From the Abused Daughter: Father’s Day Reflections

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Photo by Sheryl Nields. 

Today I asked Father’s day what I could learn from it.

For years we haven’t had the best relationship.

I dreaded the day it came and wished I could ignore the loud messages of happy moments of little girls with their fathers.

If only I could know what that feels like.

Father’s day responded and said self-love.

Celebrate the men who are good fathers.

The great men who love their children with pure love unconditionally, who show up consistently and relentlessly for their children no matter their life circumstances.

My wounded self wanted to come out and play the same story of hatred towards my father but that story just doesn’t sit well inside of me anymore.

I have grown past the wound like an overgrown toenail ready to fall off.

I can’t celebrate him but I can celebrate my growth, my resiliency and my strength after.

I grieve the opportunity to have a father to call to say I love you and feel safe in saying it.

I see today as a gift to myself and to the great men in my life who show up for their families, children and loved ones and me.

You will be the heroes for the women who have lost faith in men.

Happy Father’s day.

Telling Your Deepest Dark Secret

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Secrets in the Night (shh, don’t tell anyone)

I have a strange relationship to the night.

If I were to personify it, I imagine the night would be a man.

The night was a man.

An older man with a bald head and black mustache shaped like Hitler’s.

A man old enough to be my father.

Hint: What if he was my father? 

The night had no respect for me.

He would come to me half-naked waking me.

In thirst. Wanting me.

Desiring to put his dick inside of my thirteen year old vagina.

At 2 a.m. relentlessly he came to lie next to me.

[Are you awake?

I want to talk.]

Poking me with his long finger shaped like a penis.

The night would be a fear that would haunt me for years.

I would wake up in the midnight hour kicking and screaming like clockwork.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!”

This time the night wasn’t there by my bedside.

Sleeping next to me. Whispering in my ear how he wanted to fuck me.

This time the night was my partner.

A friend. A stranger.

And sometimes…

No one.

But the shadows.

I hated the night for years.

I had dreams of killing the night.

Murdering him slowly. Torturing him until he was sorry.

[It was your fault.

You wanted it.]

The night never lies.

It shows us the truth of who we are of the darkness that lives inside all of us.

He lived like a disease inside of me until I too was slowly dying.

From the memory of his hands on me. Of his words that haunted me.

That’s why I tell this story.

The night comes to show us the secrets that we are hiding from.

Something I have learned about the secrets we keep is that some of them do slowly kill us.

Which is why I tell this story.

Sharing a secret is like giving away an all-access pass to a room in your house.

It gives us a moment to remember what happened.

It gives us the truth.

And the truth shall set you free, right?

The Tale & Healing from Sexual Abuse

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Last night I watched The Tale, a new movie on HBO based on true events of the director Jennifer Fox’s life. She was sexually abused by her running coach at thirteen.

Usually I opt out of watching these movies because they do trigger me. For anyone reading if you watch the movie, know that you might be triggered.

There are some graphic scenes that made me sick to my stomach.

I saw myself in the main character. She resonated with me in her journey of discovering that she was sexually abused and accepting it.

I don’t know about every woman but I do know that for years I couldn’t accept the truth. It was a slow agonizing process to realize that my father wanted to have sex with me.

Even as I type these words I feel sick to my stomach.

Watching The Tale last night only magnified my feelings around sexual trauma.

I was very promiscuous in my twenties. I experimented with women. I experimented with polyamory relationships. I have wondered if my experimenting had anything to do with the trauma around intimacy.

In the film, the perpetrator tells the victim it was her. He was in his forties and she was a thirteen year old girl. It was her fault that it happened.

I remember many times my father saying the exact same words.

It was my fault. I wanted it. 

The journey of sharing my story has been a slow process.

I have held shame around it as if I was the cause of all the abuse.

I know now that it isn’t the case.

I felt an obligation to protect my parents. I shouldn’t talk badly about them. 

Or talk about what happened.

If you ever find yourself saying shouldn’t remove it from the sentence immediately.

It only brings guilt.

I lived with another family at sixteen.

In the film the main character idolizes two adults who become like her family.

I remember idolizing this family as well.

They adopted me and I moved in with them.

As the adopted father and I grew closer I remember several conversations of him sharing that if he had met me years before his wife we would be together.

I was sitting at the kitchen table doing my homework.

I remember thinking, “Oh no. This can’t be happening again.”.

It was a scary life for me as a budding teenager.

I know that many times I thought I should try dating women because then I’d be safe.

I wasn’t particularly sexually attracted to them as I was emotionally.

I wanted to feel safe.

They made me feel safe.

The Tale shows that a young girl wants to feel special especially by her family.

To feel safe. And loved.

We all do.

The main character freed herself in her own way by speaking her truth.

But remember this is based on the director’s life.

I admire Jennifer Fox for taking her pain and creating a powerful message with it.

I am just starting to really talk about the years of trauma I experienced.

Thank you Jennifer for being a voice for us. For giving us perspective into your journey.

I look forward to taking my story and impacting millions of women with it.

 

For the Sexually Abused Woman

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My father reached out to me to congratulate me on my pregnancy. He also mentioned a message of now I will never be alone.

I couldn’t help but to reply that yes, I will never be alone because I don’t abuse people.

We don’t speak.

He knows I don’t want to have a relationship with him yet he oversteps my boundaries.

He has never taken responsibility for his acts of sexual abuse to me.

He has never changed, grown, gotten help or acknowledged the damage he has inflicted on his family.

And even if he did, it wouldn’t change anything.

I could never trust him.

For years he made me feel that it was my fault for his sexual advances. That I asked for it.

As I embrace motherhood I can’t imagine my child ever experiencing what I went through.

The inhumane treatment I experienced.

There was a moment that I thought my parents would kill me.

A memory of my Mother stuffing a towel in my mouth so that the neighbors wouldn’t hear my screams while my Father beat me on the floor.

This is only one of the many violent memories I have been healing from in therapy.

There was a time that I felt guilty for not wanting a relationship with him. He drilled this belief in us that no matter what happened we were family always.

So he could treat us any way and we still had to love him in the end.

I wonder why life still gives him and people like him a chance to live.

For the women who have been sexually abused and abused… you have every right to speak up. To say something. To feel angry. To feel complete utter rage.

I got to say what I wanted to always say to him today.
That he is a sick man.

And one that will never get my pardons.

I refuse to play in a relationship that is built on the past is the past and let’s move on. On an idea of false happiness.

He still treats my Mother will little to no respect. He preys on young women. He is abusive towards everyone. And this year he spent his birthday alone. With no one by his side.

Karma = action = consequence.

We have no obligation to the people who violate us regardless of the title “family”.

I have grown immensely over the years into a pretty phenomenal and healthy woman. I had to save myself during moments when I wanted to end my own life.

I am still decompressing the years of violence and abuse in therapy. I still have moments of PTSD and triggers. My therapist and I have done serious work to get me to where I am now. And I am super proud of myself.

My friends who suffer from trauma, you can’t change what happened to you.

But you can change how you live with it and how those people live inside of you.

They don’t get to have your power.

They get to hear your voice.

You get to be here.

You belong.

19 questions on life to find one answer.

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This morning I answered 19 questions.

19 questions life to reconnect to my new vision. My sense of purpose.

I found that as I connected to my future self there wasn’t much of a change in my answers.

Only more clarity.

Only one macro shift.

I am going to be a mother.

This macro shift has changed my lens of the world.

My lens of myself.

These 19 questions led to me back to my safe place inside.

Truth.

No matter what I am doing in the future. How I am living.

I want to live a full life. With ease and grace.

I want to create a impact in the world of healing from trauma and loss.

Because there is enough suffering in the world.

I want to be a great Mother. I know I will be.

To give and receive love.

To trust.

While we can tap into the dream picture… I have realized that I am okay with the simple things.

With waking up and breathing.

With writing.

With being a mom.

Motherhood is a gift that only some get to experience.

What a great responsibility and gift for all.

 

Speak Your Voice even if it F*cking Shakes

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The process of sharing my voice has been an uphill battle.

As a child and young adult I never truly felt safe in sharing my voice.

I didn’t know the rage it could carry when angry.

I didn’t know the gentle grace it has when soft.

I didn’t know how powerful it was to move crowds.

It has been in the last few years that I have given my voice a chance to be FREE. To say what it has never said. To feel the tremble of anxiety in front of crowds.

To be on Facebook live and teach webinars, do mediumship messages in front of strangers and liberate myself from the fears of judgment, rejection and disapproval.

Or worse.

My little girl is slowly leaving and my woman voice is rising.

She is firm. Stern. Soft. gentle. nurturing. compassionate, resilient as fuck.

She loves unconditionally.

She holds space with sacredness.

She gives because she just fucking wants to.

And… she curses. Because it feels good.

And these days I am all about doing whatever I can to feel better.

The goal isn’t 100% going to be to feel good. But I can make it a goal to feel better.

So I am giving myself permission to be FREE as fuck. In my communication.

In my message. In my loudness. In my softness.

I still am learning boundaries. To give and to receive.

TO SAY NO.

NO is still hard. It is safe for me to say no now with grace and ease.

For those who are not sure what their voice is or are stepping into the power of the voice here are some tools that have helped me:

  1. Scream. Find a mountain. Find a room. Your car. And scream as loud as you want to. Scream all the things that your heart hurts from! Scream all the things you want! Shout it into the universe! What are you deserving of? What are you healing from? Who do you want to curse out? DO IT! And don’t hold back.
  2. Sing. Sing in the shower. Sing strange sounds. Make up new words. Play with sound.
  3. Speak up. Be the first to speak up in a crowd of people. Raise your hand. Everyone else is probably too scared to speak their truth. Do it and be the source of change.

These are a few tools I practice to help me release, transform and hear what I want to say, what I need to say, and what I MUST say.

It doesn’t always have to make sense. It is an experiment with you finding, hearing, soothing your voice.

Be free voice, be free.

The Love You Give to Another.

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“Could I love him

any more deeply?”,

I asked myself after we ended our evening call.

Perhaps it is not

the depths of my love that needs to be measured.

But the trust

to know

that it is there.

The thing about relationships

is we hope the other will get us,

fill us up

when we are empty,

calm our storms

when we can’t see the rainbow.

I’ve learned through trial and error

there is no soul

that can fill us up

but our own.

Use the love you give to another

and let it be the medicine

you give to yourself.

The first song you sing in the morning,

the first drop of coffee on your tongue,

the first light that hits your window,

yes, my love

give your love to another

but first

give it

to

yourself.