No One Heard Me (Poetry)
As a child no one heard me
As a teen no one heard me
As an adult no one heard me
I was loud with my voice
And no one heard me
I had wounds and scars
And no one heard me
I felt the heat of a bullet
And no one heard me
Their big hands hurt me
And no one heard me
My silent screams
And no one heard me
Holes in the doors and walls
And no one heard me
Who will cry for the little girl?
And no one heard me
#thispuzzledlife
My Parts And Change
“DID is about survival! As more people begin to appreciate this concept, individuals with DID will start to feel less as though they have to hide in shame. DID develops as a response to extreme trauma that occurs at an early age and usually over an extended period of time.”
― Deborah Bray Haddock, The Dissociative Identity Disorder Sourcebook
I don’t know why I’ve decided to write another blog so soon. Maybe it’s because I’m so eager to get back home that the loneliness of this room has taken its toll. But maybe it’s also because my parts are talking so loudly about the upcoming change that it’s hard to do anything else. I still hold true to my beliefs about the benefits of my two years of hard work and the spirituality that I hold near and dear. But to ignore what my parts are saying would go against everything I’ve learned. So, I’ve decided to give this some attention.
My child parts are like typical children. They’re excited to know that they will be able to play with Marshall and Copeland soon. They look forward to being around them again and to once again. And a certain little 5-year-old looks forward to being able to play with her chap sticks that have carefully been sent back home at an earlier date. They also long for a parent’s love to help ease the scariness of this new change.
My teenagers have a menagerie of emotions like most teens. Some are ready to go NOW and are having a hard time with patience. They all look forward to this scary but new life and experiences. My once loud and aggressive protector is the one who is surprisingly calm during this time of stress. She has always been the one no one could get close to. But through healing she has become one that knows her place and realizes that everything isn’t about a fight. The kid that she is longs for someone to simply hold and support her while this change happens. She’s not afraid to admit that she’s scared. But she also knows that she’s still one of the backbones of strength and courage in my system. Instead of being a part of aggression she has found and made peace with her trauma and now works with us all instead of causing chaos. She has become one of the hardest working parts in relation to recovery. And she holds tightly the words of our dear Sarah close to her heart.
She was hands down the loudest but most damaged alter I have. Her loyalty to our coach and our system is comes from a place that’s admirable and loveable. And I must admit that having her working with us for several months now is something that makes my heart leap for joy. Her heart is open and healed and has become one of my parts that I couldn’t live without. She one that has brought about the most change and has remained open to love, peace and happiness. My part that is her direct opposite and wise beyond her years is still strong with positivity. Very simply put she brings light to the darkness. The desires of her heart I won’t share but peace from within is what she exudes.
My athlete and student are parts that keep us all going. Having the respect for our dear coach they both repeat the phrase, “Stay the course and trust coach. She hasn’t led us astray yet and we need her right now. We trust her because she’s proven trustworthy. Listen and follow her guidance because she will help lead us home safely.” And I must admit that writing keeps “the student” occupied.
A few of my adult parts looks forward to helping Mel raise the boys. They also bring about nurturing and grace on a daily basis. They look forward to being role models for my children that will help me to be the mother I need to be. I have other desires of my heart but none more important than the ones that foster my being able to take care of myself instead of having to be taken care of. I look forward to being able to take care of myself instead of being trapped within myself and frozen with fear.
All these parts make up me, Dana Landrum-Arnold. I’m proud of who I am now and what I can become as a person in the future. My heart longs for many different things. And I’ll admit that I’m very nervous. But when I look back on the days of Texas, I can say that it has been the most rewarding and difficult time of my life. I have worked harder for this resolution of my trauma then anything else. The scars of my story are evident on my arms and my heart. But the peace I’ve fought so hard for is written all over my face and heart as well. I now see myself as one who has discipline, courage, strength and love to share with anyone who will accept it. I am a good person who a set of individuals tried to destroy a little at a time. What I was blessed with was several parts of myself who fought my battles and took care of me for many years regardless of how maladaptive the behaviors were. And now I’ve grown to the point that it’s time that I take care of them and my responsibilities as Dana. They helped me to survive and now I will help them to thrive. My name is Dana Landrum-Arnold and I have a story to tell.
#thispuzzledlife
The Wooden Door
You met me as an innocent child
If only for a little while
But even a little was too much
Because behind you is where I learned the meaning of
The word…. crutch.
Twist and turn my mind you did
Until that kid ran and hid
But you awakened that angry child
The one who would live life running wild.
Behind you is where the secrets lived
Because I couldn’t hang around to see what you did
She protected me from things I didn’t want to know
She took all the pain and it would show.
Red, purple and eventually white
That’s the colors of her painful stripes
Your evil would once again score
All behind that wooden door.
#thispuzzledlife
What If NO Really Meant NO
“So often survivors have had their experiences denied, trivialized, or distorted. Writing is an important avenue for healing because it gives you the opportunity to define your own reality. You can say: This did happen to me. It was that bad. It was the fault & responsibility of the adult. I was—and am—innocent.” The Courage to Heal by Ellen Bass & Laura Davis”
― Ellen Bass, The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse
There are things in my life t;hat I continue to hide under a bush away from the light. Mostly because it’s embarrassing to deal with. The sexual abuse I endured has affected my life in ways that I can’t seem to find words for. In my early 40’s I should be in my sexual prime. But instead I sit here getting nauseous at just discussing the topic. My first sexual experience was around the age of 5 years old which is incredibly too young to know anything about that side of life. It terrified me when it happened not once but several times. I hear their words and can still feel them touching me. I still hear the words whispered in my ear. It all burns so bad in my soul that I can smell my charred remains.
Where this is something that I’ve left covered and protected I’m also not healing in this area of my life. I have run until there’s no where else to run to. It’s time to turn around and face it. Coach has proven herself time and time again that she’s trustworthy of this information. Now it’s my time to allow my trust in her to do it’s job.
Sex for many years has been a taboo topic that most people shy away from unless poking fun. But, even as an adult I was violated aggressively by a person that was supposed to protect and cherish me…….my husband. Instead, however, fear and pain were shown. I allowed him to do things to me that I was against personally and saying, “NO” just made things worse. So, I reluctantly went along as his submissive with total disregard for how I felt.
Me and my alters don’t understand how this process is supposed to feel and be in a loving way uninhibited by young and adult alters who are terrified of being a part of a process that is meant to be one defined by the words “precious and sacred.” I have often said that I “let” people do to me sexually what they wanted. When, in fact, I was saying NO and being told what would happen if I didn’t allow it. So, silently I would lay still hoping and praying that whatever was being done would end quickly.
By the time I met Mel sex to me was a horrible amd very scary word. But, the damage had already been done. The nausea I now couldn’t control which ruined the experience time and time again. The only thing that seemed to save me what the ability to float away. What I did was leave alters in my place further scaring and traumatizing them. No matter how many times I tried this process became automatic. And now one of the most intimate areas of my life has lead to a life of hibernation rather than fulfillment. I didn’t “LET” anyone do anything. They took my pride, self-confidence and humanity. Which leads me to ponder the question, “What would life had been like if No actually meant NO?”
#thispuzzledlife
The Heart of a Comeback Kid
“My comeback was not about winning or losing; it was about the feeling
of being able to compete at top level again.”
—Thomas Muster
I’ve said many times that as an athlete I wasn’t coached to lose. So, losing for me has never been a viable option. In this battle for life losing is still not an option. What is a reality is how tired one can become of fighting for that number in the win column. Giving up is not what I’ve done or what I’m doing.
When I was playing ball, I was always pushed beyond my limits both physically and mentally. Some of this I would do on my own and some would inevitably come from my coaches. Either way this is not an area that’s foreign to me. Truly, I have become quite tired of fighting, but I won’t give up. I have said from the beginning that I’ll win or die trying. I know no other way to view a battle.
I’m not only fighting the demons that I was given. I’m also fighting demons that I’ve created. Years of aggression and not knowing the proper way to overcome things has led me to relying on my own recognizance. This means that inevitably I chose many different things and ways of coping that were and are still not healthy.
I’m currently taking an online class about self-sabotage and recognizing the ways in which I do this in all areas of my life. This might be the only thing I’m doing right currently. But what I am learning to do is to slowly begin to let those things and people that hurt me go. It’s very difficult to free yourself of the chains that bind you. Most of the time we wait for our “jailer” to come prancing towards us with the keys to free us. However, when it comes to dealing with trauma the process is quite different. We must free ourselves as a hostage therefore making it possible to not hold others hostage with a death grip because of fear. I’m doing the best that I can, but I still seem to lose my footing at times.
For me the fear is about not having something to catch me if I fall. I have always had a behavior or a chemical close by to help with this. Now, however, I’m attempting to eliminate not one but all of swords that I’ve previously used as power against myself and others. I have used these swords as a means of survival and have managed to cut just about everyone out of my life including myself. I have used all types of therapeutic assignments to aid in this healing. There are those extremely painful events that I want to handle personally with individuals. But this being a situation where the ability to handle it personally is being diminished has let me straight into a state of panic and at times rage. Trying to contain the rage and the intense feelings of disappointment are what I’m trying to soothe by holding on to my destructive ways.
I know what it’s like to be in the position of being captain of a team. I know that other teammates look to me for both guidance and direction. Having a mental illness like Dissociative Identity Disorder assures me that I have other teammates that are looking up to me in this way. They are children, impulsive teenagers and very hurt adults. And, yes, there is one who is “The Athlete.”
This athlete is the one who knows how to set a goal and how to block everything out but that goal while also maintaining the safety of other teammates. The athlete is the one that manages to pick me up and dust me off while saying, “Shake it off. I know it hurts but we have to keep going.” This athlete will also do ANYTHING to make sure the goal is achieved even if it’s harmful to oneself. The goal is to win. She is also a teenager/adult who will protect her own but sometimes her tunnel vision ends up harming those that seem to get in the way of that goal. She is also having to learn how to win in healthy ways.
Combined I am one hell of a person that loves people and loves to win. I won’t settle for 2nd place as this is 1st place loser. And in the game of life 2nd place is also not an option for me. So, I say this…when you look in your review mirror and see someone swerving and appearing to be crashing just remember that I have the heart of a comeback kid. I’ll be waiting on you at the finish line.
“Making a comeback is one of the most difficult things to do with dignity.”
Greg Lake
#thispuzzledlife
Confucius Says….
Ok so it’s difficult to find quotes about fortune cookies that are better just called stale cookies. I have mostly used them as entertainment to amuse myself. Anyway, since moving to Texas I’ve begun to keep my fortunes from the cookie which my alters all seem to need. What makes a cookie more delicious than having an expiration date of 1994, a slip of paper with a random fortune that will never come true and some fake lottery numbers. I haven’t found a number yet that was as lucky and a random set of keys to a brand-new house showed up in the mail for me.
I have several fortunes saved. Nowhere near as many times as I’ve gone to eat sushi and left there feeling like a frenzy feeding sharks on Shark Week. But some of the fortunes have by paranoia alarms going off and alters running for cover. When some of the phrases sound like Brene Brown wrote it that’s when a philosophical conversation breaks out. Yep, I have a head full of sporadic philosophical geniuses. And let’s face it, I’ve been a little too serious and emotional lately.
The alters’ that love the fortune cookies the most are the ones that lay close to 1980’s music and culture. They also like to read them in the voice of Mr. Miyagi for added effect. My favorite fortune cookie must be the one pictured because we were all caught off guard at the thought of sleeping cookies. They’re so stale that they are more like “dead cookies.” I’m telling you that most people who live alone are literally alone. Not me…. I’ve got want-to-be comedians going all day long entertaining any and every one that I come in contact with.
It’s times like these when I wish that I could be silly with Marshall and Copeland playing and acting silly. Even they know that we play when momma can play because the swing always goes the other way. I try to take things as they come like if I was given the opportunity to duck I wouldn’t. Geez…. really universe? So, I don’t just write lighthearted blogs to help you. I do it to help me and to deal with life as it comes. I take some dark and lonely roads sometimes and get lost trying to get out. She said, “It will be worth it. Not easy.”
#thispuzzledlife
Who Will Cry For The Little Girl?
6.13.2019
“The worst type of crying wasn’t the kind everyone could see–the wailing on street corners, the tearing at clothes. No, the worst kind happened when your soul wept and no matter what you did, there was no way to comfort it. A section withered and became a scar on the part of your soul that survived. For people like me and Echo, our souls contained more scar tissue than life.”
― Katie McGarry, Pushing the Limits
Recently, there seems to be some type of shift that’s taking place in therapy. Coach and I have been working on a few things with “my guys” and that’s where it seems that the shift started. I can’t do much explaining other than my personal opinion because right now my job is to trust and let the fairy dust fly. The player/coach relationship that I had with my coaches was always considered very sacred to me. So, you can bet your ass that the “therapeutic relationship” that I have with coach is one that is very sacred and protected as well.
Tonight I was suddenly stopped in my tracks with a big dose of anxiety that instantly had me in tears. A lot of old and extremely painful feelings have been nipping at my heels and tonight was the breaking point. Crying in front of a therapist again has taken some getting used to. I didn’t say that it was comfortable but what it has been is……SAFE. After years of being made fun of, ridiculed and belittled for my tears, it makes doing what seems natural appear impossible at times. I can’t begin to explain how damaging abuse and “bad therapy” can deeply impact someone. What I can tell you about is the relief that is felt after months and, in this case, a couple of years watching so many things about a therapist and finally taking that chance again with my tears and not getting hurt. The unspoken message between stares that says, “I’m not going to make fun of you” instantly makes the tears fall faster. There’s not a monetary value that you can put on an experience like that. Your heart feels a pleasant but guarded relief and overwhelming grief all at the same time. Since that day a deeper level of trust and openness was achieved and therapy continues to evolve. Leaps and bounds is the Speed at which I’m doing work.
Last night I found a picture album that I had forgotten that I had stashed away in my room. Curious what pictures were in there I looked and felt a lump in my throat when I saw it was pictures of Marshall when he was younger. I was just being a proud momma until the pictures of him as a preemie in the NICU. Feelings ran hot/cold from head to toe. I felt the same fear that I had experienced when I was unable to hold him initially. I couldn’t understand why this was happening with our new baby. The guilt and shame was incredible then and still is now.
There were approximately 30-40 more pictures each with heavy emotions attached to each one. I sat there in the quietness of my bedroom and let the anxiety and 30 years of shameful grief overtake me. The tears were not gently rolling down my cheeks. I was “Snot crying” like a toddler in Wal-Mart. Each picture’s emotion was like it had been felt for the first time. I held my stuffed animals and wished for anything but aloneness. I needed someone to tell me that grief will not kill you. And that I couldn’t possibly cry enough tears to be seen in the emergency room for dehydration. Maybe I could try and understand it my way that I could make sense of things. The best possible explanation was that I was losing water weight. Yep…I got it after that. The grief I was feeling was just too much. Those pictures needed a better place to stay until they don’t have quite the sting that they do now. And I’m proud to say that those pictures have a new temporary home placement.
After adjustments were made with my guys a couple of weeks ago, the freedom for better communication has been allowed. What a sense of freedom and a new level of understanding I’m experiencing with my alters. Emotions are still very overwhelming for me. They’re almost always very intense whether or not they are positive or negative.
I began to feel the individual feelings that my alters experience daily. I have been coasting on laughter and anger for so many years that I seem to have forgotten how to experience some of these feelings on their most basic level. And just me, my stuffies and my guys would be here to deal with them all……ALONE. I was soon overcome with grief, loss, guilt and shame not for myself but for those children, teens and adults who were so mistreated. I know it’s weird hearing someone talk about different parts of themselves like they’re the poor, pitiful neighborhood kids. But to me they are all individuals. They just all live under one roof…MINE. Just roll with it.
I began to cry for the fear that each one experienced at a level that’s not easily put into words.
I cried for all of the anxiety, from the years of stress, that has left its permanent mark on my body physically.
I cry for the secrets that the children were forced into silence thus preventing help. And for the teens and adults that still keep secrets now because they still feel that they aren’t worthy of being helped.
I cry for the person that I use to be before the damage of the abuse showed such overwhelming evidence.
I cry for the children and their lost innocents.
I cry for those that needed and wanted help and it never arrived.
I cry for the fear of having relationships with people because when I was younger relationships came with an “OWIE.”
I cry for the adults who experienced every level of pain in a relationship for many years that was supposed to be one where love and protection were a natural reality. Unfortunately, though, relationships now equal fear.
I cry for the ones who had relationships with those trusted and respected people who have since died that had such a positive impact on us all. But the loss was so great that the impact can be felt with every failed relationship since.
I cry for the one that hurts so deeply over losses that she will sabotage anything good.
I cry for the ones that miss out on the joy of being able to enjoy food and eating. Because those times were used for target practice by others.
I cry for the little one that cries continuously. Her pain cannot be soothed. She has a hole in her soul that was created from rejection and abandonment. She craves security and safety that was lost in 1975 and 2015. Nothing and no one but me and the universe can hear her piercing cries.
And I cry for everyone who is doing their best to realize that love and compassion aren’t supposed to hurt.
And those who are also very slowly beginning to allow both empathy and compassion to collectively soften and re-warm the hearts that were tucked away for protection that have grown cold and necrotic. With the re-warming comes new and healthy growth. Hearts with healthy tissue begin to mend. The soul energy that had become so depleted will be renewed. Tears go from the color red back to clear. The masks of the clown and the devil will not be the only two available because there won’t be a need to looked through the eyes “masking” pain. That determined athlete will have a renewed sense of purpose and a new set of trusted and loved teammates. And a new coach who’s words of wisdom gets absorbed and held onto with a death grip. Self-worth and value become realized and then actualized. Scars begin to fade from fresh battle wounds to the scars of the war once fought. New and healthier ways of protecting myself will become the new breastplate that will be worn with pride knowing the work that was done to earn it. And another dynamic “coach” that will have motivated and pushed me with fairy dust to be the best possible “ME” that I could be. But the greatest gift that will be gained covers it all……AUTHENTICITY.
Who will cry for this little girl? The ones that live inside of me. She matters and so do they.
“I define connection as the energy that exists between people when they feel seen, heard, and valued; when they can give and receive without judgment; and when they derive sustenance and strength from the relationship.”
― Brené Brown
#thispuzzledlife
Lessons Learned
“There are certain life lessons that you can only learn in the struggle.”
― Idowu Koyenikan, Wealth for All: Living a Life of Success at the Edge of Your Ability
I have been asked more than once since writing these blog posts how I decide what to write? The truth is that I don’t always know. Sometimes it can be a topic that has embedded itself in my gut. It can be a topic that I continually search for answers and/or the meaning in my life. But, I often times will begin writing without any type of direction. Maybe it’s even some type of struggle where writing is my way of asking the universe for a lesson to be taught. And my thoughts have always been to sit back and wait for my answers to be revealed. Whatever the “reason” or “lesson” my intent is to be open and receptive no matter how difficult.
I have always been one that has taken the hard road out of necessity. Mel will be one of the first to tell anyone who asks that “Dana has to see something for herself before she will make a decision. You can tell her all day long the easiest way to go but until she sees things for herself she won’t budge.” This is not a fact that I deny. Maybe the hard truth is the only way I learn. If you wait for me to read between the lines, I will most assuredly leave you frustrated. Being incredibly hard headed and coming in 2nd place only to my Nannie, has never really made the “easy way” a workable option either. I must have questions answered and the questions about the questions answered. I might still reach the same conclusion but it will have taken me twice as long.
As a young child and then a mouthy teenager if I was told not to do something you can write it down that within hours or minutes I would be doing the very thing I was told not to do. This is where playing sports and having coaches who had the ultimate authority taught me discipline. As an adult and without their sometimes harsh discipline I seemed to go through life hungering for direction. Also, through this same discipline I was taught how to pick myself up and keep going. Because it wasn’t all about me, it was about our TEAM. This team concept is one lesson that I have never lost.
At 43 years-old and a difficult adult life, I’ve had to take some hard looks in the mirror and some much needed soul searching that would’ve had the ability to piss off Gandhi. Go a step further and do this in solitude with the daily worries of a mother and a wife and it doesn’t take long for someone to start questioning whether or not the chip on my shoulder is actually worth carrying. It also has the incredible ability to lessen the teenage arrogance in my walk and anger written on my face all seemingly hidden by a smile and a few jokes. Because when you don’t have the daily distractions of life there’s nothing that can bring forth an argumentative yet very sobering day like the one staring back at you.
There have been many times that I have stared in the mirror only to see the one looking back almost as if to say, “Really? Smiles and laughter are all fun and games until you get a really good look at yourself when the clown isn’t on stage, isn’t it?” I continue to look in the mirror at the stern arrogance of the one who, in recent years, has been able to provide intimidation whenever needed. I look down at my hands remembering how much damage can be done to a room in a fit of rage. I then look at my forearms and hear the familiar taunts from 30 years prior and the feeling of words spoken as though they were being said for the first time. The adult that was to educate her never raised her hand in anger because the muscles she used as a weapon could also cause damage. I look up as tears begin to stream down my face wishing, for that moment, that someone would make the pain in my chest cease. I search for a laugh or a smile to be instantaneous medicine as it has been for the majority of my life. Instead, however, were a set of eyes belonging to a very hurt teenage child who is fixated on the guilty memory of the unknown mother who said, “She hurt my son too.” Through the tears she tried but couldn’t convey the language of her pain. Pain, as she would discover, wasn’t always spoken. And on this day, the lessons were learned.
#thispuzzledlife
The Code of Silence
“The predator wants your silence. It feeds their power,
entitlement, and they want it to feed your shame.”
—Viola Davis
When I first begin getting to know someone, the very first thing I look for is their level of snitch. What do I mean by this? Snitching is when you tell on someone to get yourself out of trouble. Another word for a snitch is a tattletale. To be labeled as a snitch socially is to be ostracized. In other circles being labeled as a snitch can get you killed. And snitching is a predator’s greatest enemy because that exposes secrets.
As a small child the term snitching wasn’t used yet. I did know what the term tattletale meant. And what hurting my friend’s feelings and damaging a relationship because of telling secrets meant. It meant people would be mad at me and I would have no friends. Even teachers at daycares can get tired of all the tattling. Step inside any daycare and you’re liable to hear, “The next child that tattles doesn’t go outside and play.” These are two dichotomous examples of telling information. My question to think about is are we teaching our kids the best and safest message? There are always exceptions to the rule. By the time these children are teens there’s an unwritten “code of conduct” around telling information whether it be relevant or not that might save lives. This will also get someone labeled as a snitch.
I can expand more about teens later, however, for the sake of this blog post I’m going to refer to myself as a young child. My first lesson in keeping secrets that should’ve been told was around 5 years-old. I was molested many times by my neighbor’s youngest and middle sons. These boys were around 13-15 years old and old enough to know better. The way I was held emotionally hostage was through threats like “the police would come and I would have my parents taken away.” I was also told, “that I would make people mad and no one would want to be my friend. And it would be all my fault.”
This little girl named Dana would do everything possible to make sure both she and her family was safe. From a child’s point of view, I hung on to every scary word spoken. And afterwards they would tell me how beautiful I was. The searing pain that would burn my body would leave an imprint on my psyche even today. The pain and fear would start and I would leave somewhere in my mind where pain was not felt. Still to this day, I’m very confused in just about every way in regards to having been molested.
People that seek power over other people instill in their victims that telling about abuse is a sign of weakness. As a teenager, anytime I told or tried to tell about the abuse to the school administration this information would get back to the teacher making the abuse worse. The message I got from doing that was to “forget asking for help and save yourself.” After the abuse of my 8th grade year, I vowed that as long as I was around to witness someone needing defending or help I would step in and protect in whatever way that I could. This has bought me unnecessary trouble with coaches and friends but to me it was worth it. I could then lay my head on my pillow at night and sleep.
One night after Mel and I had been speaking to a class at the college, A mother from that class asked me where I went to middle school. I told her Petal Middle School and she asked about the teacher that was so abusive. Because her 8th grade son would come home from school every afternoon with tears in his eyes due to being called names in front of his classmates by a teacher. She told me the teacher she was speaking about and after my heart dropped into my stomach I said, “Unfortunately, ma’am that is who I was speaking about.” She asked, “What should I do?” I told her, “Tell someone and get your child in counseling like yesterday.” I don’t know whatever happened to that mother and her child’s situation. The information I shared with her helped she and her son? However, a big load of shame and guilt was dumped on me as penance for that child and any other children after me that I kept the secret about the abuse ,consequently, leaving the predator unscathed and in the driver’s seat to handpick her next teen victim with ease.
The small little southern city with air tight politics and a nose for people’s business other than their own was to my detriment that year. I was told many years later by one of the administrators that worked there my middle school years information that still burns my ears. I was told, “You were a child at that time and I couldn’t say anything especially due to the politics. But I can tell you now that she should’ve never been around children.” The disappointment must’ve been written all over my face when she saw how perplexed I was. She said, “Is there something I can try to clear up for you?” I stood there for a moment not knowing what to say but burning with questions. “Yes ma’am. I do have a question…..So you all knew she was abusive and shouldn’t have been around children and you let her teach anyway?!” “I was her verbal punching bag and her abuse has affected my education, my career, my relationship with my wife and children, my relationships with others and above all the relationship and image of how I view myself as a human being!” I was mad but I couldn’t stop then tears. She hugged me as we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.
When I went to my own vehicle and unlocked the doors, I sat down and shook my head and said, “They knew the whole time and didn’t try to stop her. Didn’t they know how badly it all hurt? Did they even care? Yes, I fought every way possible to make it through that year in school that still shows its ugly scarring. No matter what adult I tried to tell that year I got no help from the abuse. And “snitching” never did me any favors. Had someone look past the labels and protected me from the backlash of telling the truth about the abuse my life could and maybe even would be much different now. That one year of school affected a few other teenagers in ways that are still damaging to them. The most visible are the scars that line the forearms of those teens with 30 years of thick scarring from the one thing that would listen to us all then…..razors. I also had the experience of eating disorders (anorexia, bulimia), alcoholism, drug addiction that were all there with their arms wide open to help shield me from the unwanted torture of abuse.
The “Code of Silence” protected by perpetrators in a way that I had no defense. And as a very young bride, I would face abuse again for the next 14 years. That “Code of Silence” that was used as an intimidation factor all those years worked. It kept me silent and the perpetrators innocent. I go to bed scared every night and the first emotion I have in the morning is fear. This shame based silence that seen as normal or acceptable is very hurtful. Maybe protecting offenders because of “snitching” isn’t the problem. And maybe listening and helping to protect children and teens when they tell should be handled first instead of politics and reputations.
“We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim.
Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.
–Elie Wiesel
#thispuzzledlife
“Bruised Inside”
“You’re gonna have to go through hell, worse than any nightmare you’ve ever dreamed.But when it’s over, I know you’ll be the one standing. You know what you have to do. Do it!”
—Coach Duke, Creed
In my blog I repeat several different views about the abuse I went through. It might be from a different angle but repeating will inevitably happen. If this is a problem then read elsewhere because this blog is about MY healing and when I’m struggling or laughing about something worth sharing, that’s exactly what I’ll do.
This is a great therapeutic tool that I developed out of necessity several years ago. At that time, it seemed to be just what I needed that listened and was non-judgmental to whatever problem I would write about. Whatever the issue was, I wanted and searched for my answers to some of my strange behavior at times. I was simply searching for where the “old Dana” went and who in the heck was this “new Dana” in many different pieces that is trying to emerge?
The one part of life that I’m very strong in is protective instincts. This means protecting those I love even if the protection is from me. I can’t say that I love someone and then when the situation calls for this protection I not be willing to do just that. I’ve ended a relationship recently for this very reason and it has been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done.
Looking for answers as I’ve always done, I went to the library to see what I can find about a topic that has been bothering me “Bullying at school by teachers.” Most books on this topic usually lead to bullying from other students. But this day, I found a book that would seemingly have some much needed answers and validation that has been lacking. The book is titled, “Teen Torment by Patricia Evans.”
I opened the book to a random page with the title…..
In this passage I found this….”In a culture that overlooks verbal abuse, teens who are tormented by it face difficulties accomplishing developmental tasks such as independence, identity, and career goals. When teachers put them down or rage at them these students lose the confidence to become independent. And one of the long-term consequences of verbal abuse is that it disconnects teens from their emotional self.” Essentially, what happens is that the teen learns how to feel nothing in order to withstand the abuse. “The teen then can’t figure out who they really are versus who they’re told they are. Consequently, they look for their identity outside of themselves making up an image that seems more acceptable since they’ve already been told many times that who they are is not adequate as a human being. They might develop an appearance so that no one really knows what has happened to them as a safety measure. They will go to any lengths to maintain this image which to them seems safe. Instead they end up losing their own interests and talents because all of their thoughts about who they thought they were have been told time and time again that they’re wrong.”
Indicators of Verbal Abuse
When I was abused by this teacher everything that I was being taught, by my parents, about respect of another human being was confusing to say the least. She told me so many negative things about myself as a human being and through negative body image that I was almost guaranteed to sprout the eating disorders anorexia and bulimia that I still struggle with daily after 30 years. I’m tormented by her words and actions daily. I can hear them as clearly as the day she said them. And as sad as it seems, I hold onto my eating disorders and other self-harming behaviors with a death grip because somewhere along the way they were the only part of my life that seemed safe and something I can control. But this “control” is a false control just like addiction to a chemical. It’s also behaviors that pretend to be your friend until you realize that that “safe friend” has taken everything away mainly your sanity. Self-harming behaviors of any kind have negative social implications which have made me a prisoner of my bedroom. Most people don’t want to hear excuses for why you don’t want to eat. They just see it as a disrespectful gesture and will think twice before inviting you again. And God forbid if they happen to see your scars from cutting. They think they’re hanging out with a psychotic monster that has the possibility to lunge at them with a razor blade at the dinner table. My thoughts have always been, “If you only knew what caused these scars to appear, you’d think before judging next time.”
When I finished reading only about 10 pages of information I laid my book down in my lap and began sobbing. Finally, I had found some information that spoke for me what I couldn’t. I saw on those pages validation for that horrible year of abuse with information about what it did to me. I was called all the names and was told that I was stupid and fat among other things that children should never have directed at them by anyone much less from a “safe person” in a position of authority. That year affected me in ways that I still can’t fully understand. This book and it’s passages tend to make me retract from some of the information because of how close to home it all is.
As a teenager, I had much difficulty with emotion regulation. I’m torment by her words and actions of that year. Her negative body image comments have me fearing everything related to the topic. I can still feel the bullets of her malignant words she shot my way directly into my still developing brain. And to her I can say this, “You don’t matter and you never did. I’m succeeding despite what you did.” And for you I have a surprise. What if it’s simply calling you and confronting you about what was done? This kind of discussion needs to be in public where we both feel safe and can speak openly. It could be that simple. Would you listen and deny any wrong doing? Either way a surprise there will be because every day I wake up I’m bruised inside and you are the only one who can heal that wound. Wouldn’t that be a nice surprise?! Maybe that’s the surprise I’m waiting to hear and hold on to. Maybe the surprise is something different. Only I know.
Every single day I choose to work on some type of behavior or action that most people take for granted. As much as I would like to re-gift this “gift” of surviving apparently it was meant for me. And I’ll carry this burden with the hopes that my own children don’t have to taste this type of life and that monsters are just pretend instead of real as I and many others know them. Carrying the trauma of the boys that molested me, my teacher, my ex-husband and his brother, a trusted therapist will end with me. I will either win or die trying because when it comes down to it it’s all about leaving everything you’ve got physically and mentally in the ring, on the field or on the court. Whatever happens my wife and boys will know that I gave everything I had until I couldn’t. I wasn’t coached to give up until I had left it all on the field and could feel proud of my efforts whenever that day comes.
Rocky Balboa talking to Adonis Creed before his first fight….
You’ve never been in front of this many people….that don’t matter.
You’ve never been this far away from home….that doesn’t matter either.
What matters is what you leave in the ring
And what you take back with you is……PRIDE.
And knowing that you did your best and you did it for yourself.
You didn’t do it for me; Not for your friend’s memory but for you.
I can see in your eyes you’re going to do it…..Go Do This Champ!
#thispuzzledlife
The Healing Power of Strangers
“The wound is the place where the light enters you.”
― Rumi
Today was therapy day which was the first session since our big internal revelation about functioning as a team. After some formalities in conversation we start our work with the our internal group all in one place. Our protector stands at the plate with a serious, yet also playful, tone as the one who would take direction for the group. Her blazing stare along with those of her “posse” is enough to cause hesitation and chills with many. She stares at all members with an almost, “I dare you to step out of line” gaze. “Coach” then directs her to address those most ostracized. She reluctantly begins to speak to these nicely as she’s told. When asked what she thought she responds with, “those words tasted like vinegar rolling of my lips.” The therapeutic point was eventually made, understood and internalize later in the session. And yes, we are still chewing on all of that.
The topics that I despise the most is food, eating and body image soon became the topic of conversation. The correlations between this struggle and particular traumas were addressed. And then came the topic about a specific food that I can almost never turn down….SUSHI!!!!! The is an internally approved food but one in particular like to eat sushi like it’s the only “life force” for survival. The protector is explained to about the importance of not being so rigid with food choices and abusive comments. And of course when even internal children are around they pick up on things said by “coach” too. The kids start shouting with excitement, “Chicken nuggets and ketchup packets…HOORAY!” Then statements spoken are, “Can we have sushi tonight? Please!!!” Rolling her eyes she sternly but calmly says, “No.”
We get our assignment for the coming week and I tell “coach” goodbye until next time. I leave there nervous about the teen’s distaste and controlling nature about eating. And our little natives were definitely restless. Over and over I would hear, “Please let me have some sushi!!” “Yea and chicken nuggets and candy too!!!! And Ketchup!!!” I knew that she wouldn’t tolerate much more but the chants would not stop. She tries to stay restrained but frustration leads to her snapping at those chanting, “Stop it! Just stop it! I said No!” The children always seem to be protected from the majority of her abuse and they certainly know this. A certain little 7 year-old says, “Coach says for you to not be an asshole. And you’re being an asshole. I’m going to tell her!” This, thankfully, seems to be the only bad word that he says but he can definitely use it liberally at times. She huffs and puffs like she’s about to blow the house down and says through gritted teeth, “Fine go get some sushi then!” Cheers ring out while she grumbles.
We FINALLY settle on a place for the beloved sushi and make a B-Line for the restaurant. Once there I have a couple of tokes of my medicine with the hope that I can head off the already rising anxiety. I soon start to relax and get out of the car to watch the sushi piece-by-piece going to meet its maker. I quickly notice different people in the restaurant and hope that no one can seem me. Luckily, everyone’s attention seems to be on their own meal or conversation and they don’t notice me. I fix my plate and then sit down at my table. I start indulging in this little momentary slice of heaven. Even when eating completely alone in my room I will start rocking while eating. This doesn’t change when I’m in public. It seems to ease the pain of the entire event. I eat a couple of pieces and then the paranoia and anxiety explode with the thoughts, “This is bad! This is bad!” I put on my iPod to try to drown out the loud thoughts while continuing to rock. I look at my plate scared to eat another piece. My hands start shaking and I feel like I’m about to throw up. I look at my plate again and think, “But sushi is an approved food what’s the problem?” I realize the chaos is not from the protector but is coming from the one he married. She feels the weight and the stabs of his words, “Look at yourself. You eat like you’re in prison! Everyone is watching you. You disgust me!”
About 15 minutes has now gone by and the whole mood has now changed. And then…..we make eye contact with another patron. “Go! You’ve got to leave now because they just saw you”, I hear. I quickly get up and try to exit the restaurant as quickly and as inconspicuous as possible. I go to pay for my meal and notice a bald woman, at the register, who was obviously taking cancer treatments. I’m thinking, “Ok just please hurry.” I make small talk when it’s my turn to pay about how good the sushi was trying not to convey the difficulties of my recent struggle. The employee says, “Oh you like sushi? Sushi good for you. You not here long.” I say, “Yea, I’m kind of on a tight schedule.” All I want is to be out that front door and away from food.
I start walking to my car when the bald woman whom I’ve never met says, “I can tell you struggle with being here.” I try to blow it off and give a short answer so that I can move on. “Yea I struggle with being in public and eating issues”, I tell her. I keep walking to my target and she continues to follow closely beside me. I keep thinking, “Please don’t say anything intrusive lady. She is NOT in the mood.” The lady boldly says, “Honey can I pray for you?” Sirens go off internally by much more fierce protectors. “No religion! No religion!” I freeze. I start looking for particles of fairy dust in the area and thinking, “Damn I must’ve overpaid her today or something. How is this happening?” I oblige her by saying, “Yes, please do.” She prays specifically for my eating disorder issues and for some reason I know she means no harm.
I relax my guard a bit and we begin to talk briefly. I find out that she moved to Texas from New York to take part in her own healing not related to the cancer. After only a couple of minutes she says, “Honey, you’ve got to change to speaking healing in your words.” Ok….I start looking around for “coach” thinking she has me on hidden camera. Does this woman have a earpiece where “coach” is telling her to say these things? The whole moment seems surreal but comforting. I told her, “You know I’ve been told those same things recently.” She says, “No truer words. You might want to listen.” I tell her goodbye and thank her again for her kindness. I have no idea what her name was but something powerful had again happened at a time when I needed it.
I sit in my car for a few minutes trying to decipher everything that had just happened. Why? I wonder. She was a total stranger. Why does she even care? I get home a few minutes later with my fortune cookie still intact. I always love to read my fortune even if it says, “Your ship will come in before your dock rots.” This time I open the cookie up to have this written on the slip of paper, “Change your thoughts and you change the world.” Wow…just…wow.
“No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”
—Aesop
#thispuzzledlife
The Magnitude of Waves
“A successful man is one who can lay a firm foundation
with the bricks others have thrown at him”
– David Brinkley
My life in the last few years has become one of seclusion. Not total seclusion at this particular time but if that became a necessity again it would be a very easy transition. My brain already chaotic with chatter and confusion makes the simplest of tasks, in public and private, incredibly difficult. Isolation is something that I struggle with as it is a comfort zone for me and my quirkiness.
We as a human species require some form of human interaction. This also explains why so many inmates that are placed in segregation for periods of time begin to decompensate and seem to start to atrophy mentally almost immediately. And although having only limited resources within a controlled prison environment inmates will become creatively destructive just to pass the time in order to fight an internal collapse. And there are others who become creative in a way to establish their own form of “hustle” in order to survive in these institutions.
I’ve been asked several times by different people, “What do you do in there all day?” I have, in a sense, simplified (which is sometimes debatable) my life by leaning on the things I enjoy such as: listening and singing copious amounts of music; watching documentaries and reality shows; spend hours of researching different topics; reading scholarly journal articles; working on the inevitable therapeutic assignments; and writing so that my story and truth can finally be told. I also spend a lot of time locked away in a sometimes dangerous playground….the one between my ears. I, like other inmates of society, have a lot of time to think about my past, present and uncertain future for hours on end. I also get to know more every day about the inner workings of internal “teammates.”
In the wake of therapeutic activities guided by “coach” and the recent agreement of a very reluctant teen to be more compassionate with other members others are finally being heard. The issues of not being heard by others both internally and externally seems to be the general consensus throughout my system for many years. While these “parts” of me feel separate they are still all a part of me. Does this mean that I also have not been willing to listen to my parts who are still suffering? Am I also negating my own thoughts and feelings that were convincingly told to me that they were wrong no matter what? Maybe this is, in fact, a harsh reality that has been brought into the “tough love” of realization.
After lessons recently learned in therapy, I have been trying to listen intently to how each alter is doing in all facets of existence. I always knew that the crippling waves of just about any feelings were connected to these warriors. Deciphering who they belong to has been challenging to say the least. The very loud and vocal ones are not that difficult to distinguish certain connections. The ones who have been silenced seldom divulge the truth for fear of retaliation internally and externally then and now.
When it came her turn to speak this young bride with a steady stream of tears and visible anxiety begins to reveal her feelings not HIS. And soon the pressure could not be withheld and the levees were breached. The level of grief and torment I realized I never knew existed within her. Grieving was incredibly dangerous to acknowledge around him. The insults, ridicule and humiliation for her true feelings had to be buried to survive. But that’s all they were…buried not eradicated. Years of sitting in an ever expanding vat of deadly emotion being forced into submission was now boiling like hot lava. Waves of heavy, depressive emotion crawl into my guts and soul like the waves from the ocean from a very angry Hurricane Katrina. They make their way onto the land ripping precious items back out to the sea despite internal resistance. And like the destruction of these powerful forces of nature after the waves subside, you never see specifically the precious items of “self” that are missing. All you see is the destruction that of the once vile ways that humans can treat others and leave them for dead.
I look over to the still rebellious but somewhat compliant teen just to notice her reaction. Her scowls, growling and ever growing distaste for the situation was evident. I look at her with some slight form of confidence and fear to say, “Coach gave you direction for what you need to do. And now I WILL tell and not keep it secret.” I look back at the young bride and the first time with true compassion I tell her, “It’s time that you’re finally heard. Coach is anxiously awaiting your story. Use your voice. Don’t fear her. Help is here.” She being one with eating and body image issues I thought I would again try to lighten the mood. I tell her, “Don’t fear the tears because you’re losing water weight when you cry.” The destruction has been left but the rebuilding has started.
#thispuzzledlife
Put Me In Coach
“Teamwork requires some sacrifice up front; people who work as
a team have to put the collective needs of the group ahead of their individual interests.”
—Patrick Lencioni
I will be the first to tell you that the first few months of living with the Longhorns has been anything but easy. A lot of internal resistance and external confusion has left its mark all in the name of “safety.” A tremendous amount of fear sufficiently keeps everything and everyone trapped almost in a place of purgatory. Too scared to make THE decision or any decision for fear of putting everyone at risk. But yet she puts everyone at risk anyway. Our fearless yet dictatorial leader doesn’t know what to do and has tears for the guidance of her dear Sarah or Coach Nick.
The firm yet comforting messages from the opposing chair says she has something up her sleeve in her fairy dust bag. Just something I call the “just where ‘what I needed not wanted’ information is kept.” Our current 13 year-old tyrant does what most teens do when fearful, frustrated and tired of everything….kicks and screams with claws and venom towards any movement both good and bad. This almost symbolizes her own conflict of wanting and needing to be both right and wrong. Others live in total fear of secrets alone. And still others yearn for the day when peace will be achieved. And, yes, there are those that also say, “I do it! I do it!” all for just one more flavor of chap stick. And then the non-verbal all feeling soul that cannot seem to be comforted. And then one that continues to grief over the loss of her prized coach wanting nothing more than a job and/or a goal to focus on. The grief and stress can be felt down to the smallest of nerves ever being exposed and in need of a therapeutic root canal.
I can feel something in my mind and body stirring unsure whether or not it could be anxiety or maybe just gas. Still unsure of where I got the feeling but it was as if Sarah was saying, “Dana are you finished making a mess yet?! You always have been hardheaded. Don’t you see your way isn’t getting you anywhere?! Quit fighting the process. Work with it….all of you.” Fairy dust was flying all over the place and wheels were turning in the opposing chair. I always get the “Oh Shit” feeling when she says, “I’ve got an idea.” You know that things are about to ‘get a little more real’ on some level. Anticipation and newest ‘gut messages’ have you praying that you make it back to the house on time.
What happened next stopped me dead in my tracks. She says, “Read this out loud.” Reluctantly, I receive the paper not knowing what lesson the fairy dust had just created. The message reads, “We are going to learn to work together as a team WITHOUT abuse and WITH love.” Almost like my dear coach was standing by whispering in my ear, “It’s been a while but remember I was the coach but now SHE is the coach. It’s ok. It’s time. Your team needs you!” I admit that when I felt his words of wisdom, I had a lump come up in my throat. Because I remember lessons about being a team that said, “There’s no one person bigger or better than the TEAM. You each have to do your individual jobs but you win as a team and lose as a team not as individuals.” From off in a dark corner I see the tired and worn down athlete perk up like she had just been called up to the big leagues saying with excitement, “Put me in coach!”
Everyone covers the playing field, even the little guys with their chap stick and cheap plastic gloves run onto the field not knowing their new jobs or positions on the field. Even “grumpy pants” grabs a glove with a smirk and goes as coaches have all spoken in their own ways. Taken aback by this new coach/old coach moment and bracing for the overwhelming fear about the unknown and overall safety of the system, that still fierce protector let’s out almost a pre-emptive sigh when she asks Sarah, “Mom what do I do?” Her response was “Dana ask her and then follow her guidance. This is where you move beyond FEAR headfirst into TRUST even if all you have is the size of a mustard seed.” She again questions, “But how do I keep us safe?” Her final words of wisdom were, “You do it together.”
“I am a member of a team, and I rely on the team, I defer to it and
sacrifice for it, because the team, not the individual, is the ultimate champion.”
—Mia Hamm
#thispuzzledlife
This Won’t Hurt a Bit
“You save yourself or you remain unsaved.”
― Alice Sebol
Sometimes the simplest situations become a real struggle for me. The fear that developed many years ago is the fear of being touched. I’m not talking about just getting butterflies. My fear totally encapsulates everything about me. This makes it incredibly difficult to go to see doctors no matter the reason. I’ve been living with herniated disc issues with nerve impingement. It should just be a simple thing to go to a doctor and follow their advised regimen. For me….It’s like being put in a tub of boiling water and saying, “Be Still!”
This has to be one of the most frustrating areas of my life. I tend to stay in unneeded pain because of this intense fear. I luckily got an appointment same day I called to meet with someone about my back. When I hung up the phone from making the appointment I just started crying. The fear blankets me and the panic ensues. Knowing that I’m about to be touched by someone in a position of power and dominance is more than I can tolerate. I don’t think doctors even consider how it must feel for people who have been traumatized to be touched. There are a very small group of people that I will let hug me. And family don’t get a free pass just because they’re family. There is not one moment I like because socially it’s very embarrassing. Sitting before you is a woman who is very tense and has a smartass tone in her voice and comments. When you walk towards her she drops her head in shame only for her tears to begin dropping.
What the doctor now sees in an “immature” adult who is just being “childish.” Before I left Albuquerque, I got a respiratory infection that required antibiotics. This meant that I absolutely HAD to be seen by a doctor. This was not one of those ailments that I could stay at home and manage. I went to one of the local Urgent Care centers once again attempting to face my fears. The nurse calls me back and, of course, heads directly to the scales to be weighed. I politely tell her that I have eating disorders and that weighing makes me incredibly uncomfortable. She says, “Ok whatever. You don’t have to stay on their long. But hurry because I just pushed the button to zero out the scales.” As if the gates of hell just opened and said, “Welcome…” I quickly snap back and say, “yea I’ve had experience on scales all of my life. I would hate to inconvenience you by making you push a button again.” I completely understand that eating disorders are not something that people are typically versed in. However, the medical community I expected, at the very least, some compassion about the situation. And well…empty yet again.
Already edgy and completely irritated that my feelings were totally disregarded and invalidated, I sat up on the exam table completely embarrassed and humiliated. The hairs on the back of my neck were raised like I was about to be examined by Satan himself. The doctor soon walks in and says that she wants to listen to my chest. Not a big deal until you see that little internal child that sees another scary and painful situation where someone much bigger than you is about to touch you. It doesn’t matter what their intentions are at this point. My fierce protector began her warm up with the nurse and is waiting to pounce in protection of this child.
The closer the doctor gets the more I begin to shake uncontrollably in fear. I begin sobbing at the first step. The doctor replies quickly without one ounce of compassion, “What is this childish reaction? You’re being ridiculous.” I reply, “Ma’am I have been molested and raped during my life and being touched is very scary no matter the reason.” She says, “Well this reaction is just ridiculous. You are an adult and shouldn’t be acting like a toddler!” I said, “Ma’am why don’t you just give me some damn medicine so we can be out of each other’s life. You’re stomping on that one damn nerve that I had left before I even walked in here. You have a personality like a bag full of badgers and you have the compassion of a pit viper! Medical school has you guys so scared of transference that you’re practically dead from the neck up.”
What the doctor didn’t know was that I had gotten so scared that I peed in my pants. I left as soon as possible with tears still in my eyes and wet pants. I thought to myself, “Why did I even try again? This is why I don’t go see doctors. They don’t care and don’t listen.” Examples I can list for days about my interactions with doctors. Yearly pap smears, mammograms and whatever that needs to be checked have not been done in several years. Even with Mel going with me as added support it’s like dropping me right back into the situations that scared me to begin with. I can’t stay grounded and switching happens in fast forward depending on the type of doctor.
We have both spoken with doctors and asked if I could be sedated to have cancer screenings done. There answer’s always, “well we might could do some Xanax.” Mel’s reply is always, “not unless you want her to catch a charge. That medicine makes her very aggressive and well…she doesn’t need any help in that area.” They always reply, “I’m sorry there’s nothing that can be done.” Of course I have my own questions in return. I usually say, “Ok let me get this straight….so in the year 2017 we have dentists who can sedate because of adults and children with severe fears and anxieties about their visit. But for sexual assault survivors who fear being touched there’s nothing that can be done to simply help with cancer screenings? Doctor do you see how that rationale is about the dumbest I’ve ever heard of?” I’ve been told before, “well maybe you should see a therapist.” My smartass reply, “Oh well thanks for the advice. I never considered seeing a therapist to make things better. When do you think I should make an appointment? And by the way….I told you all of that at the beginning of this visit. Maybe active listening skills should be something you work on while I’m in therapy.”
What just happened was that I was highly triggered before I ever entered the office. But the visit turned out to be that I was touched and not heard. And well, that makes the visit counterproductive for us both. It really just hammers home the idea that my feelings don’t matter and they are touching me anyway, no matter the reason. Sounds a lot like what my perpetrators did. The only difference seemed to be that this touch simply came from someone in a white coat who was trying to help me.
Have you ever noticed how we as a society ask people how they’re doing but we don’t really want to know how anyone but ourselves and immediate family are doing? The reason is that we aren’t prepared to hear how someone is actually doing. We often don’t know how to respond and makes for a very uncomfortable social situation. In regards to medical professionals, some type of education needs to be taught about the long term effects of abuse on children and adults. Shaming patients is so damaging. Even saying, “This won’t hurt a bit” is a mute point.
I want and need my medical issues to be addressed desperately. But repeats of this situation keep me away because of the extreme embarrassment and shaming that typically occurs, maybe even innocently, at the hands of someone in a “one up” position. When this happens I don’t see a doctor. I see those same hands that caused the initial fear coming for me again.
For those that think abuse have no long term effects…..THINK AGAIN.
#thispuzzledlife
thispuzzledlife 