I Danced

 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!

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.

Recently I went to my first secular (gasp) rock concert featuring a cover band for Grateful Dead music.  

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.

• Even with three left feet and a body unaccustomed to moving to the music, I danced.
• I danced with someone I care about and the shared connection to the music and our bodies was intoxicating.
• I danced for the sheer joy of being human, of being in a room with other humans--of joining in our shared humanity.
• I danced with joy and not quite abandonment (yet).
• I celebrated the connection that dancing creates between one's body and spirit.
• I danced as an embodiment of my complete selfhood and joyfully expressed that embodiment.
• By dancing, I gave myself over to the joy of being present with others in a shared experience of music and connection.
• By dancing, I entered fully into the joyful expression of others--a shared connection and intimacy.

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?  

Shall we dance?

Keep Going!

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,

Patrick Carnes coined the phrase "betrayal bond," 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.

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.

Mom was the youngest in her large family 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.

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.  Freedom and loss 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."

Tis the Season for Joy (and Sorrow)

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 executed a search warrant. The memories I have of the house brings joy but also sorrow—bitter and sweet.

Temple Mount, Jerusalem

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.

Ancient Judean ruins

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 kicked out of our lives or sat in the ash heap 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.

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.

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.

Western Wall--Wailing Wall

Joy and sorrow—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.  

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!

Repercussions

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.

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.

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?

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:

The perpetrator:  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.

The credit bureaus:  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.

The bystanders:  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.

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?

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!

Betrayal by Pedophilia

I 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?

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.

First and foremost, conducting a sexual relationship with an adult other than your spouse is not against the law.  The criminal element 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, personal privacy 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.

The scandal 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.

Devastating financial consequences 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 post about the psychological misinformation, 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!

Gaslighting is a deliberate attempt to redefine another's reality.  The partner of a pedophile has
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.

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.*

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 International Institute for Trauma and Addiction Professionals.

Not a Victimless Crime

I knew better but I did it anyway.  I watched a rerun of Law and Order, Special Victims Unit.  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 detectives' mantra during the long hours I sat with them while my house was searched:  "Child pornography is not a victimless crime."

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.  Not one.  The devastation lasts a lifetime.  Pornography, no matter how "tame" some would judge it to be is never without victims, especially child pornography.

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 we 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?

The episode of SVU 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.

"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.

The Gift of Presence

We 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.

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.

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.

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.

Life breaks and falls apart 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.

Scrambled Eggs on Christmas Morning

As I stared at the bubbling eggs cooking in the skillet Christmas morning, my mind immediately flashed back to Christmas morning five years ago.  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.

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.

Each week, it seems, I connect with yet another partner or former partner 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.

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.

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 doors would come crashing down and my ex's secrets 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.

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!

The Art of Grieving

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 unpredictable, time consuming and messy.
 
Grief is Unpredictable

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.

Grief Takes Time

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.

Grief is Messy

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.

So what are the guidelines that can help us during a season of grief?  Here are some things that have been helpful for me:

• 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.
• 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.
• 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.
• 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.
• 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.

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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:  SOURCE

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!

Living Loved: Random Musings on Loving Self

As 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 The Power of Vulnerability.  Brown says that

"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."

Hmmm . . .

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.

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.

Knowing, accepting and loving self are major themes in Glennon Doyle Melton's memoir titled Love Warrior.  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.

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 My Story. 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 to 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.

After her rescue and reunion with her family, her mother held her and whispered these words to her:

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.

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.

This became the mantra of her recovery.

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.  I can choose love.

Living Loved After Betrayal

When I named 2016 the "Year of Living Loved", as is often the case, I had no idea how hard the year would be.  It seems inevitable that driving a stake in the ground and setting such an ambitious goal would be the perfect set-up for multiple challenges to that goal. And they have come--in droves. Living loved requires letting go of the wounds of the past--of those times when we were not loved for who and what we are.  It requires daring to believe that love is possible, that betrayal of trust is not a given and taking this plunge into belief can be downright terrifying!

It seems like nearly every week I hear from yet another partner of a pedophile.  The stories are gut-wrenching and tragic.  One common theme is the shock of discovery and the dawning of the realization that the man they love and have built a life with is not who or what they thought he was.  Whether he is alive or dead, in prison or walking free, still married to them or divorced, the devastation and totality of this betrayal is unfathomable.  How does one even begin to recover after learning that her husband and lover preferred sex with a child to sex with her?  And how does one begin to love again?

Living loved, as I am learning, must begin with loving one's self.  And while this is a big enough challenge without adding in betrayal and pedophilia, it can become overwhelming to the devastated partner.  She may blame herself, believing that if she were just _____, he wouldn't have turned to a child.  She may hold herself responsible for his crimes, or feel that somehow she should have known.  It is incredibly difficult to love one's self after marriage to a predator!  And if the discovery involved a public scandal, she may feel the wrath of a community, church or the judicial system.

Living loved is the dawning realization that at the core of who we are, there is love--it is God within.  No, we are not gods, but as image-bearers of God, underneath all of the pain and wounds of our past, there is love--love deeper and wider than we can imagine, love that is pure and abundant.  Living loved requires tapping into that love so that we can love ourselves and others from a source that is uncontaminated and without end.

My husband often quips that he is "waiting for the other shoe to drop."  That expression pretty much sums up the stance that one takes after trust has been betrayed or love not been forthcoming from significant others in our life.  We expectantly wait for evidence of betrayal or that we really are not loved as we thought we were.  It is a trauma stance and as survivors of incredible interpersonal trauma, partners of pedophiles have to work on laying down that expectation and dare to believe that love is possible, that faithfulness and loyalty are not outdated concepts, and that we can trust again.

But we trust with eyes wide open.  We trust with a strong connection to our second brain--the gut.  Most of us can look back after the devastation of discovery and recall times when we thought something odd, or felt that something was off in our partner's behavior or attitude.  That was our gut talking to us, we just did not have enough information to take it seriously or we discounted it and didn't pay attention to its warning.  But now we pay attention and listen attentively to that intuitive nudge.  We choose to trust until we have evidence that a person is not trustworthy.  It is a gamble for sure but the only other choice we have is to remain in the devastation of our betrayal, to become bitter and lonely women who fear love and connection.

Brene Brown asserts that we break in community so we must heal in community.  This year I am discovering the brutiful work of healing within an intimate relationship, that community of two.  It is both brutal and beautiful!  It takes courage and grit and most of all, patience when triggers come.  It is a daily choice to trust and to believe and to recommit to both my marriage and my own personal healing.  Because I am learning that living loved is a blending of both--it is living in authenticity and truth, showing up and allowing myself--that true self, that core of love--to be seen and loved.  And the result?  The result is glorious and transformative and is worth the work and grit that living in that sacred space demands.

Living loved is refusing to allow the pain of the past to dictate my future; it is a fight that is definitely worth the struggle!  It is a goal I will continue to press towards, long after 2016 melts into 2017 and my hope is that you will as well.

Leap Year

This is my 100th blog post!  While I had planned a different sort of post for this milestone, I think this is appropriate.  Thanks for journeying with me on this road to healing and activism.

 

Thirty days hath September

April, June and November;

All the rest have thirty-one,

Excepting February alone

Which hath but twenty-eight, in fine,

Till leap year gives it twenty-nine.

In the quest to keep our calendar year synchronized with the astronomical and seasonal year, an extra day is added to February once every four years.  Adding a day to the year is a corrective measure since the earth does not orbit around the sun in exactly 365 days.  A number of superstitions and traditions surround this four-year phenomenon, including:

• A woman can propose marriage to a man on February 29
• Marriage and divorce should not occur in a leap year
• Couples should avoid having a baby during leap years
• Natural calamities abound in leap years
• Children and the elderly are especially vulnerable during this time

The last leap year was in 2012 and it was on February 29, 2012 that my life was drastically and dramatically altered.  Before the sun was completely awake that cold winter morning, the police broke down the door of the house I shared with my daughter and now ex-husband in their quest to serve a search warrant.  They had been investigating my former spouse for a number of months, documenting each time he downloaded child pornography.

There are things I will never forget about that morning:

• the crash of wood splintering
• my daughter's scream of terror
• thundering footsteps of officers with weapons drawn headed for the bedroom I was in.  In their eagerness to secure the scene, they ran right past the room the target of their investigation was sleeping in.  With the help of Ambien he was oblivious to the terror my daughter and I were experiencing.
• opening my bedroom door in an attempt to get to my daughter and seeing so many men in black, shining a bright light in my eyes
• my embarrassment at only being in a nightgown and feeling the need for a robe
• the humiliation of being forced to sit with bedhead and morning breath for hours while the sanctity of my home was invaded
• the impatience I felt at the chatter of the officers assigned to sit with my daughter and I
• maintaining eye contact with my terrified daughter, trying to communicate love and strength to her
• her stoic and resourceful presence even after they had forced her to the floor at gunpoint when they entered the house
• my helplessness at no longer being able to protect her from the knowledge of her father's secret and criminal behavior
• my screams of rage and terror when the officers finally left and I was alone in my dismantled life and house

Scene from "The Impossible"

These are the things I will forever associate with leap year, specifically leap day.

In a technical sense, one could argue that today is the first anniversary of our world explosion day but I'm glad I am further down the road of recovery now than I would have been one year after that fateful morning.  This blog has been part of my solitary healing journey; it has provided a venue for processing what happened to me.  And it has proven that even the most heinous pain can be redeemed.  I have seen that redemption process in the many women who contact me or leave comments because they are in a similar life explosion.

February 29, 2012 was a pivot day for me.  It was preceded by 33 years of marriage to a man who had a secret identity but who worked hard to create an illusionary facade as a successful family man and professional.  The days that followed were filled with trauma, betrayal and scandal.  This event did not begin and end on that 366th day of 2012 and while we are healing, it will always be the defining day in our family history.

My story is not just about a marriage that went south or a husband who misbehaved and was caught.  It is also about organized religion's failure to respond appropriately, colluding therapists, the criminal justice system's zeal and then compromise and society's discomfort with the fact that predators do not fit the comfortable caricature we have created for them.  My story is not an anomaly, unfortunately.  The major systems involved have fatal flaws in them when it comes to really protecting, supporting and defending victims, including secondary ones, against predators.

http://www.comfortprints.org/

As I reflect today on that event four years ago, I grieve.  I grieve that while much as changed in my personal life, little has changed in our societal response to predators.  I grieve that so many other families are experiencing their own world explosion days silently and with little or no support.  I grieve that very few are willing to get in the cesspool of pedophilia and addiction with wounded and betrayed partners and children.  It is lonely and frightening, stinky and messy--not a suitable place for good, law-abiding, church-going citizens.  I grieve that so many of these cases seem to be occurring in churches and that the response is often exactly that of the predator--minimize, deny, rationalize and deceive.  I grieve for the women who are made to feel responsible for their husbands' deviancy, for the innocent children impacted either directly by the molestation of the predator or by his betrayal of trust as their father, or both.  I grieve and I truly believe that Jesus grieves as well.

When will we get it right?  There is too much at stake to keep hiding our heads in the sand--too many lives are being decimated.  Our children are vulnerable--not just in leap year but every day of every year.  We need a multi-pronged approach to this insidious problem and that must include the predator's partner and his children.  It is time, way past time.

A Pretty Bird in an Ugly Cage

I wrote this piece a number of years ago for a dear friend in recovery from a devastatingly abusive marriage to a minister.  Recovery from any form of abuse is difficult and it takes time--the amount of time differs for each individual.  As I have walked through my own days of recovery I resonate with this piece even more.  The abuse we know often seems safer than the freedom of the great unknown.  My hope for each of us is that we find our wings and begin to do what we were created to do--FLY!
 
She didn't know that marriage to Prince Charming would come at such a cost to her freedom.  She was accustomed to flying and the bars of the ugly cage he had prepared for her were shocking and frightening.  She learned to survive in his ugly cage by singing prettily to soothe his rages and by dreaming of what it was like to fly.  She remembered the feel of the wind beneath her wings and the exhilaration of freedom to choose her own destination and destiny.  But dreaming and singing were all she could do because the bars restrained and constrained her world until each day's goal was just to survive somehow, the ugliness and meanness of his bars and tether.

Her freedom from the ugly cage was costly but she paid the price and relished the opportunity to fly once more.  She thought about the myriad of choices facing her and the many destinations that she now could freely set course for.  But the choices and options overwhelmed her; somehow life was simpler in the ugly cage--just sing, dream and long for what could not be realized.  The paralysis that confinement had taught her did not drop off as easily as the door to the cage had opened.  Sometimes when no one was watching she ventured back into the cage and slept in the comfort of its confinement.  The world was large and while she now had the power to make her own choices and to determine her own destiny, that choice was frightening and the cage offered comfort.

So, like the circus elephant that tethered as a babe learns to walk only in the circle his chain allows and does not venture farther than that tight circle once the chain is removed, she flies but in small circles.  There is safety and security in small circles because it is easier to flee back to the safety of the cage.  Flying longer distances away from the cage means potential danger and risk and that is too frightening.  Where will she sleep?  What if she cannot find food?  What about the predators out there looking for pretty birds?

So she spends her days longing for the exotic lands that beckon her; she dreams of the possibilities but continues to feather her nest in the shadow of the ugly cage.  When opportunities come to test her wings once more and to really soar, she finds reasons to stay in the shadow of the cage.  She spends her days singing prettily and flitting about another cage of her own design, still dreaming of the possibilities and desiring to fly but continuing to tether herself.

How I long for the pretty bird to fly once more; to decide on a destination and to set her course.  I long to see her stretch her wings, chart her course and rid herself of the weights that she has designed to keep herself grounded.  She was not meant to live life in a cage; she was designed to fly.  She has the freedom, she has the ability, she has the longing but she is still flying in small, tight circles around the ugly cage.  The dynamic her "Prince Charming" began continues to work even though he is no longer present.  Fly little bird, fly.  Throw off the tethers; stop just dreaming about life's destinations. Spread your wings and soar.

As an addendum--the friend who inspired this is flying--she is soaring in the glory of freedom and I count it a privilege to have her in my life.

What Happens in Childhood Does Not Stay in Childhood

Childhood is a relatively short period of time compared to the average lifespan.  And yet so much of  what happens during those formative years impacts the individual for decades.  A landmark study that actually began in 1995 illustrates this convincingly.  It is known as the Adverse Childhood Experience Study and is "one of the largest investigations ever conducted to assess associations between childhood maltreatment and later-life health and well-being.  The study is a collaboration between the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and Kaiser Permanente's Health Appraisal Clinic in San Diego."  Source

The ACE Study has followed over 17,000 enrollees in Kaiser's health plan who underwent a comprehensive physical exam as well as completed the ten-question ACE Test.  Data from the study revealed "staggering proof of the health, social and economic risks that result from childhood trauma."  Source.  ACE scores can range from zero to ten, with ten reflecting the highest number of adverse childhood experiences by category.  It is important to note that the ACE Test does not account for the total number of adverse experiences in each category throughout childhood but rather the number of categories of adverse experiences an individual encountered.

The ACE Test asked participants about ten types of childhood trauma:

• Three types of abuse (sexual, physical and emotional)
• Two types of neglect (physical and emotional)
• Five types of family dysfunction (having a mother who was treated violently, an alcoholic or drug addicted household member, family member imprisoned or diagnosed with mental illness, divorce or separation of parents)

The study revealed that childhood trauma is far more common than previously believed and that the consequences of the trauma last a lifetime.  Individuals with an ACE Score of 4 had increased prevalence rates for the following behaviors:

Source 1   Source 2 

 
Clearly, what happens in childhood does not stay in childhood.  We focus a lot on the horrendous impact of child sexual abuse and molestation, as we should.  But there are other harmful experiences that negatively impact a child for life that we should be just as concerned about.  Improving the quality of the parents' marriage, making sure mom is not treated violently, dealing effectively with depression, addiction and other types of mental illness that may be present in the family as well as having a zero tolerance for abuse and neglect of any kind are all incredibly important aspects of a child's life that we need to pay critical attention to.  We can never give up on the important task of ensuring that our children have safe, healthy environments so that they can enjoy a long and productive life.

But what about those of us who are already grown?  We may recognize and acknowledge that the environment in which we grew and developed was toxic and we may already be struggling with some of the consequences that the ACE Study revealed.  Is there hope?  YES, there is.  Simply acknowledging that what happened in childhood happened to us, that we did not cause it, we did not deserve it and we were powerless to prevent it, begins the process.  We change the questions from "What's wrong with me?" to "What happened to me?"  There is power in naming our experience and acknowledging it as trauma.  And by dealing with the trauma, with the help of qualified individuals, we can change the outcome--we can minimize or eliminate the potential health and behavioral risks that our ACE's have created.  We commit ourselves to practicing good self-care, mindfulness and gentleness with that frightened, traumatized child within.  By re-parenting our inner child, we ensure that what happened in our childhood stays back there and does not continue to impact our present or our future.

Our goals when it comes to childhood maltreatment are twofold:  we must do all that we can to change the culture of violence, exploitation and maltreatment that exists today so that tomorrow's children fare better than yesterday or today's.  And, we must commit ourselves to caring for our first child--ourselves--and to healing those hurts of yesterday.

Reflections on Trust Post Betrayal

Under the best of circumstances, trust is hard but after a betrayal it is significantly more difficult to attain or to retain.  Recently, I set out for the park because my almost-three-year old granddaughter loves to go to the park and I love to make her happy.  I had never been to this particular park but her parents assured me that she was a great little navigator and could lead us right to it.  As we set out, I realized that I was placing the safety and security for both of us in her tiny hands--I hadn't a clue where we were going and the weight of that slowed my steps and caused me to cling to her just a bit more tightly.  But sure enough, she led us straight to the park where we had a lot of fun together.  While I was pushing her on the swing I contemplated yet again this thing called "trust."

Webster defines trust as the "belief that someone or something is reliable, good, honest and effective."  Trust develops in infancy and is rooted in those first attachments with parents who consistently provide for the helpless child's survival and relational needs.  Childhood and adolescence offers multiple opportunities to learn that not all are trustworthy and to gain the tools to navigate the experience of broken trust.  However, if we have experienced "good-enough" parenting, we approach friendships and intimate relationships with a level of resiliency and an innate ability to trust.

But what happens when we have experienced a devastating betrayal of trust in a close relationship?  Is it possible to trust again?  These are critical questions because trust is essential in any relationship but particularly so in an intimate one.  Part of learning to trust again is learning how to hone in on indicators of deception.  Evasive "dodging" of poignant questions, "fuzziness" on key details and a tendency to fudge the truth on non-essential information are warning of potential deception.  My ex-husband and I once argued for hours on what constituted a lie.  It reminded me of Bill Clinton' famous "It depends on what the meaning of the word 'is' is," during his impeachment hearing.  To me, deception involves intent to deceive; my ex preferred to focus on technicalities, insisting that if it was technically true, even if the intent was to deceive, it was not a lie.  Deception destroys trust and those who have been betrayed are profoundly impacted by even the slightest "white lie."

A recent article in the on-line edition of Psychology Today addressed the epidemic of deception that exists in our culture and the impact that it has on an individual and on their ability to trust again  The author points out that deception "contaminates your entire sense of self.  It throws you off-kilter, makes you question your perceptions . . . [you] lose faith in [your] ability to determine what is real and what isn't."  Source  And compounding the betrayal of trust that deception creates is our culture's penchant for embracing the sinner and blaming his victim for falling prey to his deception.

We love the "bad boy finds Jesus" scenario and are quite happy to give perpetrators a second and third chance.  A "repentant" offender or perpetrator, is often welcomed back into the embrace of a church or community.  Like the wayward prodigal, his "return" is celebrated, his sins forgiven and he is restored.  His victims, however those he deceived and defrauded find that they are often blamed for being gullible and naive--for falling for the offender's lies.  This societal attitude taps into the inherent shame, embarrassment and humiliation a victim feels, fuels self-doubt and pretty much guarantees that she will remain silent about her betrayal.

Daring to trust again after profound betrayal is essential to wholehearted living and loving but it
involves the fiercest of battles.  The process of trusting again can feel like what I experienced recently when trying to return a rental car in a strange city.  I drove through dense fog and darkness relying solely on the step-by-step instructions provided by my smart phone.  Trusting again is taking that giant leap of faith, believing that there is still good in the world, that small electronic gadgets or almost three-year olds may know something that we don't We step out in faith that may feel blind, keeping an eye on the horizon looking for familiar "landmarks" (aka indicators of deception), listen to our gut, and cautiously move forward--one step or one mile at a time.  And hopefully, the destination that we arrive at is a relationship that can restore our broken trust and help to heal our wounded hearts.