Know

I think I know things. But then I forget them. That must be how it works, because I keep "learning" and "knowing" the same things over and over again.

Over the weekend I read a quote that I really liked:

"During sexual abuse, children feel & incorporate the rage, pain, shame, and sense of perversion that the perpetrator is projecting. They take these feelings into the very core of themselves, & they are badly traumatized by the emotions surrounding the assault, as well as by the assault itself.” Repressed Memories: A Journey of Recovery From Sexual Abuse by Renee Fredrickson, Ph.D.

I immediately copied and pasted it to my my Facebook wall. Then I went hunting for the book cited. I found it on Amazon in short order and noticed it had a small number of reviews and they were mixed at best.

I scanned through the reviews and quickly saw the recurring issue of repressed memories and whether or not they are valid. 

That was all it took to send me panicking down a rabbit trail I thought I'd long left behind. Did I make all this stuff up? How accurate are my memories? Can I be trusted? And so I deleted the quote from wall. Black and white. All or nothing.

The fact is, that description still rings true to me, regardless of what mistakes the author may have made in her professional life. The physical damage done to me was enormous, but the emotional toll it took has been the most long lasting. Physical wounds heal in their appointed way, but emotional wounds are often neglected or ignored outright. 

These were the questions that made up my panic driven life for years, and I fell right back into that trap. It took a couple of days to pull myself out of it. This morning I woke up with a clearer picture of reality and the role that my memories play in my life. 

And once more I know that I'm not crazy, just hurt. And I'm putting that quote back on my Facebook page.

linking up with 31 Days of Writing and Five Minute Free Writes

Learn

It's Sunday morning and my dh comes home from Malaysia tonight. He is flying from Hong Kong to Dallas, TX right now, and hopefully getting some sleep.

What have I learned while he's been gone? That I don't sleep or keep a schedule well when he's not around. And that video chatting is better than not hearing from him, but it's a far cry from face to face time spent together. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled that I could see his face and hear his voice, but there is a stilted nature to these conversations. Maybe we need better equipment. Maybe it's just the distance between us, but it was difficult to converse casually with each other. 

I knew I didn't sleep well without him before he ever left, but as I mentioned earlier this week, I spent some time trying to determine more specifically why. I thought about the idea of safety. The concept that I'm not dependent on him to "keep me safe". I am an adult. Fully capable of taking care of myself. 

I don't know that I've fully conquered this sleeping alone demon, but I certainly made some progress.

linking up with 31 Days of Writing and Five Minute Free Writes

Gray Areas

A lot of people in my world know my family of origin. There are certain settings that make it nearly impossible to avoid conversations about my parents and siblings. Over the years I have chosen, what I call "The High Road", in these conversations. I listen attentively as I am told in glowing terms what wonderful people they are. I am quick to give credit where credit is due, praising their individual skills in their chosen fields. 

It's been an interesting path for me to navigate. When I first began to address the abuse I suffered, I promised my family I would not cut them out of my life. I made that promise because I was more concerned about them than I was about myself. I made it at time when I assumed they would support me fully in my efforts to heal. As time passed it became apparent that they were not going to be a positive force in my healing, so I took a break from them. 

I kept it quiet, only letting my closest friends know about the estrangement. When people would ask about my family, I would answer honestly and kindly without mentioning our strained relationship. It was hard. Listening to people tell me of the respect they had for my parents and siblings sometimes left me feeling as if I were living a lie. A lie I had worked hard from which to untangle myself. 

I've since learned that it's okay to give them credit. To allow other people to retain their positive memories of my family. It doesn't negate the troubles we've had. The process has helped me learn again the reality that few things in life are black and white. Gray abounds in relationships.

Recently I had one of those conversations that emphasized the juxtaposition this can lead to. I was discussing with an acquaintance some of the details of the abusers. I had just mentioned to her the difficulty of dealing with compliments about people connected to the abusers when another woman came up. She had just been told of my connection with one of my siblings. She began to give me a glowing description of my sibling's strengths and gifts. All the while I was standing there wanting to turn to the acquaintance and say, "See? This is what I'm talking about." But of course I didn't. Instead I affirmed my sibling's gifts and skills and removed myself from the conversation. As I left the gathering I felt the old feelings creeping in through the back of my neck. Had I spoken out of turn? Had I lied? Should I have kept quiet?

It's a tightrope walk at times. Honoring myself while being respectful of the people who've let me down.

Linking up with 31 Days of Writing  

New

Last night I attended an opportunity. It was a chance to meet some new women, and find out about friendships -- lasting ones, seasonal ones, new ones, old ones. 

Women need friends. (I guess men do too.) We have a gut wrenching need to connect with others and to feel connected to them. 

I am blessed to have friends that I've known for over 35 years, and I wouldn't trade them for the world, but what I don't seem to have are women friends at church. And I need them too. 

I'm stretching out of my comfort zone and into new areas. I sat in a room full of women last night. I listened to the speakers talk about the benefit of friends. How to be friends. How women can be their own undoing with friends. I stood up and told them I need some friends at church, and then I stayed around and tried to talk.

I don't have a new friend this morning, but I've got a much better chance at developing some new friendships in the future.

Linking up with 31 days of writing and Five Minute Friday

This Time Last Year

This time last year I was attempting my first run at 31 Days of Writing. But I was also processing a tragedy that I was on the edges of. Because I was a distant participant, I didn't feel it was acceptable to be as upset as I was. Last year I wrote one post about it here. What I didn't understand at the time was how lasting the effects would be. How the incident would impact me over a period of days and weeks. And how it would trigger memories of my experiences of abuse.

Isaac was a young man, my son's age, whom we had known since they were both in kindergarten. They played together throughout elementary school, but then grew apart for all the usual reasons. This time last year my son was away at college. Isaac was attending a local university. He killed himself. 

As the news began to spread via social media, I was concerned about my son finding out. How it would happen, and my not being there to help him in some way. Obviously I was overwhelmed for Isaac's family, but I knew they had a wide circle of friends and family to support them as they began to walk this horrible path.

I contacted my son. Yes, he'd heard. Yes, he was okay. He'd let me know what he learned and he'd be home the following weekend.

It is at times like these that the six degrees of separation become so apparent. As the week passed I kept meeting up with other people who knew the family from different arenas. Friends of friends. As is often the case with suicide, details were sketchy. People kept trying to find a way for it not to be suicide. An accident perhaps. Unintentional. But suicide is suicide.

I found myself feeling anxious all the time. Wanting and needing answers. Explanations. I became short tempered with people over inconsequential things. I was trying to help everyone else cope, but I couldn't see that I was being overwhelmed myself.

It's been a year now. I have had time to process the loss. To let go of the need to know all the details. The need to understand the unfathomable.

Isaac's family left town for the anniversary. They didn't go near social media or their phones. They let themselves grieve and remember. I'm glad they made a special space for themselves and for that day. They recognized what they needed and honored it.

Life doesn't come with an instruction book really. During the good times that can be tough, but during the horrible times the only thing that gets any of us through is faith. Belief that God is in control. Even if we'll never understand how it all fits together.

Peace and blessings.

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

A Corner of My World

linking up with Wordless Wednesday

31 Days of Writing -- 2014

Each year Nesting Place hosts The 31 Days Writing Challenge during the month of October. This year Heading Home is upping the ante with 31 Days of 5-Minute Free Writes. What's a girl to do?

I've decided to sort of blend the two. Can't promise only 5 minutes of writing each day, and I can't promise I'll use Kate's prompts each day either. What I do promise is to write everyday about something important to me.

# # #

He's been out of the country 5 full days now. I've gotten to video chat most days, so I get to see his face and that's a good thing. I've gone about my business pretty well, but his absence does make the days take on a strange lack of order. No morning phone call to say hello. No lunch time check in. No call late in the day to see if he needs to pick up anything. No coming in and talking about the day while eating dinner together.

Going to bed is the toughest. I'm used to being the one to lock up and turn off the lights. Once he's in bed and his head hits the pillow, he is out. What I'm not used to is crawling into an empty bed. To sleeping all night without random noises and shifting around. I guess that's true for any couple who've been together as long as we have.

There's another aspect to it for me though. Each night as I close up the house and get into bed, a little voice in the back of my head triggers a very old warning. You can't be sure something bad won't happen tonight.

Two of the abusers chose night time as the time of attack. 

The cousin would lull me into a false sense of security and rest, sometimes sleep, before launching her brutal attacks. Once in the iron bed at my grandmother's house. Other times in her bedroom at the farm.

The man who raped me as an adult woke me in the middle of the night by touching me and kissing me, before he assaulted me (the touching/kissing were part of the assault, weren't they). 

So each night as I settle into my bed, without my husband at my side, that little voice whispers, and I try to shut it down. And I feel stupid all over again, because I know I'm safe. I know the likelihood of anything happening is almost nil.

Yesterday I talked with my therapist about it. I told her I'd tried doubling my anxiety meds. I'd tried a glass of wine before bed. She suggested camomile tea and a little yoga, but mostly she suggested kindly reminding myself that I'm not a child anymore. That I have put in place reasonable precautions -- a safe neighborhood, locked doors, an alarm system, not to mention two dogs. I am safe. I have a phone by my bed to call 911 if something were to happen. I can take care of myself, because I am not a child anymore.

But it brings back all the old fears, and then I feel stupid again for worrying. Millions of women go to bed in their own homes every night without their bodies tensing and twisting into pretzels. They sleep through the night and wake ready to face to the day. Of course most of them don't have my history -- my memories.

Last night I tried the self talk and a bit of stretching before bed. The anxiety still rose in my chest, and, yes, I woke up once in the night, but was able to go back to sleep. Deep sleep came with the rising sun (safety). But I'm up and facing the day. I'm talking about my fears, and that does seem to put them into a more realistic perspective. 

And I'm repeating a new mantra -- I am safe. I am not stupid. I can do this. 

Peace and blessings.

linking up with 31 Days of Writing

Day 1 -- see above

Day 2 -- This Time Last Year

Day 3 -- New (Five Minute Friday)

Day 4 -- Gray Areas

Day 5 -- Learn (Five Minute Free Writes)

Day 6 -- Know (Five Minute Free Writes)

Day 7 -- The Simple Woman's Daybook

Day 8 -- Say

Day 9 -- day 9

Day 10 -- Care (Five Minute Friday)

Day 11 -- What to Do

Day 12 -- Day 12

Day 13 -- Wounds

Day 14 -- The Simple Woman's Daybook

Day 15 -- A Little Shameless Self-Promotion

Day 16 -- Adjust

Day 17 -- Long (Five Minute Friday)

Day 18 -- House of Mess

Day 19 -- Honor

Day 20 -- Fear 2.0

Day 21 -- The Simple Woman's Daybook

Day 22 -- Ramblings of a Disorganized Blogger

Day 23 -- Anachronism

Day 24 -- Dare (Five Minute Friday)

Day 25 -- Fun Girls and Patio Life

Day 26 -- 

Day 27 -- Keeping House

Day 28 -- The Simple Woman's Daybook

Day 29 -- Unite (Five Minute Free Writes)

Day 30 -- Juxtaposition

Day 31 -- Leave (Five Minute Friday)