AN ARRESTING PERSPECTIVE

   When you’re little, everything seems so much bigger and louder than it is. I remember driving past one of my childhood homes a few years ago and I was shocked by how small the house and property were. We moved from there when I was five years old, and at the time, the house felt like a mansion, the backyard a city park. In reality, I could fit that entire property twice over on my current, modest property of a quarter acre. Perspective is a strange thing, isn’t it? 

This next statement is going to upset a lot of people, and that’s okay. I hate cops. When I see one, I become physically upset. My temperature rises, my jaw clenches and it takes every ounce of my being to remember that I should not flip them off or yell obscenities at them. Often, I will pray for God to grant me a love for cops and heal my anger towards them. I am not even sure anger is the right word. I feel rage and hatred for them. When I was very young, I was touched inappropriately by a cop in uniform that answered a domestic dispute call at my house. He touched me just after several of my stepdad’s drunken friends did. The image is burned deep into my mind of his sinister smile and his challenge for me to “tell someone about it” and see if they believe me, a “snot-nosed kid”. Over the years, the local police would continue to treat me as lower than dirt. As a teenager, I was routinely stalked and harassed by another local cop in high standing. He would eventually go on to become the Lieutenant of the police force. He was instrumental in creating and maintaining a file on my “activities” which included truancy, mental health crises, and information regarding both of my fathers – notorious felons in my home county. What an amazing abuse of power. 

When I was very young, my parents would often host game nights with other families at our home. Sometimes we would go to this awful man’s home up the river. He had a wife and several children. This awful man kept his daughter in a closet in his bedroom. He and his wife both routinely abused her. I suspect her oldest brother did as well. He was a bully and disgusting. I hated being around him. He was always trying to touch me. His father didn’t even disguise the fact that he found little girls appealing. I remember him visiting my stepdad one winter day and I was asked to bring them both a beer from the fridge. When I proudly returned with the beers, they exchanged stories in front of me about how “good” their daughters were, and how we did everything they asked us to. They were power-hungry and evil beyond measure. I wasn’t more than five years old at the time of this event, yet it is burned into my memory. 

During the game nights and parties my parents through, alcohol flowed freely. All of us kids were directed to play in the back of the house in one of the bedrooms. I wonder if any of the moms knew that when the men took turns going to the bathroom, they also took turns exposing themselves to us kids and sexually assaulting us. All the men. Every time. Welcome to the world of pedophilia rings. It really is happening across America, in small towns, in Christian homes, and probably in your very neighborhood. When I tried to tell a cop about my experience with being abused by multiple men, he demanded that I show him what they did. With his pants down. He never took a report. 

In elementary school, there are many opportunities for teachers to talk about personal safety. We used to have the D.A.R.E. program in my hometown before Student Resource Officers became a thing. During the classes, we would be reminded that when someone touches us inappropriately, we should tell an adult and keep telling adults until they act on the information. There was always a male cop running the class – until I was in the fourth grade. One glorious day in the fourth grade, the local police sent a female cop into my classroom to teach the D.A.R.E. class. At the end of the class, I couldn’t get up from my seat fast enough. I ran to her and blurted out “Someone’s hurting me!” She ushered me outside. My whole class had heard, but I was beyond caring at that point. This adult was going to listen to me and I wasn’t going to shut up until she did something about it. Thank God for that female cop. I don’t remember her name, but I do remember that she listened and acted upon what I was saying. My entire world changed that day in 1993 thanks to her. My heart is softened toward female cops. (Male cops have continued to let me down over the years, but that is a story for another time and another place.)

It took me over six years of telling my story for someone to listen to me and take action. Many, many adults in my life let me down over the years. They knew the truth and they turned a blind eye to the situation. I’m sure heated conversations took place behind closed doors, but it was never enough. The abuse did not stop until I made sure I told the right person who had the power to make it stop. 

If you suspect that someone you love is being abused, don’t simply ask them and take them at their word. You need to look for signs. Here are some signs you should be on the lookout for:

• Problems walking or sitting

• Frequent complaints of sore throat, stomach, head, or bottom

• Will not change for gym or partake in physical activities

• Negative change in appearance

• Recurrent urinary or yeast infections unexplained by medical condition or treatment

• Runs away from home

• Changes in behavior or school performance

• Talks/draws/sings about genitalia, sexual intercourse, or sexual activities frequently.

• Problems with authority figures

Here are some more resources for you to look into:

RAINN - (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network) 

Help Guide - Signs of Abuse and Neglect 

Child Welfare Government PDF 

Exercise helps me to take back my power and
focus my energy on what matters - healing.

"Heal me, Lord, and I will be healed; save me and I will be saved, for you are the one I praise." - Jeremiah 17:14

Stay tuned for another episode. I aim to crank out the blog posts three times a week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. See you next time! And remember, if you or a loved one is in danger, get help right away, and don't stop talking until someone acts on what you're saying.

National Domestic Abuse Hotline: 800-799-7233 Hours: 24/7. Languages: English, Spanish, and 200+ through interpretation service. SMS: Text START to 88788

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673 Hours: Available 24 hours. https://www.rainn.org/

In Christ alone our hope is found

Run, don't walk for help! You're worth it.

A LOVE SO DEEP

     Of all the times to believe Jesus, this night was the night. It was time to put the pain to rest and begin the process of healing. My two precious little girls were put safely to bed upstairs in our base housing mansion (that’s how it felt. It was 2,400 square feet of emptiness shared between myself and my two girls – both under age 3). I was preparing myself for a night of pain and torture. By that, I mean, I was preparing to cheat on my husband who was deployed. Did I want to? No. Not even a little bit. So why was I preparing to do this awful thing? I needed to punish myself for not saving her. Sex with anyone other than Anthony was a punishment. It was disgusting, it hurt, and it made me feel terrible and used. It was, in my mind, the perfect punishment for the sin I committed. When I told on my stepdad for abusing me, I didn’t mention that he’d also abused my severely handicapped sister who couldn’t speak up for herself. I honestly, at that time, did not remember it. The memories would float back to the surface years later and I would need to atone for my sin. Many times.

    On the radio played a Christian song, followed by a call from a Preacher of some sort for the listeners to stop in their paths right that very moment and listen to God’s message. I don’t remember the entirety of the message, but I do remember this part – “You are about to go back down a dark path that you were never meant to walk. God is calling you out of this darkness and into the Light. Will you listen to Him? Stop punishing yourself and come into the Light.” That night would be the very last time I punished myself. I cried out internally to God the entire night – “save me! This hurts! Heal me, Lord!” repeatedly, I cried out. If God couldn’t or wouldn’t save me, I was going to have to kill myself. This had to end. I could not endure the punishment any longer, but I had no idea how to crawl out of the pain. This was so much bigger than me.

    The following Sunday at church, the elders and their wives continued to glare at me and give me nasty looks. I was sure they knew what I was up to, but I wasn’t sure how they knew. They hated me from the moment I walked into the church months earlier. Only the Pastor seemed to have any sort of tolerance for me. He was so kind. I wished everyone else was like him. I numbly sat through the service, looking forward to the evening time when I would spend it with other military families, worshipping in a quiet home church that Military Ministry started up years ago. My girls would watch Veggie Tales with other kids in another room, and I could freely explore the complexities of the Christian faith as it pertained to Military families. Truth be told, I remember almost nothing of those evening talks except the feeling of relief when they were over. I abhorred military life, and I merely went through the motions, pretending to be a good wife because I so desperately wanted to be. I thought I could “fake it until I make it.” God had other plans.

    I confessed everything to a Deacon’s wife with whom I had formed a friendship. She advised me to confess to the church leadership. I did. They compassionately offered to help pay for Christian counseling with a counselor nearby who was known to keep an open Bible and utilize prayer as a means of furthering the healing process. It was the absolute most heartbreaking time of my adult life to rehash old memories in explicit detail. I would become triggered and tailspin for days – sometimes weeks. I could barely function as an adult. Getting out of bed was almost impossible, but I did manage to do it. I was barely a mother to my daughters. My heart breaks for them, for all that they needed, but I was unable to provide. My marriage was on the rocks, as it should have been. Yet…God was working in me. It's easier to see it now, 12 years later.

    The church leaders eventually overthrew the Pastor, the church imploded, my family recovered and we left the church. I continued healing. Now, I was waking up at 5 am to spend time in my Bible, reading the psalms, praying for an hour every morning, and digging deeper into the Gospels. I prayed Proverbs 31 every day as well, begging God to make me into one of those women. Everything I had went into my faith life. If God couldn’t or wouldn’t save me – no one could. It was Him or nothing. He did come through. He did save me. He did save my marriage. He did restore my relationships with people close to me. He did protect my daughters. He did save us all. I wouldn’t take no for an answer. I couldn’t. Too much was at stake.

    Seeking God took every ounce of my energy, and I had a lot of help along the way. The Pastor of that church continued to encourage me, as did the deacon’s wife and the deacon himself. I had a neighbor who also prayed with me every day on our shared stoop. I still had Military Ministry and most of all, I still had Anthony. Only by the Grace of God did I still have him. The Bible became my very best friend, and I carried it with me everywhere. Any time I felt a twinge of anxiety, I buried myself in the Word of God until I felt confident that I could fend off the demons circling me. I was Mary Magdalene. I was Gomer, the wife of Hosea. I had to have Jesus in my life every moment or I felt I would die by returning to the horrible sins. Let me be very clear here. I did not do this alone and I did not accomplish any of this in my power. I invited the Deacon’s wife and my neighbor to keep me accountable. They agreed and I handed over a sheet of paper with absolutely every password to every account I owned. Email, Facebook, chat groups, grocery stores, magazine subscriptions…everything. There wasn’t a part of my life that I allowed remaining in the dark. I lived as openly and transparently as possible because I knew that if I allowed even a trace of darkness to encroach upon my space again, I would fall back into old patterns. This meant I threw out everything that encouraged me to sin – books, magazines, CDs, movies, pictures, letters – even my cell phone. I changed my number, changed my email address, got a new Facebook profile, and left my old self to die alone while embracing the new, changed, saved me. To this day, I still must be vigilant to not even look down those same dark pathways I used to walk. How do I do this? Focus on the Light.

    With that, he turned to the woman and said to Simon: “Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet. But this woman wet my feet with her tears and wiped them off with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but this woman, from the hour that I came in, did not stop tenderly kissing my feet.  You did not pour oil on my head, but this woman poured perfumed oil on my feet. Because of this, I tell you, her sins, many though they are, are forgiven, because she loved much. But the one who is forgiven little loves little.”   Then he said to her: “Your sins are forgiven.” Those reclining at the table with him started to say among themselves: “Who is this man who even forgives sins?”  But he said to the woman: “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” – Luke 7:44-50

    Jesus saw me the entire time. He knew me before He knit me together in my mother’s womb (Jeremiah 1:5), as I was born, as I was being abused, as I was stumbling through the difficulties of puberty, as I met and married my husband, as He planned my family and then knit my children together in my womb, as I walked into the church that would turn my life upside down…as I sought Him with every fiber of my being and as I sit now, reflecting on all of it. He sees me tomorrow and all the days of my future. Do you want to know what the most amazing part of all that is to me is? He knew what every moment of my life would look like and He still created me. He still, 2000 years before I was born, knew me intimately and chose to die upon that cross at Calvary. When he breathed His last earthly breath, He did it for you, too. He already knew everything about you intimately as well. Isn’t that amazing? Sit with that a moment. Let it penetrate every part of your being and then pray about it.

 

God, You are always good. You are the very definition of good. You see us at our worst. You love us through all the days of our lives, never leaving us, never forsaking us. Everything that happens in our lives, You find a way to use it for our good and not to harm us. Dear God, I come before you today with a humble heart and surrender my life to you. I believe in your gift of salvation and eternal life because of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. God, today I repent and turn from my old way of life. Today I ask for new life through Jesus Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit. Thank you, God, for forgiving me and making my life brand new. In Jesus' name, Amen.

 When you have some free time later, check out this awesome movie I think you'll like. It's based on the story of Gomer and Hosea and how God used what Gomer intended for bad to do immense good in not only their lives but the lives of an entire nation. Check out Amazing Love The Story of Hosea.

Amazing Love The Story of Hosea

Stay tuned for another episode. I aim to crank out the blog posts three times a week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. See you next time! And remember, if you or a loved one is in danger, get help right away, and don't stop talking until someone acts on what you're saying.

 

National Domestic Abuse Hotline: 800-799-7233 Hours: 24/7. Languages: English, Spanish, and 200+ through interpretation service. SMS: Text START to 88788

 

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673 Hours: Available 24 hours. https://www.rainn.org/

In Christ alone our hope is found

 

Run, don't walk for help! You're worth it.

 

 

 

 

 

AND THE GREATEST OF THESE IS LOVE...

     Exploring my sexual identity during puberty was as easy as swimming laps in a pool full of Jell-O. My stepdad moved back into our family home when I was 14 years old. I had just met the love of my life the year prior in eighth-grade social studies and I was excited for the adventure of high school. My best friend at the time, Kat was intent on hooking me up with my beloved. She got her chance one afternoon in Spanish class and sent Anthony a note asking if he thought I was pretty. She instructed him to check yes or no. My heart raced as we waited for the note to come back up the three rows in between us. When it did, with the “yes” option checked and a smiley face next to it, my heart leaped into my throat. This little fun fantasy just became real life, and I wasn’t ready for that. Boys were scary, evil, and gross, right?  

As the days went on, I burrowed deep into fantasy land as much as I could. I covered my bedroom walls with every photo insert from every teen magazine I could get my hands on. Name a ’90s heartthrob and I can almost guarantee you his face was scotch taped to my wall. I even had a rotating monthly feature wall with a calendar featuring the Tiger Beat hottie of the month. Whether he was my dreamboat or not, it didn’t matter. I was dedicated to fantasy. It gave me something to focus on and it made my parents annoyed beyond measure.

Inwardly, I was questioning my sexuality. Did my fear and disgust of boys and men mean that I was a lesbian? Should I be looking at breasts and trying to kiss girls? Or, should I keep plastering cute boys on my wall? I was beyond confused. At the time, Clea Duvall was an out lesbian who was appearing in nearly every show or movie I was interested in. She was stunning. I remember thinking “Should I be attracted to her? Is this how I’m supposed to dress?” I played with the options for a while, but it just never felt quite right. Females never held my interest for too long. Meanwhile, there was still Lance Bass (who wasn’t out yet!) and Tom Cruise (who hadn’t publicly lost it yet), and Freddie Prinze Jr who, let’s face it – was not that great of an actor, but had a million-dollar smile that could make me weak in the knees. And Anthony who was by far the sweetest, kindest boy I had ever met. Never mind that he was also the broodiest damn teenager I have ever met.

The closer Anthony and I became, the more afraid I became of my sexuality. It was becoming clearer to me that as his girlfriend, we were expected to do more than hold hands. The pressure felt overwhelming. I wasn’t ready for that, but I didn’t know how to voice it. By the time I figured out how afraid I was of moving forward, I stumbled through my first awkward, heartbreaking breakup. I lied and said my parents didn’t approve of him. The truth is that they loved him as much as I did. He was kind, respectful, and thoughtful and he accepted my severely handicapped sister, holding her hand in public when she reached for it. She loved him, too. Anthony was always “the one” but he came before I knew what that meant – before I was ready to have the kind of conversations that people dating needed to have. So, instead of kissing him, I pretended I hated him. I broke both our hearts that day. I never once found anyone else who captivated me the way he did.

The lies coming from the LGBTQ community continued to hold my attention from about the age of 17 until I was in my early twenties. I explored my sexuality once more, in-depth at age 21 with a very out, very loud lesbian activist name Jammie. She was everything I had hoped to be. She was a mother, a homeowner, loud and unashamed of who she was. She lived life on her terms and was unapologetic about it. At the time, I thought I was absolutely in love with her. But it was not meant to be, and we both went on to marry other people. I sometimes wish I could erase that part of my history, but I think I will always be grateful to Jammie for allowing me to be a part of her life and figure things out for myself. We broke each other’s hearts when we parted ways, but I know now that it was never meant to be. She was not part of God’s plan for my life, and I was never going to be who she needed me to become.

Three weeks after the implosion of Jammie and me, Byron came into my life. He was everything I thought I ever wanted. He was an older man, a smooth talker, successful in his line of business, and best of all, he lived two states away. We became very close online and over the telephone. He respected my boundaries (at first) and made me laugh harder than anyone else had ever been able to. Our life goals were totally in line with each other’s (or so I thought). Our budding romance was like something out of a fairytale to my young mind. His entire family adored me, and I, them. Then, I began sharing some of our private conversations with a friend of mine and Shelly pulled my head out of my…*ahem*…behind and assertively explained all the red flags to my naïve self. When I began questioning Byron on all these issues, everything began to unravel to the point where he began asking my opinions on other women – younger than me. Mind you, he was 9 years older than me, and I was 21 years old. But, oh my gosh…was he like a drug to me at the time. You see where this is going, right? He’s now three times divorced, has had open heart surgery, and lived with ex-wife number three before marrying wife number four. She doesn’t look much older than me.

Right before the end of it all with Byron, I was perusing Myspace with my friend, Shelly and we were sharing photos of all our old schoolmates when suddenly we came upon Anthony’s profile. My heart stopped and I gasped audibly. Shelly caught on quickly and slyly asked “And who is this?” I could barely breathe. He had filled out so nicely and was at least a thousand times more handsome than I remembered him to be. “Tony,” I said breathlessly. “It’s my high school boyfriend, Tony.” And just as quickly as I found his profile, I tried to click away, but Shelly wouldn’t let me. She wanted details and she wanted them now. God bless Shelly. She was Kat 2.0 and wasn’t going to drop this. I spent the next twenty to thirty minutes explaining who he was, so she didn’t ask again. I figured that was the best way to handle this situation. Shelly sat there patiently, with a smile on her face that was growing wider by the minute. She clicked the button to send him a private message and commanded me to “type”. Type what? It had been five years since we’d seen each other. Surely a man this gorgeous had other prospects. “Type,” she commanded again. “Ask him to dinner.” Two weeks later, we went on our first date in five years. Eight days later, we were engaged. Two months following that, we were married.

I have shared with you already that our earliest days of marriage weren’t all sweet and perfect. There were hard times, especially during sex. It was confusing for me to be so attracted to a man and yet so put off by the act of sex. Was it dirty? Was it okay to enjoy it? How should I enjoy it? What are the rules? Fortunately, in time, we were able to have hard conversations, couples therapy, and pastoral counseling. We figured it out. Together. He has always been “the one” and though the intimate moments of our life together haven’t always been sunshine and roses, they have all been ours to stumble through, together.  There has never been a person who has captivated my heart more than he. I thank God for Anthony every day.

I belong to my beloved, and his desire is for me. – Song of Solomon 7:10

In 1999, our Sophomore year of High School

On our wedding day, 2006

September 2007 with our first child

Us circa 2010, as I was visiting him on the ship during a duty day

Renewal of vows in 2021, on our 15th wedding anniversary

My beloved on a date night this summer, 2022

     Love is a beautiful, scary, crazy roller coaster. It is made harder by recovering from past abuse and deceit, but it is always worth the effort. You are always worthy of love and no one has the right to lie to you and tell you otherwise. There is an "Anthony" out there for everyone. Trust in God to bring your lover to you, in His (God's) time. 

Stay tuned for another episode. I aim to crank out the blog posts three times a week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. See you next time! And remember, if you or a loved one is in danger, get help right away, and don't stop talking until someone acts on what you're saying.

National Domestic Abuse Hotline: 800-799-7233 Hours: 24/7. Languages: English, Spanish, and 200+ through interpretation service. SMS: Text START to 88788

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673 Hours: Available 24 hours. https://www.rainn.org/

In Christ alone our hope is found 

Run, don't walk for help! You're worth it.

 

WALKING THE HALLWAY AGAIN

    Releasing myself from any guilt surrounding the sexual abuse that I endured as a child was not easy. Abusers are so good at turning things around and making the entire situation seem like your fault. I’ll bet you’re nodding your head in agreement, aren’t you? Can you pinpoint the moment when you first realized that what was happening wasn’t right? I can. I was about three years old and I was running down the hall to get cleaned up after an abuse session. My stepdad was standing in the hall, waiting for me, leather belt in hand. He looked larger than normal and very sinister. In my young mind, I knew I was in trouble for something. He was going to beat me with that belt. But why? Hadn’t I done everything he’d asked me to? No, no I hadn’t.

            The night prior, at dinner, I had announced that “daddy showed me his penis and made me touch it today!” I announced it in the same way a preschool student would talk about making a finger painting in class earlier that day. It was a major event in my young life, and I was merely sharing the news with my family at the dinner table. My Mom made a funny sound, stepdad’s face turned white and then the denial began. “No, I didn’t. She walked in on me using the restroom and I told her to get out. It wasn’t appropriate,” he lied. My mother, placated, continued to serve the dinner to us all. Strange looks passed between them during dinner until finally, my mom seemed to relax and realize he was right. I was just a curious little kid who opened the door at the wrong time. Except he was the liar, and I was the truth-teller. This same scenario would play out many, many times in many locations over the years until I finally realized that sometimes Mommies just don’t care, and the bad guy will always win.

            Back to the hallway scene. He snarled at me, like a rabid dog, ready to attack. “If you ever tell your mother what we did today, I will beat you with this belt, you little sh*t. Do you understand me? She will never love you again. She barely loves you now.” My lower lip puckered, tears burned my eyes and my cheeks turned bright red. “Yes, daddy. I understand.” 

This is a secret I must keep. You are scary and you hurt me. Why did you enjoy it so much when I didn’t? I hate you. I will learn to hate you more until one day I just stop caring whether you live or die, and I find immense inner peace in telling people you’re already dead.

            Is it hard to recall those hallway moments when he threatened to beat me? Yes and no. There were so many of them that they come easily to my mind as if reciting the alphabet. It is hard to look back at that time in my life, as a mother who now has four precious children, and understand how anyone can be so cruel to such a young, vulnerable child. What kind of demons must have taken over his existence for him to do something so horrific? When I lose my cool and yell at my kids, I have a hard time reconciling that with myself. I must go immediately to God in prayer and beg Him for forgiveness and the skills I need to rectify the situation so that I can be the mother my kids need me to be. Did stepdad ever regret his decision to abuse me? I have a hard time believing he ever felt an ounce of remorse as it was happening for nearly ten years. Remember, he is still – as of three months ago- a narcissistic, emotionally abusive alcoholic. His brain does not distinguish between young children and adults. He speaks to all ages the same way – as beneath him.

            What no one told me truthfully is that my mother was incapable of loving anyone because she didn’t even respect herself. The memories surrounding the hallway moments have helped to shape me as a mother. When I recall the intense fear I felt then, I remind myself in the here and now to be gentle and patient with my kids when they make a mistake. Their brains are still developing, and they need time, guidance, and training to name and accept their emotions. They need help navigating the world and understanding why rules are put into place. They need compassion. I need to remain a safe place for them. “My kids are safe in this place.” “I am a safe person for them.” “God is with us all.” “Today is….” I have to take it one day at a time and accept that there are days when I will fail. I'm human. Back to God, I go...

I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. Philippians 4:13

L-R from top to bottom: Grandma Verla, Mom, Stepdad,
Me (age 2), my sister Melissa (age 8)

 

Stay tuned for another episode. I aim to crank out the blog posts three times a week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. See you next time! And remember, if you or a loved one is in danger, get help right away, and don't stop talking until someone acts on what you're saying.

National Domestic Abuse Hotline: 800-799-7233 Hours: 24/7. Languages: English, Spanish, and 200+ through interpretation service. SMS: Text START to 88788

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673 Hours: Available 24 hours. https://www.rainn.org/

In Christ alone our hope is found

Run, don't walk for help! You're worth it.

 

 

 

           

           

NO SENSE IN FLASHBACKS

     Flashbacks are a terrible, horrible thing. They can come on at any time, disrupting whatever I had been doing prior. There is often no warning as to when they will come on, no way to fully disengage from them and it can be very difficult to recover from them. The worst ones for me are the ones that engage more than two senses. Sometimes I can see and hear the event as it unfolded while smelling the sweaty, earthy smell of his (stepdad’s) skin on mine. Sometimes I even physically feel his hands on me, which is just the worst.

When I was newly married, sex was incredibly difficult. There were times when I mistook my husband for my abuser because I was triggered simply by the act of having sex. My heart breaks for the pain and agony my husband went through during that time in our marriage. What finally helped was to psych myself up for sex before the act, reminding myself that I am safe, he is a safe person and then I would recite the date and time repeatedly. Usually, that worked. Sometimes, I went into what I refer to as a “time warp” and I would not be able to tell the difference between little girl Amanda and adult Mandy. In those moments, I would panic and physically shove my husband off me and curl into the fetal position. There was no difference in those moments for me (internally) between abuse and consent. I’d been triggered by something, and I couldn’t separate the past from the present.

Flashbacks are the stuff of nightmares. They can occur anytime I feel triggered by something, and often, I don’t recognize that I’ve been triggered until the flashback occurs. I have four kids. Give me a break here. I can’t always be fully cognizant of every sight, sound, or smell in my general region – especially when in a crowd and my first thought is “where are my kids?” Flashbacks can last from a few seconds to a couple of minutes. Sometimes I will let others know I’ve just had a flashback, but most of the time, I just keep it to myself and immediately pray about the situation. I know that God is always with me, and He will give me the peace and comfort that I need to continue with my day. When I need to, I will also let my husband know that I am having a hard time and I need him to make a few more decisions on his own that day, so I can rest easy in our partnership. Marriage is truly a three-corded rope, for which I am eternally grateful. There are times when my husband needs to lean on me as well, and I know that it is never in my power that I can be his helpmeet, nor is it in his power that he is the provider and leader of the household.  I truly married a good one.

Some folks have recommended marijuana to me to help with the flashbacks. I considered it for a while, then did my research, including talking to my doctors about it. For me, it’s just not a good option and I have no plans to ever try it, including edibles. I know that marijuana has become a popular coping mechanism, and I want to give my stance very carefully on it. It’s just not a good idea without a doctor’s approval. Alcohol is another vice that I don’t advocate for, except in moderation. Some studies have shown that certain red wines can improve heart health, calm uterine contractions, and ease stress. In moderation. By moderation, I do mean less than a drink a week. This is my opinion, and you’ll need to speak with your doctor to develop your wellness plan. I included this information because I want to express the importance of making informed decisions regarding mental health care. I know that in a moment of panic, it can be easy to reach for whatever makes you feel better in the moment, but will that help you in the long run? Will it change your life for the better? I prefer the long-term solution of a slow burn, snail’s pace way of making lifestyle changes that will stick.

There is something to the act of reciting the date and time when you are under a lot of stress. It’s a way of grounding yourself, reminding yourself that you’re in the here and now, not back in the past where the trauma occurred. I also find it helpful to recite my home address, kids’ names, and a few positive affirmations such as “I am safe in this place” and “I am with a safe person, named (insert name here.” These are the coping mechanisms that work time after time and are easier for me to remember in a pinch. A therapist once told me that our brains do not recognize a negative word within a positive statement when we are under duress. For example, if I were to say, “I’m not in danger.” My brain would omit the “not” and just hear “I am in danger.” I have adapted my inner dialogue to reflect this information and now focus on the simple term “I am safe in this place.” It’s worked for me for over a decade. Determine what words of affirmation you need to hear when you feel unsafe, and then practice positively saying them. Teach them to your safe people, too.

I want to take just a moment to address those who are reading this blog to better understand flashbacks, either because you’re in ministry or you have a loved one suffering from them. While each of us who endured trauma tends to handle flashbacks differently, there is one universal phrase that will always be helpful when interacting with someone who is triggered. It is “I believe you. Your story is important. I am here for you. “And then follow through with that. Check-in on that person throughout the week and the following weeks. Don’t take their first answer to your question of “Are you okay?” at face value. Until we, who have endured trauma have learned and settled into the knowledge that you are a safe person, we will lie to you. Repeatedly. It has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with our trauma training. You see, trauma trains us to never trust anyone, to rely upon ourselves for everything, and to look at everyone else as suspicious from now on. The very best thing you can do for someone you truly want to help is to be patient and consistent while maintaining your own safe boundaries. (Those in ministry or seeking to help someone with trauma should look into emotional pain transference. Here is a good reference to get you started: https://www.denverpainandperformance.com/transference-and-blame/ )

Me and Melissa, September 11,2001 just minutes after the planes
hit the twin towers. I didn't want this day to only be remembered
for tragedy, so we snapped this pic. She died 17 months later of 
natural causes, in her sleep. She was my best friend.

Stay tuned for another episode. I aim to crank out the blog posts three times a week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. See you next time! And remember, if you or a loved one is in danger, get help right away, and don't stop talking until someone acts on what you're saying.

National Domestic Abuse Hotline: 800-799-7233 Hours: 24/7. Languages: English, Spanish, and 200+ through interpretation service. SMS: Text START to 88788

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673 Hours: Available 24 hours. https://www.rainn.org/

In Christ alone our hope is found 

Run, don't walk for help! You're worth it.