The Un-Crumpling Part 2

The Un-Crumpling Part 2

These posts are intended to inform, educate and hopefully help others. I have found my own sources of help that have led me to wholeness. My prayer is that other victims may find healing and wholeness as well.

I don’t remember when the abuse started; my guess is I was nine or ten. It was around then that my parents thought it appropriate to subscribe to all sorts of periodicals including Playboy and occasionally Penthouse. These magazines were readily left out along with the latest copies of National Geographic and Popular Science. At the time I had no point of reference for the lack of suitability these publications were for my adolescent brother and me. My mother and father’s paranoia ensured I didn’t venture into neighbors’ homes and by no means was I allowed to have anyone over. Being homeschooled guaranteed a cloistering from the typical and mundane of the lives that surrounded us in our blue-collar suburb. 

I probably will never know why the abuse started but I do know why it stopped. In the flurry of magazine subscriptions there happened to be Seventeen ordered especially for me. Again, questionably appropriate for an eleven or twelve year old but ultimately it was a saving grace. The cover is etched in my mind, a leotard-clad model stretching forward in a Jane Fondaesque manner typifying the mid-80’s era it was published during. One of the cover stories that month was, “Incest: What You Need to Know.” The information in the article felt like a sledgehammer. How could I have been so stupid? I panicked and wanted to run away or throw up but all I could do was sit paralyzed on my bed surrounded by my Cure and INXS posters that had been pinned over my yellow kitten wallpaper.

The strength came. I am not sure if it was rooted from pure terror but I found within me the strength to confront my abuser. He was unperturbed and in an almost arrogant fashion casually switched the blame onto me. Then to finish it off he uttered, “I wouldn’t tell anyone if I were you, I wouldn’t want anyone to think badly of you.”

It was like a vault closing. I crawled into myself vowing to pretend it never happened. I would run from the truth into a better life. I convinced myself I would be fine and would triumph over all the possible bad outcomes the article outlined.

I did.

I succeeded.

But the thing about abuse is that it takes a place in one’s being and sets up shop and peddles insecurities, rage and shame. It rots the soul and eventually I couldn’t out run it.

The Un-crumpling: Part 1

These posts are intended to inform, educate and hopefully help others. I have found my own sources of help that have led me to wholeness. My prayer is that other victims may find healing and wholeness as well.

I told my two older children. I never thought it would be possible but I told them. The words were so much easier this time. The heaviness wasn’t present. I didn’t feel as though I might throw up. Time and honesty had been a salve. I never thought it would be possible to utter the truth. I never thought my own children would be the best source of healing I could possibly wish for.

Five years had come and gone and here I was near the same creek I had been when my thoughts were swimming with dismay.  At the time I had wondered how I could end up being a seemingly successful professional and mother with such a dark secret. The pain of the truth burned in me. I didn’t feel I had a safe place to share my experience. I was so afraid. I was sure my abuser was right when he said, “I know you wouldn’t want anyone to think badly of you...”

I actually never thought I would declare myself to be a sexual abuse/incest survivor. I really wanted it to go away. I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t want to be broken. I had worked so hard to escape my childhood. I had fought so hard against my past. Yet, I sat in my priest’s office. Rigid. Fearful. I finally broke loose with the truth. Anger to protect me.  Fuck him if he thinks badly of me!

Only sadness came; sadness for that little girl who didn’t know better, sadness for the adult woman who wanted so badly to be loved and accepted.

The love and acceptance came from my children.

Buddha, Jesus and A Wise Woman

Buddha, Jesus and A Wise Woman

I have read a lot of articles on authenticity and living an authentic life.  It seems this is the soup de jour of self-help/self-realization writing. In general this is a helpful topic, getting people to think about who they really are and what direction they want their lives to go. I have thought a lot about authentic self and true self and wonder how many of us are actually ever able to fully live into who we are intended to be and if not fully how many of us are able to maybe on occasion moderately approach our authentic self.

A year ago I was preparing to walk the Wicklow Way in Ireland. I really didn’t know what to expect and I had only a mild inkling that the journey would somehow deeply impact me well beyond immediate weeks post return. What has been interesting is the way the pilgrimage continues to shape me daily. Walking in a group yet in many ways all alone has served as a jumping off point for me to really look at my life, myself and they way I interact in the world. I guess one could say it has helped me to assess my authentic self.

The thing I have discovered is that my authentic self is not who I wished I would find. I secretly hoped that I would be able to live harmoniously, wisely and spiritually. I pictured myself as perpetually centered being, allowing for all discomforts and irritations to roll off me. I imagined that I could be a wise woman who could give Buddha or Jesus a run for their money. Of course all of this is really impossible and a complete pipe dream.

To be fair to myself, I was simply buying into our societal and religious complexes that have sold lies about what a truly, “spiritual,” “religious,” or “Christian” person looks like. Jesus and all the Christian Saints have somehow been depicted as prudish church goers and the, “spiritual not religious” camps have created a conglomeration of various eastern religions that also lean to the side of pent up repression. I wonder how many people have embraced the secular only because religions and now spiritualties have not allowed for the full range of human expressions, the demons, the angels and everything in between.

In the year since my return from the pilgrimage I have tried to sort through what happened out there on the trail. I still struggle to make sense of the darkness that emerged alongside an experience that could be described as nothing but divine sweetness. How does this translate to my “real life?” How can I live into this space and still run my business, give Rob what he needs and get the kids to soccer? How do I let God do what God is going to do when I am bitching at the bank? Does it even matter?

My spiritual director says the divine and the profane are married. Perhaps this is where true authenticity starts.

Jesus is My Driver and My 5 year Plan

Jesus is My Driver and My 5 year Plan

            I was at an auto parts shop today and saw a key chain depicting a fish mandala and the statement, “Jesus is my driver.” I smirked and took a picture. I had a vision in my mind of Jesus with his long flowing hair and robes as my Uber driver, shuttling me and Rob safely from drinking establishment to drinking establishment in a black Cadillac Escalade.  “Hey Jesus, how long have you been an Uber driver?” I imagined myself saying. In response His retort was, “A little over 2000 years.”

            We are vacationing where there is a beautiful stream that runs behind our cabin. We have made this a family tradition for many summers, as it is idyllic and relaxing. It was about 5 years ago that this setting served as a turning point for me. I was faced with family illness, personal financial loss and confrontation of demons that were long since repressed. Every year we have visited this spot since, has been a reminder of my crumbling and the beginning of an existential crisis that has taken me years to comb through.  

            This visit, the water from the creek seems to bring new beginnings. Life has come in waves or rather increments, parceled out of 5-year terms. I am at an end of a section of my life. I have moved from brokenness to at least intermittent wholeness and I am left wondering what the next 5 years will bring and how I might navigate them.

            I thought I might start with some personal goals. First off, I want to continue to dedicate myself to improving my leadership skills. Secondly, I will continue to seek the ever-elusive emotional equanimity. Thirdly, I would like to seek a deeper relationship with God so that I might better know my true self. Lastly, I will try to continue to kiss my demons, love others and myself and perhaps most importantly strive to be brave!

            I know these goals may never be met but I am hoping that with Jesus as my driver, the next 5 years won’t be anything to Him.

            What are your goals for the next 5-year parcel of your life?

             

            

Conversations

Conversations

I have recently been on a quest to have difficult conversations with people. Not that I really want to engage in hard discussions, in fact I would say up until lately, I would avoid these situations at all cost. Instead my MO was to brood, harbor anger and ruthlessly rant and rave regarding these relationships that had gone wrong. I could easily hide behind my self-righteousness and indignation. Blaming others and self-protective reasoning seemed easier than to confront, discuss, or apologize. In short, the cheap way out was my way of being. 

Then, this year I decided to seek healing. Not that this is something so totally new but the culmination of years of self-discovery and work had led me to a desire to be free. Free of resentments. Free of regrets. Free of anger and hatred of others and of myself. I knew on a deep level that freedom was not available for free.  I would have to work at it and do some difficult things if I wanted to net any meaningful results and move forward even minutely.

I began inviting people into conversation. Most accepted. One was silent. Two declined. It would be futile to wonder about the abstainers. It is the way it is for now and I choose to hold it lightly. Instead, I am focusing on the conversations that have occurred and they are nothing short of transformative. The healing that can manifest when apologies are given and received, when misunderstandings are cleared and when compassion is offered is nothing short of divine.

This experience has opened a new way of being for me. It has shown me how to apologize, ask for forgiveness, and accept my errors yet know that my worth is not based on my foibles. I was able to garner the strength to state my thoughts and feelings without self-defensive hostility. Learning to be forthright and avoiding the verbal pabulum that comes from my underlying desire to please everyone has changed my engagement with others.

I like to think of these conversations as a spiritual practice. Talking with someone on a vulnerable level allows for deep connection. Being strong as well as admitting weakness within these interactions manifested a humbling tension that seemed initially to break me down but has since allowed me growth that I would not have expected. Finding God in the messiness of human engagement is both difficult and delightful.

Does anyone want to have a conversation?