Accepting what happened

Unknown Author :- these are powerful comforting word for me.

Acceptance does not mean I condone the behavior. It does not mean that I am ok with what happened, nor does it mean that I throw my hands in the air and say “well, it happened, I’m over it”. It does not wipe away the aftermath or the damage inflicted by the abuse. Acceptance is in fact, absence of denial.

It means, I stop running and I walk straight into the face of reality, the face of that little girl, that hurting and sad little girl, and I look her in the eyes and I acknowledge what happened to her. I accept the truth and the reality of what happened to her, what happened to me. I do not approve of the behavior. I do not accept the behavior. But, I accept this as a part of me. Part of who I am is a little girl who was hurt and unloved, but now a girl who grew up full of love.

I accept that they hurt me in ways unthinkable to any human. I accept all the pain, horror and emotional turmoil that goes with it. I accept that I did not deserve it, did nothing to cause it, and that I cannot change it. There is no rewind button.

For years, I have thought that to accept what happened to me meant that I was “protecting” myself. Protecting myself from pain. But the truth is that I was only hurting myself. By not accepting what happened to me, I was doing exactly what they did to me…silencing myself. I was taking away my voice. I was silencing that hurting little girl and not loving her the way she deserves to be loved. I will not take her voice away any longer.

I will accept her for all that she was, all that she did, all that she tried to do, and all that she is. I am looking her in the eyes now and allowing her to experience the love she was never given by saying “I accept you and all that happened to you as reality. I am not ashamed to be you. I am not ashamed of what you did to survive. I am proud to know someone with so much courage, strength, and resiliency.” I accept everything that happened to me as truth and reality

and part of what makes me. I accept that I could not control what happened to me, but I can see it as part of my life, and I will no longer allow myself to live in silence and pain.

I will no longer run from reality. I am in absence of denial. I accept the facts.

I accept that I reacted as normally as I could to abnormal circumstances. I accept where I am right now in my healing and I accept that I am a human being that makes mistakes and is not perfect. I accept the good, the bad, the nasty, the ugly, the painful, and the things that make my stomach turn. I accept that I have some huge things to work through. I accept that the road will be long and hard.

What I do not accept is letting them off the hook with denial. I do not accept that I am bad, wrong, or to blame. I will no longer doubt myself or my memories, as they are my reality. I do not accept denial of that beautiful little girl anymore. I will wake up everyday, look her in the eyes and accept her for who she is, a beautiful little girl with the will to survive. The abuse that I have hidden from, is part of me and I accept me.

Gratitude

As therapeutic and liberating as it can be looking back at my childhood it’s also painful. whilst I can feel the pain and remember the experience I’m starting my gratitude post to balance my prospective and to take care of myself.

Today I am grateful that I have four children, each unique and special. Children are a blessing and I have been given four.

I pray I will love and care for them to the best of my ability with God’s help.

Today I discovered how to stop the baby crying at nighttime.

A long 15 minutes hug and a song. she went to bed without any fussing.

I put her in her cot, kissed her and she watched me leave the room in silence.

Moments like these when I discover a small revaluations to bond and meet the needs of my children are cherished with great joy.

I love studying and observing my children and finding out all those little secrets.

My favourite is all those little tickle areas ( blowing bubble on their necks or running my fingers down my toddler’s spine).

My son loves physical contact and at 11 I wonder if he wants to be the baby. Every so often I indulge him and I replace the normally rub of the back and hugs with some much needed holding time. The way my 11 year old jumps into my lap it surprises me, surly his to old now but I love him and if he needs me to hold him to feel my love that what I’m going to do.

My husband once told me that we each feel loved in different ways. I can’t remember all the love languages described but I believe my sons main one is physical affection.

He kisses and hugs everyone in the family several times a day and he needs close proximity to his loved ones.

My toddler on the other hand doesn’t react as welcoming to physical affection.

However she lights up when you tell her how much she is loved and how proud you are of her. She needs positive affirmations to help build her self worth. They all do actually.

I endeavour to give my children their daily doses of love. It may sound scientific because I have to make a conscious effort.

I parent my children on purpose.

I don’t have my own childhood experiences to rely on, to determine how a mother shows love to their children. Therefore I read parenting books and seek to gain knowledge from God and the best available information around me.

I’m grateful for all those sources of information around me and my supportive husband willing to learn with me.

I am blessed.

We are all, there’s so many things around us to be grateful for it’s easy remain positive when you have a grateful attitude.

What are you grateful for today?

Sarah’s Response to my thank you letter

Wow Jen, what a beautiful read! You know I think the same of you though and feel you’ve helped me and been there for me in many more ways. I just cant write it as beautifully as you can 😊 I was having a look through all of your other posts too on the blog. It’s very emotional reading jen but think it’s so good for you and hope it provides a good release. You are definitely THE strongest person I know and every time I speak to someone or talk to people and they think people have no choice in changing their direction in life because of past traumas I always think of you and you’ve shown it’s completely untrue. although I know it hasnt been easy to get here at all. I hope you keep writing and i’ll follow the blog. It will help so many other people too and perhaps one day you can turn it in to a book……be happy to help you with that anytime xx

Dear Best Friend (Sarah) THANK YOU for being there for me over the years

Words can not express how fortunate I am to have you in my life.

You have been my rock and lifelong encourager. To think we met when we were 10/11 and some 25 years later I feel like you have supported me to hail and back.

When I re-read some of the e-mails I realised how much I confided in you. You helped me through childhood abuse and all the adults difficulties that follow.

You were a child yourself and held me together through life. My own private therapist.

As grown 35-year-old women I need to say thank you, Sarah.

Tires are rolling down my eyes trying to find the words to express my gratitude.

I’m grateful for .,

The 11-year girl you were able to pick up on my pain.

The teenager who loved me like a sister and who was always on hand to listen and help.

To the family that picked me when I decided I was going to sleep on the streets. (Oh 13yr old logic)

To the young adult who never judged me when I started spiralling out, I’d control

To the friend who gave a place to stay, who’s mother welcomed me with open arms

To the 17-year-old who came to find me when I finally managed to find somewhere to live on my own. I remember I had a room no clothes, no sheets nothing. You and your mother gave me the most important gift of my life love and hope. And practical support in my time of need.

To the adult who woke up at crazy times in the morning many times throughout the years when life felt like I wanted it to end:- oh the flashbacks

To the lady who always replied to my countless emails with love and support

To the women who encouraged me to seek professional help when the ground starts falling out underneath me

To the friend who helped me through countless-storms and never judged me and accepted me for who I am.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart, my lifelong friend. You deserve an award for helping save my life.

Overcoming the darkness

I’m doing well and I feel like I managed to crawl through life’s black hole and I successfully made it to the other-side.

There were so many days when I thought I wouldn’t make it. Now when I look back on my life it’s nearly non recognisable.

I have a few internal scares but I managed to heal and mend so many. Thank you god for walking me though the darkest alleys.

As I finally feel ready to start to gather my story help me find the words and courage I need to share my experience.

I have no idea how long it’s going to take me to put all my words down and in some sort of order but I hope I find what I’m looking for.

Let my life give hope to someone else.

My journey to healing has been a long process slowly moving over some 20 year. If I’m completely honest I think I still have a little more to go but I’m in a good place.

Beaten while you sleep and drinking your blood

Some of the worse moment of my childhood are the times when I was beaten whilst sleeping.

Lying in bed sleeping peacefully to be awaken by the bed covers been snatched off me whilst the wire snaps against my skin for a rude awakening.  

I would never want to believe this my reality as thinking about this brings a tires to my eyes. 
How I cried and scream with my bare legs exposed by my thin nightdress.
Caught completely off guard my brain unable to catch up and comprehend the intense pain and the wire curls around my legs and back.
An immediate intense panic as I am powerless to move. I beg and plead and apologise several times “sorry mummy I won’t do it again” I repeat this phase several time. Unsure what crime I have committed my head is spinning around and around. 
These are the worse moment of my life because in the confinement of my own bed with a knee and a hand holding me down I am powerless to move. I know if I make her very angry she will strangle me or sit on me as she does my sister. 
My brain is frozen I focus all my energy on  squeezing my muscle to not wet my bed. I know she will kill me if I wet my bed. Every part of my body hurts my legs are pulsating along the path of the lashes have marked out.
Why do I never learn? God knows I try hard to be good. The message is beaten into me word by word, ” how dare you, how dare you speak to ??? Last night”. All I can say is sorry a hundred times and promise not to do it again. 
As quick as she arrives she releases her grip holding me in place and turns and walks away. I stop apologising and watch as my legs shake uncontrollable with tremors. I wipe my eye several time and I notice me arms and hands are shaking too. 
When she get me when I’m sleeping it hurts even more. Now im angry with myself for sleeping and speaking out of turn.
I say I quick prayer “please god just let me die” I want to wake up from this nightmare but my body still shakes and I look at the wire marks along my lower body which have swallowen up I know I’m awake. 
I have to get up quickly and prepare for my bath. My Cotten night dress is difficult to remove as the sweat has stuck it to my skin. I’m angry with it for not protecting my legs and riding up to my waist to leave me exposed.
I feel an eruption of tires ready to escape but I swallow hard and bite my inner lip. I taste the salty blood in my mouth and a sallow it before moving.  

I suck my inner bottom lip which provides me with  comfort. 

I still do this today when I’m distressed I suck my inner bottom lip and I find it comforting.  It prevents me from crying and helps steady myself emotionally. To me it feels like Iv been given a hug and I tell myself everything will be ok. 
I often hold onto my bed sheet tightly and react instantly when they are pulled when I’m sleeping.
I tense my muscle and I prepare to be lashed. That when I tell myself I’m ok and no one is going to hurt me. Sometimes when I’m sleeping I hear that distinctive sound the wire made as it cuts trough the air  whistling on the way.  
Sometime I wake up by jumping on my feet into the middle of the room, as if Iv been ejected from my bed with a wake up button.  This never falls to give me a instant headache but I have to remind myself I am safe.)
My missing tooth.
Me and my sister were messing around in our room. We had been told to go to bed. My sister said something funny and I started laughing. As the door swung open with excess force I held my breath regretted my actions.
I was sitting at the end of my  bed She stepped towards me with two big heavy stamps. I heard the thump sound as her hand whacked me lower face.
As the bloody instantly fillied my mouth I swallowed not realising it was my tooth that got knocked down.
She screamed and shouted at me to go to sleep now and I obeyed. As I lye down I was preparing for another hit in the face but she turned a left.  I continued to swallow my blood in my mouth and I went to sleep as tires slowly ran down my face.
I was worried that my blood might drip out of my mouth when I was sleeping and get me in more trouble.
I didn’t say a word to my sister didn’t even look in her direction because it was unfair and she was to blame. 
Well that’s what I though at the time. 
The amount of time I got slapped in the face and had my lip busted open were many.  
My mother would say do you want to drink your blood as warning when she was getting angry. But whenever she did slap us across the face there was no real warning. Just the taste of blood as you ran your tonge down your cut. My lip would always swell up on the half that got hit.  

As my sister was a lighter complexion you could see hand prints and ring marks along her face.  

A slap across the face didn’t hurt as much as our normally punishment but it was normally done in public and was a quick sharp slap that was the beginning of a attack.

The rest you would recieve when you got home away from the public eye.

If I wasnt standing strong that one slap would send me falling or cause me to bang into a wall.
But what hurt most was the way it dented your pride and was public humiliating.  It was so embarrassing I would make my way to the toliet and cry and check my face there if I was allowed.
Some times I would spit out the blood in my mouth but mostly swallow it.