What Rises Up--My Messy Beautiful

I want to tell the story of the very last time my mother tried to strangle me. I was 16 so it was over four decades ago, but I remember. She had me flat up against the wall this time. Her hands grasped my throat and she kept squeezing tighter and tighter screaming, pulling, pushing, banging. She would pull me towards her and my eyes would be near her open mouth and then immediately she'd push me back and my head would bounce hard off the wood paneling. I was caught. I couldn’t escape. I wasn’t strong enough. I tried my go-to strategy—“going limp” so that she’d think that maybe I was dead and stop. It failed because that would pull on my neck and hurt. That day her focus was on how ugly I was and how the only thing beautiful about me was my hair, but it was coarse!—coarse!—coarse! as a horse's tail. Screaming it over and over again. Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang. I submitted.

Finally she was finished. She began to cry, as usual, and told me how sorry she was, and just how much she loved me. I told her I loved her too, because this is how it was done. Then it would be over and for that day we could pretend that nothing had happened.

It would start all over again the next day.  I would wait for it. Maybe she would tell me to come to her and beckon me to come through the doorway where she stood with her right arm making an arc over the entry and her left arm poised to strike. Or maybe it would be a stomach-down beating where I'd be on my belly and she would jump up and down on my back. "K-aaa-aa-t-h-y!, I'm going to keep this up until I draw blood...just you wait! K-aaa-aa-t-h-y!" Going limp worked well here. My mother would  pretty soon realize what was happening and this would shorten the actual hitting and jumping time. She’d move to crying and moaning and telling me how much she cared about me, how sorry she was. Then I would do the next part. Console her. Tell her everything would be okay. Pretend it didn't happen. Cover the bruises over with makeup. Wear one of my many turtleneck tops, which were the best for hiding. 

Then one day I was talking in my bedroom with my best friend Yvonne. I found out that she wasn't ever beaten. That she'd never been strangled either in her whole life either.  Or jumped on. I ‘d just assumed this was what happened to all bad girls when they sinned or broke a rule or weren’t nice to their other family members. Like if they put more than two inches of bath water in their tub. Or if they made a mistake while practicing for their piano lesson. Or if they complained about doing chores. Or fought with their brother or sister.  And worst of all--if they had an "arrogant look" on their face.  I would try and try to change my face but I could never get it to look right. 

Yvonne was disconcerted and told me what my mother did was wrong and bad. She told me that I should tell someone. I was horrified and told her that I never would do that since I loved my mother and didn't want to get her in trouble. I begged my friend to keep my secret and so she did.

But Yvonne's response planted a seed. So when I was strangled the next time—that last time—I didn't tell anyone right off. But something was different. I knew that I was bad but I knew that my mom was too.

The next morning, I got dressed carefully. I skipped my makeup. I deliberately pulled my long hair back into a ponytail. The black and blue marks--new and old--were striking. I put on a lower cut top. Not a turtleneck. My only ornamentation was the set of colorful bruises--a stark contrast to my plain and painstakingly assembled outfit. I left the house like that--calmly, slowly, aware of what I was doing but moving seemingly on automatic pilot--without a plan but knowing this was the very thing I had to do. The only thing. 

In my first class, my teacher noticed. She was horrified and asked me what happened. I calmly replied, "My mother strangled me again." My teacher asked no more questions but was clearly rattled. She quickly left the classroom. Other students looked at me, afraid to say anything. When someone finally asked, I told them the same thing. 

"Does she do it a lot?" 
"Every day." 

My teacher came back and class resumed. Not too long after that, someone came from the principal's office to pull me out of class.  When the principal questioned me, I answered briefly and with composure, the same way. Then I returned to class. 

I felt calm. Peaceful. Okay. Like things were finally okay. The day went on. Side looks. Whispers. I didn't care. 

When I went home my mother was waiting. She stood above me on the landing of our split-level home and screamed at me, "Kathy, how could you do this to me? You got me fired! How could you do this? You KNOW that what happens in the family stays in the family! Now you’ve ruined my life!" 

My mother was the truant officer for my high school. She had lost her job that day. 

I spoke calmly to her. In the past, I'd never spoken up to her for any reason. That would have been disrespectful. I said "If you don't want me to tell then don't do it again." And then I walked away from her. I felt good and strong and safe. 

My mother never hit me again. She screamed, she ranted, but she never touched me. 

A long, long time later when I’d hear my name called by someone—“K-aaa-aa-t-h-y!”— I would still startle. I finally decided to rename myself in order to let go of the bad memories, the past, the hurt, and the terror of living in that family.  I changed my name to "Olivia", which means "Peace".

The reason I write about this here is because of that good and wonderful thing--that primal, feral, bold thing that rose up in me--the thing that gave me the courage to wear a different kind of outfit, to pull my hair back, to display my bruises, to respond with the truth when questioned by my teacher.  That thing--that compulsion and drive towards health and life and rightness and justice and safety and self-protection. It was instinctive. Innate. Intuitive. I’d never been trained to do it. I never saw anyone do it. It just was there.

A connection to my soul that could never be extinguished or beaten out of me—something good and whole and steady and brave—inside of me! Years before child abuse was discussed in any way or in the media, this spark of life rose up in me and guided me to do the thing I could do to take care of myself. 

For years I thought God had failed me. That He had forsaken me as a little girl right when I needed Him most. That He was a Father like my father—righteous and probably holy but mean and angry with me too—and ready to abandon me when things got hard. Because deep down He didn’t really like me all that much or want to protect me from bad things. 

Life has taught me otherwise through hard-won lessons. Now I don’t believe that God is like my father at all. In fact, I think that it was God who gave me the spark—He implanted it in my heart when He made me so that I could learn to be brave. It is the way I feel His presence and guidance in hard times. It is my special gift from a real Daddy who does like me very much indeed and loves me more than I could ever understand. When it rises up—when my life spark rises up—He is there with me—on His hind legs roaring louder mouth agape teeth barred and ready to do battle for me.  

May all little girls know Him thus. 

Written for the Messy, Beautiful Warriors Project: To visit the Momastery site and find out about the book, click on the image below. To read other stories from messy, beautiful warriors, click here.

~Photo and original art by Olivia Brown

#Empowered

This post is for the Made to Crave Blog Hop. I'm exploring #Empowered and what this word means to me.

I used to think that being empowered was feeling strong and powerful and able to take on the challenges of life. Knowing that I had full agency and responsibility for myself. Knowing that I could definitely handle what would come my way because I was strong and competent.

Now that I have returned to being a Christian, I have an entirely different view of empowerment. To me being empowered is feeling strong and powerful not in my own strength but "powered by the Holy Spirit". And even in my weakness--especially in my weakness--I can still be strong because Jesus is being strong through me. He enables me. Every single minute. Through each of the challenges of life. This was true before of course, but I just didn't know it! And He doesn't let a challenge come to me unless it is truly for me--something He has designed or allowed to come my way. So I am always safe and secure if I rely on Him. Paradoxically, this makes me vastly stronger than I was before, because I have a different fuel source.

These beliefs are unusual or strange or even disempowering to many people, I know, because they were so to me before. I would rather just be empowered in my own strength and not mess with Jesus, or let Him do what He wanted but not get too close or involved. That has changed...

Now I know with certainty that I can handle what comes my way because in Him I am strong and competent. This does not disempower me in any way. It does not limit me. It does not weaken me by making me use patriarchal beliefs as a crutch or as a weird safety thing because I cannot handle life. It is the opposite, but you really have to try it to know that.

It is one of those things that sounds kooky when you read it but when you get it by trying it--you wonder why you wasted so much time doing other things. It empowers me to be fully who I am and who I was created to be. It also feels very good. Scary-good. But good. It is a better way of life than what I had before. I always like to follow the way of life that empowers me to live the most abundant, empowered, and peaceful life possible. A close, intimate, intense relationship with Jesus is absolutely it. This is empowerment.

~Photo by the amazing photographer LoveHubbie (this is a blogging nickname I've had for my husband ever since I started blogging)

What Does It Mean to Shine?

I truly know very little about this. It does mean something different for me since I am a Christian now. In this quote CS Lewis touches on this mystery.

It is important to me to be able to Shine for Him. This would be in a way that would be truer and more real and more authentic and more intimate than just shining on my own. Since SHINE is my word for the year, I am excited to move forward in discovering just what this means.

So.. what does shining mean to you?

Coming Out & Made To Crave

I have been so gone, gone, gone from my Facebook life coaching page. I keep announcing that I'm on my way back and really I am...I just never...quite...make it.

So, spurred on by my amazing life coach Gail McMeekin and fellow members of a group of hers I've been in since last year, I've decided to take "imperfect action" and jump back just as I am--not ready, not organized, imperfect--but here.

I am taking an online Bible study with over 33,000 women that starts in a few days. It's called "Made to Crave" and it's about emotional eating and allowing your relationship with Jesus to evolve so that you turn to Him instead of to food to have your needs of the moment met. It is free; you just need to purchase a book. I am choosing to return to blogging now to be part of their blog hop.

I'd announced last year on my personal Facebook page that I'd become a Christian--or more accurately that I've returned to my Christian faith after many years of having an eclectic spirituality made up of pretty much anything I liked or that inspired me. This really did work well for me at that time. I am also grateful for this time, as I do believe that we each have our unique path to follow in life.

I returned to Jesus in April of 2013. It's an interesting story that I'll tell you later. . Inspired by my friend Heather Plett back in August I "came out" as a Christian on my personal Facebook page, writing this:

I wanted to share my FB friend Heather Plett's post. She is bravely "coming out" spiritually. I too have been growing and changing on my long spiritual journey and definitely identify as a Christian now. Strongly. This is a huge change for me. Huge. Huge. Huge. World-view leans, shifts. Everything, everything changes.
It is truly miraculous as well. I feel some hesitation in sharing this because some of the most hateful people I know are Christians. This has always stopped me cold. And I am way, way too old to become a hater.

In my experience, "Christian=hater" had been the rule and my loving Christian relationships the notable exceptions. I was in and out of churches but couldn't embrace the faith fully, didn't understand what was REALLY meant by a "personal relationship with Jesus". I saw Christianity as a place for people whose personalities and lives are shaped by twisting good things and embracing bad things so that they can hate. I don't want to be judged as being like them. So it's scary to share this here.

I think that Christianity can be a fantastic place to hide if you want to be a hater, maybe easier than other faiths or where one has no faith, definitely easier than the exquisite place most of my friends share--a place of a generous, loving, positive spirituality. But despite all of this, Christianity also can be a place to encounter Jesus in a profound way, and to rip away what our culture says about Him and learn to love from Him. And ways to live from Him. That's where I am. Farther on my long journey, in a good way.

So now I'm out, too.

Thank you, Heather!

So today I wanted to share this with you! I know that some of you will be disappointed that Inner Sanctuary Life Coaching has changed in this direction; others of you will be enthusiastic. No matter, I invite you to stay and find out more.

Back in October of 2012 I started a 100 pound weight loss journey. I am currently 34 pounds or a third of the way there. No matter what your personal beliefs are, I wish you would stay and cheer me on. You are welcome, and I value your input. If you want to follow me on my journey, subscribe to my blog or Like my Facebook Inner Sanctuary Life Coaching page. The posts on my Facebook page will be brief and hopefully inspirational.

In fact, I value your companionship so much that I would not want to make this journey without you. I think that part of the problem that has caused me to struggle in being here is not wanting to be vulnerable and drifting back into old patterns of only wanting to share from the place of "expert".

As you can see if you've read this far, I am no expert when it comes to learning about myself as I lose my extra weight. I am on an adventure and I promise and I fail and I struggle. I invite you to be here with me.

Love,

me

PS. I am signing this in this manner in honor of a special friend I have whom I've written for years. We've fallen out of touch recently, and I miss the privilege of sharing my ups and downs and struggles with this special person. So, in ending this way, I am inviting you all to visit here, to come back, to share also.

Leaving The Past Behind

Today I let go of my life coaching web site, InnerSanctuaryLifeCoaching.com. I deleted it from the Internet. I also let go of all of my FasterEFT Facebook groups. I am no longer doing live life coaching via Skype. I am no longer doing FasterEFT. So it was time. And I had to let go in order to move on.

I put a lot of time, effort, and money into these endeavors. It was particularly hard to leave the FasterEFT Facebook communities; I earned the certifications necessary to be there. I spent time building my relationships and helping in these communities. So it is a loss.

However, most of the people I truly know and care about are already Facebook friends with me, so I will not "lose" them. And I had already moved away from FasterEFT. I loved learning to use this method and practicing it; however, as FasterEFT has grown it has changed and so have I, but in a vastly different direction. I look at the organization now and see that the fit is not good for me, nor would it be good in the future. So.

What is left is space here on this blog to create something new.

Wow.