I M Perfect lady

Tag: childhood

  • Impeccable Word

    Not grasping what is meant by the term Truth, is the key to all of life.

    What does it mean if you can't grasp or know truth?  How are you taught this or perhaps not taught this?  Is there a class where you can understand the terminology of truth?

    There seems to be a fluidity with words when there is no body of truth behind them…words are meaningless unless you attach Truth Feelings.

    The only power words have are the truth feelings that ride along with them, if there is no power of truth, then they just are letters arranged and sounds being spoken.

    What I am not certain of is how you teach truth feelings…and how to utter them instead of words with the opposite feeling attached.

    Or, perhaps this is just the wiring defect with those of us who have been abused, where we are not able to speak what we feel or feel what is the truth.

    A Lie Detector doesn't detect wrong words, but actually how we are feeling when we utter the words…it is monitoring the body.  So what the lie detector really detects are feelings that don't match the sentence being spoken.

    Somehow when we are abused, we have to begin Pretending how we feel, instead of how we actually feel.  This could be due to threats of violence or shame in speaking out, we hide the FEELINGS of abuse.

    I believe we learn that hiding our TRUE FEELINGS is what is needed in order for many things to continue on as 'normal'….and so we do.

    We now have learned to say things we don't mean or feel….we have separated our body of feelings from the words we speak.

    So then our words do not have the support of our true feelings.

    "Being Impeccable with your Words" as Don Miguel Ruiz says, means that our words match what we feel.  I had to look up the word Impeccable….

     "In accordance with the highest standards of propriety; faultless."

    This may be the greatest tragedy of abuse, where we learn to separate what we feel and what we say…we lose our grasp on expressing our feelings truthfully and hold on to the illusion of what is not.

    Our power isn't lost in the act of abuse, our power is lost when we can't speak of how it made us feel…When we can't be truthful with our feelings after, when we have to go back and now pretend nothing happened or to make nice.

    The disconnection between what we feel and what we say is when we start abusing ourselves…

    We disregard how we feel in order to keep the relationship, the family, the 'love' of thy father and thy mother, we fail to grasp and hang on to our feelings of what is true for us…and instead make sure they get what they want and what feels good for them.

    The dance of the offender/victim fails to operate when the victim finally stands up and demands that their feelings be considered.

    While many want to put full blame on the Offenders, there is a second party involved who agrees with this dance, and the game ends when the victim decides that she/he is allowed to bring forth her true feelings.

    While many think this is a battle of words or powerful actions, it is actually a game of whose feelings will be honored…whose feelings are of greater value?

    What I have come to know, is that abusive parents, believe that their feelings matter more, have a higher slot on the scale of life, and that their children must submit and acquiesce their feelings. 

    It is the acquiescing of their truth and feelings…Accept something reluctantly but without protest…that makes them the perfect victim.

    And in doing so, learn to live without grasping the meaning of truthfulness…for to be truthful is to be without a family.

    They willingly give up their truth feelings to save a family…yet all they are really doing is allowing the Offender to go on.

    If only, all my 46 years of living without adhering to my feelings bought to bear a loving father and a supportive mother, then it wouldn't have been all for naught, but it was.

    No matter how much I suppressed my feelings, it didn't magically create them differently.  All that happened is that I suppressed what I felt. That is all.

    Even when I unleashed all that I felt, nothing really changed.  They didn't suddenly SEE what they had done and then changed.  Nope, all that happened is I began to walk impecably with how I felt.

    I no longer suppressed and hid what I felt.

    I took grasp once again of my feelings and held on…for it was clear to me, I was holding on to truth…

    Suppressing the truth doesn't change anything, it only prolongs the inevitable.  I had to look up SUPPRESSING…

    To Prevent the Development, action or expression of a feeling, impulse, idea…restrain.

    So, instead of holding firmly on to family, We are holding back the feelings of fear, loss, betrayal, hurt, sorrow…

    We don't want to feel those feelings attached to our parents.

    And in not owning or being truthful with the negative feelings, we betray all our feelings…we loose our impeccable word.

     

     

     


  • Put a Happy Face on Hurt

    I had a saying that sat on my stove for years on a trivet, "Blessed are the Peacemakers, for they shall inherit the Earth."

    I was a young unmarried girl at the time I had gotten this as a gift, and the way I viewed it was that if you were the one to back down first or retract your wishes, it was a good thing, for it kept the peace.

    If you made things peaceful outwardly and held inside or covered up your true feelings, YOU Were a Peacemaker…for relationships settled back down.

    What I had failed to see at the time, was that while I was making outward peace, my insides were being crammed full of 'unexpressed true emotions', that I had 'settled' to calm things down.

    I had given up what I really needed to have peace.  

    I had silenced my truth feelings in order to get along.

    What I was doing was being a False Peacemaker, I was pretending to pretend that things were okay with me, when they were not.

    Oh, I can recall this feeling so perfectly, how the other person would be so happy to have her peacefulness restored, as I inwardly glowered in silence…while pasting on a happy face. 

    As I continued on into adult life, into married life I often times left arguments half done….my half was not resolved, but tucked away.

    My greatest fear was that IF I didn't acquiesce, all Holy Hell would break lose, that it was my job to keep the peace.

    Acquiesce – To accept something reluctantly, but without protest.  I had to look that up to make sure I had it right. RIGHT, OMG, that is the flavor of my first 46 years.

    Acquiesce is the perfect word to describe how I viewed being peaceful.  And here is the deal, I was the one who always had to give up 'something' AND do so without putting up a protest, to swallow silently….in order to maintain peace within our relationship.

    You have no idea how often I swallowed bitterness without protest.

    With a belly full of resentment and unspoken words and feelings I walked around 'believing' I was keeping the peace.

    What I was instead holding onto was a belly full of bitterness.

    Is that Love?

    Is that peaceful?

    Was I being even a bit authentic in my relations as I was waddling around chuck full of unresolved differences?

    When I stopped swallowing, but instead spit back my thoughts, my feelings and what I saw were our differences, my inner world began to lighten up, to feel so peaceful, while my outer world began to swirl in consternation.

    Where my mother used to see The Peacemaker, I became her Holy Hellion.  

    For you see, all the peacemaking efforts I had painfully swallowed in order to keep a loving mother and father, never produced that.  It was all for naught.  All I had done was to act in a play of pretending we all got along.

    I was the one who had made it worse.

    I was the one who hadn't spoken up.

    I was the one who kept it all a secret.

    I was the greatest pretender of all.

    I pretended that all the abuse didn't matter to me.

    I pretended to be unhurt, so we could have a family that didn't hurt.

    Yet, in the end….sadly and regretfully, all my siblings were hurt anyway.  All I had done was put a happy face on hurt…

     

     

  • Holding it all Inside.

    I didn't catch the speakers name, but heard her on Sirius radio say, "trauma is experienced in the right brain and stays there until you express it.  The left brain categorizes our experiences and it needs to be expressed or it gets left on the right with no way out."

    I had never heard trauma explained quite this way.  I had looked at trauma being felt in the body, but I hadn't considered the brain, except to note that my category lady was filing things in a haphazard way.  And actually, she was doing a fairly good job without the experiences noted of abuse.

    When you connect the trauma and file them in correct categories, you then get a complete picture of reality. 

    As a child, my trauma was not allowed to be expressed or let out of the right brain…so there was a divide between what the left brain was saying and what the right brain was holding on to.

    I believe that while the right brain is holding on to trauma, it leave little room for creative tasks, or space for love, peace or joy. The overall humming of trauma, the screaming fear muffles out the music of our souls.

    When my niece spoke up, she opened a pathway to my left brain, allowing the trauma to escape my right brain. It started as a small trickle, but a waterfall of expressions flowed forth.  In a short amount of time, my trauma which had been stuffed in my right brain for 40 years finally made connections with my left brain.

    It is quite incredible how the two sides are designed to work together and when the right side holds back expressions how frozen you become or numb and unexpressive in all areas.

    When Dr. Jill Bolte-Taylor spoke of the right and left brains, she wasn't speaking of childhood sexual abuse, so I failed to understand the meaning of what happens when traumatic emotions get lodged inside and have no way out.

    Dr. Jill did say that the duties of the left brain is to weave the most plausible story with the least amount of information.  What I hadn't considered is how a story is written minus expressed emotions.

    It was shocking to be me as the first trickles of traumatic expression flowed forth, for it was very alarming in the velocity and strength, the years seemed to have added volume and force…or perhaps it was exactly as a 6 or 7 year old would have felt it at the time of the original event.

    Incredibly horrific and wildly freeing at the same time.  Like riding a wild horse yet fully in control.  Experiencing traumatic emotions, riding their waves to freedom…expressing and releasing myself from the years of holding it all inside. 

     

     

  • Whatever Reality Serves.

    My brother's blog (www.messyguru.typepad.com ) shows the switching characters that a mother often displays when faced with truths that directly oppose her life.  Her life and dream and ideals.
    I have somehow had this wrong.  I had presumed that my mother lived in truth and slide into unreality when uncomfortable subjects arose, but instead it seems she resides in non-reality and will slip out into reality every now and then.
    Although this is just hearsay on my part, for she never came out of her camp of denial, pretend, or righteous unknowing for me.
    She stayed true to the character of my childhood.
    I can't know what would be more perplexing on a child, to have her step forth in knowing, and the go back to unknowing or to remain steadfast in unknowing?
    While her actions aluded to the fact that her husband was in jail, for she seen him in an orange jumpsuit behind bars, she never not once spoke to me about why he was there.  
    This omitance echoes my childhood.  This is what I meant by she never once told me to fear my father, to stand clear, to not trust etc.  Instead it was always me that had issues, not him and certainly not her.
    However during the early months of this, since she wasn't speaking of this, not available by phone, I made my own conclusions about the lay of the land.  My body and I were in total agreement to who he was as well as to who he was married to and how this was able to continue on for so long.
    My mother's character never wavered from the mother I knew as a child.
    My father's character never wavered from the father I knew as a child.
    My character greatly changed, when I saw them in their true colors.
    All it took was one look, and my whole world shattered.
    The character that I had been playing, loving daughter, died.
    And in its place a new role was born.
    I gave up all outside roles and stood firmly in the role called me.
    I moved forward by what I felt inside.
    I responded in kind to what life served up
    When it served me a pedophile father, I walked in harmony with that.
    When it served me up a mother who was unable to step into my world, I accepted that.
    My new role is to walk in step with whatever reality serves.

  • Coming From Whence We Came…

    Our book club is reading the book, "leaving the Saints" by Martha Beck…this section was particularly affirming to me when I first read her book about five years ago.
    She recounts how her life began to make sense after getting the first waves of memories…
    Her memory " I am five years old, my hands are tied, and my father is doing something that feels as though it's ripping me in two.  I am stretched on my back, legs spread like a frog on a dissecting table, unable to see or understand what is happening, focusing as hard as I can on the cord around my hands, because it distracts me from what is happening elsewhere….The first horrific flashback was like a nuclear detonation.  It felt nearly real as if I were actually experiencing the original event, as though the nerve impulses for perceiving it had frozen into the tissues of my body, never reaching the level of conscious awareness, and were now finally completing their long-delayed journey…"
    She also writes about an extremely painful doctors visit that now made sense.
    "I am twenty-six, lying in another damned emergency room.  The Doctor has just told me that I waited so long to seek treatment for an abscess in the tissues of my perineum (look it up) that he's afraid infection might enter my bloodstream any minute. There is no time to put me under general anesthesia, so he gives me a shot of novocain in a very private place, then hands me a washcloth and tells me to bite down on it.  "please don't hate me," he says, and starts operating."
    "Numbed by the local, I don't even feel the first incision. But then he sticks a pair of scissors into it, and the pain is just absolutely incredible.  I've never felt anything this bad, not in childbirth, not when a dentist accidentally drilled right into a nerve.  I am positive that nothing could possibly hurt more than this. Then the Doctor opens up the scissors inside the incision, and I realize I was wrong.  And then, oh Lordy.  Then he starts to cut."
    "Out of all my medical misadventures, this memory stood out most in my mind the day of my first flashback – not just because the injury was related to those badly healed scars, but because the pain during that surgery was the only thing I could compare to the pain my mind and heart felt when the flashbacks started.  It wasn't simply the agony and degradation of being raped but, more, the absolute horror of a five year old who has just learned that the universe is ruled by an evil god and that this god seems to have commanded the most beloved and powerful figure in her life to destroy her in a manner much more devastating than death.  "We all have our little sorrows," said my Allusion Manager, quoting screenwriter Ronald Harwood even at this awful pass, "and the littler you are, the larger the sorrow."   Martha
    What I find so remarkable is that the physical pain is of a lesser degree in devastation compared to knowing that your father is capable of doing such awful things.
    That knowing is by far worse than any bodily discomfort. The body will heal and the pain goes away….but the knowing who your father is and what he is capable of doing does not go away.  
    No scar will form over this knowing…it stays an open wound.
    What is also comforting in a very horrific way is how she too experienced the time travelers that brought forth the exact feelings from her childhood.
    When my niece spoke up stating that my father abused her, my body responded before my mind could comprehend.  It shook and was filled with terror in every cell.  I knew without a shadow of doubt that she spoke the truth.  I too could not stop the mental tumblers from clicking into place and my life began making sense in a horrifying way.
    Her husband too was seeing her in a new light, she began to make sense to him…"That is why you space out when I touch you," he said.   "That is why you scream in your sleep. That's why you can never really relax."
    And while her direct honesty and openness about her abuse may be very disturbing, it is very comforting for an abused child of abuse.  It Makes us make sense.
    We make sense coming from whence we came…

  • Unconditionally loving the Abuser.

    As human beings we are used to riding along and adjusting to change, but we are not used to being “the change you want to see in your world” as Gandhi put it.

    We want change and we want it now, but we don’t want the change to start with us.

    Most of us change only when forced, when death or tragedy impacts our lives, but rarely do we actively make changes.

    Besides the lack of being a self-starter, we find it impossible to see the enemies that walk among us, for we have called them friends and family.  (This of course is only for those of us who suffered abuse within our family homes, in our friendly neighborhoods, and churches.)

    Since 90% of the abuse happens with someone we know, and 50% with family members, that leaves only 10% to be strangers.

    The changes that need to happen are folks need to start treating family and friends like strangers.

    I know this seems backwards, but so is abuse.

    The legacy of abuse will continue to flow in your family unless and until you start treating folks who abuse like enemies of family and love, for they are.

    They are not there to instill a safe secure environment, nor sowing love and kindness, they are inside infesting the core values of what family means.

    Abusers can’t be treated the same as members of the family who mean no harm.

    In order to stop abuse, you all have to stop treating abusers like constructive members of your family, but rather the destructive people they are.

    They need to get help, be taken out of the family, isolated…in order to preserve the family’s integrity.

     However, in my experience, the child (grown adult child) must leave in order to feel safe, for the perpetrator was not made to go. 

    He was cared for and protected within the family unit.

    This is the sole reason that abuse continues.  The family refuses to treat him like a stranger who came in and abused the girls.

    And as it stands today, I am treated like a stranger and he like a family member.

    This backwards treatment alone keeps abuse going.

    Most don’t want to speak up and act like I did, for they know the outcome.  So instead of being alone, they will be part of keeping the legacy of abuse going.

    What happens is you become a stranger to your family as you fight against abuse…and for most that is too big a price to pay, so they will settle back into the comfortable routine of being a family…unconditionally loving the abuser.

     

  • A Pattern without Abuse.

    “Two wrongs don’t make it right…” came to mind yesterday and I can see clearly how a child gets so lost after being abused, how the negative energies keep piling up.

     ‘Good’ folks who are unaware of what their actions are saying to the child make matters worse and don’t even know it, know it.  They just are doing what their parents did unquestioning.

    The cycle repeats itself, by each generations same behavior.

     Yesterday while listening to a novel on CD, a sentence was spoken with awe, “She sure is her mother’s daughter…” and I thought sadly I am not, and felt sad pride.

     It was bittersweet to know that I didn’t have a mother who acted like me, that I have forged this new behavior alone without a pattern to follow.

    Not only no pattern, but I created this with no support from my family of origin…

    The patterns of abuse were not followed by m me, nor did I act according to family’s wishes, instead I did the complete opposite and it has brought me much disdain.

    Here is how I built a new pattern, I responded negatively to the abusers and I did what was positive for me. 

    This wasn’t a preconceived agenda, but rather an instinctual deep inside calling.

    I was not a child at the time of being aware of my abuse, but I still mothered myself.

     I was the mother and I was the wounded child.

    In each situation I would ask myself what would be best for the abused little girl inside of me, and each time I would then respond that way, paying no heed to the ramifications that decision would cause to the folks around me.

    My little girl inside was my number one focus and I never, not once did something that I felt would cause her more harm.

    While it seems counterintuitive, stepping away from my father and mother was the best thing for my little girl.

    Neither had taken good care of her.

    Once I learned to step aside from those who hurt me; that was my pattern.

    I step away from folks who hurt me. 

    It is plain, it is simple and it has had a positive change for me. 

    It matters not to me what their title is, all that mattered was how I felt in their presence and if it didn’t feel safe, warm, loving, joyful, then I would make my move.

    My inner wellness had to matter more than anything in the world.  It became my compass.  Like a very very stubborn child, even a bullhead, I continued with this new pattern. 

    If it hurts or feels bad, I move away.

    If it requires me to overlook or look around their negative behaviors, I move away. 

    If they are not accountable for their own actions, I move away.

    If it gives them more power and leaves me powerless, I move away.

    If they belittle and make snide remarks about my needs, I move away.

    If they holler and scream I am insane, crazy, not well, I move away.

    I have been given the luxury and freedom that most abused children do not have.  I am an adult with a voice and a choice.  I can support myself…I don’t’ have to put my survival in the hands of those who hurt me.

    Children of abuse are not given this new pattern to follow, in fact they are ‘forced’ to do the opposite of what I have done.

    They are made to succumb and return to ‘normal’ to get back in line of the family pattern, most often in order to survive. They are not self supporting.

    How their abuse affects the family shows the pattern from generations before. 

    If a child’s abuse doesn’t shatter the family…it is the normal pattern and the way things are in this particular family tree.

    If the child’s welfare isn’t put at the top of the list, the family’s pattern most likely is that the children’s needs are last, EVEN if the child has been abused.  They will do what feels best or fits best in the family pattern.

    It seems preposterous, but this I have witness first hand.  I seen my father’s case through the eyes of the wounded child, and what I saw was all positive for my father and very negative for me.

    Little by little I watched how my mother and siblings acted and how they responded, and who they took care of, spoke for and who they argued for, while I watched my father do nothing.

    He didn’t take one teeny tiny move that showed he felt remorse or that he wanted to get out from under his disease…he didn’t have to lift a finger; all were doing the heavy lifting for him.

    I watched and I witnessed this all with the eyes of the wounded child.

    I kept my view as a wounded child, not as a daughter or sister…

    I saw the family pattern being played out perfectly.  I witnessed how this abuse continues on. 

    The only way childhood sexual abuse can continue on is with the consent and knowledge of the adults or heads of households.

    Children depend on the adults for survival, cannot sway the family tree to act differently, their very food and shelter depend upon it.

     I acted against the pattern and look at where I am sitting.

     Alone in my own home… I am free of those who abused me.

     A child doesn’t have this luxury, they are held captive until they can support themselves. 

    They are subjected to years and years of abuse and live a few feet away from themselves, trying to survive they have to be disconnected…

    The sad part is, most are not able to reconnect.

    They have learned to be this untreated abused person.

    Learned to survive by blocking out their feelings, separating themselves from themselves.  Living as a person that isn’t who they are.

    I am not certain why I had the privilege to reconnect to my self, to walk with my wounded girl until we walked free.  But I have and I have carved out a new pattern…a pattern without abuse.

     

     

     

     

  • We either hide your sins or own our lives.

    The main belief or what keeps the faith going is this one paragraph that Jim Torola wrote about in his Post, “Why no Movement.”

    “Or the FALC trump card, "it was forgiven in Jesus' Name and Precious Blood, thrown into the bottom of the sea of grace, forgiven and forgotten, and if anyone brings up this again, they will take on that sin."  Jim Torola    http://jimtorola.typepad.com/blog/

    Anyone who has not been raised on this concept may find this strange, but if you have been taught since you were a young girl, that this is true; you will not go diving into the sin lake to retrieve anything.

    Diving into the sin lake, sins will attach to you like suckers in a stagnant pond…and you are ‘bad’ for just wading into the waters, for ‘thinking’ about past sins…let alone going back in and dragging them to surface.

    I am not sure I can impress upon those who are walking the narrow road what it is you all are actually doing.

    You are teaching children that when you tell, nothing will be done for them, but great magical acts will be done for the bad man.  And all matter of shame will be brought upon you for ever speaking of this matter again.

    As Pete Torola so succinctly put it, “What is your motive for telling?”

    Why little girl are you going back to the sea of Grace and dragging out Ray’s sins? 

    “Oh yea of little faith, don’t you believe it has been blessed away?”  To what end do you want to drag this dirty filthy deed to surface???  Don’t you know its bad to do this?

    What is so utterly mind blowing is that the adults never doubted the girls recounting, but instead did insane things with this information.

    If you only knew what that does for a child who has been abused, to be heard, but then no action to arrest, stop or curtail these activities.

    We tell the adults and the adults do nothing.

    Oh wait, they do do something, they take our pain, suffering, fear and anguish and toss it away, paying no attention to how we feel.  It is more important to bless the bad man and put his ‘acts’ away, and then threaten us if we bring it up…again.

    For they want to get to Heaven…and the way to heaven is to bless, bless, bless, repeatedly, forever, and NEVER speak of it again. 

    The way to Heaven is to make the bad men whiter than snow…and the way is littered with the souls of little children.

    I can’t know what you all feel as you sit your bottoms down on the benches, but I am here to tell you what your techniques of dealing with sins do for an abused child.

    It gives the abuse child nowhere to go, no one to hear, and no one to see them.  They become invisible and discarded, useless, worthless…trash, the litter along your path to heaven.

    I recall writing and actually giving a narrative of what it felt like…even without memories, I had a distinct recollection of not being able to get out of the hellhole.

    What is a hellhole many may ask? 

    You know what the hellhole looks like; it is the bottom of the Sea of Grace.

    Pedophiles swim down there and drag little girls there repeatedly…while you all ‘believe’ that they disappeared.

    A hellhole is a place where you have no power, no choice, no way out. You are left alone in your mind without adult supervision while your father does the unspeakable, you can speak, but you can’t be heard.  They can see, but turn away…you are too little and they are sooo big. You are living in an alternate universe from the adults around you. They speak of loving kindness, you feel utter helplessness and fear.

    I was lost in the sea of Grace and no one cared…

    In order to survive the sea of Grace you have to kill your spirit, drug your feelings, check out and live in the pretend place the adults live.  Where a pedophile is a dad…

    I know why kids do drugs, kill themselves; they can’t take the sea of Grace no more.

    While you all are blessing him, you are making us Live in the Sea of Grace…or what it really is The Lake of Sins.

    I lived and swam and finally got used to living in the Lake of Sins.  Its twisted mess became my normal.  Silently you swim around, not speaking of what you see, how you feel…you are disconnected like debris…unattached drifting amidst the other despicable things.  You fit in there, you feel as one with all the disgusting things, you are unworthy and useless, for the caring adults didn’t care.

    It is incredible to me, that when you don’t see our wounds we become them…you don’t have to bless us, we naturally are attracted to the sins you tossed away…

    When you don’t see us as innocent, we no longer feel it.

    Funny, in a tragic way…you always seen and made sure that Ray stayed innocent…

    He stays clean and I get dirtier…I have to keep this a secret so the adults stay clean. 

    I have broken the silence, the gig is up, it is over.  I came to shore, I left the Lake of Sin, and I am talking about it, writing about it, and hoping against hope, there is one little girl out there in her own hell hole who will hear me calling her name.

    I see you.

    I hear you.

    I know you are there.

    I am here to tell you, you are not alone.

    The only way out is to stop holding the secret.

    The threat of sins is simply that a threat.

    There is no sea of Grace, but a lake of sin.

    You live there and you can walk free.

    Get out.  Speak out. Stop holding on to sins of others.  We all carry our own…the sea or lake lives within us.  We either hide your sins or own our lives.

     133
    What we feel like before we were abused…

    Smug mug pics 1428 
    and how we feel after… This is the Sea of Grace in the FALC where

    the abused children are made to live, for the 'dad' is clean and we are not.

  • Normal Results.

    “What is your motive for Telling…” is a phrase that lends it self to much debate.  The simple fact that a child is then put in a position of feeling ‘bad’ for squealing stops many from coming forth.

     No one wants to be a squealer.

    Squealing is seen and incurred as to being weak or bad and that you should not say anything, IF you don’t have anything kind to say…

    It is seen as soiling someone’s reputation. 

    How is it that the squealer is the one who is in charge of that?  Surely it wasn’t the little girl’s fault that in Telling on Ray, he would then be made to ‘look bad’. 

    He was bad each moment he forcibly made a girl touch him.

    She was telling to stop an action, she wasn’t concerned how it looks or how it would fit into others lives.  She just wanted it to stop. 

    In order for things to stop, reputations will change color, past ideals of a person will take on a new tone, lives and relationships will hang in the balance, things will not go on as “Normal”.

    For now an abnormal behavior has entered in.

    Insanity ensues if you continue to act normal when abnormal walks and talks in your world and you don’t tell or pay attention to it, to see it like it is. 

    It seems preposterous that you would carry on life as usual with this oddity in your midst, that you would pretend to pretend to pretend that there is nothing amiss, that you would try harder to be normal instead of addressing the abnormal behavior.

    But take it from me, we do.

    In fact, in home this was not abnormal, but normal.  I come from a long line of sexual abuse…and the way they treated it was to do nothing, but carry on as usual.

    When the adults in my childhood life didn’t see abnormal, I then became abnormal.  I had to become abnormal to fit in.

    What I had thought was that only our home acted abnormal to normal abuse, but come to find out there is a sea of people willing to sweep abnormal under the rug to keep up with their normal lives, normal religions, normal families, normal marriages, normal relationships.

    It isn’t abuse that is the problem, but holding on to normal.

    Holding on to normal, all will discount, overlook, and under react in order to keep their own normal lives. 

    What is so incredulous to me is that they hang on to normal in their minds only.  For abnormal has now come to live with them and the longer they don’t see abnormal, the more abnormal becomes their family.

    I lived and learned that abnormal was the normal way to be.

    How grateful and blessed I am, that I was finally able to see that what I had stood for and championed was not normal.  What a gift to see my abnormalities.

    Most are not given this awareness.  I am speaking out and shouting out and pointing out what others are failing to see.

    Since I lived for 46 years believing I had a ‘normal’ family but that I was abnormal, I want to share my experience.  I am not a squealer, but a person who is telling to help stop abuse…for people to start seeing that what they think or want to believe is normal is so abnormal.

     Being raised in abnormal it is hard to know normal.

    Sometimes doing the complete opposite of what you were taught will bring in normal results. 

     

     

     

  • Who is Behaving Badly?

    What stayed with me is how off balance the justice system is where the victims get a ‘court appointed attorney’ called prosecutor and the perpetrators get the option to pay for a high powered expensive, save your ass lawyer.

    How is it that the system was set up this way, where each victim is already without options before the trial even begins?

    As I read through my father’s evidence file, everything was off…except the girl’s reports.  They were right on.

    What was off was that in the history of the little girls stories, it was almost always noted, that an adult knew, was in the room or had been told, but not believed. 

    How off is that? 

    The children had been talking, telling and no one was listening. Then, a Detective arrives in our home, we give once again our stories add a touch of hope that this time, the Bad Man will get punished…and nothing bad happens to him and our faith and hope are dashed once again.

    He wins, he carries on as if 'nothing bad' has happened.

    I hadn’t truly considered the volume of abuse, while I had knew there were many…many seems so oblique. 

    But when you read names and descriptions and locations and what my father is wearing, where he is sitting and then how he ensnares a little girl to sit with him in his kindness and laid back ways and then how strong he becomes in keeping them upon his lap…Forcible Contact on his penis, it sharpens the focus and makes him even more a pedophile if that is possible.

    My friends wrote, and theirs were not table abuse if you will, but mentioned instead tents and beds…rape and masturbation… I can see his technique changed over time, perhaps age or laziness or just the threat of being caught increased…

    My friend’s stories match my fragmented memories of sneaking out of his bed…in terror of waking him.  I now have collaborating evidence to my body’s feelings of him.

    Nothing is off in their stories, nothing doesn’t make sense, all are literal confirmations of who my father is.  They all add up to the same definition, and yet at the end of his trial he walks free.

    It would seem with the volume of evidence remembered, the outcome would have gone better for us, but we didn’t know who we were entrusting our stories to.

    Doug Edwards Prosecuting Attorney was suppose to serve up our justice, but he didn’t allow most of us into the courtroom, our stories lay without a serving of justice, just tucked into a file to remain in the dark.

    How was justice any different than the church’s blessing and forgiving and wanting us to forget?

    It seems there is a very off pattern here, children speaking and the forces that be or the higher powers, neglecting to do their part.

     What is and always has been consistent over the 40 years of this abusive reign my father has been on, is that the children are the only ones doing their part.

    Each time they are asked they tell the truth.

    Each time they are asked they put hope in the abuse ending.

    Each time they tell they are once again disappointed.

     Imagine, the adults who knew and the vast intersections in the community? 

    Wife, mother, neighborhood parents, minister and socical services and then finally the law.

    And then imagine when the law sets him free what we are left with?

    What I know for sure it wasn’t for the lack of evidence or the lack of victims speaking out or the lack of remembering or recalling correctly…the one main source of his freedom is the reactions from all the adults who were informed of his behaviors.

    And I believe each adult had their own personal reasons, their own personal stories of pride and friendship…of fear of what this will do in their own lives by facing this morsel of truth full on.

    It had very little to do with Ray Huhta.

    For anyone with nothing to lose would read these reports and be incensed and filled with the off color of Ray and the repeated and long suffering of abuse of the girls.

    You would have to be legally blind and totally incompetent to not get it. 

    No one reading this could possibly believe that he wasn’t a serial abuser, a pedophile with long standing reputation, for the birth dates of the oldest victim is in the 1950’s to the youngest…in the late 1990’s.

    What sits with me the most is again that it isn’t that we need to have more victims come forth, we need to have more victim rights, holding more adults accountable for dropping the ball.

    Why is Doug Edwards not reprimanded for this?

    Why wasn't the Social Service Man, Marv Heinonen not taken to task for knowing for over 30 years and doing nothing?

    Why wasn’t the Minister, Pete Torola not held accountable for knowing that children were being abuse and he did nothing?  (yes I get it, he is dead. But he was quite alive back in my childhood when my friends told him…)

    Why are we allowing adults behaving badly?  What is so odd is not only is my father way out of line on treatment to children, but then are the rest who knew and did a feeble at best attempt to shut him down.

    Imagine, HE is a FREE Man.  He had lots of help in order to remain free up against so much evidence.  He had lots and lots of help!

    Honest!  Read these stories and you would shudder to think he is free, living in Texas, has access to his newest little great -granddaughter and has full approval by his daughter and his grandson to have a ‘relationship’ with her.

     Again, adults behaving badly!

    Not JUST him, all who are still blindly and without comprehension of the danger they are willingly allowing his latest victim, his 2000 model from walking down my same road.  Sure, it may not be rape today or even masturbation, perhaps she will get off lightly with just forcible contact of her private parts while her father and grandmother visit with him, like there is nothing wrong. 

    Who is behaving badly?