Sexual Misconduct Policy Committee

In past blogs I mentioned my hope of meeting with the Sexual Misconduct Task Force from the Disciples of Christ region. I knew a task force had been appointed to look into issues I had complained about 2 1/2 years ago. I had been told they would contact me, but when it didn't happen, I let it go. My identity is no longer founded in the past abuse. I really wasn't eager to stir it up again.

This past May I was contacted once again and this time they asked to meet with me. Having already been provided with my written suggestions, the committee had begun a rough draft of the new policy. I was sent a copy to review. Parts were good, parts needed work.

One issue I pushed for was immediate psychological testing of anyone accused of misconduct. How easy abusers pull the wool over people's eyes. Other issues included an open policy concering information provide by the accused. When I made my report, it was read verbatum to the minister, but I was not allowed access to his response. I felt abused again by the church. I was being exposed and he was being protected.

Years went by after my reporting him until my disatisfaction lead to my confrontation of him 2 years ago. So much emotion was ripped back open.....though it was a good experience for me and I have since moved on in ways I might never have.

This summer committee listened intently to my suggestions. I was shown very obvious respect and kindness. It was a good experience. I hope the new policy will help others in my shoes. It should be completed and voted on this November. I should probably write and ask for an updated draft. Whatever the end product, a victim and the church met and agreed on a great deal. It was good to experience unity and God's love in such a way.

Done that Learning Thing

Been learning a lot!

Maybe the most useful new tool is "living in the present". I discovered, that if left to what happens naturally, I spend most of my time thinking about tomorrow, real or fiction, or rehashing the past. My mind seldom embraces the details of the moment - the air I breathe, the blueness of the sky, the touch of the computer keys, the presense of those I love.

I have discovered when panic hits, the key to calming my mind, is bringing myself present. When the aching longing of someone's approval reverberates within, I bring my focus to the present and the longing eases. There isn't much room for lies in the present. It simply is.

Did you ever think about it honoring God when we live in the moment? This is what He created us for. This moment is what He lived and died for. Where is abundant life? In the past? In the future? In my imaginings? No, it is right now in the present. I presently live in His presence. To live life fully honors His gift of sacrifice for us. He died so we might have life more abundantly. Not in the pie in the sky by and by, but now - this moment.

A real eye opener for me - living life fully, honors God. Or is it - living life, fully honors God? Or - living, life fully honors God?

The Shame is Shattered

I have been meeting with Stephen now, on and off, since last January. Working with him has been challenging. He is a pastor - or once was - and now functions in pastoral ministry within the counseling office. His eyes light up as he talks about agape and our God.

Stephen prays. He prays a lot. I think he would say that he prays continuously. As I enter his office, I smell the scent of incense he has burned in his last moments before God. In some ways this has been intriguing and in other ways it has challenged my alienation from God in a most uncomfortable manner.

Slowly my relationship with God has returned. I first began praying again on a regular basis. I found it easier each time we met to talk about God moving in my life. But the best just happened. The shame is shattered.

I have envied Stephen's connection with God. It is so real and so accepting and so filled with an uncanny understanding of God's love. He breathes it in and out and, well, I have never seen anyone so enamored with the presence of God. There is no judgment in his having this and my not but rather a constant encouragement to see what I do have - it is there, don't you feel it, see it experience it? I have had that at times in life but never with this foundation that seems so unrockable. Instead, shame has always rocked my foundation.

Two weeks ago I began rereading The Shack. Having signed up for a discussion group at my church, I read and highlighted and turned down the corners of every important page. Passages leaped off the pages - things I had failed to see in the first read. But the overall issue wouldn't go away. Like Mack, I did not believe God was good, nor did I trust him. I judged Him guilty and I hated him for abandoning me. I could not reconcile my pain with God's mercy. I knew all the rationalizations of free will and God's creation but it didn't change my anger at God.

And, little by little God bored down into the pit of my soul.

After the abuse and over the years of dealing with it, I was smothered with a lie. The lie said "there is something terribly wrong with me." As I tried to embrace the truth that what happened to me was abuse and not my fault, I rattled the cage of that lie. I even disassembled it in my adult heart. Yet, deep deep down, underneath it all, formed before I had the power of language, I had first believed that lie; and still hidden,without words to speak it, the lie hissed its insidious poison.

Something was horribly wrong with me and I could not face that "truth" that was really not truth. I hated myself and that wrongness of my being but hating oneself cannot be held within for long, so I turned that hatred outward. Someone must be blamed, so I blamed God.

With pounding fists, the child lay across the mattress, screaming into her pillow. "I hate you God!" "I hate you God!" I remembered doing this throughout my childhood but I didn't remember why. I only knew I ended up there from time to time. For the past 9 years I have lived with that hatred in my conscious. Then this past weekend I realized my hatred of God was my defense from facing that false truth of something is terribly wrong with me. As I realized the truth that nothing IS wrong with me, the shame crumbled and I was flooded with the most wonderful sense of God's presence that I have ever known. It wasn't a knock me down kind of presence but one that carried only love. One without the shield of my own shame to block it. It felt kind of like a warm bath.

With the shattering of the shame has come my forgiveness of God and others that I could not find the ability to forgive. Shame always prevents us from forgiving, for someone must be to blame. We cannot handle shame so we project our anger onto others and mine was best projected onto God. Rather than hate myself, I hated Him.

The lie was exposed. The shame shattered. The hatred of God dissipated because it no longer served any purpose. What a sweet, sweet relationship I have drunk of these past few days.

An Ending and a Beginning: Termination of a Therapeutic Relationship

I have been quiet for a reason lately. My sessions with Paul became harder and harder for me to do. He pushed me to express anger that I could not express. I did not understand why I couldn't express it. The more he pushed the more I shut down.

Paul is very literal in his interpretation of psychoanalysis. He would not allow me to focus on him in any way. I was not allowed to even look at him. Any reference to his being there evoked the rhetorical question, "Why are you focusing on me, Diane?" Unbeknownst to either of us, I was trying to get at the transference that was building daily in me towards him. By preventing my focus on him, he essentially prevented me from discovering the block I was facing and to do the work I needed to do. He seemed to grow more and more frustrated with my inability to do any real work in his office, and yet, he was the reason I couldn't do it.

As we looked at past situations in my life where I had allowed people to verbally chastise me, I realized that I was allowing the same thing once again but this time in therapy. I knew I had never been able to face the pain of the loss and often accepted the abuse instead of the loss.

In our last session in December, as Paul continued to press me to release the anger I felt, I became fully silent. I knew it was time to sever what was becoming more painful and abusive than helpful. It was time to face the pain of the loss. I emailed Paul and severed my ties with him.

Over the next 5 weeks I read Lang's book on psychoanalysis (a huge book that is force fed to psych students) to try to obtain some understanding of what had happened. As I read I found over and over Lang's reference to resistances of the client and the importance of finding their source.

My resistances had been enormous and Paul's seeking them non-existent. With a little help from my old and faithful therapist, Dan, I unraveled the issue and my transference. I still do not understand how Paul could have missed this.

I despise manipulation, and that hatred formed largely in my relationship with Bob, my first abuser. Paul, unknowingly, tapped into that dynamic. Subconsciously, the more Paul manipulated me to express the anger, the more I dug in my heels. Since the whole issue was subconscious, I could only watch in disbelief as I seemed to be failing at therapy - something unheard of for me. As I realized how thick the transference had been, I began to feel some release as well as some real anger towards Paul's lack of help in the matter.

One instance with Bob, all those years ago, seemed to define it all. In anger I had charged at him, only to be forced face down in the dirt over and over. Subconsciously, I refused to verbally charge at Paul. I had sworn no one would ever have the chance to humiliate me in such a way. I would never give someone that control over me that I gave Bob when I lost my self control and released the anger.

Two weeks ago, I went in to face Paul. While I hoped he would quietly listen and own up to some of his own mistakes and maybe even feel some pain for the humiliated 17 year old, I met a completely different reality. For the first 10 minutes we argued heatedly over my focusing again on him. Since I was past the resistance from the work I had done during the 5 weeks that had passed, I was able to do what Paul had tried to get me to do for months. I stood up to him and forced him to listen to me. At one point I told him he was an idiot! It was not pleasant but I stood my ground well. He finally heard me explain the transference and allowed me to express my frustration in his lack of seeking out the resistance. He refused to apologize with the reason being that was not what happened in therapy - we were not friends and the therapeutic relationship works on a different model - at least his does. I have no doubt had it been Dan, the apology would have come without any big deal and we would have moved on.

I left with Paul's pronouncements that I would never get better if someone gave me the comfort I wanted. Oddly, I got home to two of the most comforting emails I could have received, from two other therapists. They did not seem to agree with his view. One of those therapists is the pastoral counselor I tried to get in to see prior to seeing Paul. He actually refered me to Paul. Stephen read the letter I carried to the session with Paul, just in case I found myself blocked again from speaking my thoughts. Stephen's response was that my letter was a tremendous gift to Paul. My response to Stephen was that Paul didn't see it that way.

Stephen invited me to come and sit down with him when I was ready. He would commit a limited number of sessions to talking with me. I went yesterday. Interestingly one of his comments referred to my blog. He sees my writing here as exposing myself needlessly and possibly causing myself harm. I have not been aware of any hurt but I am giving it some serious thought.

I get few responses via this site though I have readers that I know come here regularly. My intent from the beginning was to give others a chance to see inside of my heart and soul so they knew they were not alone. That was a major fear of mine as I began this journey of healing. I thought I was the only person on this earth who was so screwed up and who felt the confused emotions I felt.

The anonymity of the blog, with the exception of about 5 close friends, seems protective.

I am asking you to reply to me with your thoughts. Is what I share helpful? Do you feel less alone? Is there purpose in it?

Di

A Different Type of Predator

Bam, crackle, smash....the sound came from the screened in back porch and the birds were screeching wildly. Kiwi and Lemonade, my two cockatiels love the back porch where they can perch freely here and there and fly about at their whim. They sometimes panic in the dark but not in the middle of the day. What could have startled them?

Opening the back door, the answer flew past me to perch on the screen - a small hawk. Kiwi and Lemonade were scuttling all over the area. We went after them to make sure they didn't end up as lunch for this predator. Squawkkkkk, but they let us pick them up, though my husband was pierced severely by Lemonade's beak. She did not intend to go down without a fight!

After releasing them into the house and seeing that they could fly, we took on the hawk. The screen on one side of the porch was torn, but it couldn't seem to find its way back out. Amazingly, it let me pluck it off the screen after attempting to escape twice. With its mouth open wide, its eyes glaring into mine, it rested limply in my hands. I scratched its head as I do the cockatiels and felt its wings relax a little. Its little heart was beating rapidly in my hand.

I took it outside and set in on a stump. Our worries that it was wounded from the repeated crashes into the screen were eased as it spread its wings and swooped up into the tree next door.
Bye little one. Next time you are hungry.......go look for a mouse!

We think it is an immature red shouldered hawk. That seems the closest match in the bird book. We have a pair in our area and knew they had nested this past year. I think we just met their offspring!

Di

Enjoying Freedom

It is good. I am smiling all over, inside and out, as I fill up my skin, snuggly and warm. Longing for oneself is so much nicer than longing for something that it unobtainable. I am here full, complete and at peace. Taking time to enjoy it has seemed important.

Now, how does this new becoming affect my relationship with God?

I began that relationship at the age of 17 with the intense longing for something outside of myself that spoke to my soul love, attention, and belonging. Disenchantment grew as nothing of God, the church, or anyone else for that matter filled that longing.

Anger remains. I imagine it will need airing out.

God is silent. Or is He? Who asked that question of me, "What if it is not Paul you are longing for? What if you are longing for yourself?"

Who stirred my heart to return to counseling and to seek a minister as a therapist?

Who has led me down this path for the past 8 years? 8 years? Why, if this is God, did He make it so dang hard and so very long? I have suffered and struggled. I have been shaken to my core. I am angry that this has been so arduous. I want life to be easy. Is that too much to ask?

Stupid songs we sing at church - I am the potter, You are the clay..... I surrender all...... Are we nuts!?

All of these are rambling thoughts but somewhere in them is my future.

Di

Options

My time in therapy was good and challenging this past week. I shared the news of my breakthrough and celebrated it a little. As I expected, Paul was slim with his praise but managed to get a little in via a "Now why would you ask me what I think, Di, when you obviously know how big this is." That was enough. It was as big as I thought.

My response to him was that he was the shrink - not me. When he asks me "Now why would you want to focus on me," I have started responding with the reason and the reason is often not so stupid as he makes me feel it sounds. I figure if I actually answer his question, maybe he will quit asking it. It is really irritating.

We pushed on to some more recent woundings within the walls of the church. Woundings I am not free to share the details of right now. Suffice it to say that I find myself seeing difficult situations as having two options - all in or all out, right or left, yes or no, truth or lies, black or white, etc.

During a recent encounter with a couple of folks, I felt I had two choices, to take the full blame for a situation I was only partly to blame for, or to defend myself revealing confidences I had promised to keep. I chose to keep my promise of silence and take the blame. Paul seemed to think I had sold myself out. I felt like I had quieted the flow of anger and opened the door to allow myself to speak. The words of anger had been torrential. They stopped and I was listened to once I took the blame.

As I discussed the painful situation, Paul challenged me to come up with some other options. I couldn't. He pushed. I still couldn't, so he gave me homework to come up with 10 other options. TEN! I exclaimed! You have got to be kidding!

I guess I have always seen things black and white from the time the second pastor pressed me for a kiss. Only recently had I shared with he and his wife my previous encounter with my youth pastor. Instead of ministry I opened the door to more abuse. When it came, I felt I had two choices, after all I had lost everything with his advance. One, I could walk away from his influence in my life and find another spiritual home; or I could go along with his advances. Even now I have a hard time imagining other options. Were there really more than two?

Freedom

This week began with two sessions in the shrinks office. Determined, I sought to get at the feelings Paul wanted me to experience.

How does it feel to see oneself as defective? What is it like to be shut down by yourself, to be told you cannot be yourself? How is it to tell oneself that you cannot be real?

I only pulled a blank to his questions. I was confused. My mind blank, my ability to verbally respond was silent. That which comes so easy for me had deserted me and all I found was emptiness. Me - who is seldom at a loss for words found myself unable to speak.

Paul pushed on until the end of the session but I could not break free. I could not connect with any of those emotions. All I felt was silence and confusion.

Then, at home, the first lightbulb came on. I would begin by yelling out to the world that I was finished being silent. The child who ran to her room angry, who was left alone with that anger, who eventually denied the anger and with it her right to express it, was choosing to voice that anger.

I called Paul and went back into therapy for day two. I yelled. I yelled to the world beyond his door. I yelled that I was not going to be silenced any longer. I yelled for the child. It was kind of fun. I talked about how it felt to have been told repeatedly in life that being myself was not acceptable. I didn't lack for words. But, when Paul asked me once again how it felt to silence myself or to be silenced by myself, I sat like a knot on a log - very silent.

It was frustrating, though he assured me I would get there. He also informed me that he would be out of the office the remainder of the week.

That evening the truth suddenly sank in. It was ME, not the world who was silencing me. It was no longer my parents, the church, or society who told me to be quiet and rock no boats. I know this sounds like a given - surely I must have realized that before - and I had - at one level. Now at a deeper level, the realization stunned me. All these years, the anger I had felt towards the universe was my own. It was me who was telling me that I could not be myself.

That is when I saw the picture of the two me's fighting that I described in the last post. Fear wrestled with anger. The fear of reprisal and rejection causes one part of me to try to silence the other. The other responds forcefully and angrily and spews that anger everywhere she speaks.

The realization humbled me. Sadness came. I thought about it, finally able to feel and trying to wrap my mind around all the feelings that I will need to express to Paul in therapy tomorrow. I knew that now I could answer his questions and was anxious to get on with it. Very anxious, like a claustrophobic in an tunnel is anxious to get out.

The old torment had begun. Slowly at first and then with immense intensity, I longed to be in Paul's office. I NEEDED to talk with him. I could not get my mind off of therapy. I HAD to be there. I hungered and thirsted for his attention. I was desperate.

At first I decided the thoughts of Paul were my mind's way of avoiding dealing with the pain of my self rejection but it grew nevertheless to agonizing proportions . Finally with the lust for Paul's nurture and attention at levels I have not experienced since the beginning of therapy with Cheryl 8 years ago, I had enough. I spoke out loud. "I will not go through again. I will quit. I was doing fine without Paul and I WILL NOT put myself through this kind of torment again."

Then I heard these words "What if the longing you feel isn't for Paul? Di, what if it is really yourself you are longing for?" With those two questions the shocking reality hit. Like a rubber band that is stretched to its limit and pops back to sting its shooter, so the truth stung me. In that moment I stretched my mind around the truth - it is myself I am longing for.

As the moment of clarity snapped into place, the horrendous torment released me. I was free. The addictive longing for Paul's attention ended. All of last night, all of today, it has been gone. Freedom. Blessed freedom.

I am looking forward to telling Paul these happenings but it is myself I long for, not Paul. No torment exists - just peace. I am quite sure Paul will avoid offering me any kind of praise lest I latch on to it. I am sure he will simply question me as to how it is with Di at this moment? Then he will find my limits and push more.

Two women, hair tied up, dressed in black tights and turtle necks, pit themselves against each other. Both are wrestling to throw the other down.

One is afraid of the other and the second hates the first.

This, I believe, is me.

Told in a thousand ways throughout life that to be me is wrong, I have embraced the belief that doing so will bring reprisal. With this belief comes great fear of that true one within.

Hush. Be silent. You shouldn't have said that. You will be hated. Shhhhhh. Draw no attention to yourself. Quiet....quiet....quiet!

The silenced one seethes with anger at fear's imprisonment, fighting to get past the halting of her words.

You will see, yells the first. I am protecting you.

You liar yells the second. You hateful bitch. I will scream the truth past you, until I am heard.

On they fight the never ending match.

Tossed between the need to speak truth and the fear of reprisal, I tense and wait. It is not the world that silences me, but myself.

Fear, be calm, for the worst reprisal, the only reprisal that can destroy you, is that you shove upon yourself.

Silenced one, speak, for I will hold fear and comfort her.

Truth in Therapy

As I left last week Paul commented on my getting on with dealing with my wounds. The comment was a spin off on treating myself as if I was defective rather than wounded. I have chewed on both comments this week. Funny how hard he tries to not lead me with his direction and yet he does anyway. I don't know why he doesn't just suggest a direction. This psychotherapy crap has a lot of crap in it. I am not going to change him so I choose to grow regardless of the method but I still think it is a lot of excess confusion.

As I have considered his leading remarks, I have realized that I have been shielding myself from the pain - hoping I can avoid it. It isn't working. Instead my anxiety rises. As I let myself admit the wounds I have experienced with the church the anxiety lessens. Feeling the hurt is much easier than hiding from it.

Instead of trying to convince myself that if I never heard again from the task force that is working on the misconduct policy, I would be fine; I admitted to myself that I would be hurt and angry. I decided it was worth recontacting the guy rather than sweeping it all under the rug. I immediately heard back from him. They have had a hard time all getting together and he still wants my input. Perhaps he is just talking but I choose to hope. His words ring honest and clear without a lot of excuses or pussy footing around the issue.

I realized that Reg has been stretching the truth and trying to placate me with his reports of "it is coming along" and "they are seriously considering what I wrote in my letter." I don't trust Reg very much though I wish I could. He is defensive and proud and very protective of his turf. I think he is also scared of me. A lawsuit from me would probably put the church in the state out of business. They are hanging on by a thread.

I think I have been trying to not be wounded, when I still am wounded. It is hard to not ever get over it. I cope a zillion times better than 8 years ago but I am still wounded. I feel like an alcoholic admitting I have an addiction. It also feels very freeing inside.

Di