Cut to the Chase

So, there's no proper etiquette that I know of for just dropping something like this, but I am just going to cut right to the chase as to why I have even started this blog.  I'll be sharing more of my story, its impact on my life, and why it's brought me to this point.  No need to beat around the bush though or try to draw it out.  I'm jumping in with a power and a purpose (if you stick it out with me), so here it goes...

A little over 20 years ago, I unfortunately experienced acquaintance rape.To be honest, I didn't even totally realize it at the time.  Down deep perhaps, but not at the surface level.  I was mostly scared, disappointed in myself, and not even really sure what to think or where to go from there.  I was in physical and emotional pain but pretended I wasn't, and moved forward.  The few months that followed are a bit of a blur.  I lived a carefree lifestyle as probably many 17 year olds do, with little regard to my feelings or sexuality, kept focused on school, dance, partying and getting into a college, and all while trying to wrap my head around (or maybe ignore) the fact that my mom was being diagnosed with cancer.  I'd been a pretty good and reliable kid up until this point, but not exactly daughter of the year by now.  Looking back, I know I was breaking inside, but from the outside it looked like I was living it up and doing it all with a smile on my face.

Fast forward even more, and about nine months after the assault, I met and began dating the man that would eventually become my husband.  We dated for about six months until I went off to college.  He was in Missouri, while I went away to Florida.  Helllo, long distance!  He was totally different than anyone I'd been interested in before, and he was my first serious long-term boyfriend.  I left for college feeling pretty positive that we could make it despite the miles.  My freshmen orientation week, the college required us to go listen to a speaker in the auditorium.  Her name was Katie Koestner.  I'll remember the sound of her voice forever.  She stood on the stage and told her story.  Tears were streaming down my face, as I sat quietly in my chair just listening.  I was completely overcome with emotion and surrounded by people I'd only met less than a week earlier.  Her story sounded all too familiar.  It was in that moment that I truly realized that I had been raped that horrible night over a year ago.  I went back to my dorm room, crying to my new roommate (God bless her, she probably wondered what she was in for), and then wrote my boyfriend a letter.  I had to tell someone, and remember how I mentioned I am soooo much better at writing than at speaking?  Well, there ya go...perfect example. I even remember the light blue stationary with the jagged edges on which I wrote it.  I don't remember if it was later that day, or the next day, but I remember reading my letter, over the phone, to my boyfriend and listening to him weep when I was done.  That was the start of something.  It was telling the person I loved the scariest, darkest thing about me that I could imagine ever sharing.  He was all of 21 years old at the time, but handled it amazingly well and never once doubted what I told him or made me feel loved one iota less.  For the most part though, my sharing stopped there.  I did write that speaker, Katie Koestner, who promptly wrote me back, and my Resident Advisor, who had picked up on my emotions that day and had sensed what happened to me also reached out to me, but that was pretty much it, and once again I buried it and moved forward.  It definitely had on impact on my life, but it was something I kept to myself for the most part.  I didn't see a counselor, report it, or confide in many others.  I chose to focus on college, my relationship with my boyfriend, my family and my overall future.  My lifestyle had most definitely calmed down by this stage, and overall things were going pretty well.

Another fast forward, and my twenties were all focused on my future.  I enjoyed my college experience, was looking forward to my career, and became very involved in my sorority.  I went on to become the president of the sorority, became engaged to my love, and graduated with honors.  Within a month of graduating, I married and then started focusing on my career as a teacher.  My twenties were spent advancing through my career and degree by adding my Master's and National Boards.  We moved a few times, tried to start a family unsuccessfully, and suffered with infertility. All throughout this period, my husband suggested that I should try talking to a professional.  There were times when I would just feel overcome with emotion, have flashbacks or bad dreams, etc. but overall  I kept thinking I was "fine", and that I could handle it on my own.

Then came my thirties.  Just a few weeks before turning 30, we finally had our first child.  We were elated to be a family. It has been a stressful journey followed by a very scary birth.  When he was only six months old, we made a cross country move, and our careers drastically changed.  The next several years were spent with focusing on our family.  I was either having babies, experiencing miscarriages, nursing babies, preparing to become a  foster parent, or reading about how to do this whole parenting-gig.  My feelings were quite low on my priority list, and life was about babies and raising little ones.  No regrets, as it was an exciting and exhausting time in our lives, and it's just kind of par for the course that your own well-being takes a back seat during this time.  Again, during this time period it would sneak up on me here or there.  I'd have some really low moments when I'd think about it a lot or feel compelled to speak up and speak out, but then I just didn't have the energy or the time, and once again I thought "I've got this."

At thirty-seven, I couldn't ignore it anymore.  We'd moved back to Florida, our family was feeling complete, we'd passed the baby phase, and I was begin to notice just how much this feeling wasn't going to leave me no matter how much I tried to ignore it.  Finally, I did what felt like one of the scariest things ever, and I called a local counseling center.  They specialize in free counseling for those that have experienced domestic violence or sexual assault.  I took Mat with me for my first appointment because I don't think I would have walked through the doors on my own.  He wasn't permitted to come back in with me though.  When it was over, we got in the car and we bawled like never before.  It was just such a release and so freeing, yet so painful.  I had taken this huge first step.  I continued to see her a few more times.  During this time period I once again wrote a letter and finally officially shared a glimpse of the experience with my parents, brother, and a couple best friends.  When I first met with her I told her that my overall goal was to step from victim to victory.  I wanted to be able to volunteer, to share my experience in order that others would learn from it.  We met a total of four times, and I was feeling much more positive. I felt like I had a pretty good grasp on things, and was fine just meeting with her as needed in the future.  I was hopeful that God would open up the right opportunity for me to volunteer or serve in some way while sharing my story.

That time didn't come, or if it did I was oblivious to it.  I wasn't feeling lead to discuss my story with much of anyone really.  I was feeling distant from God.  I was feeling like even though I had seen several opportunities to volunteer, every single one of them seemed way too scary to follow through with.  Fear.  So much fear set in.  It's hard to describe.  I felt like a failure if I called her and tried to go back and see her again.  As wonderful as she was, she didn't seem too willing to dive into the spiritual impact that my assault had on me, and I was beginning to realize that it was quite significant part of my trauma. Don't get me wrong, I will forever be thankful to her.  I couldn't even physically say the "R" word before working with her.  She taught me some wonderful coping skills and truly provided a renewed sense of hope and a positive outlook for me.  But when that dark time invaded again, I knew I needed something more but just didn't know where to turn.

I turned 39 a couple months ago.  It's the realization that 40 is approaching before long that motivated me to get serious about making some changes and addressing my fears.  I set goals for myself and decided that this is the year to take better care of myself!  I can't be all the things I want to be to my husband, children, parents, and students if I don't take better care of myself.  This includes physical, mental, and spiritual health.  I am determined that this is MY year, and I will not feel guilty or selfish in taking care of myself.  A few weeks after my birthday, I was sitting in church and listening to a sermon about Peter seeing Jesus walk on water.  The overall message of the sermon was about stepping out in faith and evaluating where in your life  you need to step out in faith.  I felt the strongest nudging inside.  I knew where I needed to step out in faith, but I knew it was going to be ugly and hard and full of emotions.  Before I could talk myself out of it, I reached out to my pastor and asked if we could meet soon.  Poor guy probably had no idea what he was in for, but of course he agreed, and we set up a time to meet a couple days later.  I couldn't eat a bite that day.  I was sweating just driving to the church, and I'm pretty sure I was visibly shaking as I told him the gist.  It felt foolish to be so dang emotional over something that happened over 20 years ago, but there I was.   I have SO many blessings.  Truly, I have a life that I adore.  But the sadness regarding this experience is just simply overwhelming at times.  I wasn't feeling God's presence and kind of just felt like He didn't really care to be brutally honest.  So, I sat there and exposed my weakness, and shared the parts that I felt lead to, and it was a renewed sense of hope and the start of this journey that brings me here now...