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My friend posted something on her facebook page the other day, about the Oprah show that she just watched. My friend mentioned how her heart breaks for “these women.” Since I only have preschool shows on during the day, I went to Oprah’s site and got the scoop. The topic for this particular show was on women who had been sexually abused at the hand of family members.

Growing up in with a strict, religious-focused mentality, really screwed me up. As a child and teenager, there were many things that were taboo topics in my family. The thinking was, if negative things were discussed, they’d be at the forefront of our minds and it would make us want to do those things. If we were talking about negative feelings, then we weren’t focusing on God or allowing Him to heal us. Total BS brainwashing. Especially when I had questions about sex, drugs and drinking as a pre-teen and then not knowing what to do or who to talk to after being molested by two family members and raped as a teenager. I’ve gone through HELL in my life because I’ve felt too afraid to speak up, too alone for anyone to care. Years of pain and trauma may have been avoided if I had been given the tools to deal with being molested when I was eight. Maybe I wouldn’t have turned to drugs, alcohol, stealing, running away, etc… maybe I wouldn’t have been molested, for years, by another family member. Maybe I wouldn’t have been raped.

Reading the summary of the Oprah show, the other day, reminded me that there is still SO much change that needs to happen in regard to sexual abuse survivors. In a way, I feel I’m now open to speaking about it so that must mean that everyone else is as well. I couldn’t believe the feedback I read while browsing through this particular site, as well as other sites. There are still so many women and men that are silent because they feel alone and afraid.

To me, it means that the voices of us survivors aren’t loud enough.

I want to be a loud advocate for victims/survivors but given the lack of confidence I have in myself and feeling like the help I have to offer has already been fulfilled by someone else and my story has already been told, it’s no wonder I’ve been dormant on this topic.

The reminder that there are still people too afraid to speak up or feeling like they are alone in their pain/abuse helps propel me, recharge me, to speak louder.

Why is sexual abuse such a taboo topic?!?

I’m sick of the muzzle, especially when it’s placed on by religion.

This year, I’ve finally found help: My amazing church and the genuine love for hurting, broken and weak people. My help has also come from finally tearing down the pride that had been fused to my DNA and talking to a counselor who showed me the depth of my PTSD and a variety of healing processes. So far, I’ve come across one book, Wounded Heart, that has been the most amazing help of all in getting me over my silenced shame and in understanding I’m not alone.

• 1 in 6 women and 1 in 33 men will be a victim of sexual assault in their lifetime.
• College age women are 4 times more likely to be sexually assaulted.

It’s more than likely that if you aren’t a victim/survivor yourself, then you know of someone that has been sexually abused.

Our silence is deafening.

I have had severe writer’s block, for weeks, with this idea/post. I’m tired of it swimming around in my head. So, although it might be incomplete or disjointed, I’m publishing it now.

I had an epiphany last night. Oooo, I love those. I realized that if I would stop having expectations with other people, then they wouldn’t let me down. If I stopped expecting things from people or for them to act a certain way, then I wouldn’t be disappointed in them.

I realized that that must be what defines unconditional love. Then I realized that that is how I needed to start viewing myself. I judge myself quite severely.

For most of my life I’ve felt defined as a singer. Not as a person who loved to sing but as, just a singer. If I messed up in singing a song, I failed in who I was. It was a horrible place to put myself. If I wasn’t singing, I wasn’t fulfilling who I was meant to be. If I wasn’t at the top of my list of accomplishing “all things I want to do and places I want to go” with singing, then I wasn’t complete.

I feel closest to God when I’m singing on stage at church and most complete when I’m singing, anywhere. However, I was getting to the point, before and after singing, of being unnerved with how I did because it wasn’t the best.

Being ONLY a singer was killing the value that I should have placed within myself. Having unrealistic expectations was killing the unconditional love that I should have had for those around me.

Once I realized that my problem resided in the expectations I had on myself and others, I quickly learned how to dissolve the issue.

In this seemingly simple act of change, I’ve lifted another incredible burden off of my shoulders. The difference I feel, in singing (whether it’s at home for an hour or at church), is tremendous. I’m not held captive to the feeling of being a failure if I make a mistake because I’m not just a singer. I’m a person that loves to sing. I’m a wife, a mom, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a mentor… that just loves to sing. This change has also lifted a burden off of people around me, whether they knew they were carrying this burden or not. If my family and friends failed in my expectations for them, then they were failing me. Now that I’ve dissolved those expectations, I feel I’m now free to love unconditionally.

No expectations = Unconditional love.

My counselor wasn’t available yesterday so we moved my appointment to today. Last night, I felt like canceling. I panicked and once again, felt that the money being spent on counseling might possibly be a waste and the freedom from the pain of my past and bad flashbacks might never happen. I couldn’t cancel at 11pm last night so I decided to give it another shot.

The session today was the most significant meeting I’ve ever had with any counselor. Ever.

She began talking about wanting to try a new exercise with me, “Breathing, Integrating and Grounding.” She mentioned that those suffering from PTSD usually have detachment issues. Detachment is a defense mechanism to protect the victim from further abuse. What she described was nothing short of a waterfall of enlightenment.

Just the fact that she brought this term (detachment) up, clued me into so much of who I am. I have a problem with being apathetic toward people, my children included. Jase and I have often said that I would be a horrible counselor because my advice would be to “get over it.” I have a hard time keeping close friends because I have a hard time letting others in below the surface and/or I don’t feel like keeping friends and wearing their pain. However, more often than not, I severely ache for hurting people. In one respect, I deal too objectively with people and in the other, I’m too empathetic. Both seem to be on overdrive. I have no gauge in figuring out when I’m opening myself up too much or not enough. As I type this all out now, I wonder if my empathy turns on when I feel safe and the detachment/defense mechanism turns on when I feel threatened. I can’t even describe the elation I feel with finally thinking we’ve hit the nail on the head with the core negative issue that drives me. This detachment issue is what allows me to not be dragged down by people and the problems they need to share with me. However, it’s also the issue that prevents me from letting Jase (and others) close to me at times. This detachment is what closes me off from some people and situations. If I feel threatened, I shut down. My brain goes somewhere safe, while my body “takes” on whatever I feel is a threat. It’s the reason why I shut off from society and hole myself up in my house. Obviously, in most cases, becoming detached has hurt me and has hurt relationships I’ve been in. However, in cases where friends and family or teenagers I’m mentoring or have mentored have vented/complained/freaked out OR when a family member/friend/acquaintance has hugged me, or touched any part of my body and I felt threatened, this mental state has served me well. Better to detach rather than punch them out.

The detachment really comes on strong when I have flashbacks. The flashbacks are triggered by different things, either when I’m alone and there’s no understandable reason to have them or when Jase and I are intimate, whether it’s sexual or not. During the session today, I realized that when I start having flashbacks while around Jase, I shut down.  Now that I have a word for it, I know that I detach from Jase but it’s not complete. I start feeling like a victim and my brain tries to escape and detach while a physical connection is made but I fight back on that further because I feel like I’m being taken advantage of and being used. Since Jase and I have been together, almost 12 years, I’ve reacted the same way when I have flashbacks or feel threatened. I’m quiet. As was every single time I was violated while growing up, I recreate the same atmosphere. It’s quiet, dark and I shut down. My counselor gave me the most beautiful homework ever. When these flashbacks happen with Jase, I have to communicate with him. I know it sounds like common sense but it hasn’t been. I completely recreate my violation atmosphere and then am despondent. So, I have to tell him that I’m having a flashback and then have him tell me: “Open your eyes and mirror my hand in yours” then while being gentle AND strong (so important for both to coexist) he needs to bring me back to reality by asking, “What’s your name? What’s the date today?” Then tell me, “You’re safe.” I couldn’t stop crying when my counselor told me this because, instantly, I knew it would be the most beneficial advice I’ve ever had when dealing with my PTSD. For the first time since being violated I will start creating a new pattern when in despair or in fear.

I recognize when my detachment is well-used but I also now know when I’m using it incorrectly. Now that the problem is visualized, the correction can be made.

A few years ago I saw an amazing dress at a thrift store and immediately knew I needed to buy it and wear it in a photo shoot. Jase takes great pictures of nature but I’m usually the one, behind the camera, in pajama pants and t-shirts, taking pictures of people. I knew we’d have a great time doing something like this and he jumped at the chance to share in this experience with me.

I’ve been scouting locations and ideas for this photo, ever since I bought the fifteen dollar dress. I thought an old rundown mine, barn or old factory would be a great location but I changed my mind once I realized those things would take the focus off of the image I had in my head. So… yesterday, after talking it out with Jase, I decided that nature would be the best location. I needed to narrow the list down to what type of nature shot: field, marsh, mountain landscape or forest? Looking at pictures online, I realized that “forest” seemed like the best fit. Now, all we had to do was find the perfect spot. I thought we’d have take a two-three hour drive into the mountains but after cross-referencing Colorado landscape images online with Google Map street views, I realized we had some prime location spots about thirty-forty minutes from us, in Boulder.

Since Malakai and Zoe were at a slumber party and we wouldn’t see them until noon at church the next day, Jase and I decided that we should do the photo shoot in the morning before church. We thought it would be fun to wake up before sunrise but we slept in and getting ready took longer than anticipated. We left the house at eight o’clock and headed into Boulder Canyon.

I didn’t know if my hair should be straight or wavy, up or down but Jase helped in that decision. Although I knew I wanted my eye makeup to be extremely dark and dramatic, I had a hard time figuring out exactly what it should look like. I was online last night for about an hour, just checking out eye makeup images. I started the application process on myself once we were on the road this morning but it ended up looking like Amy Winehouse did it. So Jase, being the artist he is, completed my eyes for me.

Jase and I talked about what we’d need to bring on location for a picture preview, without interrupting the camera, because I’ve had a “vision” of what I wanted it to look like for about three years. Last year, we had his camera hooked up to one of our mini televisions when Jase took pictures in our garage for a headshot I needed. However, lugging around a television while hiking to a forest location did not sound enjoyable to me or Jase. So, Jase decided to bring his laptop for viewing shots and/or dumping his card.

We drove around the Boulder Canyon area for about an hour, stopped off at three or four different areas and made about five different u-turns before finding a great spot with great vehicle access, secluded, away from the public, with a clearing, near the river and with an availability to cross the quick-moving river without getting swept away or completely submerged and while carrying a stool, tripod, laptop, camera, diaper bag, my dress, the under garments, Cali and her stroller. Since Jase only had one pair of shoes, he initially crossed the river and scoped out the location while barefoot. The moss-covered rocks quickly taught him that we’d both have to sacrifice and have soaked shoes if we were going to get this shot. So, Jase went to church barefoot and wearing heavy, wet jeans. The sun was shining once we arrived but the clouds rolled in for perfect lighting and rolled away once we were done.

Jase took over four hundred pictures this morning and we spent over an hour in our exotic location. Cali sat, perfect, in her stroller, the entire time. This experience was so amazing for me and Jase and both of us feel so much more in love after planning and accomplishing this together.

Here’s Mr. Genius (a.k.a. Jase), dumping his card, and Ms. Perfect (a.k.a. Cali), keeping herself occupied with her baby:

I’m sure Jase will work on some of the pics and make them look awesome, but here are a couple unedited versions, click them to enlarge:

And here are several unedited versions without links to enlarge:

I first heard about Invisible Children (IC) in 2004. I was living in Alabama at the time and since this was a hometown, San Diego, organization, I thought that I could only help from afar, by word-of-mouth.

Living in Colorado, I first got involved with Invisible Children in April 2006. The event was called Global Night Communte (GNC). I had been wanting, so desperately, to actually do something that I jumped at the chance to spend the night, in some strange downtown Denver park, with only my six year old son, Malakai, and our sleeping bags. I don’t feel I’m making a legitimate change in this world unless I can bring my family, my own children, with me in the plight. My children have such an amazing road of change before them. They learn best when actually experiencing change.

Me and Malakai: IC's GNC, April 2006. (Denver, Colorado)

IC's GNC, April 2006. (Denver, Colorado)

The second time I joined in an event with Invisible Children, it was for DisplaceMe in April 2007. This journey was a little more interesting, given the fact that I was now almost eight months pregnant with Cali and we would basically be hiking about a mile to our final location, while trying to balance water bottles and crackers, cardboard box “homes”, sleeping bags and my humongo belly. The numerous middle-of-the-night trips to the bathroom to pee, a quarter of a mile away from our “home”, through a field of potholes, in the dark, was very humbling. This time my nephew, Clay, came along with me and Malakai.

Clay, Malakai and me (with Cali protruding from my belly): IC's DisplaceMe, April 2007. (Parker, Colorado)

Just a small portion of those that attended our displaced camp. IC's DisplaceMe, April 2007. (Parker, Colorado)

Our rationed water, handed out when organizers saw fit. IC's DisplaceMe, April 2007. (Parker, Colorado)

Our rationed "dinner", handed out when the organizers saw fit. IC's DisplaceMe, April 2007. (Parker, Colorado)

Our shelter for the night. IC's DisplaceMe, April 2007. (Parker, Colorado)

Invisible Children is doing again. On April 25, 2009, thousands of people in 9 countries and 100 cities take part in abducting themselves and calling attention to over 300 children abducted to fight in a murderous rebellion army.

If you have a heart to change the world. I highly suggest you start by watching this video**. Jase and I don’t have money to help out every organization we attach our heart to.

However, we DO have time.

We have a voice.

We have limbs/a country/vehicles/freedom to actually take action with.

We have our own children and other youth, that look up to us to lead by example.

We have our own children, and other impressionable youth, that won’t ever have to fear being abducted by gun-toting rebels who pierce into camps and rape, pillage and kill in the middle of the night, or day.

I dare you to watch this video**. I dare you to take action. I dare you to spread the word as far as you can.

Let’s teach our children, the next generation of leaders, about those that have become Invisible. Let’s help those who have no voice/no country/no freedom of their own.

Put your apathy on the back burner.

**Disclaimer: The video is amazing and life-changing in and of itself, but it’s full of graphic imagery/audio/photos surrounding the effects of war. In regard to younger viewers, do with that as you will.

Beating Heart

Hopeful Future

I don’t get offended easily. I am diligent in living life as a survivor and not as a victim. I make sure that the remarks and actions of others don’t cause me to pause my life in confusion and doubt.

Well, I let someone’s remark hurt me and it still kind of hurts. Hopefully writing this out will help.

The other night I was standing with some people while they held a conversation. My ears perked up as an invitation was extended to one of them to come to the Sunday night service at church. (The Sunday night service is mostly geared toward people of college age but high-schoolers attend and I’ve been contemplating going, even though I’m out of the age range, to have an opportunity to spend some time with my group of freshman girls.) The person on the receiving end of the invitation stated that they go to one of the Sunday morning services and (here’s the dagger) said, “With all the parents.” Now if this conversation would have taken place in writing, I would not have had a second thought. However, I “heard” the eye roll. I “heard” the scoff in the tone of this person’s voice. I wanted to blurt out, “Hey, I’m one of those.” and hopefully cause this person to step back and begin to analyze how they speak about others. But I didn’t. I walked away and decided to spend the rest of the night where I “belonged”, at home, with my children (who were all long gone in dreamland).

This person’s comment really is two-fold for me. Although it doesn’t make me apologetic at all to be a parent, it does make me wonder if I really am in a class that single and childless people feel they can’t relate to, which makes me wonder if the high-schoolers I mentor feel the same way. Maybe this is the reason I don’t see any other youth leaders with young kids. This comment also makes me think about demographic segregation and how sad it is that segregation is still happening and that I am viewed as *that* person because I have kids and I am married.

This person’s comment made me feel devalued in their eyes and that is sad to me and it has left me with a sting.

I just wrote out that title and had a flood of Pink Floyd songs rush through my head. It’s not that Wall.

I’m talking about the wall around my heart.

My dad was a contractor so I have confidence in knowing that I’ve done a pretty good job of building this wall. Years of painful labor. I’ve had it knocked down a few times and have had to rebuild it taller and stronger, but it’s still here. Sometimes I go on building, consciously/meticulously aware of my actions and other times I’m on autopilot, unaware that my actions are shutting people out.

I’ve never had close friends (Jase doesn’t count, he isn’t female). I’ve moved around too much and have been hurt too much. Sometimes life is easier to stay alone than to give effort into another human being. Then there’s no one to let me down, no one to use me, no one to hurt me.

In junior high, I already had the short end of the stick by living in an area that had very few white people. It was a few miles north of the border of Mexico, in San Diego, and was predominantly Hispanic, Filipino and African-American. Given that fact and the fact that I had a severe lack of social skills based on an abuse I fell victim to when I was eight, I had a pretty worthless concoction of junior high desirability. As an adult, I have had dreams of me at my junior high, full of anxiety for running late to class and missing days of school. Every dream has me freaked out, alone and scared. Which pretty much sums up my mentality throughout junior high. Sure, I had some friends and we have fun memories but it turns out they only really liked me to get to my older brother (several of them dated him). As a teenager, I read a note to him from an ex-boyfriend’s sister and it said that this ex of mine had only dated me because she was dating my brother. That was a pretty bad “baptism by fire” of how I felt the world thought of me. In the beginning of junior high, I was timid and learned how to take the verbal blows and threats thrown my way and was extremely naive. But soon, I learned about the lies and deceit, I learned how to make people laugh and learned to rebel and do things that made people want to be around me. I learned to be a puppet-master, only the strings I was holding were also manipulated by the marionettes themselves.

I started all over with friends again by attending a new high school in another district. Due to it being new, they were allowing kids in from all over the county and were starting with grades ten and nine.  My class would be the first graduating class so this was very new but very exciting. Bringing my bad habits from junior high, I got worse in high school. Strangely enough, I excelled in my Color Guard and Choir (even picking up the lead solo part in our big musical) while plummeting in my social interaction. I started minor then major drugs. Stealing a large amount of cash and items and then running away for the weekend got me kicked out of this amazing school.

Back to square one.

Back in my old neighborhood with no friends again, my junior year in high school was even worse as I was now in a school with no choir department (singing became the sole reason I started loving school). I declined further and this time, a day of ditching turned into ten days of living on the streets. When I came home from that nightmare, I was checked into an in-patient rehab facility. After my older brother was jumped several times and involved in gang activity over the years and a friend of ours was stabbed to death while I was on the streets, my parents finally came to grips with the environment we were growing up in needing to change. When I got out of rehab, I was reacclimated to another high school for the remaining portion of my junior year. This was the hardest change of all because the ghetto lifestyle I had always known had suddenly been replaced by hippies, stoners and hicks. I didn’t know how to cope and felt like I was starting junior high all over again, so the library became my hangout. Then I started back up with my bad habits, fell into a bad crowd of manipulating and being manipulated. I was accepted again into the culture of “friendship”. This began two hardcore years of abusing my body and being taken advantage of.

When I changed my life to follow God, just before turning nineteen, I joined a small group of girls in a bible study and thought life was now perfect. I finally loosened up around one girl and completely shared my embarrassing past with her. She “rewarded” my vulnerability by lying to me for two straight months.

By this time, I had no concept of what a true friend consisted of. I was nineteen years old, soon coming into a marriage and I only had comprehension of what friendship was by the lack of and failed relationships in my life. Once I got married, at twenty-one, the tables turned again and the friends in my life seemed to disappear. I guess Jase somehow consumed that friend role for me. I didn’t want to spend time with “the girls” (not really knowing what I was missing anyway) when I had the man of my dreams vying for my attention.

We moved to Alabama when I was twenty-six. Which showed me, more so than ever before, how much of an outcast I was. I was trying to join in a circle of friends that had begun decades, if not generations, before. My hip-hop, stoner, hippie vibe was just not something the people in Alabama could grasp. It was very difficult to start relationships out there and as soon as the seed of friendship started to FINALLY bloom, we picked up and moved to Colorado.

I feel like I planted my feet pretty quick and deep as soon as we arrived to Colorado Springs. For a year and a half, I opened up and nurtured friendships that ended up withering and wilting as soon as Jase, the kids and I left for Denver.

I’m ready to plant my feet again. I know we love Colorado and Denver and the church we go to. I know I’ve found a safe place, with safe people.

For the first time in my life, I feel Gorbachev gearing up to ‘tear down this wall’ and I can finally be free to let friends in.

What a day.

After a full day of singing at church and then going to a Christmas Party, it’s 4am and I just got home. Call it Mother Bear syndrome, call me a good friend, call me a meddler, I don’t care, I felt in protection mode tonight with a married male friend. A Jezebel-like woman has been eyeing him for a long time and I wasn’t down with her hanging around making googly-eyes at him until 330am, while his wife was at a friend’s house caring for two little girls while their mom was in the ER. I don’t know what makes me think I really solved anything tonight. She sees him more often than I do and if something is going to happen, then I can’t do anything about it. It just pisses me off to feel like I’m watching the making of an adulterous relationship that could sever the bond between my two friends. In a way, I feel like if the tables were turned, then I’d want a friend of mine to do the same for my husband and our marriage. There are too many skanks just ready to jump on men that have made a commitment to another woman and if I can prevent that from happening, especially to a friend, even if for ONE night. I will.

Maybe my day of singing tomorrow won’t be affected by all of this when I wake up in 3 hours…