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

What Am I Built Upon?

I haven't written much lately because I haven't known exactly what to say about my journey in the present. I am still working with Paul but it is the most uncomfortable therapy relationship I have experienced. Paul is 100% pure psychotherapist and he has evidently had enough practice that he has it all down pat.

Paul refuses to let me lapse into seeking his approval in any form. He doesn't even accept it when I ask him if I am doing what he thinks I am supposed to be doing. That is taking the focus off myself and putting it on him - according to him.

He pushes me relentlessly and at times I have no clue what it is he is after. Of course upon hearing that statement he would point out that I am once again focussing on him and should be deciding what it is that I am after.

I am beginning to wonder why exactly he is there......

Today I managed to get some anger out that I have been carrying deep inside. Managing to share it and not pooh-pooh it away is difficult. I feel as if I have been here long enough for anyone and should surely be finished with this stuff. Paul says I seem more focussed on being good at therapy than on working on my stuff. At that point, I fought back. I may suffer from caring what he thinks - dang who wouldn't in that kind of setting, and I may think I am good at therapy after 8 years of it but I am not more concerned about my appearance in therapy than I am at getting well. He underestimates me. And perhaps he is simply challenging me to stand up for myself.

When I asked if I could trust him, if I opened up my deepest emotions towards God, Paul turned it around (oh aren't they good at that) and asked if he could trust me not to take something he said and hurt myself with it all week. I thought about it and replied that I trusted myself to not hurt myself with something he said. I had not done this before with him. I was honest. I do trust myself in that respect. Paul then replied that NO, I did not trust myself that I did not display to him that I trusted myself. At that point I butted in and simply said that I thought he was wrong - that I will not and have not done this. His reply, "I hope you give more weight to what you believe than what I believe."

A week ago I would have left frustrated and quiet but this week I challenged him and refused a couple of statements he made. I think this is what he is after.

He left me with a thought: You present yourself as one who is defective instead of one who is wounded. On this one - he is right. I believe I am defective. For most of my life I have believed something was wrong with me.

Di

The Good Girl

I shared with Paul this evening about the two me's that existed when I was 17. The me that was seeking God and the me that was sleeping with Bob. Paul asked me how I felt about those two me's. My feelings shocked me.

I felt love and compassion and understanding towards the me who was having sex with Bob. I have accepted her and love her. That step has been real for me. However, I feel anger and hatred towards the me who was seeking God. This completely shocked me. Why would I hate her? For what am I angry?

The picture I see of her is a young lady walking away from me with her back turned. Is my hatred for her coming out of my shame over my questioning God? Am I angry at her because she has all the answers and I now have none of them? At the same time I love and identify with the humaness of me that was sleeping with Bob.

I am not sure of the answers, only of the feelings.

Back to Work

Well, it is back to work in more ways than teaching. I do my best therapeutic work when I am not off for the summer anyway. Regular work keeps me occupied so I don't spend my whole day focussed on the emotional/mental/spiritual work.

Last week I paid a visit to a local pastoral couselor, Stephen, that I have corresponded with via email. I have "God" issues I would like to deal with in a more intense way than dynamics with my pastor allows. However, the couselor I wanted to see is booked. He suggested another and I met him on Tuesday. I'm not sure what I think. This guy Paul is pure psychotherapist and that really isn't what I am wanting. It may be what I am needing or can at least use, but it is not what I set out to get.

I want a pastor who understands the therapeutic process, one I can let it all out with and get angry at if necessary. I need someone who won't get defensive and I won't have to constantly explain my transference to. I want someone who understands the fact that my "stuff" is going to get smeared on him and it may have little to do with him.

I am sure Paul can do all of that, but he doesn't seem to want to assume the more open role of a pastor versus the more blank slate role of a psychotherapist. I will talk with him more about this next week and see where things go. After all I can go back and do psychotherapy with Dan and I already trust and know Dan. Though, I am not sure I haven't milked Dan for most of what he has to give. I have internalized most of the wonderful stuff Dan taught me.

Last night, I found myself mighty frustrated with Paul's blank slate and realized almost immediately that my frustration is really with God. Who is he anyway? Where was he when my pastor was abusing me? I find myself emotionally beating against this great shiny black wall to what seems no avail.

At 17 I cried out for God believing that there must be something more than the flimsy relationship I had been taught could exist. In the time two things happened. I encountered God in a fresh and real way. I also encountered a youth pastor who abused me. So, if God will not give you a stone when you ask for bread, why did Bob happen? If you say, "Well that was Satan," then why didn't he stop Satan? Isn't that the same thing as giving me the stone?

I was crying out with my whole heart for God. I do not know how to answer the pain in my heart.

Di

Gosh, I Have Been Away a Long Time......

........ but the break was needed.

This summer has been a time of restoration and rest for me. I have played golf, put puzzles together, played Canasta with my mom, read, and taken a wonderful trip with my love to New England. We just returned on Saturday.

Since I last wrote, I had three disks in my neck fused and quite a few bone spurs removed. The surgery was a success and I can type now without my hands going to sleep or my back hurting.

I also terminated therapy for the time being. Dan and I both agreed that I was doing most of the work myself. More importantly, I felt for the first time in 8 years, the ability to stand on my own. Dan is there if I need him, a phone call or email away, but I have been fine these last two months. Writing this gives me the opportunity to celebrate that milestone.

I imagine therapy will be a part of my life again in the future when life offers me difficulties. It has been such a powerful place of healing that I see it in much the same way as the medical doctor or surgeon. If I need the care, I will seek it out.

The state church has remained in touch and they are continuing to work on the new misconduct policy. I recently heard from Reg that they are paying close attention to my suggestions. The head of the committee called me right after my surgery and with vacations and recovery I have not managed to get back in touch with him in person though messages have been left. His message to me was respectful and encouraging and I will try again soon to contact him by phone. I expect to sit down with the committee in the future.

In my spirit I have felt at peace and hopeful. I have not felt any need to press further.

Balancing my own need for a season of rest with the never ending need of those who have been hurt and the need to educate the church is impossible. For the first time in my healing, I am at peace walking away from my story and allowing other forces in my life to be absorbing.

Di

Talking the Shame Away

As I talked with Dan last week about the importance of talking about any issue that I felt shame over, I realized why it works so well for me. Let me see if I can put it into words.

Any thing that is "not to be talked about" equals shame to me. From time to time I still hear my name stretched out in the surprised whine of my mother's voice when I do something or say something that is "just not done or said." I was taught to handle anything uncomfortable by not discussing it and stuffing it away as if it did not exist. The concept that silence and shame went hand in hand was embedded in my brain in multiple instances I can recall and probably hundreds I do not.

Now when shame surfaces, I find myself wanting to hide it away, but find myself also incapable of doing so any longer. Sooner or later I must take it out and look at it and speak it. In sharing it, I am declaring my struggling belief that it is not shameful. As I speak it, I am defending that child within that was herself hidden in shame and declaring she is not shameful. Finding my voice and my own declaration, I break the binds of the past's power over me. Shame crumbles.

I used to need to talk a lot, and always. I often emotionally exposed myself to others seeking out their approval because the shame inside was so non-approving. I began this blog at a time that I desperately needed to share my story - no longer for any one else's approval but to declare my own approval of who I am and what I have experienced. To hide it equalled shame; to share it means I am free from shame. I needed a place where I could declare what I was determined to deeply believe - that I am not shame-filled and the path I have walked is not reason to feel shame.

As time has passed, I am no longer driven to type and declare. Sometimes I write out of committment and belief that there is purpose in this. Sometimes I don't write at all because I just don't need to. Sometimes I throw out a little fact like my masturbating at a young age to declare one more thing off the taboo list.

If it can be talked about then it is not shameful. If it is shameful you must not talk about it. It was deeply engrained in me and I now use it to find freedom.