Humble Pie

Hey girl, what have you been up to?  That was the question I was asked the other day by a sweet friend who I haven't seen or talked to in a while. I smiled but hesitated for a second. In my mind I quickly had to decide if I should tell her the full  truth or tell her the easy answer. I decided on the easy answer because it's easier (lol) and I didn't want to put her on the spot with whatever emotion/reaction she may have to my truthful answer.  Here on this blog, I'm able to speak the truth. It's still tough to talk about my abuse with my voice. It's embarrassing, makes me extremely sweaty and vulnerable, and shameful all at the same time.  There's a book entitled, Perfectly hidden depression. It's a book written by Dr. Margaret Rutherford. It truly hit home for me. The book states, "Perfectly hidden depression is hiding behind perfectionism, and appearing to be fine. It's believing that if you show painful emotions you will appear weak. It'...

  I'm no artist- lol I had a mouth full of worms and saturated cotton. It was so gross and so disgusting. The cotton inhibited me from talking clearly, made me gag, and what I could get out, worms proceeded my words.    The worms were small and wiggly and all over my teeth, and I tried over and over again to get it all out of my mouth. As soon as I was successful getting some cleared out, more would fill my mouth. Then I woke up... Dreams can shake you. Memories can haunt you and when they collide, its very uncomfortable. I've been having so many uncomfortable dreams lately. Dreaming about worms in my mouth is not ok.  I've concluded that the worms in my dream represent all of my abuse. I feel that no one wants to hear it, I don't want to say it, and all of it is disgusting. The cotton, on the other hand, is a way to mute me. The cotton quiets me, chokes me, gags me and keeps the secrets. It's a war that I am growing very weary of.  Speaking of war - I fight the...

Progress from trauma comes in the form of big steps, little steps, small moves and big moves. For me, any move is accompanied by high anxiety, great fear, confusion, and doubt. I've been making big moves lately that I hope will carry me to more freedom.  I recently confronted another abuser. I didn't receive what I was hoping for from that person. That's always a blow to my psyche and my gut. Swirls of emotions occur, frustration sets in, and anger hits. Taking a chance, like confronting, takes my super power strength. I literally feel ill, nauseated, and second guess my intentions prior to it. You see, even though I didn't get what I needed from him, I was able to speak my peace. I was able to tell my side. I explained the way I was affected, and how his abuse still affects me. I left feeling a bit numb and needed time to process it all.  This situation took some twists and turns that were also very hard to process. Nothing about this is easy.  I released some mental w...

This blog - my perspective - my views - my pain - my suffering - my outlet - and STILL, I can't completely be forthcoming and honest with this whole, ugly situation.  Secrets - It's what got me here. It's what keeps me here.  Sacrifices - what I feel like I'm doing or maybe what I actually am. Denial - What some people stay in to cope. Causes pain to others; the untruth that's maybe too ugly to face.  Silence - protection, fear, keeping some in a fixed position. When my abuse began when I was very young, I never would have thought that it would affect so much - becoming so intertwined in so many facets of my soul and life. I often wonder how my cognitive thinking would be, my trust levels, my freedom to feel my emotions, and my ability to express myself would be if I wasn't so conflicted in the innermost places of myself.  I'm sick of the abuse making me feel inadequate as a christian, a wife, a mother, a sister and a friend. Again, my p...

The Friday before Mother's Day, 2 years ago, I found myself in a different place. I had given up on my life and situation, made bad choices, and was PEC'd to a Mental hospital for 5 days. How's that for an opening sentence! I'm reminded of how dark and low I was. I'm reminded of feeling hopeless, feeling that I would be better off dead. I had succumbed to depression so bad that I had no defenses to fight it off - and I didn't want to fight anymore. Some say that this is selfish. I say that when you are that low and in that moment, you just want your pain and suffering to end.  I remember the ER triage nurse being kind. I remember her not having any judgement towards me and I remember her treating me with respect. She encouraged me to "always be honest so that my caregivers could provide the best care possible to me". I never forgot that. I remember the psych ward upstairs at OLOL. I remember large guards escorting me there. I remember...

Covid-19 is leaving its mark in so many ways.  Here's hoping the quarantined ones are staying sane at home and the essential workers are staying safe at work. It's weird working at a hospital that usually looks like a bustling city street of people in it's halls to more of a ghost town from an old western movie with tumbleweeds. So many changes, so much uncertainty, so many challenges and it saddens me. Nothing is the same right now, except for Jesus! Amen for that!  Sunday's scripture from my church: John 16:33 ~ "I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." If this verse isn't appropriate, I don't know what is. Faith over Fear!! My therapy sessions are over the phone, zoom, or doxy.com right now and that's weird. I'm absolutely thankful for the ability to have these options though. For me, my challenges are being vulnerable, shar...

First of all, reading this blog is a choice that you get to make. You don't have to read it. Some may look at this blog as me whining or something to that nature. I choose to write it as an outlet to my jumbled thoughts and pain. After all, this subject matter is, and always has been, considered taboo. A hush hush type of trauma. A subject matter when mentioned, that has the power to silence a room and get no response for lack of any person even knowing what to say or how to respond - that happens to me in group therapy.  Anyway... Have you seen this girl? Apparently I've lost her. She's stuck in a betrayal spiral, an anger fit, a protective mode, behind walls of shame that are so thick that it looks impossible to break out of. She is so full of fear and scared to death to rise to the surface and face reality. She's hiding.  It wasn't supposed to happen. Her childhood was full of love, care, nurturing, fun, and excitement. She was cherished by her parents...

What can I say? The rug has been pulled out from under me. Pulled hard, fast, with dust particles flying everywhere. Will they ever settle? Seems that they won't. I'm flat on my face, rolling around, foggy, sad, sore, aggravated, and numb. Or how about a wrecking ball? It came in and took me down, knocked me stupid, crushed me, injured me, made me cry, made me angry, left me to deal with the residual effects and broken pieces. I'm a Christian - I love people but I have hate! I'm a Christian and I am supposed to forgive but I can't. I'm a Christian - I need to find my inner strength from my faith but I don't have it. Not today anyway.  The other night I was in the same room as, made eye contact with, and NEVER expected to see, one of my abusers. I haven't seen him in years. I was not prepared for and was taken by surprise by his presence.  I need reassurance. Reassurance that these feelings will pass, that I will work through them ( aga...

A day in my head... Alarm goes off, roll out of bed, hot shower. I convince myself that it will be a good day, that I am strong, ready to take on the challenges of the day. I put my scrub pants on. vivid reminders of how I had these same type of scrub pants on the day that I had given up. The day that I was admitted to the behavioral hospital. The day I had hurt myself. The day I had to remove my scrub pants because they had a tie string at the waist and that was a danger to my safety. The day I was brought to the locked unit and I had to wear green paper scrubs because I was a mental patient. I was so weak, I am so weak. I need to be strong. I am strong. Am I really doing better? Yes I'm doing better. Oh God, that experience at the mental hospital was a traumatic experience. Jesus. Focus Stacie, its a work day. I need to get ready for work. I look around me. I'm blessed. Truly blessed. How can I feel sad or depressed. I have all of the luxuries in the world. Get a grip, ...

I've had to stop to inhale and exhale more this week than normal. My breathe has been caught a few times, leaving me feeling a bit short of breath. It's the same ol' same ol'... SHAME! I've read and I'm already re-reading a book entitled, "Unashamed" by Christine Caine. Although our stories aren't exactly the same, there are an amazing amount of similarities between myself and the author. I feel like she took my thoughts and feelings and wrote them out in her book. Her book is so relatable yet so hard to read. It's her story of Victory over her shame yet I am still wading deep in the depths of mine. Yes, I've made progress! Every small victory is worth celebrating. For me, shame is still quick sand, chains, prison walls, and limitations. Inhale, exhale. The book states that "facing shame is a matter of COURAGE and CHOICE". I've been attending group therapy for approx. 7 months now. I have shared some personal ...

I've debated for several days whether or not to post the contents of this post. I've gone back and forth from thinking heck no to why not (somebody needs to read it).  A couple of weeks ago I received something very ordinary. This ordinary thing sent me in to a tailspin of emotions, causing my thought processes to change and brew into mostly bitterness and anger. A TRIGGER! For people with trauma, triggers can come in the form of a smell, a song, a certain touch, a place, a face, an object, a word or phrase and they can sneak up on you like a thief in the night. They are unexpected, unwanted, and usually cause some level of grief and disruption in daily life. I retreated to my bed, hours and hours went by, I slept for days, didn't eat or drink, didn't work, didn't cook, didn't do housework and absolutely didn't want to see or speak to anyone. This went on for days. Showering was a chore and makeup or jewelry was not even a thought or desire.  The shame...

Highs and lows, ups and downs, good moods and bad moods, uncertainty and peace, talkative and withdrawn, good dreams and bad dreams, faith reminders and abuse triggers, patience and impatience, trusting and not trusting, communicating and not communicating, true smiles to fake smiles, being truly present to pretending, believing and not believing, seeing an end to no end in sight. It's tiring. Everything listed above relates to some aspect of life. All people struggle with something. I struggle with sexual abuse.  I'm sitting here typing this in my comfortable house with my fur-babies nearby. I look outside at a beautiful yard just the way my husband and I want it to be. There are cows grazing and family estates surrounding me. Life is a pretty picture and I should be content but I'm fully aware that the devil is controlling me and winning right now. He attacks the vulnerable and broken. I've pretended that I'm not "broken" for a long time now. But ...

                            Have you ever been diagnosed with something, was prescribed medicine for it, and eventually felt better due to the medicine? Due to feeling good, you think that maybe you don't need the medicine anymore so you stop taking it...all the while thinking that your strength and willpower will carry you through? Yeah, me too.  I got so frustrated with having to take medicine for my depression that I decided to just stop taking it. I knew good and well, as a nurse, that this was a bad idea.  I did it anyway. I didn't want my life defined as "requiring medicine to be happy" or relying on a drug to function to my full potential. It sucks.  I quit cold turkey a while back for about a month or so. This was a really bad idea. Deep sadness set in again. Feelings of despair ruled my day. Sleep was my escape. I teeter on requiring the meds for stability vs. deeply wanting to beat...

Seems like everyday, more and more cases of sexual abuse are coming to the surface. Victims are stepping out of their comfort zone for the sake of their mental status, reaching a feeling of necessity to surrender their secrets. I've read that the average age of a victim to come forth independently is in and around their 40-50's. I have also seen increased publicity on offenders of sexual crimes with children. It's so sick. As a victim, every news story of these crimes hurts. I feel sadness for the victim. I know what they are, and will, be facing and I know the repercussions of abuse.  I saw my therapist today. It's still so challenging for me. Sitting a few feet away from her while talking about sexual acts that took place when I was a young girl steals contentment, joy, and throws me out of whack. It's a catch 22 - not talking about it leads to pain and talking about it also leads to heartache. This is followed by getting in your car, driving home to your...

My emotions... ~ A contraction pattern in labor ~ A sea affected by high winds ~ A overview of hills and valleys I've said it before and I'll say it again. It's exhausting. It's overwhelming, it's unpredictable, and it's difficult. My emotions are all over the place.  It makes sense to me though. I'm continuing one on one therapy weekly and group therapy every Tuesday night. Last week I walked in for my session and I told my therapist that I wanted to tell her the details of my worst abusive experience. I had prayed about it, decided to focus on that for the hour and had geared up most of the day for it. When the time came, I could not speak of it. I sat on the couch frozen.  I became locked up emotionally, unable to form the words from my mouth and eventually became very disgusted with myself. This process is vicious. In that moment, and many other moments, I became the child victim on the couch with the inability to process what was going on, mu...

My last blog post was June 1st. I've really had a great month of June. I've been doing some photography again and I was able to get away for a few days with my girlfriends in New Orleans and really relax. I think I went 2 days without a negative thought about abuse. It was heavenly.  But...last night in group, the spotlight fell on me for a bit. I've been participating every week but have chosen to stay under the radar with my issues, until last night. We have a new member and we introduced ourselves and gave a brief synopsis of why we were also participating in group therapy. I said, "I'm Stacie and I have depression, anxiety, and PTSD from childhood sexual abuse". Someone else took a turn and my mind started swirling. I HATE introducing myself like that. I know that I am defined by so much more but this title is what I view myself as. It is also the title that my group knows me as. I started sweating (like I am now just typing about it). I started to...