The Stages of Healing Overview...

This is summary of the stages of healing Bass and Davis gives.  As I have written before, it is important to understanding that the stages of healing from sexual abuse are similar to the stages of grief in that they are not linear.  Second, this summary is but a brief glimpse at the information covered in the individual chapters about the stages of healing.

THE STAGES

Although most of these stages are necessary for everyone, some—the emergency stage, remembering, disclosing, abuse to your family, and forgiveness—are not applicable to everyone.

The decision to heal.  Once you recognize the effects of sexual abuse in your life, you need to make an active commitment to heal.  Deep healing happens only when you choose it and are willing to change.

The emergency stage.  Beginning to deal with memories and long-surpressed feelings can throw your life into turmoil.  This is a time when emotional pain is intense, the old coping mechanisms are no longer intact, and it may difficult to function at your usual level.  Remember, this stage won't last forever.

Remembering.  Many survivors suppress some or all memory of what was done to them as children.  Those who do not forget the actual incidents may forget how they felt at the time or may not fully realize how much the experience has affected them.  Remembering is the process of getting back both memory and feeling, and understanding the impact abuse has had on your life.

Believing it happened.  Survivors often doubt their own perceptions.  Accepting that the abuse really happened, and that it really hurt you, is a vital part of the healing process.

Breaking silence.  Most survivors kept the abuse a secret in childhood.  Telling a safe person about your history is a powerful healing force that can dispel the shame that often accompanies victimization.

Understanding that it wasn't your fault.  Children usually believe that the abuse is their fault.  Adult survivors must learn to place the blame where it belongs—squarely on the shoulders of the abusers.

The child within.  Many survivors have lost touch with their own innocence and vulnerability.  Yet within each of us is a child—or several children of different ages—who were deeply hurt and need healing.  Getting in touch with the child you once were can help you develop compassion for yourself.

Grieving.  Most survivors haven't acknowledged or grieved for all of their losses.  Grieving is a way to honor your pain, let go, and move more fully into your current life.

Anger.  Anger is a powerful and liberating force that provides the energy need to move through grief, pain, and despair.  Directing your anger squarely at your abuser and at those who didn't protect you is pivotal to healing.

Disclosures and truth-telling.  Talking about your abuse and its effects with the abuser or with family members can be empowering and transformative, but it is not right for everyone.  Before taking this step, it is essential that you prepare carefully and wait until you have a strong foundation of healing and support.

Forgiveness?  Forgiveness of the abuser is not an essential part of the healing process. The only essential forgiveness is for yourself.

Spirituality.  Having the support of a spiritual connection can be a real asset in the healing process.  Spirituality is a uniquely personal experience.  You might find it through traditional religion, mediation, nature, working a 12-step program, or your support group.

Resolution and moving on.  As you move through these stages again and again, you will achieve more and more integration.  Your feelings and perspectives will start to stabilize.  While you won't erase your history, it will truly become history, something that occurred in your past.  You will make deep and lasting changes in your life.  Having gained awareness, compassion, and power through healing, you will have the opportunity to work toward a better world.  (The Courage to Heal, Bass and Davis, pp. 56-57)


Part of me wants to leave this summary as is, to simply leave it for you to reflect upon. Part of me wants to include a few brief thoughts.  Again, which is the better course of action is unclear to me.  Often less is more.  Much, much more.  Yet so, too, are words to ponder, words born of personal experience.

• No matter how much you care for someone who has survived sexual abuse or wish for him/her to heal, until that person makes a decision to heal, healing will not and cannot take place.  I wish my decision had come earlier.  But my moment came when it did and until I had that thought, I could not really understand what healing would mean ... or believe that it was truly possible.
• Breaking silence is ever so important, but finding a safe person is not easy.  To me, it thought it would be so being amongst Christians.  But a safe person is someone who sees the survivor, not the victim, and someone who does not set out to fix you or try to make things better, but gives you the freedom to be who you need to be in the different stages of healing.
• Fault ... believing the truth of where this lies ... is really, really, really difficult.  For me, I think that believing has to come on many levels and has to come in body and mind and spirit ... if that makes sense.
• It has been helpful for me to understand and to accept that there is a little girl in me who is who she is and where she is for a reason.  I respond and think and feel as her because of her.  Knowing this, learning this, has been a large part of taking the first steps of learning not to punish myself for being her now.
• Grief is something I have found few understand about the effects of sexual abuse and the need for working through/living with your grief.  Grief is also its own journey and one that may never be completed this side of the vale.  However, the beauty of the Gospel is the joy that can be had, the joy and the healing and the peace even as grief remains.
• Forgiveness has been, in my experience, the false Law handed to me by other Christians that has deepened my wounds and enlarged my despair.  Christians tend to forget that forgiveness is given to us through the Living Word and is worked in us by the Holy Spirit.  Forgiveness will come or not come in God's perfect timing and by His strength.  Not ours.  Not mine.  And we are still forgiven, whole, pure even if we do not ever come to the place where we forgive our abusers.

Finally, I would add, for Christians, that hearing the Living Word is the single, greatest gift/tool/medicine in healing from the effects of sexual abuse.  Christians also tend to worry first about what they might say or how they might help, often remaining silent and separate from wounded brothers and sisters in Christ believing they have nothing to offer.  This is not true.  They have the Living Word.  God has already said and done enough.  His Word is sufficient in all circumstances and for all people.  Read it to and with the wounded.  Send it to the wounded.  Remind them of the sweet, sweet Gospel and the Promise and promises of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, crucified for us, even for this.


When such majesty is denied to Christ according to His humanity, we regard it as a deadly error.  For by this the very great consolation mentioned above is taken from Christians, which they have in the promise about the presence and dwelling with them of their Head, King, and High Priest.  He has promised them that not only His mere divinity would be with them (which to us poor sinners is like a consuming fire on dry stubble).  But Christ promised that He—He, the man who has spoken with them, who has experienced all tribulations in His received human nature, and who can therefore have sympathy with us, as with men and His brethren—He will be with us in all our troubles also according to the nature by which He is our brother and we are flesh of His flesh.
~BOC, FSD, VIII, 87


What to read?  Where to start?  The Psalter.  In that collection of prayers, prayers that Christ prays for us and gives us to pray by and with and through Him, are the words and the Words that tell us we are known by our Creator.  Known and loved and accepted ... even when we doubt and despair, even when we are frightened and confused.

And, of course, there is John 1:1-5, a favorite litany of mine.

In the beginning was the Word, 

and the Word was with God, 

and the Word was God. 

He was in the beginning with God. 

All things came into being through Him, 

and apart from Him 

nothing came into being 

that has come into being. 

In Him was life, 

and the life was the Light of men. 

The Light shines in the darkness, 

and the darkness did not overcome it.

And the promises of Isaiah 43: 1-3a:

But now, thus says the LORD, your Creator, O Jacob,
And He who formed you, O Israel,
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name; you are Mine!

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
And through the rivers, they will not overflow you.
When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched,
Nor will the flame burn you.

“For I am the LORD your God,
The Holy One of Israel, your Savior...

Lest you start thinking that the Living Word is not sufficient, is not enough for this person, for this wound, remember, again, what Luther wrote in the Large Catechism about Baptism and the Word of God:

Understand 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 divine, heavenly, holy, and blessed water, and whatever other terms we can find to praise it. This all as because of the Word, which is a heavenly, holy Word, which no one can praise enough. For it has, and is able to do, all that God is and can do. (LC, IV, 17-18)

The Living Word has, and is able to do, all that God is and can do.

Do not trust me; trust God.

The Living Word is enough.

My wish is for people to learn and recognize these different stages of healing from sexual abuse.  My prayer is that having learned them, the family, friends, and neighbors of those who are so wounded, will not see to fix that person or make his/her life better, will not remain silent because they are afraid of not knowing what to say or do, thinking they have nothing to say that would be enough.  And my prayer is for those facing the effects of sexual abuse in their lives to know that healing is possible, even though it is also painful and challenging and oft confusing.

To me, learning the stages of healing reinforced the truth that I am not crazy or ill, but wounded.  I am not in need of repair, but of healing. And who I am, where I am, when I am is okay.  It's okay to struggle, to take both steps forward and back along the path to healing.

It's okay.

I'm okay.

And I am not alone.

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

Steps forward and back...

I have wondered if I should write about why I have not posted, even though this is so important to me ... or if I should just continue on with my posts.  I am still not sure which is the right course of action.  For as much as possible—while obviously my writing is formed by my own experience and from those experience arose my desire to help further open the discourse on the effects of sexual abuse—I want this blog to be about that information more so than about me.

Only me ... my struggles with what I am writing ... is why I have not posted in a while.

In writing about trauma and the brain and about emotions, I was caught off guard a bit. In writing and in thinking about what I was writing, I began to realize anew just how much of my life has been wrapped in numbness, just how much I have disassociated.  Yes, healing is the proverbial onion.  Layers upon layers can be pulled back and yet many more remain.  Still, that realization saddened me and frightened me.

Sometimes, frankly, I wonder if I will be anything more than a human ice cube.  For part of what I started reflecting about was the fact that the emotions I experience—feelings I struggle to both identify and to survive—are something that happens to me, not of my choosing.  Well, that is not wholly accurate.  I am trying to understand and I work to utilize my calm down helps to get through those maelstroms of emotion.  However, it still seems like they are happening to me, especially when the panic attacks and emotional storms happen and I am caught up in them, lost in body, mind, and spirit.

I have been working up the courage to continue.
And then Saturday night happened.
I was felled once more.

I wrote about it on my blog:


Last night was the second performance of the symphony in my season tickets.  The first night was rather warm for me.  I suspect that the venue was warm because needing air-conditioning on September 28th was not something to be expected.  With heat making me quite ill and having another unusual warm-up in the weather (remember, I had a fire just a few days ago), I knew that I had to choose an outfit that would be cool.

I did.
I had a full-blown panic attack.
I nearly drowned in panic, fear, despair, and shame.

It had been three years since ... three years, one month, and six days since I found myself wearing many, many layers.  Even the work clothes I choose were layers topped by jackets or suits.  I could do that because I had my own air-conditioning unit in my office since multiple sclerosis makes me so sensitive to heat and the building in which my non-profit was housed had a poor, oft-broken system.

Trying to find appropriate clothing (translate that anything that is not men's lounge pants and a hoodie) that fit is not easy.  Most of my work clothing (the only real nice attire I had) is far too large for me.  I have given much of it away, but have kept the suits and silk jackets primarily because of their beauty and investment and knowing I would never be able to afford such again.  I suppose I have silly hopes that someone could cut down some of the clothing for me one day.

The only real option I had that would be cool enough is a completely fitted outfit, with an outer covering that was knitted eyelet (i.e., see-through).  The skirt is not actually ankle length and not something with which I could wear my leather boots.  The skit is fitted snugly from waist to hips, then falls straight with a flare only at the bottom.  I had a shell and the knitted top, both of which are fitted.  Simply put, there was no where to hide in my outfit.  To me, I was stark naked.

It was the first time ... since.  I started trembling and shaking and my mind became lost in a maelstrom of fear and shame and panic and frustration because I wanted to go the symphony.  This.  This was supposed to be my "something normal," "something non-utilitarian," "something for me."  This is my raising-my-quality-of-life activity.  And there I was vomiting and trying to find a measure of rationality that I might actually go and hear Brahms.

I tried to call my best friend.  No answer.

I tried to call Mary, to tell her what was happening and ask her to pray.  She  would not judge and she would say something about Jesus and tell me a story about her life and then she would pray after we hung up. I know she would do this and time was running out.  Only her husband answered.  Mary was at a pastor's wives retreat.  Weeping, I tried to explain, even though I was hugely embarrassed, because I knew the Living Word would be the only way I could get through what was happening.  If I had any courage at all, I would have asked him to read a Psalm to me.  He would have.  I think.

So, then I tried to call Anna.  Because she would at least carry me to the altar with her on the morrow and she would understand what I meant without having to explain.  And she would pray.  No answer.

Then, I hit myself over the head, thinking I should call Marie, because she knows full well panic attacks.  She answered the phone!  Marie answered the phone and stayed with me as I got myself, still weeping and shaking and nauseous, out the door.  Marie talked about how bad panic attacks can be and she reminded me that once the performance started, the lights would be dimmed.  And Marie stayed on the phone with me until I got to Sandra's, who was then driving me to the theatre so I did not have to worry about parking or ask the police to fetch my car again.

Still fretting in the car, wondering even as we drove to the symphony, how in the world I was going to get out of the car, walk amongst so many people, and sit through the performance drowning in panic a and terrified of the things running through my mind, things from that night and things from my past and all the thoughts I have about my body, my body that was not hidden from others ... or from me.

My Good Shepherd served me well through Sandra's mouth, for she remembered about my calm down list and practices and asked me if I had a pinecone.  I did not have one on me, but I keep one in my car. I have kept one in my car ever since the flashback-caused-car-accident.  Even though I was ridiculed about having a pinecone in my car.  Even though I was told that if I ever wanted to be normal I would get rid of the pinecone in my car.  It was still there.

And then it was in my hand.

I was so late, I was worried that I would miss the start of the first piece and thus have to wait out in the lighted landing before I could take my seat.  But the theatre is close enough, really, that were I healthy and had a companion, could walk to if I wanted, being less than two miles from my house.  So, even though we pulled away from Sandra's home on the street behind me with just 8 minutes to go before the performance, I arrived in time to climb Mount Everest to my seats and fold and put away my cane before the orchestra started the tuning that signals they are ready to begin.

Climbing Mount Everest whilst holding a pinecone, clutching a handrail, and leaning heavily on a cane is actually not all that easy.  But I did not want to put the pinecone in my purse. I needed to be able to concentrate on the sensation of it in my hand ... round, firm, sharp ... and the reminder of things I savor ... trees, evergreens, pine needles, nature.

The thing about having a full-blown panic attack is what comes after.  Once those stress hormones are no longer pouring forth from your brain and flooding your body, once you are not longer fleeing your fear, your body collapses in relief.  During the first movement of the second half, that strange exhaustion that makes your entire body feel as if it has become the weight of an elephant, that makes even thinking a thought, much less remaining seated in a tiny seat in an historic amphitheatre nearly impossible.  I thought about texting Sandra to come fetch me, but I did not want to leave, to miss the music for which I had come, or to disturb others.

I lost track of how many times I started falling asleep in my seat, only to jerk myself awake.  The pinecone I had tucked away at intermission came right back out as I tried to use those sharp edges to keep myself from snoring in the balcony.  Descending Mount Everest was one of the hardest physical challenges I have faced in a long while.  My legs simultaneously weighed thousands of pounds and were made up of water rather than muscles.  The usual cacophony that arises from a departing audience was silenced by the concentration it took to put one foot forward, lower my weight to the step below the one on which I stood, and then bring the other foot next to my first one.  Years passed between the first step and the last.

As I was walking out, a chatty woman remarked that I was so brave to sit in the balcony, having watched me come down the stairs.  Normally, I would panic by having to interact with a stranger like that, but I was truly thankful for the exchange. My explanation about my hearing and the need to be in the best auditory spot in the building carried me across the lobby and out the doors and kept me vertical while I waited for Sandra to pull the car into the pick-up lane.

Talking a mile a minute about the music and the new instruments I had never seen before kept me awake during the ride home.  Were I brave, I should have asked Sandra to drive me home and walk back to her house. She would have.  I think.  I did not.  So I actually drove up on three different curbs between her house and my garage.

I stumbled to the back door, unlocked it, and fainted.
Amos came to greet me and lick me awake.
I crawled forward enough to shut the door and then napped with Amos on the kitchen floor.

On the way to the symphony, Sandra suggested that I concentrate on the fact that I was battling a fear and that when the concert was over, I could be proud of the fact that I survived wearing fitted clothing and the ensuing panic attack.  The problem is that I am not sure I know how to be proud of being felled so thoroughly by fear, felled in mind, body, and spirit.  I look back at last night in shame.  I am horrified by whatever it was that I said to Mary's husband.  I was babbling in fear.  Anything could have passed my lips.  Today, I had a mess to clean up in the sink, the tub, and the toilet.  I honestly cannot quite believe I did not also vomit in the balcony as I was still battling the panic during the entire first piece.  All I can think about are all the things going to the symphony is supposed for me, rather than what last night was.  And I think about how grateful I am that couple who have been occupying the seats next to me for the past 42 years warned me that I might even need a lap blanket once fall and winter set in because the balcony is rather cold at the Embassy Theatre.  Cold means many, many layers.  Cold means being able to hide, rather easily, in my clothing.

Paul and Marie treated me today to IHOP pumpkin pancakes.  I brought my old iPod with me so that I would have access to two Kindle apps so that we would have two copies of the NASB 1977 so that we could read some Psalms together.  But when I mentioned that, it seemed to me that reading psalms in IHOP was not something either of them though was ... a good thing to do.  So I dropped the idea.  And then I was too chicken to ask them to read them in the car or read them in the house, when they carried in the milk I bought when they took me to Target to pick up more of the innards medication.  But, oh, how I long to hear the Living Word.

I still want to hear what is true and right and salutary, rather than the lies of that panic attack that are still lingering in my mind.
I still want to hear what is good about creation and His created, rather than the bad I feel about my body.
I still want to have prayers written for me, spoken for me, and carried for me to the One who can (and will) save me.

Trying to distract myself, I have been searching for the new instruments I saw last night.  Googling images of instruments a bit frenetically to stave off the thoughts swirling within.  I believe one was a celesta and once was piccolo.  One I have yet to identify is some sort of extremely tall reed instrument that was a flat coil.   The other was a hanging disc.  I saw other instruments as well, such as a triangle, which I never would have fathomed would be used in an orchestra and used so perfectly and so beautifully.  Musically, it was a fascinating evening, even if the two warm-ups were both by modern composers and not what I would put in a masterworks series.

But other that the music?
Am I proud that I survived?
It doesn't feel like I have ... yet.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!


I wrote yesterday that it did not seem to me that the panic attack was yet over.
And that I still longed to hear the Living Word.
I ache for the forgiveness and healing that I can grasp to be poured into my ears that the Holy Spirit might work them into my being.

I included Psalm 27 and my response to it:

The LORD is my light and my salvation; 
Whom shall I fear? 
The LORD is the defense of my life; 
Whom shall I dread? 
When evildoers came upon me to devour my flesh, 
My adversaries and my enemies, they stumbled and fell. 
Though a host encamp against me, 
My heart will not fear; 
Though war arise against me, 
In spite of this I shall be confident. 

One thing I have asked from the LORD, that I shall seek:
That I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, 
To behold the beauty of the LORD 
And to meditate in His temple. 
For in the day of trouble He will conceal me in His tabernacle; 
In the secret place of His tent He will hide me; 
He will lift me up on a rock. 
And now my head will be lifted up above my enemies around me, 
And I will offer in His tent sacrifices with shouts of joy; 
I will sing, yes, I will sing praises to the LORD. 
Hear, O LORD, when I cry with my voice, 
And be gracious to me and answer me. 
When Thou didst say, "Seek My face," my heart said to Thee, 
"Your face, O LORD, I shall seek." 
Do not hide Thy face from me, 
Do not turn Thy servant away in anger; 
Thou hast been my help; 
Do not abandon me nor forsake me, 
O God of my salvation! 
For my father and my mother have forsaken me, 
But the LORD will take me up. 

Teach me Your way, O LORD, 
And lead me in a level path 
Because of my foes. 
Do not deliver me over to the desire of my adversaries, 
For false witnesses have risen against me, 
And such as breathe out violence. 
I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the LORD 
In the land of the living. 
Wait for the LORD; 
Be strong and let your heart take courage; 
Yes, wait for the LORD.


Oh, how I savor that one thing.

One thing I have asked from the LORD, that I shall seek:
That I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, 

For me, I really do see that dwelling, here and now, as hiding in the Living Word, especially the Psalter, as hiding in the certitude of the Christian Book of Concord.  I hide there.  But I also long for safety.  Oh, how I long for the forgiveness that I can grasp when I hear the Living Word read to me, for me.

Thinking of all the thoughts and feelings, of how my body, mind, and spirit were so thoroughly felled Saturday night, I still long to hear the Word.  It quiets me, washes me clean, if only for a while, of the shame that clings to me.  It sustains me. It restores me.

Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief!

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!

First Lesson on Emotions...

Writing about dissociation is hard for me.  In fact, it might very well be the epitome of bittersweet.  To know, to understand the whys and wherefores of yourself is an absolute blessing.  To have an answer.  To see something objectively and set outside of yourself.  To know you are not crazy and alone.  All of these are sweet.  But the bitter, the acrid lingering taste that you long to have gone yet accompanies the sweet is this slowly unfolding .... horror ... at just how much of your life for which you have not been present.

In a way, the day I started reading the book is the day I started living.

Life since then is still a struggle and still filled with many a times of dissociation, but it is a life for which I am, at least sometimes, present.  I realize I am fleeing and try to stop.  I fail and I fall into discouragement and despair.  I fail and try to at least not punish myself.  I sometimes succeed. I sometimes remain.

But remaining present is not an easy thing for a person who has also not learned to recognize or process emotions.  I will say I feel this or that, but the truth is I am most often completely unable to discern what it is that I am feeling.  So, I have fall back feelings to which I cling:  fear and shame and frustration.

When children are raised in a healthy environment, their emotions are respected. When they are sad, angry, or afraid, their parents or caretakers acknowledge their feelings, make room for safe expression, and offer comfort. Children raised in an emotionally supportive home are not talked out of their feelings or punished for them. Because of this, they learn that feelings are not dangerous. And their capacity to tolerate difficult feelings increases naturally as they grow up.

Abused children rarely have this kind of support. They cannot afford to feel the full extent of their terror, pain, shame, or rage; the agony would be devastating. They would not be able to do arithmetic with other second graders, for example, if they acknowledged the depth of their sorrow and desolation.

Because their innocent love and trust are betrayed, abused children learn that they cannot rely on their feelings. And the feelings they do express may be disregarded or mocked.

If the adults around them are out of control, they get the message that feelings lead to violence. Anger means beatings or furniture hurled across the room. (The Courage to Heal, Bass & Davis, pp. 6)


At my last job, there was a senior employee whose anger ruled the majority of her interaction.  The employee turnover in her department was approximately 300% the time I worked at that job.  No one wanted to be the one who had to work with her, so often my boss sent me in her place.  I would grow ill each time I had to face her.

Her anger was not confined to subordinates either.  Toward the end of my tenure, another senior employee came on board who would stand toe-to-toe with her.  The new employee's office was near mine, so I could hear the angry exchanges between the two.  One day, the row between them was so loud and so filled with anger that I found myself cowering beneath my desk without realizing what I was doing.  I was simply terrified by what I was hearing.

Anger frightens me.

I tense up.
I wait to be hurt.
I withdraw.

It is the one emotion I always recognize in others.  It is the one emotion that you cannot hide from me.  And it is an emotion that always sparks such a primal, instinctive, self-protective response in me.

I do not know how to handle anger in others.  I rarely am actually angry myself, for all anger frightens me.  I do grow frustrated and have been accused of being angry in that moment.  However, the truth is that I am upset because of the situation, of the inability to change or achieve something ... usually communication.  In counseling, I was told that part of healing would be learning that it is okay to be angry about what was done to me.  A part of me cannot fathom doing so.

Abused children often learn to block out their pain, because it is too devastating or because they do not want to give the abuser the satisfaction of seeing them cry. But since it is not possible to block out emotions selectively, they may simply stop feeling.

On the other hand, they may feel overwhelmed with feelings, flooded with fear, grief, shame, and rage. All too often, they suffer this distress alone, without a safe way to express their emotions and without consolation. 

Often survivors find it difficult to:

• Recognize their feelings
• Differentiate between emotions
• Express feelings
• Calm down when they get upset

Many survivors feel:

• Disconnected, isolated, and alone.
• A pervasive sense of shame
• Just a few feelings, rather than a full range of emotions
• Out of control with their rage or other feelings
• Confused
• Dead inside

Many survivors:

• Are prone to depression or despair
• Struggle with anxiety or have panic attacks
• Alternate between overwhelming anxiety, fear, or rage and being numb and shut down
• Feel agitated and on alert
• Have frequent nightmares
• Are afraid of their emotions
• Worry about going crazy
• Rarely feel pleasure, relaxation, or joy (pp. 6-7)

Often counseling offices have them on the wall.  I used to stare at one each time I saw it, struggling to imagine what it would be like to know, to really know and understand how you are feeling.  And to feel without fear or guilt or shame.  So, I now have an emotions chart that I carry around with me.  I have many copies, in fact.  When emotions wash over me, I try to study it and figure out what best fits what I am feeling.  I remain rather clueless in this matter, but I make the effort because I hope.

A friend who is a counselor was talking with me about this, about my past, and noted that I lack emotional intelligence, as well as the difficulty allowing myself to feel and to identify what I am feeling.  By this she meant that I am not really able to identify emotions in others and the cues they give.  This can make social interaction difficult.  And this also means that while I struggle to trust others, I also struggle to know who is safe to trust.  That is part of how end up trusting the wrong person.

Again.
And again.
And again.

This, too, is common with children who are sexually abused, but revictimization is a topic I hope to address at a later point.  But I would note, now, that this is not about a flaw in the sexual abuse survivor or something that is voluntary.  It actually has more to do with how predators work and the effects of sexual abuse, the wrong lessons ingrained as a child.

The lies of the predator, the lies of sexual abuse, are insidiously specious.

The point about emotions, about feelings, is that they are intricately connected and confused by sexual abuse.  Survivors often struggle with both fleeing from them and facing them without truly understanding why.  Therefore it is important for them to have supportive folk about them who understand that feelings can be frightening and confusing, who allow them to have and express feelings, and who remind them that to feel and to struggle with feelings is okay. 


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me! 

Trauma and the Brain, Lesson Three...

The last bit—for now—from the chapter on trauma and the brain is taking a closer look at dissociation. Once again, the authors begin by talking how children learn through their bodies.  Even when the lessons learned are harmful and evil, the repercussions of them linger, just as those of lessons of love and comfort.  Understanding how and why children react to those lessons and the manner in which they are ingrained in mind and body is key step in healing from and helping those who are survivors of child sexual abuse.

Children initially learn to about themselves and the world through their bodies. Hunger, fear, love, acceptance, rejection, support, nurturing, terror, pride, mastery, humiliation, anger—all began with sensation on the body level. As a child, your body was the means through which you learned your first lessons about trust, intimacy, protection, and nourishment. 

When you were abused, your body and your psyche were invaded. You were taught through direct experience that your body, rather than being your home, was a dangerous place where terrible things could happen. Gizelle, who was violently raped by her father, recalls:

"I felt caught, trapped in my body. That continued into adulthood. I never heard any message from my body. I would be really sick and I'd stagger around and go to work. I made a lifetime dedication of not listening to my body, because if I had, I would have had to hear that I had been raped, and I couldn't do that and survive."

Like Gizelle, you may have cut yourself off from your body—from its knowledge, sensations, and feelings, from its riches and its wisdom. You protected yourself as best you could, but at a terrible price. Most of the problems survivors experience with their bodies—dissociation, numbing, and additions, to name a few—arise from this attempt to find safety by leaving their bodies behind.

Some survivors are so estranged from their bodies that they don’t know how to relate to them at all:

"I had to start with the very basic question, 'What is my body?' Is it a bunch of unrelated parts—arms, legs, head, torso, and feet? Is it my organs, muscles, bones and DNA? It is the part of me that runs marathons, but has two left feet on the dance floor? Or is it how I look? Most of my life I've viewed my body as a necessary evil—a receptacle that needs sleep and demands food, a think that carries around my brain. Now that I was healing, it began to dawn on me, 'Was it actually possible that my body was me and not something separate from me?'"

Like this woman, many survivors live disembodied lives, existing solely in their heads. Rachel Bat Or recalls her relationship to her body before she began to heal:

"If someone said, 'What do you feel in your arm?' I would have had no idea what they were even talking about. If I touched it, I felt my arm with my head. But I couldn't get inside of it. I could only touch the skin from the outside. I couldn't have felt my heart beating. I couldn't experience anything from inside my body, because I wasn't inside my body.

But when we don’t live inside our bodies, we miss the crucial information our bodies constantly offer us. By habitually cutting ourselves off from our feelings—of discomfort, pleasure, anger, or even relaxation—we disconnect from ourselves a little more each day. We deaden ourselves and grow numb, and in doing so we lose access to the innate healing power of the body. Our world becomes smaller and less vibrant, and we often don’t even know what we’re missing. (The Courage to Heal, Bass & Davis, p. 247-8)

In the past, when counselors/psychologists had talked to me about dissociation, it was always described to me as "going to a happy place."  In my opinion, this is not an accurate or complete description of dissociation.  So, for me, the authors of The Courage to Heal, literally changed my life in explaining that dissociation is separating yourself from or numbing yourself to your body.  You flee whilst still in place.  My litany for life suddenly became clear.

Shut up.  

Be still.  

Wait until it is over.

In recent years, I had told several people one of my deepest fears ... that I was an axe murderer or something.  I thought that I had an ice cube for a heart.  People would laugh.  Or dismiss my fears.  I have no words ... not a single one ... to communicate the utter, absolute relief I felt, the bindings that loosed from my being, to discover that it seemed like I had an ice cube for a heart because I was dissociating, I was numb. 

At first, that numbness was small and contained, but over time it grew, until I was certain I was a horrible person, a ticking-time bomb, someone who should not live.

Children often deal with the unbearable experience of sexual abuse by emotionally and psychically distancing from the abuse while it is happening. Although dissociation is an intelligent, miraculous, and effective coping mechanism for the child, it can be habitual in adult survivors, so that every time you experience uncomfortable feelings and sensations (anger, sexual arousal, fear, etc.), you automatically “check out” and leave your body, even though you may not be in any real danger. The problem is that you may be leaving your body at time when you clearly don’t want to—like when you’re having sex with someone you want to be with or when you need to stand your ground in your life now.

When you habitually dissociate, you also miss a great deal of joy, because life is lived and experienced and enjoyed through the body.

A crucial part of healing from child sexual abuse is learning to say present in your body, to tolerate the full range of sensations and feelings you find there. (p. 253, emphasis mine)

Staying present is difficult.
It is brutal.
It is the agony of a marathon that seemingly never ends.

A part of me is grateful to understand this particular why and wherefore of me.  Part of me is overwhelmed, struggling to grasp just how much of my life for which I have not been fully present.  Part of me is ashamed.  Ashamed that I do this thing.  Ashamed that I am afraid of sensations.  Ashamed that I do not even know how to identify emotions.

Even so, I am trying to learn.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!