Cameron Andrew 9 lbs. 21 1/2 inches 2:01 am

Today is my baby boy's birthday. I can't believe he's 14 years old already!

I miss that tiny little boy who would run around in just his diaper, constantly eating and on the go doing boy things. I miss how he would come up behind me when I'd be sitting on the floor and he'd wrap his little arms around me, lay his head on my back and say, "Love you, Mama."

I miss the busy underwear and boots clad boy whose crazy antics would have us in hysterics. He was always shoving light sabers and 'guns' in his underwear pretending to either be a police man, army guy or Luke Skywalker. He was continually running...never walked...and so curious about how things worked and why things existed.

I miss our nightly routine of laying in his little toddler bed together. First we'd go through the list of all the people who loved him, then we'd go through a list of things he was thankful for that day. This was followed by a recap of the day and all the things that happened that made him laugh or cry. Next came his prayers and then I'd sing to him. There were three songs he loved: Jesus Loves Cameron (Jesus Loves Me revised), You're My Little Cameron (You're My Little Potato revised) and You Are My Sunshine.

I still call him my Sunshine to this day but when I try to sing it to him the response isn't the same. There is no crawling into my lap and snuggling up to me. Though he still, at 14, always always always comes to me and hugs me before he leaves to go somewhere or before he goes to bed. He still tells me he loves me. He'll even text me from his bed every night. The latest one - "Good night mom. love you and thank you. i had fun with you today." Makes my heart melt.

I've had bronchitis for the past 3 weeks and he was continually asking me if I needed anything, doing things for me and reminding me to lay down and rest. His heart is so big and giving. I pray it stays that way. His curiosity is still active and I'm daily bombarded with "why" and 'what if" questions. Thank God for the internet because his mind is insatiable! He no longer pretends to be Luke Skywalker or a police man. But he does dream of following in his uncle's footsteps and being in the army. Though he wants to be a Drill Sargent, not a Cav Scout. He is still shy but slowly coming out of that shell. He's respectful and sensitive...and still a joker with the ability to make us laugh.

I am so proud of the young man he is becoming and everything he already is. And I thank God for giving me such a wonderful gift.

I was invited to sit on a panel during a training session for social workers, probation officers, therapists and some other people to discuss the services we had received while Michaela was going through her depression and self-harm. There were 4 other moms on the panel. One had brought her daughter, Michaela's age, who had also outgrown her need for the programs. Another mom had brought her 3 children who were currently still receiving many services - to the tune of 6-8 appointments per week. Their ages were 18, 16 and 14 and I admire their bravery and willingness to come and share things in their life that were so personal, painful and raw. 

The professionals wanted to hear our stories and wanted our feedback on the good things we had to say and ideas on what needs to change. They also wanted to hear our thoughts on ways they could change in their approach to clients. I was very impressed with the professionals and how open they were to everything we had to say.

What I was more impressed with, though, were those of us who had a story to tell, those of us who were sharing such private and painful struggles with total strangers. And the way we all bonded together and supported each other on that panel. It was truly amazing.

Here we are - Mothers - with children that have or had mental health issues. We each shared the frustration and complete madness of trying and trying to get help for our children for years before anyone would listen to us. By the time we were finally believed and heard, the damage to our children was deep and not easily healed.

We all shared the pain and heartbreak of helplessly watching our children suffer and disappear into that black hole a little more each day having no idea how to save them from their illness or themselves.

We had all walked the lonely road of shame and guilt while uneducated and judgmental people had pointed fingers, labeled us bad moms, and judged our children and us without trying to understand what mental illness looked like or meant. 

I did not expect it to be such an emotional day. I thought the pain was behind me because Michaela is happy, independent, off any and all medications and  setting goals and achieving them just as quickly. But when the 18 year old girl who was still using services and currently in rehab began to tell her story, I lost it when she described herself as a self-mutilator. The painful memories of my daughter's raw cuts all over her body came flooding back at me. My heart went out to this girl who rocked back and forth as she talked in an effort to self-soothe. I wanted to scoop her up into my arms and rock her. I looked more closely at this girl as she talked so openly about her struggles, laying her heart right out in the open for everyone to see. She reminded me of my Angel Girl so long ago: hair dyed black, black fingernails, black jeans, black tennies, black tank top covered by a black hooded sweatshirt. She, too, had made several suicide attempts. The last time she had almost succeeded and expressed her joy that she had been found before it was too late.

My mind flashed back to that night when I was sleeping and suddenly woke up, feeling something was wrong. In my mind I heard Michaela yelling for me which was strange because I wasn't hearing it with my ears. The house was silent. I ran upstairs and burst into her room to find her there - bright red blood pouring down her legs and pooling onto her carpet. I had never seen so much blood in my life. And to see it coming from your child is a sickening feeling. I screamed her name and grabbed the first thing I could find to press onto the gaping, long cuts. I felt helpless, sick and so sad. I haven't felt that kind of complete and empty sadness before. I had no words. I wrapped her in my arms and rocked her while she sobbed and begged for help and apologized. I could do nothing but rock her and kiss her head.

I sat there on the panel that day and felt so blessed and so thankful. My daughter was still alive. I could still hug her and tell her I love her and continue to watch her live her life. I felt such pride at how far she had come and how hard she had worked. I thanked God over and over while I sat there and then laughed at the devil because his attempts to destroy her had failed. I had handed her over to God one night while I sobbed on my bedroom floor in desperation and asked him for an answer. I heard Him tell me to hand her over to Him and to trust Him. It was the best decision I ever made because He remained true to His word.

I hope that those professionals can somehow change the way things are done when it comes to getting help for children with mental health issues. Not one of us on that panel had gotten the help we needed for our children without jumping through hoop after hoop, while spinning on our heads, juggling three cows and singing the national anthem backwards. Yes. It is that difficult. For anyone experiencing mental health issues, it shouldn't be such a chore to get help. But especially for children and teens who are in their formative years.

One of the women on the panel has a 5 year old who is having the problems. 5 years old. Imagine that poor child and what she goes through on a daily basis.  The mom expressed her hurt and shame over how often she was judged and told she's a bad mom and that it's her fault that her daughter has problems. How often I've heard those lines! Uneducated and judgmental people - that's all they are. We aren't failures as moms because of the problems our children have. In fact, according to the professionals and each mom on that panel - we are Heroes. Yes, Heroes. Because we fought and continue to fight and are advocates for our children in order for them to regain their health. This women has two other children - one of them is the 5 year old's twin. So if she's such a horrible parent and it's her fault - why don't her other children have these issues? My son has had no issues, either. Can any of you uneducated doofs give an answer for that? It's no different than your child getting cancer. You can't control when and if you get cancer just as you can't control when and if you (or your child) will suffer from a mental illness.

In my Literature class right now we're studying poetry.  One poem that struck me and I fell in love with is by Emily Dickinson and it's full of passion.

Wild Nights - Wild Nights!

Were I with thee

Wild Nights should be

Our luxury!

Futile - the Winds-

To a Heart in port-

Done with the Compass-

Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden-

Ah, the Sea!

Might I but moor - Tonight-

In Thee!

                              ~ Emily Dickinson

I love poetry.... 

Today, I crossed 5 things off my list of Goals for 2011 that I completed. It felt amazing! I am such an oddball when it comes to making lists. I make lists furiously for everything. 

1. I will forget. 
2. I love the satisfaction of crossing something off.


My favorite one to make, though, is my goals for the upcoming year. They involve everything from projects I want to complete, things I want to try and do, personal, and spiritual goals.

By the end of February, I will be able to scribble off 6 more things.

This is My Year. So many good & profitable changes happening.

My Phoenix has returned to its nest and, once again, has gone up in flames only to be reborn into a new, beautiful creature.

Written for my beautiful daughter: 

My blue-eyed little Angel Girl

Once draped in black disguise

Carving Scars; your skin, your heart

Marilyn. Clamorous. Manson. Silent.

L-I-E-S.

Hollow soul. Embraced it

Fierce as a Mama Bear.

Believing – Come what may

Within the depths of you

A woman

Strong. And Free.

Today I heard your voice. Confident.

And proud.

You had glimpsed that woman

With your own eyes –

Not mine.

She was adorned in Fireworks!

Scars sparkled from a fire set free.

My blue-eyed little Angel Girl

You

Have

Sprouted

Wings!

I have three sisters. Jennifer died before she reached a year old when I was 5. Jill was born when I was 7. And April was adopted by our dad when he married her mom when I was 16.

Today is my sister Jill’s birthday.

Our relationship through the years has been through many ups and downs; many fights, tears and laughter….much love accompanied and spotted with hate, jealousy and misunderstandings. I could write and write and write….and write some more about our relationship. In fact, I could probably pen a book or two. But besides opening a huge vat of worms, it wouldn’t profit anyone.

We haven’t spoken for quite some time now. I’ve lost track how long. It doesn’t really matter to me anymore. The pain of the lost connection with her is gone and no longer jabs at me. That’s a sad thing to be able to say because it should never be like that. But. It is what it is.

There are days that I miss her. I’ll remember something we laughed hysterically about and giggle to myself. I miss her laugh. It’s very contagious. Guess I never told her that. There’s probably a lot I never said that I should have. Then again, nothing I ever said to her got through anyway since she always believed I was lying and chose to instead tell me what I thought and felt about her. She was always wrong in her assumptions but you could never (and probably still can’t) tell her that. She is much like our dad in believing that she is right much of the time.

There are some things I’d like to leave her with for her birthday. Even though I know if she ever read this, she would disagree with every ounce of it, call me a liar and proceed to make up some story to the contrary. Let her. It doesn’t matter to me what she says because in my heart I know who I am inside, what I feel and what I think. What’s more is that God knows my heart. I have nothing to prove when He already knows the truth.

So, Jill, on your birthday I’d like you to know:

I don’t care that you still have a relationship with dad. In fact, I’m happy that you do. I have never, ever asked, demanded or even required any of my siblings to cut our dad out of their lives. We all had our own Hell to go through and our own decisions to make in regards to rebuilding and repairing a relationship with him. I’ve supported both of our brothers in their endeavors in that area. In no way have I tried to talk them out of it. I never expected anyone to “take sides” during the court sessions or after the sentencing. I stood up for dad several times to his family speaking about forgiveness and family to them. How odd they thought I was. I, the victim of such a heinous crime committed against her by her own father, was telling his family they should forgive him and support him. What I’ve been told fell from your mouth about my reactions towards you and dad are quite different and painted me into some kind of monster and complete bitch.  I know why I don’t talk to dad. And dad knows…even though he says he doesn’t and pretends not to know. He and I have had this conversation several times and the ball is in his court. He knows this and refuses to do anything about it. It’s not anyone else’s business but his and mine.

I LIKE that you’re different from me. I’ve said time and time again that life and families would be so boring if everyone was the same. I love that each of us has our own strengths, quirks, irritating habits and weaknesses. I get so jealous when I watch the movies and there are families getting together for the holidays and they are such a mismatch of weirdness. I always thought that’s how our family would be once we all become adults and had kids.

I don’t understand why you think that I’ve always tried to control you or make you do things my way. You always said that I got mad and would turn on you if you didn’t do things my way. When?! I never turned on you. Get mad? Yes! I would get mad because you would make the same stupid mistakes over and over again. Always jumping from this man to the next, never believing in your own worth as a person or strength as a woman. There is so much I could say here but I won’t. My anger at you was purely because you believed you were weak, not worthy of love or respect, not deserving of anything good or kind in your life. I never turned my back on you. This last time when we stopped speaking, it was you who told me that I was dead to you and to stay out of your life. Not me getting mad because you were fighting with the current man in your life or that I thought you left your kids alone. And for the record, if that man hadn’t filled my head with a bunch of lies about you, I never would’ve called and yelled at you. For all those years I stood by you, bailed you out, supported you and ran to your rescue – you accuse me of constantly shutting you out of my life. Each time we stopped speaking it was You making that decision based on some stupid misunderstanding. Or You trying to tell me what I was actually thinking or doing and when I disagreed, You getting mad and calling me a liar and shutting me out. I don’t get mad at people and “disown” them time and time again as you’ve said for the simple fact that I can’t deal with it. Dad? Yes, I’ve cut off contact with him several times over my lifetime and I would hope that without any details that would be evident to everyone now as to why. Mom? Yes, I believed lies told to me as did our brother but we got to the bottom of it and figured it out. My siblings? No. Friends? Who? Kelly is the only one I turned my back on and then gave her one more chance and she blew it. Again, nobody’s business but it wasn’t because I couldn’t “deal with things like an adult.”

Oh, and one last thing – contrary to what you think, I don’t talk about you AT ALL. I have no reason to. I’m healed from that situation just as I’m healing from the situation with dad. You can continue to say nasty things about me, lie about me and try to turn people against me. I could care less. It’s obvious you still have deep-seated pain and anger about everything from the things I’m hearing. I’m so sorry you have to live like that. I could go on but I won’t. Perhaps it will turn into another blog. Perhaps not.

Jill, my birthday wish for you is that you find a way to forgive yourself and find peace in your life. That you can flush out all the anger and negativity that have their claws latched into you and that you can be truly happy, strong and loved. 

Happy Birthday, Sister. I still love you - always and forever. Even though it doesn't matter.

                                           Goodbye to 2010.

I was laying in bed the other night when I realized that I hadn’t made my usual list of goals for the upcoming year. Of course, I’ve been pondering it during stolen moments here and there but haven’t actually put pen to paper.

I thought back to last year when my goal for 2010  was to Simplify. I succeeded in all areas of my life. I learned new things, worked on my healing journey, fell back in love with & grew in my relationship with God and became a new person who has an entirely different outlook on life. 

                        So what is My Word for 2011?   

                                      There’s three: Eat. Pray. Love.

Each goal I have for the upcoming year fits neatly into one of those three categories. And what do I have planned? Muahahaha! New, great and exciting things! So many changes will happen this year....I can’t wait! I am so looking forward to 2011. I can taste the promise of something wonderful brewing for me and my family. 

Elizabeth Gilbert said, “There is so much about my fate that I cannot control, but other things do fall under the jurisdiction. I can decide how I spend my time, whom I interact with, whom I share my body and life and money and energy with. I can select what I can read and eat and study. I can choose how I'm going to regard unfortunate circumstances in my life-whether I will see them as curses or opportunities. I can choose my words and the tone of voice in which I speak to others. And most of all, I can choose my thoughts.”

                                                HELLO, 2011!!

Well...

So much for my list of "want-to-do's" during my 2 week break from school. I think my computer is feeling neglected from lack of use and attention. Oh, well. I'm glad we're busy at work ~ that means more $$! And when I'm not working, I'm keeping my promise to my kids that this time is theirs and we're playing games, watching movies and having Wii marathons. Family tree will have to wait, the blogs in  my head will have to wait and my FB friends ~ yep, feeling neglected, too! No apologies. I have my priorities. :)

This past Monday morning I saw a glimpse of God's hand in my life. I was on my way to St. Cloud to  work at the hospital. A few miles before my exit, I noticed that the truck was sounding funny and when I had to slow down for a car in front of me - it started to speed up again....without my foot even touching the accelerator!
Needless to say, I got a little excited. I kept playing with the gas and brake pedals hoping that the throttle would become unstuck and began praying for help. As I neared my exit, I started to apply the brakes and by the time I was near the end of the exit ramp, I was literally standing on the brake pedal with both feet. The truck wouldn't stop and kept going at about 20-25 mph.
Of course, at the bottom of my ramp was a stoplight - and it was Red and we were at the height of morning traffic. A row of cars to my left, a semi in front of me and a semi in the right turn lane. All stopped.
Fear bubbled to the surface and began overflowing as I started calling on the  name of Jesus and asking, "What should I do?! What should I do?!"
Just as I was coming to terms with the fact that I was going to have to crash into the back of the semi in front of me, the semi in the turn lane made his turn. I swerved over and got behind him, turning through a red light while the opposing traffic was turning into the same lane.
The semi in front of me came to a dead halt as he waited to make a left turn into the truck stop. A quick look told me I had no choice but to chance it and go between him and the snowbank. So, with wheels part way up the snowbank - I rambled right on by, dodging cars and trucks coming and going in and out of McDonald's and the truck stop.
By this time, I was near hysterics. So many thoughts going through my mind, trying to find a solution and praying for a miracle. I glimpsed a huge hotel parking lot over to my right and decided that it was my goal. But right after passing the semi, there was a stop sign. Another semi was turning towards me and a city bus was stopped in front of me.
Quick thinking - 1. crash into the semi  2. crash into the bus or 3. squeeze between the bus and the stop sign and take the right to the hotel.
I chose option #3 and whipped my truck around the bus.....only to see, there in the dark, a person STANDING in the space I needed to go! I only had one option left. I jerked the wheel to the right and slammed into the snow bank.
I tried shutting the truck off and starting it back up thinking that somehow it would now be unstuck. Nope.
I turned the truck off, called my Love and just started bawling. I was shaking, thankful, alive and in one piece. While I waited for my Knight to come and rescue me, an Angel in a big, black truck knocked on my window.
I must have looked like a blubbering fool. "I'll just go ahead and pull you out."
He thought I had wiped out because of the glare ice on the road. I giggled through my sobs, which I'm sure sounded anything but ladylike, and explained what had happened. So he pulled me out and parked my behind at McDonald's to wait.

The entire ordeal lasted less than 2 minutes and as I sat at Mickey D's and waited, I couldn't stop marveling at how I wasn't hurt, the truck had not a scratch on it and I had managed to not hurt anyone else.  All I could do was sit there and thank God over and over.

The kicker? Ford KNOWS about this malfunction but since "not that many people have been affected by it" they haven't placed a recall on it. WHAT?! Excuse me ~ it shouldn't matter if it's only been 5 vehicles or 1,000....it's a safety issue. I guess that's an entire issue unto itself. So much for Made in America.

My God is an awesome God! There's just no other way to say it.

For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.
They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.
 Thou shalt tread upon the lion and adder: the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under feet.
 Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him: I will set him on high, because he hath known my name.
 He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honour him.~Psalm 91:11-15

Yesterday I awoke to a mini snowstorm. Our first of the season. It was absolutely beautiful. It always amazes me when I go to bed knowing there's grass and leaves on the ground only to wake up and find my world completely changed and beautified. I stood at my window yesterday watching the kids play outside and Ecclesiastes 3:1-9 came to my mind.

"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace."

I thought of the many changes taking place in my life and our home. I thought of my children and how their seasons are on opposite planes from each other. When one is starting new season, the other is beginning a dying season.
Our oldest is leaving for Chicago at the end of the month to study Graphic Design. This is a bittersweet pill to swallow. I'm happy that she's following her dream and going on an adventure to start a life of her own. And I'm so proud of where she is now and how far she has come. She has finally beaten her depression and claimed control of her life back. But I am struggling with the end of this chapter. I'm going to miss her so much that I can already feel that empty ache inside beginning to grow. Go, Michaela! Grab onto life and enjoy your new season!

There are other changes that can't be talked about here that affect our entire family and extended family. Changes that are exciting and scary, sickening and pride building all at the same time. My son is having a hard time adjusting to some of these changes. He's been worrying and having problems sleeping. His happy-go-lucky attitude is overshadowed now by a quietness and irritability. It's affecting his school work and he's been making poor decisions. It's frightening because I don't recognize this boy. He is in a season of crying, searching and tearing down. He is scared and it shows. My struggle is that I won't know how to mother my son through his hard season. When he was little, I could wrap him up in my lap and sing and kiss his fears away. Now that he is older, he is all too aware of what the future could bring. He doesn't want Mom to kiss the hurt. He wants answers that I don't have. He wants reassurance that it will be alright even though he knows it might not be. I've let him know that this future scares me, too, and we need to talk about it to help each other cope.  
I have learned that there are times when we need to hold on tight as if our life depended on it; because sometimes it does. But there are other times when we need to open our hands and let it go. Throw it into His lap and leave it there~ because our life or somebody else's depends on it. I pray that I can teach my son that this is one of those times that we need to open our hearts and cast our cares into His lap because we can't control everything. And the burden of worrying about things he can't control is much too great for a young boy to be lugging around on his shoulders.

When you come to me, unbidden,
Beckoning me
To long-ago rooms,
Where memories lie.

Offering me, as to a child, an attic,
Gatherings of days too few.
Baubles of stolen kisses.
Trinkets of borrowed loves.
Trunks of secret words,

I CRY.

Maya Angelou

I have to admit that when I started my physical therapy that I was in a very angry place. I hated the fact that here I was ~ yet again. Still. ~ dealing with the outcome of what had been done to me. Angry at the thought of having to travel up and down that healing spiral once again. Furious at having been pushed into facing it. Pushed. Such a pansy word. More like hog-tied, blindfolded and catapulted into the midst of it. 

And yet I noticed something along the way. The more I spoke my Truth, the faster my healing came. I didn't hold back. I refused to keep anything hidden or unspoken. 


Jesus said, "And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." John 8:32 
Of course, He was talking about freedom from sin. But sin is what caused my pain in the first place. My father's act of sin wreaked havoc on my body and my life. And as I continued to hold onto that sin and keep it a secret all these years, it made me sick and fearful.

The minute I opened my mouth and broke my Silence, my Truth began setting me free. The more I spoke about it, the lighter I felt. A Phoenix born of the ashes. Flying high. Full of color and life.


I have learned to speak even when my voice shakes. Even when the fear inside tells me to "Be Quiet!" Even when doubt says it's not worth saying anything. So what if my voice shakes? Who cares? What's important is the words and Truth falling from my lips. 

I refuse to let anyone else tell my story. I'm the only one who has lived it. I'm the only one that knows the facts. There are plenty of people who try and tell me what my Truth should be, or that it's wrong, or I don't have the right to speak or feel the way I do.


Ya know what? I'm going to continue telling my story until I'm fully healed. Inside and Out. In fact, I'm even going to continue telling it after that! Speaking, talking, writing, singing...has set me FREE! Why in the world would I give that joy and blessing up? 

I can't help the fact that you may get offended or that you don't like what I say. And, frankly, I don't care. It's MY Story. MY Truth. MY Life. MY Healing. Not yours. 


Here I am on the 6th week of physical therapy. And next week we dwindle down to only once per week. THAT is something to shout about! I prayed and prayed for a healing and He gave me my voice so that I could speak about what is True. What is Real. And when I began letting it flow freely from my mouth, the healing came with it. 


No. I'm not totally physically healed. It's quite possible that I may never be. That's not what's important. What is important is that I've learned to embrace my Story and not let anyone take it from me. I've learned to speak my Truth even though my voice shakes at times. Herein lies my strength and I double-dog dare you to try and rip it away from me!

Dear Miss K:

Here's a few words from all of us: LEAVE US ALONE. STAY OUT OF OUR LIVES.

You're a horrible friend who tells lies, breaks confidences and stabs those you supposedly love in the back - repeatedly. 

Why, YES, I DO have a blog that relates my life story. Probably the only truth you have ever told in your life. However, I started this blog AFTER you chose to run your mouth about my life and talk bad about me behind my back. Almost an entire YEAR after you first gossiped about me and what I was going through. So there is NO WAY that anyone else could have known anything I was going through regarding my dad had it not been for your ever-open and lying mouth.


As for what you've said about all my other girls...you're disgusting to even try and pawn that off onto someone else. Especially when the fact is that most of us didn't even know each other at the times you were talking bad about them to each of us. 


None of us want a thing to do with you and it's not Boo Boo's fault. It's YOURS. Leave her alone and leave the rest of us alone. Don't even let our names fall from your mouth. We are done with you. You never were a real friend but you've always been a liar and a backstabber. 


P.S. Thank you for introducing me to all my wonderful Girls! It's the only good thing that came out of being your "friend."

" A common analogy for the healing process is that it's like a spiral. You go through the same stages again and again; but traveling up the spiral, you pass through them at a different level, with a different perspective. You might spend a year or two dealing intensely with your abuse. Then you might take a break and focus more on the present. A year or so later, changes in your life - a new relationship, the birth of a child, graduation from school, or simply an inner urge - may stir up more unresolved memories and feelings, and you may focus in on it again, embarking on a second or a third or a fourth round of discovery. With each new cycle, your capacity to feel, to remember, to make lasting changes, is strengthened." (Bass & Davis, The Courage to Heal, 1994)
 
I have been up and down on that spiral many times and I had finally reached a point where I could let it rest for a while. I was at peace and able to focus in on Today. Right Now.
 
All that has changed and I'm hanging off the cliff on that spiral of healing.

Holding tight so as not to fall off into the abyss.

Stuck at Anger Impasse.  
 
I have dealt with immense pain for over the last year and a half. Not just during sex but even while I'm relaxed or going about my day. It feels as though some maniac has taken an ice pick and is stabbing violently through my pelvis and up between my legs. It reached the point to where I just couldn't live like that anymore. I went to my doctor who sent me to a specialist who then referred me to a physical therapist.
 
Turns out that my pelvic muscles are so tightly wound that they can't relax which in turn leads to immense pain. Subconsciously, she said that my body is rejecting anything that is put inside my body or even placed next to it. It's stressed out. After spending an hour in her office being examined and giving a complete history ~ it was discovered.
 
The pain had started shortly after my dad had been released from jail. I remember that time, too. It was scarier and more stressful for me than reading my victim impact statement in court. I began having flashbacks and nightmares where I'd wake myself up screaming. I had to sleep with a light on or the TV on so I wouldn't be in the dark. I was a complete and utter mess. The little girl in me knew that he was somewhere out there, capable of hurting me again. Capable of appearing at my bedside in the middle of the dark night. Even though the woman in me knew that he wasn't coming for me. I was safe.  
 
So here I am. Again. Paying for his wrongs. And I'm ANGRY. I'm so angry! I don't want to do this right now! Physical therapy, remembering, flashbacks, nightmares, therapy…I DON'T WANT TO!!! I'm tired. I'm exhausted. I just want it to GO AWAY.  
 
How is it that I have to continue the rest of my life going up and down on this rollercoaster because of something HE did? How I wish this page was something out of Harry Potter so that it would SCREAM when you read it. I don't know if that scream would ever end. It would be a continuous scream like the screams of the souls in Hell. It feels as though that's where I am right now. My own personal Hell.
 
BUT….THIS TOO SHALL PASS!
 
I have been here before.

I've faced those demons head on and fought my way out of Hell time and time again.

I am strong and nothing will keep me down.

Nothing will keep me from Healing and Thriving.

NOTHING.

Bring on the Anger- it's the fuel I need to press on and continue on my Journey!


I'm so thankful for those of you that continue to support and encourage me. It means SO much to know that I'm not alone and that I have travel buddies.



 

 

 

 

 

 

Another trip to the doctor. Yet another specialist. Now I have to endure physical therapy for the next month; possibly longer. I've never heard of physical therapy for that part of the body ~ but I will do whatever it takes. I'll be going through 3 different therapies several times a week plus things I need to do at home.

I left the doctor's office doing my yoga breathing so that I didn't have a break down right in the middle of everyone. The anger and frustration kept trying to bubble over and all I really wanted to do was start punching something, someone, anything. I wanted to run through the halls screaming at the top of my lungs.

How is it that, yet again, I'm paying for what you chose to do to me when I was a child?


 
IT'S NOT FAIR!!


 
I'm so angry! Yes, I love you. But honestly, right at this moment, I hate you.

It's not fair that every day ~ EVERY DAY~ that goes by I deal with it in some way. A flashback, nightmare, my physical pain….something. Day in and day out. It will be with me the rest of my life.

You? You got a slap on your hand and go on living. Ignoring me and everything in between as if it (and I) never even existed. It makes me sick. You have no idea. None. I wish I could turn my back on it like you have. Like everyone else has. But I can't. Because it's built into every fiber of my being. Every cell of my body screams at me to deal with it and never lets me forget or run from it.


 
God forbid that I ever hurt either of my children in such horrific ways as you have and then turn my back on them and leave them all alone to deal with the mess I created. You want to keep professing God ~ fine ~ but don't speak so loudly when you haven't handled the business in your own yard.


 

 

I received a call last Friday from my youngest brother. Thought he was calling just to chat but found out quickly that wasn't the case. He was simply 'reminding' me to call Dad because it was his birthday. Yep, I knew that.
 
Do I need a reminder? No.

Was I going to call him? No.

Did I even send a card? No.
 
I love my little brother. I'm not mad that he called just for that purpose. I explained to him the Why's of my actions. He said he understood and even agreed with me. Was he telling the truth? Who knows. It doesn't matter. I shouldn't, however, have to explain and defend my actions. My relationship with our Dad is my business and his…..especially because of what transpired between us.  
I don't question or discourage any of my siblings and their relationships with our Dad. We all went through Hell and were destroyed because of him. We all have our own lives, hearts and paths to rebuild ~ with or without Dad. Those decisions should be ours and ours alone without having to explain the reasoning.
 
I love my Dad. Without question. Without explanation. Without apology.
 
My entire life I struggled and worked to build a relationship with him. It was always me making the first move, the phone call, and traveling to visit. For a few years when I cut him out of my life the first time, I listened to my sister try to put guilt trips on me while she told me all the reasons I needed to go visit him and call him; about how sad and upset he was because I didn't send a card for Father's Day or his birthday. Back then, it only made me angry. She had no idea WHY I had taken him out of my life. There was no way I could explain it.
 
Here we are two years after he's been released from jail for what he did to me. I refuse to be bullied or made to feel guilty for not calling him on his birthday.
 
Let me ask some questions:
 
Who made the first move after Dad was released from jail to try & rebuild the relationship? ~ Me. I called him on the Thanksgiving after he was released.  
Has he called me at all since then? ~ NO.
 
Has he emailed me at all since then? ~ NO.
 
Has he written to me at all since then? ~ NO.
 
Did HE call or send a card on MY birthday? ~ NO.
 
Relationships are a two-way street. My siblings and I have always been the ones to reach out to our dad, to visit ~ to make the effort. I have reached the point and been through enough counseling to realize that I don't have to put up with it anymore. I'm worth so much more than that.
 
It's sad that my own father doesn't see my value or the value of a relationship with his children. What an empty legacy he will leave behind.
 
No. I'm not angry with my dad. I placed this in God's hands long ago. He knows what is best for me and will take care of it. My dad has his own path to rebuild. How and with whom he chooses to do so is his business and a decision he'll have to live with the rest of his life.
 
I'll continue to stand firm without guilt. I finally love, respect and care about myself. Anyone who doesn't share this view and refuses to do the same isn't welcome into my world. 


For the first time I'm in control. It's my way or the highway. No apologies.


 

 

 

 

"I write "Good-bye" letters to my kids and my brother every time I get on a plane. The outside of the envelope says "Open Only On My Death." but I always end up letting them read them when I return. It's kind of morbid but I can't help it."
 
Recently, I left my Love, my kids and all my responsibilities to jump on a plane and zoom to Florida. Anyone who knows me can attest to the fact that I'm not a fan of flying. I love the hustle and bustle of the airport. My heart races with excitement when I take my seat and when we land. I like everything about the act of flying before and after. Just not being in the air. 
 
Why? Because I have no control over what could happen. If we're going down ~ that's it. If someone takes over the plane ~ that's it. If we explode ~ that's it. I just don't like the odds. 
 
This trip was different. My heart was at such peace! I wasn't worried about crashing, exploding or any other catastrophe that we might run into. Until we were just about to land in Florida.

 
The pilot had been trying to beat the rain that was racing us there and he lost….but only by a few minutes. I saw out the window that the ground was getting closer and the houses were getting bigger. The rain was beating the plane like a maniac and suddenly there was no visibility, as if we were playing hide-and-seek in the clouds. I started getting nauseous because the plane was dropping and shaking.


 
It was at this point that I started to feel the 'What-If' Monster rear his ugly head. The more I could see of him, the more unsettled I became. But only until I heard that Voice deep within me….."Put your trust in Me." 
 
What? Trust You. I already do, don't I? *shake, shake, DROP* 
 
"Trust in Me." Trust in You. I DO trust You. * A deep breath in…* I DO trust in You. I do. I really do! 
 
Such a revelation to me as I sat back in my seat feeling that Peace roll right over my body from head to toe. I was in Great Hands and everything would be just fine. My heart trusted in Him. I was surprised….my heart really did trust in Him. I had no fear in me at that moment. 
 
Suddenly, everything began to get smaller again and we were pulling up. 
 
"What the…?!" The pilot came on the overhead and said we were going to circle around for awhile because he couldn't see the runway. Well, thank you very much, Mr. Pilot. Thank you for not landing on a piece of ground you couldn't see!
 
We ended up circling over the ocean for almost an hour while we waited for the rain to pass. As much as I wasn't thrilled about THAT aspect, I spent that hour sitting in my seat with a silly grin on my face. I had removed a brick from the wall. Just one brick. But it was a big brick. More light was gleaming through that old, ugly barrier. 
 
Wait…TWO old bricks were removed. I never wrote my "Open Only Upon My Death" letters before I left. I guess I had already planned on coming back in one Peace.


 

 

 

 

I've been waiting for quite awhile for this trip. Since my walk through hell 2 years ago I've been running mostly on fumes. With little else to give at most times, I wonder how I've managed to continue to serve and help those I love and care about most while continuing my schooling and other things in my life. It must be the strength that God gives women that has pulled me through.

So. Here I am. Nobody to think about but myself. Nothing required of me except to breathe. It feels SO good. Soaking up the sun, sights and sand.

I feel a shift taking place. A missing piece of myself being replaced. And with that renewal comes things that I'm learning about myself. Some new. Some forgotten. All welcome. I'm once again feeling completely whole and at peace.

It's all about You, Baby!