On being small....er

I was born into a family that is, for all intents and purposes, half Swedish and half German. There are some other things mixed in (French on my dad's mother's side that give me my distinctive nose) and some Irish and things like that, but mostly German and Swedish. My dad was 5' 10'"and had fleshed out by the time I was born. My mother is 5' 9". When my older brother was born, he was barely 5 pounds, but quickly took after the Swedish side of our family and reached high percentiles for height and weight. He is now a beefy 6' 2". My little sister is 5' 11", and 17  year old baby brother is 6' 3"....so far. I, on the other hand, am 5' 5 1/2". I cling to that half inch too. Don't forget the half! I also have a slighter build than everyone else in my family. I....am the runt!

Growing up, my smaller frame - especially compared to my family, resulted in me being endlessly described as "tiny" or "so small". For all of 2nd and 3rd grade, my weight stayed the same. I did not grow in height or put on weight. My mom has told me since then that this actually caused her worry. 

When people would say these things about my size, I know full well that they were sort of offering some endearing compliment. They thought is was cute or sweet or unusual that I be so small given the family in which I found myself, but do you know what I heard? I heard "weak". I heard "different". I heard "doesn't make sense" and "doesn't fit in". I was also slow along with being small, so I always got picked last for recess sports and gym class teams. 

In 5th grade, a lot of the girls started to develop the beginnings of curves...I did not. In fact, there was a very mean little boy who would wait until there was a crowd of other students but no teacher, and he would unkindly shout out insults while everyone was watching. He would call me "flat-chested" and "a carpenter's dream" and then slap me. I will never forget the expression of horror on the other kids' faces as he would say these things. No one stopped him during these moments (although one boy ended up ratting him out. I'll never forget YOU, little boy). They just stood there, stunned.

I think I finally hit a growth spurt for height around the age of 13. I was no longer the shortest in my group of friends. In fact, I was one of the taller girls, and being the mid 90's, platforms and heels came back with a vengeance. Since I'd been sporting heels whenever I could since the age of 3, I took full advantage that I was now allowed to wear these fancy things on my feet. The growth spurt only effected my height, though. I was still flat as a board, as that little boy told me.

Here's where the body shaming came in. For some reason, though there were girls that were skinnier than me, people took many liberties in teasing me about my size. None of this, that I could see or hear, was directed towards the other girls. It happened incredibly frequently. There was sometimes communicated a jealousy that I was so skinny, and other girls wished they were my size, but sometimes it was just that I was "too" skinny. I also went to a very conservative church and school where skirt length was important (yes. pants were a no-no at most functions). That hemline better be to the knee. Well, when your frame is small but you must observe hemline rules, guess what's going to happen. SOMEthing is going to end up being too big. In my case, it was everything EXCEPT the hemline. My poor mother would always buy me clothes that were too big - on into high school. She was just observing the rules - protecting me - but what I felt was the reinforcement of what that little boy had said and what many other people had said. I was "different". I was "weak" and "frail looking". I.....was.....different. I had another skinny friend in high school with whom I would have eating contests. For whatever reason, no matter how much each of us ate, we would put on no weight at an age that some girls are already starting to count calories. We were going to try though! During any break from school, we would eat as many fatty, carb filled, sugary foods as we possibly could to see if maybe, just maybe, the number on the scale would change, but to no avail.

Fashion changed, as it always does, and long skirts became very en vogue. Smaller waist sizes became available in stores in the sections outside of the children's department, so I had a lot of fun with that. I wore clunky shoes, and I had 2 satin skirts the combination of which became my signature. I will never forget someone rounding a building to the bench where I was sitting and saying "I KNEW it was you! I saw those shoes, and I thought 'That's Sarah! Those are her shoes'". I was so ecstatic! I had become known for my style and its signatures rather than my size!

High school ended, but the comments about my size when people saw my very Swedishly proportioned family in comparison to me didn't. But my boobs came in! I was at least grateful for that. I looked less often like I was swimming in every shirt I put on, but I was still very envious of girls with a little flesh around their arms or thighs or girls with any butts at all. So so jealous. They looked so much more womanly than I felt I did. I felt like I just looked like a sickly child. 

This continued until I got pregnant with my first child. I became discouraged when, at one of my visits to my OB/GYN, I was told that I was underweight for my pregnancy. "Fantastic!" I thought "I'm not even healthy enough for my baby!". Lots of self loathing. Lots. Lots of old ghosts came flooding back, haunting me.

I did end up putting on the appropriate amount of weight after morning sickness ended, and I kept some of the baby weight after the baby was born. I....was....THRILLED! Finally I got to fill out the clothes that hung on any rack of any store! I gloried in the fact that, after my second child, I could walk even into the plus size section and find things that fit! My body was giving me options! I felt like I'd finally reached womanhood, and people were starting to tell me how alike I looked to my family! 

Then I started hearing negative things though. I started hearing that I was actually unattractive because of the weight I'd put on. I heard many times that the weight was a reflection of my laziness and that the only reason that other women (with way different metabolisms, of different ages and different body types) lost their baby weight and I didn't was because THEY worked out and I didn't. This was such a deathless discouragement! Why couldn't my size ever just be right?!

So I joined a gym, hired a personal trainer and started taking extra classes to drop my weight and increase strength. During the first 4 minutes of a Zumba class, I sidestepped, and something went terribly and utterly wrong. I heard a snap and then felt a pain so intense that my eyes went black and I hit the floor. After several visits to several different doctors, it was revealed that I had torn my ACL completely in half and ripped my meniscus in a way that had caused it to flip into a taco shell shape and wedge itself in my knee joint making it impossible to straighten my leg beyond a certain point. My quest to make my body more pleasing had resulted in extreme injury. 

My physical therapy over the next 3 months didn't change the number on the scale either. My body was stronger. With a lot of help and encouragement, I regained the ability to walk without a limp, but that darn scale. My darn appearance. I just couldn't make it right for absolutely everyone.

The thing is, though, I FELT good about the way I looked. I felt prettier having more flesh around my body. There was NO mistaking anymore that I was a woman, but it does begin to wear on one's soul to have repeated criticisms about any part of ourselves.

Over the course of the 8 months that followed my rehabbing my knee, I got a job and did not have a car, so I bought a bicycle. My job was 12.5 miles away from my residence, and it was summer in Florida. Something began to happen. People at work were starting to comment that I looked like I'd lost weight. Given the fact that I'd only ever successfully gained weight and that, once I reached a weight my body seemed determined to stay at that weight, I was skeptical. Either way, I stepped on a scale and found that I'd lost about 10 pounds!

Oh wow, Sarah! Good for you!......Despite the fact that I was receiving praise for this, I was not happy. This weight loss meant to me one thing, and one thing alone - that I was losing my womanly appearance and that I was one step closer to being the "skinny" girl that everyone teased. 

Over the course of the last year and a half, I have not lost 10 pounds. I have lost upwards to 45 pounds. I do not know to what exactly I should attribute this loss because the times during which I have eaten the most were when this loss would recur. It has been so hard for me because, every time I stepped on a scale, it would reveal more loss. 

I will never forget being at work and realizing that my clothes were too big. I needed to buy some that fit my body. I had grabbed my trusty large and only-sometimes-my-friend-medium and headed to the fitting room only to realize that they were both...too big. I began to breath heavily and feel the blood leave my head. I was going to have to try on a small. I called my sister, nearly in tears and said "Hannah, these are too big!" She calmly said "Well, Sarah, then try on a small. It's just a tag, Sarah. Put on your body what looks nice - what fits. It's okay!".  This was very comforting coming from my sister because, in today's fashion culture, unless you are a size 2, being 5' 11" makes it extremely difficult to find clothes anywhere. Hannah has gotten very creative with where she finds her clothes, what size they actually are and how she adorns her body was them.  It wasn't okay with me, though. All I could see was everyone's faces while they giggled about how skinny I was. All I could hear in the ear of my memory was the innumerable comments about my size and the distinction that I could not be accepted because of it.

It actually hurt me. I was becoming again, the skinny one.

The other day, after glorying in the fact that I felt sure that the new jiggliness of my belly meant that I'd put on weight, I plopped a quarter in the scale at the mall. I waited with delight hoping I'd find myself once again in the 10's range in which I'd felt most comfortable. What popped up on the digital screen made my eyes widen with disappointment. I'd actually LOST 8 pounds since my last weigh in. LOST?!?!?! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!?!?!

One of the fears I have had over the last year and a half during this loss of weight is, how much weight am I going to lose? Is there something wrong with my body? Am I sick? Probably a lot of the same worries my mom had when I was a child. How small am I going to end up being? I have had moments during this time where I have actually been disgusted by my physique. I don't mind the stretch marks that cover my entire mid-section. I wear bikinis to the beach. I don't mind that there is now loose skin around my armpits. I actually like it. I don't mind the wrinkles around my eyes. I do, however, worry when I notice that there seem to be bones poking out in places where they were cushioned and hugged before by flesh that was the fruit of successfully growing 3 babies in less than a 6 years span of time. The tape replays in my head (and did while I stood on that scale): How small am I going to get?!

Oh my gosh, Sarah! You should be grateful you're just happening to get what other people work so hard for!...Really?....Why? So I can be a cookie cut version of what a woman is supposed to look like? That didn't lend itself to acceptance for me. It drew criticism. Why would I want that just because my version of dysmorphia is opposite of most women or what is spoken of most commonly in our culture?

I have a friend who has battled with body image as well, and, though the nature of her battle has been opposite of mine, the guts are still the same. The lies, though they are opposite, are still the same. So I asked her one day what on earth I could do to stop the tape from playing in my head. Do you know what she said? She told me that it's going to be a constant battle. No matter what the rules are in my mind versus those that exist in the minds of others, it will probably stay, so I should just know that. She also told me that, when I have these moments, I will need to consciously choose not to engage. Instead, I should change my perspective from being inward to going outward. "Help people. Give to other people", she told me. I am to focus on helping others because isn't that what is most beautiful in this life anyway?

And as far as the body shaming goes, I have two daughters. One of them is taller for her age and her 3 year old body is deliciously squishy. My other daughter, however, has always been small and slight. She is my introspective, smart almost 9 year old. Her understanding of the world has always been beyond her years. She has experienced exclusion already over the fact that she is small. She too  has been chosen last for things because of her size and been left out for being small. What would it say to her if I presented smallness as a negative thing?? It would make her feel like I did so long ago and have found myself to feel recently.......defective.

So let's dissect that. If I truly believe that women are beautiful for their character AND their physical makeup because it brings variety to the world, why should I worry that my contributions won't bring the same? Right now, my body is small. The other day, right before I stepped on the scale, I went underwear shopping, and the store clerk discouraged me from buying the underwear that I'd selected because she thought they'd be too big "because you're pretty petite". I looked at her like she was crazy. I feel bad about that now! Turns out though, she was right. If I'd have purchased my preselected pretties, they would have slid down my hiney and frustrated me. I had to redirect my reaction in a split second so I did not hurt HER feelings for giving me a professional and correct opinion. 

What truths do I give myself, and what example do I show my daughter? In the words of C.S. Lewis, "You are not a body. You do not have a soul. You are a soul that has a body." This encasement of our soul is going to be the vehicle with which we change the world. Full stop. We are responsible to keep this vehicle in good condition so we enable ourselves to use that vehicle for as long as possible, and even then, bodies fail. Disease strikes. In some cases, parts of that vehicle even have to be removed and replaced with synthetic versions and not because of any failings on our part - just because. Bodies are temporal. They wear out. Let's concentrate on our bodies being the vehicles for our souls.

As far as the aesthetic qualities go, why must we insist that they do not bring pleasure? I have often been distracted by the fact that, despite 2 years of braces and headgear (oh man...the headgear), my teeth are crooked. Do you know that someone told me the other day "you have the best smile!". Hmmm. The giver of this compliment made no mention of my teeth. Also, the other day I was laying on the couch and my husband traced his finger over my belly that had become bare where the flannel shirt I'd stolen from him had fallen away - that place right above my belt line. "Your pretty belly.." he said. My belly - covered in stretch marks and now the loosest part of my body, the part of my body that sort of spills over any pair of pants that I put on no matter how much weight I lose and the part that leaves a line under dresses that are meant to have lines with no interruptions, the part that has never seemed to be....right. A light switched on in my brain. This therapy - this taking apart and laying out every part of my mind - has begun to show some repair. I realized this because.....I believed him. I do not think that my body is universally pleasing. I just know this - it's pretty....to him. I flipped over and looked at him. "What?" he asked - probably worried that he'd tripped a negative trigger for me. I just smiled. "I believed you", I said. Then I buried my face in his side and shed a couple tears for knowing that I've healed a little.

So this world of our bodies is two-fold. We are a soul that uses a body. We should ALWAYS remember that, but we also can't discount the fact that even the most dilapidated of structures can bring pleasure to someone that happens upon them. Glory in your smile. Glory in compliments. Glory in the fact that, even if your body does not bring pleasure in the realm of a romantic relationship that someone may just enjoy the "pretty" that you bring to the table. Your smile or your hair or your pretty long fingers or adorable short ones aren't necessarily things that people love IN SPITE of what you consider to be shortcomings. They may just love them BECAUSE they are exactly what they are. 

Don't forget that there are many parts of you that are beautiful - inside AND outside. And don't forget to give to others. If there is some part of them that you love, tell them. If there is some part of them that you can see is just on the cusp of a growth spurt, tell them about how you can see that they are growing. Finally, never stop growing yourself. Traversing this world is full of lessons, and we never stop learning. Embrace them. Love the ways that you change. Love the things about you that will forever stay the same.....because other people have already begun to love those things. Join their company. This party is a really wonderful place.

On facing lies

This week has presented to me some very real challenges and some very ugly realities. There are parts of my life that are challenging all on their own. Life's true nature is to throw us things for which we could never even dream of being ready. Then there is a different type of challenge. This is the type of challenge I have faced this week. This type of challenge occurs when someone actually places themselves in a position against you - a position of attack. You find yourself being attacked.

What do you do with that? Do you get angry? Do you fight back? Do you wage full on assault against those that wait like the devil in the dark for their first chance to ruin you? Do you lay down and play dead hoping they'll just go away when they realize you've conceded? Do you actually concede? What do you do?

 I have experienced all of these emotions and asked of myself these questions so many times. I have found myself in the position of being attacked more times than I care to recall. It is really, really uncomfortable at best. On its worst days, you question everything about your life - all your choices.

This is what I have learned about myself. When I am attacked for a reason with no justification, I become angry. I live my life in a way that provides respect to everyone that I meet until or unless they prove to me that they do not deserve the freedom I have given to them to move around in my life. So if someone decides to threaten me and accuse me of doing anything besides that, I become angry. What makes me even more angry is when someone usurps their desires over the rights that have been bestowed upon me by the God of heaven and the governing bodies of this country. That just makes me mad......but I have learned to be careful about how I engage, and not just for the sake of negative ramifications that might occur if I were to let a person or persons just get a taste of what I've got to offer in the revenge department. I have learned that it's not just the damage that I could cause outwardly that should be the thing that prevents me. It is me. It is my own heart. 

I have to ask myself a few questions. 

1. Is the accuser correct in what they have to say? If the answer is yes and conviction is my reason for feeling defensive, then I need to reevaluate my thinking. If the answer is no, and the accuser is causing me to feel slighted and accused because they are lying, then I need to speak of them as what they truly are - a liar. 

2. Why is this person afraid of me? People most often lie when they are afraid. Is someone lying about you? You've made them afraid. If someone goes to what may end up being a great deal of trouble to smear your name or your efforts, you are doing something.....and you are doing something big. The harder you work, the greater your impact on the world and the greater your opponents. If your opponents seem to you to be giants, know that it is they who are in impressive company. They are there in response to what you have become - not the other way around. Don't you stop what you're doing. Don't you stop growing and loving and impacting your corner of the world. Don't you stop.

3. What harm can the liars actually do? Truth is an interesting thing. It isn't always noticed first. Sometimes the lies are really, really loud and sound really really believable....but they are always temporary. The shelf life of lies is never eternal. There have been scandals the truth about which was not revealed until all the parties involved were dead and in the ground for years....but it came to light. Know that. Truth is always stronger. If you are living truth, honestly and truly, then know that you too, are stronger. You are. The truth will come to light. Lies will always fall away, and you will find yourself to be vindicated in a way that does not require that you be malicious back to the ones who showed you their lack of character. 

These principles are hard to follow because the indignation we feel when we are treated in an unjust  way is so great. The thing I have to do, though is just stop and breath and remind myself of the truth. This is the only way to not just quiet your attackers but also to eliminate them. It is true that after one leaves, another will introduce himself into your life, but the harder you work to embrace truth, the less interruption there will be when this situations arise. Embrace that instead of the anger you may initially feel. Be productive in your response for the good of those around you but also for yourself. This is your one life! Make it a really beautiful one. 

Also feel pity for those that accuse you wrongly. They live in a way that does nothing but limit them when a life of so much more is well within their grasp. Look at them as you would a confused toddler that is throwing a fit. Poor kid....one day they'll understand. There may even come a day when, because of your steadfastness and level head, the very people that attacked you before come to you for comfort when they realize that they'd like to live differently. Make sure that you share truth in a loving way through your words and your actions. 

The thing I'd like you to absorb more than anything is that, while we never have the ability to control someone else's heart, the effects of what they do is solely and completely determined by us. Their lies will only ruin your journey if you let it. They can only make you to be inferior to them if you consent to that. They can only dictate your future if you choose to believe what they have to say.....so don't. 

Walk with your head up high knowing that you are royalty to the world - all of you. I dub you all kings and queens of your realms! Live in a way of grace because we just need more of that in the world, and it will give you more likelihood of healthy emotions later. Don't forget that, while lies are loud, truth lives forever. And don't forget this. You are loved. You are precious, and just because you face opposition does not mean that what you're pursuing is flawed. It means that it's big. So go dream your dreams, my kings and queens. Go change the world, and by all means, rise above anything that threatens you because the truth is on its way.

"Happy girls are the prettiest girls"...

The words of today's post title were spoken originally by the incomparable Audrey Hepburn. While there is indisputable truth in them, I have the suspicion that, when they were spoken originally and when they have been spoken since, the sentiment is outward. We much more freely wish happiness for others than we do for ourselves. In fact, most often, I find myself opting for things that are devoid of happiness. There have also been many times that I have felt happiness wrapping its arms around my heart that I have cast it away and chosen to cause experiences to include pain.

That's a strange thing, isn't it? - wanting for other people what you don't even want for yourself. So incomplete. So deficient.

I got married a couple days ago to the boy - that boy who loved me forever. While I have felt very sure for a long time about committing the rest of my life to live by his side, the days leading up to the actual committing were sort of a disgusting dichotomy. I knew that I wanted to be with him for the rest of my life, but the happiness of all of it made me so uncomfortable.

Dan and I spent time on our first date walking across the "walking bridge" in Chattanooga. This bridge used to be a passageway for trains to cross the Tennessee River's path through the town. The railroads abandoned using it a long time ago, so now it is a tourist attraction from which it's travelers can see much of the city and the river. It is such a pleasant place.

Apparently the walk Dan and I took was burned so indelibly in his brain that his plan has been for a long time that we would be there on the bridge when he asked me to marry him. So, after dinner downtown to celebrate my best friend's marriage, Dan and I began another walk across the bridge together. It was late in the evening, and the weather was chilly but not cold. The rain of the past couple of days had taken a break, and all that remained for a while was a heavy fog. The effect on the bridge was so stunning. The fog was present but light, so you could still see the outline of the city and the mountains in the distance, and every light in every place glowed. I drank in all of this as we walked. Dan stopped just short of halfway across the bridge and slid his arms around my waist and said to me, "I've been waiting a long time to do this" and then he kissed me. He had never kissed me a single time when we dated before. My suspicions that he was going to propose then laughed at me as I began to doubt them. Then he got down on one knee in the place where we began our story, and in the glowy fog and with tears in his kind eyes, asked me if I would marry him. I said yes, and then we stood and kissed and held each other so tight. Then I became aware of the fact that, for whatever reason, we had been alone on the bridge for the beginning of the next chapter of our story. Out of nowhere, groups of tourists or other people enjoying the night air resumed their traffic across the bridge. It was like time had stopped for us and then begun again.

So romantic. So picturesque. So perfect. So lovely. So happy.

So I felt very unsettled when I found myself choking on the word "fiance" when I made reference to Dan. What WAS that reticence? I have loved Dan for a long, long time, and I definitely love him fiercely now - more than I ever have. All that love has done is grow and grow and grow. I am also reminded many times a day that his love for me has done just the same thing....so why did I choke?

I decided to swallow my embarrassment and fear and bring it up with my therapist. I did a lot of talking and explaining, and then she interrupted me with a question with the force of the worst Oklahoma wind "Sarah, do you love yourself?". .....Um....we weren't talking about my love for me. I was talking about my love for Dan, and I was actually questioning its credence since I had this choking reaction when it came to verbally acknowledging my commitment. Her question was very telling, and I felt embarrassed alright. I absorbed what she was trying to communicate - that it wasn't my love for Dan that was causing any trouble at all. In fact, when I even think about Dan, my whole being smiles. My eyes crinkle even if my mouth isn't smiling, and I feel little butterflies. This is something that other people have pointed out to me, so it's very obvious that my love for Dan isn't what left something to be desired.

I reciprocated her interruption and said "NO! Heh. No I don't. I'm 33 years old and have very little to show for it. I feel like a colossal f*** up. (I'm thankful she doesn't balk when I use unsavory words, because sometimes they really do say exactly what I mean)". I spoke this sentence and she just sat there.....sort of waiting as if to say "I know there's more you have to say about that, and I'm not letting you get away with not saying it".

That was not a fun revelation. It feels very pathetic to realize that you cannot offer yourself the happiness you wish for others as if you are some kind of monster that doesn't deserve it or that you are on the other extreme - some sort of elitest martyr whose lot in life is to bear the burden of hurt because the pain makes you feel alive - like emotional and mental masochism. It feels good to hurt because it is what I know. This is the world in which I have dwelt for a portion of my life greater than any other. This was another time when many thoughts swirled around my brain in a stew of confusion.

I have spent a couple weeks thinking about this and trying to sort out all of those thoughts. I relate so many things into analogies, so I tried to find one for this need for pain. I even had to admit to myself that there have been days and days that have been absent of pain, so I have subconsciously created conflict. This has proven itself to cause problems in my relationships - not just with Dan but certainly most commonly that one. The thing to which I can liken this compulsion is being away from home. We all grow up a certain way. Even if you spend your childhood moving, there is a subculture of either your country or town or even just your family. There are things that are comfortingly familiar - even if they are deficient. A child of the country finds themselves hating the city because, though the city is bursting at the seams with resources and interest, the want the simplicity. On the flip side, a child of urbania does not find solace in the quiet of the country. Though the sirens and crashes and creaks and voices are, in fact, disruptive, they miss the noise.

I had gotten so used to the "noise".

My noise included things that weren't just innocuous movements of my other cohabitants of this world, though. My noise came from very poisonous experiences and very toxic people. Very toxic.

So why on earth would I try to recreate that in the crisp, fresh "country" air that my life gets to be right now? Why would I long for the smog?.........because it's what I know. It's all I've known for a very long time. I do not understand myself to be a citizen of this place of quietness and rest of a loving relationship. I'm used to having to claw my way just to get enough air to sustain brain activity.  I just do not know what I'm doing, and I do not like the feeling of unpreparedness....at.....all.

Understanding all of this about myself was freeing, but I definitely have not been satisfied just with that. Even at a casual glance, this interpretation of the world leaves some gaping holes. This is not the life I want to live because it ends up actually punishing people that want to offer you love and need to get it from you too. This immediately means Dan....and it also means my kids. I am not satisfied with them having a broken mother. These people, however, cannot be my only motivation because that still leaves the hole of myself. I deserve enjoy love - to FEEL loved. I deserve to celebrate what God has created in me. I deserve happiness - says God. "I came that they might have life and that they may have it more abundantly". God did not intend for me to drop to my knees and scurry around scraping up scraps. No. I am to be celebrated. That is not arrogance. That is a command.

Unfortunately, I am finding as I get older that there were many inconsistencies in what was preached and taught to me by people in authority and what they required me to do. The list of these is endless. I can't count the times that a principle was communicated corporately only to have a rule be applied that contradicted the principle because of my age or financial status....or my gender.

I call bulls***. I call bulls*** on all of that. I have slowly been learning how to separate the words of selfish men (women also but mostly men) from the God of love and redemption and look to only Him and the intellect of my OWN mind for answers. Sometimes these quests have been nothing more than me coasting through life offering aloud the words "Okay God, if you're really a thing.....if you're really real, then I'm gonna need for you to prove it because I see you absolutely nowhere in what is happening in my life". Time after time, the words and teachings of these selfish humans has been quieted and the truth has been more and more loudly reinforced that I am a creation of worth and beauty deserving of happiness and fulfillment. Even if you don't ascribe to any faith at all, that principle remains. Even if I was a happenstance that occurred when sperm met egg and the cells divided resulting in a successful full term pregnancy and healthy birth, it remains. I was supposed to be. So here I am. That is important because, in order for everything to work out for me to exist, I feel that must mean that the me that exists is supposed to contribute something to this world, and it is entirely possible that I am the only person that can do it.....and I want to.  I just keep getting hung up on the happiness thing.

So most recently, I have been given the assignment to pursue happiness. My understanding of that phrase was very very skewed until recently. I understood that you were supposed to sort of set things up (like a stunt) so that, when happiness hit, you were ready for it. You could enjoy it because you'd done the work to create a hospitable environment for "happiness to grow". That understanding is just really terrible. More holes in that one. A lot of them, actually. It actually removes from the equation the very word "pursue". This previous understanding actually implies that I actually just sit around waiting for it.

No. Let's pursue it. Let's engage. It is not a passive thought. It is a dynamic activity. You have to SEARCH for things that being you happiness, and, despite what I was taught for a lot of my life, I am not supposed to sit and cry and be sad that I'm a Christian and can't go do fun things that offer me a thrill. According to God, I'm supposed to chase that. God (or the universe, if you will) did not allow me to be so that I could lead a crappy life. It has taken me 33 years to realize that!

GOOD GRIEF!

So what will I do to pursue this thing of happiness? Well, for starters, when my husband (and that word is now really fun to say) does things like take out the trash or clean the kitchen without any help from me, I'm going to quiet the words of ugly men that told me that things like that were my job because I am female, and I'm going to exult in being the princess that I was created to me. When he reaches over and caresses me, I'm going to ignore the familiar absence of being touched and enjoy all my senses coming alive at being shown tenderness. When one of my children tells me a silly joke or shares with me part of their day, I'm going to cast away the remembrance that I have to be so far away from them now, and I'm going to give them my full attention and affection. And when I want to spend 2 hours manipulating wire hangers to create a decoration for our home or find some new makeup and play at changing and accentuating parts of my face, I'm going to do it - because these things bring me happiness. I'm going to breath in deep when I find the pleasant fragrance of a bloom. I'm going to bask in the sunshine when it kisses my skin. I'm going to take a compliment when it is given to me and choose to believe the deliverer that they actually mean what they've just told me.

I'm also going to actively seek things like this every day. If I haven't had a day with enough things like this is it, I'm going to FIND things. I'm going to pursue them. I'm going to chase them because that is what I'm supposed to have. That is what I deserve - a life.....and one more abundant.

.......ever after

No matter what we experience in our lives, there is always an after. After is a funny thing, isn't it? You never know what it's going to hold, but you know, as surely as you know there is blood in your veins, that there will be an after.

I'm in the after. Admittedly, there are things that I am still tackling. There are challenges that still exist in my life - a lot of them, but there are also things that I have already passed. They are over. I am in the after. The thing I find funny about this markation of the term "after" is that often I have found myself to dwell inside it and also within the before - within the event that marked the beginning of after.

The thing that has probably been the most difficult for me to leave in the before and engage the after is losing my dad. This is obvious. Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows this to be true about me. My dad was not perfect, by any stretch, but there were some amazing things that he communicated to me while I shared hours with him in this world. When his heart stopped and his lungs ceased to breath, when he lost an more ability to speak words to me, I was left.....wandering. I have felt so lost. There were many tasks that I completed and some very effectively, but that sense of belonging and security was gone.

After my dad died, as I have said, there were moments that I wanted so badly to engage my grief, and I was disallowed. There was that moment on the hill near the place into which they were going to lower my dad's coffin that I wanted so badly for someone to give me permission to grief - to fall apart. It became faintly clear to me at that time that I would not be afforded that opportunity. There were incidents later that reinforced that to me. It was very difficult at first to receive the communication that I would not be allowed to grieve, but after a short period, I resigned myself to the fact that I was not....so I did not. I entered the parts of my soul that were occupied by my memories with and of my dad, and, with fast work, I boarded up the windows. I covered up the furnishings with canvases so thick that even I would not be able to distinguish what lay underneath the coverings. I locked the door......but I kept the key. I never could bear to throw it away.

 I have walked past that room so, so many times since the day I imprisoned the contents, but every time I would reach into the pocket of my heart to grab the key, I never did more than hold it in my hand only to release it after the words played again in my mind to "SHHH!.....We've got to go......I've got to get some sleep".

But things have been changing for me, haven't they? I have been pouring truth into my soul, and, just like a heavy rain, it has washed away the shroud of dust and shined the leaves of the vines that cloaked themselves around the windows of this room. The truth that beauty exists within that room and the truth that I am allowed to enjoy that beauty and mourn the pieces of the things that are broken within it is shining through those windows.

Today......I put the key into the lock, and I turned it.....and I opened the door. It's funny how this room of my soul has changed after all this time. I recognize some of the things here as things that dwelt there originally, but surprisingly, I recognize things that I have acquired since the day that I locked the door.

See, the thing is that I never stopped adding things to my soul - even to that part. Though my dad's life on earth ended, mine did not. The truth is that you cannot successfully and truly separate a room in your soul. Somehow, though I was not aware, I was placing new things into that room.....because it is love. That room is my ability to love. I have added new people to that room. There are representations of my son and my youngest daughter. There are tokens of friends. There are framings of moments of love that were given to me by others. So strange to see these things here but so wonderful. It seems a shame to me now to see all the dust and the canvas drapings - the pictures turned around the wrong way and the unlit lamps.....so I won't leave them that way, but here is the very strange thing. I cannot disrobe these inhabitants of my room alone. I have to bring that girl on the hill with me. Actually, she will be the one that has to alter the room. I will watch, but I have to go get her.

The weird thing with pain is that it halts us. When we are victimized by trauma, if we are not allowed to escape it and move past it, that version of ourselves stays there. She is still there...on the hill...in the cold February air. She needs to be rescued. Poor girl. Poor hurting girl so alone (I bet you have your own girl or boy). The only person who can do that rescuing is me. The way I am going to provide that to her, the way I'm going to go to her, and I'm going to let you watch. I'm going to speak to her. I'm going to go to her.....right now.

Sarah......honey.......he's gone. They're going to put his body in that hole. I know you know that. I know it hurts because I am you, and I miss him every day. I want you to know something. A very selfish heart is going to do everything they can to quiet you. That heart will hurt you very much. They will make you feel so alone and so imprisoned. You are going to be very afraid. You will spend years being afraid. You are going to feel like you are totally alone.

I'm going to tell you something. You will never be alone again.....because I will be there. Any time that hateful heart tries to steal from you the time you need to be sad, I will be there, and I will tell that mean heart no. I will send them away. I will protect you.....and I will hold you...and we will both cry together. From now on, any time you want to cry, then I want you to cry. I will be there with you. Any time you want to ask questions about Dad, I will let you. I will let you ask any questions you want of any person that you want. I will let you remember the beauty too. In fact.......come with me....I have something to show you.

The day my music died

In 1959, Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper changed their original travel arrangements from taking a sickness laden tour bus to hopping a small plane to reach their next tour destination. The plane tragically crashed killing all the passengers and the pilot. The day was February 3. Don McLean later recorded the song "American Pie" to commemorate the day and honor the burgeoning musical legends. The day was forever known after that as "the day the music died".

Life marched on for our country and for music, but it's true that it was never the same.

On February 3, 2007, the 48th anniversary of the terrible crash, my life came crashing to the ground. My own legend had met his end. That was the day my music died.

It was 2 days after my 25th birthday. My family was planning to get together that evening for my birthday dinner. I was laying in bed only half awake when I heard a knock at the door. I thought it was probably my dad. He often popped by. My parents had been having a difficult time right before that, and, being my dad's best friend, he often vented to me and asked my advice on how to deal with women - especially his.

I threw on my robe and walked into the living room and saw my pastor standing on the other side of the glass.

"Hi Sarah"
"Hi. What's up?"
"Sarah, where's your husband?"
"Um, he's in the bathrooom. He'll be right here. What's up?"
"Uh...(getting visibly uncomfortable)...no let's just wait until he gets out here"
"Okay"

My then husband finally came into the living room and my pastor instructed us to sit. It's funny. I will never forget where I was sitting or the way the early morning light streamed into the living room that I painted in a deep green shade. It all played together in that moment in the most surreal way. My pastor began to speak again.

"Sarah.....*sigh.....your dad got up this morning and (I started to mentally supply words for him feeling sure that he was going to tell me that my dad had moved out of the house - not able to take any more of my mom's menopausal moods....I was so, so wrong)...had a massive heart attack...(my mind raced demanding to know what hospital he was at but my mouth wasn't fast enough) and passed away."

"NOOOO!!!" I screamed. "Please! Please tell me this is a joke! This is a joke, right?! Please tell me it's a joke! I'll think it's funny. Please just tell me it's a joke."

I writhed around and screamed on the cushion of our love seat. My husband grabbed me and held on tight. "Shhhh" He said at first.

"PASSED AWAY?!" I thought. "What does that even mean?! He didn't pass away! He's DEAD!" This was all in my mind. All my voice could do was scream. My husband grabbed my head and whispered in my ear "Well now we know what we're going to name our son". I wasn't even pregnant, but I thought "Damn straight!".

Another strange thought that passed through my head as I battled through my outward hysterics: "Well at least I know now. I'll never have to lose him again. It's already over with, and I know how it ends".

In short order, we collected our 8 month old daughter and drove over to my best friends' house to leave the baby and then went to my mom's house. I burst through the door and demanded from the EMT's "Where is he?"
"Now, ma'am...I don't know if you should go up there. He looks.."
"NO! Where is my dad?! I want to see him now!"
"Ma'am, he's upstairs, but...."
I pushed past him and walked up the stairs to my parents' room. I reached the bathroom and saw him. He looked asleep. My mother was at his feet talking to him. My older brother was standing at his head. I dropped to his side and grabbed his hand.

Those hands. So strong. So able. So loving. In stark contrast to those of his own father, my dad used his hands to cradle my tiny baby body. The day I was born, he wrote a note to my mom with those hands that read "Now you've made my dreams come true; a boy for me a girl for you". He used them to hold my tiny little girl fingers and bend my hand to kiss it. He used those hands to fix all our cars and let me stand beside him and learn how to reach my skinny arms into the guts of a car and fix a serpentine belt. He built things with those hands. He used those hands to lovingly stroke my cheek or grab my tiny chin and hold me in his lap. He used them to hold my own little girl and tell me with his voice what a good job I'd done. So many handshakes. He shook so many hands. I always knew the value of a good, manly handshake, so very early in my life I abandoned the notion of prim handshakes and followed his example instead. "Shake their hand like Dad does" I always admonished myself. Those hands wrote many hours of computer code that ended up providing for our family. It was connected to a brain that was, in fact, brilliant. Those hands rested in the pockets of his khaki pants while he waited for me on the corner in front of his house after I took an unannounced walk out of my house 3 weeks after giving birth. No one knew where I had gone or where I was, but, while everyone else was out driving around looking for me, he just stood there on the sidewalk. He knew I would find him. He was my anchor. He just stood there until he saw me and then made a little half smile. His hands came out of his pockets and spread open. I ran the last few steps to him and collapsed into his hands. They held me up. They were strong enough. They were always strong enough.....and then it was gone. I thought of all of this while I knelt there holding them. I squeezed...a few times. ALL I wanted was for him to squeeze back. He was still warm. I just wanted him to squeeze back....but he never did. He never would again.

I kept waiting for him to pop his eyes open and laugh. I still wanted it to be an elaborate joke. I swore to myself that I would think it was funny. They stayed closed. I bent down and kissed his lips. I knew that would be the last time I would ever be able to do that again with any warmth left in them.

The next little while is a total blur of being ushered downstairs because they had to take "the body". The EMT's wheeled in a gurney and laid my dad atop it and covered it with the famed white sheet. The ambulance drove away silent.

In the days that followed, we accomplished many tasks and greeted many people. I sang at his funeral. My mom suggested that we let someone else do it, but I didn't feel anyone else was good enough - not that my singing ability exceeded theirs. It's just that the words therein and the man for whom the songs were being sung COULDN'T mean the same thing as what they did to me. I began each of them on the wrong note, but I finished both of them.

My world after that was so empty. Continuing with any happiness seemed like sacrilege. It still does.

My dad woke up that morning, greeted my mom and went into the bathroom to start getting ready for men's prayer breakfast at church. After just a couple minutes, my mom heard a thud. She called out to my dad and heard no answer. She rushed into the bathroom and found him slumped against the wall. His head had slammed into the wall in front of him, and his glasses had smashed into his face and broken the skin leaving a smudge of blood on the wall. She lowered him to the floor and tried to begin CPR on him while she screamed out for someone to call 911. As he lay in the floor, his green eyes were fixed...on her face - the face of the knockout red head that had made him so nervous 28 years before that he could barely muster the courage to ask her to go out with him giving her just enough time to say yes before he ran out the door of the Taco Hut in Harrison, Arkansas. The face of the woman who gave him a son and then a daughter.....and then another and then another son. The face of the woman who stood by his side while he made crazy choices for which everyone told my mom that she should just leave him. No. He was hers, and she was his. The face that had whispered "I love you" and so many other wonderful things over more years of his life than not. That was the very last thing upon which his eyes were fixed in this life - her face.

 My sister Hannah ran upstairs and tried.....so hard....to administer CPR. God love her little heart. It didn't work. It couldn't have. He was already gone. I think we were actually told that he was actually gone before his knees gave out causing him to collapse. She was 15.

Someone called 911, and EMS quickly confirmed that he was dead on arrival.

So we had a funeral. We had a burial. Dad had served in the Army, so he was buried at the National Cemetery in Chattanooga. They played "Taps" at his graveside. After the service, I saw the hole up the hill where they were going to put my dad. Everyone drove away, and I walked up the hill and fell to my knees in the grass and cried. I wanted so badly for someone to hold me and cry with me, but, though I had the company of one on my trek up the hill, no one held me. I was alone. He was gone, and I was alone. No one would ever provide rescue for me again in this life.

I would try to sleep, but as soon as I closed my eyes, I would see him laying there in the bathroom floor. I would gasp for air and sit up straight and cry. After receiving enough instruction to stay quiet because the one with whom I shared a bed had to work the next day, I learned how to cry more quietly....alone. I guess my quiet sobs continued to be to loud because I grew very familiar with being literally pushed out of the bed and told to go sleep on the couch. "He's in a better place. Just go to sleep". .....alone. I was alone, and he was in a better place - better for him - not for us.

Time after that is a bit blocked. I remember going on some trips. I remember people having birthdays and babies. I, in fact, had another baby - a boy. Noah Daniel - after my dad. Noah was actually born in the same room as my little brother, so I will never forget the day I had him being reminded by my mom that the last time we were in that room, my dad had been there. He was there again. I know he was. Noah was also born the same day as my dad's dad. His birth was a tribute in so many ways. Noah actually has a picture in his room of my dad, though he has never met him.

Eight years have passed. Eight years.

It is so strange to me that there has been eight years of life since then. I have been smacked in the face with the cruelty of this world so many times that I've lost count. I was so much less aware of this before losing my dad because he absorbed the full impact of so many of the blows or would wage full on war against whatever it was that attacked me. It has been a terrible reality to know how hard life actually hits with the absence of someone acting as a shield for you.

Now, though, now it's my turn. Now I'm the shield. I'm the defender of the innocent and downtrodden. I'm the strength.....but I will never stop feeling the loss. I don't think I'm supposed to. How wrong would it be for me to just pretend that there never was a song that played? That I am numb to the fact that it ceased to play? Music was important to my dad. Remember Madame Butterfly?

I'm at a loss and this post is just all over the place, but that's how grief goes. Another song that was my dad's favorite was "Free Bird". Funny how many parallels exist with the words and his life and his exit of this life. So......raise your lighters, everybody. Blow it up. See how long you can keep that flame lit. His burned for 48 years. Light it up.

For William Daniel Baker, Sr. September 23, 1958 - February 3, 2007....the day the music died.

You've got a friend

Last week I spent a large amount of time arguing with myself. I knew that my thoughts and feelings needed to be given memorial, but I knew very acutely that the writing of it would cause extreme and intense pain....I was correct. It took 5 hours of typing and several breaks during which I had to be in a different room than my computer and cry or just regain the ability to breath at a regular pace. It was as intense as I anticipated.

During my internal vacillation, I tried my darnedest to find ANYTHING else about which to share besides that, so I appealed to friends on social media for suggestions. One of those was from a wonderful girl with whom I shared many hours and thoughts during our time in our youth group. She is facing an uphill battle lately, so her suggestion grabbed my attention immediately because I understand her heart. She shared the idea of acknowledging the friends that come into your life when things are hard and how God would often pair people together for times of trial or certain journeys to be traveled. Since I have now exited my state of denial and avoidance of the issues that I needed to address, I can embrace the things she spoke to me.

As I have mentioned several times before, this period of my life has been extremely difficult. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would go from being a stay-at-home mom to being told that I was being given visitation with my children every other weekend. Then to understand that I would have to surrender that for a while has been, many times, more than I could bear. More. Way more.

My greatest fear though this time would be that my children would have any thought at any time that I CHOSE to leave them - that it was something that I thought I even remotely wanted to do. Their hearts have been my primary concern in life from the very first beat of each of them. I have heard several people tell me that my little ones will understand in time, if they don't already, the truth of my love for them. There have also been critics. There have been a handful of souls that have relished at the opportunity to kick me while I was down and suffering. Those incidents depleted even further something that was already emaciated.....but I am not starved.

"You ok? I feel unease from your energy. Maybe you are just busy today" - This text clicked into my phone as I was furiously packing the day I left my home in Florida to come to Oklahoma. My soul was being rushed by ambulance straight into surgery. I hadn't yet told a soul what was going on, but my loving friend felt it and darted to my emotional bedside.
"No. Tell me more" I begged of her.
"I don't know. I just feel like you are feeling defeated when you shouldn't be. You are strong and independent and you have come so far." That was the first one and one of the most poignant to me.

There were many in the days that followed. Another one included a private message to me on social media which included the loving admonitions of Abilene Clark so I would remember that, despite my hurdles, "You is kind. You is smart. You is important".

As I began to answer questions of people that inquired, I began to feel more love. So many decided not to criticize me. They comforted me. They warmed me with their support.

Still I felt very battered and tired at answering a lot of questions, so I broke the news to my friends and family corporately by writing the blog post "On being judged for shopping". I knew if I left any holes there, the loving ones would come to me and ask gentle questions or they would just accept the holes and offer me their love in spite of them. I was so comforted when I realized I was correct.

It is very difficult for me to list every way people have shown me love because there have just been so many ways.

One day I got a private message from one of my oldest friends asking me for my address. She told me "I have something to send you. It's nothing big. It's just a few of my favorite things." Days later, I received an appropriately wrapped "brown paper package, tied up with string" bearing a cardstock tag that read "a few of my favorite things". I saved that silly little tag with it's twine binding. The box had a bunch of fantastic fun things and even some baked goods made by my friend. The thing that was MY favorite though, is untouchable, unseeable if you just quickly glance at the box. It is love. It is thought. It is time. It is support. THAT'S what my friend was sending me by filling a box with small gifts. I got it. I got it all, and I'll never forget it.

Because our travel for Christmas was unplanned, our income (supplied solely by Dan's work since I do not yet have any) was going to be stretched even slightly beyond what was actually there. I knew the kids needed presents for Christmas, but I just kept pushing the thought out of my mind because of the hopelessness of the cause. It wasn't hopeless though. We got handed envelopes of cash inscribed with the words "for Christmas for the kids" from people who have never even met them. We received cards in the mail with checks in them. Christmas was supplied. My kids' needs were supplied. I didn't even have enough faith originally to think to ask God for a way to do that. He just did it instead. On the occasion of receiving one of these gifts, I just sat on the front steps and sobbed. I felt so important to God in that moment, and I realized how important my kids are to Him as well. My hope for their lives was restored. The realization that, despite the terribleness of what has happened to them, they have NOT been forgotten by the One who writes their story.

I will also never forget the countless people that have spontaneously (or so they thought) sent me messages telling me that they had just been thinking about me a lot and wanted to know if I was alright. Some of these had been totally ignorant of the events of my life immediately preceding their asking about it. They just wanted to be love to me.

You were, friends. You still are.

Most of us have seen videos or digital slide shows of ones who snapped a selfie every day for a year to see how they've grown or changed. The day I left my home, the thought crossed my mind to do the same. I took a picture of myself every day for about a week, and then I forgot about the project partially because I got a different phone with a local number. The other day, though, I recalled my abandoned project, so I charged up the phone and scrolled through the gallery. What I found there was heartbreaking. I looked dead. My eyes were dead. The area of my face around my mouth almost looked melted. There was no hint of smile there. No hint of hope. This was on a day when I was posting some makeup selfies to Instagram - pictures that I looked at after slight edits and decided genuinely that even the raw versions were.....pretty.

I had survived.....again. I had jumped a hurdle.....again. I had come out on the other side with my fist thrust victoriously into the air.....again.

If I had a dollar for every time someone said to me "You are SO strong, Sarah!", I would be able to take myself on a very adequate shopping adventure and be able to afford to have someone lug my parcels around for me - or just have them delivered. You are right. I am strong. I am tenacious, and my will is built of iron. I do not give up. If you put a wall in my face that is too high for me to scale or jump, I'm gonna chip through it Shawshank style.

Why? What has given me hope in times where I was totally shattered?

Friends......you.....love.....hope.

It does not matter to me what religious philosophy to which you do or don't ascribe. I can just tell you about what I know - what I've experienced.

I have spent days in this world utterly and totally alone. All my loved ones were away from my reach sometimes not even able to take calls from me over the phone. My friendships were so limited in number that they were a scant resource for the amount of my need, but Hope remained. In the moments when the silence of friendship made my heart sob, Hope was there. "I'm not done, Sarah. Just trust me. I have never left you, and I have not forsaken you. I didn't lose you. You are mine. Just wait." That waiting was terrible. There were days that my belly ached not just from being empty but from the sickening worry that I was stuck - that there was no way out. Just the moment that I would throw up my hands, a little encouragement would come. Somewhere, somehow, a little light would peek through the storm of my life.

That's where you came in. Even if I don't know you personally, you are reading this. You are waiting for the end of the story maybe even silently cheering me on. You're supporting me. I've had a lot of that. I've had so many people do things for me from handing me envelopes filled with hundreds of dollars in cash to being given a vehicle to finding a cupcake or a sandwich with my name on it in sharpie. I've been given more hugs than I can count - genuine, real hugs that last for a fantastically long time so the giver could adequately communicate to me that I was worth something to them....that they loved me.

The love part is so great. I feel embarrassed a lot of time for the outpouring of love that I have received. Some have given it opportunistically so they could puff out their chest and tell others about their magnanimous delivery of wonderful sentiment or so they could hold it over my head to serve a purpose that I did not originally see. They yanked their love back, but I still benefited from those times. God has used every bit, and given me times of true, unadulterated, selfless love that I could never deny that it really exists in its truest form.....for me.

Do you know what that love has done for me? It has made me really, really strong. Do you understand why? Did you ever see one of those cliche scenes in a movie where there's a scrawny kid or a damsel in distress that is toe to toe with some nefarious personality and then cackle out in laughter because you, the omniscient viewer, know that, just outside the line of sight of the attacker, there's a huge gang of bigger kids or a ninja waiting to defend? Sometimes the almost victim even looks smugly straight into the eye of the villain....because they know who's got their back. That's me. I'm the smug one.

I am not endlessly strong. I am not a phenomena of strength or resource. It's because I have you. Sometimes you're waiting one at a time, and sometimes you appear in droves, but, whatever life throws my way, you are there. That is why I appear so strong.

Do you know that I'm not the only one? Look around you. I bet you've also got your own army of hope. If you don't see them, you've at least got me.....and I've got them (gestures with thumb over my shoulder). We're here.

I also want you to think about being a part of that army for someone else. Feeling good and strong at the moment? Do some looking around. Slow down. Listen a little more than you talk. The ones in distress are all around you. They're not looking to con anyone. They're not looking for handouts. They're just actually in need. They might need a few dollars for a meal. Look around you. These ones might not fit the stereotype of a person on the street dresses in an unseasonable number of layers. You know that one at work that waits in the break room after everyone else's lunch is over so they can dig half eaten sandwiches out of the trash or sneak the bread you left on the table after your meal at Panera? You probably didn't notice that before. You know that girl at school or church or wherever that dresses strangely and insists that the one she wears several times a week is her favorite? Probably it isn't. It's just the only one she's got. That gregarious personality that fills up a room when they walk in and seems like command corporate audience any time they enter? Well guess what. They do that because it's never given to them one on one.

Be that friend. People don't need to be projects. That is actually a very ugly thing to do. Just start with acts of kindness.

Buy an entire MEAL from Panera for the sneaker and then leave it in the fridge and nonchalantly say "Hey, your lunch looks amazing! What is it?" When they question what you're talking about, play dumb and say "The box from Panera in the fridge with your name on it". Watch how fast they go running! They'll know it's from you, and they'll love it! Don't play dumb when they thank you for it. Just say "Well you're welcome. I know you at least like their bread, so I thought I'd give you something to sit down for a minute and enjoy.

The girl with the eye for her favorite shirt? You know you see her go into the same store all the time and then leave with no bag of purchases (or anything stolen - she just likes that stuff....btw, this can also be a "he"). Save up a little cash and buy a gift card and slip it to them. Be Santa!!!!

And then the untouchable socialite. Pay them a genuine compliment and strike up a conversation, and the next time you are headed somewhere fun with a SMALL group, invite them. Get to know them. Give them the attention for which they're so starved.

And finally, the actual homeless. I used to be in an environment where the perspective on these ones was nothing but critical. "They're too lazy to get a stinkin job, and they're probably just gonna go get drunk off my money anyway." Um.....so I was homeless. I lived in a shelter. That is not a home, and I became acquainted with hearts that had actually lived on the streets. They were not lazy. Life had just dealt them so hard a hand that the paperwork necessary to procure a job was outside their reach or they had been forced to make a decision that earned them a charge against their record that now disqualifies them from most employers with whom they could hope to build a future. They NEVER would have chosen to have that as part of their story had they been given any.....choice. And let's talk about the alcohol. You know what, sometimes the only respite they get from the stress of spending all day and all night hiding from law enforcement for their vagrancy is to get drunk. It takes the edge off. A great number of them have had that alone to allow them to cope for so long that, if they did not get something to feed the physical side of their dependancy, it would send them into DT's in the yard of a business with no one around to call 911 as they lay their convulsing while they writhe in their own vomit. Also, when it's cold, they don't have an inside to go inside, they just want something to make them feel a little less of the sting of the low temperature. There is always also the very distinct possibility and reality that they're going to take your $5 and go buy something to fill the belly of theirs that has had nothing in it but the watery fake mashed potatoes and grissly meat from the food bank that offers help within its already stretched resources.....just be their friend. I was one phone call from being one of them. One phone call.

This is my thing, just be a friend. Before you even try to think about changing a person's whole life or how you can help "fix" things, be a friend, because somewhere out there, there's another me. There's another fighter who has not given up. They are hanging with a grip so tight their palms are raw to a strand of hope. They just need a little more. You have no idea how much the smallest acts mean.

Ghandi said "Be the change you want to see in the world".

The Bible says "Love your neighbor as yourself".

I say (though I do not have nearly the credentials of either of the above sources - just my own knowings) "Show love. Show friendship. Give hope."

It was rape

Okay guys, this is where my blogging becomes mostly cathartic for me. Hopefully it will offer you something as well, but my next few posts are going to be painfully specific. If things that appear in the subject line are triggers for you that will bring you pain, I just ask that you skip that particular post. If it's painful, but you're ready to dive in, then do. Just know, the subject matter is not going to be for the faint of heart. It may include things that offend your sensibilities, and that is alright. Just skip this read. There will be more lighthearted or just less heavy posts later.

I'm going to touch on things that I already have before, so you will quickly realize that there are stories that I am now retelling by sharing more detail. Please forgive me for my redundancy.

So here goes.....

Sexual abuse and sexual assault are things that, sadly, are still taboo to bring up in conversation, but the number of lives that are touched by this type of attack is absolutely and disgustingly staggering. It is more than 50% of our population. It might be you......and it was definitely me.

I was 21. I had dated guy when I lived in Texas. As I stated in another post, I didn't have serious feelings for him. I just seriously enjoyed the attention I was getting, but that relationship ended nevertheless. Then I dated Dan our first go around. When that ended, I was heartbroken. I also believed that I was ugly (not just not cute - ugly). I believed that my personality was unattractive because of the amount of poise in social situations that I believed I lacked. I watched everyone around me get asked out on dates by multiple people while I never got asked out on any. All the confidence that my parents worked so hard to instill in my had become very flimsy. There were things I believed that I WAS good at - just nothing that would interest someone enough that they would want to date me. The fact that there were no invitations coming my way totally reinforced that in my mind. I was a reject. I was unwanted. I would have to learn to be grateful for what I could get.

So one day when one of my coworkers suggested that I present myself to a friend of hers that was my age, I jumped at the chance. He had been in school but was "taking the semester off" because he needed to pay down his bill. He was just working right now to save up some money. That was disappointing to me even though I wasn't in school at all myself, but my initial rejection of her idea ended with me deciding that it was worth a try because there wasn't anyone beating down my door. I should be grateful for what I could get. I tore off a corner of a sheet of copy paper and scribbled my number. "Tell him to give me a call", I said. Part of me felt bold for demanding attention from someone, but I also immediately felt desperate. I was demanding attention from someone - it wasn't being given to me organically at all.

This boy gave me a call. He sounded pleasant on the phone, and it felt very gratifying to be given the attention that I had envied my friends getting. We agreed in that phone conversation that we would go out for dinner sometime that week.

He showed up at the store where I was working with my coworker's husband. I immediately felt a twinge of regret. He looked disheveled. Not in the way that a guy looks after he's worked a long day outside. He looked like he'd refused to bathe for a few days, and I actually didn't find him remotely attractive. "Okay Sarah. Don't be so shallow. People don't have to look perfect all the time, and you might grow to find him attractive!". This self talk now seems so ludicrous, but again, I reminded myself that I should be grateful for what I could get. I should be content with someone that was on the same level as I was. I should stop wishing for someone better than me. That's just not the way things work.

On our first date this boy told me all about himself. As he talked, I kept thinking "Wow! This guy is so much like my dad! I can't believe the similarities! He's a sure thing. I underestimated him. ANYbody that is THIS much like my dad is going to be so GOOD for me!". I didn't pay attention to the red flag that was furiously waving itself in my brain. Part of me knew he was lying about half the things he said, but again.....I was just grateful for some company.

We attended some functions together and went on a few more dates. I had plans to live for the summer in West Virginia working at a camp that was run by some heroes of mine that worked in our youth group. The wife had invited me for a couple of years to come up there, and I finally felt like doing it. As this guy and I walked through the mall one day, he reminded me that I was going to be gone so we should get this little machine that was like a text only machine. I only vaguely remember them, but, for a small monthly fee, you and other people with the same type of machine could just text back and forth - like a cross between a pager and walkie talkies. When he brought this up, my first thought was "I'm going AWAY. We are not that serious. I just want to be gone from here for a bit. PLUS, I'm going to have in my cabin 13 little girls under the age of 10. I will not have TIME or attention for that". I tried to be nice to him, though so I said "Um ******, I don't have the money to pay a bill like that, and I don't think you do either. Plus, I'm going to be really, really busy". This was sort of my way of letting him down easy - a signal for him to slow down what was happening in his brain where he and I.....where the "us"....was concerned.

What happened next was something that is burned in my brain. We were standing at the top of the escalator, but instead of stepping onto the moving stairs, he stepped back and then squeezed my hand - really tightly. He was actually hurting my hand, he squeezed so hard. His face looked crazy. He stared straight ahead - not at anything - just stared, and clenched his jaw. I tried to be apologetic. "I'm sorry. I just don't think there's any getting around that. I'm not trying to upset you".

That moment marked the first point that I began to teach myself how to appease an abuser.

His reply was strange to me. "THIS is not something I want to talk about in front of everyone in a public place like this!". What was so private about this? It felt like a fight that a married couple would have. I had just met this dude, but something in myself told me to just be okay with it. It was one thing - one time. I was probably reading too far into it or I just needed to allow someone else to have their own personality. Maybe this is how he handles things. .....it just felt funny. Years later I realized, after much study, that this was his first attempt (which was successful) at escalating the seriousness of our relationship in order to cause me to feel in bondage to it.

The next week or so passed, and I headed up to West Virginia. I had strict instructions to call him every opportunity that I got. I felt amenable to that since it is a natural thing to want to have contact with the person that you are dating. I had a phone card, so on my first weekend, I gave him a call. It seemed fine. The next weekend, however, things were not fine. He heard a male voice (one of the male counselors) and questioned who it was and who I was with and what I was doing with them. Instead of paying attention to how offended I felt, I chose to embrace the feeling of gratitude that my boyfriend thought I was such a catch that he was worried another (better looking) guy would try to snatch me up. This routine went on for about a month, but each time, his accusations became more severe.

My parents had decided to take a weekend and come up and see me. They brought my little brother and sister and my mom's best friend. They also brought the boyfriend. He had hitched a ride with them. He didn't pay for any of his own meals or offer my parents any money for gas even though he allegedly worked a full time job. He also insisted on bringing a blanket with him - so weird. He told my family that it was one from his childhood. He later told me that it was given to him by his ex girlfriend....so many strange things.

He was very clingy during that visit, but nothing that seemed too abnormal to me. I just figured he was glad to see me. I chose to be glad to see him, and I only had two more weeks of camp before I came home.

The summer came to an end. My boyfriend and I had made plans to take a road trip to visit his family once I got back to Tennessee. Despite the fact that his accusations of cheating on him and his criticisms toward me increased, I chose again to be grateful. He was committed to me. He wanted me when no one else had. I had gotten what I could get, so I should be grateful.

After I returned home, we resumed our dating schedule. One of those dates included a walk downtown. As we walked the streets through the historic parts of town, we happened upon a park. There was a fountain and pretty greenery and statues. We found a place on a bench, and I perched myself onto his lap, and we began to kiss. What happened next was something that I did not expect. He reached up and touched my breast.

I immediately became furious, not because we were in a public place dwelt at that very moment by onlookers, not because anyone could have seen what he had done and what I had possibly allowed him to do. I was furious because I had not invited it. I had given him no permissions at any time to take such liberties. I pulled away from him and snarled as I asked him "WHO do YOU think you are?!....WHY would you DO that?!" I jumped up from my perch and started walking away as fast as I could. I wanted to get away from him.

I walked for about half a mile the whole while thinking "My dad is going to kill him....This is going to end our relationship.......We have talked about getting married (after being "together" for 3 months 6 weeks of which I spent in a different state).......my parents will never let me see him again...........I might never get anybody else.......this will be all I ever get......no one else is going to want me after this...". As I walked and told myself mountains worth of lies, I heard him. He was running after me.....crying.....loudly....in the middle of busy downtown.

I wheeled around and demanded "WHAT?!". He stood there with hunched shoulders sobbing and told me "I'm SAWry! I didn't mean to do that! I wasn't trying to make you mad!"

"Then WHAT would make you believe you had the right to DO that?!", I asked him.

"I KNOW! I know it was wrong!.....It's just that......it's just that sometimes (these words are burned in my memory) sometimes the way you act....you aren't submissive to me at all as the man in this relationship, and I feel like I HAVE to do certain things to get that BACK!"

He had successfully used a buzz word I'd heard my whole growing up life. I had been told that wives were supposed to be submissive to their husbands (though my husband he was not). I knew I was a personality type that caused some people to feel walked all over......that was it. His actions were wrong, but they were performed because of MY actions. I had been doing such a poor job of making this person feel valued that I didn't even notice.

Though I still felt annoyed and offended, I decided that it was an isolated incident. He had never done that before, and he might never do it again, so I could be okay with it. I could forgive this error in judgement. I apologized for my lack of submission - for emasculating my partner. We rejoined our hands and a feeling of relief washed over me. I wasn't going to have to tell anyone about this. I wouldn't tell anyone about this. It was just one mistake.

The next few weeks are something that I am positive my brain has tried to block out, but I can't escape all of it.

He started yelling at me regularly. He also started asking me for gas money and asking me to pay for our food if we went out. I just didn't have very much, so we didn't get fancy things by any stretch. One of those times, we were in the parking lot of a fast food place, and he was screaming at me.....again. He was very animated as he yelled, and when he raised his hand at a certain point, apparently I recoiled. I flinched.

"WHY did you do that?!" he screamed. "I'VE never hit a woman! I'VE never hit you! DON'T do that!".....more screaming. I dared not cry. I just cowered as I sheepishly stumbled over excuses and apologies.

He also began to take more liberties like the one on the bench. I made more decisions for myself. It's funny how many of them I chose to make in the direction of appeasing someone rather than preserving myself or growing, but that's what abusers do. They chip away at you bit by bit until they have brainwashed you enough into believing that 1. they are the best you'll ever have (I would hear that one later in my life on nearly a daily basis) and 2. that their anger is solely caused by your neglect or error (that one would pop up again too). Once they've drilled those into your head, you'll be game for anything because the last thing you would want to do is push away the person to whom you.....owe.....everything.

I suffered embarrassment on multiple occasions at being convinced to do in public places things that shouldn't have even happened in private ones, but....I deserved it. Remember? He made SURE that I did. I decided that I should enjoy these things - even though I never did. They always felt......off.

Our plan to go see his family remained, so I packed a suitcase and so did he. He assured my parents that we were driving straight through, so there would be no need for them to worry that any improprieties would occur. I loaded my bag into his truck and slid across the bench seat, ready to go.

I will never forget the voice in my heart at that moment at the bottom of my driveway. It was so clear that I almost wanted to look around to find the place the voice was coming from.

"GET OUT!!!! Get OUT of the truck, Sarah! Grab your suitcase and just get OUT of the TRUCK! Do NOT go on this trip! Do NOT leave with him!". I chocked it up to being nervous to go away from home - something that had always caused me anxiety. I pushed the voice down. I ignored it......and we drove away.

The trip began pleasantly enough, but after a few hours, he started to get a little edgy. He was starting to demand things, and I didn't want to deliver. It didn't matter. He wanted what he wanted. He stopped at a truck stop at a location that I still do not know. We were just in the middle of nowhere. I felt so trapped. We were only stopping for one reason, and I didn't want to stop. My mind began to race. "No one knows where we are. I don't even know where we are! Where are we? None of these people will help me. THEY might be more dangerous than my boyfriend is anyway. It would not be worth it to ask for help". These thoughts all came through my mind, and he hadn't even begun requiring me to deliver what he wanted. I was just scared......for my life.

He turned to me and began to kiss me. "This is okay. This is just kissing. Kissing is fine, right? It's just kissing"....until it wasn't anymore. He began to take his now familiar but unwanted liberties with my body and then he laid me down in the seat and laid on top of me. I was literally pinned down. I was completely trapped. No passers by could even see that I was in the truck let alone what my face looked like. I did not like what was happening, but I had NO options at that point. And then it happened.

He grabbed my hand - I thought to hold it, but I was wrong. He took my hand by the wrist and held on my firmly than what was comfortable for me and put my hand down his pants.

I want you to know that my blood is running cold through my veins at this very moment. Though this is more than a decade ago in my past, the horror and violation I felt in that moment is still very real.....and there was worse to come. I remember very vividly thinking "I do NOT want this....but no one can help me.....no one will help me.....just give him what he wants and then it will be over. Maybe he won't ask for as much the next time".

He got off of me finally and restarted the truck, and we resumed our journey. We reached our destination of the house that he grew up in where his parents still lived. I felt so filthy when I faced them. It didn't feel like an introduction. It felt like I was having to face up to the wrongs that I'd committed and wait for the punishment of their judgement.

We all exchanged very uncomfortable introductions and then my boyfriend told his parents that he wanted to show me around the neighborhood and take me to the lake because it was so pretty. This announcement felt very rushed as we'd only been in the house for a time that felt like less than an hour, but they conceded and said they'd see us when we got back.

We got in the truck and began riding around the neighborhood. It just felt so strange because he was just pointing at houses with no real reason as to why. We were just driving around the streets of this little suburban neighborhood. Then came again the demands. He told me he wanted me to touch his genitalia. I didn't want to so I paused and just looked at his face. The expression was so otherworldly to me. It was so vacant. His eyes looked completely soulless. He looked insane and the volume and urgency of his demand increased.  Again I had very terrified thoughts racing through my brain "Oh my gosh! He's going to hurt me! He could take me to that lake or ANYwhere around here and kill me and dump my body and just say that I ran off. No one here knows me. I have no allies......okay.....just DO it! Just get it over with! Then he won't be mad anymore. Then he might not hurt me!".....so I did like he asked. Does that sound a little over the top - my thoughts - my fearful thoughts?.......If you had seen the crazed expression on his face.....the lack of humanness in his eyes.....the tone of his demanding words.....you would have agreed with me.  I was terrified, and I knew we were on the way to the lake.

It is hard for me even still to completely separate within my own mind the times during which I consented, the times that I only partially consented and the times where I feigned consent out of self preservation. It is so hard. This is the battle faced by every victim of every kind of abuse - when someone usurps their own desires over your own rights.

We arrived at "the lake". I placed quotation marks because it was a pond at best surrounded by what he had initially described as "woods" -  a tree line that only slightly obscured the water from the highway on the other side. It was there that he "suggested" that we have sex. He drew me over to an area where the trees were only slightly denser than the rest. This was where it was going to happen. This is where I was going to lose my virginity. I looked around for a place to lay. There wasn't one. He said we should just do it standing up.....um.....what?! But at that point, I just unzipped my pants and disrobed halfway. I was going to do it. At that point, I figured that I was dirty enough as it was - that I'd gone too far already, so what would it matter.

He lifted me up, and I was rammed down onto him partially by gravity and partially by the strength of his arms which was not very great, so gravity did most of the work.

It was absolutely excruciatingly painful. I instantly felt filthy again. It was terrible. There are people who tell the story of the first time they have sex and describe it as being "terrible" because neither person involved knew what they were doing and mechanics won out before the passion did.....no. That is not the story I have to tell, I'm afraid. This experience, though it did not last long, left a mark of me feeling like filthy, puss and blood soaked dressings for an infected wound - not something ANYone in their right mind would ever want to touch and something in which no one would EVER find beauty.

I was used up. I was done. The deed had been done. My innocence.....the little shred that I had left.....was gone and with no tenderness or passion or connection.....just the crazy look on his face.

After he got what he wanted, we went back to his truck. I laid down, this time by my choice, and invited him to caress me. I remember thinking "Okay, well if I'm going to do this, I'm going to at least get something out of it". Those exact words played through my brain.

He looked over at me like I was an old receipt in the floorboard and said "No, I don't feel like doing that."

Then I was mad......but not mad enough to make it stop.

We finished out our visit with his family which included his dad speaking incredibly insulting to his mom on numerous occasions and his siblings bringing up an old joke about him wearing a dress as a child that incited anger in him beyond what was appropriate. Looking back now, I wonder if he had actually suffered sexual abuse or shame as a child, but as we sat in his sister's family room, that thought did not occur to me.

After we got back to Tennessee, our relationship could be described as rocky. I never broke up with him, but we argued a lot. I was suffering from feeling slighted, but I wasn't able to recognize that while we were still in the relationship.

We had four more occasions of "sex" over the next month and a half or so, each one leaving me feeling cheaper and cheaper.....filthier and filthier. Since he knew I was going to sour his mood after that particular act, he chose instead to take the path of least resistance and coerce me to do things that seemed less....severe. Nearly every time we went out, our date would end with him stopping on the street at a bend in the road before we got to where we could see my house.....or be seen by anyone in it. Then he would unzip his pants and communicate what he wanted me to do.  It makes me physically sick to my stomach now to remember the times that he rammed my head into his lap. It was never something that I wanted to do, but it was easier than being screamed at or worrying about something worse, so I obliged.......I obliged. I did what I felt obligated to do.

There was also the screaming. If I ever refused him what he wanted or acted unhappy with anything that he did or said or didn't make myself available to him whenever he saw fit, there was screaming.

There was an evening that I was spending at home with my family, and he called. I do not at all recall what set him off, but, as I was standing in the kitchen with my mom putting away dishes, he began to yell at me informing me of every way that I had offended him. My mom heard me quietly apologize to him like you would to someone who had just told you that they'd had a bad day or that someone had been ugly to them. Then she heard his raised voice on the other end of the line. He had done this so many times before, but I had subconsciously chosen to be out of earshot of anyone that would be alarmed. I'd blown my cover though. My mom looked at me with furrowed brow and, while he was still screaming asked me "Is he YELLING at you?" but asked it quietly enough that he couldn't hear - just with emphasis on the word yelling like it did not make sense to her since she heard everything I had said to HIM during this conversation. I rolled my eyes and brushed my hand through the air as if to signal to her that it wasn't a big deal....it was though. She went straight into the bedroom and said to my dad "******* is YELLING at Sarah on the phone!" I could hear the voice on the phone and my parents' conversation in the other room. "Yelling at her? Why?" , my dad asked. My mom answered with alarm in her still hushed volume "I don't know!".

My dad told me to come into his room where he was. He asked me if my boyfriend was yelling at me. Another eye roll, but I nodded. "HANG UP ON HIM!" he told me with what my little brother dubbed "the scary eyes". He was mad.....very, very, very mad. I pushed the button (or so I thought) and hung up on my boyfriend and sat on the edge of the bed with my dad.

"Sarah was he yelling at you?!"

"Yes"

"Sarah you don't have to take that!.......Does he do that a lot?"

".....*sigh......yeah...."

"Sarah DUMP him! Honey you've only been dating for a couple months! In the grand scheme of your life, that's NOTHING. You'll move on from him and you'll totally forget about him. Dump his butt and move on to something better!"

It was a great pep talk. It did make me feel better....until I saw the timer on the screen of my phone. The clock was still running which meant the phone call had never ended. Boyfriend had heard every word. I looked at my phone and then looked at my dad and mouthed "He's still on the phone!" with a smile on my face. It was a tiny bit of vindication for me for months now worth of crap he'd thrown my way.

My dad got a wry smile on his face and said quietly "Well pick up. Talk to him." So I lifted the phone to my ear, "Hello?" I said.

"THANKS a LOT, SARAH!......" he continued to say even uglier things to me than before I had sat down with my dad. What he did NOT know......was that I was still sitting NEXT to my dad who then held out his hand. I placed my phone on his palm, and then he motioned for me to leave the room and shut the door.

Our relationship was on probation after that conversation. My boyfriend was allowed to see me much more occasionally than what he was before, and he was given instructions to not speak to me or treat me in any way not befitting the princess that I was.....essentially. I don't actually know what my dad said to him, but I do know that I was not going to have to allow him to scream at me anymore.

He did not follow these instructions.

One afternoon, my mom had invited me to run to the pharmacy with her. Several minutes before we were due to leave, my boyfriend called. He was angry again. Well this time he was more annoyed about something, but when I told him that the conversation would have to be brief because I was leaving with my mom to go to the pharmacy, then he got angry. He began to hurl insults about my mother. That was it for me. I hung up on him. I remember thinking "Heh, I do NOT love you more than I love my mother, and I am not going to put up with you saying bad things about her." My mom came down to my room with her keys in hand, and we headed to the pharmacy.

On the particular road of the pharmacy where we went, there are like 6 pharmacies in a stretch of about as many miles. While my mom and I stood at different points of the first aisle of the store, I saw someone come barreling through the sliding glass door. I noticed first the expression on my mom's face - alarm.....extreme alarm. Then I noticed who it was that had come through the door. It was my boyfriend. He didn't even notice my mom as he nearly stomped towards me wearing that same vacant, crazed expression to which I had grown sadly accustomed. My mother, on the other hand, had not.

"We need to talk" he said just inches from my face.

"Okay", I said in the same tone I always used when I tried to calm him down. I had taught myself how to placate to an abuser - how to keep them from becoming more angry or to communicate that I felt their behavior was normal and just fine with me.

My mother watched this exchange and then watched me walk towards the door with him. She tried to stop me, but I gave her the same brush of my hand and feigned look of "this is fine. This is not a big deal at all".

I don't remember what he said to me during our conversation, but I do remember that my mom appeared very soon after we got outside. Thinking quick on her feet, she decided to play the game like I was and speak to "both of us" in a very calm, nonchalant way. Eventually, he felt satisfied and drove away. We finished shopping, and then we also went home.

Looking back (because that is now all I am allowed to do) I can't help but wonder......how did he find us? Did he drive around until he saw our vehicle? He lived a good 10 minutes from our house and got to the store nearly right after we did......had he been closer to me than what he had told me?.....Had he been waiting outside my house or just up the street? All I know is that, unless he was going about 60 on a road with a 45 speed limit (and on that stretch of road, that is unlikely given the policing that happened there regularly), there really is not a way that he could have reached us that quickly AND found the correct store if he had been sitting at home like he said he was during our phone conversation before I left the house.

Very soon after that, I grew too weary of the strain he was trying to put on my relationship with my parents, so I broke up with him. I became aware again that I did not love him more than I loved my parents, so I was going to choose them over him. I packed up all his gifts into a box and set them on my front stoop and let him know that he could come pick them up whenever he so chose, but I was not going to be speaking with him.  I thought I was done....no.

He continued to try to call me, and one of the times I caved and picked up just so he would stop calling.

"I'm out front. I was in the neighborhood, and I want to talk to you. I know you're at home! Just come down and talk to me!" We lived on a hill.

"I'm actually at the bookstore at work with my mom....I'm actually kind of busy......yes! I'll be right there!.....They need me to finish working on a project. I have to go".......I was indeed at home. I pretended to speak to people beckoning me away from my phone call because....well....it hit me like a ton of bricks that this guy was now stalking me.

He continued to insist that I was at home just feet from where he was and that I should just talk to him, but I was scared to death, so I maintained my ruse that I was not there and that I had to go. I resisted the urge to go to the window to see if his truck was there because I did not want him to come see me. At this point I feared that he would become psychotic, and I was totally alone.....again.....at his mercy. He finally drove away.

I ended up getting a job a few weeks later at a store in the mall. One day as I was getting my coffee, my mom asked me the question that she had asked me several times before to which I had given her a negative answer "Sarah......did you and ****** do anything?" She meant sex. For whatever reason, that time when she asked, I chose to tell her the truth..."Yes", I said. She hugged me at first, and then she got mad. She hurriedly walked into the bedroom where my dad was working and told him what I had just told her. "SARAH!" he called my name somehow putting emphasis on both syllables as only a parent can do when their child is in trouble.....big trouble.

"Sit down"

I sat.

He asked me if it was true, and I said yes. Some of it is a blur because it was painful.....so so painful.

I could stop right here for.....a while and address what it is like for you to hear absolutely heartbreaking confessions from your child about how they threw away something that had such great value to someone who recognized not even a little bit of the value of that treasure. I could also talk about being the child making that confession and how heartwrenching that feels too, but that is a post for later.

The question my dad asked me very early in our conversation was indescribable:
"DID HE RAPE YOU?!" He even repeated himself after I didn't answer right away.  The reason I did not answer is because my mind was screaming again "YES!!!!!! YES!!!!!! I WANT TO SAY YES!!!.......but no one is going to believe that...not with the way I dress....not with my personality......" so I lied "No" I said through an already great supply of tears.

My parents proceeded to invite me to take the next 30 days to find another place to live after which I would be leaving their home. I had never EVER breached my parents' trust. I had never lied to them before, and this felt so hard because I didn't feel entirely understanding of what lie I had actually told.....I just knew that I had lied....and it devastated them.

I went to work that day and the next feeling totally numb. On a day soon after that, guess who walked in the door of the store where I worked. That's right. *****. Him. He strode right up to me with the strange urgency that always made him oblivious of his surroundings. He had found me again.

"I heard that you were working here. I really, really want to talk to you".

"Okay. Okay. Listen, I have a lunch break at (whatever time. I don't remember). I'll meet you in the food court, and we'll talk, okay? But I'm at work, and I'm going to get in trouble if I stand here talking for too long". My answer was sufficient so he left and waited in the food court......for hours. I sat down and made it obvious to him that I was giving him my attention. He began to tell me that he'd been doing some thinking and that he still really loved me. He then suggested that we run away together and get married. He seemed so desperate and pathetic that I was able to see him as just that. I told him that I did not love him enough to break my parents' hearts by running away with him - that I really didn't even love him enough to marry him. After enough convincing him, he left......and I never saw his face with my eyes again.

Great story, Sarah! Wow! You got all that out! I bet you're glad it's over with, aren't you?

It didn't end then. No. It didn't. I has stayed with me all these years. I no longer worry that he's stalking me. I no longer suffer with worry that he's going to harm me or force me to do things to which I do not consent, but it has stayed. The lies stayed.....in fact they grew. They latched themselves onto my heart and slimed their way around it so well that it has affected my current relationship......the one with the love of my life.....the boy I'd always loved. These lies have haunted me at least in part, every day of my existence from the day they occurred until this one, but this is where it ends. Right here. Right now.

Here's why. Remember that indignant revelation that I spoke about in other posts? I'm talking about that shred of dignity that manages to survive no matter what happens. That part of you that continues to believe that, despite terrible things happening to you, that you matter. That you have value. Well it turns out that I've been giving that girl a voice lately. I've also been helping her get much, much stronger, and she's got a lot to say.

I was robbed. I was robbed of my innocence. I did not lose my virginity to that monster. I did not offer him a gift. He stole from me. He systematically dismantled everything that I had built within myself and that others had built. He caused me public and private shame. The public shame is bad, but the private shame is worse. That's the one that causes you to suddenly beg your partner to stop touching you during wonderfully, beautiful tender moments and then curl up into the fetal position and cry. The one that causes you to feel the need to shower even though you know that no soap and water can ever cleanse the filth that you feel. The one that causes you to stand in front of a mirror and see nothing but disgusting ugliness no matter what anyone else claims to see. THAT is what he did to me. HE did it. I did not. I did not ask for it. I did not invite it. He caused me shame, and he knew full well every minute that he spent attacking me that the result would be shame - that I would feel thrust into the view of others and into my own and feel disrobed by the acts that he performed. That gratified him. It may still.

Fine, but let me paint a different picture for you.

Through writing this post, my longest yet, I feel more exposed than I ever have in my entire life. There are things written here that my fiance' has read that he never knew before. There are things here that I have never told another living soul. I have made bare facts about my physical body that some people will not be able to help remembering the next time they see my form in front of them. There is information here that will shock some to the point that they cannot ignore their recollection of it the next time they speak to me, and I am proud. I am very, very proud.

The nudity of my soul is no longer an offensive thing to me to share with the world. Nudity does some strange things, doesn't it? Because it is so abnormal in our culture, even if you look away after seeing it, you continue to be aware that it is there. You can avert your eyes but not your attention. The nude form is striking. It is beautiful. It has been created for pleasure and amazement even.

I want you to look - not at images of nude bodies. I want you to look at the nakedness of my exposed being. I want you to understand that every curve of my growth as a person and every scar of my circumstances has made something of which I am very proud. It has given me a platform. It is making you look. If you've read this far, I was successful. You gazed at all the rips and tears of my figurative muscles, and you get to watch as I feed them and rebuild. You saw all the cuts and wounds, and you probably noticed some parts that were undeniably beautiful. They are. Those parts are beautiful, so, just with every beautiful, valuable thing, I will protect this form. I will place well equipped guards around it, and I will let the craftsman continue to finish His work until He stands back satisfied and sets down His tools. I will lend strength and courage to others with the same wounds and scars and beautiful parts, and we will go together and reclaim our souls piece by piece and we will keep growing.

So to my abuser: you won, sir. I congratulate you on your victory, but I must tell you this. I am stronger than you thought and smarter than you planned, and I will continue to grow myself in ways of beauty that far surpass any plan of yours to damage me. Your victory was only temporary. In fact, it is over, and now comes mine......for the rest of my life.

To the rest of you: Come with me. Grab hold of my hand. Don't be afraid. Don't feel alone because I am here and so are the others of us. We are a nation. We are a force to be reckoned with. We are strong. We are going to fight the lies until the truth is louder. We are going to change the rules so that they protect the right people. We are going to grow!

We are going to win.