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.

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.


  

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.