April 13, 2017 Show Me Your Brave

One of my dance mentors and dear friend has a day job as the volunteer coordinator at Family Advocates, and she invited me to a free luncheon where I was going to get to hear stories from people who have worked with this amazing organization.  I really had no clue what I was suppose to expect, but I have always heard amazing things about this organization from the other women I have volunteered with through the Junior League of Boise.  When I walked into the conference area of the Riverside Hotel, I was shocked by the sheer number of people who were there.  There were at least 40 tables filled with 8 people each, 2 big screens to watch the video on, and a nice size stage.  I looked around and sure enough, I could spot at least 10 people I knew from my different social circles (and that did not include my friend who invited me).

As we sat down and the speakers began to speak, it didn't take long for my tears to start flowing.  Why?  Well, one, because I wear my heart on my sleeve and I cry at EVERYTHING.  But the other reason is because I could have been one of those kids in need of help.  Their story was mine, only I didn't get shuttled off to foster care.  I didn't know of a place that would help me as a teenage mom become self-reliant.  Though, I did know how to care for a baby because I had years of baby sitting experience.  Still.  I didn't have those services, and I certainly could have used them.  No one taught me how to break the cycle of abuse; I did it on my own.  I didn't have a support group.  I could have used one.  And here I was in a room filled with people who support just that!  My heart was so filled with gratitude for all of those people who want to help make life better for these at-risk children and their parents.

Listening to the stories reminded me of mine.  I realize I have 3 siblings and a mom and NONE of us see the way our house was through the same eyes. None of us agree on the amount of abuse that happened in the house.  We all have our individual stories.  I just happen to be the loudest and most vocal about it.  Why?  Because I want people to know there is life beyond abuse.  I want people to know you CAN break that cycle of abuse. My dad abused me in horrible ways. He abused my mom in horrible ways.  He abused my brothers in horrible ways. My friends witnessed this.  I'm not just making this stuff up.

I didn't start to realize the extent of my abuse until I was removed from the abusive home and my unconscious felt safe enough to let it's guard down and start to feel.  I am blessed that my boyfriend (now husband) didn't run for his life from the crazy person I had become in that time frame (and for at least 13 years after that). When I was 19, just 2 weeks away from our planned wedding, that I was pregnant, I broke down in tears.  I cried because I was afraid I would be just like my dad who was just like his dad, who was most likely just like HIS dad.  Abuse ran in the family.  Physical, emotional, sexual abuse, ALL of it ran in the family.  I was the recipient to ALL of it.  I won't go into the details here (though I am an open book, and if you want details, if you think hearing my story in depth will help you get through something you are going through, I will be more than happy to share my whole story with you.  I believe that is why I went through this in the first place.)  When I found out I was pregnant, I swore to myself and to my unborn child that life would be different.  I would never raise a hand to my child.  I would love him and support him and protect him at all costs.  He would not know the anguish I knew.  And yes, I broke that cycle of abuse.   Not only did I break that cycle, but I found a way to live my life happy.  I found a way to heal from PTSD.  I found a way to heal from Dissociative Identity Disorder (that was a result of the abuse).  I found a way to be a pretty darn good parent and raise some pretty amazing human beings.  I am grateful to have the husband that I do; I could not have done this without his amazing love, support, encouragement, patience, and empathy.  He is truly amazing.

So yes, I went to this luncheon today not knowing what it was about.  But I also knew that I was being called to volunteer.  What that volunteering will look like, has yet to be determined.  But I KNOW this is where I belong.  This is my calling.  I believe that we choose our parents before we are conceived.  I believe that I chose the parents I had to learn the lessons I needed to learn..which include some really horrific abuse.  I learned to love myself.  I learned forgiveness.  I learned empathy. I learned compassion.  I learned intuition.  I learned the meaning of true love and true joy and true bliss, because without having experienced the opposite, I would never truly know those that I have listed.  As hard as my youth sounds, I look at it as a blessing.  I am able to use what I have gone through to help support others who go through it now...or have gone through it in the past.

Joy is my birthright.  Love is my calling.  Compassion is my action.   In an effort to share some of my story with you, I will copy and paste a story I wrote years ago called "Legacy of Happy Hands".

Have you ever looked at a person's hands? A woman might have long slender fingers with well kept nails; or maybe she is a gardener with short nails and rough hands. A man's hands are rough from working with tools and lumber or playing sports; maybe they are soft from desk work. A handshake can tell you about a person's attitude. A good, firm handshake leaves you with a positive attitude about the person, but a soft, limp handshake leaves you feeling like they are wishy-washy. Hands can tell you alot about a person and their attitude. You touch with hands. A blind person sees with them.

As adults, we warn children that a harsh touch is bad and they should tell someone. A soft, loving touch is good. When I remember my childhood, I don't remember hearing that warning, but I do remember my mothers and father's hands. My father (who is a very large man) has thick, fat hands and since he didn't lift a finger to do anything around the house, his hands were as soft as rose pedals. My mother's hands were slim, long, with beautiful nails; although sometimes her nails were uneven because she did alot of gardening and yard work. Her hands were rough and callused from the yard work and they were steady and sure for her needle work.

As a child, it is hard to imagine how one's parents' hands could hurt them, but in my childhood, it was rare for these hands that I described to touch me in a way that was warm and loving. These hands were strong, harsh, and quick to raise. Sometimes they were smooth, slimy, and sneaky while touching me in places they should not have been.

For the most part, I saw these hands strike the faces of my brothers, or grasp the belt that was used to "punish" us. Sometimes those hands would grab my hair and pull and shake while in my ears loud voices screamed.

As terrible as all of this seems, I do have a warm memory of my mother's hands. Maybe it was because I was the only girl, but my Mother and I were close in-spite of the harsh touches. I remember walking for miles talking and holding hands with my mother. My hand always seemed so small and innocent while being held in her strong, warm touch. Maybe it was because we had both been violated by the stronger, harsher touch of my father, but either way, she and I would walk for hours hand in hand.

When I became a teenager, I looked at my boyfriends hands. They were large, strong, and rough from honest, hard work. When they touched me, they were filled with gentleness and love. When I cried those hands held and comforted me, and reassured me that all will be alright. Now that we are older and my hand has been joined with his, we have been given 3 pairs of little hands to nourish and love. It is up to us to show them what a soft touch feels like. They will never know the sting of our hands against their face or the ickiness of a misplaced, slimy touch. Instead, they will feel the security of their tiny hands sheltered in the strength of ours. And they will grow up to have the hands of honorable, trustworthy, and loving adults that will one day pass on the legacy of happy hands.
The End.



With that said, if you are feeling so inclined, please check out Family Advocates to make a donation to help the children of Idaho or to check out their volunteer information.  Any amount of money or time can make a difference.  Together, we can change the story from abuse to love!

Thanks for reading!