Juxtaposition

Mama Kat gave me juxtaposing prompts this week.

List 7 things you miss about being a kid.

Write a post inspired by the word: bitter.

It's a double whammy for me. How do I determine what I miss from a childhood of broken memories? Am I bitter (angry, hurt, or resentful because of one's bad experiences or a sense of unjust treatment) about those broken memories? Maybe I have to answer both to answer either one very well.

What do I miss about my childhood? Well I miss thinking everything was normal, just the way it was supposed to be. The thing about kids is they tend to assume whatever their world looks like is reality for everyone. There is a (false) sense of security in feeling superior to other people. 

I also miss some really key people from my childhood. My great-grandmother called Nur (nuh) and her sister, Auntie (ainty) and her husband Uncle Horace. They were my havens of safety growing up. I doubt they knew it, but I sure did. The unconditional love they showed me probably kept me going, even through all the horrors.

There are a few toys from my childhood I wish hadn't gotten lost along the way, but I still have my treasured Dahlia and the red rocking chair I got the same Christmas she came to live with me.

I miss reading all night long, because I could. It's easier when you don't have anywhere to be the next day. And I miss eating Nana rolls until I was nearly sick, and fried chicken at my daddy's mama's house. I miss feeling as if I belonged with that group of people, but they're all gone now.

Am I bitter? I don't think so. My life wasn't a bowl of cherries, but it wasn't all bad either. I went through some horrific experiences, but I did have a family. A place to live and good food to eat. I had family who loved me as best they could, I guess. No, I'm not bitter. But I am sad. There are a lot of experiences I'll never have as they were meant to be. Like sex with my husband the first time, or feeling accepted and secure right away with other people. I missed out on childhood the way it was meant to be. Innocent. 

For whatever reason, I've never felt the need to play the "why me" card. "Why not me" has always been the question for me. I wouldn't wish those experiences on anyone else. Not anyone. No, not even the abusers themselves. It's not that I'm happy or okay that it did happen to me. I think I'm just accepting that what was, was. It's not something I can change, so there's no point dwelling on it.

It's taken me years to work through a lot of the issues, and I'm sure there will always be things that crop up. Things to be addressed as time goes by, but that's true for everyone. 

I guess my life is actually just like everyone else's. There were good things and bad things. Things I miss and things I'm glad are in the past. Life goes on.

linking up with Writer's Workshop and 31 Days of Writing

PTSD and Triggers

"There will always be triggers."

But so often in such unexpected places. A pin on Pinterest? Really? A simple crochet pattern?

It never occurred to me to steel my courage before going to Pinterest. Why would it? But there it was. Harmless to others and an immediate reminder for me of terror and pain.

Life can be a minefield for abuse survivors. I find myself going along just fine. Fully accepting my past while living in the present and moving toward the future with so much less fear. And then WHAM! The rug is pulled out from under me. I am a terrified 5 year old again (or 6 or 7 or 8 . . . ). 

I talked with my therapist about this after the last trigger hit. It caught me so off guard, and she reminded me that's the way of triggers and PTSD. I was reminded how much I hate the lasting impact of trauma. Trauma isn't a one time event. It stays with me indefinitely. Even when it's dealt with, it can still rise up out of nowhere and stab me in the chest. 

The key is to apply those lessons I've learned. To put all the therapy to use in that moment. To recognize what's happening and address what is real -- the abuse is not happening now. I have already survived this episode. This is just a reminder, and if I breathe deeply and focus on the present, I will survive this too. Being shaken is not a sign of weakness, but rather a normal reaction to a traumatic event. I'm not a bad person, living in the past, because the present reminds me of the past sometimes. I am a person who survived trauma. It's part of who I am. Every day.

What does it mean to you to be a "survivor"?

I saw this question on Twitter this morning (@NashvilleSAC) and it made me wonder how I define surviving.

Webster defines survive this way:

1 : to remain alive or in existence : live on
2 : to continue to function or prosper

So a survivor, presumably, is one who remains alive or in existence, or one who continues to function or prosper. Dictonary.com adds this to the definition: a person who continues to function or prosper in spite of opposition, hardship, or setbacks.

For me, it's important to include Dictionary.com's addition. To be a survivor you need to have experienced something that could have taken you down. But surviving, especially in relationship to trauma, means more to me than just remaining alive or continuing to function. Those are vital, of course, but I prefer to see them as first steps. 

Surviving is a process. Being a survivor will lead to prospering in spite of opposition, hardship, or setbacks, because all of this will happen. Because that is how real life is. We all suffer opposition, hardship, and setbacks, and we all have to pick ourselves up and keep moving forward.

So how do I define being a survivor? Facing the reality of what I experienced. Working, really hard, to accept that reality, and placing responsibility where it belongs. Letting go of fear and shame. Believing that I have the right to have a good life in spite of the horrible things that were done to me. Continuing to move forward toward positive goals: a relationship with God, family, and friends, all while helping others out along the way. All of this while recognizing that I can't make the abuse not have happened, but I can put what I've learned to good use for myself and others.

So yeah, I survived. I'm a survivor. But, no offense to Mr. Webster, I'm doing a lot more than just existing!

for additional information contact SAC

Happy Thoughts

Yesterday as I was catching up on blog reading, I ran across this post, and it struck a chord with me.


Sunday morning dh and I helped with a class on marriage. There was a lot of discussion about being who God made us to be while still respecting and honoring the differences in our spouses. We talked about those negative messages that get going in our heads, and how we can learn to stop them.


As an abuse survivor, I have a plethora of negative messages that bombard me regularly. Some are exact quotes from the abusers, but a lot of them are interpretations I developed over time from the treatment I received at those abusers' hands. For along time I didn't even know about this inner tape that played in my head. Years of therapy have helped me learn to recognize, acknowledge and stop the negative messages. It's been a process, at times slow and agonizing. I've felt really stupid at times for falling back into the same patterns of coping. I've been reminded, repeatedly, that I'm relearning how to see myself as God sees me. That means I'm relearning about who God really is -- not the judge and executioner, but a loving father who only wants what is best for me! As dh reminded me recently, how do I view ds when he messes up? I don't want to hurt him, I just want him to learn and grow to be the person God created him to be. 


So for today, I invite you to think on a few things with me.


1. Galatians 6:4-5 Each one should test their own actions. Then they can take pride in themselves alone, without comparing themselves to someone else, ⁵ for each one should carry their own load.


2. These three words: Transformation, renewal, transparency.


3. And finally this little song that may seem silly, but is a really good reminder for all of us.

Blessings and Namaste!

Saturday Poetry -- Surprise

i said

if i told

my father would never speak to me.

my mother would have a nervous breakdown.

my oldest brothers would be exposed and get sick.

their perpetrator friends would deny -- and then laugh.

my sister would hate the chaos and gain weight --

all the while denying.

my youngest brothers would not understand --

but they really would

sexual abuse runs in families you know -- a filthy epidemic.

society would point their fingers.

i sure do have a lot of power.

the world sure does revolve around me.

well nothing much happened

the world continued to spin on its axis

everyone denied

and 

i

got

healthier.

Cecilia, an abuse survivor