Will the Real Me Please Stand Up...

I’m beginning to emerge from my recent hibernation and today, 

I can see that light at the end of the tunnel! 

     I had gone into hiding for a couple of months feeling pretty hopeless. I stopped returning phone calls, stayed home alone as often as I could and I found it difficult to find my words. I was feeling disconnected from my family, friends, my therapist, God and myself. My mind wandered back into thoughts of self loathing and despair. Again, I found myself in that familiar dark place. 

     When I go there it frightens me because crazy things begin to seem rational. In that place, death feels inevitable and welcome. I flirt with the macabre and fantasize about dying. When I’m there I am unable to reach out for help. I don’t even want help when things are that bad. I want only unhealthy things. I don’t sleep enough and I eat too much. I can’t stop worrying about how messy my house is, yet I feel powerless to clean it.

When I’m that bad, I can barely manage to shower or brush my teeth.

    Considering how badly I have been feeling, it seems especially freeing to crawl out from the isolation and sadness into the light of a new day. I have turned another corner and I have hope. So how did this happen exactly? What is different today than last week or last month?

I think there are a few things that may have contributed to this upturn. 

     The days are getting longer and there are signs that spring has indeed “sprung!” Warmer weather and brighter days have always helped to lighten my mood, but there is something more going on here.
    I’ve continued to move forward with the work of healing even when I didn’t feel like it was working because I still have faith that it will. I am blessed with a loving husband, dear friends and an awesome therapist, but mostly with the belief that God has not forgotten me.

These things sustain me even when I feel like I cannot take one more step.

    Even though I can’t always find my words, I still connect through on-line support groups and social media like facebook. Reading what others have written about their struggles, writing about my own; supporting them and being supported by them has helped more than I ever would have imagined.
    All these things have made a difference, but perhaps the biggest change I have made is that I have become more genuine with others, with myself and with God.

I am allowing myself to be real. 

     It’s not that I’ve been a phoney or have pretended, but it has been my practice to try to be what I think others want or expect me to be. I have a real fear of letting people down or disappointing them. I hide my pain, fear and shame. I worry about making others comfortable at my own expense. I stuff my anger and I hide my true self because I’m sure I’m no where near good enough.

I want to please and I want to be acceptable, although I rarely believe that I am.

    Today, however I am choosing to believe that I am God’s girl and that He loves me; therefore I’m lovable. I know that I will have hard times again and I pray that I can remember how I feel right now. I want to remember that today, I feel hopeful. I want to be helpful to my fellow survivors when they too have dark days. I want a better life for myself, my husband, my kids and for God who does indeed have a plan for my life.
     I will end on this positive note and I hope that you, the reader will help yourself to my strength today. God knows, I may need to borrow some of yours someday!

The Courage to Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway

Our youngest daughter got a pair of hermit crabs for Christmas.
As much as I hate the little buggers, I can really relate to them!
If you pick up a hermit crab and wait long enough, it will start to emerge from it’s shell. Slowly, one claw peaks out. Then another begins to show itself. However, the instant you being to touch one of these tiny appendages, the cautious little crab retreats back into the safety of it’s traveling home. In an instant, the crab is gone! All that's left is a shiny red painted shell with a pair of jiggling plastic eyes glued on. Creepy, yet effective!
It reminds me of being a child, eyes closed and hands over my ears, chanting, “I can’t hear you, I can't hear you...”
If I had one, I would have hidden myself away inside the safety of my shell too!
I didn’t have a fancy painted shell Per Se, but I certainly knew how to retreat into my own metaphorical shell! I spent a fair amount of time curled up inside pretending nobody could see me. Hoping that if I were still enough, I could become invisible.
Peeking out of my shell was a risk that I rarely took and I paid a price for it.
Although it may be safe being hidden away in here, it also gets lonely.
As an adult I have found that I am able to take risks,
and in many ways, I know I am brave.
I find it frustrating though, that there are still areas of my life where I am just as fearful as the little hermit crab. There is a part of me deep inside that, like the crab, is small, fragile, tentative and ugly.
I keep a proper looking shell, so nobody knows I’m in here if I don’t want them to. Unfortunately, I’m so accustomed to hiding that sometimes people don’t know I’m here even when I wish they would!
I can imagine that the fear of making myself vulnerable by sharing my real feelings is something like what the crab might experience when it ventures out of it’s shell. These days, it’s the hermit crab’s sudden retreat when threatened that I relate to most.
I catch myself doing an about face when I begin feeling vulnerable.
On Valentine’s Day, I made my husband a card and inside, I wrote a note. It was real, honest and not particularly well written. I felt uncertain and embarrassed about sharing these genuine feelings.
What I had to say seemed childish and I felt stupid. I thought about starting over, but I stopped myself from rewriting it. I had made myself vulnerable and as always, my husband was loving and didn’t judge me at all.
I do enough judging on my own!
We exchanged cards, candy and even stuffed animals and we had a lovely dinner at home with the family. Seems like one of those “Hallmark” moments, right? Not to my scared little parts hiding inside. I took a big risk and even though I am safe and loved, my fear was too much for my little ones to handle and I retreated back into my shell. I got angry with my kids and at my husband. I felt ashamed and exposed and like those ugly little hermit crabs, I was gone! Nothing left but a shell; an angry shell.
I did catch myself and I was able to reel it in before I did any harm or hurt any feelings, but I still felt small and angry. I was scared and defensive, but I was able to recognize it.
I am starting to understand that I am safe and I am slowly learning that it’s OK to be me.
These days the good news is that I am putting myself in the position to feel this terrifying feeling much more often as I continue doing the work of healing.
I know that I am brave because I am choosing to feel the fear and do it anyway.

Grieving the loss

I read something on one of my favorite blogs today that really got me thinking. 
This is from  Overcoming Sexual Abuse on Facebook:

“As a survivor of child sexual abuse, you have a lot to grieve for. You must grieve for the loss of your feelings. You must grieve for your abandonment. You must grieve for the past and grieve for the present, for the damages you now have to heal, for the time it takes...You grieve the opportunities lost while you were too busy coping.” ~ The Courage to Heal by Ellen Bass & Laura Davis

I realize that today I AM grieving. No differently than I would if someone I loved were to die. 
I see that I haven't allowed myself to grieve before now. I think there are several reasons why not.

1- Denial. Flat out, "I don't know what you're talking about" denial. Why grieve something that never happened? Even after I started having flashbacks, nightmares and body memories, I was STILL in denial. I doubted everything I was remembering. I didn't DARE believe it could be true.

2- Fear. "My father would kill me!" This message played over and over in my mind whenever I even thought of talking about it. The fact that he had been dead since I was 19 never entered into the equation! I was still so terrified to tell anyone.

3-Doubt. "What if I'm wrong?" That one has been the toughest one to let go of. I still worry about that. One thing that helps me to believe myself is knowing that people aren't born with dissociative disorders. I have D.I.D. because I was traumatized over and over again from the time I was born. Being raped by my father and unprotected by my mother caused me to dissociate. I don't do it because I'm mentally ill. I'm not mentally ill; I'm traumatized.

4- Lies. The truth hurts. I need to believe that I was loved and protected by my big, strong, handsome police captain father and my compassionate, loving special education teacher's aide mother. If I allow myself to grieve the loss of that fantasy, then I have to admit the truth. The truth is that I was of no consequence to either of them. They didn't HATE me, they just didn't really notice me one way or the other. Except when I could meet their needs. That was my purpose in the family. I was an object; a thing that my father used to make himself feel powerful and good about himself. I was a reflection of my mother's identity as "a good mother". When I looked good, she looked good. People would look at me and think how lucky I was to have such a good family.

5- It's in the past. It happened so long ago, I think I should be over it by now. "Forgive and forget." A good Christian honors their mother and father. A good Christian forgives. I want to be a good Christian AND a good daughter. I suppose I might be "over it" by now if I had EVER been validated. If I had EVER felt the sadness and rage I have buried for so long. "Nobody stopped it, nobody talked about it, nobody believed me and nobody wants to hear about it any longer." Unfortunately, part of me still believes the part about nobody wanting to hear about it. Which leads me to the last reason I haven't allowed myself to grieve until very recently.

6- Shame and guilt. "Nobody likes a complainer." "If anyone KNEW, they would hate you." "You had it so much better than some kids do." "You have so much to be grateful for." How dare I feel sorry for myself? I have a lovely home, an amazing husband and 3 beautiful, loving children. I was never a drug addict, alcoholic, a cutter, a prostitute. It could be so much worse. Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me when I count my blessings and I end up riddled with shame and guilt instead of gratitude. Shame and guilt drive me right back into denial and the whole vicious cycle starts again... but not today...

NOT TODAY! 

Today I'm giving myself permission to grieve. 

Today I'm allowing myself to feel the overwhelming sadness and the molten hot rage that boils up inside of me. Today I grieve for my husband having to wait in the wings for 22 years paying for the crimes of my father. I grieve for the loss of the fantasy that my parents loved me. I grieve for the what I could have been if incest, abuse and neglect hadn't murdered my soul before I even knew how to walk, or talk. So much loss. My loss. My pain. My grief. Nobody can take that away from me until I decide I'm ready to let it go.