Tag: child

  • A Mother who Walks in Reality.

    Last night I read, “Hannah’s Gift” by Maria Housden, Lessons from a Life Fully Lived. 

     

    What a great gift they gave each other as they bravely faced life as it unfolded for each of them, in truth.

     

    For a mother to be truthful in the face of death allowed her daughter to fully accept with grace who she was, for her son to walk step by step, hand to hand, eye to eye sharing her journey full on.

     

    ‘Sparing’ the truth may seem kinder at times; I am once again affirmed that truth is the only way to be.

     

    There is grace and peace in an odd way when you are able to set your fears and selfish wishes aside, when you can disregard your dreams, and instead stand bravely in what is.

     

    Even when the what is, is the death of your child. 

     

    It allowed this little girl to live her life honorably, for her mother honored her just as she was, in each moment, fully embracing what she had, now.

     

    Her intuition in giving her daughter a voice, allowing her to be who she needed to be to live a life that was hers, no matter its length is remarkable to me.

     

    The courage to let go of the pretend reins we all believe we have in controlling our worlds, our children’s world and gracefully succumbing to reality’s power, to ride the ride no mother wants to take, but do so with her eyes on the child’s desires, is what I believe makes a truly remarkable mother.

     

    Thanks so much for showing me the walk of truth.

     

    Coming from a child whose mother couldn’t face the truth, I know that it was you who gave your child the greatest gift on earth, seeing her truth!

     

    Allowing her to be okay and be fully her self, even while life seemed to stealing her away, she was able to live completely as herself until her very last day.

     

    She never, not once had to pretend to pretend to be anything other than herself in your eyes. 

     

    What a gift you gave her, she was allowed to Live as her self.

     

    Your journey shows me that a mother can literally change a child by their reaction to the child’s truths, if you can’t see it, they will pretend not to see it either, but if you can, you both will be enriched.

     

    Truth sets you free to be you in reality.

     

    Thanks Maria for sharing the wonderful journey being a mother who walks in truth.

     

     

     

  • Keeping Our Family Sweet

    I am drawn to stories of adult children who have escaped cult like religions and who speak out about the abuse they endured, and the juxtaposition between religion and abuse.

     

    The severity of the abuse almost seems equal to the severity of the religious beliefs, the stricter the more deviant the abuse.

     

    There seems to be a common theme of obeying.

     

    As Brent W. Jeffs writes in his book “Lost Boy” when speaking of his mother.

     

    “Her life was focused on following the church’s command to Keep Sweet.  This meant to submitting to its rules and leader and through him, God, not grudgingly but happily.” 

     

    “Submitting happily.”

     

    Under the veil of religion unspeakable things happen, and due to the ‘nature’ of religion we are seen worse for not submitting happily. 

     

    They focus on how we respond, not what has happened.  How do we accept being abused, am I a good abused girl?

     

    What does it mean in the eyes of the church to be a good abused girl?

     

    What is beyond what a mind can hold is that the focus and guilt or shame is put upon the child IF she can’t keep sweet. 

     

    I am the one with the problem, it’s my response, NOT him in his crime against me.  It is how I responded that is seen as a major fault.

     

    What I still find so utterly unfathomable is the guilt or wrongness I feel for not keeping sweet. 

     

    It is almost like feeling bad for not living the lie anymore, a feeling of being guilty for no longer pretending.

     

    The focus is on us no longer keeping sweet and that is a crime that is against the family rules, a sin that is punishable by shunning or being excommunicated.

     

    They don’t shun the criminal, but the one who fails to respond as the religion dictates.

     

    I had an adult woman tell me that there is no sin to big to forgive.  Laying the guilt upon me, IF I could not forgive this deed and remain a loving daughter.

     

    The religion doesn’t leave room for the child, no matter what age to move away from the abuser.

     

    While the forgiveness wipes the abuser clean, it leaves the abused pretending to be clean when we are not.

     

    The whole system that religion operates under, works wonderfully well for abusers and offers nothing for the abused.

     

    When I spoke up I paved my way out of the religion and out of my family.  I broke both their rules.

     

    Keeping our family sweet.

     

     

     

  • Backwards to Find Myself.

    In Peter Levine’s book, “Waking the Tiger” he speaks of understanding abuse, as you had to be there, that in order to truly understand the full impact, you had to be there.

     

    We use that in humorous situations, that sometimes the humor is lost in translation, same goes for abuse.

     

    What is so insidious about the abuse is that the abuse mountain of emotions that are too big for a young child to handle is now you.

     

    And the little child of you is lost behind all the swirling rolling twisting contorting emotions, a river of terror, it is like standing behind a waterfall, unable to get out in front of those falling currents of emotions.

     

    It is like swimming in a stream up a waterfall for we are brought back to being a young child feeling what we failed to feel, we are being brought back to the scene of the crime to simply feel.

     

    Simply feel what was so horrendous that we left our self behind.

     

    You had to be there, means we have to walk through our abuse to be there, to own it and live it and know its impact, and then and only then can we be reunited with the child self we left behind.

     

    It is amazing how you can live a life and not be there, not be conscious of not being there, to be missing and not even know it. 

     

    The crime of abuse is that we grow up without a self, we leave behind in a secure place our wonderful beautiful self, and go forth without that.

     

    We don’t want to soil and put garbage on our self, we want to retain our perfection and we believe we can by simply not acknowledging abuse.  Yet we don’t live beautiful and wonderful, we live as abuse.

     

    And somehow we feel that we made ourselves dirty, soiled and feeling like garbage.  Yet it is not our self we feel, we feel the contents of abuse.

     

    To make the separation between what is abuse and what is the child is to see abuse as the painful waterfall that came down on the child. 

     

    The waterfall of abuse is not the child.  It is what happened to the child. 

     

    It is my experience that once you understand that the abuse is not you, but something that happened to you, that you are not responsible for the waterfall of abuse, you can then retrieve the child back.

     

    Seeing the innocent child waiting behind the waterfall allows you to let go of the shame and the blame and the guilt.  It allows you to see clearly the separation between the abuse and the child.

     

    The child didn’t create the waterfall of abuse, but instead intuitively retreated to get out of the pain.

     

    In my case, no adult ever came along to rescue the child.

     

    I walked backwards to find myself.

     

  • What I Mirrored.

    Continuing on from “Codependent No More” by Melody Beatte, she writes.

     

    “Gradually, I began to climb out of my black abyss.  Along the way, I developed a passionate interest in the subject of codependency.  As a counselor (although I no longer worked full-time in that field, I still considered myself one) and as a writer, my curiosity was provoked. As a “flaming, careening codependent” (a phrase borrowed from an Al-Anon member) who needed help, I also had a personal stake in the subject. What happens to people like me?  How does this happen?  Why?  Most important, what do codependents need to do to feel better?  And stay that way?

     

    I talked to counselors, therapists, and codependents.  I read the few available books on the subject and related topics. I reread the basic – the therapy books that have stood the test of time- looking for ideas that applied.  I went to Al-Anon meetings, a self-help group based on the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous but geared toward the person who has been affected by another person’s drinking.

     

    Eventually, I found what I was seeking.  I began to see, understand and change.  My life started working again. Soon, I was conducting another group for codependents at another Minneapolis treatment center. But this time, I had a vague notion of what I was doing.

     

    I still found codependents hostile, controlling, manipulative, indirect, and all the things that I had found them before.  I still saw all the peculiar twists of personality I previously saw.  But, I saw deeper.

     

    I saw people who were hostile; that had felt so much hurt that hostility was their only defense against being crushed again.  They were that angry because anyone who had tolerated what they had would be that angry.

     

    They were controlling because everything around and inside them was out of control. Always, the dam of their lives and the lives threatened to burst and spew harmful consequence on everyone. And nobody but them seemed to notice or care.

     

    I saw people who manipulated because manipulation appeared to be the only way to get anything done.  I worked with people who were indirect because the systems they lived in seemed incapable of tolerating honesty.

     

    I worked with people who thought they were going crazy because they had believed so many lies they didn’t know what reality was.

    I saw people who had gotten so absorbed in other people’s problems they didn’t have time to identify or solve their own.  These were people who had cared so deeply, and often destructively about other people that they had forgotten how to care about themselves. The codependents felt responsible for so much because the people around them felt responsible for so little; they were just picking up the slack.

     

    I saw hurting, confused people who needed comfort, understanding, and information.  I saw victims of alcoholism who didn’t drink but were nonetheless victimized by alcohol.  I saw victims struggling desperately to gain some kind of power over their perpetrators.  They learned from me, and I learned from them.

     

    Soon, I began to subscribe to some new beliefs about codependents. Codependents aren’t crazier or sicker than alcoholics.  But they hurt as much or more. They haven’t cornered the market on agony, but have gone through their pain without the anesthetizing effects of alcohol or other drugs, or the other high states achieved by people with compulsive disorders. And the pain that comes from loving someone who’s in trouble can be profound.

     

    “The chemically dependent partner numbs the feelings and the non-abuser is doubled over in pain – relieved only by anger and occasional fantasies,” wrote Janet Geringer Woititz in an article from the book Co-Dependency, An Emerging Issue.

     

    Codependents are that way sober because they went through what they did sober.

     

    No wonder codependents are so crazy. Who wouldn’t be, after living with the people they’ve lived with?

     

    It’s been difficult for codependents to get the information and practical help they need and deserve. It’s tough enough to convince alcoholics (or other disturbed people) to seek help.  It’s more difficult to convince codependents – those who by comparison look, but don’t feel, normal – that they have problems.

     

    Codependents suffered in the backdrop of the sick person.  If they recovered, they did that in the background too.  Until recently, many counselors (like me) didn’t know what to do to help them.  Some times the codependents were blamed; sometimes they were ignored; sometimes they were expected to magically shape up ( an archaic attitude that has not worked with alcoholics and doesn’t help codependents either.)  Rarely were codependents treated as individuals who needed help to get better. Rarely were they given a personalized recovery program for their problems and their pain.  Yet, by its nature, alcoholism and other compulsive disorders turn everyone affected by the illness into victims- people who need help even if they are not drinking, using other drugs, gambling, overeating, or overdoing a compulsion.”

                    Melody Beatte

     

    What I love is that she sees how the codependents were formed…and in my experience it matches to what I know to be true for me.

     

    I love how she says we suffered sober…for indeed we did…My perpetrator wasn’t an alcoholic, but a sexual predator, yet the outcome is still the same.

     

    My mother’s codependency of my father is what I mirrored.

     

  • Looking at her…

    I went online and did some reading on the statistics and reseach on pedophiles, for some reason I hadn’t done this before.

     

    Pedophile.

    The word comes from the Greek: παιδοφιλία (paidophilia): παῖς (pais), "child" and φιλία (philia), "friendship".

     

    Child friendship, wow, I would have thought the root of the word would be monster, predator, but not child friendship!

     

    Imagine!

     

    Child friendship, which is exactly what I have been trying to warn my sister from allowing to happen, a friendship being formed with her little granddaughter and my father. 

     

    Below are a few paragraphs from another article I found interesting. That being a pedophile is similar to performing magic tricks…

    In 1992 while living in Los Angeles, actor and magician Steve Valentine invited me to be his guest at the world famous Hollywood Magic Castle.  The Castle is a private club dedicated to the promotion of magic as an art form and hobby.  Club members perform their illusions up-close, chair-side, right under your nose.  Afterward, our group ended up at my apartment where Steve was gracious enough to show us more magic.  Amazed at how easy it was to fool us, I asked him point blank, “Why can’t we figure it out?”

    His answer has stuck in my mind for almost 20 years. “Magicians can get away with it,” he said, “because we know how you think.”  Having a degree in communication and psychology, I was riveted by the idea that the majority of humans (myself included) process the world through a homogenous lens that others can easily manipulate to fool us into seeing exactly what they want us to.  And what’s truly discouraging, as anyone who has ever been privy to the workings of a magic trick can attest, is how mindlessly simple the bending of reality needs to be to completely fool everyone.  I had always believed the wonder of magic rested within the skill of the magician.  Come to find out, it’s more accurately rooted in the conformed ignorance of the audience.

    The answer is simple; like a magician, predators get away with it because they know how children think, and as a result they’re able to convince adult eyes to see exactly what they want us to see; an ILLUSION that nothing is wrong.

    The mind control – the trick – the reason victims are not reporting the crime, is simply this: Fear.  Predators use the most powerful human motivator—Fear—to trick our children into silence.

     

    It is not the skilled mastery of the Predator that allows them to molest and rape our children and get away with it; rather it is the conformed ignorance of our children.  We must therefore make every effort to arm our children with pragmatic information to help them to fight back and destroy the monsters who would hurt them.

     

    You can read the full articles at www.ezfame.com

     

    Amazing to read that pedophiles are magicians who befriend our children and then put the seal of fear around the whole incident and call it ‘our secret- our BAD secret’ bringing the child in on the act, owning the shame and blame and fearing exposure to the loss of their innocence.

     

     

    Here are some statistics I read.

     

    1 in 4 girls is sexually abused before the age of 14

     

    1 in 6 boys is sexually abused before the age of 16

     

    Like rape, child molestation is one of the most under-reported crimes: only 1-10% are ever disclosed.

     

    More than 90% of all sexual abuse victims know their perpetrator. Almost 50% of the offenders are household members and 38% are already acquaintances of the victims.

     

    The average serial child molester has between 360-380 victims in his lifetime.

     

    This magic trick and the magicians who perform them on our innocent children will continue to play out as long as we continue to see them as normal fathers, grandfathers, and great grandfathers.

     

    The Illusion is the perfect environment for my father to perform his tricks.

     

    He is being supervised while he begins his next act, and being hand delivered his next partner to perform with him.

     

    For without a partner his magic dies.

     

    The magic of taking a child’s friendship and tainting it with sexual abuse, of taking our love and trust and using it to entrust us with his secret.

     

    He needs the ignorance of the adults in the room and he needs a child’s friendship, its these two main ingredients that will make the whole act.

     

    The magicians rely upon you looking at one thing while something else is really going on.

     

    As my sister is looking for a pedophile, while a pedophile is looking at her.

     

     

  • There she was……

    She didn’t know, as she twirled on the tire swing, her hair grabbed by the breeze and taken prisoner, the tree creaked above, the sound mingling with her carefree laughter, her white sandals scuffed by the moist soil below, the smell of charcoal and barbecue filled the air, the other children ran in the yard, chasing each other and staining their clothes with the deep green grass, her bright eyes gazed up to the tree, the branches covered with leaves, down, down, down, they fell spiraling to the ground, she spun around on the old tire swing, her surroundings blurred and she closed her eyes until the tire stood still, she opened her eyes and looked innocently at him, unknowing, that he would be the one to hurt her.   

     

    Written by my daughter.

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