Soul Puke

Writing for me has always been a means to purge my soul. There's a part of me that knows that in the telling of my truth, someone might just find hope, maybe even some degree of faith. If I can survive, so can you. If I can still get up each morning and find a reason to hold my head up and smile as I face a new dawn, anyone can. All I've ever wanted was to make the world a better place, empower people by helping them to realize that you don't have to be defined by your life events. I want them to understand that they can have some level of control over their destiny.

Life can throw us some pretty nasty curveballs sometimes. Most folks don't realize that there's no need to get stuck in a rut of disaster. Even in the midst of the nastiest, ugliest situations, there is beauty, love, and gratitude to be found. Life events don't have to define us. Our choices define us. It's pretty easy to get wrapped up in the chaos and the emotions that go with it. What isn't easy is changing the course of our destiny. Whether you want to believe it or not, you can have a better life!

More times than I can count I've started to write my autobiography, only to stop. I've spent a lifetime navigating heartache and pain. Every day I see people that are stuck in a vicious, ugly cycle of abuse and see no way out. I've seen people turn to addictions or even kill themselves over less. Most folks don't even want to think about the things that I have lived. I've heard and seen people that threaten to harm or even kill those who inflict harm on women and children. I don't want anyone to be hurt just because I told my truth. I don't want people to look at the people that have hurt me any differently than they already see them. I don't want those people that almost broke my spirit to be judged, nor do I want them to feel that I am now lashing out to get revenge. This isn't about getting retribution. It's about sharing strength and resilience.

I AM NOT A VICTIM! I AM A SURVIVOR!

I was first molested by my father when I was only two years old. He was 'teaching' me an important part of my future role as a dutiful wife. By the time I was 14 years old, I had been molested or raped by 21 men and boys. In all of that time, I'd had no idea that it was wrong.

It wasn't until the abuse had been reported that I had first been referred to as a 'victim'. To be completely honest, going through the process of recounting the nitty-gritty details of what had been done to me was far more damaging to my psyche than the abuse ever had been. Watching police officers, social workers, and therapists recoil as I told my story made me feel dirty and ashamed.

When I was only 19, my husband beat me and caused me to miscarry our twins. I left him shortly afterward. At 21, I gave birth to my 'rainbow baby' who had been conceived by rape. I kept that little boy and have loved him fiercely and always will.

I retaliated by making a declaration. I am NOT a victim! I am a survivor! Nobody can tell me how I SHOULD feel about my life experience! It is mine and I shall own it. I will not allow society to define me, nor will their views determine my destiny!

I am a fierce warrior!!

Most of the 'monsters' in my life story aren't monsters at all. For the most part, they are or were good people that made some bad choices or behaved inappropriately. I'm sure we've all done things on occasion without fully knowing the repercussions those actions would have. Perhaps we've reacted to something based on emotion, rather than thought. We're all only human and we all make mistakes. It doesn't make us bad people, it's just part of the imperfect human experience. More often than not, those who hurt me had been hurt themselves at some point. The old adage 'Hurt people, hurt people' is true. It really is a vicious cycle and one has to work hard to break it. The last thing I want to do is taint your view of certain people based on what they've done to me. Your relationship with them is likely completely different than mine.

The skeletons that hide in my closet are mine and mine alone. I have even learned to embrace them. I appreciate the fact that had I not lived this life I most certainly wouldn't be the person I am today. I know that I am a strong, resilient, empathetic, beautiful human being because that is how I have personally chosen to respond to my trauma.

There are some important tools that have helped me to move past the ugliness. I had to learn the true meaning and purpose of forgiveness. Forgiveness is not about saying that what happened is okay, nor is it about making the other person feel better. Forgiveness is simply about letting go of all the ugly emotions connected to trauma. It's about acknowledging the hurt, pain, and anger and then deciding that it will not define you or your path moving forward. Equally as important as forgiveness is the setting of healthy boundaries. Forgiving someone doesn't always mean that I'll let them back into my life to do more harm. I demand love and respect. There is no space in my life for people who are going to hurt me or that can't accept me for who I am. There's no need for me to be angry or hateful... they just don't deserve space in my life and there are many other people who are more than willing to encourage me to be the best that I can be. Those are the ones I make space for.

I've taken up a pen name so that, hopefully, people will see my message rather than take on a different view of the characters in my story. Please don't pass judgment on those who have inflicted harm. Not one of us is perfect.

It seems somewhat of a contradiction to hide behind a pen name if I am trying to inspire others. I'm telling you to stand tall and be proud that you have made it through and yet the most basic piece of my truth, my identity, I keep tucked safely away from public view. It allows me to freely open myself up and reveal my true and authentic self, without fearing repercussions for the 'monster in my closet'. I've never felt the need to hide myself or these so-called 'dirty secrets', but those who tried to victimize me would likely hang their heads in shame if they knew that the story was being told.