A Respectable Adulthood

*Trigger Warning: PTSD, Sexual Abuse Recovery, Eating Disorder*

Adulting is hard.

I can’t tell you how often I’ve said it to my kids the last few years.

However… it is true.

He graduated at the end of the last Century and we moved to Los Angeles. Adult Careers, Adult Pressures, Adult Problems all began to add up. It began to crowd out the sweet start we had in that College town.

In the course of healing my insides, It came time to let go of an outside solution that no longer worked for me. I actively practiced an eating disorder.

Anorexia. I like to call her Orphan Anne.

She and I became friends when I was 14, shortly after I decided to put Death in the Time Out corner. She helped me manage emotions, stress. Anne helped me when I didn’t want to feel my body during unwanted sexual encounters. Her friendship was vital in surviving life growing up at home.

Here I was though. Healing, learning about a Loving God. Wanting to attach to my body and feel its needs. To learn how to take care of it.

Annie, like all addictions, did not like the idea of giving up her control.

For many years we fought. I would eat “normally” for a while. Then step on a scale or catch myself just right in a mirror and loose my appetite for days. I would rationalize that I wasn’t really that bad because my spine didn’t stick out of my skin. Just a respectable amount of pelvic bone, like the models in the magazines. As long as my stomach was flat, life was sane. Or so Anne believed.

Now here I was. An Adult in Recovery and constantly at war with food, myself, the scale, the mirror, wash, rinse, and repeat.

My Loving Higher Power has perfect timing and brought the right person at the right time. It was suggested I try Overeaters Anonymous. It was the same 12 Step formula program as Alcoholics Anonymous, but for people dealing with compulsive food issues.   

January 6, 1991, I committed to the program. I began working the steps. Worked with a Sponsor. Slowly I discovered a life worth living. I developed habits and protocols for myself.

I was responsible for my own happiness.

I was responsible for my own respectability.

I was responsible for my own healing.

I was responsible for my own dignity.

I was responsible for my own truth.

100% Beachy nakedface

Through working the Steps I practiced ownership for my own mistakes and promptly admitted them. I did my best to allow others to solve their own problems with dignity. I gained the strength and courage to be the person I always dreamed about becoming.

I found the Jesus I read about in the Bible. Yes. It did lead to me walking away from Organized Religion, particularly in today’s culture. I was able to walk away from a family that was not healthy for me. I developed the strength to speak my truth and let go of the result.

Because of this dearest Him, I had adventures. I birthed three amazing kids. I discovered a Wild Oat kid that I adore and shares his kids with me. This amazing Him achieved many hopes and dreams. We cried, laughed, grieved, and lived well.

I am abundantly grateful for the 30 years I had with Him.

Adulting is hard.

In July, our paths divided. I now find myself in a position to invent a new future in a life that continues to defy the convention I was raised with. I will use all the tools I’ve gathered over the years. I will hold the hands of friendship and faith. I will continue to share my Experience, Strength and Hope that I discover along the way.  

Healing and Honeymoons Take Time

*Trigger warning: PTSD, Sexual Abuse Recovery*

The Honeymoon was rough. I was diagnosed with PTSD, but no one explained to me about triggers. I  couldn't understand the dreams I was having. Or how my skin crawled. 

Or how the bloodless sheets shook awake the suicidal thoughts.

I needed it all to stop. I wanted to feel safe like I did before. I knew the only person who could do that was me. He was patient as I worked through the little I understood about myself. 

I became obsessive about things. I drove myself into physical pain attempting to be the perfect everything. Finally in frustration, he went for a walk. I sat in a warm bath and sobbed. convinced I ruined our Honeymoon. I jeopardized our marriage and didn’t understand what was wrong with me.

He came back from the walk to find me dressed and sobbing on the bed. He held me and said it was going to be ok. We would work it all out. He understood. I couldn't help it. It wasn't personal. We packed up and headed home. 

Weeks later we cuddled up to watch the video of the Wedding. Still struggling with confusion and guilg, a thrill of hope washed through my soul. Maybe if I could hear what he said. I could get back some of the magic of that day. Maybe then I could get back on track.

The organ crescendo…

He leans over…

“Welp, no backing out now.”

I was crushed. All my hopes and dreams I placed on him shattered.

He became defensive, “It was only a joke! I had no idea the mike was there!...” and the argument was on.

One that never honestly was settled.

In my insecurity I placed all of my hopes of purity redemption on him. I saw him as respectable instead of deciding I was respectable. I put an unfair burden of perfection on him at that time.

I fell back into feeling lost. This time I had a quiet life to figure it out. I was working. He was attending classes. Where we lived had groups for people healing from Sexual Assault. I began learning true boundaries. Through being honest about my Experience, listening to others’ Strength and Hope, I discovered what issues were mine to solve. 

I began to focus on those.

Faith and prayer would be part of the process, but it was not magic. God was not a Grand Wizard who would POOOF wounds away. Honest healing would take time and unlearning. I had to focus on what I wanted to become.

I learned to love my body as it was. I accepted myself with worth. I understood He was equally as human as I was. This Knight in Shining Armor perception was still etched in my head, however I slowly began to see that we stood in equality before a Loving Creator.

Those few months in that College Town were beautiful. The focus was learning about each other and ourselves. Growing and preparing for a future. It became our true Honeymoon.

The Magical Marriage Day

*Trigger Warning: PTSD, Sexual Assault Recovery*

Time flew, Two years found me graduated with a partial degree. He was living in another town finishing his undergrad. I moved to the town and our engagement plan was in full swing. That is until I was laid off from my job and he needed an extra semester.

So we moved up the date for the wedding. I didn’t realize the Math of it all was 9 months until much later. I was caught up in the Serendipity and Romance of the moment. The venue and dates aligned. Some family was supportive. Others objected.

We moved forward lost in the effervescence of Hopes and Dreams.

I truly believed I was whole. That everything would be ok. Yes, I had some quirks to work through, but we had grown so much together. Love conquers all! I had found the love of my life. Not the best that I could get, but better than I deserved. We were both dedicated to a better life.

Yes, there were flaws, but we all have flaws. I’m not one to judge. I have massive flaws I am growing through. I want the Jesus who challenges “those without sin to cast the first stone.”

I had put down all my stones.

I bought the White Dress. Yes, it still made my skin crawl. Yes, I still felt like I was lying. However, I worked hard to earn it thus far. He said I deserved it.

The weeks leading up to the wedding were challenging. Something was off with the Parentals, but I couldn’t quite figure it out. We had lots of disagreements which would end in silence.

He would patiently listen to my frustration and remind me that We were making a new family.

Soon I would be safe in a quiet, home of our own making. We would continue to grow together and it would be an adventure.

The day came.

I did my best to set all the nerves aside. To ignore all the Parental confusing words. To just focus on this day.

The day THEY said would be the best day of my life. I would be the most beautiful of my whole life. I would be so beautiful I would take his breath away. The day would be magical and special and glittery and fairy dust would shimmer everywhere. I believed everything They said. I desperately, in my insecurity and wounds needed it to be true. As much as I tried to remind myself that I was more than my Vaginal Purity…

I still to my core didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel like my body was mine to give to anyone. It felt like a black hole filled with everything rotten and ugly.

I placed all my hopes, and redemption in this ceremony. The White Dress, the Song, the Sermon, the Communion, the Unity Candle. The Traditions. The People around me.

All of these Things would somehow make right the years of wrong that saturated every cell of my body.

30 years ago today, I stood at the end of an aisle. Dressed in Glorious White and filled with dread because I was a fraud. I faced that church clothed in the color of purity. I was not pure.

At the end of that Aisle I saw the man I loved. We held dreams to build a life of love and health. I reminded myself that to him I was pure. We were unknown to each other. That’s what the color meant to us.

He beamed a smile at me, then leaned over to his Best Man. The Best Man laughed. A crackle of courage rippled up my spine. Maybe he thought I was breathtakingly beautiful. Maybe he said he was the luckiest man in the world. I suddenly had the strength in my legs to walk down that aisle to the man who saw the best in me.

I walked toward him and away from The Parentals. Their control over me. Maybe he would unconditionally love me as I am. Maybe he would give me the freedom to be me. Maybe he believed in me.

I walked that aisle and chose him above all others. Unconditionally.

A Respectable Fresh Start

*Trigger Warning: PTSD, Sexual Abuse*

Friday, September 18, 1987, I met him. 

We walked to my car after class. Phone numbers exchanged. I did not know his name; didn't matter anyway. No respectable guy would ever want me. Why not just try the meaningless sex with a stranger. Who knows? I might walk away with a piece of myself?  Maybe the Parentals and the crackly radio preachers were wrong. I had tried it their way. It was time for something different.

The phone rang. I answered and all he said in reply was, "Hello." 

I slightly panicked; he didn’t identify himself. I realized The Parentals would never let me go out with Nameless.

I awkwardly asked, “I’m sorry to ask, what’s your name?”

He laughed, “I think I’ll tell you when the date is over.”

I attempted the flirtatious whine, “Oh, come on, don't torture me like that…”

A chuckle answered my question, He told me his name.

He picked me up on time. We went to dinner with his friend who was rude. If this guy was anything like his friend, the night was progressing nicely. 

In the car, he apologized for his friend’s behavior. I wasn’t impressed. Birds of a feather flock together. He was just trying to get the date back on track and I let him.

A song came on the radio and we began singing. Our voices blended  I felt alive for a minute. Almost happy. What did that mean? 

The song ended as we parked.  He chose a movie and killed a bit of time in a yogurt shop talking. I asked Him questions. He had big answers. He wove a future of endless possibilities. Visions of a great adventure. I wanted to be there with Him. To see if He could do those things. He was starting to sound like a Nice Guy. I resigned myself to my Perception; I could never deserve him.

The movie was a less than stellar. The theater began to clear, he touched my forearm. I turned as he glided in for a kiss. It was quick, sweet and unexpected. Quietly we walked to his car. He opened the door for me. We drove and mindlessly chitchatted.

Suddenly we were in front of my house. I looked at him. He looked at me and leaned in. I took a deep breath. It was a good kiss.  He pulled back a little. Looked deep into my eyes and softly said, "Good Night."

With head spinning I got out of the car and walked into the house. By the time the door closed, I was fuming! He treated me like Sandra Dee. Like I was a Good Girl. Like I was Respectable.

I wasn’t.

I wasn’t ready for any of this. He would call. He would want to see me.  This was a nightmare!  Not NOW!  I didn't need a new person in my life.  I was a mess. I would only disappoint him. I would only hurt Him.

Yet, with Him, in those moments, I really wanted to be those things. I wanted to be good and pure. He seemed to be someone who thirsted for life the way I did.  

Over the course of the next few months, we dated.  Our friendship grew. We fought, compromised and began to fall in love.  I had boundaries. He understood my past. He seemed to respect me despite it. When He looked at Me, He saw a Radiant, Beautiful, Virtuous, Respectable Good Girl.  He seemed to hold similar value about sex and marriage.

We would be new to each other. We could wait for each other. For this reason alone I should wear White. I would be pure to him.

Was it possible The Parentals were wrong?  I learned to accept what he saw. I began to heal. I saw myself as more than my vagina. I learned to see myself as a person. 

This young man with big dreams. Wanted similar things as I. A life filled with love and adventure. Support each other’s dreams. Have kids. He liked the idea that I would stay at home and raise them. We would both work diligently at being the parents they needed.  

We would build a Good Life. 

Redefining the White Dress

*Trigger Warning: PTSD, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Purity*

School supplies were the least of my worries as I prepared for the second year of college. At some point, I would see the love of my life on campus. Insides would heave. That tragedy of errors which was thelast six months of our relationship left irreparable damage. I had no idea how to move forward.

Before Purity Culture existed, were my Parentals.

Birds and the Bees covered the usual. Along with in depth lectures about my worth as a woman depended upon my purity. Oh, sure, there were the clichés,

 “A guy won’t buy the cow if he can get the milk for free.”

The one I heard the most was:

“No respectable man will ever marry a woman who isn’t a virgin.”

“No respectable man wants what another man has thrown away.”

Now add in a splash of spirituality.

All growing up, the crackling radio preachers in the morning talked about Sexual Sin. Soul Ties, how if even through passionate kissing, one was bonding a piece of their soul to another person. Never to get it back. Only through Prayer, Tongues, Fasting, Intercession, Anointing, and communing with the Like Minded in Faith, could one MAYBE receive healing.

My child brain absorbed from their teaching that the sanctity of my vagina was equal to the sanctity of my spiritual life.

So here I was. 19 and no longer a virgin. No boyfriend. Thrown in the mix was a childhood sexual assault.

What did it mean for the whole Soul Ties, No Respectable Man would want… thing. If a child is “spoiled” before they even… well. Where does that fit in the Parental Logic?  

With no idea how to go forward. They said all the answers would be in the Bible. So I searched the Bible.

The holy and perfect checklist of how to be a Godly Woman was laid out in Proverbs 31.

Beauty was vain- so don’t spend too much time on my looks.

Flattery is deceptive- so don’t believe compliments

Other verses filled in the gaps.

.

The Heart is wicked- so don’t trust your inner voice.

Honor your parents- they’re the ones who really love you.

The World is Lost- Faith and the Bible is every answer I’ll ever need.

Fear is the beginning of Wisdom- Don’t trust in my intellect or logic.

Eve was deceived- always trust Men, they always know best.

But,  I was, ruined like Dinah, with no brothers to slaughter a city for my virtue.

I was Tamar, and no brother Absalom to take care me and my spoiled virtue for the rest of my life.

According to what I understood, all that was available to me was an unrespectable man. One who would accept a used cast off. The most confusing, in the scriptures, when a girl was a victim of sexual assault. It didn’t matter the age, she was ruined.

No redemption was available to her. No hope was offered to her.

She was alone.

Left to visit wells in the middle of the day for water so as not to interact with other women. Or she was thrown about to be stoned.

These were the answers the Bible offered.

What was I going to do? I wanted to throw the whole perception out because I no longer fit within it. I wanted to sit in some safe quiet and figure out who I was supposed to be now.

I wanted to find the Jesus who comforted the Women at the Well.

The Jesus lifted the Woman about to be stoned out of the dirt.

The Jesus who was always kind to the sinners. 

Why wasn’t that Jesus in my church and family growing up? He was in the Bible they told me to read. Was he even real?

I wanted to know that Jesus.

I explained my conclusions to the Parentals. I told them about the times that were my choice. I couldn’t wear white at my wedding. I would be lying. I would be lying to those people in front of God. I wasn’t pure. I was ruined.

The Parentals countered, I wasn’t ruined. I was being Dramatic. I didn’t have a “choice” in the former relationship, or with the family member when I was small. It didn’t really count. My soul was intact. I was still virtuous.

“You didn’t have sex” was the statement, “You were raped. That’s different. You deserve to wear White.” I deserved to stand in a church and proudly wear that White Dress.

I defended my logic. I wasn’t pure. I made choices too.

I was dismissed. They explained, I was deceived. It was my Low Self Esteem talking. I needed to forgive myself and let God Redeem me. All I needed to do was truly Repent and it would all magically go away.

  

I did the best I could with what I had at the moment. I repented for my part. I decided to work diligently at healing. Working to discover a God I read about in the Bible and someday spiritually  awaken in the arms of that Loving Higher Power.

About Me: NO vember

NO vember is when it all started.

November took me away from a family filled with love and laughter. Boy cousins ready for fun adventures. Fall colors at Thanksgiving and snow at Christmas. A house filled with sunlight, a gentle grandfather who had tea parties with me and a grandmother who laughed. Running, camaraderie and bionic adventures for hours were the holiday experience.

November took me to a winter filled with cold gray foggy days. A house where the windows looked out on trees, but no sun came in. These grandparents argued and watched golf on television. Too busy to play, but not too busy to spank or discipline. I had nothing in common with my girl cousins. Lonely, quiet and waiting for it to be over was the new holiday experience.

Now Thanksgiving Day was filled with angst. Parents stressed because my three sisters needed a nap and these new grandparents insisted on dinner at 2:00. During the hour’s drive, I would talk myself into being excited. Maybe this time it would be different. Maybe someone would talk to me. Maybe fun could be found. Sometimes it would glimmer but like the fairy it was, never stayed for long.

 November finished a year of death. It started the December before, my senior year with a boy named Jeff. We met third grade when we finally settled into this Central Valley town. 

Then that odd Christmas break obituary.

I went because I knew him. Friends knew him. No knowledge of how he died, just that he did. I sat in the overflow lobby, his pastor announced that he would read the note he left behind. The word suicide was never spoken, but something within me cracked. The idea of adolescent invincibility weakened. I spent the rest of the day trying to figure it out. My parents were as dumbstruck as I. The rest of that year would include a winter suicide, a spring accidental drowning, and an almost fatal accident.

Then November.

Mark was the brilliant musician youth group leader. Blond curly hair, big brown eyes all backed his overwhelming kindness. He was patient enough, one church camp, to learn by ear a song I was going to sing. Complete with grin, he led the band as I for a moment felt like someone with something to offer the youth group. One time he taught on the Beatitudes, which would anchor my relationship with God forever. He said something along these lines:

“The pure in hear will see God. That means telling him everything. If your mad, yell at him- he knows it anyway. Let nothing stand between you and God. Not even yourself. Always talk to him. Always seek him. Ask your questions. Yell at him about your doubts because eventually you WILL see HIM. He promised.”

This beautiful soul decided he could no longer live.

Eleven months of life taken left an indelible scar. For me there is no, “You Only Live Once.” Life became fleeting and fickle. Every moment deserves attention and presence. Death no longer surprises me.

Almost 30 years later, three kids and a loving husband, we have made our own happy Thanksgiving memories. I make a great turkey and trimmings myself so The Counting Mutant can make his Friday after Thanksgiving Turkey and Stuffing omelets. I find myself forcing myself to enjoy it all. I find joy in it and the presence of these events still hovers, like the winter fog the Central Valley is known for.

So I am allowing myself this moment to remember.

To grieve so that I may be comforted.

I am grateful for that.

A Survivor's Dream

Potential triggers for sexual abuse survivors:

In darkness the door opened quietly.  His weight made the bed shift. This middle of the night visitor was not thinking of the little blond sleeping peacefully. He was a thief in the night.

Photo taken by curlsdiva

A five year old brain tucked it away. Waiting for when it could process. I returned from that Christmas trip afraid of the dark. Falling asleep was terrifying only to have nightmares awaken me. I tucked myself securely into the center of my bed so no one could touch me. I would fall asleep facing the door only to wake up in terror because I had rolled over.

Thirteen years later and on a course of healing from a different encounter with the same family member the memory surfaced. Triggered by my first home plate experience- to the horror and disappointment of the guy I was engaged to. The relationship ended months later in flames.

My childhood fear of night made sense. As I progressed in healing, often that memory overwhelmed me. I would cry out for healing and relief: none came.

One night before falling asleep I demanded God explain where he was and why he did not protect me.

That was the first night the vivid memory became a dream.

Photo taken by TammySue

I was in that room, asleep in bed. The man came in, sat on the edge of the bed and began. I turned my head to the left and saw, standing in the corner, an angel. The heavenly sentinel simply watched. The man finished and left.

Next morning woke with tears of rage. I demanded God to explain his point. I heard silence.

Months later I had the dream again. Everything was the same but this time when I looked to the corner, the angel was no longer stoic. Tears streamed down that divine face.

My rage melted into confused anger.

Months later; as I looked to the corner, the angel, tears streaming, walked to me and laid over me like a force field.

Realizing I was not abandoned I prayed, “Great, my guardian angel was there, but where were you?”

The dream recurred months later. This time when I looked there was no angel. Jesus stood in the angel’s place. His face expressionless and watched.

Photo taken by edouardo

I woke up feeling helpless and angry.  “All you could do was stand there?” I demanded. “What kind of powerful God are you? What kind of defender of the innocent stands and watches. I did nothing to deserve this. I sowed nothing to reap this horror.”

The dream recurred months later. This time when I looked there was no angel. Jesus stood with tears streaming and watched. My roar of my heart softened to confusion.

My dreams were quiet for a long time. When the dream came, Jesus, as tears streamed down his face, walked and laid over me. My small frame tucked safely within his body. The man’s hands did not touch me. They touched Him.

He was acquainted with my torment. I felt some peace.

Time passed and the dream came again. As the man began, I looked to the corner. Jesus walked to me with tears streaming. He picked me up and placed me in the corner. He turned, walked to the bed and lay in my place. The man did it all to Him. I watched as the man stood up and quietly closed the door behind him.

Photo take by sebastiano

Jesus then got up and walked over to me. He lifted me with strong, safe arms. The floor below us began to recede as I wrapped my arms around his neck. Clouds obscured the room as we began to fly away.

I never had that dream again. The memory only a faint scar of recollection.