skip to main |
skip to sidebar
I have to write this letter. I feel as if I have tried to say these things over and over again, so what is the point in trying once more? I usually write on the computer, not trusting my hand to handle the stress of writing these kinds of words. But I’m sitting in the café and my computer is at home on my desk.
I pull out a spiral notebook and my new pen. Writing in longhand is so personal. It puts me in touch physically with the words in a way that the computer keyboard does not. My hand must form each letter, each word. I have to slow down my thoughts to so my hand can keep up. I am forced to think through each word in a more elemental way. This is good and bad.
I start out calmly enough. I am numbering my points as I try to explain (again) the rift and what the exact cause is. I am respectful and thoughtful as I write these words, trying to spare their feelings while still getting the point across. But as my hand moves along the page, it becomes harder and harder to keep the letters well-formed and evenly spaced.
I stop and breathe. I do not want the writing to look like the ravings of a lunatic, but I cannot hide the emotion. It comes pouring out through the tip of the pen.
I arrive at the fourth point, and I cannot control the pen well at all. The letters are jagged and jerky. I am neither weak nor fragile. I am strong. What you perceive as fragility is self-preservation, healing, and honoring myself and my needs. If only my handwriting showed how deeply I believe this.
The words become more and more definitive and deliberate. I will not be in a relationship with people who continue to hurt me whether intentionally or not. I am offended that you consider me so shallow and saddened that you view me in this way. I am appalled that you have treated my husband so thoughtlessly.
I can’t go on any longer. If I were typing this, I might go on and on for pages. But the decline of my handwriting forces me to see the depth of my pain and anger. I cannot continue. My whole body is enveloped in the emotion. The simple act of writing these words has opened a fissure in my calm veneer. I am in a public place and if I continue allowing my hand to express these feelings, I may not be able to keep up the calm visual persona I desire.
I cap the pen. I close the notebook. I breathe.
(originally posted July 27, 2012)
Last night I found myself in unusual territory. As a survivor of child sexual assault (CSA), I try to offer support to others who have been victims. I feel totally inadequate as a rule. I don't believe I'll "get over" what happened, and I'm not even sure I'll "get beyond" it. I think of the abuse as something that is part of my history, just like anything else -- going to school, getting married, having children.
But last night, another survivor posed some questions to me. I answered with what had been my experience in healing, because I believe every road is different. Each trauma has it's own persona that must be handled in its own way. What works for me may not work for you.
We talked about medicines, panic attacks, triggers, reactions, sex, love, children, and marriage. Because there is no part of my life that isn't impacted by the abuse.
After awhile I needed to get away from it. I'm still figuring this out for myself, and don't see myself as any kind of role model. I do think I understand the Hippocratic oath a little better these days -- "First, do no harm".
What I say to another survivor can help or hurt, and so I must watch my words and intentions oh so carefully. I only want to help, but I recognize how easy it is to hurt, unintentionally.
Here's what I do know -- healing comes from telling. You will never heal until you share. I was never meant to carry this load at all, but I was certainly never meant to have to carry it all alone.
Accept that you can't undo it. No bell, once rung, can be un-rung. Stop waiting for the abuse to go away. It's not going to.
Be kind to yourself. Honor is a big word in CSA recovery, and with good reason. Learn to treat yourself honorably. You ARE worth it and you DO deserve it.
Maybe this is rambling. Maybe this is journaling. But maybe it will help someone else. God knows that's all I want to do.
Blessings.
I'm trying something new this holiday season. I'm taking care of myself, asking for help, and accepting when help is offered.
The holidays are rough for a lot of people, and that includes me. I don't have a Norman Rockwell family situation. I have struggle, obligation, guilt, and dysfunction. As a friend with similar issues said recently, "I'd be happy to stay on the couch from October through December just to avoid the drama". I feel her pain.
So this year I'm taking a new approach. I bought Mandy Steward's Advent calendar for self-care. It's full of daily reminders to be intentional in our care for ourselves as we are caring for others.
I've also collected a variety of Groupons over the past few months to use for myself -- massage, mani/pedi, a restaurant to try, and a trip to a pottery studio.
I'm buying fewer gifts with more intention. My goal is to purchase only for those I want to purchase for, and to make those gifts meaningful to those people. That's something that's gotten lost for me over the past few years. I want to reclaim it.
More importantly, I'm going to honor what I feel about Christmas. I am going to make it about what is important to me, my husband, and kids. That's it. No Martha Stewart angst. No comparison to what everyone else is doing (or says they are doing). No setting myself up to get hurt. I will honor this holiday as the holy day I choose to see it as.
Will you join me in this? Are you already doing this? Share some of your ideas.
Blessings.
linking up at imperfect prose on thursdays
Yesterday our minister started his lesson with a reminder that the holidays aren't always the best of times for all people. A variety of issues impact our enjoyment of this time of year. He encouraged those who are hurting to reach out and not isolate themselves, and those who find this a joyous time of year to help and encourage those who struggle. As someone who has mixed feelings concerning the holidays, I really appreciated his laying it out in the open like that.
The lesson was on Cain and Abel. The idea that those who are nearest and dearest to us can inflict the most pain -- sometimes intentionally and sometimes because they themselves are hurting. Whatever the pain and whatever the cause, we are called to love one another. Even those family members we don't like! I joke because this is a real dilemma for me.
My past is littered with abusers. Over the course of my young life I was abused by five different people. Of the abusers two stand out as the "worst". They overlapped, but were completely unaware of each other. One was the student in the study, that I have written about before. He molested me on two separate occasions, and was a constant fixture in my life for a couple of years. The other is a cousin. I haven't written about her here yet. I don't know where to begin or how much to tell. She started when I was 5 and it went on until I was 9. She was sadistic. But neither of these impact the holidays as much as another one.
I will remain vague, as I do not wish ill will on this person's immediate family. He came into my life when I was a teenager. I didn't like him from the beginning. He became part of my family, so I did the best I could to stay away from him. He made passes and unkind comments over a period of years. The culmination was a rape when I was 21. When I finally told my family there was confusion, pain and disbelief. To my horror, when I said I couldn't stand to be around him they chose him over me. So now for the holidays, he spends the time with my family while I try to create new traditions and memories for myself, my husband, and my kids.
Every year I question whether I have made the right choice; whether I am being too harsh; whether I am the problem in the family and not the other way around. I pray. I try to pray openly, listening for God's response. Invariably I feel the response is to continue on this path. To honor myself and teach my children about that honor while still honoring (to the best of my ability) my parents, but it's hard. So yesterday was a really tough day for me. I'm glad that our minister tells it like it is, I just wish I could get one of those notarized papal bulls telling me for sure that I'm doing this okay. Since I don't think that's going to happen this year (or any other year, for that matter) I'll keep praying, talking to people I trust, and working on trusting myself.
