After my dad passed away it seemed like there was relief in some areas of my life. I could not entertain anxiety about what he was doing or not doing because ...he was gone. Life settled down and kept rolling as it does, but things were still not right. My dad's death did not automatically resolve all of our problems. Life without my dad was like navigating wreckage from a bomb that had just gone off. I still experienced strain in relationships with family members. I still had memories or nasty thoughts pop up at random times.
As my emotions and thoughts navigated the wreckage left behind by my dad I felt myself being drawn closer to God. God presented Himself as a father to me , and I realized then how deep my mistrust of my own father went. I was stuck with the idea that God, by not stopping my dad, had allowed him to hurt me. How could I trust a father who allowed hurt and damage? What else would He do? My mind swarmed dreadfully with "what if" scenarios , many of them about my kids. Would God protect my kids from evil , when He did not protect me? All the things I was thinking about God were directly contrary to God's character. God is truth, God is light, God is love, God is holy, God is just, God is freedom, healing all these things I knew but it was hard to feel them when I was essentially blaming Him for what my dad did. The mistrust I felt settled on this thought "He is truth, love , light, freedom.... but not for you". It took an unrelated incident with our children at church to shine light on this thought and to expose it for what it was , a lie. One night I was driving alone to Windsor for a painting class, and I forgave God ...for what I thought He did.
So, while I still don't understand why things happened the way they did, I've come to a point where I don't need to know "why" anymore.People have choices to make, many of them good or evil. When someone chooses evil the consequence of that choice spills over to others around them. Why did my dad choose evil? I don't know, but he did have choices...like we all do. That is only part of the reason, mind you. When I get to heaven I will ask Him....but actually I don't think I will.When I get to heaven I will know and I won't care, because His presence will be so beyond what I can even describe right now.
I am ready for God to start to use my past to change me and make me closer to Him. I read things other Christians wrote about abuse or other terrible things that had happened to them and realized something astonishing. There are Christians who experienced evil and now rejoice because of them , they were happy that they had suffered! One , who experienced childhood abuse similar to mine, even said she would not have changed a thing in her life to be at the spot where she was now. To experience that level of healing and to taste victory instead of "victim" is amazing! I still have much to discover in what it means to have God as my father. These are a few things I know right now; God loves me very much so much that my own love for my husband and kids are only a shadowy example and, He offers me hope.
Tuesday, 18 September 2018
Sunday, 12 February 2017
The Last Goodbye
Waiting for my dad to allow the light of truth to expose his darkness seemed lengthy, and it was. As the years trickled by I wondered - what if he never does get it? What if he never truly understands what he did? I still struggle to understand why the abuse happened. I'm fairly convinced that my dad was a believer, how could something like sexual abuse happen...continually? I still don't know the answers. What I do know is that humanity in general is depraved and despicable and people do despicable things, the driving force being deception and lies. I'm reminded that as a Christian I do not fight against things I can see , but against lies and other strongholds that tend to settle down in my mind. The battle field is the mind, and my dad must have lost some significant ones.
One day I received a call from my sister who told me dad was not doing very well. My dad was jaundiced , tired and sick. He had liver problems in the past and now it seemed like the issues were back with a vengeance. He came home to rest , but ended up driving himself to London where concerned family members got him, barely conscious, to a hospital. The not so good news trickled in until it settled to one thing "liver failure". I remember feeling as though I was about to walk through a large dark valley, and I asked God to give me a light to carry. I had not really spoken to my dad in about 5-6 years, and hearing the words "liver failure" did not have the same effect on me as they would have had on a healthy father/daughter relationship. I remember being confused , wondering , was I supposed to be devastated? I felt like I needed someone to tell me what to feel, someone to tell me what was the proper and acceptable response. I was surprised to find that I really did not feel that much at all....except an icy calmness and a dread of the unspoken fact - "you can't live that long without a functioning liver". My dad was eventually put on a waiting list for a liver transplant (other issues delaying that decision). My sisters and my mom urged my brother and I to see him as he was asking for us. I searched my thoughts and what feelings I had and decided that I would go , for me. I felt like I would have left something unsettled somehow if I did not go.
Leading up to that day possible scenarios played in my head, where my dad on his death bed somehow managed to say the right words that would briefly restore our relationship like in a movie. I felt another emotion working its way through the confusion, which was anger. After I realized I was angry, I hunted down the cause. Even if my dad did somehow breach the barrier that was between us, why did he waste all that time? I was very nervous and upset about seeing my dad in the hospital. "What if's" flooded my mind and my anxiety level rose. Sunday ended up coming before the dreaded visit and knowing how upset I was my husband prompted me to respond to the weekly call for prayer (actually he literately pushed me over there). As I , with many tears, spilled out my struggles, they responded to my pain and prayed with me. Gradually a calm replaced the boiling anxiety, not a unfeeling cold calm, but a strengthening knowledge that God would be with me. One of the ladies mentioned something about forgiveness. I thought she must have been mistaken, I was quite sure I had already forgiven my dad for what he did. On the drive home, the term "forgiveness" was stuck in my head and in a flash I realized why I still felt angry. Although I had forgiven my dad for what he had done to me , I had not forgiven him for what he failed to do in the past 5-6 years. I still had an expectation for him, as well as a slim hope that God would make him into a new person somehow. In the back of my mind I heard God telling me that I needed to forgive my dad for what he did not do, and I also needed to let go of the hope/expectation that I had. I cried as I let the "hope of reconciliation" slip away. As I thought about this journey I have taken , I realized that I had now grieved three times for my dad. I grieved while letting go of the dad I thought he was, I grieved for the person he decided to be, and now I had grieved for the dad I wanted him to become.
As the day we were to visit my dad arrived I took the church ladies advice and decided not to think or feel anything until I got there. Whatever I felt or said would be right at the right time. When the time to leave marched up my brother , Mark and I made the trip to London , not talking about what we were expecting until we got there. As I looked at my dad, thin and weak, I remember feeling surprised at how much he looked like his own dad. He was confused and very sleepy. He apologized again and said if he made it through this he wanted us all to be a family again. The words held little meaning for me as they were echos of words I had heard before, the absence of required actions nullifying the intended meaning of them. I told him I forgave him for what he did as well as what he didn't do. The "didn't do" seemed to surprise him a little. After mom woke him up to say we were leaving, I said my last goodbye. On the way home and in the weeks after a quiet peace stayed with me, the tears were gone. Two - three weeks after our visit my dad passed away.
At the funeral I remember seeing my Uncle John and for a second I thought it was my dad. I remember his firm handshake, silly jokes, odd political opinions , so much like my dad. It felt strange seeing a person very much like my dad while my dad was in a casket at the other end of the room. The feeling of loss settled down in my mind, but the peace did not leave and with it came freedom and happiness. I think I must have confused some of the well wishers with my smile. I was genuinely happy, which was strange considering the circumstances. The tears for my dad were gone and peace, healing and freedom had taken their place.
One day I received a call from my sister who told me dad was not doing very well. My dad was jaundiced , tired and sick. He had liver problems in the past and now it seemed like the issues were back with a vengeance. He came home to rest , but ended up driving himself to London where concerned family members got him, barely conscious, to a hospital. The not so good news trickled in until it settled to one thing "liver failure". I remember feeling as though I was about to walk through a large dark valley, and I asked God to give me a light to carry. I had not really spoken to my dad in about 5-6 years, and hearing the words "liver failure" did not have the same effect on me as they would have had on a healthy father/daughter relationship. I remember being confused , wondering , was I supposed to be devastated? I felt like I needed someone to tell me what to feel, someone to tell me what was the proper and acceptable response. I was surprised to find that I really did not feel that much at all....except an icy calmness and a dread of the unspoken fact - "you can't live that long without a functioning liver". My dad was eventually put on a waiting list for a liver transplant (other issues delaying that decision). My sisters and my mom urged my brother and I to see him as he was asking for us. I searched my thoughts and what feelings I had and decided that I would go , for me. I felt like I would have left something unsettled somehow if I did not go.
Leading up to that day possible scenarios played in my head, where my dad on his death bed somehow managed to say the right words that would briefly restore our relationship like in a movie. I felt another emotion working its way through the confusion, which was anger. After I realized I was angry, I hunted down the cause. Even if my dad did somehow breach the barrier that was between us, why did he waste all that time? I was very nervous and upset about seeing my dad in the hospital. "What if's" flooded my mind and my anxiety level rose. Sunday ended up coming before the dreaded visit and knowing how upset I was my husband prompted me to respond to the weekly call for prayer (actually he literately pushed me over there). As I , with many tears, spilled out my struggles, they responded to my pain and prayed with me. Gradually a calm replaced the boiling anxiety, not a unfeeling cold calm, but a strengthening knowledge that God would be with me. One of the ladies mentioned something about forgiveness. I thought she must have been mistaken, I was quite sure I had already forgiven my dad for what he did. On the drive home, the term "forgiveness" was stuck in my head and in a flash I realized why I still felt angry. Although I had forgiven my dad for what he had done to me , I had not forgiven him for what he failed to do in the past 5-6 years. I still had an expectation for him, as well as a slim hope that God would make him into a new person somehow. In the back of my mind I heard God telling me that I needed to forgive my dad for what he did not do, and I also needed to let go of the hope/expectation that I had. I cried as I let the "hope of reconciliation" slip away. As I thought about this journey I have taken , I realized that I had now grieved three times for my dad. I grieved while letting go of the dad I thought he was, I grieved for the person he decided to be, and now I had grieved for the dad I wanted him to become.
As the day we were to visit my dad arrived I took the church ladies advice and decided not to think or feel anything until I got there. Whatever I felt or said would be right at the right time. When the time to leave marched up my brother , Mark and I made the trip to London , not talking about what we were expecting until we got there. As I looked at my dad, thin and weak, I remember feeling surprised at how much he looked like his own dad. He was confused and very sleepy. He apologized again and said if he made it through this he wanted us all to be a family again. The words held little meaning for me as they were echos of words I had heard before, the absence of required actions nullifying the intended meaning of them. I told him I forgave him for what he did as well as what he didn't do. The "didn't do" seemed to surprise him a little. After mom woke him up to say we were leaving, I said my last goodbye. On the way home and in the weeks after a quiet peace stayed with me, the tears were gone. Two - three weeks after our visit my dad passed away.
At the funeral I remember seeing my Uncle John and for a second I thought it was my dad. I remember his firm handshake, silly jokes, odd political opinions , so much like my dad. It felt strange seeing a person very much like my dad while my dad was in a casket at the other end of the room. The feeling of loss settled down in my mind, but the peace did not leave and with it came freedom and happiness. I think I must have confused some of the well wishers with my smile. I was genuinely happy, which was strange considering the circumstances. The tears for my dad were gone and peace, healing and freedom had taken their place.
Monday, 21 March 2016
Putting life back together
As time trickled away I found that the dreams faded or I didn't remember them. For a time I remember waking up very tense , almost like my body was in flight or fight response. I remember noticing that my teeth were often clenched while waking up as well. Random anxiety attacks still happened , but slowly started to be more infrequent and not as severe. I call myself a "determined" person. My husband would likely change that word to "stubborn". Whatever it is that drives me has locked down on the path of healing and slowly and steadily I feel myself being put back together. The triggers I had identified seemed to loose their control once I understood what was going on.
After the initial feelings of pain, fear , and anxiety started to fade away I was left with an overwhelming feeling of sadness. When I was younger and still sharing a room with my sister I used to lie in bed awake , trying to make sense of things. I clearly remember the soft voice of God warning me that I would loose my family. I felt afraid and upset , thinking that something terrible would have to happen to change what I had. I think that sometimes secrets kept hidden like skeletons in closets bind family members tightly together. I loved spending hours talking to my siblings, simply because we enjoyed each others company. I loved playing with them when they were younger. I loved spending time with my mom shopping. I loved what I had imagined as our family , a family who goes to church, a family that helps others, a family that went for walks together, a family that often went camping together, a family that loved each other and were a good example to others. Although a lot of those things actually existed, the obvious problems were ignored. I drifted along not even really knowing myself and what I felt. I miss that. I miss the closeness. I miss the delusion that I had made. I don't want it back , but I still grieve for it. God was right , I did lose my family in a sense. I lost what I thought was my family.
The reality leftover after we had all opened the closet and viewed the skeleton was very different from the fun loving close family that we had known and loved (although , that "family" was already becoming strained ...delusions like that are not meant to last). Each of my siblings struggled with "the new normal" some of them attempting to slip in and out of the "delusion" but it was gone. My brother and I had stepped back mentally allowing ourselves time to sort through things and heal (not having any contact with our dad). One of my sisters started a family of her own and had to make painful decisions to protect her young children. My mom still struggles with being stuck between the every widening gap between our dad and us. My dad remains much the same, although I am sure he is dealing with bitterness and guilt. I only know this from talking to my sisters. The secret still remains a family secret (but not much longer). My parents expressed alarm whenever they learned of people outside of the family (apart from counselors) knowing what was going on. I've noticed that because what happened is still a secret or at least a taboo subject it is still hurtful. Half truths are being told, not all of our family members are honest about their emotions (I will take some responsibility in that as well). Assumptions and misconceptions fly around without any truth to strike them down. I remember my counselor saying "the secret will always be dangerous as long as it remains a secret".
Through the 2 years of counseling I did I realised that although God did not stop the abuse from happening, He never ever left me alone. He comforted me and guided me. He strengthened me and kept me safe from further harm. I know that the path of healing I am on is a long one , but with God helping me I already claim victory over this. I will win this struggle and will come away with the spoils of victory. I'm looking forward to a time when God can use this as a blessing or encouragement to others. I hope that I will keep updating this blog as I slowly travel along this path called healing.
After the initial feelings of pain, fear , and anxiety started to fade away I was left with an overwhelming feeling of sadness. When I was younger and still sharing a room with my sister I used to lie in bed awake , trying to make sense of things. I clearly remember the soft voice of God warning me that I would loose my family. I felt afraid and upset , thinking that something terrible would have to happen to change what I had. I think that sometimes secrets kept hidden like skeletons in closets bind family members tightly together. I loved spending hours talking to my siblings, simply because we enjoyed each others company. I loved playing with them when they were younger. I loved spending time with my mom shopping. I loved what I had imagined as our family , a family who goes to church, a family that helps others, a family that went for walks together, a family that often went camping together, a family that loved each other and were a good example to others. Although a lot of those things actually existed, the obvious problems were ignored. I drifted along not even really knowing myself and what I felt. I miss that. I miss the closeness. I miss the delusion that I had made. I don't want it back , but I still grieve for it. God was right , I did lose my family in a sense. I lost what I thought was my family.
The reality leftover after we had all opened the closet and viewed the skeleton was very different from the fun loving close family that we had known and loved (although , that "family" was already becoming strained ...delusions like that are not meant to last). Each of my siblings struggled with "the new normal" some of them attempting to slip in and out of the "delusion" but it was gone. My brother and I had stepped back mentally allowing ourselves time to sort through things and heal (not having any contact with our dad). One of my sisters started a family of her own and had to make painful decisions to protect her young children. My mom still struggles with being stuck between the every widening gap between our dad and us. My dad remains much the same, although I am sure he is dealing with bitterness and guilt. I only know this from talking to my sisters. The secret still remains a family secret (but not much longer). My parents expressed alarm whenever they learned of people outside of the family (apart from counselors) knowing what was going on. I've noticed that because what happened is still a secret or at least a taboo subject it is still hurtful. Half truths are being told, not all of our family members are honest about their emotions (I will take some responsibility in that as well). Assumptions and misconceptions fly around without any truth to strike them down. I remember my counselor saying "the secret will always be dangerous as long as it remains a secret".
Through the 2 years of counseling I did I realised that although God did not stop the abuse from happening, He never ever left me alone. He comforted me and guided me. He strengthened me and kept me safe from further harm. I know that the path of healing I am on is a long one , but with God helping me I already claim victory over this. I will win this struggle and will come away with the spoils of victory. I'm looking forward to a time when God can use this as a blessing or encouragement to others. I hope that I will keep updating this blog as I slowly travel along this path called healing.
Monday, 7 March 2016
Collecting pieces
Going through counseling was like wandering around looking at things I've pushed aside , naming them and contemplating what to do with them or how to move on. I became aware of my detachment from my emotions, as well as my "good enough attitude" (accepting things that were cheap, or low quality because they were "good enough" , never considering myself worth more expensive items). I became aware of anxiety attacks I had and was still having , mostly regarding our children's safety. I would have snippets of flash backs in my dreams or memories would crop up during the day. I identified at least three triggers between Mark and I that brought back unpleasant memories or feelings. The more I learned about myself and how I compared to many others who climbed over the same steps the more I realized how crippled I was in life. I remembered the bird with the broken wing and with many tears I realized that the bird was me. I was the one locked in the cage , I was resisting help God was trying to give me. Originally, I had been thinking of my family (my children and husband) when seeking out counseling. I thought my family needed the best of me and I didn't want to burden them with things I had not resolved in the past (however they would come out). After starting counseling, however, I realized that it was more about me , and that was ok.
During the earlier portions of my counseling experience Mark and I discussed having another meeting with my mom and dad. I desperately needed some boundaries for myself and my family. I had never really considered boundaries before and only during counseling did I realize how badly they had been assaulted. We decided to talk about our future relationship with my dad and how it had changed since all this information had come to light. We decided not to visit my parents house any longer , and my dad was not welcome in our house. We left the future open to reconciliation provided that my dad willingly attended counseling and allowed God to change him, some trust would trickle in after that , maybe. My counselor said most perpetrators had one of two reactions to a confrontation, they would be willing to do anything to make things better or they would cast around blame and not act responsible for what they did. The meeting took place one evening. I still remember the shocked, crushed look on my dad's face when we told him what we had discussed. I remember really, really wanting to hear "I'll do anything to make things right" (and actually meaning it) , but that is not what I heard. He started to make excuses and demanded to know why we could not continue our relationship the same way since I had already forgiven him. I still have tears of disappointment as I write this. It has been almost 4 years now since I've had a face to face conversation with my dad (I remember one time - lasting about 30 seconds).
Following the meeting I wrestled with the concept of forgiveness. I know I had forgiven him because God had taken away my anger and bitterness. Did forgiving him really mean a "clean slate"? How on earth could we continue a safe relationship if he refused to see why he needed to change his behavior? I remembered that when God forgave people , they still faced consequences of past mistakes but they had an opportunity to change . What happens when forgiveness is one sided? I forgave my dad before he even regretted what he did ( or at least said so verbally). What if God forgave a person, but that person didn't see the need to change? It took awhile to realize that forgiveness , reconciliation and trust where three different things and sometimes happened at different times. Over the months that stretched into years, I felt conflicted, and wondered if I was wrong. Maybe I should contact my dad and start talking with him again. Would I be setting myself up for more hurt by crossing my own boundary I had set? My husband all but forbid me from taking that step, I think he was seriously considering forbidding me :). I didn't feel peace about talking to my dad, only guilt (it took awhile to name the feeling as guilt). When some of my siblings expressed hurt and anger with their fragmented relationship with my dad I knew I had made the right decision by remaining silent.
During the earlier portions of my counseling experience Mark and I discussed having another meeting with my mom and dad. I desperately needed some boundaries for myself and my family. I had never really considered boundaries before and only during counseling did I realize how badly they had been assaulted. We decided to talk about our future relationship with my dad and how it had changed since all this information had come to light. We decided not to visit my parents house any longer , and my dad was not welcome in our house. We left the future open to reconciliation provided that my dad willingly attended counseling and allowed God to change him, some trust would trickle in after that , maybe. My counselor said most perpetrators had one of two reactions to a confrontation, they would be willing to do anything to make things better or they would cast around blame and not act responsible for what they did. The meeting took place one evening. I still remember the shocked, crushed look on my dad's face when we told him what we had discussed. I remember really, really wanting to hear "I'll do anything to make things right" (and actually meaning it) , but that is not what I heard. He started to make excuses and demanded to know why we could not continue our relationship the same way since I had already forgiven him. I still have tears of disappointment as I write this. It has been almost 4 years now since I've had a face to face conversation with my dad (I remember one time - lasting about 30 seconds).
Following the meeting I wrestled with the concept of forgiveness. I know I had forgiven him because God had taken away my anger and bitterness. Did forgiving him really mean a "clean slate"? How on earth could we continue a safe relationship if he refused to see why he needed to change his behavior? I remembered that when God forgave people , they still faced consequences of past mistakes but they had an opportunity to change . What happens when forgiveness is one sided? I forgave my dad before he even regretted what he did ( or at least said so verbally). What if God forgave a person, but that person didn't see the need to change? It took awhile to realize that forgiveness , reconciliation and trust where three different things and sometimes happened at different times. Over the months that stretched into years, I felt conflicted, and wondered if I was wrong. Maybe I should contact my dad and start talking with him again. Would I be setting myself up for more hurt by crossing my own boundary I had set? My husband all but forbid me from taking that step, I think he was seriously considering forbidding me :). I didn't feel peace about talking to my dad, only guilt (it took awhile to name the feeling as guilt). When some of my siblings expressed hurt and anger with their fragmented relationship with my dad I knew I had made the right decision by remaining silent.
Tuesday, 1 March 2016
Falling Apart
While pregnant again for the third time ,I found that taking care of two young children while being pregnant was ....hard to say the least. I was due in March. In September we had just finished watching the town parade, my brother had also attended, he pulled me aside and told me he wanted to talk to me about something. It wasn't every day I got to hang out with my brother so Mark took the other two home and we had some coffee at a coffee shop. I could tell he wanted to talk to me about something serious , he was nervous. After some small talk, he told me that dad had molested him as well as my other two sisters while growing up. I could feel myself sink , I was really hoping it had been only me. I felt almost immediate guilt. I should have said something or done something. I think I was most upset hearing about my brother. My dad always seemed to favor him, and I guess I thought that him being a good dad to my brother sort of balanced out what he did to me. When I thought of all three of them being molested to some degree I felt sick. After I confirmed with him that it was all four of us that struggled with this , I could feel myself giving in. This was too big for me now, it was not just me dealing with it anymore. My brother was like a steam engine - relentless, he wanted all of us to confront dad together with what he had done to us. I was afraid , but I didn't fight my steam engine brother. I figured that I had resisted God long enough and now He was overstepping me , sweeping me along with Him.
We attended at least one counseling session at church to prepare for the confrontation meeting. I don't think any of us were prepared for this ...including the poor pastor. We hired a baby sitter and headed over to my parents house , my hands were shaking (my hands rarely shake). I don't think I've ever dreaded a meeting as much as that one. When we arrived at the house, the happy chatter was gone. No one was doing chores or preparing a meal, it was very quiet and everyone was sitting waiting and uncomfortable. Mark had his hand protectively on my thigh. We all said our piece, mine written down on a piece of paper , because I knew I would not say what needed to be said when it came down to it. My dad looked distressed and my mom ran our of the living room in tears. I didn't feel angry. I felt upset that our family bubble had broken and afraid of what would happen in the future. I had told my dad that I forgave him and I did, a long time ago, before he was repentant. After the meeting we headed home. I felt numb and drained. The pastors had suggested some books to read and advised that we go to counseling and then it was all over. I had a choice to make. I could continue to pretend and still have a relationship with my dad like before or I could strip it all away and start again letting God heal and change me. I thought about my kids. My kids and my husband deserved the best of me, I found the courage to pick up the phone and make an appointment with a therapist from them. The sessions were expensive, but Mark and I made it work. After talking about my past during the sessions I felt raw and rarely made it through a session without many tears. After a few months the therapist recommended me to a sexual assault crisis program where the counseling was free. I remember church being difficult then. It was hard to hold back the tears during the services. God's love pouring over me was like a nurse cleansing an open wound with normal saline - it stung. I hesitated with calling the sexual assault services.
I was resistant to being labeled a victim, or being a statistic, but deep down I knew it was true. Calling SACC (Sexual Assault Crisis Center) and making an appointment was the first step of many I started to put words and thoughts to what I had experienced instead of pushing it all down and forgetting about it. It was during this period of time we were blessed with a second daughter. I was relieved that the pregnancy was over, it was very stressful from the time I heard the full truth of my dad right to the labor and delivery part, it seemed like nothing was going right. Dealing with three young children was also an added stress. I remember thinking I was on a marathon, I just had to hold out until the summer (Mark being a teacher gets the summer off). I often found my self on the floor of the kitchen crying, unable to cope with sleep deprivation, changing hormones, young children and counseling. But , I did manage to muddle through with lots of deep breathing, prayer , Mark , and the counseling helped as well. Counseling was an added stress because I did not want to talk or think about that part of my past , but it was also a relief letting it out. The more I learned about how my past affected me the stronger I became as a person. The worst problems are the ones you have but are not aware of.
Tuesday, 16 February 2016
New Transitions
Mark and I struggled with our relationship with my side of the family. There was friction between Mark and my dad. My dad liked to intimidate people and my husband was not easily intimidated. My parents were dissatisfied with how often we saw them and how long we visited. We felt awkward visiting (finally agreeing on going over for supper one night a week). I felt the pull of the "family current" again. It felt like Mark was on the outside of a bubble and when I got close the bubble sucked me in leaving him on the outside. When Mark and I discussed this we stayed together more , sitting together on the couch while the family floated or flowed around us - no one really stopping to talk or visit. Often we were sitting down reading the paper while my siblings and parents were in the kitchen chatting/ working on things , my dad often went into the office and played on the computer. I knew things were not ok , but I did not know how to deal with them.
Things started to get more familiar between Mark and my family , but it seemed like it was border-line acceptance. About 4 months after being married I went to a walk in clinic because I thought I had a UTI. I did have one, as well as something else- our first child , Nathan :). I felt so honored and happy that God had chosen me to be a mom! Mark and I were very excited to have an addition to our family. The pregnancy progressed normally and I took an early maternity leave, not intending on going back to work as planned. I was aware that pregnancy and child birth can trigger unwelcome memories so with difficulty I let my midwife and dula know that "something" had happened in my past. Nathan was born on September 22 2009. I remember thinking "that was the hardest , but the best , thing I've ever done". As little Nathan started to grow I remember two things that happened that effected my way of thinking about my past; my dad made an inappropriate comment while my little boy was hungerly grabbing at me... making me wonder he would ever stop thinking of me in that way , and I started to worry about Nathan. I never ever wanted Nathan to experience the explosive anger my dad often displayed. My mom attempted to brush my concern away when I cautiously brought it up one day, but I still felt uneasy. I also thought about what my dad did to me while I was too young to defend myself and I didn't want that to happen to Nathan either. I knew we could not always supervise him 100% of the time.
Six months after I had Nathan I found out I was expecting again. This time I remember feeling worried that I would have a girl. I wanted a girl of course , but I was afraid something would happen to her. I didn't feel like the world was a safe place for a girl. Anxieties would rush up at random times during the day and I would be pushed to tears with worry. I wrote all this off to pregnancy hormones and dealt with it as best as I could. While hormones where defiantly a factor with being pregnant and still nursing the last baby, I didn't realize that they simply lowered my threshold and things that were already bothering me became much more bothersome. We found out the sex of the baby and it was indeed a girl. Sarah was born on December 11 2010. Most of my worries were dissolved in sleep deprivation and busy days, but they would still crop up from time to time. We still visited my parents house on a weekly basis , but with two children we found it increasingly difficult. I would have the baby and Mark would follow Nathan around the house (which was not very baby friendly), both of us exhausted after a visit. About six months after having Sarah I was again expecting.
Things started to get more familiar between Mark and my family , but it seemed like it was border-line acceptance. About 4 months after being married I went to a walk in clinic because I thought I had a UTI. I did have one, as well as something else- our first child , Nathan :). I felt so honored and happy that God had chosen me to be a mom! Mark and I were very excited to have an addition to our family. The pregnancy progressed normally and I took an early maternity leave, not intending on going back to work as planned. I was aware that pregnancy and child birth can trigger unwelcome memories so with difficulty I let my midwife and dula know that "something" had happened in my past. Nathan was born on September 22 2009. I remember thinking "that was the hardest , but the best , thing I've ever done". As little Nathan started to grow I remember two things that happened that effected my way of thinking about my past; my dad made an inappropriate comment while my little boy was hungerly grabbing at me... making me wonder he would ever stop thinking of me in that way , and I started to worry about Nathan. I never ever wanted Nathan to experience the explosive anger my dad often displayed. My mom attempted to brush my concern away when I cautiously brought it up one day, but I still felt uneasy. I also thought about what my dad did to me while I was too young to defend myself and I didn't want that to happen to Nathan either. I knew we could not always supervise him 100% of the time.
Six months after I had Nathan I found out I was expecting again. This time I remember feeling worried that I would have a girl. I wanted a girl of course , but I was afraid something would happen to her. I didn't feel like the world was a safe place for a girl. Anxieties would rush up at random times during the day and I would be pushed to tears with worry. I wrote all this off to pregnancy hormones and dealt with it as best as I could. While hormones where defiantly a factor with being pregnant and still nursing the last baby, I didn't realize that they simply lowered my threshold and things that were already bothering me became much more bothersome. We found out the sex of the baby and it was indeed a girl. Sarah was born on December 11 2010. Most of my worries were dissolved in sleep deprivation and busy days, but they would still crop up from time to time. We still visited my parents house on a weekly basis , but with two children we found it increasingly difficult. I would have the baby and Mark would follow Nathan around the house (which was not very baby friendly), both of us exhausted after a visit. About six months after having Sarah I was again expecting.
Saturday, 25 April 2015
Crumbling illusions and the "one"
As part of my growing restlessness I was also experiencing a desire to be out of the house. Generally speaking if there was a problem in "the family" it became everyone's problem - even financial difficulties. I wanted to only worry about my own problems. I had a day dream of living in a small cottage by my self with a few pets perhaps but being totally independent. I moved out of the house and into the little cottage our family had in the back yard, but that was never mine as it was also where my mom did hair (hairdresser). Even though I carefully wrote down all my shifts on a calendar in the house there often seemed to be hair appointments while I was trying to sleep off a midnight shift.
I made an attempt at the dream , but I failed miserably. I ended up purchasing a run down house only a few blocks away from my parents. I was lead to believe it was a very good idea and a good investment, but it really wasn't. I didn't have money to renovate or knowledge of how to renovate a house. I had to rely completely on my dad's experience and some of his money as well. Lot's of decisions were made about construction that I was not aware of as well as supplies bought. I didn't feel in control of anything and it was frustrating because the house that was in my name and had my dept attached to became a family project. The "family project" quickly lost everyone's interest when it became apparent that it was bigger and more expensive then originally thought. My siblings resisted working there and got angry when my parents pressured them to do things. I felt like I was getting halfhearted attempts at help and no one was giving their best. I heard the line "it's ok.....it's only Leanne's house...." . I felt hurt and betrayed seeing that something that was very important to me didn't seem to matter to everyone else. Even my dad had tapered off in working on the house, taking a whole year off to work for my uncle or he was unable to work due to back pain. I moved in with most of the renovations finished but instead of feeling independent I felt trapped and uneasy about living there. I felt that at any time my dad could/would just walk in the house and I wasn't sure what to expect of him without anyone else around. At home I could doge the grabbing motions or unwelcome hugs/kisses more easily with other people around. When I was alone I felt more unsafe (never really did feel "safe").
With the house purchase came the ending to my other dream of escape ....going overseas to do some sort of mission work. I then had a full time afternoon position at a nursing home as an RPN. I mostly enjoyed my job and my house and my family but it all seemed dissatisfying somehow. Because I was working afternoons (Fridays as well) I didn't have much of a social life. Most of my friends were from work and I only saw them at work. I was in the middle of dealing with a guy friend who thought he wanted something more from me (lots of prayer required with that one)/as well as the house renovations when I received a "friend request" from facebook from someone who I didn't recognize. I added him and we started to talk online. I found out that someone had hacked into an older account of mine (something similar to facebook) and had messaged all my contacts (I'm not even sure how he got on there) saying I wanted to catch up/contact them again - but the link led to some sort of adult only website. Mark , the person I had added, had looked me up on facebook instead. As we emailed or talked online it became apparent to me that he had potential (lots) and as I prayed about him I didn't feel confused or uncertain. To my surprise it appeared that he liked me and we would talk online at all hours of the day and night.
After we met I felt like I had the green light from God. As our relationship quickly grew it seemed like the irritation between me and my family also grew (as well as with him and the house renovations). I felt like this relationship was natural and right , while they found it upsetting. I felt conflicted at their nonacceptance of Mark and angry/disappointed that I didn't have their support. It seemed like I was standing on shaky ground with a crack gradually widening between my family and I , and I felt confused ...astonished. This was not the family I thought I had while growing up and for the first time I was a "black sheep". I was not the "good daughter" anymore. I could sense disapproval and resentment as I spent more and more time with Mark. I fell in love with Mark. I remember the day I stared at a text message I was going to send him telling him that I was "falling for him" . I didn't want to put my self out there first and part of me was afraid of rejection. I remembered God's promise to me and I was tired of hiding things. I wanted our relationship to be about truth, so I sent it. I was so sure that God had picked this man out for me that even if he didn't want to take the step from friendship to love I would wait until he did. I think the revelation took him by surprise but he soon realized that he felt the same way. Later, Mark told me some personal things about him self and because of that I somehow found the courage to tell him that I had been molested when I was younger. I'm not even sure I used the word "molested" . Words that described what I had been through always seemed to apply to someone else , not to me. I didn't tell him it was my dad. I was afraid, judging by his angry expression as I told him someone had hurt me, that he would be forever angry at my dad, and my family would be fragmented.
Eight months after knowing Mark he proposed to me on a beach nearby my family's home with a guitar and a blanket. I was so happy and excited. My parents it seemed finally shared my joy and were happy for me.....until we planned our wedding for the fall of that same year on the very day we met. My family wanted us to wait until the next year and to be involved in the wedding planning, but I didn't feel like they respected or liked anything we suggested. I would bring something up an idea that I liked and it seemed the response was often "oh no.....you wouldn't like that, this would be better". I became aware of a strong current of ideas that belonged to "the family" and I was either swept up in the current not thinking for myself or I was fighting against it. Things often came to a head and more and more I chose to fight the current. It seemed like things were not about what the bride and groom wanted but were about what was best for "the family". We got married on October 11, 2008. Mark thoroughly enjoyed the event (happy that I was there, along with someone qualified to marry us) but I still felt tense. I remember just before I was to walk down the aisle my dad turned to me and said "you know it's not to late to back out right?" I'm still unsure if he was being serious. As I walked down the aisle I gathered courage from the looks of approval from the extended family members and the strong love I saw in my soon to be husbands face. Marrying Mark was one of the best things I've ever done in my life. After we finished our three day honeymoon and settled into Mark's house I started to feel safe and free for the first time, but I was not yet free from myself. God started to prick at my mind suggesting that I delve into past injuries further. I successfully ignored Him. Mark also would mention counseling on occasion , I brushed it off. Counseling was for people who had problems, I was coping with mine just fine. I was also still basking in the delusion of "nothings wrong with our family". I didn't want to be a victim , I wanted to be normal.
I made an attempt at the dream , but I failed miserably. I ended up purchasing a run down house only a few blocks away from my parents. I was lead to believe it was a very good idea and a good investment, but it really wasn't. I didn't have money to renovate or knowledge of how to renovate a house. I had to rely completely on my dad's experience and some of his money as well. Lot's of decisions were made about construction that I was not aware of as well as supplies bought. I didn't feel in control of anything and it was frustrating because the house that was in my name and had my dept attached to became a family project. The "family project" quickly lost everyone's interest when it became apparent that it was bigger and more expensive then originally thought. My siblings resisted working there and got angry when my parents pressured them to do things. I felt like I was getting halfhearted attempts at help and no one was giving their best. I heard the line "it's ok.....it's only Leanne's house...." . I felt hurt and betrayed seeing that something that was very important to me didn't seem to matter to everyone else. Even my dad had tapered off in working on the house, taking a whole year off to work for my uncle or he was unable to work due to back pain. I moved in with most of the renovations finished but instead of feeling independent I felt trapped and uneasy about living there. I felt that at any time my dad could/would just walk in the house and I wasn't sure what to expect of him without anyone else around. At home I could doge the grabbing motions or unwelcome hugs/kisses more easily with other people around. When I was alone I felt more unsafe (never really did feel "safe").
With the house purchase came the ending to my other dream of escape ....going overseas to do some sort of mission work. I then had a full time afternoon position at a nursing home as an RPN. I mostly enjoyed my job and my house and my family but it all seemed dissatisfying somehow. Because I was working afternoons (Fridays as well) I didn't have much of a social life. Most of my friends were from work and I only saw them at work. I was in the middle of dealing with a guy friend who thought he wanted something more from me (lots of prayer required with that one)/as well as the house renovations when I received a "friend request" from facebook from someone who I didn't recognize. I added him and we started to talk online. I found out that someone had hacked into an older account of mine (something similar to facebook) and had messaged all my contacts (I'm not even sure how he got on there) saying I wanted to catch up/contact them again - but the link led to some sort of adult only website. Mark , the person I had added, had looked me up on facebook instead. As we emailed or talked online it became apparent to me that he had potential (lots) and as I prayed about him I didn't feel confused or uncertain. To my surprise it appeared that he liked me and we would talk online at all hours of the day and night.
After we met I felt like I had the green light from God. As our relationship quickly grew it seemed like the irritation between me and my family also grew (as well as with him and the house renovations). I felt like this relationship was natural and right , while they found it upsetting. I felt conflicted at their nonacceptance of Mark and angry/disappointed that I didn't have their support. It seemed like I was standing on shaky ground with a crack gradually widening between my family and I , and I felt confused ...astonished. This was not the family I thought I had while growing up and for the first time I was a "black sheep". I was not the "good daughter" anymore. I could sense disapproval and resentment as I spent more and more time with Mark. I fell in love with Mark. I remember the day I stared at a text message I was going to send him telling him that I was "falling for him" . I didn't want to put my self out there first and part of me was afraid of rejection. I remembered God's promise to me and I was tired of hiding things. I wanted our relationship to be about truth, so I sent it. I was so sure that God had picked this man out for me that even if he didn't want to take the step from friendship to love I would wait until he did. I think the revelation took him by surprise but he soon realized that he felt the same way. Later, Mark told me some personal things about him self and because of that I somehow found the courage to tell him that I had been molested when I was younger. I'm not even sure I used the word "molested" . Words that described what I had been through always seemed to apply to someone else , not to me. I didn't tell him it was my dad. I was afraid, judging by his angry expression as I told him someone had hurt me, that he would be forever angry at my dad, and my family would be fragmented.
Eight months after knowing Mark he proposed to me on a beach nearby my family's home with a guitar and a blanket. I was so happy and excited. My parents it seemed finally shared my joy and were happy for me.....until we planned our wedding for the fall of that same year on the very day we met. My family wanted us to wait until the next year and to be involved in the wedding planning, but I didn't feel like they respected or liked anything we suggested. I would bring something up an idea that I liked and it seemed the response was often "oh no.....you wouldn't like that, this would be better". I became aware of a strong current of ideas that belonged to "the family" and I was either swept up in the current not thinking for myself or I was fighting against it. Things often came to a head and more and more I chose to fight the current. It seemed like things were not about what the bride and groom wanted but were about what was best for "the family". We got married on October 11, 2008. Mark thoroughly enjoyed the event (happy that I was there, along with someone qualified to marry us) but I still felt tense. I remember just before I was to walk down the aisle my dad turned to me and said "you know it's not to late to back out right?" I'm still unsure if he was being serious. As I walked down the aisle I gathered courage from the looks of approval from the extended family members and the strong love I saw in my soon to be husbands face. Marrying Mark was one of the best things I've ever done in my life. After we finished our three day honeymoon and settled into Mark's house I started to feel safe and free for the first time, but I was not yet free from myself. God started to prick at my mind suggesting that I delve into past injuries further. I successfully ignored Him. Mark also would mention counseling on occasion , I brushed it off. Counseling was for people who had problems, I was coping with mine just fine. I was also still basking in the delusion of "nothings wrong with our family". I didn't want to be a victim , I wanted to be normal.
Monday, 2 March 2015
Turning Point
Although I had been working since I was old enough to earn money (teen years? I don't remember) my first actual career job was at a local nursing home as an RPN. After working for a year or so I got a full time afternoon position. Working at the nursing home opened a whole new world for me. I enjoyed my work. I liked the residents and for the most part I was a pretty good nurse. I even went to Africa , by my self. I volunteered at a mission hospital in Togo for a month. I had originally planned to do mission trips as a nurse. I think this trip helped me to rethink that plan. It seemed that I learned a lot more about the world and was not that much help to the hospital :).
After a few years of working full time the stress of the job started to creep up on me. I was working afternoons so I did not get out much. I started to feel restless. I would often ask for days off and get them denied (the nursing home did not have a good union). I remember listening to a TFK song (Thousand Foot Krutch - When in Doubt) and hearing the refrain echo in my head "there is so much more to life then this". For the first time in my life I began to feel dissatisfied with things at home. My dad had by then mostly stopped what he did , but it was still present in more subtle forms. I started to, at first subconsciously, look for an out. I considered leaving the country and working with Red Cross somewhere. I also grew interested in going to singles groups and online dating websites. I remember thinking "God, if I'm not in a relationship by the next few years then I'm leaving the country, I need to change something here". Earlier in my life I , being afraid I would end up with someone similar to my dad (I had been told that daughters often looked for men like their dad's without realizing it), I had made a deal with God. I told God that I would marry only who He choose as long as He would let me know who that was. I had no idea how much potential heartache that deal would protect me from.
Without realizing it I became "flirty" with guys. I did not seem to see the blurry line between friendship and potential relationship. I felt empowered and reckless. It was like my heart and head no longer communicated. I didn't trust anyone with my true self but trusted too much of my safety to others at the same time. I had no idea how to respond to advances by men. I felt flattered, uncomfortable and afraid. It was like I was watching "guy-friends" from a distance curiously , waiting for the right one. I had mentally separated myself from men, but was at times totally inappropriate. I didn't realize the potential danger that was there for me and was willing to give away my affections too freely. The only thing that held me back was the "deal". Every so often I would talk with God about a particular person and ask if he was the right one, if I felt negative or nothing at all then I would move on ....of course anxiety and doubt were still present, as well as sending a confusing array of signals to "guy friends". I'm not sure how much of this behavior my parents observed. I think I remember my dad looking anxious or sounding anxious about me talking about a guy. I was very good at hiding my emotions. Sometimes my stoic mentality was an advantage when dealing with crisis situations at work , but it put a cover over a troubled and afraid girl who was starting to lose her ability to find her emotions again after hiding them for so long.
After a few years of working full time the stress of the job started to creep up on me. I was working afternoons so I did not get out much. I started to feel restless. I would often ask for days off and get them denied (the nursing home did not have a good union). I remember listening to a TFK song (Thousand Foot Krutch - When in Doubt) and hearing the refrain echo in my head "there is so much more to life then this". For the first time in my life I began to feel dissatisfied with things at home. My dad had by then mostly stopped what he did , but it was still present in more subtle forms. I started to, at first subconsciously, look for an out. I considered leaving the country and working with Red Cross somewhere. I also grew interested in going to singles groups and online dating websites. I remember thinking "God, if I'm not in a relationship by the next few years then I'm leaving the country, I need to change something here". Earlier in my life I , being afraid I would end up with someone similar to my dad (I had been told that daughters often looked for men like their dad's without realizing it), I had made a deal with God. I told God that I would marry only who He choose as long as He would let me know who that was. I had no idea how much potential heartache that deal would protect me from.
Without realizing it I became "flirty" with guys. I did not seem to see the blurry line between friendship and potential relationship. I felt empowered and reckless. It was like my heart and head no longer communicated. I didn't trust anyone with my true self but trusted too much of my safety to others at the same time. I had no idea how to respond to advances by men. I felt flattered, uncomfortable and afraid. It was like I was watching "guy-friends" from a distance curiously , waiting for the right one. I had mentally separated myself from men, but was at times totally inappropriate. I didn't realize the potential danger that was there for me and was willing to give away my affections too freely. The only thing that held me back was the "deal". Every so often I would talk with God about a particular person and ask if he was the right one, if I felt negative or nothing at all then I would move on ....of course anxiety and doubt were still present, as well as sending a confusing array of signals to "guy friends". I'm not sure how much of this behavior my parents observed. I think I remember my dad looking anxious or sounding anxious about me talking about a guy. I was very good at hiding my emotions. Sometimes my stoic mentality was an advantage when dealing with crisis situations at work , but it put a cover over a troubled and afraid girl who was starting to lose her ability to find her emotions again after hiding them for so long.
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