How much does my past and the things that happened to me affect my parenting? Well, for starters- I trust NO ONE! I am suspect of everyone, and that isn't fair to them. I am very protective , and scared of what could happen to my children. I don't want them to go through the same things that I did, and I tend to freak out about things that maybe I shouldn't. For instance: nakedness in my house is a no- no, and my children love to just streak through the house. I especially don't want my little girl to see her brother's naked, or them to see her. But the more I push, the more they want to be naked, and they don't understand why. It is a fear of mine. It is maybe a bit irrational, but for me, I am desperately trying to protect them from harm. I am trying to teach them the sacredness of their bodies, and privacy, yet I feel like a Nazi when trying to enforce it. I fear that if they can't follow simple instructions, it will lead to them getting hurt. I Am a bit of a control freak, although I am REALLY working on that.
My past has led me to be the parent that I am- with all the fear and control that comes with it. I tend to see these things as flaws, however, I also see the good. I think it is important in my posts here, to express the good that has come out of my horrifying experiences. I love my children, and have taught them from the very beginning the correct terminology of their parts. I have also taught them that NO ONE gets to touch them in anyway- if they say no. My little girl has come to say "Jesus doesn't want you to touch us." to daddy when she doesn't want to be tickled. No hugs are forced, and it is important to me to help my children know that they are in charge of their bodies. I have an open communication with them, and I am learning how to talk to them so that if anything were ever to come up, they would know that I am here, and I will always listen. They know that I will protect them.
I am by no means perfect, and often times my emotional abuse that I suffered as a child comes back to haunt me and I get upset and say things. But I am human and I make mistakes. The difference for me is that I repent, and improve. This life is a trial, and we have choices to make: either we learn from our mistakes, or we repeat them. I'd like to think that I am a bit smarter than the guy that repeats mistakes over and over and over again.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Saturday, July 9, 2011
A friend and a challenge
Ironically the day after I started this blog, a friend came forward (without knowing about this) and said she was molested as a child. I remember her mentioning it in passing once when we were in high school, but it was not something I was talking about. As I think about it now, I wonder if she felt like I wasn't listening, not knowing that I was going through the pain myself. I'm sorry. Sorry I wasn't there for you to lean on, sorry I was in my own pain, and not able to comfort you. Proud of you for the steps you are taking, and the amazing girl you are.
On a family vacation, some members of her family invited the man over to where they were staying, and so after 20 some years she had to face him, and was riddled with anger, fear, and resentment that they would expect her to "just get over it."
I know about forgiveness, and the steps to take to forgive, and it is not something we can "just get over." It is a process, and a life long one at that. It is understanding that WE are not to blame for what happened to us, and knowing that the abuser will have to pay. If not in this life, in the next life. Part of forgiveness is turning it over to the Lord and asking him to take this burden from you. My family still tells me about the boy that raped me, and they expect me to care. Yes, I have forgiven him, but he is one person that I don't want to know what he is doing or where he is in life. I do not want to hear that he is doing great, while the torment he unleashed on me has left such a last mark on my soul. Is it because I have not forgiven? Maybe, there are steps I need to take further to be able to completely forgive, and that is why I write.
Thank you to those who read, and can understand what it is that girls like me go through. There are a lot more of us out there, then you probably think. Stand up, be brave and stop the silence.
On a family vacation, some members of her family invited the man over to where they were staying, and so after 20 some years she had to face him, and was riddled with anger, fear, and resentment that they would expect her to "just get over it."
I know about forgiveness, and the steps to take to forgive, and it is not something we can "just get over." It is a process, and a life long one at that. It is understanding that WE are not to blame for what happened to us, and knowing that the abuser will have to pay. If not in this life, in the next life. Part of forgiveness is turning it over to the Lord and asking him to take this burden from you. My family still tells me about the boy that raped me, and they expect me to care. Yes, I have forgiven him, but he is one person that I don't want to know what he is doing or where he is in life. I do not want to hear that he is doing great, while the torment he unleashed on me has left such a last mark on my soul. Is it because I have not forgiven? Maybe, there are steps I need to take further to be able to completely forgive, and that is why I write.
Thank you to those who read, and can understand what it is that girls like me go through. There are a lot more of us out there, then you probably think. Stand up, be brave and stop the silence.
Monday, July 4, 2011
How it all started
I am starting this blog in hopes of reaching some of you that may be feeling the same pain that I once felt. The pain that I sometimes feel even still. I want this to be a safe place that you can come to express your hurt, frustrations, and especially your triumphs!
So, to start I wanted to give a history of me and where I am coming from. I was born to a father who was 66, and a mother who was 33 and mentally handicapped. I had an older brother and an older sister. Soon would come a younger sister. When I was about 6 years old (as far as I can REMEMBER) my father began to sexually abuse me. He would tuck me into bed at night and then he would make me touch him, while he touched me. I remember feeling dirty and creepy. I also remember peeing my pants a few times at school at this point. I remember one day that he told me he was preparing me for when I got older, so my body would be ready for my husband. I of course didn't understand what that meant as a 7 or 8 year old, but it makes me sick now. Soon, my brother joined in and was making me do things to him as well. My parents openly had sex in their bedroom, without locking the door; so with four young kids, we walked in on them regularly while they were in the act. Confusing for a child to see and hard to understand the sanctity of it, especially while dad was doing what he was to me. Then comes in the "friendly neighbor" next door who always invited us girls over for ice cream. I have always loved ice cream, so I was excited. That is until I realized that he wanted the same thing from me that the other men in my life had wanted. My older sister didn't seem to have a problem with it, in fact she said to me "just do what he wants, and he'll give you an ice cream." So, now there is my sister pawning me off. I know that the things that were done to me were also being done to her, and I know that she suffers to this day too.
Move forward a few years. I am not sure HOW, because I don't specifically remember telling anyone, but somehow the right people found out and we were moved into foster care. I was hopeful for a real family, but I didn't trust men. I really kept my distance. It took me a long time to trust my foster brother, and feel like he was okay. Then it happened. He started coming into my room when everyone was asleep, and feeling me up. I was an active member of my church, and I fully knew it was wrong. I told him "no" several times, but I was so confused. Yes I was 15 years old, and understood that it was not right, however, I also had a past, and this boy was in a position of power over me in the family. I remember hating myself for allowing him to do that to me, and told myself the next time I would push him away, or scream. But each time I chickened out, and then one night he raped me. I screamed, but no one heard me. My younger sister whom I shared a room with was away that night, and the bedroom doors were all shut, with fans in the windows because it was a hot summer night. He left and I cried myself to sleep. ASHAMED, HURT, and SCARED. The next day I told my sister what had been happening and she told me I had to tell. She told me that I had to stop him. My younger sister was so much braver than I was, and I think that maybe it was because she didn't get the abuse that my older sister and I got, either that or she was so young that she had no recollection of it. I was afraid to tell. I had lived with this family for 6 years, and I was afraid of my world changing. I had lots of friends at church, and I didn't want to lose them. I talk to a couple of the girls about it, and they too told me to tell. Then one night just after Christmas time, he came in again to get a dose. My sister and I switched places on our bunk beds, and he approached her thinking it was me. She grabbed him and said "I know what you are doing, and if you touch my sister again, I will rip your nuts off and feed 'em to ya!" Wow, she was my hero! In the morning, she told me that if I didn't call the caseworker that day, she would. So I did it, and I never returned to that home again. My world was in a whirlwind, and when reported, he denied it and told the case worker that it was mutual, that I even initiated it sometimes. I was told that technically I was NOT raped because according to the test in the hospital, he had not penetrated deep enough for them to see. Apparently I stopped him in time. What a loud of crap! As a 16 year old girl, I was basically told that it was my fault, and I asked for it. Can you imagine the impact this has on a girl? YES, torment!
So, I was moved away and again reaffirmed that men are evil. I moved to a nice family (for real this time), but because of the crap that I was put through, I was not about to give them the time of day. I was literally "damaged goods." I was given some freedom in the home, and I went wild. I started dating and sleeping with anyone and everyone that would. After all, it was no longer MY body, and I figured I would let them do what they wanted, maybe then they would like me, and I would be popular. I didn't care about being called a slut, because once the rumors got around at the old school, and he was telling everyone I wanted it, I was being called a slut anyway. I went off to college, and added alcohol to the mix, and I became a prostitute- only I didn't get paid. Then I met a guy, who cared about me. I have always been a loyal girl, and I cared about him deeply, I loved him. But I didn't know how to love someone, heck, I didn't love myself. We were together for almost 4 years, before I chased him away. Then I met my first son's dad, and I was again in a place where I blamed everyone else, I felt sorry for myself and I was angry because I lost the one thing that meant so much to me. My self destruction was full force. I used sex as a tool to get what I wanted, I was drinking and smoking cigarettes like they were water and candy. Until that is, I got pregnant. I wanted to do it right, so I married him. This was a disaster, because when I finally got to my senses, I realized I didn't want to raise my son with a man who didn't share the same ideals as me. We divorced. And for a little while I was careless again. I slept around, and this time I got very unhappy results. I got herpes. BUT, ironically THIS is what snapped me out of my path of self-destruct. I realized that I wanted better for my son, and I started attending church regularly. I realized that GOD is not the one that did this to me, and yes what happened to me was crappy, but I am the one that made the destructive choices leading me to herpes.
So, to start I wanted to give a history of me and where I am coming from. I was born to a father who was 66, and a mother who was 33 and mentally handicapped. I had an older brother and an older sister. Soon would come a younger sister. When I was about 6 years old (as far as I can REMEMBER) my father began to sexually abuse me. He would tuck me into bed at night and then he would make me touch him, while he touched me. I remember feeling dirty and creepy. I also remember peeing my pants a few times at school at this point. I remember one day that he told me he was preparing me for when I got older, so my body would be ready for my husband. I of course didn't understand what that meant as a 7 or 8 year old, but it makes me sick now. Soon, my brother joined in and was making me do things to him as well. My parents openly had sex in their bedroom, without locking the door; so with four young kids, we walked in on them regularly while they were in the act. Confusing for a child to see and hard to understand the sanctity of it, especially while dad was doing what he was to me. Then comes in the "friendly neighbor" next door who always invited us girls over for ice cream. I have always loved ice cream, so I was excited. That is until I realized that he wanted the same thing from me that the other men in my life had wanted. My older sister didn't seem to have a problem with it, in fact she said to me "just do what he wants, and he'll give you an ice cream." So, now there is my sister pawning me off. I know that the things that were done to me were also being done to her, and I know that she suffers to this day too.
Move forward a few years. I am not sure HOW, because I don't specifically remember telling anyone, but somehow the right people found out and we were moved into foster care. I was hopeful for a real family, but I didn't trust men. I really kept my distance. It took me a long time to trust my foster brother, and feel like he was okay. Then it happened. He started coming into my room when everyone was asleep, and feeling me up. I was an active member of my church, and I fully knew it was wrong. I told him "no" several times, but I was so confused. Yes I was 15 years old, and understood that it was not right, however, I also had a past, and this boy was in a position of power over me in the family. I remember hating myself for allowing him to do that to me, and told myself the next time I would push him away, or scream. But each time I chickened out, and then one night he raped me. I screamed, but no one heard me. My younger sister whom I shared a room with was away that night, and the bedroom doors were all shut, with fans in the windows because it was a hot summer night. He left and I cried myself to sleep. ASHAMED, HURT, and SCARED. The next day I told my sister what had been happening and she told me I had to tell. She told me that I had to stop him. My younger sister was so much braver than I was, and I think that maybe it was because she didn't get the abuse that my older sister and I got, either that or she was so young that she had no recollection of it. I was afraid to tell. I had lived with this family for 6 years, and I was afraid of my world changing. I had lots of friends at church, and I didn't want to lose them. I talk to a couple of the girls about it, and they too told me to tell. Then one night just after Christmas time, he came in again to get a dose. My sister and I switched places on our bunk beds, and he approached her thinking it was me. She grabbed him and said "I know what you are doing, and if you touch my sister again, I will rip your nuts off and feed 'em to ya!" Wow, she was my hero! In the morning, she told me that if I didn't call the caseworker that day, she would. So I did it, and I never returned to that home again. My world was in a whirlwind, and when reported, he denied it and told the case worker that it was mutual, that I even initiated it sometimes. I was told that technically I was NOT raped because according to the test in the hospital, he had not penetrated deep enough for them to see. Apparently I stopped him in time. What a loud of crap! As a 16 year old girl, I was basically told that it was my fault, and I asked for it. Can you imagine the impact this has on a girl? YES, torment!
So, I was moved away and again reaffirmed that men are evil. I moved to a nice family (for real this time), but because of the crap that I was put through, I was not about to give them the time of day. I was literally "damaged goods." I was given some freedom in the home, and I went wild. I started dating and sleeping with anyone and everyone that would. After all, it was no longer MY body, and I figured I would let them do what they wanted, maybe then they would like me, and I would be popular. I didn't care about being called a slut, because once the rumors got around at the old school, and he was telling everyone I wanted it, I was being called a slut anyway. I went off to college, and added alcohol to the mix, and I became a prostitute- only I didn't get paid. Then I met a guy, who cared about me. I have always been a loyal girl, and I cared about him deeply, I loved him. But I didn't know how to love someone, heck, I didn't love myself. We were together for almost 4 years, before I chased him away. Then I met my first son's dad, and I was again in a place where I blamed everyone else, I felt sorry for myself and I was angry because I lost the one thing that meant so much to me. My self destruction was full force. I used sex as a tool to get what I wanted, I was drinking and smoking cigarettes like they were water and candy. Until that is, I got pregnant. I wanted to do it right, so I married him. This was a disaster, because when I finally got to my senses, I realized I didn't want to raise my son with a man who didn't share the same ideals as me. We divorced. And for a little while I was careless again. I slept around, and this time I got very unhappy results. I got herpes. BUT, ironically THIS is what snapped me out of my path of self-destruct. I realized that I wanted better for my son, and I started attending church regularly. I realized that GOD is not the one that did this to me, and yes what happened to me was crappy, but I am the one that made the destructive choices leading me to herpes.
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