The old falls away and life in a new town begins

A view of our new neighborhood.



A lot has happened in the last two months. We bought a house, and have officially moved out of our last apartment. This is our first experience as home owners! I have been on the go nonstop for the past four weeks, painting, scrubbing, up and down ladders, packing and unpacking, juggling movers and carpet cleaners, walking and biking around the new neighborhood, and entertaining my mother in law for a week at our new place the first week I moved in. Three days ago I took a break and sat down from all that work, and since then I basically haven't been able to get off the couch, LOL. I was running on adrenaline and reserve energy that really wasn't there for the taking for several weeks on end, and when I sat down, my body said: "You is not gonna get back up again soon, Missy." So I have been resting and recouping my energy since then. I have my feet up and I'm resting and enjoying the view out my window. 

 





View from our front lawn. The paved area is the historic Schuylkill River Rail Trail that runs the whole way to Philadelphia.



 

The atmosphere around here is vintage and old fashioned, perhaps because trains still run on the local railroad tracks here. The tracks run parallel with our front lawn, which is one reason why I initially liked this house. There's nothing like being transported back in time each time the train rumbles by and the whistle blows. I wondered if the train would wake me in the night, but it doesn't. In the evenings they mute the whistle. In the night, if I'm already awake,  I have to strain my senses and imagination when it goes by to actually realize if it went by or not. It goes by softly like a dream, unrecognizable only if you concentrate on it. Kind of like when you are in the country and you think you hear a train in the distance. But it's so faint you can barely tell if your ears are tricking you or not. I used to have this happen to me all the time. I would hear trains when there were no tracks around for miles. Kind of haunting, actually. But at night the whisper of the train is comforting, actually.

 

 

View from our front porch, taken through the living room window.

 

I was thinking about getting a porch swing to relax on in the evenings and watch the train go by. However, if I was jogging by on the public trail, I would not want some old timer settin' on their porch watching me huff and puff by. We have a side patio that is more private that I'll probably relax on, instead of the porch.

 

Maggie, on the other hand, has no compulsion about oogling the bikers and runners. She hangs out on the windowsills meowing up a storm when she hears the gravel underfoot of anyone approaching. I think she seriously believes that someone will eventually veer off the path, jog up to the porch to pet her, then continue on their merry way.  

 

 

 

Sunlight dappled rail trail.

 

I biked the trail once since we moved in. Once we get a dog, I'll walk with her on the trail. The trees haven't really turned colors here yet. Our neighbors Russ and Edith said that we are technically living in the mountains, and as such, it's 5 degrees colder here than in the town. Jaw drop. Where was I when this information was being disseminated? If I had known this, I might not have agreed to the house. Well, perhaps the scenic views will have to make up for this slight meteorological deficiency?

 

Sunlight drenched, late afternoon railroad crossing, which is a minute walk from our home.

 

Our new home is an hour and a half away from our family, while the apartment we used to live at was just five minutes away from my parents and most of my brothers and sisters. Karl and I have known for quite some time that we wanted and needed to move quite a distance away. First, Karl recently got a job transfer where he was commuting an hour from where we lived. This opened up the door for us to want to move, if only so Karl's commute wasn't as far. But more importantly than that, we knew we needed to get away from the toxicity of my family.  

 

I was on the phone with my mom a few weeks ago. I thought it would be a pleasant conversation. No harm in just talking, right? Somehow she managed to swing the conversation around to religion. This happens each time we talk, because she is a good citizen, conscientious and concerned about her daughter's eternal soul. If she didn't doggedly bring up religion each time, she would have a guilty conscious and would be berating herself until our next conversation.

 

Somehow the conversation zigzagged around my father, and how he was such a good man, a godly example. I said, "What about the way he abused me emotionally and physically?" Suddenly I was crying.

 

And just as suddenly, my mom morphed into a hard edge razor back. Suddenly, she was in her favorite role as protector of the patriarch. She said, "AJ! That is the devil speaking in you! Resist him. Stop letting the devil live in you and speak through you!" This is the second time she's told me there's a devil in me.

 

Yet I was speaking from a place of innocence. I was letting the young child in me speak without fear for the first time in her life. I stood up for her and let her say, "That hurt."

 

I have finally come to realize that being in contact with my family is like banging my head against a concrete wall, hoping the wall will reach out to hug me. It is a futile exercise in insanity. The wall is a wall and will never accept me.

 

It was helpful to live close to family the last few years because if I needed a ride to a doctor appointment or if I needed something when Karl was at work, I could call a family member. Even though not all outings were approved by the patriarch, some were. Now, however, we will be using a taxi for me when Karl is at work. It's OK. We are stepping out on our own, and if getting away from the toxicity means not having transportation, so be it. It is worth it!

 

I am glad we have distanced ourselves. Personally, I would rather be living as far away as Florida. But that wasn't in the cards for the present. For now, an hour and a half away is a world away. This is a time of new beginnings. I don't want to drag the past along with us into this new home. I don't want to muddy up the home with memories from long ago. The hurts have taken up too much space and energy in me, and now is a time to let it all go. The past was in my face while I lived back home, but now is a fresh start.

 

I want to live in the present moment in this new house. Karl and I have decided we aren't having conversations anymore over the dinner table or elsewhere about the family. We are also no longer communicating by phone, email, or social media with the family.   

 

Fall is a time of letting go of the old. As leaves start to drift off the trees, it feels right to start letting go of things, situations and people who no longer serve us. I know many people go through this stripping process without even knowing they are doing so in harmony with nature. I myself didn't realize this was happening until the other day when I was out on the trail. I was watching the wind whip a thousand crispy leaves up into the air and down, like synchronized confetti. Like they were following the invisible hand motions of a conductor, but in perfect free fall. Twisting, then lifting in wild abandon. Free. And completely, foolishly giddy about it. The leaves were having a blast being wild and free.

 

And suddenly I realized that I was free too. And I just couldn't wipe the grin off my face knowing so.

 

Give yourself permission to be exactly who you are!

Art © Moki  https://www.facebook.com/#!/RiversInTheOcean

  

"You may not be able to control what other people say or how they act, but you can always choose how you treat yourself. You can choose who you surround yourself with, and who you let go of. And no matter what your circumstances, you can choose to believe in yourself and your worth.

Because at the end of the day, trying to please everyone is exhausting and impossible. No matter how you change or who you become, there will always be someone who doesn’t approve. So instead of wasting your energy in a futile attempt to become someone that other people want you to be, give yourself permission to be exactly who you are. And know that who you are is exactly enough.

You don’t ever have to feel guilty about removing toxic people from your life. It doesn’t matter whether someone is a relative, romantic interest, employer, childhood friend, or a new acquaintance; you don’t have to make room for people who cause you pain or make you feel small. It’s one thing if a person owns up to their behavior and makes an effort to change. But if a person disregards your feelings, ignores your boundaries, and continues to treat you in a harmful way, they need to go.

The right people will find their way into your life. These are the people who will love and accept you wholeheartedly and without conditions. These are the people who matter. Let go of the rest."

~ Daniell Koepke

 

I discovered this article the other day and have been chewing on it for a week or so. I can tell the ideas here must have been sinking in because I found myself thinking about boundaries and the way I haven't felt safe lately on Facebook.

Recently, whenever I go to post something on FB, I have to stop myself and then never end up posting because I know that nothing I want to write these days will be acceptable to certain family members who will read it and judge me behind my back. I used to believe in the same religion as my family, so I didn’t have to watch my back as much in the past. But even then, I had to be careful about what photos I could put up. If my shorts or jeans were too tight, or if the photo looked too revealing, it would be scrutinized by my father who has access to my page through my mom’s account. Ugggh. I have always been so sick of the way he stares at my sisters and I, looking for immodesty so he can berate us in the name of God for it. I hated it back in the day when I lived on the homestead, and I’ve always hated knowing he was doing the same to me even as an adult on FB or at family functions. I put up with it on FB, just because I figured I had to. I also had to hide or restrict my postings on FB because a lot of my friends’ comments would have been considered lewd or unseemly to my family. My family would have assumed I was the same in associating with them, and they would have been keeping tabs on me, judging me and these friends. I hated having to restrict expressing myself, but somehow thought that as an obedient Christian daughter, this is what I had to do.

The last year or so though, I’ve shed a lot of my family’s toxic religious beliefs that I had believed for many years in the past without even thinking about it. I’ve become  interested in expressing this transformation with like minded friends. At this point in my life, my biggest social outlet is FB, and I’ve rubbed shoulders with  so many beautiful, amazing people who live outside the field of wrong and right. I’ve wanted to connect with them on FB in a public way, but have held myself back because I know my family would confront and shame me for doing so.   

There is this interesting belief that my family circulates about one of my sisters and I. Since both of us became ill with chronic fatigue, PTSD and adrenal burnout, my family members whisper to each other that God is judging us with this illness because of our sins. They say that God will continue to curse us with illness until we “get right with God.” They say they are on God’s side and they won’t help us out when we need help, as long as we remain stubborn and hardened against God. As if they know what it means to be right with God! They say we will never get our careers back and never lead a successful life until we ask forgiveness, get back under submission to God, and get back into the church. As if that is ever going to happen. Basically, my family is cursing me, and I’m supposed to take this bullying as my due. I’m supposed to back down and submit if I want their judgment to stop. What they are doing is tough love, God’s tough love. Their God is a bully who will rain bad luck on me until I relent to him and repent.

 

Well, I am long past that stage in my life. I don’t believe in a God like that. That kind of treatment is an insult to my soul, and I brush it clear off of me. My creator and I are one, and there is nothing I could ever do “wrong” in his/her eyes. I have nothing to be afraid of. I am simply infinitely loved.

 

And yet, I do not feel like I have the freedom to express this to my family. I have been treated like a black sheep and denied help in the past, but my confirming their suspicions would result in some kind of subtle social punishment for me. My mom might not be allowed to visit or call me anymore, and she might not be allowed to pick me up and drive me to appointments. My family would start praying for my repentance, and they would add me to the prayer list under the category “back slidden” at their church.  Family parties would be strained and weird.  I’m not sure I want to speak my truth to them yet. I don’t know if I’m ready yet, or if they are even ready yet to hear me speak. When the time is right, I will know.

But in the meantime, one thing I do know is that I don't like hiding who I am. I am ready to start taking steps towards my freedom. The other morning I woke up and sat up in bed and felt so angry. I had barely time to wake up and already I’m angry. I’ve recently started the habit of checking in with myself, asking myself how I feel. I’ve repressed my emotions so much in the past, that I’m rusty at this. So I check in now every half hour or more often, in the hopes that this will eventually become my natural way.

As I sat there, I felt myself saying, “I’m angry.”  So I asked myself, “Why are you angry?” And I heard myself say, “I’m angry because I am repressed. Here I sit in my own bed, in my own home, with my own comfortable blankets wrapped around me, and I feel unsafe like I can’t even express myself on my own Facebook Page. I am done with feeling like I have no voice!”

So in the next few days, I de-friended my family members, and instantly I felt lighter. I wrote about what happened on FB, and my online friends were so supportive. I love them all! Their spirits shine true in a way that I don’t pick up on with my family. I’m starting to see other areas in my life where I am still repressed. I can’t define yet what these areas are, as they are foggy. I think I have been so used to not having boundaries, that unhealthy boundaries still seem slightly normal to me. However, I have gotten a taste of freedom, and I want more.

 

 

 

 

 

The neighbor waved

Fall is arriving in my small town... this is a tree I see when I go on walks.

 

October 8, 2012

I was taking a walk this morning, and was enjoying how warm and toasty the sun felt on my shirt despite the cool temperatures. I was coming to a turn in the road where I live, when a truck slowly inched into view. A man waved for me to cross the street before he went ahead, but I made a hand motion showing I wasn't crossing the street, I was just turning onto the road he was on. I smiled because it would have taken him less than a second to drive through that intersection, when it would have taken me two and a half minutes or more at the speed I was moving. Suddenly I felt special, like someone thought I was worth two and a half minutes or more of their time. The guy smiled and waved again as he drove away, and I recognized him as a neighbor. I kept walking on, but felt like I had been hit with an epiphany. Which is: "People out in the world are nice." I was walking on air the rest of the walk home. I kept thinking, "I can make it in the world. People out there are nice. They aren't cruel and against me after all."

It has felt like the world has been against me for the last few years. When I got sick and had to give up my career and my apartment three years ago, I didn't know that I was also giving up my independence and all of the things that I loved most. It was a big adjustment. It has taken awhile to get used to no longer hopping in a car to go places anytime I want to. My health isn't good enough for me to be driving yet and it isn't safe for me to be behind the wheel of a car. When I lived in NYC, I could walk anywhere, but I'm in a small town now, so I can't walk to convenience stores or public places.

I have to admit, it's been tough being tucked away from the world like this year in, year out. It's been several years now where I've not gone out to the grocery store, mall, parties, other people's houses, to a work place, to a gas station, to anywhere except my backyard. My backyard is a wonderful place, don’t get me wrong! I see so much more in nature and in details now that I didn’t see before and now appreciate. But I think I forget what real people are like. There aren’t any people in my backyard. I forget what my old life was like. It's kind of like I am living in someone else's story, in some remote world far from the world I used to live in. It's odd, to be sure. People don't tell you what happens when you get sick. They don't talk about these things. They don't talk about how difficult it is to accept this different world.

People don’t tell you that when you get sick, the scaffold of your life just might fall out from under you. Why would they tell you this, though? It’s an unthinkable possibility. But all those threads woven so tightly underneath your feet, all those supports that you’ve unthinkably assumed would always be there for you if you fell might suddenly unravel at a moments’ notice.  I guess I was oblivious in thinking that of course I had a scaffold. Naive. Head in the clouds. Thinking more positively than I possibly should have been. I guess I couldn’t have imagined that so many organizations, groups and people who I thought would support me... could just bottom out all at once and let me fall suddenly through the cracks. For example, once I became so ill that I couldn’t work anymore, my health insurance gave out, and then I got denied coverage due to a pre-existing health condition. So you lose your coverage because you are sick, but you are denied future coverage because you are sick. The healthcare system here in the US currently sucks, so this wasn’t a surprise to me. I knew that the condition I had doesn't qualify for disability benefits. Again, not a surprise. The doctors I went to for years on end eventually also had no answers for me. This was upsetting for me, but it wasn’t the end of the world. What was most surprising to me is that suddenly my closest supports started faltering. First my coworkers and friends disappeared, and then somehow my family and the church started acting shifty.

I think that at first, the hardest thing for me about getting sick was falling out of the old social network into this stretch of isolation. Nobody I knew pre-illness keeps in touch with me anymore. To be honest, I didn't really have close friends back then since I was a private person, but it was nice having coworkers while I was working. I got my taste of social interaction by going to work. Now that I’m not strong enough to work or invite people over, I resort to making friends online. These friends are mostly sick, so they don’t have the juice to interact much. Which is understandable. At times I get mad at my ex-coworkers and friends because they don't try to keep in touch with me. But then I realize that they are busy with their own lives and have long forgotten me as the coworker who rarely talked with them and kept to herself. It's not their fault, or mine, or anyone's fault. It's just how it is. But that doesn't make it easy. Even though I enjoy my alone time out in nature or holed up with a book more than most people, these long stretches of complete isolation aren't something I enjoy.

I guess one thing that surprised me most about getting sick was the way different churches and ministries treated me. I was shocked, honestly. Back in the day, ever since I can remember, I fit so well into the church scene. I was saved and meant it, was baptized, was an excellent teacher, a peaceful law abiding person, going to church, volunteering to teach Sunday school, tithing, helping others.  I was in that bubble, part of the group. I didn’t think I’d ever be the one outside the bubble, pressing my hands and face against the wall trying to get in. And yet, when I got sick, each ministry and church I tried to get in contact with refused to get back in touch with me. This was heart breaking. I was too sick to leave the house for a few years and not one ministry or church returned my calls or emails to come visit me or talk on the phone. They treated me like a leper. A few of them told me I had unconfessed sin in my life, and demonic spirits that needed to be exorcized. I got myself exorcized, did a ton of self examination and confession. One pastor told me that based on my exhaustive list of symptoms, I must have done an enormous amount of sinning, more than any one person could reasonably rack up. He told me I needed to study the Scriptures and repent more. So I studied voraciously for the next couple years and got nowhere except sicker. I checked back in with the pastor and he basically told me he was done with me, there was nothing more he could do. And at this point, the other ministries still wouldn’t speak with me. It was confusing to me how of all organizations, the church could turn its back on me. I wasn't even asking for much. I wasn't asking for money, or anything. I just wanted a kind word, a sympathetic ear. But no. None of that did I get. I was told that everything that was happening to me was my fault, and there wasn’t a drop of compassion to be shared with me. It did make me angry, but I was so unwell that I didn't have the energy to stoke my feisty side and make a scene. Over time, I became disgusted at their response, and eventually gave up even trying to contact them.

So how the church treated me was interesting, to say the least. I would have never expected that. But the thing that they really don't tell you when you get sick is.... your own family might turn on you. My family has never been the type to call or stop by, and although I thought that my being ill would change that, it hasn't. It's like my family just keeps going on in their normal daily lives, while their sister/daughter is in a crisis. I tell them all the time I'm lonely and would love company, but it just goes over their head. I think they think they'll catch the illness from me, or something. But I never thought they would push me away. Not in my wildest dreams. And yet, how does the saying go, "When tragedy strikes, you will see the true colors of those that say they care about you."

I started noticing subtle signs that things weren't as loving as I'd imagined they'd be soon after getting sick. My parents couldn't drive up to help me move from NYC to PA, and they knew nobody who could help me either. They grumbled and complained if I asked them to drive me to get groceries. They went out of their way to judge me behind my back and whisper that I wouldn't ever get better and get my career back until I "got right with God." After a few years, I went through a period of time where I was very sick, unable to shower, cook for myself or care for myself. I thought I was dying. I asked my parents if I could move in with them, and they told me no. They told me I would be a nuisance, an intrusion to their privacy. I was told to check into hospice care, and no I shouldn't expect them to give me a ride. I didn't have a place to go after that, so I became very confused and sad. Let me tell you, I was completely shocked. I always guessed based on my family's treatment of me that I wasn't really that loved, but I never thought when it came down to the wire, my family wouldn't have my back. I was so unwell that I couldn't think straight, and was very scared to be alone. I thought I dreamed it up, it seemed so unreal. And I didn't have a network of others to tell, to check in with to see if what was happening was really happening. I don't think that what happened was right, but to this day no one mentions it, no one is sorry about it, and no one hears me if I try to bring it up. But, back to the story.

I kept asking myself, what did I do to deserve this? What could I have done to have prevented this? And I realize I didn't do anything to deserve this, except agreeing to get born into this world. The only way I could have prevented this was perhaps having some real friends as a support. But if I knew how to make friends, I would have gone about that business real cheery like a long ago. But my dad beat us as children for making friends, so the neurons that normally connect as a child when you learn to make friends got severed back then, and no matter how old I was, I always felt like a large presence was going to beat me if I got caught smiling at another human. So I get the feeling that I couldn’t have created a better, stronger safety net. I couldn’t have known.  And yet, I get the feeling this isn't how life is supposed to work. This is not how I imagined life to be like. The only thing that happened was I got sick and couldn't care for myself, and all of a sudden people run from me willy nilly, like I have something contagious they don't want to get. Like they don't want tragedy to rub off from me to them.

Is that how life works? At the moment you are no longer contributing to society anymore and have to ask for favors, you are on the outs list? I just can’t believe that something as simple as getting sick for several years on end could make people drop their love and care for me. Had they never loved and cared for me in the first place? Was I just simply that unlovable, and nobody had ever bothered to tell me? Or I just never realized it before? It was so difficult for me to wrap my head around believing that my family never really loved me. I resisted this, because it meant that I was by default unlovable. But I didn't know the truth then. I hadn't yet experientially realized that my value as a human being didn't depend on what those closest to me said or did. I had not learned this before, and didn't know it then. I was in a dark place.

But that morning when the neighbor waved for me to walk by, I felt loved. I felt like maybe the world wasn't against me after all. I wished that man was my father. I wished that I could re-experience all over again the breaking apart and shattering of my world, but this time with the knowledge that my parents would have my back after all. When your world falls apart, the last thing you'd want to fall away is the safety net of your family. Guess what? I had no safety net. I went into free fall, and got stuck there in that vortex. Spinning there, dizzy, but whoosh.... out of  the corner of my eye, the neighbor smiles and waves, and waits for me to cross the road. Love. There are good people out there. The whole world is not out to get me after all.

 

 

Thank you, Dad

Dad,

Thank you for showing me who I am not.


Age five

You beat me with a rod because I laughed when my baby brother shot peas out of his mouth and laughed. My baby brother wasn't obeying you when told to eat neatly, and you said he was old enough to have the devil beat out of him. You said the next one who laughed when my baby brother spit peas onto his high chair would get the rod. The next one was me. So you beat me with a wooden rod.

You pushed me out of anger. I was too shy to dance, but my sister was dancing and being foolish, and you praised her. I got up the courage to do a twirl or two, and you got angry because I was obstructing your view of her. You pushed me out of anger, and I fell, cutting myself and bleeding. You promised me a sticker to make up for pushing me, but when we got to the farmer's market with the stickers, you forgot. I reminded you, but you hushed me down so my other brothers and sisters wouldn't hear about the transaction. You got me a 2 cent sticker the size of my pinkie, but I wasn't able to say I didn't like it because I was afraid of you, that you would hit me again for speaking up.

When I was 5, I crashed my tricycle off of a sidewalk onto a concrete slab several feet below. The handle bars swung around and hit me on the condyle of my jaw, knocking it out of alignment, and causing intense migraine. I laid there for hours, crying and thinking I was dying, too afraid to move. Finally I limped inside and my mom comforted me, but then you found us. I was in my sisters crib drinking out of a sippie cup eating a Ritz cracker. You lost your temper when you saw me. You started roaring and yelling at me. I felt the intensity of your anger like flames sinjing me. You ordered me out of the room, out of your sight. You told me never to make my mom baby me again, and to never get in my sister's crib again. I felt disgusting, like I didn't deserve to live. I thought you wished I had died out there on the pavement, and that you were mad that someone as disgusting as me had lived and dared to show my face afterwards. I was afraid of you from then on. I've had daily migraines, jaw pain and scoliosis since then. You never sent me to a doctor, and shot me dirty looks when I was a teenager and suggested we go get it checked. You told me it was God's will for that to happen, and that if I spoke up again, you'd put me in my place and make me wish I'd never opened my mouth.

Dad, I had my first panic attacks when I heard your footsteps thundering up the stairs when you came home from work. I was 5 years old, and I would stop breathing. I would make sure my hair was perfectly straight and my toys were perfectly in line so you wouldn't yell at me.

 

Dad, you taught me that I am worthless. You taught me that my emotions are worthless. You taught me that speaking up was pointless, and you didn't ever want to hear my point of view. Dad, you roared at me in anger the few times I attempted to speak up when I was in the same room as you. Dad, I was afraid of you and still am. I couldn't meet your eyes back then and still can't.

 

Dad, you took us to church three times a week and we sang about God's love, salvation, the joy of the Christian walk. We sat eight in a row in the pew, all the arrows in your quiver lined up so quiet and well behaved, the perfect family. We were shaking in our boots, afraid of you. You abused us emotionally, psychologically, physically and sexually. Some of us starved, while you locked food up in ammunition boxes in the fridge. Why did you do that? You denied us medical treatment. You had the money, but you spent it on expensive toys for yourself. Why did you do that? You made us girls feel sexually dirty. Why did you do that? You picked me out as your special target. You hated me most, Dad. I asked you why on the phone last year, do you remember? You told me that I reminded me of yourself the most, and that's why you disliked me most. You said it matter of factly, as if that was all there was to it. I don't know, Dad. I kind of think that if I had a child who reminded me of myself more than my other children, I'd be tempted to love that child the most, if anything.

 

Dad, you taught me that God is angry, vindictive and cruel. You taught me that God doesn't care about my emotions, and that he thinks I'm worthless too, aside from the mass salvation he provides to those who fear him enough to accept it.

Dad, you taught me hate myself. You taught me and my sisters how to submit to men without asking questions. You taught me that any kind of chastisement or punishment at the hands of a man was really God's divine strengthening of my character, or a punishment for my sins. That either way I should accept this treatment with open arms, praising God for his generous discipline. You taught me that I was worthless and always would be, and that I could look forward to a lifetime of further abuse and loving punishment from God, praise the name of the Father and his Almighty Son, amen.

 

I got sick a few years ago. Real sick. I had to give up my career as a teacher, my apartment, transportation, my independence. I had to come home. I had to ask for help. I wasn't able to shower by myself, make food, or stand up. I was dying. I wrote out my will and all my passwords. And twice, Dad, you told me I couldn't come home. You told my mom to tell me to go to hospice, and that I shouldn't expect a ride there from you. I had no where else to go to. That was my breaking point, Dad. You knew it, too, but you didn't care.

You think you're worthless, Dad, and that's one reason you can't help but try to drown others like me. You taught me to believe that I was everything that I am not. If I didn't experience being your daughter, I wouldn't have been forced to look inside of myself to find out my true value laying hidden there all the time.

So thank you, Dad. You meant to squeeze all the life out of me and leave me by the side of the road to die. You played your part well. If we were all actors in a play, with life itself as the stage, then you Dad would have won several Oscars for your tough guy, sadistic portrayal as my father. Kudos to you, you did break my spirit, and strip me down to absolutely nothing.

But in that nothing, when I was sick at the point of dying, with no family to comfort me, I should have been feeling very worthless. But surprisingly enough, I heard refreshing snippets and phrases coming to me from the "world" of all places, not from the church or you. From Nike ads, from the ads for Dove deodorant, from L'oreal, from my New Agey friends who posted inspiring messages on Facebook to each other that they loved each other, and that the beauty of life was inside of them. Something deep inside of me said that was true, and that there was love and life outside of religion, outside of Christianity, outside of my family. So I went on a mission to find out more, and guess what, Dad?

I found out from the voice inside of me that it doesn't matter what you say. I am worthy. I am lovable. I am beautiful. I am worth it. I don't deserve punishment. I don't deserve abuse. I don't have to endure pain to be learn lessons. Life is not horrible. There is something beautiful inside of me, and it's the same thing that's inside of you, and all of us.

So, thank you, Dad. You played your part well in my life. You didn't teach me that I was worthy and lovable. You taught me the opposite. But even so, I found out anyway. And who knows, maybe my belief in myself is stronger now than if you had just spoon fed this to me since I was a baby.

The neurons and DNA and cells in my young child's body were programmed miserably since age 5, in a way that made me fearful, tense, anxious, unloved, and toxic. But that does not concern me. Right here and now with my adult mind and heart, I am resetting all neuron connections, all my DNA, all the cells in my body. My heart's magnetic field is strong, and it influences my whole body. I am being reprogrammed so that I am growing more loving, more flexible, juicier, more vibrant, stretchy, relaxed, wholesome, balanced, settled, grounded, happier, more content, and more joyful. I've come home to myself, and that is a beautiful place.

Thank you, Dad. I might forget every now and again when I see a photo of you or walk past you at a party. I might forget and think that you ruined a good portion of my life. But then I will remember how good I do have it now. You showed me very clearly everything I am not, and then you pulled the rug out from under me. You clearly showed me in no uncertain terms that there was zero love for me at my neediest moment. And in that moment of extreme clarity, when there was nothing there, I still felt love. It was coming from absolutely no where, for no reason at all.

So thank you, Dad. Thank you for signing up to play this role in my life. It has been difficult, but it has caused me to discover that I am loved, in a very deep way that nobody can take from me. Namaste!

 

Waking up

                                                   

 

                  The neighbor's lamp is lit all day, and stands in dark, cool tree shade. Maybe evening exists all day

                                          under the shade of just this tree.

 

The world is full of poetry, especially when I go on walks in my neighborhood and see magical stuff like the above stretch of yard and sidewalk. While I was out walking the other afternoon,  I was thinking about how we view ourselves. Someone mentioned to me the other day that the world just wants you to love yourself, but that is such a selfish thing to do. My ears perked up at such a concept. Hmmm.

 

The way I see it, the more in love you are with yourself, the more giving, generous, selfless and loving you are to others. The more you dislike yourself, the more egocentric, selfish and uncompassionate you will be.

 

So, yeah! Look in the mirror and tell yourself that you are beautiful, gorgeous, handsome, you name it! Believe in your self worth. When someone compliments you, accept it fully! They are right. Tell yourself when you wake up in the morning how amazing you are, and how much you love yourself.

 

As I'm writing even now, these concepts I speak of are new to me. For most of my life, I believed lies about myself and assumed I was lesser than most people, quite worthless in fact. Thankfully, I know the truth about myself now.

 

And yet, every now and then, I slip back into old ways of thinking and don't realize it until I've already allowed myself into harmful situations. The awesome part here, though, is that now that I know the truth, these moments of forgetting are temporary. Since I'm now aware of my subconscious thoughts' past autopilot mode, and since I know these thoughts are not true, that simple knowledge helps me get back into alignment. I have a true north now that is steady and sure, whereas in the past I had no true north.

 

An example of me temporarily acting like I was still in my past has been happening this past month. Some of you all know I'm on an HTMA mineral analysis program that is helping me regain my health. I've been on the program for almost 6 months, and I've made progress. Recently, though, a new supplement I was recommended to take has been giving me trouble, and I had to back off from taking it. I started falling backwards and experiencing old flare ups for weeks on end. I was quite disappointed, then angry. Then I just accepted it as my lot and numbly decided to just go on with the program, accepting that I was just an oddity who wasn't worthy of health, and who even the program couldn't help. I started entertaining ideas that had been normal for me for as long as I can remember. Thoughts like, "This is your lot in life, you aren't meant to have any better. Accept your failings, you don't deserve any better. Keep quiet and just accept the awfulness of the situation, it's all you're meant to have. Just give up and accept your defeat. Your practitioner doesn't want to hear your whining, it's your fault the program isn't working. You aren't worth her time and effort or anybody's time and effort, so don't even waste your time or energy looking for alternatives. You are stuck in this rut, and you deserve no better."

 

I went on in a fog for weeks on end like this, and just realized yesterday morning that those were lies. I actually jumped up from where I was sitting at my kitchen table and told myself, "Wait. No, you ARE worth it! There is a solution here, a creative way out of this. I am worth it, just like everybody else out there. I accept that there is an alternate path here, and it is an amazing alternative. Because I'm amazing, and I'm worth this. I'm now a sponge for the good that is coming my way. I accept it."

 

And just like that, an alternative came to me out of the fog. The supplement that I was taking came in a tablet form which didn't agree with me. But there was another more gentle tablet form, as well as a transdermal spray where you could soak it up in your skin and not get the side effects that the tablet would give you. Problem solved. So I ordered both, and I'm now just waiting for UPS to ring the doorbell. 

 

I guess I never knew how transformational it could be to have a healthy sense of self. Back when I was 24 or so, one of my friends who was studying to be a chiropractor took me to see one of his chiropractic doctor friends. The chiropractor took a look at me because I had been having headaches since I fell off a bike at age 5. I still remember the look that doctor gave me. It was as if he could see right through me, when his eyes looked at mine. The look was of genuine compassion and sadness. He told me the condyle in my jaw was not in it's socket right, and that effected my whole jaw and bite. That was before I got braces, but he told me that braces alone would not fix the issue. He asked if I was in pain. He also said that some kind of T1 or T2, or was it C1 or C2 was out of alignment as well. But back to his look. It was more real and full of genuine emotion than any look I'd ever experienced in my life, except one other time. It stayed with me.

 

And yet, I let go what he said to me. I knew it might help to get some work done at a chiropractor to help me ease the headaches. But I felt like I deserved the ongoing pain of daily headaches. I was so used to being whooped by circumstances, and thought that pain was my lot in life. In the Bill Gothard religion that I was brainwashed and brought up in, I was encouraged to embrace pain and physical deformity. I had crooked teeth, TMJ, migraines, a misaligned condyle in my jaw, and scoliosis since I was a kid. I was assured that it was God's plan for me that I remain this way, and I had better accept it or else risk his judgement for trying to go outside of his will. To try to correct it was to anger my Creator, who made me like that on purpose. God apparently planned for this to happen to me, and he would become angry if I sought medical relief because of it. God designed my life to be this way. I was told it was my thorn in the flesh to keep me humble. To voice to my family or father that I wanted relief and help was to incur incalculable anger because

1) I expressed my feelings, and my feelings are not worth bringing into the light of day
2) I was not worth a mere fraction of the expense of correcting the problem
2) it would anger God.

To try to change a deformity would be pretentious, you would be thinking too highly of yourself. It was divine and heaven sent, and to try to ease your pain was to try to escape the refining fire of God. To try to relieve deformity or pain was to try to escape God's judgement, which would only bring upon me further judgement and further isolation from God. Truly a twisted way of thinking. Something you could believe only if you were also brainwashed to believe in your innate lack of worth.

I used to believe all of this because I so wanted my father to love me. Alas, he didn't, and my strict, full time efforts to constantly fall in line and obey blindly like he wanted only caused him to focus his ire on me, hate me more and impress on me my deep worthlessness in his eyes and my Creator's eyes.

 

That was then, but this is now. I made an appointment for this Friday to go see a chiropractor. Well, actually it's someone certified in the Rolfing technique who does myofascial release and structural integration. I'm so ready to invest in myself now, and to treat myself in the best possible ways.

 

This is only the beginning. I really laugh at the meager, spartan way I've treated myself my whole life. The relaxing things I've always wanted to experience but denied myself: swimming, hot tubs, dance lessons, long baths, riding horses, travelling, indulging in buying books, shopping, buying art supplies, going to a spa, facials, getting massages. Letting myself luxuriate. Enjoying who I am in this body. Making peace with myself.

 

I'm so glad I know the truth about myself. After all these years. It is so refreshing to have  a true north, and to know it will always be there. It always was. I just had a prolonged but temporary bout of amnesia. Which I'm ecstatic to be awakened from. Here's to waking up!

Being present

Silhouette of a grapevine that is wandering up the side of our kitchen window.

In the present moment, there is no suffering.

 

 

So as I stay in the present moment, I will always be safe.

 

 

The moment I think I am not present, is the moment I am. 

I am not this illness. I step outside myself and watch as an observer. I see that I am separate from this illness. It is not my identity.

 

 

A pained body thrives on pain. It can not thrive on joy. It finds joy quite inedible. So in this way, I can starve pain with joy. Eventually it will have no place to thrive in me and it will dissipate.

I am health, life, energy, upward momentum, spontaneous regeneration. This is my true identity and I accept it.  

 

 

Picnic by the river

Karl and I were invited to a surprise birthday party down at our local river park this past weekend that Clark planned for Louisa. I knew all my family members would be there. For a few days before the party, I entertained the thought of not going. But I decided I would go for Louisa. Also, I had a sudden flash of inspiration and asked myself- "What will they do to you at the picnic that you can't handle? Do they have an evil intent against you?"

And I realized that none of them had any mean intent towards me. In fact, I sensed that each of them was feeling quite good intentions toward me. Clark would be jovial and friendly, my father would smile and say he was glad to see me, and my mother would definitely beam and smile seeing me. They honestly couldn't help that they've said things that hurt me before. They honestly had no clue they were hurting me. I suddenly imagined each of them as little children, hurt and in pain. Very young children are innocent, but can act out when they are hurting because they don't know any other way to cope with their emotions. It helped me to see my relatives in this way... like they are harmless, innocent children who might act out. But they don't mean me any harm, their problem has nothing to do with me.

On the day of the party, something memorable happened. I was getting ready and picking out an outfit, after having just gotten a shower. And I remember suddenly realizing, "I am so calm. I feel so peaceful." Normally, the anticipation of going out on a car ride to any destination ties my stomach in knots and makes me woozy, nauseous and dizzy. Not on this particular day, though.

I felt like I was wrapped up in some kind of soft warm, protective blanket, but I could move freely. It felt like a buffer between me and the world. It was the opposite of what raw nerves would feel like (raw nerves being my autopilot the last few years). My body felt safe, and I felt very safe and comfortable in my body. It felt amazing. I felt light like a feather, light on my feet, full of calm energy, focused, grounded... safe. My head felt clear and I was looking forward to going to the picnic. I stopped for a few minutes to just experience what I was feeling. It felt so new, but I imagine this is what it felt like all the time for me before I got sick. I just forgot. And now here I'm experiencing this oneness with my body and complete health. And I accepted it. Smiled into the mirror and said, "I accept!"

I've heard it mentioned a few times by some of my online friends who have recovered from AF that it's so easy to get used to your new norm of health once it comes back to you. That you instantly forget what being sick was like, and being your old healthy self again is as easy as riding a bike. Even if you haven't ridden it for awhile, it comes back to you instantly. I believe it. I just got a taste of it that day.

On the drive down to the river, I reminded myself to look at my relatives as little innocent children... if they acted up it was because they were in pain themselves and didn't know how to express it. They wouldn't be angry at me per se', so I didn't need to take anything personally. It could roll right off of me.

And "it" did. Clark was trying to make me feel bad for volunteering to bring a cake because he assumed that it was a decorated birthday cake when it was a cream cheese pound cake, resulting in him having to rush out last minute to get a real cake. I barely heard him. I was having so much fun that my ears literally didn't open to process his words. I felt so balanced and centered, like nothing could hurt me. It was such a wonderful feeling!

Just as I sensed, my mom was beaming to see me. She loved the macaroni salad I made, and I sat with her and Louisa and bat the breeze (and flies) out on lawn chairs. My dad was quite jovial and friendly with me, laughing and saying he was glad I made it, complimenting the food I brought. I had fun catching up with my brother and sister, and my nieces and nephews. We went on a walk along the river and the kids picked some shells that had washed up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The temperature was in the 90's, and no breeze was blowing. Our picnic tables were in partial shade, but I wasn't in the shade the whole time. Interestingly, I did fine the whole time. Only afterwards did I think to myself that this in and of itself was a milestone. Normally, I go into heat exhaustion if I sit out on the patio in the heat for more than 20 minutes on a 90 degree day. But I felt quite wonderful. I was drinking water and salt from my water bottle the whole time, so this helped.

 

The next day, Karl's parents came over to visit. They got to our house before I started my breakfast, at the time of day when in the not so distant past I would have been comatose and walking around groggy and dragging. But I was bright and energetic, and had no nerves. It felt normal to be eating breakfast in front of them. I helped my mother in law make gravy and mashed potatoes, and she was talking non stop. We had lunch an hour later than I normally eat, and I started going into a hypoglycemic, low blood sugar daze where the room spun and the conversation took on an eerie, slow, dragging quality. So I quickly started eating lunch, and was fine again in 20 minutes. Sometimes I think I can get away with little things like eating lunch late, but I still need to stay on top of watching the clock. Which is fine because I can go several hours without food now, compared to only 10-20 minutes in the past.

 

I was pretty stoked that I felt pretty amazing after two days in a row of getting out and being social. I'm getting to the point now where I was the first year of adrenal burnout. During that first year I was still working full time as a teacher and didn't take a day off of work, was on my feet all day, travelled by train on long trips in and out of state, went to parties, and pretty much did everything as a normal person did. During that year, I felt good during the whole day except for 10:30am -1pm, and 6-8 pm.

 

Right now I have no huge swings during certain set times of the day where I feel good or sick. Things have evened out more. I do go through whole days where I feel very sleepy, but not sick. I am super excited to have days like this where my worst symptoms are simply feeling sleepy. Compared to before, this is amazing. True, every now and again a migraine/fibromyalgia day will pop up, or an IBS/upset stomach day will pop up, or a bone pain day will pop up, but these days are getting less frequent as time goes by. One of the things that makes me most happy is that the anxiety is certainly abating.

 

I'm in such an exciting phase of my life right now. The upward and positive momentum keeps spinning faster, and I allow it. I'm not putting out any effort at all to push the momentum like this. The only thing I'm doing is allowing and accepting the good. It's doing all the work while I just sit back and keep the doors and windows of myself open and receptive. It's so enjoyable to soak up good. I've been unknowingly resisting it my whole life. And to think, it was there for me all this time, I just never thought I was worth it.  Now I know I am, and it has flipped my world upside down.

Everyone

Everyone's a giant, everyone's powerful, everyone's trying, everyone's learning, everyone's worthy, everyone's loved, and everyone... loves you.

Everyone is me.

Who else,
The Universe

The house next door...

Summer hydrangeas

I go on walks most every day where I pass by my neighbor's hydrangeas. I laugh because each time I see them, I think they have been magically lifted straight up and out of the illustrations of an old copy of the fairy tale "Hansel and Gretal." The way the story goes, there was this witch who lived in this gingerbread house lined with icing, candy canes, gumdrops and lollipops. I guess that's how she lured children in. Before I learned how to read, I spent much time lost in the illustrations of this book. To this day, I swear that hydrangeas are not real... they come straight from book illustrations. They transplant themselves in normal people's yards looking out of place, making us scratch our heads and wonder.

The amusing part here is that my neighbor who owns the hydrangeas could be a witch. Hee hee. She yells at the neighbor kids who cross through her backyard, and she has her husband all but hogtied. She is a dominatrix, and he eats it up. He shuffles around his yard like a dog with his head down and tail between his legs. You can tell he's huffing, puffing and angry, but he won't raise his voice at her. He keeps quiet and fumes while she belts it loose across the lawn, calling him names and telling him he can't fix nothin' right. He must eat it up though, because three years later, he's still there, taking it. On weekends, she sits enthroned on her back porch and gossips about what her friends are saying and doing on Facebook, and her loud voice wafts through our patio screen into our kitchen. We don't need Jerry Springer, we just slide open our patio door.

Saw the fireworks last night from our second floor window. We could look out over the trees in our backyard and see them from where we stood. Pretty neat. I didn't know they would be shot off on the 3rd instead of the 4th, so I noticed them accidentally while walking past the window to go downstairs. I had just taken melatonin, taurine, and California poppy seed, which I usually take to help me sleep, and before the grand finale was over I was cutting Zzzzz's. This is impressive, as in the past I never would have been able to sleep through the night, let alone a night where the neighbors compete for hours on end with their own homemade fireworks.

Went to a park last weekend and sat out on a lookout hill catching the breeze and some sun. Got a sunburn on my nose. It sure was nice to have two days in a row, both Saturday and Sunday, where I felt pretty much completely normal. And here's the kicker, I was on day 1 and 2 of my period, and I felt amazing. I keep track of how I do each day in a chart where I track what NB supplements I take.

I am going to start working with a life coach this coming week. I am so looking forward to it. I have been having a tough time translating what I know and believe into a healthy practical way when it comes to my toxic family and having to be in such close proximity to them. I will be so relieved to get some answers and lay aside the angst and anger I have toward feeling like I have to keep my mouth shut when their actions really bother me. I get  emails every day in my inbox from "the Universe," and my latest message was, "Anger is almost always a sign, AJ, that you've been quiet for too long. Speak up, buttercup -The Universe."

Exactly! It's true. I really only feel bursts of anger because my family's toxicity bugs me and I want to speak up, but feel too threatened to.

I do miss the past when I was so emotionally healthy that other people's attempts to bug me just rolled right off of me. I know that being in adrenal burnout means that by default, my hormones and feelings will be raw and I can't help but be super sensitive emotionally. So I want to accept this stage of my life as something that I want to work with, not against.

It's really funny. I remember a period of time that lasted two years or so. It was a couple years before I got AF. I went through this phase where I couldn't cry. I was emotionally like a rock. I was dating this artistic man who would often get weepy, and who I would break up with on a semi-regular basis. It would cause him to cry and be really sad, and he would write me apology letters and beg me to forgive him. It didn't really touch me. He asked me one day why I never cried. Maybe it was because he did enough crying for the both of us. Or more likely, I had already developed my tough side on my own before I met him, and because of that I was attracted to a man who honored his softer side. I think that's what happened. I had been in intense fight or flight in the public school where I was teaching for a year before I met him, and I had to be tough to survive. I do feel really bad now that I treated him so coolly, and was unattached to my emotions.

Interesting how these things progress. Compared to how I am now, I feel like I was in a pretty healthy place emotionally for most of my early and mid 20's. I didn't get overly toughened until after moving to NYC, but I couldn't maintain that very long. Then I got sick and am super sensitive emotionally.



But I realize that this is not who I am. Karl has only seen this one side of me because he's only know me while I've been in adrenal burnout. He can't imagine me any different. He doesn't understand that this is a side effect, so to say, of this illness. The important thing, though, is that I know. I remember how I used to be, and that's my real identity. Emotionally calm and balanced.



At a park last weekend.
Who IS this, right?

I dare say, though, the way I'm headed on this NB program, I'm getting to a place where my autopilot will be a state that I was in when I was a very young child before age 5, before the abuse started: light and happy, goofy even. I hardly remember that. I used to think that my innate personality was serious and restrained, like it's been all through kindergarten, elementary school and beyond up until now. I thought it would be my identity that I was forever locked into. Maybe not?

Stand up and speak your truth: Coming out of the cult closet Part 1



{photo credit: www.bigcatphotography.org}

I have always had a hard time standing up for myself. I chalk it up to the way I grew up. I grew up in a cult where women and children weren't allowed to speak up for themselves, especially when we were abused. We weren't allowed to ask "Why?" even in a quiet voice. We were to take abuse quietly, submissively, like Godly females would. Otherwise, all hell would break loose. So, my sisters and I grew up with blank, obedient minds. We were trained to obey male authority without question, and we had a healthy fear of the chain of command above us. We were Godly, submissive sheep who obeyed at the blink of an eye. We grew up with no defenses around us, like innocent blind kittens, just taking whatever Godly abuse was shunted our way, scared, but too blind and afraid to make a sound. God, it was horrible.

When I was in my mid 20's and left my parents' house, I knew I wanted no more of that. That kind of submission felt like choking.

The way that I left my family and the cult back when I was in my early 20's was a physical separation, in that I physically left my parent's house, and physically moved several cities away so that I no longer had any connection with the cult or anyone in it. But even though I left in person, I hadn't cut the ties mentally or emotionally. My subconscious mind was still being powered by the toxic beliefs I was programmed and brainwashed in. I wasn't convinced that I was free even when I left.

I have an older sister named Thalia. She is made of steel with the heart of a bull. In many ways she is my hero and she is the one my siblings owe their liberation to. When she was 24, she physically took ahold of herself and my trembling, peace loving 25 year old sister Louisa, and they escaped from the house.  Thalia rented them an apartment, and together they went to college. Any kind of education above high school was considered evil and punishable, but they did it. By the time I was 19, my younger sister had already applied to college, so I figured I may as well do the same, even though I felt very guilty.

My younger sister Christy has always been bold and brazen. One day she informed me that she and my younger brother were escaping the house and cult, were leaving the next day and did I want to join them. I was paralyzed in fear, but the next day when I saw them loading their furniture into the U-Haul, I decided I may as well ride the wave with them. So we moved. We were all three in college, and suddenly, we were free.

I won't go into detail how weird it was being suddenly free, out in the real world after being overprotected and isolated from life outside the cult. My sisters and I were raised to be unable to function in the real world, so that we would be pliable and innocent and ready to be shipped into the hands of our future patriarchal husbands. Who were waiting there with open arms, ready for their submissive, uneducated wives.

Trust me, our father was not silent about my older sisters' escape, or about the second wave escape I was in. My father was livid and kept warning us that God was angry and was going to send punishment down on us in the form or our cars breaking down, our health failing, us getting bad grades, going insane, and never getting ahead in life. My brothers and sisters laughed it off, but being sensitive and not wanting to cause trouble, I was more than a little worried.

In the cult I grew up in, there's this concept called the chain of command. It's illustrated by an umbrella. The father is the umbrella, and his wife and children are under it. The wife and children are to be in blind submission, and are taught to give up their rights. The father has ultimate control. His umbrella is two fold in that it represents his authority and his protection of those under him.

The catch here is that if you try to leave the umbrella of "protection" and authority, God will send judgment on you in the form of destroying your career, health, happiness, sanity. Demons supposedly will come up and plague you as well.

This threat kept me in a state of subconscious fear for decades, but I decided that if I didn't think about it and lived an oblivious state, I would be fine.

And I was apparently fine for some time, out in the world.

I decided though that in order to be completely safe, I needed to steer clear of Christian men because they might go fundamental and cultish on me.

So I dated mostly nonbelievers. I was so scared by what my dad did, though, that I was too afraid to get close to guys, and lived on the fringe, skittish, and always ready to leave a man if he started showing scary signs.

I remained detached, unfeeling, never letting myself get too close to a guy, always ready with one foot half out the door.

Even though I dated mostly nonbelievers, I knew that I could never marry one. For two big reasons.

First, because I would never be able to bring him through my parent's front door. He would be rejected, as he was not of the faith. He and I wouldn't be welcomed for holidays. We would be completely cut off from the family.

And second, my family and church would call down God's judgment on us for me being "unequally yoked." My life would fall in tatters around me. God's judgment would affect my health, marriage, career, success and happiness in life. My life would suck, and I would live in guilt.

It is this second reason that made me decide I absolutely would never marry someone who wasn't a Christian. I was not going to jeopardize myself. God is a god of wrath, and he hates sin. If I were to blatantly marry outside my faith, I would be punished severely, on a perpetual basis for the rest of my life. I was not going to let that happen.

And yet, if I married a Christian, I could very easily end up with a one who went fundamentalist on me and started choking me with the old submission tactics. I was dreadfully afraid of this possibility.

I quickly decided that not marrying at all might be the safest course of action in my life. I didn't rule out marriage, but I decided that I should remain alert and highly adverse to it.

So I leaned happily into my life as a single girl, having relationships and boyfriends, but never progressing towards marriage. As time went by, men my age starting talking about marriage, so I had to think of a new strategy.

Every now and again, I would date guys younger than me, and this gave me a much welcome breather. Most of the younger guys hadn't been bitten by the marriage bug.

Things went along OK until I got sick and moved back home.

 

Even though I had physically left the cult some ten years earlier, suddenly I was back again. It was so odd. I had forgotten about it and had somehow blocked most of it out of my memory. That is the only way I was able to return.  

 

Unfortunately, even though I returned home, my parents refused to take me in. I was too worldly and tainted. Supposedly, I blew it by leaving home in a state of disgrace with my siblings instead of being transferred as property under the chain of command to a husband who would be my authoritative master. So I blew my chances back then, and it was my tough luck now.  

 

So Thalia took me in. We all lived within minutes of the rest of my family, and my parents. A huge hub. There I was, suddenly back in the cult, with all the judgment and threats in the name of God whirling around.

 

I thought I would recover my health quickly, and I looked forward to my stay being only temporary. I had forgotten how toxic the cult was and didn't think it would affect me much because I was a grown woman. Little did I know that my age wouldn't matter, and that as a single woman out from under the chain of command and a man's umbrella, I was a prime target for Satan and my family.

 

About two years into the illness while living near my family, I met a man who was so kind and understanding. He was there for me when I was contemplating a move and didn't know what my next option should be. My parents still refused to have anything to do with me. So my boyfriend at the time asked me to move in with him.

I knew that God would judge me for shacking up with a guy, and I already assumed that the fibromyalgia, CFS and adrenal burnout  I had was a punishment from God. I figured it was because  I had left the church, stopped praying for many years, sinned too much, had too many boyfriends, etc.

I knew I couldn't afford to do any more sinning, because I sure didn't want to make the illness get worse.

So I definitely was not about to sin more and move in with this guy without being married to him.

He seemed like a good guy, and he really liked me. He seemed safe enough.  He wasn't devout, and he was a new Christian.

Why, I had been the one who 'converted' him! On date number three, I encouraged him to say the "sinner's prayer," I wrote the date down in my calendar as proof, and then I dusted my hands of the whole thing. Did the basics, and that's all we're doing.

He was now allowed to enter my parents' home without judgment, and I wasn't going to be judged either. We were 'safe.'

I figured that he would be a safe man to spend my life with. He was too new in the faith to have gotten any weird ideas, and I was there to guide him away from patriarchy. And he was thoughtful, kind, supportive. He loved me even though I was very ill. He told me he would always be there for me. He knew I might not ever get better. He didn't mind. He loved me above and beyond what the illness had done or could do to me. Sigh.

Did I dream this guy up? He was a keeper. So we got married. Me in my riding boots, a skirt and top from Gap, and a pony tail. We got hitched at our local mayor's house a 5 minute car ride away.

And after that? Did his Christian tendencies stay good and harmless?

Well, long story short, he fell prey to my family's cult beliefs and he became overnight the reincarnation of my father. I was a child again, falling, falling, choking, gasping, trying to scream but gagging the screams out of fear of punishment from God.

I went through two of the worst years of my life. The stress of the religious, emotional and physical abuse, the yelling, screaming, judgment, things being thrown at me, storming around... it helped my already fragile health spiral downwards and I became broken. I was already raw and sensitive because living in my family's hometown at that time had triggered flashbacks from childhood, but being with Karl was like reliving some parts of my childhood abuse all over, except this time I was the wife instead of the child.

And Karl had found a friend. He found a friend in Louisa's husband Clark. My sister's husband has been beating her and abusing her and her children for more than the last decade. He is a devout Christian and is in Christian ministry. He is a Biblical scholar, and fine upstanding member of his local church.

Even though he beat my sister and she finally left, after a year she went back. He said he was a changed man.

She believed him, and so did I. Neither my sister nor I had any boundaries whatsoever at that point, so if a Christian man says he is changed, who are we to question? Neither she nor I took even a second to think anything was amiss.

So when my sister's husband asks me if I minded him becoming Karl's new Christian mentor, the first words out of my mouth were, "Of course!"

With lots of smiles and nods.

The mentorship went along quite swimmingly. At least, I thought so. Up until about six months in, when I started to realize that the whole thing was unravelling in front of my eyes, and I was the fool who let it even begin.

It turned out that my brother in law had been talking about his wife (Louisa), me, and about my other two sisters behind our backs, judging us, but swearing my husband to secrecy. But my husband, after many months of keeping it all hush hush, started telling me what Clark had been saying about us.

When I found out what Clark was doing, I told my husband I was going to tell my sisters. Karl flipped out and threatened me. He became violent and I had to go hide in the bedroom. Karl was throwing curses at me telling me how dare I threaten his Christian friendship with Clark.

I stewed about it for a day, trying to tune into my inner voice for direction.

In the past I would have swept something like this under the carpet. I would have automatically assumed a passive and submissive role.

But not now. Suddenly, I was so mad. I couldn't take it anymore. This was my life, I was an adult, and I was not about to endure a complete replay of my abusive childhood here in my own home. I was so mad. I didn't care about God judging me anymore for not being an obedient sheep. I was done with being afraid of punishment from God.

I decided that I would directly confront my brother in law. I would send an email to Clark expressing my anger over the way he's been slamming me and my sisters behind my back secretly to Karl. I would also tell him that I didn't agree with his "Christian" beliefs at all.

So I sent the email.

He responded back and said that as a Christian, he wasn't able to take back anything he said. That he was justified under Christ to say what he did. He tried to explain himself, but went further into judging all of us and saying that me and my sisters would have to answer on judgment day for things we had done in the past.

He also said that he was afraid my sister would leave him if I told her what he said about her. So I promised not to tell her. For now it is enough to confront him.
 

It might seem like a small thing, but I was literally shaking in fear for the several weeks it took me to decide to write the letter. Also, I knew Karl would be very angry at me for sending it. He threatened me not to send it. I didn't care. For the first time in my life, I was going to stand up for myself.

Writing that letter was the very first time that I stood up for myself to any of the patriarchs in my family. I'm serious. The first and only time I ever did that.

After I sent that letter, it felt like a hundred pounds had suddenly slid off my shoulders.

I mentioned before that I felt like a caged bird in my family, beating her wings against the bars. The bars are made of fear. Some of those bars aren't there now because I wasn't afraid to confront my brother in law and his religious dogma.

It's almost funny the way things work. I didn't have the courage to face my dad and his religious, emotional, psychological, and emotional abuse when I was young.

I swept it under the rug for my whole life and lived oblivious of it. But I guess you can't sweep things under the rug forever, because they will be bumps there under the carpet and even if you place furniture on top of them, they are still there. I put so much furniture on my life carpet that I thought I had those buggers properly hidden forever.

Until recently when who comes into my life but two more situational reincarnations of my dad: my husband and my brother-in-law.
 

I've stood up and spoken my truth to my brother-in-law, and I feel really good about that. At the time I'm writing this post, Karl has started to change. He is doubting the cult, and doing a lot of questioning. We've had so many tumultuous interactions with me trying to stand my ground. Some days it wears me down so much. I feel ragged, but I can't give up. I can't stifle my voice. Tumult and arguments and stress bothers me so much. I thrive on peace. But I can't let myself be stepped on, even if it means forcing myself to strain my energy reserves enough to get loud and defend myself.

At the last family party I went to, the patriarchs were sequestered in my brother's kitchen while the rest of the family was out on the deck celebrating my niece's birthday. My dad latched onto Karl and began his old routine again, trying to get Karl to learn Greek so he could expound the Scriptures and get the purest interpretation. That's all they do, study the Scriptures ad nauseum. Apparently, Greek is the original languages the Scriptures were written in, and if you can't read them, then you really can't understand the Bible properly and basically are the most ignorant of Christians. Apparently, only a Biblical scholar can really understand Christianity.

The patriarchs in my family see no life or love in their faith, they only dissect Scripture and use it to judge themselves and others in a Pharisaical way.

So when my dad told Karl he had a Greek program Karl could try out, I spoke into the air loudly, without looking at anyone in particular, "Why does Karl need to learn Greek?"

I didn't want to address the father figure directly because I am still a little afraid to be in his presence (I still feel like he's going to hit or attack me), but the question was to him. He didn't answer, but my brother-in-law Clark said, "Because Greek is easier than Hebrew!"

So I say, "So why does Karl need to learn Hebrew? Why not German or Spanish or Italian?"

And the question falls on deaf ears. They are suddenly speaking of something else and are too wrapped up in themselves to respond to a lowly female pawn. What does a female have of importance to contribute to the religious discussion? And so the party went on. They sat sequestered together the rest of the evening.

So I ambled out to the patio and hung out with the rest of the women and children in the family. Who responded quite easily when I chatted with them. The world is still right side up, even when some parts seem upside down.