tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16200256026112329582024-03-13T09:56:11.712-07:00A Solitary JourneyFrom personal devastation and betrayal to discovering self, wholeness and recoveryBrenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.comBlogger121125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-18383604985399510032023-05-06T16:55:00.003-07:002023-05-06T16:55:46.822-07:00I Danced<p> <i>This post is a bit different from others that appear on this blog, however, I think the message is an important one for those of us who come from abusive or difficult backgrounds. So often the music of our lives is silenced and we forget that we were born to thrive and yes, to dance. Reconnecting to our lost selves involves learning to hear the music again and to dare to dance. There is hope beyond the despair of what has happened to us so turn the music up and let's dance!</i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ88Yf9Btcv4Cs0iUB3RpBfe5Q8jKBKg1aOjcuQyrJjIPYXlGt0u8gifhaDpjk2jq0bmkbAIqFk81kmjmXLfzicl-zopmC4EoqUtu19E9jHVUDWGNoSxXlbQXvQDr_Lxg22LIiF4xJUZiF_1Dg-N0L09U0YgNMnDy22xaiPwulnSN0FfHlWXVeKTwTBQ/s3928/2018%20-%201%20of%201.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3928" data-original-width="2463" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ88Yf9Btcv4Cs0iUB3RpBfe5Q8jKBKg1aOjcuQyrJjIPYXlGt0u8gifhaDpjk2jq0bmkbAIqFk81kmjmXLfzicl-zopmC4EoqUtu19E9jHVUDWGNoSxXlbQXvQDr_Lxg22LIiF4xJUZiF_1Dg-N0L09U0YgNMnDy22xaiPwulnSN0FfHlWXVeKTwTBQ/w73-h115/2018%20-%201%20of%201.jpeg" width="73" /></a></div><br />In the religious tradition that I grew up in, dancing was very much taboo and frowned upon. My dad insisted that I be excluded from a square-dancing section of a physical education class when I was in school. "Dancing" in the context of a religious concert was ok because it was considered to be an act of "worship." But dancing with another in a religious concert was not ok. Then it was about connecting with another human rather than an expression of a desire to connect with God.<p></p><p>Recently I went to my first secular (gasp) rock concert featuring a cover band for Grateful Dead music. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitd6PeL8NXLdGiUrPNatc6POXxDMGI5qT_hg8gCPxz9Z4cNnQXdNsUIHt3fPbEzvFJDv8ct4nbXEWXYrpXUf_VerBuueUHCf3hqg2iNA_k7MlXLb4OEKS215n8oDVt0J9xFTjvh0JczblG8yNcOra-ENaowmzuv05LnSXxyj5mCmBeC27iA33owuxMog/s2322/2016%20-%201%20of%201.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2001" data-original-width="2322" height="96" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitd6PeL8NXLdGiUrPNatc6POXxDMGI5qT_hg8gCPxz9Z4cNnQXdNsUIHt3fPbEzvFJDv8ct4nbXEWXYrpXUf_VerBuueUHCf3hqg2iNA_k7MlXLb4OEKS215n8oDVt0J9xFTjvh0JczblG8yNcOra-ENaowmzuv05LnSXxyj5mCmBeC27iA33owuxMog/w111-h96/2016%20-%201%20of%201.jpeg" width="111" /></a></div>The crowd included older "deadheads" as well as a younger crowd who enjoy the music of the 60's and 70's. As I looked around the room, I was overwhelmed by the kindness, generosity, inclusivity, acceptance and joy I saw. People were accommodating of each other and human connections abounded. The thought occurred to me that Papa God would feel more at home in that crowd than in most churches. So, I danced.<p></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Even with three left feet and a body unaccustomed to moving to the music, I danced.</li><li>I danced with someone I care about and the shared connection to the music and our bodies was intoxicating.</li><li>I danced for the sheer joy of being human, of being in a room with other humans--of joining in our shared humanity.</li><li>I danced with joy and not quite abandonment (yet).</li><li>I celebrated the connection that dancing creates between one's body and spirit.</li><li>I danced as an embodiment of my complete selfhood and joyfully expressed that embodiment.</li><li>By dancing, I gave myself over to the joy of being present with others in a shared experience of music and connection.</li><li>By dancing, I entered fully into the joyful expression of others--a shared connection and intimacy.</li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3qS2HIHPn8dHtpMJw-oxiwHbcgyCgf8104_yC1zKqVPkKDQkXDq0gz4t3-ivdG_w2yJQPRob2I-SwgRbqEqRxo-SUyr5yqOsee7-MHpucZ_txFNKDaWZ0T3-FB8B7T1Awa4AWDI3ARBb-AljGXdVpp63DH322X1nkkFHlfVgQgY432bTobT_2OHq2CA/s5152/Alaska%202017%20-%201%20of%201.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5152" data-original-width="2781" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3qS2HIHPn8dHtpMJw-oxiwHbcgyCgf8104_yC1zKqVPkKDQkXDq0gz4t3-ivdG_w2yJQPRob2I-SwgRbqEqRxo-SUyr5yqOsee7-MHpucZ_txFNKDaWZ0T3-FB8B7T1Awa4AWDI3ARBb-AljGXdVpp63DH322X1nkkFHlfVgQgY432bTobT_2OHq2CA/w84-h156/Alaska%202017%20-%201%20of%201.jpeg" width="84" /></a></div><br />I know why I haven't danced to this point in my life, but I vow to continue to dance with joy and with intentionality from this point forward. I'm going to keep dancing in spite of bad knees, an aching back and arthritic stiffness. I want to dance until the day I die. I want to dance alone, with a significant other and with the larger gathering humanity. And really, isn't connecting with one another one of the main ways that we connect with God, as we know her? <p></p><p>Shall we dance?</p>Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-77636250004676716072023-02-10T15:05:00.000-08:002023-02-10T15:05:06.281-08:00The Death of a Relationship<p><i>In re-reading my journal recently, I found this old entry that I want to share; maybe it will mean something to you, my readers.</i></p><p><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0in;">What is it like when a relationship dies?</span></p><style class="WebKit-mso-list-quirks-style">
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</style><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpFirst"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">When love turns to apathy<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">When passion quietly flickers out?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">Can you point to a specific day<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">or catalog one event that hammers the final nail in the coffin?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">Maybe sometimes this is the case.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYEAYxiJbuV60f8Uo9vNeWfbBgPHDvcgw2JsAzYQjqZfB0GL1em5eKru9v_YpkzXdvoCFxba6PsUPUgJQWFgoBtOp03oYpHil8MoOZYQ-u3D5Z4QpLlNq1bxUvam2Wg92ZTY6x2OlMe8LciwI5f2c11jL16Kd7ECgjTwuwCkYep-DGBLZOebB5p3PNyw/s1440/2022%20-%201%20of%201.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYEAYxiJbuV60f8Uo9vNeWfbBgPHDvcgw2JsAzYQjqZfB0GL1em5eKru9v_YpkzXdvoCFxba6PsUPUgJQWFgoBtOp03oYpHil8MoOZYQ-u3D5Z4QpLlNq1bxUvam2Wg92ZTY6x2OlMe8LciwI5f2c11jL16Kd7ECgjTwuwCkYep-DGBLZOebB5p3PNyw/w262-h262/2022%20-%201%20of%201.jpeg" width="262" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">But it seems more often the effects</p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">of many days and nights spent alone</p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">of responsibilities and interests that take priority.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">The culmination of fights and disagreements over petty things<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">While the elephant in the room is overlooked.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">He wants solitude; she wants intimacy.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">He wants words of affirmation; she wants quality time.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">He focuses on work and career; she focuses on hearth and home.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">The kids grow up and leave the nest.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">Life doesn’t change for him; it changes radically for her.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">All those years of runny noses, dirty diapers, squabbles and money woes;<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">One thing kept her going: they would one day return to a world of two.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">One day the house would be theirs alone once more.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">One day there would be time to rediscover what drew them together in the beginning.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">One day they would have the time to fall in love all over again.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">Maybe sometimes this is the case.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">But not if he wants solitude and she wants intimacy.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">She can’t affirm and speak lovingly when her heart is breaking with loneliness.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">His focus is still outward looking; but while she surveys the horizons of possibilities and potential, her heart is still anchored to home and hearth—to him.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">The kids are gone, making lives for themselves.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">She desperately wants life to change for them but he is content with the life he has created for himself.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">What is it like when a relationship dies?</p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle"><br /><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX_gzPH9DdIDsqcOkskyygCcko7HvZrcD3C9xLAuRuJN9wf5x_MaL6DiGW9f1oWR5ePWQ3m6QbpjfQ8ZD262acCo9Ztk9dqBeW_361cuVZshaVUoBATvYZ3H6c_vANlj04khOcgSfRpx5sv-PQ5-Akx8JDzz8nhf93YIlbk5JYlfsqk_AygK5RWbegtA/s960/2022%20-%201%20of%201%20(2).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX_gzPH9DdIDsqcOkskyygCcko7HvZrcD3C9xLAuRuJN9wf5x_MaL6DiGW9f1oWR5ePWQ3m6QbpjfQ8ZD262acCo9Ztk9dqBeW_361cuVZshaVUoBATvYZ3H6c_vANlj04khOcgSfRpx5sv-PQ5-Akx8JDzz8nhf93YIlbk5JYlfsqk_AygK5RWbegtA/w152-h202/2022%20-%201%20of%201%20(2).jpeg" width="152" /></a></div><p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">Death. Solitude. Aloneness. Loneliness. Sadness.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">There is no body to lovingly put to rest and memorialize—no closure.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">There is no date to mark the end, just an endless maze of days trying to breathe, trying to survive the crushing grief.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">And not being able to talk to the one person you want most to talk to: the one who has been the most significant person in your life; the one you are used to going to with joys and sorrows.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">How does one move forward while still tethered to deadness?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">How does one learn to live as a single while still married?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">How does one create a new life when the old one is what you want?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">How does one survive emotionally when reminded daily of what has been lost?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpMiddle">I don’t know, do you?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="NoteLevel1CxSpLast"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-47347116014465312372022-12-13T06:00:00.001-08:002022-12-13T08:04:56.735-08:00Keep Going!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHNGqpQa0mAan8g_YGwCfmdzX_xYmuEbkrSbulFFSKNcTKfy2OQ5m6vzYeSwbBsi-UJIzpkWr2gqN20-rXep-VXGbJtChgpAbO9tdfIcpUoIT2E7IeLju6oG5xXxh6e9bZzs20fkCuY5wx6PvmYkv_HrYe6gaArYuLQ13JyM1yOejeo3CoNBxQhiPUQ/s1376/Mom's%20Memorial%20-%201%20of%201.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1376" data-original-width="928" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHNGqpQa0mAan8g_YGwCfmdzX_xYmuEbkrSbulFFSKNcTKfy2OQ5m6vzYeSwbBsi-UJIzpkWr2gqN20-rXep-VXGbJtChgpAbO9tdfIcpUoIT2E7IeLju6oG5xXxh6e9bZzs20fkCuY5wx6PvmYkv_HrYe6gaArYuLQ13JyM1yOejeo3CoNBxQhiPUQ/w146-h216/Mom's%20Memorial%20-%201%20of%201.jpeg" width="146" /></a></div>My father died near the end of 2020 and my mother's grief was incalculable. When she lost him, her will to live died and was buried with him. They spent 66 contentious years together in a marriage marked by anger, recrimination, and abuse. She married my dad when she was 15 and was so conditioned to the dysfunction and violence of their relationship that she did not know what to do without it. She died ten months to the day after his death,<p></p><p>Patrick Carnes coined the phrase "<a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2013/04/life-in-house-of-mirrors.html">betrayal bond,</a>" to describe the relationship between someone who experiences trauma at the hands of a trusted other and the perpetrator. The term is used to describe the negative bond and strong attachment that develops between an abused person and their abuser or between an individual and a toxic system or process that is harmful to them. A betrayal bond can be very difficult to break free from because the experience with the toxic person or system is not continually negative--there are kindnesses or positive aspects to the relationship. My mom certainly had a betrayal bond to my dad and the toxic system they created.</p><p>My siblings and I were not immune to the toxicity of my parents' marriage and all four of us became trauma-bonded to the process and to them. The system demanded that we choose sides between our parents. Allegiances were drawn based on who we supported at any given point in time. After dad's death there was hope that the system could be destroyed but the patterns of behavior were too entrenched. By the time my mother died, all hope of vanquishing the toxic process was gone and I found myself standing alone after my siblings made hurtful and destructive decisions. Thankfully, years of therapy had helped me to break my own trauma bonds but her funeral was still shocking and shameful. Unfortunately the estrangements between my siblings and I continues unabated.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_EHlBuH1QnttkiWaWyMlCzioeA8yUbUFzpKDlOzAKeS5yV8AfdxRNXr2wWITTePDC4bCrwtMVzRUulB4Lx9ziHS4cpLcHiJ6w_fpRnqpcFl2-v6QcF61TOE-gSDr0oPNpygg-YWsWRX5srRE3nCp10F1ngpEYW885Xy2RzJ5hZFwMJBUIQO2VrAiuCg/s2883/Mom's%20Memorial%20-%201%20of%201%20(1).jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2299" data-original-width="2883" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_EHlBuH1QnttkiWaWyMlCzioeA8yUbUFzpKDlOzAKeS5yV8AfdxRNXr2wWITTePDC4bCrwtMVzRUulB4Lx9ziHS4cpLcHiJ6w_fpRnqpcFl2-v6QcF61TOE-gSDr0oPNpygg-YWsWRX5srRE3nCp10F1ngpEYW885Xy2RzJ5hZFwMJBUIQO2VrAiuCg/w225-h158/Mom's%20Memorial%20-%201%20of%201%20(1).jpeg" width="225" /></a></div>Mom was the youngest in her l<a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2013/06/a-legacy-of-trauma.html">arge family </a>as well as the youngest of dad's siblings; she was the last woman standing in both families. She was the end of an era--the last of her generation. She often spoke of her intense loneliness, lamenting "they all left me." I understood what she was saying but simply could not reframe it to her satisfaction. She had children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren along with nieces, nephews and friends. But she was so lonely. In spite of the best support we could provide, she felt abandoned by those of her generation who preceded her in death.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbgF6zVR5q_ltCI5QU6Vrs-9Jv9ebBM4MDNRSTFYiPGlV8oc3B3442_x4l-3QCmbv_Id6BjCaGcxh2or5sJkTpdlZ0c8HvGKyVYfO-qcDBbDpqTDbSRPXPtZ9LC043_oby5Hn50IQ4u0uqK0OALD6EmE7VLcO0FnOsj7yftsR0rWfSQpSOO_D5GelW1g/s2248/Untitled.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1180" data-original-width="2248" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbgF6zVR5q_ltCI5QU6Vrs-9Jv9ebBM4MDNRSTFYiPGlV8oc3B3442_x4l-3QCmbv_Id6BjCaGcxh2or5sJkTpdlZ0c8HvGKyVYfO-qcDBbDpqTDbSRPXPtZ9LC043_oby5Hn50IQ4u0uqK0OALD6EmE7VLcO0FnOsj7yftsR0rWfSQpSOO_D5GelW1g/w244-h159/Untitled.jpg" width="244" /></a></div>While I am grateful to no longer be the prisoner of a toxic system, I confess to a level of loneliness and like my mother, lament the loss of sibling relationships. It is a bittersweet experience--gratitude for freedom, and grief that I am left alone. I do not think these competing emotions are exclusive or unique to me. Freedom often creates loss, and we grieve. <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2019/12/tis-season-for-joy-and-sorrow.html">Freedom and loss </a>are really two sides of the same coin. I'm reminded of Harriet Tubman's urging escaping slaves to keep going, no matter how frightening or dangerous their journey. Her message is appropriate to those of us running away from toxic or hurtful relationships: "If you hear the dogs, keep going. If you see the torches in the woods, keep going. Don't ever stop. Keep going. If you want a taste of freedom, keep going."<p></p><p><br /></p>Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-18381174422552672162022-03-20T10:08:00.004-07:002022-03-20T10:08:55.849-07:00Life After Loss<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10pt;">To my readers: it has been a while since I have paid attention to this blog and for that, I apologize. Life has been busy with a move to the Pacific Northwest, which entailed a new job, house and lifestyle. Oh, and we did have a pandemic, which disrupted much of life for all of us. I’m happy to be back and with my impending retirement from full-time employment, look forward to being more active in the things I care deeply about. Thanks for reading and commenting on this blog--I really appreciate it.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Two years ago this month, life as we knew it ended. A virus that originated in a lab in China swept the globe, killing over six million people worldwide, to date. “Normal” disappeared and we were forced to adapt to life during a global pandemic. We wore masks, went to school and work from home, streamed a lot of TV, disinfected everything and became reacquainted with our homes and families. We were isolated, stressed and anxious and many of us lost loved ones and were not even able to say a proper goodbye or celebrate their lives with our community. We are cautiously optimistic that the pandemic is nearly over, although there always seems to be another variant that could create another surge and further restrictions in order to contain it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">There is a four-letter word that completely describes what the world community has experienced over the past two years: LOSS. Loss is almost always unexpected and intrudes itself into our lives in many forms—betrayal by a loved one, illness, financial difficulties, a global pandemic, war, death—to name a few. So, what do we know about this dreaded four-letter word?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_qUmVlhHhEoFTYy8fMuN_tl1Pgphd5dXL-1vSZkYzva-Z8nRZkHPaaQVoO4UM9wkbdxesCNrUzwW-hS7WsP7A5VZLeAVv1MuljedZcAGw_RHDCG5XeLyi1Zo29vOGhBBGaWKY5PmMd0KYQNRg1tyrFn7Qa6aTaDD45BYJwV2Ro6yFNih9Dy-iBzahUQ/s3088/IMG_1312.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_qUmVlhHhEoFTYy8fMuN_tl1Pgphd5dXL-1vSZkYzva-Z8nRZkHPaaQVoO4UM9wkbdxesCNrUzwW-hS7WsP7A5VZLeAVv1MuljedZcAGw_RHDCG5XeLyi1Zo29vOGhBBGaWKY5PmMd0KYQNRg1tyrFn7Qa6aTaDD45BYJwV2Ro6yFNih9Dy-iBzahUQ/w106-h141/IMG_1312.HEIC" width="106" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Loss is grievous: </span></b>when we lose someone or something, we grieve, we lament. To “lament” simply means that we cry out in grief over the thing/person that was lost. It is our legitimate reaction to the sudden absence of someone or something that was dear to us. But some of us fear grief—we just want to pretend that we are not saddened when we are deprived of someone or something dear, so we gloss over it, stuff it or simply refuse to acknowledge the loss. Failure to process through a loss will compound our reaction to future losses—ungrieved losses stack up and will accompany any new losses we may experience.</div><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Loss changes everything: </span></b><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">whatever form loss takes, it will change everything in our life, whether we want it to or not. It does not ask our permission before it marches in and disrupts our lives. Both of my parents died within ten months of each other during the pandemic (though not from Covid). No one can be fully prepared for the experience of losing one’s parent(s) until it happens. It changes the rhythm of family interactions (no more morning talks with mom while commuting to work), our relationship with our past and creates a vulnerability for our future. We suddenly become the next generation likely to die—the layer of protection from death that we foolishly believe our parents provided is gone. Any opportunity to resolve conflicts, get vital health or family history or have just one more conversation is permanently gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivSyXtXSIz5QPJUK-ZxiE83-JevsL1a6PZwIclfw3Y6YgK62SWyvXm-Cu9UsSJnK5mtCudB93tfF5DOq9IzqFeCVvQ95LoumtIx1RttqsczRJEG2At3T-ZKBICAaXqHEa57AaFD8GOJg3lGadzecPRCX8BbNYhIzGem4ieGQQ8H3JnbLFlhKa5PLWFHg/s1043/loss13.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1043" data-original-width="795" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivSyXtXSIz5QPJUK-ZxiE83-JevsL1a6PZwIclfw3Y6YgK62SWyvXm-Cu9UsSJnK5mtCudB93tfF5DOq9IzqFeCVvQ95LoumtIx1RttqsczRJEG2At3T-ZKBICAaXqHEa57AaFD8GOJg3lGadzecPRCX8BbNYhIzGem4ieGQQ8H3JnbLFlhKa5PLWFHg/w169-h222/loss13.png" width="169" /></a></div><b><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Loss disrupts “normal” </span></b><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">if there is such a thing. We are creatures of habit—most of us enjoy the familiarity of our daily routines, we feel secure when life hums along as we believe it should. When loss marches into the front door of our lives, “normal” exits through the back. We are forced to grieve the original loss along with the loss of life as we knew it. The pandemic certainly changed everything that was normal in our lives--the way we worked, shopped, socialized, worshiped, vacationed, dated and even how we conducted funerals. Covid caused us to fear each other and to distance ourselves (quarantine as well as maintaining a safe distance) at a time when we most needed each other, when we desperately needed the comfort of human touch or human presence. My uncle </span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">died from Covid and like so many others who succumbed to this dreaded disease, he died alone in an intensive care unit hooked up to machines.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">There is nothing “normal” about that!</span></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"> </span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Loss forces us to reevaluate our priorities: </span></b><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">have you heard about the Great Resignation? Many in the workforce decided to either change careers or drastically change the way they participate in the workforce as a consequence of the pandemic. Some of us loved working from home and cherished the additional personal time that not commuting provided. Parents spent more time with their children (although juggling remote work and online school has been chaotic for many) and discovered that they enjoyed having more family time. After the death of my parents and my return to in-person work, I realized that my priorities had shifted. I’m having a very significant birthday this month and now knowing how my parents died and how old they were at the time of their death gives me a glimpse of what my future might look like. How do I want to spend the remaining time I have on this planet? What do I want to contribute or what brings me joy? What do I need to change now as a result of the losses I have experienced?<o:p></o:p></span></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiofDKKLqP6H3yQISUEFk9IW3an4JuLdKyRaNOzNAYSVBYT_Hukz3WickW9UGmayzFeHtibufMdVYrAXdbnPKebwSx5JS40kcIVgL0C0TFs5tF2X7fTTOd_w_iVjO-mERw290XPhr1IJH5xY3QFecovdCv1XBd4G1hUH1WbecBacRDrzpEIQCbRbzpPNQ/s4032/IMG_1403.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiofDKKLqP6H3yQISUEFk9IW3an4JuLdKyRaNOzNAYSVBYT_Hukz3WickW9UGmayzFeHtibufMdVYrAXdbnPKebwSx5JS40kcIVgL0C0TFs5tF2X7fTTOd_w_iVjO-mERw290XPhr1IJH5xY3QFecovdCv1XBd4G1hUH1WbecBacRDrzpEIQCbRbzpPNQ/w133-h177/IMG_1403.HEIC" width="133" /></a></div><b><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Loss brings opportunities: </span></b><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">If you have read much in this blog, you know a bit about my story. When my marriage exploded in scandal, arrest, and the diagnosis of pedophilia, the grief and terror were real. But this huge relationship loss presented opportunities for growth and changes that I could not even dream about while still tied to a perpetrator. My life has expanded in so many amazing ways. I have been given the opportunity to journey a bit with other partners who are struggling with their own losses, I have remarried and cherish a companion to journey with me, my family has expanded and I delight in three little girls who have captivated my heart, my kids are doing well and we regularly enjoy wonderful family times together. None of these good things would have happened had I not experienced the loss of my first marriage.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"> </span></p><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">More than anything, however, loss teaches us that we need each other. The pandemic kept us from one another in tangible ways but we found ways to stay connected and my hope is that we will continue to look for healthy ways to connect, to support and to love one another as we embrace the numerous losses we have all experienced together—our common trauma. May we focus on what unites us rather than what divides and may we see and cherish our common humanity.</span><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"> </span></p>Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-38127720521551969552019-12-16T10:00:00.004-08:002019-12-16T10:07:09.995-08:00Tis the Season for Joy (and Sorrow)<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A few days ago, my son was regaling his daughters with stories of Christmases past, particularly in the last home his father and I shared. It was a splendid home, large, warm and welcoming in an upper middle-class neighborhood in the Midwest. It was a consummate “holiday” house because it lent itself so well to wonderful holiday decorations and large parties. But it was also the house whose front door was broken down one cold morning as police <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2013/02/on-raids-and-handcuffs-one-year-later.html" target="_blank">executed a search warrant.</a> The memories I have of the house brings joy but also sorrow—bitter and sweet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was recently reminded of a story from the Old Testament that is kind of strange to read during this season of the year but maybe not so strange. The temple in Jerusalem—that center of worship—had been destroyed by the Babylonians and many of the land’s residents had been carried into exile. Seventy years later, the new king of the land decreed that the exiles could return to their native country and commissioned them to rebuild the temple. When the builders laid the foundation of the temple, the people threw a party to celebrate but not everyone felt joyful—those who remembered the glory of the old temple were sorrowful because they knew that the rebuilt temple would not equal the majesty of the destroyed one. There were shouts of joy and sounds of weeping that were so loud that one could not distinguish the sounds of the joy from those of the weeping.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Those of us who have experienced the trauma of relationship betrayal probably understand better than most the season of joy and sorrow. Like the exiles, we may have been <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2015/09/kicked-out-of-my-life.html" target="_blank">kicked out of our lives</a> or <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2015/04/words-to-broken-woman-that-was-me.html" target="_blank">sat in the ash heap</a> or ruins of what once was trying to find a remnant of the joy we once knew. We may long for the life we once had while also being greatly relieved and joyful in this new normal of a life we have built. While we are so grateful to have survived, like those exiles, we still bear the scars of the traumas we have experienced. We still feel the pain of wounds that are healing but still hurt enough to remind us that something went very wrong in our lives and in our relationships.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There is an odd sentence in the Biblical narrative of the exiles returning home. It describes the returning exiles as being in dread of the neighboring peoples. Not all of the Judean inhabitants had been carried into captivity. The elite of the community were taken first but many “commoners” were allowed to remain in the land. The elite were religious and civic leaders who were probably the wealthier inhabitants. Their land and possessions were taken by those who remained. So, there was a loss of status and economic security for the exiles. In their former lives, they were esteemed as leaders and upstanding citizens; their captivity ended that identity and their return threatened the new lives the remaining inhabitants had created.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How many of us can fully identify with the fear and trauma these returning exiles experienced? We too once had an identity, reputation and status that was ripped from us by the actions of our betrayer. We still feel the sting of that loss and maybe still feel the fear that we will be judged guilty simply by our relationship with a perpetrator. We sometimes fear the dread of our neighbors—not because of our actions or behavior but because of what the addict, pedophile or abuser in our lives has done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Western Wall--Wailing Wall</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2013/11/lifes-railroad.html" target="_blank">Joy and sorrow</a><span id="goog_52008549"></span><span id="goog_52008550"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a>—two ends of a spectrum of emotion that we are capable of experiencing as humans created in the image of God. The holiday season presents so many opportunities to experience both, and that is ok. Life is not black and white nor is it a Hallmark movie. Stuff happens, we break and we hurt. Sitting with both emotions is a healthy and appropriate response to the season, particularly in light of loss. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My hope and prayer for you is that you experience the gift of presence as you navigate these days of joy and sorrow—that you embrace the paradox of both emotions and celebrate the gift that you are. You are who you are today precisely because of all that you have experienced and you have so much to offer a hurting world. Relish the joy and welcome the tears—they both are a reflection of the journey that has brought you to this day. Merry Christmas and may the New Year bring more joy than sorrow!</span></span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"></span></div>
Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-54743650144962360532019-05-27T07:41:00.000-07:002019-05-27T07:41:54.382-07:00Repercussions<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQSXgiV6eb_ojQz4MNsiGx1SA-8N3rN2TGpWDt27bI1ClPqHeSnn_ZfR4_QlHc_l5gzzGsnN25ZpWSJq55Y8mXCITzHkHw1QjQHFY2vMGzXCuuHunO_9j5PLUokn1Ht6feXHJ9cus74DID/s1600/IMG_0266.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1137" data-original-width="1600" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQSXgiV6eb_ojQz4MNsiGx1SA-8N3rN2TGpWDt27bI1ClPqHeSnn_ZfR4_QlHc_l5gzzGsnN25ZpWSJq55Y8mXCITzHkHw1QjQHFY2vMGzXCuuHunO_9j5PLUokn1Ht6feXHJ9cus74DID/s200/IMG_0266.jpg" width="200" /></a>Today is Memorial Day--a day to honor the brave men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice in the defense of our freedoms. War and conflict serve as a sober reminder that actions have consequences--some of them fatal. Tensions and disagreements between countries are escalated by their leaders' war of words and violence erupts. Words and actions have consequences and it is often the innocent who pay the price.<br />
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Six years ago this weekend, a woman walked into three banks with checks she had counterfeited and with my forged signature and cleaned out my bank account. A month later, in spite of my having changed the accounts and taken all the necessary precautions, she did it again. In order to protect myself, I purchased a credit monitoring service and placed a fraud alert on my credit with all three credit-reporting bureaus. She was never prosecuted, even though the bank had her picture and thumb print but the consequences of her actions continue to reverberate through my life.<br />
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This past month, I have been denied a credit card twice and turned down for a loan, in spite of a very high credit score. I have spent hours of my time trying to contact the very insulated credit bureaus to remedy the situation but all of my efforts have been in vain. The level of sadness that I feel, while understandable, points to something deeper so I'm taking a deep dive this morning. Care to join me?<br />
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Because my identity theft occurred in such close proximity to my ex-husband's arrest, the sense of vulnerability I felt was incredibly exacerbated by having my bank account broken into and cleaned out. It was a triggering event that I was powerless to prevent or contain. My efforts at self-protection also failed and the remedy I wisely chose (fraud alert) continues to have repercussions in my life. These are the primary players in this ongoing saga:<br />
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<b>The perpetrator:</b> Her initial actions were in secret, much like the pedophile secretly seeking out sexual gratification through the exploitation of children. She secretly stole a check I wrote to her employer and creatively counterfeited it and mastered my signature. She waited for an opportune time to attempt to steal from my account and chose the Saturday before the Memorial Day weekend, when bank employees were most vulnerable. Pedophiles begin in secret and then seek out vulnerable children to groom and molest. They are incredibly good at reading people and identifying those who are most likely to either not see or to look away. Both the identity thief and the pedophile see people as targets, not as humans. They care not for the pain they cause and believe that they are entitled to their elicit gain.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo7_1E4elq86ztGd4UQGzuMe3MwYH0psailBAvin5Xm3kHE2h0W1YZ_Vr3Fk-Vsb5cP5-kr8LzhJR5e6vbjRdcJBOketWgIQkeftRgcYEP3EU3QRTPcz4yEtFf_3pk7ffx9m4Gm2bhJtS8/s1600/IMG_3609.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo7_1E4elq86ztGd4UQGzuMe3MwYH0psailBAvin5Xm3kHE2h0W1YZ_Vr3Fk-Vsb5cP5-kr8LzhJR5e6vbjRdcJBOketWgIQkeftRgcYEP3EU3QRTPcz4yEtFf_3pk7ffx9m4Gm2bhJtS8/s200/IMG_3609.jpg" width="150" /></a><b>The credit bureaus: </b>These agencies are huge, non-personal and have incredible control and power. I was happy to learn that there is now a governmental oversight bureau and spent time this weekend filing complaints against all three bureaus. The service they provide is protective when you are a victim of identity theft but they seem to operate with impunity and are a formidable "enemy." I appreciate law enforcement as a citizen and am grateful for the protection they provide. But when my ex-husband was under investigation and then arrested, law enforcement became frightening. The power they held over our lives was horrifying and we were powerless against it. <br />
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<b>The bystanders: </b>Bystanders are the ancillary individuals who intersect with the repercussions of the crime you have experienced. Each time I have been told that my application for a loan/credit card was denied I have experienced intense shame and humiliation. Even though I know the shame does not belong to me and that I did nothing wrong, it is still huge. Does the loan officer believe me or does she think I am making up a story to cover some sinister aspect of my credit history? When my ex-husband was arrested I felt shame as well. I know, all too well, that many do not believe the wife of a pedophile does not know what her husband is doing! I've read the articles from "experts" who allege that the wife always knows. The bystanders are either supportive or cynical and the truth of the matter often does not matter or change their opinion or actions.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH9Rg1izFLKXPammFy8ZJa1Ygcg8sVT6RnYQnbpzbmiz4vs6glhJFeEeJ1PE15asFpCqsPRovMfxgTXvh3ykQT29dXcmfSeWfk0r4TucrMKhLjeJdsctUdSUt9ZzxvofTsgAsu8pRTV0vE/s1600/IMG_1057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH9Rg1izFLKXPammFy8ZJa1Ygcg8sVT6RnYQnbpzbmiz4vs6glhJFeEeJ1PE15asFpCqsPRovMfxgTXvh3ykQT29dXcmfSeWfk0r4TucrMKhLjeJdsctUdSUt9ZzxvofTsgAsu8pRTV0vE/s200/IMG_1057.jpg" width="200" /></a>Actions have consequences and it is often the innocent who pay the most. The repercussions of one person's choice(s) continue for a very long time and there are no "do-overs." The word that has often come to mind while writing/processing today is "powerlessness." Innocent civilians are powerless to prevent war coming to their land; family members of the fallen were powerless to prevent the death of their loved one; victims of identity theft are powerless against the aggressor or the "protectors" and partners of perpetrating pedophiles are powerless against the urges that drive the addiction. We did not cause it, cannot contain it nor cure it. What can we do?<br />
<br />
We can begin to take back some of the power we lost--small steps to assert our independence and autonomy. For me, it was filing a complaint--using whatever tool I can find to begin to fight and to take back what was stolen from me. We fight back against paralyzing power of powerlessness! We speak the truth to power and stand in that truth. Sometimes that means we walk away (divorce or ending the relationship) and sometimes that means we take a defensive stand but we cannot and must not wallow in powerlessness!<br />
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<br />Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-35423653897886345882018-12-28T05:27:00.004-08:002018-12-28T05:27:40.212-08:00Refocus for 2019<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr3bml6LE5WJYCwVaUPCOil22BJVnWY0v_pTNHQk5OCE7t-b7VyXSAMft1-8vnmqTIsDeEuGg3pf7Rf_cYA_uxzKNYLHrPNtzL8l0C5x2Lsur1IkdtOmiZ6RZd5SWHmJd9nlx1OtQjfdjG/s1600/IMG_0743.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr3bml6LE5WJYCwVaUPCOil22BJVnWY0v_pTNHQk5OCE7t-b7VyXSAMft1-8vnmqTIsDeEuGg3pf7Rf_cYA_uxzKNYLHrPNtzL8l0C5x2Lsur1IkdtOmiZ6RZd5SWHmJd9nlx1OtQjfdjG/s200/IMG_0743.jpg" width="200" /></a>It has been seven years since my life shattered through an event that seems both very far away and as memorable as today's lunch. A lot has happened since that cold February morning but this seventh year invites a special season of reflection and expressions of gratitude. And as is my custom, I've been contemplating my name for the year.<br />
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The number "7" has great significance in a number of cultural and religious contexts. It typically signals that something is finished, completed, released or fulfilled. Old Testament Law required that all debts be cancelled every seven years and that the land be given a rest from agricultural cultivation. I can imagine that for the one whose financial debt was forgiven, the year was one of great joy and freedom, but maybe not so much for the one who was required to forgive the debt. In an agrarian society, a cessation of cultivating the land meant that there was little food to eat but God promised that if the Israelites would observe this principal, he would increase their harvest.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQcZ1zJ_P49dUIy2i5YeC3f3sLQ2xq7JBbTEdnef9zEGV0RAoYj9tHOxUl-66o6uhKzoXQ_wT97mi5G6mhqZF4rjmjCoIMS1hjoiqw65rUVA_N7P8QnqUQ7rM6-0067SFbwqLulMiJqzXn/s1600/IMG_1110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQcZ1zJ_P49dUIy2i5YeC3f3sLQ2xq7JBbTEdnef9zEGV0RAoYj9tHOxUl-66o6uhKzoXQ_wT97mi5G6mhqZF4rjmjCoIMS1hjoiqw65rUVA_N7P8QnqUQ7rM6-0067SFbwqLulMiJqzXn/s200/IMG_1110.jpg" width="150" /></a>The seventh year was an invitation to take a break and refocus. It offered a challenge to trust God to provide rather than one's own efforts and to concentrate on spirituality rather than material pursuits. It was a reset button, of sorts. So, in the spirit of the number "7," I have chosen to name 2019 "A Year to Refocus." As is often the case, I have no idea how this will work out throughout the year, but look forward to exploring it as the year progresses.<br />
<br />
2018 was a transition year for me in that I experienced a milestone birthday, which was ushered in with discontent, impatience and malaise. It took a while for me to identify the source as similar to something that I experienced 30 years ago with another milestone birthday. My husband and I took a cross-country trip in the latter months of 2018 which further solidified some things for me that I hope to share in future posts.<br />
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In many ways, 2018 has mirrored 2011, when it was clear my marriage was over. I knew that one major part of my life was ending but had no clue to what lie ahead, which is probably a very good thing! I'm looking at my final push towards retirement and there are potentially big changes coming that offer a new and different perspective and way of living. It is an exciting time and there is much to look forward to and to anticipate.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiVQQKITNST8A6IYYJEMlCBqr3zDX6a5349wnnJ-u3E0PLurjwZ1G73OYgEAoy44vsTj17JuDGrafuzZSDU8-s7enlzJM4C7bSmdPbSWE5xmftSvBKzw_lBcrHuX1JnnqnzgY15Ew11syw/s1600/IMG_1066.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1243" data-original-width="1600" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiVQQKITNST8A6IYYJEMlCBqr3zDX6a5349wnnJ-u3E0PLurjwZ1G73OYgEAoy44vsTj17JuDGrafuzZSDU8-s7enlzJM4C7bSmdPbSWE5xmftSvBKzw_lBcrHuX1JnnqnzgY15Ew11syw/s320/IMG_1066.jpg" width="320" /></a>The past seven years have been full of changes--some imposed and some chosen. So it is entirely appropriate to pause and reflect but also to hit a reset button--to refocus on what is most important to me during this season of life. Life is no longer driven by the urgent challenges of life explosions, criminal cases and survival. It has settled down into "normal," which offers a wonderful opportunity for contemplation.<br />
<br />
My word for 2018 was "Enough," and several pivotal personal decisions have come as a result of choosing that declarative word. What will "Refocus" mean for 2019? <br />
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Specifically:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>How can I further release the pain and trauma of relationship betrayal? What would that look like? What would it mean?</li>
<li>What further work in the area of forgiveness do I need to do so that I can walk into this new season of life without baggage?</li>
<li>Is it possible to complete or finish a recovery process from relationship betrayal or is it a lifelong journey? What would it mean to take the good (?) from the experience of having married a pedophile and leave the rest behind? Is that possible?</li>
<li>What do I need to do to cultivate a deeper spiritual connection to God? How am I doing with trust?</li>
</ul>
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Thanks for journeying with me through the past six years of blogging. I'd love to hear about where you are in your own journey towards wholeness and healing. One of the best things to come from my personal devastation is this blog and the relationships with so many wonderful women who have contacted me through this venue. My prayer is that you enjoy a wonderful and full year free from pedophilia and relationship betrayal! Happy New Year.</div>
Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-90902204775664238832018-11-25T06:30:00.000-08:002018-11-25T06:30:46.273-08:00A Cross-Country Trip<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif89LaQSn8QQjWi9IGyoJumSAshnHCkJ_nbRU8RmHjROA0zC17loKcBfxt51KBEMqQRE_cJh9HRW4cGGMwjPiLBizLVNnZVpska3BIGf8wsLxYr-bLQ-VMjeVaA0yc2EVIvflfMtPpqzNp/s1600/IMG_0631.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif89LaQSn8QQjWi9IGyoJumSAshnHCkJ_nbRU8RmHjROA0zC17loKcBfxt51KBEMqQRE_cJh9HRW4cGGMwjPiLBizLVNnZVpska3BIGf8wsLxYr-bLQ-VMjeVaA0yc2EVIvflfMtPpqzNp/s200/IMG_0631.jpg" width="200" /></a>I've moved across the country three times and made numerous road trips between Southern states and the Midwest but this fall was a first. My husband and I set out on a three-week cross-country camping trip. We planned the details of the trip for well over a year, packed and repacked and made a lot of campsite reservations. Our trip of a lifetime included scenery too stunning to describe or take in, precious reconnections with friends and family, fun museums and attractions and learning more about two ministries to women.<br />
<br />
My husband and I share several common traits, one of them being a propensity to obsess on detailed planing when undertaking a project or a trip. But unlike me, when he gets behind the wheel on a road trip, he becomes the best traveling companion! It is all an adventure and he relishes it to the maximum. We had maps, cell phones and our car GPS systems but still made several wrong turns. We discovered, however that <b>wrong turns may not be wrong after all.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9X4WJZoD99vHoAMwdkgTyaF9UNWC1L2jelrK0sd7p2ANIxxSCMKikr4nPmPD1dLfLuH90AaGP42X8GbbQ_jQsHEXl443Njg7sB0frTdAT_MVbnbIOitzG9XJNFK4Myai44bTqpf7qvsSC/s1600/IMG_1077.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9X4WJZoD99vHoAMwdkgTyaF9UNWC1L2jelrK0sd7p2ANIxxSCMKikr4nPmPD1dLfLuH90AaGP42X8GbbQ_jQsHEXl443Njg7sB0frTdAT_MVbnbIOitzG9XJNFK4Myai44bTqpf7qvsSC/s200/IMG_1077.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9uFWW-Dsb154gK97O_vvNXB6q9z28G0h-OIA_qPepDhLiow5mMI_gSlg9JJxrli_VyJj6ozIlW9QnbUB4fk0z2a6lx_FoHevQXf_d0-5HR5ZmyOsvE26GU7ca_munwA59twCmvOhSv5Md/s1600/IMG_0787.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1415" data-original-width="1600" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9uFWW-Dsb154gK97O_vvNXB6q9z28G0h-OIA_qPepDhLiow5mMI_gSlg9JJxrli_VyJj6ozIlW9QnbUB4fk0z2a6lx_FoHevQXf_d0-5HR5ZmyOsvE26GU7ca_munwA59twCmvOhSv5Md/s200/IMG_0787.jpg" width="200" /></a>Two memorable "wrong turns" come to mind. The first was on our trip from Georgia to Nashville, TN. We made a wrong turn and ended up in the Great Smokey Mountain National Park on a rainy day. As we climbed and climbed into the clouds on the mountain, we saw wild turkeys and elk and beauty beyond description. Another "GPS glitch" occurred in Utah when we were driving to Bryce Canyon National Park. At the last minute our GPS instructed us to take a road we had not planned on taking, so we obeyed. We climbed to 10,000 feet above sea level and were surprised to see the ground covered in snow. The aspen trees dotting the landscape were in their full golden glory and their color against the deep green of the pine was astounding. My eyes well with tears as I exclaimed, "I don't think I can stand any more beauty today!"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnIuCtWv1Strcghh8p411fUY-yMaC-YfL6BF8V2kayHDqvPF9Jmm61I6fb_4Nj3_csjK8QdL0sdmbWRDjH8tKf6SGI0j4e1zQiqOET66BWSZ0dIuoZ_Fh2SNxe0oE04NnKQ9P7-QZ15cEN/s1600/IMG_0851.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnIuCtWv1Strcghh8p411fUY-yMaC-YfL6BF8V2kayHDqvPF9Jmm61I6fb_4Nj3_csjK8QdL0sdmbWRDjH8tKf6SGI0j4e1zQiqOET66BWSZ0dIuoZ_Fh2SNxe0oE04NnKQ9P7-QZ15cEN/s200/IMG_0851.jpg" width="150" /></a>We planned for the unexpected, which included purchasing a second roadside assistance plan specifically for campers. We were fortunate in that we had no unexpected glitches in our truck or camper but we did learn that <b>pigs can turn up in the most unexpected places. </b>While driving through the hills of Missouri, we decided to stop at a small barbecue place for lunch. As we bit into our wonderful sandwiches, I heard squealing coming from the corner of the restaurant. I was stunned to see a young piglet playing in his pen! No explanation--just a pig in the most unexpected place--kind of a metaphor for life, I'm thinking.<br />
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As we left the plains of Kansas and began the ascent to the Rockies, my anxiety level rose with each mile. Would our rig handle the rigors of the Rockies? Would we find enough gas? Really, would we be enough for the road ahead? My husband, on the other hand, was entirely confident that we would be ok and could not understand my concern. He has learned that <b>embracing adventure makes life more interesting</b> while I still struggle with the "what if's." Our rig did fine, we did fine and it was an amazing adventure. And it occurs to me that his approach to travel and life is probably the healthier one. Regardless of what comes, we will be ok so I'm trying to learn to relax and enjoy the ride.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizUTaRxL-HZYGmhWUkxcaqLKLFtYbI2lVSeLFiK-NRRo-x_wPepps33LeImU24e-BTCHWJMtTflpAkm6MS5VOb8T0S_0X_VDvP_L0qkvOt85rCBRsemNmJd06HFTAjAtSoUlaCDivB4RRA/s1600/IMG_0797.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizUTaRxL-HZYGmhWUkxcaqLKLFtYbI2lVSeLFiK-NRRo-x_wPepps33LeImU24e-BTCHWJMtTflpAkm6MS5VOb8T0S_0X_VDvP_L0qkvOt85rCBRsemNmJd06HFTAjAtSoUlaCDivB4RRA/s320/IMG_0797.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Check out Thistle Farms for your Christmas Shopping!</td></tr>
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My family of origin is quite fractured with deep and enduring divisions. But f<b>amily is who you make it</b> and our family of choice may be entirely different from our family of origin. I'm fortunate to have some adopted "sisters" that I was able to spend time with on our trip. But we also were blessed to visit with two special non-profit organizations whose missions involve reaching out to our sisters on the street and in prison, to those who struggle with addiction and trauma. It was a special joy to sit in a meditation circle with some of the women at <a href="https://thistlefarms.org/" target="_blank"><b>Thistle Farms</b> </a>and realize that while we may be miles apart, metaphorically and geographically, we are kindred spirits and as such are part of a great big family.<br />
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Shirley Combs opened a small store-front restaurant in Toccoa, GA a number of years ago. <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Shirleys-Soul-Food-Cafe/114127398619407" target="_blank">Shirley's Soul Food</a> quickly became the go-to place for a real Southern home-cooked meal. Shirley's purpose in starting the business was bigger than simply making a living; she was on a mission to do something about a problem in her community. After the noon lunch hour, she invited the community's homeless into her dining room and fed them. As her business grew and prospered, she turned her sights towards providing transitional housing and has opened a shelter. One woman with a heart as big as Texas, doing something substantial in her community--it was a joy to visit with her and to enjoy her famous cooking!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH6N667LieP-wRKJYUlIbkVhDC7yszYj5ZTCqnwzFBEyWj0-sOGONoxwltDv8jiQC67-HZa_LGAMJJ8ISDvGgPR0ctYweOOAZegHwHHn5SAMooLF7cGK3WzYgxnVu96OA7TaKQE7TNQLp_/s1600/IMG_1090.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH6N667LieP-wRKJYUlIbkVhDC7yszYj5ZTCqnwzFBEyWj0-sOGONoxwltDv8jiQC67-HZa_LGAMJJ8ISDvGgPR0ctYweOOAZegHwHHn5SAMooLF7cGK3WzYgxnVu96OA7TaKQE7TNQLp_/s200/IMG_1090.jpg" width="200" /></a>Twenty-one days, 5,583 miles through 19 states, 4 national parks, numerous museums and attractions, family and friends, amazing scenery and the companionship of a man I dearly love. Our cross-country trip typifies what I'm learning life is all about, especially during recovery from relationship trauma. A wrong turn may not be a wrong turn after all but create an opportunity for discovery, growth and joy. Expect and accept the unexpected because pigs turn up in the most unusual places and embracing the adventure makes life more interesting and less stressful. Connecting with kindred spirits, whether we are biologically related or not, is the key to living fully as a part of the human family and is a critical component of recovery. While our journey through life and recovery is a solitary one in that no one can do it for us, we do not travel alone (or at least we shouldn't). We join with others and it is through those connections that we find the deepest healing.<br />
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<br />Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-89888029176500813762018-11-17T06:28:00.001-08:002018-11-17T06:28:26.561-08:00Choosing JoyI have a quote on my bulletin board that is worth sharing this week:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MgIpcvs8bBHftDmOOwhuQko9yMtj3lbf-SwyE827RX-m8iP3coUpX8DSn3WEKL82ZFq9WhSk6TOD30D7Wj1k2WCl59yp-jTWK0WUSTmecfR4Xt8K2dBHb5wkDGwyULi3aTZ4uxDNDd6E/s1600/IMG_1107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MgIpcvs8bBHftDmOOwhuQko9yMtj3lbf-SwyE827RX-m8iP3coUpX8DSn3WEKL82ZFq9WhSk6TOD30D7Wj1k2WCl59yp-jTWK0WUSTmecfR4Xt8K2dBHb5wkDGwyULi3aTZ4uxDNDd6E/s200/IMG_1107.jpg" width="150" /></a>"Not every storm is in the forecast.</div>
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Trials and tribulations can always be counted on</div>
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At different times throughout our lifetime.</div>
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So why not choose joy anyway?</div>
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Take ordinary days and find the joy,</div>
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For it is not around us,</div>
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Nor in our circumstances.</div>
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It is inside of us.</div>
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It is always there.</div>
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No matter what, </div>
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Choose Joy!"</div>
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--Author Unknown</div>
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I recall in the early days after my life explosion that I struggled with intense anxiety, and for very legitimate reasons. It seemed that every time I pillowed my head, the anxious thoughts would come unbidden!</div>
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Will I get a job?</div>
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Will I survive this? Will my kids?</div>
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What will the next headline be?</div>
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What if I become homeless?</div>
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And I learned that simply finding things for which to be thankful chased the anxious thoughts away. I learned that fear and gratitude cannot co-exist. It became a nightly ritual--expressing gratitude for the simple things and by doing so, I found peace from my anxiety and surprisingly, joy was its companion!</div>
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Recently my husband and I were camping (some would call it glamping, I admit) and a ferocious storm rolled in. The wind howled, lightening flashed frequently and the rain came down in buckets. I feared we would blow away and got up frequently to check out the camper, look out the window and pace. But then I stopped my anxious pacing and got still enough to listen to the storm. I live in a desert--we don't get much rain, much less thunderstorms. I found great joy in simply being in the midst of the storm and being ok. I focused on the smell of the rain, the sound of it hitting our camper and was grateful for our refuge and for the experience.</div>
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Our world is such an anxious place these days--from political unease to wildfires to floods and vicious crime--the nightly news is something to be avoided if we want to sleep! But we will soon pause and gather with our families to celebrate a day of giving thanks. In spite of all that our country and world is experiencing right now, life is still grand and full of wonder and joy. We simply must choose what we focus on--the turmoil of the storm or the beauty of the rainbow. We are offered a choice. I choose gratitude. I choose joy,</div>
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Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-55961292057738678002018-08-17T05:13:00.000-07:002018-08-17T05:13:47.574-07:00Hope for My DaughterI've had the privilege of journeying with women recovering from having been married to a pedophile for a number of years now. Some, like I, have dared to remarry but we have all struggled mightily with the prospect of trusting again. After all, as some are want to say, "Our pickers were broken" the first time around (a concept I don't necessarily agree with because perpetrators are so deceptive.)<br />
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Recently, however, the "pilgrim" is someone much closer to my heart. My daughter and I have enjoyed some deep conversations about what to look for in a marriage partner and in her, I see many of the same fears and concerns that so many of us have experienced the second time around. She too has been deeply impacted by her father's betrayal and arrest and our subsequent divorce. She has seen up close the devastation that can occur and she wants to avoid that--and who wouldn't?<br />
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So I've been thinking about what I hope my daughter will find in a partner. The list today is far different than it would have been ten years ago. This is partly due to my ex-husband's betrayal but also has been impacted by the #MeToo and #ChurchToo movements. So here is my wish list for her and really for all of us. My hope is that my daughter will find a man who will:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgnNOXjHVinac_KVHO-oSzQT-oXeRZLNdERtfXtd7NV2g0PQz84uLH0jiBxICcB1rjC3S3jKEMFgpErJEExMUONzdVkRbgUaeahiwDKbZlxm9FhpG6q9u53Sjfb4HnfPchFVhgNhK7qLTk/s1600/IMG_3905.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1054" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgnNOXjHVinac_KVHO-oSzQT-oXeRZLNdERtfXtd7NV2g0PQz84uLH0jiBxICcB1rjC3S3jKEMFgpErJEExMUONzdVkRbgUaeahiwDKbZlxm9FhpG6q9u53Sjfb4HnfPchFVhgNhK7qLTk/s320/IMG_3905.jpg" width="209" /></a><b>See her as the prize: </b>My current husband reminds our daughter all of the time that she is the prize and he is right. It is so easy to discount ourselves and "settle" because we do not feel worthy of anything more. Or, we allow someone else to define our worth and treat us accordingly. I hope my daughter remembers her unique value and doesn't settle for anyone who sees her as anything other than the ultimate prize that she truly is.<br />
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<b>Honor her as an individual: </b>Part of the give-and-take of any relationship is negotiating areas of difference. I want my daughter's partner to honor her individuality and respect her right to be different. I do not want her to allow anyone to try to mold her into something that she is not but rather to respect and honor who she already is and who she is becoming.<br />
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<b>Treat her as an equal: </b>Unfortunately, my daughter was raised in a very conservative religious environment that taught female submission in marriage and restricted women's roles in the church. Mutual submission, on the other hand, values and prioritizes both parties in the relationship rather than the one-sided, power-over model of female submission. The current climate in conservative religious circles has demonstrated the huge problems an emphasis on female submission has created. It's past time to call "ENOUGH" on this ugly distortion of scripture.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2G_VssTz2HasoDVySmkpWQlRxCrXg3L4R4vc6AEQoIZ4lgvX16d-lHGroS7II4akeBCg5Etnzpo7ZqgHnGpEgJ86Qc8IcdAWztJPoBqKNMLYzq9JsOZPWhjO5w9HvjED8XAssofrz3AF4/s1600/IMG_2188.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1311" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2G_VssTz2HasoDVySmkpWQlRxCrXg3L4R4vc6AEQoIZ4lgvX16d-lHGroS7II4akeBCg5Etnzpo7ZqgHnGpEgJ86Qc8IcdAWztJPoBqKNMLYzq9JsOZPWhjO5w9HvjED8XAssofrz3AF4/s200/IMG_2188.jpg" width="163" /></a><b>Have the hots for her and only her: </b>One of the things I have consistently heard from former partners of pedophiles is that sexual dysfunction, perversion and weirdness presented themselves fairly early in the sexual relationship. I want my daughter's partner to be passionate about her, to desire her and to be faithful in all aspects of their sexual union. I want him to honor the sanctity of their sex lives together and not engage in any behavior that will jeopardize or disrupt that critical part of their relationship.<br />
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<b>Respect her faith, even if he doesn't share it: </b>This is probably where my thoughts have changed most drastically. I used to believe it was important to pray for my children's future partners--for their "purity" and spiritual growth, etc. Back then I could not conceive of the notion that they would marry anyone other than a Christian. With all that I have seen and learned however, I am not so certain that it is as important for my daughter's partner to share her faith. I would definitely ask that he respect her faith and of course, if he doesn't share it to come to an agreement before marriage on how they will raise their children.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJoAgp9C5DbVv70My6MxLaeAwozVTAY85pQjA6dDpOZOhELZoJgRoc1QbLnwVZqI_rzHpvEEvBz8H9LicdxY_47qNGDyBVM6LOB9iOQZQxmLF9Eq0pz4Nm0RmzE9GVoq-bxXN80tyMZpB2/s1600/IMG_3904.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1126" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJoAgp9C5DbVv70My6MxLaeAwozVTAY85pQjA6dDpOZOhELZoJgRoc1QbLnwVZqI_rzHpvEEvBz8H9LicdxY_47qNGDyBVM6LOB9iOQZQxmLF9Eq0pz4Nm0RmzE9GVoq-bxXN80tyMZpB2/s320/IMG_3904.jpg" width="224" /></a>When we were discussing this recently, I told my daughter that I would rather she marry a man who consistently demonstrates the fruits of the Spirit (kindness, meekness, self-control, etc.) even if he does not profess than who who professes but whose life does not validate that profession. I guess I am a bit jaded; I've seen how sly wolves are when they don sheep's clothing. I know from experience that one can say all of the right things and convince the world of their piety while abusing their wife or child and feeling a sense of entitlement to do so. I've seen so many instances of churches preferring the offender rather than defending the victim and I know that domestic violence is most prevalent in religious homes.<br />
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But I also know the destructiveness of a theology that privileges the male perspective and creates an imbalance of power within the relationship. Even if he demonstrates those "fruits of the Spirit," the underlying belief system that grants him that privilege is so damaging to a woman's sense of autonomy, freedom and negatively impacts her relationship with God. It also seeks to restrict her choices should he behave poorly. I don't want that for my daughter or any other woman.<br />
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So these are my thoughts and hopes for my daughter as she considers her future partner. Of course I long for certainty, as most of us do, but I no longer trust in a formulaic approach to life. I know, as does she, that life can change in an instant but that we are far stronger and more resilient than we ever dreamed we were. I have full confidence in her ability to stand strong no matter what may come, of that I <u>am</u> certain. I want her to trust herself, to listen to her gut and to be in a relationship that encourages her continued growth and happiness. And I don't think God wants anything less than that for her as well.Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-18289276907004478362018-07-28T09:20:00.001-07:002018-07-28T09:20:08.528-07:00Timeout<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My second home from infancy</td></tr>
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One of the first places my parents took me shortly after my birth was to church. I have an old black and white picture of my infant dedication, which included the "laying on of hands" in fervent prayer for me. Both of my grandmothers were in attendance and their faith is part of my spiritual heritage. As the daughter of a pastor, church was my second home and we were there three times a week and every night during revival or camp meeting.<br />
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I grew up in a church where women were empowered to serve in <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7FOgfUIcpuFuccvl2H4D4alVEz-d2Kwi11y3Is-eLOzhyphenhyphenkmhavqi-GXutyr_1Lrrog2VuJY7nPfFzKTi7KdXSPrAMoos2yqVK_rNNkGLJSiKagtGLo_BOR2VxHZ5gkLOjpzg2_VtFEWgq/s1600/wanda-z-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1256" data-original-width="1321" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7FOgfUIcpuFuccvl2H4D4alVEz-d2Kwi11y3Is-eLOzhyphenhyphenkmhavqi-GXutyr_1Lrrog2VuJY7nPfFzKTi7KdXSPrAMoos2yqVK_rNNkGLJSiKagtGLo_BOR2VxHZ5gkLOjpzg2_VtFEWgq/s200/wanda-z-2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My grandmothers, mother and me</td></tr>
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any capacity within the congregation, including as an ordained elder or pastor. My exposure to churches that restricted the role of women did not begin until my adult years. Even so, within the home, women were expected to follow the lead of their husbands and to submit to his authority. This created quite the dilemma for a woman called to be a pastor--she could lead the congregation, which included her husband but was required to submit to him at home. Kind of a dual role with many conflicts of interests that probably led to actual conflicts, I'm suspecting.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsubjAmtdiUrrzgSjaiEb3A5Brk2CZoH-uuCMKvC_kjYPTR-pEO4XiV5fGuS_y4nMF05ukL6pHAkxSmA__neJ6lc4yXdtgmE_nhVuhZTOwlZBenW8ujdFbWrTFtpRQpGC59NkNCR8hxxb/s1600/bren2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="905" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsubjAmtdiUrrzgSjaiEb3A5Brk2CZoH-uuCMKvC_kjYPTR-pEO4XiV5fGuS_y4nMF05ukL6pHAkxSmA__neJ6lc4yXdtgmE_nhVuhZTOwlZBenW8ujdFbWrTFtpRQpGC59NkNCR8hxxb/s200/bren2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At two outside my father's first church</td></tr>
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In my 30's and 40's I was part of a denomination that sent women as missionaries to engage fully in ministry but did not allow them the same freedom in the U. S. I never understood the logic of that policy! I became a leader in a local congregation and was actually appointed to serve on the Governing Board--I was the token female on a male-dominated and resentful Board. When I could no longer stomach the controversy over my leadership, I resigned and spent many Sunday mornings curled up on the floor of my closet in some of the deepest grief I had experienced at that point in my life.<br />
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I have been a member of or regular attender at ten different mainline evangelical denominations as well as several independent and Charismatic churches; fifty percent of them restricted the roles of women, the rest did not. I have been exposed to many different streams of theological thought and have taken graduate courses in theology as part of an advanced degree program. I haven't seen or experienced it all within organized religion, but have come pretty close.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_rQUW1Z_lQggxq-jqlS9ic_nDBNKJmwWxuMKY27nSy1S8UJB5DtS9zyC4hgF_LStV8d0EOkuGDXNmwiU8i8gfCRpY4cDnAgGZIMOTzFTVGoYlo2RZ_l_q0c92DWUM_wTiHuAbaY1zcNU/s1600/bren+missionary+intern.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1165" data-original-width="473" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_rQUW1Z_lQggxq-jqlS9ic_nDBNKJmwWxuMKY27nSy1S8UJB5DtS9zyC4hgF_LStV8d0EOkuGDXNmwiU8i8gfCRpY4cDnAgGZIMOTzFTVGoYlo2RZ_l_q0c92DWUM_wTiHuAbaY1zcNU/s200/bren+missionary+intern.jpg" width="80" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Serving as a missionary</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Recently, I have found it increasingly difficult to attend a church service. I find it nearly impossible to sit under the ministry or in a group who seek to marginalize at least 50% of the congregation. While the individual pastors or church members may disagree with the official position of their denomination or may have a more "moderate" view, it just doesn't sit well with me. So, I have put myself in timeout.<br />
<br />
I do not know how long this timeout will last. I suspected it was coming but I have no clue when it will end. I just know that the views espoused in groups willing to use the bible to justify the oppression or marginalization of any group of people no longer reflects who or what I believe God to be. I cannot participate any longer.<br />
<br />
I have not lost my faith, I have found it again. I have not rejected the Bible but rather am learning to approach it with an open heart and mind--not one closed to all but one possible interpretation. I have not walked away from God but rather am running headlong into His all-encompassing love and compassion for all of humanity, including me, a mere woman.<br />
<br />
"Enough," my word for 2018 perfectly describes my feelings during this timeout. Enough of tolerating marginalization and second-class status all in the name of religion. Enough compromising and swallowing my pain and disgust; enough of my support through membership or attendance of any group that devalues women. Enough. I've had enough.Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-41057011649782239482018-01-27T09:22:00.001-08:002018-01-27T09:22:49.280-08:00Enough for 2018<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdWVMpzvW24qHCEqxLGPGC14f_UUV3XNL-lNwpd80jCWtxlATtT3ZnGvMKsgB-UozSruMXlKiLsyKMI_d_KG5WnW7D81wn-qZURYrs37wwmV25cIJUlVLWw7mA2EJPhsP8A3Neruhy9UxZ/s1600/Enough.pic.tiff" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="219" data-original-width="375" height="116" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdWVMpzvW24qHCEqxLGPGC14f_UUV3XNL-lNwpd80jCWtxlATtT3ZnGvMKsgB-UozSruMXlKiLsyKMI_d_KG5WnW7D81wn-qZURYrs37wwmV25cIJUlVLWw7mA2EJPhsP8A3Neruhy9UxZ/s200/Enough.pic.tiff" width="200" /></a></div>
I have been struggling to write my annual post describing my word for the year for well over a month. The word revealed itself quite early in the process; it has been the sorting out of what the word means to me or holds for the upcoming months that has been challenging. For the first time, my word for the year has both a personal and broader intention.<br />
<br />
In a personal sense, my word describes my intention to do more work around self-acceptance, positive affirmation and silencing my inner critic. We are daily bombarded with messages that tell us we are not slim enough, smart enough, rich enough, talented enough. . . the list goes on and on and on. Embracing a sense of not enoughness breeds shame and fosters all sorts of maladaptive behaviors in a futile attempt to be OK in our own skin.<br />
<br />
According to my friend Merriam-Webster, when used as an adverb the word "enough" refers to something that occurs "in such quantity, quality or scope as to fully meet demands, needs or expectations." I am enough; you are enough. We are human beings created in the image and likeness of God; that makes us fully enough.<br />
<br />
I am in a post-major birthday funk that is common during life transitions. My husband says that I <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmhBYg20gsCitGG8dfLiQxx8r6aRqavkWk0Gc8YCst4kpYPU1tPN7QxR_Q0cc3jcauTOP_CVibD8AlHaOr6VtK3ip_2TtDh4aBm6Ll4-0odI8oWNh9hnJB0iwJWFqWlQfwtRZy5cEYZUYx/s1600/DSCN0218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmhBYg20gsCitGG8dfLiQxx8r6aRqavkWk0Gc8YCst4kpYPU1tPN7QxR_Q0cc3jcauTOP_CVibD8AlHaOr6VtK3ip_2TtDh4aBm6Ll4-0odI8oWNh9hnJB0iwJWFqWlQfwtRZy5cEYZUYx/s200/DSCN0218.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
have reached an age that is considered to be the "youth of old age." I typically do a lot of self-reflection and analysis when I make a major transition and my word for the year will be a compass to guide and correct me through the process. The measure of my success in life is not in how much I have accumulated, the adulation of a world or in my achievements. The true measure of success in life is how well I have loved, including myself. This next season will bring additional losses and challenges but it seems that settling the issue of my intrinsic value and "enoughness" will give me the strength and stamina to face those losses with grace and serenity.<br />
<br />
The broader implications of my 2018 word came this week while watching the incredibly brave women who confronted their abuser in a court of law. It seems that every institution in our society is being forced to deal with the consequences of decades of systemic discrimination and sexual harassment and assault of women. No segment of our society has been exempt--from Hollywood to the local church, sports and news organizations and political figures. The #MeToo campaign gave thousands of women an opportunity to finally acknowledge publicly what has been tolerated in secret.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Dat8sZJPhEf5JzwG75Pta1vxBqnIMpVXRk901YuzuWusOKc8477TeaH228ZMCzXDPDfLyeedqHVUGM4uJtRXgVT7P_oR2qoV9OzuGZK-B10SHLdRovXjki1qS3jN1kyQj9ojVSNI-5lm/s1600/key.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="716" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Dat8sZJPhEf5JzwG75Pta1vxBqnIMpVXRk901YuzuWusOKc8477TeaH228ZMCzXDPDfLyeedqHVUGM4uJtRXgVT7P_oR2qoV9OzuGZK-B10SHLdRovXjki1qS3jN1kyQj9ojVSNI-5lm/s200/key.jpg" width="200" /></a>"Enough" when used as a determiner and pronoun expresses an "impatient desire for the cessation of undesirable behavior or speech. . . [and] indicates that one is unwilling to tolerate any more." Until we say "ENOUGH" to a culture of objectification and marginalization of women and children, we will never be able to prevent monsters like Larry Nassar from sexually molesting little girls in their mother's presence. ENOUGH! The laws we have passed and the protections we have put in place will never be enough until the societal and often religiously sanctioned discrimination is stopped.<br />
<br />
It occurs to me that both the personal and broader implications of my word are intertwined. Advocacy must begin with me. I must embrace my intrinsic value and enoughness in order to stand and fight against the systems that are designed to keep me in an inferior or marginalized position. If I am to fight for others, I must first fight for myself. I must do the internal work so that I can fully engage in the external battle. I am enough; you are enough and together we are enough to challenge and change a culture that insists we are not. Enough and ENOUGH!<br />
<br />
<br />Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-49638726393710256282018-01-06T05:25:00.000-08:002018-01-06T05:40:35.768-08:00Healing Stones<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFR3pFAlXgsxNz2Zk8bNZFGVP4QZeLmXg0bJmDa4ck3hffKi_3KU7hw7R8Npux3yxwU3DQMW5R1TaSc-IastReXyaY1EX000KrV6ebTLOpfiZuag5kzzYts66gaMtID8m3dH-t2qt5z-ko/s1600/7505470-R1-039-18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="980" data-original-width="1377" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFR3pFAlXgsxNz2Zk8bNZFGVP4QZeLmXg0bJmDa4ck3hffKi_3KU7hw7R8Npux3yxwU3DQMW5R1TaSc-IastReXyaY1EX000KrV6ebTLOpfiZuag5kzzYts66gaMtID8m3dH-t2qt5z-ko/s200/7505470-R1-039-18.jpg" width="200" /></a>I awoke this morning after another series of dreams that seem to point to a niggling truth struggling to come to my conscious awareness. As I prayed for discernment and understanding, I recalled the many who have been helpers along this journey of recovery and healing. I have been blessed with wonderful professionals who have walked with me for a portion of my journey and friends and family who have made themselves available for what I needed during the critical days when life was frightening and anxiety-ridden. For these men and women--my tribe, my healing stones--I give thanks:<br />
<br />
<ul><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6KRt5fvvi4FcGbJRnPL58cGc4LIxkHx2RPBuuHH_R_yTA8tjjMlQhjLJ7Mn33mtkMN6oko8nkLVtW26qZBN_57hhluB15MzG96SzQbbPfSnSLR_mwyfxrm4wlo2SN7cmGpqvuCKvA1Woc/s1600/7505470-R1-019-8_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1081" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6KRt5fvvi4FcGbJRnPL58cGc4LIxkHx2RPBuuHH_R_yTA8tjjMlQhjLJ7Mn33mtkMN6oko8nkLVtW26qZBN_57hhluB15MzG96SzQbbPfSnSLR_mwyfxrm4wlo2SN7cmGpqvuCKvA1Woc/s200/7505470-R1-019-8_3.jpg" width="135" /></a>
<li>For Bonnie, Lou, Mari and Teri--professionals who spoke truth with compassion and love and who helped me see myself through gentle and loving eyes;</li>
<li>For Sharon and that inept MFT intern who taught me that I can and must resist help that is not helpful;</li>
<li>For Sheila and Tam--old friends who reached out when I was so fragile and simply made themselves available;</li>
<li>For the women in my small group who listened and loved well;</li>
<li>For my S-ANON sisters who cried and laughed with me as we shared our journey on the healing path out of betrayal and addiction;</li>
<li>For Crystal, a sponsor and friend extraordinaire who like her name, brings clarity and insight into the muddy waters of life's situations;</li>
<li>For Wm. Paul Young, Richard Rohr, Paula D'Arcy, Glennon Mellon, Elizabeth Gilbert, Brene Brown, Stephanie Carnes, Mari Lee, Barbara Steffens, Marsha Means, Ann Voskamp, Patricia Wiklund, Terri St. Cloud, Rachel Held Evans and Scot McKnight whose words were like a healing balm to my wounded soul, like manna from heaven that satisfied my hunger for information and that shone a bright light during very dark days when I could not find my way;</li>
<li>For <a href="https://spiritualsoundingboard.com/" target="_blank">Julie Anne </a>and "Anonymous" who helped me reconnect with my inner activist;</li>
<li>For all of the partners and former partners who have dared to share their stories with me; they have reinforced the truth that we are not alone; </li>
<li>For my sweet and bestest friend, Kay--a loyal, loving and faithful sister for the past three and a half decades. She has been a secret-keeper, a sounding board and a witness to my entire journey, not just parts of it. We have forged a friendship that has stood the test of time, disagreements and changing life transitions. Many miles separate us but our hearts are connected in a way that transcends geography;</li>
<li>For my children who are the very best gifts I have ever received and whose love and connection continues to bring healing and purpose to my life. Their resiliency, courage and strength amaze me and I am so very proud of the wonderful human beings they have become. They have been severely tried and tested, crushed and challenged and still they love and live with integrity, compassion and kindness;</li>
<li>For my gifts of grace, life and peace--"The Three," the "K's," the granddaughters who have come into our family and brought hope, giggles, snuggles and joy;</li>
<li>For my husband, whose love is healing in ways that only a healthy intimate relationship can after severe betrayal, and who has brought adventure and laughter into my life again.</li>
</ul>
"Hitherto the Lord hath helped us," is an older translation of I Samuel 7:12 that was running through my mind when I awoke this morning. The context of this verse was a particularly difficult battle between Israel and her enemies and God's amazing intervention. After the battle, Samuel erected a standing stone and named it "Ebenezer" which is translated "the stone of help."<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnYf-ZdM9bt7pCeuka2fCrIuSba_egU-tfZq3s8Opfgf0tyhWMPBEp3Krf5JsJ8SuC7GjnVA6oLOKPByIiErfulxW9mzgDatKAIn3bYF7pWbRfFtBDtYygOxJo-BzMSy6QyTfy4XTrUVNk/s1600/5690660-R1-021-9_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="959" data-original-width="1447" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnYf-ZdM9bt7pCeuka2fCrIuSba_egU-tfZq3s8Opfgf0tyhWMPBEp3Krf5JsJ8SuC7GjnVA6oLOKPByIiErfulxW9mzgDatKAIn3bYF7pWbRfFtBDtYygOxJo-BzMSy6QyTfy4XTrUVNk/s200/5690660-R1-021-9_1.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Western Wall, also called "The Wailing Wall" in Jerusalem</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It occurs to me that the people of my "tribe" have been God's gifts of help. Recovery is not a solitary journey after all but rather is more like a grand orchestra. Papa God is the conductor who arranges and directs the music (i.e. healing) but each section of the orchestra contribute out of their gifts and wisdom and are essential to the ongoing majesty and grandeur of the masterpiece. So at this start of a brand new year, I erect my Ebenezer in recognition of all those who have been my stones of help. I am truly grateful and blessed. Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-56918978738864634292017-11-28T04:54:00.000-08:002017-11-28T04:54:16.481-08:00Court Transcripts & Letters from Prison<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdntRYOj89_uq2dOQnIGhM35JJLQUXhXhND4zxgjz8ddI-Q6g3Q6dXKWswvxvL5Og1Jcs_df8dr2EB9OvkAxzTG22zPhhm7wBJjEbzHuLGmUR9XX5vKlfYGyF8gTZ7bHtWz_rWOoatRAvM/s1600/Justice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="875" data-original-width="1600" height="107" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdntRYOj89_uq2dOQnIGhM35JJLQUXhXhND4zxgjz8ddI-Q6g3Q6dXKWswvxvL5Og1Jcs_df8dr2EB9OvkAxzTG22zPhhm7wBJjEbzHuLGmUR9XX5vKlfYGyF8gTZ7bHtWz_rWOoatRAvM/s200/Justice.jpg" width="200" /></a>I have not said much lately about my "qualifier" (a kinder word for the perpetrator I was married to). Earlier this year, he violated the conditions of his probation and now sits in prison. As a former volunteer behind bars, I had inside information on the kind of treatment child offenders receive when incarcerated. After I learned of his foray into the dark world of child pornography, we had many "discussions" where I painted the consequence of his continued pursuit in vivid language. He called me "paranoid" then but is now living in some pretty horrendous conditions, as I predicted.<br />
<br />
Anyone who has been in a relationship with an addict has experienced the blame, projection, minimization, exaggeration and denial that is common to addiction, and particularly so when dealing with a <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-hollow-man-or-wolf-in-sheeps.html?m=0" target="_blank">narcissist</a>. (One therapist that I worked with asserts that she has yet to meet an addict who is not also a narcissist). You would think that when you are caught with your hand in the proverbial cookie jar, there would be little recourse except to acknowledge your guilt and accept your punishment. That is not what I am experiencing and after speaking with many women who have had the same misfortune of marrying a pedophile, I find that my experience is not unique.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAQniLGidOywSR6WLcczOo4EzuN3oIVd-1orytc_kzN0QAERuOvITZYPPsZ8qPxwfWmTl-_zeA-IaoXAJrhm_aWx6YHp0EI9VEaC6r8VzfpB-lneWeL_-v_nXS85meCX8Y1ocTLTpqaDu9/s1600/Transcript.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="543" data-original-width="902" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAQniLGidOywSR6WLcczOo4EzuN3oIVd-1orytc_kzN0QAERuOvITZYPPsZ8qPxwfWmTl-_zeA-IaoXAJrhm_aWx6YHp0EI9VEaC6r8VzfpB-lneWeL_-v_nXS85meCX8Y1ocTLTpqaDu9/s200/Transcript.jpg" width="200" /></a>As I did after my ex's <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2014/03/a-sentence.html?m=0" target="_blank">first trial</a>, I purchased the <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2014/05/police-reports-and-court-transcripts.html?m=0" target="_blank">court transcripts</a> from his most recent trial and received them a few months ago. It has been enlightening and sobering to read once again the case against him, particularly the ways he "storied" his probation violation. One paragraph in the transcript stood out to me and the words continue to reverberate in my head and are validated by past and current experiences with my qualifier. Quoting a clinical psychologist who treated my ex for nearly four years, the prosecutor said, "This defendant has an inordinately difficult time accepting responsibility for his behavior. He constantly blames his [ex]wife for his offense . . . feeling that if she had been more supportive of him, he wouldn't have had to look at child pornography." His probation officer testified about his violation in great detail (no children were directly harmed, thank God) and the prosecutor illustrated how the defendant's story about the violation changed, depending on who he was talking to. Court transcripts are incredibly valuable, particularly when dealing with an addict/narcissist who uses a lot of gaslighting. They are the stake in the ground that becomes unmovable and grounding when communication becomes murky and confusing.<br />
<br />
Letters from prison have been arriving--letters that are deeply disturbing and hurtful, far more desperate than previous ones. The latest, addressed to one of my children, includes 20 pages of hate and blame towards me. The specifics do not merit inclusion here but once again, those court transcripts are the anchor in the swirl of blame-shifting, denial and deception. As my friend,<a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2017/09/when-dreams-die.html?m=0" target="_blank"> "Eve" </a>discovered, the man I thought I married does not exist and never did. He was an <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-man-behind-curtain.html" target="_blank">illusion</a> and I was simply a prop in his elaborate scheme to hide his secret nature. Eve and I had a conversation recently about the difficulty in removing those rose-colored glasses and accepting the truth about our former partners, a conversation I vividly remembered when reading those letters!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZPTKRtShSUSY5z5fMUvUUjS3-tvGCm5YWw7lVQJ2vos0ib7TZhyphenhyphenLr1Cn2lJRii5SB3D_BM4ZHwyyqo6PsUVgJSORhkXKn6lHjNjHNPx7KSBRzXw3tyaf8H_2Y_7T0swUDIV71RSO2JTzr/s1600/Trail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZPTKRtShSUSY5z5fMUvUUjS3-tvGCm5YWw7lVQJ2vos0ib7TZhyphenhyphenLr1Cn2lJRii5SB3D_BM4ZHwyyqo6PsUVgJSORhkXKn6lHjNjHNPx7KSBRzXw3tyaf8H_2Y_7T0swUDIV71RSO2JTzr/s200/Trail.jpg" width="150" /></a>My ex made it clear in his letters that he does not like the fact that this blog exists and consequently I have questioned my motives in continuing to write about my experience. While he thinks that my writing is all about him, it is really about my recovery from betrayal and trauma; he is central to my wounding but irrelevant to my recovery. I regularly hear from women just like me who somehow discover this space on the internet and find hope in the knowledge that they are not alone. There is risk and vulnerability in writing of such personal experiences but there is also freedom in speaking the truth rather than continuing to hide.<br />
<br />
So the lessons I have learned from reading and re-reading court transcripts and letters from prison can be summarized by the following:<br />
<ul>
<li>Denial, minimization, blame-shifting, projecting and deception are common among addicts and until they are abandoned, recovery becomes virtually impossible;</li>
<li>Gaslighting (using tactics to try to change an individual's perception of reality) is very confusing; those who experience it need frequent reality checks with trusted individuals or court transcripts;</li>
<li>Manipulation, exaggeration and distortion of facts can be very convincing and require vigilance in holding to what we know to be objective truth;</li>
<li>Perpetrators are incredibly skilled at creating and maintaining a near-perfect illusionary life, gathering props (i.e. spouse, children, academic credentials, etc.) to support the facade that hides their true nature and behavior;</li>
<li>When a narcissist is through with you, either by your choice or his, what seemed like love becomes rabid hatred. We can't be surprised by this.</li>
</ul>
How about you? Has your experience been similar or different to what I have described? As always, I would love to hear from you. Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-64729065305020941452017-11-22T05:40:00.000-08:002017-11-22T05:40:36.570-08:00Two Marriages, Two Islands, Two Traumas<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVhNsxOX7EZGh2DRHn7-h-YYiQXhgnj_pJTHIKk74JLPdiEgruHAU0BAGare5RFkcNb0YWMj5O395RK2P8RVcK0kir55s2Ps1TF-3OyrV-_Zd7CjfLdpsULxMayiVnMM5B2NhqKZUnpMfZ/s1600/ourhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="485" data-original-width="637" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVhNsxOX7EZGh2DRHn7-h-YYiQXhgnj_pJTHIKk74JLPdiEgruHAU0BAGare5RFkcNb0YWMj5O395RK2P8RVcK0kir55s2Ps1TF-3OyrV-_Zd7CjfLdpsULxMayiVnMM5B2NhqKZUnpMfZ/s200/ourhouse.jpg" width="200" /></a>I married my first husband when I was 21 years old and left with him two weeks after our weddin<i>g</i> for an assignment in the Caribbean. We set up housekeeping in a multi-colored cement block house, in a small village on the edge of a rain forest. We had running water but no hot water, electricity, refrigerator or screens on our windows. Our only mode of transportation was a small Honda 90 motorcycle.<br />
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I've written <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2014/01/i-am-fighter.html" target="_blank">elsewhere</a> about the trauma that I experienced while on this gorgeous island paradise, when my husband introduced me to a young girl and insisted that she become a regular part of our lives. I didn't know it at the time, but he was grooming her for an eventual molestation. I didn't learn of the molestation until three years later when he confessed it to me. I experienced the "relationship" with his young friend as an incredible trauma that I was completely confused by--nothing indicated that he was a predator, my gut was just screaming that this little girl was a threat to my marriage. She wasn't, but he definitely was; in fact our marriage ended before it really began. I just didn't know that for over three decades.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtKI8g8MZopLd70d_dKPsV7_b0hITpJGCv0etFqoF5YPyO3kkUkaSFjqbcB8-DrgIkkvpC46TPOWB0KDuxSdM5JAhM3YKtoH7JIMNTvnmdgweD9OZP7_s7STbnbS-je9wz-EIUboc2UABr/s1600/loved.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="997" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtKI8g8MZopLd70d_dKPsV7_b0hITpJGCv0etFqoF5YPyO3kkUkaSFjqbcB8-DrgIkkvpC46TPOWB0KDuxSdM5JAhM3YKtoH7JIMNTvnmdgweD9OZP7_s7STbnbS-je9wz-EIUboc2UABr/s200/loved.jpg" width="124" /></a>I met and married my current husband four years after my world and marriage exploded with my ex-husband's arrest. During the first year of our marriage, an idyllic time of adjusting to one another and blending our families came to a rather abrupt end during the month of December. December tends to be a trigger-month for me; my first marriage began and was pronounced dead and I gave birth to my firstborn during the last month of the year. Our final family gathering also occurred during this month, so it can be a challenging time for me. For a variety of reasons my current husband and I entered some treacherous waters during our first December together.<br />
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We were vacationing on the beautiful island of Hawaii when our individual triggers collided in a frightening and bewildering fashion. I think it is fair to say that we both were confused, hurt and lost; it seems that even paradise can turn ugly, depending on our perceptions and circumstances. I ended up leaving my new husband and returning to the mainland early. Eventually with the help of some gifted therapists and a lot of grit and determination (i.e. hard work), we gained a better understanding of what happened; the whys are still revealing themselves as we continue to grow individually and as a couple. But the experience was traumatic during a month that has a history of trauma and loss for me.<br />
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Recently we revisited some of the "whys" of that island trauma and I found myself fighting hard to <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY5SUd6a-OQVdePRnz6wKFGYFSc0PdpGe0tOYuPTy4Hm1-hl7EFBZOQEevuC68CEmDOSnuzqHGzXDPQOpTRulGWXRDIm__-AioL972Wm8TfZAdeiqvp6lWlO7bX190HjHIDV2EIoZKkC7M/s1600/IMG_2090.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY5SUd6a-OQVdePRnz6wKFGYFSc0PdpGe0tOYuPTy4Hm1-hl7EFBZOQEevuC68CEmDOSnuzqHGzXDPQOpTRulGWXRDIm__-AioL972Wm8TfZAdeiqvp6lWlO7bX190HjHIDV2EIoZKkC7M/s200/IMG_2090.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
not mix up the names of the two islands. What I've learned about trauma and loss is that if left unresolved, new losses or traumas bring the old ones along for company. So it appears that I may have some additional work to do around that first trauma on an island paradise with my ex-husband, especially as we near my "trigger" month of December. Recovery work, I am learning, is rarely completely done in one season of life; each new growth spurt or deepening relationship can reveal new levels of healing that is necessary.<br />
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I am re-reading an excellent work by an incest survivor turned advocate. <a href="http://www.missamericabyday.com/" target="_blank">Marilyn Van Debur'</a>s biography <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Miss-America-Day-Betrayals-Unconditional/dp/1935689517" target="_blank">"</a><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Miss-America-Day-Betrayals-Unconditional/dp/1935689517" target="_blank">Miss America by Day: Lessons Learned from Ultimate Betrayals and Unconditional Love"</a> </i>chronicles her molestation at the hands of her powerful father and more importantly, her recovery. It is a stark reminder of the indelible imprint that childhood sexual molestation makes on an individual and the work that is required if recovery is to occur. As the former wife of a pedophile, it is both a grim refresher of the seriousness of the crimes my ex-husband committed but also of the secondary victimization that occurs for the non-offending family members of the perpetrator. Everyone in a perpetrator's sphere of influence is impacted by their behavior; no one remains untouched.<br />
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Before we move into December with all of its celebrations and potential landmines, we will pause to give thanks. We give thanks for the good and for the challenging times and remember that forgiveness is a gift that we give ourselves; it opens the door to deeper healing, connection and freedom. I was mesmerized by this poem that came across my desk today:<br />
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<b><span style="color: #990000;"><i>"At the year's turn,</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #990000;"><i>in the days between, </i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #990000;"><i>we step away</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #990000;"><i>from what we know</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #990000;"><i>into the spaces </i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #990000;"><i>we cannot name.</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #990000;"><i>Slowly the edges</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #990000;"><i>begin to yield,</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #990000;"><i>the hard places</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #990000;"><i>soften,</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #990000;"><i>the gate to forgiveness</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #990000;"><i>and gratitude</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #990000;"><i>opens."</i></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i>-- unknown</i></span></div>
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And another by a favorite artist/poet:</div>
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<b><span style="color: #783f04;"><i>"she closed her eyes</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #783f04;"><i>and thought of her year.</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #783f04;"><i>it couldn't just be</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #783f04;"><i>the good she was</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #783f04;"><i>thankful for</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #783f04;"><i>it had to be the all...</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #783f04;"><i>the fullness, the depths,</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #783f04;"><i>the journey.</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #783f04;"><i>the dance of life.</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #783f04;"><i>for these she gave thanks."</i></span></b></div>
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<i>-- <a href="https://www.bonesigharts.com/terris-bio" target="_blank">terri st. cloud</a></i></div>
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May we all move into those spaces we cannot name--traumas, memories, losses and betrayal--and as we do the work of recovery, watch them soften and give thanks for the gifts we find in our woundings--the depth fullness and journey. Have a wonderful week of feasting, giving thanks and dancing to the music of life!<i> </i> </div>
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<br />Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-38223913332151203712017-09-03T06:26:00.000-07:002017-09-03T06:26:50.616-07:00When Dreams Die<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE5ZMOo19aeNHQYMVnS3bRnBy7swAMywlpbFx6GWrQ0cNJwhaPB1ROgSUQpVx3YtNEIfvJimS5DCa0yw7RWkh0ej5mc2oPv_kUVy-bBqJ_AvGk2pb0k_wkcmvC4S6Edc3q1BN-9AYKf5gR/s1600/Brenda.Campbell.Ratcliff.12.78.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="312" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE5ZMOo19aeNHQYMVnS3bRnBy7swAMywlpbFx6GWrQ0cNJwhaPB1ROgSUQpVx3YtNEIfvJimS5DCa0yw7RWkh0ej5mc2oPv_kUVy-bBqJ_AvGk2pb0k_wkcmvC4S6Edc3q1BN-9AYKf5gR/s200/Brenda.Campbell.Ratcliff.12.78.jpg" width="78" /></a>One of the <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-worst-but-best-gift.html" target="_blank">gifts</a> that I have discovered as a consequence of marriage to a pedophile has been the opportunity to work with other partners. Sharing our stories and pain has been deeply rewarding and healing for me and I think for them as well. I'd like to introduce you to one such partner with her permission, of course, and her identity shielded.<br />
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Eve* met her husband at a church singles' group and was immediately attracted to his quiet nature and compassion. People were drawn to his kindness and ability to be present with others so it came as no surprise when he announced plans to go to seminary in preparation for ministry. Shortly after their marriage, Eve supported "Adam" through seminary training and joyfully joined him in ministry when he obtained a pastorate. She loved ministering with him and watching him minister to others.<br />
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As his ministry flourished, they began making plans to start a family. Early one morning she kissed him goodbye as he left for an out-of-town church conference. He never came home from that meeting. While folding his laundry she received a phone call from him and heard the unbelievable news that he was in jail, having been arrested in a child pornography and trafficking sting. Can you imagine how her world tilted and twirled? Nothing in her life with him led her to believe that this was remotely possible.<br />
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Eve and I have shared our stories and our pain over the death of the dreams we had when we were brides. While her marriage lasted three years and mine over three decades, there are similarities and profound differences in our stories. The death of a dream is a loss and all losses must be grieved, but just as people process grief differently, variations in one's story may also impact how one processes the losses attached to broken dreams.<br />
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My dreams died a slow and agonizing death; Eve's died suddenly with one phone call. I had time to come to terms with the loss of my marriage prior to my ex-husband's arrest; Adam's arrest required that Eve immediately take steps to end her marriage. Both of us lost homes, ministries and friends that we dearly loved but while I lost my past, in a way Eve lost her future. I had spent my entire adult life committed to my ex-husband and our marriage; recovery demanded that I sift through a lifetime of memories and reframe them in light of the diagnosis of pedophilia. While Eve's recovery also involves this sifting and reframing, her immediate hopes for a family were dashed when her marriage ended.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMczRXQdQaosct9UlpvKxGfEKO5HOXNPR5j5N0lz_zkdvG922O6u1DZP7xWjGkoCk0Qs3jgEanMiC-cCGFsZGfSyrwWi5VcKV9uZ1Tm6sZUT6Dzve6o4ZoxQ0ohHOaykvHRRDgPGHy22Dv/s1600/Shock.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="304" data-original-width="183" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMczRXQdQaosct9UlpvKxGfEKO5HOXNPR5j5N0lz_zkdvG922O6u1DZP7xWjGkoCk0Qs3jgEanMiC-cCGFsZGfSyrwWi5VcKV9uZ1Tm6sZUT6Dzve6o4ZoxQ0ohHOaykvHRRDgPGHy22Dv/s200/Shock.JPG" width="120" /></a>She remarked recently that the "shock of adjusting to the difference between trying to have a baby with this man to suddenly divorcing him [after his arrest]" continues to be a challenge to recovery and moving on. I had grown children who were devastated by their father's arrest but I <u>had</u> children and a <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2013/01/and-then-came-grace.html" target="_blank">grandchild</a> <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2015/10/a-tale-of-two-granddaughters.html" target="_blank">on the way</a>! Eve understands that it is advantageous that she did not have a child with Adam but the lost potential of children underscores the devastation that he brought into her life. This is not what she signed up for when she took her sacred vows; it is unfair and tragic. When dreams die, sometimes hope does as well. <br />
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I've been musing recently on the dreams that I cherished on my first wedding day--dreams of living a long full life with the man I loved, creating and raising a family and eventually growing old together. This week my third granddaughter came into our lives and even now, after all of the pain, I feel a bit of nostalgia and regret that the man who helped me create this family is not sharing in the joy of watching them thrive and in welcoming new little ones. The dreams I had long ago as a bride have died and life demands new dreams and a reframing of old ones. And new dreams birth <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2017/01/hope-for-new-year.html" target="_blank">hope</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC5JxlOFzkW7-T_VLXGT021moCSUeFdP8SF0OqX_Tfi4E3f6BzELgnCdUS-imfwVtZH3OF1aY7PEJionrh_j9zGxVHB0CALjCBA40uqIBAMlk33udqjTofZV5C5utRudvVFAPc_wIV7o_s/s1600/Hope.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="238" data-original-width="361" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC5JxlOFzkW7-T_VLXGT021moCSUeFdP8SF0OqX_Tfi4E3f6BzELgnCdUS-imfwVtZH3OF1aY7PEJionrh_j9zGxVHB0CALjCBA40uqIBAMlk33udqjTofZV5C5utRudvVFAPc_wIV7o_s/s200/Hope.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Eve is just beginning to nurse hope again--sober hope but hope nevertheless. I am reminded of a quote I used when I named this year and it seems a good place to end this post. Hope (and new dreams) "comes into play when our circumstances are dire--things are not going well or at least there's considerable uncertainty about how things will turn out." <i><a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/positivity/200903/why-choose-hope" target="_blank">SOURCE</a></i> My friend Eve is daring to choose hope and to dream again That is the definition of courage.<br />
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<i>*pseudonym; some details changed to protect her anonymity</i><br />
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<br />Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-46793665777604598982017-08-20T08:04:00.000-07:002017-08-20T08:04:03.070-07:00The Language of AddictionRecently I've been amused by my almost two-year-old granddaughter's attempts at learning to communicate and have noted the importance of how and what we communicate to our children and to each other, often without full awareness of what we are actually communicating. For example, the word she has chosen for the fuzzy stuff on her head is "Ow," because she often hears her older sister cry "ow" when her hair is combed. So "ow" have become her word for "hair." Eventually she will correct herself but for now she is excited that she has added a new word to her growing vocabulary.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXZHzryV8Kz96lJwlmNVFUJ-XfwB_bKlJHJng_MgTFph-KDlj99yUqYI_M4wEEJVVDbIGJ1_HWcO70i6Iv2ehZ-30zgoVIMxmF-3W7n2jK0se37ZuRUhsaOgrkrhnNUyaxr6FTxjqtWTxa/s1600/Fog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXZHzryV8Kz96lJwlmNVFUJ-XfwB_bKlJHJng_MgTFph-KDlj99yUqYI_M4wEEJVVDbIGJ1_HWcO70i6Iv2ehZ-30zgoVIMxmF-3W7n2jK0se37ZuRUhsaOgrkrhnNUyaxr6FTxjqtWTxa/s320/Fog.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
How we language addiction or compulsive behavior is also interesting to me. Is it a "slip," or a "relapse?" One word communicates a rather minor fall from the sobriety wagon that is to be expected, while the other signals a more serious and dangerous condition. I recall my ex-husband referring to his sexual compulsion and illegal activity as "almost an addiction," but "not quite one." Falling back into illegal activity becomes a "probation violation" rather than "engaging in a compulsory behavior or an addiction." The former is innocuous and could cover any number of behaviors while the second description indicates something over which a person has little or no control.<br />
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Addicts are known for their attempts to intellectualize, minimize, blame-shift, project and deny their behavior. Manipulating how they language their compulsions may provide a level of protection for the addict but true recovery cannot begin until most if not all, of these defense mechanisms are abandoned. Telling the truth about and to one's self is critical for transformation and change.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8S1ZDABAF6sYPjMdvg0S2AfnamyC8OP_ibwFi7emEGb1vwPonrg6XdMF0B_nQ_qmT-FzuQGWEjtFKyUYhiaDoKwdD5AKn9Go0IVbwTp4BusVTQASUiqYUuGRShxa8tKyMmxQN11_uHdBr/s1600/lighthouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8S1ZDABAF6sYPjMdvg0S2AfnamyC8OP_ibwFi7emEGb1vwPonrg6XdMF0B_nQ_qmT-FzuQGWEjtFKyUYhiaDoKwdD5AKn9Go0IVbwTp4BusVTQASUiqYUuGRShxa8tKyMmxQN11_uHdBr/s320/lighthouse.jpg" width="320" /></a>I've also found it interesting to note how institutions have used and abused language when referencing an addict, especially the high-profile ones. While Bill Cosby's accusers tell the same story of being drugged and raped, his defenders minimize his behavior by the language they use. He is not a "rapist" but rather someone who has engaged in compulsive sexual relationships outside of his marriage. In religious circles terms such as "sinner," or "hypocrite" implies behavior that is a minor, discordant part of life and common to all. By lumping all "sin" into one category we overlook or marginalize abhorrent behavior and minimize the pain of victims. It's all in the language we use.<br />
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And I've also noticed how often the organization or church or political party focus on forgiving the offense and restoring the offender rather than on the real pain of the victims. Forgiveness is an important part of recovery from any injury but the cheap forgiveness our language references denies the seriousness of the offense and the nature of the behavior. How we language sexual compulsions and addiction matters, particularly addiction that victimizes another. <br />
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The alcoholic who stops by the bar on the way home is not engaging in criminal or immoral behavior unless he gets behind the wheel while under the influence; the porn addict or pedophile who engages with his drug of choice is minimally guilty of a moral offense and most often engaged in criminal behavior as well as behavior that involves the victimization and/or trafficking of another human being. There is a big difference but our language lumps them all together. Unfortunately, the language of addiction is often one of minimizing and denying the horror of victimization, betrayal and criminal activity. Collectively we collude with the addict's efforts when we embrace his language of addiction.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3YSkuQPclIzljINJ3Iu2KJ8Age-Dsb5XQZoxF6gx8lTiSnAUqQGf5rrRYfK6j78EB5dsFEZC4OMDcYbtO25kfoEFJeMH9CyCa4KdqTN6fERnofnZO3XAS8kiyoeGGQpyKM3cy0y-bLYhy/s1600/clarity.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3YSkuQPclIzljINJ3Iu2KJ8Age-Dsb5XQZoxF6gx8lTiSnAUqQGf5rrRYfK6j78EB5dsFEZC4OMDcYbtO25kfoEFJeMH9CyCa4KdqTN6fERnofnZO3XAS8kiyoeGGQpyKM3cy0y-bLYhy/s320/clarity.jpg" width="320" /></a>Unlike her sister, my nearly five-year-old granddaughter has language that is precise, descriptive and often beyond her years. She has learned the art of communication and her vocabulary is huge, thanks in large part to her love of books and reading. It is time for the rest of us to "grow up" in the language we use around addiction. We need to speak the truth in love and with compassion. Softening the language does nothing to really help the addict and minimizes the tremendous human cost tied to addiction. We heal what we name and speak; we cannot hope to end addiction in our society until and unless we speak the truth about it.Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-90784116392184444422017-06-18T13:10:00.002-07:002017-06-18T13:10:55.525-07:00Betrayal by PedophiliaI had an interesting discussion with a marriage therapist recently regarding the unique experience of having been betrayed by a pedophile partner. In the course of our dialogue, I stated that it would have been easier had he betrayed me with another consenting adult--male or female. She was surprised, believing after many years of working with couples, that an affair with a consenting adult is far more difficult. She concluded that this is true because everyone knows that a sexual attraction to a child is taboo, so the pain of betrayal that a pedophile's partner may feel is not as severe as it would be had her partner chosen a consenting adult. Really?<br />
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It is a mistake for any of us to try to assign levels of pain to an experience for another and I in no way mean to minimize the very real pain of betrayal within a committed relationship. Betrayal is horrendous no matter how or with whom it occurs. But betrayal by pedophilia is unique in its devastation and that is what I tried to explain to my friend. There are elements to the betrayal that simply are not present in a "normal" case of adultery.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijIQUEe4c803CllzMl2CtTsTvlEAz5iOmH6PtnZFIR46j2UXRgNlyHDlgH7FQJva0YNgSBwvbBr4KooiRDTfZenh3xsHMpTKxKuIbquiJNQsCMbAQik9jPu931WepsVQ0Njxfl2MeeY8ER/s1600/100_6861.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijIQUEe4c803CllzMl2CtTsTvlEAz5iOmH6PtnZFIR46j2UXRgNlyHDlgH7FQJva0YNgSBwvbBr4KooiRDTfZenh3xsHMpTKxKuIbquiJNQsCMbAQik9jPu931WepsVQ0Njxfl2MeeY8ER/s200/100_6861.jpg" width="150" /></a>First and foremost, conducting a sexual relationship with an adult other than your spouse is not against the law. The <b>criminal element</b> present in the betrayal a pedophile's partner experiences adds an incredibly frightening element. Partners have often been charged or threatened with criminal charges by law enforcement and are sometimes seen as colluding with the perpetrator. Additionally, <b>personal privacy</b> has often been invaded by means of an executed search warrant. My personal diary was taken by law enforcement during the raid on our house because it was on an external hard drive that my ex-husband had access to. Intimate details of one's relationship are often testified to in open court with hungry journalists ready to report each tidbit to the public.<br />
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The <b>scandal</b> that often follows the arrest of a perpetrator is frequently more widespread than that generated by an affair, particularly when the media become involved. The humiliation a partner and her children feel as friends, family, work colleagues and acquaintances learn of the arrest or accusation is intense. And all too often, the family is unable to comment on the details of the case because of the criminal investigation. They are forced to enclose themselves within a cone of silence and shame while speculation and judgment swirl around them.<br />
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Devastating <b>financial consequences</b> often follow a pedophile's betrayal with loss of family income, health insurance, retirement and sometimes the family home. A number of years ago I wrote a <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2013/07/am-i-really-co-pedophile.html" target="_blank">post </a>about the <b>psychological misinformation,</b> bordering on malpractice that is often applied to the partner of a pedophile. Labels such as co-pedophile, co-conspirator, or co-dependent victimize and stigmatize an already traumatized woman!<br />
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<b>Gaslighting</b> is a deliberate attempt to redefine another's reality. The partner of a pedophile has <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXcsWGzWSTuqSqLfE_jR4L2qKYNH70qGn5iaAHeUkMf2nPfGPCtUiD7X242O9sNwMj3WtrhrGciUAszsEkHmDHrLVU1LIbEnRVFDcBYGOnE0RE-gSAJEkTi0kJD8EOCQwo6O0hhke0vDoT/s1600/IMG_5260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXcsWGzWSTuqSqLfE_jR4L2qKYNH70qGn5iaAHeUkMf2nPfGPCtUiD7X242O9sNwMj3WtrhrGciUAszsEkHmDHrLVU1LIbEnRVFDcBYGOnE0RE-gSAJEkTi0kJD8EOCQwo6O0hhke0vDoT/s200/IMG_5260.jpg" width="200" /></a>probably experienced this tactic throughout her relationship. Her concerns or fears, if realized or expressed, are minimized, denied or blamed on her faulty perception, etc. She has probably been told that the problems in the relationship are due to some deficiency or failing on her part. He justifies his behavior by blaming it on her. While this phenomenon is not unique to pedophiles, the secrecy and shame that surrounds this disease makes it nearly impossible for her to find information or hep, if she suspects anything at all. l She has very little ability to do a reality-check because she most often knows nothing of his secret behavior though she may have a gut feeling that something is wrong. Imagine her horror when she discovers that the real reason there were problems in their relationship was not due to a deficiency on her part but to a secret so huge and devastating. Imagine how it feels to know that your partner was not attracted to you but to a child! Yes, another adult would be easier to accept than this reality and the years of gaslighting, blame and denial only add to the wound.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4kNSt4wDIjrL0TcKMbCWBeYgtFtD6da2ddqRa-FQY5DgpzmD-2Z1aiMSVWI5Ju0y4yRTEcx-_6Xp-2ii1jTL-5Fp7Jbi2BiVJ5yWUPK5ry7Un7Rq6eEUwYv7y5wbzkXU3fp09bxr83Z5F/s1600/2015-08-16+15.54.45.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4kNSt4wDIjrL0TcKMbCWBeYgtFtD6da2ddqRa-FQY5DgpzmD-2Z1aiMSVWI5Ju0y4yRTEcx-_6Xp-2ii1jTL-5Fp7Jbi2BiVJ5yWUPK5ry7Un7Rq6eEUwYv7y5wbzkXU3fp09bxr83Z5F/s200/2015-08-16+15.54.45.jpg" width="112" /></a>After our conversation, I had a terrifying dream in which one of my sons was being threatened by a group of ignorant guys who believed that my son should bear the punishment for the crimes his father committed. I woke, grateful that it was just a bad dream but in essence, it reflects a measure of truth for the partner and children of a convicted pedophile. We feel the "guilt by association" in the silence, stares or avoidant behavior of those we once called friends. We live in the fear that we will be held responsible for his despicable behavior. It is a unique experience and recovery requires specialized, professional help.*<br />
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<i>I highly recommend a Certified Sex Addiction Therapist (CSAT) for partners of pedophiles because I have learned from personal and professional experience that not all therapists are equipped to deal with the unique challenges that this issue present. For more information or to find a CSAT provider, see the I<a href="https://www.iitap.com/about/" target="_blank">nternational Institute for Trauma and Addiction Professionals.</a></i><a href="https://www.iitap.com/about/" target="_blank"> </a>Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-321409353590160172017-05-27T07:05:00.000-07:002017-05-27T07:05:00.837-07:00Not a Victimless CrimeI knew better but I did it anyway. I watched a rerun of <i>Law and Order, Special Victims Unit.</i> The episode focused on the fall-out of child pornography on the victims, and the fact that once an image is on the world-wide web, it is there forever. Victims are re-traumatized with each download of their image. Perpetrators view the memorialization of a child's rape, molestation and abuse for sexual gratification. I remember the <a href="https://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2016/02/leap-year.html" target="_blank">detectives</a>' mantra during the long hours I sat with them while my house was <a href="https://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2013/02/on-raids-and-handcuffs-one-year-later.html" target="_blank">searched</a>: "Child pornography is not a victimless crime." <br />
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What the detectives did not know that cold February morning, however, was that I had heard countless stories of childhood victimization, mostly from the women I worked with in a prison setting. The impact of childhood sexual exploitation can be codified in the details of their drug and criminal records. None of them escaped without harm. <a href="https://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2015/10/what-happens-in-childhood-does-not-stay.html" target="_blank">Not one</a>. The devastation lasts a lifetime. Pornography, no matter how "tame" some would judge it to be is never without victims, especially child pornography.<br />
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Yet how often, as a society, do we minimize or trivialize the seriousness of a media presentation containing child nudity? How often do we determine just how serious the crime is based on how offensive <u>we</u> judge the material to be? Isn't that a technical definition of pornography--material that a "normal" person would find offensive? Is child nudity in a sexual context ever innocent or non-offensive? For a pedophile any image of a child, nude or fully clothed, can be sexualized so where do we draw the line?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJzFGJXzy-Sn3bGeu-kdb64TO7oLrSe6zHOsqlxd5oYPMGgsMuKOhcTdCi6PgaDqttTVifPQ9gmIT5GnKBt6Jai_y9m7OpTB0ExMFKttzoMXyITtT-gy3o52ggttGieGL7mGbKiUHmZbaW/s1600/IMG_1043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJzFGJXzy-Sn3bGeu-kdb64TO7oLrSe6zHOsqlxd5oYPMGgsMuKOhcTdCi6PgaDqttTVifPQ9gmIT5GnKBt6Jai_y9m7OpTB0ExMFKttzoMXyITtT-gy3o52ggttGieGL7mGbKiUHmZbaW/s200/IMG_1043.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://www.tvguide.com/tvshows/law-order-special-victims-unit/episode-19-season-15/downloaded-child/100257/" target="_blank">The episode of <i>SVU</i></a> was a poignant reminder of the countless ways that pornography impacts all of us, not least of which are the victims. So while I should not have watched it, I'm glad I did. The grief and horror are necessary--we must not fail to be horrified when someone is victimized. We must not grow complacent in our fight to end all victimization and to protect our most vulnerable. We must not draw back from looking evil in its face and calling it what it is. When we cease to be horrified, when we refuse to disrupt the quietude of our lives with a look at the dark side of rampant pornography, when we bury our heads in the sand and pretend that this is not our problem, we condemn innocent children, men and women to continued exploitation and victimization.<br />
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"I knew better but I did it anyway; I couldn't help myself," is an excuse often given by the one caught in a pornography sting. I've heard variations of that from the addict I was previously married to. But this time, I'm glad I went ahead and watched something that I knew would trigger my trauma. I need to be reminded. There are children to be protected, and some of them are very dear to my heart.Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-19190890928636271302017-02-27T05:38:00.000-08:002017-02-27T05:38:07.910-08:00The Gift of PresenceWe have experienced two deaths in my extended family in the past few months with another two beloved family members on death's cusp. Yesterday I sat at the internment of cremains for a husband, father, brother and son who was taken too soon. I have been to many funerals and graveside services but never to one like this. It occurred almost two months after the death and celebration of life service and it involved an urn rather than a casket. Only immediate family members were present. After a few comforting words by a family friend, we sat in silence--nothing was said, we were just present with this great and overwhelming loss.<br />
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At times, I felt a bit uncomfortable--shouldn't we DO something? Shouldn't someone SAY something? Should we really just sit in silence? Three kids and a young widow had to process the enormity of what we were there to do and those of us who love them sat and offered the best gift of all: the gift of silent presence. There are no words to explain or make right this loss; there never is. Silencing our need to somehow make sense of the senseless by filling the air with lots of words is incredibly difficult. But the gift of silent presence says more than all of the words in the world could possibly convey; it communicates solidarity, safety and connection. It exudes love.<br />
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There are other priceless gifts that when offered subsequent to loss, tragedy or betrayal comfort immensely: the gifts of a listening ear, empathy or tears. These gifts require that we set aside our own pain and enter into that of another. They require us to deal with the discomfort we feel at the pain of someone we love and demand an ability to "see" or "feel" the experience through the eyes and heart of another. It is far easier to offer advice, evaluation or analysis of the loss than it is to sit still in silence and simply listen to and feel the pain of another.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaDDUqLDI_cg748V-RRwyiHIeh9yM-7BkXt2XAb5y_8ZZITM7VgL7vpq5ZzhPnVCyZAnb7B1RjVuWTtQPZrcFmPw2uGtV1zOBaAiUOUZQj68NV7uolb9VZiFrB85aANSlvFO1TAwgxOwDv/s1600/IMG_3276+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaDDUqLDI_cg748V-RRwyiHIeh9yM-7BkXt2XAb5y_8ZZITM7VgL7vpq5ZzhPnVCyZAnb7B1RjVuWTtQPZrcFmPw2uGtV1zOBaAiUOUZQj68NV7uolb9VZiFrB85aANSlvFO1TAwgxOwDv/s200/IMG_3276+%25281%2529.jpg" width="108" /></a>A family member sent me a picture this afternoon that perfectly illustrates this wonderful gift of presence. Her aged mother is near the end of the dying process; the family has spent a grueling few days providing round-the-clock care and comfort and saying their goodbyes. Pain and dementia have complicated the care-giving. Last night her son curled up on the narrow hospital bed, wrapped his arms around his mother and offered her the priceless gift of presence. There is nothing more to be said, no unfinished business, just the opportunity to be present with another as they transition from this life to the next. I have never seen a more perfect depiction of love empathy and presence than this.<br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-I6YcLSB1w" target="_blank">Life breaks and falls apart</a> for all of us at one time or another. It may be through death, divorce or betrayal. We are indeed fortunate if during these pain-filled times we have individuals who will come along side us and simply and profoundly offer these grace-filled gifts. This is what brings solace and comfort to those of us living in the shadow of the Fall.Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-15921685314623088292017-01-24T18:04:00.000-08:002017-01-24T18:04:01.455-08:00Hope for the New YearIn 2011 I "accidentally" fell into the practice of giving each year a name as a way of establishing my hopes or goals for the upcoming year. I knew that I was facing a divorce but had no idea of just how traumatic life would become in the coming weeks but my name for 2012 established my belief or hope that while I might be a single woman again, I would never be alone. This phrase derived from my faith that God was a very real presence and that He would be with me throughout the year, no matter what it might bring.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #351c75;">2012 ~ <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2015/09/kicked-out-of-my-life.html" target="_blank">Never Alone</a><br />2013 ~ <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2013/01/will-you-trust-me-to-be-your-provider_1.html" target="_blank">Provision</a><br />2014 ~ <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2014/01/three-words-for-2014.html" target="_blank">Prosper, Transform & Delight</a><br />2015 ~ <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2015/01/the-year-of-healthy-connections.html" target="_blank">Healthy Connections</a><br />2016 ~ <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2015/12/living-loved.html" target="_blank">Living Loved</a></span></b></blockquote>
I almost forgot about this practice in the joy and festivities of the past holiday season, which in itself is a testament to the level of healing that has been accomplished in my life. In publishing my last post, however, the word for 2017 became obvious. And in a world that grows increasingly chaotic and fearful, it is an appropriate word. My word for 2017 is HOPE.<br />
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Hope refers to an optimistic attitude, a feeling of trust or anticipation of good things to come. It is a desire for something specific and can either be a noun or a verb. We look through the cinders of what was once our beautiful life in the HOPE (noun) of finding a treasured memento or we are HOPING (verb) for our perpetrating partner to change. But unlike more positive emotions we may experience such as joy, gratitude, serenity, interest, inspiration, awe and love, hope comes with a unique characteristic.<br />
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According to Dr. Barbara L. Fredrickson, a social psychologist, hope "comes into play when our circumstances are dire--things are not going well or at least there's considerable uncertainty about how things will turn out." (<a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/positivity/200903/why-choose-hope" target="_blank">Psychology Today, March 23, 2009)</a> She goes on to assert that "Hope literally opens us up. It removes the blinders of fear and despair and allows us to see the big picture. We become creative, unleashing our dreams for the future." (Ibid) The opposite of hope, then, is fear.<br />
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Hope demands action--it requires that we do something. It offers an opportunity or invitation for us to choose optimism over pessimism, to trust rather than to fear and to believe that this circumstance is not our defining moment. It urges us to trust that this situation is not our story's ending. According to Dr. Fredrickson, this choice is vital. "Hope and fear are not mere words or facial gestures. They're deeply felt neurochemical stances toward our current circumstances--stances that alter our outlooks, our actions, as well as the life paths that unfold before us." (Ibid)<br />
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I can vividly recall the sense of despair and hopelessness that I felt in the days and weeks after my <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2015/09/kicked-out-of-my-life.html" target="_blank">door and life</a> came crashing down. I felt powerless and very fearful of my future. I was easily triggered from the trauma I had experienced and terror kept me awake at night. Hope seemed elusive but inexplicably, it rose up in my core. I chose to hope even when my circumstances remained unchanged. In a sense, hope was all that I had left and I hung onto it like a drowning person clings to a proffered lifesaver.<br />
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It seems to me that we all need a healthy dose of hope about now. Fear closes us down and causes us to cower but hope requires that we open ourselves to the future and to finding creative solutions both personally and corporately. It is time to figure out how to rebuild and repair our broken doors and hope offers the key. So for 2017, I choose HOPE. Won't you join me?Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-63933216546824880842017-01-03T06:45:00.000-08:002017-01-03T07:55:52.037-08:00Scrambled Eggs on Christmas Morning<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgk55DRLcmM8719GjfzIeywBSpO5Q7nvJHyIcbBL1IDpfO9TQvVuaL_QwZnbKBIuPsPKF7f65P8BO6Y5htK4sIDfbuyFM-TrbxeNOZ4-HFZM6pS54zdP74H86Meb65Fn_Hcu72T5dt-rGr/s1600/IMG_3239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgk55DRLcmM8719GjfzIeywBSpO5Q7nvJHyIcbBL1IDpfO9TQvVuaL_QwZnbKBIuPsPKF7f65P8BO6Y5htK4sIDfbuyFM-TrbxeNOZ4-HFZM6pS54zdP74H86Meb65Fn_Hcu72T5dt-rGr/s200/IMG_3239.JPG" width="150" /></a>As I stared at the bubbling eggs cooking in the skillet Christmas morning, my mind immediately <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-worst-but-best-gift.html?m=0" target="_blank">flashed back to Christmas morning five years ago</a>. My ex and I had returned from a family Christmas trip the evening before and were alone in our cold Midwestern home. Our refrigerator had turned into a freezer while we were gone and the only thing I could muster up for our Christmas brunch that lonely morning was some semi-frozen eggs that I scrambled. It was after our make-shift meal that my ex told me he was tired of being in a marriage where he could not be his true self and he wanted a divorce. It was a dark, dark Christmas day.<br />
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But this Christmas, exactly five years after that sinister day, I scrambled eggs for my newly reconstituted family. Four new members have been added to our group in the past five years, including my new husband, a daughter-in-love and two adorable granddaughters. As our family gathered this Christmas, there was laughter, raucous play and teasing but no tears. We are healing, we are recovering. Hope is alive and well in our family.<br />
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Each week, it seems, I connect with yet another <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2015/04/words-to-broken-woman-that-was-me.html" target="_blank">partner or former partner </a>of a perpetrating pedophile. While the details of each story may be slightly different, the general themes are so achingly familiar. The shock of betrayal and the horror of discovery are overwhelming and grief incapacitates even the strongest of women. Unless you have lived through it, it is impossible to grasp how comprehensive and devastating this journey is. Nothing makes sense anymore and yet so many confusing elements of life with a pedophile begin to come into focus. The one commodity, however, that is scarce with each one is hope.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDMTM2U1eNzW5aNzinbYfxhV7430anHouLPN2WfWDU1qf_n3vu0m30Yf6l1xCk4qS_AuXUgsY5H_grFVpqcP2KczvnjIzlGIKoTs7qsQR8dnWIY34my5sxKGQel-Cfwj4YZ5Dx6d7hpr3b/s1600/Slide1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDMTM2U1eNzW5aNzinbYfxhV7430anHouLPN2WfWDU1qf_n3vu0m30Yf6l1xCk4qS_AuXUgsY5H_grFVpqcP2KczvnjIzlGIKoTs7qsQR8dnWIY34my5sxKGQel-Cfwj4YZ5Dx6d7hpr3b/s200/Slide1.jpg" width="200" /></a>Learning that you have been or are married to a pedophile robs you of a future you had believed in as well as the past memories you treasured. Every memory is now tainted with the knowledge that the one you were/are married to is not who he claimed to be. Hope for the future fades quickly and despair becomes a constant companion. My story and the countless others who have come before me is one of hope rising from utter despair--our narratives declare that as long as there is breath, there is hope.<br />
<br />
While I felt like my life was over five years ago after scrambling those eggs, it wasn't. Those were dark days and darker ones were on the horizon--days when <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2014/01/an-arrest-is-act-of-violence.html" target="_blank">doors would come crashing down</a> and my <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2013/02/on-raids-and-handcuffs-one-year-later.html?m=0" target="_blank">ex's secrets </a>would be broadcast on the nightly news. But like the seed nestled in the dark soil waiting for the warmth of spring hope was alive, even when I felt hopeless. Life was not over and my little family was not destroyed. Hope called forth resiliency and strength--it was life-giving. And it is something I gratefully pass on to those who feel robbed of hope by the betrayal of their perpetrating partner.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaph_QAvIkuLJGBD769NRL0CAUgVP4HdvITjlVSadb5F7msrrXsUTeCmCnerJ6o490Z_hOG4puHI4zXXm13XEg1t03vWoXpMkwAm9t3DQrEbfzGVMvNljLAS_vh3sS21Me_I6ExifTxNFV/s1600/DSCN0274.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaph_QAvIkuLJGBD769NRL0CAUgVP4HdvITjlVSadb5F7msrrXsUTeCmCnerJ6o490Z_hOG4puHI4zXXm13XEg1t03vWoXpMkwAm9t3DQrEbfzGVMvNljLAS_vh3sS21Me_I6ExifTxNFV/s200/DSCN0274.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
Scrambled eggs on Christmas morning remind me that eggs must be broken and beaten, much like the promises tying two individuals together when pedophilia is present. But it is in their breaking that they yield the hope of a delicious and nourishing meal. I regret that my children had to experience the heartbreak of their father's betrayal and of our divorce. But I do not regret the freedom from the impact of pedophilia that we now enjoy. I am grateful for the hope we now experience and for the opportunity to pass it on to others who are where we once were. I think I might just go and scramble some more eggs. Happy New Year and hang on to hope, dear ones!Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-55257392773144080172016-11-11T05:48:00.002-08:002016-11-11T05:48:53.959-08:00The Art of Grieving<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY69KeqhenG3kksDjlIcLa626PHs0X9Eda29Ccup2X99hoSUc8h-nKnR5E9IUktlmUSlAhXD-Ag_di4kKvquOyzZrBzHIosQFx2LXmpLPvuMFemiXN7QEr8OrDm2V4GGp7XMOvQENC2gl7/s1600/beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY69KeqhenG3kksDjlIcLa626PHs0X9Eda29Ccup2X99hoSUc8h-nKnR5E9IUktlmUSlAhXD-Ag_di4kKvquOyzZrBzHIosQFx2LXmpLPvuMFemiXN7QEr8OrDm2V4GGp7XMOvQENC2gl7/s200/beach.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Someone recently asked me to elaborate on the importance of fully grieving any loss, particularly those associated with having been married to a perpetrator. I was intrigued by her description of the grief process as an art. Images of artists painting a masterpiece or fashioning a pot of clay sprang to mind. Art, I've learned, is a messy process--paint splatters and drips, clay hardens under fingernails and clings to any surface it comes into contact with. And like art, grief is <b>unpredictable, time consuming and messy.</b><br />
<b> </b><br />
<b>Grief is Unpredictable</b><br />
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The inspiration for creative artistic expression does not appear on command but rather comes when the time is right--when the muse strikes. We've all heard of the writer with writer's block and I assume the same phenomenon happens with other artists. And so it is with grief--we cannot orchestrate when it will arrive--like the wave crashing onto the shore, it comes in and threatens our sense of stability and balance. It does not come on our schedule so often catches us by surprise. But grief, like the wave, ebbs and flows. When it floods into our hearts and minds, we remember that it does not come to stay, it will flow out into the deep once again.<br />
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<b>Grief Takes Time</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK62m8JRijyMVk64T821OEfwdV02AqugkC-X6jXLqYfmHf-JAjhV69GgZ53m02rY-tM6ujzGlh_Gd16WtA8sk5RfdND-sp9WC44BcsJcYlu3Z3croFlZhOtIro-b8vsqG_txbBiPtwvEoR/s1600/Painting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK62m8JRijyMVk64T821OEfwdV02AqugkC-X6jXLqYfmHf-JAjhV69GgZ53m02rY-tM6ujzGlh_Gd16WtA8sk5RfdND-sp9WC44BcsJcYlu3Z3croFlZhOtIro-b8vsqG_txbBiPtwvEoR/s200/Painting.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Artistic masterpieces take time to create. It took Michelangelo fifty-four months to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. It was a huge investment of time and yet his work is still revered and admired today. To fully grieve a loss, we must be willing to invest the time necessary to grieve. Too many of us are so uncomfortable with grief work that we try to shortchange the work--stuff the pain, deny or minimize it. We prefer to complete a simple paint-by-number piece rather than invest the time and allow grief to create the masterpiece it is capable of creating in our life. Losses that are not fully grieved come back to haunt us when we encounter a future loss. Like the stubborn clay that sticks to everything it comes into contact with, the pain of our unresolved or ungrieved losses come along for the ride when a new loss is incurred.<br />
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<b>Grief is Messy</b><br />
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Have you ever envied the person who can cry gracefully? Dainty tears streak down a face without gathering makeup or mascara, eyes do not grow puffy nor does the face become red and splotchy. This is not me! There is nothing dainty or neat about my appearance when I have been crying. I am a mess. The work of grieving is messy. It is not linear, circular or logical. It just is. We often cycle back through the same phase again and again. There is no right or wrong way to do the work of grief, it simply must be done. Friends and family may be uncomfortable with the messiness of our grief; they may urge us to "just get over it" and we soon learn that not all help offered is helpful.<br />
<b> </b><br />
So what are the guidelines that can help us during a season of grief? Here are some things that have been helpful for me:<br />
<ul>
<li>Learn to lovingly contain grief. Give yourself time and space to experience the pain and to grieve but then lovingly and carefully pack it away for another day. This is different from stuffing or denying the pain; it is learning that you can contain it to an extent. I like to imagine packing my grief away in a white box with a large red ribbon and placing it on a prominent shelf in my closet, with the promise that I will return and retrieve the contents another day.</li>
<li>Practice extra special self-care during periods of grief. Be sure that you eat regular meals, stay hydrated, get plenty of rest and do those things that soothe and comfort you. It may be watching a funny or sad movie, taking a long hot bath, talking to a friend, listening to music, praying, journaling or going for a walk. Be gentle with yourself and give yourself losts of tender, loving care.</li>
<li>Lower the expectations you have for yourself during a seson of grief. Carefully manage those expectations so you can avoid "shoulding" yourself, i.e. "I should . . . " or "I shouldn't be . . ." there is no guidebook, no right or wrong way to navigate this season.</li>
<li>Invite someone along for the joruney. Again, remember that not everyone who signs up for this assignment will be able to help. You only need one or two individuals who know how to be present with you when you are grieving. Avoid individuals who need you to comfort them; this isn't the time for that. It is so easy to get lost in the grief--you need a midwife to coach you through the really tough times.</li>
<li>Remember that as long as there is breath, there is hope. This is not the end of your story! There is a plan and God is always redeeming the pain in our lives. The things that Satan meant for harm, He is turning for our good. Hang onto hope, however small. Nurture it and allow its warmth to invade the wounded and broken places of your heart.</li>
</ul>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigFO_QaFO5w9aCO3L0w7536Fob6pCSQBApBmESomNzL-3e4XHd68A1TQqfzdf4vAp3VY05IzuD0l7NY35k5b4y4_q1SP3Cc_mIQf0LcVOB2lKUGid3D4rwrObBuc5oEi3dw1IPEBNttu-c/s1600/broken+pot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigFO_QaFO5w9aCO3L0w7536Fob6pCSQBApBmESomNzL-3e4XHd68A1TQqfzdf4vAp3VY05IzuD0l7NY35k5b4y4_q1SP3Cc_mIQf0LcVOB2lKUGid3D4rwrObBuc5oEi3dw1IPEBNttu-c/s200/broken+pot.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">https://dicklehman.wordpress.com/</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The Japanese, it turns out, have discovered a perfect artistic expression that illustrates the art of grieving. Valuable ceramics that have been broken are repaired using a resin with gold powder in it. One artisan puts it this way "Many Japanese have come to cherish the imperfection of a broken pot repaired in this way, seeing it as a creative addition and/or re-birth to the pot's life story. . . when something has suffered damage and has a history, it becomes more beautiful: <a href="https://dicklehman.wordpress.com/">SOURCE</a><br />
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We all experience times of breaking, losses that shatter our lives, hopes, dreams and aspirations. Allowing the art of grieving to work its way into the jagged edges of our breaking can create a far more beautiful masterpiece of our lives that we were before the shattering, a stunningly beautiful new work of art!Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-22645906824960806032016-11-03T07:34:00.000-07:002016-11-03T07:34:41.168-07:00For Better or Worse: Really?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQAjvLjElfRSgiCcxBFkNvGXIZ6aOuWltk2Ww96XJmoe302CFFPrMDBjy6tBAgYziN8-83LSPvGeL7I_mVvI0GrOq_irQicQBX1srXptQFt-BF0ooHcX0M4z6vYpLrUQ1fqN-n9Ztp0oXA/s1600/Brenda.Campbell.Ratcliff.12.78.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQAjvLjElfRSgiCcxBFkNvGXIZ6aOuWltk2Ww96XJmoe302CFFPrMDBjy6tBAgYziN8-83LSPvGeL7I_mVvI0GrOq_irQicQBX1srXptQFt-BF0ooHcX0M4z6vYpLrUQ1fqN-n9Ztp0oXA/s200/Brenda.Campbell.Ratcliff.12.78.jpg" width="78" /></a>After nearly four decades, I can still remember making these promises to my ex-husband:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
For better or worse,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For richer or poorer,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
In sickness and in health,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To love and to cherish,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Til death do us part.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
While the vows seemed to encompass all of the possibilities that life can bring--wealth, poverty, sickness, health, good times and bad times--they don't really address what happens to a marriage when pedophilia is present. Maybe the last line should be amended to read "Til death or pedophilia do us part." How many brides would agree to that promise?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Aside from the very serious implications of criminal behavior towards a child, pedophilia impacts every facet of the relationship, even if miraculously the pedophilia is contained and no illegal activities take place. I <a href="https://spiritualsoundingboard.com/2013/05/15/being-married-to-a-pedophile-a-wife-speaks-out-and-offers-hope-to-other-wives-of-pedophiles/#comments">recently</a> described it this way:</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Here's what I know about child pornography or pedophilia from a personal and professional perspective. It is <b>progressive</b>--what titillates and excites today won't work tomorrow so more graphic material must be found. It is <b>all-consuming</b>--it will demand more and more of his time and energy. It r<b>equires secrecy and hiding</b>, which will spill over into all of his relationships. Even when he seems to be present to you and your children, he isn't completely--his mind is absorbed with maintaining his secret life or reliving what he has watched or viewed. It will eventually <b>render him incapable of normal relationships and work productivity.</b> One day he will be caught and you and your children may be in harm's way when that occurs.</div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
If I could give advice to that pregnant 23 year old who was me when I first learned of my ex's behavior, I would say "Run!" I am remarried and the layers of grief and pain that are now healing are rooted in my marriage to a man who was and is a fake. I have over three decades of junk to heal from--times when I was blamed and accepted the blame for his criminal behavior, times when I felt less than as a woman and wife because I could not satisfy him after I "grew up." I still struggle with disrupted sleep because I learned as a 23 year old to stay alert during my sleep to the potential cry from one of my children. I struggle with trust and with shame I struggle with fear and anxiety. I live waiting for the other shoe to drop. I live with trauma responses.</blockquote>
I went on to note that pedophiles have a different relationship to truth than do most people. The deceptions inherent in living a life of secrecy and of hiding your true self, colors every day and impacts every facet of a marriage. My ex and I once spent days, if not weeks, arguing about what <a href="http://brendafindingelysium.blogspot.com/2015/10/reflections-on-trust-post-betrayal.html">constituted a lie</a>. For most of us, this is pretty straightforward and simple--a lie is something that is intended to deceive. My ex argued that it was not a lie if it could be construed to be technically true, though the intent was to deceive. It was maddening! But for someone whose entire life was a lie, his definition didn't seem too important or too big a stretch for him.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4SXdWsmTsSFpzSH6foz33US5Ous8OEYM8kUxOV27T-u2M6SSN6_JPAX1htR5tP81mr4XHidBrDatpGd3_T5omzDSXSI2DgzK6ScGzdNcR31WJhkRAeoc4LvFW12oPKK4pf8jb79A-5Sb/s1600/Hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4SXdWsmTsSFpzSH6foz33US5Ous8OEYM8kUxOV27T-u2M6SSN6_JPAX1htR5tP81mr4XHidBrDatpGd3_T5omzDSXSI2DgzK6ScGzdNcR31WJhkRAeoc4LvFW12oPKK4pf8jb79A-5Sb/s200/Hands.jpg" width="200" /></a>Trust is foundational to the living out of those vows and if trust is broken, the vows have been broken. It is astounding how easy it is for some perpetrators to discard those vows and see them as meaningless. They never became meaningless to me but I was dumbfounded to discover how little my ex-husband thought of them. Maybe they were never meaningful to him in the first place. I don't know.<br />
<br />
If marriage is based on promises that are made between two people, and one of the individuals has no intention of keeping the promises, is it a marriage? Is it possible for a pedophile who is intent on hiding his true self from his partner, to honestly make such promises?<br />
<br />
On the anniversary of my divorce, I can truly say that pedophilia brought the <b>worst</b> of times and left me below the <b>poverty</b> line. The actions of a very <b>sick</b> man who was <b>unable to love or cherish</b> anyone other than himself destroyed all that I thought we had built together. So <b>death</b> would have been an easier separation than this. Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1620025602611232958.post-83141586399045905242016-09-10T06:30:00.002-07:002016-09-10T06:30:57.796-07:00Living Loved: Random Musings on Loving SelfAs is normally the case for me, I'm reading three books at once and it occurs to me that there is a common theme to be found in all three. Brene Brown provides an intriguing definition of love in <i><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Power-Vulnerability-Teachings-Authenticity-Connection/dp/1604078588">The Power of Vulnerability</a>.</b></i> Brown says that<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><span style="color: #660000;">"Love is not something we give or get but something we nurture and grow; a connection that can only be cultivated between two people when it exists within each one of them. We can only love others as much as we love ourselves."</span></b></blockquote>
Hmmm . . . <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqLposYyL-ZGeYd_qaibjIxixmtO407fMIKQel1VNJEEJq9JtG9Q2xVfcQWyB4wJMN3bp-aXxHkoyAPBhuo0st_gJ7xEBsK7D6Q1mEwDHhqbiEWpEi6I76yyxYVfH0rhZFbNmzePie2nut/s1600/Tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqLposYyL-ZGeYd_qaibjIxixmtO407fMIKQel1VNJEEJq9JtG9Q2xVfcQWyB4wJMN3bp-aXxHkoyAPBhuo0st_gJ7xEBsK7D6Q1mEwDHhqbiEWpEi6I76yyxYVfH0rhZFbNmzePie2nut/s200/Tree.jpg" width="150" /></a>She goes on to assert that behaviors that damage love include shaming, blame, disrespect, betrayal and withholding of affection. If loving self is a prerequisite to loving another it seems logical that shaming, blaming or disrespecting myself impacts my love of self OK, that hurts--a lot! I think all of us struggle with self-shaming, blaming and disrespect towards self; all of us abandon or betray ourselves at some point, especially if we are impacted by addiction or dysfunction. These behaviors do not lend themselves to love but rather destroy or damage love.<br />
<br />
Brown's research indicates that knowing ourselves is important but that how we treat ourselves is more important. I learned the Golden Rule as a child but was never taught that in order to know how to treat others in a loving manner, I had to learn how to treat myself lovingly. So much of religion focuses on self-denial or self-abasement and teaches that self-care is selfish but not so, I'm learning.<br />
<br />
Knowing, accepting and loving self are major themes in Glennon Doyle Melton's memoir titled <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01BKMXKPI/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&btkr=1#nav-subnav"><b><i>Love Warrior.</i></b></a> She chronicles her struggles with alcoholism, promiscuity and bulimia and poignantly describes her crushing desire for acceptance, connection and belonging. By the end of middle school she had learned that the only way to survive was to send out her "Representative" and to keep her true self hidden and protected. Alcohol and risky behaviors helped to numb the pain of not having her true self be seen and accepted. Like Glennon, we often believe that acceptance and connection hinge upon fitting in, but according to Brown this is the primary barrier to true belonging. The thing we long for the most--belonging, that innate human desire to be a part of something larger than ourselves--is sabotaged by our attempts to gain approval and acceptance by fitting into a prescribed mold.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCSRBDoBYW8Wz1lW6sYZB26exfebsfzGrDWZ0_asgFomHasblUMO95NziDRRUrKT57zCuz6dn5Ku3olvSO6qfRJDl0tEQv7vOqBOAe0ukJ1ZoEuQLbVzw6Qo_j9YEEOXgf04YpsABh5BZH/s1600/Sunflowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCSRBDoBYW8Wz1lW6sYZB26exfebsfzGrDWZ0_asgFomHasblUMO95NziDRRUrKT57zCuz6dn5Ku3olvSO6qfRJDl0tEQv7vOqBOAe0ukJ1ZoEuQLbVzw6Qo_j9YEEOXgf04YpsABh5BZH/s200/Sunflowers.jpg" width="150" /></a>Elizabeth Smart was 14 when she was abducted from her bed at knife-point and and held for over nine months. She details her experience in <b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00C74VCIG/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&btkr=1#nav-subnav">My Story</a>.</i></b> Immediately after her abduction and every day of her captivity, she was brutally raped. She describes her horror, despair and sense of being incredibly soiled, repulsive and not worthy of love or belonging after her initial rape. She believed that God and her parents could never love her again. She describes several events early in her captivity that changed her view of what had happened <u>to </u>her and that enabled her to believe again in God's extravagant and unconditional love for her. Early in her ordeal, Elizabeth made the decision to do whatever she had to in order to survive. She had come to believe again in her intrinsic value and refused to accept the view that her rapist had of her. She was able to transcend the daily assault to her body and sense of self by seeing herself as someone worthy of love and belonging and who was loved lavishly and without restraint by God.<br />
<br />
After her rescue and reunion with her family, her mother held her and whispered these words to her:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><span style="color: #38761d;">Elizabeth, what this man has done is terrible. There aren't any words that are strong enough to describe how wicked and evil he is! He has taken nine months of your life that you will never get back again. But the best punishment you could ever give him is to be happy. To move forward with your life. To do exactly what you want. </span></b></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><span style="color: #38761d;">You be happy, Elizabeth Just be happy. If you go and feel sorry for yourself, or if you dwell on what has happened, if you hold onto your pain, that is allowing him to steal more of your life away. So don't you do that! Don't you let him! There is no way that he deserves that. Not one more second of your life. You keep every second for yourself. You keep them and be happy. God will take care of the rest.</span></b></blockquote>
This became the mantra of her recovery.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd2Abq57sBw9jC5-8Hc3teq15kMjju2z3aUc4UF34rhsoK43f7GGAHNcNcqWqkzh0jYyxb567KBFmJI4KOH5SOyRDmn4QUD7Q8aXLn6dijzgnkI4PqvmTS12MEdhv9EDNE17-S8YoWAUQI/s1600/DontShrink.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd2Abq57sBw9jC5-8Hc3teq15kMjju2z3aUc4UF34rhsoK43f7GGAHNcNcqWqkzh0jYyxb567KBFmJI4KOH5SOyRDmn4QUD7Q8aXLn6dijzgnkI4PqvmTS12MEdhv9EDNE17-S8YoWAUQI/s200/DontShrink.png" width="185" /></a>So loving myself is a prerequisite to loving my spouse, my children, my family of choice or family of origin, my friends, my neighbors and my God. Loving self means that I "Don't shrink; don't puff up, but just stand my sacred ground." (Brown) I show up and allow myself, the real me and not my "representative" to be seen. It means that I do not abandon or betray myself and that I root my intrinsic value in my existence and in God's extravagant love for me rather than the values or opinions of others. It means that no matter what happens to me, my past or pain does not have to define me or my future. I can choose health, recovery and yes, even happiness. <b><span style="color: #cc0000;">I can choose love. </span></b>Brenda Finding Elysiumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025525146200651714noreply@blogger.com0