Bad Dream

https://www.news4jax.com/news/local/2020/01/08/mom-says-daughters-classmate-forced-girl-to-have-sex-at-st-augustine-middle-school/

It was on my radar that this week may be a tough week of avoiding the media coverage and not letting my emotions get the best of me.  I knew the trial for Weinstein was starting, and I had no desire to hear about the evil that he seems to be.  Little did I know though that something much closer to home would pop up.  When I saw the headline about a school in the district in which I live and teach, I of course began to read.  The article is limited, as it should be, but still.....as a teacher who gets so attached to and protective of my students, a mother of an almost 11-year old boy, and a girl who found herself in a somewhat similar situation many years ago, the sadness hit me from each and every one of those perspectives.

Struggling to sleep, I'm brought back to poems and letters that I've written over the years.  Writing has always been my own personal therapy..  I wrote this poem in my journal when I was sixteen one night when I couldn't sleep.  My heart aches for this 16 year old me with the bubbly handwriting, lonely and confused girl, in total denial, struggling to find just the right words to put my heart on paper and share with no one.

My Bad Dream

Written in 1996

More so though, my heart aches knowing a little girl way too young to ever deal with such emotions is probably struggling to sleep also, just miles away from me.  Please pray for her, for her parents, and for the boys and their families as well.

xoxo,

Kel

Take Back the Night

Take Back the Night was not something I had even heard of until I was walking home from the cafeteria one evening while attending Florida Southern College.  There was a small group of college students, mostly women, gathered around with candles and one woman was speaking aloud.  It caught my attention, and I stayed for a bit, and then the small crowd dispersed and I headed back to my sorority house.  I didn't give it a ton of thought at the time except to think how I could never speak out loud like that in front of a group of students.  I would later find out that the Take Back the Night Foundation was started by Katie Koestner, the female that I heard speak my first week at college that forever changed me.  You can read more about her and the foundation on the link above. 

Fast forward many, many years.  I would never attend or even hear of a Take Back the Night event for a long time.  Maybe because it wasn't on my radar.  Maybe because it was something I was ignoring and choosing to believe that I'd dealt with, and I preferred not to think about it anymore.  I'm not sure, but it would be so many years later once I was married, living in Iowa, a mother, and working at a small private college, and I saw the event advertised.  It sparked something inside me.  Faculty and staff were encouraged to show their support.  I showed up probably a half hour into the event.  It was much larger than the small gathering I'd seen at my own college so many years prior, but yet overall pretty small scale.  We lit candles, walked the campus, spread awareness, and many people took to the microphone to share their stories.  I snuck out somewhere at that point.  It was so hard to hear.  My heart was heavy.  Perhaps still not ready.  I would never attend again, however; year after year after year I would look up the Take Back the Night events in the areas in which we lived.  Always held during April or October, always at college campuses, always put on by a college group and community involvement encouraged.  Never did I attend.  I'd put it on my calendar, think about going, feel like I could muster up the courage, and talk myself out of it time and time again.  It felt like a bit of a personal failure.  I felt like I needed to prove to myself I could do this.  Mental note tucked away that I WOULD do this eventually. 

I felt like it was no coincidence that I found an event this year without hardly looking.  It would be held just 3 days before my 40th birthday.  If this wasn't a sign of overcoming a personal goal and falling into line with my whole silly #pricelessby40 mantra, I don't know what was.  So, on a Wednesday evening after work, a baby shower, and all of life's normal "stuff", my parents had offered to take the kids to a movie that night, and so it worked out perfectly for Mat and I to attend UNF's Take Back the Night. There was no one I'd rather have had by my side.  He often knows me better than I know myself.  He knows when to just be there and doesn't have to say much at all.  This was one of those times.   We arrived in time to have a cup of coffee and enjoy the beautiful evening a little bit before it got started.  I couldn't help but get a picture with my beloved Greek letters out in the lawn.  ;)
;

Zeta Tau Alpha

 The event began with students and the drumline walking across campus.  They were met at the Student Union Center by Jacksonville Women's Center (a community group which has a support group I once tried), campus officials and community members.   The drumline performed, and then people took the stage.  The history of Take Back the Night was shared, the student president and other leaders spoke, the University President spoke, and then the microphone was opened up to anyone who wished to share their "survivor story."  This is the typical format for Take Back the Night, and I wasn't sure if I'd feel led to share or not, but I jotted something in the notes section of my phone right before I left just in case I did.  I knew if I did get up to speak I'd be so insanely nervous that I would need to read something.  My plan was to just feel it out and see what felt natural.  The timing didn't end up feeling right for me that evening, and I'm totally at peace with that, but had I spoken aloud, here's what I would have said/read....

"I stumbled upon my first Take Back the Night event purely by accident at my own college campus nearly 20 years ago.  I stood quietly amidst lit candles and soft voices and didn't dare say a word.  It would be many, many more years before I would say much of anything, and tonight I stand here as a personal goal to myself at this Take Back the Night event.  You see, I turn 40 in just a few days and with milestone birthdays often come a sense of goal setting and reaching a certain stage in life.  My goal to myself is to no loner let any shame or fear control me, but to use my experience for good and my voice as power.  You see, I wasn't assaulted by a stranger in a dark alley, something wasn't slipped into my drink at a party.  I always thought that's what rape was.  No, I actually invited the person over myself.  I had gotten myself into a poor situation one evening at a party, and I knew I was out of my comfort zone.  I was guilty for making poor decisions that evening and I will fully admit that.  I called upon a person I admittedly had a crush on, and a person I thought was a much safer choice than the situation I had gotten myself into.  Not only did I invite him over, but I even was okay with hooking up with him at first when he made a move.  The shame I've carried for my willingness and the role I played on the whole situation kept me from denying what really happened to me that night, but I can now finally admit and say that I was raped, and I didn't ever deserve to lose control of my body.  You see, no matter if you liked the person, never met the person, said yes for a moment, said no from the get go, or maybe changed your mind somewhere in between, no means no means no.  There is no way around it and no sugar coating it.  It took me hearing a speaker at my own college campus to fully realize what had happened to me and recognize it as rape.  She was the one that founded Take Back the Night, and her story was the voice I needed to hear at that time and was the first step in my telling someone.  My own journey has had ups and downs, but my hope is that my voice tonight may be what someone else needs to hear to know they are not alone, it's not their fault, and it's never too late to begin the process of healing."

Perhaps one day I will attend again, and I will stand in front of others and read this.  But also, maybe I won't...I'm really not sure yet.  My personal hurdle feels accomplished in just attending.  I put it on my calendar and I actually went.  My parents knew I went, my husband was by my side, and I wasn't hiding anything.  I was me, I was loved, and I was showing my support for the many women and men who were in the crowd that night that did share and those that didn't.  And although this teeny tiny blog is just a little piece of my heart, it never fails that each time I share a piece of my heart, another person I know reaches out to me to tell me their story.  The shock should have worn off by now, but it doesn't.  It brings me to tears and to prayer and yet somehow also this feeling of my voice being used for a reason  of something way more powerful than myself.  For whether it's in my written word or my spoken word, I have no doubt that as much as I wish sometimes I could "take back the night", God will use me for comfort of someone else who needs to know they are not alone. 

Candles lit by Mat and I

Silent All These Years

I never imagined I'd be discussing Grey's Anatomy here.  There's all of about three shows that I enjoy watching regularly, but my Grey's is #1.  Okay, maybe it's a toss up with This Is Us, but I mean, I kind of consider it one of my guilty pleasures keeping up with 15 seasons in a row of this show.  That's dedication!   I tend to think of it more like lunchroom talk with colleagues or gabbing with a girlfriend discussing the latest McWhatever doctor!  Last night took me by total surprise.  I had seen some vague posting on Facebook that made me realize it was going to be some type of trauma related event, but I certainly had no idea what all it entailed.  Grey's took it to a whole new level with one of their most serious episodes I can ever recall.  Season 15 Episode 19 (in case you'd like to watch it for yourself) was titled "Silent All These Years."

As the show started, they gave a disclaimer about it pertaining to sexual assault and Mat commented, "Are you sure you should watch this?" But, oh I am soooo glad I did.  I can't imagine how difficult it must be to write a script around rape and then act it out well enough to do it justice, but on all accounts I thought this "Silent All These Years" episode was SO well done!  From the writing, to the acting, to the statement made for survivors everywhere, it was so needed.  Somewhere, somehow in the media, sexual assault survivors need to hear that they are believed, they can respond as they choose, and they are supported in their decision.  If you're interested, read  more about what sparked this episode.

And to top it all off, the discussion between father and son on what consent is and why it's important was the icing on the cake.  I'm so glad to see it portrayed in an easy going yet serious conversation, with a smile on the dad's face, but just telling it like it is.  Our kids need to hear this, and kudos for this portrayal. Seriously, if you can't/don't want to watch the episode, at least watch this part (the last segment).  This is a conversation that needs to be had and not just assumed that our sons and daughters will know better.

 I'm truly not trying to sit on a high horse of feminism.  I don't think that's me at all, and I hope that I don't come off that way, but I could so identify with the birth mother as she was telling Jo a bit of her story, and where it totally went from consensual to non-consensual and what a powerful and heartbreaking experience that forever changed her life. These were her words...

"I actually had to work to calling it rape, to begin with, because I did say yes to the that date, and I did say yes to getting in that car. Someone, somewhere along the way, a man most likely decided they wanted to qualify this word rape be it "date rape," acquaintance rape, somehow it isn't as real unless it happens to a woman running through the park at night or walking down a dark alley. Somehow because I knew him what he took from me didn't matter, but it did. I found a way to hear that; I found a way to believe that, and I found a way to move forward."

I'm far from a character in a TV show, and thankfully I wasn't faced with the horrible decision of how to handle a pregnancy post-assault, but I also wasn't the woman in the ER either who had been so horribly brutalized.  Also, I wasn't a girl in a dark alley attacked by some stranger, like I naively always thought was what it meant to be a rape victim.  And I am choosing not to focus on all the horrible things I thought about myself or what I deserved, and if anyone would believe me, but I am rather choosing to celebrate what I have since learned.  What I know now, and I soooo want to make sure other young women know, as well as my son's eventually too, is that your voice is your power.  Just because someone may have the power to silent you temporarily, doesn't mean they have it forever.  I've worked at it so hard, and especially in this last year, but I too have found a way to move forward.  It's taken me way longer than I wish, but I am here now, and I am so Priceless in the Lord's eyes, in my husband's, and most importantly....day by day, even in mine.  Whether it's with my voice, with my writing, through prayer, or all of the above, it's one step at a time.  

Less Than 3 Weeks

40 is done slowly creeping up, and it's more like running right towards me.  Less than 3 weeks to be exact!  Progress?  Yes.  Meeting my goal by then?  Nope.  A sweet friend spoke words recently that resonated with me...it's not a finish line, it's constant work and self-improvement.  She is so right, and I am reminding myself of that daily, if not multiple times a day, lately.  I'm not where I wanted to be by 40, but I am soooo much closer.  And will I ever really be exactly where I want to be?  Will I ever really feel like I have it all together?  I seriously highly doubt it...and perhaps if I did, that would be a problem. Don't ya think?  This I know for sure though...some days I am so proud of myself.  Some days I feel like I am kickin' butt, am strong, am eating right, taking care of my body, having my time with God, and all while loving myself.  But some days, I just don't.  Some days I get so disappointed in myself for not exercising, being too tired to make that nice meal I wanted to prepare for my family, for falling asleep in the midst of trying to pray, for not putting God first, for not reaching out to a friend or family member.... but I am in the midst of all those great days, bad days, and just okay days realizing that each one of them hold a special purpose.  Some days I will feel strong.  Some days I will feel weak.  And some days I will just just skim by keeping the faith and putting one foot in front of another.  I think surely we must all have those days.  Sometimes it's just about trusting, and for me I trust in God.  I trust in my faith and in His power.  I can't see it, but I can feel it, and in my lowest of lows is often when I turn to Him the most.  In my highest of highs is when I often give Him the most thanks.  And in all those in between days, I know He loves me regardless.  I am so thankful that he never turns his back on me, even when I have turned mine on him. 

I strongly believe our heartaches are used for good somehow.  I saw that firsthand through our journey with infertility, and I believe it through this circumstance as well.  I struggle to know how or when, but I have faith that it will happen, and when it does it will all finally become clear.  I have no idea if I am truly meant to speak out about my assault.  Those that know me well know that I hate public speaking!  The thought of getting up and speaking about one of the most painful moments in my life sounds crazy...but yet, I keep feeling a nudge. I know the moment I heard a woman speak about her own experience with date rape was the first moment it clicked for me, and slowly but surely the wheels were set in motion. If I could possibly be that voice someone else needs to hear, then my own insecurities about public speaking seem so ridiculous.  I don't know exactly when, how or even IF it's truly meant to be, but after some prayerful consideration, today I just submitted an application to the RAINN National Speaker's Bureau.  It will be awhile before I find out if anything comes from this, and if so, what the next steps will be, but here's one more faithful step in this crazy journey of healing, and for that I shall give thanks. 

Hidden

Welcoming in 2019, it felt like I was due to write a little bit.  It's been a wonderful Christmas break this season, and I'm wrapping up the final weekend before heading back to work.  As much as I've enjoyed the lazy mornings, lots of family and friend time, a plethora of hot baths, reading, walks, and sunshine, I'm kind of craving the routine of school as well as seeing my student's faces and hearing about their adventures over the break as well! 

When I began writing this blog, the title came easily to me.  I had a clear goal in mind and knew that I wanted to feel and believe that I was truly priceless by the time I reached 40.  That included a wide variety of things like facing some fears, getting healthier, embracing my true self, and seeking a stronger relationship with God.  It meant claiming my brokenness, and using it to dive deep into self forgiveness and strengthening my relationship with God. I've done better in some areas than in others, and the hardest thing for me is to be moving forward in all areas at the same time. Overall, I've made some great progress towards my goal, but the last month or so I have really slacked off.  Of course, like with all things, the New Year serves as a reminder of new beginnings, and it's time for me to step it up in working towards this goal as my 40th birthday is creeping up in just a little over 12 weeks. 

In the midst of my holiday relaxation, and dare I say pure laziness, I have been doing quite a bit of reading.  It's probably no coincidence that the couple books I was focused on over the break were Discerning the Voice of God, It's Not Supposed to Be This Way, and even an article I'd saved and wanted to really look over closely called, "When God Calls You Out of Hiding."  Well dang, even I didn't really realize it at the get-go, but there is sure a common theme there directly related to my current feelings.  I'm not 100% done with reading all 3 of these, but man they've been hitting me hard! I've felt such a longing these last couple of years to really feel God's presence in all of this....for him to speak to me through my pain and utilize it for His good.  I want to feel like something wonderful comes from this, and I just want to feel his nudge towards what that is.  I've felt like I'm waiting and waiting.  In my reading and self reflection though, I'm realizing just how much He has been nudging me.  He's been speaking to me through my circumstances, through the situations presented to me, and to the people he's placed in my life that have brought spiritual counsel, guidance, and leading me towards the realizations that they knew I had to discover on my own.  It's Him all around me, and my eyes just hadn't been open enough to see it.  Kind of like I've kept this piece of me hidden for so long, I've kept His role in my journey hidden as well.  He's been there the whole time though.  It's me who has been doing the hiding.  He's the patient one with me. 

I am also learning that this is my weakness.  This is my brokenness. It is what it is, and we all have that "thing."  No amount of therapy will take that pain away altogether.  It's okay though, I think, as long as it doesn't cripple me or hinder me from enjoying my life. Brokenness doesn't mean destroyed.  Weakness doesn't mean there isn't also strength. We all have some brokenness, and this is one big part of mine. 

I won't forget the fear.  I'll never completely let go of the shame.  I'll never 100% stop doubting my choices that night and what it lead to no matter how many people tell me it wasn't my fault.  I won't forget the sore bruises down my neck and back.  I won't forget all the blood. It's stained in my memory. I won't forget my muffled cries under the pressure of his hand over my mouth.  I won't totally forgive myself for first agreeing and then changing my mind.  I won't forget the coldness. Shivering cold. I won't forget the weight of another body making it feel hard for me to breathe.  It's okay, and it's not okay all at the same time.  It's not okay that this happened and continues to happen to soooo many people all the damn time.  It's okay though that this is my piece of brokenness.  This is my weakness that brings me to knees or leaves me in a heap of anxiety and tears every now and then.  It's no worse than your brokenness or your fear.  It's just mine, and I'm done hiding it.  God is helping me face it, and he's aligning all the resources with amazing people, books, opportunities for me to embrace it, give into the pain, and seek Him through the healing. Finally, this is my time.  No more hiding it.  Will I ever truly be "healed"?  I don't know.  That sounds pretty far off right now, but I know that stepping out from hiding feels pretty empowering, and I hope that in 12 more weeks, my Pricelessness  (pretty sure that's not a real word, but we're going with it) is something I am even more confident in as I step into my forties!

xoxo

Scars

Typically a scar is visible for most to see.  A scar shows where an injury or wound once was that wasn't able to fully heal to the original state.  As a child I developed a couple scars on various body parts after receiving stitches.  I was a little girl though and could have cared less about those scars, and was more concerned about healing, so I could get back out and play!  Later in elementary school, I was in an accident that left a lot of scar tissue on my upper lip.  I had the option of having plastic surgery to try to correct it, but I wanted nothing to do with it.  The scar was something I was asked about here or there (and still am) throughout my adolescence, maybe teased just a couple times, but it was never anything I was overly self-conscious about.  Then, into adult hood I accumulated several scars on my abdomen.  Between three c-sections and a few laparoscopic surgeries, the reminder of those procedures were there, but they weren't in a place many would see.  I didn't give too much thought to them.  Then, last year, when the biopsy from my upper arm came back as melanoma, my heart sank.  After the initial scary part of it had worn off, it was the scar I knew that I would have that began to weigh on my mind.  As it was described to me, it would be a pretty significant scar that would always be quite noticeable.  Sure, it wasn't smack dab on the middle of my face, so it could have certainly been worse, but as a girl living in FL, my arms are exposed quite often, and I cringed at the thought of a big red scar on my upper arm.  I convinced myself that I would swear off all tops that exposed my upper arms.  It didn't take long though to realize that was a crazy thought.  It's too dang hot in FL to keep my arms covered up all the time, and I also figured it meant about half my wardrobe was off limits, so I decided to just embrace it.  And guess what?  I wore sleeveless tops, answered peoples questions about it, and got over it.  Do I think about it?  Occasionally.   Am I self conscious about it?  Moderately.  Is it a reminder of something I overcame?  Absolutely!  I now think it's pretty ridiculous that I ever even thought about trying to cover it up for good. 

So, it got me to thinking.... for every scar on the outside that you can see, there are far more on the inside that you can't.  And aren't we all  probably like that for the most part?  Life is hard and messy and painful, and despite all the beauty and laughter and love that it brings, it also brings a lot of hurt.  That hurt causes scars, and many times we keep those scars buried.  But what if we were less concerned about covering them up or camouflaging them, and just embraced them for what they were?  What if we used them as a tool to bring about good, strengthen our relationships, remind ourselves of all we've overcome, and maybe even help someone else along the way? By far my biggest scar that I have kept hidden has been my rape.  That scar stayed hidden for over 20 years. Doing so served a purpose at various stages in my life I suppose.  I'll struggle with some regrets that I have about that for many years to come, I imagine.  One thing I do know though with certainty is that in these last few years of beginning to expose that scar, I have experienced a new peace and self-worth that I hadn't felt in a long time.  That's not to say it's easy, or pain free, or perfect by an stretch of the imagination.  In fact, it's been quite hard and emotional. But when I stopped worrying about covering the scar up and just began to show it, it lead to a lot of positive outcomes, and I know there are even more on the horizon. 

In the overall scheme of things, this scar on my arm is quite minor, but it I'm pretty sure it had a significant purpose in helping me embrace an inner scar that I also needed to stop hiding.  xoxo

Another Step

Small disclaimer:  please know that I only share this with a very small fraction of my FB "friends"....I am able to edit who sees my post, and have chosen to share with those closest to me in my life who I know don't pass judgement on me.  To go from telling no one to opening up to 150 people is HUGE for me, but it's an intimate and personal topic that I'm not ready to blast out there to just anyone, my professional circle, etc.  My ultimate goal is that others will know they are not alone and we may perhaps draw on each other for strength and comfort and share God's goodness in our lives.....


Just a few years ago, I never would have imagined myself sitting on a comfy couch in a therapist's office.  The thought of it alone sounded so foreign and uncomfortable.  It's never something I had felt like I "needed", although really deep down I knew it would be so beneficial.  Pushing forward, stuffing my memories and feelings down, or just trying to get through the waves when they'd come flooding back, and then carry on as normal seemed to be working okay for me I thought, so why take the time and money to put towards talking about something that felt so painful and shameful? 

But then I did.  Truly, it was all about fear.  Fear of saying out loud to someone what had happened to me.  Fear of being judged.  Fear of opening up wounds.  Fear of what others would think about me for even seeing a counselor.  Fear of the unknown.  To say I was nervous would be an understatement.  Overcoming that initial fear and scheduling that first appointment was a game changer though.  It was one of the hardest but most empowering things I have experienced.  So worth it!

 To quickly summarize, I've sought counsel at a few different places over the last couple years including a women's shelter, my church, and a recommended private practice.  Each have been so beneficial in their own way.  Most recently, I'd been regularly seeing a therapist in private practice and really felt like I was making so much progress, gaining perspective, drawing closer to God, etc.,  and of course like with most things, when you feel like you're in a better place, you stop working so hard at staying there.  I wasn't talking to God about it as much anymore, stopped writing (my outlet), and really in all honesty just got so busy with transitioning to working a full time job, keeping up with my kids and just life in general, that I didn't prioritize it as much as I had been. 

And just when I was skimming by, there comes the media.  That in my face reminder that I just can't ignore how incredibly raw and painful a trauma from over 20 years ago can still make me feel absolutely hopeless and alone.  It's not so much about my particular assault though as it's about how sexual assault is perceived.  And the particular trigger for me in this instance was that a woman who claimed she was assaulted was ridiculed and looked down upon because it took her so long to speak up.  Yes, I know there is sooo much more to this.  Please don't think I don't realize that.  I'm not here to argue if Ms. Ford was telling the truth or not, because I will never be privy to that information and won't pretend to have the ultimate truth.  I don't even want to talk about that at all.  What took my breath away though was to hear and read people ridicule and mock her over something I could so clearly see myself in.  And then, in my mind, it did become about me.  Like Ford, I didn't report anything.  Like Ford, I didn't tell anyone for a very long time.  Like her, I avoided seeking therapy for many years.  Like her, I can't remember so many details of the night, in particular who drove me home the next day.  My own insecurities over all of that are enough to deal with and one of the biggest things that I have come to recognize with much better perspective through counseling, but when I overheard a clip of the President of our country mocking a woman who couldn't remember "how she got home" and then I heard the crowd cheering and applauding, it was devastating.  Loneliness is the only word I know to sum it up.  Something that wasn't about me felt like it was all about me, and I wanted to crawl in a hole and avoid it all.  That fear was back.  The loneliness felt so heavy.  If people really knew my story would they say the exact same things about me?

So there I was just kind of sitting in that, and in the midst of it, it feels too painful to seek out help.  You know you need to talk to someone, but for me, I'm just not good at reaching out when I really feel in despair.  As the fog lifted though, I recognized the importance of trying to talk through these feelings with a professional.  Unfortunately, it became apparent though that I was no longer going to be able to see my therapist now that I was no longer on summer break.  She was amazing but stops seeing people by 1PM, and that didn't work for my schedule.  I reached out to a couple other options and they just weren't panning out as well, so I put it off a bit and kept pushing through, and the loneliness was heavy. 

And then when I let him, God pushed his way into my heart, like only He can.  His gentle reminder that he's always there.   It's the comfort that is unexplained with my words.  That reminder that He knows my story, that he is working out all the beautiful details to come from my story, and that I can rest in Him.   And to make a long story just a tad bit shorter, in those details it was arranged to share my heart with our caring pastor once again, and also my former therapist reached back out to me with someone she thought would be a good match for me and whose schedule could accommodate mine.

This is good news! So why I am here up late writing?  Because I meet with her in the morning for the first time, and my anxiety it kicked in to full throttle this afternoon.  Something I know is healthy, good, and will most likely have a great end result still makes me feel so dang nervous.  I'm reminded of that fear.  That fear that I know is silly, but is so prevalent.  It's the way that Satan inches his way in by whispering all those doubts that take over and keep me from reaching out.  I won't give in though.  I will take another step, take some deep breaths, and conquer this tiny hurdle remembering that He's got my back through it all.