No More Suffering in Silence!

Dear Strong, Surviving Friends,

Here we are, Day #3 and would you like to know something? I can't get YOU, my new friends, and my tear-stained pillow out of my mind.  What do you and my pillow have in common? Hopefully you haven't been borrowing it, because I've been known to drool heavily in a deep, delicious sleep. But in reality, perhaps you have a similar pillow, that catches those silent tears that no one hears, yet with each aching drop, cry out for help.  Help!  You don't know why you're crying but you just feel so bad, so helpless, so hopeless.

Before I get to the rest of my story, I am going to share with you the day I realized that this was serious.  Because it IS New Year's Eve after all.  This moment in my life was my "Eve" to a something that I knew would change forever.  Today, we are going to talk about WHY you feel the way you do, and believe me, you are justified in every tear that you shed, friends.

We skip to year-almost-16 that we had been married.  It had gotten bad, really bad, over the years, especially the last couple.  His anger and temper and hurtful things he'd been saying sucked the life right out of me.  I like to describe myself as the Empty Shell of a Person.  He would switch his mood so easily.   I called it the "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" syndrome.  One minute he would be great, happy and cheerful.  The next minute, the mean, ugly face would say mean, ugly things.  He slowly started criticizing most everything that I was doing.  He slammed my oldest son up against the wall and yelled at him, among other things that I won't discuss.  The anger was superseding the calm times.  It WAS an extremely stressful time in our lives.  He had a very high calling in our church, had been layed off of his job, and we were building a brand new house on top of it!  We were stressed.  I cried a LOT.  That pillow was soaked, friends.  His temper would get the best of him.  He would yell at me and the kids, stomp around and even leave.   I was busy explaining/justifying his actions to the kids, when I really should have been standing up to HIM, proclaiming that this behavior was NOT acceptable.   I will share a "for example:"

My best friend and I would spend each weekday together.  We would drop off our older kids at school, and then had an "open-door" policy to go over to either one's house.  Pretty much just walk in the house, plop down on the couch and plan what we would do that day.  One of my tender mercies of my silent suffering.  She had just gone through the most traumatic experience in her life and by golly, I was going to be there for her.  EVERY DAY.  Well, one day we agreed to meet at my house.  I had dropped the kids off and was talking to my husband on the phone and he was mad.  Flaming mad.  The crazy thing is that I can't even remember what he was mad at.  Probably finances.  He was yelling, lecturing and making me feel horrible.  He finished what he was saying and before I could get a response, he hung up the phone.  Hung up on me.  I was already stressed and worn out.  Now I felt horrible and rejected by the end of the phone call.  I collapsed.  Right there in my foyer hall thingy.  Collapsed and cried.  I couldn't take it, I pled with God.  I'm helpless, God.  I'm hopeless, God.  I can't take feeling this way anymore.  WHERE WAS MY PILLOW???  Couldn't even make it to my pillow.  The carpet would have to catch the silent sadness today.  And then the door opened.  Best friend caught me in my silent suffering.  But I kept crying.  She said nothing.  She walked over and laid in the foyer hall thingy next to me and held me.  She cried with me.  She asked no questions.  That, my friends, is what BFFs (angels) do.  They lay with us in foyer hall thingies, cry with us and ask no questions.  She saved me that day.

But here was the clincher, my friends.  I could NOT pinpoint why I felt the way I did.  My husband just told me that I was too sensitive.  That I cry over every little thing he tells me.  That he shouldn't even tell me anything anymore because I'm sensitive and I'll cry.  Once again, it was my fault that I felt so bad.  I believed it.  I believed that I had major problems, leaky faucets for eyes and couldn't be told anything.  Have you felt that way, friends? Do you feel that way now? Oh, you amazing, special creatures! You are NOT alone.  

It happened on a church conference day.  That's where we stay at home and our church leaders broadcast their message around the world via satellite.  I had prayed to God that I would find an answer of why I was such a mess-up.  And what I needed to do to stop being such a mess-up.  Then the answer came, as if God said, "My sweet daughter, you are not a mess-up.  Let me tell you what's going on here....." And here is what the speaker said,

              "My father was not active in [our] Church but was a remarkably good example, especially in his treatment of my mother. He used to say, “God will hold men responsible for every tear they cause their wives to shed.” This same concept is emphasized in “The Family: A Proclamation to the World.” It reads, “[Those] who abuse spouse or offspring … will one day stand accountable before God.” Regardless of the culture in which we are raised, and whether our parents did or did not abuse us, we must not physically, emotionally, or verbally abuse anyone else."

Wait. What? God will hold men responsible for every tear they cause their wives to shed.  Pillows, friends.  Pillows.  And carpet that one day.  And then my stomach did a spin.  Did I fit in the category of abuse? Noooooo.  I never thought I was abused!!  That's where Julia Roberts gets hit by her husband in that one movie because she can't line the cans or towels correctly.  This wasn't me.  Or was it? The following Monday, I dropped my daughter off at preschool and sat in the WalMart parking lot, researching emotional and verbal abuse.  For three hours, I cried....facing reality that, indeed, I was a SURVIVOR (not victim) of abuse.  I looked up symptoms, articles, and forums.  I could check mark just about every symptom off.  This was Hard Reality Monday.  Now that I had that information, what would I do? For a couple of days I prayed, asking God what I should do.  I decided to pull Early Twenties Strong Girl from the grave and confront him.  A few days later, we had a few moments alone.  I had him watch this specific clip of the conference.  

He looked at me and said, "Is that what you think I do? Abuse you?" 

I replied, "Yes. I think we need help." 

Darn that Early Twenties Strong Girl! When was she going to learn her lesson? Husband got so irate and mad that I would even accuse him of that.  He didn't speak to me for a few days.  His looks killed my soul even more.  I decided that was a wrong move, and quickly swept that conversation and experience under the rug.  We wouldn't bring it up again.  Until later..... another big mistake.

So now what, my New Year's Eve friends? Here is my challenge to you today:

You are going to be okay.  You ARE going to be okay.  If you feel that you are/have been abused in any way, shape or form, look it up today.  Do the Google.  And if you feel that you fit in those categories/symptoms, just know that you ARE going to be okay.  Then it will be thinking time.  Prayer time.  Time to figure out how you are going to handle what you need to handle.  Today is Realization Eve.  And remember, I'm your friend that will be holding your hand, every step of the way.  YOU are amazing.  YOU are brave.  YOU are strong.  And YOU can do this.  

Also, a reminder to my disclaimer: I am NOT promoting divorce.  I AM promoting God.  He will tell you what the right thing to do is.  

Strengthly yours,

aMOMynous 

PS-Last challenge: Go and get a new pillow today. With a nice pillow case.  A symbol that on the Eve of your discovery, you'll have a NEW pillow that won't have to accept silent tears.  Anymore.  

Early Twenties Strong-ish Girl Has Her First Baby......

My Strong Friends,

Here I am, almost 1 o'clock in the morning and all of my thoughts are wanting to seep out of my fingertips onto the screen and into your hearts.  Where do I begin? I begin with this......

You are STILL not alone.  I am here for you.  Holding your hand.  Letting my strength permeate into your hand, so you realize you've made it a day and you can do another one.  God knows you.  He wants you to make it.  He wants you to smile.  He wants you to fulfill your mission in life.  He knows you can do it.  I know you can do it, too.

I pick up my story where I left off.  When Early Twenties Strong Girl cried in my pillow for the first time.  It actually became quite routine-almost as if I couldn't go to sleep at night without the wetness. It was my new comfort.  As each tear left my eye and fell to the pillow, part of my soul went with it.  I became Strong-ish.  The first year that we were married wasn't too shabby.  We went to school, lived in a tiny little apartment.  I worked as a server and put my new husband through school.  We spent $40 a week on groceries...which I thought was a TON! Hahaha....I have teenagers now.  I think the teens go through $40 a day!  We were still trying to figure out sex.  He wanted it morning, noon and night and everything in between and I wanted it, well, I wasn't even sure I had it figured out yet.  But I remember that this was a happy time.  We were making things work.  Making it work so much that we decided we would like to add a baby to the mix.  We ARE supposed to multiply and replenish the earth, right? So we tried for a few months.  In the meantime, we  moved to a university where my husband could continue his studies.  And then presto! Pregnant! So THAT'S how that works!  And boy did it work.  The throw ups started.  Feeling sick ALL of the time.  I remember I had made a delicious roast beef dinner.  I scarfed it down way too fast.  About 2 minutes later I ran to the bathroom and threw it right back up.  And I'll be honest.  It tasted just as good coming back up as it did going down.  There.  I said it.  Dry heave all you want.  

But for the record, that's how good my roast beef dinner is.

The whole time that I was pregnant, the sex just didn't sound appealing.  I didn't want it.  Honestly, I felt so miserable that how could I possibly stand 5 minutes of intimacy?  Maybe 4 if I was lucky.  That was my mistake.  I should have dealt with it.  Sacrifice, so to speak, for my husband.  Please him and then spend the rest of the night lurching over the toilet.  I should have, friends.  But I didn't.  I refused over and over again, which told him that I didn't love him, or that I was not interested in him. He couldn't understand.  It made him feel rejected, not loved.  I didn't realize that.  I figured that he could see that the toilet was my new best friend, not him.  And remember, Early Twenties Strong-ish Girl was feeling just that.  "Ish."  Then I started gaining weight and feeling unattractive.  It was a downward spiral in the sex department....with me feeling sick, overweight, not sexy and the last thing I wanted to do was THAT.

That's when I stumbled across it.  It broke my heart.  Those images will never leave my mind.  Because I didn't look like those images.  I confronted.  I cried.  I sobbed.  I was to deliver my new baby in just about 6 weeks and devastation overtook my life.  It wasn't the act that devastated me.  It was the reasoning:

"Because you won't give me what I need and desire, I had no other choice."

It was my fault.  My swollen ankles, basketball of a stomach, and chubby face.  My fault.  At that moment, I just turned into Early Twenties Ish Girl.  The mean, ugly, twisted face told me that I was the problem of his problem.  And I believed it.  I wasn't sexy.  I wasn't attractive.  And I wouldn't give him what he desired most.  A huge part of me died that day, while I was still carrying the new life that was about to begin.  I began to talk negatively to myself.  If I just would have given him what he needed.  My fault.  My fault.  My fault.  The tears on my pillow increased.  Tears of sorrow, regret, anger, ugliness.  That's what I was now.  Ugly.  Early Twenties Ugly Girl.

I did have my baby.  What a learning experience! A highlight and joy to my life, with the greatest sleep depravation that ever existed.  Trying to figure out how the milk coming out of my boobs worked.   And what to do when the baby cried.  And how to clip his fingernails without them bleeding.  And seeing his first smile.  And singing children's songs to him.  All while dealing with the deep down decreasing happiness. Because there were more images.  More blame.  Less desire because of my post baby fat.  Downward spiral in the sex department.

So why do I share such a private detail of my life? Because I know that I'm not the only one.  I'm not the only one that has felt ugly when such a problem arises.  I'm not the only one that suffers from the embarrassment of not giving her husband enough sex, so he has no other choice.  I'm not alone here, friends.  I know it. I know you understand.  I do have a regret, though.  I wish I would have gotten over myself.  Early Twenties Strong Girl would have rocked those swollen ankles, shoved them into high heels with power tools if necessary, and put some blush on those chubby cheeks.  My problem is that I let my disappointments in myself and my husband get the best of me.  I didn't help resolve the problem.  I let it ruin my self worth.

So here we are, Day 2 of our journey together.  Strength.  It's how we do.  It's how we're GONNA do.

Friends, let's get over ourselves.  Let's rock those high heels, chubby ankles or not.  Men, do what you want with the high heels.  I won't judge.  Either way, we need to get over ourselves....remember your strength.  You have it.  Do some soul searching to find it.  Let God help you. Get on your knees and pray to muster up the strength you need for your journey ahead.  God is waiting for you.  He's your #1 advocate for YOU.  I'm your #2.  Once you find that pea-sized amount of strength, grasp onto it.  You're going to need it.

You are amazing, my new friends.  God knows your hurt, your heart, your anguish.  You can do this.  Use that pea-size strength as a reminder of your worth.  Your value.  Your importance.  Because you are.      

Strengthly yours,

aMOMynous

PS: I wasn't planning to talk about this tonight.  Someone out there needed to read this and God used my fingers as instruments.  Until tomorrow.....

Heeeere I go!! In the most aMOMynous way..............

Dear readers-whom-I-now-call-friends,

I am nervous.  I am about to expose myself to the world.  aMOMynously, of course.  I can't reveal my true identity because of the details of my life and protection of my loved ones.  Think of Super Heroes that we are familiar with.  No one knows their true identity, as a protection to themselves and those around them.  But Super Heroes have one purpose.  To save people.  Save people from harm.  Save people from danger.  SAVE PEOPLE'S LIVES.  I want to save you from harm.  I want to save you from danger.  I want to help save your life.  Here is my story:

I am a mom in her 30s-ish.  I have the most beautiful children anyone could ask for.  I am very religious and some of my readers might recognize my church lingo i.e.: FHE, Family Prayer and Family Scripture Study.  I had that "perfect image" to those around me, for so many years.  Beautiful house, beautiful kids, involvement in schools/PTA, high calling in church, delivering dinners to new mommas and the homeless, smile plastered on-always.  NO ONE knew of my suffering.  Even I didn't realize the extent of my suffering.  I divorced my husband a year ago and haven't looked back.  Why, you ask?

Because I am a victim of abuse.  Not the physical abuse (although those that have been physically abused will and SHOULD be able to relate).  This is emotional, verbal, and spiritual abuse that I'm talking about.  And guess what, friends? We don't really talk about this type of abuse.  We just think that we are sensitive creatures and we should buck up and take it, right? Because they're just words.  They don't leave a bruise, cut or scar.   But I have news for you, loved ones.  Sometimes I wished he would have hit me.  That way I could have physical evidence of how bad I was hurting on the inside.  As I would lie in bed at night, crying, because I wasn't "sexual like my friend Sarah (*names have been changed) or devoted like my friend Kari", because I couldn't even manage to balance a correct checkbook, I was spending too much time working out, everything in the world that I had done wrong that day......I prayed to just be beaten instead.  That physical pain would have helped to distract me from the internal pain I felt.  Instead, I was dealing with tears wetting my pillow, not able to pinpoint that anything was wrong.  After all, it was ME that was causing all of these problems.  If I would be more sexual, devoted, and flabby I wouldn't be hearing anything about it, right?

Sidenote: I HATE the word "victim".  It makes me sound weak, helpless, hopeless.  Let's change that word today, friends.  I AM A "SURVIVOR" OF ABUSE.  Are you a survivor? Yes, you are!! You will be.  Are YOU a SuperHero? Absolutely, friends.  In God's eyes and mine, you have no idea the amount of Super Hero-ness you have in you.  And now I, in my Survivor Super Hero Strength, vow to help you, my friends, call yourselves Super Hero SURVIVORS.

Sidenote to the Sidenote:  You know you're singing Destiny Child's "Survivor" right now in your head....sing it. Sing it loud, friends!!

My Survival story begins:

It happened on a beautiful, crisp Spring day.  We were in our early twenties.  We had only been married for a couple of months....we were trying to figure things out, like most newlyweds.  Intertwining lives, figuring out our future, figuring out sex, figuring out what to cook for dinner.  We had been with his family the night before at a gathering.  They were talking very rudely about one of their family members, behind her back.  I was not raised this way.  It bothered me.  To the point that I felt that I needed to address it the next morning.  And so commenced our first fight.  Normal, right? Absolutely.  Couples fight, disagree, argue.  But it quickly turned "not normal."  He exploded.  Raged.  Slammed the door and stormed away.  Well, at the time, I was Early Twenties Strong Girl.  This was unacceptable behavior coming from my new husband.  Oh yah, he would hear about it later that night.  Later that night.  Later that night.  The beginning of the end.

When he got home from work, I firmly told him that no man should treat his wife like that.  Especially his NEW wife, whom he had just vowed he would take care of for eternity! Early Twenties Strong Girl was about to learn a lesson.  To NEVER stand up for mistreatment like that.  I don't remember what was said. I only remember his face.  Twisted, mean, ugly. In a rage, right next to the bathroom.  Once again, storming off, leaving me alone.  Alone for the next three days.  Oh, he was present.  But the silence was ear shattering.  I distinctly remember laying in bed that night, my tears wetting my pillow for the first time, weeping silently as to not wake him up, thinking, "God, what have I done?"  My internal struggle of heart break...who was this man I married a short time ago? I promised I would be his for eternity a couple of months ago.  Is this how my life was going to be? I talked myself through it, thinking, "this is normal, couples fight, I shouldn't stand up to my husband and peace will ensue." A part of me was sucked away that night.  I was scared.  I didn't want to see that twisted, mean, ugly face ever again.  

A few days later, he came to me and apologized, telling me the things I wanted to hear.  Telling me he would try harder and not mistreat me like that again.  I believed him.  I am/was forever the optimist.  We made up and went on our way.  But a part of me had died that tear-stained pillowed night.  

And so here I am, 17 years later, ready to share my story with you, my new friends.  As we begin this journey together, I have a few disclaimers:

          1) I am NOT promoting divorce.  Even though I am divorced now, I believe that early on, or even midway, we could have saved our marriage.  If Early Twenties Strong Girl would have remained stubborn and not backed down, we could have gotten the counseling/help we needed.  I succumbed to submission, my HUGE mistake.  Divorce is hard.  It became my only option.  The damage had been done and it was too late.  I have children that are suffering the after effects of divorce.  But they are amazing.  They are Super Heroes in their own sense.  What I am telling YOU is that you can be the Super Hero of your life, your marriage.  Save it.  Before it's too late.  If it's too late, I am here to hold your hand, to let you know you're not alone.  You have to do what's best for you.  I am here for you.

         2) I am NOT a man hater.  In fact, men are SURVIVORS, too.  I have talked to several men that have been abused in the same way.  Men, join me in your journey.  We're all in this together, as High School Musical so profoundly sang.  Let's get ourselves healed, renewed and ready to help others....pass on our Super Hero Strength, if you will.

Tomorrow, I will continue my story.  It's a good one.  I think Lifetime will want to buy the movie rights.  I am good with that.  Angelina Jolie is welcome to play my role. As for today, I leave you with this challenge:

Change your pillowcase.  Don't do the disservice of wetting it with your tears.  Look yourself in the mirror and tell yourself that you are NOT ALONE.  You've made a new friend today.  A friend that will help you, strengthen you and hopefully save you.  You have a mission to fulfill.  That's up to you to find out.  And hopefully, through my posts, you will find out for yourself.  Most of all, find that STRENGTH that is inside of you.  You have it.  Find it.

Oh! And smile.  You're worth it.

Now I'm off to the gym....my Sanctuary of Strength.  And I'm not in trouble because I'm going.


Strengthly yours,

aMOMynous