tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12612595214856796942024-03-05T18:51:49.083-08:00Inside OutUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-48477243139886026642011-08-08T06:40:00.001-07:002011-08-08T08:54:38.405-07:00Lesson LearnedI feel blessed. I know that statement might sound a little silly or premature for anyone who knows the battle I've been fighting, but the reality is I do feel blessed and I feel compelled to share why.<div>
<br /><div>I have friends. Many, many friends who care deeply about me and my children. I used to view myself as someone who had few friends and many acquaintances, but that's just not true. I have seen during this past year how many of the so-called acquaintances are actually true friends. So, to my friends, I say thank you for your continued love, encouragement, and support.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>I have a great family who has been there as my safely net--catching me every time I fall or even slip a little. They really are amazing and loving people.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>I have role models, though they probably wouldn't consider themselves such, they are the ones who have given me the strength to continue on when I have felt I wasn't strong enough to do this. They are (mostly) women who are currently or have in the past overcome huge obstacles and did it with an exorbitant amount of faith and courage. I admire these women and yearn to be like them.
<br /><div>
<br /></div><div>I have a lawyer who is talented, passionate, and amazing at what she does--it's obvious why she is one of the best.</div></div><div>
<br /></div><div>I feel blessed because no matter what the outcome of this will be, I believe I will be okay.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Court, although extremely painful at times, went well. I have come out on the other side of this believing that we did all we could do. And with that comes a small feeling of peace.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Court Detail:</div><div>First of all I have to set the stage. The husband is at the far left of the courtroom with his lawyer. The in-laws are also to the left with their lawyer. Then I'm on the right with my lawyers. The first two days I had two lawyers there working as a team (which was pretty cool to watch how well they worked together). Then the last day it was just me and one lawyer. I looked overpowered because of the sheer number of people opposing me. It would have been intimidating if I didn't have truth on my side and believe in my attorney.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Both opposing attorneys are the antithesis of mine. While mine is energetic, theirs are somewhat lethargic and slow. Mine is strong and determined, theirs are passive with, seemingly, no agenda. Mine is happy and positive, theirs are plastic and somewhat gloomy even when they smile. Mine is succinct when she speaks, theirs fumbles around for words. Mine seems to embody everything you picture a good lawyer doing, while theirs you end up wondering how they ever made it through law school and why they chose this career. It's such a stark contrast.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>The first day in court was our day to present witnesses and our evidence. I was on the stand for a good 3+ hours. Not my funnest moment in time, but not my worst either. I felt like it was going well until cross examination. Then it was like trying to convince someone to believe you when they've already made up their mind about your guilt. It's awful and feels like a bad dream that you want to wake up from. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>His main points seemed to be that I signed the relinquishment, end of story. That I was a willing participant in my husband's deviant sexual behaviors and that I was under no duress at the time of relinquishment. What he clearly couldn't see (or didn't care to point out) was that duress is accumulative and that I was being forced to participate (and LIKE it) or my husband threatened divorce. If I didn't behave as he wanted me to, then he would divorce me and take my children. That was always the threat. Their lawyer also tried to say that because there was no physical abuse that abuse didn't happen.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>The next day was just as difficult because I had to sit there, listen, and try to digest a copious amount of lies. Even my father-in-law wasn't completely truthful. That surprised me, but I kind of understand--he's been living with 2 manipulators and liars who have been feeding him the lies for over a year now, so he probably believes what he is saying. Who knows?</div><div>
<br /></div><div>One of the other witnesses they called was a bouncer from a strip club my husband made us go to. He was truthful, but not really helpful to the opposition's case. I had already stated that I had been to clubs with my husband because it was a requirement. So, his testimony was nothing short of a waste of time. Except that in cross examination my lawyer asked if he had ever seen my husband there by himself. His answer was, 'Oh, yes!' It was pretty funny.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>The third day was last Thursday. It was still the oppositions turn to finish up witnesses. So, that left the mother-in-law and the husband. We knew it would be a long day just because of who was on the stand! </div><div>
<br /></div><div>It's amazing to me how good of liar my mother-in-law is. She can spout off any lie without a second thought, she can talk enough to turn the question around and never actually answer what was asked, she has this uncanny ability to appear creepily friendly, but slice you with her words. I shiver just thinking about her. My lawyer found no reason to cross examine her because she's not credible and won't be truthful and will just waste time in the process of trying to get a real answer out of her.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>So, all that was left was the husband. I<i> learned </i>a few things about myself from his testimony. As shocking as these things might be, I hope you all will get a laugh out of it and hear my sarcasm even as I write this list of things I <i>discovered </i>about myself (these are all the things I can remember that I had never heard before...I'll leave out all the ones I had heard over and over again in my marriage):</div><div>
<br /></div><div>He said--when I was pregnant with Bethany <b><i>I</i></b> wanted an abortion.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>He said--I faked a miscarriage to my sister, Bekki, because <b><i>I</i></b> wanted to keep my options open.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>He said--we only moved to Boston because <i><b>I</b></i> didn't want to live in Utah (true, I didn't want to live in Utah just up the road from his parents or worse <i>with</i> his parents!), it was just a coincidence that Harvard happened to be in Boston, so he got to attend his dream school.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>He said--<i><b>I</b></i> wanted and asked, on several occasions, for the adoption because I didn't want to be a mom and I couldn't handle it.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>He said--<b><i>I</i></b> had sexual addictions and he was lucky that they just happened to be things he liked and was into, too.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>He said--<b><i>I </i></b>wasn't a virgin when I got married, but that I had had multiple partners and sexual encounters.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>He said--<b><i>I</i></b> had viewed porn frequently before I got married (good grief! I didn't even know what porn was exactly before I got married. I knew what it was NOT, but I didn't know what it WAS. Naive, but true).</div><div>
<br /></div><div>He said--<b><i>I</i></b>, frequently, threw things at him and at my kids. He cited me throwing cereal bowls and cereal at them (just a word of clarification: I don't eat cereal and neither did my kids because they didn't like it. We rarely ever had it in the house. So, the likelihood of me actually throwing a cereal bowl is pretty bleak).</div><div>
<br /></div><div>He said--<i style="font-weight: bold; ">I</i> yanked, pulled, kicked, bit, spanked, slapped, and hit my kids. And that I told them often that they were worthless and that I hated them. (Anyone who has seen me with my kids knows that this just simply isn't possible--though I do have to say, I did try spanking, but my kids just laughed at me. It was completely non effective, so I turned to more positive methods of discipline).</div><div>
<br /></div><div>He said--<b><i>I,</i></b> frequently, was yelling and screaming at him and the kids (more on that point later).</div><div>
<br /></div><div>He said--<b><i>I </i></b>suffered from extreme postpartum depression after I had Bethany--(His self diagnosis. I never saw a doctor because I felt fine)</div><div>
<br /></div><div>This list is longer, but I think these are the ones that shocked me the most. However, the words that came out loud and clear were the words unspoken--even my lawyer picked up on it. That he was so utterly PERFECT and accepted no responsibility for anything that had transpired during the marriage because he was the quintessential ideal husband--no faults, no issues, no problems with him at all. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>The highlight of the day came while my lawyer was questioning my husband. He was becoming flustered and she was becoming very passionate about what she was saying. He then declared, "Stop yelling at me!" I almost laughed out loud! My lawyer retracted momentarily and apologized for, perhaps, sounding like she was yelling, but reiterated that she was not. Even the judge said, "I don't think she was yelling at you." Haha! It's only funny because of what he had been claiming: that I frequently yelled and screamed at him the kids. Well, if he thinks that yelling is what my lawyer was doing, then it's pretty clear that his and his parent's definition of yelling is drastically different from reality!</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Then in the middle of the opposing counsel's (boring, long winded) closing remarks it started raining outside, then thundering, then hailing and lightening-ing. We were on the top floor of the courthouse so it was so loud and deafening. I thought that the roof was going to cave in and lightening was going to strike them all down--perhaps, that was just wishful thinking. The timing of that hailstorm couldn't have been more perfect.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>The last thing I wanted to add regarding this trial. It was long, tough, and very grueling. But I learned something so critically important during this process. And I learned it on the very last day in the very last hours of court.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>I was watching my lawyer give her closing remarks. She was so poised. She was articulate. She was calm and collected. She was prepared. BUT she was animated and passionate when she spoke. There was nothing passive about her. I wouldn't call her aggressive because that's too manly of a term and she is anything but manly. And I thought to myself, "wow, it's okay to be like that. It's okay to be passionate. It's okay to be articulate. It's okay to have an opinion and defend it. It's okay to be a woman who knows her own mind. It's okay to be confident, self assured, and to have a career you enjoy." This was revelatory for me because for 5 years I was told it wasn't okay to be who I am. It wasn't okay to have moods. It was a bad thing to be too happy or too sad or too angry or too frustrated or too passionate. But I saw in those last few hours of court that it WAS and IS okay. Not everyone is going to like me, but it's still okay to be me.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>As for the outcome of the trial, we will have to wait. The judge has 60 days to make a ruling, so I'm not expecting a decision before then. We've done all we can do to this point and it's out of my hands. I now have the test of sitting back and trusting in the Lord and that truth will prevail.</div></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-4752954164248191712011-06-30T09:35:00.000-07:002011-06-30T00:10:08.684-07:00The Whole Fam DamilyMy brother Kristoffer's birthday is today. He would have been 35. A grown man. What a crazy thought!<br /><div><br /></div><div>When Kris was 4 years old, he got cancer--Leukemia. Devastating news to any parent. Though, to me, I grew up with his illness and so it was normal. He lived a short time but influenced many people for good during that time. He went into remission 7 times before he died 13 April (Good Friday) when he was only 13. I was 12.</div><div><br /></div><div>It has been years since I remembered and celebrated his life. I suppose I have been too busy living or, more accurately, I made myself busy because it has always been too difficult to celebrate his life. So, I'd like to honor his memory by remembering and thanking my family, of which he is still considered a part.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have a family; a wonderful, crazy, messed up, loving family! They are not perfect, but they are there for one another. And like a piece of old tough fabric, intricately woven together over time--this family has become beautiful, strong, determined, and steadfast. They are immovable. And I have to remember that it was this family, my family, who caught me, cradling me to safety, when my world came crashing down. They were my saviours...still are.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>By modern society's definition, I have a large family. By Utah's standard's, it's a medium sized one: Mom & Dad, 8 kids, 12 3/4 grand kids. And when we are all together, (which is rare), it borders on resembling a chaotic musical, complete with our own theme music and voice over narration.</div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinHuOHDrEkyC8t4DcB2kmUk4BdD8biXwoQ31fucZXb9NCLLeaJaZn5RBwSifr9E1QQJZmh2Q9f7Tm8y3T-oSuJTEcxL3e9rwgn5aaFXnozrUwxhrqT121hzoLCF2cvUvL_jdMOpwES1AA/s320/IMG_1548.jpg" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623891276348667026" /></div><div><br /></div><div>That, we can all agree, is Mom's doing. We are all musically inclined, thanks to her and her ability to use (sometimes) not so gentle persuasion to get us all to sing, play the piano/instrument, or, at the very least, to whistle a tune without modulating into a different key. When we were little, she had us singing and performing all over the community, often while wearing Raggedy Ann and Andy costumes! So, there was just no point in resisting the musical gene. (Pictured is Bethany playing dress-up at Grandma's house, in our old costumes).</div><div><br /></div><div>My dad, on the other hand, has always claimed he must have been out playing in the fields when the talents were divvied out and, therefore, missed out on any such musical ability. While, I don't believe he's lacking in the talent department, I do think that's why he married my mom. She was soooo beautiful, had the voice of an angel and possessed more talent in her little pinkie than he thought he'd ever have in a lifetime.</div><div><br /></div><div>We lived on the lower end of the middle class spectrum. Mostly this was due to the fact that my parents decided to have as many kids as God would bless them with and to make the sacrifices necessary to allow my mom to stay home with us while we were young. (This example set the stage for my belief and desire to sacrifice luxury to become a stay at home mom, myself. This was subconsciously ingrained in me as the ideal, so, I strove towards that goal at all costs).</div><div><br /></div><div>It's easy to get lost in a large family, but I think all individuals, who grow up with siblings, know that everyone has their own unique place in the family. My family is no exception. These are my perceptions: My oldest brother was the talented one: musician, actor, playwright, director, (even if it was only for pretend on the playground) and we mustn't forget, he was THE boss--our moral compass to condemn or condone our actions. My oldest sister: the beautiful one and the ring leader--if she decided it was worth doing, we all followed along. My second oldest sister: the peacemaker and the crafty one. My older brother (Kris): the entertainer and jokester. Me: I was, simply put, the middlest (all that that implies) and I was known as Happy Jacq. My younger brother (Joey): forever the baby. My youngest sister: the compassionate one and 'the shimmering glowing star in the cinema of firmament!' My youngest brother: the easy going trumpet player who every one of us love, admire and adore.</div><div><br /></div><div>Not a whole lot has changed since then. The major difference is we grew up and I don't think we see each other as ONLY these things anymore. Though, I think it does takes us by surprise sometimes when THE boss no longer tells us what we <i>should</i> be doing, but rather, listens and sympathizes. Or when the compassionate one takes a firm stand, demanding justice instead of mercy. Or when when the peacemaker instigates an argument and fights to the death. Or when the beautiful one doesn't think she is stunning. Or when the happy one...well, isn't laughing anymore.</div><div><br /></div><div>Through the years, my family has stuck together and supported each other during very difficult times. I knew this from past experience, so, it's surprising, looking back on it, that while I was in my marriage and was isolated from these friends, I began to believe I had no one on the outside that cared for me. I believed my family was my enemy. That they were disappointed in me and the person I had become. I believed that if I left my marriage, I would be labeled 'the divorced one', and therefore, I wouldn't be accepted, but would be shunned. I truly believed I would have no where to go and I would be a single mom alone.</div><div><br /></div><div>What a sense of relief and enpowerment I have felt, as my life came crashing down around me breaking into a million little pieces, as I have found out that I'm not alone, but am surrounded, held up, and sustained by my family.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you, family!</div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-61695477604233583032011-06-20T16:45:00.001-07:002011-06-21T08:23:06.746-07:00Postponed and Divorced.<div><span class="Apple-style-span">I entered court last Tuesday with a certain expectation that our case would be heard. I exited court last Tuesday with an unexpected delay and an unexpected surprise. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>The Delay</b>: Our court dates needed to be rescheduled. </span> So, Tuesday's and Friday's court dates were cancelled. Unfortunately, the next available dates, when all parties involved would be able to be in attendance, aren't for another month. Bummer! (That word doesn't do justice to how I feel about another delay, but my vocabulary is at a loss.) The new dates are 15 & 18 July 2011 and 4 Aug 2011.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>The surprise</b>: Our wonderful judge ordered the divorce to go through! It will be finalized within a few days. Everything else relating to the divorce is in abeyance until the case is heard. I would venture to shout, "I'm free, at last!" But without my children, I do not feel free and I, certainly, don't feel much like celebrating.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">This week has found me to be in such a lugubrious mood until I met someone today who had a very refreshing view on life. I couldn't help but absorb some of his energy and viewpoint. Everything this stranger said and did had a positive spin to it--not in an annoying, that-person-is-way-too-happy kind of way, but, rather, in a very real and tangible way. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">There was no pretense or facade he was trying to wear. It wasn't a mask. It was just the way he saw things. And just from one brief conversation, I could tell he lived every day and every moment of his life viewing the world through these tinted glasses.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">After this brief encounter, I found myself wanting to view life and my current situation a little differently. Although I would love to say I will forever and from this day forth become a person who exudes positivity with every breath, (I love the thought of that), I am too much of a realist to believe that I could change that quickly or that intensely in such a short amount of time. And I fear, if I tried, I would come across as pretending. So, instead, I'm opting to find a happy medium between the sad realities of life and the happily-ever-afters I want.</span></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-82252846757077438762011-05-10T12:37:00.000-07:002011-05-10T14:03:26.228-07:00Mother's Day<span class="Apple-style-span">Mother's Day sucked! End of story.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I have to admit I was elated it was overcast and rainy! The brooding clouds fit my mood. If it had been bright, sunny, and cheery, I think it would have, easily, been catalogued as the worst-day-ever. But with the bleakness of the weather I felt, at least, God understood my plight and had planned, accordingly, for rain. So, while it was not my favorite day, it wasn't my worst.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I had planned to, dutifully, attend church, but as I drove into the parking lot, I was struck with the realization I couldn't face the endless praise of Motherhood that would certainly ensue upon my entering the chapel. In my current state of selfishness, that would be too much for me to handle. I decided being alone, completely alone, would be the best course of action for me. So, I turned around and headed back home to spend a day in the solace of my garden.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Unfortunately, I had been planting flowers for a measly 15 minutes before the downpour started. Looking up into the gray sky, I stayed, soaking in the big, wet raindrops. The rain quickly blended in with my salty tears and I sat there crying for what seemed like a millennia. For the first time, I didn't care what my neighbors were thinking. I didn't care what people driving past might be thinking. All I could do was sit there wallowing in self pity while the rain poured down around me and crying because I missed my children; I missed being a mom. For an entire year, that has been taken from me and the weight of that is unbearable to handle alone.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">My entire day was like that. No, I didn't sit in the rain for the entire day, but I felt like doing that. Instead, I drove around aimlessly and allowed myself to feel sorry for myself. Probably not the healthiest thing to do, but I think it helped me. I think it helped to mourn what I've lost. I have lost a year and I can never get this year away from my children back. That, in my opinion, is a loss to truly mourn.</span></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-14848606459317337692011-04-12T08:50:00.000-07:002011-04-12T09:49:21.192-07:00I can see clearly<div><div>To all abusers and manipulators out there in the world, I just have to ask: Why do you do it? I know some of the answers to that, but I just had to throw that question out into the cosmic abyss.</div><div><br /></div><div>I got another email from my husband yesterday. Interestingly, both my Dad and brother-in-law, Joel, had premonitions just this past weekend that he might try and make another attempt at fixing our broken marriage (controlling me). They were right, he did.</div><br /><div>I will save you the gory details of the lengthy and quite wordy email and just give you the tidbits of info that are quite telling of his nature. It was the same old rhetoric: Jacq, you're broken and sick, you single-handedly ruined our marriage, you are abusive and neglectful, I don't trust you, the girls don't trust you, and my parents don't trust you...BUT I still love you and and I will sleep better at night knowing that I am continuing to try to reconcile our marriage!</div></div><div><br /></div><div>The best part, (do you hear the sarcasm?). He says, only <b>he</b> will be the one to decide if and when I adhere strictly enough to the conditions<b> he </b>sets out in order for me to see my children. He claims that because <b>he</b> no longer trusts me, I will have to prove that I am good enough, well enough, obedient enough to see my children. Also, that I'll need to prove this to his parents, but <b>he</b> won't guarantee that they will ever drop the adoption case because that's in their hands not his.</div><div><br /></div><div>Who is he to decide whether I am trustworthy enough to be with my children? While I am fully aware of my imperfections as a wife and mother, (I don't pretend to be the epitome of perfection, never did and never will--I'm much too aware of my own flaws), I know I am a good, fun, kind, and loving mom. I make mistakes. That's one thing I know will never change! So, I know that I will never be able to become trustworthy enough for him. The bar he and his parents measure me against is set too high. It's unrealistic. I cannot achieve perfection all the time, in every situation, and with every mundane task I'm required to complete. I couldn't do it in the marriage and I know, moving forward, those requirements are impossible. That, my friends, is the crazy making! Feeling like being a normal functioning human being isn't good enough.</div><div><br /></div><div>On top of that, I just have to ask, in what realm does his wanting to reconcile our marriage even makes sense? Do people who are healthy (emotionally) knowingly seek to be with someone they are claiming is sick and abusive? I don't think so. Hence, my interpretation of his email was: Jacq quit it out. You are not obeying me. This was not in my plan! This is my attempt to control the situation that has exploded into chaos. And I am manipulating you to try and get what I want. I will threaten you. I will lie. I will expose you. I will ruin your life, if you don't shape up and do what I say. BUT if you do conform, then I will lovingly take you back--however, you still won't have your children!</div><div><br /></div><div>So, it has become clear to me that I am a lot healthier than I was a year ago. While I am still fighting the effects of living in an abusive marriage, I can now see so clearly the manipulation and lies and I want nothing to do with it. I'm simply done with it. And as Ben Folds sings, "Bye, Bye, I tried. I've landed."</div><div><br /></div><iframe width="480" height="295" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/0vPygzPSg8M?fs=1" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-21089624782251936582011-04-06T17:53:00.001-07:002011-04-12T11:40:01.874-07:00Thing. Just things.I never realized just how hard it is to live without my things until I didn't have anything except, literally, the clothes on my back, a couple of changes of underwear, and some basic makeup items. <div><br /></div><div>You see, I took very few things with me the day I left because I believed I would be able to come back at any time and pick up the rest of my belongings. After all, my husband did convince me to just separate temporarily. He said, "Don't tell your family about the divorce. Don't get a lawyer, yet. Just wait it out, ponder and pray about it and then we'll meet back together at your next therapy (in 5 days) appointment. At that time, we can then discuss divorce or reconciliation." Why he was planning on attending MY therapy session is a story for another day. The point is, I left the house that day without my most of my things.<div><br /></div><div>To be completely honest, I don't have very many things, though. I've never had a plethora of money to spend frivolously and I've never been someone who hordes junk. In fact, I regularly (every year actually) go through my storage boxes. I toss out anything that hasn't been used or looked at during that year and I throw away any paper or gadget that has lost it's sentimental value to me. I do this because 1. I hate clutter 2. I see no point in keeping something that isn't being used. 3. Very few things hold enough sentimental value to me to keep around.</div><div><br /></div><div>Don't get me wrong, I do adore gifts from other people. It makes me feel loved and wanted. I remember every gift I was given, from every person, and when I received it. The reality is, very few items make it to the keep-forever-and-a-day pile.</div><div><br /></div><div>I understand there are a lot of people who just can't, no matter what, get rid of anything because <i>everything</i>, it seems, has strong emotional ties. I get it, I tolerate it, and I usually don't even mind if other people do it. I just never have been like that. So, after I was served divorce papers (at my therapy appointment) and was forbidden from entering into my in-laws home to retrieve my things, I was somewhat mystified when I realized how attached I had suddenly become to <b>my</b> things. And I found an extreme loss at not being allowed to retrieve them.</div><div><br /></div><div>My family, thank goodness, helped me out by restocking my personal hygiene items, gifting me with an occasional piece of jewelry, and taking me out to buy a few new articles of clothing every now and then so that I would have some basic necessities. But after only a few short days of being without, I found myself longing for my closet full of shoes. I missed my piano, books and sheet music. I longed for my P90X DVD set. Daily, I grumbled under my breath that I had no running shoes, multiple outfits to choose from, and sadly, I even pined after my home decor, even though I had no home of my own in which to display it. I realize this was silly, yet it's how I felt.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, last week (almost a year after I left) my old things and I were reunited once again. What a happy reunion! I had a entire trailer load of stuff my husband was claiming to 'give back' to me. I must say, I was somewhat disappointed at what I found while sorting through these things. Only about 1/4 of everything located in the trailer was actually mine. Some of it I recognized as items belonging to my in-laws (junky dinnerware, utensils, goblets, shelves). Some where things I knew belonged to my husband. And some I had never seen before in my life. Some items, actually, still had prices tags from a thrift store attached to them. It was as if they had cleaned out an entire room full of junk and pawned it off on me, in a hope that they could claim they split our assets evenly. Incredible! And ridiculous! What I found even more astonishing, was that not all of my possessions made it back to me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Like I said before, I really do remember every gift that was ever given to me. So, while I am happy beyond belief that I now have a choice in which shoes to put on, I am acutely aware of the glaring fact that I am still attached to those other things I didn't get back.</div></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-74273132207785191992011-03-28T07:59:00.000-07:002011-04-11T22:43:16.766-07:00Why her?<div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I recently learned that an acquaintance I went to high school with, just left an abusive relationship, too. She lasted over 10 years. As we sat talking I felt myself relating to her sad, depressing tale, the abuse she endured, and her current view of herself. Yet, while we were talking, a question plagued me, "why her?" She seemed to have everything going for her. She is strikingly gorgeous. She oozes self confidence (at least she seemes to), she is so musically talented. She comes from a fantastic family. Looking at her, it just didn't add up.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span><div></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Now, I don't pretend to know exactly what her feelings are or what it was like for her, but I could relate to the words she used to describe what she went through and the questions that she was asking mimicked my own almost word for word.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >The question I most identified with and needed answered was: why us? What was it about our own selves that made us attract some guy who would abuse us...and what was it that made us not see the abuse and stay so long in the relationship?</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >That question has plagued me, elluded me, baffled me</span>.</div></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-56627275777813799052011-03-24T10:35:00.000-07:002011-03-24T11:12:13.068-07:00Waiting. I hate waiting.<span class="Apple-style-span">It's said that patience is a virtue. It appears it's a virtue I haven't mastered, yet. I believe I'm capable of it and I'm sure God is pretty set on allowing me to take the longest road possible to get there!</span><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"></span>My deposition, that was scheduled for last month, never happened. It was cancelled. The opposing side decided they wanted to attempt mediation first. Ironically, my lawyer was in favor of this, too and thus, cancelled the deposition.<br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Mediation did take place last week. I was thrilled to have it over with, but not so thrilled with the outcome. It was a bust. No compromising. No settling. Nothing accomplished except a check mark in the box on the way to trial. The in-laws (or out-laws in this case!) blatantly said they showed up only to see if I was willing/ready to let them proceed with the adoption, unhindered. "Just trust us," they said. At that moment, I saw flashes of the snake off from Disney's, The Jungle Book, with his hypnotic eyes spinning while chanting to Mowgli, "Trust in me...trust in me...." all the while preparing to devour him in one bite. Glad I can see the snakes in my life, now. That's an improvement from the last 6 years.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">As for the husband? He showed up <b>without</b> his lawyer. He was burdened with gifts meant for me; an enticement to reconcile, I suppose because every other word out of his mouth was about reconciling (however, only if I allow the adoption to go through). A little creepy, I know! Yet, there he was. I found out from the mediator what the gifts were and realized they were things that were already mine, so I accepted them as he was just returning my belongings to the rightful owner. I, then, put a big, loud, *KIBOSH* on the whole reconciliation idea.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">A court date was scheduled for 2 May 2011. Yesterday I got word that it's been cancelled due to my husband claiming he has finals that <b>week</b>, not even that same day. Am I to understand that he is not capable of doing two things in the same week? I have to admit, I wasn't blindsided by this stalling tactic (it's been used frequently in the last 10 months), yet I am frustrated and upset. I would love to be able to take the ups and downs in life in stride--perhaps, I'm better at it than I think. But when it comes to facing another 2 months, (at least!), without seeing my kids...I'm not so patient.</span></div></div></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-17165826339300598522011-03-04T13:24:00.000-08:002011-03-24T11:30:39.627-07:00Tolerance<div>I have this friend. He is amazingly talented. Fun and funny. Relaxing. Accepting. He has great perspectives on life. He treats me like gold. I have the deepest love and respect for this guy. And yet, to look at him, one might cross to the other side of the street. I mean he is big and strong. Very tough guy-esque. Think biker--goatee, tattoos, studs, I don't know about the leather, but he could pull it off. </div><div><br /></div><div>I had a conversation the other day with my sister. It was a discussion which ensued after I had had a brief falling out with one of her children--I had (erring-ly because I'm not the parent) calmly told this child that it was unacceptable to make fun of or judge anyone. My niece was distraught and troubled because she didn't think what she had said had been offensive. In her mind, she was stating a truth--her truth. </div><div><br /></div><div>During the chat with my sister, we contemplated how to teach children tolerance without them losing their own core values. How do you learn to accept without condoning others' choices or emulating their lifestyle? I had never thought about how to teach this concept. I assumed it was something that was either inherent or something you learned by observing someone else's behaviors. So, to me it was simple, if she wanted to teach her kids to be tolerant then she, herself, should just be tolerant; her children would follow. She claims she is doing that and for her boys that worked, for the girls it didn't. She illustrated that children see it as a contradiction: why is it okay for you to do something and for me to tell you it's okay to do it, but it's not okay for me to DO the same thing.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have seen children do this all the time. My girls were wearing cute little sun dresses last summer. They went upstairs to play with some cousins and I heard one of them tell Bethany, "why are you wearing that? It's immodest." Good grief! She's 3! She could've been wearing just underwear and it wouldn't have breached any modesty lines. But as I've thought about that, this child was just noticing the differences in boundaries--Bethany can wear a dress like that, why can't I?</div><div><br /></div><div>I have found over the years, tolerance is one of my strongest characteristics. I was open and accepting of anyone. Didn't matter who you were, what your station in life was, where you've been in your journey in life or what choices you've made, I accepted you and would welcome you as a friend. So, I found wherever I went, I would meet a variety of people and have a fun time in the process. I didn't change my core values to do that. I was still me. I still believed what I believed. I still acted the same.</div><div><br /></div><div>I found an alarming weakness in tolerance, though. In my marriage, why did I choose to stay after I, initially, found out about my husband's porn addiction and sex addictions? Well, not only did I not believe in divorce, but I loved my husband. I wanted him to KNOW that I loved him no matter what. I would stay with him through his issues and I would hope that he would work them out on his own and in his own time. I had faith in him and believed in him. So, I was tolerant. I didn't know that being tolerant of an addiction isn't always the best thing to do. I didn't know that my tolerance was enabling him to justify his actions and that it would become a slippery slope of entrapment. And that I would be pulled down into his own private hell.</div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-10542767596942804662011-02-15T11:37:00.000-08:002011-02-15T11:57:42.883-08:00What comes next?<span class="Apple-style-span">So, I just wanted to include a brief update on the current court case. Absolutely nothing happened in December! Why? I have no idea, except perhaps, everyone decided to take a month off for holiday. I wish my emotions could have done the same thing.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span">January passed by relatively quickly. My husband and his folks finally showed up for their depositions (hours of questioning done under oath) and my lawyer said it went well. I don't know what that means exactly because I chose not to go. There was really no reason for me to be there except to look them in the face while they lied. I guess that could have been fun, if I got my jollies from that sort of thing. However, I did get a copy of the depositions, but I couldn't make it through the first few pages, so I stopped reading. But the good news, my lawyers came away from that interlude with renewed faith in me and a belief that we have to get my children OUT of this mess...meaning they didn't buy into all the lies and manipulations. I'm relieved.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">My deposition will take place this Friday. I'm not as nervous as I thought I would be, but it's still Tuesday, so I have time to become a big ball of stress. (Which for everyone who knows me, knows this will happen! So, there's no use denying it.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">After that, who knows what will come next. I know there is mandatory mediation, then an evidentiary hearing, and then it should go to trial. I don't even have a guess at a time frame. I wish I could say it will all happen this month, but I don't think I can be that optimistic. I think I can safely say, within a year!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">My hope: a <b>MIRACLE</b>.</span></div></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-82409050210548391522011-02-09T22:09:00.000-08:002011-02-15T10:25:17.465-08:00It's not your fault<div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Over the last 8 months I have experienced things I didn't know I could handle. The worst part about challenges, for me, is when they never resolve and new ones come anyway. Pretty soon, I find myself unable to organize the life around me. It's utter chaos and seemingly, unmanageable. Yet, somehow, I survive. And I'm finding, I'm handling things better. So, perhaps, there is a method to all this madness. Maybe God knows I'm stronger than I think.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I have been reading this book on the Atonement of Jesus Christ. It poses an interesting thought. That there are degrees to which one is accountable and thus, degrees to which one is saved by grace. It argues there are outright sins which are committed; things you believe and know to be wrong, but you do them anyway. Then there are choices you make, but you don't necessarily know the extent to which your choices will hurt or effect yourself or others and you don't know if what you chose was right or wrong. Therefore, you are ignorant. Then there are times when you have no control over what happened, but you feel the effects of someone else's choices. This book indicates that you can be saved regardless, but the degree to which you, personally, are held accountable, varies.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >That concept has been intriguing for me because it gives me a little perspective and it has helped me to set aside my instinct to blame and point fingers. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >For example, in my childhood, there were things I've already discussed in earlier posts, which I don't blame anyone for. I don't point fingers at my parents and say, "You should have protected me!" Or I don't even really point the fingers at the bullies because they were kids! What they did hurt, it's true, but they were kids and kids can be mean, unintentionally. I blame no one, I just see things for how they were and try to explain how it made me feel.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Currently, since nothing in my life is resolving, it's been difficult to let go and move on because I WANT to point a finger at someone and blame them for what's transpired. For a while I could, but with this new perspective on Christ's Atonement, I find myself putting my finger down.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >With that in mind, I wrote a letter to my in-laws this week. I wrote of my forgiveness, my compassion, and of my trying to understand their perspective. I tried to put myself in their shoes and in doing this, I realized something, I don't blame them. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >My father-in-law, is a kind sweet, and humble man. He wouldn't do anything to knowingly hurt any other person. I feel that in my heart. But he would support his wife in all things. This is trait, that in the past, I have admired.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >My mother-in-law is more difficult for me to understand. I know that she tries to do good...BUT sometimes misses that mark. I think her intentions are good, but she is misguided. It's good for me to see that she might not be intentionally trying to hurt or harm, instead she believes what she is doing is the right thing, (although to us on the outside, it clearly is not).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Because I can recognize these things, I am able to stop pointing blame at them and I can honestly say, Mom & Dad, it's not your fault. Which is why I wrote the letter.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >It's a different story when it comes to pointing the finger at myself. I think it will continue to be a lifelong process that will take time and a lot of effort. I don't know if I'll ever be able to stop thinking about the 'I shoulda, woulda, couldas'.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >With my husband, I don't know what it will take. The jury's still out on that! I think the confusion comes because I can't distinguish what was intentional harm, what was in ignorance, or what wasn't his choice in the first place, but instead were the effects of the choices of others. I'm sure it's a combination, but until I have it sorted out in my mind, my finger is still pointing towards guilty.</span></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-77545364788173517722011-02-08T20:43:00.000-08:002011-02-08T21:47:33.502-08:00How I love thee? Let me count the ways.<span class="Apple-style-span">I attended a small class today where there was a speaker speaking to us on The Five Love Languages. These concepts weren't new to me. I had heard them before. I even think that I read a book once that alluded to these, but I had never actually stopped to find out how it is I, myself, feel that I'm loved by others. </span><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">According to this paradigm, there are 5 Love Languages, or 5 different ways that one feels accepted, appreciated, and understood by those around them. They are:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">1. Words of Affirmation</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">2. Quality time</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">3. Receiving Gifts</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">4. Acts of Service</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">5. Physical Touch</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">There are two that are critical for me. My number one Love Language is <b>Words of Affirmation</b>. With a close runner up, <b>Receiving Gifts</b>. I think those closest to me, like members of my immediate family, could have guessed these. They know me well. Honestly, it's not hard to figure out. I have always made it perfectly clear, I love gifts and I need praise. But what was fascinating to me was learning what others should and should not do to communicate their love.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span">Words of Affirmations</span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Tools to use: (This is how you should love me)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">-Sincere verbal compliments</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">-Encouraging words</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">-Kind words</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">-Humble words</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Traps to avoid: (This is what makes me wither up like a dried old leaf and crumble to pieces)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">-"Constructive" criticism</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">-Verbal threats</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">-Making demands</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">-Verbal flattery to get what you want</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Ironically, all the 'traps to avoid' were employed by my husband for most of our marriage. Now, I know there were other circumstances going on which effected how I felt about myself. There was a lot of abuse, and I think most people would feel hurt by it, but I always thought to myself, if I were stronger inside then I could withstand it or it wouldn't hurt so much. And I think I'm right. I think it was so crushing to me was because what he was doing was the antithesis of what I needed to feel loved. And under these conditions, I really did crumble. I remember looking for and seeking his praise, adoration, compliments, but when I didn't get it, I was emotionally destroyed and sometimes even blindsided. I knew he would tell me he loved me with his lips or in writing, but I after a while I didn't believe it anymore. There were too many traps and not enough tools being employed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span">Receiving Gifts</span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Tools to use:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">-Flowers and cards</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">-Personalization</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">-Gift of self</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">-Anything with a bow</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Traps to avoid:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">-Special Occasions</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">-Expensive gifts</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">-"Don't get me anything." (especially when I say don't get me anything--horrible offense!)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">-Start a tradition you can't maintain</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I know, needing to receive gifts to feel loved really sucks! But it's easy for people to show their love in this way because it doesn't take a lot of work to throw together a gift, unfortunately, it's also really easy to forget or to only get gifts on special occasions. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Until now, it has seemed vain, worldly and self centered of me. I found myself loathing this part of me during my marriage. But the fact is, it's real and no matter how I tried to change this about myself, I never could. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">For me, the thing that communicated that I wasn't loved the most, was when my husband would offer himself (going with me somewhere that was important to me, for example) as a gift, but then would back out at the last minute. Or he wouldn't agree to do it with me in the first place. And that happened more times than I even want or care to count. It's just how it was. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The other hard part about being a gift's person is that it's easy for others to say, well I don't have enough money. For me, that tells me, you don't have enough 'love' for me. I'm not important. Because gifts don't have to cost anything; those kinds of gifts just take more thought and time. So, in my marriage, when we had extra cash, I got gifts, but when we didn't have money, I was given nothing.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The most fascinating part of learning about these languages was seeing that the way I try to show others, (including my husband), that I love them, directly reflects what my own love language is. I cake on the praise and I shower people with gifts...<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">unbeknownst</span> to me, not everyone is like me!</span></div></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-43782433544127951802011-02-02T09:27:00.000-08:002011-02-15T11:01:07.425-08:00You're still you, after all. You're still you.<span class="Apple-style-span" >I was in the post office yesterday and witnessed an adorable little scene. While I was standing in line, waiting my turn, there was this little 3 year old standing in line ahead of me. She kept turning around and staring at me with the intensity that only a small child can pull off. There was no judgement, guile ,or embarrassment in her actions, just that stare. I don't know what it is about children and their ability to stare at the world and not only get away with it, but get in return a bunch of huge grins, silly faces, and finger waving from grown adults. I've tried the starting technique and am only confronted with averted eyes and rosy cheeks!</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span><div> <div><span class="Apple-style-span" >As she and her mom, who was also toting a baby in her arms, were preparing to leave, I overheard the mom say, "Okay, squirt, are you ready to go? Let's go." </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >The child, immediately stopped in her tracks, planted her feet firmly into the ground, as if preparing for a battle. She looked her mom squarely in the eyes and said with such firmness and determination, "I'm not a squirt! I'm Olivia!"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >This child, at 3 years old, knew who she was.</span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >In my minds eye, I fast forwarded to years in the future when that self image wouldn't be so clear. And I found myself hoping that this sweet little child would forever be able to hold on to that identity.</span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >My ability to see myself that clearly has been altered so much. I feel as though I look at my reflection through murky water. I can no longer tell you what it means when I say I'm Jacquee. It doesn't carry with it the same significance that it once did. My my used to tell me, when I was unsure about a situation or decision, "You can do it! Why? Because you are Jacquee." I used to know exactly what that meant and I used to gain so much confidence through that statement. It wasn't just a name for myself. It was so much more. It carried a meaning, a value, a power. An Identity.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >And now, while I can still identify different aspects about myself. Like what foods I like: Indian, Sushi, Pizza. Or what's my favorite color: Yellow. What do I like to do in my spare time: Read or Watch Movies. What is something I do well: Play the Piano. What are my hobbies, interests, character traits, etc? These are all things I can put labels to and list, but they don't carry the power of my identity. I no longer feel the empowerment that used to come from just knowing I was me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I don't know what the missing element is or how to get that back again. I would like to, but I don't think it's possible to mesh who I once thought I was to how I currently view or perceive myself to be. Perhaps, it's not getting anything back, instead, maybe it's starting anew; building on my life's experiences and gaining wisdom along the way.</span></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-77942332665479771912011-01-05T19:00:00.000-08:002011-01-12T16:42:20.354-08:00Jobless in Utah<span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span">S</span><span class="Apple-style-span">ome months ago I began the arduous task of securing gainful employment...again. After moving 9 times in 6 years, you'd think I would know a little something about getting a job. I don't. I've mostly worked for myself or for my husband for 6 years. I have little experience in convincing anyone that I'm worth being paid any amount of $$$.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >It's a funny thing trying to 'sell' yourself. I have a cover letter and a resume both of which are fairly well written and pinpoint my strong points, neither of which mention any of my numerous weaknesses. I have references that like me and think I'm pretty swell--and hopefully, will communicate my good points to the prospective employers. I am careful to apply only to jobs that are doing something I'm passionate about or would be good at and where I could picture myself being there long term. Thus, ensuring success, if I were offered the job. And then there are the interviews. Usually I'm great at face to face interactions, yet, lately it is proving to be something of a tiresome and worthless process.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >For example, I went to a job interview a day ago. It's my second one in a month. Not good odds considering I have sent out over 200 resume applications.</span><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I walked in 5 minutes early and was confronted with a barrage of women sitting down, waiting. I was the last one there. I sized up my competition. 20 women of all ages, sizes, and colors. To say that I was intimidated, is an understatement. There were women there that I could have birthed. There were women that could have been my grandmother. There were well-read individuals who were obviously above such a lowly position to which they were applying and there were ones in whom I'm sure this position would have been a stretch for them to succeed at.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Nevertheless, we all sat there filling out a monstrous application that was just a repeat of everything my resume (which was already filed with the company) stated. And then there was the infamous personality test--which, if you've ever taken these before, you know how to skew the results to get the personality they are looking for in the position--not that that is what I did! This was followed by a tour of the clinic and then just waiting. Waiting. (Seriously, I felt like a Dr. Seuess character waiting in The Waiting Place). Waiting for my turn for an interview with the boss. I waited 3 hours! 3 hours in a room full of estrogen. Chit chat with women who would like you to leave so that they can get the job. Polite, frustrated conversation. Everyone is thinking the same thing--"I need this job, but for heaven's sake, when is this madness going to end"?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I busied my time doing what I do best, writing list. Writing a list of questions to ask when I finally have my time in the sun with Mr. Boss-Man. And another list of what sets me apart from all the other women in the room. (That list seemed a little too short). I read all the pamphlets in the office. I texted everyone in my phone contacts. I stared each woman in the eyes until they became uncomfortable and looked away. I started chewing my fingernails, but quickly realized where I was and halted that before I entered the interview with little nubs for nails. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >It's in these awkward moments of life, I'm left with my thoughts and I can't run away. I have to just sit there thinking about all my insecurities, faults, and the past that led me to the current state of affairs. It's as if someone is holding up a mirror in front of me and I'm confronted with myself. And the questions begin of why am I here? I don't have anything to offer this company. I don't really WANT this job, but I need a job! I don't have the experience or I have too much experience. How do the people in the room see me? Do they see me? Oh, how I wish I was my former skinny self, then I wouldn't be so self-conscious. No one is going to hire me, I have too many weaknesses, I can't cover them all up! People can see right through me. This job is so not worth the effort!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I'm about to abandon ship by the time it was my turn. However, as luck would have it, the boss was worn out and he didn't have time to talk with me, so I had an interview with the boss's wife. To say that I left frustrated, is an understatement.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Didn't receive a call back on that one...not that I'm all that surprised!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div></div></div><div><br /></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-88702856891458892412011-01-01T12:14:00.000-08:002011-01-01T21:57:08.688-08:00Veni! Vedi! Vici!<span class="Apple-style-span"><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><div>The start of a new year. This is a time I have always loved. I love to make New Years</div><div><div>resolutions. I love starting new things. The excitement, the anticipation of not knowing, but believing that I can MAKE things happen!</div></div></span></div></span><div><br /></div><div>The world (until recently) has always be an open and inviting place to be. Full of possibilities. A place of wonder, amusement, adventure. And the New Year was a time to throw out the bad, (luck that went awry, unmet goal, things I'd been trying and rehashing throughout the year that just never panned out, old relationships gone sour, thinking patterns that were wearing on my soul, negative self limiting beliefs, or anything that I was just plain bored of), and begin again with new. New tries. New desires. New goals.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">My motto, Veni! Vidi! Vici! (I came! I saw! I conquered!)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Even through the last 6 years, the New Year brought on, for me, the excitement of newness. I have, written in my journals, my New Year's Resolutions lists. Each, written with the hope that I'd be able to change enough to make my marriage not just work, but thrive. The beauty of hindsight, is that I can read these goals back to back and see that nothing changed in my desires from year to year. The only thing that changed was my desperation and hopelessness...and wording I used--to make something appear like it was NEW. By 2009, my goal was the same, but I never finished the list. I left off mid-sentence and ended up scribbling a short, sad, despairing poem at the bottom of the page. 2010's list just said: New Year's Resolutions 1: Find myself...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">This year, is different. I feel compelled to make new goals, but I feel somewhat powerless to achieve anything, let alone greatness! But I know that to get to the light, sometimes we must take steps into the darkness. We have to have courage and use it, or we must take the courage that someone else has offered us. I'm choosing the later.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I don't necessarily believe in my own power or ability (especially at this time in my life) to transform this old body of mine into the healthy, fit, and efficient machine that I'd like it to be. Or to do anything of significance. But I do believe others have done amazing things through times of trial. So, I will take courage from others who have gone before and along side of me and I will step into the darkness and push forward this year until I'm basking in the sunlight...(and hopefully, I'll be in a yellow poke-a-dot bikini and lying on a sunny beach somewhere in the Caribbean!)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">So, without further ado, my New Years Resolution (drum roll, please):</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">1) Have my parental rights reinstated and gain custody of my kids</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">2) Get down to a healthy weight (ha! When isn't that on my lists--especially after indulging in the holiday splendor?)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">3) Run in the Top of Utah 1/2 marathon in August and the Marine Corps marathon in Oct.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">4) Get a career level job that I LOVE</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">5) Move into my own place</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">6) Begin to payback my debts to my family</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">7) Start to repair my damaged credit</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">8) Write the music arrangements I've been meaning to do</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">9) Give back</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">10) Meet Josh Groban</span></div><div><br /></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span"></span>Happy New Year! </b></div><div>(My sister's and I looking '<i>all pale and tragic</i>' New Years Eve!</div><div><img src="https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=46a6f87043&view=att&th=12d4540c1567ad07&attid=0.1&disp=thd&zw" class="hv" alt="Photo01010021.jpg" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></span></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-51438446586421267592010-12-30T00:29:00.000-08:002011-01-01T21:14:14.328-08:00To Believe or Not to Believe<div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I wish I still believed...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span">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 '<b>believing</b> '.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.<br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">And so, I have found myself wishing that I still believed...</span></div></div></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-41723021829140922092010-12-13T17:37:00.000-08:002010-12-14T00:01:31.061-08:00My birthday wish for Audrey<object style="background-image:url(http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/dvLXwCTk9yk/hqdefault.jpg)" width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dvLXwCTk9yk?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dvLXwCTk9yk?fs=1&hl=en_US" width="425" height="344" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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)!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-17046470559142244842010-12-12T21:44:00.000-08:002010-12-14T00:02:57.488-08:00Stranger at my door<div><span class="Apple-style-span">I received an unexpected visitor last week. I'm assuming it was an early anniversary present, though an unwanted one. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I'm sure that wasn't the response he wanted or was prepared for. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I was freaked out, I've never been stalked before. And I guess, <u><i><b>I</b></i></u> 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. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">My anniversary was on Saturday, so I think this was just his way of saying he remembered it. Lucky me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Hopeless, faithless, despair.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">That's where I find myself today.</span></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-82337741527225201282010-11-28T20:05:00.000-08:002010-12-13T23:26:28.765-08:00Breath in...breath out<div><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >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. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I cried myself to sleep that night.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >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. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><object width="575" height="324"><param name="movie" value="http://www.vevo.com/VideoPlayer/Embedded?videoId=USSM20702391&playlist=false&autoplay=0&playerId=62FF0A5C-0D9E-4AC1-AF04-1D9E97EE3961&playerType=embedded&env=0"><param name="bgcolor" value="#000000"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.vevo.com/VideoPlayer/Embedded?videoId=USSM20702391&playlist=false&autoplay=0&playerId=62FF0A5C-0D9E-4AC1-AF04-1D9E97EE3961&playerType=embedded&env=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="575" height="324" bgcolor="#000000"></embed></object><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I love my parents and their simple, yet profound, wisdom.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.</span></div><div><br /></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-18421411182755794642010-11-11T10:16:00.000-08:002011-01-13T21:25:08.797-08:00The 5 year BULLY<span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Out of shear terror of losing my child, I agreed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">These were his demands:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">1) I become party to his porn addiction and we watch it together.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">2) I go to strip clubs with him</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">3) I get lap dances so he can watch</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">4) I become bi-sexual</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-40807135551600063412010-10-29T00:00:00.000-07:002010-10-29T11:00:00.111-07:00Avoid Avoiding<p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I’m an avoider. I avoid stuff. I’m a list writer. I write lists about writing lists. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></span></p>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-73581465892057840312010-10-26T00:51:00.001-07:002010-10-26T08:47:20.399-07:00Wait...or weight<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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! </span></span></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-70765194591834444522010-10-23T14:49:00.000-07:002010-10-23T15:30:25.190-07:00Laughter is the best medicine<span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Ugh.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">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.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">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.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">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. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">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.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">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. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">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.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">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.</span></span></div></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-82656313489275184542010-10-22T10:19:00.000-07:002010-10-23T15:43:46.936-07:00Stockholm Syndrome<span class="Apple-style-span" >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. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >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. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >This week's topic was particularly eye opening to me. We discussed the Stockholm Syndrome.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >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. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >First I'll list the distorted thoughts that a victim may have and then the explanation of why those thoughts occur.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >1 Cognitive Distortion</span></b></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >Denies Partner's violence against her and focuses on his positive side.</span></i></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >Explanation</span></b></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >2 Cognitive distortion</span></b></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >Feels shame for abuse done to her</span></i></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >Explanation</span></b></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >3 Cognitive distortion</span></b></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >Resents outsiders to free her from abusive partner</span></i></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >Explanation</span></b></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >4 Cognitive distortion </span></b></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >Identifies with the victim in the partner</span></i></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >Explanation</span></b></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >Projects her own victim status on to partner; feels sympathetic and caring toward partner.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></i></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >5 Cognitive distortion</span></b></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >Believes partner's violence against her is deserved</span></i></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >Explanation</span></b></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></i></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >6.Cognitive distortion</span></b></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >Rationalizes partner's violence against her</span></i></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >Explanation</span></i></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i></i></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></i></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >7 Cognitive distortion</span></b></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >Feels hatred for that part of her that partner said led to her abuse</span></i></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >Explanation</span></b></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >To improve chances of survival, she internalizes partner's perspective, including reasons he gives her for abusing her.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></i></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >8 Cognitive distortion</span></b></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >Fears partner will come to get her, even if he is dead or in prison</span></i></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >Explanation</span></b></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >Victim believes partner is going to "get her" because he has done so at least once before; remains loyal in anticipation of his return.</span></i></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261259521485679694.post-6091232255218580922010-10-22T00:00:00.001-07:002010-10-26T09:43:20.218-07:00You want what????<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >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.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I won't attempt to interpret his words. They speak for themselves. If you understand an abusive situation, you'll see right through it.</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">My Dearest Jacquee,<br /><br />I would like to withdraw from the divorce if you would also. If so, will you attend counseling with me?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I miss you, I love you and I always will.<br /><br />P.S. I believe in miracles and am willing to work to make them happen in and for both of us.<br /><br /></span></span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UkyTj0Tr3fE" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 204); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">http://www.youtube.com/watch?<wbr>v=UkyTj0Tr3fE</span></span></a></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Jacquee,</span></span></span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Please light up my beautiful lighthouse keeper. This is it.<br /><br />Love,<br /><br />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" as</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">we</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"> drove away together. I would have suggested that </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">we</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"> 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 </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I'm keeping you! </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">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, </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU.</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">"<br /><br />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.<br /><br />If there was nothing else I could do, then I would sing and say my goodbye.<br /><br />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.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">My response should have been a single email with this link:</span></b></span></span></div></div><div><br /></div><object style="background-image:url(http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/8v_4O44sfjM/hqdefault.jpg)" width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/8v_4O44sfjM?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/8v_4O44sfjM?fs=1&hl=en_US" width="480" height="295" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object><div><br /></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But I didn't respond at all.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></span></span></div></div>Jacqueehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13369223293903979584noreply@blogger.com0