Silence...

On April 19, 2012, Grey's Anatomy tackled the effects of child sexual abuse in "The Girl With No Name."  For a one hour drama, I believe that the writers did a solid job of showing the important of sexual abuse survivors to have supportive care that is built around their needs.  I also believe the writers were able to provide a few insights as to how the experience, thoughts, and needs of a sexual abuse surviver might not make sense or even fit with the experience, thoughts, and needs of the friends and family of a sexual abuse survivor.

For example, in this story, a young girl was kidnapped and held hostage for twelve years.  When she escaped and was rescued, her parents wanted nothing more than to touch her, hold her, be with her all the time.  But that was not what the now teenager sexual abuse victim needed.  First and foremost, she needed to learn that she had control of her body and her environment and so her wishes needed to be respected.  This was something the parents struggled mightily with because it was in direct conflict with their own desires and the calling of their vocation to protect and care for their daughter.  Sometimes, though, caring for someone does not look like what we might think it should.

One scene in particular resonated deeply with me.  It came after the young survivor had been tasked with getting her own food in the cafeteria, to practice interacting with others.  She tried several food stations (soup and pizza) before simply going over to the self-serve station.

Meredith:  Hey how are you feeling?  That was a big deal.
Holly:  Not really
Meredith: I don't know, braving that cafeteria line is pretty major even for those who haven't been—
Holly:  —kept in a basement for twelve years
Meredith: —who haven't been through what you have been through.
Holly:  Why do you do that?  Talk around it? The therapist and my parents.  What've I've been through is being kicked and raped and slapped and starved.  I mean, I get it.  But it was my life.  And I didn't get talk with him about my life with my parents, and now I don't get to talk anyone about about him.
Meredith:  But you can talk about him.
Holly:  No, I can't.  You'll think ... you won't get it.
Meredith:  Try me.
Holly:  He wasn't only bad.  Sometimes he was okay.  He'd let me go upstairs and ... we'd watch stuff together.  Movies.  And it was like it was normal.  And when I came back here I turned on the TV and there was this movie on that we watched together and I started to miss him.  And I know that's bad. And I must be sick and don't tell the shrink that I said anything 'cause she ... 'cause she's gonna ask me how I feel about it.  And I don't know.  All I know is that I should be happy that I am here and not there.  But sometimes I'm not.
Meredith:  That's okay.  However you feel is okay.

Ah, by now you have seen me write several times know how blessedly merciful it is to hear the word "okay."  Here it was a thing of beauty.  But what struck me is how the young survivor felt like she could not talk about her experiences, about her life.  She felt like her life is a life that no one wanted to hear.  And that is a truth.  It is very, very rare to encounter someone who is willing to hear about your life of abuse outside a counselor's office.

Think for a moment about what that communicates.

We tell young children that what happened to them is not their fault and is nothing to be ashamed of, but we tell adults that their experiences are burdensome and difficult for others to hear.  To speak of those things is too intimate, even inappropriate.  There really is shame and if shame, blame.

In another scene in the episode, the orthopedic surgeon is asking the young survivor about a fracture in her pelvis.  She wants to know how the injury occurred, I suppose, so that she can make a plan for the repair.  The surgeon asks the survivor if she fell or something.  At first, the survivor says that she doesn't know.  But then she mentions that it could have been when she had the baby a few years ago.  She thinks the baby died.  She doesn't know, but she couldn't walk for a long time afterward.  The survivor's parents are horrified, with her mother eventually fleeing the room.  The surgeon manages to control her reaction and agrees that is probably when the injury occurred.  The young survivor is puzzled at the reaction she sees.  She asks if she should not have said anything.  It is later on in the episode that the conversation about not being able to talk about her life occurs.  And it is something that should not be true but is.

If you go by statistics, where I live there are over 63,000 sexual abuse survivors.  Yet I have not been able to find a single sexual abuse support group, a single place where I could go and talk about my life without it being inappropriate or burdensome for others.  There is only one place in the city where sexual abuse counseling is free, and that place has such a revolving door of counselors that trying to seek help is daunting, if not really impossible.  It is not common to make a livable wage  offering free care for sexual abuse survivors.

The shootings in this country highlight the miserable state of mental health care.  America simply does not have enough mental health personnel, nor do we have enough coverage.  And what coverage and/or care there is: 1) is often limited, 2) can be cost prohibitive, 3) and is often too generalized to be effective.  Sexual abuse survivors need specific care that does not treat them as victims.  Again, not enough medical personnel are familiar with the effects of trauma on the brain and body, much less familiar with the effects of sexual abuse.  Would that it were The Courage to Heal were required study and trauma training required coursework for all emergency, medical, and mental health care personnel!

One of the biggest factors of why sexual abuse is such a prevalent and persistent problem in our country is silence.  Survivors are taught to remain silent, taught and/or threatened.  Families keep their secrets.  Businesses and institutions cover up instances of sexual abuse to protect reputation and Even the church.  And if you think the problem lies solely or even primarily within the Catholic church, you are sorely mistaken.  It is everywhere.

But even when a person does speak out, does break the silence, the victim often learns to remain silent afterwards.  To not talk about his or her life, his or her experiences, freely or even with friends and family lest they become too burdensome to others.  To not talk about his or her life even with a pastor.

Silence is one of the devil's greatest weapons in felling the spiritual life of sexual abuse survivors.  At least, it is for me.  The reason I believe this is because silence protects and even propagates the lies he has woven in the sexual abuse survivor's life, through the abusers and those who have encouraged silence.

Sexual abuse teaches wrong lessons.  Those lessons are very, very difficult to unlearn ... to re-learn rightly.  With regard to faith, the thoughts that grow out of the experience of abuse, especially that at the hands of parents or others in authority, confuse and obscure the Gospel.  For a girl abused by her father, to try and talk about God the Father in such a way that does not trigger painful memories or emotions is difficult. Worthiness, shame, guilt, doubt, despair ... all and more make it difficult to remember what is true.  True about salvation.  True about sanctification. True about your body.

For someone struggling with emotions, or rather lack thereof, it is difficult to separate them from the call to fear and love and trust God.  What does that mean? This is not a question for a counselor, but for a pastor.  And one the answer of can and will help the sexual abuse survivor until and after she learns the psychological answers to help her understand her whys and wherefores.

In both, healing comes in understanding and in changing the lessons learned, changing the thoughts about them.  Sometimes, changing the thought starts with having a script to follow, to rehearse.

In the episode, one such script is the script of:  That's okay.  However you feel is okay.  It is okay not to have feelings. It is okay to have feelings.  It's okay not to know or understand what those feelings are.  Feelings are not facts.  Part of the learning is learning new facts, such as how fathers should be with their daughters and that daughters are not to blame for what happens.  Another fact is that rape is not sex.  Daughters do not have sex with their fathers.  Fathers rape their daughters.  An important distinction that can be arduous and painful to first grasp and then believe.  Learning new facts can be long and difficult.  So, having the script  That's okay.  However you feel is okay.  can help you get through the confusion, the struggles, the many steps backwards in the midst of those forward.

A script I was recently given is Jesus came for the dead.  You see, it is difficult to think about all that time of disassociation, of being numb and absent.  It is difficult to not only feel that you are dead inside, but to also fear you actually are dead inside.  That you have no love or fear or trust of any kind.

Jesus came for the dead.
Jesus came for the sick.
Jesus came for the lame.
Jesus came for the blind.
Jesus came for the weak.
Jesus came for the brokenhearted.

All of those things a surviver might possibly believe about herself as she struggles to heal are the very reasons Jesus came.  The very reasons He comes still.

It isn't helpful to tell a survivor she shouldn't feel guilty.  That she feels guilty is not even the most important problem.  The problem lies with ferreting out the whys and wherefores behind that guilt and teaching her how those thoughts and experiences belie the truth.  That is the work of mental health counseling.  But in the mean while the truth remains that Jesus comes even for the guilty and the ashamed and the unclean.  Jesus comes and forgives, forgives even the doubt, the struggle of faith that can lie beneath those emotions.

You feel dead inside?  Jesus came for the dead.  You think you might actually be dead inside?  Jesus came for the dead.  Jesus came for the helpless.  Jesus came for the hopeless.  Jesus came for all wounds.  Jesus came for all.

For the Christian sexual abuse survivor, spiritual care and support is equally important—if not more so—as psychological care and support.  Sexual abuse is the playground of our foe, who will leverage anything and everything to keep you ensnared in his lies.  Thus, it is vitally important that survivors are allowed to talk about their lives, to talk about the secrets and the fears and the shame so that those felling arrows of our foe can be extinguished by Christ crucified for us.

May the silence around sexual abuse that exists even in the church be soon shattered.


Lord, have mercy.  Christ, have mercy.  Lord, have mercy.

Murder is not a coping mechanism...

On October 17, 2013, CBS told the world that it is acceptable—if not actually good—to murder your parent if he or she is sexually abusing you and that that murder should not be punished.  It is understandable.  On Elementary's "Poison Pen," a daughter murdered her father.  Sherlock figured it out when he was younger and kept her secret because he judged her not to be a killer, just a victim escaping the only way she could.  Years later, a son did the same thing and it was acceptable for another to take credit for his actions so his choice to kill his father would not ruin his life.

It is not ever good, right, or salutary to murder another human being.  A soldier, in his duties of his vocation, causing a death is not murder.  A police officer, in the duties of his vocation, causing a death is not murder.  Now, men are sinners.  Soldiers and police officers—and all those whose vocations might result in the death of another—can also murder someone.  But death is not always murder.

There is no duty of a child, no part of a child's vocation, to cause the death of a parent.  Nor that of a child by a parent.  Murder of someone who is sexually abusing another is not biblical and is it absolutely not justifiable.  

Yes, sexual abuse is devastating.  Sexual abuse can and does destroy lives.  Still, murder is not a coping mechanism.

Watching the episode was inordinately difficult for me.  I really like Elementary and wished that the writers of that show chose a different story to tell.  A real story.  A true story.

The first time I encountered the effects of sexual abuse in a way that I  understood was on the show House, in an episode entitled "One Day, One Room."  I actually bought the episode on Amazon.com.  I bought it because I wanted—if ever the opportunity should arise—to have someone watch it and be able to say, "See?  That's me."

The survivor did not want what others thought she needed.  To me, it is not so much about proper support and care as it is how very important it is to remember that even in support and care it is possible to continue to silence the victim.  It is my personal opinion that the writer of that episode had either experienced sexual abuse or was close to someone who had.  To me, there is an authenticity to her thoughts and feelings, even the way that they were portrayed by the actress.  I wondered, too, if she had been abused.  Perhaps I am projecting, but this was not the stereotypical story, nor was it the stereotypical portrayal.

There is something I have thought ... believed ... I believe like recognizes like.  Not always.  Sometimes, when I discovered afterwards that I missed a fellow survivor, missed an opportunity to privately, gently tell her, tell him that she/he is not alone, my heart aches with an ineffable, nearly unbearable pain.

Recently, I met a stranger.  I recognized the like and dropped a few phrases.  She immediately leapt upon them, cradled to her chest, and spoke of her story.  In truth, it was the quickest anyone had ever come out to me.  And it was devastating because just a few minutes later, she pronounced the thought I also battled:  the church is no place for sexual abuse survivors.

Truly, that is a post for another day ... one that comes after many, many more posts trying to help explain or explore the effects of sexual abuse.  Suffice it to say that I supported her thoughts and feelings about that, but yet also spoke to her about the Psalter and how incredible it is to be known by God ... even in doubt and despair, even in anguish and confusion.

I read a few to her.
I read until I saw a tipping point that spoke of too much.
I read for us both and stopped for us both.

Over the past several weeks, I have struggled with how to write about the Elementary episode and how terribly discouraging—defeating, actually—watching it was for me.  Will the world ever change?

I've mentioned before just how frustrating it is to think about the decades The Courage to Heal has been available and how even in the medical and mental health arenas so very few have taken the time to learn about the effects of sexual abuse, to learn about healing, to learn to stop thinking about, treating, and calling sexual abuse survivors as victims.  To see them as people, not as the effects of sexual abuse in their lives.  SIGH.

So, I have been writing and deleting and writing and deleting again.  And then I watched a show.  Actually, I watched six episodes of a show.  All I could think was why.  Why did I not know of this?  Why don't others know of this?  

If you would like to learn something of the real and true effects of sexual abuse, buy the book.  As an act of mercy to those millions of sexual abuse survivors living in our country, buy the book.  To see a living, breathing survivor struggling with the effects of sexual abuse in her life and the lives of those around the survivor, watch these:  The Judds Docuseries, Episode 1; The Judds Docuseries, Episode 2; The Judds Docuseries, Episode 3; The Judds Docuseries, Episode 4; The Judds Docuseries, Episode 5; and The Judds Docuseries, Episode 6.

I was gutted.

There was this one moment when I understood something so utterly clearly.  You get to see the survivor disassociate.  You also get to see the shock and hurt and anger of someone facing that disassociation.  The reason this was helpful to me was that someone who was abusive to me would become infuriated whenever she started lashing out at me and I ... well, I understand now that I was dissociating from her anger.  Watching the scene, I could see what that person saw in me.  The utter disengagement.  It is hard to describe, but I understood what that person must have seen in me.

I am still not yet over that moment.
I am still struggling to grasp just how much I still am numb and absent.
I am overwhelmed and afraid and yet less lonely.

In the series, there are many, many, many examples of the effects of sexual abuse.  I think the survivor's childlike behavior at times would irritate others.  Only I saw the little girl she still is.  In many ways, survivors of sexual abuse, especially those at a very young age, stop aging then.  A part of her is still that little girl whose family member was sexually abusing her.

Too, what you hear, many times, is how even after years of working with her therapist, and after admitting the truth of her life, stepping away from all the pretending she did, her journey of healing has just begun.

Oh, how I wish I had the words, had the skill, to take a viewer through each episode to say, "Look here, did you hear that?  Listen!  Watch!  These are the whys and wherefores this survivor is battling and discovering and discovering and battling."

Such pain.
Such beauty.
Such victory.

Would that it were those in my life would watch, would learn, and would, perhaps, understand me a bit better.  SIGH.

Even so, though such should never come to pass, I am reminded that I am not crazy, nor am I alone.


Lord, have mercy.  Christ, have mercy.  Lord, have mercy.

Can You Hear Me?

Can You Hear Me?

Why did you choose to hurt me?  Did you ever stop to realize that the pressure of your touch would not leave when your hands left my body?  I can feel your fingers probing even now as I lie in bed wishing for sleep to overtake my mind.  I scrub and scrub until my skin is raw, but the dirt of your presence is with me still.

I am growing older, on the outside that is.  But somewhere deep inside is the young girl you first touched.  She is still crying because I have yet to learn how.  My tears soak only the present.  They scarcely touch the hurt you so deliberately chose to give to me.

Did you know then, or do you realize now, that your choice would whisper in my thoughts and linger in my actions long after you finished?  I am learning not to be a victim, but a victor.  Yet the battle I am fighting will always be a part of me, a part of the very definition of who I am.

I am learning to listen, to hear beneath the words of others who have been touched by someone like you.  We draw to one another and whisper of the lingering presence.  We talk of showers and nightmares and ordinary things we turn away from because.

Because.  Because a part of us stopped growing that day long ago when you made that choice.  One moment in time showed us the ugliness of life before we had been nurtured enough to bear its weight.  Those of us who survived, or are surviving still, from that choice you made learned, or are learning still, how to grow in spite of the crying child within.  But we will never forget those words, that touch, the pain of your actions.

I cry today for the ones who were crushed beneath that weight.  I ache to see the children who come within your grasp.  Do you know what you have done?  Do you see at all?  Will the word of just one child, nearly grown, pierce the wall you must have built around your heart?  

Can you hear me at all?

     

Why did you choose to hurt me? 

Did you ever stop to realize 

that the pressure of your touch 

would not leave when your hands left my body?  

I can feel your fingers probing 

even now as I lie in bed wishing 

for sleep to overtake my mind.  

I scrub and scrub until my skin is raw, 

but the dirt of your presence is with me still.

I am growing older, on the outside that is.  

But somewhere deep inside 

is the young girl you first touched.  

She is still crying 

because I have yet to learn how.  

My tears soak only the present.  

They scarcely touch the hurt 

you so deliberately chose to give to me.

Did you know then, or do you realize now, 

that your choice would whisper 

in my thoughts and linger in my actions 

long after you finished?  

I am learning not to be a victim, but a victor.  

Yet the battle I am fighting 

will always be a part of me, 

a part of the very definition of who I am.

I am learning to listen, to hear 

beneath the words of others 

who have been touched by someone like you.  

We draw to one another 

and whisper of the lingering presence.  

We talk of showers and nightmares

and ordinary things we turn away from 

because.

Because.  

Because a part of us stopped growing 

that day long ago when 

you made that choice.  

One moment in time showed us 

the ugliness of life before 

we had been nurtured enough 

to bear its weight.  

Those of us who survived, or are surviving still, 

from that choice you made 

learned, or are learning still, 

how to grow in spite of the crying child within.  

But we will never forget 

those words, that touch, 

the pain of your actions.

I cry today for the ones 

who were crushed beneath that weight. 

I ache to see the children 

who come within your grasp.  

Do you know what you have done? 

Do you see at all?  

Will the word of just one child 

nearly grown pierce 

the wall you must have built 

around your heart?  

Can you hear me at all?

     

Why did you choose 

to hurt me?

Did you ever stop 

to realize

that the pressure 

of your touch

would not leave 

when your hands 

left my body?

I can feel your fingers 

Probing even now 

as I lie in bed 

wishing for sleep 

to overtake my mind.

I scrub and scrub 

until my skin is raw,

but the dirt 

of your presence 

is with me still.

I am growing older, 

on the outside 

that is.

But somewhere 

deep inside

is the young girl 

you first touched.

She is still crying

because I have yet 

to learn how.

My tears soak 

only the present.

They scarcely 

touch the hurt

you so deliberately 

chose to give to me.

Did you know then, 

or do you realize now,

that your choice 

would whisper

in my thoughts 

and linger 

in my actions

long after you finished?

I am learning 

not to be a victim, 

but a victor.

Yet the battle 

I am fighting

will always be 

a part of me,

a part of 

the very definition 

of who I am.

I am learning 

to listen, 

to hear

beneath the words 

of others

who have been touched 

by someone like you.

We draw 

to one another

and whisper of 

the lingering presence.

We talk of showers 

and nightmares

and ordinary things 

we turn away from 

because.

Because.

Because a part of us 

stopped growing

that day long ago 

when you made 

that choice.

One moment in time 

showed us

the ugliness of life before

we had been 

nurtured enough

to bear its weight.

Those of us 

who survived, 

or are surviving still,

from that choice you made

learned, 

or are learning still,

how to grow 

in spite of 

the crying child within.

But we will 

never forget

those words, 

that touch,

the pain 

of your actions.

I cry today 

for the ones

who were crushed 

beneath that weight.

I ache to see 

the children

who come within 

your grasp.

Do you know 

what you have done?

Do you see 

at all?

Will the word 

of just one child,

nearly grown,

pierce the wall 

you must have built

around your heart?

Can you hear me at all?

Navigating emotions...

The myriad ways sexual abuse survivors face what is happening to them and/or what happened to them all have in common that they are a means for handling something which is overwhelming to them.  Overwhelming physically, mentally, and emotionally.  To the survivor, the sexual abuse and its effects are truly ineffable.

Many of the ways survivors cope are rooted in denial of some fashion.  It didn't happen.  It wasn't that bad.  It was the alcohol that made him do it.  Some forget.  Some pretend.  Some make light of it.

Many of the ways survivors cope are rooted in distancing themselves from the abuse, from the world.  They avoid feelings, people, intimacy.

Many of the ways survivors copy are rooted in the search for safety.  That safety can be establishing strict control over some or all parts of their lives or the very opposite ... living in chaos.  Because survivors of sexual abuse have had so many skewed lessons in their lives, who they trust may end up being the wrong people.  Some may even seek safety in familiarity and end up with another abuser.

Many of the ways survivors cope are rooted in addiction or compulsions, in self-destructive behavior or harm.  Opposite of avoiding intimacy, sexual addiction can be a way of numbing or negating what happened.  Anorexia or binge eating fall into this category even as they can also be a way of controlling something ... anything.  Being busy all the time or working all the time is a way to avoid the sexual abuse until the positive traits of productivity becomes negative as what you do ends up trapping yourself, binding yourself.  Stealing is also a coping mechanism as it can create distance from what happened or it can provide a momentary thrill in a sea of numbness or both.  This either or opposite effect can also occur in self-harm.  Some cut themselves to feel something.  Others cut themselves to drown out everything else and savor the myopic focus of one singular source of pain.

All of these coping mechanisms are good in that the one experiencing sexual abuse survived.  But one cannot thrive as an alcoholic or drug addict, trapped by eating disorders or self-mutilization, numbing, denying, avoiding.  That someone survived such an egregious perfidy committed against them—be it once or often—is a wonder.  And it is no wonder that to survive sexual abuse thoughts and feelings, perspectives and relationships, love and trust are twisted and warped, skewed and turned upside down.

Facing what happened is hard.  It is hard work. It is painful. It is confusing.  It is devastating. It is chaos.  And it often feels worse, feels as if it is not something that can be survived.  You can lose employment and friends and family.  You can lose your anchor, primarily because the anchors you dropped in the maelstrom of your life were ones that break loose instead of keeping you safe.  And you can end up struggling with even more shame or guilt over what you did or didn't do.

The chaos that comes with allowing yourself to experience the full spectrum of feelings as you start to heal, to remember, to learn what is true is so very difficult to navigate without falling back into old coping mechanisms.  But, as I noted earlier, while there is no condemnation for what has happened or what you still struggle with, Davis and Bass encourage sexual abuse survivors to strive to shed the strategies that no longer serve them and seek ones that do.

Were it up to me, having experienced emotions, I would still choose numbness.  It is easier.  It is safer.  It makes sense.

However, that is not the best choice for me.  I struggled to accept that I had PTSD and I mightily struggled to accept that my chronic neurological condition meant that anxiety was going to be a new permanent part of my life.  Between the anxiety of facing the trauma of sexual abuse, the PTSD made worse by the trauma of the pit bull attack, and the cognitive deficits and anxiety of Dysautonomia, I sometimes despair of ever gaining ground in being able to feel without panic, without meltdowns, and without using coping mechanisms that no longer serve me well.

When it comes to navigating emotional storms, the list of choices and activities that serve me better is one I have built over time.  My list is filled with things both external and internal.  To me, the external is most helpful, and of the external, hearing the Living Word is most effective.  When it comes to navigating emotional storms, having more options than less is better.  Much better.

Here is my original list:

• Build a fire 
• Light a candle 
• Listen to music 
• Play Monopoly 
• Play Whirly Word 
• Do one of the logic or cognitive apps 
• Watch a TV show online 
• Watch a DVD 
• Call someone and ask them to read me a psalm 
• Read aloud Part IV or V of the Large Catechism 
• Free write about what I am feeling 
• Work on a page from one of my adult coloring books (using colored pencils) 
• Play the guitar 
• Sing hymns 
• Organize a drawer or a closet 
• Putter in the yard 
• Play with Amos 
• Clean something 
• Make a list (chores, things to accomplish, work goals, etc.) 
• Complete a task that has been lingering 
• Read a book

At first, I shared my list with a few friends and when I became overwhelmed and was frightened by what I was feeling, I would call one of them.  At first, I could not, by myself, contain my fear or get through it without falling back on things that no longer serve me well.

The ones that have helped the most are:

• Hearing the Living Word
• Hearing the Christian Book of Concord
• Lighting and sitting before fire (season restricted)
• Lighting a Paddywax Rose candle
• Using peppermint and lavender essential oils
• Listening to music really, really loud
• Holding a pinecone in my hand (helps me concentrate on only one sensation)

Notice that they are all things outside of myself at which I cannot fail and which engage one or more senses.  

When I am really distraught, I prefer to do something physical (which is difficult since I am now disabled), the harder the work the better.  I exhaust myself.  But the physical I prefer is cleaning or organizing or working in the yard or a home improvement task/project or anything that has an end result which is a bonafide accomplishment.

Sometimes, I will stream a movie or a television show whilst I am doing something physical so that not a single moment can be filled with what I am thinking or feeling, so that I can hold the storm at bay.  If I am struggling with exhaustion but still need to busy my body, I will play music to try and pull me along.

I still play Monopoly, word-based apps, and cognitive apps (logic puzzles, mazes, games, etc.).  What I found with Monopoly was a lesson on being patient when it looks as if all is doomed.  I found in playing that if I did not give up and stuck to my strategy, I could win even if I got to the point where my funds are nearly depleted and nearly every property is mortgaged save for a single set upon which I have built houses or hotels.

I have great difficultly now following sermons, movies, and television shows.  I really need to have a written source to which I can refer whilst I am listening or watching.  I simply cannot hold oral cumulative information in my mind in order to comprehend it.  I also forget so much that I can re-watch an entire series and have great chunks of it be as if completely new.  So, something I will do is plow through multiple episodes of a television series that has a long story arc, such as Babylon 5, Battlestar Galactica, or the many British shows that are longer than an hour and spread over two or three episodes, such as "Chapel Hill," "Line of Duty," or "The State Within."

Finally, in the past few months, I have started trying to cook new recipes.  I started doing this because following directions is very difficult for me and because I have come to a point where I burn a lot of what I cook because I forget that I am actually cooking.  By trying actual recipes, instead of merely throwing together a bite to eat, I have to concentrate really hard to ensure I do not leave out ingredients and that I follow all the steps.  I avoid anything with yeast or kneading, because I simply cannot succeed in those recipes, but I have tried to find ones that I believe I can do and that are a challenge for me to complete.  Of course, I also focus on what is tasty to me.

I no longer play the guitar because I cannot control my hands well.  For the same reason, I no longer try to use the adult coloring books.  I have forgotten almost all the hymns I learned and singing bothers my asthma, so I gave up that coping mechanism, too.  I also no longer free write because I found that, for me, it heightened my anxiety, rather than soothed it.

So, to sum, other than the list of external coping mechanisms that are of the most help to me, the main  internal ones (ones that depend upon me) are:

• Physical labor
• Playing apps that are cognitively challenging to me
• Chain-watching television shows with longer story arcs
• Cooking

There is one coping mechanism from my childhood that I still do when I am very overwhelmed and have no one to pour the Living Word into my ears:  I stuff myself in small places.  When I was little, I would stuff myself between the bed and the wall.  When my patches and walls started crumbling down a few years ago, when I finally made the decision to heal (the first stage of healing about which I will write later), I would crawl into the back of my closet.  There, I was surrounded by three walls and rather squishes.  A counselor told me that to do so was rather intelligent of me because it was if someone was holding me close.  To be honest, I have longed to try one of those weighted blankets that are often used with people on the autism spectrum, but they are rather expensive.

I will finish this by noting one other source of comfort.  When I moved here coming up on three years ago, I was still grieving the loss of my first dog.  When he died, my life was very confusing and getting worse.  Having reading and adored James Harriott's books, I thought I would get a puppy right away.  But so much was difficult the first few months after Kashi's death and then I was raped again.  The day after was the first time I called a rape crisis center.  I had had counseling before, but when it happened again something rose up within me and I wanted to scream to the entire world:  I never want this to happen again.  Why me?  Why again????

From August until I moved in December, I spiraled into chaos as every coping mechanism that had been effective for at least getting through life began to fail.  Great hurts and more difficulties came until the man who raped me showed up at my house.  I was in limbo waiting on the closing here, but I called the movers and asked that they come the next day.  They did. I started driving ... fleeing ... not knowing if I would have a place to stay when I arrived here two days later.  I came to an empty house and lived into for 5 days before the trucks arrived on the 6th, but felt such relief being so far away from my former home and boss.

One of my chronic illnesses grew much worse right after moving, so I was ... occupied ... for a long time.  And I was still crumbling into pieces, near drowning in The Emergency Stage.  In February, I managed to think the thought that I wanted a puppy, when looking for a puppy, and my Good Shepherd gave me Amos on the 14th.  For someone who has always dreaded and loathed Valentine's Day, I had to laugh at the timing.

Five months later, we were attacked by the pit bull.  Amos was incredibly affectionate, being a Bichon Poo, but that ineffable violence changed him and me in such deep and profound ways.  Amos' vet believe he will never recover, since despite working with him, he continues to have many, many fears and a very sad, very low threshold for startle response.  

However, as I became more ill and still lost in trying to face my life and my past, Amos became more and more skilled at comforting me.  In many ways, he acts more like a little person than a puppy (all dogs are puppies to me, but I should note his third birthday will be in December).  On my regular blog, I noted his calm down techniques:

• Climbing atop my shoulders (he can get there without my help at times)
• Asking me to pick him up (he leaps completely off the ground repeatedly until you grab him)
• Climbing on my lap
• Surrounding himself with as many of his Babies as possible

So, even if I were not prone to hold on to him for comfort, he holds on to me.  He puts his paws around my neck and tucks his head beneath my chin.  He stuffs himself beside me in the lounge chair.  He follows me everywhere.  If not on my person, he holds part of me with his paw if sleeping near me.  His favorite thing to do is have me hold him so that he can relax against my body, hang his head over my shoulder, and fall asleep.  I cannot stand and do so for very long, but he always begs for me to hold him if I am up and about for any length of time.

All this is to say that I wrote about drawing a firm boundary of no touching me.  I believe that my Creator understands my needs and thus gave me something that could give me all the physical comfort I crave even when I cannot bear for anyone to touch me.

I am not sure if I am clinging to Amos or he is clinging to me.  So, I do not know where he fits on my list.  But I will put the two main lists together now, as a final summary:

• Hearing the Living Word
• Hearing the Christian Book of Concord
• Lighting and sitting before fire (season restricted)
• Lighting a Paddywax Rose candle
• Using peppermint and lavender essential oils
• Listening to music really, really loud
• Holding a pinecone in my hand (helps me concentrate on only one sensation)
• Physical labor
• Playing apps that are cognitively challenging to me
• Chain-watching television shows with longer story arcs
• Cooking
• Stuffing myself in small spaces
• Clinging to my puppy dog Amos

Because I feel as if this topic is being truncated, I would like to note that, in another post, I will write about trying to work out calm down techniques in advance for situations I know will be difficult for me.  This is something I started learning, in very large part, due to meeting and spending time with my friend Marie, who is brave and strong and rather open about communicating about the triggers for her anxiety.  I am learning to think about my triggers, work out something that will comfort or help me during a difficult situation (such as any exam or procedure where I am partially or completely unclothed and/or will be touched), and then state what my helps are and use them when I am about to face that difficulty.

I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!

Coping and emotions, mingled a bit together...

I wrote a first lesson on emotions and thought that I might finally be able to write some of what I want to write about the body and receiving the Gospel.  Only all that is in my head is simply not coming out through my fingertips.  So, then I thought I would expand on some of the coping mechanisms referenced in yesterday's post, so that some of the thoughts behind them might help others understand whys and wherefores of seemingly harmful or strange coping mechanisms.  Only, my heart cannot take how hard it is to write about some of the things I did then.

Shame.
It's rearing its head.

So, I wanted to write about how I wish things were, rather than how they are.

We have feelings all the time, whether we're consciously aware of them or not.  Feelings arise in response to everything that happens in our lives.  A threat makes us fearful.  When someone injures us, we feel hurt and angry.  When we are safe and our needs are met, we feel content.  These are natural responses.  We may not alway have the ability to recognize and understand your feelings, but they are there.

When you were a child, your feelings of love and trust were betrayed.  Your fear, pain, rage, and shame were too great for you to experience fully and continue to function, so you suppressed your feelings in order to survive:

"Certain feelings just went under. I shopped having them at a really young age.  I stopped having physical sensations.  You could beat me and it literally didn't hurt.  By the time I was thirteen, I no longer felt angry.  And once I stopped feeling anger, I never felt love either. W hat I lived with most was boredom, which is really not a feeling but a lack of feeling.  All the highs and lows were taken out."

Or, conversely, you may have lived with certain emotions so long and so intensely that you've gotten stuck in those feelings:

"I walked around leaking sadness most of my life.  Almost anything could make me cry.  I'd cry at phone commercials—reach out and touch someone.  I drove my husband crazy.  We couldn't' have even the smallest disagreement without my crying. I didn't want to cry. I'd try hard not to, but it was like an underground spring that just kept seeping up."

You may feel as though you've spent your whole life steeps in sadness, rage, or loneliness or that you struggle, even now, with constant anxiety, fear, or depression. Or you may find that you fluctuate between extremes:  feeling flooded by overwhelming emotions and then shut down and numb inside. (The Courage to Heal, Bass & Davis, pp. 222-223)

Sometimes when I read things like this, even having already read them, doing so takes my breath away.  It is both frightening and wonderful to be known, to be understood.  I think about all the times I disassociated at the slightest bit of worry or fear and these words help me to think of myself as less of an axe murderer.

Once, when I first started talking to someone about my past, she was confused and then doubtful.  She did not understand how I could recite such horrifying things without a speck of emotion.  For one, she did not understand that what was horrifying to her was normal to me.  For another, neither she nor I understood just how skilled I was at numbing my whole being.

The rest of this section I will finish below, but first I want to share a bit of what comes next because, to me, it makes more sense that way:

When you open yourself up to feelings, you don't get to pick and choose. They're a package deal.  One of Ellen's clients had been abused by her father over the course of many years.  When she and Ellen began working together, she said she felt numb; she wanted to have feelings.  After a few months, she was crying through every session, crying at home, crying when she went out with friends.  One day she came in, started crying, and then laughed, "Well, I sure got what I asked for."

Yes.  She was feeling.  And the way feelings work is that you can't feel selectively.  When you allow yourself to feel, you feel what this is to feel.  For this woman, there was a great deal of pain and sadness.  And after that, a lot of anger.  And some fear.  But slipped in among those difficult feelings were pride, hope, pleasure, self-respect, and a growing contentment.

To feel, you have to open yourself up to the full spectrum of feelings:

"When I first started to grapple with the concept of feeling—and in the beginning it was only a concept—I ranked all the possible emotions into two lists:  good feelings and bad feelings.  Every time I had a feeling, I'd think, 'Is this a bad feeling or a good feeling?   Is this a feeling I can allow myself to have?'  Then I'd either feel it or suppress it.  It's been hard for me to accept that there is no right or wrong to feeling."

The more you can accept your feelings without judgment, the easier it will be for you to lear to experience them, work with them, and learn from them."  (223-224)

I think, for me, emotions are part of why I felt like an alien for so very long.  I didn't have them, often, so I had to pretend to have them. I used words I neither understood or experienced.

I would also like to point out that experiencing feelings—being overwhelmed by them and the realization that to open yourself up to some is to open yourself up to all—is the same bittersweet that I talked about with learning about how sexual abuse has affected your life.  You want to know, but the knowing can be hard.  And sometimes ... sometimes you just want to go back to not knowing.

It is the same with memories.  You want them to come, but when they begin, you can end up wondering why you ever did.  And if you will survive them.  No matter that you did once before.  Because ... before... you did not feel them, experience them, remain present for them.

Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.

At this point, I would also like to note that there are stages to healing from sexual abuse, much like the stages of grief.  And, similarly, the stages of healing from sexual abuse are not linear.  They are on a continuum.  Soon, I hope to talk about those.  But, for now, I would like to mention one:  the emergency stage.

This is a time when beginning to deal with suppressed memories and emotions can throw your life into turmoil.  Your old coping mechanisms are no longer are as effective or fail you altogether.  It may be difficult to function and you may think or believe or feel as if you are going crazy.  You are not.

When I was in this stage, I had people tell me that I was crazy. I had people tell me that I was sick.  I had people tell me that there was something deeply and most likely irreversibly wrong with me.  Those lies hurt me in ways that made my entire life more difficult.  Those lies and judgments deepened my wounds and made following through on my decision to heal far, far more difficult.

They were lies.  Whether they were well-intentioned or not, they were lies.  And they hurt me at a time when I was more vulnerable than I have ever been.  In part, the fragility that still exists is because the very people who spoke these things were people I trusted to speak the truth and to accept me as I was.  I thought they were safe.  In this matter, they were not.

At one point, a confluence of the breaking down of all my coping mechanisms and a severe hormonal imbalance left me weeping for over a year.  No matter how hard I tried, I could not stop weeping.  I was not crazy. I was not sick. I was not irreversibly wrong.  However, in the middle of my private confession, a pastor told me that God was not impressed by my tears, nor was he.  So, I just stop crying, stop pretending.  I was devastated.  And I stopped going to confession, even though hearing the words from Christ to me, " I forgive you, Myrtle" were sometimes the only thing that gave me hope for a future and turned my thoughts from death.

I still struggle with the weeping that will come unwanted. I give thanks that low-dose hormones righted a balance so that the ever-present tears dried up and the weeping came ... perhaps more purposefully?  I wept most of the next year following the swallowing of that first dose, but I was weeping tears the little girl I was never could and tears for the woman I never became ... not that that will necessarily make sense to you.

In any case, it is understandable that the emergency stage can be as overwhelming for loved ones and friends and neighbors and fellow parishioners and strangers as it is for the one going through it.  Knowledge about the stage is key.  For it is my most fervent wish that no other survivor would hear the lies I heard and be bound further by them than she or he already is.  We can learn about and accept the stages of grief as a society, as a community, as a family.  I believe we can learn about and accept the stages of healing from sexual abuse as well.

A final thought about the emergency stage to hold on to is that sometimes healing hurts.  With our physical bodies, this is often the case.  Therapy for burn victims is agonizing.  Sometimes broken bones have to be re-broken in order to heal properly.  Vomiting and diarrhea are sometimes our bodies way of expelling things that are harmful to use.  I am not a medical doctor, but if I were, I would proffer I could fill an entire book walking readers through the whys and wherefores of how it is that healing often hurts, that healing often brings a necessary, needful, good, right, and salutary pain.  After all, is that not what Christ experienced on the cross when He healed us from our sin?

In any case, here is the bit that I skipped over to share the point that feeling emotions is a package deal:

If you have often felt overwhelmed by your emotions, it can seem especially frightening to get in touch with the feelings that arise during the healing process.  But experiencing our full range of feelings is important.  Emotions are useful messengers that give us insight and the ability to make wise choices.  Feelings, even painful ones, are allies.  They tell us what's going on inside and often guide us in responding to the situations in our lives.

There are times in the healing process, however, when you may be inundated with feelings and you need a respite  from their intensity.  In these situations, it is more important to use the skills you have—or are learning—for self-soothing and calming down.  Even though getting in touch with your feelings is necessary, there are times when regaining your equilibrium and sense of balance can take precedence. (p. 223)

This really is another facet to coping, building coping mechanisms for things you didn't previously need, such as experiencing emotions and sensations, staying present in your body.  This is where learning about coping and emotions are mingled together and are the launching place for self-soothing, calming down, acceptance, pride, courage, shedding shame, and so much more.

I want to talk more about my own means of navigating emotions, and I will.  But, for now, I want to say that just as I hope that the stages of healing from sexual abuse become common knowledge, I hope that calm down techniques can be appreciated and even applauded for what they are and what the represent in the life of a sexual abuse survivor or someone struggling with anxiety or PTSD.

I say this because I was recently telling someone about my use of two calm down techniques, both of which were not all that well-received:  stuffing myself behind and beneath a chair in a changing room and clutching a pinecone during a procedure.  In the conversation, I noted that a friend of my mine whose arsenal of calm-down techniques includes clicking her fingers before her ears was also not something she felt was well-recieved in public.  The one I was talking with suggested that my friend try to transition to something more socially acceptable and I instantly rejected the thought.  After all, right now, it is socially acceptable for pre-teens and teens to have sex and to drink.  Our government believes that there should be no age restriction on medication to trigger an abortion.  Those things are socially acceptable. So, I ask, why should we use socially acceptable as a standard?

Instead, the standard should be what is helpful and not harmful.  It is not harmful to squeeze into tight spaces or to hold a pinecone or to snap fingers before one's ears.  And those things can be immensely helpful in preventing harm.  In that case, then, I wish and hope for those things—as well as other calm down techniques—to be accepted and even applauded, to be welcomed and honored.  After all, they are a facet of healing and a part of choosing life for those battling the effects of sexual abuse, for those battling the damage living in a sinful world can have on body, mind, and spirit.

I will finish with a final thought.  To me, calm-down techniques are to help you step outside of the moment so that you are not swallowed whole or find yourself stepping backwards in your healing process.  Calm-down techniques are also external to the moment, whether you are actually doing the external, such as grasping a pinecone to concentrate on its texture and the sensations in your hand rather than the thoughts and emotions flooding your mind, or someone else is doing the external to you, such as when a parent bear hugs a child lost in an emotional and/or physical outburst.

For me, hands down, the most effective calm down technique is to have the Living Word read aloud to me.  Any of it will do, but I am partial to the Psalter and to book of John, especially the first five verses.  Strangely, I have found that few actually believe in the power and the efficacy of the Living Word.  Luther, in the Large Catechism teaches:

Understanding the difference, then.  Baptism is quite a different thing from all other water.  This is not because of its natural quality but because something more noble is added here.  God Himself stakes His honor, His power, and His might on it.  Therefore, Baptism is not only natural water, but a diving, heavenly, holy, and blessed water, and whatever other terms we can find to praise it.  This is all because of the Word, which is a heavily, holy Word, which no one can praise enough.  For it has, and is able to do, all that God is and can do. (BOC, LC, IV, 17)

For it has, and is able to do, all that God is and can do. 

For it has, and is able to do, all that God is and can do. 

For it has, and is able to do, all that God is and can do. 

No matter how many times I tell people that all I need is for them to do to is read to me the Living Word, I get the response that doing so doesn't seem enough.  Not enough to help.  Not enough to be of any use.  Not enough to make things better.

It is.

If you don't take my word for it or Luther's word for it, spend time perusing the Bible to see what God says about His Word.  Start with Isaiah 55.

Even when I do not particularly desire to be calmed down, the Living Word is effective.  For it has nothing to do with me or my thoughts or feelings or desires or motives.  It is outside of me and all that is going on within me.  And, thankfully, its work and efficacy is not dependent upon me.

The Living Word forgives.
The Living Word sustains.
The Living Word heals.

It is powerful and perfect and, therefore, is my external calm-down technique of choice.  Though, since getting others to pour the Living Word in my hears has been rather difficult and rarely a technique readily at hand, I have others and will share them later.  For now, I'd rather leave you with the wonderful, amazing, nearly-impossible-to-grasp blessing that God's Word has and is able to do all that God is and can do.


Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief!

First Lesson on Coping...

I wrote that Davis and Bass are very careful and thoughtful with words.  To me, no where is this more clear than in the chapter on coping.  Here, as before, the emphasis is on celebrating that you have survived.  I do not think many people give credence to what an accomplishment that is.  To Bass and Davis, life matters.  So even if your life now is rather broken and full of less than healthy behaviors it is still life and thus a genuine victory over those who hurt you.  You survived.  Surviving matter more than anything else, for the rest of it can be addressed and mitigated if not set aside for a better, more healthy life.

Coping is what you did to survive the trauma of being sexually abused. And it’s what you do now to help you make it through each day.

Everyone copes differently. As a young survivor, you might have run away from home or turned to alcohol or drugs. You might have become a super achiever, excelling in school and taking care of your brothers and sisters at home. You might have blocked out huge parts of your past, withdrawn into yourself, or cut off your emotions. You might have used food to numb your feelings or sex as a way to prove your worth. Or you might have buried yourself in work. With limited resources for taking care of yourself, you survived using whatever means were available. Many survivors feel ashamed of the ways they coped. You may find it difficult to admit some of the things you had to do to stay alive. It may be hard to acknowledge what it takes now for you to get up and face each day. As a child in terrible circumstances, you responded the best that you could—and you have continued to do so. The crucial thing is that you survived. It’s important to honor your resourcefulness.  The Courage to Heal, Bass & Davis, p. 12)

I cannot begin to tell you how it important is was for me to read this.  I am not sure just how much shame other sexual abuse survivors have.  I mean, I know it is common, but I do not know how much others are bound by it or their lives are framed by it.  I suspect that, for some, the sense of shame can be be buried deep within and, thus, perhaps not recognizable for what it is that drives or informs thoughts, behaviors, choices.  Perhaps it is possible to recognize some elements of shame, but not others.  I do not know.  What I do know is that, for me, shame and feelings of dirtiness and unworthiness have colored that which I have voiced and that which I still keep hidden.   

I have done things, one in particular, which came about only after all the bandages and walls I had built around my wounds started to fall off and crumble.  I was not compulsive. I was strategic about it.  It was my coping mechanism of last resort.  However, the response I have received when I tried to talk about it was that the very idea was so horrible and certainly nothing that a Christian should ever do.  It is not that I am trying to be purposely vague, for I do plan to talk about coping again, but I do want to point out that those who have not been in situations where seemingly absurd or even harmful coping strategies were actually helpful to survival may very well struggled to understand what sexual abuse survivors have done.  As a result, condemnation can spill out instead of encouragement.  It is really, really, really important to not condemn, but to encourage.

All of us use coping strategies to deal with overwhelming, painful, or stressful situations.  Most of the strategies discussed in this chapter, have been sues, at one time or another, by people struggling to come to terms with a wide range of challenging circumstances.  Some are universals; others are more specific to survivors and may or may not apply to you.

You may discover that some of the ways you’ve coped have developed into strengths (being successful at work, becoming self-sufficient, having a quick sense of humor, being adaptable, responding well in a crisis). Others may have become self-defeating patterns (drug or alcohol abuse, compulsive eating, cutting yourself, emotional withdrawal). Most coping mechanisms have both healthy and unhealthy aspects. Being independent, for instance, is a good quality, but taken to the extreme, it can keep you isolated.

Healing requires that you differentiate between the ways your coping mechanism are beneficial and the ways they may be hurting you. Then you can celebrate your strengths while you start to change the patterns that no longer serve you.  (pp. 12-13)

Again, there is careful, important language used here.  It is language that praises the survival and empowers the survivor to continue surviving by choosing that which still serves her and moving away from that which is no longer helpful now that surviving includes healing.

Here, I read again of how good it is to have survived and, having survived, I now have the opportunity to begin to move away from the instinctive things I did to protect myself by first learning about the whys and wherefores of them and then looking for ways to provide those same needs but in a more healthy or even kind-to-myself fashion.  More importantly, I read that I have a choice, that I am in control ... or that I can learn to be in control rather than letting the effects of sexual abuse and the errant lessons I learned then still color and bind my thoughts, behavior, and choices now.

There is a fragility in me.  It is something a counselor said once. She said I should ask people to be gentle with me, as well as work on being gentle with myself.  It is my experience, unfortunately, that speaking of the need to consider the fragility and to proceed with gentleness in responses, reactions, conversations, etc. is often received as a criticism of the other person rather than an acknowledgment of my own state.  I do not understand that, and I know that I have probably poorly explained what I mean.  But sometimes I want to scream: It's not about you: it's about me!  SIGH.

Anyway, this fragility.  The only thing I can think to compare it to is that I am balancing on a seesaw.  In order to change one part, I have to adjust the other, slowly, carefully.  Sometimes, the change is too much and the seesaw beings to teeter up and down, frightening me.  But eventually I find that balance again.  To join me on the seesaw, something has to be adjusted.  To change my perspective, things must realign and come into balance again.  

That is why, for example, I ultimately made the decision to draw a big, thick line in the sand of me and say (plead) no hugs/no handshakes/no touching.  Even a hug from someone my head knows is safe can be something for the rest of me to tolerate.  Because I am working on so much at once, this is a way to ensure I do not find myself sprawled on the ground, having plunked down hard and then fallen off my seesaw.

This weekend, an old friend came to visit.  I tried.  Or at least I told her in advance about my boundary.  I talked about the ways setting it was helpful to me.  On the phone, that was great.  In person, she forgot.  And I caved.  I just couldn't tell someone whom I had not seen in years but who has been a friend for decades to stay away from me.  I was too worried what that might do while I was trying to reconnect with her.  So, again, I caved.  I stuffed how I felt when she hugged me or when she put her arm around me. I pretended.  I shut myself off whenever she came close.  And I wept at night when I tried to set aside the thoughts and feelings of those moments. But I did work to be gentle with myself. I did work not to punish myself for fearing even her closeness and for purposely, willfully, longingly disassociating in those moments.

Another way to look at this main point about coping is that making coping mechanisms a law in the healing process will only result in where the law takes you:  condemnation and death (figuratively, if not literally).  Making handling them and changing them a law will only result in additional harm.  Facing and addressing coping mechanisms needs to start first from the Gospel, from a stance of life and of forgiveness, forgiveness overflowing and forgiveness undeserving.  

And ... well ... the Gospel covers all sins, not just the acceptable ones.  So does the celebration of all coping mechanisms that led to survival.  

You drank?  Well, I am thankful that you did because it helped you to survive to this point; you are still here!  Let's see if drinking still serves you now as it did then.  If not, let's find what else might you do when you feel the need to drink that will serve you now.  

You did drugs?  Well, I am thankful that you did because it helped you to survive to this point; you are still here!  Let's see if getting high still serves you now as it did then.  If not, let's find what else might you do when you feel the need to take drugs that will serve you now.  

You cut?  Well, I am thankful that you did because it helped you to survive to this point; you are still here!  Let's see if cutting still serves you now as it did then.  If not, let's find what else might you do when you feel the need to get high that will serve you now.  

You were anorexic?  Well, I am thankful that you were because it helped you to survive to this point; you are still here!  Let's see if anorexia still serves you now as it did then.  If not, let's find what else might you do when you feel the need to deprive yourself of food or to purse that will serve you now.  

You forgot?  Well, I am thankful that you did because it helped you to survive to this point; you are still here!  Let's see if forgetting still serves you now as it did then.  If not, let's find what else might you do when you feel the need to remain unknowing that will serve you now.  

You denied what happened?  Well, I am thankful that you did because it helped you to survive to this point; you are still here!  Let's see if denying or lying about what happened still serves you now as it did then.  If not, let's find what else might you do when you feel the need to hide from what happened that will serve you now.

You avoided all people?  Well, I am thankful that you did because it helped you to survive to this point; you are still here!  Let's see if avoiding everyone still serves you now as it did then.  If not, let's find what else might you do when you feel the need to avoid everyone that will serve you now.

You were hypervigilant?  Well, I am thankful that you did because it helped you to survive to this point; you are still here!  Let's see if hypervigilance still serves you now as it did then.  If not, let's find what else might you do when you feel the need to be aware of every single thing around you that will serve you now.

You stole?  Well, I am thankful that you did because it helped you to survive to this point; you are still here!  Let's see if stealing still serves you now as it did then.  If not, let's find what else might you do when you feel the need to steal that will serve you now.

You were a workaholic?  Well, I am thankful that you did because it helped you to survive to this point; you are still here!  Let's see if working until you drop still serves you now as it did then.  If not, let's find what else might you do when you feel the need to overwork that will serve you now.

Yes, many of those things sound sort of silly when you get to the changing part, but avoiding some people is still a good thing, as are being aware of your environment and working hard.  Finding balance with the positives, at least temporary substitutes with the negatives, and getting yourself to a place of  control and peace is what matters.

I am not saying that all the ways that sexual abuse survivors may have harmed themselves in the past are good things now, but I am saying that no matter what happened then—even if then is yesterday—is a good thing if it means you are still alive.  Where there is life, there is hope.  

In the best of all worlds, those around sexual abuse survivors will think first of the survivor's need for safety, for gentleness, for acceptance, rather than their own need to understand or to judge.  When it comes to coping mechanisms, the only judge who will make a difference in the healing process is the survivor.  When she is ready.  When he understands.  And that change may come far, far more slowly than loved ones or friends may wish.  But that's okay.  Let it be okay.

It's okay that you did that.

It's okay that you found yourself back there.

It's okay that you take some steps backwards even as you take steps forward.

It's okay that it takes your body longer to learn than your mind.

It's okay that knowing a thing can take longer than trusting a thing.

It's okay.

You. Are. Okay.

As for me, sometimes I wonder if I will ever stop being fragile. I wonder if I will ever stop needing people to be gentle with me.  I do think, perhaps, I have stopped punishing myself, condemning myself, for being so.  

It is a difficult thing to face the whole of it, the scope, how it has colored and shaped your thoughts and behavior and choices even, with and without you knowing.  It is a difficult thing to remember, to learn, to understand, to change.  To be brave and courageous even as you feel beaten and broken and too weak to get through another moment of such a process.  It is a difficult thing to learn to thrive having been so enmeshed in surviving.

I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!