hash tag.  At first I summarized it as Survivors Strengthening Survivors.  But really that all boils down to Spreading #SurvivorStrength.  In my mind I was tracing the legacy of survivor strength that gave me back my voice.  The more I went over the Survivors that inspired me the more I knew, strongly knew, that Survivors speaking out Spread #SurvivorStrength. I loved remembering the legacy of Survivors that lead me to my strength.  Let me recap that legacy to you.

The Trauma that breaks loose repressed Trauma memories.

It all started with life stacking trial after trial on me, until my entire world felt rocked to the core and I was just doing my best to get through each day one day at a time.  How many years ago was that now?  Is it really five years now?  I am not exactly sure.  I had two miscarriages that were very difficult for me, the first one right after announcing the baby at Christmas, that miscarriage sent me into shock (Oh, My Gosh! I just realized what I was experiencing at that time was a flash back to abuse).  Then I had a house fire that displaced my family for six months.  Upon moving back into my repaired home I had a third miscarriage.  All of this happened in a short time period.  My counselor says  one trauma can cause the experiences from another trauma to surface.  Well this did, bubbling up to the surface were memories of father daughter sexual abuse that ended up only being the tip of the iceberg.

Visiting Teachers and Women in the Church

My dear visiting teacher came over to my home, along with a lady in the ward who had some mental health expertise.  These wonderful ladies listened to me with sympathy and compassion.  After hearing me out the woman from my ward recommended that I see a more skilled counselor.  I had been seeing a crisis counselor that was provided by my husbands work for free.  Their visit lifted my mood.  But I never knew then how much that one visit would change my life in the future.

Understanding Sisters

I had only seen the tip of the iceberg.  I believed that was the sum total of the abuse.  I believed that I should be healed, considering how small the tip was.  But I mentioned this tip to my sisters and they were understanding and nonjudgmental.  I felt awful mentioning it to them, and feared I would ruin people for talking about it.  But I was only talking about the tip, and this little bit of talking did not rock any boats.

The Memory that could not be repressed.

After some minimal discussion of the tip of the iceberg I felt it was most expedient if I moved on with my life, ignored the iceberg, and hid the complicated emotions that came with it away.  I managed to keep it hidden for about two years.  Eventually we bought our own home and moved out of a family rental.  Once established in my home I felt safety and security to a greater degree than I had ever felt before.  It was at this time when awful complicate emotions, of the tip of the trauma, would not leave me alone.  In spite of this I still tried to hide it and repress it.

Night after night I stayed up all night crying, so full of emotional pain that my whole body ached and I felt I could not contain the pain.  Anguish, emotional anguish would be the best way to describe how I felt.  I would cry and moan and curl up in pain.  I did not understand this pain. I told myself it was wrong and misplaced.  Because the pain came with severe negative judgements of myself I hid the pain, from everyone, even my husband.

The seed plated two years earlier sprouts

Remember the lady in my ward who recommended I see a counselor two years earlier?  She continued to check in with me from time to time.  Still, even so many years later.  She asked me if I would like to have a free consultation from the counselor she was an office manager for.  I politely thanked her, and told her that I did not need to see a new counselor.

One evening as I was overwhelmed with anguish, I remembered her polite invite.  Desperate to have a way to release the pain I emailed her in the middle of the night.  I told her that what I was emotionally experiencing was awful, that I would be in complete denial tomorrow morning, and believe that I was doing fine.  I did not want to let my denial take over and stop me from seeking help.  I asked her to please not let me forget that I need help, even when I was in denial.  I sent this email, felt peace, and was able to sleep again.  She did not forget.  She politely asked me from time to time if I was ready to try a new counselor.  Finally one day I was brave enough to set an appointment to see the counselor.  I missed my first appointment, and was very late to my second appointment, because I was so resistant.

An Excellent Counseler

Fred Riley, with Riley Individual Family and Marriage Counseling was a breath of fresh air from the other counselors I had seen before.  He had a way of validating my long repressed feeling, giving me comfort, and thoughtful insights.  Eventually I began to feel comfortable in counseling, until it became a welcome weekly appointment.  Now I have seen Fred for three years.  We are speaking of a future time, where I have grown enough from counseling in order to no longer need it.  I see that in the near future, for now I am thankful for the support I am receiving.

Wow this has gotten rather long.  I will have to discuss the second phase of my healing, the strength to speak out,  in another blog post.

Boogie Man in a Suit

My dad fits your standard respectable clean cut look.  He practically lives in suits.  When I was little he wore a suit to work and to church.  Only on Saturdays did my dad wear casual clothes.  Very respectable don't you think?  (Rolls eyes, because it is the respectable look he is going for)  Even today now that he runs his own business he wears a suit.

It is interesting to me that my previous blog post about the boogie man included this above image of a man in a suit.

A while back I had a nightmare.  It was triggered by two things.  First off I had been intimate with my husband that night, and second in the middle of the night I developed a rather severe stomachache.

In this dream I was young, I estimate about seven.   A man that looked like my dad let himself into my bedroom.  He was clean shaven, his hair was cut and styled very neatly.  He was wearing a suit.  He was in a position of authority in the church.  He informed me that he and I were to be married.  I was confused and wanted to know what that meant but I was too shy to ask questions of such an important man.  He then started to take sexual advantage of me.  I did not understand what was going on.  But my childhood brain hoped it meant that I got my own little house to play house in.  The dream then started to parallel the intimate encounter I just had with my husband, but this time I was a little girl and the man was an unknown man who was an authoritative position in the church.

After some time I was left curled up on my bed, under a blanket, without clothes, feeling ashamed.  The man was playing with a young baby that somewhat symbolized my own youngest child, and somewhat symbolized my younger sister.  Then my young mom and my young father opened the door.  They were appalled that I let myself be taken advantage of. They politely thanked the strange man,  now fully dressed in his suit again, and politely escorted him to his car outside the house.  Then returned, looked on me with shame, and closed me in my room.

I lay there dejected, full of guilt, and clothesless.

Then my bigger, protective, determined sister, the one just older than me, come into the room.  Only she was upset for me.  Only she cared and felt anger towards the stranger.  She ran to see if the stranger had left. He had.  She then called the police.  Then she picked me up, wrapped up in blankets.  She took me to the hospital to be examined.  I lay on a hospital bed, with no clothes, wrapped up in blankets, unresponsive to the world, immersed in horrible emotions.  The nurse and her talked around me in very hushed tones.  I started to convulse and go into shock. I was glad that the pain and anguish I was feeling inside was displaying itself in a way others could see outside.  Then the dream ended.

No wonder men in suits give me the creeps.  No wonder why I don't want my husband to be clean shaven.  I look back now and realize I have always felt nervous around clean shaven, respectable looking men in suits.  Which basically is most all church leadership.

Kudos for Healing for Secret Hurt by Berean Bible Church

This video tackles the topic of abuse in a brave and very appropriate way.  See it in its original viemo location.  Healing for Secret Hurt

#GenerationalChains

Not Everyone Heals

In order to give me comfort people will say things like:  It will all turn out for the better.  God will not give you more than you can handle.  You must have a really strong spirit because you are being tried so much.  I know that these people mean well.  But when one looks at these cliches it is plain that they don't really hold truth in them or comfort.


Look at the world around you.  Three in every ten women here in the US have suffered some form of sexual assault.  These statistics are for our westernized country with laws that are intended to bring justice and protection to the people.  What about third world countries?  Or countries where women are treated as lower class citizens?  In these countries rape and incest are a way of life.  The facts are most victims in this world will not heal in this lifetime.  Most will live self destructive lives constantly weighed down by the heavy burden of abuse.  Most of these people live in broken systems where victims' rights are not valued and perpetrators are in control

When I hear rosy predictions that assume everything will turn out ok in the end.  My mind knows that a happy ending is not inevitable.  It is not a given that everything will turn out ok.  Statistically it is more likely I will live a life slave to my victimization, than it is that I will heal.  Statistically a rosy picture is not in my future.

In the LDS and Christian communities it is a given that incest is one of the worst possible sins a person can commit.  This is such a strongly ingrained belief that just the word incest makes most people feel sick to their stomach.  So while the word carries so much disgust and discomfort why is it that healing and "getting over it" is socially treated as a given, as something easy that just automatically happens?


Let me tell you what automatically happens.  One of two things.  Victims will either rebel against our society, that still favors the perpetrators and judges the victim.  They will live a life full of failed abusive relationships, while chasing addictions.  Or the victim will live a life of pretend.  Now, I can feel some victims getting mad, as I say the word pretend.  Because that is not how we think of it.  We honestly want to be normal.  We don't fully understand how strongly the abuse affects our everyday lives.  So we  do everything we can to follow the system, keep in line, and basically look good.  We will tell you we are doing good, and we are fine, when our standard for life is emotional pain and suffering we are trying to run from.  While healing past these realities is not automatic, it is possible.

You see it is my strong belief that the biggest sins are such a big deal because of the level of damage they do.  Incest, rape, sexual abuse of any kind, are very significant sins, because their effects are devastating.  I really honestly mean devastating, I am not exaggerating.

The facts are abuse is devastating.  Abuse corrodes societies.  Abuse destroys lives.  Abuse wrecks hope. Abuse is devastating.  Healing is not a given, it is not automatic, it is not easy.  Most people won't heal. Most stories won't have a happy ending.

If you learn of a victim/ survivor of abuse and are not sure what to do or say in that awkward social moment where you want to give comfort but don't know how to, here are some ideas.  Let their hurt be real.  Let it be valid.  Tell them you are sorry they have been hurt so badly.  Sympathize with their struggles.  Understand that they are fighters and are fighting against a lot.  Understand their trial is real.  Honestly that is probably something we long for the most.  Someone to just believe us, someone to just believe that this is hard.  Someone to help us feel valid in our deep pain and struggle.  And maybe if you give us room to be hurt we will be able to stand on our feet with confidence, and know our hurt is real.  Once the pain is validated, we can then start to soothe it, heal it, and grow beyond it.  But growth and a new life will never come until the pain is real.

#GenerationalChains

My Father the Boogie Man

This Post is being reposted from my former blog Daughter of a Perpetrator.  It was originally posted on Wednesday, December 5, 2012. 

I just got off the phone with my younger sister.  My niece has autism.  My sister is a very attentive and caring mother.  Her concern for her daughter has turned her into quite the advocate.  My sister runs a nonprofit organization for special needs people and that is just one of her many forms advocacy.  I love listening to my sister and hearing all she does to help her daughter and the autism community at large.  Really honestly I love talking to her about it. 

But when I got off the phone today I gave a sigh.  Part of me wants to be an advocate for LDS victims of sex crimes.  But who can be an advocate against boogie men, when your own father is a boogie man.  When he is still alive.  When he has never served any jail time, or even seen a judge.  When he still lives a seemingly normal and respected life.  If I start to advocate people will tell me I just want to knock a good man off of his pedestal.  Well they would be partly right. I would love to knock down the boogie man.  I would love to take away the power he feels when he is a respected member of the community, that is his evil source of power. 

This is why daughter holds the place of my  name and I hide behind that term.  If I were to start talking about boogie men, people may temporarily perk up their ears.  But then they would turn and look at my father, and think something like "him?  He is the boogie man?  He does not scare me."  Then they would walk away and consider my claims to be all trumped up.  People most often are not afraid of something they see, that looks normal.  No, a father dressed in a suite with a charming smile holds little ground on public fear, compared to the boogie man who is undefined and unseen.

#GenerationalChains

Welcome

Welcome to my Blog...

Previously I have blogged at Daughter of a Perpetrator.  Now a while later I feel that title is taking too much identity from who my father is.  I talk about why  I chose that title in this blog post Daughter vs. Victim, Survivor, Thrivor.  I will be featuring some of the posts from DoP on here from time to time.

Yesterday I turned to a small group of ladies who have been allot of support to me.  I asked them for advice as I stepped out more boldly into the anonymous blogger world.  The thing we debated about the most was the title of this blog.  Should we include words like incest, abuse, sexual abuse, familial sexual abuse.  One thing was clear, the word incest has the power to make people feel sick just reading it.  But also the word gets directly to the point and allows me to be found by my target readers.  At first I made the title of this blog Breaking the Chains of Incest.  But then, I started to wonder if the word Incest carried with it the connotation that the abusive relationship was somehow consensual.  In the end having the word incest ablaze on my blog title made me feel uncomfortable.

I blog in my head all day. Yesterday I had allot to say, that I felt was important.  Now today I sit down to blog and the reality of people reading my blog makes my head buzz.  DoP was easier.  No one knew it was there, but me.  I plan this blog to be a place for me to release the activist energies I find inside of me.  Each step of stepping out more, though annomomously, feels challenging.  But someday that all will be old hat, and my mind will express my many thoughts.

#GenerationalChains