To Believe or Not to Believe

I wish I still believed...

When I was a child, I remember the days, even months leading up to Christmas were always filled with wonder and amazement. It wasn't just about the presents, but I'm sure that was part of it. I think partially it was due to school being let out for holiday and another part was a distinct change in seasons and the ensuing snow falling with reckless abandon. But I think a major part had to do with magic. Real magic. A magic I can't explain, but one I think has to do with 'believing '.

I try to reason it out, now as an adult, and I still can't seem to figure out or pinpoint what made it seem so magical for so many years? I try and pick out my lasting impressions from seasons gone by that have left their mark, such as, music, carols, spices, special decorations, twinkling lights, gingerbread houses, presents, Santa, trains, ballets, bells, stories, Christ, service, giving...but none, (at least by their onesies), seem to create the air of magic I crave. (I know because I've tried to recreate this feeling for 6 years, but to no avail.)

This feeling of magic, awe, and excitement lasted all the way up till the year I got married. Some years it wasn't as strong, and other times it was so invasive I thought I might, literally, burst with joy.

In college, I know that I no longer believed in Santa Claus, yet I did everything I could to make this time of year so special and magical. And it was. I always had a Christmas tree with decorations galore, and with the exception of my freshman year, it was always a real tree. Oh! the scent of a real Christmas tree carries such nostalgia.

We would have parties, we would sing carols, we would drink wassail, we would tell stories, we would go ice skating and have snowball fights, we would cook dinners, we would go to the Nutcracker, we would have church Christmas programs, and then I would go home for Christmas break and my Dad would say, there will be no Christmas this year! The running joke in the family, for Dad said this every year. Yet, he would still read the Story of Christ's birth from Luke on Christmas Eve and then we would wake up Christmas morning and somehow there would be a present or two...and sometimes more that just a few! And then there would be the stockings! Stocking were my favorite part, they still are. A lingering treat at the end of a beautiful morning.

I also tried to make the feeling of magic last longer, but it seemed that once the New Year rolled around, the magic vanished. Just like that. I still try every year to leave my tree up till after my birthday (20 Jan), but it never works; the magic is gone and I end up just prolonging the dreaded routine of putting the holiday decorations away and hauling away a dead tree.

This holiday, understandably, has proven to be more trying than most. The Christmas magic has been completely elusive. I tried, but I couldn't even pretend, like in years past when I had my children's memories to create. I had no reason to pretend. And I felt a distinct lack of magic. And absence that was sorely missed.

And so, I have found myself wishing that I still believed...

My birthday wish for Audrey

Audrey's birthday is the 18 Dec. Less than a week away. I am going to miss her birthday. I didn't think that I would have to go so long without seeing my children. The ache in my heart is so immense; it threatens destruction at every turn. I just want to snatch my little darlings up in my arms and sing them to sleep with this sweet lullaby.

I can't believe she is turning 3! I have missed 6 months of her short life--that's like a lifetime in Mommy years. I wonder if she remembers me. I pray every night for God to send angels to watch over my dear little ones and to whisper in their ears that "Mommy loves them!" And that I'll see them again, soon. And to fill their hearts with peace and comfort. I hope that He does.

I have presents to take to Audrey for her birthday. I made a dress. It's bright pink and sparkly; it matches the one I made Bethany in August, for her birthday. And I bought a Tangled coloring book because she loves Rapunzel. My parents, also, gave me some small gifts to give to her, too. But with how things are right now with the court case, (my in-laws have declined our settlement option, stating "A guardianship arrangement is not acceptable at this time" and we declined their settlement option which was to just let them go forth with the adoption proceeding and then they'd agree to let me at least see my kids...when they felt like it anyway), it seems they are so set against me having anything to do with my children, I don't think they will give my gifts to Audrey and tell her that they are from her Mommy.

What I wish I could do is get some carolers together (people that aren't me or my sibs, so they'll open the door!) to go sing to her The First Noel (her middle name is Noel, so that's 'her' Christmas carol) and give her the gifts with a bundle of balloons. And then have someone whisper in her ear that they are from Mommy and that Mommy loves her very much!

Oh, how I just need life to fast forward to the day when they are safely back in my care...and then I relax a little and just worry about providing for them as a single mom...(ironic laugh)!

Stranger at my door

I received an unexpected visitor last week. I'm assuming it was an early anniversary present, though an unwanted one.

Thursday, I was up in my room drowning out my negative thoughts about my current situation with a little hard rock (you know the kind, a lot of electric guitar and bass with words you can't understand). While I was thus occupied, my sister was downstairs with her children.

The doorbell rang and when she answered it, she was taken by surprise. My husband standing there, asking to see me. Her prompt reply was, "You are not welcome in my home, ever!" Then she slammed the door.

I'm sure that wasn't the response he wanted or was prepared for.

Nevertheless, she called her husband and had him talk to the man at the door. In more controlled and kinder words, he said the same thing and told him that I am not interested in talking with him until the issue of custody of our children is resolved.

I was, thankfully, oblivious through all of this. Later, when I came downstairs, my sister took me aside and told me what had transpired. I was so grateful that they handled this for me. (Up to this point he didn't know where I was or where I was living; I'm still a little surprised he found out.)

Later that night, I kept thinking I needed to move my car; that it wasn't safe parked right in from of the house. So, around 11:30 I dragged my sister out to go with me to move it just around the corner. As I was getting into my car, I noticed a truck that I hadn't seen before in the parking lot and people were just sitting in it. They looked suspicious. But I didn't think much of it until, when we turned our car on, they turned theirs on as well. We drove off in opposite directions, but after we parked and were getting out to go back home, the same truck was slowly circling around the parking lot again. When they saw us, they turned the other direction and took off.

I was freaked out, I've never been stalked before. And I guess, I wasn't...my car was being stalked. I'm pretty sure it was my husband waiting until we had turned out our lights in the house before he stole my car. Or should I say 'our car' which he still has keys for.

My anniversary was on Saturday, so I think this was just his way of saying he remembered it. Lucky me.

Since then, I have experienced such utter sadness, loneliness, discouragement, and most of all self doubt. I just want all of this to be done with and behind me. I want to be on with a new chapter of my life. But it seems impossible.

If I don't win my parental rights back in this case, I may never see my children again. The thought of that sends me shooting down into a spiral of depression faster than anything! Then the self loathing starts. Followed by all the memories of when I wasn't a great Mommy. And that feeds into the beliefs that my husband and his parents are right about me...that my children are better off without me.

Hopeless, faithless, despair.

That's where I find myself today.

Breath in...breath out

I don't like Thanksgiving. Never have. In college, I would pretend to like it because it was a reason to have a big party and pretend that I knew how to cook in order to impress boys that liked food. None of them were ever impressed with my skills, but that didn't matter because we had a party and there was edible food that my roommates had made.

Now, it's a family party, but the food is always the same (YUCK!), and they know I don't cook, so they don't ever ask me to bring anything. I'm not complaining, I'm just stating the reason why I can't pretend to like Thanksgiving anymore.

The same yucky food over and over again. Lots of eating, sleeping and pie. In my family, it also means movies or sports running all day long on every TV in the house. To some that may just be their little slice of heaven; for me, it's a belly ache and restlessness.

Other Thanksgivings have proven to be more tolerable than this one. I started out the weekend before Thursday coaching myself on how it was going to be a great holiday season this year. I was going to have a good attitude. I was going to get along with everyone. I was going to smile and be cheerful despite my current situation.

The first party was at my Sister's home. All my siblings were there (except Ben...he was doing something a little more important like graduating and becoming Marine!) with all of their children. A houseful--usually just what I like. However, after only 10 minutes, I found myself extremely teary. And then there was "The Blessing" over the food...I lost it! My Dad prayed for those not with us, I let out a sob and through blurry eyes I saw a million pairs of little eyes (nieces and nephews) peaking around to see who was crying and why. The rest of the evening was downhill emotionally.

I cried myself to sleep that night.

The whole next week I spent with my parents in Idaho. I thought the reprieve away from my usual routine would be helpful. It proved to be otherwise when I had to spend all week deciding whether or not to accept a settlement option in the court case.

My Dad realized how difficult this was for me and would whisper in my ear every time he walked by me, "Just breath, Jacq." It would make me smile because one of my recent favorite songs recites this mantra over and over.

I love my parents and their simple, yet profound, wisdom.

I'll try to keep this tool ready for use throughout this holiday season because I'm assuming it's just going to get tougher and tougher as the weeks roll by.

The 5 year BULLY

I love that word. BULLY. I hate what it means, but I love the word itself. It is a word that aptly describes what it's like to be abused and clearly identifies who the abuser is. It's a mean, nasty word, that carries emotions with it--emotions that can be felt by others.

I have been bullied. I decided, (for me, anyway), it's worse coming from someone who you love and who is supposed to love you, than it is from a stranger or a peer. I think I can make that claim because I've been bullied by people who don't know me and by my husband.

When I was in grade school and middle school, I was taunted by kids because I was shy, tall, and fatter than most kids. I had friends, luckily, but the words and actions of a select few still haunt me today and for years made me feel so self conscious, stupid, and ugly.

I remember as I was getting off the bus one time, a Spanish kid I hardly knew goosed me and yelled a string of obscenities in Spanish, but the words that stuck were the Spanish words for ugly-fat-girl. I cried all the way home, completely embarrassed and humiliated. I never rode the bus again. Instead, I walked the 1 1/2 miles to school every day. I never told anyone.

In 4th grade I was slapped by a supposed guy friend because his friends had dared him to slap the fattest girl on the playground. It left a red hand print on my cheek. My teacher did nothing, but smirk.

In 7th grade, on a day I was feeling particularly happy about myself and I was wearing my favorite outfit, I was confidently walking down the hallway with one of my girl friends, when from out of nowhere, a boy came up behind me, pushed me into the lockers and called me a fatty. I was so embarrassed, especially when my friend started giggling. I stayed friends with her, but never got over feeling self conscious around her.

We moved in 9th grade--yay, and new start! By that time, I had even grown into myself, but the words and actions of my childhood bullies prevented me from starting fresh because I believed their words and I thought that every new person I met, surely felt the same way about me. I became even more shy and introverted.

An interesting note: I look back on pictures from my childhood and I wasn't really fat. I was slightly overweight and I was very tall for a kid, and I was shy. I was an easy target--a gentle giant.

After high school, I eventually became confident, self assured, and due to some wonderful roommates, I learned to like myself and believe in myself. I never forgot those stinging words, but I didn't believe them anymore.

When I met my husband, he treated me so well. I loved talking with him. Being with him. He made me feel prettier than I thought I was. He went to great lengths to inflate my sense of self. He compared me to others around me, but it was in my favor, so I didn't question it and sort of liked it.

After we married just a short time, he changed his behaviors and his words towards me. Instead of lifting me up he began to tear me down, criticizing my appearance--after gaining just 5 lbs grabbing a hold of my tiny lower belly bulge and saying "what is that!?" Telling me to do my hair differently--curl it when I did it straight or straighten it when I curled it because the curls make me look bigger. Comparing me to others in a negative way--"my sisters can do it this or that way, why can't you?", and insisting I behave differently--no loud laughing in public, no talking of 'inappropriate' things anywhere when it could make him uncomfortable, allowing him to touch me inappropriately in public places to show him that I love him, smiling always no matter what I felt inside, never display a sad mood, no shy behaviors, no anxiety or panic attacks, etc...this list is by no means all inclusive.

By the end of our first year we were really struggling as a couple. Inside I was battling to stay afloat and remain confident, self assured, and resilient. Outward I was struggling to show him that I loved him. In an effort to help us grow closer, I agreed to move to Japan and teach English. He'd always wanted to live in Asia, and I liked to travel, so why not.

However, shortly before we left, I became pregnant. The happiest day of my life was destroyed because of a Bully. It was a Sunday, my husband was grumpy and lethargic and didn't want to go to church with me. I went without him. All day, I just kept feeling so sick and then it struck me, I might be pregnant. Excited, I stopped by the store on the way home and bought a pregnancy test. Turns out my hunch was correct. I thought for sure this news would bring my husband out of his funk.

I ran into our room and woke him up, I related the exciting news with smiles all over my face. But I didn't even get one in return. I got a blank stare. He looked at me with the saddest eyes which quickly turned to anger. He muttered something like, great, this is just what we need right now and then went on about how disappointed he was in me that I hadn't used the right protection and that I'd let this happen to him on purpose. Then he rolled over and told me to shut the door on my way out.

I left and just sobbed. He never apologized. Instead, he commanded me not to tell any of my family or friends that I was pregnant.

We left for Japan, and came back earlier than planned because of complications I was having with my pregnancy and complications we were having in our marriage. He instructed me not to tell anyone we were back in the US.

Right after we got back home, he told me that while we were in Japan, he had received a revelation that we needed to get divorced. I refused because he also said that if we got divorced that I would have to give my baby up for adoption. I believed him. I didn't know my own rights as far as that was concerned. So, I refused his decision of divorce. He said that the only way he felt he could stay in the horrible marriage I created, was for me to comply with his conditions.

Out of shear terror of losing my child, I agreed.

These were his demands:

1) I become party to his porn addiction and we watch it together.

2) I go to strip clubs with him

3) I get lap dances so he can watch

4) I become bi-sexual

To some who read this, these demands may not seem extreme or horrible or life altering, but to me it was giving up my innocence, my chastity, my beliefs, and my values.

At first it was very difficult for me to do these things. But over time I became numb. My husband claimed he became so much closer to me, and all the while I became more and more distant, and less and less myself.

The sad reality of it, was that it didn't just stop at those conditions. As the years progressed, so did the demands. To the point that, we ended up with an open relationship where he could go be with and do anything he wanted with anyone. And he told me I had to get DD implants and become an exotic dancer--not professionally, but just on the side as something 'fun' for me to do. (It didn't matter how many times I told him I wouldn't be comfortable with that or that I didn't want to do that.) He convinced himself and came to believe that I enjoyed everything that he did. And incredibly, that he had never placed these conditions on me in the first place, but that these things brought us closer together; that they were what I wanted and needed to be happy & satisfied.

He saw the changes in me and he hated them. He saw me shift from being happy, confident, productive, to being withdrawn, depressed, anxious, distant and despondent. He had to fix me. After another 'revelation,' he claimed that these changes were due to an illness (bi-polar was his self diagnosis), never ever thinking that these things could have possibly been caused by himself and the abuse he was inflicting on me.

I believed him. I believed everything he told me. I believed him because I loved him and he loved me...and people we love aren't supposed to lie to us, abuse us, bully us.

I visited 3 separate doctors over the course of 3 years. I wanted a different answer than they were giving me. I wanted them to help me fix myself so that I could fit and survive in my marriage. So, that I could change all of the things my husband was telling me was wrong with me. I believed that I was crazy, that I was ruining our marriage, and I needed the help because that was what the Bully was telling me every day, every hour, every minute, with every look and every word.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, not one of the doctors could find any evidence of bi-polar or crazies. And they certainly didn't find anything that could be 'fixed' to help me fit in my marriage. But they did find large amounts of depression, anxiety, fear, uncertainty, and a high indication of domestic abuse. As one of my bosses told me about a month before I left, "You're acting like a battered wife!" It took me by surprise, though it shouldn't have, since my therapists had been telling me the same thing for 3 years, but I was refusing to believe them because I believed the Bullies in my life.

Avoid Avoiding

I’m an avoider. I avoid stuff. I’m a list writer. I write lists about writing lists.

I found some old journals of mine from when I was in junior high and high school. I have pages and pages of lists. List of what I’m going to be when I grow up. Lists of what I need to do today. Lists of qualities I need to develop. Lists of qualities I have already. Lists of reasons I should be nice to my siblings; lists why shouldn’t. Lists of goals, dreams, accomplishments, reasons for doing things, reasons why I don’t do things, grocery lists, financial plan lists, who I want to marry lists, attributes I want to look for in a husband, list of schools I should go to, what I need to do to get into said schools, etc…the lists go on and on and on.

And the madness continues today. My wall is plastered with sticky notes. I have to write it, (whatever IT is), down to get it out of my head. Once it is written down, then I know I won’t forget about it. I can relax and worry about it later. Unfortunately, having it up on my wall only serves as a constant reminder of the things I’m avoiding.

I avoid my phone. I avoid situations that are uncomfortable. I avoid shopping lines. I avoid processing what I’m going through. I avoid my email. I avoid exercise. I avoid food. I avoid being involved. I avoid thinking about my relationships. I avoid blogging. I avoid cleaning. I avoid waking up early. I avoid sleeping. I avoid calling people back. I avoid communication. I avoid confrontation. I avoid filling my air mattress (my current bed) up with air, so that now I’m faced with the fact that for yet another night my butt will be sinking into the floor because there isn’t enough air in the mattress! I avoid serious conversations. I avoid volunteering. I avoid getting a job. I avoid walking in front of other people. I avoid eating in front of other people. I avoid making mistakes. I avoid trying. I avoid feeling. I avoid meditating.

Instead, I read. I listen to music. I sleep. I watch movies. I play. I read more. I laugh. I go window shopping. I go to the library to get more books to read. I play the piano. I watch sitcoms. I browse the internet to find more things to put on my lists. I read…did I mention that I hate to read…but I discovered it’s effective when there are things you want to avoid.

So, if you put these two idiosyncrasies together, (avoiding & list writing), it makes for one anxious person--one who is painfully aware of what she should be doing, but isn’t doing because she’s busy avoiding doing stuff.

This can only go on for so long…until, I lie awake at night thinking about all the things I’m avoiding and it becomes too overwhelming. So, one by one I start attacking my lists. I begin the arduous task to avoid avoiding.

Wait...or weight

I have never been what someone would call skinny or thin. I'm not fat either. I had nice shoulder, a flat stomach, and strong legs. In college I was an outdoor enthusiast. I would bike in the mountains on the weekends and train for triathlons during the week. I dreamt of someday competing in an Ironman. I knew nothing of eating well, (cookie dough was a main staple) but I knew how to be active and I loved it.

After I was married, my husband commandeered my schedule. And so my life outdoors dwindled and eventually became nonexistent. Then, I was in a horrible car accident, in which my spine and neck were injured. There was a limited amount that doctors could do. I saw a chiropractor who was great and a doctor who did something called prolo-therapy on my spine. Nothing was working. My headaches were worse than ever and I was in constant pain and I couldn't sleep.

In an effort to help heal more quickly, I went on a fast to help the body heal and repair itself. Over a 30 day period, I lost 15lbs (not the objective, but I wasn't complaining) and gained my health back. My headaches went away. (I learned about food allergies that were causing most of them and since I was fasting, those foods were eliminated for a time). My sleep became better and I gain full movement in my neck and back. And my chronic IBS subsided. It's amazing how, given time and the right tools, the body can heal itself.

However, my husband grasped on to this fasting as an 'easy' weight loss method. He wanted me to look picture perfect. He didn't want me to complain about my hips anymore. Or ask him if something made me look fat. He wanted me to feel more comfortable exposing myself--wearing shorter skirts, short shorts, shirts with plunging necklines, skin tight dresses, and be nude on the beach. So, from that point on, he took control of my eating habits. When he was around, he would control what I ate, how I ate it, and how much I ate. If wasn't thin enough (between 135-145lbs), I was put on a diet. If I went a week without losing anything, he would put me back on a fast until I lost the required amount.

Oh, how I hated this aspect of his control! I hated being told what I had to order at a restaurant. Or seeing him watch me carefully, so that I didn't take seconds at dinner. I learned to fear eating and to feel guilty when I did. I also became very uncomfortable eating in front of people.

So, after a while, these fasting sessions turned into fasts and then binges. When he was away on business or back East in school, I would binge. I became a closet carb eater. I would tell him I was staying on track, but the minute he got home, he would see that I had gained weight instead of lost weight. This led him to believe that I couldn't control myself and that me having control of what I was eating was obviously not working, so he would put me back on a fast again.

The longest that he made me fast was 40 days. I think I lost 30 lbs that time. His sister saw me right after this point and even commented on how thin I was. But he went back to school right after that, so I pack on the pounds again.

For me, it was survival. I had to feel I had control over something in my life. And this was one thing that he only had a small amount of control over. He could make me fast, but I could keep myself from getting too thin by binging, and if I kept myself from hitting the perfect goal weight, then I would never have to pole dance or be a stripper or go nude on a beach, or have to create my own porn site for his amusement or be directly involved in a tryst. I could keep myself safe.

At the time, I didn't realize what I was doing. It wasn't a conscience thing. But now that I realize this, I'm am grateful for my survival instincts.

Unfortunately, now I have to deal with the consequences of several years of lack of exercise, binging, and fasting. I think my metabolism is nonexistent. But I have started some things that I know are helpful. I am eating a very clean diet of mostly whole foods. I've given up soda (even on headache days!), most white sugar and flour are out, and I'm running and weight training again. Whoo-hoo!

Laughter is the best medicine

Ugh.

Today is not my favorite day. I have a list of to do's and no motivation to do any of them. I did exercise this morning in hopes that it would give me that needed burst of energy. I didn't. So, after an entire wasted afternoon of being curled up in my blankets, sipping green tea, and watching back episodes of Hellcats, I thought I'd try and be a little bit productive and blog. Though, in the past, writing hasn't been very therapeutic for me. Quite the opposite, actually. I find that it tends to bring up things that I don't want to think about and so I quit when I can't process all the thoughts in my head. Hence, me not blogging at all last month.

This past month has been very difficult. Not only is my own life is disarray, but my family's as well. My Dad's knee is still giving him problems. He had a knee replacement 5 months ago. But it's not healed yet and he has difficulty getting around. He also needs a replacement on the other knee, but the doctors won't consider it until his other one is healed. I can only imagine how frustrating that must be for him. Although I'm not in my peak fitness state, I take it for granted that I CAN just hop up and run away if I wanted. He can't and I'm sure he feels trapped.

Then my mom went into the ER two weeks ago with a ruptured appendix. How random is that!? When I heard she was in the hospital, I jumped in my little car prepared to drive the 4 hours up to Idaho to be there with her when she got out of surgery. Ironically, I hit horrible traffic with construction and it took me 2 hours to just get out of Utah valley, (usually just a 20 minute drive), so I didn't arrive until 10pm. When I walked in, I was happy to see that 3 of my siblings were already there with my Dad and my Mom just seemed to be waking up.

Oh, how I hated seeing my Mom in that hospital bed. I stayed with her every night. She is my bestest and dearest friend, I can't stand the thought of losing her anytime soon. She was released after a few days, but then developed an infection and had to go back in a day later. I think she spent a total of 8 days in the hospital. And now that she's out, she is having gallbladder problems. Good grief! They weren't kidding when they say you start to fall apart after 60. The good thing about it, was that I committed her to start eating healthily and to begin exercise as soon as she can.

I ended up staying up in Idaho for the two weeks. I was grateful for the time with them. They helped me a lot. While I was at the hospital with my Mom, I came to appreciate the nurses. They really work pretty hard. I appreciated how they tried to come to know my Mom and me. One nurse, when she found out what I have been going through, came over and gave me a huge hug. She told me to hang on and I'll find myself again. Then she told me about her story. She survived a 15 year abusive marriage. She said that she was actually kept in her home for 3 years without being able to go out.

It's amazing the bond that seems to be created when abuse victims meet and share stories. I found it so helpful to see what she has done with her life since. She raised her two girls. She became a nurse. She is happy. I like success stories.

While at my Mom's bedside, I also found myself reverting to what I used to do as a child...try and make my mom laugh. So, without really trying, I was telling anecdotes, making fun, and genuinely just being my relaxed and fun self. Amidst one of our laughing sessions, if occurred to me that I enjoyed helping people laugh. It was there that the idea of creating a laughing clinic was born. Who knew that something I did naturally as a child, would perhaps, one day become my calling in life.

Stockholm Syndrome

I'm currently in a group class for women who have been abused. The point of the class is to help us overcome the effects of domestic violence. The course covers various topics that distinguish the differences between what abuse is and then what a healthy relationship should look like.

At first, I was very apprehensive about attending. I didn't think I should be there. I didn't understand or see the extent of the abuse I had been living in. At that point I was still listening to my husband's voice in my head telling me that I am to blame, that I am wrong, that I am crazy and need to be fixed. I approached my therapy with this mindset and entered the this class the same way.

The first day I attended clarified that for me. I didn't say much at first, but as I listened, I was stunned as I found my story being told over and over again by different women in different situations. I kept thinking, "Wow! That's me! Oh! That's my husband!" It took quite a few weeks before I was able to digest and accept that I had been abused and that I was acting like someone who had been abused. That's when the changes inside of me began.

This week's topic was particularly eye opening to me. We discussed the Stockholm Syndrome.

This theory was developed to explain the bizarre behavior that sometimes occurs in people who are kidnapped--in particular their affection for and the attachment to their captors. Hostages whose safety and very lives are at the mercy of cruel and unpredictable captors, sometimes develop very strong bonds with them. this bond can be so strong that one time hostages have been know to visit their captors in jail, try to protect them from punishment, or even become romantically involved with them.

While reading through the distorted thinking and then the explanations I realized that I fell into this category. It was so enlightening to me, that I wanted to include it here for others to read.

First I'll list the distorted thoughts that a victim may have and then the explanation of why those thoughts occur.

1 Cognitive Distortion

Denies Partner's violence against her and focuses on his positive side.

Explanation

An unconscious attempt to find hope (a way to survive) in a situation in which she would otherwise feel powerless and overwhelmed. Victim denies her own anger at the abuser.

2 Cognitive distortion

Feels shame for abuse done to her

Explanation

Takes on abuser's perspective (namely, that she caused his abuse of her and feels that the abuse was deserved). She is hyper vigilant to the abuser's needs. She is intensely grateful for small kindnesses shown to her by the abuser.

3 Cognitive distortion

Resents outsiders to free her from abusive partner

Explanation

Victim knows partner is likely to retaliate against her for any attempts of disloyalty shown toward him so she resists others' attempts to free her or resists holding partner accountable for abusing her. She sees outsiders (for example police, parents) as the 'bad guys' who may get her killed.

4 Cognitive distortion

Identifies with the victim in the partner

Explanation

Projects her own victim status on to partner; feels sympathetic and caring toward partner.

5 Cognitive distortion

Believes partner's violence against her is deserved

Explanation

This may represent an attempt to feel she controls when and whether violence is done to her and permits her to believe she can stop the abuse.

6.Cognitive distortion

Rationalizes partner's violence against her

Explanation

This may be an attempt to maintain bond with partner (in hopes of survival) in the face of violent behavior that otherwise would destroy that bond. Convinces herself she caused the abuse.

7 Cognitive distortion

Feels hatred for that part of her that partner said led to her abuse

Explanation

To improve chances of survival, she internalizes partner's perspective, including reasons he gives her for abusing her.

8 Cognitive distortion

Fears partner will come to get her, even if he is dead or in prison

Explanation

Victim believes partner is going to "get her" because he has done so at least once before; remains loyal in anticipation of his return.

You want what????

I recently got these emails. I was floored, crushed, shook up! It took my brother-in-law a few hours to get me to stop crying and then help me digest and see the email for what it truly was...lies & manipulation to get control of the situation again. Something I think he realized, for the first time, he didn't have anymore.

I share it because I'm finally getting an idea of how much control this man had over me and how many of his lies I really did believe. Most of me sees him for what he is and yet, in weak moments, part of me still sees him out of rose colored glasses--wanting to believe that he is right and that I am wrong, crazy, and that I need to be fixed.

I won't attempt to interpret his words. They speak for themselves. If you understand an abusive situation, you'll see right through it.

My Dearest Jacquee,

I would like to withdraw from the divorce if you would also. If so, will you attend counseling with me?

My parents told me you called about an open adoptive relationship. I'm not the one making the decisions, but I am glad regardless of your marriage intentions. Have you considered dropping legal action? We both know the adoption never had anything to do with divorce.

I miss you, I love you and I always will.

P.S. I believe in miracles and am willing to work to make them happen in and for both of us.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UkyTj0Tr3fE

Jacquee,

You know I didn't sign for the adoption for social security money. You convinced me I had no other choice than to do what was best for the children. I can't undo the adoption, but I can work on our marriage and dedicate my life to helping both you and I heal. I'm willing to make whatever changes are necessary.

I was dying. I know you didn't know it, but its true and the worst part was believing I had reached the end, with my family destroyed. I'm alive today because of a miracle. Now I want another miracle. I want to save our marriage! Please don't let either of us die as failures, regardless of when death comes for us. I know now that it can happen at any time. Please let us both right our wrongs, seek individual and mutual healing, and either live our lives successfully or die on empty trying, not with regrets, not with regrets.

I've learned that fight or flight is a false dichotomy, there is also peace. In total humility and a sincere heart, I am coming to you to beg you to have peace with me. I also beg you to please allow me to give you the greatest gift I have to offer: me, all of me, only me and everything that comes with me, forever.

No matter what you did, no matter what I did, no matter what our weaknesses or anything else, I believe we can heal. I'm going against all counsel but I'm willing to defy them all to believe in you because above all, I believe in our eternal marriage. Am I wrong? Am I wrong to believe we can start over? Only you can tell me and the only time we have is now.

Isn't there anything you wish you could go back and do over? I know for me there are mountains of things. I think this letter is one of those "Glass House" moments, which is why I'm writing it. There is a better story than our divorce story: its our reconciliation and true love story. Will you write it with me? I've learned that fight or flight is a false dichotomy, there is also peace.

Bethany and Audrey are safe with my parents. I can only fully give myself to you if the adoption proceeds and I know the children are not at risk again. Will you please withdraw from all legal actions, allow peace a chance and attend counseling with me? I promise you that you won't regret giving our marriage a second chance. I will wait with love. If you continue with legal action I will say my goodbye with gratitude in my heart for the love we shared.

Please light up my beautiful lighthouse keeper. This is it.

Love,

P.S. I've included just one paragraph of volumes that I've written about what I would have done differently: "...I would have humbly accepted my own faults apologized for them and committed to changing them. I would have never let you walk out the door the day you wanted a divorce without first giving you a passionate kiss and only let you go after packing you shrimp tikka masala and a diet coke for the road. If you still wanted to leave, I would have jumped in the car with you and rubbed your neck while softly singing "Drink up Baby" aswe drove away together. I would have suggested that we stop and get you a hair cut, I mean completely chopped :) and then dye it blond! I would have then suggested you pick out whatever dress you'd like and showered you with amazingly thoughtful compliments regardless of the dress. I would have reminded you of your unsurpassed beauty at any weight. I would have asked you if I could call your boss to tell her YOU QUIT, but I would add that she can keep her money and her job, but I'm keeping you! I would have LISTENED more. Whenever storms came or you flipped in either direction, I would have held steady. I would have attended regular therapy with you for mental health and marriage, always separated the two issues and overcame all challenges. No matter what, I would have held you, looked you in the eyes and reassured you that not only am I willing to hold on, I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU."

If you still wanted to go, I would wait and see if you would come back to me for me like I would come back to you for you. I would learn. I would wait to see if you would remember.

If there was nothing else I could do, then I would sing and say my goodbye.

P.S.S. I violated counsel by communicating during a lawsuit but I cannot do so again unless you're willing to withdraw and would like to plan on counseling thereafter together.

My response should have been a single email with this link:

But I didn't respond at all.

I feel I need to clarify some things. His emails aren't as kind and loving as they may appear at first glance. His message is clear--STOP THE LEGAL PROCEEDINGS, JACQ! And then, only then, will I give you all the thing I know that I never allowed you to have before. He wants to appear that he is sorry, and maybe he is in a way, but if he were, he would stop the adoption process (which he has total control over) and then truly be penitent. He wouldn't still be trying to 'fix me'. It's the same abuse cycle over and over. Tension in the relationship mounts. He blames the tension on me. He does something hurtful (verbal abuse, emotional abuse or sexual abuse). He feel very bad. He tries to make it better with words, promises to change, gifts, freedom, love, and the acceptance I crave. I forget/ignore the abuse and get sucked back in. Life happens and stress arises. Tension builds in the relationship...and off we go in a cyclical spiral of toxicity.

Am I growed, up yet?

When my brother Kris and I were little, he was asked what he wanted to be when he grew up. His response was, "A Christmas tree!" I see the logic. I really do. Who wouldn't want to be bright, colorful, and shiny; a spectacular sight to behold whenever you walk into the room. It's also something that is rare and special, for it only comes once a year.

I've always loved this question. When I was in the dating scene, it's something I always asked guys, regardless of whether they were currently in a career or not. I guess I never thought anyone could ever really grow up.

So, I asked my daughter, Bethany, this same question when she was about 2 1/2. A little early, perhaps, to be asking, but you never know how profound a child can be. Her response to me was, "a coco puff." I'm afraid to admit, I was quite baffled by this. I didn't know how to respond either. I didn't want to damage her little self esteem by laughing, though that's exactly what I wanted to do, but I didn't want to ignore her answer either. Goodness! I didn't even know she knew what a coco puff was--I never allowed her to eat sugary cereals. So, I decided to say, "Wow that's so great!" and then just note that one in her journal and ask her again when she was a little older...and perhaps, wiser?

One afternoon, (1 1/2 years later), while I was putting the girls down for their naps, Bethany asked me, "Mommy, what do you want to be when you growed up?" This question seemed to come out of the blue, until I realized we had talked, a couple of days before, about why Daddy was at Harvard.

I responded with, "Well, I want to be a Mommy and maybe someday a doctor."

She studied me very carefully for a few moments before her eyes welled up with great big crocodile tears. Then she burst out, "Oh Mommy! You can't be a doctor! 'Cause then who will take care of us?"

I immediately saw the connection she had made with Daddy going away to school to 'become' something and me wanting to become a doctor--and that would mean, to her, that I would go away. I gathered her up in my arms as I wiped away the tears. I soothed her by telling her I will always be there to take care of her--I'm not going anywhere. And that I won't be a doctor for a very, very long time, if ever--it was just something I wanted to secretly do someday.

After she was assured I wasn't going anywhere, I then asked her if she knew what she wanted to be when she grew up.

Her response, "I'm already growed up! But when I get big, like you, I want to be a painter, a runner, a singer and a dancer.

And I believe she will.

It's startling to realize I've already grown up, too. I'm not in my teens or 20's anymore. (I don't think I can even pretend and lie about my age either!) I'm at the stage in life, when I should be contributing to society. And here I still find myself asking the question, "What do I want to be when I grow up?" That's a hard question for me to answer outright because in the past I have wanted to do and be so many things. I think I can truly say I'm a Jacq of all trades. The thing is, before I was married, I knew that anything I put my mind to do, I could do. It didn't matter to me what it was, if I wanted it bad enough, I would go after it with all the gusto in the world and I would make it happen--I believed in myself and my abilities. Sometimes I would fail, but that didn't matter so much to me. I would just try something else and succeed.

My husband dashed my dreams. He would tell me my ideas were impossible. He would say he was being realistic while I was being idealistic. In order to 'help' me achieve and succeed, he would hash around my goals and ideas until they didn't resemble anything I had envisioned. And then I would see that he was right, I couldn't achieve it. I was defeated before I even tried.

Soon my 'idealistic views' became a sign to him. It confirmed that I was bi-polar. He would call this my 'grandiose thinking'. He put such a negative spin on it, that I came to believe that he was right. And a trait, that I had once believed was something great about myself, was now something I was scared and ashamed of. So, I stopped dreaming. I stopped being motivated. I stopped being someone that could accomplish things.

I find myself now, faced with becoming. And to my amazement, my old self is re-emerging. I have found myself wanting to be and do great and amazing things in my life. When these thoughts first came into my mind a few weeks ago I was terrified. I thought, "oh no! My husband is right! I'm having grandiose ideas and thoughts! I have to control them and bring myself back down to reality." But then I was forced to think of what my reality is. I didn't know. What would be something I could accomplish and become without thinking too 'grand'?

I took this question to my therapist, this week. I told her the dilemma I was faced with. Feeling that I could now choose and accomplish something great, but not wanting to be bi-polar in my thoughts and ideas.

She smiled, then gently guided my thoughts to help me clearly see what a bi-polar grandiose mania phase would look like. She illustrated the difference of what I was feeling and thinking and what I wasn't.

It was the first time in 5 years that I saw that my husband was unmistakably wrong. Truly wrong about me being crazy, delusional, manic. This was a breakthrough for me. For me to see he was wrong about me, it clicked that I'm not broken and that I wasn't to begin with.

So, now the world is open to me, once again. I have more than just a hope that I can be whatever I choose to be and do whatever I choose to do, but I know that I can and will achieve great things in my life, no matter the hurdles I have to jump through.

Rainbows

I was driving last week from Idaho (where my parents live) back to Utah. The weather was overcast and off in the distance I could see the clouds looked like they were falling out of the sky, signifying that it was raining. It was slightly windy and occasionally I would feel the wind trying to push my car off the side of the road. After an hour of my 4 hour drive, I noticed that the western sky had cleared up and the sun was radiating down. I looked off to my left toward the falling clouds and saw a magnificent rainbow! I slowed slightly and breathed in the sight. How marvelous, I thought! And that cheered up my day a little. I drove on, turning my head every few seconds until the rainbow disappeared.

Another hour went monotonously by (my radio doesn't work, so I'm either singing or talking to myself on long trips). As I came into Utah and hit the Wasatch Mountain range, I looked over at their majesty. I love these mountains. And at that particular moment, they were made even more beautiful by another rainbow. This one was only a half rainbow, but it was very, very bright. I was so happy to have seen two in the same day. Again, I watched as the rainbow disappeared.

I let my mind ponder on rainbows, and I was struck with the thought that perhaps the rainbows were a sign. I tried to think what the sign might mean. Mulling over possible solutions, the only conclusion was that I should have followed them and see if there were really a pot of gold at the end!

I was amazed that by the end of my journey that day, I had seen a total of 5 rainbows. One was even a vibrant double rainbow, which I wished I had of had my camera with me to take a picture of it. And yet out of all those rainbows, I never left the road I was traveling to go search for what was at it's end.

I wonder if that makes me smart and focused or just a boring and a jaded adult.

I remember seeing a rainbow about a year ago and calling to my girls to come look and see. I pointed up in the sky and said look at that! They were so excited. I told them that they CareBears were here! Then they really got excited! They started jumping up and down and splashing in the puddles! Taking on their enthusiasm, I did the same.

The next time there was a rainbow, my daughter went to the closet, grabbed an umbrella, and stated that she was going to go look for CareBears. I gave her her coat and let her loose. She came back a little disappointed and said she must have missed them.

The last time we saw a rainbow together, we went in search of CareBears together. The minute we saw the rainbow, we ran to the car with umbrellas in hand and races to the edge of the rainbow...which happened to be at the mouth of a canyon. We raced, hand in hand, looking and searching for the elusive CareBears. My daughters were so excited, they couldn't help but laugh, jump, and run in circles. At last, one of them exclaimed, "LOOK! I see one!" She pointed with her little fingers up into the mountains and that last shimmering sparkles of the rainbow. We all crouched down and looked up to where she was pointing. We all imagined that for a brief moment there were CareBears lurking about, playing, laughing, and dancing. We then drove home as happy as anyone could be.

I love seeing the world through the eyes and imaginations of children!

Morning Wake-up Call

I am haunted by the day I left the house. Not because of what happened, but because of what didn't.

I didn't get to say goodbye to my children. I don't know when I will get to hold them, kiss them, or sing silly songs with them again. I don't know when I will get to see their sweet little faces pressed against mine, laughing while they tell me that I'm a silly kid. I didn't get to explain to them that mommy was going to be gone for a while, but that I would be back. I didn't know it would be over just like that.

I wake every morning thinking about that day.

My mornings with the girls were my favorite time of day. Audrey was always the first one awake. She would come into my room and crawl up onto my bed and snuggle with me. Sometimes she would fall back asleep, but more often than not she would lie awake singing softly to herself until I lazily woke up and smiled at her. She would get a huge grin on her face and whisper "hurray! Good morning sleepy head!"

Then we would stay in bed singing song, reading stories, and laughing about nothing. This always lasted until Bethany finally woke up and would sneak in. She was much grumpier in the mornings and would just want to snuggle until she was fully awake. Then she would join in on the singing and jumping on the bed. Our mornings were usually late and happy!

I miss those mornings.

Angels in disguise

I've wondered why it's easy to believe bad things people tell us, but very hard to digest and fully believe the good.

Last Sunday, a dear friend of mine stopped by unexpectedly. I haven't seen her since we graduated from high school. It was so wonderful to see a familiar face. But more importantly, it was wonderful to hear from someone who knows me and knows who I am.

Her encouragement and support were unmatched. She helped me remember the strength I have inside--a strength I have always had but forgot existed. The most important thing she helped me realize: That the person I was with my husband is not who I am. It's just who I was with him.

That realization couldn't have come at a better time. I was losing faith and hope and getting caught up in all the negative things I've come to believe about myself in the last 5 years. I needed someone to pinch me; to wake me up out of the trance and show me the positive.

I believe God sends angels among us. I am indebted to the angels in my life.

Time for Change

I went for a walk early this morning. The air was crisp and it was peaceful. The colors on the trees are changing. Autumn is here.

Living in the Rocky Mountains, I get to see the seasons change and usually the change is abrupt. It seems, one day the sun is radiating the warmth of summer and the next, the cold front has moved in and altered the landscape. It always takes me by surprise, as if I was holding on too tightly to summer and didn't want to let it go.

I think that is how a lot of my life is. Especially now. My world has changed and yet, somehow, I feel reluctant to change with it.

The last five years, my family watched from a distance as I changed. They say the change was abrupt, but to me it came so gradually, that I didn't realize what had happened to me. But I do remember the moment when I realized I no longer knew who was staring back at me in the mirror. The person I saw was hallow, defeated, depressed, and extremely anxious. She was someone who was wrong, who was to blame for all the problems that were happening in her marriage, someone who couldn't do anything right, and someone who felt crazy. I saw no beauty and no confidence.

My old self couldn't believe what she was seeing, but my husband's voice (someone who I trusted and loved and had committed my life to) and actions were in my mind telling me I was broken and needed to be fixed.

I remember trying and trying to do things right. To get it right. To make my husband happy. I complied with all his demands, yet he still said it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough. I couldn't earn enough money. I couldn't keep my temper under control enough. I wasn't meek enough. I didn't honor my husband the way a wife should. I didn't listen and obey him enough. I didn't keep the house clean enough. I wasn't responsible enough. I wasn't thin enough (and yes he did say that outright! I also didn't have big enough boobs--he would have preferred DD to my smallish B's). He wanted me to be the 'Madonna and the whore'--meaning the trophy wife, mother, career woman, housekeeper, pious spiritual giant AND a slut, stripper, swinger, bi-sexual, porn star.

I will admit, I could never be both extremes and that was a problem. I also do have a temper and, like a child, threw a few tantrums. But I was always trying to be better. To be different. To be more of what he wanted.

Now, being away from the abuse, I see things differently. I see my old self emerging--slowly. But I find myself resisting the change. I know it's changes for the better, but I still have the voice in the back of my head saying 'you are broken and need to be fixed'.

The Scheme

A couple of years ago, my husband told me he had an idea that I wouldn't like. It was his way of 'thinking outside the box' to help meet our financial demands. He knew my desire was to stay at home with the kids and be a full time mom. He was still in school and didn't think he could work and go to school at the same time. (So, I've been working full time and taking care of the kids while is has been away at school at Harvard.)

He proposed that we have his parents adopt our 2 children. Since they (his parents) are on social security, if they adopted our girls, they would be able to get an increase in benefits. That increase they would pass on to us. He promised that the increase would be enough to allow me to stay home with the kids or allow us to moved out to Boston with him and be able to be together as a family.

I, of course, didn't just say no, I said, 'Hell NO!'

That didn't stop him from talking about it. He continually brought it up and forced the issue to be discussed. I didn't want to consider having my children adopted by anyone, but least of all having them adopted by his parents! I don't trust them and never really have. I don't like the way they babysit our kids. I don't like the way they teach them about certain topics. I didn't want them exposed to his parents more than was absolutely necessary. And neither did my husband, but in discussing it, he promised that the adoption would be on paper only. That this scheme wouldn't change how I was raising them. I was promised that his parents would never get involved in our lives or how we chose to raise our kids.

After over a year of him arguing his points about the adoption, he finally resorted to telling me that is was the only way. That he felt a spiritual confirmation that it was what we were supposed to do. Over that year, our financial situation had worsened. I couldn't make enough money on my own to support the weight of our finances, so I consented to the adoption.

In May 2010, I went before a judge and relinquished my parental rights. The next week, my husband came to me and told me he wanted a divorce and had already filled out the divorce papers. I felt blindsided!

Fast Forward

Six years ago I met this dashing and handsome man. He was tall, had dark hair and beautiful green eyes. He walked with confidence and charisma. He was ambitious and talented. When he sang, my heart would just melt. I felt like I could just be myself with him. He was intoxicating. I fell head over heels and we were married 3 month later! I always thought when you know it's right, you just know it. So, why waste time dating, right?!?

Fast forward almost 6 years. Here I sit alone in my sister's home. Sad, confused, scared. Three months ago I walked out of a sexual, emotional, and verbally abusive relationship. I am glad and relieved that I finally had the courage to leave. It feels as if a heavy weight has been lifted and I'm able to see what has become of me.

I'm just a shadow of the person I once was. The joy, faith, and happiness has been replaced with fear, anxiety, and depression. It makes me sad that I allowed this to happen to me, but I know the reasons why I did. There were just two:

1. I never wanted to give up on the person I loved. No matter what. Divorce or leaving meant giving up on him.

2. My children. My precious little ones!

Bethany, 4 Audrey, 2 1/2

Most moms can understand when I say, my children are my whole reason for being. They mean everything to me. They are the main reason I stayed in a broken relationship so long...I wanted to keep our family together. At least in their eyes--to believe that we were a strong, healthy, happy family.

But when I couldn't pretend anymore, I lost everything!

My children were taken from me! My husband and his parents won't let me see them. I haven't seen them in over 3 months! It's a slow and painful torture. Minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day...waiting, hoping I will see them again.

I send cards and small gifts every week, just hoping and praying that they will at least get them and know that mommy is still here and loves them very much.

They are so small and we've never been away from each other for more than a week. I cry myself to sleep at night wondering who tucked them in and what have they been told when they ask, "where'd mommy go?" I wake up with nightmares of them crying and crying and I can't reach them to comfort and dry their tears.

Who am I? No one of consequence. Just a girl who has a story to tell.

My Mom always told me to write down my story. When I was in college, she would giggle like a school girl as I would report the events of the day. It seemed like there was always something funny or crazy that would happen around me. Perhaps, I was just aware of my surroundings or could find the humor in everyday events. Regardless of when or why I called, I always had a story to tell which would send her laughing.

I would tell her about the most embarrassing things that would happen to me (like the time I spent all day on campus thinking I looked great because everyone was staring at me, only to realize when I got home, that I forgot to wear a bra and I was wearing a white shirt!) Or she would get an earful of the most absurd situations (I actually saw someone slip on a banana peel!) Or she would get the exaggerated story of some random person that had spoken with me and spilled their life story in it's entirety. Oh, and let's not forget the men--their cheesy pick up lines and the fun-filled dates! Whatever the day brought, a new story was born and I loved to make my mom laugh!

The stories continued after I graduated, as did my Mom's promptings to write them down. "We'll write a book someday," she would say. I would agree with her, yet never wrote a word. I always thought I would have a plethora of stories to tell. That life would continually feed me words of laughter, encouragement, love, and amusement.

One day the stories stopped, and it wasn't until recently that I discovered the reason why.