Therapy (1)

As promised, I'm reporting on my therapy session yesterday. It was my first one (of many, most likely) and if I had to wrap it up in one phrase, I'd say, "Intense relief." M.T. (My Therapist) is no joke. She gets it. She's intuitive and kind and can read me so well. After only one visit. But first things first. Her room is classic. Candles, plushy furniture, and yes, I got to sit on a couch. I had a flash of Bob Newhart all of a sudden and wanted to lay back and start telling all my woes. But I didn't. M.T. listened and I talked and I listened and she talked and we both listened and I cried and she earned her paycheck this day. Things I learned that I must pass along to all of you... You're never too old to feel you need permission for some things. You can give yourself permission. Give yourself permission to feel what you feel...to cry...to let go...to confront...to have crazy moments. Give yourself permission to break patterns. Give yourself permission to give yourself permission! Holding things in is not brave or stoic. It's destructive. Letting people see you cry is healthy for you AND them! Being brave and courageous just means you press on even when your bawling your eyes out. No one can do it alone. Everyone needs God. The sooner you give it to God, whatever it is, the sooner the healing can begin. Until then, you will plateau on a numb and ugly cliff; the edge of which you will be drawn daily. And this one is the kicker...the one that shocked me. I've read a lot of books, studied psychology in college, watched a ton of Criminal Minds...I know how it works. I mean, I can pretty much pinpoint problems and use reason and logic to sift out a solution. But what M.T. said at the end of our session kicked my tail. She said, "I'm not going to be writing any prescriptions for you in here. But I do have a requirement. Our therapy sessions are going to be intense. It's going to be hard. When you leave my office every week, you will feel like you've done battle; because you have! You will be mentally drained and physically weak. In order to truly heal and process and make that battle worthwhile, you MUST balance it out with something extraordinarily positive. I am requiring you to pamper yourself Thursday and Friday. You are not allowed to apologize for anything, feel obligated to anyone, or schedule any event. Thursday, you must leave my office and go for coffee...coffee someone makes for you; not from your coffee pot at home. You must buy yourself something or witness something beautiful. You go home then and you rest. You let yourself just rest. Friday, you will still be exhausted...but you must go do something for yourself. Manicure, pedicure, hairstyle, massage, five-star restaurant, etc. Something you would normally never do for yourself." My reaction..."Yeah. That would be nice." Her reaction to my reaction..."Kim, I'm serious. Let me put in this way. You must have this intense therapy and I mean INTENSE. If you DON'T balance it with the pampering afterwards, I'll drop you. I will not see you as a patient because to take this seriously means to treat your entire being." I drank a caramel machiatto yesterday and stopped at the nursery to buy petunias and marigold to plant in my front garden on Saturday. I decided to plant something new after every therapy session. In 20 minutes I'm going to a salon to get my hair completely redone. I'll post pictures soon! Give me your feedback...can't wait to hear your thoughts. Let strong be someone else's job today. Be weak and open and raw today.

Power and Peace

Forgiveness is hard. It's something we know we should do and it's something we crave for ourselves...but it's hard. Sometimes it's near-impossible. I used to think that, by my forgiving someone, they were "let off the hook." If I forgive them, they got away with it! They wronged me! They should hurt, feel sorry, be miserable! Forgive them? If I forgive evil people, aren't I saying, "That's okay. I don't mind?" And if I DON'T forgive them, am I holding them in check? Am I controlling their destiny? Am I withholding their happiness? Is my forgiveness so powerful that by NOT granting it, do I in fact deprive the wrong-doer of any goodness? There are so many ways we could go with this topic. Turning the other cheek, seventy-times-seven, love, grace, holding a grudge, etc... Here's where I'm going with it today. Arrogance. Who am I? Who am I to decide anyone's fate? Can I read their hearts? They can't read mine. They don't know my motives or my guilt. They don't know my earnest repentance. So....guess what. I can't know theirs. When the End of Times is upon us, is the Almighty going to pull me aside and ask, "So, Kim. Who should I let in and who should I send to the big fire-hole?" Um. No. No, I don't believe I'll be up there handing out ticket vouchers for the Heaven Express. IT'S NOT UP TO ME!! So, what does it matter whether I forgive or not? Why are we told to do it at all if there's no power in it? No bearing on the end result? Well, there is power. There is end-result-bearing. It just has NOTHING to do with the person we're angry with. Forgiveness is about us. Forgiving other people is for OUR benefit. How? I'm glad you asked... Forgiveness gives peace. Withholding forgiveness creates a black spot on my heart that grows and intensifies causing, not only emotional disturbance, but physical illness. It stops me from living. God says vengeance is His. By forgiving, we are making a statement to God. We are saying, "I HATE what this person has done! I hate it! It hurts! It's awful and I can't wrap my mind around the fact that they did it and are getting away with it! I also trust You, God. I trust that you ALWAYS keep your promises. I trust that vengeance is Yours. I trust that you've got this and I can let go of it." Forgiveness is hard. Sometimes, I have to re-forgive a person over and over. Sometimes, I have to finally just say, "God, please make me forgive this person! It's too hard! I can't seem to do it! Change my heart!" Forgiveness is part of healing; maybe it's the most important part. If you're serious about taking this journey toward healing, you've got to spend some time humbling yourself and letting go. Forgiveness is hard. I know.

No Church for Me

Today is Sunday. Most of you will be attending church somewhere and praising our God. I hope so. He is to be praised. He is awesome. I haven't been to church in a month. Or more. God is still God and I'm still His servant. But I haven't been able to attend a church service because there are people there. How many of you are at this point or have already been through this moment in your recovery? I'm talking about any recovery. Grief, pain, loss, illness, trauma. There's a moment for some of us where we just can't be around a lot of people. This bothered me a lot at first. Those of you who know me know I'm a people-person. I love a crowd. But, the crowd lately seemed too much for me. This was shocking to my system. I literally felt foreign in my own mind. I freaked out. I asked Mark why he thought I was petrified all of a sudden of leaving the house. He didn't know, of course, but he had great advice (of course). "Kim," he said. "Don't fight it. Whatever this is, it must be part of your healing. Just listen to it and allow yourself to be who you need to be right now." My good friend Ann told me, "Kim, you're not being unreligious. You're healing. It's okay." Well, this was wise and so of course I didn't listen. I fought it and got angry with myself and forced it and fought it some more. Then I looked for reasonable excuses. If I don't have the energy to cope with my own pain right now, how could I possibly hope to help anyone else? How can I smile and sing and hug and visit? Well, if you're blessed enough to attend a congregation like West Side Church of Christ, you know that you never have to do any of those things. Love is unconditional and you're accepted no matter what. So...what's my problem? Why can't I want this anymore? Why can't I go out? WHY? WHY? WHY? It's healing. It's simply a part of the healing process. I needed to finally give myself permission to wave goodbye to my husband and kids as they drove away to church and allow myself the silence I craved. I needed to listen to the wounded person inside of crying out for attention. I needed to slow down and relax. Mark and my friend Ann knew this and were patient with me until I gave in. Thank you! If you're struggling with something and you don't understand why you don't want to go to church or be around people...just relax. It's part of it. And it doesn't last. The quicker you allow yourself to embrace the silence and solitude, the quicker you'll be back in the church building. Singing. Visiting. Smiling. For real. Instead of fighting it, ignoring it, trying to excuse it, or pretending this is the new you...Just sit down and be quiet and let the pain wash over you. Let numbness wash over you. Let whatever wants out wash over you. You can do it. And you'll be so glad you did. I'm here. Keep talking to me. Those of you who've been in contact with me so far, good for you! Way to be brave! Give yourself permission to be quiet and still for as long as you need. You are loved!

No Party Here

Something occurred to me yesterday. I'm not throwing myself a pity-party; and I don't want anyone else to either. When I began having flashbacks, etc, a few weeks ago, I did allow myself a "why me" moment. But just a moment.

Sexual abuse is disgusting. It's poisonous. It can seep through to the heart and corrupt and distort and tarnish the abused's life. If allowed. If not dealt with. If the spine doesn't perk up and kick the fear out. Sexual abuse is not to be talked about lightly or flippantly so I hope none of you take this as some kind of gloss-over. Simply sharing the journey and this is what's hit me now.

It just occurred to me that so many abuse victims don't share their stories because, when we do, we get "that look." The eyes of the ones listening see us and say, "You poor dear." Well, the pity is needed...for a moment. Then healing must take its place. Allow us to be strong. Allow us to say, "Yes, I was abused. It was disgusting. I was violated. I'm not alone. It happens every day. It's a big deal and I'm dealing with it big; but it's not going to break me."

Pity me not...just journey with me. This is a post-on-the-fly...I'm in a hurry. My hubby, kids, and in-laws are waiting for me so we can go out to eat. I just had to share this thought in tribute to all the trauma victims out there who are past the pity-party and on to the healing! Be strong, my friends! And for those of you who just beginning this journey or considering this journey to healing, ALLOW the pity-party to wash over you. ALLOW the tears to come! ALLOW the yelling and fit-throwing. And let me know when it's over. I'll help you pack up your party-supplies and get your life back. I love you! You are loved! Say it! Believe it!
onceuponahousewife@gmail.com

The Common Volcano

We like to keep up with celebrities. Most of us, anyway. We like to know about their personal lives...who are they married to? Where were they born? What kind of childhood did they have? We sympathize and relate and try to personalize them as much as possible because it's fun to have something in common with a famous person.

I have the same birthday as Rob Lowe, Gary Sinise, Kurt Russell, Mia Hamm, and Nat King Cole.

I was born in Texas...just like Beyonce, Patrick Swayze, Dennis and Randy Quaid, Luke and Owen Wilson, Forest Whitaker, and many more.

I also share some of the same struggles as some celebrities. I had endometriosis like Julianne Hough, Jillian Michaels, Padma Lakshmi, and many more.

It's cool to share something personal with a person in the lime light. Unless what you're sharing isn't cool at all.

Like Tyler Perry, Oprah Winfrey, Terry Hatcher, Queen Latifah, Drew Carey, Tatum O'Neal, and too many more, I was sexually abused as a child. This is not something anyone likes to share. But it's something we need to talk more about.

I was sexually abused from the age of 2 until I told at the age of 10. After I told, my world went into a kind of dream-like status until I was able to adjust and feel "normal". But recently, normal hasn't been cutting it. I wasn't told any details of what happened after this came to light. My parents thought they were protecting me. Their hearts were in the right place and they DID protect from a lot of the shrapnel that fell out. But I didn't FEEL protected. I didn't know they were doing anything about it. It was a difficult time for everyone involved and, for my brothers, sister, mom and dad, they just wanted me to never have to deal with it again. They couldn't know that, by not talking about it and dealing with it to my face, it would lay burried like a waiting volcano inside of me.

It recently erupted.

I'm 38 years old now. Shouldn't this all be in the past? Shouldn't I be over it? Not even close. I have nightmares, flashbacks, body-memories, and good old fashioned crying jags. My husband and children and friends have cushioned themselves around me to soften my blows and to reassure me that it's not too late to "fix" this inside of me.

I know there are more of you out there. Talk to me.

onceuponahousewife@gmail.com

I'm the kind of gal who keeps things in the light...out in the open...where Satan hates it. I don't mind sharing my journey and I hope it's encouraging and helpful to somebody out there.

I start therapy one week from today. I'll let you know how it goes.

Doing Christmas

Christmas. Bah humbug! Not really...but sometimes it's so overwhelming that I consider canceling it altogether. As if I could. But what if I could?! What if we could have a winter break from school and work that DIDN'T involve mad-dashes to the Dollar Store to buy gifts for kids' classes and teachers and whoever else the kids forgot to tell us needs gifts? A break that still focused on our Jesus, but NOT on bringing thousands of tinsel-laden objects in from the shed and filling the house with more clutter than was there before? What if there was a way to discontinue the greedy looks in the kids' eyes when they discover a new this-and-that to add to their Santa Wishlist?

Who am I kidding? It's not even about all that above. I'm just tired. I'm tired of everything having to be a little more perfect during the Christmas season. There must be Christmas-themed television programs that I have to find, preview, record and have ready that pleases EVERYONE. There have to be decorations that we MAKE, involving purchases, preparation, messes, and clean-up. What about wrapping? So. Sick. Of wrapping. I'm not really sick of it. I'm just tired.

Why do there have to be nightly finance-meetings between husband and wife...trying to figure out how much to spend on each other, each child; and where will we get the money to cover what's already been bought that we weren't planning on?! And, though you don't want it to be about the money, it just is. Every gift I buy falls short of what each receiver deserves. It's enough to make me want to give up. I don't really want to give up. I'm just tired.

And then some old advice pops in my head. "Kim, when you're feeling blue, serve someone." Serve someone? Isn't that what I'm DOING?! I serve meals, laundry, homework, extra this and extra that! I serve! I'm shopping, baking, signing, and arranging like a mad woman! I'm doing Christmas the best I can!

But am I serving...or simply doing? I do what is expected. I do what needs to be done. I do. So, what's the difference?

Well...serving is going the extra mile. It's considering the joy that my "doing" may bring to those I'm doing for. It's finding the Christmas movies on t.v. and then sitting down to watch them WITH the kids...watching their faces and listening to them laugh. It's finding something funny in those mad-dashes to the store that is creating a memory for each of my children to look back on in their Christmases to come. It's making decorating the house more about MAKING the mess than WORRYING about it. Letting the kids decorate so that they own these moments is more of a joy than worrying about vacuuming up every silver strand that covers the floor. It's about getting creative with the kids' letters to Santa. So, we don't have the money to buy these things....how else can we make their dreams gleam on Christmas morning?!

Doing is...well...doing. Serving is GIVING. It's giving the one thing everyone in my house wants most. Me. They want me to smile and enjoy this Holiday Season with them. It doesn't matter how many gifts rest beneath the perfectly decorated tree if I'm grumpy. It doesn't matter how many snow-flake cookies are iced and delivered to classrooms if I don't stay and enjoy the children I baked them for. They want me.

Moms, if it kills me, I'm going to do it this year. I'm going to ENJOY this Christmas...and that's my gift to my family.

Scar-Light Scar-Bright

This is my friend Emily. She's 16 years old; loves marching with the flag corp in her high school band; holds straight-A's in all her classes (honors classes!); is active in her church youth group; loves to do community theatre; babysits my children with expertise; and smiles 99% of the time. A few months ago, Emily was in a car accident. She was in the front passenger seat, which took the brunt of the crash. She was pinned in for over an hour and a half. Remembering conversations she heard from the paramedics and firemen cutting her out, she knows they didn't have much hope for her survival.

After being care-flighted to a hospital in Little Rock, she remembers hearing more conversations from doctors and nurses as they assessed her wounds. If she made it through any of the urgent and necessary surgeries, she would surely not walk.

After the first several surgeries and the first few weeks, walking was a possibility. But she could hear the whispers and knew that her right leg may never be able to hold weight again. Walking would mean a walker or brace for the rest of her life.

Emily is 16 years old. She is beautiful. She's been complimented on her beautiful legs all her life. You know those girls we all love to hate who have those perfect legs? That was Emily. Never immodest or boastful, it was just a fact that her legs were awesome. Were awesome.

Emily's pelvis was broken; her legs had around 50 fractures, with breaks that had bones sticking out of her legs at odd places and angles; her right foot was so swollen and misshapen the doctors couldn't accurately assess the damage for several weeks. Her wounds were so raw, she had to be constantly hooked up to a wound-vac, which would suck her wounds clean every few minutes (this made an offensive sound which would cause embarrassment anytime someone was visiting her).

Emily was finally able to come home. She has a cute upstairs bedroom all decked out in girly-girl 16-year-old style. She hasn't seen her room since before the wreck though. The family room has been her bedroom now. It's been curtained off for a semblance of privacy, but curtains do little to shelter Emily from the life going on all around her. She spent the first several weeks at home in her hospital bed, her mom sleeping on the daybed beside her, either asleep or in pain. Even in sleep, there was pain and traumatic nightmares from her emotional injuries.

Her friends came to see her often...to tell her how cool marching band was; how this and that had taken place in so-in-so's class; and even to complain to Emily about their own dramas. Emily has always been the best friend with the most encouragement to give...she's been the shoulder to cry on and the strong arms that have carried her friends through their teen-angst. This seemed to still be expected of her.

Whenever anyone drew back the curtain and entered the makeshift bedroom, Emily would paint on a smile and endure hugs and visits...because she is determined to make everyone feel comfortable.

Emily is 16-years-old. At this age, girls don't talk of thinks like passing gas, bowel movements, or shaving unmentionable areas. Emily's life had taken a wrong turn however, and now she was equipped with a porta-potty beside her hospital bed and all manner of medications and apparatus in the room around her for all to see when they'd stop in for a hello. And, yet, this seemed to amuse Emily more than anyone else.

After more weeks of working through pain, Emily was able to maneuver around in a wheel chair. Where did she go? To her high school Homecoming, of course. She cared more for her friends than for herself that night. She couldn't join in all the regular activities, but cheered her friends on all the same.

She also attended a Halloween party...dressed as a marathon runner!

Her right foot began to finally heal, though the process has been very slow and painful.

Emily has fought through months of painful physical therapy to overcome all the odds. The swelling in her right foot went down enough for surgery; and then was even able to be put into a walking-boot. She cannot walk on it...yet! But she's not giving up. Against all the doctor's predictions, she is not only walking now (with the help of a scooter), but she is already flexing her right foot with plans of walking into her high school to join regular classes in January.

What does Emily say about her once-perfect-legs now? She owns every scar. She sees them as proof of her survival and she dares anyone to see them as anything less than beautiful. Isn't that how we should all feel? Don't we all have scars? Even stretch-marks...from beautiful births. We should own them. They are proof of survival. Just as Jesus' scars are proof of our redemption. Scars and beautiful.

Emily is still beautiful. More so, I believe, than ever before. By the way, even doing her honors classes from home with no help, she's maintaining her A-average. She's still giving her friends good advice. She's still attending church on Sunday mornings. Emily has changed only for the better since this accident. She told me it's a choice. No one and nothing can make your life miserable but you. And miserable is something Emily will never be.