Domestic Violence: The Dirty Little Secret

Most of my friends are aware that back in late July I started a new job as the receptionist at Wings of Hope Family Crisis Center, which is a counseling center and women's shelter focusing on the problem of domestic violence and sexual assault. I've been with WOH for nearly three months now, and it's no secret to anyone how much I love my job. I've finally found something where I feel like what I do makes a difference in people's lives. It feeds my soul.

October 1st marked the first day of the observance of Domestic Violence Awareness Month when we at WOH will be involved in leading the community in all kinds of activities and events that bring attention to the problem of domestic violence and how it impacts our community. Thursday evening, October 3rd, I participated in our 7th annual Fashion Show to kick off the month's awareness campaign. It was a free event for the community and a way for us to get people thinking and talking about domestic violence. Several of our local retailers participated along with students and faculty from the Oklahoma State University Department of Design, Housing and Merchandising. 

We were told not to be surprised if someone came to us during the month and shared their story of how domestic violence impacted them. Today it happened to me; I received a private message from a friend from high school who was moved to tell me her story. She gave me permission to share it because she wants people to know that it doesn't have to destroy your life, that there is hope and healing. 

She told me of how her step dad would beat her, her mother, and her sisters on a regular basis and

that when her mother would call the police, she would be lectured on how not to provoke him (what is now known as "victim blaming"). She said that she would try to do everything "perfectly" so that her step dad wouldn't get mad at her and beat her. They never knew what would send him into a rage. One night he got so violent that her mother locked all of them in the bedroom and then helped her and her sisters escape out the window. She said that they all walked barefoot in the night down a gravel road into town. They were terrified if they heard a car driving on the gravel and they would jump into the brush on the side of the road to hide, thinking that it might be him coming after them. 

Her mother later divorced him after she and her sisters were adults. She told me that this experience damaged her, but that she refused to let it defeat her. She is a strong and determined woman who made a career for herself in the nursing field where she is a compassionate caretaker who helps sick people heal. She was also able to break the cycle of violence by choosing a kind and caring mate for herself, a man who loves, respects, and values her for the beautiful woman she is. All of this was going on in my friend's life while we were in school together and I never knew. It was her dirty little secret. 

I'm so grateful that my friend shared her story with me and that she gave me permission to tell it. These stories need to be told so that people will know that this problem is real and it's in their

neighborhood. The girl who sits next to you in English class, the woman who works in your department, the shy little boy you teach in Sunday School whose parents seem so nice - they're all victims and they need for you to speak out. 

It's time to out the dirty little secret so the healing can begin. 

When Dust Settles

"Wait until the dust settles,"
Patience cried, impatiently.
"When sorrow and regret have
claimed their spots in corners
with cobwebs,
and anger rests
passively upon the table,
then the light of forgiveness will pour in
and expose them, 
so that they can be swept away."

Mag 214

© K. Lynette Erwin, 2014

I Don't Want to Be in Your Play Anymore

People who know me know that I love the theater. I've been an actress since I was old enough to stand in front of the television and mimic the singers, dancers, and actresses who caught my fancy on all of the variety shows and movie musicals that were so popular in the 1960s. I was in my first live stage production at the age of nine and by the time I started high school, I'd been a part of so many plays and musical productions that I couldn't count them all. I love drama and I always have--on the stage, that is.

Unfortunately I also grew up with a lot of drama that wasn't always played out on the stage. It was Shakespeare who said that "All the world's a stage and all men and women merely players...", and he was correct. We all have to deal with a certain amount of offstage drama, but that doesn't mean that we have to create it nor must we be willing participants in the drama that someone else creates. The problem is that when we grow up in the drama, it's all we know. We don't realize that we don't have to live with it or that it's even harmful to us not only emotionally and mentally, but physically as well. We literally become addicted to it like a drug, which in fact, it is a drug, or at least it causes a chemical reaction in our bodies and gives us a rush like a drug. The natural hormone that it creates and feeds on is adrenalin, also known as the "fight or flight" hormone, and it's that chemical rush that causes our addiction to drama.

It wasn't until a few years ago after I had a major gallbladder attack and I had to have my very sick gallbladder removed, that I learned that stress and/or "drama" is a major contributor to gallbladder disease. It

was then that I made the decision that when the surgeon cut the diseased organ out, I was going to excise the drama from my life at the same time. I literally said "no" to all the people--family, friends, acquaintances, co-workers, people on Facebook, etc.-- who were addicted to drama and who not only created it, but who tried to suck me into it. Not only did I stop participating in other people's drama, I quit creating my own and sucking others in. At first it was hard. Like any addiction, you go through a period of withdrawal that literally leaves you feeling sick, empty, and bored, so to counteract the boredom and fill my life with something where the drama once was, I decided to write the book that I always wanted to write. After writing and publishing two books, I concentrated on losing the weight that the drama-induced stress caused. Pretty soon I found that not only did it get easier and easier to stay out of the drama, it also got easier to identify people who were addicted to drama and who were seeking to suck me into it. And once identified, it was easy for me to tell them that I didn't want to be a part of it and to go away.

Yes, I made a few enemies when I walked off their stages in the middle of a scene, but I actually found a whole lot more friends in the process--friends whose plays are much more fun to be in and who enjoy taking the stage and then standing back and giving the stage to me for a while. If life must be a theater, at least I have a choice of whose play I want to be in.

We Reserve the Right to Be Stupid, Ignorant, Bigots

Since the recent decisions by U.S. Federal Court judges in several states, including Utah and Oklahoma that have struck down those states' constitutional bans on same-sex marriage, several other states including Kansas, Idaho, Tennessee, and Arizona are in a panic over the "religious freedom" of their states' business owners and service providers. This fear of the gay onslaught has launched a series of legislative measures and bills that would allow business owners and other kinds of service providers including in some cases, hospitals, pharmacies, police officers, fire protection, lawyers, and public service providers, to refuse service to LGBT persons and/or couples for the reason that providing such service violates their religious freedom.

The burning question for me is, why are people just now panicking over this? Did they not realize that they were serving members of the LGBT community all along? And if so, did they feel that in serving gay/lesbian/transgender persons, that their religious freedom was being violated or is this another trumped-up crisis created to instill more fear?

On a personal level, this is not only insulting, but it's embarrassing. Come on people! How stupid does it get and how low are we going to sink? All I can say is that if Oklahoma enacts similar legislation and businesses in my community start shutting us out, I'll just shake the dust off of my feet and go someplace else. I'm sure I'll find another business where my filthy lesbian money spends just as well as anyone's.

Jesus Wept

Then he will say to those at his left hand, "You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me." Then they also will answer, "Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?" Then he will answer them, "Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me."

Pat, your God makes me sick

Between the Christianity of this land, and the Christianity of Christ, I recognize the widest, possible difference–so wide, that to receive the one as good, pure, and holy, is of necessity to reject the other as bad, corrupt, and wicked. To be the friend of the one, is of necessity to be the enemy of the other. I love the pure, peaceable, and impartial Christianity of Christ: I therefore hate the corrupt, slaveholding, women-whipping, cradle-plundering, partial and hypocritical Christianity of this land. Indeed, I can see no reason, but the most deceitful one, for calling the religion of this land Christianity. I look upon it as the climax of all misnomers, the boldest of all frauds, and the grossest of all libels. ~ Frederick Douglass

My heart is with the people of Haiti in their time of deep tragedy and sorrow.

On meddling in other people's lives

Some of life's lessons are the hardest lessons. For whatever reason, I messed up and it has cost me a lifelong friendship. I must now confess that it was my need to fix my friend's life that contributed to this end, and I truly regret that.

I'm reminded of Jane Austen's Emma. I have never really liked that story, and even after reading the book and seeing the film several times, the character of Emma always irked me, and made me angry. Now I know why, for when I looked at Emma, I was seeing a reflection of myself and I didn't like what I saw. (I feel that it is no coincidence that I watched the film, yet again, with my daughter, Lauren, this weekend.)  So now that I've seen my ugly face starring back at me through Emma's mirror, I must take action and do something to fix myself, for a change.

I found a website that addresses the need to fix and found some helpful information. (I'm posting the link HERE just in case some other "chronic fixers" might be interested in seeing it.) Here are some of the things that stood out for me.

My need to fix is driven by the following:

1. Compulsively driven behavior to rescue or help another person, place or thing to be the way you believe it "should be.''
2. Inability to accept people, places or things the way they are and the chronic attempt at changing them even if they are unchangeable.
3. Drive to feel "needed'' or "wanted'' which leads you to become overly involved and responsible in your relationships with persons, places and things.
4. Result of a pattern of getting approval and recognition from others for "helping'' in the past with the belief that this is the only way you can have meaning in life.

 The negative effects of my need to fix are:

1. Run the risk of becoming a caretaker to many with few people giving you the healthy emotional support you need to be a fully functioning and coping human.
2. Experience people moving away from you if they no longer desire "to be fixed'' by your advice, solutions or insights.
 3. Will hand out a lot of "I owe yous'' to those you fix in hope they will be there for you when you need them, unfortunately forgetting that your only worth to them has been the fixing you perform and they will not "come through'' the way you hope they will in your time of need.
4. Might be the one who does all the work in a relationship and, once you "stop the work,'' the relationship will die since you are no longer working at fixing it.
 5. Might have successfully used everyone else's problems to divert your attention from yourself, the only one you have greatest odds of fixing because you can have control and change yourself best.

I'm going to spend a lot of time in deep introspection in order to address this problem. I'm also going to seek to cultivate friendships with persons who are less needy and who will be more available to support me in my own personal growth and character.  I also need to find the balance between compassion and meddling and learn the difference between the two. But most of all, I'm going to work on that pesky little guy named "ego", and put him back in his proper place. 

Thankfully Emma had many redeeming qualities - loyalty, compassion, generosity - to name a few, so in the end, it turned out well for her, for she was able to see the err of her ways and cultivate those qualities that made people fall in love with her in the first place. I will do the same, and only hope that one day my old friend can find it in his heart to forgive me.

A soldier's dog cries when he returns home

Call me an old sap, but this made me cry. Let's end these wars now and bring these people home to the folks (and dogs), who love them!

The Eight of Cups: Severing links with the past

A turning point, a severing of links with the past, which have become outdated. A turning away from established relationships and objects of affection, to facilitate progress to newer and deeper things.

Although I know that the changes that are going on in my life right now are only clearing the way for newer and better things, I can't help but feel some saddness for what I leave behind. Along with this move, my last "chick" is leaving the nest. Last night, as Heather and I sat on her bed and watched America's Got Talent together, I began to tear up at the reality of my soon-to-be empty nest. I didn't think I would go through empty nest syndrome like this, but I think that with the upheaval of the move and the financial stress it is bringing, along with the fact that I'm right in the big fat middle of menopause, it's all a bit overwhelming right now.

I'm entering a new phase of life, now. It's hard not to look back and grieve over what may have been wasted or lost, but at the same time, I know that regret only keeps me from seeing the opportunities that are before me. So, as in the picture on the eight of cups, I turn away from the past, and begin my journey into the future, which I know to be full of tremendous promise.

A cynical view of womanhood

From John Gay's The Beggar's Opera, 1765:

Virgins are like the fair Flower in its Lustre,
Which in the Garden enamels the Ground;
Near it the Bees in play flutter and cluster,
And gaudy Butterflies frolick around.
But, when once pluck'd, 'tis no longer alluring,
To Covent-Garden 'tis sent (as yet sweet),
There fades, and shrinks, and grows past all enduring
Rots, stinks, and dies, and is trod under feet.

I'm not taking this well

Last night I had a nightmare. I won't go into any detail but it had everything to do with how I'm feeling about being menopausal. I think that I am now at peri-menopausal stage, and I'm having a really hard time with this.

I'm having the hardest time with the fact that I'm no longer young and desirable. I know for some women that really isn't an issue--it really doesn't bother them. They feel freer and happier, less pressured. I know it wasn't an issue for my mother. It is for me. It's a big issue.

I'm a Cancer and great deal of my self-esteem is rooted in my sexuality. I was married when I was not quite 22 years old. I was young and very pretty, and when I walked into a room, I could make every guy in the room's mouth drop open--all except for my husband. I gave my most beautiful, most desirable, most sexually charged years to a man who didn't give a shit. Eighteen years I gave to him, and then by the time I found someone who did care, she was sick and I was pre-menopausal and starting to decline. I feel like I've been robbed, and I'm grieving over it.

I want those lost years back.

Ten reasons why menopause sucks

(There are a whole lot more, but these seem to be the issues that are biggest for me.)

1. You get fat, (or fatter).

2. Your skin starts getting funny spots all over it, and it dries out and grows thin.

3. You can't see or hear as well.

4. Everything sags.

5. Your hair is dull and lifeless.

6. If you have allergies/asthma, they get worse.

7. You tire more easily.

8. You have horrible mood swings.

9. Your joints get achy.

10. You lose your memory.

All you young women who read this blog--don't ever complain about getting your period. Welcome it! Rejoice when you have it, for it's your fountain of youth! Whenever you're tempted to curse the day every month that your period arrives, come back to my blog and read this list.

(You've got to watch the following. Just don't laugh so hard that you pee your pants.)

When one loses all hope

I went to the funeral today of an old school mate, a sweet guy with whom I shared many fond memories of playing in the high school marching band--getting up early to make it in time for 7:30 a.m. rehearsals, weekend trips on buses to play at football games, standing out in muddy fields and marking one's spot, and the friendship and comaradarie that go along with it. Although I didn't know him extremely well, I knew him and I remember him with great fondness. He was sweet, funny, considerate, and someone that everyone loved. He was the oldest son of one of my co-workers and I didn't make the connection until yesterday--that he was someone from my past.

On Monday evening he took his own life. He was only 48. I wonder what happened to him that would bring him to such a painful choice. My heart breaks for his mother and family, who all loved him so very much.

The dreaded Bradford pear tree

Every year I dread March. Don't get me wrong, I love the spring, but I hate what it does to me. The biggest culprit is the Bradford pear tree. Yes, that gorgeous tree laden with thousands upon thousands of tiny white blossoms is poison to my system. I go through about two weeks of pollen hell every March because of them.

Today I feel as if I have an entire bag of cotton stuffed in my head and an elephant standing on my chest. I'm counting the days until the end of the month when they're all bloomed out.

I hate time changes

It's nearly six in the morning, but my body thinks it's only five. I don't understand why we continue this useless and archaic ritual known as "daylight savings time". When I was a mother with little children I hated it even more. It threw my babies completely off schedule for weeks, making them tired, grumpy, and out of sorts until their little clocks could adjust.

Grrr...I want to go back to bed!

Let me love you

Come, let me love you. Let me give my life to you.

The futility of regret

There is no value in grief or regret because regret is always talking about the past, and you have no power there. You can't vibrate in your past. You are doing all of your vibrating in your now. So whenever you are feeling regret or grief, you've vibrated out of the range of your Inner Being and you feel the emptiness of it. ~ Abe

Submit

sub·mit
v. sub·mit·ted, sub·mit·ting, sub·mits
v.tr.
1. To yield or surrender (oneself) to the will or authority of another.
2. To subject to a condition or process.
3. To commit (something) to the consideration or judgment of another. See Synonyms at propose.
4. To offer as a proposition or contention: I submit that the terms are entirely unreasonable.
v.intr.
1. To give in to the authority, power, or desires of another. See Synonyms at yield.
2. To allow oneself to be subjected to something.
[Middle English submitten, from Latin submittere, to set under : sub-, sub- + mittere, to cause to go.]
sub·mittal (-mtl) n.
sub·mitter n.

I hereby submit myself to the power of the universe knowing that anything that comes my way both positive and negative is for my good and makes me a better, stronger, and more complete individual.

Jumping into the abyss with no lifeline

I've come to the conlusion that writing this book is one of the most emotionally exhausting and painful endeavors I've ever taken on. Had I known it was going to be this painful, I don't know that I would have started it. But now that I've jumped into the abyss, I have no choice but to go all the way. I can't stop now. I just didn't realize that when I jumped that there would be no life line or no one at the other end to catch me. I didn't realize that this would be such a lonely endeavor. I can handle lonely. I can handle painful. But lonely and painful at the same time are quite another thing.