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Monday, August 26, 2013
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
The 5 P's of Friendship
You’re a TRUE friend because you have all 5 P’s
Play – Your fun!
Praise - YOU help me feel good about
me and you are awesome yourself.
Protection – You have my back and I
have yours.
Pray – You pray with and for me and I
feel great praying for you.
Prize – You’re a prize in my life and
at the bottom of this email I have a prize for you. I already claimed
mine.
Play along with me today -
·
praise 7
of your closes friends and forward this email.
·
Say the Prayer
of Protection, I said it for you
·
Claim
your PRIZE!!
When you Honor on the 5 P’s of
friendship
Miracles flow into your life
Prayer
of Protection!
With this blessing of friendship and love, I put on the
full armor of God.
I take stand against the devil’s schemes.
For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, of
our good friends and family; but against the powers of this dark world and
against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.
Therefore I put on the full armor of God, so that
when evil comes, I will be able to stand my ground and after I have done
everything, to stand. I will remain
because I am a friend, I am family - so I stand firm.
With the belt of truth buckled around your waist
With the breast plate of righteousness in place
With my feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the
message of peace.
In addition to all this I take up the shield of faith, with
which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one.
I take the helmet of salvation
I hold sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.
And I pray in
the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests.
With this in mind I am alert and always keep on praying for
all the Lord’s people, including my friends and family who sent me this prayer
and for the ones I am sending it too.
I give thanks for all who are praying also for me.
Help me speak words of kindness and thoughts of love. Pray that I may declare love as fearlessly,
as I should.
Together we stand, Amen.
Being your friend brings my heart closer to heaven.
Pass this email on to all your friends and share with them
how much you care for them TODAY.
Claim
your PRIZE!
Let’s Get the 5P’s of friendship around the world 3 times
before June 2nd. Forward it on to 7 of your friends.
Your Prize is waiting for you HERE!
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
From Victim to Survivor
Shake
it off and move on, it happened you lived. If you need someone to talk to I am
here. My personal experience they really do not want to talk to you about this
when you need someone to talk to, it’s not fun and it is out of habit for some
to make that statement. My favorite “he did not put his penis inside you so it
was not that bad”. How many of us as
child sexual abuse survivors have heard those statements from someone. I have heard them and more, I am sure as
survivors you have heard them also.
Statements like these make me angry, I feel like my feelings and pain are
being dismissed. Yes my uncle was kind
enough not to penetrate me, maybe I should call him and say thank you for
looking out for me. Wait, he did do other sexual things to me as a child that
should not have been done. As survivors,
we cannot just forget or move on because it makes everyone else comfortable. We
are tired of having to pretend everything is perfect so that others will be
happy and comfortable.
My
voice was silenced a long time ago. I grew up at a time where children where to
know their place, to be seen and not heard.
When I was a child I did not know what my Uncle was doing to me or
having me do to him. I just knew
something was wrong, why did we have to sneak off to the basement, closet or
bathroom. My way of coping was to block it out; at some point I just stopped
thinking and remembering. If I did as I
was told it would be done and over with quickly. He told me not to tell anyone,
if I did not do as I was exactly told he would yell at me. I was afraid of him;
still to this day I look in his eyes and see pure evil. The abuse from him went
on for years till it stopped. At
thirteen the memories of everything he did came back and that is when the
depression started and suicidal thoughts.
After
my grandmother died, I attempted suicide she was my uncle’s mother. I kept that secret with me since I was a
child, never telling anyone but my husband after we started dating. In my mind I was protecting my grandparents
and my mother, but nobody protected me.
I did blame them for a long time; I wish I could have told my
grandparents. I wish I had the courage
to tell my mother about her brother now. I still feel like I have to protect
her, but at the same time feeling like a coward. Also in my head as long as I took the abuse
maybe my sister would not have been abused by him. As the oldest it was my job to take care of
and protect my brother and sister. Who
took care of me or protected me?
With
therapy I am able to see how I showed and still show my pain. Suicide attempt, nightmares,
depression, excessive drinking, not sleeping, constantly wanting to kill myself
and I became a master at keeping people at a distance. I spend more time testing people to see if
they are worthy of my trust then allowing them to get to know me. Secrets do
not stay secret forever; they are constantly fighting to come out. I am trying to find my voice at 41, going to
therapy and working on allowing people close to me. I have two great kids and a
husband who I love, everything I do is for them. They deserve my best and I
deserve me at my best. I want to be a
survivor and not a victim anymore. I am writing to hopefully help someone that
is going thru what I went thru or still is.
I was molested by my uncle; I was physically and verbally abused by my
father. I am still here, they took my
childhood but I cannot let them have my adulthood that belongs to me.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Questions and answers
Follow this link to see "My Interview With Kathleen Frank"; answers to some of the questions that many of you have... CLICK HERE
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Upcoming Project
Full Circle in God's Grace; Three unique stories of my life.
Author and Survivor Antiqua Libbey shares three unique stories of her life that have changed her to a path of forgiveness, healing, and righteousness. Please take a moment to read a little bit about this beautiful woman's life and how it changed her.
Full Circle in God’s Grace; Three unique stories of my
life.
By: Antiqua Libbey, FitHappyChristians.com,
© 2012
(Some of the names in the story have been
changed to protect the not so innocent.)
STORY I
My name is Lisha and my miracle began when I
was 13 years old, when God appeared to me in person and told me to “go home and
tell.” What followed continued to unfold until it came full circle 15 years
later. Before I jump right in, let me take you back and share with you what God
was sending me home to “tell.”
At 13, my life was full of contrast. I had
been a latch-key kid since the first grade, spending countless hours at home
alone each afternoon. Both my parents had to work hard to take care of our
seven horses, three dogs and me. I was in the sixth grade and did as much as I
could to help with the chores while keeping up with school. School was my
favorite part of my life. There, things were relatively safe and I enjoyed the
encouragement my teachers gave me for my efforts. On the outside my life looked
fairly normal. But little did people
know that I was the holder of a very dark secret; a secret that was passed down
to me to hold and keep from my family. I tried to tell my secret, but it seemed
no one could hear me. When I was very young, around two years old, I didn’t
know what to do with my secret so I cried. When I was four, I yelled and threw
fits. When I was seven, I thought I was saved when my mother remarried. But
when I was eight and adopted by my new dad, I discovered the secret would
silently repeat itself again and again, untold.
At the age of 13, it had been about two
years since anyone older than me had touched me or hurt me. Even the
“discipline” of regular beatings with belts, switches or garden hoses lessened.
I really thought that my nightmare had come to a manageable end. Things were
looking up.
I started up a business cleaning stables for
neighboring horse owners who didn’t have time to get out and clean the stables
themselves. One day I was cleaning our neighbor Sal’s two stables. As I opened
the stable door, shivers ran down my spine when a thirty-something year old man
met me, locked the door and firmly gripped my arms, pressing his lips against
mine. He said, “I just think you are the best. Do you want my horse? I will
give it to you. Do you want to be my girlfriend? I won’t tell anyone, just
trust me…(kiss)...” My mind melted. Unbeknownst to him I knew what that meant.
“Move,” I thought. ”Get out of here. Run.” As fast as I could I reached for the
lock and threw the door open and with weak legs I fled to the field behind the
horses.
“Now what do I do?” I asked myself as I
shook and clinched my legs, huddled up in Dry Lake. Dry Lake is a big, sunken,
empty field and was the perfect place to hide.
I hid for a while, not knowing what to do or who to tell. I felt it was up to me to take care of myself. My mother,
who I had told before, never seemed to hear what I was saying and my dad could
never know. I felt that both would’ve just blamed me. And I would not tell my biological father in
fear of him abandoning me totally. What could I do? A flood of hopeless despair
washed over me; a feeling I knew far too well. That feeling came whenever I
realized I had to take care of myself, and there it was again. At least in that moment no one could see me
hiding and crying. So there I was crying out, “God this has to end, I am
done…why is this happening again?” “Go
home and tell your parents. Tell your mother everything. Go now”, said a voice
to me. Who was talking to me? Opening my eyes, I was stunned to see Christ
standing in front of me. The whole sky was glowing. I thought to myself, “Am
I dreaming?” A stream of trust and energy came over me and I stood up and
calmly walked the two miles home from the horse stables.
When I got home, my dad was working in the
garage of our house. Without thinking I said,
“Dad, Sal from the horses kissed me and told
me he wanted me to be his girlfriend.”
“What? I will talk to him right now…” and
dad jumped into his truck.
My mind raced in shock. My dad was going to
talk to him?? My dad? The same man who had hurt me so many times before? Is he
admitting that it is NOT right for a man to kiss and touch a young girl? I am
not in trouble?
A sense of trust deepened in my soul. I felt
alive and renewed. God heard me. I had just been protected and heard for
the first time in my life. The day felt surreal.
I was skipping in the air as I walked to
school the following day. School was always a get away from the heavy grey
cloud that rested over my home. But, as I stated in the beginning of this
story, I learned that some patterns seemed to follow me wherever I went and
school was not much different.
Walking through the playground toward my
classroom door, I felt more confident than usual, maybe even a bit precious and
respected. I was ready for a fresh start. Then I saw Scott with a devilish look
on his face. He ran up to me and grabbed my young chest, “tune in Tokyo, tune
in Tokyo” as he laughed. I sunk…
But that day something was different.
Immediately I decided that after school I would tell my parents. God told me to
tell them everything.
As my father walked in the door from work I
wasn’t sure how to bring up yet another sexual assault, but the light in my
heart filled me with courage to speak. “Mom, Dad, Scott and some other boys at
school have been grabbing my chest and saying ‘tune in Tokyo’ for a few years
now. I want it to stop.” Dads face bent into a
judgmental fit and he scolded me for making things up and being a little ‘slut’.
He asked, “Does he do it to the other girls?”
I answered, “Some of them dad, but I am the
only one with boobs. I am almost two years older than nearly everyone in my
class.”
“I don’t believe you. Hand me the phone.” He
replied.
I was utterly humiliated. The blame and
anger of being powerless and falsely accused was paralyzing. I watched him
proceed to call my friends’ fathers and ask them if my friends had complained
about the boys touching them. I felt fear and anger welling inside me.
“God, what do I do?”
The thought “tell them everything” flooded
into my heart. “Dad, can I talk to you please?”
As I walked with my dad to the office and
closed the door, peace and strength enveloped me like a blanket. “Dad, what if
I went to your work and I told all the people in your office what you did to
me? What if I embarrassed you like that?”
“That would not be good. You better not do
that. No one can ever know about that. You know why I married your mother --
for you, you are my princess.”
“I feel like you are telling all my friends’
dads I am a bad girl when I am not the one grabbing my boobs.”
“I see. Okay, I will stop calling” He
responded.
WOW! A rush of gratitude and surprise washed
over me again. “God thank you! My dad heard me. He wasn’t going to call anymore
of my friends’ fathers and make my friends all uncomfortable too.” This thought
and peace filled my heart again.
As I opened the door from the office a wave
of energy washed over me. My eyes met my mother’s eyes and she said, “Tell me
what happened between you and your step-dad.”
I started to shake as my dad stood behind me
and my mother in front of me. I was sandwiched between the two people I feared
the most. God told me to tell them EVERYTHING, so I said, “Dad touched me and
stuff when I was 11 and things happened at the horses.”
Her eyes narrowed, “I’ve heard this before.”
Yes my heart dares to hope. “Yes, I told you
when it was happening. You said I was lying. I wasn’t lying, mom.” Just as I did, my mother felt God’s strength
and said to my dad, “Fred, we are leaving.”
STORY II
After seven long years of recovery, my new
name is now Antiqua Lisha and I am 21 years old. My life began with an
immediate initiation into the misuse of power. When I was 13 God began to break
the cycle of abuse in my family, but I began a new cycle of self-abuse, full of
fear, rage, shame, blame and rebellion. Now I am tired.
The week after my big “coming out” moment at
the age of 13, my mother and I moved out of the house and left my dad. But a
few weeks later, they started dating again. I knew that if I had to go back to
living in fear I would never be safe again. Completely forgetting how God
helped me, I took matters into my own hands and swallowed a bottle of Tylenol.
This stunt did get my parents to split and forced my family and me into the
state system and into counseling. It was also the beginning of BIG angst
between God and me. I felt if God could get me out of that hell so simply, why
was I in it in the first place? For the last seven years all I felt was a
yearning to run away and to drown the anger that enveloped me for having to
live with the abuse, in drugs and alcohol.
I used and abused as a coping
mechanism to manage my anger and emotions.
Although I escaped the hand of my abusers,
the effects and turmoil from being a survivor of sexual and physical abuse
continued. Counseling helped with the depression and confusion, but each time I
tell my story my anger does nothing but build on itself the abuse starts all
over again. It seems like it continues to bring chaos to my life and
femininity. All I yearn for is to be gentle, kind and loving like a feminine
flower, but my life is one big outburst or chemical escape after another and I
am still at a loss on how to overcome it.
It was a typical spring day in Colorado and I
was on break from the University of Colorado where I studied music and theater.
I spent my summer learning jazz piano and I mountain biked everywhere I could. It
was a perfect day to ride my bike the 15 miles to my piano teacher’s home. The
sun was shining and I loved how the wind felt on my face. Truly, riding my bike
and yoga are two of the only things that make me excited about being alive.
“Ring…” the phone was always ringing in our
house. “Hello, is Antiqua there?”
“Yes this is she.”
“Hello Ms. Altair this is Jill from the
Clinic, we have the results from your latest pap. Can you come to the office
right away? It is very important.”
When I was 16 the doctors told me that due
to cysts I probably was not going to be able to conceive and I don’t think I
have ever had a “normal” pap smear, so I was not worried at all.
“Sure, no problem. Can I come now? Your
office is on the way to my piano lesson.”
“Yes, someone is
available to meet with you now. How soon can you be here?”
“5 minutes.” The clinic was pretty close to
my house and the bike paths in Boulder are fabulous.
“See you when you get here.” I hung up the
phone and jumped on my bike.
I arrived a few minutes later at the clinic
and waited for the nurse to take me into a tiny meeting room in the back
office. She said, “You have cancer.” It had progressed from the dysplasia I had
for a few years. I responded with fierce diffidence; “Of course I do, I could have
told you that.” I had very few filters for my emotions and little to no
knowledge of my own needs, feelings or desires.
This detachment from myself made it
challenging to communicate with anyone. If I could have empathized with what
the nurse may have felt from my response, it probably would have been shock; she
sensed my walls were up.
She continued on, and informed me I would
need a colposcopy (cervical biopsy) and most likely a cone biopsy and radiation
therapy. I was itching to get out of the office and run (my natural reaction to
challenging situations). Sensing this, the nurse just told me the facts.
As she rambled on telling me how they need
to take fast action, I was numb with anger yet furious that my whole life was a
pain in my vagina (literally). My mind was racing as I got through the list of
blame.
You see, my Grandmother died from ovarian
cancer and Planned Parenthood doctors allowed me to get the Norplant (for free)
at the age of 17 without asking my mother for permission, and then later refused
to take it out after I bled every day for two years. I had cervical
cysts that would cripple me in high school and had hemorrhaged several times.
This all began when I started menstruating
at the tender age of 10, which came with cramping so bad that every month I
missed days of school. The rage and blame that I felt went much deeper than those
physical illnesses. I felt like my vagina started ruining my life at 18 months
old, which was the first time I was sexually abused, and that it had it out for
me ever since. My vagina was full of drama, blame and pain.
As I sat in the little meeting room at the
clinic in Boulder Colorado, all this pain was coming to a head: called cancer.
As I left, I was more in shock from telling the nurse that I knew I had
cervical cancer, than actually having cancer. Why would I say something like
that? All my walls totally eliminated the possibility of her comforting me,
which left me feeling alone and terrified.
The realization of having cancer set in as I
left. A rush came over me as I rode my bike to a friend’s house rather than to
piano. The first few friends’ homes I visited were empty, so I rode
along the bike paths
of Boulder alone with my thoughts. Even though I had been meditating for years,
at this point all I could see was my pain, fear, and the overwhelming sense
that I was going to be killed by this body part that had been the cause of all
my problems since birth. I continued to ride aimlessly around Boulder for three
or four hours until I found my boyfriend at his work and finally shared my news
with someone and had a good cry.
I realized that up to that point in my life
nearly all of my hardships were sexually based and my vagina was full of cancer
and might kill me. I ignored my body and my pain for far too long; this
realization was the first wakeup call from my body, which I answered.
“What is wrong with me? I am doing
everything ‘right’. I have a regular spiritual practice and I spend time
meditating on my chakras. So why is my vagina out to get me again?” These
thoughts kept running through my head. “God Why?”
The few weeks following my diagnosis looked
like they were from a reality series. My over the last five years were too busy
for me and my cancer which left me feeling abandoned. The old war wounds of my
childhood were coming up in full force. However, this time I could not party,
study or counsel them away. They were my real flesh and blood and it was time
to looked at them or face the consequences and possibly die.
I was really nervous about seeing the
doctor. The routine physical examinations I could handle, but the surgical
procedures scared me to death. I had pretty crazy flashbacks, especially of a
single event when I was 11 years old. Without getting into the gory details I
will say, a sharp utensil inside me scares me batty. It was possible that I
would flip out on the doctors table and have a flashback of being abused. I was
afraid I would hurt someone.
A new friend of mine, who was also a gifted
herbalist, came out of the blue and literally took my hand. I asked her to come
with me to my appointments and surgery. I called the doctor’s office to make
sure it would be okay to have someone with me in the room. I explained my
history and it seemed the office understood. To prepare for these appointments
I had to tell my professors that I would be gone for a while and I also took
time off of work.
The morning of the procedure, the clinic
called me and cancelled it and asked to reschedule for a week later. This
rescheduling confused me because they made it all seem very urgent, but I went
along with it. What else could I do? I rearranged my already rearranged
schedule and a week later, when we arrived for the rescheduled appointment, I was
ready to go.
Jen (my friend) was a huge support, helping
me feel grounded and taken care of. Her standing by my side made all the
difference. I was mentally as ready as I could be for the procedure. ‘Hi, I am
Antiqua and we are here for the cone biopsy.” “Hi, Antiqua, I am sorry to tell
you this, but the person who said that Jen could come in with you was wrong.
That is not allowed. Also, we are missing an instrument we need to do the
procedure so we are going to have to reschedule again.”
My toes were numb and I could feel my fear
and frustration come out in one big act of a fit-throwing rage. “What! I had to
cancel my life for this appointment, I have cancer! You told me she could come
in. What if I kick someone and hurt myself or the doctor? Don’t you care what I
am going through?... yahhhhh”
The office told me to find another doctor to
help me with my cancer, because they couldn’t risk me calling malpractice after
my fit.
Empty and hopeless again, I found myself
sitting in the middle of my rented room in north Boulder crying. Again, I begged
God to help me, to show me mercy. I was scared to death, all alone, with no
money, no free clinic and no family around to help me get through this cancer.
The reality that cancer kills set in.
“God, what am I going to do?”
A few days later, I went to my
chiropractor’s office. My chiropractor’s office was a safe place, like a second
home. As I was crying on the table, feeling sorry for myself, God showed up
again.
“What am I going to do doctor?” My eyes
shifted to the women lying on a table next to me, as she gazed up unable to
help from overhearing my cries and fears; my heart softened. “I am a
Naturopathic doctor in the area. I will work with you on a payment plan. I
treat women with cervical dysplasia all the time and if you have to have
cancer, the cervix is a great place to have it.” Her eyes were so soft and her
long dark hair shone of health. She continued looking straight into my soul
with caring eyes, “The most expensive part would be the herbs that I had to
take on a daily basis and I would need to find someone who could make the
cancer tonic for me.”
Yes, God had answered. I am going to work
with a naturopath. (I have never really been a Western medicine girl anyway)
and I did have an herbalist, Jen (my friend who came with me to my other
appointment). Finishing my appointment, I biked straight to Jen’s home. “Would
you help me with this tonic and come with me to work with Dr. R.?” Looking in
her eyes I felt pure love as she offered not only to help, but to gift me the
herbs as well as come with me to my weekly treatments and do energy work.
Over the next 6 months I changed my diet to
a strict food combining vegan diet and to be blessed even more, my boyfriend
went vegan with me. I drank down this foul tasting black tonic (which was
chalked full of love) and saw my doctor for direct cervical treatments weekly.
During these treatments Jen and I would do healing work on my first and second
chakras and heal the little girl within me who had been crying for attention
for years. I also wrote many journals about my story and got to know the
workings of my vagina on the inside and the outside in every way possible.
The whole time, I felt closer to the world
and life than I had ever before, which was glorious. After about six months a magical thing
happened. I allowed my mother to take care of me and she did. She and I were
able to re-live my childhood and she got to be my savior and my mother. I flew
out to California to let her and another doctor give me their undivided
attention for two weeks. They reset my endocrine system and took my body out of
being stuck in the fight or flight response. This was the beginning of a new
sense of power, peace and centeredness for me. This reset was the beginning of
a whole new way of being, a step toward my healing, femininity and sexuality,
physically, mentally, and spiritually. Relief came when I got home from
California. The next colposcopy I had indicated mild dysplasia, which was the
beginning of the end of my hard hitting vaginal/reproductive/hormonal hardships
and the beginning of the next chapter of this miracle.
A few months later my long-time boyfriend
and I found out I was capable of having children and even though that child did
not come into our arms, it was a blessing, and healing will always be in my
heart.
After losing the baby I decided to move to
California and take some alone time to heal myself. Over the next few years, I
changed the way I related to sex, relationships and orgasm, and I began
embracing the idea of family.
STORY III
Fast forward five years and I am married and
living in Alaska. I can see that my experience with cancer was God’s miracle
that healed many emotional and physical blocks from my childhood and restored
my body.
What is this? The bathroom floor feels cold
on my feet as my eyes stare down at the home pregnancy test. I am pregnant. “Oh
my, Oh my!”
My heart is leaping for joy. Are these tests
for real? The women in the apartment below me had a few kids so I think she
might know. “It is pretty much a for sure thing.” Smiling, she reassured me.
My legs feel weak as I run up the stairs; I
have to call my husband.
Fast-forward nine months….
Being pregnant is a very interesting
experience. My emotions are running wild and I am craving all the foods that I
am supposed to stay away from like wheat and dairy. If I eat any more peanut
butter I might turn into a nut. The pressure of my enormous belly is unbearable
at 37 weeks and I am so happy it is nearly time to have this baby in my arms
and out of my belly.
I have always loved teaching yoga and even
at 38 weeks along I am not going to miss the opportunity to share yoga with a
class. Today has been a long day. It
seems impossible to walk correctly, as I waddle down the stairs into the yoga
room. I nervously think to myself “I am not sure if I am going to be able to
get back up those stairs, or get back into my car seat, or out of it, again.”
One of my students could see these questions
written on my face. “Are you sure you want to teach tonight?”
“You are not looking to good. Are you in
labor?” another speaks up.
“I might be in labor. I am not feeling too
well. I seriously don’t know.”
Then with all eyes on me “Let’s get you
home. We can have class another week.” A class member took charge and the rest
of the class agreed.
Although I feel horrible for letting the
class down, at this moment a sense of relief washes over me. As I walk
uncomfortably back up the stairs I am excited because I am going to hug my baby
soon, but honestly I am a bit scared too.
Driving home, the baby is not moving in my
belly, is this normal? Opening the door to my house it is all I can do to just
sit down on my bed. Worrying about the baby, I reach for the phone and dial the
midwife. “Hi, this is Antiqua. The baby hasn’t moved in a while and I am
feeling odd.” In a calming and gentle voice, she told me “At this time the baby
is settling in to the birthing position. Don’t worry. Just relax and take it
easy.”
Sitting back, I feel a great relief, “pop.”
What is that sound?
“Jake my water broke.” The baby was coming.
I am in labor. Yay!
God, what do I do now?
Over the next 24 hours labor was stop and
go. I planned a water birth at home and was not progressing. Literally, all the
biopsies from the cervical cancer had formed thick scar tissue on my cervix and
it would not let the baby come out.
The midwives had been helping me progress by
manually opening my cervix to one centimeter, then two, then three, each
stretch one more painful than the last. They gave me herbs and oil to help me
along and progress the labor. My husband and the midwives kept telling me I was
doing great, but in reality my body just would not take over.
As the hours passed at home, and still no
baby, the time to which I would be forced to go to the hospital was fast
approaching. My dream and wish to have a natural birth was slipping away. In
desperation I agreed to one last attempt to open my cervix so I could have my
baby at home. This is when God’s Miracle
came full circle. The angel of a midwife that gently stretched my cervix as I
pushed with my contractions must have been sent from heaven. Because all the
pain from my childhood abuse, my fear of living and dying all came out in one
big yell. “….(*&$#(*&@(&$&$...”
“Go now and get in the tub, the baby is
coming.” The midwives rushed me.
I waddle as fast I can into my kitchen and
into the warm tub full of water that had been waiting for me for the last 28
hours. Push…Push…Push… (Literally 3 pushes)
Then from me, through that part of me that
had caused all my pain, heart-ache and suffering, came-life, innocence, and a
fresh start. A precious, perfect, amazing, miracle popped out of my vagina and
into her loving father’s arms. The impossible became possible. What once was filled
with painful memories and scars was now open and the bearer of life.
The days and years that followed the birth
of my first daughter-this miracle of miracles-- have been equally healing. Now,
that miracle is nine and her sister is seven. I am raising two innocent, well
cared for and loved girls. With God guiding me to tell, to trust and to keep
asking and seeking His help in all things, I continue to ask the question “what
do I do now?” And God continues to answer.
God not only healed my broken body and my
broken heart, he healed my family’s secrets and washed them with truth. He
healed my step-dad (whom I forgive) and my mother (whom I forgive) and let me
start fresh. The cycle of fear ends in my house, as God led me to marry a
fabulous father for my girls, ending the cycle of abuse and secrets for
generations to come. With God’s grace, I am now helping others to see how
amazing God is. He will work miracles of healing for your body, your families
and transform your fears, pains and secret patterns into good. Knock on God’s
door; ask Him “What do I do now?” He will lead you full circle. What this world
does to us, His grace will undo.
Thank you for the honor of sharing this
miracle with you. Thank you for being a witness to God’s love for me and
therefore awakening to a deeper connection to His love for you. Like my
daughters, you too are a miracle of and from God, to this world. Miracles
continuously happen in our lives. God is within each of us. Remember this and
you will see miracles all around you.
Your life is full of precious, worldly
lessons which God works for His good and your good, by filling these lessons
with divine insight. Not all of them are good or enjoyable experiences, but all
have hidden gems. Your body and mind hold these insights for you to use as
tools to lead you to more freedom and confidence. All you have to do is ask
God, “What do I do now?”
However, it can be challenging to hear God’s
soft whispers of healing, direction and truth; when the circumstances of our
lives-- past and present, poison our minds with beliefs that are not God’s
truth, but the world’s lies. These beliefs and pains, if not realized and
handed to God, continue to express themselves in our bodies and minds, through
pain, illness and stress.
Seeking God while healing physically and
mentally from cancer and childhood abuse allowed God to teach me exactly how to
cut through the chatter and hear Him. He communicates to us in three ways. God
guided me to learn about my body, I had to do it the hard way – you don’t have
to. God led me to learn how to let Him handle my sadness, guilt, shame and
fears and how to release my mind from their captivity. He led me to fast and
effective ways to do this, so you don’t have to struggle through trial and
error and can learn from my story. God taught me how to listen to Him and trust
Him to lead me to a fulfilled life; an approach to life I continue to lean into
every day, and I want to share all that He has taught me with you.
Through the wisdom I have been graced with
through God’s miracles, I now help people connect, relate and embrace the
divine wisdom stored in their bodies, emotions and experiences. You too can
recognize your miracles and use them to live your healthiest, happiest and best
life. Your own life and your own unique experiences were placed in your path so
you can surrender and learn how to love completely the world and people around
you. They are also the greatest tools God has given you to know Him through
your body and your mind. God will bring your life full circle for good, like He
did mine, if you let Him.
Does my story resonate with you? Would you like to embrace
your life and tap into the divine guidance of your life lessons? Take my hand
and I will introduce you to the three tools God has gifted us all with to be
fit, happy and in communion with Him and all things He created. I am here to be
of service to you, to teach you what He has taught me. I have a gift for you
called “Embrace You,” a course explaining the three tools I call the “Trinity
Within.” Learn how to use them to live your most divine life, the life God
intended for you to live – Just let me know where to send it by visiting - www.fithappychristians.com
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Remembering does not equal Reliving
Remembering an event in the past that may have been traumatic does not mean that you have to relive the event. In fact we can program ourselves to use those memories as tools for our future success/s. In my late twenties I had gone out to dinner with my husband to a lovely seafood restaurant and afterwards he took me to one of my favorite ice cream Shoppe’s. All was well and a lovely time was had, but it seemed within a matter of just two hours I found myself sprawled half-way across the couch and half-way on the floor; double over in excruciating pain. Over the next few days I wasn't able to hold down anything, no food, not even water. And I found myself vomiting bile. It turned out that I had been walking about with gall stones the size of half dollars trapped within the walls of my gallbladder. After the surgery, my gastroenterologist politely informed me that I had become “morbidly” obese; stating that he had never seen a more traumatic case of gallstones in all of his studies while implying that he was surprised that it had gone unnoticed for so long. While I am certain that he brought plenty of important facts and information to the table, the only words that seem to register as I sat in the hospital bed with a drainage bag attached to the side where my gall bladder once lived; was “morbidly obese”. And suddenly, I began to remember when my addiction to food began.
I remember. As a child I was constantly being told how
pretty and even beautiful I was leading up to when the sexual abuse began. And
even while it was going on, I remember the stares I would get from men/boys
caught by how pretty they thought I was. And then I remembered that I like
countless others, I’d made the decision to be “ugly”. I thought that if I were
fat, I would be ugly (not true). And so I ate. As I began the recovery process
from the gallbladder surgery I decided that I would no longer allow my past to
dictate my future and that I would regain control over an area in my life that
had spiraled close to 200 pounds out of control. It was then that my journey to
weight loss began, but more importantly it was then that I realized the power
in remembering.
I have since been able to link practices and decisions to
memories from my past. I've also been able to use past memories as tools for a
more productive life. Once we begin to identify those things that trigger poor
choices even when they are directly linked to a past abuse we are able to
regain control in that area. It is then that we learn, grow and help others.
Realizing that remembering does not equal reliving a thing has become a source
of power for me.To learn more about T.E. Best, please visit her websites www.authortebest.com
Monday, March 25, 2013
Souyenne Dathorne's Story
My memories of
what exactly were done to me when I was young have been carefully tucked away
for so long that trying to get to them has been hard. I couldn't tell you how
it started but I remember the progression.
I was a child 4/5, I will never be sure about my age when it started because
all I have are images of what I looked like at that age. I guess it started out
rather innocently. We were playing under covers I can’t tell you what happened
I do know there is a vague memory of someone asking what is going on and then
saying that this would be discussed when my mom got home. I don’t ever remember
the discussion; if it happened it never deterred him. I believe that was the
beginning of my abuse. I can’t tell you
when it went from that to him coming into the room at night’s. He would offer to
read to me at nights and wait until I fell asleep to get under the covers
behind me. Then he would push it between my legs from behind. I would squeeze
my legs together to push it out but that never stopped him; in fact it caused
him to push harder. I learned to stop and just let it happen. Once he was done
he would get up and leave. I tried to fight falling asleep but he would wait
until Id fallen asleep to come back. I would say I didn't want him to read to
me but then the questions would come as to why I didn't want him reading. He
was always so eager to read my parents thought it was good for us both. There
is one memory that has stuck with me no matter what I do. He has me kneeling on
the floor and he’s behind me- the next thing I know I have sperm running down
my legs, my mom has just pulled into the drive way and he says go clean up. He
walks out like nothing has happened and my mom never suspects a thing.
The threats of being hated by my parents if I
told were a constant. They will be angry at you he would say; they will never
do me anything. And years after I sit and think he was right all along. They
never did him anything he was never punished, never reprimanded. I'm not sure
what I expected but I didn't expect him to get away with it. I used to confront
him every chance I got; because for the most part I believe I am not believed.
He used to deny it but now he just says and so what. His stories as to what
happened and how many times it happened and why it happened vary constantly.
Then I sit and reflect on what he’s done to me, what he’s said to me and how
that has made me feel and can’t find it in me to ever forgive him. I can’t see how anyone else can forgive him.
He used to live at home with my parents; and once again it feels like I am the
one who has done something wrong. My aunt has told me to stop trying to ruin
his life; that I should remain silent. My cousin has said that he didn't know
what he was doing. He is 9 years older than me. That would have made him 13
when he started abusing me. And if he didn't know then, then how does he
explain the next 7 years of abuse? And if he didn't know what he was doing was
wrong then why threaten me?
I have just become a mom and everyday I think
about all that could happen to him. I have done a great job thus far keeping
him away from my child and will continue to do whatever it takes to keep him
away. Abuse makes you stronger, it makes you wiser, it also makes you more
afraid. I know the dangers out there and the damage they do. I fear every
minute of everyday for my own child. I worry that I will be too over protective
in trying to protect him from the pain I suffer with. How do you not worry when you've lived it?
For a long time I
have hated me and there are days when I still do. Never really felt that I fit
in anywhere or that I belonged. Never thought that I was worthy of love and for
the most part I’m still desperately struggling with that. Never liked what I
saw in the mirror when I saw anything at all. I have made my body my canvas and
sought to surround myself with images of strength and beauty. I think that all
of us who are survivors of sexual assault deal with these issues. We lose who
we are through the abuse and have a hard time trying to find a way back. But
there is always a path that leads to happiness and fulfillment, I struggle
still trying to find the path and stay on it. It’s not always an easy road but
we are survivors. We are not alone in our pursuit of happiness. There are other
walking beside us, ahead of us and behind us. Don’t give up or in. Our voices
will lead us to freedom. We speak out to help ourselves and those around us.
This is a battle for many that I am fighting with many. I recite to myself
continuously that I am not defined by my abuse, that it is something that was
done to me.
I fight for women
of the Caribbean who are afraid to speak out.
Souyenne Dathorne
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
March's Share Your Story
This month and the next few months we are going to do something a little different. I recently crossed paths with an extraordinary woman named Ruth Jacobs who is also an advocate for change in the world when it comes to sexual abuse and trafficking. Ruth is an author of many different books that touch on the harsh realities of life as a prostitute. Her website, which is dedicated to survivors, has a long list of amazing interviews with survivors of sexual abuse, trafficking, and prostitution.
We will begin this month with one of Ruth's interviews with Chris Stark, Child Trafficking Survivor, Award Winning Writer, and Visual Artist.
How did you become involved in supporting the abolition of prostitution?
We will begin this month with one of Ruth's interviews with Chris Stark, Child Trafficking Survivor, Award Winning Writer, and Visual Artist.
Various family members sold me in a
prostitution and pornography ring throughout my childhood and teen
years. I always wanted to get away from them but since I knew what
happened to kids who ended up on the street, I never ran away. I figured
my best chance at survival was to stay home and get away by going to
college. If I had run away, I would have become more expendable. They
would have either caught me and punished me, or I would have
‘disappeared’. Given that I was used by my family, they had more
accountability toward me than a youth picked up on the street by a pimp.
For instance, they could only bruise me where the marks would not be
seen. Bruises couldn't show on my arms and legs and face. Plus, if one
day I just disappeared, they would have to answer questions from the
school and others. I was, in a very real sense, an investment to them –
they’d been using me since a young age. To them, when I was a
five-year-old girl, I was forty pounds of gold that would only bring in
more as the years went by.
So when I did manage to move five hours away to attend college and once I quit drinking and using drugs, my past immediately overtook
my life. I always hated injustice – big and small – and what I’d been
through and what I’d seen others go through was one hell of an
injustice. I started to speak out against prostitution at twenty-one
years of age, but at that time (early 90s) feminists did not want to
deal with this issue anymore and no one would listen to me. The only way
I could get someone to listen was to intertwine political points with
my own experiences as a survivor. I wanted to stop prostitution. I
wanted to help others, but I also became involved to save my own life
because by speaking out I made it harder for the perpetrators to get me
back. Immediately upon speaking out, many other survivors privately told
me their stories. And that, of course, fueled my desire to speak out.
Their stories became part of me and, in that way, I was not alone.
What draws you to support and advocate for people in prostitution?
A desire for justice, a desire to end
systems of prostitution, and a desire to create more space in this world
for other survivors to exist. I know a whole lot – from my own
experiences, but also from reading, working as an activist, and
listening to many, many other survivors. I want to be part of a global
movement to end this thing that nearly destroyed my life. I want to
live in a world where children and women do not have to figure out a way
to get up the morning after being tortured the night before. I want to
live in a world where women and children are not sold for men’s
pleasure.
What does your work in this area involve?
I have been a grass roots activist for
twenty-three years – organizing speeches, protests, survivor art shows,
boycotts, bus tours of sites of prostitution, and so on. In my twenties,
I also began speaking and giving trainings about prostitution and other
social justice issues at conferences, law schools, rallies, rape crisis centers, and universities. But what I really wanted throughout that time was to write – that was
what I’d always wanted to do since I was a girl, but I didn't think I
was good enough, or smart enough to write. Also, I spent my twenties in
extreme physical and emotional pain, barely able to cope with the fall
out of a couple of decades of being raped and beaten, so I couldn't concentrate much anyway. But then, one day, I wrote an essay, and was
invited to present it at a conference in Russia. After that, I found
more confidence and I wrote. In 2004, I co-edited an international
anthology with Rebecca Whisnant called Not for Sale: Feminists Resisting Prostitution and Pornography. Since then, I've published a fair amount, including my first novel about incest, dissociation, and girls in athletics called Nickels: A Tale of Dissociation. Nickels was a Lambda Literary Award finalist
and I was thrilled. Currently, I’m finishing my second novel and then
I’m going to complete my memoir. Most importantly, I was one of six
women (five of whom are Native) who designed, researched, and wrote Garden of Truth: The Prostitution and Trafficking of Native Women in Minnesota.
As a Native woman, bringing forward Native prostituted women’s voices
and the dreams they have for their lives is very important to me.
As a survivor/activist are there issues you face by speaking out?
It is frustrating that people can believe
stories of abuse if they are told by an ‘expert’, especially if the
expert is male. In my experience, it is often more difficult for the
audience to process this same information when a female survivor is
telling it – that is, if we are ever given the opportunity to have a
wide audience, which is rare. I think there are understandable, albeit
unfortunate, reasons for this. For instance, in the U.S. we have been
taught to believe white, educated, male authority figures. One result of
this is that people who belong to one or more these categories carry
more credibility; their words determine what is accepted as real and
what matters in the world. In contrast, the survivor is under immediate
suspicion simply for being a survivor. She must dig herself out of a
hole from the get-go. This results in, among other things, silencing and
marginalizing the voices and talents of those who have been there. Of
course, it is crucial that non-survivors are doing this work, but it’s
also frustrating because ‘experts’ typically have access to power that
survivors do not. It is rare for survivors to have a place at the table
where we are respected and acknowledged as talented, intelligent, and
capable women who also have firsthand experience of the subject. This
must change.
What legal improvements or changes would help to abolish prostitution?
I think the Dworkin/MacKinnon Ordinance
should be revived and I think the Swedish model should be implemented.
Also, at the same time that we are working to create escape routes for
prostituted women and children, political focus needs to be placed on
the men who make the choice to buy another human being. Of course, this
means putting the legal and social spotlight on stopping men who buy and
sell prostituted people.
For anyone else who wants to be involved, what can other people do to help?
That’s an enormous question, because
really each of us has our own niches and talents, and each of us can use
her or his talents to bring awareness and place political pressure on
the system to force it to change from one that blames and stigmatizes
prostituted people to one that holds men accountable for making the
choice to buy women and children for sex. We must make not only
prostitution, but all forms of violence against women and children
election issues. We must force the system to move toward that arc of
justice that Martin Luther King, Jr. spoke of, and we must not let fear
and timidity stop us.
What are your plans for the future?
I am finishing my second novel, Carnival Lights, which has been accepted for publication by the same press that published Nickels
and I am in my first year of an MSW program that specializes in
American Indian issues. I continue to speak and do trainings and create
artwork. Upon completion of my MSW, I hope to be involved once again
with community research projects, because it is crucial that the voices
of those who are marginalized and silenced are at the center of this
work. The voices of the Native women we interviewed resonate strongly in
the lives of those of us who participated in the ‘Garden of Truth’
report. We feel a profound responsibility to continue this work so that
Native women are safe and respected.
Recommended websites/further reading:
www.christinestark.com.
www.ruthjacobs.co.uk
Thank you so much Ruth for your hard work and dedication. We here at Restoration Life Foundation appreciate ALL of the interviews you provided, and I can speak for everyone here at RLF as well as our subscribers when I say that we look forward to reading the rest of the interviews!
www.ruthjacobs.co.uk
Thank you so much Ruth for your hard work and dedication. We here at Restoration Life Foundation appreciate ALL of the interviews you provided, and I can speak for everyone here at RLF as well as our subscribers when I say that we look forward to reading the rest of the interviews!
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Sexual Abuse in Our Education System
Alaine Kristine, editor at
Restoration Life Foundation
There is no such thing as a perfectly safe place for your children; this includes parks, churches, youth organizations, and schools. As a parent, you can do everything possible to make sure your children aren’t exposed to violence or abuse, but somehow it can sneak up on you. As a parent myself, I know that I have made countless efforts to ensure the safety of my children. This means I check out their “references” and follow through with a face-to-face interview with their friends, their friends’ parents, and their friends’ friends. I make sure I know exactly where my kids are before and after school, and they ALWAYS ask me permission to go anywhere, even if it’s down the street. My family members and closest friends have always been my babysitters, and my children have ALWAYS been enrolled in excellent public schools, located in safe neighborhoods. But all of that doesn’t mean a thing, because regardless of how careful we are at selecting who our children hang out with, or what schools they attend, violence and abuse knows no boundaries and can easily infiltrate the best schools and “safest” neighborhoods.
A study prepared by the Associated Press shows that there
were 2,500 incidents of sexual misconduct in American public schools over a 5
year period and estimated that 4.5 million students from Kindergarten through
12th grade have suffered from sexual misconduct in one given
year. 3 million of those the 4.5 million
students experienced touching or assault, the other 1.5 million were verbally
harassed or experienced inappropriate communication online. The ratio of school days to abusive teachers
is 1:3. This means that for every 1
school day, there are 3 abusive teachers in the nation. Between 1-5% of all teachers sexually harass
or abuse a student, and 62% of sexual assault cases result in revocation of
their teacher’s certification. What
happened to the other 38%? Nearly 54% of
abusers either resigned, weren’t rehired, retired, or were terminated, and 16%
of the 54% were found teaching in other schools.
Sexually abusive teachers continue to take advantage even
though people convicted of abuse face tough sentences and register as sex
offenders. One of the reasons sexual
abuse continues to increase in the school system is because many Americans deny
the problem and even treat the abuse with misplaced fascination. School administrators make behind-the-scenes
deals with victims to avoid lawsuits and public embarrassment. Teachers, administrators, and even parents
frequently don’t recognize the signs that a crime is taking place. Too often problem teachers are allowed to
leave quietly, which can mean future abuse for another student in another
district. It’s called “passing the
trash” or the “mobile molester”. There
are some laws in place that require the misconduct to be reported to state
departments that oversee teachers’ licenses, but there is still no consistent
enforcement.
Only 12 out of 50 states have school boards that are
limiting teacher-student contact on social media sites such as Facebook or
Twitter. In fact, in New York alone from
2010-2011, there were 85 reports of inappropriate communications between
teachers and students involving Facebook, and only 8 reports in 2008-2009. With these numbers increasingly rising, what
can we do as parents to protect our children?
Fortunately with the internet and social media, there are a
TON of different resources where you can learn how to protect your child from
sexual abuse. Below are some references
you can use to learn more about different methods for protection from abuse and
prevention.
For now, information is key.
Inform your children about the proper names for their private
parts. Let them know the difference
between good touch and bad touch, and how it is NEVER okay for ANYONE to touch
them in a way that makes them feel uneasy.
Teach them not to place themselves in compromising situations, such as
meeting with a teacher in their classroom alone.
There is no guarantee that your child will be protected from
sexual abuse just as there is no guarantee that your child will be
unprotected. All we can do as parents is
our best to ensure we know our children.
Know who they are with and what they are doing. Always have that open line of communication,
and make sure they know that they can trust you, even with their deepest,
darkest secret.
RESOURCES
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