I Find Joy in . . .

Connecting with people on a deeper level.

I know, right? Sounds a bit odd for an introverted survivor of childhood sexual abuse, but it's true. The introverted part of me has to take it in small steps. A few people at time, for a relatively short period of time.

This past weekend I did a retreat and it was fabulous, but by the time I got home Sunday night I was way over my people interaction, talk, and share quota, so I had to settle down in quiet with my eye bag and some rest to fend off a migraine. But it was so worth it!

I got to talk, share, and listen to like minded women about life's hurts, how we deal with them, and what we do with the lessons we learn. To be surrounded by 15 other women who've had their own hurts and are willing to embrace them, talk about them, and learn from them is so fulfilling and validating. And to have the opportunity to give back to others who understand pain and brokenness not as the end of something, but rather as the beginning of everything brought so much joy to my spirit.

I don't do chitchat well. I can't stay superficial for very long -- it's one of the good news/bad news aspects of my life experiences. These women didn't dwell in chitchat either! I've done spiritual retreats before, but most of them were more inwardly focused, and that's been a very good, very healing experience for me. But this one was more about others and how I can use my pain and hurt to connect with and love others. It's something I try to do here in this space, and something I want to get better at. 

I trusted in the safety of that space and those people. In God's love and protection. That he guided me to this event because he knew it was the right time and space for me. I told the participants and leaders at the the end of it all my biggest take away was that I NEVER got scared, panicked, or felt the need to run away and hide. I received words of validation, support, and praise without pushing them away. And hugs. Oh the hugs and loving touch. No desire to run. Open receptive arms from all of them and toward all of them. 

The blessing of realizing that it doesn't diminish or minimize my history to be able to talk about it and survive the sharing of it was remarkable. I am filled with hope and love from the weekend. And joy. Lots of joy.



(KarenBeth over at Finding the Grace Within offers a weekly link called Tuesday at Ten, so today I'm linking up with her.)

Unexpected Blessings

I don't blog on Sundays. I haven't blogged for almost 2 weeks. But I'm so excited I have to write this down RIGHT now.

I just came home from a retreat called "Healing Life's Hurts" with Fr. Matt Linn and it was awe inspiring. Hosted at Scarritt Bennett Center in conjunction with Dovehouse Ministries and AmberNest Spiritual Direction, the retreat title spoke to me in my continuing path of healing from childhood sexual abuse. My expectations going in were that there would be reliving of pain and trauma. Crying and mourning, followed by a sense of healing and recovery. It was so much more! 

Father Linn (Matt) led us in understanding the need to embrace God's love with gratitude, and how gratitude can be found in all of our experiences. Through a process of feeling our emotions we came to understand our experiences, forgive ourselves, understand forgiving others, and learned to be God's conduit to share His love with others.

I was strengthened to see my healing path, how far I have come, and inspired to continue sharing my life experiences to help others feel God's love while realizing they are not alone in their suffering. I see ways to serve God by serving others that will help them heal right along with me.

What a blessing! 

To all of the organizers and participants I want to say a huge THANK YOU! I'm sure this will become recurring fodder for more posts in the future, but for now I wanted to you all to know about this wonderful weekend while it was fresh on my mind.

Blessings to all!

Close Encounters

I had one of those encounters the other day that made me question my sanity and healing. Let me start by saying, this may not make sense to you. Perhaps my reactions are deeply etched in my psyche by the abuse, but that's part of the reason for putting it out here for others to see and, hopefully, comment on. 

I was sitting in the waiting room of a local business, reading my book (which we all know = my invisibility cloak), when a younger woman asked me if my basket contained crocheting or knitting. I told her it was crocheting, which then led to a discussion on the merits of each and my personal opinion that most people are either a crocheter or a knitter, even if they are capable of both. One thing led to another and as she was very interested in the pattern I was using, I handed her one of my cards and told her she could find the pattern on my blog.

I'm used to brief questioning when I share my card, as the primary topic listed is PTSD and child sexual abuse recovery. Most people move right on past that if they are interested in crafting or recipes. This woman sat and stared for a few seconds, and then asked, "What does this mean? Healing from PTSD?" I gave my quick and dirty answer -- I was diagnosed 14 years ago with chronic PTSD and the blog is a compilation of things I have found healing. She looked at me and said, "I'm going to cry."

I, of course, apologized for upsetting her (and felt my world start to tilt a bit). She said, she too had been diagnosed with PTSD, and she believed there are no coincidences in life. I felt my shell drawing in tighter around me.

This is the problem with being open about the abuse. I'm not always in a good place to share the healing. I've been going through some stuff myself right now that's taking a lot of my energy. I assured her she was welcome to check out the blog and garner what she could. Then I kept trying to figure out a way to get back to my invisibility cloak. Blessedly, her name was called and I was saved.

So here's the real issue, by the time I left, I couldn't shake that feeling that I had done something wrong, or left something unfinished, or worse yet, that I was now responsible for her healing (even though I have NO IDEA who she is!). Yes, I know it's not rational, but that didn't quell the words floating around in my head.

I shared a bit on Facebook and got some good support. I shared with my husband, and he didn't scoff or make fun of me. But I was tired. Rung-out, washed-up, fall-asleep-on-the-sofa tired at 4:00 in the afternoon!

And then, THEN. The next morning I went to a yoga class. A really good yoga class. Afterwards I'm talking to the instructor and she reprimands me for not having kept up with my yoga practice during the toughest portion of my healing. She too is a survivor, and it's what got her through it. I "should" have made yoga a priority. Somewhere in this discussion, I realized she didn't know my story and had no authority to judge what I'd done, but it made me so mad! I shared with her so she could better understand where I was in my practice, and she shat all over it (me). 

So I was rung-out, washed-up, fall-asleep-on-the-sofa tired by noon on Friday. Of course some of that could have been the class itself, or the fact that I fell in the mud afterwards walking to my car.

Nonetheless, I did survive. I'm not looking for approval (or maybe I am), but I do wonder why it matters so much to me if someone else can understand my reactions to these events.

Blessings!

Who Am I When No One Is Around?

Here's the thing about blogging about recovery. It's not a straight line, which can sometimes leaving me feeling as if people read and get really frustrated with me.

From the beginning of this path, one of my biggest fears was being judged by others. I needed EVERYONE'S approval, love, and acceptance. I suppose that was the only way I believed I could be safe. Of course the flaw in that concept is that it is impossible. No one is going to get approval, love, and acceptance all the time from everyone. It's not only impossible, it's not valuable. I suppose I had some sort of system in my head. There were people whose approval I knew I didn't need or want, based on their behavior. But I had a hierarchy that needed to be followed.

I still find myself caught up in the need for approval. I'll question conversations, text messages, or Facebook comments to see if I said anything I shouldn't have. Did I use the wrong word in that context, or worse yet misuse a word all together!

It's easier to let it go when it's via social media, but with people I see regularly it can be difficult, mostly because they are the one's who mean the most to me. The ones I want to love me unconditionally. 

I've been working on finding out my passions in this new year. Focusing on the things that bring me joy and help me feel fulfilled. Yesterday our minister asked us to answer some questions this week
 -- 1)Who am I when no one is around? 2) What breaks my heart? 
3) What am I going to do about it? 4) How will our congregation become more kingdom because of me? And then he read Exodus 24:7 -- Then he took the book of the covenant, and read it in the hearing of the people; and they said, “All that the Lord has spoken we will do, and we will be obedient.” 

He commented on the fact that the Israelites didn't necessarily understand why God wanted them to do all these things, but they agreed to do them, and then came to understand them. Sometimes we need to do the same thing. Practice God's word even if we aren't clear on the outcome. And nowhere in that does it tell me to make sure everyone likes me and approves of me. I'm told to obey with love for all.

So I'm working on that this week. Being in His word. Finding my passion in His kingdom. And following in obedience with love for all, myself included.

(You can listen to the entire sermon here.)

Blessings.

Wounds

"The defects and faults of the mind are like wounds in the body; after all imaginable care has been taken to heal them up, still there will be a scar left behind." 

-- French writer François de la Rochefoucauld

I've been thinking about scars lately. Recently I went to the doctor about some pain I was having in my foot. As she examined me, she asked about a scar on the top of my foot. I told her it was from surgery I'd had 6 or more years ago.

I rarely think about that scar anymore. Just after the surgery, while my foot was healing, I thought about it a lot. I was fascinated and repelled by it. Fascinated to think that a surgeon had cut into my foot and removed a growth that was causing me pain, and fascinated watching the healing take place. But repelled by how horrible it looked, even though I was going to feel so much better when it was healed. 

I have scars and wounds on my physical body, and I have scars and wounds on my emotional being. In many ways they require the same kind of care to heal. The scars from the emotional wounds may not be visible to others , but they are just as real, and usually much more painful for me. 

Healing is a process. It takes time and is never a straight trajectory. I forget that over and over again. But I also forget that my wounds don't really make me different from others. Everyone has wounds. They vary in intensity and frequency, but we all have battle scars that we carry around with us. 

It's taken me a long time to be able to look at my scars and not wince, or worse yet, feel responsible for them. I have good days and bad days. Unfortunately, lately there have been more bad days. But I hope I'm turning a corner. Again. 

This morning I'm trying another something new. Making some choices just for me without worrying about how others will perceive them. Little things, really, but big choices if I make them based on my on wants and wishes. And I'm reminding myself about that list as well.

Peace and blessings.

linking up with Write 31 Days

Barns, Wire, and Healing

It happened again last night. We were watching an old episode of "The Mentalist". It's one of my favorite programs. I am drawn to damaged heroes, go figure.

Jane and Cho are in a sub-basement where 3 skeletons have been discovered. They are investigating and I am intrigued with where the story will go. Jane points out wire wrapped around one of the victim's wrist. And that's when it starts. He wants outside and so do I. 

I look at Alan, but he hasn't noticed. I begin to slow my breathing. I'm relieved as they show Jane walk up the stairs and out into the sunlight. He inhales deeply, raising his arms to the sun. The camera pans back to show he's come out of a barn with the Red John symbol painted on it. But I am stuck on that barn. Looking out over a field. And the realization, just before Jane has it, that he only thinks he's safe there in the sunlight.

I've been in a barn with wire twisted around my wrist to hold me still. I've been desperate to escape the barn and flee into the sunlight, believing I will be safe there. It was all just a bit too familiar.

I kept breathing and reminding myself that, yes, there were lots of reminders here, but I want to watch these characters, and death was not my fate that day. I become intrigued again in the show, but I also start playing solitaire on my phone -- a basic escape, coping mechanism for me. I realize I'm following the episode, but not. And I accept that I may have to watch it again later, but I'll skip the scene in the barn, much the way my son always skips the opening scenes in "Disturbia" so he' doesn't have to see them again. To be wounded by them again. 

And I realize I'm am learning to cope with this history of mine. I'm controlling it much more than it is controlling me. Maybe that's what they meant by healing all those years ago. 


linking up with Just Write

Hands

He reaches out for me and I feel refreshed. A hug. A pat on the back. The pressure of her hand on mine. 

That touch of care and tenderness. I'm not sure tenderness can be expressed without touching. Words just don't send the same message. Nothing like the touch of a hand. And I crave those feelings.

After all the years and episodes of "bad touches" you'd think I'd shy away from physical contact, but I don't. I want it so desperately, but am so afraid of what might come with it. But I'm learning that most of the hands reaching out to me these days are hands filled with love and hope and healing.

I'm still not totally comfortable with receiving what those hands offer, but I want it so badly! So if I cringe or flinch, don't misunderstand. It's not that I don't want it. I'm just still programmed to assume it may hurt. 

linking up with Five Minute Friday

Catching My Breath

It snuck up on me this time. I've been busy and distracted with travel and life. Concentrating on other things, I was caught off guard by Memorial Day and the unfortunate effect it has on me.

I wrote about it the first time years ago. About how the changing of seasons from spring to summer triggers all kinds of scary stuff. 

Yesterday I sat in my therapist's office and told her I was scared and ashamed. I was afraid I was losing ground -- going backwards. I find myself distrustful of everyone, even myself. I can't concentrate, and I just want to sleep. I'm beating up on myself for not being more organized and fearing loss of control. I feel scattered and frantic.

Memorial Day came early this year. For some reason I thought I had another week. I hadn't consciously thought about the triggers involved with summer, and I think that made it much worse. Or maybe it's not worse. Maybe I'd just forgotten what it was like to walk around afraid all the time. 

The vast majority of the abuse occurred in the summer months. Time that is supposed to be reserved for joy, fun activities, and family. But every year, unbidden, my body reminds me of the abuse. Some internal clock turns on to prepare for the onslaught. The abuse itself ended a long time ago, but the effects are still triggered by the change in temperature and the summer attitude that takes over everyone around me.

I want to look forward to summer, and I do. But there is always this period of transition where I have to adjust. To remind myself that the abuse is over, and that it is normal to have a bit of struggle right now. 

I went to the allergist this morning because I've been having trouble breathing. She adjusted my asthma meds and was very sympathetic. I brought up the psychological aspect of triggers this time of year. She acknowledged that it may play a role in the difficulties. She also praised me for recognizing it and being willing to share it as a possibility, because it could effect how we treat this flare up. 

I'm home now with a new prescription, but I stopped on the way and treated myself to a diet Dr. Pepper and the time to make a list. A list similar to the ones I was making last month for Lent, reminding myself of the positive impact that attitude adjustment had on me.

I'm breathing easier, literally and figuratively, this morning. Facing down memories, triggers, flashbacks, and pollen with intentionality.

linking up with Just Write