For the first time in a long, long time (I cannot tell you how long because it has been so long), I am sitting here alone. Jordan left to work, Beckham got onto his school bus, and the younger kids are still soundly sleeping in their beds, which is unusual. Usually I would fill up this moment with some speedy cleaning or hurry and put on some makeup before I am bombarded with kids. Instead, I choose to sit. Which is a very dangerous thing for me. I hate to sit still. I never really know why - I just hate it. I think I figured out a little bit of the "why" to that this morning. As soon as I am alone in my thoughts, my mind suddenly goes to places I do not want to visit.
I was casually browsing Facebook posts for a few minutes as I drank my juice this morning and happened upon a post which led to a blog of an old neighborhood friend who is struggling with addiction. I never had any idea she had struggled with any of this, so I curiously read on, and her post from yesterday tells her story. I don't know why I read on, but I did, and now I am not only alone in my own thoughts, but reading something that has hit very close to home, and am in tears, shaking, trembling. I have run away from my dark places for so long, have filled up the minutes with every possible thought and activity to keep me from those dark places, and now, here I am, facing them head on. I am paralyzed by what I face, and decided that I need to hurry and purge some things out on paper - or my computer - before I break down right at the beginning of my day when I need to put on my "mom" face and be strong and happy for my kids any minute now.
So, I'm just going to type and get this darkness out of me. I have things hidden inside of me that have hurt me for years and years. To make it worse, I have handled it in ways that have hurt me more and made me more ashamed. To make it even worse, I grew up in a culture that shames you for any of those things and puts all blame on you, or so it seems. To make it even WORSE, any time I have tried to deal with any of this, I get shamed by the one who I am putting all my trust in. A few years ago, when Beckham was a baby, I finally went to see a therapist for the very first time. It was long overdue. I had been alone in my pain for way too long. I thought I was going to her to save my marriage. I quickly found out I was going to finally tell someone my story. My therapist was very loving, and very accepting, and non-judgemental. What made the experience even more enriching is that she did not grow up in the LDS faith so she was able to see my bad experiences from a greater viewpoint rather than just looking upon me as someone who had "fallen." I had tried to talk to my mom, a bishop, a BYU school counselor, various friends, and my own husband about just little bits and pieces of some of these things that had happened to me in the past, but was always met with what I perceived as judgement and shame and afterward felt like everything was my fault. For the first time ever, I divulged EVERYTHING and was told that the things that happened to me did not happen because I was "bad" or had done something wrong... they happened because I was good and people chose to take advantage of that. She told me to not change myself because of them. To not stop being nice because of them. To not blame myself because of them.
To put it all out there, and stop sounding so cryptic (deep breath....), I was assaulted and attacked various times in college. As in rape and attempted rape. I'm being blunt because any time I have ever tried to talk about it, I have always used vague terms and have played it down and acted like it happens to every college girl. I want to clarify that each incident happened in different settings, all unexpectedly, all by different guys, all - might I add - who attended BYU. Also, each time it happened, I had tried to safeguard myself in ways that any girl would. I was not putting myself in harm's way or making stupid mistakes, as some people might assume, especially after hearing that it happened more than once. Sure, I was naïve and trusting, but I wasn't stupid. I valued my virtue and purity and dignity. I was not out looking for trouble.
The first time it happened was during my first semester at BYU. Summer term. I had recently broken off my engagement to Josh and I was trying to figure things out with Jordan who I was still in love with but who was leaving on a mission within weeks. I was a new college student living on my own for the first time, and one day I reluctantly accepted a "casual date" from a return missionary from my religion class who commented on my missing engagement ring. I had turned him down a few times, and finally gave in one day. But, I insisted that it be a double date, and that I would bring my friend, and that it be strictly friends going out to have fun, nothing more. When he showed up he had some story about how his friend that we were supposed to double with couldn't make it.
I was drugged on the date, without my knowledge until it was too late, and I started to feel funny and realized something was wrong. By the time I realized something was terribly wrong, it was too late. I was completely helpless. I remember feeling like I wanted to fight and I wanted to cry, and I couldn't do either. I was so weak and disoriented. I don't remember much of what happened... either because of the drugs he slipped me or because I have blocked it out to protect myself. I do remember that I kept wishing that Jordan would somehow come walking by and save me. At some point that night I was dropped off on my doorstep, dumbfounded and confused. I woke up the next morning in terrible pain, feeling very confused and bewildered and scared, and realized something very bad had happened on that date. I was confused and tried to put all the pieces together while I was at work all day. I was horrified at my realizations and called my mom, scared to death and in tears, wondering what I should do. Should I go to the police? Should I go to my teacher or school authorities? I had no idea what to do. My mom's response was a non-chalant, "Well, I guess you could wait a couple of weeks and take a pregnancy test." I was so hurt and lost and afraid. The response she gave made me feel like I was some whore that went out and willingly slept around and now she was telling me to just make sure I wasn't pregnant. I decided to keep it to myself. If my own mom came to the conclusion that it was my fault, what would everybody else think?! I was still scared to death, though. I stopped going to my classes, because I was afraid I would run into that guy.
I finally told Jordan what had happened (kind of... I told him I was drugged and "attacked" but I could not bring myself to admit it was rape)... I mostly told him because I was scared of this guy coming after me again AND because I figured I might as well tell Jordan everything since our relationship was at a crossroads anyway. I didn't want to hide anything from him just for him to find out after his mission and decide he didn't want me. Jordan was furious at the guy and called him and told him to stay the #@&% away from me. He was the only one who stuck up for me of the few people who knew. But, he still had his mission to go on and, as soon as he left, I felt so alone and abandoned. Not by him, exactly. Just the circumstances sucked. At the time I needed him most, he had to leave. I was alone. I don't remember at what point I talked to my bishop during a temple recommend interview - days, weeks? - but I divulged to him what had happened and asked him what I should do. His response was similar to my moms - He admonished me, told me that I probably put myself in that situation, and he added that I needed to repent and stop taking the sacrament. I was being blamed for something I had ABSOLUTELY NO CONTROL over. I was drugged and taken advantage of against my will. I had not consented to this. I had no idea what was happening to me. And suddenly I was the bad girl, the whore. Would someone respond the same way if I had told them that my house was robbed or my car was stolen? When an innocent by-stander is shot by a criminal robbing a bank, do people say, "well, you shouldn't have been standing in that bank... shame on you!" ??? I was very hurt. I stopped going to church at a time that I needed Christ's love the most, other than just socially here and there with roommates and friends. I felt abandoned and worthless. I was completely alone in my pain with no where to turn.
As I was coping silently with the rape incident, I was sexually harassed a few times during the course of my scuba instructor training, right about this same time. A big lady named Susan, who was taking the training courses with me, started to see what was happening and she finally started to stand by me and ward off the three guys who were always saying and doing things to me. There was one guy in particular that would say and do the nastiest things to me when no one was looking. I would back away and tell him to stop and he would just do and say what he wanted. He was so gross and nasty. I hated him with a passion. He would follow me out to my car after classes ended and threaten me and flirt with me simultaneously. One night while I was carrying all of my scuba gear out to my car he grabbed me and picked me up and was feeling me up and laughing as I screamed and fought. His friend, who had started out by laughing, immediately backed away with a serious look on his face and looked me in the eye. I was crying and terrified and understandably upset. He looked right at me, saw me pleading to be put down, and said to his friend, "Listen, man, this is wrong. Let's go." I felt so violated and helpless. Like guys could just do whatever they wanted and I had no say in the matter. I told my friend, Susan, about the incident in the parking lot. I was scared of that guy. I was scared of a repeat attack. She turned him in to the owner of the scuba school and got him fired. I was too scared to stick up for myself, and was always grateful for her standing by me. Still, when it came time to testify and sign papers stating that he had indeed sexually harrassed me, on multiple occasions, I was terrified. It was a year after it had happened, yet I was so scared that I immediately resigned from my job so that guy couldn't find me.
That autumn, I was abducted by an Italian guy who had told me he would be happy to tutor me in my Italian. Looking back, I was really naïve to think that some guy just wanted to tutor me out of the kindness of his heart. I don't really want to go into the details, but it was just another incident that made me feel weak and helpless when it came to men.
Another time, I was teaching scuba classes for the BYU students, and I was approached by a seemingly nice guy. He said he needed a tutor for his accounting and math classes, and said he would pay me to be his tutor. I had taught him in scuba over the course of a few weeks and he had always seemed very nice and decent. He honestly fit the mold of the perfect return missionary/BYU student. He was smart and attractive and I thought I knew him. I saw him in class every week. He was always nice to everyone. Not creepy at all. I was certainly apprehensive and untrusting of all guys at this point. I wasn't being stupid when agreeing to tutor him. I thought I was being nice and helpful, and he even told me his roommates would be around. Bottom line: I didn't have any indicators that I shouldn't do it. I drove to his house one night for our tutor session and quickly realized that he had no intention of being tutored on math. To make a long story short, he was aggressive with me and I finally was able to fight him off and got away from him before anything truly terrible happened. I ran to my car, shaking and scared, and drove off crying, feeling oddly ashamed. The worst part about it was that I was more ashamed that I would see him again. That's how I felt with any of my attackers. I was ashamed of myself and ashamed and scared to see them again in public. Like I was the one who had done something wrong. Or like maybe I led them on and it was my fault. Or maybe I should have gone along with it and was embarrassed that I hadn't handled it with more class. Something! Anything other than the fact that I was attacked against my will! I did end up seeing that guy again about a year later. I saw him across the room at a party. We just looked at each other. I remember how hard it was to not run out of there away from him, as my insides churned and writhed and my face grew hot. Instead, I just looked right in his face, head held high, as I casually chatted with friends, and my smile lied to everyone around me. No body would have guessed what I was feeling at that moment. His face, on the other hand, dropped the moment he saw me. I hope he felt like an ass.
Around Christmastime, after the jeep rollover incident and the seemingly LONG two-month recovery from my injuries and broken bones (that's a whole other story), I went to a party one night with roommates and friends - just a bunch of college kids sitting around eating snacks and watching movies. Nothing crazy. I decided to leave early to get home and study, so I walked out to my car alone. It was over by the King Henry apartments by BYU. A group of guys that were standing in the street saw me and walked over to me. They quickly formed a circle around me and one guy, who was clearly under some sort of drug influence, started to flirt with me and get uncomfortably close to me. Then he started to kiss me. I screamed and tried to push him back and his friends moved closer and the circle got tighter. He got very aggressive. I could see there was no way I was going to be able to fight off this guy plus all of his friends who were standing around us. I didn't understand what was happening. Not one of those guys could realize this was wrong? No body could stand up for me? I was making it quite clear that I did not want this guy touching me and kissing me. Then, I was afraid... afraid of what would happen if I tried to get away - considering I was being surrounded by at least 7-8 guys. I didn't know how far this guy would go. All I knew is that they all seemed to be on drugs/alcohol and they didn't seem to mind that I didn't like having their friend up against me. I kept swatting him away and telling him to get away from me. They'd all laugh and he'd do it more. He had me in his grip and I prayed silently that I would be able to get out of that predicament. Not a moment later, and I mean almost instantly, a car with 4 guys drove up to the circle and a guy hollered out to me, "Hey! Are you okay?!" I yelled out as loud as I could, "NO! These guys are attacking me!" The four guys jumped out of the car and the circle immediately split and all the guys ran off in different directions. I ran to my car, got in, and drove off without looking back, trembling and afraid. But I will always be grateful to that car full of guys that stood up for me.
All of this happened during my first year at BYU. Yeah. Pretty astounding. What a way to start out at BYU, the "good Mormon school." I wanted to get away from there so badly. I was trying to be a fun, carefree college girl and move forward with my life. But I also desperately wanted to get away from it all. I wanted to start over somewhere new.
Almost a whole year went by without any incidents. I coped with the pain I felt inside by staying ridiculously busy. I took a lot of classes, worked two jobs, went on a lot of superficial dates, visited my Grandma Leona and Auntie Norma a lot, offering to clean their houses or run their errands - anything to fill up the minutes of the day and have someone to talk to rather than be alone. I never told them what had happened. I just needed them. I went running at night when everything was quiet and dark and I couldn't stop my thoughts. Now I realize how idiotic it was for me to go running alone at night. But, ironically, nothing ever happened to me during those solitary runs. And, I guess I figured that nothing would happen to me that hadn't already happened. I was apathetic and had no love for myself. Sometimes a good guy friend would join me for protection, but mostly I ran alone. All through Provo. I ran and ran and ran, trying to numb myself and block out any pain or regret or shame or sadness. After I had exhausted myself, I would go back to my dark apartment and shower and then just sit on the couch and study until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. Then I would lay my head against the couch cushion and pretend that I was leaning up against Jordan's chest, that he would protect me and keep me safe.
One night I was sitting at one of my friend's apartments when an old friend of a friend called me for help. He had always seemed like a decent guy. Anyhow, this particular guy was supposed to be on a mission in Brazil, but told me some story about how he was on medical leave to get surgery and now he needed me to give him a ride to the place he was staying in Orem. I agreed to help, having no idea what was ahead. I picked him up and he asked if he could drive my car. I naively agreed. He started to drive up the canyon, to the right, instead of taking the fork to the the left that led to Orem. I made him aware of his mistake and told him where he could turn around. He kept driving. It was the middle of the winter and he explained that he wanted to see the lake frozen over because he had never seen a frozen lake before, being from California and all. We drove up the canyon in the dark, got down the boat ramp to the lake, and I showed him the frozen lake and asked if we could go. We got back in the car and he immediately locked the doors. He suddenly seemed menacing. He started to put moves on me and act all smooth and suave, but the more I pulled away, the angrier he got. It was like Mr. Hyde. He was suddenly a different person, angry, mean, and very cruel. He started to force himself against me, as I turned my head away from him and tried to push him away. I fought and I screamed and he fought harder and got meaner. I was afraid he would strangle me at one point. He was hurting me and saying terrible things. He was so angry at me for not wanting to kiss him. He had seemingly lost all control and was just an angry attacker that I no longer recognized. There was no body up in that canyon to save me. I desperately looked down at my phone that had dropped on the floor and got an idea. There was no service in the canyon, but he didn't know that. He was from California. I made a quick grab for my phone and dialed 911 even thought I knew very well it wouldn't go through. I screamed out, "I'm calling the police unless you take me home right now!" He pulled back, angry, defeated. He punched the steering wheel. I thought he was going to punch me. He drove down the canyon very, very angry, wrecklessly and out of control. My new fear was that I would die in a car crash. It had only been a year earlier that I had been in that jeep rollover up that same canyon. I gripped onto my seat, crying, praying to survive. I never saw that dirt bag again. I never dared mention to anyone what had happened. I knew, somehow, it would be my fault. But, I was wounded. Very wounded. That was sort of the final straw for me. I drew away from everyone I knew. I felt like I couldn't trust anybody. And I never let anyone see the real me for quite a long time. On the inside I was very injured. On the outside, I was carefree and happy.
I continued to stay unbelievably busy. I continued to fill every waking minute with productive endeavors. I danced, I worked, I studied, I ran and ran late at night until my legs could no longer carry me, I helped my Grandma and Auntie, I went to the gym any time I found myself with a free minute, and I was always relieved when I would fall asleep instantly when my head hit the pillow. I was so afraid to be alone with myself in my thoughts. I had no self-respect. I was terrified of all men and had no trust for anyone around me, yet I only felt self-worth if guys were asking me out on dates. I had this idea that I wasn't worth anything to anyone except a pretty face to take out on a date, use and abuse, and cast aside. I secretly kept wishing for some prince charming (Jordan, mostly) to come along and sweep me off my feet and take me away from Utah. From all the bad memories. I withdrew from all relationships of any kind. I became very solitary. I blamed myself for being attacked because I figured I must have welcomed the attacks somehow. I considered myself worthless. But I was able to hide everything inside. All the darkness and loneliness and shame was hidden up inside. I smiled on the outside. I was a bubbly, carefree college girl on the outside. No body around me could see what was really going on, who I really was. But, on the inside, I was hurt and alone and afraid and feeling very sad and confused and worthless. Some time went by. I went through different phases of withdrawing from people. I failed at school time and again. I didn't feel worthy to succeed at anything. I went from being a straight-A student with multiple scholarship offers to someone who could barely pass a class.
It wasn't until Jordan got home, that I experienced what true love felt like again, that I started to get my life back together. I guess I had it in my head that he would get back and everything could go back to the way it was before he ever left. That I could erase those couple of years somehow. That he could whisk me away and all would be right in the world. I immediately changed my phone number so no one from my past could contact me. I moved away from Provo and in with a married friend who let me sleep on her couch. I got a job up in Draper away from everyone I knew. I stopped seeing old friends. I was like someone in witness protection. I changed everything but my name. And I started to feel safe. And the closer Jordan and I got, the more I gained hope for a happy future with a very good man.
After Jordan and I got married, I experienced some serious post-traumatic stress. I had so many nightmares about my own husband trying to chase me down or kill me. The poor guy felt so bad whenever I would tell him about my dreams. He would respond with, "Hey! Why am I always the bad guy in your dreams!" In reality, he was always my knight in shining armor. But, in my dreams, my psyche found a way to release all of the anxieties I had from my PTSD. One night I woke up with his arm around me and thought he was one of my attackers, the guy who had attacked me in the canyon. I jumped up out of bed, wide-eyed, and ran out my front door in my pajamas. I hurried to my car and was fumbling in the dark for my non-existent keys, terrified. It wasn't until I realized where I was - at my apartment that I lived in with my husband - that I came out of my frenzied state. The latino guys across the street looked on in wonder as I walked back up to my apartment in my bare feet. I think that's the first time I realized how much all of this affected me. In college I had stayed too busy and had worn myself out too much to feel anything or think about anything. Suddenly I was married and had a lot of alone time and it scared me to death.
Shortly after we got married, my Auntie Norma died unexpectedly from an asthma attack at Christmastime. There's nothing like tragedy to bring up old feelings. I started to hit a new low. I quit school, right after I had made it into the dance program at BYU that I had worked so hard for. Jordan and I started to fight more over who knows what, but most likely having to do with all my emotional issues going on. I had never had a chance to cope with the rape and the other assaults.
I think my job as a care tech/psych tech for women with eating disorders saved me. For one, I worked with mostly women, so it became my "safe haven" away from all men, who I distrusted immensely. (I had recently quit my waitressing job because my boss kept harassing me.) For another, I had to keep it together to help them overcome their eating disorders and all of the other psychological issues that accompany an eating disorder. I wanted so badly to be a good example and help those women through all of their problems. I could reach out and help them immensely, because I understood where they were coming from. I knew what it was like to feel unloved and abandoned. I knew what it was like to be treated so wrong. Many women there had eating disorders that were set off by them being molested or raped or assaulted. They hated their bodies because of something that was done to them. I had been battling those demons. I had found strength in various ways to survive the depths of despair and darkness. I felt so much love for the women there and wanted to do everything in my power to help them see the strength and power within themselves so they could rise above everything and lead a happy and healthy life. I loved the moments when I could make a difference. In a way, that job opened my heart after I had closed it for so long. It gave me the opportunity to treat people the way I had always hoped to be treated. I patiently listened, never judged, and then just loved them and encouraged them and helped direct them to the talents and strengths within themselves so they could find that self-empowerment. So they could find that self-love.
As soon as we could, we got out of Utah away from those bad memories and reminders of the past, and I was the happiest I had been in a long time. I loved living out in Omaha/Iowa Western. It was one of the happiest times in our marriage. I started to feel FREE. I never wanted to return to that ugly place in Utah County where everything had gone so wrong.
When we went back to Utah, things got bad again. My Grandma Leona had passed away while we were living in Omaha - the one person in my life who I felt always loved me unconditionally was gone. She was always my comfort and support through the hard times. Suddenly, I felt like I had absolutely no one on this earth to love me unconditionally and accept me and support me. Old memories got trudged up again. Just seeing old places made me cringe. I hated BYU. I hated certain streets or canyons or neighborhoods, because I associated it with pain and heartache and the old me that didn't deserve to be treated with respect. I hated everything about it. I continued to work at Center for Change, trying my hardest to be strong and be an example for those women.
I met a new crossroads. A new LOW LOW. Some bad things had been brought to my attention by a new friend of mine during this time and it was an especially difficult, heartbreaking time in my life. I don't really want to go into details here, but I will say that I was sure that Jordan and I were not going to make it as a couple. I immediately started looking for new hobbies to fill my time to avoid the negative thoughts that were going through my head. I had to find some sort of SELF. I was in high-alert mode and had to keep moving to be able to keep my head up high and a smile on my face, as I desperately just wanted to bury my head in the sand like an ostrich and cry my eyes out.
I had to make some changes, so I started by quitting my job at Center for Change and taking a job as the new Dance Therapist at a private school for teenage girls with learning disabilities and psychological disorders. It was a new adventure/challenge for me to conquer. I was super excited. Aside from teaching various dance classes, I also tutored them in their school subjects and worked as a mentor. I found out I was expecting my first baby shortly after taking that job. I was immersing myself in my work, my passions, and in my new role as a soon-to-be mother. I became super-mom. I carefully studied pregnancy and nutrition to ensure the healthiest pregnancy possible. I filled my time with reading books and magazines about parenting. I was going to be the world's best mom. It became my new obsession. That was going to be who I was. I started to form a sense of identity based on that new role. It was a start, a very good start, and it is what I built upon. I have since learned that there has to me more to an identity than one role based on other people, but it was my gateway to a new life. It helped that we moved across the country to Virginia right before Beckham was born. I started a whole new life. Away from my old life. A fresh start.
When Beckham was born, I felt so much unconditional love for him. I had a whole other person to look after now. If something happened to me, who would take care of him? I found this sense of empowerment as a mother. I started to take self-defense classes: Krav Maga, Israeli Hisardut, and mixed martial arts classes. I was NOT going to be a victim ever again. I was NOT going to let someone treat me that way again. I was better than that. I was a mom. I was a fighter. For Beckham. I learned how to take down a large perpetrator, how to get out of any situation of attack including how to turn someone's knife or gun away from me and against themself. I learned how to handle myself and how to fight. I got in awesome shape in the process, and felt good about myself. This was my first step of therapy. After the place I was taking classes shut down, I signed up for Jazzercise (because I realized the exercise was doing me a lot of good for managing stress) and Therapy (because I realized I had a lot to work through still).
I saw a therapist for the first and only time in my life. I opened up and I shared my story. I was validated and told it wasn't my fault and that I'm not "bad" or "worthless" or "deserved it" but that I deserve to be loved and treated accordingly. My therapist told me that I was a sweet, kind person that bad people chose to take advantage of. She made me promise her that I wouldn't let other people destroy the goodness inside of me.
I still have to work through things periodically. It's a process. I still have to find healthy coping mechanisms when I find my heart feeling dark and heavy and the tears start rolling down my cheeks and I start to shake and tremble at the memory of those attacks. I still fight to overcome the bad with the good. The other night Jordan and I were watching something on TV late at night about post-traumatic stress for rape victims in the military. We watched both men and women share their stories andshare how it has affected them. A common theme was that they felt like they were shamed and blamed when they tried to turn in their attacker. I mentioned to Jordan that a lot of victims feel that way - it gets turned around and all the blame gets placed on them and they can't heal. I don't think Jordan realizes I was talking about myself. He doesn't realize the extent to which the pain goes. How I still need to heal. That the nightmares still creep up where I am being attacked and feel helpless. I feel worse when I admit that I'm still dealing with it after all these years.
But, it helps to get it out there. It helps to recognize the pain and put it out in the open, even if only on a private blog, to start the road to self-therapy. I still fall back on filling every waking minute with activity. I still try to overfill my days and become over-stressed with all the to-do's just so I don't revert back to any quiet moments that let me think about any skeletons in my closet. The most fearful time for me is when I'm alone in front of the mirror getting ready for the day. My mind wanders and I find myself in tears remembering things that I never want to remember. I am working on that. I am working on creating positive self-talk. I am working on loving myself, even if no body else loves me. That's the hardest part of this, I think. When you're working through painful things of the past, you want to feel loved and accepted. Instead, I feel like I have to keep it all a secret to feel accepted. I still struggle with wondering if my parents will ever love and accept me, if I'll ever be enough. I still struggle at times with trust issues and have a hard time letting people get close. When I'm being really irrational, I struggle with my relationship with Jordan and wonder if he really loves me for who I am or if he'll leave me some day when our kids are out of the house and I'm just old and ugly. Those are all things I'm working on. Building my self-worth. Building trust. Finding happiness in unexpected places. Facing fears. Not letting the pain and darkness take over. Finding my light. My purpose. My meaning. My SELF.
So, there it is. Not the usual blog post. But, there it is. Phew!
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