A Cunning Valley of Shadow

*Trigger warning: Eating Disorder, Suicide*

I heard,  Yadayadayada, find a New Future.

I heard, Good bye.

I heard the door close.

My world went dark.

The future I was promised by Them shattered. All the answers in the Bible. The Magical Marriage Vows. The Purity Redemption promises. The If I, then God will, things. Everything I worked for over 30 years walked out the door.

My core ethic. The Part They all told me I was born to play. Wife, Mother, Partner, Faithful, Woman Who Fears the Lord, Family First, Career and Ambition second.

All the Guarantees of Evangelicalism blew up in my face.

I felt the full weight of Complementarianism. I had prayed. I played by all the rules. It didn’t fix what was wrong with the humans we were.

There was no magic cure for two humans doing their best to make a something work.

I’ve heard it said This is a Cunning and Baffling Disease. However, I had never experienced it. All I knew is he was gone. I had to force my PTSD brain to accept a reality I didn’t want. So I called for help to change the way my environment looked.

I packed away the life that was to let it rest and get used to the vacant space that my life at the moment was. I had to see the space physically in order to somehow get an orientation of how to move forward. While we were packing, that Cunning and Baffling Disease came back.

Little Orphan Anne and MyOld Friend came screaming out of the dark recesses of my soul. Just as loud and strong as they were when I was 14. I was overwhelmed. Others had left to get dinner and a friend stayed behind so I wasn’t alone.

I could barely speak, “Please rub my back.”

I could feel myself loosing my body. I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t break down again and loose time. I couldn’t abandon my Daughter to this.

My friend got up, hearing me say something and I repeated my question.

She gently rubbed my back.

I felt all the pieces of myself magnetically reverse and comeback together. I could feel the chair I was in. I could see the light in the room. I could feel her hand on my back. I could hear her breathing.

Then out of my mouth came the most humiliating question, “K, Why do I need to live?”

She was silent for a moment. Without a sound of scolding or shame in her voice. Not a catch of shock in her breath, she calmly and lovingly said,

“So we can have Coffee.”

A refreshing breeze of Life blew over my broken heart. 

“That’s right! You’d be very disappointed if I wasn’t there to have coffee with you. And….”

I began to list all the people who would be disappointed if I wasn’t around to complete projects, or to see me. After I rattled of my list of Other’s disappointments, K reminded me of my kids.

I laughed. “Yes, you’re right.” 

Now fully in myself, I could see light and color. I could feel the air in the room and the clothes on my skin. I could hear the ducks outside on the lake in the back yard.

I was also terrified.

After managing life with PTSD and I now understood to be CPTSD, it would be months before I was functionally alright. Annie and my Old Friend were in charge of my brain. It would be war to get my brain back  and them into perspective. 

I had to find a new reason for living.

A new source of sunshine for my soul.  

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.

Gentle Lent-A Good Friday

This year's great plans for Gentle Lent have fallen short. In my failure to complete them, truth emerges.

Outward Focus: Open to Divine Appointments and Kindness Risks I feel less isolated. Each and every time I pause to talk to a person, I feel a little more open. The whole house is not cleaned and decluttered, but I have a great start for the summer.

Inward Focus: The getting up on time, abstaining from social media right when I wake up did not go so well. That plan was interrupted when Counting Mutant took himself to the ER.  However, I am more mindful of the time I spend, a quick glance then my feet hit the floor.

I’ve done well in the “no cheats.” So well it uncovered a bigger problem, I have to keep it. This last monthly cycle I had no PMDD triggered anxiety. The few days of food cravings were curbed by asking this question:

Will future me appreciate the present me indulging in this?

However, my first day experience was much less than ideal. My conclusion is: I need to keep clean eating regularly and cheat only once a month and investigate supplements.

Upward Focus: The quiet meditation for five minutes hasn’t worked out. My daily devotionals were hit and miss. I attended Lenten services. I still feel nervous going to the Lutheran church but anxiety is waning. The boundary of liturgy during the service melts away my fear.

The result is, found myself not wanting to rush to Sunday.

I want to savor this Friday. Participating in Maundy Thursday’s communion and watching the altar be cleared by women. The emptiness the building we call church without its focus. My own emptiness.

That cross held a priest I could identify with:

False accusations have been thrown at me. My role in Wonderland was a scapegoat. There is no redemption for a scapegoat. If something went wrong, it was my fault. It was my responsibility to fix it. People believe false testimony about me and chose to cut tie, rejecting a relationship with me.

I have been abused and wounded. Whether by family members who needed to feel in control of their own reality, an icky uncle, a lost boy looking for meaning, each left a deep and lasting wound.

In turn, wrapped in a cloak of my own brokenness I gave root to that seed of wickedness within myself. Unforgiveness and resentments are a deceptive shield. In moments of anger I falsely accused, lied and attempted to control. I repaid evil for evil.

But by His stripes I am healed.

All of these are placed on him. As I kneel near that Cross today my shame melts. I see my wounds on him and weep with Mary, her sister,  Mary of Clopas, Mary Magdalene and I am not alone. My sin did not put him there. It did not kill him. Kneeling at the foot of that Cross my burden of shame is lifted. Love put him there because God desired my freedom. My Creator saw my suffering.

Divine Love made a way: a transfusion of Holy blood to wash away my own tainted nature. Through faith I can cry and grieve the wrong done to me and the wrong I have done. I imagine myself sitting with them as they gathered in that upper room sitting Shiva as they facing life without him.

I feel humble. I feel grateful.

Remembering Veterans

Today is Veteran’s Day or Remembrance Day. 

My Dad is a veteran.

Now it is popular to be one, but when I was a kid it was not. Dad wrestled with shame, like many Vietnam Vets. He felt a little extra-because he was stationed here.

He worked personnel. Many faces passed through his office. Some were on their way over; some on their way home. He would tell me about the guilt over the ones he sent over and the question that nagged-which ones came home.

We were stationed at Kirkland Air Force Base in Albuquerque, New Mexico and Hill Air Force Base in Logan, Utah. My Mom played the chapel organ, my Dad worked at the radio station. I would listen as Dad would talk about the new music coming on the scene; Christian Rock which shared hope, all the while being relevant.

As an observer-grown-ups don’t realize how much kids really catch-I watched his pained face as the black screen with names scrolled after the news. When in the car, listening to the radio, songs quickly changed with the push of a button because of a lyric. One time after work tried to run him down. He was in uniform.

The other kids and I had a secret:

We loved our lives in base housing. The roar of jet engines and helicopters lulled us to sleep. When other kids stopped playing because of a car, something in the air stopped us because we couldn’t hear each other. Everyone was welcome because tomorrow they might live somewhere else. Being lonely was never an option.

We were proud of our Dads for wearing Blue. For giving their time to our country because the country needed them.

It didn't matter to me if he served in a jungle or in an office. In a jungle he would face bullets, mines and enemy lines. Here in the states, he faced media, people and the feeling of being left on the bench.

Each place held scars.

Both missions held dangers.