Healing & Happiness

As always Thank you to everyone who is here and reading along.

This story at times is hard to share but I know it has a purpose that is so much bigger then just me. I know people feel it deeply and it resonates with others.

Sometimes I have to take a step back to retrace my mind on particular stories to make sure I am remembering them right. Sometimes I wonder if something was a figment of my imagination or if it truly did happen.

When dealing with a traumatic childhood it is often believed that we forget a large amount of the things we experienced.

We put up walls and develop coping mechanisms, defense mechanisms to deal with the trauma while its happening and it kind of shields us from it. Not necessarily the physical but the mental and emotional toll. It finds its way of coming back around eventually but we find ways to deal in the moment.

Most of the things I remember aren't just trivial moments, but rather pivotal moments to our story. Stories where things shifted, our realities were being questioned and our loyalties were tested.

And looking back on everything now, leading up to us gaining the strength to leave, I can see how God was moving to make a way for us to escape. From a year out, things started to take form. Events happened that made us question our own strength and abilities.

As we continue here, things are getting deeper and with that comes more depths of trauma that are very hard to share and ultimately emotionally exhausting to relive but I am working on those videos and posts.

Bare with me as I navigate how to share the stories while protecting myself within this new level of vulnerability. ❤️

I spent so many days, evenings and weekends playing at this park!

It was a couple blocks from my place and was never too crowded. It was also a hop and skip away from the train tracks where I played too many games dodging trains and picking up what we believed to be crystals lol.

This place was my escape. A place I pondered life and dreamed of what my life could be. I swang as high and as fast as I could, dreaming of how far I could fly if I just let go and jumped.

There was a ditch with over grown trees to the east of the park that many kids built forts in and did shady things in. The odd homeless person resided here as well but usually was no trouble.

My first memory of a boy who was a friend asked the "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours" situation. I was disgusted at the thought and ran away.

This park is full of my childhood memories. While I often dreamed here, I also shed many tears. I would run here when things were bad at home or dad was angry and lashing out. I would run here when I didn't feel comfortable in my own home because of who was there or the things that were happening. This park was where I had the first thought of ending it all for me. I was about 10 then. Which is wild to think of now.

This place became my little piece of safety and my hideaway. A place I felt like I could escape to and no one would find me. I spent hours there! While it looks a little different now, it still has that feeling of calm.

TW:

My father often would say he had vivid dreams and I believe alot of them stemmed from his abusive childhood.

I still remember the look on his face when he would say "she hurt me real bad". And he would almost curve his lip in and tilt his head as he said it. I knew his mother was an awful person who abused and used everyone she came into contact with.

When I was about 10 years old (I think), my father woke up one morning and started pacing around the house. He said "I had a really bad dream last night, I need to call my sister". She was living in Vancouver and had her younger two brothers living with her.

As he called, the phone rang and rang until finally someone picked it up. As he started speaking on the phone I could see the color fade from his face and as he slowly sat down on the chair, he put his head in his hands and couldn't believe what he was hearing.

He had dreamt that he got a call in the night from his brother saying "I killed them". Somehow not realizing that that very phonecall wasnt in his dream at all. It was his reality.

My uncle suffered greatly from the abuse he experienced as a child. Mentally and emotionally he struggled and he was never a violent person.

Apparently that evening, him and his younger brother were playing video games and my one Uncle went to the kitchen to make tea and when he was in there, he had some sort of flashback to his childhood and grabbed a knife and went after his brother. My aunt came downstairs hearing the commotion and tried to stop him and he turned on her as well. Apparently their house looked like a murder scene and it was very close to it.

I am unsure of who made the call to 911, whether it was himself when he snapped out of it or what, but the person my father was speaking too was a police officer at my aunts home.

They underwent several surgeries and procedures and thankfully both survived and made a full recovery which was a miracle in itseld. Neither of them held it against their brother for what happened. They understood exactly what happened and while they forgave him, he could never fully forgive himself.

Naturally he was a teddy bear kind of guy. He loved his family and took so much pride in being a good man.

He ended up in a mental health facility and he did very well there. He was loved and praised for just how pleasant he was and several times was up for being released. And when those dates would come close to happening he would do something or find a way to stay in the facility.

He was afraid. Afraid of the flashback happening again. Afraid of hurting someone again. Afraid of what he might or could do without being able to stop it.

In 2007, 20-ish years later he was set to be released.

I was walking into the church where my brother was getting married, ready to celebrate a wonderful day, when I got a call from my Aunt. She was crying on the other end and explained what had happened.

They found him, in his favorite spot in the facility. He had decided that he was not going to give himself the option or opportunity to hurt anyone ever again. That very day his life on this earth ended.

I looked at my then husband with tears in my eyes and said I can't do this right now, I can't face this right now. He encouraged me to tell my mom so someone knew what I was dealinf with. I told her and she immediately brought me to the pastor. I explained what was going on, they prayed for me and he took me aside.

I was questioning his eternal morality and what this meant. And he explained to me that things are not always black and white. GOD sees the pain and hurt one has suffered and has mercy, grace and compassion no matter the circumstances or outcomes.

This wasn't my first experience with a death in the family, but it was my first experience losing a loved one to su***de.

For now his memory is kept close to my heart along with the gold bracelet he once gave me that sits in my jewelery box next to my bed.

I miss his goofy laugh and his hugs and even 20 years later, I still can remember his smile and warmth.

Years ago, when I was going through my divorce, I was in a divorce care class through a church in Winnipeg.

As we sat there and shared a bit about ourselves and why we were there, I was the youngest person there. For a moment, as I sat there listening to others share their stories, I felt like mine was so mediocre. Like these people had been married for 10-30 years and were dealing with all sorts of levels of issues. And here I was 6.5 years into my marriage and it was falling apart.

It came to my turn and I started to talk about my relationship and where I was in life and touched a bit about my life. I was asked some questions regarding my childhood, which I answered. Then, one of the ladies leading the class spoke up and said something I will never forget.

She said, "It is ok to not always be strong. It is ok to grieve for the little girl inside and what she has been through. She deserves that."

I shrugged it off as if it didn't cut through my heart like a knife.

In my mind, I had always just took the next step forward, and never really allowed myself to reflect or really feel the things I was actually experiencing.

I had been really good at forgiving a person, not because I fully understood it, but because it was what we were called to do. Forgive and Forget, but in reality, I knew forgetting was never possible. But forgiveness I could do and I could let it go.

I felt that forgiving a person, meant you don't allow yourself to think about it anymore, so when things would happen and I would choose to forgive someone, I wouldn't allow myself to dwell in the hurt they caused. I moved forward not realizing, that I was leaving that little girl behind in my mind every time I ignored the way people hurt me. I was ignoring her to cover up the pain I was truly feeling.

I made her quiet, not because she didn't deserve to be heard, but rather I didn't want her pain to bother anyone, including myself.

I went home that night, and just allowed myself to feel all the things. The things she went through at such a young age, the abuse, the neglect, the feeling of loneliness and despair. The feelings of watching my family turn to addictions and leave me behind to pick up the pieces. The little girl inside who just wanted to be loved, valued and more importantly wanted. The little girl who had no choice but to be strong, even when all she wanted to do was fall apart.

There was never a time up until then, that I felt like I was in a safe enough place to fall apart. Who was going to be there to pick up the pieces? Who was going to hold me? Comfort me, tell me everything was going to be ok?

Even now 13 years later, I have to choose to allow myself at times, to just feel my feelings. That doesn't mean I stay in those feelings, but rather allow myself to feel what is happening so that I can properly reflect on the changes needed to move forward.

Everyday I have to make a choice. Somedays that choice is easier than others and somedays it feels impossible.

Nonetheless, I make a point of remembering for HER. Her voice, her story deserves to be told, so here I am... telling it for her.

There are a couple classmates I remember growing up and funny enough, this past week, one of them reached out to me asking if I was who she thought I was. And sure enough we remembered eachother quite well.

We chatted for quite sometime about the experiences we had in school and how bad the bullying was and how in some people, things never changed.

We also talked about a specific incident where several girls in my class seen the bruises on my body that I spent years hiding so well. Even in that moment I didn't fully share the source of it. I was only 11 years old at this time.

But I remember sitting in that change room, feeling as exposed as I had ever been, and all the girls looking at my bruised and broken body, and crying uncontrollably. I remember saying to myself this was the last time I would allow myself to be in this situation.

That if he threatened to hit me again, I was leaving for good. So it was no surprise to me that just 2 short weeks later, I was sitting on the end of my bed after he had a huge blow up threatening us that "we were in for a beating" when he got home from work. And deep down I knew, it was going to be really bad, I could feel it in my bones. There was no question... this was it.

Sharing my story has connected me with so many others who I knew back then or even new people who experienced something similar.

While the situation and story are sad, its absolutely beautiful to see the impact it is having with encouraging others. When I say I am thankful that you all are here, I truly mean it.

***TW***

There are moments I remember about specific situations, but can't remember how I got there. I remember being there, but not the events leading up to me being there.

There was this guy who was an acquaintance of my fathers, and I believe he had a daughter we hung out with from time to time. He lived a couple blocks away from us behind the Motel down the road.

I have memories of being half dressed, in his bedroom while he was passed out or not even there. And it was as if I was woken up in that space because. But I do not remember how I got there as I wouldn't normally go into my friends parents rooms. His room was dark, with rock band posters and the smell of liquor and ci******es. He wasn't a clean person by any means.

There has always been a question of the depths of abuse we endured and if it ever crossed that line, and deep down I know it did, even if I can't fully remember the actual act of it. And not knowing whether this type of abuse was from my father or someone else has haunted me for along time. For years growing up, I feared being alone with men. And I don't mean at a baseline, like I would get anxiety about the possibility of it happening. I was terrified as the thought of being intimate with someone into my 20s. It wasn't normal and early on I made a decision to just not get involved in that part of a relationship until I was married in fear that memories would come flooding back.

I know my mind is and has been protecting me and often childhood abuse survivors remember only a fraction of what they experienced. I am not surprised that with everything we endured, that my mind can't bring that memory to the surface. Ultimately I am kind of thankful at this point.

In many ways I feel God has protected my from things I am not able to handle yet. I can feel that something is brewing, like something will be exposed about this particular part of my life and I can feel that I am being prepared for it. To be able to handle it and process it in a healthy way.

For now, I will wait, patiently, knowing with every memory comes a new journey of healing. ❤️

Imagine being 10 years old and so scared of your father's choice of punishment that while waiting for him in your room for whatever discipline he deemed acceptable for whatever problem you created that as much as you fight it and try not to, you wet your pants. You change your clothes and hide them, knowing it will happen again when he comes to discipline you.

At just the THOUGHT of what he may choose to do once he came upstairs. Never mind the actual physical part of the punishment.

Sometimes it would be just a spanking and often it would be much worse and the degrading comments and random upside the head slaps would contiue for hours.

Generally it wasnt over anything major. Maybe I had the wrong tone or didn't finish a task as well as he expected. His reasons were never explained. It was never out of a blatant disobedience. It was usually an accident or misunderstanding.

After one particular beating I got, the next day, I felt so bad for causing him to be angry, that I took a piece of paper and wrote something on it and put stickers and drawings on it and taped it to his door, pretty much saying "I love you and I am sorry".

What I was hoping for from doing that? I do not know and now I look back and realize how messed up that was. I was afraid that he wouldn't love me anymore or want me anymore.

The manipulation and fear ran deep and all I wanted to do was to make him happy so that one day maybe I could feel that he actually loved me.

Sometimes my brain literally says WTF did I experience and why? Why did it have to be this way.

But I look back on everything that brought me to where I am today and who I am today and I choose to be thankful.

I look at my life and think WOW, God took me from there to here. Everything I dreamed of as a child and a healthy family, I am able to give my kids. A happy home filled with laughter, a safe home that is filled with love and compassion and a comfortable home that is never short on snuggles or hugs. They never have to worry about not being loved or that I won't be there.

My pain has turned into something so beautiful, that if I had to do it all again to arrive here... I wouldn't think twice. I would walk through it all knowing exactly what was waiting for me. ❤️