Family Fun Friday

I've been meaning to post these pictures for awhile now. It's a darn shame just how late some of them are, but better late than never, right?

I mentioned in an earlier post that we traveled to the Gulf Coast for my birthday in March. We had an awesome time. Just me and my boys.

View from the Condo

Friend, My Heart and Soul and Favorite Nephew (shhh, don't tell my other nephews!)














In April, I escorted my boys to the Space Museum and Rocket Center in Huntsville, AL. The boys had their first experience on a rock climbing wall. Here they are receiving their instructions. Both of them told me how scared they were, but they climbed that wall like they were born to it. I thought I had videotaped the experience, but a funny thing happens when you don't hit the 'record' button. . . NOTHING!! ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!










In June, the Cub Scouts had an outing at a local nature center where we discoved all kinds of fun things including insects, snakes, geese and poisonous plants. The mama's response was "ewwww" but the boys LOVED it!







And finally, my child tells me that this story is not complete without showing the other members of our family. Meet Chuckie and Lillian!

The wisdom to know the difference. . .

I was molested as a child. Repeatedly. Over the course of many years.

For the longest time, I never spoke a word of it; believing that somehow there was something wrong with me that caused that individual to target me and that I was responsible for his actions because I never told.

That's a heavy burden for a 4 year old.

For the longest time, I never fully realized that, even after I was moved out of his grasp and eventually grew into adulthood, I remained that terrified, abused little girl. I continued to allow his abuse and control to reign over me, at least figuratively.

Two recent events brought this piece of my personal history back to me. I ran into a former lover about 6 months ago. He was someone who knew me before I fully understood that I still carried significant baggage from my childhood and before I recognized the significant impact it had on my romantic and sexual relationships. This individual made the unfortunate mistake of forcing himself on me sexually. Even though we had been intimate for over a year at that time, the idea of him taking the choice of consent away from me destroyed me and our relationship. I thought I was madly in love with this person, but in the middle of an argument he was not able to win, he chose to control and master me with sex.

Big mistake.

We had an opportunity to discuss that earlier this year and even after all this time, he still didn't "get it"; he didn't understand how "one little mistake" could end our relationship. He couldn't understand how I could not stand to look at him, much less have him to touch me in anyway. I was literally nauseous whenever I heard his voice.

Well, unfortunately for him, at this point, I no longer cared to go through the motions of trying to explain it to him. I didn't share with him, but was both pleased and curious to discover about myself, was that, it and he, no longer had the emotional impact they once did. My lack of interest was due to both my own growth, as well as to my realization of what a selfish, self-centered pig he was then and now. I chose him because I didn't think I deserved better.

But, THANK GOD, I finally got a clue, I understood. I experienced an epiphany that showed me the extent to which I had allowed my abuser to control me, long after he had lost physical control. For years, he controlled my thoughts, my emotions, my choices, my fears. . .

For the longest time I was unable to sleep on my back and I couldn't sleep without being covered up, from head to toe, in sometimes 2-3 blankets, even in the middle of a southern summer. I had done this since I was a kid. Indeed, my family joked about it all the time; of course, they had no idea of it's significance. And for the longest time, neither did I. But until then, I experienced significant anxiety without the weight of the blankets and if for some reason, I didn't have access to the blankets I needed, I knew I would be in for a long, anxious-filled night.

I was well into my 30's before I figured it out. My perpetrator would come into my bedroom at night and pull the covers off me in order to gain the access he wanted. My 4-yr old mind decided that if I were covered up, he wouldn't be able to get to me or if not, I would least have some warning of his intent. Of course, it didn't work, but that didn't stop my innocent logic and the efforts I made to try to protect myself from him.

As soon as I put this together, my need to be buried under the covers ended. I could finally tell that 4 year old child that she no longer had anything to fear. This was the beginning of my recovery. I'm not fearful of the dark anymore. I don't remember his name. I can no longer remember his smell that haunted me for years. I no longer feel the murderous rage that had me considering to take his life at one time. And I make much better choices in lovers .

I am communicating with the love of my life again. I have loved this man since Jan 21, 1993, when he smiled at me across a banquet table in a room full of people where I used to swear there was no one there but the two of us. Unfortunately, we were on dates with other people that night; he didn't approach me then, but later, he nagged several of our friends to death in order to get my phone number. Within a couple months, we were in love, living together and engaged to marry.

I've often thought about what went wrong with us. Over the years, people who know have asked that same question, usually in disbelief when I tell them we broke up. We just fit. And while I can throw immaturity and several other things in the mix to explain, I know a large part of it was due to the fact that I could never really believe that he truly loved me. Somehow I just KNEW he would betray our love and the life we were building together. I never could fully understand what he saw in me. To me, he was an angel sent straight from heaven! So, why would he want me?

Anyway, y'all already know how that story ended.

Over the years, we have been in and out of each other's lives. We come in and then one of us does something to hurt the other and then we're out again. I'm no martyr, my angel, while perfect for me, is far from perfect. But I do recognize how my trust issues played a major role in keeping us apart.

So, this was the second event that had me thinking about my past history of abuse and to recognize that my history no longer dictates my present and future. I contacted him again a couple months ago. I was not sure of my reception, but what I finally accepted, without a doubt, was that I loved him and that, at least at one time, he truly loved me. As we've been talking and taking baby steps towards each other again, I'm amazed at my growth and healing. I found a journal I was keeping at the time, and reading it now makes me want to cry for that pain-filled, insecure woman. I know that he was never intentionally tried to hurt me, and if anything, after awhile, he was mostly trying to prevent me from hurting him.

We're not dating, and I have no real agenda about where we may or may not end up. I want the opportunity to heal the damage we both caused; I want my friend back. I want to get to know him again, without the filter of abuse and damaged self esteem hovering between us. I need him to be an active part of my life again, even if it develops no further than where we are now. And fortunately for me, for us, he was open to receive my invitation.

I thank God for the healing. I thank God that He opened me up to love, both to give and to receive.

Thank God for the healing.