Saturday, November 3, 2012

Dating: "My Secret, Painful Past"


Dating: "My Secret, Painful Past"
An article given to me from one of my group friends.

By Stella Scott
When it comes to dating after exiting an abusive relationship, you eventually have to dish—or ditch. Here's how one woman made the call.
I didn't want to tell him. Ever. But it came up. One night in bed, he slipped a hand over my shoulder and felt where the bones had healed unevenly. I froze, then shifted positions, and tried to distract him with my feminine wiles. But I wasn't as wily as I'd thought. A few days later he came home as I was washing dishes in the sink. He kissed the back of my neck and massaged my shoulders—both of them.  
"Did you break this?" he asked, as his hand rested on the ugly shard that was part of me. 

The sink dissolved into iridescent flashes as my stomach dipped into my intestines. I took a deep breath, still looking forward. "It was broken, but I didn't break it," I told him. "Someone else broke my shoulder." 

To hell and back
Nearly a year before, I had been at the bitter end of an eight-year abusive relationship. The first few years had been fine, but as my ex had gone through a personal crisis, he had returned to some former bad habits — drinking, drugs — and developed some new ones, like beating the holy hell out of me. I'd tried to stick it out by going to Al-Anon, couples counseling, and partners-of-depressed-spouses web sites. But when his rage sent me to the emergency room, I'd packed my bags and headed across the country, too afraid to press charges, too hurried to take any of my belongings. 

Since resettling, I'd hooked up with a great therapist and gotten oodles of support from an online bulletin board populated by survivors like me. But when I started dating R, I wondered what to do. Should I tell him what I'd been through? The advice from the board was mixed. Some said never to tell—they'd had the information used against them, or it "scared him off." But others had moved on to healthy, happy relationships. I wanted to be in the latter group. 

"You should tell, as a general rule, as soon as you start developing feelings for that person," says Steven Stosny, Ph.D., author of You Don't Have to Take It Anymore: How to Turn a Resentful, Angry, or Emotionally Abusive Relationship into a Compassionate, Loving One(Free Press, '05). "It's an important thing about you that anyone deeply involved with you needs to know." 

Filling him in, says Stosny, was my chance to gather more information about him before I got in too deep. If the revelation scared him off, good riddance. If it evoked an angry, vengeful, knight-in-shining-armor response, that would be a red flag, too. "Anyone who responds with anger and aggression will eventually turn that anger and aggression on you," says Stosny. I needed to look for a compassionate response, the sign of a partner more concerned with my recovery than anything else. 
This was echoed in advice from two women I knew who had moved on to healthy relationships after long battles with abusive husbands. One of them, code-named Tallulah, said she even depended on her now-boyfriend as a sounding board. "He was with me through the divorce," she told me recently. "I knew he was non-judgmental and fair-minded." 

But it wasn't all up to Tallulah's boyfriend. "I had to put a stop to my codependent behavior," she says. That, says Stosny, is key. As long as women like Tallulah and me respect ourselves, we'll be attracted to people who respect us, too. If not, well, that same broken part of us may seek out a matching broken bit in someone else. 

"After you've been hurt, you put up subtle barriers for self-protection. Non-abusive people will recognize and support those barriers by backing off," notes Stosny. "But a person likely to mistreat you will either not recognize those barriers or completely disregard them." He'll come after you, possibly in a seemingly-awfully-romantic way. When Stosny said that, my brain lit up like a Christmas tree: My ex had powered through my boundaries in a romantic fury, unable to live without me—very "you complete me," from Jerry Maguire, mixed with "STELLA!" fromStreetcar Named Desire. My new guy wasn't like that. I felt swept away by feelings for him, sure, but not by a tidal wave of emotion or by his over-the-top antics. 

Leap of faith
In the end, it came down to this: I didn't want to be with someone who would think less of me because of what I'd been through. And I also didn't want to accidentally get triggered, freak out at my new boyfriend, and hurt his feelings. He had to know that I was still recovering, and, while I didn't need him to fix things, I might need him to understand. 

And we were at that point in the relationship. Not too early, but not yet committed. I felt like we had to get past this hurdle or we wouldn't go any further.

I explained it quietly, without looking at him, and finished by saying that it wasn't his job to rescue me from this or make up for the bad things I'd been through. As I told him, I also silently told myself these things. And in the end, he passed my "test" — not just in the moment, when he said "I thought it was something bad, I'm so glad you got out safely," and held me quietly without pressuring me for more information — but also down the road, when he handled a little post-traumatic freakout of mine with a long hug and some much-needed space. My revelation didn't become the central theme of our relationship either. It was just one more piece of the me-puzzle. And his reaction was a huge, necessary him-piece for me. With the air cleared, we could step a few paces forward and see how the next level looked for us. 

Thanks to some time alone, a good therapist, and some serious self-examination, I'd picked a good egg. And that was no small victory. My crooked little shoulder might not be ready for a tank top, but it sits a little taller, and might even be ready to feel the reassuring pressure of a friendly hand. 

Stella Scott is a pseudonym for obvious reasons. The woman behind the name writes forHappen and other magazines, online and off, and hums the Chumbawumba song "Tubthumpers" when she's feeling low.

Free Form Writing - Because of You.


She was dreaming, she knew she was, but it felt so real. He stood there before her smiling, not saying a word. Everything she hated and feared wrapped up in that smile.....

I will not make the same mistakes that you did...

For once she felt anger, a rage so pure and swift it filled her from head to toe. ....

I will not let myself...

For once instead of turning and fleeing, she stepped forward. ....

Cause my heart so much misery...

For once instead of shaking from fear, she shook with fury. ....

I will not break the way you did...

For once her voice was not vacant when she opened her mouth this time.....

You fell so hard...

Her soul poured out her mouth, lashing at him harder, and more painful than any whip.....

I've learned the hard way....

And for once he was the one that cowered away, not her.....

To never let it get that far...

He was her cousin.....

Because of you...

He’d crushed a part of her she would never get back.....

I never stray too far from the sidewalk....

He’d taken what wasn’t his.....

Because of you...

He’d stolen her heart and trampled it.....

I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt...

Laughing in her face at her pain.....

Because of you...

He’d made her unable to trust.....

I find it hard to trust not only me, but everyone around me...

To love.....

Because of you...

To feel.....

I am afraid...

How long had she wandered, lost I herself?....

I lose my way....

Me, myself and I, right?....

And it's not too long before you point it out....

She tried to cry, to find her way out, but he wouldn’t let her.....

I cannot cry....

He watched her, haunted her, encompassed her.....

Because I know that's weakness in your eyes....

So she smiled, even though she really didn’t mean it.....

I'm forced to fake....

For friends, for teachers, even for her parents.

A smile, a laugh everyday of my life...

Relationships? What a joke. How could she offer them something she didn’t even have herself?....

My heart can't possibly break...

She stumbled upon her heart once, it was a sad dead thing.....

When it wasn't even whole to start with...

She hated him.....

Because of you....

For once she could honestly say that and not be afraid to.....

I never stray too far from the sidewalk....

She wasn’t sure when things changed, but they had.....

Because of you....

She was still scared and unsure about a lot of things, but somewhere she found strength she didn’t know she had.....

I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt....

She could look back on the memories and face them openly, to understand, to heal where he had burned her.....

Because of you....

She was far from complete again, but she was on the right road.....

I find it hard to trust not only me, but everyone around me....

She hoped he was too.....

Because of you....

Though she doubted it.....

I am afraid...

She could see it in his eyes his own pain.....

I watched you die....

His own suffering demons inside of him. Trapped by abuse she couldn’t even imagine.....

I heard you cry every night in your sleep....

But that didn’t make it right for him to take it out on her.....

I was so young....

She didn’t understand either, she was just a kid.....

You should have known better than to lean on me....

How was she supposed to fix it?....

You never thought of anyone else....

She couldn’t stop it either. How was she supposed to help you?....

You just saw your pain....

Why did she have to suffer too?....

And now I cry in the middle of the night....

It’s a broken record, just repeating the same pain in a vicious circle.....

For the same damn thing

For once in her dream she wasn’t the only one crying.....

Because of you....

So was he.....

I never stray too far from the sidewalk....

For once she wasn’t the only one forced to openly display her pain.....

Because of you....

So was he.....

I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt....

For once she could say words she never thought she’d be able too.....

Because of you....

She could tell him about how she can’t just stop the memories.....

I try my hardest just to forget everything....

He cried.....

Because of you....

For once she could tell him how she guards her heart, unable to let anyone in.....

I don't know how to let anyone else in....

He cried.....

Because of you....

And for once she could tell him how empty he’d made her, and she hated him for it.....

I'm ashamed of my life because it's empty....

He cried.....

Because of you....

And she told him how afraid she was because of him.....

I am afraid...

And he cried.....

Because of you....

And for once she could turn and walk away.....

Because of you....

And for once he let her.....

“Because of You” by Kelly Clarkson.... (From a dream I had while going through Shelter.)

Free Form Writing - To All The Missing Pieces Of My Heart...


In counseling today my therapist said I had a big heart. It made me laugh.

The only thing I could think to say was it had to be big, otherwise they're wouldn't be anything left anymore.

It's true; I've lost so much of it over the years. I mean it's grown unbelievably, but I miss parts of it.

I never realized I did, it was just one of those things you didn't think about.

I've gain a lot of it back, but some of the pieces are cracked. I've got my duct tape and my super glue, but I think I must of failed arts and craft in kindergarten because they don't look quite right yet. I'll keep working on it.

Yesterday I got a new piece back, one I had forgotten I even lost. It was fractured, but I want to heal it so bad all my other work is on pause. I'm going to get over this one; I'm going to make this one better because it's so very precious to me. I'm doing it for my babies.

Yes I'm still deathly afraid of pregnancy and newborns, but I'm talking about my babies...

All my life I have watch children, babysat them, taught them, held them while they cried. I pushed them on tire swings and read them books. I love them even though they weren't my own.

In a time when my world seemed so bleak and dark I could always forget about it with my babies. I'm talking about the children I babysat, the kids I watched when I worked in the daycare, the ones from my time interning at the library, my cousins, even my friend's siblings. They were mine, all of them. Then suddenly they were gone.

The parents of the ones I babysat no longer came around, I was forced to give up the daycare ones to my PCOS, the library shoved me to college while they sent my little ones on to middle school, my friends siblings come and go as our relationship changes, and my cousin grow up to having their own friends and lives. So I stopped thinking about them, it made it hurt so much less.

But then my therapist hit a nerve. We were discussing my plans for the future, things like marriage and motherhood, careers and life. On motherhood I was talking about my absolutely undying love for children and I started crying, I didn't even know why. Now I do.

I cried for the loss I never allowed myself to feel. I cried because I would never know what happened to my babies. Did they grow up living happier lives than I did? Did I do a good enough job watching out and teaching them? Did they get hurt along the way? Do they even remember me?

So many questions bombarded me, and underneath it all the only thing I could think was, I miss my babies. I miss their smiles and laughter, their games of tag and make-believe, their eagerness for knowledge, for story time and finger-paints, for fairy tale movies and their ramblings of Hannah Montana. I miss their openness, their ability to become your friend immediately, their innocence, and their life without that hard edge of the real world upon them. Everything I miss in myself, everything that was stolen.

I used to complain about having to watch so many kids when I was just a kid myself, but now I regret it. One of my truest and deepest regrets. Every moment I shared with them is so exceptionally precious to me now. Every push on a tire swing, every hug, every off note key they ever sung to me, every slumber party and dress up day. They are impossible to compare. I love them all, and I miss them.

Yes it's probably better that I don't know what happened to them. If they didn't turn out like I had hoped I would blame myself and say it's because I wasn't there, I didn't do all I could, etc. Yes I know I could have kids one day and get all this and more, but they will never be my babies now, they will be different and beautiful all on their own. I know if I found my children now and they didn't remember me I would be crushed, so it's better not to know, to believe I did my part and they turned out okay.

They were my only loves when my world was dark and I miss them for that. At the moment I miss one of my favorite girls. Dana. She adored me and I her. She was the true reason I ever told anyone about my rapes, about my abuse. I overheard my attacker had been caught kissing her. I knew immediately he was setting her up for his next victim.

Such rage! I've never felt myself filed with hatred, but I did that night. My baby was in danger. I told my parents the basics of what had happened to me the very next night and I made sure to always, always, always keep her with me. I watched her like a hawk, making sure nothing else had happened to her, trying to make sure she was okay. She turned out alright, last I heard she was 8 and in a Gifted and Talented program at school, making friends, all that. It's been years though so I wonder.

Which brings me to another missing piece of my heart. The unknown ones.

Right before I told on my abuser I found out her had hurt at least 5 other girls before me. I grieve for them. I grieve for all the trials, all the pain I know they are going through. I don't know their names, their lives, nothing. I just know what they had to endure. I grieve for them, and I pray they are alright, whoever they are. I grieve for the future girls that will come into my abuser life. He's still free, living his life, doing what he wants and they have no idea. I watch him, try to warn any new girls he meets ahead of time, but there's not much I can do. So I pray they will be smarter, better, wiser than I was at that age and get out while they can. So I grieve for the nameless ones, the unknowns.

I know all of this is why I'm drawn to big families, immediately taking my friend siblings as one of my own. I love them as if they were mine. I know this is why right now I could never counsel children, I grow to attached and it would frustrate me to know nothing can change in their life and their disappearance would hurt me. I know this is why I fear miscarriages and pregnancy because of my PCOS and other issues. I'm afraid to be attached only to lose them. I know this bleeds off into my relationships in general, putting a barrier up to keep love at a distance. I know I reject people before I think they will reject me. I know I still have a lot of work to do. But for right now I can only think of one thing:

I miss my babies.

Free Form Writing - Things Unsaid.


(From an old Shelter group memory.)

"Stick and stone may break my bones, but words can never hurt me."

Bullshit.

Stick and stones heal, words take a whole hell of a lot longer. They're "pretty like a butterfly, but sting like a bee." (Ali) The only thing worse is not what is said, but what is unsaid.

What we think about ourselves, what we perceive others think about us. They all have lasting effects on us.

Last night I had to share my story. I had to recount a memory to my group and explain my thoughts and feelings about it. Was it the worse memory I own? No, though I'm not sure which one is, however, it was my most hated, most shameful, most raw memory.

Why did I speak of it? Because it has always been unsaid. I have never been able to talk about it, to get it out of my system so to speak. It had grown into this huge tidal wave of shame and guilt deep inside me, and once spoken it spilled over in a flood. The water, the pain, is still standing, but it is no longer overwhelming and my head is still above water so far.

But back to my point.

All the ladies were quiet, their unspoken words tore at me. I began to panic, sure that they were trying to decided whether to reject what I had just told them as truth, or not. My heart was sinking fast.

The leader looked at me and asked me what I was feeling. Could she not see it on my face? Scared, shaky, scattered, panicked, but overall just an overwhelming despair I told her. At their silence I rambled on.

I'm frustrated and angry that nothing ever happened to him and now never could. And I am almost tremendously depressed for girls I don't even know. I know the shit I had to go through and I despair that there are other victims of his that are suffering with this. Then suddenly one of the girls started crying.

She cried for me.

Her unspoken words suddenly became clear. She cared about me, she cared and didn't think I deserved any of that. My throat closed up. One of the other ladies spoke up.

Do you realize what you just said? You are sitting their crying your eyes out for girls you don't' even know, but not for yourself. You honestly don't believe you're worth the tears.

Something clicked.

She was right.

How many times have I sat on that oversized brown couch, recounting my experience and feelings and degrading myself? How many times has the counselor stopped me to point out I had called myself a bitch or slut more than three times in one breath, without even realizing it?

All the memories I had written in my journal screamed at me. Every moment I believed I wasn't worth anything seemed to stand out in my scrawling chicken scratch. People can say your worth it all day long, but when you have been this deeply brainwashed it doesn't make a huge impact. Your unspoken words overrule all else.

And for once I cried.

I cried that this sad little girl sitting here telling her story truly believed this.

Maybe it means I'm learning I am worth it. Maybe it means I realized I was wrong about myself. Maybe it means I'm healing, who knows.

The ladies finally told me they were so quiet because they were furious and distraught for me and honestly didn't know what to say, or do with it. They had to ride it out and then let it go. Hearing them voice that truly helped me. At least I knew they cared then.

To be honest right now I don't even know what to do with this new information about myself. It's combating things I have known and believed all my life. So honestly I've shut down a bit. I'm taking a mental break, letting this new idea sink in and hopefully get through my thick skull this time. We'll see.

I supposed my whole point to this rant is don't leave things unsaid; it's more damaging that healing for people. Just be smart about what you say, that's all.

Free Form Writing - More Than Ordinary Significance...


"The quality or expression of what is beautiful or appealing or of more than ordinary significance."

This is how the dictionary defines art.

I tell you it defines something else.

Something that can be expressed through art, something that can be felt through art, but not something that can be lived through art. What is it?

I'm not sure there is even a word to describe it.

It's a human struggle, a human sacrifice, human love.

It is something definitely "more than ordinary significance."

What is ordinary? Something not special, something plain and common placed in our everyday hum-drum world.

If you talk about people in general you tend to think of something "ordinary."

But they're not, not really.

If you really look at a person you can see more. Study the lines on their face, the depth of their eyes, listen to what their body language tells you, hear their voices and live their stories.

By definition, a person can be a work of art.

So what separates the ordinary, from the extraordinary?

Look at their heart and you will see.

If you cannot then you are blind to true art.

"The eyes are blind to what the mind cannot see."

Don't be blind.