The Heavy Shit

The Heavy Shit

** Warning ** Some of this content is graphic. It may have trigger issues for some. Please read this story if you are in a good place emotionally.

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June 17, 2010

I have always visualized that a part of this blog should be the telling of my story. I know everyone has one and I am always fascinated by what people have experienced and how they handled it. Every journey is unique and inspirational.  I hope mine will be for some.

The most important reason I want to reach out in this format is that I do think that I have had a unique journey and sadly, have a lot in common with many out there.  I hope that people who read this may find themselves inspired to find the positive in any circumstance and believe that all experiences have so much to teach us.  I have found that through forgiveness and courage I have been able to love myself enough to rise above sad to torturous situations. I would never wish my life on anyone else but do value what I have been through as I value who I am today. We really are the sum of our experiences.

Another purpose for this blog  is to raise awareness about some of the many abuses that children have to endure and my perception of what my options really were at the time.  I hope that others will find the strength to end their own oppressed situations or help someone else who needs it.

Lastly, this is a highly personal but natural way for me to tell my tale. I have come to terms with my life and have found forgiveness for things that I never thought possible. I have had years of support from close friends, family and one wonderful therapist to make peace with so many aspects of my life.  I have truly purged the emotional baggage that kept me in the past and unable to find the joy of  living in the present moment. It was a very liberating realization when I understood that I actually didn’t have to carry so much negative energy around.

This will not be chronological. I remember my life in great detail but not linear. I will be specific about the time of my life that I’m talking about. As time goes on I hope that the picture I paint will make sense. So, that being said, what better place to begin than highschool? Stay tuned.  🙂

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June 23, 2010

My last 3 years of elementary school in Niagara Falls were definitely on the wrong side of the tracks. It was really a burden if you didn’t swear, smoke and have sex by grade 8.  I started swearing so at least they could stop teasing me for being such a goody-2 shoes. The smoking and sex well- sheesh! are you kidding me? I had enough problems already. Getting accepted into the high school across town was a blessing for so many reasons.

The main reason is that no one knew me. They didn’ t know about my family or any of the drama. This was also a school for advanced classes and languages. The first priority- Reinvent myself.

Here I could speak and not be put down. It wasn’t a crime to have A’s and be able to articulate an intelligent conversation. Would you believe I was teased for having good posture? Now, in A.N.Myer SS  I would jump out of my comfort zone and express myself. Second priority- Be something other than “nice”. There is nothing more generic and invisible than being “nice”. Love me or hate me, people were going to know my name and that I probably had an opinion about whatever was going on.

The other cool thing is that I was away from my parents. Being across town I was very rarely thinking about them.  My father would manage to twist any social interaction I had into something worth punishing me for.  I could finally just talk to people and not wonder if he was going to be driving by or hearing about who I was talking to that day.

So, not having to be self conscious about saying hi to people and finding excuses to make friends was quite the game I played with myself for the first while. I liked it and I was liking myself more and more.  Why not? I was really able to control how I was perceived and what they knew about me.  I had learned to hide so much about my home life from when I was quite little. Now I could dress up what I was allowed to show and feel quite safe being who I always was.

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June 27, 2010

I think I have to just jump in here. I have no idea how to get through what I have to say without getting ugly. The more I think about the many things I have to say, the more I wonder if there’s a right way to do it. So, the conclusion I came to was no, there’s no “right” way. Here goes.

As a kid I grew up in a very chaotic environment. Nothing stayed the same very long and no changes came without a great deal of violence or threat of violence.  Even from as young as 4yrs old I knew my parents fought and dad was in and out of jail. If he wasn’t fighting my mother (aka: beating her up),  he was getting into it with friends and whomever may have offended him a the bars. My mother really did what she could to protect us at that age albeit, it wasn’t much. We went to church and school and family events all neat and tidy with smiles on our faces. That was a given. It’s amazing to me now, as I look back, that it seemed that so many people had no idea what my father did either in or out of the home.

As time went on it got harder and harder for my parents to hide from their kids exactly how many things were so wrong in our home. The alcohol binges that my father went on invariably got our entire family in financial trouble or legal trouble. The violence continued towards my mother but then it spread to me.  I had to start tip-toeing around my family as early as 7, I think. He loved to intimidate all of us but had no trouble physically abusing my mother and I. Apparently, I was too much like my mother and therefore deemed worthy of similar treatment.

We also moved around a lot. Every three years or so is a reasonable average. My dad continued to be in and out of work and in and out of jail. He became this embarrassment to us although we could never have expressed it to anyone. We continued looking neat and tidy and those happy faces were always on. I would be in trouble if I didn’t do well in school, so I was just about a straight-A student.  I did what I could to keep myself out of my dad’s radar. We never had friends over spontaneously.  We could never know what would be going on at home to put ourselves or our friends in an awkward situation.  We had birthday parties and similar sort of social activities. Wouldn’t you know my dad was so “cool” and kids often told me that they wish they had such a great dad. Keep that happy face on, Teresa.

Around 10 years old my father quietly brought me to his room to talk. He explained to me that I was getting older now and that I was probably getting curious about boys and having boyfriends. He said that he wanted to make sure that I didn’t get into trouble or mixed up with the wrong kind of people that would hurt me. (keep that poker face, Teresa) So, he said he would help me by “teaching” me about boys and what they wanted. He said that this would keep me from wanting to have boyfriends or be curious about them.  (seriously? I was 10.)  Oh, these “lessons” would have to be a secret because if I told anyone, he would go to jail and I would be responsible for ruining our family.

I was so trapped now. My mother was in no position to help me as she couldn’t help herself. I couldn’t tell my siblings as I didn’t want them to have to know and not be able to do anything about it. I couldn’t tell anyone really as no one could guarantee that he would never be able to come back home again. We were all quite sure that he would happily kill us all if we ever got him in trouble with the police directly. Why so sure? He told us repeatedly, of course. So, I went to church, to school and through my everyday life with my simple smile and doing what I could to be as invisible as possible from just about everything. I was “nice”.  Nice and numb, scared, and very aware that I was stuck… for now.

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July 5, 2010

Being “stuck” put me in the mindset of essentially having two lives. First,  where I’m at home, as invisible as possible and living in chaos and fear, as this was normal for my whole family. The second, was when I wasn’t at home and after I got into high-school learned to show more of who I was hiding for so many years.  It’s a scary blessing that I was able to live these two lives and keep myself out of trouble.

At home, through so much fear and instability I was able to wear my simple, “nice”, poker face.  I didn’t challenge any of my circumstances as the consequences were never going to pay off without an exit strategy. Going to school, church and anywhere else my day to day life brought me I appeared quite content and healthy. I had to play this role. I couldn’t bring any attention to my actual situation. The last thing that I needed was some social worker knocking at the door.  Having to deal with the emotional abuse that pretty much entailed threats and constant belittling as well as the physical and sexual abuse that happened frequently enough.  I’m sure my dad really thought he had me convinced that I’d always be a scared, weak little girl. What he didn’t know was something quite simple. I knew he was wrong from the very fist time he hit my mother let alone me. I never blamed myself or considered that he was right in telling me I was stupid, lazy or whatever. I just had to take it knowing that one day things would change.  I had to continue in this for about 6 years.

My second life was not at home. It was such a release for me to be at school and express myself to my friends and teachers. I still got my good grades, so dad never had to question whether my going to school across town was a good idea or not.  We never had much money but I did my best to fit in.  I found my friends in all walks of life. My best friends were largely the intellectual “nerds”.  The banter was always fun. I learned euchre and was the re-nag queen for some time. I enjoyed debating and band. I didn’t think about it at the time but looking back, I pretty much loved being able to express myself both verbally and artistically. (the complete opposite of my home life)  I got a great support system in time and towards the end of my 6 years of being molested by my dad, I finally had some friends that would be key in helping me get out of my situation and keeping my family safe.

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July 13, 2010

The choices I made over the years leading up to me getting out of my house and away from my father were based on survival. I would never jeopardize the safety of my family especially since we all endured so much from my dad already. I was a brilliant actor that was happy, engaging, polite and smart. No one would assume that there was anything truly chaotic or terrifying about my life. I liked this persona anyway. Why should I have chosen a dark, depressing, anti-social disposition? I liked being liked and I liked being happy. If I could be happy, I was.

The many things I also managed to choose were friends that were more academically inclined.  Getting good grades benefited me in too many ways.  My teachers helped me in a positive way. They also never approached me to “see if I was ok”, or that sort of thing. I couldn’t afford that. Also, I did want to go to university, so references from teachers and my overall grades were more and more important to me. The friends I had were smart and creative. There were so many ways to express oneself without being a “nerd” in this group of nerds. I joined band, the debate team and participated in the United Nations debates when they occurred.  Of course there was drug and alcohol use but for the longest time I had nothing to do with this. I’ve seen too many negative things in my home related to these things to make the assumption that I would have a good time.

I think it’s important to know that even though I chose to be happy as much as possible, trouble was brewing in me. I would take pride in having quite the abrasive, sarcastic, bitchy attitude. If I could have the last snippy remark or hurl that last insult I did have this feeling of euphoria. I looked to challenge almost anyone in dialogue to see if I could “win”. Often playing devil’s advocate worked out fine for me.  My outlet of negativity was an arrogance that I honestly didn’t see in myself until years later. (nothing like a good therapist to take the wind out of those sails) I kind of approached people like they had no problems at all and if I could piss them off a little, they would have deserved it.  Lame, but I was not even 16 years old. For having been through so much, I didn’t know very much at all.

As far as experimenting goes, well, for me I didn’t. This is one small thing that I wonder if I should have. I didn’t have lots of boyfriends, do drugs, drink, cut class or act like I did.  No one made an issue of it for me, so there was no stress about it. I got along with just about every circle of people in my high school and at the same time managed to keep a personal distance. It was a weird sort of realization when I caught on to how many people knew me but no one really “knew” me at all. I learned that I had a bunch of acquaintances and very few Friends.  By the end of high school I would really appreciate that having 2 Friends is so much more valuable than having 100 “friends”.  (I think the real friends deserve the capitol “F”.)

Choices- I chose myself instead of a stereotype of a poor, abused kid from a messed up home.  I think I also chose not to let anyone in on what my life was really like so that no one would put societal limitations that are supposed to come with the sort of life I had. I didn’t want people to feel sorry for me (or call anyone in authority, of course) and decide that the abuses I faced in the moment would be what we talked about instead of my future.

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August 8, 2010

So, what happened to me? I guess there would have to be the understanding of what I did to survive but also an understanding of what I survived.  Finding a persona out of the house became a role play that was both necessity and by the time I figured out how, an escape from my home reality.

My father was a very charming man with the people he met. He could be funny and very willing to make sure everyone was having a good time be it as a host at home or out a family reunion or the like.  He was very funny and his practical jokes were always a hit at my birthday parties. (He was the one making the crank calls.)  During these times he was probably sober and on some kick about being a good dad/husband…again.

When he was drinking or hanging around his buddies (probably met in jail) things would be crazy.  When he drank, he drank way too much. He would start fights with everyone, including his friends. Even they admitted they were afraid of him and could never tell when he was going to snap.  When the partying wore down and he returned home he invariably found ways to pick fights with my mother as well as us kids. No matter the time he was getting a meal prepared and the music turned way up. It’s 4am? so? Let’s dance!

If all went well, he would lose his wind and head to bed. This was very rare.  Generally, the food was wrong, the house was a mess or someone looked at him wrong or spoke with an “attitude”.  We were screwed at this point as there was no defense.  Someone was getting knocked around or having to clean up whatever crap he threw.  There was no point in running and there was a no-win “conversation” that would take place to force you to interact with him in close range.  Him-“Do you want me to kill you?” Me- “No.”  Him- “You know I can right?” Me-“Yes.”  Him-“Why did you look at me like that?” Me-“I’m sorry.”  At this point I’m in hitting range and wasn’t able to do anything as he continued the conversation while hitting me.  If I didn’t answer or answered with the wrong tone or the wrong answer altogether this could go on for some time.  It’s all a big mind game for him.  He plainly explained how he was the “king of the castle” and he could do what he wanted to anyone in it.

The sexual abuse started when I was 10 years old and he had established his “king” role long before.  When he called me to his room, regardless of who else was home, I went.  He was not conversational but rather instructional.  I was blindfolded with my hands tied behind my back for quite awhile. (over time and individual occurrences)  He said that he didn’t want me to know too much too soon, or something like that.  He also explained that he wouldn’t put “his thing in my thing” as he wanted me to be pure for marriage. (a-very grown way of speaking and b- pure? seriously? asshole)  So, now that my purity is in tact everything else was fair game.  It was a horribly unpredictable situation as I never knew when he was going to call me or come into my room.  Episodes could be a few minutes to a couple of hours.  Often, the rest of the family would be home but in different areas of the house.  As I reflect now, I’m not sure why/how no one came to check on me.  (Never underestimate the power of denial)  My dad would say his legs were sore and he wanted me upstairs to rub them. That was as clever as he got. seriously.  As it turned out, he didn’t have to be any more clever than that.

As time went on and I got older, I was able to really tune out what happened during these times.  There are lots of things I don’t remember and many I do.  All I know was that in time I was pretty emotionally numb.  I had a hard time being happy for any reason as being emotionally invested in anything never paid off.  So, not being happy I could deal with. I could pretend to be and that was good enough for everyone both in and out of the house.  Being this shut down also allowed me to simply live through so much without dealing with fear, anger, sadness, etc.  Those emotions also had no place for me as they didn’t make anything easier to deal with.  So now I’m this pretty teenager, getting good grades, going to church and church activities, fulfilling my household duties as older sibling and maid and my dad’s sex project. Tuning things out emotionally allowed me to keep that poker face straight and keep the physical abuse to a minimum.  I was also able to be a sort of spectator in my own life and interestingly enough by the time I was 14 or so I saw something new in my dad. Fear. I couldn’t believe it at first but my first glimpse of that fear gave me so much hope. That too was new.

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August 26, 2010

Finding hope through seeing another person’s fear is a strange feeling.  However, it was a joy in me that I couldn’t let go of or share with others. But, the conclusion I came to is that I would have a way out and I would do it sooner than later.  I had to wait for the circumstances to be right for all of our safety but I would wait with an open heart.

I continued to do well in school and maintained a few friendships that would become the foundation for helping me get out of my house.  There were 2 friends that knew everything. One was a girlfriend who is a jewel in my heart for all the love, support and fierce loyalty she showed me over the years.  I know it was hard for her to endure the waiting as she knew what I went home to each night.  The other friend would become my boyfriend and later we would marry.  Of course, he was supportive, loving and also very determined to ensure all the people needed to get my family safe were in place.  He had police officer friends and knew how to communicate the urgency of the situation to them so that my dad didn’t slip through the legal cracks after I finally did anything official.

So, to get the ducks in a row things went a little (or a lot) like this:

1st- Through the discreet assistance from my wonderful guidance counselor, I was able to meet a police officer in my counselor’s office to make a formal statement.  This way no one questioned why I was out of class. I was in a guidance appointment, silly!  That statement was taken to the appropriate people and I was advised that there would be officers coming to the house that evening as that’s where my dad was expected to be.

2nd- Make plans to be at my friend’s place directly after school that day as being home would be very horrible when the police knocked on the door.  I also let my sister know I wouldn’t be going home from school as usual. She was babysitting elsewhere so we would both be out of the house.  She was very distressed as she didn’t know why I would purposely piss off my dad. patience please, I love you.

3rd- My boyfriend would be very nearby to ensure that the officers wouldn’t do anything short of take my dad away in cuffs due to his violent temperament and criminal history.  We also had to ensure that the police officers advised the Crown Attorneys that bail would be denied in the interest of the safety of the family.

4th- Explain things as best I can to my mother but move out immediately. The environment is too toxic and painful to stay after my father is removed.  I’m only 16 but I’m sure that leaving is the path I have to take.

As it turned out my dad totally lost his shit when he realized I didn’t come home on time.  He, of course, could only ask my mother where I was and I knew she didn’t know. I put her in the most difficult spot that night as I knew she would be helpless. The only consolation I could give myself to allow me to endure this was that it would be the LAST time.  I felt awful and could only hope that the police would arrive sooner than later as she was in danger for as long as my dad was in that house.  Thankfully (terribly/horribly), the neighbours heard the commotion and called the police related to what sounded like a disturbance next door. This brought the police with lights and multiple cars.  My boyfriend had a scanner and was able to pretty much meet them there and give them a head’s up on the situation and the person inside.

He was removed from the home that night, he didn’t get bail and I was able to move out to the shock and upset of my family.  I left my family that night very  confused and angry and I was very sad that I couldn’t make things clear all at once.  I did return the next day and sit and talk a little more.  I was unable to verbalize completely what the charges were against my dad so the police detective that was with me did it for me.  Sexual assault. There, it’s out. Disbelief and shock all around.  My mother’s words? “where was I?”  Not what I wanted to hear and that crushed me. I’m not sure if there are right words but in the end that wasn’t the question I needed asked.

I lived at my girlfriend’s house for a short time until I could find my own apartment.  It was small and cheap and my safe place to live.  It was a start. I still had to finish highschool and now I had to work out rent and bus fare. The first of my many blessings. I mean that. I enjoyed finding solutions to these sorts of problems. None of them were life threatening.  I could feel safe in my own home. That was such a wonderful first.

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September 7, 2010

So, I’m now living on my own, my family is still sorting things out and the only thing I really worry about is my dad slipping through the legal cracks and somehow getting bail.  Because I was a minor at the time, the police did advise me of all his court dates. Fortunately, I didn’t have to testify on the stand as a detailed statement was read to the court instead.  I did go to a couple of the court dates just to see the process and to hear with my own ears that  bail was denied.  My dad actually tried to give me a little wave at one of the court dates. Seriously! I ignored him but was shocked that he would try that knowing that it was me who charged him.  Maybe he thought I was feeling bad or changing my mind about the charges. I’m not sure but to wave at me was a really weird gesture.

Anyway,  at this point I have 2 more years of high school to finish and it has become common knowledge to my teachers why I was living on my own and still going to school.  I must admit, I was not academically inclined for a good while. There was no one to get me out the door to school and I was enjoying the option of choosing what I didn’t do or didn’t do each day. My social circles stayed generally the same and there was very little talk (at least to my face) about what was in the papers, etc.  My attendance record was horrible but my grades stayed decent enough to get me into University.  The latitude that my teachers gave me did not go unnoticed.

I did have to work and budget every penny. I had rent to pay while my friends were going out to the movies and shopping. Sometimes I felt a bit bummed about that but mostly I was angry and arrogant, if I let it get to me.  My internal dialogue was something like, “what a bunch of spoiled brats”, “look at them wasting money while I wonder if I’ll have enough food to eat after I buy my bus pass”, you know, crap like that. It was arrogance and self  pity rolled into one when I was really in a bad mood.  Truly, it wasn’t that bad most of the time as I did have my close friends and my safe, little apartment that was really mine.  At this point my life isn’t so dramatic as there are lots of teenagers working and dealing with various issues on all kinds of extremes.  I was feeling safe and having what fun I could on a limited budget and keeping my grades up.  I had a lot to look forward to personally.

While school was turning out ok, I was still waiting to hear what would happen with my dad. He was in one jail and then transferred to another over 1year later. It was further from where I lived but, as time went on, the communication from the police became less and less. My dad wasn’t local anymore and so the local police probably weren’t in the loop.  It was over 2years after I arrested him that he was finally deported.  He actually never applied for citizenship after he immigrated here so that was a real bonus for us all.  I heard from my mother (she got the call) that he was escorted by federal agents to his flight and was flown directly to his country of origin.  We were all so relieved and could finally stop looking over our backs.  My father’s family never did forgive me for “turning on family” even though they knew what my father had done to me.  That was very disappointing but I definitely got over it.  I think I was more disappointed in them for not feeling any need at all to defend their young family member from a man they all knew was a monster.

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Dad’s gone, I’ve got bills to pay and University to prepare for.  Enjoying the peace of mind that comes with knowing that the threat you grew up with is now gone, I tried to simply get on with my life.  Very few people knew my story and now that it was “over”, why did I have to dwell on it?  I was busy and determined so let’s start there.

I really created a new agenda for myself. I was trying to be normal but had no compass to gauge that properly. I was fiercely independent.  I took all the credit for my family being safe and that led to its own problems.  I was angry. Why did it have to fall on my shoulders to fix something adults should have done?  The resentment towards my mother was huge and I lashed out with cutting words as the moments presented themselves.  She never brought up what happened to me.  She never asked if I was alright. The only question she asked was on the day the police told her what I was charging dad with was,”where was I?”  Apparently, that was a rhetorical question as she never did press for an answer, ever.  So mom assumes the role of , this is my castle and hear me roar. Well, good for her. She did nothing to get herself out of her abusive situation, never talked to the person who did and now she has it all figured out. Oh, yes, respect.  I never did confront her back then or to the present as the blank face of denial is all to familiar and I’m so tired of being disappointed with vague, evasive answers to everything.

What is a girl to do with all this calm and safety? Well, my boyfriend was an easy place to spend my energy. He was smart, hard working, fiercely loyal to me and a Class-A shit disturber. (he loved this about himself)  I thought his antics were hilarious.  He was also a medical disaster as it turned out, so as time went on I was spending loads of energy and time  looking after him. I put my life on hold in this role of devoted girlfriend/wife/caregiver.  Clearly, my compass to find “normal”, was not a compass at all but another way to lose myself.  oops.

I continued to my studies, maintained 1 or 2 jobs at a time depending on the time of year and continued to be a fortress of emotional inaccessibility.  Sure, I could be social, friendly, funny and all but I knew full well, no one KNEW me. (except the precious few previously mentioned)  That seemed to serve me quite well for many years.  I finished university and by 1996 I found myself working at what I thought was the coolest job I’d be seeing in a long time. I got hired at a casino.  I loved the entire facade of it all.  All those bright lights, money, great food and fancy dressed people pretending to be in a James Bond movie was very exciting. Working long hours, with lots of stress and a variety of personalities (mostly women) led to a very volatile me.  My anger and resentment that had been building up for so many years presented itself in my agitated demeanor and various outbursts toward my colleagues. They tried to be sympathetic and patient due to my now husband’s declined health, but I was becoming unprofessional and a big handful.  In short , I became very unstable.

Next step…. breakdown.  It had to happen sooner or later.

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September 26, 2010

I finally fall to pieces. It’s been a lifetime of chaos management and portraying a life I never really had. I’m a young woman with a husband, a great job and a lot of opportunity to cut out my own future. I’m also exhausted and numb emotionally. I’ve had to have my happy face on so long through all the stress and responsibility, I think my heart just broke.  I couldn’t focus, sleep or keep things in perspective.  I was over reacting for some very small things and completely ignoring some major issues going on in my life.  I became very unpredictable and not much fun to be around.  So, what does it take for me to finally see the writing on the wall?  The wall has to fall over and flatten me.

My husband had a very complicated, chronic condition that required a lot of care at home when he wasn’t actually in the hospital for weeks at a time.  I was working straight midnight shifts and spending what time I could helping to care for him.  It was very stressful and in my mind, I felt that this was my role in life. Some sort of sacrificial martyr that looks after other people.  I felt needed and responsible and very alone.  I was also trying to do well at work and that meant not going on and on about my personal problems at the office. Everyone has their list of things to deal with so, I didn’t want to burden my co-workers with my drama. Instead of talking about, I just turned into a burned out bitch incapable of dealing with day to day tasks.  I also, for the first time, found myself crying a lot. I would melt down anytime, anywhere. I was not able to process the most basic of decisions without feeling overwhelmed and scared that I was losing my mind. Sheer panic would wash over me as I tried to decide what cereal to buy.  I needed help.

I got up one morning, got dressed and went to work after lunch.  I work midnights.  I didn’t know exactly what I was doing but, work was a refuge for me and on this day, my day off, that’s where I was headed.  I get to manager’s office. She’s not expecting me as I didn’t intentionally end up here. I’m floating through this process and hoping someone will point me in the right direction.  I explain to my manager how I’m no longer able to cope with my stress level and am worried for my health. (I’ve never asked for help before so I didn’t know how.)  I told her that I no longer felt that I could work and no longer able to contribute to my job effectively.  This is when I would learn about the extent that everyone knew I was a mess but me. Apparently, many people in my office had been worried about me for a while including my boss.  I was handed a pamphlet with some information about the EAP program and told that I should call the number provided and stay away from work until I got the help I needed.  I was so relieved.  I thought I was quitting my job. I had no idea I could go on stress leave and get therapy and actually have someone on my side to help me sort out whatever it was I was going through.  I of course, cried my little heart out right in my manager’s office as these options were explained to me.  The compassion and support my manager gave me was so sweet and unexpected. Not that she wasn’t usually capable of these things, I just never looked for them in her.  I was living with the delusion that I had really kept my personal problems out of my workplace.  That wall fell on me hard and heavy. It was some time before I figured out how to come out from under it.   I left work that day relieved and without a work schedule for the first time in about 6 years.  My responsibility to myself, on that day, was to call the number on that pamphlet.  I did.

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October 27, 201

For the first time I will deviate from the order of things. I don’t feel like talking about my therapy sessions. Really, they went on for years and there were many milestones. When my head works out a way for me to articulate the process and progress, I will come back to it.

As my story goes there were many more huge hurdles to get over before I figured out how to love myself and set boundaries that are healthy and balanced.  In this time of my life, about 13 years after my first therapy session, I am looking forward.

How do I create an impact for those that need help the most? How do I help those that can help to actually follow through and do it? I am still searching for these answers. I’m looking into foundations, support groups, hotlines,etc.  I’m hoping my blog can be a positive place to come and read and feel safe knowing that there are others that can and will support you.  I expect that this will take time. In the meantime I am learning how to reach out to people through all this available technology. I’m making a point of learning it so that I can achieve my goal of helping others. It’s very intimidating for me. It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed by the onslaught of “options” that turn out to be lures to get you to buy very expensive products or services.  I’m sifting through the crap and looking for help from those that are willing to offer it.  I am in Canada and finding the services and information that will help abused children is fleeting and obscure. I’m more than a little worried that there are people looking for help and simply can’t find it. Shame.

My posts to this page have been more spread out than I would like as I am distracted with this search for current options for children who need help today.  I will delve into my therapy at some point as it was integral to my healing and ability to move forward with an open heart into my life.  The process of learning to “feel” again was very painful. (is that punny?)  🙂  It took a long time and I am forever grateful for the help and direction that I was given.

Moving forward and staying focussed is my goal right now. I can’t thank all of those that have expressed support for me enough. I can only demonstrate my gratitude through my day to day actions. Namaste.

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December 19, 2010

My therapy and healing process will largely be on my page, Various Healing Steps. As important as it was for me to be able to share what happened to me, it’s the therapy and support system that I had that helped me find a healthy perspective about myself. Thank you for sharing in this journey with me. I hope to be able to help others by demonstrating strength and love instead of despair and self-loathing. Finding a positive, balanced image of ourselves regardless of our stories is how we all survive to make this planet better.