This really is gonna be one of those posts

And by one of those posts, I mean a before and after. This is gonna totally look like one of those, praise me now posts. I don't mean for it to be.
I was looking thru some pics and I found this one from July 2012.

It's from when I helped a friend's son paint a mural on his wall. My guess is that I was at my heaviest. Dunno, though, because I generally don't pay attention. I know this very post seems antithetical to that idea. But in my mind I always look the same.

When I went home for Christmas that year, people mentioned how much skinnier I was looking.
I think there are two solid reasons for it. The first was definitely anxiety. I think the first reaction my body had a couple of years ago was to balloon up to its largest yet. I wasn't really overeating or anything. All considered, I was eating pretty normally, but the body packed it on.
Then my body just started to shed weight. I can only guess at how much it was, but I'm thinking I lost 15-20lbs by mid-September. This had happened during the second/third month of my time in the mission field where I lost maybe 25lbs? Again, anxiety. Like, TONS of anxiety.

Anyhoo, I noticed for real at Christmas b/c people said things.

I think the second reason for the weight loss is healing. This is a catch-all, in many ways, tbh.
I felt significantly better about myself, so I took better care of myself. My soul started to heal up and it quite honestly affected my metabolism. It works better now. I'm more active b/c I want to move. That's a bonus.

Anxiety sucks. Healing can hurt during the process, but sometimes doesn't. Healing has awesome effects and sometimes they're visual:

 


I mean, it helps that I've essentially gotten a new wardrobe b/c I was sick of my pants falling off. You know how Harry looks wearing Dudley's huge clothes? That's how I felt. I wanted to dress the way I felt.
I obviously look very cute.

An appendage to my last post

This afternoon when I was driving from picking up a random Bat Mitzvah card for my missionary cousin to the post office, I realized a large part of why the Trayvon Martin case has affected me so deeply. It's the willful attitude that many have of blaming the victim. I mean, it really pisses me off. As I was driving I thought of this scenario:

Would someone say it was my fault that after a while of my mission trainer molesting me and demeaning me I fought back? Would someone say that it was unfortunate that she molested me in an even harsher way, but I had fought back, after all?

I mean, this is utter bull shit, and we all know it. Zimmerman stalked Trayvon. Trayvon was just a 17-year-old kid. He was scared and had a totally normal reaction for a kid of that age. There was both a flight and a fight in his reaction.

Someone explain the difference. There is none. This is part of the reason why it took so many years for me to say anything: I was so damn afraid that people wouldn't believe me, that it was my fault, that I deserved it. I mean, Trayvon was a teenager wearing a hoodie b/c it was raining. Shifty. AND the kid had the audacity of being black.

And here's the thing, that second paragraph up there happened to me. I fought back in this way or that, whatever way I could in the demoralized state I was in. It got worse. She humiliated me more.

So by the same dumb-ass logic that person after person has been posting about on FB, I deserved every shitty moment of my abuse after I fought back. In fact I deserved all of it b/c I was an American woman with big breasts. I was exotic.

Maybe if all these (Zimmerman apologists and the) people that deny that there isn't an undertow of victim blaming in the U.S. stepped out of their ignorant shit-box of privileged comfort and realized what they were saying, and how horrible it was, this nation could actually heal.

Because I know for EFFING DAMN SURE that I have no fault in what happened to me. I've been allowed to heal from a victim to a survivor. I have faith in God and think that Trayvon is a survivor, too, just not on this planet and that makes my heart ache.

Suprised that I feel like

I'm not gonna lie, I'm really surprised that I feel like I should share this. I don't quite know how to present it, so I'm hoping it's not too disjointed. This post will probably end up touching on a lot of different topics that I've mentioned before on my blog and on Facebook.

I've had a few realizations and paradigm shifts in the last while that have really changed the way I view my body, myself and the topic of modesty. If you've seen my posts on facebook and the links I've shared, my opinions on modesty are obviously strong. I've decided to describe at least part of the reason why, and I'm not gonna hold back.

When I was a teenager I wore lots of baggy clothing. Part of the reason why is that it was lazily comfortable. Another reason is that I was ashamed of my body. I felt awkward (I mean, what teenager doesn't). But my breasts weren't small and they weren't huge, but I didn't like them b/c maybe attention could be drawn to them. They were sexual and we were supposed to cover that up. With this comes the whole hogwash of "Sisters help the brothers," and all of that nonsense. My body was daily betraying me, so I wore shirts two sizes too big. I didn't understand how to be feminine and I thought that if I were too feminine it'd be sinful anyway.

When I went on my mission at age 21 it was the first time that I got a wardrobe that was more form fitting. It's kinda hard to get away from that as a missionary that's supposed to look representable. No more XL t-shirts and baggy jeans and khakis.

If you've read my blog since last September, you know that my mission trainer molested me. Part of her grooming involved making fun of my breasts, focusing on them. She was a woman, so it didn't compute that it could be a "bad" thing. She'd reword hymns in Portuguese to make fun of them. She'd tell me that Brazilian men wouldn't be interested in them b/c they were all about the butt. She was fascinated by them and it was one of her main focuses in the abuse.

The reason why I explained all of that is that it'll make sense when I say that if I hated my breasts and body before my mission, it was nothing compared to after. If only I'd had a smaller chest, she wouldn't have been interested. It was my fault. My stupid breasts. Without being fully aware of what I was doing and certainly not understanding why, I started physically harming my breasts. I don't know when it started. It was sometime in the middle of the last decade I think. But I have some scars. sometimes what I did wouldn't leave scars b/c I never went very deep, but sometimes scars were inevitable. I even have scars from where my sensitive skin reacted to the bandaids that I was using to help the wounds heal.

I have scars in a couple of other places where she would commonly molest me, as well, and I particularly hated those parts of my body, too. None of this is visible no matter what clothing I wear. But the hatred and disgust for these parts of my body didn't hold a candle to the animus that I felt for my breasts.

I had been taught proper shame for my body by society, school and religion. Well--not the proper way my religion should be taught, but the cultural way things were passed on.

Years ago I had a roommate that told me that I should wear V-necks. At first I was terrified b/c what if I showed off too much? Terrible things had already happened. But she was like, "You'll look great in them!" I trusted her. I now have a multitude of V-necks because I gained confidence in my body thru her confidence in my body.

Obviously things really tanked a couple of Novembers ago when I realized what had happened to me. My utterly disgusting, revolting body, breasts. Being a feminine woman is part of my problem. I shouldn't be. I should hide myself.

Scottie gave me a blessing two Christmases ago that I call my second patriarchal blessing. In it I was told to glory in my womanhood, to essentially not be afraid of it and I was like, I don't get that at all. o_O

I do now. The more I've healed emotionally, the more I've healed physically. Sometimes I dress more feminine now b/c I like it. It's part of me. Sometimes I wear cargo shorts and a t-shirt and a ball cap b/c that's me, too. I wear makeup. I experiment with it. I am utterly NOT ashamed of my décolletage. I wear clothes that emphasize my cleavage and other attributes of my body.

So what changed? I love my body. My body isn't something to be ashamed of. It isn't something I should cover for the sake of others. It isn't the reason why I was molested.

Yesterday on facebook a good friend asked me what my personal definition of modesty was. I thought for a sec and this is what I wrote:

How would I personally define modesty? hmmm, well, first I need to say that it's taken me a while to really understand it and the biggest step was learning to love my body the way it is. I'm pretty normal body-wise and I'm actually really grateful for that. The second step in my understanding was to not be afraid or ashamed of being feminine. I know that this isn't a step for everyone, but it is/was for me. In this regard I realized that wearing clothing that accentuated my features wasn't immodest, but was simply flattering. Wearing clothing that emphasized my décolletage wasn't immodest. I was confusing a shame of my feminine body parts with modesty.

So I would say that I now understand modesty to be a person wearing clothes with no shame of their body. I naturally would cover my body with more fabric than someone else would, b/c that's me. But that doesn't make me more "modest."

 I think modesty at its strongest and most essential is about self appreciation and love.

I know that this post is long and I covered some rough stuff in my life. But these realizations are so important to me. Once I realized what I was doing to my breasts and body, attacking it, and why I was doing it, I began to heal. I haven't gouged my breasts or hurt them in any way in four or five months. It's the longest stretch, I think, since it started happening. I'm not saying that I'm magically cured, because things like this can be cyclical. But I feel better.

On Monday Therapist asked me about my body and I told her that I loved it, even with the scars. The scars now show me how far I've come.
I truly do love my body.

lucky in the grand scheme of stuff

This afternoon I was thinking about how lucky I am in the grand scheme of things. I mean, something absolutely shitty happened to me on my mission that messed me up incredibly and slowly dragged me down over the years. But once I realized what happened and started telling people and looking for help, I've never been denied it. In fact, EVERYONE has been loving and supportive. No one has ever doubted me, it's always been an immediate jump to belief and support. When I've needed something or have finally admitted that I'm not doing well, family and/or friends have jumped to me to support me.

How many people in my situation can say that? How many people in my situation get told the fault is theirs? How many people get rumors spread about them? Seriously, how many people end up dealing with stuff that is potentially more mentally and emotionally damaging than the sexual abuse/assault/rape they suffered.

But I have felt nothing but love and support--love and support that has been so overwhelming at times I've dropped to my knees.

I was chatting with Heavenly Father about this earlier. I think my question was a bit rhetorical, b/c I haven't received an answer yet. Maybe it's too early in the game for the answer. All I know is the support and outpouring of love that I've felt, even from people commenting on this blog that I don't personally know, have lifted me so high, have been a gentle upward push helping me get past one painful moment after another.

I don't know why I'm so lucky, but there's no way to express my gratitude about this. Here's a linguist saying that words in any of the languages I know are completely inadequate to describe what the unwavering support has done for my once broken and now healing soul

revision on one of the two things.

I realized that they way I worded something in my last post isn't really how I picture it. I talked about how my faith has been "building back up" or something like that. No, I don't think that's really what's going on. I feel like I'm close to Heavenly Father and Mother, that there's light and gold and beauty around me and I can reach out and down and around for truth that will enrich me and help me.

I feel like before in my life I was always mucking things out, building from the bottom up, reaching what I couldn't quite see. I feel like I'm in a much safer place, much higher and can look at and see things that will help me.

Yeah, not building back up, but gathering and encircling.

two things for today

I was thinking today about a couple different topics. First about how my facebook wall has lit up the last couple of weeks with discussions and back and forth about a few links that I posted, the Elizabeth Smart one where she talked about the stupid things that are said in abstinence-only sex ed courses (which is the worst way to go about sex ed) and then one about how kids can't be immodest and we shouldn't lay the heavy of adult shame on kids b/c the adults haven't figured out self worth.
There've been a few negative comments, but mostly positive and there's been good dialog, which I wasn't expecting in the amount that's been had.

So I've been thinking about shame and how it works. Today I realized that shame is like guilt. I've mini-soapboxed on my blog before about the difference between Godly sorry and guilt. This is the equation that I came up with:

shame is to worth as guilt is to godly sorrow

oh! I wanna write it in the logic framework

shame : worth :: guilt : godly sorrow

Then I wrote this down:

• Guilt drags us down and proves to us that we suck, we're not worth love, that we deserve every bad thing in life b/c of what we've done, that there's no way back to God.

• Godly sorrow doesn't avoid the fact that maybe we made a mistake, but God's totally on our side, waiting to help us learn and wants desperately for us to feel his love.

• Shame is a man-made construct that keeps us within a certain boundary b/c we know we're bad humans and without it we'd stray. It's essentially like  original sin, which was a dumb idea from the first time someone mentioned that falsehood.

• Worth lets us know that we are good, that we can know what to do to take of ourselves, that when someone treats us poorly, it has nothing to do with us. It also lets us know that if we've treated someone poorly, we are not doomed, nor is the other person.

Divine worth will never change. Within the Mormon context we may temporarily not be worthy/able to participate in certain religious contexts, but our divine worth is a constant. It is an unchangeable fact no matter what we do or especially no matter what anyone does to us.



Also today I realized that these last 18 months I essentially started over in my faith. My world crumbled around me and I picked up pieces here and there. I've not picked up some and I've put back down others. My faith has been a more confusing thing to deal with. The only clear truth that I know is that I'm a daughter of Heavenly Parents. That's where my faith has been building back up. It's been going on for a while, but I didn't realize it until today. I have knowledge about the doctrine of my religion, I have faith in how the atonement heals a wounded soul. But I no longer push, I no longer force something or berate myself when I simply can't go to church. Things will eventually work out. I know this b/c I have Heavenly Parents that believe in what my divine worth will do for me.

So there are two of my realizations from today.

Three things

that I've learned in the last 18 months of my recovery:

• We are more worthy than we realize.
• We are more loved than we realize.
• Heavenly Father is a dad.

Pecking Order of Survival

Someone asked me last week of Therapist had a timeline of when I'd be able to function more freely mentally for schoolwork and whatnot. I wish that I'd said that I'm actually ahead of schedule. Truth is that I will always be right where I need to be, even if that current place sucks. I mean, what else could I be doing?
About a day after I got that question, this piece from The Onion slid thru my tumblr dashboard. I found it very fitting. I showed it to Therapist, who loved it.

I don't really know how to do more than I'm doing. My schoolwork is not up to my standard. School is about survival right now, not success. I didn't envision my doctorate playing out like this. It's hard not to feel pathetic or weak. One friend pointed out that I'm doing awesome in character growth, in healing. Another friend said that I deserve a silver medal for all that I'm doing (I don't like yellow gold). Silver is my favorite.

I actually believe that this is true, which is big for me, of course. Unfortunately it's not gonna play out that way academically.

But I sit down and ask myself what's more important, my health or a college class? Previously I would've just sacrificed everything else for the grade. I can't do that anymore--like I am physically and mentally incapable of that option.

So I listen to Adele, Jackson Browne, The Avett Brothers, my friend's music to calm me down. I listen to Daft Punk's Tron when I simply can't think anymore. I paint. I write. I draw. I watch baseball. I talk to friends.

I deal weekly lately with various forms of panic attacks. Daily with anxiety now. Last Wednesday I hugged my dad goodbye as he's at Fort Benning now getting ready for a 5-month Red Cross stint in Afghanistan. I'll tell you just how well I'm doing about that. September 16, you need to come RIGHT NOW.

A friend suggested that I need a milestone for each of the 5 months that he's gone, something to look forward to. One will definitely be a Braves-Mets game in Atlanta. I've never seen my favorite team play in person. Maybe this will happen twice.


So I am left asking myself daily what's more important? What can I do today? How can I survive today? How can I thrive today? What can be just enough?

Sometimes I feel like saying eff everything. Some days I want a hardship withdrawal from life. Other days I feel like I might just make it.

What usually wins out is the idea that on the crappy days, another really good one will come soon and it'll be awesome and I will love it and I will be so happy.

I'm grateful for those happy days. I'm grateful for how they carry me thru the sucky days. I'm grateful for music. I'm grateful for friends and family. I'm grateful that my dad will most likely not leave the base for the 5 months he's in Afghanistan. I'm grateful for baseball and how it calms my soul. I'm grateful for sunlight that buoys me up. I'm grateful for art. I'm grateful for school b/c I would've collapsed without it over the last 18 months. I can't believe it's been a year and a half since I realized that I was molested.

I really am grateful for life. It's odd how much I do like life considering everything, I guess. Maybe it's not odd. I've had more wonderful by far than I've had terrible. I'm grateful for that, too.

Causative

A week ago I was driving to school and I was suddenly hit with a flashback. It wasn't the type of flashback where your brain goes back and you don't know where you really are. It was just a physical sensation, pain and "stuff," that hit me. I didn't know what to do. I had to give a test in 20 minutes. Then I had a class, then more teaching. THEN I had give a presentation in Spanish. My day couldn't be over until after 6pm.

I had no choice but to continue on. The yucky feeling, the more-or-less physical takeover of my body continued into Friday. I did it all. I taught. I paid attention in class. I helped students. I gave a presentation in Spanish. Well, in Portuñolglish.

The feeling of a kind of helplessness continued thru Monday, not the flashback feelings, but the idea that I'd never be truly free from the effects of all the abuse.

So finally at my wits' end, during my office hours on Monday, I started writing everything out: the way I felt, my anger, my helplessness. The I put my head down on my desk and thought. I needed to somehow regain my power, b/c I hadn't been able to figure it out for days.

I thought back on an ancient Hebrew verb conjugation, b/c of course I did. I've already mentioned this particular verb conjugation, but like 5 years ago. Holy cow, my blog is old. 

Anyway, I thought of the causative conjugation and I am, like from the Bible, the Great I AM. What was really said in the Hebrew is I exist, so everything else exists. God's existence causes any other existence to be possible.

So I asked myself what my causative I am would be, because in that moment I realized that we all have a causative conjugation of our I am, maybe we just don't realize it. It's not blasphemous, it's just the way things are. This is what I learned when I lifted my head and began to write:

I am. Not the banal English version, but the Hebrew causative one. I am. Because I exist--because of WHO I am--I continue on. I am and so I continue to be. I am and so I go thru another day--even if it's a living Hell. I am and so I turn toward the eventuality of my greatness. I am and so I fight. I am and so I read and learn. I am and so I love. I am and so I will always be.

Justicia

It's weird that every time I think about the soon-to-be-told story, I think of the word "justice" in Spanish: justicia. I don't know why, but it's the best sounding word for how I feel. You'd think maybe the Portuguese justiça, considering the situation. But nope, JUSTICIA.

Back in July, before I'd shared my story so widely about what happened on my mission, I realized that I had an opportunity to do something to perhaps protect others from my mission trainer, who I'm positive isn't a one-time attacker. She lives in Brazil and is far away from me (thankfully), but this also meant that it would be harder for me to try to stop her. Then I thought of my second mission president because he has connections with the Brazil North Area presidency of the church. He came into the mission at the beginning of July 2001 and my trainer left a couple of weeks later and was in his first grupo de saída. (Leaving group? What's that called in English?) Thus my mission pres had met her once, when she left.

I realized that I could contact him with what happened to me and maybe something could be done. I didn't know what or how, but I had to try because ever since she left the mission she'd been working in the relief society or young women. Yeah, brilliant, I know. So I wrote my mission president an email--well I wrote one letter first using lots of Brazilian swear words and lots of sentences that minced no words about how I felt about that deplorable "human" being. But then I wrote a second letter devoid of the swears detailing how she "groomed" me (got me to the point that I couldn't fight back, essentially making me feel that I couldn't count on anyone but her and much less myself). I then explained how she abused me, what, how often where (in a stake center a bunch). A few days after sending the letter, I heard back from him that things were on track to happen, interviews within a church framework.

This knowledge relieved me, b/c I didn't want anyone else to suffer b/c of her like I had suffered all those previous years.


Recently I found the courage to ask my mission president if he'd heard anything further, if there was any info that I would be allowed to know. He told me a few things, but the most important one is that she cannot hold a position of authority in the church--well any position of anything in the church right now. He couldn't tell me the exact form of discipline in the church that had been levied (I don't even know if he knows), but he could tell me that she'd been heavily disciplined.

She has been blocked from hurting people within church settings.

So very few people in my situation see any form of justice--¡JUSTICIA! In fact only 3% of rapists see ANY jail time. The numbers don't improve much for assault or molestation victims seeing any form of justice, especially since there's a stupid statute of limitations of 7 years usually. So if the 4 year old figures out at age 13 what happened, oh well.

The fact that I have seen my abuser have repercussions, that I know that she's been outed in front of church authorities even with any denial on her part--I mean, the fact that I know all of this justice is simply... well, I don't know what to call it. I've been with this knowledge for a little while now and I still don't have words for how I feel. I still don't think I know how I feel.

But still: ¡JUSTICIA!

New Scriptures

A while back, when I was talking to Scottie about how it was still hard to read the scriptures, he asked if I was still using the same set that I had on my mission. Yes, I was using the same set that I'd used from seminary on up. No wonder I couldn't read from them. Companionship study wasn't a safe thing at all when I was with my trainer.

I obviously needed new scriptures, but I didn't know when I'd be ready. Over Christmas I was. All I really wanted was my first and middle name on the covers. Then for Christmas I got a new hymnal. My mom gave them all to me, making it all the more special.

I was feeling in a good place tonight and the first verse that I read in them was D&C 93:1.


Plus I got a new scripture bag that, as Rebeca pointed out is "girly, but not too girly."

The pic is sideways and I don't care.
Also, the bag is not "pink and frilly" as Rebeca AND Anna-Lisa asked me. Very funny.

Holiday Followup

Victory.

The War on my Christmas

Christmastime has been hard the last couple of years. Last year it was because I was on the verge of a panic attack 24/7--if I wasn't in the middle of one. I’d only realized what had happened to me on my mission about 5 or 6 weeks previous to Christmas. I was home, surrounded by love, surrounded by people that cared about me. Some knew, some didn't. Love can really hurt sometimes for various reasons that maybe I’ll post about later.

This year I was flooded with memories of the Christmas on my mission and that made it especially hard. My trainer’s birthday is Dec. 23 and I remember distinctly the full week leading up to Christmas. To put things succinctly and bluntly, she gave herself many Christmas and birthday presents that week, multiple times a day a few times, all at my expense.
She’s a horrible person. HORRIBLE.

This year I decided that I was going to take my Christmas week back. I did things with people that loved me. I hung out (have been hanging out) with friends that care about me, that love me. I have been able to be around my family and feel safe; I have been able to feel love and have it not have it feel like overwhelming hurt and pain. I have felt more like Vanessa this trip home. I’m a different Vanessa than I was before I realized everything about my mission two Novembers ago. My life has been changed irrevocably, and it has been hard--SO BLASTED HARD--sometimes. But when I do things, often it’s because I want to heal. So the Vanessa that I am now is a healing Vanessa.

I have taken time over these last few days to do things that will be new memories. I made it through Christmas. I wasn’t sure how I’d be able to get here emotionally. December 26th seemed like a crazy dream. But I was DETERMINED to get to today with a feeling of safety. I didn’t want the days leading up to Christmas and Christmas Eve/Day to be days of mere survival. I wanted them to be days where I could look back with pride, with new memories forged, with my Christmas reclaimed from the horrors of my past.

A few days back a friend asked me a question about something, how I felt in regards to something in my life. My response was, I feel like a victor.

Today, December 26, 2012, I am a victor. 

And

...And then Mariah's like, so today we're gonna keep going with this, today is totally gonna be one where we continue thru emotions, not the verbal.
And I'm totally all, yeah, no. Let's talk about guitars. I own three. I'll bring two so you can totes play one. And I'll play another.
And she's like, you totally brought that back to the cerebral and we're gonna keep with the emotional. mmmmmm K.
And I'm like totally pouting.

And then, I mean, we're like totes listening to beautiful music of my choice that moves me, like deep down, ya know?
And I'm soooo crying and drawing pictures of warmth and safety.
And I'm going to be OK.

Previously Hidden Details

I never know how I stumble onto things on the internet. Well, it's probably a safe bet to say that tumblr made me do it. Usually it's really funny things that I find. Or things that are really useful. And then there's the awesomeness the internet provides. Or things that are from of Brazil. Important things, too. etc. etc. etc.


The one that I found yesterday isn't in quite the same vein, but it's caused me to think a lot about what I've posted on this blog and how I've posted it--well, better put, what I haven't explicitly said and why.

I found this link and some of the things said resonated with me:

"I kept it to myself because it was an embarrassing thing: I was bigger than she was." 

Because society does not widely recognize female-perpetrated sexual assault, women who experience it are less likely to call crisis lines or go to therapists immediately after the assault.

"I had never heard of women doing that, so it just didn't fit into my reality."

Yes to all of that. Part of the reason why I had wavered back and for about even putting anything on my blog about the molestation I suffered was because it was by another woman. I was bigger than she was. I was an adult, older than 17. In fact I was 21 and on my mission. The person that hurt me was my mission trainer. I was with her for a bit more than 4 months. Her work on getting me to the point that she could abuse me took little more than a transfer and started pretty much on my first day in the mission field.

It just wasn't in my reality that this could happen on a mission. You know, trust your trainer, she'll help you out, she'll teach you the ropes. She totally power tripped on this, I mean, obviously.


Another part from the website that I found had this statement to which I gave an AMEN:

If we are raped by a woman and are not lesbian or bisexual, we may fear that people will assume we are gay.

I was terrified of people thinking this of me, not because I find homosexuality wrong, but because then it would mean that I was complicit. Who would understand? I knew that I was straight. Was I just giving off a vibe and so she acted on it? For years I figured that it must've been that. It was my fault.

I'd already had had a person--a family member--start spreading a rumor saying that I was gay and he even decided to let people know who my mystical lesbian lover was. I've already had to come out as straight once. There's nothing like someone spreading rumors about your sexuality. It all played right into my fear. Obviously I give off that vibe. orrrrr maybe that person was just a selfish jerk (which I realize now). But this was not long after I had realized that I'd been abused. Talk about terrible timing.

It's taken me a long time to be able to post this aspect outright. I'd be lying if I didn't say that I still feel embarrassed about it here and there, that I don't think guiltily, "Well, I was bigger, I should've just pushed her off."

But abuse isn't like that. After she got transferred away from being my companion, she was in a neighboring city and we all went to the same stake center for district and zone meetings. She would corner me in the bathroom and get her quick fix. We would have to spend the night in the main zone city sometimes because of zone meetings or whatever reason. Those were her favorite nights. She'd make up for lost time.

I write this last bit to show that size and distance doesn't matter. When a victim is thrown back into a situation with an abuser, paralyzing fear takes over. I was always terrified that someone would walk into the bathroom, think that I was the instigator, that I'd get sent home. I thought that one of the other two or six sister missionaries would've figured it out and told. I'd get sent home from my mission. The shame and the sorrow. The one thing I wanted more than anything was to serve a mission.

She was transferred away from that area on my half-way point in the mission, the day before my 22nd birthday. Best birthday present ever. I spent the second half of my mission with the goal to serve faithfully, to make up for how I'd obviously blown it. Maybe the Lord would forgive me. Maybe he would be magnanimous enough to let me have the Spirit so that I could teach the people, the people that I loved so much. I love the Brazilians with every bit of my heart, one that they said was like totally not American, but was so completely Brazilian.

I left the mission thinking that I'd failed, that I hadn't done enough.

Now I know that I served a faithful mission. I served and fought thru so much, while believing every day that I was failing. I worked hard every day because I loved the Brazilians and I loved the happiness of the gospel. I knew that Christ loves us so much. My goal over the last months of my mission wasn't to baptize everyone, it was to make sure that each person I talked to felt lighter in their heart, that they knew that God loved them.

For so long I felt like she'd taken my mission away from me. But she never did because I worked every day. I worked every blasted day as much as I could. I will not give up.

For ye shall laugh

Heavenly Father let me know that Luke 6 had some answers for me, specifically the verses that I've copied below. The highlights are mine.

17 And he came down with them, and stood in the plain, and the company of his disciples, and a great multitude of people out of all Judæa and Jerusalem, and from the sea coast of Tyre and Sidon, which came to hear him, and to be healed of their diseases;

 18 And they that were vexed with unclean spirits: and they were healed.

 19 And the whole multitude sought to touch him: for there went virtue out of him, and healed them all.

 20 And he lifted up his eyes on his disciples, and said, Blessed be ye poor: for yours is the kingdom of God.

 21 Blessed are ye that hunger now: for ye shall be filled. Blessed are ye that weep now: for ye shall laugh. 

I've had some many tears over this last year plus. But when I read that verse stating that I was promised not only joy, but laughter, tears of gratitude rolled down my face.

Then I looked back over the verses and my eyes stopped on "vexed with unclean spirits." I still have to fight hard to push the feelings of being unclean away from my heart and attribute them to the person they belong to. It's a hard habit of over a dozen years to crack. But when I read the words, I was reminded that it really is about healing because abuse is all about poisoning the abused with violence. 

I bore my testimony on Sunday. I quite literally don't remember the last time I did that. But in my testimony I spoke about these verses, about Alma 7 and how the atonement heals our wounds and our pains. How the atonement and the kindness and love of others has been hacking away at the burdens and pain that were enveloping my heart. I mean, I didn't even know they were there, camping out, messing with my heart.

I love the New Testament.

11 years

I realized yesterday that I landed back in the US and was released as a missionary eleven years ago. Well, it's now eleven years and a day. So eleven years ago today I was shivering no matter the thermal top, long-sleeved shirt, sweater and coat. Utah is way too cold. The 70ish degree temperature change was simply cruel.



A lot of hell went down on my mission. A lot that I'm still sifting thru and figuring out and stuff. But here's the picture from my last proselyting day in the mission that shows just how much the good can overcome the bad. The more that this year has dragged on, the more I like this picture.

I've got enough at this moment, why worry about tomorrow morning?

There's a verse of scripture that I've finally started to understand, Matthew 6:34

Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

I can't tell you how absolutely confused this scripture made me for years and years and more years. Wasn't I supposed to think about the next day? Like plan for the future?

As I've been working thru the panic attacks (not stopping myself from having them, mind, but allowing myself to have them), I've come to understand the wisdom of these words. My mind would run (well runs still, let's just be honest) thru scenarios, past and present. What would I do in all of these situations? What if I freak out, have a panic attack? So I was panicking about panicking. Not useful.

As I've started to see and feel more clearly, this verse has grown more clear. If I'm worrying about the next morning, how can I focus on being healthy or simply living thru the present? Yeah, exactly. I can't.

This has been a hard thing for me, getting rid of years of this and that. I always feared when the next attack or molestation would be b/c I was stuck, I had no way out. So even planning for (trying to protect myself from) that horrible future moment, whenever it was, was useless. I mean what could I plan for anyway? Who knows, honestly.

But I can't be fussed about tomorrow or next month, I can only focus on the present and feel how I feel right now. Tomorrow and next month will take care of themselves.

A Caveat To My Last Post

I've realized something in the last two days since writing my last post. I ended the post with this:

"...my path to healing, a path that Heavenly Father laid out for me. What I’ve learned from this is that everything happens in its due time."

I realized that it's not just a path that Heavenly Father laid out for me. I have say in this whole thing, too. In fact, I have all the say because it's my life and he won't forcibly interfere. I've had access to Heavenly Father's words and promptings, which is a huge relief. I really feel that it's a mutual game plan, me and Heavenly Father, well, and Therapist. 

Church in its own due time

Church has been this kinda weird thing for me over the last however long. A few years back it began to feel like an uncomfortable place, physically and emotionally. It wasn’t overwhelming or anything at the beginning, it was more like it was emotionally confusing. Since I’m such a huge fan of emotions anyway, I had NO IDEA what was going on. I think the confusion had been there for much longer than I was aware, probably years before.
Eventually I couldn’t get myself to go to church meetings. I would think every week, OK, this Sunday I’ll start going back. Then Sunday would hit and it’d be like an anvil dragging my heart down. This is what I’ve understood in retrospect. At the time I thought that I was just lazy and had a lagging testimony. I tried to convince friends that I was lazy. I just couldn’t figure out why church was so hard.
You’d think that once I realized last November what had happened to me, that the abuse had happened repeatedly at a stake center and in other church settings, that I would’ve realized that I wasn’t lazy and weak of testimony.
Yeah, no.
I still struggle with thinking that I have a strong testimony. A friend commented a while back on my blog, “And just in case you ever question, you have a strong, strong testimony.” It actually made me cry, because I just don’t feel it all the time like other people tell me they can see it.

So what has coming back to church been like? 
Last January I got a blessing from someone I care as much about as anyone on this planet. One small snippet that I’ll share is that I was told that I would feel safe at church. So did I immediately go right back to church? No. I couldn’t. Like, physically and emotionally I wasn’t there yet.
Doubts about myself creeped in, of course, since I’d been told this in a blessing and I knew that it was true. But then it was like my mind was opened and I realized that not everything in that blessing that I was given was intended to be an immediate fix-all. The blessing was much more of a path that Heavenly Father was laying out for me. It was like pressure just rippled off my shoulders.
It might seem weird for me to say that Heavenly Father was chill with the fact that I wasn’t going to church. But really, that’s what it was. I know now, looking back, that if I had tried to force the issue, I wouldn’t have healed. Healing from abuse isn’t something you push. Abuse is something that is pushed onto you, you feel so out of control. Pushing back isn’t healing. Healing happens the way that it needs to if you want it to happen in your life.
I know that there were people that sometimes thought, if only she would go to church, she’d heal so much more quickly. I know this b/c of not only the vibes that were sent my way, but sometimes the words that were used.
Sometimes I felt like I was healing wrong.
I’m grateful that Heavenly Father has been so open with me, that he has never given me the feeling that he’s displeased with the way that I’m doing this healing stuff. To be honest, when I was in dark places, I wanted him to be angry at me. But I never, ever felt his disappointment or condemnation.
I’m pretty sure that it’s this support that helped me continue on doing what I needed to do, including not forcing the issue about church. When the bishop called me at the beginning of September, that was when my heart was ready for that part of my healing.
It’s my healing, meaning that the path of my healing will be unique. It’s taken me a while to realize this. I think it started to sink in over the summer. I’ve had to push back a few times against others’ ideas of what to do. For so long I kinda did whatever. I’m independent and stuff, but on certain things I acquiesced where it wasn’t healthy.

Going to church can still be really hard. Today was terribly hard for some reason. I feel like the biggest victory of today was the simple fact that I was there. I had to fight for it the whole time that I was there and I have no idea what was discussed. Today’s lesson from church seems to be that I can be there. But finally I’m going because I know that it’s helping me instead of hurting me. I’m not going because other people think it’s important for me.

Frankly, I couldn’t care less if other people want me to be there, if other people think it’s important for me. Right now I need to listen to my heart and let it drown out the outside noise and let in what helps. Maybe that sounds harsh, but it’s only when I do that that I have been able to heal.

Church is now mine, it’s part of my path to healing, a path that Heavenly Father laid out for me. What I’ve learned from this is that everything happens in its due time.